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diff --git a/old/20040712-1856-h.zip b/old/20040712-1856-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 4f4bc88..0000000 --- a/old/20040712-1856-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/20040712-1856.txt b/old/20040712-1856.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a119f14..0000000 --- a/old/20040712-1856.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,12958 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Cousin Pons, 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.net - - -Title: Cousin Pons - -Author: Honore de Balzac - -Release Date: July 12, 2004 [EBook #1856] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COUSIN PONS *** - - - - -Produced by Dagny, and John Bickers, - - - - - COUSIN PONS - - BY - - HONORE DE BALZAC - - - - Translated by - - Ellen Marriage - - - - COUSIN PONS - - - -Towards three o'clock in the afternoon of one October day in the year -1844, a man of sixty or thereabouts, whom anybody might have credited -with more than his actual age, was walking along the Boulevard des -Italiens with his head bent down, as if he were tracking some one. -There was a smug expression about the mouth--he looked like a merchant -who has just done a good stroke of business, or a bachelor emerging -from a boudoir in the best of humors with himself; and in Paris this -is the highest degree of self-satisfaction ever registered by a human -countenance. - -As soon as the elderly person appeared in the distance, a smile broke -out over the faces of the frequenters of the boulevard, who daily, -from their chairs, watch the passers-by, and indulge in the agreeable -pastime of analyzing them. That smile is peculiar to Parisians; it -says so many things--ironical, quizzical, pitying; but nothing save -the rarest of human curiosities can summon that look of interest to -the faces of Parisians, sated as they are with every possible sight. - -A saying recorded of Hyacinthe, an actor celebrated for his repartees, -will explain the archaeological value of the old gentleman, and the -smile repeated like an echo by all eyes. Somebody once asked Hyacinthe -where the hats were made that set the house in a roar as soon as he -appeared. "I don't have them made," he said; "I keep them!" So also -among the million actors who make up the great troupe of Paris, there -are unconscious Hyacinthes who "keep" all the absurd freaks of -vanished fashions upon their backs; and the apparition of some bygone -decade will startle you into laughter as you walk the streets in -bitterness of soul over the treason of one who was your friend in the -past. - -In some respects the passer-by adhered so faithfully to the fashions -of the year 1806, that he was not so much a burlesque caricature as a -reproduction of the Empire period. To an observer, accuracy of detail -in a revival of this sort is extremely valuable, but accuracy of -detail, to be properly appreciated, demands the critical attention of -an expert _flaneur_; while the man in the street who raises a laugh as -soon as he comes in sight is bound to be one of those outrageous -exhibitions which stare you in the face, as the saying goes, and -produce the kind of effect which an actor tries to secure for the -success of his entry. The elderly person, a thin, spare man, wore a -nut-brown spencer over a coat of uncertain green, with white metal -buttons. A man in a spencer in the year 1844! it was as if Napoleon -himself had vouchsafed to come to life again for a couple of hours. - -The spencer, as its name indicates, was the invention of an English -lord, vain, doubtless, of his handsome shape. Some time before the -Peace of Amiens, this nobleman solved the problem of covering the bust -without destroying the outlines of the figure and encumbering the -person with the hideous boxcoat, now finishing its career on the backs -of aged hackney cabmen; but, elegant figures being in the minority, -the success of the spencer was short-lived in France, English though -it was. - -At the sight of the spencer, men of forty or fifty mentally invested -the wearer with top-boots, pistachio-colored kerseymere small clothes -adorned with a knot of ribbon; and beheld themselves in the costumes -of their youth. Elderly ladies thought of former conquests; but the -younger men were asking each other why the aged Alcibiades had cut off -the skirts of his overcoat. The rest of the costume was so much in -keeping with the spencer, that you would not have hesitated to call -the wearer "an Empire man," just as you call a certain kind of -furniture "Empire furniture;" yet the newcomer only symbolized the -Empire for those who had known that great and magnificent epoch at any -rate _de visu_, for a certain accuracy of memory was needed for the -full appreciation of the costume, and even now the Empire is so far -away that not every one of us can picture it in its Gallo-Grecian -reality. - -The stranger's hat, for instance, tipped to the back of his head so as -to leave almost the whole forehead bare, recalled a certain jaunty -air, with which civilians and officials attempted to swagger it with -military men; but the hat itself was a shocking specimen of the -fifteen-franc variety. Constant friction with a pair of enormous ears -had left their marks which no brush could efface from the underside of -the brim; the silk tissue (as usual) fitted badly over the cardboard -foundation, and hung in wrinkles here and there; and some skin-disease -(apparently) had attacked the nap in spite of the hand which rubbed it -down of a morning. - -Beneath the hat, which seemed ready to drop off at any moment, lay an -expanse of countenance grotesque and droll, as the faces which the -Chinese alone of all people can imagine for their quaint curiosities. -The broad visage was as full of holes as a colander, honeycombed with -the shadows of the dints, hollowed out like a Roman mask. It set all -the laws of anatomy at defiance. Close inspection failed to detect the -substructure. Where you expected to find a bone, you discovered a -layer of cartilaginous tissue, and the hollows of an ordinary human -face were here filled out with flabby bosses. A pair of gray eyes, -red-rimmed and lashless, looked forlornly out of a countenance which -was flattened something after the fashion of a pumpkin, and surmounted -by a Don Quixote nose that rose out of it like a monolith above a -plain. It was the kind of nose, as Cervantes must surely have -explained somewhere, which denotes an inborn enthusiasm for all things -great, a tendency which is apt to degenerate into credulity. - -And yet, though the man's ugliness was something almost ludicrous, it -aroused not the slightest inclination to laugh. The exceeding -melancholy which found an outlet in the poor man's faded eyes reached -the mocker himself and froze the gibes on his lips; for all at once -the thought arose that this was a human creature to whom Nature had -forbidden any expression of love or tenderness, since such expression -could only be painful or ridiculous to the woman he loved. In the -presence of such misfortune a Frenchman is silent; to him it seems the -most cruel of all afflictions--to be unable to please! - -The man so ill-favored was dressed after the fashion of shabby -gentility, a fashion which the rich not seldom try to copy. He wore -low shoes beneath gaiters of the pattern worn by the Imperial Guard, -doubtless for the sake of economy, because they kept the socks clean. -The rusty tinge of his black breeches, like the cut and the white or -shiny line of the creases, assigned the date of the purchase some -three years back. The roomy garments failed to disguise the lean -proportions of the wearer, due apparently rather to constitution than -to a Pythagorean regimen, for the worthy man was endowed with thick -lips and a sensual mouth; and when he smiled, displayed a set of white -teeth which would have done credit to a shark. - -A shawl-waistcoat, likewise of black cloth, was supplemented by a -white under-waistcoat, and yet again beneath this gleamed the edge of -a red knitted under-jacket, to put you in mind of Garat's five -waistcoats. A huge white muslin stock with a conspicuous bow, invented -by some exquisite to charm "the charming sex" in 1809, projected so -far above the wearer's chin that the lower part of his face was lost, -as it were, in a muslin abyss. A silk watch-guard, plaited to resemble -the keepsakes made of hair, meandered down the shirt front and secured -his watch from the improbable theft. The greenish coat, though older -by some three years than the breeches, was remarkably neat; the black -velvet collar and shining metal buttons, recently renewed, told of -carefulness which descended even to trifles. - -The particular manner of fixing the hat on the occiput, the triple -waistcoat, the vast cravat engulfing the chin, the gaiters, the metal -buttons on the greenish coat,--all these reminiscences of Imperial -fashions were blended with a sort of afterwaft and lingering perfume -of the coquetry of the Incroyable--with an indescribable finical -something in the folds of the garments, a certain air of stiffness and -correctness in the demeanor that smacked of the school of David, that -recalled Jacob's spindle-legged furniture. - -At first sight, moreover, you set him down either for the gentleman by -birth fallen a victim to some degrading habit, or for the man of small -independent means whose expenses are calculated to such a nicety that -the breakage of a windowpane, a rent in a coat, or a visit from the -philanthropic pest who asks you for subscriptions to a charity, -absorbs the whole of a month's little surplus of pocket-money. If you -had seen him that afternoon, you would have wondered how that -grotesque face came to be lighted up with a smile; usually, surely, it -must have worn the dispirited, passive look of the obscure toiler -condemned to labor without ceasing for the barest necessaries of life. -Yet when you noticed that the odd-looking old man was carrying some -object (evidently precious) in his right hand with a mother's care; -concealing it under the skirts of his coat to keep it from collisions -in the crowd, and still more, when you remarked that important air -always assumed by an idler when intrusted with a commission, you would -have suspected him of recovering some piece of lost property, some -modern equivalent of the marquise's poodle; you would have recognized -the assiduous gallantry of the "man of the Empire" returning in -triumph from his mission to some charming woman of sixty, reluctant as -yet to dispense with the daily visit of her elderly _attentif_. - -In Paris only among great cities will you see such spectacles as this; -for of her boulevards Paris makes a stage where a never-ending drama -is played gratuitously by the French nation in the interests of Art. - -In spite of the rashly assumed spencer, you would scarcely have -thought, after a glance at the contours of the man's bony frame, that -this was an artist--that conventional type which is privileged, in -something of the same way as a Paris gamin, to represent riotous -living to the bourgeois and philistine mind, the most _mirific_ -joviality, in short (to use the old Rabelaisian word newly taken into -use). Yet this elderly person had once taken the medal and the -traveling scholarship; he had composed the first cantata crowned by -the Institut at the time of the re-establishment of the Academie de -Rome; he was M. Sylvain Pons, in fact--M. Sylvain Pons, whose name -appears on the covers of well-known sentimental songs trilled by our -mothers, to say nothing of a couple of operas, played in 1815 and -1816, and divers unpublished scores. The worthy soul was now ending -his days as the conductor of an orchestra in a boulevard theatre, and -a music master in several young ladies' boarding-schools, a post for -which his face particularly recommended him. He was entirely dependent -upon his earnings. Running about to give private lessons at his age! ---Think of it. How many a mystery lies in that unromantic situation! - -But the last man to wear the spencer carried something about him -besides his Empire Associations; a warning and a lesson was written -large over that triple waistcoat. Wherever he went, he exhibited, -without fee or charge, one of the many victims of the fatal system of -competition which still prevails in France in spite of a century of -trial without result; for Poisson de Marigny, brother of the Pompadour -and Director of Fine Arts, somewhere about 1746 invented this method -of applying pressure to the brain. That was a hundred years ago. Try -if you can count upon your fingers the men of genius among the -prizemen of those hundred years. - -In the first place, no deliberate effort of schoolmaster or -administrator can replace the miracles of chance which produce great -men: of all the mysteries of generation, this most defies the -ambitious modern scientific investigator. In the second--the ancient -Egyptians (we are told) invented incubator-stoves for hatching eggs; -what would be thought of Egyptians who should neglect to fill the -beaks of the callow fledglings? Yet this is precisely what France is -doing. She does her utmost to produce artists by the artificial heat -of competitive examination; but, the sculptor, painter, engraver, or -musician once turned out by this mechanical process, she no more -troubles herself about them and their fate than the dandy cares for -yesterday's flower in his buttonhole. And so it happens that the -really great man is a Greuze, a Watteau, a Felicien David, a Pagnesi, -a Gericault, a Decamps, an Auber, a David d'Angers, an Eugene -Delacroix, or a Meissonier--artists who take but little heed of -_grande prix_, and spring up in the open field under the rays of that -invisible sun called Vocation. - -To resume. The Government sent Sylvain Pons to Rome to make a great -musician of himself; and in Rome Sylvain Pons acquired a taste for the -antique and works of art. He became an admirable judge of those -masterpieces of the brain and hand which are summed up by the useful -neologism "bric-a-brac;" and when the child of Euterpe returned to -Paris somewhere about the year 1810, it was in the character of a -rabid collector, loaded with pictures, statuettes, frames, -wood-carving, ivories, enamels, porcelains, and the like. He had sunk -the greater part of his patrimony, not so much in the purchases -themselves as on the expenses of transit; and every penny inherited -from his mother had been spent in the course of a three-years' travel -in Italy after the residence in Rome came to an end. He had seen -Venice, Milan, Florence, Bologna, and Naples leisurely, as he wished -to see them, as a dreamer of dreams, and a philosopher; careless of -the future, for an artist looks to his talent for support as the -_fille de joie_ counts upon her beauty. - -All through those splendid years of travel Pons was as happy as was -possible to a man with a great soul, a sensitive nature, and a face so -ugly that any "success with the fair" (to use the stereotyped formula -of 1809) was out of the question; the realities of life always fell -short of the ideals which Pons created for himself; the world without -was not in tune with the soul within, but Pons had made up his mind to -the dissonance. Doubtless the sense of beauty that he had kept pure -and living in his inmost soul was the spring from which the delicate, -graceful, and ingenious music flowed and won him reputation between -1810 and 1814. - -Every reputation founded upon the fashion or the fancy of the hour, or -upon the short-lived follies of Paris, produces its Pons. No place in -the world is so inexorable in great things; no city of the globe so -disdainfully indulgent in small. Pons' notes were drowned before long -in floods of German harmony and the music of Rossini; and if in 1824 -he was known as an agreeable musician, a composer of various -drawing-room melodies, judge if he was likely to be famous in 183l! -In 1844, the year in which the single drama of this obscure life began, -Sylvain Pons was of no more value than an antediluvian semiquaver; -dealers in music had never heard of his name, though he was still -composing, on scanty pay, for his own orchestra or for neighboring -theatres. - -And yet, the worthy man did justice to the great masters of our day; a -masterpiece finely rendered brought tears to his eyes; but his -religion never bordered on mania, as in the case of Hoffmann's -Kreislers; he kept his enthusiasm to himself; his delight, like the -paradise reached by opium or hashish, lay within his own soul. - -The gift of admiration, of comprehension, the single faculty by which -the ordinary man becomes the brother of the poet, is rare in the city -of Paris, that inn whither all ideas, like travelers, come to stay for -awhile; so rare is it, that Pons surely deserves our respectful -esteem. His personal failure may seem anomalous, but he frankly -admitted that he was weak in harmony. He had neglected the study of -counterpoint; there was a time when he might have begun his studies -afresh and held his own among modern composers, when he might have -been, not certainly a Rossini, but a Herold. But he was alarmed by the -intricacies of modern orchestration; and at length, in the pleasures -of collecting, he found such ever-renewed compensation for his -failure, that if he had been made to choose between his curiosities -and the fame of Rossini--will it be believed?--Pons would have -pronounced for his beloved collection. - -Pons was of the opinion of Chenavard, the print-collector, who laid it -down as an axiom--that you only fully enjoy the pleasure of looking at -your Ruysdael, Hobbema, Holbein, Raphael, Murillo, Greuze, Sebastian -del Piombo, Giorgione, Albrecht Durer, or what not, when you have paid -less than sixty francs for your picture. Pons never gave more than a -hundred francs for any purchase. If he laid out as much as fifty -francs, he was careful to assure himself beforehand that the object -was worth three thousand. The most beautiful thing in the world, if it -cost three hundred francs, did not exist for Pons. Rare had been his -bargains; but he possessed the three qualifications for success--a -stag's legs, an idler's disregard of time, and the patience of a Jew. - -This system, carried out for forty years, in Rome or Paris alike, had -borne its fruits. Since Pons returned from Italy, he had regularly -spent about two thousand francs a year upon a collection of -masterpieces of every sort and description, a collection hidden away -from all eyes but his own; and now his catalogue had reached the -incredible number of 1907. Wandering about Paris between 1811 and -1816, he had picked up many a treasure for ten francs, which would -fetch a thousand or twelve hundred to-day. Some forty-five thousand -canvases change hands annually in Paris picture sales, and these Pons -had sifted through year by year. Pons had Sevres porcelain, _pate -tendre_, bought of Auvergnats, those satellites of the Black Band who -sacked chateaux and carried off the marvels of Pompadour France in -their tumbril carts; he had, in fact, collected the drifted wreck of -the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; he recognized the genius of -the French school, and discerned the merit of the Lepautres and -Lavallee-Poussins and the rest of the great obscure creators of the -Genre Louis Quinze and the Genre Louis Seize. Our modern craftsmen now -draw without acknowledgment from them, pore incessantly over the -treasures of the Cabinet des Estampes, borrow adroitly, and give out -their _pastiches_ for new inventions. Pons had obtained many a piece -by exchange, and therein lies the ineffable joy of the collector. The -joy of buying bric-a-brac is a secondary delight; in the give-and-take -of barter lies the joy of joys. Pons had begun by collecting -snuff-boxes and miniatures; his name was unknown in bric-a-bracology, -for he seldom showed himself in salesrooms or in the shops of -well-known dealers; Pons was not aware that his treasures had any -commercial value. - -The late lamented Dusommerard tried his best to gain Pons' confidence, -but the prince of bric-a-brac died before he could gain an entrance to -the Pons museum, the one private collection which could compare with -the famous Sauvageot museum. Pons and M. Sauvageot indeed resembled -each other in more ways than one. M. Sauvageot, like Pons, was a -musician; he was likewise a comparatively poor man, and he had -collected his bric-a-brac in much the same way, with the same love of -art, the same hatred of rich capitalists with well-known names who -collect for the sake of running up prices as cleverly as possible. -There was yet another point of resemblance between the pair; Pons, -like his rival competitor and antagonist, felt in his heart an -insatiable craving after specimens of the craftsman's skill and -miracles of workmanship; he loved them as a man might love a fair -mistress; an auction in the salerooms in the Rue des Jeuneurs, with -its accompaniments of hammer strokes and brokers' men, was a crime of -_lese-bric-a-brac_ in Pons' eyes. Pons' museum was for his own delight -at every hour; for the soul created to know and feel all the beauty of -a masterpiece has this in common with the lover--to-day's joy is as -great as the joy of yesterday; possession never palls; and a -masterpiece, happily, never grows old. So the object that he held in -his hand with such fatherly care could only be a "find," carried off -with what affection amateurs alone know! - -After the first outlines of this biographical sketch, every one will -cry at once, "Why! this is the happiest man on earth, in spite of his -ugliness!" And, in truth, no spleen, no dullness can resist the -counter-irritant supplied by a "craze," the intellectual moxa of a -hobby. You who can no longer drink of "the cup of pleasure," as it has -been called through all ages, try to collect something, no matter what -(people have been known to collect placards), so shall you receive the -small change for the gold ingot of happiness. Have you a hobby? You -have transferred pleasure to the plane of ideas. And yet, you need not -envy the worthy Pons; such envy, like all kindred sentiments, would be -founded upon a misapprehension. - -With a nature so sensitive, with a soul that lived by tireless -admiration of the magnificent achievements of art, of the high rivalry -between human toil and the work of Nature--Pons was a slave to that -one of the Seven Deadly Sins with which God surely will deal least -hardly; Pons was a glutton. A narrow income, combined with a passion -for bric-a-brac, condemned him to a regimen so abhorrent to a -discriminating palate, that, bachelor as he was, he had cut the knot -of the problem by dining out every day. - -Now, in the time of the Empire, celebrities were more sought after -than at present, perhaps because there were so few of them, perhaps -because they made little or no political pretension. In those days, -besides, you could set up for a poet, a musician, or a painter, with -so little expense. Pons, being regarded as the probable rival of -Nicolo, Paer, and Berton, used to receive so many invitations, that he -was forced to keep a list of engagements, much as barristers note down -the cases for which they are retained. And Pons behaved like an -artist. He presented his amphitryons with copies of his songs, he -"obliged" at the pianoforte, he brought them orders for boxes at the -Feydeau, his own theatre, he organized concerts, he was not above -taking the fiddle himself sometimes in a relation's house, and getting -up a little impromptu dance. In those days, all the handsome men in -France were away at the wars exchanging sabre-cuts with the handsome -men of the Coalition. Pons was said to be, not ugly, but -"peculiar-looking," after the grand rule laid down by Moliere in -Eliante's famous couplets; but if he sometimes heard himself described -as a "charming man" (after he had done some fair lady a service), his -good fortune went no further than words. - -It was between the years 1810 and 1816 that Pons contracted the -unlucky habit of dining out; he grew accustomed to see his hosts -taking pains over the dinner, procuring the first and best of -everything, bringing out their choicest vintages, seeing carefully to -the dessert, the coffee, the liqueurs, giving him of their best, in -short; the best, moreover, of those times of the Empire when Paris was -glutted with kings and queens and princes, and many a private house -emulated royal splendours. - -People used to play at Royalty then as they play nowadays at -parliament, creating a whole host of societies with presidents, -vice-presidents, secretaries and what not--agricultural societies, -industrial societies, societies for the promotion of sericulture, -viticulture, the growth of flax, and so forth. Some have even gone so -far as to look about them for social evils in order to start a society -to cure them. - -But to return to Pons. A stomach thus educated is sure to react upon -the owner's moral fibre; the demoralization of the man varies directly -with his progress in culinary sapience. Voluptuousness, lurking in -every secret recess of the heart, lays down the law therein. Honor and -resolution are battered in breach. The tyranny of the palate has never -been described; as a necessity of life it escapes the criticism of -literature; yet no one imagines how many have been ruined by the -table. The luxury of the table is indeed, in this sense, the -courtesan's one competitor in Paris, besides representing in a manner -the credit side in another account, where she figures as the -expenditure. - -With Pons' decline and fall as an artist came his simultaneous -transformation from invited guest to parasite and hanger-on; he could -not bring himself to quit dinners so excellently served for the -Spartan broth of a two-franc ordinary. Alas! alas! a shudder ran -through him at the mere thought of the great sacrifices which -independence required him to make. He felt that he was capable of -sinking to even lower depths for the sake of good living, if there -were no other way of enjoying the first and best of everything, of -guzzling (vulgar but expressive word) nice little dishes carefully -prepared. Pons lived like a bird, pilfering his meal, flying away when -he had taken his fill, singing a few notes by way of return; he took a -certain pleasure in the thought that he lived at the expense of -society, which asked of him--what but the trifling toll of grimaces? -Like all confirmed bachelors, who hold their lodgings in horror, and -live as much as possible in other people's houses, Pons was accustomed -to the formulas and facial contortions which do duty for feeling in -the world; he used compliments as small change; and as far as others -were concerned, he was satisfied with the labels they bore, and never -plunged a too-curious hand into the sack. - -This not intolerable phase lasted for another ten years. Such years! -Pons' life was closing with a rainy autumn. All through those years he -contrived to dine without expense by making himself necessary in the -houses which he frequented. He took the first step in the downward -path by undertaking a host of small commissions; many and many a time -Pons ran on errands instead of the porter or the servant; many a -purchase he made for his entertainers. He became a kind of harmless, -well-meaning spy, sent by one family into another; but he gained no -credit with those for whom he trudged about, and so often sacrificed -self-respect. - -"Pons is a bachelor," said they; "he is at a loss to know what to do -with his time; he is only too glad to trot about for us.--What else -would he do?" - -Very soon the cold which old age spreads about itself began to set in; -the communicable cold which sensibly lowers the social temperature, -especially if the old man is ugly and poor. Old and ugly and poor--is -not this to be thrice old? Pons' winter had begun, the winter which -brings the reddened nose, and frost-nipped cheeks, and the numbed -fingers, numb in how many ways! - -Invitations very seldom came for Pons now. So far from seeking the -society of the parasite, every family accepted him much as they -accepted the taxes; they valued nothing that Pons could do for them; -real services from Pons counted for nought. The family circles in -which the worthy artist revolved had no respect for art or letters; -they went down on their knees to practical results; they valued -nothing but the fortune or social position acquired since the year -1830. The bourgeoisie is afraid of intellect and genius, but Pons' -spirit and manner were not haughty enough to overawe his relations, -and naturally he had come at last to be accounted less than nothing -with them, though he was not altogether despised. - -He had suffered acutely among them, but, like all timid creatures, he -kept silence as to his pain; and so by degrees schooled himself to -hide his feelings, and learned to take sanctuary in his inmost self. -Many superficial persons interpret this conduct by the short word -"selfishness;" and, indeed, the resemblance between the egoist and the -solitary human creature is strong enough to seem to justify the -harsher verdict; and this is especially true in Paris, where nobody -observes others closely, where all things pass swift as waves, and -last as little as a Ministry. - -So Cousin Pons was accused of selfishness (behind his back); and if -the world accuses any one, it usually finds him guilty and condemns -him into the bargain. Pons bowed to the decision. Do any of us know -how such a timid creature is cast down by an unjust judgment? Who will -ever paint all that the timid suffer? This state of things, now -growing daily worse, explains the sad expression on the poor old -musician's face; he lived by capitulations of which he was ashamed. -Every time we sin against self-respect at the bidding of the ruling -passion, we rivet its hold upon us; the more that passion requires of -us, the stronger it grows, every sacrifice increasing, as it were, the -value of a satisfaction for which so much has been given up, till the -negative sum-total of renouncements looms very large in a man's -imagination. Pons, for instance, after enduring the insolently -patronizing looks of some bourgeois, incased in buckram of stupidity, -sipped his glass of port or finished his quail with breadcrumbs, and -relished something of the savor of revenge, besides. "It is not too -dear at the price!" he said to himself. - -After all, in the eyes of the moralist, there were extenuating -circumstances in Pons' case. Man only lives, in fact, by some personal -satisfaction. The passionless, perfectly righteous man is not human; -he is a monster, an angel wanting wings. The angel of Christian -mythology has nothing but a head. On earth, the righteous person is -the sufficiently tiresome Grandison, for whom the very Venus of the -Crosswords is sexless. - -Setting aside one or two commonplace adventures in Italy, in which -probably the climate accounted for his success, no woman had ever -smiled upon Pons. Plenty of men are doomed to this fate. Pons was an -abnormal birth; the child of parents well stricken in years, he bore -the stigma of his untimely genesis; his cadaverous complexion might -have been contracted in the flask of spirit-of-wine in which science -preserves some extraordinary foetus. Artist though he was, with his -tender, dreamy, sensitive soul, he was forced to accept the character -which belonged to his face; it was hopeless to think of love, and he -remained a bachelor, not so much of choice as of necessity. Then -Gluttony, the sin of the continent monk, beckoned to Pons; he rushed -upon temptation, as he had thrown his whole soul into the adoration of -art and the cult of music. Good cheer and bric-a-brac gave him the -small change for the love which could spend itself in no other way. As -for music, it was his profession, and where will you find the man who -is in love with his means of earning a livelihood? For it is with a -profession as with marriage: in the long length you are sensible of -nothing but the drawbacks. - -Brillat-Savarin has deliberately set himself to justify the -gastronome, but perhaps even he has not dwelt sufficiently on the -reality of the pleasures of the table. The demands of digestion upon -the human economy produce an internal wrestling-bout of human forces -which rivals the highest degree of amorous pleasure. The gastronome is -conscious of an expenditure of vital power, an expenditure so vast -that the brain is atrophied (as it were), that a second brain, located -in the diaphragm, may come into play, and the suspension of all the -faculties is in itself a kind of intoxication. A boa constrictor -gorged with an ox is so stupid with excess that the creature is easily -killed. What man, on the wrong side of forty, is rash enough to work -after dinner? And remark in the same connection, that all great men -have been moderate eaters. The exhilarating effect of the wing of a -chicken upon invalids recovering from serious illness, and long -confined to a stinted and carefully chosen diet, has been frequently -remarked. The sober Pons, whose whole enjoyment was concentrated in -the exercise of his digestive organs, was in the position of chronic -convalescence; he looked to his dinner to give him the utmost degree -of pleasurable sensation, and hitherto he had procured such sensations -daily. Who dares to bid farewell to old habit? Many a man on the brink -of suicide has been plucked back on the threshold of death by the -thought of the cafe where he plays his nightly game of dominoes. - -In the year 1835, chance avenged Pons for the indifference of -womankind by finding him a prop for his declining years, as the saying -goes; and he, who had been old from his cradle, found a support in -friendship. Pons took to himself the only life-partner permitted to -him among his kind--an old man and a fellow-musician. - -But for La Fontaine's fable, _Les Deux Amis_, this sketch should have -borne the title of _The Two Friends_; but to take the name of this -divine story would surely be a deed of violence, a profanation from -which every true man of letters would shrink. The title ought to be -borne alone and for ever by the fabulist's masterpiece, the revelation -of his soul, and the record of his dreams; those three words were set -once and for ever by the poet at the head of a page which is his by a -sacred right of ownership; for it is a shrine before which all -generations, all over the world, will kneel so long as the art of -printing shall endure. - -Pons' friend gave lessons on the pianoforte. They met and struck up an -acquaintance in 1834, one prize day at a boarding-school; and so -congenial were their ways of thinking and living, that Pons used to -say that he had found his friend too late for his happiness. Never, -perhaps, did two souls, so much alike, find each other in the great -ocean of humanity which flowed forth, in disobedience to the will of -God, from its source in the Garden of Eden. Before very long the two -musicians could not live without each other. Confidences were -exchanged, and in a week's time they were like brothers. Schmucke (for -that was his name) had not believed that such a man as Pons existed, -nor had Pons imagined that a Schmucke was possible. Here already you -have a sufficient description of the good couple; but it is not every -mind that takes kindly to the concise synthetic method, and a certain -amount of demonstration is necessary if the credulous are to accept -the conclusion. - -This pianist, like all other pianists, was a German. A German, like -the eminent Liszt and the great Mendelssohn, and Steibelt, and Dussek, -and Meyer, and Mozart, and Doelher, and Thalberg, and Dreschok, and -Hiller, and Leopold Hertz, Woertz, Karr, Wolff, Pixis, and Clara Wieck ---and all Germans, generally speaking. Schmucke was a great musical -composer doomed to remain a music master, so utterly did his character -lack the audacity which a musical genius needs if he is to push his -way to the front. A German's naivete does not invariably last him -through his life; in some cases it fails after a certain age; and even -as a cultivator of the soil brings water from afar by means of -irrigation channels, so, from the springs of his youth, does the -Teuton draw the simplicity which disarms suspicion--the perennial -supplies with which he fertilizes his labors in every field of -science, art, or commerce. A crafty Frenchman here and there will turn -a Parisian tradesman's stupidity to good account in the same way. But -Schmucke had kept his child's simplicity much as Pons continued to -wear his relics of the Empire--all unsuspectingly. The true and -noble-hearted German was at once the theatre and the audience, making -music within himself for himself alone. In this city of Paris he lived -as a nightingale lives among the thickets; and for twenty years he sang -on, mateless, till he met with a second self in Pons. [See _Une Fille -d'Eve_.] - -Both Pons and Schmucke were abundantly given, both by heart and -disposition, to the peculiarly German sentimentality which shows -itself alike in childlike ways--in a passion for flowers, in that form -of nature-worship which prompts a German to plant his garden-beds with -big glass globes for the sake of seeing miniature pictures of the view -which he can behold about him of a natural size; in the inquiring turn -of mind that sets a learned Teuton trudging three hundred miles in his -gaiters in search of a fact which smiles up in his face from a wayside -spring, or lurks laughing under the jessamine leaves in the back-yard; -or (to take a final instance) in the German craving to endow every -least detail in creation with a spiritual significance, a craving -which produces sometimes Hoffmann's tipsiness in type, sometimes the -folios with which Germany hedges the simplest questions round about, -lest haply any fool should fall into her intellectual excavations; -and, indeed, if you fathom these abysses, you find nothing but a -German at the bottom. - -Both friends were Catholics. They went to Mass and performed the -duties of religion together; and, like children, found nothing to tell -their confessors. It was their firm belief that music is to feeling -and thought as thought and feeling are to speech; and of their -converse on this system there was no end. Each made response to the -other in orgies of sound, demonstrating their convictions, each for -each, like lovers. - -Schmucke was as absent-minded as Pons was wide-awake. Pons was a -collector, Schmucke a dreamer of dreams; Schmucke was a student of -beauty seen by the soul, Pons a preserver of material beauty. Pons -would catch sight of a china cup and buy it in the time that Schmucke -took to blow his nose, wondering the while within himself whether the -musical phrase that was ringing in his brain--the _motif_ from Rossini -or Bellini or Beethoven or Mozart--had its origin or its counterpart -in the world of human thought and emotion. Schmucke's economies were -controlled by an absent mind, Pons was a spendthrift through passion, -and for both the result was the same--they had not a penny on Saint -Sylvester's day. - -Perhaps Pons would have given way under his troubles if it had not -been for this friendship; but life became bearable when he found some -one to whom he could pour out his heart. The first time that he -breathed a word of his difficulties, the good German had advised him -to live as he himself did, and eat bread and cheese at home sooner -than dine abroad at such a cost. Alas! Pons did not dare to confess -that heart and stomach were at war within him, that he could digest -affronts which pained his heart, and, cost what it might, a good -dinner that satisfied his palate was a necessity to him, even as your -gay Lothario must have a mistress to tease. - -In time Schmucke understood; not just at once, for he was too much of -a Teuton to possess that gift of swift perception in which the French -rejoice; Schmucke understood and loved poor Pons the better. Nothing -so fortifies a friendship as a belief on the part of one friend that -he is superior to the other. An angel could not have found a word to -say to Schmucke rubbing his hands over the discovery of the hold that -gluttony had gained over Pons. Indeed, the good German adorned their -breakfast-table next morning with delicacies of which he went in -search himself; and every day he was careful to provide something new -for his friend, for they always breakfasted together at home. - -If any one imagines that the pair could not escape ridicule in Paris, -where nothing is respected, he cannot know that city. When Schmucke -and Pons united their riches and poverty, they hit upon the economical -expedient of lodging together, each paying half the rent of the very -unequally divided second-floor of a house in the Rue de Normandie in -the Marais. And as it often happened that they left home together and -walked side by side along their beat of boulevard, the idlers of the -quarter dubbed them "the pair of nutcrackers," a nickname which makes -any portrait of Schmucke quite superfluous, for he was to Pons as the -famous statue of the Nurse of Niobe in the Vatican is to the Tribune -Venus. - -Mme. Cibot, portress of the house in the Rue de Normandie, was the -pivot on which the domestic life of the nutcrackers turned; but Mme. -Cibot plays so large a part in the drama which grew out of their -double existence, that it will be more appropriate to give her -portrait on her first appearance in this Scene of Parisian Life. - -One thing remains to be said of the characters of the pair of friends; -but this one thing is precisely the hardest to make clear to -ninety-nine readers out of a hundred in this forty-seventh year of the -nineteenth century, perhaps by reason of the prodigious financial -development brought about by the railway system. It is a little thing, -and yet it is so much. It is a question, in fact, of giving an idea of -the extreme sensitiveness of their natures. Let us borrow an -illustration from the railways, if only by way of retaliation, as it -were, for the loans which they levy upon us. The railway train of -to-day, tearing over the metals, grinds away fine particles of dust, -grains so minute that a traveler cannot detect them with the eye; but -let a single one of those invisible motes find its way into the -kidneys, it will bring about that most excruciating, and sometimes -fatal, disease known as gravel. And our society, rushing like a -locomotive along its metaled track, is heedless of the all but -imperceptible dust made by the grinding of the wheels; but it was -otherwise with the two musicians; the invisible grains of sand sank -perpetually into the very fibres of their being, causing them -intolerable anguish of heart. Tender exceedingly to the pain of -others, they wept for their own powerlessness to help; and their own -susceptibilities were almost morbidly acute. Neither age nor the -continual spectacle of the drama of Paris life had hardened two souls -still young and childlike and pure; the longer they lived, indeed, the -more keenly they felt their inward suffering; for so it is, alas! with -natures unsullied by the world, with the quiet thinker, and with such -poets among the poets as have never fallen into any excess. - -Since the old men began housekeeping together, the day's routine was -very nearly the same for them both. They worked together in harness in -the fraternal fashion of the Paris cab-horse; rising every morning, -summer and winter, at seven o'clock, and setting out after breakfast -to give music lessons in the boarding-schools, in which, upon -occasion, they would take lessons for each other. Towards noon Pons -repaired to his theatre, if there was a rehearsal on hand; but all his -spare moments were spent in sauntering on the boulevards. Night found -both of them in the orchestra at the theatre, for Pons had found a -place for Schmucke, and upon this wise. - -At the time of their first meeting, Pons had just received that -marshal's baton of the unknown musical composer--an appointment as -conductor of an orchestra. It had come to him unasked, by a favor of -Count Popinot, a bourgeois hero of July, at that time a member of the -Government. Count Popinot had the license of a theatre in his gift, -and Count Popinot had also an old acquaintance of the kind that the -successful man blushes to meet. As he rolls through the streets of -Paris in his carriage, it is not pleasant to see his boyhood's chum -down at heel, with a coat of many improbable colors and trousers -innocent of straps, and a head full of soaring speculations on too -grand a scale to tempt shy, easily scared capital. Moreover, this -friend of his youth, Gaudissart by name, had done not a little in the -past towards founding the fortunes of the great house of Popinot. -Popinot, now a Count and a peer of France, after twice holding a -portfolio had no wish to shake off "the Illustrious Gaudissart." Quite -otherwise. The pomps and vanities of the Court of the Citizen-King had -not spoiled the sometime druggist's kind heart; he wished to put his -ex-commercial traveler in the way of renewing his wardrobe and -replenishing his purse. So when Gaudissart, always an enthusiastic -admirer of the fair sex, applied for the license of a bankrupt -theatre, Popinot granted it on condition that Pons (a parasite of the -Hotel Popinot) should be engaged as conductor of the orchestra; and at -the same time, the Count was careful to send certain elderly amateurs -of beauty to the theatre, so that the new manager might be strongly -supported financially by wealthy admirers of feminine charms revealed -by the costume of the ballet. - -Gaudissart and Company, who, be it said, made their fortune, hit upon -the grand idea of operas for the people, and carried it out in a -boulevard theatre in 1834. A tolerable conductor, who could adapt or -even compose a little music upon occasion, was a necessity for ballets -and pantomimes; but the last management had so long been bankrupt, -that they could not afford to keep a transposer and copyist. Pons -therefore introduced Schmucke to the company as copier of music, a -humble calling which requires no small musical knowledge; and -Schmucke, acting on Pons' advice, came to an understanding with the -_chef-de-service_ at the Opera-Comique, so saving himself the clerical -drudgery. - -The partnership between Pons and Schmucke produced one brilliant -result. Schmucke being a German, harmony was his strong point; he -looked over the instrumentation of Pons' compositions, and Pons -provided the airs. Here and there an amateur among the audience -admired the new pieces of music which served as accompaniment to two -or three great successes, but they attributed the improvement vaguely -to "progress." No one cared to know the composer's name; like -occupants of the _baignoires_, lost to view of the house, to gain a -view of the stage, Pons and Schmucke eclipsed themselves by their -success. In Paris (especially since the Revolution of July) no one can -hope to succeed unless he will push his way _quibuscumque viis_ and -with all his might through a formidable host of competitors; but for -this feat a man needs thews and sinews, and our two friends, be it -remembered, had that affection of the heart which cripples all -ambitious effort. - -Pons, as a rule, only went to his theatre towards eight o'clock, when -the piece in favor came on, and overtures and accompaniments needed -the strict ruling of the baton; most minor theatres are lax in such -matters, and Pons felt the more at ease because he himself had been by -no means grasping in all his dealings with the management; and -Schmucke, if need be, could take his place. Time went by, and Schmucke -became an institution in the orchestra; the Illustrious Gaudissart -said nothing, but he was well aware of the value of Pons' -collaborator. He was obliged to include a pianoforte in the orchestra -(following the example of the leading theatres); the instrument was -placed beside the conductor's chair, and Schmucke played without -increase of salary--a volunteer supernumerary. As Schmucke's -character, his utter lack of ambition or pretence became known, the -orchestra recognized him as one of themselves; and as time went on, he -was intrusted with the often needed miscellaneous musical instruments -which form no part of the regular band of a boulevard theatre. For a -very small addition to his stipend, Schmucke played the viola d'amore, -hautboy, violoncello, and harp, as well as the piano, the castanets -for the _cachucha_, the bells, saxhorn, and the like. If the Germans -cannot draw harmony from the mighty instruments of Liberty, yet to -play all instruments of music comes to them by nature. - -The two old artists were exceedingly popular at the theatre, and took -its ways philosophically. They had put, as it were, scales over their -eyes, lest they should see the offences that needs must come when a -_corps de ballet_ is blended with actors and actresses, one of the -most trying combinations ever created by the laws of supply and demand -for the torment of managers, authors, and composers alike. - -Every one esteemed Pons with his kindness and his modesty, his great -self-respect and respect for others; for a pure and limpid life wins -something like admiration from the worst nature in every social -sphere, and in Paris a fair virtue meets with something of the success -of a large diamond, so great a rarity it is. No actor, no dancer -however brazen, would have indulged in the mildest practical joke at -the expense of either Pons or Schmucke. - -Pons very occasionally put in an appearance in the _foyer_; but all -that Schmucke knew of the theatre was the underground passage from the -street door to the orchestra. Sometimes, however, during an interval, -the good German would venture to make a survey of the house and ask a -few questions of the first flute, a young fellow from Strasbourg, who -came of a German family at Kehl. Gradually under the flute's tuition -Schmucke's childlike imagination acquired a certain amount of -knowledge of the world; he could believe in the existence of that -fabulous creature the _lorette_, the possibility of "marriages at the -Thirteenth Arrondissement," the vagaries of the leading lady, and the -contraband traffic carried on by box-openers. In his eyes the more -harmless forms of vice were the lowest depths of Babylonish iniquity; -he did not believe the stories, he smiled at them for grotesque -inventions. The ingenious reader can see that Pons and Schmucke were -exploited, to use a word much in fashion; but what they lost in money -they gained in consideration and kindly treatment. - -It was after the success of the ballet with which a run of success -began for the Gaudissart Company that the management presented Pons -with a piece of plate--a group of figures attributed to Benvenuto -Cellini. The alarming costliness of the gift caused talk in the -green-room. It was a matter of twelve hundred francs! Pons, poor -honest soul, was for returning the present, and Gaudissart had a -world of trouble to persuade him to keep it. - -"Ah!" said the manager afterwards, when he told his partner of the -interview, "if we could only find actors up to that sample." - -In their joint life, outwardly so quiet, there was the one disturbing -element--the weakness to which Pons sacrificed, the insatiable craving -to dine out. Whenever Schmucke happened to be at home while Pons was -dressing for the evening, the good German would bewail this deplorable -habit. - -"Gif only he vas ony fatter vor it!" he many a time cried. - -And Schmucke would dream of curing his friend of his degrading vice, -for a true friend's instinct in all that belongs to the inner life is -unerring as a dog's sense of smell; a friend knows by intuition the -trouble in his friend's soul, and guesses at the cause and ponders it -in his heart. - -Pons, who always wore a diamond ring on the little finger of his right -hand, an ornament permitted in the time of the Empire, but ridiculous -to-day--Pons, who belonged to the "troubadour time," the sentimental -periods of the first Empire, was too much a child of his age, too much -of a Frenchman to wear the expression of divine serenity which -softened Schmucke's hideous ugliness. From Pons' melancholy looks -Schmucke knew that the profession of parasite was growing daily more -difficult and painful. And, in fact, in that month of October 1844, -the number of houses at which Pons dined was naturally much -restricted; reduced to move round and round the family circle, he had -used the word family in far too wide a sense, as will shortly be seen. - -M. Camusot, the rich silk mercer of the Rue des Bourdonnais, had -married Pons' first cousin, Mlle. Pons, only child and heiress of one -of the well-known firm of Pons Brothers, court embroiderers. Pons' own -father and mother retired from a firm founded before the Revolution of -1789, leaving their capital in the business until Mlle. Pons' father -sold it in 1815 to M. Rivet. M. Camusot had since lost his wife and -married again, and retired from business some ten years, and now in -1844 he was a member of the Board of Trade, a deputy, and what not. -But the Camusot clan were friendly; and Pons, good man, still -considered that he was some kind of cousin to the children of the -second marriage, who were not relations, or even connected with him in -any way. - -The second Mme. Camusot being a Mlle. Cardot, Pons introduced himself -as a relative into the tolerably numerous Cardot family, a second -bourgeois tribe which, taken with its connections, formed quite as -strong a clan as the Camusots; for Cardot the notary (brother of the -second Mme. Camusot) had married a Mlle. Chiffreville; and the -well-known family of Chiffreville, the leading firm of manufacturing -chemists, was closely connected with the whole drug trade, of which M. -Anselme Popinot was for many years the undisputed head, until the -Revolution of July plunged him into the very centre of the dynastic -movement, as everybody knows. So Pons, in the wake of the Camusots and -Cardots, reached the Chiffrevilles, and thence the Popinots, always in -the character of a cousin's cousin. - -The above concise statement of Pons' relations with his entertainers -explains how it came to pass that an old musician was received in 1844 -as one of the family in the houses of four distinguished persons--to -wit, M. le Comte Popinot, peer of France, and twice in office; M. -Cardot, retired notary, mayor and deputy of an arrondissement in -Paris; M. Camusot senior, a member of the Board of Trade and the -Municipal Chamber and a peerage; and lastly, M. Camusot de Marville, -Camusot's son by his first marriage, and Pons' one genuine relation, -albeit even he was a first cousin once removed. - -This Camusot, President of a Chamber of the Court of Appeal in Paris, -had taken the name of his estate at Marville to distinguish himself -from his father and a younger half brother. - -Cardot the retired notary had married his daughter to his successor, -whose name was Berthier; and Pons, transferred as part of the -connection, acquired a right to dine with the Berthiers "in the -presence of a notary," as he put it. - -This was the bourgeois empyrean which Pons called his "family," that -upper world in which he so painfully reserved his right to a knife and -fork. - -Of all these houses, some ten in all, the one in which Pons ought to -have met with the kindest reception should by rights have been his own -cousin's; and, indeed, he paid most attention to President Camusot's -family. But, alas! Mme. Camusot de Marville, daughter of the Sieur -Thirion, usher of the cabinet to Louis XVIII. and Charles X., had -never taken very kindly to her husband's first cousin, once removed. -Pons had tried to soften this formidable relative; he wasted his time; -for in spite of the pianoforte lessons which he gave gratuitously to -Mlle. Camusot, a young woman with hair somewhat inclined to red, it -was impossible to make a musician of her. - -And now, at this very moment, as he walked with that precious object -in his hand, Pons was bound for the President's house, where he always -felt as if he were at the Tuileries itself, so heavily did the solemn -green curtains, the carmelite-brown hangings, thick piled carpets, -heavy furniture, and general atmosphere of magisterial severity -oppress his soul. Strange as it may seem, he felt more at home in the -Hotel Popinot, Rue Basse-du-Rempart, probably because it was full of -works of art; for the master of the house, since he entered public -life, had acquired a mania for collecting beautiful things, by way of -contrast no doubt, for a politician is obliged to pay for secret -services of the ugliest kind. - -President de Marville lived in the Rue de Hanovre, in a house which -his wife had bought ten years previously, on the death of her parents, -for the Sieur and Dame Thirion left their daughter about a hundred and -fifty thousand francs, the savings of a lifetime. With its north -aspect, the house looks gloomy enough seen from the street, but the -back looks towards the south over the courtyard, with a rather pretty -garden beyond it. As the President occupied the whole of the first -floor, once the abode of a great financier of the time of Louis XIV., -and the second was let to a wealthy old lady, the house wore a look of -dignified repose befitting a magistrate's residence. President Camusot -had invested all that he inherited from his mother, together with the -savings of twenty years, in the purchase of the splendid Marville -estate; a chateau (as fine a relic of the past as you will find to-day -in Normandy) standing in a hundred acres of park land, and a fine -dependent farm, nominally bringing in twelve thousand francs per -annum, though, as it cost the President at least a thousand crowns to -keep up a state almost princely in our days, his yearly revenue, "all -told," as the saying is, was a bare nine thousand francs. With this -and his salary, the President's income amounted to about twenty -thousand francs; but though to all appearance a wealthy man, -especially as one-half of his father's property would one day revert -to him as the only child of the first marriage, he was obliged to live -in Paris as befitted his official position, and M. and Mme. de -Marville spent almost the whole of their incomes. Indeed, before the -year 1834 they felt pinched. - -This family schedule sufficiently explains why Mlle. de Marville, aged -three-and-twenty, was still unwed, in spite of a hundred thousand -francs of dowry and tempting prospects, frequently, skilfully, but so -far vainly, held out. For the past five years Pons had listened to -Mme. la Presidente's lamentations as she beheld one young lawyer after -another led to the altar, while all the newly appointed judges at the -Tribunal were fathers of families already; and she, all this time, had -displayed Mlle. de Marville's brilliant expectations before the -undazzled eyes of young Vicomte Popinot, eldest son of the great man -of the drug trade, he of whom it was said by the envious tongues of -the neighborhood of the Rue des Lombards, that the Revolution of July -had been brought about at least as much for his particular benefit as -for the sake of the Orleans branch. - -Arrived at the corner of the Rue de Choiseul and the Rue de Hanovre, -Pons suffered from the inexplicable emotions which torment clear -consciences; for a panic terror such as the worst of scoundrels might -feel at sight of a policeman, an agony caused solely by a doubt as to -Mme. de Marville's probable reception of him. That grain of sand, -grating continually on the fibres of his heart, so far from losing its -angles, grew more and more jagged, and the family in the Rue de -Hanovre always sharpened the edges. Indeed, their unceremonious -treatment and Pons' depreciation in value among them had affected the -servants; and while they did not exactly fail in respect, they looked -on the poor relation as a kind of beggar. - -Pons' arch-enemy in the house was the ladies'-maid, a thin and wizened -spinster, Madeleine Vivet by name. This Madeleine, in spite of, nay, -perhaps on the strength of, a pimpled complexion and a viper-like -length of spine, had made up her mind that some day she would be Mme. -Pons. But in vain she dangled twenty thousand francs of savings before -the old bachelor's eyes; Pons had declined happiness accompanied by so -many pimples. From that time forth the Dido of the ante-chamber, who -fain had called her master and mistress "cousin," wreaked her spite in -petty ways upon the poor musician. She heard him on the stairs, and -cried audibly, "Oh! here comes the sponger!" She stinted him of wine -when she waited at dinner in the footman's absence; she filled the -water-glass to the brim, to give him the difficult task of lifting it -without spilling a drop; or she would pass the old man over -altogether, till the mistress of the house would remind her (and in -what a tone!--it brought the color to the poor cousin's face); or she -would spill the gravy over his clothes. In short, she waged petty war -after the manner of a petty nature, knowing that she could annoy an -unfortunate superior with impunity. - -Madeleine Vivet was Mme. de Marville's maid and housekeeper. She had -lived with M. and Mme. Camusot de Marville since their marriage; she -had shared the early struggles in the provinces when M. Camusot was a -judge at Alencon; she had helped them to exist when M. Camusot, -President of the Tribunal of Mantes, came to Paris, in 1828, to be an -examining magistrate. She was, therefore, too much one of the family -not to wish, for reasons of her own, to revenge herself upon them. -Beneath her desire to pay a trick upon her haughty and ambitious -mistress, and to call her master her cousin, there surely lurked a -long-stifled hatred, built up like an avalanche, upon the pebble of -some past grievance. - -"Here comes your M. Pons, madame, still wearing that spencer of his!" -Madeleine came to tell the Presidente. "He really might tell me how he -manages to make it look the same for five-and-twenty years together." - -Mme. Camusot de Marville, hearing a man's footstep in the little -drawing-room between the large drawing-room and her bedroom, looked at -her daughter and shrugged her shoulders. - -"You always make these announcements so cleverly that you leave me no -time to think, Madeleine." - -"Jean is out, madame, I was all alone; M. Pons rang the bell, I opened -the door; and as he is almost one of the family, I could not prevent -him from coming after me. There he is, taking off his spencer." - -"Poor little puss!" said the Presidente, addressing her daughter, "we -are caught. We shall have to dine at home now.--Let us see," she -added, seeing that the "dear puss" wore a piteous face; "must we get -rid of him for good?" - -"Oh! poor man!" cried Mlle. Camusot, "deprive him of one of his -dinners?" - -Somebody coughed significantly in the next room by way of warning that -he could hear. - -"Very well, let him come in!" said Mme. Camusot, looking at Madeleine -with another shrug. - -"You are here so early, cousin, that you have come in upon us just as -mother was about to dress," said Cecile Camusot in a coaxing tone. But -Cousin Pons had caught sight of the Presidente's shrug, and felt so -cruelly hurt that he could not find a compliment, and contented -himself with the profound remark, "You are always charming, my little -cousin." - -Then, turning to the mother, he continued with a bow: - -"You will not take it amiss, I think, if I have come a little earlier -than usual, dear cousin; I have brought something for you; you once -did me the pleasure of asking me for it." - -Poor Pons! Every time he addressed the President, the President's -wife, or Cecile as "cousin," he gave them excruciating annoyance. As -he spoke, he draw a long, narrow cherry-wood box, marvelously carved, -from his coat-pocket. - -"Oh, did I?--I had forgotten," the lady answered drily. - -It was a heartless speech, was it not? Did not those few words deny -all merit to the pains taken for her by the cousin whose one offence -lay in the fact that he was a poor relation? - -"But it is very kind of you, cousin," she added. "How much to I owe -you for this little trifle?" - -Pons quivered inwardly at the question. He had meant the trinket as a -return for his dinners. - -"I thought that you would permit me to offer it you----" he faltered -out. - -"What?" said Mme. Camusot. "Oh! but there need be no ceremony between -us; we know each other well enough to wash our linen among ourselves. -I know very well that you are not rich enough to give more than you -get. And to go no further, it is quite enough that you should have -spent a good deal of time in running among the dealers--" - -"If you were asked to pay the full price of the fan, my dear cousin, -you would not care to have it," answered poor Pons, hurt and insulted; -"it is one of Watteau's masterpieces, painted on both sides; but you -may be quite easy, cousin, I did not give one-hundredth part of its -value as a work of art." - -To tell a rich man that he is poor! you might as well tell the -Archbishop of Granada that his homilies show signs of senility. Mme. -la Presidente, proud of her husband's position, of the estate of -Marville, and her invitations to court balls, was keenly susceptible -on this point; and what was worse, the remark came from a -poverty-stricken musician to whom she had been charitable. - -"Then the people of whom you buy things of this kind are very stupid, -are they?" she asked quickly. - -"Stupid dealers are unknown in Paris," Pons answered almost drily. - -"Then you must be very clever," put in Cecile by way of calming the -dispute. - -"Clever enough to know a Lancret, a Watteau, a Pater, or Greuze when I -see it, little cousin; but anxious, most of all, to please your dear -mamma." - -Mme. de Marville, ignorant and vain, was unwilling to appear to -receive the slightest trifle from the parasite; and here her ignorance -served her admirably, she did not even know the name of Watteau. And, -on the other hand, if anything can measure the extent of the -collector's passion, which, in truth, is one of the most deeply seated -of all passions, rivaling the very vanity of the author--if anything -can give an idea of the lengths to which a collector will go, it is -the audacity which Pons displayed on this occasion, as he held his own -against his lady cousin for the first time in twenty years. He was -amazed at his own boldness. He made Cecile see the beauties of the -delicate carving on the sticks of this wonder, and as he talked to her -his face grew serene and gentle again. But without some sketch of the -Presidente, it is impossible fully to understand the perturbation of -heart from which Pons suffered. - -Mme. de Marville had been short and fair, plump and fresh; at -forty-six she was as short as ever, but she looked dried up. An arched -forehead and thin lips, that had been softly colored once, lent a -soured look to a face naturally disdainful, and now grown hard and -unpleasant with a long course of absolute domestic rule. Time had -deepened her fair hair to a harsh chestnut hue; the pride of office, -intensified by suppressed envy, looked out of eyes that had lost none -of their brightness nor their satirical expression. As a matter of -fact, Mme. Camusot de Marville felt almost poor in the society of -self-made wealthy bourgeois with whom Pons dined. She could not -forgive the rich retail druggist, ex-president of the Commercial -Court, for his successive elevations as deputy, member of the -Government, count and peer of France. She could not forgive her -father-in-law for putting himself forward instead of his eldest son as -deputy of his arrondissement after Popinot's promotion to the peerage. -After eighteen years of services in Paris, she was still waiting for -the post of Councillor of the Court of Cassation for her husband. It -was Camusot's own incompetence, well known at the Law Courts, which -excluded him from the Council. The Home Secretary of 1844 even -regretted Camusot's nomination to the presidency of the Court of -Indictments in 1834, though, thanks to his past experience as an -examining magistrate, he made himself useful in drafting decrees. - -These disappointments had told upon Mme. de Marville, who, moreover, -had formed a tolerably correct estimate of her husband. A temper -naturally shrewish was soured till she grew positively terrible. She -was not old, but she had aged; she deliberately set herself to extort -by fear all that the world was inclined to refuse her, and was harsh -and rasping as a file. Caustic to excess she had few friends among -women; she surrounded herself with prim, elderly matrons of her own -stamp, who lent each other mutual support, and people stood in awe of -her. As for poor Pons, his relations with this fiend in petticoats -were very much those of a schoolboy with the master whose one idea of -communication is the ferule. - -The Presidente had no idea of the value of the gift. She was puzzled -by her cousin's sudden access of audacity. - -"Then, where did you find this?" inquired Cecile, as she looked -closely at the trinket. - -"In the Rue de Lappe. A dealer in second-hand furniture there had just -brought it back with him from a chateau that is being pulled down near -Dreux, Aulnay. Mme. de Pompadour used to spend part of her time there -before she built Menars. Some of the most splendid wood-carving ever -known has been saved from destruction; Lienard (our most famous living -wood-carver) had kept a couple of oval frames for models, as the _ne -plus ultra_ of the art, so fine it is.--There were treasures in that -place. My man found the fan in the drawer of an inlaid what-not, which -I should certainly have bought if I were collecting things of the -kind, but it is quite out of the question--a single piece of -Riesener's furniture is worth three or four thousand francs! People -here in Paris are just beginning to find out that the famous French -and German marquetry workers of the sixteenth, seventeenth, and -eighteenth centuries composed perfect pictures in wood. It is a -collector's business to be ahead of the fashion. Why, in five years' -time, the Frankenthal ware, which I have been collecting these twenty -years, will fetch twice the price of Sevres _pata tendre_." - -"What is Frankenthal ware?" asked Cecile. - -"That is the name of the porcelain made by the Elector of the -Palatinate; it dates further back than our manufactory at Sevres; just -as the famous gardens at Heidelberg, laid waste by Turenne, had the -bad luck to exist before the garden of Versailles. Sevres copied -Frankenthal to a large extent.--In justice to the Germans, it must be -said that they have done admirable work in Saxony and in the -Palatinate." - -Mother and daughter looked at one another as if Pons were speaking -Chinese. No one can imagine how ignorant and exclusive Parisians are; -they only learn what they are taught, and that only when they choose. - -"And how do you know the Frankenthal ware when you see it?" - -"Eh! by the mark!" cried Pons with enthusiasm. "There is a mark on -every one of those exquisite masterpieces. Frankenthal ware is marked -with a C and T (for Charles Theodore) interlaced and crowned. On old -Dresden china there are two crossed swords and the number of the order -in gilt figures. Vincennes bears a hunting-horn; Vienna, a V closed -and barred. You can tell Berlin by the two bars, Mayence by the wheel, -and Sevres by the two crossed L's. The queen's porcelain is marked A -for Antoinette, with a royal crown above it. In the eighteenth -century, all the crowned heads of Europe had rival porcelain -factories, and workmen were kidnaped. Watteau designed services for -the Dresden factory; they fetch frantic prices at the present day. One -has to know what one is about with them too, for they are turning out -imitations now at Dresden. Wonderful things they used to make; they -will never make the like again--" - -"Oh! pshaw!" - -"No, cousin. Some inlaid work and some kinds of porcelain will never -be made again, just as there will never be another Raphael, nor -Titian, nor Rembrandt, nor Van Eyck, nor Cranach. . . . Well, now! -there are the Chinese; they are very ingenious, very clever; they make -modern copies of their 'grand mandarin' porcelain, as it is called. -But a pair of vases of genuine 'grand mandarin' vases of the largest -size, are worth, six, eight, and ten thousand francs, while you can -buy the modern replicas for a couple of hundred!" - -"You are joking." - -"You are astonished at the prices, but that is nothing, cousin. A -dinner service of Sevres _pate tendre_ (and _pate tendre_ is not -porcelain)--a complete dinner service of Sevres _pate tendre_ for -twelve persons is not merely worth a hundred thousand francs, but that -is the price charged on the invoice. Such a dinner-service cost -fifteen thousand francs at Sevres in 1750; I have seen the original -invoices." - -"But let us go back to this fan," said Cecile. Evidently in her -opinion the trinket was an old-fashioned thing. - -"You can understand that as soon as your dear mamma did me the honor -of asking for a fan, I went round of all the curiosity shops in Paris, -but I found nothing fine enough. I wanted nothing less than a -masterpiece for the dear Presidente, and thought of giving her one -that once belonged to Marie Antoinette, the most beautiful of all -celebrated fans. But yesterday I was dazzled by this divine -_chef-d'oeuvre_, which certainly must have been ordered by Louis XV. -himself. Do you ask how I came to look for fans in the Rue de Lappe, -among an Auvergnat's stock of brass and iron and ormolu furniture? -Well, I myself believe that there is an intelligence in works of art; -they know art-lovers, they call to them--'Cht-tt!'" - -Mme. de Marville shrugged her shoulders and looked at her daughter; -Pons did not notice the rapid pantomime. - -"I know all those sharpers," continued Pons, "so I asked him, -'Anything fresh to-day, Daddy Monistrol?'--(for he always lets me look -over his lots before the big buyers come)--and at that he began to -tell me how Lienard, that did such beautiful work for the Government -in the Chapelle de Dreux, had been at the Aulnay sale and rescued the -carved panels out of the clutches of the Paris dealers, while their -heads were running on china and inlaid furniture.--'I did not do much -myself,' he went on, 'but I may make my traveling expenses out of -_this_,' and he showed me a what-not; a marvel! Boucher's designs -executed in marquetry, and with such art!--One could have gone down on -one's knees before it.--'Look, sir,' he said, 'I have just found this -fan in a little drawer; it was locked, I had to force it open. You -might tell me where I can sell it'--and with that he brings out this -little carved cherry-wood box.--'See,' says he, 'it is the kind of -Pompadour that looks like decorated Gothic.'--'Yes,' I told him, 'the -box is pretty; the box might suit me; but as for the fan, Monistrol, I -have no Mme. Pons to give the old trinket to, and they make very -pretty new ones nowadays; you can buy miracles of painting on vellum -cheaply enough. There are two thousand painters in Paris, you know.' ---And I opened out the fan carelessly, keeping down my admiration, -looked indifferently at those two exquisite little pictures, touched -off with an ease fit to send you into raptures. I held Mme. de -Pompadour's fan in my hand! Watteau had done his utmost for this. ---'What do you want for the what-not?'--'Oh! a thousand francs; I have -had a bid already.'--I offered him a price for the fan corresponding -with the probable expenses of the journey. We looked each other in the -eyes, and I saw that I had my man. I put the fan back into the box -lest my Auvergnat should begin to look at it, and went into ecstasies -over the box; indeed, it is a jewel.--'If I take it,' said I, 'it is -for the sake of the box; the box tempts me. As for the what-not, you -will get more than a thousand francs for that. Just see how the brass -is wrought; it is a model. There is business in it. . . . It has never -been copied; it is a unique specimen, made solely for Mme. de -Pompadour'--and so on, till my man, all on fire for his what-not, -forgets the fan, and lets me have it for a mere trifle, because I have -pointed out the beauties of his piece of Riesener's furniture. So here -it is; but it needs a great deal of experience to make such a bargain -as that. It is a duel, eye to eye; and who has such eyes as a Jew or -an Auvergnat?" - -The old artist's wonderful pantomime, his vivid, eager way of telling -the story of the triumph of his shrewdness over the dealer's -ignorance, would have made a subject for a Dutch painter; but it was -all thrown away upon the audience. Mother and daughter exchanged cold, -contemptuous glances.--"What an oddity!" they seemed to say. - -"So it amuses you?" remarked Mme. de Marville. The question sent a -cold chill through Pons; he felt a strong desire to slap the -Presidente. - -"Why, my dear cousin, that is the way to hunt down a work of art. You -are face to face with antagonists that dispute the game with you. It -is craft against craft! A work of art in the hands of a Norman, an -Auvergnat, or a Jew, is like a princess guarded by magicians in a -fairy tale." - -"And how can you tell that this is by Wat--what do you call him?" - -"Watteau, cousin. One of the greatest eighteenth century painters in -France. Look! do you not see that it is his work?" (pointing to a -pastoral scene, court-shepherd swains and shepherdesses dancing in a -ring). "The movement! the life in it! the coloring! There it is--see! ---painted with a stroke of the brush, as a writing-master makes a -flourish with a pen. Not a trace of effort here! And, turn it over, -look!--a ball in a drawing-room. Summer and Winter! And what -ornaments! and how well preserved it is! The hinge-pin is gold, you -see, and on cleaning it, I found a tiny ruby at either side." - -"If it is so, cousin, I could not think of accepting such a valuable -present from you. It would be better to lay up the money for -yourself," said Mme. de Marville; but all the same, she asked no -better than to keep the splendid fan. - -"It is time that it should pass from the service of Vice into the -hands of Virtue," said the good soul, recovering his assurance. "It -has taken a century to work the miracle. No princess at Court, you may -be sure, will have anything to compare with it; for, unfortunately, -men will do more for a Pompadour than for a virtuous queen, such is -human nature." - -"Very well," Mme. de Marville said, laughing, "I will accept your -present.--Cecile, my angel, go to Madeleine and see that dinner is -worthy of your cousin." - -Mme. de Marville wished to make matters even. Her request, made aloud, -in defiance of all rules of good taste, sounded so much like an -attempt to repay at once the balance due to the poor cousin, that Pons -flushed red, like a girl found out in fault. The grain of sand was a -little too large; for some moments he could only let it work in his -heart. Cecile, a red-haired young woman, with a touch of pedantic -affectation, combined her father's ponderous manner with a trace of -her mother's hardness. She went and left poor Pons face to face with -the terrible Presidente. - -"How nice she is, my little Lili!" said the mother. She still called -her Cecile by this baby name. - -"Charming!" said Pons, twirling his thumbs. - -"I _cannot_ understand these times in which we live," broke out the -Presidente. "What is the good of having a President of the Court of -Appeal in Paris and a Commander of the Legion of Honor for your -father, and for a grandfather the richest wholesale silk merchant in -Paris, a deputy, and a millionaire that will be a peer of France some -of these days?" - -The President's zeal for the new Government had, in fact, recently -been rewarded with a commander's ribbon--thanks to his friendship with -Popinot, said the envious. Popinot himself, modest though he was, had, -as has been seen, accepted the title of count, "for his son's sake," -he told his numerous friends. - -"Men look for nothing but money nowadays," said Cousin Pons. "No one -thinks anything of you unless you are rich, and--" - -"What would it have been if Heaven had spared my poor little -Charles!--" cried the lady. - -"Oh, with two children you would be poor," returned the cousin. "It -practically means the division of the property. But you need not -trouble yourself, cousin; Cecile is sure to marry sooner or later. She -is the most accomplished girl I know." - -To such depths had Pons fallen by adapting himself to the company of -his entertainers! In their houses he echoed their ideas, and said the -obvious thing, after the manner of a chorus in a Greek play. He did -not dare to give free play to the artist's originality, which had -overflowed in bright repartee when he was young; he had effaced -himself, till he had almost lost his individuality; and if the real -Pons appeared, as he had done a moment ago, he was immediately -repressed. - -"But I myself was married with only twenty thousand francs for my -portion--" - -"In 1819, cousin. And it was _you_, a woman with a head on your -shoulders, and the royal protection of Louis XVIII." - -"Be still, my child is a perfect angel. She is clever, she has a warm -heart, she will have a hundred thousand francs on her wedding day, to -say nothing of the most brilliant expectations; and yet she stays on -our hands," and so on and so on. For twenty minutes, Mme. de Marville -talked on about herself and her Cecile, pitying herself after the -manner of mothers in bondage to marriageable daughters. - -Pons had dined at the house every week for twenty years, and Camusot -de Marville was the only cousin he had in the world; but he had yet to -hear the first word spoken as to his own affairs--nobody cared to know -how he lived. Here and elsewhere the poor cousin was a kind of sink -down which his relatives poured domestic confidences. His discretion -was well known; indeed, was he not bound over to silence when a single -imprudent word would have shut the door of ten houses upon him? And he -must combine his role of listener with a second part; he must applaud -continually, smile on every one, accuse nobody, defend nobody; from -his point of view, every one must be in the right. And so, in the -house of his kinsman, Pons no longer counted as a man; he was a -digestive apparatus. - -In the course of a long tirade, Mme. Camusot de Marville avowed with -due circumspection that she was prepared to take almost any son-in-law -with her eyes shut. She was even disposed to think that at -eight-and-forty or so a man with twenty thousand francs a year was a -good match. - -"Cecile is in her twenty-third year. If it should fall out so -unfortunately that she is not married before she is five or -six-and-twenty, it will be extremely hard to marry her at all. When a -girl reaches that age, people want to know why she has been so long on -hand. We are a good deal talked about in our set. We have come to the -end of all the ordinary excuses--'She is so young.--She is so fond of -her father and mother that she doesn't like to leave them.--She is so -happy at home.--She is hard to please, she would like a good name--' -We are beginning to look silly; I feel that distinctly. And besides, -Cecile is tired of waiting, poor child, she suffers--" - -"In what way?" Pons was noodle enough to ask. - -"Why, because it is humiliating to her to see all her girl friends -married before her," replied the mother, with a duenna's air. - -"But, cousin, has anything happened since the last time that I had the -pleasure of dining here? Why do you think of men of eight-and-forty?" -Pons inquired humbly. - -"This has happened," returned the Presidente. "We were to have had an -interview with a Court Councillor; his son is thirty years old and -very well-to-do, and M. de Marville would have obtained a post in the -audit-office for him and paid the money. The young man is a -supernumerary there at present. And now they tell us that he has taken -it into his head to rush off to Italy in the train of a duchess from -the Bal Mabille. . . . It is nothing but a refusal in disguise. The -fact is, the young man's mother is dead; he has an income of thirty -thousand francs, and more to come at his father's death, and they -don't care about the match for him. You have just come in in the -middle of all this, dear cousin, so you must excuse our bad temper." - -While Pons was casting about for the complimentary answer which -invariably occurred to him too late when he was afraid of his host, -Madeleine came in, handed a folded note to the Presidente, and waited -for an answer. The note ran as follows: - - "DEAR MAMMA,--If we pretend that this note comes to you from papa - at the Palais, and that he wants us both to dine with his friend - because proposals have been renewed--then the cousin will go, and - we can carry out our plan of going to the Popinots." - -"Who brought the master's note?" the Presidente asked quickly. - -"A lad from the Salle du Palais," the withered waiting woman -unblushingly answered, and her mistress knew at once that Madeleine -had woven the plot with Cecile, now at the end of her patience. - -"Tell him that we will both be there at half-past five." - -Madeleine had no sooner left the room than the Presidente turned to -Cousin Pons with that insincere friendliness which is about as -grateful to a sensitive soul as a mixture of milk and vinegar to the -palate of an epicure. - -"Dinner is ordered, dear cousin; you must dine without us; my husband -has just sent word from the court that the question of the marriage -has been reopened, and we are to dine with the Councillor. We need not -stand on ceremony at all. Do just as if you were at home. I have no -secrets from you; I am perfectly open with you, as you see. I am sure -you would not wish to break off the little darling's marriage." - -"_I_, cousin? On the contrary, I should like to find some one for her; -but in my circle--" - -"Oh, that is not at all likely," said the Presidente, cutting him -short insolently. "Then you will stay, will you not? Cecile will keep -you company while I dress. - -"Oh! I can dine somewhere else, cousin." - -Cruelly hurt though he was by her way of casting up his poverty to -him, the prospect of being left alone with the servants was even more -alarming. - -"But why should you? Dinner is ready; you may just as well have it; if -you do not, the servants will eat it." - -At that atrocious speech Pons started up as if he had received a shock -from a galvanic battery, bowed stiffly to the lady, and went to find -his spencer. Now, it so happened that the door of Cecile's bedroom, -beyond the little drawing-room, stood open, and looking into the -mirror, he caught sight of the girl shaking with laughter as she -gesticulated and made signs to her mother. The old artist understood -beyond a doubt that he had been the victim of some cowardly hoax. Pons -went slowly down the stairs; he could not keep back the tears. He -understood that he had been turned out of the house, but why and -wherefore he did not know. - -"I am growing too old," he told himself. "The world has a horror of -old age and poverty--two ugly things. After this I will not go -anywhere unless I am asked." - -Heroic resolve! - -Downstairs the great gate was shut, as it usually is in houses -occupied by the proprietor; the kitchen stood exactly opposite the -porter's lodge, and the door was open. Pons was obliged to listen -while Madeleine told the servants the whole story amid the laughter of -the servants. She had not expected him to leave so soon. The footman -loudly applauded a joke at the expense of a visitor who was always -coming to the house and never gave you more than three francs at the -year's end. - -"Yes," put in the cook; "but if he cuts up rough and does not come -back, there will be three francs the less for some of us on New Year's -day." - -"Eh! How is he to know?" retorted the footman. - -"Pooh!" said Madeleine, "a little sooner or a little later--what -difference does it make? The people at the other houses where he dines -are so tired of him that they are going to turn him out." - -"The gate, if you please!" - -Madeleine had scarcely uttered the words when they heard the old -musician's call to the porter. It sounded like a cry of pain. There -was a sudden silence in the kitchen. - -"He heard!" the footman said. - -"Well, and if he did, so much the worser, or rather so much the -better," retorted Madeleine. "He is an arrant skinflint." - -Poor Pons had lost none of the talk in the kitchen; he heard it all, -even to the last word. He made his way home along the boulevards, in -the same state, physical and mental, as an old woman after a desperate -struggle with burglars. As he went he talked to himself in quick -spasmodic jerks; his honor had been wounded, and the pain of it drove -him on as a gust of wind whirls away a straw. He found himself at last -in the Boulevard du Temple; how he had come thither he could not tell. -It was five o'clock, and, strange to say, he had completely lost his -appetite. - -But if the reader is to understand the revolution which Pons' -unexpected return at that hour was to work in the Rue de Normandie, -the promised biography of Mme. Cibot must be given in this place. - -Any one passing along the Rue de Normandie might be pardoned for -thinking that he was in some small provincial town. Grass runs to seed -in the street, everybody knows everybody else, and the sight of a -stranger is an event. The houses date back to the reign of Henry IV., -when there was a scheme afoot for a quarter in which every street was -to be named after a French province, and all should converge in a -handsome square to which La France should stand godmother. The -Quartier de l'Europe was a revival of the same idea; history repeats -itself everywhere in the world, and even in the world of speculation. - -The house in which the two musicians used to live is an old mansion -with a courtyard in front and a garden at the back; but the front part -of the house which gives upon the street is comparatively modern, -built during the eighteenth century when the Marais was a fashionable -quarter. The friends lived at the back, on the second floor of the old -part of the house. The whole building belongs to M. Pillerault, an old -man of eighty, who left matters very much in the hands of M. and Mme. -Cibot, his porters for the past twenty-six years. - -Now, as a porter cannot live by his lodge alone, the aforesaid Cibot -had other means of gaining a livelihood; and supplemented his five per -cent on the rental and his faggot from every cartload of wood by his -own earnings as a tailor. In time Cibot ceased to work for the master -tailors; he made a connection among the little trades-people of the -quarter, and enjoyed a monopoly of the repairs, renovations, and fine -drawing of all the coats and trousers in three adjacent streets. The -lodge was spacious and wholesome, and boasted a second room; wherefore -the Cibot couple were looked upon as among the luckiest porters in the -arrondissement. - -Cibot, small and stunted, with a complexion almost olive-colored by -reason of sitting day in day out in Turk-fashion on a table level with -the barred window, made about twelve or fourteen francs a week. He -worked still, though he was fifty-eight years old, but fifty-eight is -the porter's golden age; he is used to his lodge, he and his room fit -each other like the shell and the oyster, and "he is known in the -neighborhood." - -Mme. Cibot, sometime opener of oysters at the _Cadran Bleu_, after all -the adventures which come unsought to the belle of an oyster-bar, left -her post for love of Cibot at the age of twenty-eight. The beauty of a -woman of the people is short-lived, especially if she is planted -espalier fashion at a restaurant door. Her features are hardened by -puffs of hot air from the kitchen; the color of the heeltaps of -customers' bottles, finished in the company of the waiters, gradually -filters into her complexion--no beauty is full blown so soon as the -beauty of an oyster-opener. Luckily for Mme. Cibot, lawful wedlock and -a portress' life were offered to her just in time; while she still -preserved a comeliness of a masculine order slandered by rivals of the -Rue de Normandie, who called her "a great blowsy thing," Mme. Cibot -might have sat as a model to Rubens. Those flesh tints reminded you of -the appetizing sheen on a pat of Isigny butter; but plump as she was, -no woman went about her work with more agility. Mme. Cibot had -attained the time of life when women of her stamp are obliged to shave ---which is as much as to say that she had reached the age of -forty-eight. A porter's wife with a moustache is one of the best -possible guarantees of respectability and security that a landlord can -have. If Delacroix could have seen Mme. Cibot leaning proudly on her -broom handle, he would assuredly have painted her as Bellona. - -Strange as it may seem, the circumstances of the Cibots, man and wife -(in the style of an indictment), were one day to affect the lives of -the two friends; wherefore the chronicler, as in duty bound, must give -some particulars as to the Cibots' lodge. - -The house brought in about eight thousand francs for there were three -complete sets of apartments--back and front, on the side nearest the -Rue de Normandie, as well as the three floors in the older mansion -between the courtyard and the garden, and a shop kept by a marine -store-dealer named Remonencq, which fronted on the street. During the -past few months this Remonencq had begun to deal in old curiosities, -and knew the value of Pons' collection so well that he took off his -hat whenever the musician came in or went out. - -A sou in the livre on eight thousand francs therefore brought in about -four hundred francs to the Cibots. They had no rent to pay and no -expenses for firing; Cibot's earnings amounted on an average to seven -or eight hundred francs, add tips at New Year, and the pair had -altogether in income of sixteen hundred francs, every penny of which -they spent, for the Cibots lived and fared better than working people -usually do. "One can only live once," La Cibot used to say. She was -born during the Revolution, you see, and had never learned her -Catechism. - -The husband of this portress with the unblenching tawny eyes was an -object of envy to the whole fraternity, for La Cibot had not forgotten -the knowledge of cookery picked up at the _Cadran Bleu_. So it had -come to pass that the Cibots had passed the prime of life, and saw -themselves on the threshold of old age without a hundred francs put by -for the future. Well clad and well fed, they enjoyed among the -neighbors, it is true, the respect due to twenty-six years of strict -honesty; for if they had nothing of their own, they "hadn't nothing -belonging to nobody else," according to La Cibot, who was a prodigal -of negatives. "There wasn't never such a love of a man," she would say -to her husband. Do you ask why? You might as well ask the reason of -her indifference in matters of religion. - -Both of them were proud of a life lived in open day, of the esteem in -which they were held for six or seven streets round about, and of the -autocratic rule permitted to them by the proprietor ("perprietor," -they called him); but in private they groaned because they had no -money lying at interest. Cibot complained of pains in his hands and -legs, and his wife would lament that her poor, dear Cibot should be -forced to work at his age; and, indeed, the day is not far distant -when a porter after thirty years of such a life will cry shame upon -the injustice of the Government and clamor for the ribbon of the -Legion of Honor. Every time that the gossip of the quarter brought -news of such and such a servant-maid, left an annuity of three or four -hundred francs after eight or ten years of service, the porters' -lodges would resound with complaints, which may give some idea of the -consuming jealousies in the lowest walks of life in Paris. - -"Oh, indeed! It will never happen to the like of us to have our names -mentioned in a will! We have no luck, but we do more than servants, -for all that. We fill a place of trust; we give receipts, we are on -the lookout for squalls, and yet we are treated like dogs, neither -more nor less, and that's the truth!" - -"Some find fortune and some miss fortune," said Cibot, coming in with -a coat. - -"If I had left Cibot here in his lodge and taken a place as cook, we -should have our thirty thousand francs out at interest," cried Mme. -Cibot, standing chatting with a neighbor, her hands on her prominent -hips. "But I didn't understand how to get on in life; housed inside of -a snug lodge and firing found and want for nothing, but that is all." - -In 1836, when the friends took up their abode on the second floor, -they brought about a sort of revolution in the Cibot household. It -befell on this wise. Schmucke, like his friend Pons, usually arranged -that the porter or the porter's wife should undertake the cares of -housekeeping; and being both of one mind on this point when they came -to live in the Rue de Normandie, Mme. Cibot became their housekeeper -at the rate of twenty-five francs per month--twelve francs fifty -centimes for each of them. Before the year was out, the emeritus -portress reigned in the establishment of the two old bachelors, as she -reigned everywhere in the house belonging to M. Pillerault, great -uncle of Mme. le Comtesse Popinot. Their business was her business; -she called them "my gentlemen." And at last, finding the pair of -nutcrackers as mild as lambs, easy to live with, and by no means -suspicious--perfect children, in fact--her heart, the heart of a woman -of the people, prompted her to protect, adore, and serve them with -such thorough devotion, that she read them a lecture now and again, -and saved them from the impositions which swell the cost of living in -Paris. For twenty-five francs a month, the two old bachelors -inadvertently acquired a mother. - -As they became aware of Mme. Cibot's full value, they gave her -outspoken praises, and thanks, and little presents which strengthened -the bonds of the domestic alliance. Mme. Cibot a thousand times -preferred appreciation to money payments; it is a well-known fact that -the sense that one is appreciated makes up for a deficiency in wages. -And Cibot did all that he could for his wife's two gentlemen, and ran -errands and did repairs at half-price for them. - -The second year brought a new element into the friendship between the -lodge and the second floor, and Schmucke concluded a bargain which -satisfied his indolence and desire for a life without cares. For -thirty sous per day, or forty-five francs per month, Mme. Cibot -undertook to provide Schmucke with breakfast and dinner; and Pons, -finding his friend's breakfast very much to his mind, concluded a -separate treaty for that meal only at the rate of eighteen francs. -This arrangement, which added nearly ninety francs every month to the -takings of the porter and his wife, made two inviolable beings of the -lodgers; they became angels, cherubs, divinities. It is very doubtful -whether the King of the French, who is supposed to understand economy, -is as well served as the pair of nutcrackers used to be in those days. - -For them the milk issued pure from the can; they enjoyed a free -perusal of all the morning papers taken by other lodgers, later -risers, who were told, if need be, that the newspapers had not come -yet. Mme. Cibot, moreover, kept their clothes, their rooms, and the -landing as clean as a Flemish interior. As for Schmucke, he enjoyed -unhoped-for happiness; Mme. Cibot had made life easy for him; he paid -her about six francs a month, and she took charge of his linen, -washing, and mending. Altogether, his expenses amounted to sixty-six -francs per month (for he spent fifteen francs on tobacco), and -sixty-six francs multiplied by twelve produces the sum total of seven -hundred and ninety-two francs. Add two hundred and twenty francs for -rent, rates, and taxes, and you have a thousand and twelve francs. -Cibot was Schmucke's tailor; his clothes cost him on average a hundred -and fifty francs, which further swells the total to the sum of twelve -hundred. On twelve hundred francs per annum this profound philosopher -lived. How many people in Europe, whose one thought it is to come to -Paris and live there, will be agreeably surprised to learn that you -may exist in comfort upon an income of twelve hundred francs in the -Rue de Normandie in the Marais, under the wing of a Mme. Cibot. - -Mme. Cibot, to resume the story, was amazed beyond expression to see -Pons, good man, return at five o'clock in the evening. Such a thing -had never happened before; and not only so, but "her gentleman" had -given her no greeting--had not so much as seen her! - -"Well, well, Cibot," said she to her spouse, "M. Pons has come in for -a million, or gone out of his mind!" - -"That is how it looks to me," said Cibot, dropping the coat-sleeve in -which he was making a "dart," in tailor's language. - -The savory odor of a stew pervaded the whole courtyard, as Pons -returned mechanically home. Mme. Cibot was dishing up Schmucke's -dinner, which consisted of scraps of boiled beef from a little -cook-shop not above doing a little trade of this kind. These morsels -were fricasseed in brown butter, with thin slices of onion, until the -meat and vegetables had absorbed the gravy and this true porter's dish -was browned to the right degree. With that fricassee, prepared with -loving care for Cibot and Schmucke, and accompanied by a bottle of beer -and a piece of cheese, the old German music-master was quite content. -Not King Solomon in all his glory, be sure, could dine better than -Schmucke. A dish of boiled beef fricasseed with onions, scraps of -_saute_ chicken, or beef and parsley, or venison, or fish served with -a sauce of La Cibot's own invention (a sauce with which a mother might -unsuspectingly eat her child),--such was Schmucke's ordinary, varying -with the quantity and quality of the remnants of food supplied by -boulevard restaurants to the cook-shop in the Rue Boucherat. Schmucke -took everything that "goot Montame Zipod" gave him, and was content, -and so from day to day "goot Montame Zipod" cut down the cost of his -dinner, until it could be served for twenty sous. - -"It won't be long afore I find out what is the matter with him, poor -dear," said Mme. Cibot to her husband, "for here is M. Schmucke's -dinner all ready for him." - -As she spoke she covered the deep earthenware dish with a plate; and, -notwithstanding her age, she climbed the stair and reached the door -before Schmucke opened it to Pons. - -"Vat is de matter mit you, mein goot friend?" asked the German, scared -by the expression of Pons' face. - -"I will tell you all about it; but I have come home to have dinner -with you--" - -"Tinner! tinner!" cried Schmucke in ecstasy; "but it is impossible!" -the old German added, as he thought of his friend's gastronomical -tastes; and at that very moment he caught sight of Mme. Cibot -listening to the conversation, as she had a right to do as his lawful -housewife. Struck with one of those happy inspirations which only -enlighten a friend's heart, he marched up to the portress and drew her -out to the stairhead. - -"Montame Zipod," he said, "der goot Pons is fond of goot dings; shoost -go rount to der _Catran Pleu_ und order a dainty liddle tinner, mit -anjovies und maggaroni. Ein tinner for Lugullus, in vact." - -"What is that?" inquired La Cibot. - -"Oh! ah!" returned Schmucke, "it is veal _a la pourcheoise_" -(_bourgeoise_, he meant), "a nice fisch, ein pottle off Porteaux, und -nice dings, der fery best dey haf, like groquettes of rice und shmoked -pacon! Bay for it, und say nodings; I vill gif you back de monny -to-morrow morning." - -Back went Schmucke, radiant and rubbing his hands; but his expression -slowly changed to a look of bewildered astonishment as he heard Pons' -story of the troubles that had but just now overwhelmed him in a -moment. He tried to comfort Pons by giving him a sketch of the world -from his own point of view. Paris, in his opinion, was a perpetual -hurly-burly, the men and women in it were whirled away by a -tempestuous waltz; it was no use expecting anything of the world, -which only looked at the outsides of things, "und not at der -inderior." For the hundredth time he related how that the only three -pupils for whom he had really cared, for whom he was ready to die, the -three who had been fond of him, and even allowed him a little pension -of nine hundred francs, each contributing three hundred to the amount ---his favorite pupils had quite forgotten to come to see him; and so -swift was the current of Parisian life which swept them away, that if -he called at their houses, he had not succeeded in seeing them once in -three years--(it is a fact, however, that Schmucke had always thought -fit to call on these great ladies at ten o'clock in the morning!) ---still, his pension was paid quarterly through the medium of -solicitors. - -"Und yet, dey are hearts of gold," he concluded. "Dey are my liddle -Saint Cecilias, sharming vimmen, Montame de Bordentuere, Montame de -Fantenesse, und Montame du Dilet. Gif I see dem at all, it is at die -Jambs Elusees, und dey do not see me . . . yet dey are ver' fond of -me, und I might go to dine mit dem, und dey vould be ver' bleased to -see me; und I might go to deir country-houses, but I vould much rader -be mit mine friend Bons, because I kann see him venefer I like, und -efery tay." - -Pons took Schmucke's hand and grasped it between his own. All that was -passing in his inmost soul was communicated in that tight pressure. -And so for awhile the friends sat like two lovers, meeting at last -after a long absence. - -"Tine here, efery tay!" broke out Schmucke, inwardly blessing Mme. de -Marville for her hardness of heart. "Look here! Ve shall go a -prick-a-pracking togeders, und der teufel shall nefer show his tail -here." - -"Ve shall go prick-a-pracking togeders!" for the full comprehension of -those truly heroic words, it must be confessed that Schmucke's -ignorance of bric-a-brac was something of the densest. It required all -the strength of his friendship to keep him from doing heedless damage -in the sitting-room and study which did duty as a museum for Pons. -Schmucke, wholly absorbed in music, a composer for love of his art, -took about as much interest in his friend's little trifles as a fish -might take in a flower-show at the Luxembourg, supposing that it had -received a ticket of admission. A certain awe which he certainly felt -for the marvels was simply a reflection of the respect which Pons -showed his treasures when he dusted them. To Pons' exclamations of -admiration, he was wont to reply with a "Yes, it is ver' bretty," as a -mother answers baby-gestures with meaningless baby-talk. Seven times -since the friends had lived together, Pons had exchanged a good clock -for a better one, till at last he possessed a timepiece in Boule's -first and best manner, for Boule had two manners, as Raphael had -three. In the first he combined ebony and copper; in the second ---contrary to his convictions--he sacrificed to tortoise-shell inlaid -work. In spite of Pons' learned dissertations, Schmucke never could -see the slightest difference between the magnificent clock in Boule's -first manner and its six predecessors; but, for Pons' sake, Schmucke -was even more careful among the "chimcracks" than Pons himself. So it -should not be surprising that Schmucke's sublime words comforted Pons -in his despair; for "Ve shall go prick-a-pracking togeders," meant, -being interpreted, "I will put money into bric-a-brac, if you will -only dine here." - -"Dinner is ready," Mme. Cibot announced, with astonishing -self-possession. - -It is not difficult to imagine Pons' surprise when he saw and relished -the dinner due to Schmucke's friendship. Sensations of this kind, that -came so rarely in a lifetime, are never the outcome of the constant, -close relationship by which friend daily says to friend, "You are a -second self to me"; for this, too, becomes a matter of use and wont. -It is only by contact with the barbarism of the world without that the -happiness of that intimate life is revealed to us as a sudden glad -surprise. It is the outer world which renews the bond between friend -and friend, lover and lover, all their lives long, wherever two great -souls are knit together by friendship or by love. - -Pons brushed away two big tears, Schmucke himself wiped his eyes; and -though nothing was said, the two were closer friends than before. -Little friendly nods and glances exchanged across the table were like -balm to Pons, soothing the pain caused by the sand dropped in his -heart by the President's wife. As for Schmucke, he rubbed his hands -till they were sore; for a new idea had occurred to him, one of those -great discoveries which cause a German no surprise, unless they sprout -up suddenly in a Teuton brain frost-bound by the awe and reverence due -to sovereign princes. - -"Mine goot Bons?" began Schmucke. - -"I can guess what you mean; you would like us both to dine together -here, every day--" - -"Gif only I vas rich enof to lif like dis efery tay--" began the good -German in a melancholy voice. But here Mme. Cibot appeared upon the -scene. Pons had given her an order for the theatre from time to time, -and stood in consequence almost as high in her esteem and affection as -her boarder Schmucke. - -"Lord love you," said she, "for three francs and wine extra I can give -you both such a dinner every day that you will be ready to lick the -plates as clean as if they were washed." - -"It is a fact," Schmucke remarked, "dat die dinners dat Montame Zipod -cooks for me are better as de messes dey eat at der royal dable!" In -his eagerness, Schmucke, usually so full of respect for the powers -that be, so far forgot himself as to imitate the irreverent newspapers -which scoffed at the "fixed-price" dinners of Royalty. - -"Really?" said Pons. "Very well, I will try to-morrow." - -And at that promise Schmucke sprang from one end of the table to the -other, sweeping off tablecloth, bottles, and dishes as he went, and -hugged Pons to his heart. So might gas rush to combine with gas. - -"Vat happiness!" cried he. - -Mme. Cibot was quite touched. "Monsieur is going to dine here every -day!" she cried proudly. - -That excellent woman departed downstairs again in ignorance of the -event which had brought about this result, entered her room like -Josepha in _William Tell_, set down the plates and dishes on the table -with a bang, and called aloud to her husband: - -"Cibot! run to the _Cafe Turc_ for two small cups of coffee, and tell -the man at the stove that it is for me." - -Then she sat down and rested her hands on her massive knees, and gazed -out of the window at the opposite wall. - -"I will go to-night and see what Ma'am Fontaine says," she thought. -(Madame Fontaine told fortunes on the cards for all the servants in -the quarter of the Marais.) "Since these two gentlemen came here, we -have put two thousand francs in the savings bank. Two thousand francs -in eight years! What luck! Would it be better to make no profit out of -M. Pons' dinner and keep him here at home? Ma'am Fontaine's hen will -tell me that." - -Three years ago Mme. Cibot had begun to cherish a hope that her name -might be mentioned in "her gentlemen's" wills; she had redoubled her -zeal since that covetous thought tardily sprouted up in the midst of -that so honest moustache. Pons hitherto had dined abroad, eluding her -desire to have both of "her gentlemen" entirely under her management; -his "troubadour" collector's life had scared away certain vague ideas -which hovered in La Cibot's brain; but now her shadowy projects -assumed the formidable shape of a definite plan, dating from that -memorable dinner. Fifteen minutes later she reappeared in the -dining-room with two cups of excellent coffee, flanked by a couple of -tiny glasses of _kirschwasser_. - -"Long lif Montame Zipod!" cried Schmucke; "she haf guessed right!" - -The diner-out bemoaned himself a little, while Schmucke met his -lamentations with coaxing fondness, like a home pigeon welcoming back -a wandering bird. Then the pair set out for the theatre. - -Schmucke could not leave his friend in the condition to which he had -been brought by the Camusots--mistresses and servants. He knew Pons so -well; he feared lest some cruel, sad thought should seize on him at -his conductor's desk, and undo all the good done by his welcome home -to the nest. - -And Schmucke brought his friend back on his arm through the streets at -midnight. A lover could not be more careful of his lady. He pointed -out the edges of the curbstones, he was on the lookout whenever they -stepped on or off the pavement, ready with a warning if there was a -gutter to cross. Schmucke could have wished that the streets were -paved with cotton-down; he would have had a blue sky overhead, and -Pons should hear the music which all the angels in heaven were making -for him. He had won the lost province in his friend's heart! - -For nearly three months Pons and Schmucke dined together every day. -Pons was obliged to retrench at once; for dinner at forty-five francs -a month and wine at thirty-five meant precisely eighty francs less to -spend on bric-a-brac. And very soon, in spite of all that Schmucke -could do, in spite of his little German jokes, Pons fell to regretting -the delicate dishes, the liqueurs, the good coffee, the table talk, -the insincere politeness, the guests, and the gossip, and the houses -where he used to dine. On the wrong side of sixty a man cannot break -himself of a habit of thirty-six years' growth. Wine at a hundred and -thirty francs per hogshead is scarcely a generous liquid in a -_gourmet's_ glass; every time that Pons raised it to his lips he -thought, with infinite regret, of the exquisite wines in his -entertainers' cellars. - -In short, at the end of three months, the cruel pangs which had gone -near to break Pons' sensitive heart had died away; he forgot -everything but the charms of society; and languished for them like -some elderly slave of a petticoat compelled to leave the mistress who -too repeatedly deceives him. In vain he tried to hide his profound and -consuming melancholy; it was too plain that he was suffering from one -of the mysterious complaints which the mind brings upon the body. - -A single symptom will throw light upon this case of nostalgia (as it -were) produced by breaking away from an old habit; in itself it is -trifling, one of the myriad nothings which are as rings in a coat of -chain-mail enveloping the soul in a network of iron. One of the -keenest pleasures of Pons' old life, one of the joys of the -dinner-table parasite at all times, was the "surprise," the thrill -produced by the extra dainty dish added triumphantly to the bill of -fare by the mistress of a bourgeois house, to give a festal air to the -dinner. Pons' stomach hankered after that gastronomical satisfaction. -Mme. Cibot, in the pride of her heart, enumerated every dish beforehand; -a salt and savor once periodically recurrent, had vanished utterly from -daily life. Dinner proceeded without _le plat couvert_, as our -grandsires called it. This lay beyond the bounds of Schmucke's powers -of comprehension. - -Pons had too much delicacy to grumble; but if the case of -unappreciated genius is hard, it goes harder still with the stomach -whose claims are ignored. Slighted affection, a subject of which too -much has been made, is founded upon an illusory longing; for if the -creature fails, love can turn to the Creator who has treasures to -bestow. But the stomach! . . . Nothing can be compared to its -sufferings; for, in the first place, one must live. - -Pons thought wistfully of certain creams--surely the poetry of -cookery!--of certain white sauces, masterpieces of the art; of -truffled chickens, fit to melt your heart; and above these, and more -than all these, of the famous Rhine carp, only known at Paris, served -with what condiments! There were days when Pons, thinking upon Count -Popinot's cook, would sigh aloud, "Ah, Sophie!" Any passer-by hearing -the exclamation might have thought that the old man referred to a lost -mistress; but his fancy dwelt upon something rarer, on a fat Rhine -carp with a sauce, thin in the sauce-boat, creamy upon the palate, a -sauce that deserved the Montyon prize! The conductor of the orchestra, -living on memories of past dinners, grew visibly leaner; he was pining -away, a victim to gastric nostalgia. - -By the beginning of the fourth month (towards the end of January, -1845), Pons' condition attracted attention at the theatre. The flute, -a young man named Wilhelm, like almost all Germans; and Schwab, to -distinguish him from all other Wilhelms, if not from all other -Schwabs, judged it expedient to open Schmucke's eyes to his friend's -state of health. It was a first performance of a piece in which -Schmucke's instruments were all required. - -"The old gentleman is failing," said the flute; "there is something -wrong somewhere; his eyes are heavy, and he doesn't beat time as he -used to do," added Wilhelm Schwab, indicating Pons as he gloomily took -his place. - -"Dat is alvays de vay, gif a man is sixty years old," answered -Schmucke. - -The Highland widow, in _The Chronicles of the Canongate_, sent her son -to his death to have him beside her for twenty-four hours; and -Schmucke could have sacrificed Pons for the sake of seeing his face -every day across the dinner-table. - -"Everybody in the theatre is anxious about him," continued the flute; -"and, as the _premiere danseuse_, Mlle. Brisetout, says, 'he makes -hardly any noise now when he blows his nose.'" - -And, indeed, a peal like a blast of a horn used to resound through the -old musician's bandana handkerchief whenever he raised it to that -lengthy and cavernous feature. The President's wife had more -frequently found fault with him on that score than on any other. - -"I vould gif a goot teal to amuse him," said Schmucke, "he gets so -dull." - -"M. Pons always seems so much above the like of us poor devils, that, -upon my word, I didn't dare to ask him to my wedding," said Wilhelm -Schwab. "I am going to be married--" - -"How?" demanded Schmucke. - -"Oh! quite properly," returned Wilhelm Schwab, taking Schmucke's -quaint inquiry for a gibe, of which that perfect Christian was quite -incapable. - -"Come, gentlemen, take your places!" called Pons, looking round at his -little army, as the stage manager's bell rang for the overture. - -The piece was a dramatized fairy tale, a pantomime called _The Devil's -Betrothed_, which ran for two hundred nights. In the interval, after -the first act, Wilhelm Schwab and Schmucke were left alone in the -orchestra, with a house at a temperature of thirty-two degrees -Reaumur. - -"Tell me your hishdory," said Schmucke. - -"Look there! Do you see that young man in the box yonder? . . . Do you -recognize him?" - -"Nefer a pit--" - -"Ah! That is because he is wearing yellow gloves and shines with all -the radiance of riches, but that is my friend Fritz Brunner out of -Frankfort-on-the-Main." - -"Dat used to komm to see du blav und sit peside you in der orghestra?" - -"The same. You would not believe he could look so different, would -you?" - -The hero of the promised story was a German of that particular type in -which the sombre irony of Goethe's Mephistopheles is blended with a -homely cheerfulness found in the romances of August Lafontaine of -pacific memory; but the predominating element in the compound of -artlessness and guile, of shopkeeper's shrewdness, and the studied -carelessness of a member of the Jockey Club, was that form of disgust -which set a pistol in the hands of a young Werther, bored to death -less by Charlotte than by German princes. It was a thoroughly German -face, full of cunning, full of simplicity, stupidity, and courage; the -knowledge which brings weariness, the worldly wisdom which the veriest -child's trick leaves at fault, the abuse of beer and tobacco,--all -these were there to be seen in it, and to heighten the contrast of -opposed qualities, there was a wild diabolical gleam in the fine blue -eyes with the jaded expression. - -Dressed with all the elegance of a city man, Fritz Brunner sat in full -view of the house displaying a bald crown of the tint beloved by -Titian, and a few stray fiery red hairs on either side of it; a -remnant spared by debauchery and want, that the prodigal might have a -right to spend money with the hairdresser when he should come into his -fortune. A face, once fair and fresh as the traditional portrait of -Jesus Christ, had grown harder since the advent of a red moustache; a -tawny beard lent it an almost sinister look. The bright blue eyes had -lost something of their clearness in the struggle with distress. The -countless courses by which a man sells himself and his honor in Paris -had left their traces upon his eyelids and carved lines about the -eyes, into which a mother once looked with a mother's rapture to find -a copy of her own fashioned by God's hand. - -This precocious philosopher, this wizened youth was the work of a -stepmother. - -Herewith begins the curious history of a prodigal son of -Frankfort-on-the-Main--the most extraordinary and astounding portent -ever beheld by that well-conducted, if central, city. - -Gideon Brunner, father of the aforesaid Fritz, was one of the famous -innkeepers of Frankfort, a tribe who make law-authorized incisions in -travelers' purses with the connivance of the local bankers. An -innkeeper and an honest Calvinist to boot, he had married a converted -Jewess and laid the foundations of his prosperity with the money she -brought him. - -When the Jewess died, leaving a son Fritz, twelve years of age, under -the joint guardianship of his father and maternal uncle, a furrier at -Leipsic, head of the firm of Virlaz and Company, Brunner senior was -compelled by his brother-in-law (who was by no means as soft as his -peltry) to invest little Fritz's money, a goodly quantity of current -coin of the realm, with the house of Al-Sartchild. Not a penny of it -was he allowed to touch. So, by way of revenge for the Israelite's -pertinacity, Brunner senior married again. It was impossible, he said, -to keep his huge hotel single-handed; it needed a woman's eye and -hand. Gideon Brunner's second wife was an innkeeper's daughter, a very -pearl, as he thought; but he had had no experience of only daughters -spoiled by father and mother. - -The second Mme. Brunner behaved as German girls may be expected to -behave when they are frivolous and wayward. She squandered her -fortune, she avenged the first Mme. Brunner by making her husband as -miserable a man as you could find in the compass of the free city of -Frankfort-on-the-Main, where the millionaires, it is said, are about -to pass a law compelling womankind to cherish and obey them alone. She -was partial to all the varieties of vinegar commonly called Rhine wine -in Germany; she was fond of _articles Paris_, of horses and dress; -indeed, the one expensive taste which she had not was a liking for -women. She took a dislike to little Fritz, and would perhaps have -driven him mad if that young offspring of Calvinism and Judaism had -not had Frankfort for his cradle and the firm of Virlaz at Leipsic for -his guardian. Uncle Virlaz, however, deep in his furs, confined his -guardianship to the safe-keeping of Fritz's silver marks, and left the -boy to the tender mercies of this stepmother. - -That hyena in woman's form was the more exasperated against the pretty -child, the lovely Jewess' son, because she herself could have no -children in spite of efforts worthy of a locomotive engine. A -diabolical impulse prompted her to plunge her young stepson, at -twenty-one years of age, into dissipations contrary to all German -habits. The wicked German hoped that English horses, Rhine vinegar, -and Goethe's Marguerites would ruin the Jewess' child and shorten his -days; for when Fritz came of age, Uncle Virlaz had handed over a very -pretty fortune to his nephew. But while roulette at Baden and -elsewhere, and boon companions (Wilhelm Schwab among them) devoured -the substance accumulated by Uncle Virlaz, the prodigal son himself -remained by the will of Providence to point a moral to younger -brothers in the free city of Frankfort; parents held him up as a -warning and an awful example to their offspring to scare them into -steady attendance in their cast-iron counting houses, lined with -silver marks. - -But so far from perishing in the flower of his age, Fritz Brunner had -the pleasure of laying his stepmother in one of those charming little -German cemeteries, in which the Teuton indulges his unbridled passion -for horticulture under the specious pretext of honoring his dead. And -as the second Mme. Brunner expired while the authors of her being were -yet alive, Brunner senior was obliged to bear the loss of the sums of -which his wife had drained his coffers, to say nothing of other ills, -which had told upon a Herculean constitution, till at the age of -sixty-seven the innkeeper had wizened and shrunk as if the famous -Borgia's poison had undermined his system. For ten whole years he had -supported his wife, and now he inherited nothing! The innkeeper was a -second ruin of Heidelberg, repaired continually, it is true, by -travelers' hotel bills, much as the remains of the castle of -Heidelberg itself are repaired to sustain the enthusiasm of the -tourists who flock to see so fine and well-preserved a relic of -antiquity. - -At Frankfort the disappointment caused as much talk as a failure. -People pointed out Brunner, saying, "See what a man may come to with a -bad wife that leaves him nothing and a son brought up in the French -fashion." - -In Italy and Germany the French nation is the root of all evil, the -target for all bullets. "But the god pursuing his way----" (For the -rest, see Lefranc de Pompignan's Ode.) - -The wrath of the proprietor of the Grand Hotel de Hollande fell on -others besides the travelers, whose bills were swelled with his -resentment. When his son was utterly ruined, Gideon, regarding him as -the indirect cause of all his misfortunes, refused him bread and salt, -fire, lodging, and tobacco--the force of the paternal malediction in a -German and an innkeeper could no farther go. Whereupon the local -authorities, making no allowance for the father's misdeeds, regarded -him as one of the most ill-used persons in Frankfort-on-the-Main, came -to his assistance, fastened a quarrel on Fritz (_une querelle -d'Allemand_), and expelled him from the territory of the free city. -Justice in Frankfort is no whit wiser nor more humane than elsewhere, -albeit the city is the seat of the German Diet. It is not often that a -magistrate traces back the stream of wrongdoing and misfortune to the -holder of the urn from which the first beginnings trickled forth. If -Brunner forgot his son, his son's friends speedily followed the old -innkeeper's example. - -Ah! if the journalists, the dandies, and some few fair Parisians among -the audience wondered how that German with the tragical countenance -had cropped up on a first night to occupy a side box all to himself -when fashionable Paris filled the house,--if these could have seen the -history played out upon the stage before the prompter's box, they -would have found it far more interesting than the transformation -scenes of _The Devil's Betrothed_, though indeed it was the two -hundred thousandth representation of a sublime allegory performed -aforetime in Mesopotamia three thousand years before Christ was born. - -Fritz betook himself on foot to Strasbourg, and there found what the -prodigal son of the Bible failed to find--to wit, a friend. And herein -is revealed the superiority of Alsace, where so many generous hearts -beat to show Germany the beauty of a combination of Gallic wit and -Teutonic solidity. Wilhelm Schwab, but lately left in possession of a -hundred thousand francs by the death of both parents, opened his arms, -his heart, his house, his purse to Fritz. As for describing Fritz's -feelings, when dusty, down on his luck, and almost like a leper, he -crossed the Rhine and found a real twenty-franc piece held out by the -hand of a real friend,--that moment transcends the powers of the prose -writer; Pindar alone could give it forth to humanity in Greek that -should rekindle the dying warmth of friendship in the world. - -Put the names of Fritz and Wilheim beside those of Damon and Pythias, -Castor and Pollux, Orestes and Pylades, Dubreuil and Pmejah, Schmucke -and Pons, and all the names that we imagine for the two friends of -Monomotapa, for La Fontaine (man of genius though he was) has made of -them two disembodied spirits--they lack reality. The two new names may -join the illustrious company, and with so much the more reason, since -that Wilhelm who had helped to drink Fritz's inheritance now -proceeded, with Fritz's assistance, to devour his own substance; -smoking, needless to say, every known variety of tobacco. - -The pair, strange to relate, squandered the property in the dullest, -stupidest, most commonplace fashion, in Strasbourg _brasseries_, in -the company of ballet-girls of the Strasbourg theatres, and little -Alsaciennes who had not a rag of a tattered reputation left. - -Every morning they would say, "We really must stop this, and make up -our minds and do something or other with the money that is left." - -"Pooh!" Fritz would retort, "just one more day, and to-morrow" . . . -ah! to-morrow. - -In the lives of Prodigal Sons, _To-day_ is a prodigious coxcomb, but -_To-morrow_ is a very poltroon, taking fright at the big words of his -predecessor. _To-day_ is the truculent captain of old world comedy, -_To-morrow_ the clown of modern pantomime. - -When the two friends had reached their last thousand-franc note, they -took places in the mail-coach, styled Royal, and departed for Paris, -where they installed themselves in the attics of the Hotel du Rhin, in -the Rue du Mail, the property of one Graff, formerly Gideon Brunner's -head-waiter. Fritz found a situation as clerk in the Kellers' bank (on -Graff's recommendation), with a salary of six hundred francs. And a -place as book-keeper was likewise found for Wilhelm, in the business -of Graff the fashionable tailor, brother of Graff of the Hotel du -Rhin, who found the scantily-paid employment for the pair of -prodigals, for the sake of old times, and his apprenticeship at the -Hotel de Hollande. These two incidents--the recognition of a ruined -man by a well-to-do friend, and a German innkeeper interesting himself -in two penniless fellow-countrymen--give, no doubt, an air of -improbability to the story, but truth is so much the more like -fiction, since modern writers of fiction have been at such untold -pains to imitate truth. - -It was not long before Fritz, a clerk with six hundred francs, and -Wilhelm, a book-keeper with precisely the same salary, discovered the -difficulties of existence in a city so full of temptations. In 1837, -the second year of their abode, Wilhelm, who possessed a pretty talent -for the flute, entered Pons' orchestra, to earn a little occasional -butter to put on his dry bread. As to Fritz, his only way to an -increase of income lay through the display of the capacity for -business inherited by a descendant of the Virlaz family. Yet, in spite -of his assiduity, in spite of abilities which possibly may have stood -in his way, his salary only reached the sum of two thousand francs in -1843. Penury, that divine stepmother, did for the two men all that -their mothers had not been able to do for them; Poverty taught them -thrift and worldly wisdom; Poverty gave them her grand rough -education, the lessons which she drives with hard knocks into the -heads of great men, who seldom know a happy childhood. Fritz and -Wilhelm, being but ordinary men, learned as little as they possibly -could in her school; they dodged the blows, shrank from her hard -breast and bony arms, and never discovered the good fairy lurking -within, ready to yield to the caresses of genius. One thing, however, -they learned thoroughly--they discovered the value of money, and vowed -to clip the wings of riches if ever a second fortune should come to -their door. - -This was the history which Wilhelm Schwab related in German, at much -greater length, to his friend the pianist, ending with; - -"Well, Papa Schmucke, the rest is soon explained. Old Brunner is dead. -He left four millions! He made an immense amount of money out of Baden -railways, though neither his son nor M. Graff, with whom we lodge, had -any idea that the old man was one of the original shareholders. I am -playing the flute here for the last time this evening; I would have -left some days ago, but this was a first performance, and I did not -want to spoil my part." - -"Goot, mine friend," said Schmucke. "But who is die prite?" - -"She is Mlle. Graff, the daughter of our host, the landlord of the -Hotel du Rhin. I have loved Mlle. Emilie these seven years; she has -read so many immoral novels, that she refused all offers for me, -without knowing what might come of it. She will be a very wealthy -young lady; her uncles, the tailors in the Rue de Richelieu, will -leave her all their money. Fritz is giving me the money we squandered -at Strasbourg five times over! He is putting a million francs in a -banking house, M. Graff the tailor is adding another five hundred -thousand francs, and Mlle. Emilie's father not only allows me to -incorporate her portion--two hundred and fifty thousand francs--with -the capital, but he himself will be a shareholder with as much again. -So the firm of Brunner, Schwab and Company will start with two -millions five hundred thousand francs. Fritz has just bought fifteen -hundred thousand francs' worth of shares in the Bank of France to -guarantee our account with them. That is not all Fritz's fortune. He -has his father's house property, supposed to be worth another million, -and he has let the Grand Hotel de Hollande already to a cousin of the -Graffs." - -"You look sad ven you look at your friend," remarked Schmucke, who had -listened with great interest. "Kann you pe chealous of him?" - -"I am jealous for Fritz's happiness," said Wilhelm. "Does that face -look as if it belonged to a happy man? I am afraid of Paris; I should -like to see him do as I am doing. The old tempter may awake again. Of -our two heads, his carries the less ballast. His dress, and the -opera-glass and the rest of it make me anxious. He keeps looking at -the lorettes in the house. Oh! if you only knew how hard it is to -marry Fritz. He has a horror of 'going a-courting,' as you say; you -would have to give him a drop into a family, just as in England they -give a man a drop into the next world." - -During the uproar that usually marks the end of a first night, the -flute delivered his invitation to the conductor. Pons accepted -gleefully; and, for the first time in three months, Schmucke saw a -smile on his friend's face. They went back to the Rue de Normandie in -perfect silence; that sudden flash of joy had thrown a light on the -extent of the disease which was consuming Pons. Oh, that a man so -truly noble, so disinterested, so great in feeling, should have such a -weakness! . . . This was the thought that struck the stoic Schmucke -dumb with amazement. He grew woefully sad, for he began to see that -there was no help for it; he must even renounce the pleasure of seeing -"his goot Bons" opposite him at the dinner-table, for the sake of -Pons' welfare; and he did not know whether he could give him up; the -mere thought of it drove him distracted. - -Meantime, Pons' proud silence and withdrawal to the Mons Aventinus of -the Rue de Normandie had, as might be expected, impressed the -Presidente, not that she troubled herself much about her parasite, now -that she was freed from him. She thought, with her charming daughter, -that Cousin Pons had seen through her little "Lili's" joke. But it was -otherwise with her husband the President. - -Camusot de Marville, a short and stout man, grown solemn since his -promotion at the Court, admired Cicero, preferred the Opera-Comique to -the Italiens, compared the actors one with another, and followed the -multitude step by step. He used to recite all the articles in the -Ministerialist journals, as if he were saying something original, and -in giving his opinion at the Council Board he paraphrased the remarks -of the previous speaker. His leading characteristics were sufficiently -well known; his position compelled him to take everything seriously; -and he was particularly tenacious of family ties. - -Like most men who are ruled by their wives, the President asserted his -independence in trifles, in which his wife was very careful not to -thwart him. For a month he was satisfied with the Presidente's -commonplace explanations of Pons' disappearance; but at last it struck -him as singular that the old musician, a friend of forty years' -standing, should first make them so valuable a present as a fan that -belonged to Mme. de Pompadour, and then immediately discontinue his -visits. Count Popinot had pronounced the trinket a masterpiece; when -its owner went to Court, the fan had been passed from hand to hand, -and her vanity was not a little gratified by the compliments it -received; others had dwelt on the beauties of the ten ivory sticks, -each one covered with delicate carving, the like of which had never -been seen. A Russian lady (Russian ladies are apt to forget that they -are not in Russia) had offered her six thousand francs for the marvel -one day at Count Popinot's house, and smiled to see it in such hands. -Truth to tell, it was a fan for a Duchess. - -"It cannot be denied that poor Cousin Pons understands rubbish of that -sort--" said Cecile, the day after the bid. - -"Rubbish!" cried her parent. "Why, Government is just about to buy the -late M. le Conseiller Dusommerard's collection for three hundred -thousand francs; and the State and the Municipality of Paris between -them are spending nearly a million francs over the purchase and repair -of the Hotel de Cluny to house the 'rubbish,' as you call it.--Such -'rubbish,' dear child," he resumed, "is frequently all that remains of -vanished civilizations. An Etruscan jar, and a necklace, which -sometimes fetch forty and fifty thousand francs, is 'rubbish' which -reveals the perfection of art at the time of the siege of Troy, -proving that the Etruscans were Trojan refugees in Italy." - -This was the President's cumbrous way of joking; the short, fat man -was heavily ironical with his wife and daughter. - -"The combination of various kinds of knowledge required to understand -such 'rubbish,' Cecile," he resumed, "is a science in itself, called -archaeology. Archaeology comprehends architecture, sculpture, -painting, goldsmiths' work, ceramics, cabinetmaking (a purely modern -art), lace, tapestry--in short, human handiwork of every sort and -description." - -"Then Cousin Pons is learned?" said Cecile. - -"Ah! by the by, why is he never to be seen nowadays?" asked the -President. He spoke with the air of a man in whom thousands of -forgotten and dormant impressions have suddenly begun to stir, and -shaping themselves into one idea, reach consciousness with a ricochet, -as sportsmen say. - -"He must have taken offence at nothing at all," answered his wife. "I -dare say I was not as fully sensible as I might have been of the value -of the fan that he gave me. I am ignorant enough, as you know, of--" - -"_You!_ One of Servin's best pupils, and you don't know Watteau?" -cried the President. - -"I know Gerard and David and Gros and Griodet, and M. de Forbin and M. -Turpin de Crisse--" - -"You ought--" - -"Ought what, sir?" demanded the lady, gazing at her husband with the -air of a Queen of Sheba. - -"To know a Watteau when you see it, my dear. Watteau is very much in -fashion," answered the President with meekness, that told plainly how -much he owed to his wife. - -This conversation took place a few days before that night of first -performance of _The Devil's Betrothed_, when the whole orchestra -noticed how ill Pons was looking. But by that time all the circle of -dinner-givers who were used to seeing Pons' face at their tables, and -to send him on errands, had begun to ask each other for news of him, -and uneasiness increased when it was reported by some who had seen him -that he was always in his place at the theatre. Pons had been very -careful to avoid his old acquaintances whenever he met them in the -streets; but one day it so fell out that he met Count Popinot, the -ex-cabinet minister, face to face in the bric-a-brac dealer's shop in -the new Boulevard Beaumarchais. The dealer was none other than that -Monistrol of whom Pons had spoken to the Presidente, one of the famous -and audacious vendors whose cunning enthusiasm leads them to set more -and more value daily on their wares; for curiosities, they tell you, -are growing so scarce that they are hardly to be found at all -nowadays. - -"Ah, my dear Pons, how comes it that we never see you now? We miss you -very much, and Mme. Popinot does not know what to think of your -desertion." - -"M. le Comte," said the good man, "I was made to feel in the house of -a relative that at my age one is not wanted in the world. I have never -had much consideration shown me, but at any rate I had not been -insulted. I have never asked anything of any man," he broke out with -an artist's pride. "I have often made myself useful in return for -hospitality. But I have made a mistake, it seems; I am indefinitely -beholden to those who honor me by allowing me to sit at table with -them; my friends, and my relatives. . . . Well and good; I have sent -in my resignation as smellfeast. At home I find daily something which -no other house has offered me--a real friend." - -The old artist's power had not failed him; with tone and gesture he -put such bitterness into the words, that the peer of France was struck -by them. He drew Pons aside. - -"Come, now, my old friend, what is it? What has hurt you? Could you -not tell me in confidence? You will permit me to say that at my house -surely you have always met with consideration--" - -"You are the one exception," said the artist. "And besides, you are a -great lord and a statesman, you have so many things to think about. -That would excuse anything, if there were need for it." - -The diplomatic skill that Popinot had acquired in the management of -men and affairs was brought to bear upon Pons, till at length the -story of his misfortunes in the President's house was drawn from him. - -Popinot took up the victim's cause so warmly that he told the story to -Mme. Popinot as soon as he went home, and that excellent and -noble-natured woman spoke to the Presidente on the subject at the -first opportunity. As Popinot himself likewise said a word or two to -the President, there was a general explanation in the family of Camusot -de Marville. - -Camusot was not exactly master in his own house; but this time his -remonstrance was so well founded in law and in fact, that his wife and -daughter were forced to acknowledge the truth. They both humbled -themselves and threw the blame on the servants. The servants, first -bidden, and then chidden, only obtained pardon by a full confession, -which made it clear to the President's mind that Pons had done rightly -to stop away. The President displayed himself before the servants in -all his masculine and magisterial dignity, after the manner of men who -are ruled by their wives. He informed his household that they should -be dismissed forthwith, and forfeit any advantages which their long -term of service in his house might have brought them, unless from that -time forward his cousin and all those who did him the honor of coming -to his house were treated as he himself was. At which speech Madeleine -was moved to smile. - -"You have only one chance of salvation as it is," continued the -President. "Go to my cousin, make your excuses to him, and tell him -that you will lose your situations unless he forgives you, for I shall -turn you all away if he does not." - -Next morning the President went out fairly early to pay a call on his -cousin before going down to the court. The apparition of M. le -President de Marville, announced by Mme. Cibot, was an event in the -house. Pons, thus honored for the first time in his life saw -reparation ahead. - -"At last, my dear cousin," said the President after the ordinary -greetings; "at last I have discovered the cause of your retreat. Your -behavior increases, if that were possible, my esteem for you. I have -but one word to say in that connection. My servants have all been -dismissed. My wife and daughter are in despair; they want to see you -to have an explanation. In all this, my cousin, there is one innocent -person, and he is an old judge; you will not punish me, will you, for -the escapade of a thoughtless child who wished to dine with the -Popinots? especially when I come to beg for peace, admitting that all -the wrong has been on our side? . . . An old friendship of thirty-six -years, even suppose that there had been a misunderstanding, has still -some claims. Come, sign a treaty of peace by dining with us -to-night--" - -Pons involved himself in a diffuse reply, and ended by informing his -cousin that he was to sign a marriage contract that evening; how that -one of the orchestra was not only going to be married, but also about -to fling his flute to the winds to become a banker. - -"Very well. To-morrow." - -"Mme. la Comtesse Popinot has done me the honor of asking me, cousin. -She was so kind as to write--" - -"The day after to-morrow then." - -"M. Brunner, a German, my first flute's future partner, returns the -compliment paid him to-day by the young couple--" - -"You are such pleasant company that it is not surprising that people -dispute for the honor of seeing you. Very well, next Sunday? Within a -week, as we say at the courts?" - -"On Sunday we are to dine with M. Graff, the flute's father-in-law." - -"Very well, on Saturday. Between now and then you will have time to -reassure a little girl who has shed tears already over her fault. God -asks no more than repentance; you will not be more severe than the -Eternal father with poor little Cecile?--" - -Pons, thus reached on his weak side, again plunged into formulas more -than polite, and went as far as the stairhead with the President. - -An hour later the President's servants arrived in a troop on poor -Pons' second floor. They behaved after the manner of their kind; they -cringed and fawned; they wept. Madeleine took M. Pons aside and flung -herself resolutely at his feet. - -"It is all my fault; and monsieur knows quite well that I love him," -here she burst into tears. "It was vengeance boiling in my veins; -monsieur ought to throw all the blame of the unhappy affair on that. -We are all to lose our pensions. . . . Monsieur, I was mad, and I -would not have the rest suffer for my fault. . . . I can see now well -enough that fate did not make me for monsieur. I have come to my -senses, I aimed too high, but I love you still, monsieur. These ten -years I have thought of nothing but the happiness of making you happy -and looking after things here. What a lot! . . . Oh! if monsieur but -knew how much I love him! But monsieur must have seen it through all -my mischief-making. If I were to die to-morrow, what would they find? ---A will in your favor, monsieur. . . . Yes, monsieur, in my trunk -under my best things." - -Madeleine had set a responsive chord vibrating; the passion inspired -in another may be unwelcome, but it will always be gratifying to -self-love; this was the case with the old bachelor. After generously -pardoning Madeleine, he extended his forgiveness to the other -servants, promising to use his influence with his cousin the -Presidente on their behalf. - -It was unspeakably pleasant to Pons to find all his old enjoyments -restored to him without any loss of self-respect. The world had come -to Pons, he had risen in the esteem of his circle; but Schmucke looked -so downcast and dubious when he heard the story of the triumph, that -Pons felt hurt. When, however, the kind-hearted German saw the sudden -change wrought in Pons' face, he ended by rejoicing with his friend, -and made a sacrifice of the happiness that he had known during those -four months that he had had Pons all to himself. Mental suffering has -this immense advantage over physical ills--when the cause is removed -it ceases at once. Pons was not like the same man that morning. The -old man, depressed and visibly failing, had given place to the -serenely contented Pons, who entered the Presidente's house that -October afternoon with the Marquise de Pompadour's fan in his pocket. -Schmucke, on the other hand, pondered deeply over this phenomenon, and -could not understand it; your true stoic never can understand the -courtier that dwells in a Frenchman. Pons was a born Frenchman of the -Empire; a mixture of eighteenth century gallantry and that devotion to -womankind so often celebrated in songs of the type of _Partant pour la -Syrie_. - -So Schmucke was fain to bury his chagrin beneath the flowers of his -German philosophy; but a week later he grew so yellow that Mme. Cibot -exerted her ingenuity to call in the parish doctor. The leech had -fears of icterus, and left Mme. Cibot frightened half out of her wits -by the Latin word for an attack of the jaundice. - -Meantime the two friends went out to dinner together, perhaps for the -first time in their lives. For Schmucke it was a return to the -Fatherland; for Johann Graff of the Hotel du Rhin and his daughter -Emilie, Wolfgang Graff the tailor and his wife, Fritz Brunner and -Wilhelm Schwab, were Germans, and Pons and the notary were the only -Frenchmen present at the banquet. The Graffs of the tailor's business -owned a splendid house in the Rue de Richelieu, between the Rue -Neuve-des-Petits-Champs and the Rue Villedo; they had brought up their -niece, for Emilie's father, not without reason, had feared contact -with the very mixed society of an inn for his daughter. The good -tailor Graffs, who loved Emilie as if she had been their own daughter, -were giving up the ground floor of their great house to the young -couple, and here the bank of Brunner, Schwab and Company was to be -established. The arrangements for the marriage had been made about a -month ago; some time must elapse before Fritz Brunner, author of all -this felicity, could settle his deceased father's affairs, and the -famous firm of tailors had taken advantage of the delay to redecorate -the first floor and to furnish it very handsomely for the bride and -bridegroom. The offices of the bank had been fitted into the wing -which united a handsome business house with the hotel at the back, -between courtyard and garden. - -On the way from the Rue de Normandie to the Rue de Richelieu, Pons -drew from the abstracted Schmucke the details of the story of the -modern prodigal son, for whom Death had killed the fatted innkeeper. -Pons, but newly reconciled with his nearest relatives, was immediately -smitten with a desire to make a match between Fritz Brunner and Cecile -de Marville. Chance ordained that the notary was none other than -Berthier, old Cardot's son-in-law and successor, the sometime second -clerk with whom Pons had been wont to dine. - -"Ah! M. Berthier, you here!" he said, holding out a hand to his host -of former days. - -"We have not had the pleasure of seeing you at dinner lately; how is -it?" returned the notary. "My wife has been anxious about you. We saw -you at the first performance of _The Devil's Betrothed_, and our -anxiety became curiosity?" - -"Old folk are sensitive," replied the worthy musician; "they make the -mistake of being a century behind the times, but how can it be helped? -It is quite enough to represent one century--they cannot entirely -belong to the century which sees them die." - -"Ah!" said the notary, with a shrewd look, "one cannot run two -centuries at once." - -"By the by," continued Pons, drawing the young lawyer into a corner, -"why do you not find some one for my cousin Cecile de Marville--" - -"Ah! why--?" answered Berthier. "In this century, when luxury has -filtered down to our very porters' lodges, a young fellow hesitates -before uniting his lot with the daughter of a President of the Court -of Appeal in Paris if she brings him only a hundred thousand francs. -In the rank of life in which Mlle. de Marville's husband would take, -the wife was never yet known that did not cost her husband three -thousand francs a year; the interest on a hundred thousand francs -would scarcely find her in pin-money. A bachelor with an income of -fifteen or twenty thousand francs can live on an entre-sol; he is not -expected to cut any figure; he need not keep more than one servant, -and all his surplus income he can spend on his amusements; he puts -himself in the hands of a good tailor, and need not trouble any -further about keeping up appearances. Far-sighted mothers make much of -him; he is one of the kings of fashion in Paris. - -"But a wife changes everything. A wife means a properly furnished -house," continued the lawyer; "she wants the carriage for herself; if -she goes to the play, she wants a box, while the bachelor has only a -stall to pay for; in short, a wife represents the whole of the income -which the bachelor used to spend on himself. Suppose that husband and -wife have thirty thousand francs a year between them--practically, the -sometime bachelor is a poor devil who thinks twice before he drives -out to Chantilly. Bring children on the scene--he is pinched for money -at once. - -"Now, as M. and Mme. de Marville are scarcely turned fifty, Cecile's -expectations are bills that will not fall due for fifteen or twenty -years to come; and no young fellow cares to keep them so long in his -portfolio. The young featherheads who are dancing the polka with -lorettes at the Jardin Mabille, are so cankered with self-interest, -that they don't stand in need of us to explain both sides of the -problem to them. Between ourselves, I may say that Mlle. de Marville -scarcely sets hearts throbbing so fast but that their owners can -perfectly keep their heads, and they are full of these -anti-matrimonial reflections. If any eligible young man, in full -possession of his senses and an income of twenty thousand francs, -happens to be sketching out a programme of marriage that will satisfy -his ambitions, Mlle. de Marville does not altogether answer the -description--" - -"And why not?" asked the bewildered musician. - -"Oh!--" said the notary, "well--a young man nowadays may be as ugly as -you and I, my dear Pons, but he is almost sure to have the -impertinence to want six hundred thousand francs, a girl of good -family, with wit and good looks and good breeding--flawless perfection -in short." - -"Then it will not be easy to marry her?" - -"She will not be married so long as M. and Mme. de Marville cannot -make up their minds to settle Marville on her when she marries; if -they had chosen, she might have been the Vicomtesse Popinot by now. -But here comes M. Brunner.--We are about to read the deed of -partnership and the marriage contract." - -Greetings and introductions over, the relations made Pons promise to -sign the contract. He listened to the reading of the documents, and -towards half-past five the party went into the dining-room. The dinner -was magnificent, as a city merchant's dinner can be, when he allows -himself a respite from money-making. Graff of the Hotel du Rhin was -acquainted with the first provision dealers in Paris; never had Pons -nor Schmucke fared so sumptuously. The dishes were a rapture to think -of! Italian paste, delicate of flavor, unknown to the public; smelts -fried as never smelts were fried before; fish from Lake Leman, with a -real Genevese sauce, and a cream for plum-pudding which would have -astonished the London doctor who is said to have invented it. It was -nearly ten o'clock before they rose from table. The amount of wine, -German and French, consumed at that dinner would amaze the -contemporary dandy; nobody knows the amount of liquor that a German -can imbibe and yet keep calm and quiet; to have even an idea of the -quantity, you must dine in Germany and watch bottle succeed to bottle, -like wave rippling after wave along the sunny shores of the -Mediterranean, and disappear as if the Teuton possessed the absorbing -power of sponges or sea sand. Perfect harmony prevails meanwhile; -there is none of the racket that there would be over the liquor in -France; the talk is as sober as a money-lender's extempore speech; -countenances flush, like the faces of the brides in frescoes by -Cornelius or Schnorr (imperceptibly, that is to say), and -reminiscences are poured out slowly while the smoke puffs from the -pipes. - -About half-past ten that evening Pons and Schmucke found themselves -sitting on a bench out in the garden, with the ex-flute between them; -they were explaining their characters, opinions, and misfortunes, with -no very clear idea as to why or how they had come to this point. In -the thick of a potpourri of confidences, Wilhelm spoke of his strong -desire to see Fritz married, expressing himself with vehement and -vinous eloquence. - -"What do you say to this programme for your friend Brunner?" cried -Pons in confidential tones. "A charming and sensible young lady of -twenty-four, belonging to a family of the highest distinction. The -father holds a very high position as a judge; there will be a hundred -thousand francs paid down and a million to come." - -"Wait!" answered Schwab; "I will speak to Fritz this instant." - -The pair watched Brunner and his friend as they walked round and round -the garden; again and again they passed the bench, sometimes one -spoke, sometimes the other. - -Pons was not exactly intoxicated; his head was a little heavy, but his -thoughts, on the contrary, seemed all the lighter; he watched Fritz -Brunner's face through the rainbow mist of fumes of wine, and tried to -read auguries favorable to his family. Before very long Schwab -introduced his friend and partner to M. Pons; Fritz Brunner expressed -his thanks for the trouble which Pons had been so good as to take. - -In the conversation which followed, the two old bachelors Schmucke and -Pons extolled the estate of matrimony, going so far as to say, without -any malicious intent, "that marriage was the end of man." Tea and -ices, punches and cakes, were served in the future home of the -betrothed couple. The wine had begun to tell upon the honest -merchants, and the general hilarity reached its height when it was -announced that Schwab's partner thought of following his example. - -At two o'clock that morning, Schmucke and Pons walked home along the -boulevards, philosophizing _a perte de raison_ as they went on the -harmony pervading the arrangements of this our world below. - -On the morrow of the banquet, Cousin Pons betook himself to his fair -cousin the Presidente, overjoyed--poor dear noble soul!--to return -good for evil. Surely he had attained to a sublime height, as every -one will allow, for we live in an age when the Montyon prize is given -to those who do their duty by carrying out the precepts of the Gospel. - -"Ah!" said Pons to himself, as he turned the corner of the Rue de -Choiseul, "they will lie under immense obligations to their parasite." - -Any man less absorbed in his contentment, any man of the world, any -distrustful nature would have watched the President's wife and -daughter very narrowly on this first return to the house. But the poor -musician was a child, he had all the simplicity of an artist, -believing in goodness as he believed in beauty; so he was delighted -when Cecile and her mother made much of him. After all the -vaudevilles, tragedies, and comedies which had been played under the -worthy man's eyes for twelve long years, he could not detect the -insincerity and grimaces of social comedy, no doubt because he had -seen too much of it. Any one who goes into society in Paris, and knows -the type of woman, dried up, body and soul, by a burning thirst for -social position, and a fierce desire to be thought virtuous, any one -familiar with the sham piety and the domineering character of a woman -whose word is law in her own house, may imagine the lurking hatred she -bore this husband's cousin whom she had wronged. - -All the demonstrative friendliness of mother and daughter was lined -with a formidable longing for revenge, evidently postponed. For the -first time in Amelie de Marville's life she had been put in the wrong, -and that in the sight of the husband over whom she tyrannized; and not -only so--she was obliged to be amiable to the author of her defeat! -You can scarcely find a match for this position save in the -hypocritical dramas which are sometimes kept up for years in the -sacred college of cardinals, or in chapters of certain religious -orders. - -At three o'clock, when the President came back from the law-courts, -Pons had scarcely made an end of the marvelous history of his -acquaintance, M. Frederic Brunner. Cecile had gone straight to the -point. She wanted to know how Frederic Brunner was dressed, how he -looked, his height and figure, the color of his hair and eyes; and -when she had conjectured a distinguished air for Frederic, she admired -his generosity of character. - -"Think of his giving five hundred thousand francs to his companion in -misfortune! Oh! mamma, I shall have a carriage and a box at the -Italiens----" Cecile grew almost pretty as she thought that all her -mother's ambitions for her were about to be realized, that the hopes -which had almost left her were to come to something after all. - -As for the Presidente, all that she said was, "My dear little girl, -you may perhaps be married within the fortnight." - -All mothers with daughters of three-and-twenty address them as "little -girl." - -"Still," added the President, "in any case, we must have time to make -inquiries; never will I give my daughter to just anybody--" - -"As to inquiries," said Pons, "Berthier is drawing up the deeds. As to -the young man himself, my dear cousin, you remember what you told me? -Well, he is quite forty years old; he is bald. He wishes to find in -family life a haven after a storm; I did not dissuade him; every man -has his tastes--" - -"One reason the more for a personal interview," returned the -President. "I am not going to give my daughter to a valetudinarian." - -"Very good, cousin, you shall see my suitor in five days if you like; -for, with your views, a single interview would be enough"--(Cecile and -her mother signified their rapture)--"Frederic is decidedly a -distinguished amateur; he begged me to allow him to see my little -collection at his leisure. You have never seen my pictures and -curiosities; come and see them," he continued, looking at his -relatives. "You can come simply as two ladies, brought by my friend -Schmucke, and make M. Brunner's acquaintance without betraying -yourselves. Frederic need not in the least know who you are." - -"Admirable!" cried the President. - -The attention they paid to the once scorned parasite may be left to -the imagination! Poor Pons that day became the Presidente's cousin. -The happy mother drowned her dislike in floods of joy; her looks, her -smiles, her words sent the old man into ecstasies over the good that -he had done, over the future that he saw by glimpses. Was he not sure -to find dinners such as yesterday's banquet over the signing of the -contract, multiplied indefinitely by three, in the houses of Brunner, -Schwab, and Graff? He saw before him a land of plenty--a _vie de -cocagne_, a miraculous succession of _plats couverts_, of delicate -surprise dishes, of exquisite wines. - -"If Cousin Pons brings this through," said the President, addressing -his wife after Pons had departed, "we ought to settle an income upon -him equal to his salary at the theatre." - -"Certainly," said the lady; and Cecile was informed that if the -proposed suitor found favor in her eyes, she must undertake to induce -the old musician to accept a munificence in such bad taste. - -Next day the President went to Berthier. He was anxious to make sure -of M. Frederic Brunner's financial position. Berthier, forewarned by -Mme. de Marville, had asked his new client Schwab to come. Schwab the -banker was dazzled by the prospect of such a match for his friend -(everybody knows how deeply a German venerates social distinctions, so -much so, that in Germany a wife takes her husband's (official) title, -and is the Frau General, the Frau Rath, and so forth)--Schwab -therefore was as accommodating as a collector who imagines that he is -cheating a dealer. - -"In the first place," said Cecile's father, "as I shall make over my -estate of Marville to my daughter, I should wish the contract to be -drawn up on the dotal system. In that case, M. Brunner would invest a -million francs in land to increase the estate, and by settling the -land on his wife he would secure her and his children from any share -in the liabilities of the bank." - -Berthier stroked his chin. "He is coming on well, is M. le President," -thought he. - -When the dotal system had been explained to Schwab, he seemed much -inclined that way for his friend. He had heard Fritz say that he -wished to find some way of insuring himself against another lapse into -poverty. - -"There is a farm and pasture land worth twelve hundred thousand francs -in the market at this moment," remarked the President. - -"If we take up shares in the Bank of France to the amount of a million -francs, that will be quite enough to guarantee our account," said -Schwab. "Fritz does not want to invest more than two million francs in -business; he will do as you wish, I am sure, M. le President." - -The President's wife and daughter were almost wild with joy when he -brought home this news. Never, surely, did so rich a capture swim so -complacently into the nets of matrimony. - -"You will be Mme. Brunner de Marville," said the parent, addressing -his child; "I will obtain permission for your husband to add the name -to his, and afterwards he can take out letters of naturalization. If I -should be a peer of France some day, he will succeed me!" - -The five days were spent by Mme. de Marville in preparations. On the -great day she dressed Cecile herself, taking as much pains as the -admiral of the British fleet takes over the dressing of the pleasure -yacht for Her Majesty of England when she takes a trip to Germany. - -Pons and Schmucke, on their side, cleaned, swept, and dusted Pons' -museum rooms and furniture with the agility of sailors cleaning down a -man-of-war. There was not a speck of dust on the carved wood; not an -inch of brass but it glistened. The glasses over the pastels obscured -nothing of the work of Latour, Greuze, and Liotard (illustrious -painter of _The Chocolate Girl_), miracles of an art, alas! so -fugitive. The inimitable lustre of Florentine bronze took all the -varying hues of the light; the painted glass glowed with color. Every -line shone out brilliantly, every object threw in its phrase in a -harmony of masterpieces arranged by two musicians--both of whom alike -had attained to be poets. - -With a tact which avoided the difficulties of a late appearance on the -scene of action, the women were the first to arrive; they wished to be -on their own ground. Pons introduced his friend Schmucke, who seemed -to his fair visitors to be an idiot; their heads were so full of the -eligible gentleman with the four millions of francs, that they paid -but little attention to the worthy Pons' dissertations upon matters of -which they were completely ignorant. - -They looked with indifferent eyes at Petitot's enamels, spaced over -crimson velvet, set in three frames of marvelous workmanship. Flowers -by Van Huysum, David, and Heim; butterflies painted by Abraham Mignon; -Van Eycks, undoubted Cranachs and Albrecht Durers; the Giorgione, the -Sebastian del Piombo; Backhuijzen, Hobbema, Gericault, the rarities of -painting--none of these things so much as aroused their curiosity; -they were waiting for the sun to arise and shine upon these treasures. -Still, they were surprised by the beauty of some of the Etruscan -trinkets and the solid value of the snuff-boxes, and out of politeness -they went into ecstasies over some Florentine bronzes which they held -in their hands when Mme. Cibot announced M. Brunner! They did not -turn; they took advantage of a superb Venetian mirror framed in huge -masses of carved ebony to scan this phoenix of eligible young men. - -Frederic, forewarned by Wilhelm, had made the most of the little hair -that remained to him. He wore a neat pair of trousers, a soft shade of -some dark color, a silk waistcoat of superlative elegance and the very -newest cut, a shirt with open-work, its linen hand-woven by a -Friesland woman, and a blue-and-white cravat. His watch chain, like -the head of his cane, came from Messrs. Florent and Chanor; and the -coat, cut by old Graff himself, was of the very finest cloth. The -Suede gloves proclaimed the man who had run through his mother's -fortune. You could have seen the banker's neat little brougham and -pair of horses mirrored in the surface of his speckless varnished -boots, even if two pairs of sharp ears had not already caught the -sound of wheels outside in the Rue de Normandie. - -When the prodigal of twenty years is a kind of chrysalis from which a -banker emerges at the age of forty, the said banker is usually an -observer of human nature; and so much the more shrewd if, as in -Brunner's case, he understands how to turn his German simplicity to -good account. He had assumed for the occasion the abstracted air of a -man who is hesitating between family life and the dissipations of -bachelorhood. This expression in a Frenchified German seemed to Cecile -to be in the highest degree romantic; the descendant of the Virlaz was -a second Werther in her eyes--where is the girl who will not allow -herself to weave a little novel about her marriage? Cecile thought -herself the happiest of women when Brunner, looking round at the -magnificent works of art so patiently collected during forty years, -waxed enthusiastic, and Pons, to his no small satisfaction, found an -appreciative admirer of his treasures for the first time in his life. - -"He is poetical," the young lady said to herself; "he sees millions in -the things. A poet is a man that cannot count and leaves his wife to -look after his money--an easy man to manage and amuse with trifles." - -Every pane in the two windows was a square of Swiss painted glass; the -least of them was worth a thousand francs; and Pons possessed sixteen -of these unrivaled works of art for which amateurs seek so eagerly -nowadays. In 1815 the panes could be bought for six or ten francs -apiece. The value of the glorious collection of pictures, flawless -great works, authentic, untouched since they left the master's hands, -could only be proved in the fiery furnace of a saleroom. Not a picture -but was set in a costly frame; there were frames of every kind ---Venetians, carved with heavy ornaments, like English plate of the -present day; Romans, distinguishable among the others for a certain -dash that artists call _flafla_; Spanish wreaths in bold relief; -Flemings and Germans with quaint figures, tortoise-shell frames inlaid -with copper and brass and mother-of-pearl and ivory; frames of ebony -and boxwood in the styles of Louis Treize, Louis Quatorze, Louis -Quinze, and Louis Seize--in short, it was a unique collection of the -finest models. Pons, luckier than the art museums of Dresden and -Vienna, possessed a frame by the famous Brustoloni--the Michael Angelo -of wood-carvers. - -Mlle. de Marville naturally asked for explanations of each new -curiosity, and was initiated into the mysteries of art by Brunner. Her -exclamations were so childish, she seemed so pleased to have the value -and beauty of the paintings, carvings, or bronzes pointed out to her, -that the German gradually thawed and looked quite young again, and -both were led on further than they intended at this (purely -accidental) first meeting. - -The private view lasted for three hours. Brunner offered his arm when -Cecile went downstairs. As they descended slowly and discreetly, -Cecile, still talking fine art, wondered that M. Brunner should admire -her cousin's gimcracks so much. - -"Do you really think that these things that we have just seen are -worth a great deal of money?" - -"Mademoiselle, if your cousin would sell his collection, I would give -eight hundred thousand francs for it this evening, and I should not -make a bad bargain. The pictures alone would fetch more than that at a -public sale." - -"Since you say so, I believe it," returned she; "the things took up so -much of your attention that it must be so." - -"On! mademoiselle!" protested Brunner. "For all answer to your -reproach, I will ask your mother's permission to call, so that I may -have the pleasure of seeing you again." - -"How clever she is, that 'little girl' of mine!" thought the -Presidente, following closely upon her daughter's heels. Aloud she -said, "With the greatest pleasure, monsieur. I hope that you will come -at dinner-time with our Cousin Pons. The President will be delighted -to make your acquaintance.--Thank you, cousin." - -The lady squeezed Pons' arm with deep meaning; she could not have said -more if she had used the consecrated formula, "Let us swear an eternal -friendship." The glance which accompanied that "Thank you, cousin," -was a caress. - -When the young lady had been put into the carriage, and the jobbed -brougham had disappeared down the Rue Charlot, Brunner talked -bric-a-brac to Pons, and Pons talked marriage. - -"Then you see no obstacle?" said Pons. - -"Oh!" said Brunner, "she is an insignificant little thing, and the -mother is a trifle prim.--We shall see." - -"A handsome fortune one of these days. . . . More than a million--" - -"Good-bye till Monday!" interrupted the millionaire. "If you should -care to sell your collection of pictures, I would give you five or six -hundred thousand francs--" - -"Ah!" said Pons; he had no idea that he was so rich. "But they are my -great pleasure in life, and I could not bring myself to part with -them. I could only sell my collection to be delivered after my death." - -"Very well. We shall see." - -"Here we have two affairs afoot!" said Pons; he was thinking only of -the marriage. - -Brunner shook hands and drove away in his splendid carriage. Pons -watched it out of sight. He did not notice that Remonencq was smoking -his pipe in the doorway. - -That evening Mme. de Marville went to ask advice of her father-in-law, -and found the whole Popinot family at the Camusots' house. It was only -natural that a mother who had failed to capture an eldest son should -be tempted to take her little revenge; so Mme. de Marville threw out -hints of the splendid marriage that her Cecile was about to make. ---"Whom can Cecile be going to marry?" was the question upon all lips. -And Cecile's mother, without suspecting that she was betraying her -secret, let fall words and whispered confidences, afterwards -supplemented by Mme. Berthier, till gossip circulating in the -bourgeois empyrean where Pons accomplished his gastronomical -evolutions took something like the following form: - -"Cecile de Marville is engaged to be married to a young German, a -banker from philanthropic motives, for he has four millions; he is -like a hero in a novel, a perfect Werther, charming and kind-hearted. -He has sown his wild oats, and he is distractedly in love with Cecile; -it is a case of love at first sight; and so much the more certain, -since Cecile had all Pons' paintings of Madonnas for rivals," and so -forth and so forth. - -Two or three of the set came to call on the Presidente, ostensibly to -congratulate, but really to find out whether or not the marvelous tale -were true. For their benefit Mme. de Marville executed the following -admirable variations on the theme of son-in-law which mothers may -consult, as people used to refer to the _Complete Letter Writer_. - -"A marriage is not an accomplished fact," she told Mme. Chiffreville, -"until you have been in the mayor's office and the church. We have -only come as far as a personal interview; so I count upon your -friendship to say nothing of our hopes." - -"You are very fortunate, madame; marriages are so difficult to arrange -in these days." - -"What can one do? It was chance; but marriages are often made in that -way." - -"Ah! well. So you are going to marry Cecile?" said Mme. Cardot. - -"Yes," said Cecile's mother, fully understanding the meaning of the -"so." "We were very particular, or Cecile would have been established -before this. But now we have found everything we wish: money, good -temper, good character, and good looks; and my sweet little girl -certainly deserves nothing less. M. Brunner is a charming young man, -most distinguished; he is fond of luxury, he knows life; he is wild -about Cecile, he loves her sincerely; and in spite of his three or -four millions, Cecile is going to accept him.--We had not looked so -high for her; still, store is no sore." - -"It was not so much the fortune as the affection inspired by my -daughter which decided us," the Presidente told Mme. Lebas. "M. -Brunner is in such a hurry that he wants the marriage to take place -with the least possible delay." - -"Is he a foreigner?" - -"Yes, madame; but I am very fortunate, I confess. No, I shall not have -a son-in-law, but a son. M. Brunner's delicacy has quite won our -hearts. No one would imagine how anxious he was to marry under the -dotal system. It is a great security for families. He is going to -invest twelve hundred thousand francs in grazing land, which will be -added to Marville some day." - -More variations followed on the morrow. For instance--M. Brunner was a -great lord, doing everything in lordly fashion; he did not haggle. If -M. de Marville could obtain letters of naturalization, qualifying M. -Brunner for an office under Government (and the Home Secretary surely -could strain a point for M. de Marville), his son-in-law would be a -peer of France. Nobody knew how much money M. Brunner possessed; "he -had the finest horses and the smartest carriages in Paris!" and so on -and so on. - -From the pleasure with which the Camusots published their hopes, it -was pretty clear that this triumph was unexpected. - -Immediately after the interview in Pons' museum, M. de Marville, at -his wife's instance, begged the Home Secretary, his chief, and the -attorney for the crown to dine with him on the occasion of the -introduction of this phoenix of a son-in-law. - -The three great personages accepted the invitation, albeit it was -given on short notice; they all saw the part that they were to play in -the family politics, and readily came to the father's support. In -France we are usually pretty ready to assist the mother of -marriageable daughters to hook an eligible son-in-law. The Count and -Countess Popinot likewise lent their presence to complete the splendor -of the occasion, although they thought the invitation in questionable -taste. - -There were eleven in all. Cecile's grandfather, old Camusot, came, of -course, with his wife to a family reunion purposely arranged to elicit -a proposal from M. Brunner. - -The Camusot de Marvilles had given out that the guest of the evening -was one of the richest capitalists in Germany, a man of taste (he was -in love with "the little girl"), a future rival of the Nucingens, -Kellers, du Tillets, and their like. - -"It is our day," said the Presidente with elaborate simplicity, when -she had named her guests one by one for the German whom she already -regarded as her son-in-law. "We have only a few intimate friends ---first, my husband's father, who, as you know, is sure to be raised -to the peerage; M. le Comte and Mme. la Comtesse Popinot, whose son -was not thought rich enough for Cecile; the Home Secretary; our First -President; our attorney for the crown; our personal friends, in short. ---We shall be obliged to dine rather late to-night, because the -Chamber is sitting, and people cannot get away before six." - -Brunner looked significantly at Pons, and Pons rubbed his hands as if -to say, "Our friends, you see! _My_ friends!" - -Mme. de Marville, as a clever tactician, had something very particular -to say to her cousin, that Cecile and her Werther might be left -together for a moment. Cecile chattered away volubly, and contrived -that Frederic should catch sight of a German dictionary, a German -grammar, and a volume of Goethe hidden away in a place where he was -likely to find them. - -"Ah! are you learning German?" asked Brunner, flushing red. - -(For laying traps of this kind the Frenchwoman has not her match!) - -"Oh! how naughty you are!" she cried; "it is too bad of you, monsieur, -to explore my hiding-places like this. I want to read Goethe in the -original," she added; "I have been learning German for two years." - -"Then the grammar must be very difficult to learn, for scarcely ten -pages have been cut--" Brunner remarked with much candor. - -Cecile, abashed, turned away to hide her blushes. A German cannot -resist a display of this kind; Brunner caught Cecile's hand, made her -turn, and watched her confusion under his gaze, after the manner of -the heroes of the novels of Auguste Lafontaine of chaste memory. - -"You are adorable," said he. - -Cecile's petulant gesture replied, "So are you--who could help liking -you?" - -"It is all right, mamma," she whispered to her parent, who came up at -that moment with Pons. - -The sight of a family party on these occasions is not to be described. -Everybody was well satisfied to see a mother put her hand on an -eligible son-in-law. Compliments, double-barreled and double-charged, -were paid to Brunner (who pretended to understand nothing); to Cecile, -on whom nothing was lost; and to the Presidente, who fished for them. -Pons heard the blood singing in his ears, the light of all the blazing -gas-jets of the theatre footlights seemed to be dazzling his eyes, -when Cecile, in a low voice and with the most ingenious -circumspection, spoke of her father's plan of the annuity of twelve -hundred francs. The old artist positively declined the offer, bringing -forward the value of his fortune in furniture, only now made known to -him by Brunner. - -The Home Secretary, the First President, the attorney for the crown, -the Popinots, and those who had other engagements, all went; and -before long no one was left except M. Camusot senior, and Cardot the -old notary, and his assistant and son-in-law Berthier. Pons, worthy -soul, looking round and seeing no one but the family, blundered out a -speech of thanks to the President and his wife for the proposal which -Cecile had just made to him. So it is with those who are guided by -their feelings; they act upon impulse. Brunner, hearing of an annuity -offered in this way, thought that it had very much the look of a -commission paid to Pons; he made an Israelite's return upon himself, -his attitude told of more than cool calculation. - -Meanwhile Pons was saying to his astonished relations, "My collection -or its value will, in any case, go to your family, whether I come to -terms with our friend Brunner or keep it." The Camusots were amazed to -hear that Pons was so rich. - -Brunner, watching, saw how all these ignorant people looked favorably -upon a man once believed to be poor so soon as they knew that he had -great possessions. He had seen, too, already that Cecile was spoiled -by her father and mother; he amused himself, therefore, by astonishing -the good bourgeois. - -"I was telling mademoiselle," said he, "that M. Pons' pictures were -worth that sum to _me_; but the prices of works of art have risen so -much of late, that no one can tell how much the collection might sell -for at public auction. The sixty pictures might fetch a million -francs; several that I saw the other day were worth fifty thousand -apiece." - -"It is a fine thing to be your heir!" remarked old Cardot, looking at -Pons. - -"My heir is my Cousin Cecile here," answered Pons, insisting on the -relationship. There was a flutter of admiration at this. - -"She will be a very rich heiress," laughed old Cardot, as he took his -departure. - -Camusot senior, the President and his wife, Cecile, Brunner, Berthier, -and Pons were now left together; for it was assumed that the formal -demand for Cecile's hand was about to be made. No sooner was Cardot -gone, indeed, than Brunner began with an inquiry which augured well. - -"I think I understood," he said, turning to Mme. de Marville, "that -mademoiselle is your only daughter." - -"Certainly," the lady said proudly. - -"Nobody will make any difficulties," Pons, good soul, put in by way of -encouraging Brunner to bring out his proposal. - -But Brunner grew thoughtful, and an ominous silence brought on a -coolness of the strangest kind. The Presidente might have admitted -that her "little girl" was subject to epileptic fits. The President, -thinking that Cecile ought not to be present, signed to her to go. She -went. Still Brunner said nothing. They all began to look at one -another. The situation was growing awkward. - -Camusot senior, a man of experience, took the German to Mme. de -Marville's room, ostensibly to show him Pons' fan. He saw that some -difficulty had arisen, and signed to the rest to leave him alone with -Cecile's suitor-designate. - -"Here is the masterpiece," said Camusot, opening out the fan. - -Brunner took it in his hand and looked at it. "It is worth five -thousand francs," he said after a moment. - -"Did you not come here, sir, to ask for my granddaughter?" inquired -the future peer of France. - -"Yes, sir," said Brunner; "and I beg you to believe that no possible -marriage could be more flattering to my vanity. I shall never find any -one more charming nor more amiable, nor a young lady who answers to my -ideas like Mlle. Cecile; but--" - -"Oh, no _buts_!" old Camusot broke in; "or let us have the translation -of your 'buts' at once, my dear sir." - -"I am very glad, sir, that the matter has gone no further on either -side," Brunner answered gravely. "I had no idea that Mlle. Cecile was -an only daughter. Anybody else would consider this an advantage; but -to me, believe me, it is an insurmountable obstacle to--" - -"What, sir!" cried Camusot, amazed beyond measure. "Do you find a -positive drawback in an immense advantage? Your conduct is really -extraordinary; I should very much like to hear the explanation of it." - -"I came here this evening, sir," returned the German phlegmatically, -"intending to ask M. le President for his daughter's hand. It was my -desire to give Mlle. Cecile a brilliant future by offering her so much -of my fortune as she would consent to accept. But an only daughter is -a child whose will is law to indulgent parents, who has never been -contradicted. I have had the opportunity of observing this in many -families, where parents worship divinities of this kind. And your -granddaughter is not only the idol of the house, but Mme. la -Presidente . . . you know what I mean. I have seen my father's house -turned into a hell, sir, from this very cause. My stepmother, the -source of all my misfortunes, an only daughter, idolized by her -parents, the most charming betrothed imaginable, after marriage became -a fiend incarnate. I do not doubt that Mlle. Cecile is an exception to -the rule; but I am not a young man, I am forty years old, and the -difference between our ages entails difficulties which would put it -out of my power to make the young lady happy, when Mme. la Presidente -always carried out her daughter's every wish and listened to her as if -Mademoiselle was an oracle. What right have I to expect Mlle. Cecile -to change her habits and ideas? Instead of a father and mother who -indulge her every whim, she would find an egotistic man of forty; if -she should resist, the man of forty would have the worst of it. So, as -an honest man--I withdraw. If there should be any need to explain my -visit here, I desire to be entirely sacrificed--" - -"If these are your motives, sir," said the future peer of France, -"however singular they may be, they are plausible--" - -"Do not call my sincerity in question, sir," Brunner interrupted -quickly. "If you know of a penniless girl, one of a large family, well -brought up but without fortune, as happens very often in France; and -if her character offers me security, I will marry her." - -A pause followed; Frederic Brunner left Cecile's grandfather and -politely took leave of his host and hostess. When he was gone, Cecile -appeared, a living commentary upon her Werther's leave-taking; she was -ghastly pale. She had hidden in her mother's wardrobe and overheard -the whole conversation. - -"Refused! . . ." she said in a low voice for her mother's ear. - -"And why?" asked the Presidente, fixing her eyes upon her embarrassed -father-in-law. - -"Upon the fine pretext that an only daughter is a spoilt child," -replied that gentleman. "And he is not altogether wrong there," he -added, seizing an opportunity of putting the blame on the -daughter-in-law, who had worried him not a little for twenty years. - -"It will kill my child!" cried the Presidente, "and it is your doing!" -she exclaimed, addressing Pons, as she supported her fainting -daughter, for Cecile thought well to make good her mother's words by -sinking into her arms. The President and his wife carried Cecile to an -easy-chair, where she swooned outright. The grandfather rang for the -servants. - -"It is a plot of his weaving; I see it all now," said the infuriated -mother. - -Pons sprang up as if the trump of doom were sounding in his ears. - -"Yes!" said the lady, her eyes like two springs of green bile, "this -gentleman wished to repay a harmless joke by an insult. Who will -believe that that German was right in his mind? He is either an -accomplice in a wicked scheme of revenge, or he is crazy. I hope, M. -Pons, that in future you will spare us the annoyance of seeing you in -the house where you have tried to bring shame and dishonor." - -Pons stood like a statue, with his eyes fixed on the pattern of the -carpet. - -"Well! Are you still here, monster of ingratitude?" cried she, turning -round on Pons, who was twirling his thumbs.--"Your master and I are -never at home, remember, if this gentleman calls," she continued, -turning to the servants.--"Jean, go for the doctor; and bring -hartshorn, Madeleine." - -In the Presidente's eyes, the reason given by Brunner was simply an -excuse, there was something else behind; but, at the same time, the -fact that the marriage was broken off was only the more certain. A -woman's mind works swiftly in great crises, and Mme. de Marville had -hit at once upon the one method of repairing the check. She chose to -look upon it as a scheme of revenge. This notion of ascribing a -fiendish scheme to Pons satisfied family honor. Faithful to her -dislike of the cousin, she treated a feminine suspicion as a fact. -Women, generally speaking, hold a creed peculiar to themselves, a code -of their own; to them anything which serves their interests or their -passions is true. The Presidente went a good deal further. In the -course of the evening she talked the President into her belief, and -next morning found the magistrate convinced of his cousin's -culpability. - -Every one, no doubt, will condemn the lady's horrible conduct; but -what mother in Mme. Camusot's position will not do the same? Put the -choice between her own daughter and an alien, she will prefer to -sacrifice the honor of the latter. There are many ways of doing this, -but the end in view is the same. - -The old musician fled down the staircase in haste; but he went slowly -along the boulevards to his theatre, he turned in mechanically at the -door, and mechanically he took his place and conducted the orchestra. -In the interval he gave such random answers to Schmucke's questions, -that his old friend dissembled his fear that Pons' mind had given way. -To so childlike a nature, the recent scene took the proportions of a -catastrophe. He had meant to make every one happy, and he had aroused -a terrible slumbering feeling of hate; everything had been turned -topsy-turvy. He had at last seen mortal hate in the Presidente's eyes, -tones, and gesture. - -On the morrow, Mme. Camusot de Marville made a great resolution; the -President likewise sanctioned the step now forced upon them by -circumstances. It was determined that the estate of Marville should be -settled upon Cecile at the time of her marriage, as well as the house -in the Rue de Hanovre and a hundred thousand francs. In the course of -the morning, the Presidente went to call upon the Comtesse Popinot; -for she saw plainly that nothing but a settled marriage could enable -them to recover after such a check. To the Comtesse Popinot she told -the shocking story of Pons' revenge, Pons' hideous hoax. It all seemed -probable enough when it came out that the marriage had been broken off -simply on the pretext that Cecile was an only daughter. The Presidente -next dwelt artfully upon the advantage of adding "de Marville" to the -name of Popinot; and the immense dowry. At the present price fetched -by land in Normandy, at two per cent, the property represented nine -hundred thousand francs, and the house in the Rue de Hanovre about two -hundred and fifty thousand. No reasonable family could refuse such an -alliance. The Comte and Comtesse Popinot accepted; and as they were -now touched by the honor of the family which they were about to enter, -they promised to help explain away yesterday evening's mishap. - -And now in the house of the elder Camusot, before the very persons who -had heard Mme. de Marville singing Frederic Brunner's praises but a -few days ago, that lady, to whom nobody ventured to speak on the -topic, plunged courageously into explanations. - -"Really, nowadays" (she said), "one could not be too careful if a -marriage was in question, especially if one had to do with -foreigners." - -"And why, madame?" - -"What has happened to you?" asked Mme. Chiffreville. - -"Do you not know about our adventure with that Brunner, who had the -audacity to aspire to marry Cecile? His father was a German that kept -a wine-shop, and his uncle is a dealer in rabbit-skins!" - -"Is it possible? So clear-sighted as you are! . . ." murmured a lady. - -"These adventurers are so cunning. But we found out everything through -Berthier. His friend is a beggar that plays the flute. He is friendly -with a person who lets furnished lodgings in the Rue du Mail and some -tailor or other. . . . We found out that he had led a most -disreputable life, and no amount of fortune would be enough for a -scamp that has run through his mother's property." - -"Why, Mlle. de Marville would have been wretched!" said Mme. Berthier. - -"How did he come to your house?" asked old Mme. Lebas. - -"It was M. Pons. Out of revenge, he introduced this fine gentleman to -us, to make us ridiculous. . . . This Brunner (it is the same name as -Fontaine in French)--this Brunner, that was made out to be such a -grandee, has poor enough health, he is bald, and his teeth are bad. -The first sight of him was enough for me; I distrusted him from the -first." - -"But how about the great fortune that you spoke of?" a young married -woman asked shyly. - -"The fortune was not nearly so large as they said. These tailors and -the landlord and he all scraped the money together among them, and put -all their savings into this bank that they are starting. What is a -bank for those that begin in these days? Simply a license to ruin -themselves. A banker's wife may lie down at night a millionaire and -wake up in the morning with nothing but her settlement. At first word, -at the very first sight of him, we made up our minds about this -gentleman--he is not one of us. You can tell by his gloves, by his -waistcoat, that he is a working man, the son of a man that kept a -pot-house somewhere in Germany; he has not the instincts of a -gentleman; he drinks beer, and he smokes--smokes? ah! madame, -_twenty-five pipes a day!_ . . . What would have become of poor Lili? -. . . It makes me shudder even now to think of it. God has indeed -preserved us! And besides, Cecile never liked him. . . . Who would -have expected such a trick from a relative, an old friend of the house -that had dined with us twice a week for twenty years? We have loaded -him with benefits, and he played his game so well, that he said Cecile -was his heir before the Keeper of the Seals and the Attorney General -and the Home Secretary! . . . That Brunner and M. Pons had their story -ready, and each of them said that the other was worth millions! . . . -No, I do assure you, all of you would have been taken in by an -artist's hoax like that." - -In a few weeks' time, the united forces of the Camusot and Popinot -families gained an easy victory in the world, for nobody undertook to -defend the unfortunate Pons, that parasite, that curmudgeon, that -skinflint, that smooth-faced humbug, on whom everybody heaped scorn; -he was a viper cherished in the bosom of the family, he had not his -match for spite, he was a dangerous mountebank whom nobody ought to -mention. - - - -About a month after the perfidious Werther's withdrawal, poor Pons -left his bed for the first time after an attack of nervous fever, and -walked along the sunny side of the street leaning on Schmucke's arm. -Nobody in the Boulevard du Temple laughed at the "pair of -nutcrackers," for one of the old men looked so shattered, and the -other so touchingly careful of his invalid friend. By the time that -they reached the Boulevard Poissonniere, a little color came back to -Pons' face; he was breathing the air of the boulevards, he felt the -vitalizing power of the atmosphere of the crowded street, the -life-giving property of the air that is noticeable in quarters where -human life abounds; in the filthy Roman Ghetto, for instance, with -its swarming Jewish population, where malaria is unknown. Perhaps, -too, the sight of the streets, the great spectacle of Paris, the daily -pleasure of his life, did the invalid good. They walked on side by -side, though Pons now and again left his friend to look at the shop -windows. Opposite the Theatre des Varietes he saw Count Popinot, and -went up to him very respectfully, for of all men Pons esteemed and -venerated the ex-Minister. - -The peer of France answered him severely: - -"I am at a loss to understand, sir, how you can have no more tact than -to speak to a near connection of a family whom you tried to brand with -shame and ridicule by a trick which no one but an artist could devise. -Understand this, sir, that from to-day we must be complete strangers -to each other. Mme. la Comtesse Popinot, like every one else, feels -indignant at your behavior to the Marvilles." - -And Count Popinot passed on, leaving Pons thunderstruck. Passion, -justice, policy, and great social forces never take into account the -condition of the human creature whom they strike down. The statesman, -driven by family considerations to crush Pons, did not so much as see -the physical weakness of his redoubtable enemy. - -"Vat is it, mine boor friend?" exclaimed Schmucke, seeing how white -Pons had grown. - -"It is a fresh stab in the heart," Pons replied, leaning heavily on -Schmucke's arm. "I think that no one, save God in heaven, can have any -right to do good, and that is why all those who meddle in His work are -so cruelly punished." - -The old artist's sarcasm was uttered with a supreme effort; he was -trying, excellent creature, to quiet the dismay visible in Schmucke's -face. - -"So I dink," Schmucke replied simply. - -Pons could not understand it. Neither the Camusots nor the Popinots -had sent him notice of Cecile's wedding. - -On the Boulevard des Italiens Pons saw M. Cardot coming towards them. -Warned by Count Popinot's allocution, Pons was very careful not to -accost the old acquaintance with whom he had dined once a fortnight -for the last year; he lifted his hat, but the other, mayor and deputy -of Paris, threw him an indignant glance and went by. Pons turned to -Schmucke. - -"Do go and ask him what it is that they all have against me," he said -to the friend who knew all the details of the catastrophe that Pons -could tell him. - -"Mennseir," Schmucke began diplomatically, "mine friend Bons is chust -recofering from an illness; you haf no doubt fail to rekognize him?" - -"Not in the least." - -"But mit vat kann you rebroach him?" - -"You have a monster of ingratitude for a friend, sir; if he is still -alive, it is because nothing kills ill weeds. People do well to -mistrust artists; they are as mischievous and spiteful as monkeys. -This friend of yours tried to dishonor his own family, and to blight a -young girl's character, in revenge for a harmless joke. I wish to have -nothing to do with him; I shall do my best to forget that I have known -him, or that such a man exists. All the members of his family and my -own share the wish, sir, so do all the persons who once did the said -Pons the honor of receiving him." - -"Boot, mennseir, you are a reasonaple mann; gif you vill bermit me, I -shall exblain die affair--" - -"You are quite at liberty to remain his friend, sir, if you are minded -that way," returned Cardot, "but you need go no further; for I must -give you warning that in my opinion those who try to excuse or defend -his conduct are just as much to blame." - -"To chustify it?" - -"Yes, for his conduct can neither be justified nor qualified." And -with that word, the deputy for the Seine went his way; he would not -hear another syllable. - -"I have two powers in the State against me," smiled poor Pons, when -Schmucke had repeated these savage speeches. - -"Eferpody is against us," Schmucke answered dolorously. "Let us go -avay pefore we shall meed oder fools." - -Never before in the course of a truly ovine life had Schmucke uttered -such words as these. Never before had his almost divine meekness been -ruffled. He had smiled childlike on all the mischances that befell -him, but he could not look and see his sublime Pons maltreated; his -Pons, his unknown Aristides, the genius resigned to his lot, the -nature that knew no bitterness, the treasury of kindness, the heart of -gold! . . . Alceste's indignation filled Schmucke's soul--he was moved -to call Pons' amphitryons "fools." For his pacific nature that impulse -equaled the wrath of Roland. - -With wise foresight, Schmucke turned to go home by the way of the -Boulevard du Temple, Pons passively submitting like a fallen fighter, -heedless of blows; but chance ordered that he should know that all his -world was against him. The House of Peers, the Chamber of Deputies, -strangers and the family, the strong, the weak, and the innocent, all -combined to send down the avalanche. - -In the Boulevard Poissonniere, Pons caught sight of that very M. -Cardot's daughter, who, young as she was, had learned to be charitable -to others through trouble of her own. Her husband knew a secret by -which he kept her in bondage. She was the only one among Pons' -hostesses whom he called by her Christian name; he addressed Mme. -Berthier as "Felicie," and he thought that she understood him. The -gentle creature seemed to be distressed by the sight of Cousin Pons, -as he was called (though he was in no way related to the family of the -second wife of a cousin by marriage). There was no help for it, -however; Felicie Berthier stopped to speak to the invalid. - -"I did not think you were cruel, cousin," she said; "but if even a -quarter of all that I hear of you is true, you are very false. . . . -Oh! do not justify yourself," she added quickly, seeing Pons' -significant gesture, "it is useless, for two reasons. In the first -place, I have no right to accuse or judge or condemn anybody, for I -myself know so well how much may be said for those who seem to be most -guilty; secondly, your explanation would do no good. M. Berthier drew -up the marriage contract for Mlle. de Marville and the Vicomte -Popinot; he is so exasperated, that if he knew that I had so much as -spoken one word to you, one word for the last time, he would scold me. -Everybody is against you." - -"So it seems indeed, madame," Pons said, his voice shaking as he -lifted his hat respectfully. - -Painfully he made his way back to the Rue de Normandie. The old German -knew from the heavy weight on his arm that his friend was struggling -bravely against failing physical strength. That third encounter was -like the verdict of the Lamb at the foot of the throne of God; and the -anger of the Angel of the Poor, the symbol of the Peoples, is the last -word of Heaven. They reached home without another word. - -There are moments in our lives when the sense that our friend is near -is all that we can bear. Our wounds smart under the consoling words -that only reveal the depths of pain. The old pianist, you see, -possessed a genius for friendship, the tact of those who, having -suffered much, knew the customs of suffering. - -Pons was never to take a walk again. From one illness he fell into -another. He was of a sanguine-bilious temperament, the bile passed -into his blood, and a violent liver attack was the result. He had -never known a day's illness in his life till a month ago; he had never -consulted a doctor; so La Cibot, with almost motherly care and -intentions at first of the very best, called in "the doctor of the -quarter." - -In every quarter of Paris there is a doctor whose name and address are -only known to the working classes, to the little tradespeople and the -porters, and in consequence he is called "the doctor of the quarter." -He undertakes confinement cases, he lets blood, he is in the medical -profession pretty much what the "general servant" of the advertising -column is in the scale of domestic service. He must perforce be kind -to the poor, and tolerably expert by reason of much practice, and he -is generally popular. Dr. Poulain, called in by Mme. Cibot, gave an -inattentive ear to the old musician's complainings. Pons groaned out -that his skin itched; he had scratched himself all night long, till he -could scarcely feel. The look of his eyes, with the yellow circles -about them, corroborated the symptoms. - -"Had you some violent shock a couple of days ago?" the doctor asked -the patient. - -"Yes, alas!" - -"You have the same complaint that this gentleman was threatened with," -said Dr. Poulain, looking at Schmucke as he spoke; "it is an attack of -jaundice, but you will soon get over it," he added, as he wrote a -prescription. - -But in spite of that comfortable phrase, the doctor's eyes had told -another tale as he looked professionally at the patient; and the -death-sentence, though hidden under stereotyped compassion, can always -be read by those who wish to know the truth. Mme. Cibot gave a spy's -glance at the doctor, and read his thought; his bedside manner did not -deceive her; she followed him out of the room. - -"Do you think he will get over it?" asked Mme. Cibot, at the -stairhead. - -"My dear Mme. Cibot, your lodger is a dead man; not because of the -bile in the system, but because his vitality is low. Still, with great -care, your patient may pull through. Somebody ought to take him away -for a change--" - -"How is he to go?" asked Mme. Cibot. "He has nothing to live upon but -his salary; his friend has just a little money from some great ladies, -very charitable ladies, in return for his services, it seems. They are -two children. I have looked after them for nine years." - -"I spend my life watching people die, not of their disease, but of -another bad and incurable complaint--the want of money," said the -doctor. "How often it happens that so far from taking a fee, I am -obliged to leave a five-franc piece on the mantel-shelf when I go--" - -"Poor, dear M. Poulain!" cried Mme. Cibot. "Ah, if you hadn't only the -hundred thousand livres a year, what some stingy folks has in the -quarter (regular devils from hell they are), you would be like -Providence on earth." - -Dr. Poulain had made the little practice, by which he made a bare -subsistence, chiefly by winning the esteem of the porters' lodges in -his district. So he raised his eyes to heaven and thanked Mme. Cibot -with a solemn face worthy of Tartuffe. - -"Then you think that with careful nursing our dear patient will get -better, my dear M. Poulain?" - -"Yes, if this shock has not been too much for him." - -"Poor man! who can have vexed him? There isn't nobody like him on -earth except his friend M. Schmucke. I will find out what is the -matter, and I will undertake to give them that upset my gentleman a -hauling over the coals--" - -"Look here, my dear Mme. Cibot," said the doctor as they stood in the -gateway, "one of the principal symptoms of his complaint is great -irritability; and as it is hardly to be supposed that he can afford a -nurse, the task of nursing him will fall to you. So--" - -"Are you talking of Mouchieu Ponsh?" asked the marine store-dealer. He -was sitting smoking on the curb-post in the gateway, and now he rose -to join in the conversation. - -"Yes, Daddy Remonencq." - -"All right," said Remonencq, "ash to moneysh, he ish better off than -Mouchieu Monishtrol and the big men in the curioshity line. I know -enough in the art line to tell you thish--the dear man has treasursh!" -he spoke with a broad Auvergne dialect. - -"Look here, I thought you were laughing at me the other day when my -gentlemen were out and I showed you the old rubbish upstairs," said -Mme. Cibot. - -In Paris, where walls have ears, where doors have tongues, and window -bars have eyes, there are few things more dangerous than the practice -of standing to chat in a gateway. Partings are like postscripts to a -letter--indiscreet utterances that do as much mischief to the speaker -as to those who overhear them. A single instance will be sufficient as -a parallel to an event in this history. - -In the time of the Empire, when men paid considerable attention to -their hair, one of the first coiffeurs of the day came out of a house -where he had just been dressing a pretty woman's head. This artist in -question enjoyed the custom of all the lower floor inmates of the -house; and among these, there flourished an elderly bachelor guarded -by a housekeeper who detested her master's next-of-kin. The -_ci-devant_ young man, falling seriously ill, the most famous of -doctors of the day (they were not as yet styled the "princes of -science") had been called in to consult upon his case; and it so -chanced that the learned gentlemen were taking leave of one another -in the gateway just as the hairdresser came out. They were talking as -doctors usually talk among themselves when the farce of a consultation -is over. "He is a dead man," quoth Dr. Haudry.--"He had not a month -to live," added Desplein, "unless a miracle takes place."--These were -the words overheard by the hairdresser. - -Like all hairdressers, he kept up a good understanding with his -customers' servants. Prodigious greed sent the man upstairs again; he -mounted to the _ci-devant_ young man's apartment, and promised the -servant-mistress a tolerably handsome commission to persuade her -master to sink a large portion of his money in an annuity. The dying -bachelor, fifty-six by count of years, and twice as old as his age by -reason of amorous campaigns, owned, among other property, a splendid -house in the Rue de Richelieu, worth at that time about two hundred -and fifty thousand francs. It was this house that the hairdresser -coveted; and on agreement to pay an annuity of thirty thousand francs -so long as the bachelor lived, it passed into his hands. This happened -in 1806. And in this year 1846 the hairdresser is still paying that -annuity. He has retired from business, he is seventy years old; the -_ci-devant_ young man is in his dotage; and as he has married his Mme. -Evrard, he may last for a long while yet. As the hairdresser gave the -woman thirty thousand francs, his bit of real estate has cost him, -first and last, more than a million, and the house at this day is -worth eight or nine hundred thousand francs. - -Like the hairdresser, Remonencq the Auvergnat had overheard Brunner's -parting remark in the gateway on the day of Cecile's first interview -with that phoenix of eligible men. Remonencq at once longed to gain a -sight of Pons' museum; and as he lived on good terms with his -neighbors the Cibots, it was not very long before the opportunity came -one day when the friends were out. The sight of such treasures dazzled -him; he saw a "good haul," in dealers' phrase, which being interpreted -means a chance to steal a fortune. He had been meditating this for -five or six days. - -"I am sho far from joking," he said, in reply to Mme. Cibot's remark, -"that we will talk the thing over; and if the good shentleman will -take an annuity, of fifty thousand francsh, I will shtand a hamper of -wine, if--" - -"Fifty thousand francs!" interrupted the doctor; "what are you -thinking about? Why, if the good man is so well off as that, with me -in attendance, and Mme. Cibot to nurse him, he may get better--for -liver complaint is a disease that attacks strong constitutions." - -"Fifty, did I shay? Why, a shentleman here, on your very doorshtep, -offered him sheven hundred thoushand francsh, shimply for the -pictursh, _fouchtra_!" - -While Remonencq made this announcement, Mme. Cibot was looking at Dr. -Poulain. There was a strange expression in her eyes; the devil might -have kindled that sinister glitter in their tawny depths. - -"Oh, come! we must not pay any attention to such idle tales," said the -doctor, well pleased, however, to find that his patient could afford -to pay for his visits. - -"If my dear Mme. Cibot, here, would let me come and bring an ekshpert -(shinsh the shentleman upshtairs ish in bed), I will shertainly find -the money in a couple of hoursh, even if sheven hundred thousand -francsh ish in queshtion--" - -"All right, my friend," said the doctor. "Now, Mme. Cibot, be careful -never to contradict the invalid. You must be prepared to be very -patient with him, for he will find everything irritating and -wearisome, even your services; nothing will please him; you must -expect grumbling--" - -"He will be uncommonly hard to please," said La Cibot. - -"Look here, mind what I tell you," the doctor said in a tone of -authority, "M. Pons' life is in the hands of those that nurse him; I -shall come perhaps twice a day. I shall take him first on my round." - -The doctor's profound indifference to the fate of a poor patient had -suddenly given place to a most tender solicitude when he saw that the -speculator was serious, and that there was a possible fortune in -question. - -"He will be nursed like a king," said Madame Cibot, forcing up -enthusiasm. She waited till the doctor turned the corner into the Rue -Charlot; then she fell to talking again with the dealer in old iron. -Remonencq had finished smoking his pipe, and stood in the doorway of -his shop, leaning against the frame; he had purposely taken this -position; he meant the portress to come to him. - -The shop had once been a cafe. Nothing had been changed there since -the Auvergnat discovered it and took over the lease; you could still -read "Cafe de Normandie" on the strip left above the windows in all -modern shops. Remonencq had found somebody, probably a housepainter's -apprentice, who did the work for nothing, to paint another inscription -in the remaining space below--"REMONENCQ," it ran, "DEALER IN MARINE -STORES, FURNITURE BOUGHT"--painted in small black letters. All the -mirrors, tables, seats, shelves, and fittings of the Cafe de Normandie -had been sold, as might have been expected, before Remonencq took -possession of the shop as it stood, paying a yearly rent of six -hundred francs for the place, with a back shop, a kitchen, and a -single room above, where the head-waiter used to sleep, for the house -belonging to the Cafe de Normandie was let separately. Of the former -splendor of the cafe, nothing now remained save the plain light green -paper on the walls, and the strong iron bolts and bars of the -shop-front. - -When Remonencq came hither in 1831, after the Revolution of July, he -began by displaying a selection of broken doorbells, cracked plates, -old iron, and the obsolete scales and weights abolished by a -Government which alone fails to carry out its own regulations, for -pence and half pence of the time of Louis XVI. are still in -circulation. After a time this Auvergnat, a match for five ordinary -Auvergnats, bought up old saucepans and kettles, old picture-frames, -old copper, and chipped china. Gradually, as the shop was emptied and -filled, the quality of the stock-in-trade improved, like Nicolet's -farces. Remonencq persisted in an unfailing and prodigiously -profitable martingale, a "system" which any philosophical idler may -study as he watches the increasing value of the stock kept by this -intelligent class of trader. Picture-frames and copper succeed to -tin-ware, argand lamps, and damaged crockery; china marks the next -transition; and after no long tarriance in the "omnium gatherum" -stage, the shop becomes a museum. Some day or other the dusty windows -are cleaned, the interior is restored, the Auvergnat relinquishes -velveteen and jackets for a great-coat, and there he sits like a -dragon guarding his treasure, surrounded by masterpieces! He is a -cunning connoisseur by this time; he has increased his capital -tenfold; he is not to be cheated; he knows the tricks of the trade. -The monster among his treasures looks like some old hag among a score -of young girls that she offers to the public. Beauty and miracles of -art are alike indifferent to him; subtle and dense as he is, he has a -keen eye to profits, he talks roughly to those who know less than he -does; he has learned to act a part, he pretends to love his pictures, -or again he lets you know the price he himself gave for the things, he -offers to let you see the memoranda of the sale. He is a Proteus; in -one hour he can be Jocrisse, Janot, _Queue-rouge_, Mondor, Hapagon, or -Nicodeme. - -The third year found armor, and old pictures, and some tolerably fine -clocks in Remonencq's shop. He sent for his sister, and La Remonencq -came on foot all the way from Auvergne to take charge of the shop -while her brother was away. A big and very ugly woman, dressed like a -Japanese idol, a half-idiotic creature with a vague, staring gaze she -would not bate a centime of the prices fixed by her brother. In the -intervals of business she did the work of the house, and solved the -apparently insoluble problem--how to live on "the mists of the Seine." -The Remonencqs' diet consisted of bread and herrings, with the outside -leaves of lettuce or vegetable refuse selected from the heaps -deposited in the kennel before the doors of eating-houses. The two -between them did not spend more than fivepence a day on food (bread -included), and La Remonencq earned the money by sewing or spinning. - -Remonencq came to Paris in the first instance to work as an -errand-boy. Between the years 1825 and 1831 he ran errands for dealers -in curiosities in the Boulevard Beaumarchais or coppersmiths in the Rue -de Lappe. It is the usual start in life in his line of business. Jews, -Normans, Auvergnats, and Savoyards, those four different races of men -all have the same instincts, and make their fortunes in the same way; -they spend nothing, make small profits, and let them accumulate at -compound interest. Such is their trading charter, and _that_ charter -is no delusion. - -Remonencq at this moment had made it up with his old master Monistrol; -he did business with wholesale dealers, he was a _chineur_ (the -technical word), plying his trade in the _banlieue_, which, as -everybody knows, extends for some forty leagues round Paris. - -After fourteen years of business, he had sixty thousand francs in hand -and a well-stocked shop. He lived in the Rue de Normandie because the -rent was low, but casual customers were scarce, most of his goods were -sold to other dealers, and he was content with moderate gains. All his -business transactions were carried on in the Auvergue dialect or -_charabia_, as people call it. - -Remonencq cherished a dream! He wished to establish himself on a -boulevard, to be a rich dealer in curiosities, and do a direct trade -with amateurs some day. And, indeed, within him there was a formidable -man of business. His countenance was the more inscrutable because it -was glazed over by a deposit of dust and particles of metal glued -together by the sweat of his brow; for he did everything himself, and -the use and wont of bodily labor had given him something of the -stoical impassibility of the old soldiers of 1799. - -In personal appearance Remonencq was short and thin; his little eyes -were set in his head in porcine fashion; a Jew's slyness and -concentrated greed looked out of those dull blue circles, though in -his case the false humility that masks the Hebrew's unfathomed -contempt for the Gentile was lacking. - -The relations between the Cibots and the Remonencqs were those of -benefactors and recipients. Mme. Cibot, convinced that the Auvergnats -were wretchedly poor, used to let them have the remainder of "her -gentlemen's" dinners at ridiculous prices. The Remonencqs would buy a -pound of broken bread, crusts and crumbs, for a farthing, a -porringer-full of cold potatoes for something less, and other scraps -in proportion. Remonencq shrewdly allowed them to believe that he was -not in business on his own account, he worked for Monistrol, the rich -shopkeepers preyed upon him, he said, and the Cibots felt sincerely -sorry for Remonencq. The velveteen jacket, waistcoat, and trousers, -particularly affected by Auvergnats, were covered with patches of -Cibot's making, and not a penny had the little tailor charged for -repairs which kept the three garments together after eleven years of -wear. - -Thus we see that all Jews are not in Israel. - -"You are not laughing at me, Remonencq, are you?" asked the portress. -"Is it possible that M. Pons has such a fortune, living as he does? -There is not a hundred francs in the place--" - -"Amateursh are all like that," Remonencq remarked sententiously. - -"Then do you think that my gentleman has worth of seven hundred -thousand francs, eh?--" - -"In pictures alone," continued Remonencq (it is needless, for the sake -of clearness in the story, to give any further specimens of his -frightful dialect). "If he would take fifty thousand francs for one up -there that I know of, I would find the money if I had to hang myself. -Do you remember those little frames full of enameled copper on crimson -velvet, hanging among the portraits? . . . Well, those are Petitot's -enamels; and there is a cabinet minister as used to be a druggist that -will give three thousand francs apiece for them." - -La Cibot's eyes opened wide. "There are thirty of them in the pair of -frames!" she said. - -"Very well, you can judge for yourself how much he is worth." - -Mme. Cibot's head was swimming; she wheeled round. In a moment came -the thought that she would have a legacy, _she_ would sleep sound on -old Pons' will, like the other servant-mistresses whose annuities had -aroused such envy in the Marais. Her thoughts flew to some commune in -the neighborhood of Paris; she saw herself strutting proudly about her -house in the country, looking after her garden and poultry yard, -ending her days, served like a queen, along with her poor dear Cibot, -who deserved such good fortune, like all angelic creatures whom nobody -knows nor appreciates. - -Her abrupt, unthinking movement told Remonencq that success was sure. -In the _chineur's_ way of business--the _chineur_, be it explained, -goes about the country picking up bargains at the expense of the -ignorant--in the _chineur's_ way of business, the one real difficulty -is the problem of gaining an entrance to a house. No one can imagine -the Scapin's roguery, the tricks of a Sganarelle, the wiles of a -Dorine by which the _chineur_ contrives to make a footing for himself. -These comedies are as good as a play, and founded indeed on the old -stock theme of the dishonesty of servants. For thirty francs in money -or goods, servants, and especially country servants, will sometimes -conclude a bargain on which the _chineur_ makes a profit of a thousand -or two thousand francs. If we could but know the history of such and -such a service of Sevres porcelain, _pate tendre_, we should find that -all the intellect, all the diplomatic subtlety displayed at Munster, -Nimeguen, Utrecht, Ryswick, and Vienna was surpassed by the _chineur_. -His is the more frank comedy; his methods of action fathom depths of -personal interest quite as profound as any that plenipotentiaries can -explore in their difficult search for any means of breaking up the -best cemented alliances. - -"I have set La Cibot nicely on fire," Remonencq told his sister, when -she came to take up her position again on the ramshackle chair. "And -now," he continued, "I shall go to consult the only man that knows, -our Jew, a good sort of Jew that did not ask more than fifteen per -cent of us for his money." - -Remonencq had read La Cibot's heart. To will is to act with women of -her stamp. Let them see the end in view; they will stick at nothing to -gain it, and pass from scrupulous honesty to the last degree of -scoundrelism in the twinkling of an eye. Honesty, like most -dispositions of mind, is divided into two classes--negative and -positive. La Cibot's honesty was of the negative order; she and her -like are honest until they see their way clear to gain money belonging -to somebody else. Positive honesty, the honesty of the bank collector, -can wade knee-deep through temptations. - -A torrent of evil thoughts invaded La Cibot's heart and brain so soon -as Remonencq's diabolical suggestion opened the flood-gates of -self-interest. La Cibot climbed, or, to be more accurate, fled up the -stairs, opened the door on the landing, and showed a face disguised in -false solicitude in the doorway of the room where Pons and Schmucke -were bemoaning themselves. As soon as she came in, Schmucke made her a -warning sign; for, true friend and sublime German that he was, he too -had read the doctor's eyes, and he was afraid that Mme. Cibot might -repeat the verdict. Mme. Cibot answered by a shake of the head -indicative of deep woe. - -"Well, my dear monsieur," asked she, "how are you feeling?" She sat -down on the foot of the bed, hands on hips, and fixed her eyes -lovingly upon the patient; but what a glitter of metal there was in -them, a terrible, tiger-like gleam if any one had watched her. - -"I feel very ill," answered poor Pons. "I have not the slightest -appetite left.--Oh! the world, the world!" he groaned, squeezing -Schmucke's hand. Schmucke was sitting by his bedside, and doubtless -the sick man was talking of the causes of his illness.--"I should have -done far better to follow your advice, my good Schmucke, and dined -here every day, and given up going into this society, that has fallen -on me with all its weight, like a tumbril cart crushing an egg! And -why?" - -"Come, come, don't complain, M. Pons," said La Cibot; "the doctor told -me just how it is--" - -Schmucke tugged at her gown.--"And you will pull through," she -continued, "only we must take great care of you. Be easy, you have a -good friend beside you, and without boasting, a woman as will nurse -you like a mother nurses her first child. I nursed Cibot round once -when Dr. Poulain had given him over; he had the shroud up to his eyes, -as the saying is, and they gave him up for dead. Well, well, you have -not come to that yet, God be thanked, ill though you may be. Count on -me; I would pull you through all by myself, I would! Keep still, don't -you fidget like that." - -She pulled the coverlet over the patient's hands as she spoke. - -"There, sonny! M. Schmucke and I will sit up with you of nights. A -prince won't be no better nursed . . . and besides, you needn't refuse -yourself nothing that's necessary, you can afford it.--I have just -been talking things over with Cibot, for what would he do without me, -poor dear?--Well, and I talked him round; we are both so fond of you, -that he will let me stop up with you of a night. And that is a good -deal to ask of a man like him, for he is as fond of me as ever he was -the day we were married. I don't know how it is. It is the lodge, you -see; we are always there together! Don't you throw off the things like -that!" she cried, making a dash for the bedhead to draw the coverlet -over Pons' chest. "If you are not good, and don't do just as Dr. -Poulain says--and Dr. Poulain is the image of Providence on earth--I -will have no more to do with you. You must do as I tell you--" - -"Yes, Montame Zipod, he vill do vat you dell him," put in Schmucke; -"he vants to lif for his boor friend Schmucke's sake, I'll pe pound." - -"And of all things, don't fidget yourself," continued La Cibot, "for -your illness makes you quite bad enough without your making it worse -for want of patience. God sends us our troubles, my dear good -gentlemen; He punishes us for our sins. Haven't you nothing to -reproach yourself with? some poor little bit of a fault or other?" - -The invalid shook his head. - -"Oh! go on! You were young once, you had your fling, there is some -love-child of yours somewhere--cold, and starving, and homeless. . . . -What monsters men are! Their love doesn't last only for a day, and -then in a jiffy they forget, they don't so much as think of the child -at the breast for months. . . . Poor women!" - -"But no one has ever loved me except Schmucke and my mother," poor -Pons broke in sadly. - -"Oh! come, you aren't no saint! You were young in your time, and a -fine-looking young fellow you must have been at twenty. I should have -fallen in love with you myself, so nice as you are--" - -"I always was as ugly as a toad," Pons put in desperately. - -"You say that because you are modest; nobody can't say that you aren't -modest." - -"My dear Mme. Cibot, _no_, I tell you. I always was ugly, and I never -was loved in my life." - -"You, indeed!" cried the portress. "You want to make me believe at -this time of day that you are as innocent as a young maid at your time -of life. Tell that to your granny! A musician at a theatre too! Why, -if a woman told me that, I wouldn't believe her." - -"Montame Zipod, you irritate him!" cried Schmucke, seeing that Pons -was writhing under the bedclothes. - -"You hold your tongue too! You are a pair of old libertines. If you -were ugly, it don't make no difference; there was never so ugly a -saucepan-lid but it found a pot to match, as the saying is. There is -Cibot, he got one of the handsomest oyster-women in Paris to fall in -love with him, and you are infinitely better looking than him! You are -a nice pair, you are! Come, now, you have sown your wild oats, and God -will punish you for deserting your children, like Abraham--" - -Exhausted though he was, the invalid gathered up all his strength to -make a vehement gesture of denial. - -"Do lie quiet; if you have, it won't prevent you from living as long -as Methuselah." - -"Then, pray let me be quiet!" groaned Pons. "I have never known what -it is to be loved. I have had no child; I am alone in the world." - -"Really, eh?" returned the portress. "You are so kind, and that is -what women like, you see--it draws them--and it looked to me -impossible that when you were in your prime--" - -"Take her away," Pons whispered to Schmucke; "she sets my nerves on -edge." - -"Then there's M. Schmucke, he has children. You old bachelors are not -all like that--" - -"_I!_" cried Schmucke, springing to his feet, "vy!--" - -"Come, then, you have none to come after you either, eh? You both -sprung up out of the earth like mushrooms--" - -"Look here, komm mit me," said Schmucke. The good German manfully took -Mme. Cibot by the waist and carried her off into the next room, in -spite of her exclamations. - -"At your age, you would not take advantage of a defenceless woman!" -cried La Cibot, struggling in his arms. - -"Don't make a noise!" - -"You too, the better one of the two!" returned La Cibot. "Ah! it is my -fault for talking about love to two old men who have never had nothing -to do with women. I have roused your passions," cried she, as -Schmucke's eyes glittered with wrath. "Help! help! police!" - -"You are a stoopid!" said the German. "Look here, vat tid de toctor -say?" - -"You are a ruffian to treat me so," wept La Cibot, now released,--"me -that would go through fire and water for you both! Ah! well, well, -they say that that is the way with men--and true it is! There is my -poor Cibot, _he_ would not be rough with me like this. . . . And I -treated you like my children, for I have none of my own; and -yesterday, yes, only yesterday I said to Cibot, 'God knew well what He -was doing, dear,' I said, 'when He refused us children, for I have two -children there upstairs.' By the holy crucifix and the soul of my -mother, that was what I said to him--" - -"Eh! but vat did der doctor say?" Schmucke demanded furiously, -stamping on the floor for the first time in his life. - -"Well," said Mme. Cibot, drawing Schmucke into the dining-room, "he -just said this--that our dear, darling love lying ill there would die -if he wasn't carefully nursed; but I am here, in spite of all your -brutality, for brutal you were, you that I thought so gentle. And you -are one of that sort! Ah! now, you would not abuse a woman at your -age, great blackguard--" - -"Placard? I? Vill you not oonderstand that I lof nopody but Bons?" - -"Well and good, you will let me alone, won't you?" said she, smiling -at Schmucke. "You had better; for if Cibot knew that anybody had -attempted his honor, he would break every bone in his skin." - -"Take crate care of him, dear Montame Zipod," answered Schmucke, and -he tried to take the portress' hand. - -"Oh! look here now, _again_." - -"Chust listen to me. You shall haf all dot I haf, gif ve safe him." - -"Very well; I will go round to the chemist's to get the things that -are wanted; this illness is going to cost a lot, you see, sir, and -what will you do?" - -"I shall vork; Bons shall be nursed like ein brince." - -"So he shall, M. Schmucke; and look here, don't you trouble about -nothing. Cibot and I, between us, have saved a couple of thousand -francs; they are yours; I have been spending money on you this long -time, I have." - -"Goot voman!" cried Schmucke, brushing the tears from his eyes. "Vat -ein heart!" - -"Wipe your tears; they do me honor; this is my reward," said La Cibot, -melodramatically. "There isn't no more disinterested creature on earth -than me; but don't you go into the room with tears in your eyes, or M. -Pons will be thinking himself worse than he is." - -Schmucke was touched by this delicate feeling. He took La Cibot's hand -and gave it a final squeeze. - -"Spare me!" cried the ex-oysterseller, leering at Schmucke. - -"Bons," the good German said when he returned "Montame Zipod is an -anchel; 'tis an anchel dat brattles, but an anchel all der same." - -"Do you think so? I have grown suspicious in the past month," said the -invalid, shaking his head. "After all I have been through, one comes -to believe in nothing but God and my friend--" - -"Get bedder, and ve vill lif like kings, all tree of us," exclaimed -Schmucke. - - - -"Cibot!" panted the portress as she entered the lodge. "Oh, my dear, -our fortune is made. My two gentlemen haven't nobody to come after -them, no natural children, no nothing, in short! Oh, I shall go round -to Ma'am Fontaine's and get her to tell my fortune on the cards, then -we shall know how much we are going to have--" - -"Wife," said the little tailor, "it's ill counting on dead men's -shoes." - -"Oh, I say, are _you_ going to worry me?" asked she, giving her spouse -a playful tap. "I know what I know! Dr. Poulain has given up M. Pons. -And we are going to be rich! My name will be down in the will. . . . -I'll see to that. Draw your needle in and out, and look after the -lodge; you will not do it for long now. We will retire, and go into -the country, out at Batignolles. A nice house and a fine garden; you -will amuse yourself with gardening, and I shall keep a servant!" - -"Well, neighbor, and how are things going on upstairs?" The words were -spoken with the thick Auvergnat accent, and Remonencq put his head in -at the door. "Do you know what the collection is worth?" - -"No, no, not yet. One can't go at that rate, my good man. I have -begun, myself, by finding out more important things--" - -"More important!" exclaimed Remonencq; "why, what things can be more -important?" - -"Come, let me do the steering, ragamuffin," said La Cibot -authoritatively. - -"But thirty per cent on seven hundred thousand francs," persisted the -dealer in old iron; "you could be your own mistress for the rest of -your days on that." - -"Be easy, Daddy Remonencq; when we want to know the value of the -things that the old man has got together, then we will see." - -La Cibot went for the medicine ordered by Dr. Poulain, and put off her -consultation with Mme. Fontaine until the morrow; the oracle's -faculties would be fresher and clearer in the morning, she thought; -and she would go early, before everybody else came, for there was -often a crowd at Mme. Fontaine's. - -Mme. Fontaine was at this time the oracle of the Marais; she had -survived the rival of forty years, the celebrated Mlle. Lenormand. No -one imagines the part that fortune-tellers play among Parisians of the -lower classes, nor the immense influence which they exert over the -uneducated; general servants, portresses, kept women, workmen, all the -many in Paris who live on hope, consult the privileged beings who -possess the mysterious power of reading the future. - -The belief of the occult science is far more widely spread than -scholars, lawyers, doctors, magistrates, and philosophers imagine. The -instincts of the people are ineradicable. One among those instincts, -so foolishly styled "superstition," runs in the blood of the populace, -and tinges no less the intellects of better educated folk. More than -one French statesman has been known to consult the fortune-teller's -cards. For sceptical minds, astrology, in French, so oddly termed -_astrologie judiciare_, is nothing more than a cunning device for -making a profit out of one of the strongest of all the instincts of -human nature--to wit, curiosity. The sceptical mind consequently -denies that there is any connection between human destiny and the -prognostications obtained by the seven or eight principal methods -known to astrology; and the occult sciences, like many natural -phenomena, are passed over by the freethinker or the materialist -philosopher, _id est_, by those who believe in nothing but visible and -tangible facts, in the results given by the chemist's retort and the -scales of modern physical science. The occult sciences still exist; -they are at work, but they make no progress, for the greatest -intellects of two centuries have abandoned the field. - -If you only look at the practical side of divination, it seems absurd -to imagine that events in a man's past life and secrets known only to -himself can be represented on the spur of the moment by a pack of -cards which he shuffles and cuts for the fortune-teller to lay out in -piles according to certain mysterious rules; but then the steam-engine -was condemned as absurd, aerial navigation is still said to be absurd, -so in their time were the inventions of gunpowder, printing, -spectacles, engraving, and that latest discovery of all--the -daguerreotype. If any man had come to Napoleon to tell him that a -building or a figure is at all times and in all places represented by -an image in the atmosphere, that every existing object has a spectral -intangible double which may become visible, the Emperor would have -sent his informant to Charenton for a lunatic, just as Richelieu -before his day sent that Norman martyr, Salomon de Caux, to the -Bicetre for announcing his immense triumph, the idea of navigation by -steam. Yet Daguerre's discovery amounts to nothing more nor less than -this. - -And if for some clairvoyant eyes God has written each man's destiny -over his whole outward and visible form, if a man's body is the record -of his fate, why should not the hand in a manner epitomize the body? ---since the hand represents the deed of man, and by his deeds he is -known. - -Herein lies the theory of palmistry. Does not Society imitate God? At -the sight of a soldier we can predict that he will fight; of a lawyer, -that he will talk; of a shoemaker, that he shall make shoes or boots; -of a worker of the soil, that he shall dig the ground and dung it; and -is it a more wonderful thing that such an one with the "seer's" gift -should foretell the events of a man's life from his hand? - -To take a striking example. Genius is so visible in a man that a great -artist cannot walk about the streets of Paris but the most ignorant -people are conscious of his passing. He is a sun, as it were, in the -mental world, shedding light that colors everything in its path. And -who does not know an idiot at once by an impression the exact opposite -of the sensation of the presence of genius? Most observers of human -nature in general, and Parisian nature in particular, can guess the -profession or calling of the man in the street. - -The mysteries of the witches' Sabbath, so wonderfully painted in the -sixteenth century, are no mysteries for us. The Egyptian ancestors of -that mysterious people of Indian origin, the gypsies of the present -day, simply used to drug their clients with hashish, a practice that -fully accounts for broomstick rides and flights up the chimney, the -real-seeming visions, so to speak, of old crones transformed into -young damsels, the frantic dances, the exquisite music, and all the -fantastic tales of devil-worship. - -So many proven facts have been first discovered by occult science, -that some day we shall have professors of occult science, as we -already have professors of chemistry and astronomy. It is even -singular that here in Paris, where we are founding chairs of Mantchu -and Slave and literatures so little professable (to coin a word) as -the literatures of the North (which, so far from providing lessons, -stand very badly in need of them); when the curriculum is full of the -everlasting lectures on Shakespeare and the sixteenth century,--it is -strange that some one has not restored the teaching of the occult -philosophies, once the glory of the University of Paris, under the -title of anthropology. Germany, so childlike and so great, has -outstripped France in this particular; in Germany they have professors -of a science of far more use than a knowledge of the heterogeneous -philosophies, which all come to the same thing at bottom. - -Once admit that certain beings have the power of discerning the future -in its germ-form of the Cause, as the great inventor sees a glimpse of -the industry latent in his invention, or a science in something that -happens every day unnoticed by ordinary eyes--once allow this, and -there is nothing to cause an outcry in such phenomena, no violent -exception to nature's laws, but the operation of a recognized faculty; -possibly a kind of mental somnambulism, as it were. If, therefore, the -hypothesis upon which the various ways of divining the future are -based seem absurd, the facts remain. Remark that it is not really more -wonderful that the seer should foretell the chief events of the future -than that he should read the past. Past and future, on the sceptic's -system, equally lie beyond the limits of knowledge. If the past has -left traces behind it, it is not improbable that future events have, -as it were, their roots in the present. - -If a fortune-teller gives you minute details of past facts known only -to yourself, why should he not foresee the events to be produced by -existing causes? The world of ideas is cut out, so to speak, on the -pattern of the physical world; the same phenomena should be -discernible in both, allowing for the difference of the medium. As, -for instance, a corporeal body actually projects an image upon the -atmosphere--a spectral double detected and recorded by the -daguerreotype; so also ideas, having a real and effective existence, -leave an impression, as it were, upon the atmosphere of the spiritual -world; they likewise produce effects, and exist spectrally (to coin a -word to express phenomena for which no words exist), and certain human -beings are endowed with the faculty of discerning these "forms" or -traces of ideas. - -As for the material means employed to assist the seer--the objects -arranged by the hands of the consultant that the accidents of his life -may be revealed to him,--this is the least inexplicable part of the -process. Everything in the material world is part of a series of -causes and effects. Nothing happens without a cause, every cause is a -part of a whole, and consequently the whole leaves its impression on -the slightest accident. Rabelais, the greatest mind among moderns, -resuming Pythagoras, Hippocrates, Aristophanes, and Dante, pronounced -three centuries ago that "man is a microcosm"--a little world. Three -hundred years later, the great seer Swedenborg declared that "the -world was a man." The prophet and the precursor of incredulity meet -thus in the greatest of all formulas. - -Everything in human life is predestined, so it is also with the -existence of the planet. The least event, the most futile phenomena, -are all subordinate parts of a scheme. Great things, therefore, great -designs, and great thoughts are of necessity reflected in the smallest -actions, and that so faithfully, that should a conspirator shuffle and -cut a pack of playing-cards, he will write the history of his plot for -the eyes of the seer styled gypsy, fortune-teller, charlatan, or what -not. If you once admit fate, which is to say, the chain of links of -cause and effect, astrology has a _locus standi_, and becomes what it -was of yore, a boundless science, requiring the same faculty of -deduction by which Cuvier became so great, a faculty to be exercised -spontaneously, however, and not merely in nights of study in the -closet. - -For seven centuries astrology and divination have exercised an -influence not only (as at present) over the uneducated, but over the -greatest minds, over kings and queens and wealthy people. Animal -magnetism, one of the great sciences of antiquity, had its origin in -occult philosophy; chemistry is the outcome of alchemy; phrenology and -neurology are no less the fruit of similar studies. The first -illustrious workers in these, to all appearance, untouched fields, -made one mistake, the mistake of all inventors; that is to say, they -erected an absolute system on a basis of isolated facts for which -modern analysis as yet cannot account. The Catholic Church, the law of -the land, and modern philosophy, in agreement for once, combined to -prescribe, persecute, and ridicule the mysteries of the Cabala as well -as the adepts; the result is a lamentable interregnum of a century in -occult philosophy. But the uneducated classes, and not a few -cultivated people (women especially), continue to pay a tribute to the -mysterious power of those who can raise the veil of the future; they -go to buy hope, strength, and courage of the fortune-teller; in other -words, to ask of him all that religion alone can give. So the art is -still practised in spite of a certain amount of risk. The eighteenth -century encyclopaedists procured tolerance for the sorcerer; he is no -longer amenable to a court of law, unless, indeed, he lends himself to -fraudulent practices, and frightens his "clients" to extort money from -them, in which case he may be prosecuted on a charge of obtaining -money under false pretences. Unluckily, the exercise of the sublime -art is only too often used as a method of obtaining money under false -pretences, and for the following reasons. - -The seer's wonderful gifts are usually bestowed upon those who are -described by the epithets rough and uneducated. The rough and -uneducated are the chosen vessels into which God pours the elixirs at -which we marvel. From among the rough and uneducated, prophets arise ---an Apostle Peter, or St. Peter the Hermit. Wherever mental power is -imprisoned, and remains intact and entire for want of an outlet in -conversation, in politics, in literature, in the imaginings of the -scholar, in the efforts of the statesman, in the conceptions of the -inventor, or the soldier's toils of war; the fire within is apt to -flash out in gleams of marvelously vivid light, like the sparks hidden -in an unpolished diamond. Let the occasion come, and the spirit within -kindles and glows, finds wings to traverse space, and the god-like -power of beholding all things. The coal of yesterday under the play of -some mysterious influence becomes a radiant diamond. Better educated -people, many-sided and highly polished, continually giving out all -that is in them, can never exhibit this supreme power, save by one of -the miracles which God sometimes vouchsafes to work. For this reason -the soothsayer is almost always a beggar, whose mind is virgin soil, a -creature coarse to all appearance, a pebble borne along the torrent of -misery and left in the ruts of life, where it spends nothing of itself -save in mere physical suffering. - -The prophet, the seer, in short, is some _Martin le Laboureur_ making -a Louis XVIII. tremble by telling him a secret known only to the king -himself; or it is a Mlle. Lenormand, or a domestic servant like Mme. -Fontaine, or again, perhaps it is some half-idiotic negress, some -herdsman living among his cattle, who receives the gift of vision; -some Hindoo fakir, seated by a pagoda, mortifying the flesh till the -spirit gains the mysterious power of the somnambulist. - -Asia, indeed, through all time, has been the home of the heroes of -occult science. Persons of this kind, recovering their normal state, -are usually just as they were before. They fulfil, in some sort, the -chemical and physical functions of bodies which conduct electricity; -at times inert metal, at other times a channel filled with a -mysterious current. In their normal condition they are given to -practices which bring them before the magistrate, yea, verily, like -the notorious Balthazar, even unto the criminal court, and so to the -hulks. You could hardly find a better proof of the immense influence -of fortune-telling upon the working classes than the fact that poor -Pons' life and death hung upon the prediction that Mme. Fontaine was -to make from the cards. - -Although a certain amount of repetition is inevitable in a canvas so -considerable and so full of detail as a complete picture of French -society in the nineteenth century, it is needless to repeat the -description of Mme. Fontaine's den, already given in _Les Comediens -sans le savoir_; suffice it to say that Mme. Cibot used to go to Mme. -Fontaine's house in the Rue Vieille-du-Temple as regularly as -frequenters of the Cafe Anglais drop in at that restaurant for lunch. -Mme. Cibot, being a very old customer, often introduced young persons -and old gossips consumed with curiosity to the wise woman. - -The old servant who acted as provost marshal flung open the door of -the sanctuary with no further ceremony than the remark, "It's Mme. -Cibot.--Come in, there's nobody here." - -"Well, child, what can bring you here so early of a morning?" asked -the sorceress, as Mme. Fontaine might well be called, for she was -seventy-eight years old, and looked like one of the Parcae. - -"Something has given me a turn," said La Cibot; "I want the _grand -jeu_; it is a question of my fortune." Therewith she explained her -position, and wished to know if her sordid hopes were likely to be -realized. - -"Do you know what the _grand jeu_ means?" asked Mme. Fontaine, with -much solemnity. - -"No, I haven't never seen the trick, I am not rich enough.--A hundred -francs! It's not as if it cost so much! Where was the money to come -from? But now I can't help myself, I must have it." - -"I don't do it often, child," returned Mme. Fontaine; "I only do it -for rich people on great occasions, and they pay me twenty-five louis -for doing it; it tires me, you see, it wears me out. The 'Spirit' -rives my inside, here. It is like going to the 'Sabbath,' as they used -to say." - -"But when I tell you that it means my whole future, my dear good Ma'am -Fontaine--" - -"Well, as it is you that have come to consult me so often, I will -submit myself to the Spirit!" replied Mme. Fontaine, with a look of -genuine terror on her face. - -She rose from her filthy old chair by the fireside, and went to a -table covered with a green cloth so worn that you could count the -threads. A huge toad sat dozing there beside a cage inhabited by a -black disheveled-looking fowl. - -"Astaroth! here, my son!" she said, and the creature looked up -intelligently at her as she rapped him on the back with a long -knitting-needle.--"And you, Mademoiselle Cleopatre!--attention!" she -continued, tapping the ancient fowl on the beak. - -Then Mme. Fontaine began to think; for several seconds she did not -move; she looked like a corpse, her eyes rolled in their sockets and -grew white; then she rose stiff and erect, and a cavernous voice -cried: - -"Here I am!" - -Automatically she scattered millet for Cleopatre, took up the pack of -cards, shuffled them convulsively, and held them out to Mme. Cibot to -cut, sighing heavily all the time. At the sight of that image of Death -in the filthy turban and uncanny-looking bed-jacket, watching the -black fowl as it pecked at the millet-grains, calling to the toad -Astaroth to walk over the cards that lay out on the table, a cold -thrill ran through Mme. Cibot; she shuddered. Nothing but strong -belief can give strong emotions. An assured income, to be or not to -be, that was the question. - -The sorceress opened a magical work and muttered some unintelligible -words in a sepulchral voice, looked at the remaining millet-seeds, and -watched the way in which the toad retired. Then after seven or eight -minutes, she turned her white eyes on the cards and expounded them. - -"You will succeed, although nothing in the affair will fall out as you -expect. You will have many steps to take, but you will reap the fruits -of your labors. You will behave very badly; it will be with you as it -is with all those who sit by a sick-bed and covet part of the -inheritance. Great people will help you in this work of wrongdoing. -Afterwards in the death agony you will repent. Two escaped convicts, a -short man with red hair and an old man with a bald head, will murder -you for the sake of the money you will be supposed to have in the -village whither you will retire with your second husband. Now, my -daughter, it is still open to you to choose your course." - -The excitement which seemed to glow within, lighting up the bony -hollows about the eyes, was suddenly extinguished. As soon as the -horoscope was pronounced, Mme. Fontaine's face wore a dazed -expression; she looked exactly like a sleep-walker aroused from sleep, -gazed about her with an astonished air, recognized Mme. Cibot, and -seemed surprised by her terrified face. - -"Well, child," she said, in a totally different voice, "are you -satisfied?" - -Mme. Cibot stared stupidly at the sorceress, and could not answer. - -"Ah! you would have the _grand jeu_; I have treated you as an old -acquaintance. I only want a hundred francs--" - -"Cibot,--going to die?" gasped the portress. - -"So I have been telling you very dreadful things, have I?" asked Mme. -Fontaine, with an extremely ingenuous air. - -"Why, yes!" said La Cibot, taking a hundred francs from her pocket and -laying them down on the edge of the table. "Going to be murdered, -think of it--" - -"Ah! there it is! You would have the _grand jeu_; but don't take on -so, all the folk that are murdered on the cards don't die." - -"But is it possible, Ma'am Fontaine?" - -"Oh, _I_ know nothing about it, my pretty dear! You would rap at the -door of the future; I pull the cord, and it came." - -"_It_, what?" asked Mme. Cibot. - -"Well, then, the Spirit!" cried the sorceress impatiently. - -"Good-bye, Ma'am Fontaine," exclaimed the portress. "I did not know -what the _grand jeu_ was like. You have given me a good fright, that -you have." - -"The mistress will not put herself in that state twice in a month," -said the servant, as she went with La Cibot to the landing. "She would -do herself to death if she did, it tires her so. She will eat cutlets -now and sleep for three hours afterwards." - -Out in the street La Cibot took counsel of herself as she went along, -and, after the manner of all who ask for advice of any sort or -description, she took the favorable part of the prediction and -rejected the rest. The next day found her confirmed in her resolutions ---she would set all in train to become rich by securing a part of -Pons' collection. Nor for some time had she any other thought than the -combination of various plans to this end. The faculty of -self-concentration seen in rough, uneducated persons, explained on a -previous page, the reserve power accumulated in those whose mental -energies are unworn by the daily wear and tear of social life, and -brought into action so soon as that terrible weapon the "fixed idea" -is brought into play,--all this was pre-eminently manifested in La -Cibot. Even as the "fixed idea" works miracles of evasion, and brings -forth prodigies of sentiment, so greed transformed the portress till -she became as formidable as a Nucingen at bay, as subtle beneath her -seeming stupidity as the irresistible La Palferine. - -About seven o'clock one morning, a few days afterwards, she saw -Remonencq taking down his shutters. She went across to him. - -"How could one find out how much the things yonder in my gentlemen's -rooms are worth?" she asked in a wheedling tone. - -"Oh! that is quite easy," replied the owner of the old curiosity shop. -"If you will play fair and above board with me, I will tell you of -somebody, a very honest man, who will know the value of the pictures -to a farthing--" - -"Who?" - -"M. Magus, a Jew. He only does business to amuse himself now." - -Elie Magus has appeared so often in the _Comedie Humaine_, that it is -needless to say more of him here. Suffice it to add that he had -retired from business, and as a dealer was following the example set -by Pons the amateur. Well-known valuers like Henry, Messrs. Pigeot and -Moret, Theret, Georges, and Roehn, the experts of the Musee, in fact, -were but children compared with Elie Magus. He could see a masterpiece -beneath the accumulated grime of a century; he knew all schools, and -the handwriting of all painters. - -He had come to Paris from Bordeaux, and so long ago as 1835 he had -retired from business without making any change for the better in his -dress, so faithful is the race to old tradition. The persecutions of -the Middle Ages compelled them to wear rags, to snuffle and whine and -groan over their poverty in self-defence, till the habits induced by -the necessities of other times have come to be, as usual, instinctive, -a racial defect. - -Elie Magus had amassed a vast fortune by buying and selling diamonds, -pictures, lace, enamels, delicate carvings, old jewelry, and rarities -of all kinds, a kind of commerce which has developed enormously of -late, so much so indeed that the number of dealers has increased -tenfold during the last twenty years in this city of Paris, whither -all the curiosities in the world come to rub against one another. And -for pictures there are but three marts in the world--Rome, London, and -Paris. - -Elie Magus lived in the Chausee des Minimes, a short, broad street -leading to the Place Royale. He had bought the house, an old-fashioned -mansion, for a song, as the saying is, in 1831. Yet there were -sumptuous apartments within it, decorated in the time of Louis XV.; -for it had once been the Hotel Maulaincourt, built by the great -President of the Cour des Aides, and its remote position had saved it -at the time of the Revolution. - -You may be quite sure that the old Jew had sound reasons for buying -house property, contrary to the Hebrew law and custom. He had ended, -as most of us end, with a hobby that bordered on a craze. He was as -miserly as his friend, the late lamented Gobseck; but he had been -caught by the snare of the eyes, by the beauty of the pictures in -which he dealt. As his taste grew more and more fastidious, it became -one of the passions which princes alone can indulge when they are -wealthy and art-lovers. As the second King of Prussia found nothing -that so kindled enthusiasm as the spectacle of a grenadier over six -feet high, and gave extravagant sums for a new specimen to add to his -living museum of a regiment, so the retired picture-dealer was roused -to passion-pitch only by some canvas in perfect preservation, -untouched since the master laid down the brush; and what was more, it -must be a picture of the painter's best time. No great sales, -therefore, took place but Elie Magus was there; every mart knew him; -he traveled all over Europe. The ice-cold, money-worshiping soul in -him kindled at the sight of a perfect work of art, precisely as a -libertine, weary of fair women, is roused from apathy by the sight of -a beautiful girl, and sets out afresh upon the quest of flawless -loveliness. A Don Juan among fair works of art, a worshiper of the -Ideal, Elie Magus had discovered joys that transcend the pleasure of a -miser gloating over his gold--he lived in a seraglio of great -paintings. - -His masterpieces were housed as became the children of princes; the -whole first floor of the great old mansion was given up to them. The -rooms had been restored under Elie Magus' orders, and with what -magnificence! - -The windows were hung with the richest Venetian brocade; the most -splendid carpets from the Savonnerie covered the parquetry flooring. -The frames of the pictures, nearly a hundred in number, were -magnificent specimens, regilded cunningly by Servais, the one gilder -in Paris whom Elie Magus thought sufficiently painstaking; the old Jew -himself had taught him to use the English leaf, which is infinitely -superior to that produced by French gold-beaters. Servais is among -gilders as Thouvenin among bookbinders--an artist among craftsmen, -making his work a labor of love. Every window in that gallery was -protected by iron-barred shutters. Elie Magus himself lived in a -couple of attics on the floor above; the furniture was wretched, the -rooms were full of rags, and the whole place smacked of the Ghetto; -Elie Magus was finishing his days without any change in his life. - -The whole of the ground floor was given up to the picture trade (for -the Jew still dealt in works of art). Here he stored his canvases, -here also packing-cases were stowed on their arrival from other -countries; and still there was room for a vast studio, where Moret, -most skilful of restorers of pictures, a craftsman whom the Musee -ought to employ, was almost always at work for Magus. The rest of the -rooms on the ground floor were given up to Magus' daughter, the child -of his old age, a Jewess as beautiful as a Jewess can be when the -Semitic type reappears in its purity and nobility in a daughter of -Israel. Noemi was guarded by two servants, fanatical Jewesses, to say -nothing of an advanced-guard, a Polish Jew, Abramko by name, once -involved in a fabulous manner in political troubles, from which Elie -Magus saved him as a business speculation. Abramko, porter of the -silent, grim, deserted mansion, divided his office and his lodge with -three remarkably ferocious animals--an English bull-dog, a -Newfoundland dog, and another of the Pyrenean breed. - -Behold the profound observations of human nature upon which Elie Magus -based his feeling of security, for secure he felt; he left home -without misgivings, slept with both ears shut, and feared no attempt -upon his daughter (his chief treasure), his pictures, or his money. In -the first place, Abramko's salary was increased every year by two -hundred francs so long as his master should live; and Magus, moreover, -was training Abramko as a money-lender in a small way. Abramko never -admitted anybody until he had surveyed them through a formidable -grated opening. He was a Hercules for strength, he worshiped Elie -Magus, as Sancho Panza worshiped Don Quixote. All day long the dogs -were shut up without food; at nightfall Abramko let them loose; and by -a cunning device the old Jew kept each animal at his post in the -courtyard or the garden by hanging a piece of meat just out of reach -on the top of a pole. The animals guarded the house, and sheer hunger -guarded the dogs. No odor that reached their nostrils could tempt them -from the neighborhood of that piece of meat; they would not have left -their places at the foot of the poles for the most engaging female of -the canine species. If a stranger by any chance intruded, the dogs -suspected him of ulterior designs upon their rations, which were only -taken down in the morning by Abramko himself when he awoke. The -advantages of this fiendish scheme are patent. The animals never -barked, Magus' ingenuity had made savages of them; they were -treacherous as Mohicans. And now for the result. - -One night burglars, emboldened by the silence, decided too hastily -that it would be easy enough to "clean out" the old Jew's strong box. -One of their number told off to advance to the assault scrambled up -the garden wall and prepared to descend. This the bull-dog allowed him -to do. The animal, knowing perfectly well what was coming, waited for -the burglar to reach the ground; but when that gentleman directed a -kick at him, the bull-dog flew at the visitor's shins, and, making but -one bite of it, snapped the ankle-bone clean in two. The thief had the -courage to tear him away, and returned, walking upon the bare bone of -the mutilated stump till he reached the rest of the gang, when he fell -fainting, and they carried him off. The _Police News_, of course, did -not fail to report this delightful night incident, but no one believed -in it. - -Magus at this time was seventy-five years old, and there was no reason -why he should not live to a hundred. Rich man though he was, he lived -like the Remonencqs. His necessary expenses, including the money he -lavished on his daughter, did not exceed three thousand francs. No -life could be more regular; the old man rose as soon as it was light, -breakfasted on bread rubbed with a clove of garlic, and ate no more -food until dinner-time. Dinner, a meal frugal enough for a convent, he -took at home. All the forenoons he spent among his treasures, walking -up and down the gallery where they hung in their glory. He would dust -everything himself, furniture and pictures; he never wearied of -admiring. Then he would go downstairs to his daughter, drink deep of a -father's happiness, and start out upon his walks through Paris, to -attend sales or visit exhibitions and the like. - -If Elie Magus found a great work of art under the right conditions, -the discovery put new life into the man; here was a bit of sharp -practice, a bargain to make, a battle of Marengo to win. He would pile -ruse on ruse to buy the new sultana as cheaply as possible. Magus had -a map of Europe on which all great pictures were marked; his -co-religionists in every city spied out business for him, and received -a commission on the purchase. And then, what rewards for all his -pains! The two lost Raphaels so earnestly sought after by Raphael -lovers are both in his collection. Elie Magus owns the original -portrait of _Giorgione's Mistress_, the woman for whom the painter -died; the so-called originals are merely copies of the famous picture, -which is worth five hundred thousand francs, according to its owner's -estimation. This Jew possesses Titian's masterpiece, an _Entombment_ -painted for Charles V., sent by the great man to the great Emperor -with a holograph letter, now fastened down upon the lower part of the -canvas. And Magus has yet another Titian, the original sketch from -which all the portraits of Philip II. were painted. His remaining -ninety-seven pictures are all of the same rank and distinction. -Wherefore Magus laughs at our national collection, raked by the -sunlight which destroys the fairest paintings, pouring in through -panes of glass that act as lenses. Picture galleries can only be -lighted from above; Magus opens and closes his shutters himself; he is -as careful of his pictures as of his daughter, his second idol. And -well the old picture-fancier knows the laws of the lives of pictures. -To hear him talk, a great picture has a life of its own; it is -changeable, it takes its beauty from the color of the light. Magus -talks of his paintings as Dutch fanciers used to talk of their tulips; -he will come home on purpose to see some one picture in the hour of -its glory, when the light is bright and clean. - -And Magus himself was a living picture among the motionless figures on -the wall--a little old man, dressed in a shabby overcoat, a silk -waistcoat, renewed twice in a score of years, and a very dirty pair of -trousers, with a bald head, a face full of deep hollows, a wrinkled, -callous skin, a beard that had a trick of twitching its long white -bristles, a menacing pointed chin, a toothless mouth, eyes bright as -the eyes of his dogs in the yard, and a nose like an obelisk--there he -stood in his gallery smiling at the beauty called into being by -genius. A Jew surrounded by his millions will always be one of the -finest spectacles which humanity can give. Robert Medal, our great -actor, cannot rise to this height of poetry, sublime though he is. - -Paris of all the cities of the world holds most of such men as Magus, -strange beings with a strange religion in their heart of hearts. The -London "eccentric" always finds that worship, like life, brings -weariness and satiety in the end; the Parisian monomaniac lives -cheerfully in concubinage with his crotchet to the last. - -Often shall you meet in Paris some Pons, some Elie Magus, dressed -badly enough, with his face turned from the rising sun (like the -countenance of the perpetual secretary of the Academie), apparently -heeding nothing, conscious of nothing, paying no attention to -shop-windows nor to fair passers-by, walking at random, so to speak, -with nothing in his pockets, and to all appearance an equally empty -head. Do you ask to what Parisian tribe this manner of man belongs? He -is a collector, a millionaire, one of the most impassioned souls upon -earth; he and his like are capable of treading the miry ways that lead -to the police-court if so they may gain possession of a cup, a -picture, or some such rare unpublished piece as Elie Magus once picked -up one memorable day in Germany. - -This was the expert to whom Remonencq with much mystery conducted La -Cibot. Remonencq always asked advice of Elie Magus when he met him in -the streets; and more than once Magus had lent him money through -Abramko, knowing Remonencq's honesty. The Chaussee des Minimes is -close to the Rue de Normandie, and the two fellow-conspirators reached -the house in ten minutes. - -"You will see the richest dealer in curiosities, the greatest -connoisseur in Paris," Remonencq had said. And Mme. Cibot, therefore, -was struck dumb with amazement to be confronted with a little old man -in a great-coat too shabby for Cibot to mend, standing watching a -painter at work upon an old picture in the chilly room on the vast -ground floor. The old man's eyes, full of cold feline malignance, were -turned upon her, and La Cibot shivered. - -"What do you want, Remonencq?" asked this person. - -"It is a question of valuing some pictures; there is nobody but you in -Paris who can tell a poor tinker-fellow like me how much he may give -when he has not thousands to spend, like you." - -"Where is it?" - -"Here is the portress of the house where the gentleman lives; she does -for him, and I have arranged with her--" - -"Who is the owner?" - -"M. Pons!" put in La Cibot. - -"Don't know the name," said Magus, with an innocent air, bringing down -his foot very gently upon his artist's toes. - -Moret the painter, knowing the value of Pons' collection, had looked -up suddenly at the name. It was a move too hazardous to try with any -one but Remonencq and La Cibot, but the Jew had taken the woman's -measure at sight, and his eye was as accurate as a jeweler's scales. -It was impossible that either of the couple should know how often -Magus and old Pons had matched their claws. And, in truth, both rabid -amateurs were jealous of each other. The old Jew had never hoped for a -sight of a seraglio so carefully guarded; it seemed to him that his -head was swimming. Pons' collection was the one private collection in -Paris which could vie with his own. Pons' idea had occurred to Magus -twenty years later; but as a dealer-amateur the door of Pons' museum -had been closed to him, as for Dusommerard. Pons and Magus had at -heart the same jealousy. Neither of them cared about the kind of -celebrity dear to the ordinary collector. And now for Elie Magus came -his chance to see the poor musician's treasures! An amateur of beauty -hiding in a boudoir or a stolen glance at a mistress concealed from -him by his friend might feel as Elie Magus felt at that moment. - -La Cibot was impressed by Remonencq's respect for this singular -person; real power, moreover, even when it cannot be explained, is -always felt; the portress was supple and obedient, she dropped the -autocratic tone which she was wont to use in her lodge and with the -tenants, accepted Magus' conditions, and agreed to admit him into -Pons' museum that very day. - -So the enemy was to be brought into the citadel, and a stab dealt to -Pons' very heart. For ten years Pons had carried his keys about with -him; he had forbidden La Cibot to allow any one, no matter whom, to -cross his threshold; and La Cibot had so far shared Schmucke's -opinions of _bric-a-brac_, that she had obeyed him. The good Schmucke, -by speaking of the splendors as "chimcracks," and deploring his -friend's mania, had taught La Cibot to despise the old rubbish, and so -secured Pons' museum from invasion for many a long year. - -When Pons took to his bed, Schmucke filled his place at the theatre -and gave lessons for him at his boarding-schools. He did his utmost to -do the work of two; but Pons' sorrows weighing heavily upon his mind, -the task took all his strength. He only saw his friend in the morning, -and again at dinnertime. His pupils and the people at the theatre, -seeing the poor German look so unhappy, used to ask for news of Pons; -and so great was his grief, that the indifferent would make the -grimaces of sensibility which Parisians are wont to reserve for the -greatest calamities. The very springs of life had been attacked, the -good German was suffering from Pons' pain as well as from his own. -When he gave a music lesson, he spent half the time in talking of -Pons, interrupting himself to wonder whether his friend felt better -to-day, and the little school-girls listening heard lengthy -explanations of Pons' symptoms. He would rush over to the Rue de -Normandie in the interval between two lessons for the sake of a -quarter of an hour with Pons. - -When at last he saw that their common stock was almost exhausted, when -Mme. Cibot (who had done her best to swell the expenses of the -illness) came to him and frightened him; then the old music-master -felt that he had courage of which he never thought himself capable ---courage that rose above his anguish. For the first time in his life -he set himself to earn money; money was needed at home. One of the -school-girl pupils, really touched by their troubles, asked Schmucke -how he could leave his friend alone. "Montemoiselle," he answered, -with the sublime smile of those who think no evil, "ve haf Montame -Zipod, ein dreasure, montemoiselle, ein bearl! Bons is nursed like ein -brince." - -So while Schmucke trotted about the streets, La Cibot was mistress of -the house and ruled the invalid. How should Pons superintend his -self-appointed guardian angel, when he had taken no solid food for a -fortnight, and lay there so weak and helpless that La Cibot was -obliged to lift him up and carry him to the sofa while she made the -bed? - -La Cibot's visit to Elie Magus was paid (as might be expected) while -Schmucke breakfasted. She came in again just as the German was bidding -his friend good-bye; for since she learned that Pons possessed a -fortune, she never left the old bachelor; she brooded over him and his -treasures like a hen. From the depths of a comfortable easy-chair at -the foot of the bed she poured forth for Pons' delectation the gossip -in which women of her class excel. With Machiavelian skill, she had -contrived to make Pons think that she was indispensable to him; she -coaxed and she wheedled, always uneasy, always on the alert. Mme. -Fontaine's prophecy had frightened La Cibot; she vowed to herself that -she would gain her ends by kindness. She would sleep secure on M. -Pons' legacy, but her rascality should keep within the limits of the -law. For ten years she had not suspected the value of Pons' -collection; she had a clear record behind her of ten years of -devotion, honesty, and disinterestedness; it was a magnificent -investment, and now she proposed to realize. In one day, Remonencq's -hint of money had hatched the serpent's egg, the craving for riches -that had lain dormant within her for twenty years. Since she had -cherished that craving, it had grown in force with the ferment of all -the evil that lurks in the corners of the heart. How she acted upon -the counsels whispered by the serpent will presently be seen. - -"Well?" she asked of Schmucke, "has this cherub of ours had plenty to -drink? Is he better?" - -"He is not doing fery vell, tear Montame Zipod, not fery vell," said -poor Schmucke, brushing away the tears from his eyes. - -"Pooh! you make too much of it, my dear M. Schmucke; we must take -things as we find them; Cibot might be at death's door, and I should -not take it to heart as you do. Come! the cherub has a good -constitution. And he has been steady, it seems, you see; you have no -idea what an age sober people live. He is very ill, it is true, but -with all the care I take of him, I shall bring him round. Be easy, -look after your affairs, I will keep him company and see that he -drinks his pints of barley water." - -"Gif you vere not here, I should die of anxiety--" said Schmucke, -squeezing his kind housekeeper's hand in both his own to express his -confidence in her. - -La Cibot wiped her eyes as she went back to the invalid's room. - -"What is the matter, Mme. Cibot?" asked Pons. - -"It is M. Schmucke that has upset me; he is crying as if you were -dead," said she. "If you are not well, you are not so bad yet that -nobody need cry over you; but it has given me such a turn! Oh dear! oh -dear! how silly it is of me to get so fond of people, and to think -more of you than of Cibot! For, after all, you aren't nothing to me, -you are only my brother by Adam's side; and yet, whenever you are in -the question, it puts me in such a taking, upon my word it does! I -would cut off my hand--my left hand, of course--to see you coming and -going, eating your meals, and screwing bargains out of dealers as -usual. If I had had a child of my own, I think I should have loved it -as I love you, eh! There, take a drink, dearie; come now, empty the -glass. Drink it off, monsieur, I tell you! The first thing Dr. Poulain -said was, 'If M. Pons has no mind to go to Pere Lachaise, he ought to -drink as many buckets full of water in a day as an Auvergnat will -sell.' So, come now, drink--" - -"But I do drink, Cibot, my good woman; I drink and drink till I am -deluged--" - -"That is right," said the portress, as she took away the empty glass. -"That is the way to get better. Dr. Poulain had another patient ill of -your complaint; but he had nobody to look after him, his children left -him to himself, and he died because he didn't drink enough--so you -must drink, honey, you see--he died and they buried him two months -ago. And if you were to die, you know, you would drag down old M. -Schmucke with you, sir. He is like a child. Ah! he loves you, he does, -the dear lamb of a man; no woman never loved a man like that! He -doesn't care for meat nor drink; he has grown as thin as you are in -the last fortnight, and you are nothing but skin and bones.--It makes -me jealous to see it, for I am very fond of you; but not to that -degree; I haven't lost my appetite, quite the other way; always going -up and down stairs, till my legs are so tired that I drop down of an -evening like a lump of lead. Here am I neglecting my poor Cibot for -you; Mlle. Remonencq cooks his victuals for him, and he goes on about -it and says that nothing is right! At that I tell him that one ought -to put up with something for the sake of other people, and that you -are so ill that I cannot leave you. In the first place, you can't -afford a nurse. And before I would have a nurse here!--I have done for -you these ten years; they want wine and sugar, and foot-warmers, and -all sorts of comforts. And they rob their patients unless the patients -leave them something in their wills. Have a nurse in here to-day, and -to-morrow we should find a picture or something or other gone--" - -"Oh! Mme. Cibot!" cried Pons, quite beside himself, "do not leave me! -No one must touch anything--" - -"I am here," said La Cibot; "so long as I have the strength I shall be -here.--Be easy. There was Dr. Poulain wanting to get a nurse for you; -perhaps he has his eye on your treasures. I just snubbed him, I did. -'The gentleman won't have any one but me,' I told him. 'He is used to -me, and I am used to him.' So he said no more. A nurse, indeed! They -are all thieves; I hate that sort of woman, I do. Here is a tale that -will show you how sly they are. There was once an old gentleman--it -was Dr. Poulain himself, mind you, who told me this--well, a Mme. -Sabatier, a woman of thirty-six that used to sell slippers at the -Palais Royal--you remember the Galerie at the Palais that they pulled -down?" - -Pons nodded. - -"Well, at that time she had not done very well; her husband used to -drink, and died of spontaneous imbustion; but she had been a fine -woman in her time, truth to tell, not that it did her any good, though -she had friends among the lawyers. So, being hard up, she became a -monthly nurse, and lived in the Rue Barre-du-Bec. Well, she went out -to nurse an old gentleman that had a disease of the lurinary guts -(saving your presence); they used to tap him like an artesian well, -and he needed such care that she used to sleep on a truckle-bed in the -same room with him. You would hardly believe such a thing!--'Men -respect nothing,' you'll tell me, 'so selfish as they are.' Well, she -used to talk with him, you understand; she never left him, she amused -him, she told him stories, she drew him on to talk (just as we are -chatting away together now, you and I, eh?), and she found out that -his nephews--the old gentleman had nephews--that his nephews were -wretches; they had worried him, and final end of it, they had brought -on this illness. Well, my dear sir, she saved his life, he married -her, and they have a fine child; Ma'am Bordevin, the butcher's wife in -the Rue Charlot, a relative of hers, stood godmother. There is luck -for you! - -"As for me, I am married; and if I have no children, I don't mind -saying that it is Cibot's fault; he is too fond of me, but if I cared ---never mind. What would have become of me and my Cibot if we had had -a family, when we have not a penny to bless ourselves with after -thirty years' of faithful service? I have not a farthing belonging to -nobody else, that is what comforts me. I have never wronged nobody. ---Look here, suppose now (there is no harm in supposing when you will be -out and about again in six weeks' time, and sauntering along the -boulevard); well, suppose that you had put me down in your will; very -good, I shouldn't never rest till I had found your heirs and given the -money back. Such is my horror of anything that is not earned by the -sweat of my brow. - -"You will say to me, 'Why, Mme. Cibot, why should you worry yourself -like that? You have fairly earned the money; you looked after your two -gentlemen as if they had been your children; you saved them a thousand -francs a year--' (for there are plenty, sir, you know, that would have -had their ten thousand francs put out to interest by now if they had -been in my place)--'so if the worthy gentleman leaves you a trifle of -an annuity, it is only right.'--Suppose they told me that. Well, now; -I am not thinking of myself.--I cannot think how some women can do a -kindness thinking of themselves all the time. It is not doing good, -sir, is it? I do not go to church myself, I haven't the time; but my -conscience tells me what is right. . . . Don't you fidget like that, -my lamb!--Don't scratch yourself! . . . Dear me, how yellow you grow! -So yellow you are--quite brown. How funny it is that one can come to -look like a lemon in three weeks! . . . Honesty is all that poor folk -have, and one must surely have something! Suppose that you were just -at death's door, I should be the first to tell you that you ought to -leave all that you have to M. Schmucke. It is your duty, for he is all -the family you have. He loves you, he does, as a dog loves his -master." - -"Ah! yes," said Pons; "nobody else has ever loved me all my life -long--" - -"Ah! that is not kind of you, sir," said Mme. Cibot; "then I do not -love you, I suppose?" - -"I do not say so, my dear Mme. Cibot." - -"Good. You take me for a servant, do you, a common servant, as if I -hadn't no heart! Goodness me! for eleven years you do for two old -bachelors, you think of nothing but their comfort. I have turned half -a score of greengrocers' shops upside down for you, I have talked -people round to get you good Brie cheese; I have gone down as far as -the market for fresh butter for you; I have taken such care of things -that nothing of yours hasn't been chipped nor broken in all these ten -years; I have just treated you like my own children; and then to hear -a 'My dear Mme. Cibot,' that shows that there is not a bit of feeling -for you in the heart of an old gentleman that you have cared for like -a king's son! for the little King of Rome was not so well looked -after. He died in his prime; there is proof for you. . . . Come, sir, -you are unjust! You are ungrateful! It is because I am only a poor -portress. Goodness me! are _you_ one of those that think we are -dogs?--" - -"But, my dear Mme. Cibot--" - -"Indeed, you that know so much, tell me why we porters are treated -like this, and are supposed to have no feelings; people look down on -us in these days when they talk of Equality!--As for me, am I not as -good as another woman, I that was one of the finest women in Paris, -and was called _La belle Ecaillere_, and received declarations seven -or eight times a day? And even now if I liked--Look here, sir, you -know that little scrubby marine store-dealer downstairs? Very well, he -would marry me any day, if I were a widow that is, with his eyes shut; -he has had them looking wide open in my direction so often; he is -always saying, 'Oh! what fine arms you have, Ma'am Cibot!--I dreamed -last night that it was bread and I was butter, and I was spread on the -top.' Look, sir, there is an arm!" - -She rolled up her sleeve and displayed the shapeliest arm imaginable, -as white and fresh as her hand was red and rough; a plump, round, -dimpled arm, drawn from its merino sheath like a blade from the -scabbard to dazzle Pons, who looked away. - -"For every oyster the knife opened, the arm has opened a heart! Well, -it belongs to Cibot, and I did wrong when I neglected him, poor dear, -HE would throw himself over a precipice at a word from me; while you, -sir, that call me 'My dear Mme. Cibot' when I do impossible things for -you--" - -"Do just listen to me," broke in the patient; "I cannot call you my -mother, nor my wife--" - -"No, never in all my born days will I take again to anybody--" - -"Do let me speak!" continued Pons. "Let me see; I put M. Schmucke -first--" - -"M. Schmucke! there is a heart for you," cried La Cibot. "Ah! he loves -me, but then he is poor. It is money that deadens the heart; and you -are rich! Oh, well, take a nurse, you will see what a life she will -lead you; she will torment you, you will be like a cockchafer on a -string. The doctor will say that you must have plenty to drink, and -she will do nothing but feed you. She will bring you to your grave and -rob you. You do not deserve to have a Mme. Cibot!--there! When Dr. -Poulain comes, ask him for a nurse." - -"Oh fiddlestickend!" the patient cried angrily. "_Will_ you listen to -me? When I spoke of my friend Schmucke, I was not thinking of women. I -know quite well that no one cares for me so sincerely as you do, you -and Schmucke--" - -"Have the goodness not to irritate yourself in this way!" exclaimed La -Cibot, plunging down upon Pons and covering him by force with the -bedclothes. - -"How should I not love you?" said poor Pons. - -"You love me, really? . . . There, there, forgive me, sir!" she said, -crying and wiping her eyes. "Ah, yes, of course, you love me, as you -love a servant, that is the way!--a servant to whom you throw an -annuity of six hundred francs like a crust you fling into a dog's -kennel--" - -"Oh! Mme. Cibot," cried Pons, "for what do you take me? You do not -know me." - -"Ah! you will care even more than that for me," she said, meeting -Pons' eyes. "You will love your kind old Cibot like a mother, will you -not? A mother, that is it! I am your mother; you are both of you my -children. . . . Ah, if I only knew them that caused you this sorrow, I -would do that which would bring me into the police-courts, and even to -prison; I would tear their eyes out! Such people deserve to die at the -Barriere Saint-Jacques, and that is too good for such scoundrels. -. . . So kind, so good as you are (for you have a heart of -gold), you were sent into the world to make some woman happy! . . . -Yes, you would have her happy, as anybody can see; you were cut out -for that. In the very beginning, when I saw how you were with M. -Schmucke, I said to myself, 'M. Pons has missed the life he was meant -for; he was made to be a good husband.' Come, now, you like women." - -"Ah, yes," said Pons, "and no woman has been mine." - -"Really?" exclaimed La Cibot, with a provocative air as she came -nearer and took Pons' hand in hers. "Do you not know what it is to -love a woman that will do anything for her lover? Is it possible? If I -were in your place, I should not wish to leave this world for another -until I had known the greatest happiness on earth! . . . Poor dear! If -I was now what I was once, I would leave Cibot for you! upon my word, -I would! Why, with a nose shaped like that--for you have a fine nose ---how did you manage it, poor cherub? . . . You will tell me that 'not -every woman knows a man when she sees him'; and a pity it is that they -marry so at random as they do, it makes you sorry to see it.--Now, for -my own part, I should have thought that you had had mistresses by the -dozen--dancers, actresses, and duchesses, for you went out so much. -. . . When you went out, I used to say to Cibot, 'Look! there is M. -Pons going a-gallivanting,' on my word, I did, I was so sure that -women ran after you. Heaven made you for love. . . . Why, my dear sir, -I found that out the first day that you dined at home, and you were so -touched with M. Schmucke's pleasure. And next day M. Schmucke kept -saying to me, 'Montame Zipod, he haf tined hier,' with the tears in -his eyes, till I cried along with him like a fool, as I am. And how -sad he looked when you took to gadding abroad again and dining out! -Poor man, you never saw any one so disconsolate! Ah! you are quite -right to leave everything to him. Dear worthy man, why he is as good -as a family to you, he is! Do not forget him; for if you do, God will -not receive you into his Paradise, for those that have been ungrateful -to their friends and left them no _rentes_ will not go to heaven." - -In vain Pons tried to put in a word; La Cibot talked as the wind -blows. Means of arresting steam-engines have been invented, but it -would tax a mechanician's genius to discover any plan for stopping a -portress' tongue. - -"I know what you mean," continued she. "But it does not kill you, my -dear gentleman, to make a will when you are out of health; and in your -place I might not leave that poor dear alone, for fear that something -might happen; he is like God Almighty's lamb, he knows nothing about -nothing, and I should not like him to be at the mercy of those sharks -of lawyers and a wretched pack of relations. Let us see now, has one -of them come here to see you in twenty years? And would you leave your -property to _them_? Do you know, they say that all these things here -are worth something." - -"Why, yes," said Pons. - -"Remonencq, who deals in pictures, and knows that you are an amateur, -says that he would be quite ready to pay you an annuity of thirty -thousand francs so long as you live, to have the pictures afterwards. -. . . There is a change! If I were you, I should take it. Why, I -thought he said it for a joke when he told me that. You ought to let -M. Schmucke know the value of all those things, for he is a man that -could be cheated like a child. He has not the slightest idea of the -value of these fine things that you have! He so little suspects it, -that he would give them away for a morsel of bread if he did not keep -them all his life for love of you, always supposing that he lives -after you, for he will die of your death. But _I_ am here; I will take -his part against anybody and everybody! . . . I and Cibot will defend -him." - -"Dear Mme. Cibot!" said Pons, "what would have become of me if it had -not been for you and Schmucke?" He felt touched by this horrible -prattle; the feeling in it seemed to be ingenuous, as it usually is in -the speech of the people. - -"Ah! we really are your only friends on earth, that is very true, that -is. But two good hearts are worth all the families in the world. ---Don't talk of families to me! A family, as the old actor said of the -tongue, is the best and the worst of all things. . . . Where are those -relations of yours now? Have you any? I have never seen them--" - -"They have brought me to lie here," said Pons, with intense -bitterness. - -"So you have relations! . . ." cried La Cibot, springing up as if her -easy-chair had been heated red-hot. "Oh, well, they are a nice lot, -are your relations! What! these three weeks--for this is the twentieth -day, to-day, that you have been ill and like to die--in these three -weeks they have not come once to ask for news of you? That's a trifle -too strong, that is! . . . Why, in your place, I would leave all I had -to the Foundling Hospital sooner than give them one farthing!" - -"Well, my dear Mme. Cibot, I meant to leave all that I had to a cousin -once removed, the daughter of my first cousin, President Camusot, you -know, who came here one morning nearly two months ago." - -"Oh! a little stout man who sent his servants to beg your pardon--for -his wife's blunder?--The housemaid came asking me questions about you, -an affected old creature she is, my fingers itched to give her velvet -tippet a dusting with my broom handle! A servant wearing a velvet -tippet! did anybody ever see the like? No, upon my word, the world is -turned upside down; what is the use of making a Revolution? Dine twice -a day if you can afford it, you scamps of rich folk! But laws are no -good, I tell you, and nothing will be safe if Louis-Philippe does not -keep people in their places; for, after all, if we are all equal, eh, -sir? a housemaid didn't ought to have a velvet tippet, while I, Mme. -Cibot, haven't one, after thirty years of honest work.--There is a -pretty thing for you! People ought to be able to tell who you are. A -housemaid is a housemaid, just as I myself am a portress. Why do they -have silk epaulettes in the army? Let everybody keep their place. Look -here, do you want me to tell you what all this comes to? Very well, -France is going to the dogs. . . . If the Emperor had been here, -things would have been very different, wouldn't they, sir? . . . So I -said to Cibot, I said, 'See here, Cibot, a house where the servants -wear velvet tippets belongs to people that have no heart in them--'" - -"No heart in them, that is just it," repeated Pons. And with that he -began to tell Mme. Cibot about his troubles and mortifications, she -pouring out abuse of the relations the while and showing exceeding -tenderness on every fresh sentence in the sad history. She fairly wept -at last. - -To understand the sudden intimacy between the old musician and Mme. -Cibot, you have only to imagine the position of an old bachelor lying -on his bed of pain, seriously ill for the first time in his life. Pons -felt that he was alone in the world; the days that he spent by himself -were all the longer because he was struggling with the indefinable -nausea of a liver complaint which blackens the brightest life. Cut off -from all his many interests, the sufferer falls a victim to a kind of -nostalgia; he regrets the many sights to be seen for nothing in Paris. -The isolation, the darkened days, the suffering that affects the mind -and spirits even more than the body, the emptiness of the life,--all -these things tend to induce him to cling to the human being who waits -on him as a drowned man clings to a plank; and this especially if the -bachelor patient's character is as weak as his nature is sensitive and -incredulous. - -Pons was charmed to hear La Cibot's tittle-tattle. Schmucke, Mme. -Cibot, and Dr. Poulain meant all humanity to him now, when his -sickroom became the universe. If invalid's thoughts, as a rule, never -travel beyond in the little space over which his eyes can wander; if -their selfishness, in its narrow sphere, subordinates all creatures -and all things to itself, you can imagine the lengths to which an old -bachelor may go. Before three weeks were out he had even gone so far -as to regret, once and again, that he had not married Madeleine Vivet! -Mme. Cibot, too, had made immense progress in his esteem in those -three weeks; without her he felt that he should have been utterly -lost; for as for Schmucke, the poor invalid looked upon him as a -second Pons. La Cibot's prodigious art consisted in expressing Pons' -own ideas, and this she did quite unconsciously. - -"Ah! here comes the doctor!" she exclaimed, as the bell rang, and away -she went, knowing very well that Remonencq had come with the Jew. - -"Make no noise, gentlemen," said she, "he must not know anything. He -is all on the fidget when his precious treasures are concerned." - -"A walk round will be enough," said the Hebrew, armed with a -magnifying-glass and a lorgnette. - -The greater part of Pons' collection was installed in a great -old-fashioned salon such as French architects used to build for the -old _noblesse_; a room twenty-five feet broad, some thirty feet in -length, and thirteen in height. Pons' pictures to the number of -sixty-seven hung upon the white-and-gold paneled walls; time, however, -had reddened the gold and softened the white to an ivory tint, so that -the whole was toned down, and the general effect subordinated to the -effect of the pictures. Fourteen statues stood on pedestals set in the -corners of the room, or among the pictures, or on brackets inlaid by -Boule; sideboards of carved ebony, royally rich, surrounded the walls -to elbow height, all the shelves filled with curiosities; in the -middle of the room stood a row of carved credence-tables, covered with -rare miracles of handicraft--with ivories and bronzes, wood-carvings -and enamels, jewelry and porcelain. - -As soon as Elie Magus entered the sanctuary, he went straight to the -four masterpieces; he saw at a glance that these were the gems of -Pons' collection, and masters lacking in his own. For Elie Magus these -were the naturalist's _desiderata_ for which men undertake long -voyages from east to west, through deserts and tropical countries, -across southern savannahs, through virgin forests. - -The first was a painting by Sebastian del Piombo, the second a Fra -Bartolommeo della Porta, the third a Hobbema landscape, and the fourth -and last a Durer--a portrait of a woman. Four diamonds indeed! In the -history of art, Sebastian del Piombo is like a shining point in which -three schools meet, each bringing its pre-eminent qualities. A -Venetian painter, he came to Rome to learn the manner of Raphael under -the direction of Michael Angelo, who would fain oppose Raphael on his -own ground by pitting one of his own lieutenants against the reigning -king of art. And so it came to pass that in Del Piombo's indolent -genius Venetian color was blended with Florentine composition and a -something of Raphael's manner in the few pictures which he deigned to -paint, and the sketches were made for him, it is said, by Michael -Angelo himself. - -If you would see the perfection to which the painter attained (armed -as he was with triple power), go to the Louvre and look at the Baccio -Bandinelli portrait; you might place it beside Titian's _Man with a -Glove_, or by that other _Portrait of an Old Man_ in which Raphael's -consummate skill blends with Correggio's art; or, again, compare it -with Leonardo da Vinci's _Charles VIII._, and the picture would -scarcely lose. The four pearls are equal; there is the same lustre and -sheen, the same rounded completeness, the same brilliancy. Art can go -no further than this. Art has risen above Nature, since Nature only -gives her creatures a few brief years of life. - -Pons possessed one example of this immortal great genius and incurably -indolent painter; it was a _Knight of Malta_, a Templar kneeling in -prayer. The picture was painted on slate, and in its unfaded color and -its finish was immeasurably finer than the _Baccio Bandinelli_. - -Fra Bartolommeo was represented by a _Holy Family_, which many -connoisseurs might have taken for a Raphael. The Hobbema would have -fetched sixty thousand francs at a public sale; and as for the Durer, -it was equal to the famous _Holzschuer_ portrait at Nuremberg for -which the kings of Bavaria, Holland, and Prussia have vainly offered -two hundred thousand francs again and again. Was it the portrait of -the wife or the daughter of Holzschuer, Albrecht Durer's personal -friend?--The hypothesis seems to be a certainty, for the attitude of -the figure in Pons' picture suggests that it is meant for a pendant, -the position of the coat-of-arms is the same as in the Nuremberg -portrait; and, finally, the _oetatis suoe XLI._ accords perfectly with -the age inscribed on the picture religiously kept by the Holzschuers -of Nuremberg, and but recently engraved. - -The tears stood in Elie Magus' eyes as he looked from one masterpiece -to another. He turned round to La Cibot, "I will give you a commission -of two thousand francs on each of the pictures if you can arrange that -I shall have them for forty thousand francs," he said. La Cibot was -amazed at this good fortune dropped from the sky. Admiration, or, to -be more accurate, delirious joy, had wrought such havoc in the Jew's -brain, that it had actually unsettled his habitual greed, and he fell -headlong into enthusiasm, as you see. - -"And I?----" put in Remonencq, who knew nothing about pictures. - -"Everything here is equally good," the Jew said cunningly, lowering -his voice for Remonencq's ears; "take ten pictures just as they come -and on the same conditions. Your fortune will be made." - -Again the three thieves looked each other in the face, each one of -them overcome with the keenest of all joys--sated greed. All of a -sudden the sick man's voice rang through the room; the tones vibrated -like the strokes of a bell: - -"Who is there?" called Pons. - -"Monsieur! just go back to bed!" exclaimed La Cibot, springing upon -Pons and dragging him by main force. "What next! Have you a mind to -kill yourself?--Very well, then, it is not Dr. Poulain, it is -Remonencq, good soul, so anxious that he has come to ask after you! ---Everybody is so fond of you that the whole house is in a flutter. -So what is there to fear?" - -"It seems to me that there are several of you," said Pons. - -"Several? that is good! What next! Are you dreaming!--You will go off -your head before you have done, upon my word!--Here, look!"--and La -Cibot flung open the door, signed to Magus to go, and beckoned to -Remonencq. - -"Well, my dear sir," said the Auvergnat, now supplied with something -to say, "I just came to ask after you, for the whole house is alarmed -about you.--Nobody likes Death to set foot in a house!--And lastly, -Daddy Monistrol, whom you know very well, told me to tell you that if -you wanted money he was at your service----" - -"He sent you here to take a look round at my knick-knacks!" returned -the old collector from his bed; and the sour tones of his voice were -full of suspicion. - -A sufferer from liver complaint nearly always takes momentary and -special dislikes to some person or thing, and concentrates all his -ill-humor upon the object. Pons imagined that some one had designs -upon his precious collection; the thought of guarding it became a -fixed idea with him; Schmucke was continually sent to see if any one -had stolen into the sanctuary. - -"Your collection is fine enough to attract the attention of -_chineurs_," Remonencq answered astutely. "I am not much in the art -line myself; but you are supposed to be such a great connoisseur, sir, -that with my eyes shut--supposing, for instance, that you should need -money some time or other, for nothing costs so much as these -confounded illnesses; there was my sister now, when she would have got -better again just as well without. Doctors are rascals that take -advantage of your condition to--" - -"Thank you, good-day, good-day," broke in Pons, eying the marine -store-dealer uneasily. - -"I will go to the door with him, for fear he should touch something," -La Cibot whispered to her patient. - -"Yes, yes," answered the invalid, thanking her by a glance. - -La Cibot shut the bedroom door behind her, and Pons' suspicions awoke -again at once. - -She found Magus standing motionless before the four pictures. His -immobility, his admiration, can only be understood by other souls open -to ideal beauty, to the ineffable joy of beholding art made perfect; -such as these can stand for whole hours before the _Antiope_ ---Correggio's masterpiece--before Leonardo's _Gioconda_, Titian's -_Mistress_, Andrea del Sarto's _Holy Family_, Domenichino's _Children -Among the Flowers_, Raphael's little cameo, or his _Portrait of an Old -Man_--Art's greatest masterpieces. - -"Be quick and go, and make no noise," said La Cibot. - -The Jew walked slowly backwards, giving the pictures such a farewell -gaze as a lover gives his love. Outside on the landing, La Cibot -tapped his bony arm. His rapt contemplations had put an idea into her -head. - -"Make it _four_ thousand francs for each picture," said she, "or I do -nothing." - -"I am so poor! . . ." began Magus. "I want the pictures simply for -their own sake, simply and solely for the love of art, my dear lady." - -"I can understand that love, sonny, you are so dried up. But if you do -not promise me sixteen thousand francs now, before Remonencq here, I -shall want twenty to-morrow." - -"Sixteen; I promise," returned the Jew, frightened by the woman's -rapacity. - -La Cibot turned to Remonencq. - -"What oath can a Jew swear?" she inquired. - -"You may trust him," replied the marine store-dealer. "He is as honest -as I am." - -"Very well; and you?" asked she, "if I get him to sell them to you, -what will you give me?" - -"Half-share of profits," Remonencq answered briskly. - -"I would rather have a lump sum," returned La Cibot; "I am not in -business myself." - -"You understand business uncommonly well!" put in Elie Magus, smiling; -"a famous saleswoman you would make!" - -"I want her to take me into partnership, me and my goods," said the -Auvergnat, as he took La Cibot's plump arm and gave it playful taps -like hammer-strokes. "I don't ask her to bring anything into the firm -but her good looks! You are making a mistake when your stick to your -Turk of a Cibot and his needle. Is a little bit of a porter the man to -make a woman rich--a fine woman like you? Ah, what a figure you would -make in a shop on the boulevard, all among the curiosities, gossiping -with amateurs and twisting them round your fingers! Just you leave -your lodge as soon as you have lined your purse here, and you shall -see what will become of us both." - -"Lined my purse!" cried Cibot. "I am incapable of taking the worth of -a single pin; you mind that, Remonencq! I am known in the neighborhood -for an honest woman, I am." - -La Cibot's eyes flashed fire. - -"There, never mind," said Elie Magus; "this Auvergnat seems to be too -fond of you to mean to insult you." - -"How she would draw on the customers!" cried the Auvergnat. - -Mme. Cibot softened at this. - -"Be fair, sonnies," quoth she, "and judge for yourselves how I am -placed. These ten years past I have been wearing my life out for these -two old bachelors yonder, and neither or them has given me anything -but words. Remonencq will tell you that I feed them by contract, and -lose twenty or thirty sous a day; all my savings have gone that way, -by the soul of my mother (the only author of my days that I ever -knew), this is as true as that I live, and that this is the light of -day, and may my coffee poison me if I lie about a farthing. Well, -there is one up there that will die soon, eh? and he the richer of the -two that I have treated like my own children. Would you believe it, my -dear sir, I have told him over and over again for days past that he is -at death's door (for Dr. Poulain has given him up), he could not say -less about putting my name down in his will. We shall only get our due -by taking it, upon my word, as an honest woman, for as for trusting to -the next-of-kin!--No fear! There! look you here, words don't stink; it -is a bad world!" - -"That is true," Elie Magus answered cunningly, "that is true; and it -is just the like of us that are among the best," he added, looking at -Remonencq. - -"Just let me be," returned La Cibot; "I am not speaking of you. -'Pressing company is always accepted,' as the old actor said. I swear -to you that the two gentlemen already owe me nearly three thousand -francs; the little I have is gone by now in medicine and things on -their account; and now suppose they refuse to recognize my advances? I -am so stupidly honest that I did not dare to say nothing to them about -it. Now, you that are in business, my dear sir, do you advise me to -got to a lawyer?" - -"A lawyer?" cried Remonencq; "you know more about it than all the -lawyers put together--" - -Just at that moment a sound echoed in the great staircase, a sound as -if some heavy body had fallen in the dining-room. - -"Oh, goodness me!" exclaimed La Cibot; "it seems to me that monsieur -has just taken a ticket for the ground floor." - -She pushed her fellow-conspirators out at the door, and while the pair -descended the stairs with remarkable agility, she ran to the -dining-room, and there beheld Pons, in his shirt, stretched out upon -the tiles. He had fainted. She lifted him as if he had been a feather, -carried him back to his room, laid him in bed, burned feathers under -his nose, bathed his temples with eau-de-cologne, and at last brought -him to consciousness. When she saw his eyes unclose and life return, -she stood over him, hands on hips. - -"No slippers! In your shirt! That is the way to kill yourself! Why do -you suspect me?--If this is to be the way of it, I wish you good-day, -sir. Here have I served you these ten years, I have spent money on you -till my savings are all gone, to spare trouble to that poor M. -Schmucke, crying like a child on the stairs--and _this_ is my reward! -You have been spying on me. God has punished you! It serves you right! -Here I am straining myself to carry you, running the risk of doing -myself a mischief that I shall feel all my days. Oh dear, oh dear! and -the door left open too--" - -"You were talking with some one. Who was it?" - -"Here are notions!" cried La Cibot. "What next! Am I your bond-slave? -Am I to give account of myself to you? Do you know that if you bother -me like this, I shall clear out! You shall take a nurse." - -Frightened by this threat, Pons unwittingly allowed La Cibot to see -the extent of the power of her sword of Damocles. - -"It is my illness!" he pleaded piteously. - -"It is as you please," La Cibot answered roughly. - -She went. Pons, confused, remorseful, admiring his nurse's scalding -devotion, reproached himself for his behavior. The fall on the paved -floor of the dining-room had shaken and bruised him, and aggravated -his illness, but Pons was scarcely conscious of his physical -sufferings. - -La Cibot met Schmucke on the staircase. - -"Come here, sir," she said. "There is bad news, that there is! M. Pons -is going off his head! Just think of it! he got up with nothing on, he -came after me--and down he came full-length. Ask him why--he knows -nothing about it. He is in a bad way. I did nothing to provoke such -violence, unless, perhaps, I waked up ideas by talking to him of his -early amours. Who knows men? Old libertines that they are. I ought not -to have shown him my arms when his eyes were glittering like -_carbuckles_." - -Schmucke listened. Mme. Cibot might have been talking Hebrew for -anything that he understood. - -"I have given myself a wrench that I shall feel all my days," added -she, making as though she were in great pain. (Her arms did, as a -matter of fact, ache a little, and the muscular fatigue suggested an -idea, which she proceeded to turn to profit.) "So stupid I am. When I -saw him lying there on the floor, I just took him up in my arms as if -he had been a child, and carried him back to bed, I did. And I -strained myself, I can feel it now. Ah! how it hurts!--I am going -downstairs. Look after our patient. I will send Cibot for Dr. Poulain. -I had rather die outright than be crippled." - -La Cibot crawled downstairs, clinging to the banisters, and writhing -and groaning so piteously that the tenants, in alarm, came out upon -their landings. Schmucke supported the suffering creature, and told -the story of La Cibot's devotion, the tears running down his cheeks as -he spoke. Before very long the whole house, the whole neighborhood -indeed, had heard of Mme. Cibot's heroism; she had given herself a -dangerous strain, it was said, with lifting one of the "nutcrackers." - -Schmucke meanwhile went to Pons' bedside with the tale. Their factotum -was in a frightful state. "What shall we do without her?" they said, -as they looked at each other; but Pons was so plainly the worse for -his escapade, that Schmucke did not dare to scold him. - -"Gonfounded pric-a-prac! I would sooner purn dem dan loose mein -friend!" he cried, when Pons told him of the cause of the accident. -"To suspect Montame Zipod, dot lend us her safings! It is not goot; -but it is der illness--" - -"Ah! what an illness! I am not the same man, I can feel it," said -Pons. "My dear Schmucke, if only you did not suffer through me!" - -"Scold me," Schmucke answered, "und leaf Montame Zipod in beace." - -As for Mme. Cibot, she soon recovered in Dr. Poulain's hands; and her -restoration, bordering on the miraculous, shed additional lustre on -her name and fame in the Marais. Pons attributed the success to the -excellent constitution of the patient, who resumed her ministrations -seven days later to the great satisfaction of her two gentlemen. Her -influence in their household and her tyranny was increased a -hundred-fold by the accident. In the course of a week, the two -nutcrackers ran into debt; Mme. Cibot paid the outstanding amounts, -and took the opportunity to obtain from Schmucke (how easily!) a -receipt for two thousand francs, which she had lent, she said, to -the friends. - -"Oh, what a doctor M. Poulain is!" cried La Cibot, for Pons' benefit. -"He will bring you through, my dear sir, for he pulled me out of my -coffin! Cibot, poor man, thought I was dead. . . . Well, Dr. Poulain -will have told you that while I was in bed I thought of nothing but -you. 'God above,' said I, 'take me, and let my dear Mr. Pons live--'" - -"Poor dear Mme. Cibot, you all but crippled yourself for me." - -"Ah! but for Dr. Poulain I should have been put to bed with a shovel -by now, as we shall all be one day. Well, what must be, must, as the -old actor said. One must take things philosophically. How did you get -on without me?" - -"Schmucke nursed me," said the invalid; "but our poor money-box and -our lessons have suffered. I do not know how he managed." - -"Calm yourself, Bons," exclaimed Schmucke; "ve haf in Zipod ein -panker--" - -"Do not speak of it, my lamb. You are our children, both of you," -cried La Cibot. "Our savings will be well invested; you are safer than -the Bank. So long as we have a morsel of bread, half of it is yours. -It is not worth mentioning--" - -"Boor Montame Zipod!" said Schmucke, and he went. - -Pons said nothing. - -"Would you believe it, my cherub?" said La Cibot, as the sick man -tossed uneasily, "in my agony--for it was a near squeak for me--the -thing that worried me most was the thought that I must leave you -alone, with no one to look after you, and my poor Cibot without a -farthing. . . . My savings are such a trifle, that I only mention them -in connection with my death and Cibot, an angel that he is! No. He -nursed me as if I had been a queen, he did, and cried like a calf over -me! . . . But I counted on you, upon my word. I said to him, 'There, -Cibot! my gentlemen will not let you starve--'" - -Pons made no reply to this thrust _ad testamentum_; but as the -portress waited for him to say something--"I shall recommend you to M. -Schmucke," he said at last. - -"Ah!" cried La Cibot, "whatever you do will be right; I trust in you -and your heart. Let us never talk of this again; you make me feel -ashamed, my cherub. Think of getting better, you will outlive us all -yet." - -Profound uneasiness filled Mme. Cibot's mind. She cast about for some -way of making the sick man understand that she expected a legacy. That -evening, when Schmucke was eating his dinner as usual by Pons' -bedside, she went out, hoping to find Dr. Poulain at home. - -Dr. Poulain lived in the Rue d'Orleans in a small ground floor -establishment, consisting of a lobby, a sitting-room, and two -bedrooms. A closet, opening into the lobby and the bedroom, had been -turned into a study for the doctor. The kitchen, the servant's -bedroom, and a small cellar were situated in a wing of the house, a -huge pile built in the time of the Empire, on the site of an old -mansion of which the garden still remained, though it had been divided -among the three ground floor tenants. - -Nothing had been changed in the doctor's house since it was built. -Paint and paper and ceilings were all redolent of the Empire. The -grimy deposits of forty years lay thick on walls and ceilings, on -paper and paint and mirrors and gilding. And yet, this little -establishment, in the depths of the Marais, paid a rent of a thousand -francs. - -Mme. Poulain, the doctor's mother, aged sixty-seven, was ending her -days in the second bedroom. She worked for a breeches-maker, stitching -men's leggings, breeches, belts, and braces, anything, in fact, that -is made in a way of business which has somewhat fallen off of late -years. Her whole time was spent in keeping her son's house and -superintending the one servant; she never went abroad, and took the -air in the little garden entered through the glass door of the -sitting-room. Twenty years previously, when her husband died, she sold -his business to his best workman, who gave his master's widow work -enough to earn a daily wage of thirty sous. She had made every -sacrifice to educate her son. At all costs, he should occupy a higher -station than his father before him; and now she was proud of her -Aesculapius, she believed in him, and sacrificed everything to him as -before. She was happy to take care of him, to work and put by a little -money, and dream of nothing but his welfare, and love him with an -intelligent love of which every mother is not capable. For instance, -Mme. Poulain remembered that she had been a working girl. She would -not injure her son's prospects; he should not be ashamed by his mother -(for the good woman's grammar was something of the same kind as Mme. -Cibot's); and for this reason she kept in the background, and went to -her room of her own accord if any distinguished patient came to -consult the doctor, or if some old schoolfellow or fellow-student -chanced to call. Dr. Poulain had never had occasion to blush for the -mother whom he revered; and this sublime love of hers more than atoned -for a defective education. - -The breeches-maker's business sold for about twenty thousand francs, -and the widow invested the money in the Funds in 1820. The income of -eleven hundred francs per annum derived from this source was, at one -time, her whole fortune. For many a year the neighbors used to see the -doctor's linen hanging out to dry upon a clothes-line in the garden, -and the servant and Mme. Poulain thriftily washed everything at home; -a piece of domestic economy which did not a little to injure the -doctor's practice, for it was thought that if he was so poor, it must -be through his own fault. Her eleven hundred francs scarcely did more -than pay the rent. During those early days, Mme. Poulain, good, stout, -little old woman, was the breadwinner, and the poor household lived -upon her earnings. After twelve years of perseverance upon a rough and -stony road, Dr. Poulain at last was making an income of three thousand -francs, and Mme. Poulain had an income of about five thousand francs -at her disposal. Five thousand francs for those who know Paris means a -bare subsistence. - -The sitting-room, where patients waited for an interview, was shabbily -furnished. There was the inevitable mahogany sofa covered with -yellow-flowered Utrecht velvet, four easy-chairs, a tea-table, a console, -and half-a-dozen chairs, all the property of the deceased breeches-maker, -and chosen by him. A lyre-shaped clock between two Egyptian -candlesticks still preserved its glass shade intact. You asked -yourself how the yellow chintz window-curtains, covered with red -flowers, had contrived to hang together for so long; for evidently -they had come from the Jouy factory, and Oberkampf received the -Emperor's congratulations upon similar hideous productions of the -cotton industry in 1809. - -The doctor's consulting-room was fitted up in the same style, with -household stuff from the paternal chamber. It looked stiff, -poverty-stricken, and bare. What patient could put faith in the skill -of any unknown doctor who could not even furnish his house? And this -in a time when advertising is all-powerful; when we gild the gas-lamps -in the Place de la Concorde to console the poor man for his poverty by -reminding him that he is rich as a citizen. - -The ante-chamber did duty as a dining-room. The servant sat at her -sewing there whenever she was not busy in the kitchen or keeping the -doctor's mother company. From the dingy short curtains in the windows -you would have guessed at the shabby thrift behind them without -setting foot in the dreary place. What could those wall-cupboards -contain but stale scraps of food, chipped earthenware, corks used over -and over again indefinitely, soiled table-linen, odds and ends that -could descend but one step lower into the dust-heap, and all the -squalid necessities of a pinched household in Paris? - -In these days, when the five-franc piece is always lurking in our -thoughts and intruding itself into our speech, Dr. Poulain, aged -thirty-three, was still a bachelor. Heaven had bestowed on him a -mother with no connections. In ten years he had not met with the -faintest pretext for a romance in his professional career; his -practice lay among clerks and small manufacturers, people in his own -sphere of life, with homes very much like his own. His richer patients -were butchers, bakers, and the more substantial tradespeople of the -neighborhood. These, for the most part, attributed their recovery to -Nature, as an excuse for paying for the services of a medical man, who -came on foot, at the rate of two francs per visit. In his profession, -a carriage is more necessary than medical skill. - -A humdrum monotonous life tells in the end upon the most adventurous -spirit. A man fashions himself to his lot, he accepts a commonplace -existence; and Dr. Poulain, after ten years of his practice, continued -his labors of Sisyphus without the despair that made early days so -bitter. And yet--like every soul in Paris--he cherished a dream. -Remonencq was happy in his dream; La Cibot had a dream of her own; and -Dr. Poulain, too, dreamed. Some day he would be called in to attend a -rich and influential patient, would effect a positive cure, and the -patient would procure a post for him; he would be head surgeon to a -hospital, medical officer of a prison or police-court, or doctor to -the boulevard theatres. He had come by his present appointment as -doctor to the Mairie in this very way. La Cibot had called him in when -the landlord of the house in the Rue de Normandie fell ill; he had -treated the case with complete success; M. Pillerault, the patient, -took an interest in the young doctor, called to thank him, and saw his -carefully-hidden poverty. Count Popinot, the cabinet minister, had -married M. Pillerault's grand-niece, and greatly respected her uncle; -of him, therefore, M. Pillerault had asked for the post, which Poulain -had now held for two years. That appointment and its meagre salary -came just in time to prevent a desperate step; Poulain was thinking of -emigration; and for a Frenchman, it is a kind of death to leave -France. - -Dr. Poulain went, you may be sure, to thank Count Popinot; but as -Count Popinot's family physician was the celebrated Horace Bianchon, -it was pretty clear that his chances of gaining a footing in that -house were something of the slenderest. The poor doctor had fondly -hoped for the patronage of a powerful cabinet minister, one of the -twelve or fifteen cards which a cunning hand has been shuffling for -sixteen years on the green baize of the council table, and now he -dropped back again into his Marais, his old groping life among the -poor and the small tradespeople, with the privilege of issuing -certificates of death for a yearly stipend of twelve hundred francs. - -Dr. Poulain had distinguished himself to some extent as a -house-student; he was a prudent practitioner, and not without -experience. His deaths caused no scandal; he had plenty of -opportunities of studying all kinds of complaints _in anima vili_. -Judge, therefore, of the spleen that he nourished! The expression of -his countenance, lengthy and not too cheerful to begin with, at times -was positively appalling. Set a Tartuffe's all-devouring eyes, and -the sour humor of an Alceste in a sallow-parchment visage, and try to -imagine for yourself the gait, bearing, and expression of a man who -thought himself as good a doctor as the illustrious Bianchon, and -felt that he was held down in his narrow lot by an iron hand. He -could not help comparing his receipts (ten francs a day if he was -fortunate) with Bianchon's five or six hundred. - -Are the hatreds and jealousies of democracy incomprehensible after -this? Ambitious and continually thwarted, he could not reproach -himself. He had once already tried his fortune by inventing a -purgative pill, something like Morrison's, and intrusted the business -operations to an old hospital chum, a house-student who afterwards -took a retail drug business; but, unluckily, the druggist, smitten -with the charms of a ballet-dancer of the Ambigu-Comique, found -himself at length in the bankruptcy court; and as the patent had been -taken out in his name, his partner was literally without a remedy, and -the important discovery enriched the purchaser of the business. The -sometime house-student set sail for Mexico, that land of gold, taking -poor Poulain's little savings with him; and, to add insult to injury, -the opera-dancer treated him as an extortioner when he applied to her -for his money. - -Not a single rich patient had come to him since he had the luck to -cure old M. Pillerault. Poulain made his rounds on foot, scouring the -Marais like a lean cat, and obtained from two to forty sous out of a -score of visits. The paying patient was a phenomenon about as rare as -that anomalous fowl known as a "white blackbird" in all sublunary -regions. - -The briefless barrister, the doctor without a patient, are -pre-eminently the two types of a decorous despair peculiar to this -city of Paris; it is mute, dull despair in human form, dressed in a -black coat and trousers with shining seams that recall the zinc on an -attic roof, a glistening satin waistcoat, a hat preserved like a relic, -a pair of old gloves, and a cotton shirt. The man is the incarnation -of a melancholy poem, sombre as the secrets of the Conciergerie. Other -kinds of poverty, the poverty of the artist--actor, painter, musician, -or poet--are relieved and lightened by the artist's joviality, the -reckless gaiety of the Bohemian border country--the first stage of the -journey to the Thebaid of genius. But these two black-coated -professions that go afoot through the street are brought continually -in contact with disease and dishonor; they see nothing of human nature -but its sores; in the forlorn first stages and beginnings of their -career they eye competitors suspiciously and defiantly; concentrated -dislike and ambition flashes out in glances like the breaking forth of -hidden flames. Let two schoolfellows meet after twenty years, the rich -man will avoid the poor; he does not recognize him, he is afraid even -to glance into the gulf which Fate has set between him and the friend -of other years. The one has been borne through life on the mettlesome -steed called Fortune, or wafted on the golden clouds of success; the -other has been making his way in underground Paris through the sewers, -and bears the marks of his career upon him. How many a chum of old -days turned aside at the sight of the doctor's greatcoat and -waistcoat! - -With this explanation, it should be easy to understand how Dr. Poulain -came to lend himself so readily to the farce of La Cibot's illness and -recovery. Greed of every kind, ambition of every nature, is not easy -to hide. The doctor examined his patient, found that every organ was -sound and healthy, admired the regularity of her pulse and the perfect -ease of her movements; and as she continued to moan aloud, he saw that -for some reason she found it convenient to lie at Death's door. The -speedy cure of a serious imaginary disease was sure to cause a -sensation in the neighborhood; the doctor would be talked about. He -made up his mind at once. He talked of rupture, and of taking it in -time, and thought even worse of the case than La Cibot herself. The -portress was plied with various remedies, and finally underwent a sham -operation, crowned with complete success. Poulain repaired to the -Arsenal Library, looked out a grotesque case in some of Desplein's -records of extraordinary cures, and fitted the details to Mme. Cibot, -modestly attributing the success of the treatment to the great -surgeon, in whose steps (he said) he walked. Such is the impudence of -beginners in Paris. Everything is made to serve as a ladder by which -to climb upon the scene; and as everything, even the rungs of a -ladder, will wear out in time, the new members of every profession are -at a loss to find the right sort of wood of which to make steps for -themselves. - -There are moments when the Parisian is not propitious. He grows tired -of raising pedestals, pouts like a spoiled child, and will have no -more idols; or, to state it more accurately, Paris cannot always find -a proper object for infatuation. Now and then the vein of genius gives -out, and at such times the Parisian may turn supercilious; he is not -always willing to bow down and gild mediocrity. - - - -Mme. Cibot, entering in her usual unceremonious fashion, found the -doctor and his mother at table, before a bowl of lamb's lettuce, the -cheapest of all salad-stuffs. The dessert consisted of a thin wedge of -Brie cheese flanked by a plate of specked foreign apples and a dish of -mixed dry fruits, known as _quatre-mendiants_, in which the raisin -stalks were abundantly conspicuous. - -"You can stay, mother," said the doctor, laying a hand on Mme. -Poulain's arm; "this is Mme. Cibot, of whom I have told you." - -"My respects to you, madame, and my duty to you, sir," said La Cibot, -taking the chair which the doctor offered. "Ah! is this your mother, -sir? She is very happy to have a son who has such talent; he saved my -life, madame, brought me back from the depths." - -The widow, hearing Mme. Cibot praise her son in this way, thought her -a delightful woman. - -"I have just come to tell you, that, between ourselves, poor M. Pons -is doing very badly, sir, and I have something to say to you about -him--" - -"Let us go into the sitting-room," interrupted the doctor, and with a -significant gesture he indicated the servant. - -In the sitting-room La Cibot explained her position with regard to the -pair of nutcrackers at very considerable length. She repeated the -history of her loan with added embellishments, and gave a full account -of the immense services rendered during the past ten years to MM. Pons -and Schmucke. The two old men, to all appearance, could not exist -without her motherly care. She posed as an angel; she told so many -lies, one after another, watering them with her tears, that old Mme. -Poulain was quite touched. - -"You understand, my dear sir," she concluded, "that I really ought to -know how far I can depend on M. Pons' intentions, supposing that he -should not die; not that I want him to die, for looking after those -two innocents is my life, madame, you see; still, when one of them is -gone I shall look after the other. For my own part, I was built by -Nature to rival mothers. Without nobody to care for, nobody to take -for a child, I don't know what I should do. . . . So if M. Poulain -only would, he might do me a service for which I should be very -grateful; and that is, to say a word to M. Pons for me. Goodness me! -an annuity of a thousand francs, is that too much, I ask you? . . . -To. M. Schmucke it would be so much gained.--Our dear patient said -that he should recommend me to the German, poor man; it is his idea, -no doubt, that M. Schmucke should be his heir. But what is a man that -cannot put two ideas together in French? And besides, he would be -quite capable of going back to Germany, he will be in such despair -over his friend's death--" - -The doctor grew grave. "My dear Mme. Cibot," he said, "this sort of -thing does not in the least concern a doctor. I should not be allowed -to exercise my profession if it was known that I interfered in the -matter of my patients' testamentary dispositions. The law forbids a -doctor to receive a legacy from a patient--" - -"A stupid law! What is to hinder me from dividing my legacy with you?" -La Cibot said immediately. - -"I will go further," said the doctor; "my professional conscience will -not permit me to speak to M. Pons of his death. In the first place, he -is not so dangerously ill that there is any need to speak of it, and -in the second, such talk coming from me might give a shock to the -system that would do him real harm, and then his illness might -terminate fatally--" - -"_I_ don't put on gloves to tell him to get his affairs in order," -cried Mme. Cibot, "and he is none the worse for that. He is used to -it. There is nothing to fear." - -"Not a word more about it, my dear Mme. Cibot! These things are not -within a doctor's province; it is a notary's business--" - -"But, my dear M. Poulain, suppose that M. Pons of his own accord -should ask you how he is, and whether he had better make his -arrangements; then, would you refuse to tell him that if you want to -get better it is an excellent plan to set everything in order? Then -you might just slip in a little word for me--" - -"Oh, if _he_ talks of making his will, I certainly shall not dissuade -him," said the doctor. - -"Very well, that is settled. I came to thank you for your care of me," -she added, as she slipped a folded paper containing three gold coins -into the doctor's hands. "It is all I can do at the moment. Ah! my -dear M. Poulain, if I were rich, you should be rich, you that are the -image of Providence on earth.--Madame, you have an angel for a son." - -La Cibot rose to her feet, Mme. Poulain bowed amiably, and the doctor -went to the door with the visitor. Just then a sudden, lurid gleam of -light flashed across the mind of this Lady Macbeth of the streets. She -saw clearly that the doctor was her accomplice--he had taken the fee -for the sham illness. - -"M. Poulain," she began, "how can you refuse to say a word or two to -save me from want, when you helped me in the affair of my accident?" - -The doctor felt that the devil had him by the hair, as the saying is; -he felt, too, that the hair was being twisted round the pitiless red -claw. Startled and afraid lest he should sell his honesty for such a -trifle, he answered the diabolical suggestion by another no less -diabolical. - -"Listen, my dear Mme. Cibot," he said, as he drew her into his -consulting-room. "I will now pay a debt of gratitude that I owe you -for my appointment to the mairie--" - -"We go shares?" she asked briskly. - -"In what?" - -"In the legacy." - -"You do not know me," said Dr. Poulain, drawing himself up like -Valerius Publicola. "Let us have no more of that. I have a friend, an -old schoolfellow of mine, a very intelligent young fellow; and we are -so much the more intimate, because, our lives have fallen out very -much in the same way. He was studying law while I was a house-student, -he was engrossing deeds in Maitre Couture's office. His father was a -shoemaker, and mine was a breeches-maker; he has not found anyone to -take much interest in his career, nor has he any capital; for, after -all, capital is only to be had from sympathizers. He could only afford -to buy a provincial connection--at Mantes--and so little do -provincials understand the Parisian intellect, that they set all sorts -of intrigues on foot against him." - -"The wretches!" cried La Cibot. - -"Yes," said the doctor. "They combined against him to such purpose, -that they forced him to sell his connection by misrepresenting -something that he had done; the attorney for the crown interfered, he -belonged to the place, and sided with his fellow-townsmen. My friend's -name is Fraisier. He is lodged as I am, and he is even leaner and more -threadbare. He took refuge in our arrondissement, and is reduced to -appear for clients in the police-court or before the magistrate. He -lives in the Rue de la Perle close by. Go to No. 9, third floor, and -you will see his name on the door on the landing, painted in gilt -letters on a small square of red leather. Fraisier makes a special -point of disputes among the porters, workmen, and poor folk in the -arrondissement, and his charges are low. He is an honest man; for I -need not tell you that if he had been a scamp, he would be keeping his -carriage by now. I will call and see my friend Fraisier this evening. -Go to him early to-morrow; he knows M. Louchard, the bailiff; M. -Tabareau, the clerk of the court; and the justice of the peace, M. -Vitel; and M. Trognon, the notary. He is even now looked upon as one -of the best men of business in the Quarter. If he takes charge of your -interests, if you can secure him as M. Pons' adviser, you will have a -second self in him, you see. But do not make dishonorable proposals to -him, as you did just now to me; he has a head on his shoulders, you -will understand each other. And as for acknowledging his services, I -will be your intermediary--" - -Mme. Cibot looked askance at the doctor. - -"Is that the lawyer who helped Mme. Florimond the haberdasher in the -Rue Vieille-du-Temple out of a fix in that matter of her friend's -legacy?" - -"The very same." - -"Wasn't it a shame that she did not marry him after he had gained two -thousand francs a year for her?" exclaimed La Cibot. "And she thought -to clear off scores by making him a present of a dozen shirts and a -couple of dozen pocket-handkerchiefs; an outfit, in short." - -"My dear Mme. Cibot, that outfit cost a thousand francs, and Fraisier -was just setting up for himself in the Quarter, and wanted the things -very badly. And what was more, she paid the bill without asking any -questions. That affair brought him clients, and now he is very busy; -but in my line a practice brings--" - -"It is only the righteous that suffer here below," said La Cibot. -"Well, M. Poulain, good-day and thank you." - -And herewith begins the tragedy, or, if you like to have it so, a -terrible comedy--the death of an old bachelor delivered over by -circumstances too strong for him to the rapacity and greed that -gathered about his bed. And other forces came to the support of -rapacity and greed; there was the picture collector's mania, that most -intense of all passions; there was the cupidity of the Sieur Fraisier, -whom you shall presently behold in his den, a sight to make you -shudder; and lastly, there was the Auvergnat thirsting for money, -ready for anything--even for a crime--that should bring him the -capital he wanted. The first part of the story serves in some sort as -a prelude to this comedy in which all the actors who have hitherto -occupied the stage will reappear. - -The degradation of a word is one of those curious freaks of manners -upon which whole volumes of explanation might be written. Write to an -attorney and address him as "Lawyer So-and-so," and you insult him as -surely as you would insult a wholesale colonial produce merchant by -addressing your letter to "Mr. So-and-so, Grocer." There are plenty of -men of the world who ought to be aware, since the knowledge of such -subtle distinctions is their province, that you cannot insult a French -writer more cruelly than by calling him _un homme de lettres_--a -literary man. The word _monsieur_ is a capital example of the life and -death of words. Abbreviated from monseigneur, once so considerable a -title, and even now, in the form of _sire_, reserved for emperors and -kings, it is bestowed indifferently upon all and sundry; while the -twin-word _messire_, which is nothing but its double and equivalent, -if by any chance it slips into a certificate of burial, produces an -outcry in the Republican papers. - -Magistrates, councillors, jurisconsults, judges, barristers, officers -for the crown, bailiffs, attorneys, clerks of the court, procurators, -solicitors, and agents of various kinds, represent or misrepresent -Justice. The "lawyer" and the bailiff's men (commonly called "the -brokers") are the two lowest rungs of the ladder. Now, the bailiff's -man is an outsider, an adventitious minister of justice, appearing to -see that judgment is executed; he is, in fact, a kind of inferior -executioner employed by the county court. But the word "lawyer" (homme -de loi) is a depreciatory term applied to the legal profession. -Consuming professional jealousy finds similar disparaging epithets for -fellow-travelers in every walk of life, and every calling has its -special insult. The scorn flung into the words _homme de loi, homme de -lettres_, is wanting in the plural form, which may be used without -offence; but in Paris every profession, learned or unlearned, has its -_omega_, the individual who brings it down to the level of the lowest -class; and the written law has its connecting link with the custom -right of the streets. There are districts where the pettifogging man -of business, known as Lawyer So-and-So, is still to be found. M. -Fraisier was to the member of the Incorporated Law Society as the -money-lender of the Halles, offering small loans for a short period at -an exorbitant interest, is to the great capitalist. - -Working people, strange to say are as shy of officials as of -fashionable restaurants, they take advice from irregular sources as -they turn into a little wineshop to drink. Each rank in life finds its -own level, and there abides. None but a chosen few care to climb the -heights, few can feel at ease in the presence of their betters, or -take their place among them, like a Beaumarchais letting fall the -watch of the great lord who tried to humiliate him. And if there are -few who can even rise to a higher social level, those among them who -can throw off their swaddling-clothes are rare and great exceptions. - - - -At six o'clock the next morning Mme. Cibot stood in the Rue de la -Perle; she was making a survey of the abode of her future adviser, -Lawyer Fraisier. The house was one of the old-fashioned kind formerly -inhabited by small tradespeople and citizens with small means. A -cabinetmaker's shop occupied almost the whole of the ground floor, as -well as the little yard behind, which was covered with his workshops -and warehouses; the small remaining space being taken up by the -porter's lodge and the passage entry in the middle. The staircase -walls were half rotten with damp and covered with saltpetre to such a -degree that the house seemed to be stricken with leprosy. - -Mme. Cibot went straight to the porter's lodge, and there encountered -one of the fraternity, a shoemaker, his wife, and two small children, -all housed in a room ten feet square, lighted from the yard at the -back. La Cibot mentioned her profession, named herself, and spoke of -her house in the Rue de Normandie, and the two women were on cordial -terms at once. After a quarter of an hour spent in gossip while the -shoemaker's wife made breakfast ready for her husband and the -children, Mme. Cibot turned the conversation to the subject of the -lodgers, and spoke of the lawyer. - -"I have come to see him on business," she said. "One of his friends, -Dr. Poulain, recommended me to him. Do you know Dr. Poulain?" - -"I should think I do," said the lady of the Rue de la Perle. "He saved -my little girl's life when she had the croup." - -"He saved my life, too, madame. What sort of a man is this M. -Fraisier?" - -"He is the sort of man, my dear lady, out of whom it is very difficult -to get the postage-money at the end of the month." - -To a person of La Cibot's intelligence this was enough. - -"One may be poor and honest," observed she. - -"I am sure I hope so," returned Fraisier's portress. "We are not -rolling in coppers, let alone gold or silver; but we have not a -farthing belonging to anybody else." - -This sort of talk sounded familiar to La Cibot. - -"In short, one can trust him, child, eh?" - -"Lord! when M. Fraisier means well by any one, there is not his like, -so I have heard Mme. Florimond say." - -"And why didn't she marry him when she owed her fortune to him?" La -Cibot asked quickly. "It is something for a little haberdasher, kept -by an old man, to be a barrister's wife--" - -"Why?--" asked the portress, bringing Mme. Cibot out into the passage. -"Why?--You are going to see him, are you not, madame?--Very well, when -you are in his office you will know why." - -From the state of the staircase, lighted by sash-windows on the side -of the yard, it was pretty evident that the inmates of the house, with -the exception of the landlord and M. Fraisier himself, were all -workmen. There were traces of various crafts in the deposit of mud -upon the steps--brass-filings, broken buttons, scraps of gauze, and -esparto grass lay scattered about. The walls of the upper stories were -covered with apprentices' ribald scrawls and caricatures. The -portress' last remark had roused La Cibot's curiosity; she decided, -not unnaturally, that she would consult Dr. Poulain's friend; but as -for employing him, that must depend upon her impressions. - -"I sometimes wonder how Mme. Sauvage can stop in his service," said -the portress, by way of comment; she was following in Mme. Cibot's -wake. "I will come up with you, madame" she added; "I am taking the -milk and the newspaper up to my landlord." - -Arrived on the second floor above the entresol, La Cibot beheld a door -of the most villainous description. The doubtful red paint was coated -for seven or eight inches round the keyhole with a filthy glaze, a -grimy deposit from which the modern house-decorator endeavors to -protect the doors of more elegant apartments by glass "finger-plates." -A grating, almost stopped up with some compound similar to the deposit -with which a restaurant-keeper gives an air of cellar-bound antiquity -to a merely middle-aged bottle, only served to heighten the general -resemblance to a prison door; a resemblance further heightened by the -trefoil-shaped iron-work, the formidable hinges, the clumsy -nail-heads. A miser, or a pamphleteer at strife with the world at -large, must surely have invented these fortifications. A leaden sink, -which received the waste water of the household, contributed its quota -to the fetid atmosphere of the staircase, and the ceiling was covered -with fantastic arabesques traced by candle-smoke--such arabesques! On -pulling a greasy acorn tassel attached to the bell-rope, a little bell -jangled feebly somewhere within, complaining of the fissure in its -metal sides. - -Every detail was in keeping with the general dismal effect. La Cibot -heard a heavy footstep, and the asthmatic wheezing of a virago within, -and Mme. Sauvage presently showed herself. Adrien Brauwer might have -painted just such a hag for his picture of _Witches starting for the -Sabbath_; a stout, unwholesome slattern, five feet six inches in -height, with a grenadier countenance and a beard which far surpassed -La Cibot's own; she wore a cheap, hideously ugly cotton gown, a -bandana handkerchief knotted over hair which she still continued to -put in curl papers (using for that purpose the printed circulars which -her master received), and a huge pair of gold earrings like -cart-wheels in her ears. This female Cerberus carried a battered -skillet in one hand, and opening the door, set free an imprisoned -odor of scorched milk--a nauseous and penetrating smell, that lost -itself at once, however, among the fumes outside. - -"What can I do for you, missus?" demanded Mme. Sauvage, and with a -truculent air she looked La Cibot over; evidently she was of the -opinion that the visitor was too well dressed, and her eyes looked the -more murderous because they were naturally bloodshot. - -"I have come to see M. Fraisier; his friend, Dr. Poulain, sent me." - -"Oh! come in, missus," said La Sauvage, grown very amiable of a -sudden, which proves that she was prepared for this morning visit. - -With a sweeping courtesy, the stalwart woman flung open the door of a -private office, which looked upon the street, and discovered the -ex-attorney of Mantes. - -The room was a complete picture of a third-rate solicitor's office; -with the stained wooden cases, the letter-files so old that they had -grown beards (in ecclesiastical language), the red tape dangling limp -and dejected, the pasteboard boxes covered with traces of the gambols -of mice, the dirty floor, the ceiling tawny with smoke. A frugal -allowance of wood was smouldering on a couple of fire-dogs on the -hearth. And on the chimney-piece above stood a foggy mirror and a -modern clock with an inlaid wooden case; Fraisier had picked it up at -an execution sale, together with the tawdry imitation rococo -candlesticks, with the zinc beneath showing through the lacquer in -several places. - -M. Fraisier was small, thin, and unwholesome looking; his red face, -covered with an eruption, told of tainted blood; and he had, moreover, -a trick of continually scratching his right arm. A wig pushed to the -back of his head displayed a brick-colored cranium of ominous -conformation. This person rose from a cane-seated armchair, in which -he sat on a green leather cushion, assumed an agreeable expression, -and brought forward a chair. - -"Mme. Cibot, I believe?" queried he, in dulcet tones. - -"Yes, sir," answered the portress. She had lost her habitual -assurance. - -Something in the tones of a voice which strongly resembled the sounds -of the little door-bell, something in a glance even sharper than the -sharp green eyes of her future legal adviser, scared Mme. Cibot. -Fraisier's presence so pervaded the room, that any one might have -thought there was pestilence in the air; and in a flash Mme. Cibot -understood why Mme. Florimond had not become Mme. Fraisier. - -"Poulain told me about you, my dear madame," said the lawyer, in the -unnatural fashion commonly described by the words "mincing tones"; -tones sharp, thin, and grating as verjuice, in spite of all his -efforts. - -Arrived at this point, he tried to draw the skirts of his -dressing-gown over a pair of angular knees encased in threadbare felt. -The robe was an ancient printed cotton garment, lined with wadding -which took the liberty of protruding itself through various slits in -it here and there; the weight of this lining had pulled the skirts -aside, disclosing a dingy-hued flannel waistcoat beneath. With -something of a coxcomb's manner, Fraisier fastened this refractory -article of dress, tightening the girdle to define his reedy figure; -then with a blow of the tongs, he effected a reconciliation between -two burning brands that had long avoided one another, like brothers -after a family quarrel. A sudden bright idea struck him, and he rose -from his chair. - -"Mme. Sauvage!" called he. - -"Well?" - -"I am not at home to anybody!" - -"Eh! bless your life, there's no need to say that!" - -"She is my old nurse," the lawyer said in some confusion. - -"And she has not recovered her figure yet," remarked the heroine of -the Halles. - -Fraisier laughed, and drew the bolt lest his housekeeper should -interrupt Mme. Cibot's confidences. - -"Well, madame, explain your business," said he, making another effort -to drape himself in the dressing-gown. "Any one recommended to me by -the only friend I have in the world may count upon me--I may say ---absolutely." - -For half an hour Mme. Cibot talked, and the man of law made no -interruption of any sort; his face wore the expression of curious -interest with which a young soldier listens to a pensioner of "The Old -Guard." Fraisier's silence and acquiescence, the rapt attention with -which he appeared to listen to a torrent of gossip similar to the -samples previously given, dispelled some of the prejudices inspired in -La Cibot's mind by his squalid surroundings. The little lawyer with -the black-speckled green eyes was in reality making a study of his -client. When at length she came to a stand and looked to him to speak, -he was seized with a fit of the complaint known as a "churchyard -cough," and had recourse to an earthenware basin half full of herb -tea, which he drained. - -"But for Poulain, my dear madame, I should have been dead before -this," said Fraisier, by way of answer to the portress' look of -motherly compassion; "but he will bring me round, he says--" - -As all the client's confidences appeared to have slipped from the -memory of her legal adviser, she began to cast about for a way of -taking leave of a man so apparently near death. - -"In an affair of this kind, madame," continued the attorney from -Mantes, suddenly returning to business, "there are two things which it -is most important to know. In the first place, whether the property is -sufficient to be worth troubling about; and in the second, who the -next-of-kin may be; for if the property is the booty, the next-of-kin -is the enemy." - -La Cibot immediately began to talk of Remonencq and Elie Magus, and -said that the shrewd couple valued the pictures at six hundred -thousand francs. - -"Would they take them themselves at that price?" inquired the lawyer. -"You see, madame, that men of business are shy of pictures. A picture -may mean a piece of canvas worth a couple of francs or a painting -worth two hundred thousand. Now, paintings worth two hundred thousand -francs are usually well known; and what errors in judgment people make -in estimating even the most famous pictures of all! There was once a -great capitalist whose collection was admired, visited, and engraved ---actually engraved! He was supposed to have spent millions of francs -on it. He died, as men must, and--well, his _genuine_ pictures did not -fetch more than two hundred thousand francs! You must let me see these -gentlemen.--Now for the next-of-kin," and Fraisier again relapsed into -his attitude of listener. - -When President Camusot's name came up, he nodded with a grimace which -riveted Mme. Cibot's attention. She tried to read the forehead and the -villainous face, and found what is called in business a "wooden head." - -"Yes, my dear sir," repeated La Cibot. "Yes, my M. Pons is own cousin -to President Camusot de Marville; he tells me that ten times a day. M. -Camusot the silk mercer was married twice--" - -"He that has just been nominated for a peer of France?--" - -"And his first wife was a Mlle. Pons, M. Pons' first cousin." - -"Then they are first cousins once removed--" - -"They are 'not cousins.' They have quarreled." - -It may be remembered that before M. Camusot de Marville came to Paris, -he was President of the Tribunal of Mantes for five years; and not -only was his name still remembered there, but he had kept up a -correspondence with Mantes. Camusot's immediate successor, the judge -with whom he had been most intimate during his term of office, was -still President of the Tribunal, and consequently knew all about -Fraisier. - -"Do you know, madame," Fraisier said, when at last the red sluices of -La Cibot's torrent tongue were closed, "do you know that your -principal enemy will be a man who can send you to the scaffold?" - -The portress started on her chair, making a sudden spring like a -jack-in-the-box. - -"Calm yourself, dear madame," continued Fraisier. "You may not have -known the name of the President of the Chamber of Indictments at the -Court of Appeal in Paris; but you ought to have known that M. Pons -must have an heir-at-law. M. le President de Marville is your -invalid's sole heir; but as he is a collateral in the third degree, M. -Pons is entitled by law to leave his fortune as he pleases. You are -not aware either that, six weeks ago at least, M. le President's -daughter married the eldest son of M. le Comte Popinot, peer of -France, once Minister of Agriculture, and President of the Board of -Trade, one of the most influential politicians of the day. President -de Marville is even more formidable through this marriage than in his -own quality of head of the Court of Assize." - -At that word La Cibot shuddered. - -"Yes, and it is he who sends you there," continued Fraisier. "Ah! my -dear madame, you little know what a red robe means! It is bad enough -to have a plain black gown against you! You see me here, ruined, bald, -broken in health--all because, unwittingly, I crossed a mere attorney -for the crown in the provinces. I was forced to sell my connection at -a loss, and very lucky I was to come off with the loss of my money. If -I had tried to stand out, my professional position would have gone as -well. - -"One thing more you do not know," he continued, "and this it is. If -you had only to do with President Camusot himself, it would be -nothing; but he has a wife, mind you!--and if you ever find yourself -face to face with that wife, you will shake in your shoes as if you -were on the first step of the scaffold, your hair will stand on end. -The Presidente is so vindictive that she would spend ten years over -setting a trap to kill you. She sets that husband of hers spinning -like a top. Through her a charming young fellow committed suicide at -the Conciergerie. A count was accused of forgery--she made his -character as white as snow. She all but drove a person of the highest -quality from the Court of Charles X. Finally, she displaced the -Attorney-General, M. de Granville--" - -"That lived in the Rue Vieille-du-Temple, at the corner of the Rue -Saint-Francois?" - -"The very same. They say that she means to make her husband Home -Secretary, and I do not know that she will not gain her end.--If she -were to take it into her head to send us both to the Criminal Court -first and the hulks afterwards--I should apply for a passport and set -sail for America, though I am as innocent as a new-born babe. So well -I know what justice means. Now, see here, my dear Mme. Cibot; to marry -her only daughter to young Vicomte Popinot (heir to M. Pillerault, -your landlord, it is said)--to make that match, she stripped herself -of her whole fortune, so much so that the President and his wife have -nothing at this moment except his official salary. Can you suppose, my -dear madame, that under the circumstances Mme. la Presidente will let -M. Pons' property go out of the family without a word?--Why, I would -sooner face guns loaded with grape-shot than have such a woman for my -enemy--" - -"But they have quarreled," put in La Cibot. - -"What has that got to do with it?" asked Fraisier. "It is one reason -the more for fearing her. To kill a relative of whom you are tired, is -something; but to inherit his property afterwards--that is a real -pleasure!" - -"But the old gentleman has a horror of his relatives. He says over and -over again that these people--M. Cardot, M. Berthier, and the rest of -them (I can't remember their names)--have crushed him as a tumbril -cart crushes an egg--" - -"Have you a mind to be crushed too?" - -"Oh dear! oh dear!" cried La Cibot. "Ah! Ma'am Fontaine was right when -she said that I should meet with difficulties: still, she said that I -should succeed--" - -"Listen, my dear Mme. Cibot.--As for making some thirty thousand -francs out of this business--that is possible; but for the whole of -the property, it is useless to think of it. We talked over your case -yesterday evening, Dr. Poulain and I--" - -La Cibot started again. - -"Well, what is the matter?" - -"But if you knew about the affair, why did you let me chatter away -like a magpie?" - -"Mme. Cibot, I knew all about your business, but I knew nothing of -Mme. Cibot. So many clients, so many characters--" - -Mme. Cibot gave her legal adviser a queer look at this; all her -suspicions gleamed in her eyes. Fraisier saw this. - -"I resume," he continued. "So, our friend Poulain was once called in -by you to attend old M. Pillerault, the Countess Popinot's -great-uncle; that is one of your claims to my devotion. Poulain goes -to see your landlord (mark this!) once a fortnight; he learned all -these particulars from him. M. Pillerault was present at his -grand-nephew's wedding--for he is an uncle with money to leave; he -has an income of fifteen thousand francs, though he has lived like a -hermit for the last five-and-twenty years, and scarcely spends a -thousand crowns--well, _he_ told Poulain all about this marriage. It -seems that your old musician was precisely the cause of the row; he -tried to disgrace his own family by way of revenge.--If you only hear -one bell, you only hear one sound.--Your invalid says that he meant -no harm, but everybody thinks him a monster of--" - -"And it would not astonish me if he was!" cried La Cibot. "Just -imagine it!--For these ten years past I have been money out of pocket -for him, spending my savings on him, and he knows it, and yet he will -not let me lie down to sleep on a legacy!--No, sir! he will _not_. He -is obstinate, a regular mule he is.--I have talked to him these ten -days, and the cross-grained cur won't stir no more than a sign-post. -He shuts his teeth and looks at me like--The most that he would say -was that he would recommend me to M. Schmucke." - -"Then he means to make his will in favor of this Schmucke?" - -"Everything will go to him--" - -"Listen, my dear Mme. Cibot, if I am to arrive at any definite -conclusions and think of a plan, I must know M. Schmucke. I must see -the property and have some talk with this Jew of whom you speak; and -then, let me direct you--" - -"We shall see, M. Fraisier." - -"What is this? 'We shall see?'" repeated Fraisier, speaking in the -voice natural to him, as he gave La Cibot a viperous glance. "Am I -your legal adviser or am I not, I say? Let us know exactly where we -stand." - -La Cibot felt that he read her thoughts. A cold chill ran down her -back. - -"I have told you all I know," she said. She saw that she was at the -tiger's mercy. - -"We attorneys are accustomed to treachery. Just think carefully over -your position; it is superb.--If you follow my advice point by point, -you will have thirty or forty thousand francs. But there is a reverse -side to this beautiful medal. How if the Presidente comes to hear that -M. Pons' property is worth a million of francs, and that you mean to -have a bit out of it?--for there is always somebody ready to take that -kind of errand--" he added parenthetically. - -This remark, and the little pause that came before and after it, sent -another shudder through La Cibot. She thought at once that Fraisier -himself would probably undertake that office. - -"And then, my dear client, in ten minutes old Pillerault is asked to -dismiss you, and then on a couple of hours' notice--" - -"What does that matter to me?" said La Cibot, rising to her feet like -a Bellona; "I shall stay with the gentlemen as their housekeeper." - -"And then, a trap will be set for you, and some fine morning you and -your husband will wake up in a prison cell, to be tried for your -lives--" - -"_I?_" cried La Cibot, "I that have not a farthing that doesn't belong -to me? . . . _I!_ . . . _I!_" - -For five minutes she held forth, and Fraisier watched the great artist -before him as she executed a concerto of self-praise. He was quite -untouched, and even amused by the performance. His keen glances -pricked La Cibot like stilettos; he chuckled inwardly, till his -shrunken wig was shaking with laughter. He was a Robespierre at an age -when the Sylla of France was make couplets. - -"And how? and why? And on what pretext?" demanded she, when she had -come to an end. - -"You wish to know how you may come to the guillotine?" - -La Cibot turned pale as death at the words; the words fell like a -knife upon her neck. She stared wildly at Fraisier. - -"Listen to me, my dear child," began Fraisier, suppressing his inward -satisfaction at his client's discomfiture. - -"I would sooner leave things as they are--" murmured La Cibot, and she -rose to go. - -"Stay," Fraisier said imperiously. "You ought to know the risks that -you are running; I am bound to give you the benefit of my lights.--You -are dismissed by M. Pillerault, we will say; there is no doubt about -that, is there? You enter the service of these two gentlemen. Very -good! That is a declaration of war against the Presidente. You mean to -do everything you can to gain possession of the property, and to get a -slice of it at any rate-- - -"Oh, I am not blaming you," Fraisier continued, in answer to a gesture -from his client. "It is not my place to do so. This is a battle, and -you will be led on further than you think for. One grows full of one's -ideas, one hits hard--" - -Another gesture of denial. This time La Cibot tossed her head. - -"There, there, old lady," said Fraisier, with odious familiarity, "you -will go a very long way!--" - -"You take me for a thief, I suppose?" - -"Come, now, mamma, you hold a receipt in M. Schmucke's hand which did -not cost you much.--Ah! you are in the confessional, my lady! Don't -deceive your confessor, especially when the confessor has the power of -reading your thoughts." - -La Cibot was dismayed by the man's perspicacity; now she knew why he -had listened to her so intently. - -"Very good," continued he, "you can admit at once that the Presidente -will not allow you to pass her in the race for the property.--You will -be watched and spied upon.--You get your name into M. Pons' will; -nothing could be better. But some fine day the law steps in, arsenic -is found in a glass, and you and your husband are arrested, tried, and -condemned for attempting the life of the Sieur Pons, so as to come by -your legacy. I once defended a poor woman at Versailles; she was in -reality as innocent as you would be in such a case. Things were as I -have told you, and all that I could do was to save her life. The -unhappy creature was sentenced to twenty years' penal servitude. She -is working out her time now at St. Lazare." - -Mme. Cibot's terror grew to the highest pitch. She grew paler and -paler, staring at the little, thin man with the green eyes, as some -wretched Moor, accused of adhering to her own religion, might gaze at -the inquisitor who doomed her to the stake. - -"Then, do you tell me, that if I leave you to act, and put my -interests in your hands, I shall get something without fear?" - -"I guarantee you thirty thousand francs," said Fraisier, speaking like -a man sure of the fact. - -"After all, you know how fond I am of dear Dr. Poulain," she began -again in her most coaxing tones; "he told me to come to you, worthy -man, and he did not send me here to be told that I shall be -guillotined for poisoning some one." - -The thought of the guillotine so moved her that she burst into tears, -her nerves were shaken, terror clutched at her heart, she lost her -head. Fraisier gloated over his triumph. When he saw his client -hesitate, he thought that he had lost his chance; he had set himself -to frighten and quell La Cibot till she was completely in his power, -bound hand and foot. She had walked into his study as a fly walks into -a spider's web; there she was doomed to remain, entangled in the toils -of the little lawyer who meant to feed upon her. Out of this bit of -business, indeed, Fraisier meant to gain the living of old days; -comfort, competence, and consideration. He and his friend Dr. Poulain -had spent the whole previous evening in a microscopic examination of -the case; they had made mature deliberations. The doctor described -Schmucke for his friend's benefit, and the alert pair had plumbed all -hypotheses and scrutinized all risks and resources, till Fraisier, -exultant, cried aloud, "Both our fortunes lie in this!" He had gone so -far as to promise Poulain a hospital, and as for himself, he meant to -be justice of the peace of an arrondissement. - -To be a justice of the peace! For this man with his abundant capacity, -for this doctor of law without a pair of socks to his name, the dream -was a hippogriff so restive, that he thought of it as a -deputy-advocate thinks of the silk gown, as an Italian priest thinks -of the tiara. It was indeed a wild dream! - -M. Vitel, the justice of the peace before whom Fraisier pleaded, was a -man of sixty-nine, in failing health; he talked of retiring on a -pension; and Fraisier used to talk with Poulain of succeeding him, -much as Poulain talked of saving the life of some rich heiress and -marrying her afterwards. No one knows how greedily every post in the -gift of authority is sought after in Paris. Every one wants to live in -Paris. If a stamp or tobacco license falls in, a hundred women rise up -as one and stir all their friends to obtain it. Any vacancy in the -ranks of the twenty-four collectors of taxes sends a flood of -ambitious folk surging in upon the Chamber of Deputies. Decisions are -made in committee, all appointments are made by the Government. Now -the salary of a justice of the peace, the lowest stipendiary -magistrate in Paris, is about six thousand francs. The post of -registrar to the court is worth a hundred thousand francs. Few places -are more coveted in the administration. Fraisier, as a justice of the -peace, with the head physician of a hospital for his friend, would -make a rich marriage himself and a good match for Dr. Poulain. Each -would lend a hand to each. - -Night set its leaden seal upon the plans made by the sometime attorney -of Mantes, and a formidable scheme sprouted up, a flourishing scheme, -fertile in harvests of gain and intrigue. La Cibot was the hinge upon -which the whole matter turned; and for this reason, any rebellion on -the part of the instrument must be at once put down; such action on -her part was quite unexpected; but Fraisier had put forth all the -strength of his rancorous nature, and the audacious portress lay -trampled under his feet. - -"Come, reassure yourself, my dear madame," he remarked, holding out -his hand. The touch of the cold, serpent-like skin made a terrible -impression upon the portress. It brought about something like a -physical reaction, which checked her emotion; Mme. Fontaine's toad, -Astaroth, seemed to her to be less deadly than this poison-sac that -wore a sandy wig and spoke in tones like the creaking of a hinge. - -"Do not imagine that I am frightening you to no purpose," Fraisier -continued. (La Cibot's feeling of repulsion had not escaped him.) "The -affairs which made Mme. la Presidente's dreadful reputation are so -well known at the law-courts, that you can make inquiries there if you -like. The great person who was all but sent into a lunatic asylum was -the Marquis d'Espard. The Marquis d'Esgrignon was saved from the -hulks. The handsome young man with wealth and a great future before -him, who was to have married a daughter of one of the first families -of France, and hanged himself in a cell of the Conciergerie, was the -celebrated Lucien de Rubempre; the affair made a great deal of noise -in Paris at the time. That was a question of a will. His mistress, the -notorious Esther, died and left him several millions, and they accused -the young fellow of poisoning her. He was not even in Paris at the -time of her death, nor did he so much as know the woman had left the -money to him!--One cannot well be more innocent than that! Well, after -M. Camusot examined him, he hanged himself in his cell. Law, like -medicine, has its victims. In the first case, one man suffers for the -many, and in the second, he dies for science," he added, and an ugly -smile stole over his lips. "Well, I know the risks myself, you see; -poor and obscure little attorney as I am, the law has been the ruin of -me. My experience was dearly bought--it is all at your service." - -"Thank you, no," said La Cibot; "I will have nothing to do with it, -upon my word! . . . I shall have nourished ingratitude, that is all! I -want nothing but my due; I have thirty years of honesty behind me, -sir. M. Pons says that he will recommend me to his friend Schmucke; -well and good, I shall end my days in peace with the German, good -man." - -Fraisier had overshot his mark. He had discouraged La Cibot. Now he -was obliged to remove these unpleasant impressions. - -"Do not let us give up," he said; "just go away quietly home. Come, -now, we will steer the affair to a good end." - -"But what about my _rentes_, what am I to do to get them, and--" - -"And feel no remorse?" he interrupted quickly. "Eh! it is precisely -for that that men of business were invented; unless you keep within -the law, you get nothing. You know nothing of law; I know a good deal. -I will see that you keep on the right side of it, and you can hold -your own in all men's sight. As for your conscience, that is your own -affair." - -"Very well, tell me how to do it," returned La Cibot, curious and -delighted. - -"I do not know how yet. I have not looked at the strong points of the -case yet; I have been busy with the obstacles. But the first thing to -be done is to urge him to make a will; you cannot go wrong over that; -and find out, first of all, how Pons means to leave his fortune; for -if you were his heir--" - -"No, no; he does not like me. Ah! if I had but known the value of his -gimcracks, and if I had known what I know now about his amours, I -should be easy in my mind this day--" - -"Keep on, in fact," broke in Fraisier. "Dying folk have queer fancies, -my dear madame; they disappoint hopes many a time. Let him make his -will, and then we shall see. And of all things, the property must be -valued. So I must see this Remonencq and the Jew; they will be very -useful to us. Put entire confidence in me, I am at your disposal. When -a client is a friend to me, I am his friend through thick and thin. -Friend or enemy, that is my character." - -"Very well," said La Cibot, "I am yours entirely; and as for fees, M. -Poulain--" - -"Let us say nothing about that," said Fraisier. "Think how you can -keep Poulain at the bedside; he is one of the most upright and -conscientious men I know; and, you see, we want some one there whom we -can trust. Poulain would do better than I; I have lost my character." - -"You look as if you had," said La Cibot; "but, for my own part, I -should trust you." - -"And you would do well. Come to see me whenever anything happens, and ---there!--you are an intelligent woman; all will go well." - -"Good-day, M. Fraisier. I hope you will recover your health. Your -servant, sir." - -Fraisier went to the door with his client. But this time it was he, -and not La Cibot, who was struck with an idea on the threshold. - -"If you could persuade M. Pons to call me in, it would be a great -step." - -"I will try," said La Cibot. - -Fraisier drew her back into his sanctum. "Look here, old lady, I know -M. Trognon, the notary of the quarter, very well. If M. Pons has not a -notary, mention M. Trognon to him. Make him take M. Trognon--" - -"Right," returned La Cibot. - -And as she came out again she heard the rustle of a dress and the -sound of a stealthy, heavy footstep. - -Out in the street and by herself, Mme. Cibot to some extent recovered -her liberty of mind as she walked. Though the influence of the -conversation was still upon her, and she had always stood in dread of -scaffolds, justice, and judges, she took a very natural resolution -which was to bring about a conflict of strategy between her and her -formidable legal adviser. - -"What do I want with other folk?" said she to herself. "Let us make a -round sum, and afterwards I will take all that they offer me to push -their interests;" and this thought, as will shortly be seen, hastened -the poor old musician's end. - - - -"Well, dear M. Schmucke, and how is our dear, adored patient?" asked -La Cibot, as she came into the room. - -"Fery pad; Bons haf peen vandering all der night." - -"Then, what did he say?" - -"Chust nonsense. He vould dot I haf all his fortune, on kondition dot -I sell nodings.--Den he cried! Boor mann! It made me ver' sad." - -"Never mind, honey," returned the portress. "I have kept you waiting -for your breakfast; it is nine o'clock and past; but don't scold me. I -have business on hand, you see, business of yours. Here are we without -any money, and I have been out to get some." - -"Vere?" asked Schmucke. - -"Of my uncle." - -"Onkel?" - -"Up the spout." - -"Shpout?" - -"Oh! the dear man! how simple he is? No, you are a saint, a love, an -archbishop of innocence, a man that ought to be stuffed, as the old -actor said. What! you have lived in Paris for twenty-nine years; you -saw the Revolution of July, you did, and you have never so much as -heard tell of a pawnbroker--a man that lends you money on your things? ---I have been pawning our silver spoons and forks, eight of them, -thread pattern. Pooh, Cibot can eat his victuals with German silver; -it is quite the fashion now, they say. It is not worth while to say -anything to our angel there; it would upset him and make him yellower -than before, and he is quite cross enough as it is. Let us get him -round again first, and afterwards we shall see. What must be must; and -we must take things as we find them, eh?" - -"Goot voman! nople heart!" cried poor Schmucke, with a great -tenderness in his face. He took La Cibot's hand and clasped it to his -breast. When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes. - -"There, that will do, Papa Schmucke; how funny you are! This is too -bad. I am an old daughter of the people--my heart is in my hand. I -have something _here_, you see, like you have, hearts of gold that you -are," she added, slapping her chest. - -"Baba Schmucke!" continued the musician. "No. To know de tepths of -sorrow, to cry mit tears of blood, to mount up in der hefn--dat is -mein lot! I shall not lif after Bons--" - -"Gracious! I am sure you won't, you are killing yourself.--Listen, -pet!" - -"Bet?" - -"Very well, my sonny--" - -"Zonny?" - -"My lamb, then, if you like it better." - -"It is not more clear." - -"Oh, well, let _me_ take care of you and tell you what to do; for if -you go on like this, I shall have both of you laid up on my hands, you -see. To my little way of thinking, we must do the work between us. You -cannot go about Paris to give lessons for it tires you, and then you -are not fit to do anything afterwards, and somebody must sit up of a -night with M. Pons, now that he is getting worse and worse. I will run -round to-day to all your pupils and tell them that you are ill; is it -not so? And then you can spend the nights with our lamb, and sleep of -a morning from five o'clock till, let us say, two in the afternoon. I -myself will take the day, the most tiring part, for there is your -breakfast and dinner to get ready, and the bed to make, and the things -to change, and the doses of medicine to give. I could not hold out for -another ten days at this rate. What would become of you if I were to -fall ill? And you yourself, it makes one shudder to see you; just look -at yourself, after sitting up with him last night!" - -She drew Schmucke to the glass, and Schmucke thought that there was a -great change. - -"So, if you are of my mind, I'll have your breakfast ready in a jiffy. -Then you will look after our poor dear again till two o'clock. Let me -have a list of your people, and I will soon arrange it. You will be -free for a fortnight. You can go to bed when I come in, and sleep till -night." - -So prudent did the proposition seem, that Schmucke then and there -agreed to it. - -"Not a word to M. Pons; he would think it was all over with him, you -know, if we were to tell him in this way that his engagement at the -theatre and his lessons are put off. He would be thinking that he -should not find his pupils again, poor gentleman--stuff and nonsense! -M. Poulain says that we shall save our Benjamin if we keep him as -quiet as possible." - -"Ach! fery goot! Pring up der preakfast; I shall make der bett, and -gif you die attresses!--You are right; it vould pe too much for me." - -An hour later La Cibot, in her Sunday clothes, departed in great -state, to the no small astonishment of the Remonencqs; she promised -herself that she would support the character of confidential servant -of the pair of nutcrackers, in the boarding-schools and private -families in which they gave music-lessons. - -It is needless to repeat all the gossip in which La Cibot indulged on -her round. The members of every family, the head-mistress of every -boarding-school, were treated to a variation upon the theme of Pons' -illness. A single scene, which took place in the Illustrious -Gaudissart's private room, will give a sufficient idea of the rest. La -Cibot met with unheard-of difficulties, but she succeeded in -penetrating at last to the presence. Kings and cabinet ministers are -less difficult of access than the manager of a theatre in Paris; nor -is it hard to understand why such prodigious barriers are raised -between them and ordinary mortals: a king has only to defend himself -from ambition; the manager of a theatre has reason to dread the -wounded vanity of actors and authors. - -La Cibot, however, struck up an acquaintance with the portress, and -traversed all distances in a brief space. There is a sort of -freemasonry among the porter tribe, and, indeed, among the members of -every profession; for each calling has its shibboleth, as well as its -insulting epithet and the mark with which it brands its followers. - -"Ah! madame, you are the portress here," began La Cibot. "I myself am -a portress, in a small way, in a house in the Rue de Normandie. M. -Pons, your conductor, lodges with us. Oh, how glad I should be to have -your place, and see the actors and dancers and authors go past. It is -the marshal's baton in our profession, as the old actor said." - -"And how is M. Pons going on, good man?" inquired the portress. - -"He is not going on at all; he has not left his bed these two months. -He will only leave the house feet foremost, that is certain." - -"He will be missed." - -"Yes. I have come with a message to the manager from him. Just try to -get me a word with him, dear." - -"A lady from M. Pons to see you, sir!" After this fashion did the -youth attached to the service of the manager's office announce La -Cibot, whom the portress below had particularly recommended to his -care. - -Gaudissart had just come in for a rehearsal. Chance so ordered it that -no one wished to speak with him; actors and authors were alike late. -Delighted to have news of his conductor, he made a Napoleonic gesture, -and La Cibot was admitted. - -The sometime commercial traveler, now the head of a popular theatre, -regarded his sleeping partners in the light of a legitimate wife; they -were not informed of all his doings. The flourishing state of his -finances had reacted upon his person. Grown big and stout and -high-colored with good cheer and prosperity, Gaudissart made no -disguise of his transformation into a Mondor. - -"We are turning into a city-father," he once said, trying to be the -first to laugh. - -"You are only in the Turcaret stage yet, though," retorted Bixiou, who -often replaced Gaudissart in the company of the leading lady of the -ballet, the celebrated Heloise Brisetout. - -The former Illustrious Gaudissart, in fact, was exploiting the theatre -simply and solely for his own particular benefit, and with brutal -disregard of other interests. He first insinuated himself as a -collaborator in various ballets, plays, and vaudevilles; then he -waited till the author wanted money and bought up the other half of -the copyright. These after-pieces and vaudevilles, always added to -successful plays, brought him in a daily harvest of gold coins. He -trafficked by proxy in tickets, allotting a certain number to himself, -as the manager's share, till he took in this way a tithe of the -receipts. And Gaudissart had other methods of making money besides -these official contributions. He sold boxes, he took presents from -indifferent actresses burning to go upon the stage to fill small -speaking parts, or simply to appear as queens, or pages, and the like; -he swelled his nominal third share of the profits to such purpose that -the sleeping partners scarcely received one-tenth instead of the -remaining two-thirds of the net receipts. Even so, however, the tenth -paid them a dividend of fifteen per cent on their capital. On the -strength of that fifteen per cent Gaudissart talked of his -intelligence, honesty, and zeal, and the good fortune of his partners. -When Count Popinot, showing an interest in the concern, asked Matifat, -or General Gouraud (Matifat's son-in-law), or Crevel, whether they -were satisfied with Gaudissart, Gouraud, now a peer of France, -answered, "They say he robs us; but he is such a clever, good-natured -fellow, that we are quite satisfied." - -"This is like La Fontaine's fable," smiled the ex-cabinet minister. - -Gaudissart found investments for his capital in other ventures. He -thought well of Schwab, Brunner, and the Graffs; that firm was -promoting railways, he became a shareholder in the lines. His -shrewdness was carefully hidden beneath the frank carelessness of a -man of pleasure; he seemed to be interested in nothing but amusements -and dress, yet he thought everything over, and his wide experience of -business gained as a commercial traveler stood him in good stead. - -A self-made man, he did not take himself seriously. He gave suppers -and banquets to celebrities in rooms sumptuously furnished by the -house decorator. Showy by nature, with a taste for doing things -handsomely, he affected an easy-going air, and seemed so much the less -formidable because he had kept the slang of "the road" (to use his own -expression), with a few green-room phrases superadded. Now, artists in -the theatrical profession are wont to express themselves with some -vigor; Gaudissart borrowed sufficient racy green-room talk to blend -with his commercial traveler's lively jocularity, and passed for a -wit. He was thinking at that moment of selling his license and "going -into another line," as he said. He thought of being chairman of a -railway company, of becoming a responsible person and an -administrator, and finally of marrying Mlle. Minard, daughter of the -richest mayor in Paris. He might hope to get into the Chamber through -"his line," and, with Popinot's influence, to take office under the -Government. - -"Whom have I the honor of addressing?" inquired Gaudissart, looking -magisterially at La Cibot. - -"I am M. Pons' confidential servant, sir." - -"Well, and how is the dear fellow?" - -"Ill, sir--very ill." - -"The devil he is! I am sorry to hear it--I must come and see him; he -is such a man as you don't often find." - -"Ah yes! sir, he is a cherub, he is. I have always wondered how he -came to be in a theatre." - -"Why, madame, the theatre is a house of correction for morals," said -Gaudissart. "Poor Pons!--Upon my word, one ought to cultivate the -species to keep up the stock. 'Tis a pattern man, and has talent too. -When will he be able to take his orchestra again, do you think? A -theatre, unfortunately, is like a stage coach: empty or full, it -starts at the same time. Here at six o'clock every evening, up goes -the curtain; and if we are never sorry for ourselves, it won't make -good music. Let us see now--how is he?" - -La Cibot pulled out her pocket-handkerchief and held it to her eyes. - -"It is a terrible thing to say, my dear sir," said she; "but I am -afraid we shall lose him, though we are as careful of him as of the -apple of our eyes. And, at the same time, I came to say that you must -not count on M. Schmucke, worthy man, for he is going to sit up with -him at night. One cannot help doing as if there was hope still left, -and trying one's best to snatch the dear, good soul from death. But -the doctor has given him up----" - -"What is the matter with him?" - -"He is dying of grief, jaundice, and liver complaint, with a lot of -family affairs to complicate matters." - -"And a doctor as well," said Gaudissart. "He ought to have had Lebrun, -our doctor; it would have cost him nothing." - -"M. Pons' doctor is a Providence on earth. But what can a doctor do, -no matter how clever he is, with such complications?" - -"I wanted the good pair of nutcrackers badly for the accompaniment of -my new fairy piece." - -"Is there anything that I can do for them?" asked La Cibot, and her -expression would have done credit to a Jocrisse. - -Gaudissart burst out laughing. - -"I am their housekeeper, sir, and do many things for my gentlemen--" -She did not finish her speech, for in the middle of Gaudissart's roar -of laughter a woman's voice exclaimed, "If you are laughing, old man, -one may come in," and the leading lady of the ballet rushed into the -room and flung herself upon the only sofa. The newcomer was Heloise -Brisetout, with a splendid _algerienne_, such as scarves used to be -called, about her shoulders. - -"Who is amusing you? Is it this lady? What post does she want?" asked -this nymph, giving the manager such a glance as artist gives artist, a -glance that would make a subject for a picture. - -Heloise, a young woman of exceedingly literary tastes, was on intimate -terms with great and famous artists in Bohemia. Elegant, accomplished, -and graceful, she was more intelligent than dancers usually are. As -she put her question, she sniffed at a scent-bottle full of some -aromatic perfume. - -"One fine woman is as good as another, madame; and if I don't sniff -the pestilence out of a scent-bottle, nor daub brickdust on my -cheeks--" - -"That would be a sinful waste, child, when Nature put it on for you to -begin with," said Heloise, with a side glance at her manager. - -"I am an honest woman--" - -"So much the worse for you. It is not every one by a long chalk that -can find some one to keep them, and kept I am, and in slap-up style, -madame." - -"So much the worse! What do you mean? Oh, you may toss your head and -go about in scarves, you will never have as many declarations as I -have had, missus. You will never match the _Belle Ecaillere of the -Cadran Bleu_." - -Heloise Brisetout rose at once to her feet, stood at attention, and -made a military salute, like a soldier who meets his general. - -"What?" asked Gaudissart, "are you really _La Belle Ecaillere_ of whom -my father used to talk?" - -"In that case the cachucha and the polka were after your time; and -madame has passed her fiftieth year," remarked Heloise, and striking -an attitude, she declaimed, "'Cinna, let us be friends.'" - -"Come, Heloise, the lady is not up to this; let her alone." - -"Madame is perhaps the New Heloise," suggested La Cibot, with sly -innocence. - -"Not bad, old lady!" cried Gaudissart. - -"It is a venerable joke," said the dancer, "a grizzled pun; find us -another old lady--or take a cigarette." - -"I beg your pardon, madame, I feel too unhappy to answer you; my two -gentlemen are very ill; and to buy nourishment for them and to spare -them trouble, I have pawned everything down to my husband's clothes -that I pledged this morning. Here is the ticket!" - -"Oh! here, the affair is becoming tragic," cried the fair Heloise. -"What is it all about?" - -"Madame drops down upon us like--" - -"Like a dancer," said Heloise; "let me prompt you,--missus!" - -"Come, I am busy," said Gaudissart. "The joke has gone far enough. -Heloise, this is M. Pons' confidential servant; she had come to tell -me that I must not count upon him; our poor conductor is not expected -to live. I don't know what to do." - -"Oh! poor man; why, he must have a benefit." - -"It would ruin him," said Gaudissart. "He might find next day that he -owed five hundred francs to charitable institutions, and they refuse -to admit that there are any sufferers in Paris except their own. No, -look here, my good woman, since you are going in for the Montyon -prize----" - -He broke off, rang the bell, and the youth before mentioned suddenly -appeared. - -"Tell the cashier to send me up a thousand-franc note.--Sit down, -madame." - -"Ah! poor woman, look, she is crying!" exclaimed Heloise. "How stupid! -There, there, mother, we will go to see him; don't cry.--I say, now," -she continued, taking the manager into a corner, "you want to make me -take the leading part in the ballet in _Ariane_, you Turk. You are -going to be married, and you know how I can make you miserable--" - -"Heloise, my heart is copper-bottomed like a man-of-war." - -"I shall bring your children on the scene! I will borrow some -somewhere." - -"I have owned up about the attachment." - -"Do be nice, and give Pons' post to Garangeot; he has talent, poor -fellow, and he has not a penny; and I promise peace." - -"But wait till Pons is dead, in case the good man may come back -again." - -"Oh, as to that, no, sir," said La Cibot. "He began to wander in his -mind last night, and now he is delirious. It will soon be over, -unfortunately." - -"At any rate, take Garangeot as a stop-gap!" pleaded Heloise. "He has -the whole press on his side--" - -Just at that moment the cashier came in with a note for a thousand -francs in his hand. - -"Give it to madame here," said Gaudissart. "Good-day, my good woman; -take good care of the dear man, and tell him that I am coming to see -him to-morrow, or sometime--as soon as I can, in short." - -"A drowning man," said Heloise. - -"Ah, sir, hearts like yours are only found in a theatre. May God bless -you!" - -"To what account shall I post this item?" asked the cashier. - -"I will countersign the order. Post it to the bonus account." - -Before La Cibot went out, she made Mlle. Brisetout a fine courtesy, -and heard Gaudissart remark to his mistress: - -"Can Garangeot do the dance-music for the _Mohicans_ in twelve days? -If he helps me out of my predicament, he shall have Pons' place." - -La Cibot had cut off the incomes of the two friends, she had left them -without means of subsistence if Pons should chance to recover, and was -better rewarded for all this mischief than for any good that she had -done. In a few days' time her treacherous trick would bring about the -desired result--Elie Magus would have his coveted pictures. But if -this first spoliation was to be effected, La Cibot must throw dust in -Fraisier's eyes, and lull the suspicions of that terrible -fellow-conspirator of her own seeking; and Elie Magus and Remonencq -must be bound over to secrecy. - -As for Remonencq, he had gradually come to feel such a passion as -uneducated people can conceive when they come to Paris from the depths -of the country, bringing with them all the fixed ideas bred of the -solitary country life; all the ignorance of a primitive nature, all -the brute appetites that become so many fixed ideas. Mme. Cibot's -masculine beauty, her vivacity, her market-woman's wit, had all been -remarked by the marine store-dealer. He thought at first of taking La -Cibot from her husband, bigamy among the lower classes in Paris being -much more common than is generally supposed; but greed was like a -slip-knot drawn more and more tightly about his heart, till reason at -length was stifled. When Remonencq computed that the commission paid -by himself and Elie Magus amounted to about forty thousand francs, he -determined to have La Cibot for his legitimate spouse, and his -thoughts turned from a misdemeanor to a crime. A romantic purely -speculative dream, persistently followed through a tobacco-smoker's -long musings as he lounged in the doorway, had brought him to the -point of wishing that the little tailor were dead. At a stroke he -beheld his capital trebled; and then he thought of La Cibot. What a -good saleswoman she would be! What a handsome figure she would make in -a magnificent shop on the boulevards! The twofold covetousness turned -Remonencq's head. In fancy he took a shop that he knew of on the -Boulevard de la Madeleine, he stocked it with Pons' treasures, and -then--after dreaming his dream in sheets of gold, after seeing -millions in the blue spiral wreaths that rose from his pipe, he awoke -to find himself face to face with the little tailor. Cibot was -sweeping the yard, the doorstep, and the pavement just as his neighbor -was taking down the shutters and displaying his wares; for since Pons -fell ill, La Cibot's work had fallen to her husband. - -The Auvergnat began to look upon the little, swarthy, stunted, -copper-colored tailor as the one obstacle in his way, and pondered how -to be rid of him. Meanwhile this growing passion made La Cibot very -proud, for she had reached an age when a woman begins to understand -that she may grow old. - -So early one morning, she meditatively watched Remonencq as he -arranged his odds and ends for sale. She wondered how far his love -could go. He came across to her. - -"Well," he said, "are things going as you wish?" - -"It is you who makes me uneasy," said La Cibot. "I shall be talked -about; the neighbors will see you making sheep's eyes at me." - -She left the doorway and dived into the Auvergnat's back shop. - -"What a notion!" said Remonencq. - -"Come here, I have something to say to you," said La Cibot. "M. Pons' -heirs are about to make a stir; they are capable of giving us a lot of -trouble. God knows what might come of it if they send the lawyers here -to poke their noses into the affair like hunting-dogs. I cannot get M. -Schmucke to sell a few pictures unless you like me well enough to keep -the secret--such a secret!--With your head on the block, you must not -say where the pictures come from, nor who it was that sold them. When -M. Pons is once dead and buried, you understand, nobody will know how -many pictures there ought to be; if there are fifty-three pictures -instead of sixty-seven, nobody will be any the wiser. Besides, if M. -Pons sold them himself while he was alive, nobody can find fault." - -"No," agreed Remonencq, "it is all one to me, but M. Elie Magus will -want receipts in due form." - -"And you shall have your receipt too, bless your life! Do you suppose -that _I_ should write them?--No, M. Schmucke will do that. But tell -your Jew that he must keep the secret as closely as you do," she -continued. - -"We will be as mute as fishes. That is our business. I myself can -read, but I cannot write, and that is why I want a capable wife that -has had education like you. I have thought of nothing but earning my -bread all my days, and now I wish I had some little Remonencqs. Do -leave that Cibot of yours." - -"Why, here comes your Jew," said the portress; "we can arrange the -whole business." - -Elie Magus came every third day very early in the morning to know when -he could buy his pictures. "Well, my dear lady," said he, "how are we -getting on?" - -"Has nobody been to speak to you about M. Pons and his gimcracks?" -asked La Cibot. - -"I received a letter from a lawyer," said Elie Magus, "a rascal that -seems to me to be trying to work for himself; I don't like people of -that sort, so I took no notice of his letter. Three days afterwards he -came to see me, and left his card. I told my porter that I am never at -home when he calls." - -"You are a love of a Jew," said La Cibot. Little did she know Elie -Magus' prudence. "Well, sonnies, in a few days' time I will bring M. -Schmucke to the point of selling you seven or eight pictures, ten at -most. But on two conditions.--Absolute secrecy in the first place. M. -Schmucke will send for you, sir, is not that so? And M. Remonencq -suggested that you might be a purchaser, eh?--And, come what may, I -will not meddle in it for nothing. You are giving forty-six thousand -francs for four pictures, are you not?" - -"So be it," groaned the Jew. - -"Very good. This is the second condition. You will give me -_forty-three_ thousand francs, and pay three thousand only to M. -Schmucke; Remonencq will buy four for two thousand francs, and hand -over the surplus to me.--But at the same time, you see my dear M. -Magus, I am going to help you and Remonencq to a splendid bit of -business--on condition that the profits are shared among the three of -us. I will introduce you to that lawyer, as he, no doubt, will come -here. You shall make a valuation of M. Pons' things at the prices -which you can give for them, so that M. Fraisier may know how much -the property is worth. But--not until after our sale, you understand!" - -"I understand," said the Jew, "but it takes time to look at the things -and value them." - -"You shall have half a day. But, there, that is my affair. Talk it -over between yourselves, my boys, and for that matter the business -will be settled by the day after to-morrow. I will go round to speak -to this Fraisier; for Dr. Poulain tells him everything that goes on in -the house, and it is a great bother to keep that scarecrow quiet." - -La Cibot met Fraisier halfway between the Rue de la Perle and the Rue -de Normandie; so impatient was he to know the "elements of the case" -(to use his own expression), that he was coming to see her. - -"I say! I was going to you," said she. - -Fraisier grumbled because Elie Magus had refused to see him. But La -Cibot extinguished the spark of distrust that gleamed in the lawyer's -eyes by informing him that Elie Magus had returned from a journey, and -that she would arrange for an interview in Pons' rooms and for the -valuation of the property; for the day after to-morrow at latest. - -"Deal frankly with me," returned Fraisier. "It is more than probable -that I shall act for M. Pons' next-of-kin. In that case, I shall be -even better able to serve you." - -The words were spoken so drily that La Cibot quaked. This starving -limb of the law was sure to manoeuvre on his side as she herself was -doing. She resolved forthwith to hurry on the sale of the pictures. - -La Cibot was right. The doctor and lawyer had clubbed together to buy -a new suit of clothes in which Fraisier could decently present himself -before Mme. la Presidente Camusot de Marville. Indeed, if the clothes -had been ready, the interview would have taken place sooner, for the -fate of the couple hung upon its issues. Fraisier left Mme. Cibot, and -went to try on his new clothes. He found them waiting for him, went -home, adjusted his new wig, and towards ten o'clock that morning set -out in a carriage from a livery stable for the Rue de Hanovre, hoping -for an audience. In his white tie, yellow gloves, and new wig, -redolent of _eau de Portugal_, he looked something like a poisonous -essence kept in a cut-glass bottle, seeming but the more deadly -because everything about it is daintily neat, from the stopper covered -with white kid to the label and the thread. His peremptory manner, the -eruption on his blotched countenance, the green eyes, and a malignant -something about him,--all these things struck the beholder with the -same sense of surprise as storm-clouds in a blue sky. If in his -private office, as he showed himself to La Cibot, he was the common -knife that a murderer catches up for his crime,--now, at the -Presidente's door, he was the daintily-wrought dagger which a woman -sets among the ornaments on her what-not. - -A great change had taken place in the Rue de Hanovre. The Count and -Countess Popinot and the young people would not allow the President -and his wife to leave the house that they had settled upon their -daughter to pay rent elsewhere. M. and Mme. la Presidente, therefore, -were installed on the second floor, now left at liberty, for the -elderly lady had made up her mind to end her days in the country. - -Mme. Camusot took Madeleine Vivet, with her cook and her man-servant, -to the second floor, and would have been as much pinched for money as -in the early days, if the house had not been rent free, and the -President's salary increased to ten thousand francs. This _aurea -mediocritas_ was but little satisfactory to Mme. de Marville. Even now -she wished for means more in accordance with her ambitions; for when -she handed over their fortune to their daughter, she spoiled her -husband's prospects. Now Amelie had set her heart upon seeing her -husband in the Chamber of Deputies; she was not one of those women who -find it easy to give up their way; and she by no means despaired of -returning her husband for the arrondissement in which Marville is -situated. So for the past two months she had teased her father-in-law, -M. le Baron Camusot (for the new peer of France had been advanced to -that rank), and done her utmost to extort an advance of a hundred -thousand francs of the inheritance which one day would be theirs. She -wanted, she said, to buy a small estate worth about two thousand -francs per annum set like a wedge within the Marville lands. There she -and her husband would be near their children and in their own house, -while the addition would round out the Marville property. With that -the Presidente laid stress upon the recent sacrifices which she and -her husband had been compelled to make in order to marry Cecile to -Viscount Popinot, and asked the old man how he could bar his eldest -son's way to the highest honors of the magistracy, when such honors -were only to be had by those who made themselves a strong position in -parliament. Her husband would know how to take up such a position, he -would make himself feared by those in office, and so on and so on. - -"They do nothing for you unless you tighten a halter round their necks -to loosen their tongues," said she. "They are ungrateful. What do they -not owe to Camusot! Camusot brought the House of Orleans to the throne -by enforcing the ordinances of July." - -M. Camusot senior answered that he had gone out of his depth in -railway speculations. He quite admitted that it was necessary to come -to the rescue, but put off the day until shares should rise, as they -were expected to do. - -This half-promise, extracted some few days before Fraisier's visit, -had plunged the Presidente into depths of affliction. It was doubtful -whether the ex-proprietor of Marville was eligible for re-election -without the land qualification. - -Fraisier found no difficulty in obtaining speech of Madeleine Vivet; -such viper natures own their kinship at once. - -"I should like to see Mme. la Presidente for a few moments, -mademoiselle," Fraisier said in bland accents; "I have come on a -matter of business which touches her fortune; it is a question of a -legacy, be sure to mention that. I have not the honor of being known -to Mme. la Presidente, so my name is of no consequence. I am not in -the habit of leaving my chambers, but I know the respect that is due -to a President's wife, and I took the trouble of coming myself to save -all possible delay." - -The matter thus broached, when repeated and amplified by the -waiting-maid, naturally brought a favorable answer. It was a decisive -moment for the double ambition hidden in Fraisier's mind. Bold as a -petty provincial attorney, sharp, rough-spoken, and curt as he was, he -felt as captains feel before the decisive battle of a campaign. As he -went into the little drawing-room where Amelie was waiting for him, he -felt a slight perspiration breaking out upon his forehead and down his -back. Every sudorific hitherto employed had failed to produce this -result upon a skin which horrible diseases had left impervious. "Even -if I fail to make my fortune," said he to himself, "I shall recover. -Poulain said that if I could only perspire I should recover." - -The Presidente came forward in her morning gown. - -"Madame--" said Fraisier, stopping short to bow with the humility by -which officials recognize the superior rank of the person whom they -address. - -"Take a seat, monsieur," said the Presidente. She saw at a glance that -this was a man of law. - -"Mme. la Presidente, if I take the liberty of calling your attention -to a matter which concerns M. le President, it is because I am sure -that M. de Marville, occupying, as he does, a high position, would -leave matters to take their natural course, and so lose seven or eight -hundred thousand francs, a sum which ladies (who, in my opinion, have -a far better understanding of private business than the best of -magistrates)--a sum which ladies, I repeat, would by no means -despise--" - -"You spoke of a legacy," interrupted the lady, dazzled by the wealth, -and anxious to hide her surprise. Amelie de Marville, like an -impatient novel-reader, wanted the end of the story. - -"Yes, madame, a legacy that you are like to lose; yes, to lose -altogether; but I can, that is, I _could_, recover it for you, if--" - -"Speak out, monsieur." Mme. de Marville spoke frigidly, scanning -Fraisier as she spoke with a sagacious eye. - -"Madame, your eminent capacity is known to me; I was once at Mantes. -M. Leboeuf, President of the Tribunal, is acquainted with M. de -Marville, and can answer inquiries about me--" - -The Presidente's shrug was so ruthlessly significant, that Fraisier -was compelled to make short work of his parenthetic discourse. - -"So distinguished a woman will at once understand why I speak of -myself in the first place. It is the shortest way to the property." - -To this acute observation the lady replied by a gesture. Fraisier took -the sign for a permission to continue. - -"I was an attorney, madame, at Mantes. My connection was all the -fortune that I was likely to have. I took over M. Levroux's practice. -You knew him, no doubt?" - -The Presidente inclined her head. - -"With borrowed capital and some ten thousand francs of my own, I went -to Mantes. I had been with Desroches, one of the cleverest attorneys -in Paris, I had been his head-clerk for six years. I was so unlucky as -to make an enemy of the attorney for the crown at Mantes, Monsieur--" - -"Olivier Vinet." - -"Son of the Attorney-General, yes, madame. He was paying his court to -a little person--" - -"Whom?" - -"Mme. Vatinelle." - -"Oh! Mme. Vatinelle. She was very pretty and very--er--when I was -there--" - -"She was not unkind to me: _inde iroe_," Fraisier continued. "I was -industrious; I wanted to repay my friends and to marry; I wanted work; -I went in search of it; and before long I had more on my hands than -anybody else. Bah! I had every soul in Mantes against me--attorneys, -notaries, and even the bailiffs. They tried to fasten a quarrel on me. -In our ruthless profession, as you know, madame, if you wish to ruin a -man, it is soon done. I was concerned for both parties in a case, and -they found it out. It was a trifle irregular; but it is sometimes done -in Paris, attorneys in certain cases hand the rhubarb and take the -senna. They do things differently at Mantes. I had done M. Bouyonnet -this little service before; but, egged on by his colleagues and the -attorney for the crown, he betrayed me.--I am keeping back nothing, -you see.--There was a great hue and cry about it. I was a scoundrel; -they made me out blacker than Marat; forced me to sell out; ruined me. -And I am in Paris now. I have tried to get together a practice; but my -health is so bad, that I have only two quiet hours out of the -twenty-four. - -"At this moment I have but one ambition, and a very small one. Some -day," he continued, "you will be the wife of the Keeper of the Seals, -or of the Home Secretary, it may be; but I, poor and sickly as I am, -desire nothing but a post in which I can live in peace for the rest of -my life, a place without any opening in which to vegetate. I should -like to be a justice of the peace in Paris. It would be a mere trifle -for you and M. le President to gain the appointment for me; for the -present Keeper of the Seals must be anxious to keep on good terms with -you . . . - -"And that is not all, madame," added Fraisier. Seeing that Mme. de -Marville was about to speak, he cut her short with a gesture. "I have -a friend, the doctor in attendance on the old man who ought to leave -his property to M. le President. (We are coming to the point, you -see.) The doctor's co-operation is indispensable, and the doctor is -precisely in my position: he has abilities, he is unlucky. I learned -through him how far your interests were imperiled; for even as I -speak, all may be over, and the will disinheriting M. le President may -have been made. This doctor wishes to be head-surgeon of a hospital or -of a Government school. He must have a position in Paris equal to -mine. . . . Pardon me if I have enlarged on a matter so delicate; but -we must have no misunderstandings in this business. The doctor is, -besides, much respected and learned; he saved the life of the Comtesse -Popinot's great-uncle, M. Pillerault. - -"Now, if you are so good as to promise these two posts--the -appointment of justice of the peace and the sinecure for my friend--I -will undertake to bring you the property, _almost_ intact.--Almost -intact, I say, for the co-operation of the legatee and several other -persons is absolutely indispensable, and some obligations will be -incurred. You will not redeem your promises until I have fulfilled -mine." - -The Presidente had folded her arms, and for the last minute or two sat -like a person compelled to listen to a sermon. Now she unfolded her -arms, and looked at Fraisier as she said, "Monsieur, all that you say -concerning your interests has the merit of clearness; but my own -interests in the matter are by no means so clear--" - -"A word or two will explain everything, madame. M. le President is M. -Pons' first cousin once removed, and his sole heir. M. Pons is very -ill; he is about to make his will, if it is not already made, in favor -of a German, a friend of his named Schmucke; and he has more than -seven hundred thousand francs to leave. I hope to have an accurate -valuation made in two or three days--" - -"If this is so," said the Presidente, "I made a great mistake in -quarreling with him and throwing the blame----" she thought aloud, -amazed by the possibility of such a sum. - -"No, madame. If there had been no rupture, he would be as blithe as a -lark at this moment, and might outlive you and M. le President and me. -. . . The ways of Providence are mysterious, let us not seek to fathom -them," he added to palliate to some extent the hideous idea. "It -cannot be helped. We men of business look at the practical aspects of -things. Now you see clearly, madame, that M. de Marville in his public -position would do nothing, and could do nothing, as things are. He has -broken off all relations with his cousin. You see nothing now of Pons; -you have forbidden him the house; you had excellent reasons, no doubt, -for doing as you did, but the old man is ill, and he is leaving his -property to the only friend left to him. A President of the Court of -Appeal in Paris could say nothing under such circumstances if the will -was made out in due form. But between ourselves, madame, when one has -a right to expect seven or eight hundred thousand francs--or a -million, it may be (how should I know?)--it is very unpleasant to have -it slip through one's fingers, especially if one happens to be the -heir-at-law. . . . But, on the other hand, to prevent this, one is -obliged to stoop to dirty work; work so difficult, so ticklish, -bringing you cheek by jowl with such low people, servants and -subordinates; and into such close contact with them too, that no -barrister, no attorney in Paris could take up such a case. - -"What you want is a briefless barrister like me," said he, "a man who -should have real and solid ability, who has learned to be devoted, and -yet, being in a precarious position, is brought temporarily to a level -with such people. In my arrondissement I undertake business for small -tradespeople and working folk. Yes, madame, you see the straits to -which I have been brought by the enmity of an attorney for the crown, -now a deputy-public prosecutor in Paris, who could not forgive me my -superiority.--I know you, madame, I know that your influence means a -solid certainty; and in such a service rendered to you, I saw the end -of my troubles and success for my friend Dr. Poulain." - -The lady sat pensive during a moment of unspeakable torture for -Fraisier. Vinet, an orator of the Centre, attorney-general -(_procureur-general_) for the past sixteen years, nominated -half-a-score of times for the chancellorship, the father, moreover, of -the attorney for the crown at Mantes who had been appointed to a post -in Paris within the last year--Vinet was an enemy and a rival for the -malignant Presidente. The haughty attorney-general did not hide his -contempt for President Camusot. This fact Fraisier did not know, and -could not know. - -"Have you nothing on your conscience but the fact that you were -concerned for both parties?" asked she, looking steadily at Fraisier. - -"Mme. la Presidente can see M. Leboeuf; M. Leboeuf was favorable to -me." - -"Do you feel sure that M. Leboeuf will give M. de Marville and M. le -Comte Popinot a good account of you?" - -"I will answer for it, especially now that M. Olivier Vinet has left -Mantes; for between ourselves, good M. Leboeuf was afraid of that -crabbed little official. If you will permit me, Madame La Presidente, -I will go to Mantes and see M. Leboeuf. No time will be lost, for I -cannot be certain of the precise value of the property for two or -three days. I do not wish that you should know all the ins and outs of -this affair; you ought not to know them, Mme. la Presidente, but is -not the reward that I expect for my complete devotion a pledge of my -success?" - -"Very well. If M. Leboeuf will speak in your favor, and if the -property is worth as much as you think (I doubt it myself), you shall -have both appointments, _if_ you succeed, mind you--" - -"I will answer for it, madame. Only, you must be so good as to have -your notary and your attorney here when I shall need them; you must -give me a power of attorney to act for M. le President, and tell those -gentlemen to follow my instructions, and to do nothing on their own -responsibility." - -"The responsibility rests with you," the Presidente answered solemnly, -"so you ought to have full powers.--But is M. Pons very ill?" she -asked, smiling. - -"Upon my word, madame, he might pull through, especially with so -conscientious a doctor as Poulain in attendance; for this friend of -mine, madame, is simply an unconscious spy directed by me in your -interests. Left to himself, he would save the old man's life; but -there is some one else by the sickbed, a portress, who would push him -into the grave for thirty thousand francs. Not that she would kill him -outright; she will not give him arsenic, she is not so merciful; she -will do worse, she will kill him by inches; she will worry him to -death day by day. If the poor old man were kept quiet and left in -peace; if he were taken into the country and cared for and made much -of by friends, he would get well again; but he is harassed by a sort -of Mme. Evrard. When the woman was young she was one of thirty _Belles -Ecailleres_, famous in Paris, she is a rough, greedy, gossiping woman; -she torments him to make a will and to leave her something handsome, -and the end of it will be induration of the liver, calculi are -possibly forming at this moment, and he has not enough strength to -bear an operation. The doctor, noble soul, is in a horrible -predicament. He really ought to send the woman away--" - -"Why, then, this vixen is a monster!" cried the lady in thin -flute-like tones. - -Fraisier smiled inwardly at the likeness between himself and the -terrible Presidente; he knew all about those suave modulations of a -naturally sharp voice. He thought of another president, the hero of an -anecdote related by Louis XI., stamped by that monarch's final praise. -Blessed with a wife after the pattern of Socrates' spouse, and -ungifted with the sage's philosophy, he mingled salt with the corn in -the mangers and forbad the grooms to give water to the horses. As his -wife rode along the Seine towards their country-house, the animals -bolted into the river with the lady, and the magistrate returned -thanks to Providence for ridding him of his wife "in so natural a -manner." At this present moment Mme. de Marville thanked Heaven for -placing at Pons' bedside a woman so likely to get him "decently" out -of the way. - -Aloud she said, "I would not take a million at the price of a single -scruple.--Your friend ought to speak to M. Pons and have the woman -sent away." - -"In the first place, madame, Messrs. Schmucke and Pons think the woman -an angel; they would send my friend away. And secondly, the doctor -lies under an obligation to this horrid oyster-woman; she called him -in to attend M. Pillerault. When he tells her to be as gentle as -possible with the patient, he simply shows the creature how to make -matters worse." - -"What does your friend think of _my_ cousin's condition?" - -This man's clear, business-like way of putting the facts of the case -frightened Mme. de Marville; she felt that his keen gaze read the -thoughts of a heart as greedy as La Cibot's own. - -"In six weeks the property will change hands." - -The Presidente dropped her eyes. - -"Poor man!" she sighed, vainly striving after a dolorous expression. - -"Have you any message, madame, for M. Leboeuf? I am taking the train -to Mantes." - -"Yes. Wait a moment, and I will write to ask him to dine with us -to-morrow. I want to see him, so that he may act in concert to repair -the injustice to which you have fallen a victim." - -The Presidente left the room. Fraisier saw himself a justice of the -peace. He felt transformed at the thought; he grew stouter; his lungs -were filled with the breath of success, the breeze of prosperity. He -dipped into the mysterious reservoirs of volition for fresh and strong -doses of the divine essence. To reach success, he felt, as Remonencq -half felt, that he was ready for anything, for crime itself, provided -that no proofs of it remained. He had faced the Presidente boldly; he -had transmuted conjecture into reality; he had made assertions right -and left, all to the end that she might authorize him to protect her -interests and win her influence. As he stood there, he represented the -infinite misery of two lives, and the no less boundless desires of two -men. He spurned the squalid horrors of the Rue de la Perle. He saw the -glitter of a thousand crowns in fees from La Cibot, and five thousand -francs from the Presidente. This meant an abode such as befitted his -future prospects. Finally, he was repaying Dr. Poulain. - -There are hard, ill-natured beings, goaded by distress or disease into -active malignity, that yet entertain diametrically opposed sentiments -with a like degree of vehemence. If Richelieu was a good hater, he was -no less a good friend. Fraisier, in his gratitude, would have let -himself be cut in two for Poulain. - -So absorbed was he in these visions of a comfortable and prosperous -life, that he did not see the Presidente come in with the letter in -her hand, and she, looking at him, thought him less ugly now than at -first. He was about to be useful to her, and as soon as a tool belongs -to us we look upon it with other eyes. - -"M. Fraisier," said she, "you have convinced me of your intelligence, -and I think that you can speak frankly." - -Fraisier replied by an eloquent gesture. - -"Very well," continued the lady, "I must ask you to give a candid -reply to this question: Are we, either of us, M. de Marville or I, -likely to be compromised, directly or indirectly, by your action in -this matter?" - -"I would not have come to you, madame, if I thought that some day I -should have to reproach myself for bringing so much as a splash of mud -upon you, for in your position a speck the size of a pin's head is -seen by all the world. You forget, madame, that I must satisfy you if -I am to be a justice of the peace in Paris. I have received one lesson -at the outset of my life; it was so sharp that I do not care to lay -myself open to a second thrashing. To sum it up in a last word, -madame, I will not take a step in which you are indirectly involved -without previously consulting you--" - -"Very good. Here is the letter. And now I shall expect to be informed -of the exact value of the estate." - -"There is the whole matter," said Fraisier shrewdly, making his bow to -the Presidente with as much graciousness as his countenance could -exhibit. - -"What a providence!" thought Mme. Camusot de Marville. "So I am to be -rich! Camusot will be sure of his election if we let loose this -Fraisier upon the Bolbec constituency. What a tool!" - -"What a providence!" Fraisier said to himself as he descended the -staircase; "and what a sharp woman Mme. Camusot is! I should want a -woman in these circumstances. Now to work!" - -And he departed for Mantes to gain the good graces of a man he -scarcely knew; but he counted upon Mme. Vatinelle, to whom, -unfortunately, he owed all his troubles--and some troubles are of a -kind that resemble a protested bill while the defaulter is yet -solvent, in that they bear interest. - -Three days afterwards, while Schmucke slept (for in accordance with -the compact he now sat up at night with the patient), La Cibot had a -"tiff," as she was pleased to call it, with Pons. It will not be out -of place to call attention to one particularly distressing symptom of -liver complaint. The sufferer is always more or less inclined to -impatience and fits of anger; an outburst of this kind seems to give -relief at the time, much as a patient while the fever fit is upon him -feels that he has boundless strength; but collapse sets in so soon as -the excitement passes off, and the full extent of mischief sustained -by the system is discernible. This is especially the case when the -disease has been induced by some great shock; and the prostration is -so much the more dangerous because the patient is kept upon a -restricted diet. It is a kind of fever affecting neither the blood nor -the brain, but the humoristic mechanism, fretting the whole system, -producing melancholy, in which the patient hates himself; in such a -crisis anything may cause dangerous irritation. - -In spite of all that the doctor could say, La Cibot had no belief in -this wear and tear of the nervous system by the humoristic. She was a -woman of the people, without experience or education; Dr. Poulain's -explanations for her were simply "doctor's notions." Like most of her -class, she thought that sick people must be fed, and nothing short of -Dr. Poulain's direct order prevented her from administering ham, a -nice omelette, or vanilla chocolate upon the sly. - -The infatuation of the working classes on this point is very strong. -The reason of their reluctance to enter a hospital is the idea that -they will be starved there. The mortality caused by the food smuggled -in by the wives of patients on visiting-days was at one time so great -that the doctors were obliged to institute a very strict search for -contraband provisions. - -If La Cibot was to realize her profits at once, a momentary quarrel -must be worked up in some way. She began by telling Pons about her -visit to the theatre, not omitting her passage at arms with Mlle. -Heloise the dancer. - -"But why did you go?" the invalid asked for the third time. La Cibot -once launched on a stream of words, he was powerless to stop her. - -"So, then, when I had given her a piece of my mind, Mademoiselle -Heloise saw who I was and knuckled under, and we were the best of -friends.--And now do you ask me why I went?" she added, repeating -Pons' question. - -There are certain babblers, babblers of genius are they, who sweep up -interruptions, objections, and observations in this way as they go -along, by way of provision to swell the matter of their conversation, -as if that source were ever in any danger of running dry. - -"Why I went?" repeated she. "I went to get your M. Gaudissart out of a -fix. He wants some music for a ballet, and you are hardly fit to -scribble on sheets of paper and do your work, dearie.--So I -understood, things being so, that a M. Garangeot was to be asked to -set the _Mohicans_ to music--" - -"Garangeot!" roared Pons in fury. "_Garangeot!_ a man with no talent; -I would not have him for first violin! He is very clever, he is very -good at musical criticism, but as to composing--I doubt it! And what -the devil put the notion of going to the theatre into your head?" - -"How confoundedly contrairy the man is! Look here, dearie, we mustn't -boil over like milk on the fire! How are you to write music in the -state that you are in? Why, you can't have looked at yourself in the -glass! Will you have the glass and see? You are nothing but skin and -bone--you are as weak as a sparrow, and do you think that you are fit -to make your notes! why, you would not so much as make out mine. . . . -And that reminds me that I ought to go up to the third floor lodger's -that owes us seventeen francs, for when the chemist has been paid we -shall not have twenty left.--So I had to tell M. Gaudissart (I like -that name), a good sort he seems to be,--a regular Roger Bontemps that -would just suit me.--_He_ will never have liver complaint!--Well, so I -had to tell him how you were.--Lord! you are not well, and he has put -some one else in your place for a bit--" - -"Some one else in my place!" cried Pons in a terrible voice, as he sat -right up in bed. Sick people, generally speaking, and those most -particularly who lie within the sweep of the scythe of Death, cling to -their places with the same passionate energy that the beginner -displays to gain a start in life. To hear that someone had taken his -place was like a foretaste of death to the dying man. - -"Why, the doctor told me that I was going on as well as possible," -continued he; "he said that I should soon be about again as usual. You -have killed me, ruined me, murdered me!" - -"Tut, tut, tut!" cried La Cibot, "there you go! I am killing you, am -I? Mercy on us! these are the pretty things that you are always -telling M. Schmucke when my back is turned. I hear all that you say, -that I do! You are a monster of ingratitude." - -"But you do not know that if I am only away for another fortnight, -they will tell me that I have had my day, that I am old-fashioned, out -of date, Empire, rococo, when I go back. Garangeot will have made -friends all over the theatre, high and low. He will lower the pitch to -suit some actress that cannot sing, he will lick M. Gaudissart's -boots!" cried the sick man, who clung to life. "He has friends that -will praise him in all the newspapers; and when things are like that -in such a shop, Mme. Cibot, they can find holes in anybody's coat. -. . . What fiend drove you to do it?" - -"Why! plague take it, M. Schmucke talked it over with me for a week. -What would you have? You see nothing but yourself! You are so selfish -that other people may die if you can only get better.--Why poor M. -Schmucke has been tired out this month past! he is tied by the leg, he -can go nowhere, he cannot give lessons nor take his place at the -theatre. Do you really see nothing? He sits up with you at night, and -I take the nursing in the day. If I were to sit up at night with you, -as I tried to do at first when I thought you were so poor, I should -have to sleep all day. And who would see to the house and look out for -squalls! Illness is illness, it cannot be helped, and here are you--" - -"This was not Schmucke's idea, it is quite impossible--" - -"That means that it was _I_ who took it into my head to do it, does -it? Do you think that we are made of iron? Why, if M. Schmucke had -given seven or eight lessons every day and conducted the orchestra -every evening at the theatre from six o'clock till half-past eleven at -night, he would have died in ten days' time. Poor man, he would give -his life for you, and do you want to be the death of him? By the -authors of my days, I have never seen a sick man to match you! Where -are your senses? have you put them in pawn? We are all slaving our -lives out for you; we do all for the best, and you are not satisfied! -Do you want to drive us raging mad? I myself, to begin with, am tired -out as it is----" - -La Cibot rattled on at her ease; Pons was too angry to say a word. He -writhed on his bed, painfully uttering inarticulate sounds; the blow -was killing him. And at this point, as usual, the scolding turned -suddenly to tenderness. The nurse dashed at her patient, grasped him -by the head, made him lie down by main force, and dragged the blankets -over him. - -"How any one can get into such a state!" exclaimed she. "After all, it -is your illness, dearie. That is what good M. Poulain says. See now, -keep quiet and be good, my dear little sonny. Everybody that comes -near you worships you, and the doctor himself comes to see you twice a -day. What would he say if he found you in such a way? You put me out -of all patience; you ought not to behave like this. If you have Ma'am -Cibot to nurse you, you should treat her better. You shout and you -talk!--you ought not to do it, you know that. Talking irritates you. -And why do you fly into a passion? The wrong is all on your side; you -are always bothering me. Look here, let us have it out! If M. Schmucke -and I, who love you like our life, thought that we were doing right ---well, my cherub, it was right, you may be sure." - -"Schmucke never could have told you to go to the theatre without -speaking to me about it--" - -"And must I wake him, poor dear, when he is sleeping like one of the -blest, and call him in as a witness?" - -"No, no!" cried Pons. "If my kind and loving Schmucke made the -resolution, perhaps I am worse than I thought." His eyes wandered -round the room, dwelling on the beautiful things in it with a -melancholy look painful to see. - -"So I must say good-bye to my dear pictures, to all the things that -have come to be like so many friends to me . . . and to my divine -friend Schmucke? . . . Oh! can it be true?" - -La Cibot, acting her heartless comedy, held her handkerchief to her -eyes; and at that mute response the sufferer fell to dark musing--so -sorely stricken was he by the double stab dealt to health and his -interests by the loss of his post and the near prospect of death, that -he had no strength left for anger. He lay, ghastly and wan, like a -consumptive patient after a wrestling bout with the Destroyer. - -"In M. Schmucke's interests, you see, you would do well to send for M. -Trognon; he is the notary of the quarter and a very good man," said La -Cibot, seeing that her victim was completely exhausted. - -"You are always talking about this Trognon--" - -"Oh! he or another, it is all one to me, for anything you will leave -me." - -She tossed her head to signify that she despised riches. There was -silence in the room. - -A moment later Schmucke came in. He had slept for six hours, hunger -awakened him, and now he stood at Pons' bedside watching his friend -without saying a word, for Mme. Cibot had laid a finger on her lips. - -"Hush!" she whispered. Then she rose and went up to add under her -breath, "He is going off to sleep at last, thank Heaven! He is as -cross as a red donkey!--What can you expect, he is struggling with his -illness----" - -"No, on the contrary, I am very patient," said the victim in a weary -voice that told of a dreadful exhaustion; "but, oh! Schmucke, my dear -friend, she has been to the theatre to turn me out of my place." - -There was a pause. Pons was too weak to say more. La Cibot took the -opportunity and tapped her head significantly. "Do not contradict -him," she said to Schmucke; "it would kill him." - -Pons gazed into Schmucke's honest face. "And she says that you sent -her--" he continued. - -"Yes," Schmucke affirmed heroically. "It had to pe. Hush!--let us safe -your life. It is absurd to vork and train your sdrength gif you haf a -dreasure. Get better; ve vill sell some prick-a-prack und end our tays -kvietly in a corner somveres, mit kind Montame Zipod." - -"She has perverted you," moaned Pons. - -Mme. Cibot had taken up her station behind the bed to make signals -unobserved. Pons thought that she had left the room. "She is murdering -me," he added. - -"What is that? I am murdering you, am I?" cried La Cibot, suddenly -appearing, hand on hips and eyes aflame. "I am as faithful as a dog, -and this is all I get! God Almighty!--" - -She burst into tears and dropped down into the great chair, a tragical -movement which wrought a most disastrous revulsion in Pons. - -"Very good," she said, rising to her feet. The woman's malignant eyes -looked poison and bullets at the two friends. "Very good. Nothing that -I can do is right here, and I am tired of slaving my life out. You -shall take a nurse." - -Pons and Schmucke exchanged glances in dismay. - -"Oh! you may look at each other like actors. I mean it. I shall ask -Dr. Poulain to find a nurse for you. And now we will settle accounts. -You shall pay me back the money that I have spent on you, and that I -would never have asked you for, I that have gone to M. Pillerault to -borrow another five hundred francs of him--" - -"It ees his illness!" cried Schmucke--he sprang to Mme. Cibot and put -an arm round her waist--"haf batience." - -"As for you, you are an angel, I could kiss the ground you tread -upon," said she. "But M. Pons never liked me, he always hated me. -Besides, he thinks perhaps that I want to be mentioned in his will--" - -"Hush! you vill kill him!" cried Schmucke. - -"Good-bye, sir," said La Cibot, with a withering look at Pons. "You -may keep well for all the harm I wish you. When you can speak to me -pleasantly, when you can believe that what I do is done for the best, -I will come back again. Till then I shall stay in my own room. You -were like my own child to me; did anybody ever see a child revolt -against its mother? . . . No, no, M. Schmucke, I do not want to hear -more. I will bring you _your_ dinner and wait upon _you_, but you must -take a nurse. Ask M. Poulain about it." - -And she went out, slamming the door after her so violently that the -precious, fragile objects in the room trembled. To Pons in his -torture, the rattle of china was like the final blow dealt by the -executioner to a victim broken on the wheel. - -An hour later La Cibot called to Schmucke through the door, telling -him that his dinner was waiting for him in the dining-room. She would -not cross the threshold. Poor Schmucke went out to her with a haggard, -tear-stained face. - -"Mein boor Bons in vandering," said he; "he says dat you are ein pad -voman. It ees his illness," he added hastily, to soften La Cibot and -excuse his friend. - -"Oh, I have had enough of his illness! Look here, he is neither -father, nor husband, nor brother, nor child of mine. He has taken a -dislike to me; well and good, that is enough! As for you, you see, I -would follow _you_ to the end of the world; but when a woman gives her -life, her heart, and all her savings, and neglects her husband (for -here has Cibot fallen ill), and then hears that she is a bad woman--it -is coming it rather too strong, it is." - -"Too shtrong?" - -"Too strong, yes. Never mind idle words. Let us come to the facts. As -to that, you owe me for three months at a hundred and ninety francs ---that is five hundred seventy francs; then there is the rent that I -have paid twice (here are the receipts), six hundred more, including -rates and the sou in the franc for the porter--something under twelve -hundred francs altogether, and with the two thousand francs besides ---without interest, mind you--the total amounts to three thousand one -hundred and ninety-two francs. And remember that you will want at -least two thousand francs before long for the doctor, and the nurse, -and the medicine, and the nurse's board. That was why I borrowed a -thousand francs of M. Pillerault," and with that she held up -Gaudissart's bank-note. - -It may readily be conceived that Schmucke listened to this reckoning -with amazement, for he knew about as much of business as a cat knows -of music. - -"Montame Zipod," he expostulated, "Bons haf lost his head. Bardon him, -and nurse him as before, und pe our profidence; I peg it of you on -mine knees," and he knelt before La Cibot and kissed the tormentor's -hands. - -La Cibot raised Schmucke and kissed him on the forehead. "Listen, my -lamb," said she, "here is Cibot ill in bed; I have just sent for Dr. -Poulain. So I ought to set my affairs in order. And what is more, -Cibot saw me crying, and flew into such a passion that he will not -have me set foot in here again. It is _he_ who wants the money; it is -his, you see. We women can do nothing when it comes to that. But if -you let him have his money back again--the three thousand two hundred -francs--he will be quiet perhaps. Poor man, it is his all, earned by -the sweat of his brow, the savings of twenty-six years of life -together. He must have his money to-morrow; there is no getting round -him.--You do not know Cibot; when he is angry he would kill a man. -Well, I might perhaps get leave of him to look after you both as -before. Be easy. I will just let him say anything that comes into his -head. I will bear it all for love of you, an angel as you are." - -"No, I am ein boor man, dot lof his friend and vould gif his life to -save him--" - -"But the money?" broke in La Cibot. "My good M. Schmucke, let us -suppose that you pay me nothing; you will want three thousand francs, -and where are they to come from? Upon my word, do you know what I -should do in your place? I should not think twice, I should just sell -seven or eight good-for-nothing pictures and put up some of those -instead that are standing in your closet with their faces to the wall -for want of room. One picture or another, what difference does it -make?" - -"Und vy?" - -"He is so cunning. It is his illness, for he is a lamb when he is -well. He is capable of getting up and prying about; and if by any -chance he went into the salon, he is so weak that he could not go -beyond the door; he would see that they are all still there." - -"Drue!" - -"And when he is quite well, we will tell him about the sale. And if -you wish to confess, throw it all upon me, say that you were obliged -to pay me. Come! I have a broad back--" - -"I cannot tispose of dings dot are not mine," the good German answered -simply. - -"Very well. I will summons you, you and M. Pons." - -"It vould kill him--" - -"Take your choice! Dear me, sell the pictures and tell him about it -afterwards . . . you can show him the summons--" - -"Ver' goot. Summons us. Dot shall pe mine egscuse. I shall show him -der chudgment." - -Mme. Cibot went down to the court, and that very day at seven o'clock -she called to Schmucke. Schmucke found himself confronted with M. -Tabareau the bailiff, who called upon him to pay. Schmucke made -answer, trembling from head to foot, and was forthwith summoned -together with Pons, to appear in the county court to hear judgment -against him. The sight of the bailiff and a bit of stamped paper -covered with scrawls produced such an effect upon Schmucke, that he -held out no longer. - -"Sell die bictures," he said, with tears in his eyes. - -Next morning, at six o'clock, Elie Magus and Remonencq took down the -paintings of their choice. Two receipts for two thousand five hundred -francs were made out in correct form:-- - -"I, the undersigned, representing M. Pons, acknowledge the receipt of -two thousand five hundred francs from M. Elie Magus for the four -pictures sold to him, the said sum being appropriated to the use of M. -Pons. The first picture, attributed to Durer, is a portrait of a -woman; the second, likewise a portrait, is of the Italian School; the -third, a Dutch landscape by Breughel; and the fourth, a _Holy Family_ -by an unknown master of the Florentine School." - -Remonencq's receipt was worded in precisely the same way; a Greuze, a -Claude Lorraine, a Rubens, and a Van Dyck being disguised as pictures -of the French and Flemish schools. - -"Der monny makes me beleef dot the chimcracks haf som value," said -Schmucke when the five thousand francs were paid over. - -"They are worth something," said Remonencq. "I would willingly give -you a hundred thousand francs for the lot." - -Remonencq, asked to do a trifling service, hung eight pictures of the -proper size in the same frames, taking them from among the less -valuable pictures in Schmucke's bedroom. - -No sooner was Elie Magus in possession of the four great pictures than -he went, taking La Cibot with him, under pretence of settling -accounts. But he pleaded poverty, he found fault with the pictures, -they needed rebacking, he offered La Cibot thirty thousand francs by -way of commission, and finally dazzled her with the sheets of paper on -which the Bank of France engraves the words "One thousand francs" in -capital letters. Magus thereupon condemned Remonencq to pay the like -sum to La Cibot, by lending him the money on the security of his four -pictures, which he took with him as a guarantee. So glorious were -they, that Magus could not bring himself to part with them, and next -day he bought them of Remonencq for six thousand francs over and above -the original price, and an invoice was duly made out for the four. -Mme. Cibot, the richer by sixty-eight thousand francs, once more swore -her two accomplices to absolute secrecy. Then she asked the Jew's -advice. She wanted to invest the money in such a way that no one -should know of it. - -"Buy shares in the Orleans Railway," said he; "they are thirty francs -below par, you will double your capital in three years. They will give -you scraps of paper, which you keep safe in a portfolio." - -"Stay here, M. Magus. I will go and fetch the man of business who acts -for M. Pons' family. He wants to know how much you will give him for -the whole bag of tricks upstairs. I will go for him now." - -"If only she were a widow!" said Remonencq when she was gone. "She -would just suit me; she will have plenty of money now--" - -"Especially if she puts her money into the Orleans Railway; she will -double her capital in two years' time. I have put all my poor little -savings into it," added the Jew, "for my daughter's portion.--Come, -let us take a turn on the boulevard until this lawyer arrives." - -"Cibot is very bad as it is," continued Remonencq; "if it should -please God to take him to Himself, I should have a famous wife to keep -a shop; I could set up on a large scale--" - -"Good-day, M. Fraisier," La Cibot began in an ingratiating tone as she -entered her legal adviser's office. "Why, what is this that your -porter has been telling me? are you going to move?" - -"Yes, my dear Mme. Cibot. I am taking the first floor above Dr. -Poulain, and trying to borrow two or three thousand francs so as to -furnish the place properly; it is very nice, upon my word, the -landlord has just papered and painted it. I am acting, as I told you, -in President de Marville's interests and yours. . . . I am not a -solicitor now; I mean to have my name entered on the roll of -barristers, and I must be well lodged. A barrister in Paris cannot -have his name on the rolls unless he has decent furniture and books -and the like. I am a doctor of law, I have kept my terms, and have -powerful interest already. . . . Well, how are we getting on?" - -"Perhaps you would accept my savings," said La Cibot. "I have put them -in a savings bank. I have not much, only three thousand francs, the -fruits of twenty-five years of stinting and scraping. You might give -me a bill of exchange, as Remonencq says; for I am ignorant myself, I -only know what they tell me." - -"No. It is against the rules of the guild for a barrister (_avocat_) -to put his name to a bill. I will give you a receipt, bearing interest -at five per cent per annum, on the understanding that if I make an -income of twelve hundred francs for you out of old Pons' estate you -will cancel it." - -La Cibot, caught in the trap, uttered not a word. - -"Silence gives consent," Fraisier continued. "Let me have it to-morrow -morning." - -"Oh! I am quite willing to pay fees in advance," said La Cibot; "it is -one way of making sure of my money." - -Fraisier nodded. "How are you getting on?" he repeated. "I saw Poulain -yesterday; you are hurrying your invalid along, it seems. . . . One -more scene such as yesterday's, and gall-stones will form. Be gentle -with him, my dear Mme. Cibot, do not lay up remorse for yourself. Life -is not too long." - -"Just let me alone with your remorse! Are you going to talk about the -guillotine again? M. Pons is a contrairy old thing. You don't know -him. It is he that bothers me. There is not a more cross-grained man -alive; his relations are in the right of it, he is sly, revengeful, -and contrairy. . . . M. Magus has come, as I told you, and is waiting -to see you." - -"Right! I will be there as soon as you. Your income depends upon the -price the collection will fetch. If it brings in eight hundred -thousand francs, you shall have fifteen hundred francs a year. It is a -fortune." - -"Very well. I will tell them to value the things on their -consciences." - - - -An hour later, Pons was fast asleep. The doctor had ordered a soothing -draught, which Schmucke administered, all unconscious that La Cibot -had doubled the dose. Fraisier, Remonencq, and Magus, three -gallows-birds, were examining the seventeen hundred different objects -which formed the old musician's collection one by one. - -Schmucke had gone to bed. The three kites, drawn by the scent of a -corpse, were masters of the field. - -"Make no noise," said La Cibot whenever Magus went into ecstasies or -explained the value of some work of art to Remonencq. The dying man -slept on in the neighboring room, while greed in four different forms -appraised the treasures that he must leave behind, and waited -impatiently for him to die--a sight to wring the heart. - -Three hours went by before they had finished the salon. - -"On an average," said the grimy old Jew, "everything here is worth a -thousand francs." - -"Seventeen hundred thousand francs!" exclaimed Fraisier in -bewilderment. - -"Not to me," Magus answered promptly, and his eyes grew dull. "I would -not give more than a hundred thousand francs myself for the -collection. You cannot tell how long you may keep a thing on hand. -. . . There are masterpieces that wait ten years for a buyer, and -meanwhile the purchase money is doubled by compound interest. Still, I -should pay cash." - -"There is stained glass in the other room, as well as enamels and -miniatures and gold and silver snuff-boxes," put in Remonencq. - -"Can they be seen?" inquired Fraisier. - -"I'll see if he is sound asleep," replied La Cibot. She made a sign, -and the three birds of prey came in. - -"There are masterpieces yonder!" said Magus, indicating the salon, -every bristle of his white beard twitching as he spoke. "But the -riches are here! And what riches! Kings have nothing more glorious in -royal treasuries." - -Remonencq's eyes lighted up till they glowed like carbuncles, at the -sight of the gold snuff-boxes. Fraisier, cool and calm as a serpent, -or some snake-creature with the power of rising erect, stood with his -viper head stretched out, in such an attitude as a painter would -choose for Mephistopheles. The three covetous beings, thirsting for -gold as devils thirst for the dew of heaven, looked simultaneously, as -it chanced, at the owner of all this wealth. Some nightmare troubled -Pons; he stirred, and suddenly, under the influence of those -diabolical glances, he opened his eyes with a shrill cry. - -"Thieves! . . . There they are! . . . Help! Murder! Help!" - -The nightmare was evidently still upon him, for he sat up in bed, -staring before him with blank, wide-open eyes, and had not the power -to move. - -Elie Magus and Remonencq made for the door, but a word glued them to -the spot. - -"_Magus_ here! . . . I am betrayed!" - -Instinctively the sick man had known that his beloved pictures were in -danger, a thought that touched him at least as closely as any dread -for himself, and he awoke. Fraisier meanwhile did not stir. - -"Mme. Cibot! who is that gentleman?" cried Pons, shivering at the -sight. - -"Goodness me! how could I put him out of the door?" she inquired, with -a wink and gesture for Fraisier's benefit. "This gentleman came just a -minute ago, from your family." - -Fraisier could not conceal his admiration for La Cibot. - -"Yes, sir," he said, "I have come on behalf of Mme. la Presidente de -Marville, her husband, and her daughter, to express their regret. They -learned quite by accident that you are ill, and they would like to -nurse you themselves. They want you to go to Marville and get well -there. Mme. la Vicomtesse Popinot, the little Cecile that you love so -much, will be your nurse. She took your part with her mother. She -convinced Mme. de Marville that she had made a mistake." - -"So my next-of-kin have sent you to me, have they?" Pons exclaimed -indignantly, "and sent the best judge and expert in all Paris with you -to show you the way? Oh! a nice commission!" he cried, bursting into -wild laughter. "You have come to value my pictures and curiosities, my -snuff-boxes and miniatures! . . . Make your valuation. You have a man -there who understands everything, and more--he can buy everything, for -he is a millionaire ten times over. . . . My dear relatives will not -have long to wait," he added, with bitter irony, "they have choked the -last breath out of me. . . . Ah! Mme. Cibot, you said you were a -mother to me, and you bring dealers into the house, and my competitor -and the Camusots, while I am asleep! . . . Get out, all of you!--" - -The unhappy man was beside himself with anger and fear; he rose from -the bed and stood upright, a gaunt, wasted figure. - -"Take my arm, sir," said La Cibot, rushing to the rescue, lest Pons -should fall. "Pray calm yourself, the gentlemen are gone." - -"I want to see the salon. . . ." said the death-stricken man. La Cibot -made a sign to the three ravens to take flight. Then she caught up -Pons as if he had been a feather, and put him in bed again, in spite -of his cries. When she saw that he was quite helpless and exhausted, -she went to shut the door on the staircase. The three who had done -Pons to death were still on the landing; La Cibot told them to wait. -She heard Fraisier say to Magus: - -"Let me have it in writing, and sign it, both of you. Undertake to pay -nine hundred thousand francs in cash for M. Pons' collection, and we -will see about putting you in the way of making a handsome profit." - -With that he said something to La Cibot in a voice so low that the -others could not catch it, and went down after the two dealers to the -porter's room. - -"Have they gone, Mme. Cibot?" asked the unhappy Pons, when she came -back again. - -"Gone? . . . who?" asked she. - -"Those men." - -"What men? There, now, you have seen men," said she. "You have just -had a raving fit; if it hadn't been for me you would have gone out the -window, and now you are still talking of men in the room. Is it always -to be like this?" - -"What! was there not a gentleman here just now, saying that my -relatives had sent him?" - -"Will you still stand me out?" said she. "Upon my word, do you know -where you ought to be sent?--To the asylum at Charenton. You see -men--" - -"Elie Magus, Remonencq, and--" - -"Oh! as for Remonencq, you may have seen _him_, for he came up to tell -me that my poor Cibot is so bad that I must clear out of this and come -down. My Cibot comes first, you see. When my husband is ill, I can -think of nobody else. Try to keep quiet and sleep for a couple of -hours; I have sent for Dr. Poulain, and I will come up with him. . . . -Take a drink and be good--" - -"Then was there no one in the room just now, when I waked? . . ." - -"No one," said she. "You must have seen M. Remonencq in one of your -looking-glasses." - -"You are right, Mme. Cibot," said Pons, meek as a lamb. - -"Well, now you are sensible again. . . . Good-bye, my cherub; keep -quiet, I shall be back again in a minute." - -When Pons heard the outer door close upon her, he summoned up all his -remaining strength to rise. - -"They are cheating me," he muttered to himself, "they are robbing me! -Schmucke is a child that would let them tie him up in a sack." - -The terrible scene had seemed so real, it could not be a dream, he -thought; a desire to throw light upon the puzzle excited him; he -managed to reach the door, opened it after many efforts, and stood on -the threshold of his salon. There they were--his dear pictures, his -statues, his Florentine bronzes, his porcelain; the sight of them -revived him. The old collector walked in his dressing-gown along the -narrow spaces between the credence-tables and the sideboards that -lined the wall; his feet bare, his head on fire. His first glance of -ownership told him that everything was there; he turned to go back to -bed again, when he noticed that a Greuze portrait looked out of the -frame that had held Sebastian del Piombo's _Templar_. Suspicion -flashed across his brain, making his dark thoughts apparent to him, as -a flash of lightning marks the outlines of the cloud-bars on a stormy -sky. He looked round for the eight capital pictures of the collection; -each one of them was replaced by another. A dark film suddenly -overspread his eyes; his strength failed him; he fell fainting upon -the polished floor. - -So heavy was the swoon, that for two hours he lay as he fell, till -Schmucke awoke and went to see his friend, and found him lying -unconscious in the salon. With endless pains Schmucke raised the -half-dead body and laid it on the bed; but when he came to question -the death-stricken man, and saw the look in the dull eyes and heard -the vague, inarticulate words, the good German, so far from losing his -head, rose to the very heroism of friendship. Man and child as he was, -with the pressure of despair came the inspiration of a mother's -tenderness, a woman's love. He warmed towels (he found towels!), he -wrapped them about Pons' hands, he laid them over the pit of the -stomach; he took the cold, moist forehead in his hands, he summoned -back life with a might of will worthy of Apollonius of Tyana, laying -kisses on his friend's eyelids like some Mary bending over the dead -Christ, in a _pieta_ carved in bas-relief by some great Italian -sculptor. The divine effort, the outpouring of one life into another, -the work of mother and of lover, was crowned with success. In half an -hour the warmth revived Pons; he became himself again, the hues of -life returned to his eyes, suspended faculties gradually resumed their -play under the influence of artificial heat; Schmucke gave him -balm-water with a little wine in it; the spirit of life spread through -the body; intelligence lighted up the forehead so short a while ago -insensible as a stone; and Pons knew that he had been brought back to -life, by what sacred devotion, what might of friendship! - -"But for you, I should die," he said, and as he spoke he felt the good -German's tears falling on his face. Schmucke was laughing and crying -at once. - -Poor Schmucke! he had waited for those words with a frenzy of hope as -costly as the frenzy of despair; and now his strength utterly failed -him, he collapsed like a rent balloon. It was his turn to fall; he -sank into the easy-chair, clasped his hands, and thanked God in -fervent prayer. For him a miracle had just been wrought. He put no -belief in the efficacy of the prayer of his deeds; the miracle had -been wrought by God in direct answer to his cry. And yet that miracle -was a natural effect, such as medical science often records. - -A sick man, surrounded by those who love him, nursed by those who wish -earnestly that he should live, will recover (other things being -equal), when another patient tended by hirelings will die. Doctors -decline to see unconscious magnetism in this phenomenon; for them it -is the result of intelligent nursing, of exact obedience to their -orders; but many a mother knows the virtue of such ardent projection -of strong, unceasing prayer. - -"My good Schmucke--" - -"Say nodings; I shall hear you mit mein heart . . . rest, rest!" said -Schmucke, smiling at him. - -"Poor friend, noble creature, child of God, living in God! . . . The -one being that has loved me. . . ." The words came out with pauses -between them; there was a new note, a something never heard before, in -Pons' voice. All the soul, so soon to take flight, found utterance in -the words that filled Schmucke with happiness almost like a lover's -rapture. - -"Yes, yes. I shall be shtrong as a lion. I shall vork for two!" - -"Listen, my good, my faithful, adorable friend. Let me speak, I have -not much time left. I am a dead man. I cannot recover from these -repeated shocks." - -Schmucke was crying like a child. - -"Just listen," continued Pons, "and cry afterwards. As a Christian, -you must submit. I have been robbed. It is La Cibot's doing. . . . I -ought to open your eyes before I go; you know nothing of life. . . . -Somebody has taken away eight of the pictures, and they were worth a -great deal of money." - -"Vorgif me--I sold dem." - -"_You_ sold them?" - -"Yes, I," said poor Schmucke. "Dey summoned us to der court--" - -"_Summoned?_. . . . Who summoned us?" - -"Wait," said Schmucke. He went for the bit of stamped-paper left by -the bailiff, and gave it to Pons. Pons read the scrawl through with -close attention, then he let the paper drop and lay quite silent for a -while. A close observer of the work of men's hands, unheedful so far -of the workings of the brain, Pons finally counted out the threads of -the plot woven about him by La Cibot. The artist's fire, the intellect -that won the Roman scholarship--all his youth came back to him for a -little. - -"My good Schmucke," he said at last, "you must do as I tell you, and -obey like a soldier. Listen! go downstairs into the lodge and tell -that abominable woman that I should like to see the person sent to me -by my cousin the President; and that unless he comes, I shall leave my -collection to the Musee. Say that a will is in question." - -Schmucke went on his errand; but at the first word, La Cibot answered -by a smile. - -"My good M. Schmucke, our dear invalid has had a delirious fit; he -thought that there were men in the room. On my word, as an honest -woman, no one has come from the family." - -Schmucke went back with his answer, which he repeated word for word. - -"She is cleverer, more astute and cunning and wily, than I thought," -said Pons with a smile. "She lies even in her room. Imagine it! This -morning she brought a Jew here, Elie Magus by name, and Remonencq, and -a third whom I do not know, more terrific than the other two put -together. She meant to make a valuation while I was asleep; I happened -to wake, and saw them all three, estimating the worth of my -snuff-boxes. The stranger said, indeed, that the Camusots had sent him -here; I spoke to him. . . . That shameless woman stood me out that I was -dreaming! . . . My good Schmucke, it was not a dream. I heard the man -perfectly plainly; he spoke to me. . . . The two dealers took fright -and made for the door. . . . I thought that La Cibot would contradict -herself--the experiment failed. . . . I will lay another snare, and -trap the wretched woman. . . . Poor Schmucke, you think that La Cibot -is an angel; and for this month past she has been killing me by inches -to gain her covetous ends. I would not believe that a woman who served -us faithfully for years could be so wicked. That doubt has been my -ruin. . . . How much did the eight pictures fetch?" - -"Vife tausend vrancs." - -"Good heavens! they were worth twenty times as much!" cried Pons; "the -gems of the collection! I have not time now to institute proceedings; -and if I did, you would figure in court as the dupe of those rascals. -. . . A lawsuit would be the death of you. You do not know what -justice means--a court of justice is a sink of iniquity. . . . At the -sight of such horrors, a soul like yours would give way. And besides, -you will have enough. The pictures cost me forty thousand francs. I -have had them for thirty-six years. . . . Oh, we have been robbed with -surprising dexterity. I am on the brink of the grave, I care for -nothing now but thee--for thee, the best soul under the sun. . . . - -"I will not have you plundered; all that I have is yours. So you must -trust nobody, Schmucke, you that have never suspected any one in your -life. I know God watches over you, but He may forget for one moment, -and you will be seized like a vessel among pirates. . . . La Cibot is -a monster! She is killing me; and you think her an angel! You shall -see what she is. Go and ask her to give you the name of a notary, and -I will show you her with her hand in the bag." - -Schmucke listened as if Pons proclaimed an apocalypse. Could so -depraved a creature as La Cibot exist? If Pons was right, it seemed to -imply that there was no God in the world. He went right down again to -Mme. Cibot. - -"Mein boor vriend Bons feel so ill," he said, "dat he vish to make his -vill. Go und pring ein nodary." - -This was said in the hearing of several persons, for Cibot's life was -despaired of. Remonencq and his sister, two women from neighboring -porters' lodges, two or three servants, and the lodger from the first -floor on the side next the street, were all standing outside in the -gateway. - -"Oh! you can just fetch a notary yourself, and have your will made as -you please," cried La Cibot, with tears in her eyes. "My poor Cibot is -dying, and it is no time to leave him. I would give all the Ponses in -the world to save Cibot, that has never given me an ounce of -unhappiness in these thirty years since we were married." - -And in she went, leaving Schmucke in confusion. - -"Is M. Pons really seriously ill, sir?" asked the first-floor lodger, -one Jolivard, a clerk in the registrar's office at the Palais de -Justice. - -"He nearly died chust now," said Schmucke, with deep sorrow in his -voice. - -"M. Trognon lives near by in the Rue Saint-Louis," said M. Jolivard, -"he is the notary of the quarter." - -"Would you like me to go for him?" asked Remonencq. - -"I should pe fery glad," said Schmucke; "for gif Montame Zipod cannot -pe mit mine vriend, I shall not vish to leaf him in der shtate he is -in--" - -"Mme. Cibot told us that he was going out of his mind," resumed -Jolivard. - -"Bons! out off his mind!" cried Schmucke, terror-stricken by the idea. -"Nefer vas he so clear in der head . . . dat is chust der reason vy I -am anxious for him." - -The little group of persons listened to the conversation with a very -natural curiosity, which stamped the scene upon their memories. -Schmucke did not know Fraisier, and could not note his satanic -countenance and glittering eyes. But two words whispered by Fraisier -in La Cibot's ear had prompted a daring piece of acting, somewhat -beyond La Cibot's range, it may be, though she played her part -throughout in a masterly style. To make others believe that the dying -man was out of his mind--it was the very corner-stone of the edifice -reared by the petty lawyer. The morning's incident had done Fraisier -good service; but for him, La Cibot in her trouble might have fallen -into the snare innocently spread by Schmucke, when he asked her to -send back the person sent by the family. - -Remonencq saw Dr. Poulain coming towards them, and asked no better -than to vanish. The fact was that for the last ten days the Auvergnat -had been playing Providence in a manner singularly displeasing to -Justice, which claims the monopoly of that part. He had made up his -mind to rid himself at all costs of the one obstacle in his way to -happiness, and happiness for him meant capital trebled and marriage -with the irresistibly charming portress. He had watched the little -tailor drinking his herb-tea, and a thought struck him. He would -convert the ailment into mortal sickness; his stock of old metals -supplied him with the means. - -One morning as he leaned against the door-post, smoking his pipe and -dreaming of that fine shop on the Boulevard de la Madeleine where Mme. -Cibot, gorgeously arrayed, should some day sit enthroned, his eyes -fell upon a copper disc, about the size of a five-franc piece, covered -thickly with verdigris. The economical idea of using Cibot's medicine -to clean the disc immediately occurred to him. He fastened the thing -in a bit of twine, and came over every morning to inquire for tidings -of his friend the tailor, timing his visit during La Cibot's visit to -her gentlemen upstairs. He dropped the disc into the tumbler, allowed -it to steep there while he talked, and drew it out again by the string -when he went away. - -The trace of tarnished copper, commonly called verdigris, poisoned the -wholesome draught; a minute dose administered by stealth did -incalculable mischief. Behold the results of this criminal -homoeopathy! On the third day poor Cibot's hair came out, his teeth -were loosened in their sockets, his whole system was deranged by a -scarcely perceptible trace of poison. Dr. Poulain racked his brains. -He was enough of a man of science to see that some destructive agent -was at work. He privately carried off the decoction, analyzed it -himself, but found nothing. It so chanced that Remonencq had taken -fright and omitted to dip the disc in the tumbler that day. - -Then Dr. Poulain fell back on himself and science and got out of the -difficulty with a theory. A sedentary life in a damp room; a cramped -position before the barred window--these conditions had vitiated the -blood in the absence of proper exercise, especially as the patient -continually breathed an atmosphere saturated with the fetid -exhalations of the gutter. The Rue de Normandie is one of the -old-fashioned streets that slope towards the middle; the municipal -authorities of Paris as yet have laid on no water supply to flush the -central kennel which drains the houses on either side, and as a result -a stream of filthy ooze meanders among the cobblestones, filters into -the soil, and produces the mud peculiar to the city. La Cibot came and -went; but her husband, a hard-working man, sat day in day out like a -fakir on the table in the window, till his knee-joints were stiffened, -the blood stagnated in his body, and his legs grew so thin and crooked -that he almost lost the use of them. The deep copper tint of the man's -complexion naturally suggested that he had been out of health for a -very long time. The wife's good health and the husband's illness -seemed to the doctor to be satisfactorily accounted for by this -theory. - -"Then what is the matter with my poor Cibot?" asked the portress. - -"My dear Mme. Cibot, he is dying of the porter's disease," said the -doctor. "Incurable vitiation of the blood is evident from the general -anaemic condition." - -No one had anything to gain by a crime so objectless. Dr. Poulain's -first suspicions were effaced by this thought. Who could have any -possible interest in Cibot's death? His wife?--the doctor saw her -taste the herb-tea as she sweetened it. Crimes which escape social -vengeance are many enough, and as a rule they are of this order--to -wit, murders committed without any startling sign of violence, without -bloodshed, bruises, marks of strangling, without any bungling of the -business, in short; if there seems to be no motive for the crime, it -most likely goes unpunished, especially if the death occurs among the -poorer classes. Murder is almost always denounced by its advanced -guards, by hatred or greed well known to those under whose eyes the -whole matter has passed. But in the case of the Cibots, no one save -the doctor had any interest in discovering the actual cause of death. -The little copper-faced tailor's wife adored her husband; he had no -money and no enemies; La Cibot's fortune and the marine-store dealer's -motives were alike hidden in the shade. Poulain knew the portress and -her way of thinking perfectly well; he thought her capable of -tormenting Pons, but he saw that she had neither motive enough nor wit -enough for murder; and besides--every time the doctor came and she -gave her husband a draught, she took a spoonful herself. Poulain -himself, the only person who might have thrown light on the matter, -inclined to believe that this was one of the unaccountable freaks of -disease, one of the astonishing exceptions which make medicine so -perilous a profession. And in truth, the little tailor's unwholesome -life and unsanitary surroundings had unfortunately brought him to such -a pass that the trace of copper-poisoning was like the last straw. -Gossips and neighbors took it upon themselves to explain the sudden -death, and no suspicion of blame lighted upon Remonencq. - -"Oh! this long time past I have said that M. Cibot was not well," -cried one. - -"He worked too hard, he did," said another; "he heated his blood." - -"He would not listen to me," put in a neighbor; "I advised him to walk -out of a Sunday and keep Saint Monday; two days in the week is not too -much for amusement." - -In short, the gossip of the quarter, the tell-tale voice to which -Justice, in the person of the commissary of police, the king of the -poorer classes, lends an attentive ear--gossip explained the little -tailor's demise in a perfectly satisfactory manner. Yet M. Poulain's -pensive air and uneasy eyes embarrassed Remonencq not a little, and at -sight of the doctor he offered eagerly to go in search of M. Trognon, -Fraisier's acquaintance. Fraisier turned to La Cibot to say in a low -voice, "I shall come back again as soon as the will is made. In spite -of your sorrow, you must look for squalls." Then he slipped away like -a shadow and met his friend the doctor. - -"Ah, Poulain!" he exclaimed, "it is all right. We are safe! I will -tell you about it to-night. Look out a post that will suit you, you -shall have it! For my own part, I am a justice of the peace. Tabareau -will not refuse me now for a son-in-law. And as for you, I will -undertake that you shall marry Mlle. Vitel, granddaughter of our -justice of the peace." - -Fraisier left Poulain reduced to dumb bewilderment by these wild -words; bounced like a ball into the boulevard, hailed an omnibus, and -was set down ten minutes later by the modern coach at the corner of -the Rue de Choiseul. By this time it was nearly four o'clock. Fraisier -felt quite sure of a word in private with the Presidente, for -officials seldom leave the Palais de Justice before five o'clock. - -Mme. de Marville's reception of him assured Fraisier that M. Leboeuf -had kept his promise made to Mme. Vatinelle and spoken favorably of -the sometime attorney at Mantes. Amelie's manner was almost caressing. -So might the Duchesse de Montpensier have treated Jacques Clement. The -petty attorney was a knife to her hand. But when Fraisier produced the -joint-letter signed by Elie Magus and Remonencq offering the sum of -nine hundred thousand francs in cash for Pons' collection, then the -Presidente looked at her man of business and the gleam of the money -flashed from her eyes. That ripple of greed reached the attorney. - -"M. le President left a message with me," she said; "he hopes that you -will dine with us to-morrow. It will be a family party. M. Godeschal, -Desroches' successor and my attorney, will come to meet you, and -Berthier, our notary, and my daughter and son-in-law. After dinner, -you and I and the notary and attorney will have the little -consultation for which you ask, and I will give you full powers. The -two gentlemen will do as you require and act upon your inspiration; -and see that _everything_ goes well. You shall have a power of -attorney from M. de Marville as soon as you want it." - -"I shall want it on the day of the decease." - -"It shall be in readiness." - -"Mme. la Presidente, if I ask for a power of attorney, and would -prefer that your attorney's name should not appear I wish it less in -my own interest than in yours. . . . When I give myself, it is without -reserve. And in return, madame, I ask the same fidelity; I ask my -patrons (I do not venture to call you my clients) to put the same -confidence in me. You may think that in acting thus I am trying to -fasten upon this affair--no, no, madame; there may be reprehensible -things done; with an inheritance in view one is dragged on . . . -especially with nine hundred thousand francs in the balance. Well, -now, you could not disavow a man like Maitre Godeschal, honesty -itself, but you can throw all the blame on the back of a miserable -pettifogging lawyer--" - -Mme. Camusot de Marville looked admiringly at Fraisier. - -"You ought to go very high," said she, "or sink very low. In your -place, instead of asking to hide myself away as a justice of the -peace, I would aim at the crown attorney's appointment--at, say, -Mantes!--and make a great career for myself." - -"Let me have my way, madame. The post of justice of the peace is an -ambling pad for M. Vitel; for me it shall be a war-horse." - -And in this way the Presidente proceeded to a final confidence. - -"You seem to be so completely devoted to our interests," she began, -"that I will tell you about the difficulties of our position and our -hopes. The President's great desire, ever since a match was projected -between his daughter and an adventurer who recently started a bank, ---the President's wish, I say, has been to round out the Marville -estate with some grazing land, at that time in the market. We -dispossessed ourselves of fine property, as you know, to settle it -upon our daughter; but I wish very much, my daughter being an only -child, to buy all that remains of the grass land. Part has been sold -already. The estate belongs to an Englishman who is returning to -England after a twenty years' residence in France. He built the most -charming cottage in a delightful situation, between Marville Park and -the meadows which once were part of the Marville lands; he bought up -covers, copse, and gardens at fancy prices to make the grounds about -the cottage. The house and its surroundings make a feature of the -landscape, and it lies close to my daughter's park palings. The whole, -land and house, should be bought for seven hundred thousand francs, -for the net revenue is about twenty thousand francs. . . . But if Mr. -Wadman finds out that _we_ think of buying it, he is sure to add -another two or three hundred thousand francs to the price; for he will -lose money if the house counts for nothing, as it usually does when -you buy land in the country--" - -"Why, madame," Fraisier broke in, "in my opinion you can be so sure -that the inheritance is yours that I will offer to act the part of -purchaser for you. I will undertake that you shall have the land at -the best possible price, and have a written engagement made out under -private seal, like a contract to deliver goods. . . . I will go to the -Englishman in the character of buyer. I understand that sort of thing; -it was my specialty at Mantes. Vatinelle doubled the value of his -practice, while I worked in his name." - -"Hence your connection with little Madame Vatinelle. He must be very -well off--" - -"But Mme. Vatinelle has expensive tastes. . . . So be easy, madame--I -will serve you up the Englishman done to a turn--" - -"If you can manage that you will have eternal claims to my gratitude. -Good-day, my dear M. Fraisier. Till to-morrow--" - -Fraisier went. His parting bow was a degree less cringing than on the -first occasion. - -"I am to dine to-morrow with President de Marville!" he said to -himself. "Come now, I have these folk in my power. Only, to be -absolute master, I ought to be the German's legal adviser in the -person of Tabareau, the justice's clerk. Tabareau will not have me now -for his daughter, his only daughter, but he will give her to me when I -am a justice of the peace. I shall be eligible. Mlle. Tabareau, that -tall, consumptive girl with the red hair, has a house in the Place -Royale in right of her mother. At her father's death she is sure to -come in for six thousand francs, you must not look too hard at the -plank." - -As he went back to the Rue de Normandie by way of the boulevards, he -dreamed out his golden dream, he gave himself up to the happiness of -the thought that he should never know want again. He would marry his -friend Poulain to Mlle. Vitel, the daughter of the justice of the -peace; together, he and his friend the doctor would reign like kings -in the quarter; he would carry all the elections--municipal, military, -or political. The boulevards seem short if, while you pace afoot, you -mount your ambition on the steed of fancy in this way. - -Schmucke meanwhile went back to his friend Pons with the news that -Cibot was dying, and Remonencq gone in search of M. Trognon, the -notary. Pons was struck by the name. It had come up again and again in -La Cibot's interminable talk, and La Cibot always recommended him as -honesty incarnate. And with that a luminous idea occurred to Pons, in -whom mistrust had grown paramount since the morning, an idea which -completed his plan for outwitting La Cibot and unmasking her -completely for the too-credulous Schmucke. - -So many unexpected things had happened that day that poor Schmucke was -quite bewildered. Pons took his friend's hand. - -"There must be a good deal of confusion in the house, Schmucke; if the -porter is at death's door, we are almost free for a minute or two; -that is to say, there will be no spies--for we are watched, you may be -sure of that. Go out, take a cab, go to the theatre, and tell Mlle. -Heloise Brisetout that I should like to see her before I die. Ask her -to come here to-night when she leaves the theatre. Then go to your -friends Brunner and Schwab and beg them to come to-morrow morning at -nine o'clock to inquire after me; let them come up as if they were -just passing by and called in to see me." - -The old artist felt that he was dying, and this was the scheme that he -forged. He meant Schmucke to be his universal legatee. To protect -Schmucke from any possible legal quibbles, he proposed to dictate his -will to a notary in the presence of witnesses, lest his sanity should -be called in question and the Camusots should attempt upon that -pretext to dispute the will. At the name of Trognon he caught a -glimpse of machinations of some kind; perhaps a flaw purposely -inserted, or premeditated treachery on La Cibot's part. He would -prevent this. Trognon should dictate a holograph will which should be -signed and deposited in a sealed envelope in a drawer. Then Schmucke, -hidden in one of the cabinets in his alcove, should see La Cibot -search for the will, find it, open the envelope, read it through, and -seal it again. Next morning, at nine o'clock, he would cancel the will -and make a new one in the presence of two notaries, everything in due -form and order. La Cibot had treated him as a madman and a visionary; -he saw what this meant--he saw the Presidente's hate and greed, her -revenge in La Cibot's behavior. In the sleepless hours and lonely days -of the last two months, the poor man had sifted the events of his past -life. - -It has been the wont of sculptors, ancient and modern, to set a -tutelary genius with a lighted torch upon either side of a tomb. Those -torches that light up the paths of death throw light for dying eyes -upon the spectacle of a life's mistakes and sins; the carved stone -figures express great ideas, they are symbols of a fact in human -experience. The agony of death has its own wisdom. Not seldom a simple -girl, scarcely more than a child, will grow wise with the experience -of a hundred years, will gain prophetic vision, judge her family, and -see clearly through all pretences, at the near approach of Death. -Herein lies Death's poetry. But, strange and worthy of remark it is, -there are two manners of death. - -The poetry of prophecy, the gift of seeing clearly into the future or -the past, only belongs to those whose bodies are stricken, to those -who die by the destruction of the organs of physical life. Consumptive -patients, for instance, or those who die of gangrene like Louis XIV., -of fever like Pons, of a stomach complaint like Mme. de Mortsauf, or -of wounds received in the full tide of life like soldiers on the -battlefield--all these may possess this supreme lucidity to the full; -their deaths fill us with surprise and wonder. But many, on the other -hand, die of _intelligential_ diseases, as they may be called; of -maladies seated in the brain or in that nervous system which acts as a -kind of purveyor of thought fuel--and these die wholly, body and -spirit are darkened together. The former are spirits deserted by the -body, realizing for us our ideas of the spirits of Scripture; the -latter are bodies untenanted by a spirit. - -Too late the virgin nature, the epicure-Cato, the righteous man almost -without sin, was discovering the Presidente's real character--the sac -of gall that did duty for her heart. He knew the world now that he was -about to leave it, and for the past few hours he had risen gaily to -his part, like a joyous artist finding a pretext for caricature and -laughter in everything. The last links that bound him to life, the -chains of admiration, the strong ties that bind the art lover to Art's -masterpieces, had been snapped that morning. When Pons knew that La -Cibot had robbed him, he bade farewell, like a Christian, to the pomps -and vanities of Art, to his collection, to all his old friendships -with the makers of so many fair things. Our forefathers counted the -day of death as a Christian festival, and in something of the same -spirit Pons' thoughts turned to the coming end. In his tender love he -tried to protect Schmucke when he should be low in the grave. It was -this father's thought that led him to fix his choice upon the leading -lady of the ballet. Mlle. Brisetout should help him to baffle -surrounding treachery, and those who in all probability would never -forgive his innocent universal legatee. - -Heloise Brisetout was one of the few natures that remain true in a -false position. She was an opera-girl of the school of Josepha and -Jenny Cadine, capable of playing any trick on a paying adorer; yet she -was a good comrade, dreading no power on earth, accustomed as she was -to see the weak side of the strong and to hold her own with the police -at the scarcely idyllic Bal de Mabille and the carnival. - -"If she asked for my place for Garangeot, she will think that she owes -me a good turn by so much the more," said Pons to himself. - -Thanks to the prevailing confusion in the porter's lodge, Schmucke -succeeded in getting out of the house. He returned with the utmost -speed, fearing to leave Pons too long alone. M. Trognon reached the -house just as Schmucke came in. Albeit Cibot was dying, his wife came -upstairs with the notary, brought him into the bedroom, and withdrew, -leaving Schmucke and Pons with M. Trognon; but she left the door ajar, -and went no further than the next room. Providing herself with a -little hand-glass of curious workmanship, she took up her station in -the doorway, so that she could not only hear but see all that passed -at the supreme moment. - -"Sir," said Pons, "I am in the full possession of my faculties, -unfortunately for me, for I feel that I am about to die; and -doubtless, by the will of God, I shall be spared nothing of the agony -of death. This is M. Schmucke"--(the notary bowed to M. Schmucke)--"my -one friend on earth," continued Pons. "I wish to make him my universal -legatee. Now, tell me how to word the will, so that my friend, who is -a German and knows nothing of French law, may succeed to my -possessions without any dispute." - -"Anything is liable to be disputed, sir," said the notary; "that is -the drawback of human justice. But in the matter of wills, there are -wills so drafted that they cannot be upset--" - -"In what way?" queried Pons. - -"If a will is made in the presence of a notary, and before witnesses -who can swear that the testator was in the full possession of his -faculties; and if the testator has neither wife nor children, nor -father nor mother--" - -"I have none of these; all my affection is centred upon my dear friend -Schmucke here." - -The tears overflowed Schmucke's eyes. - -"Then, if you have none but distant relatives, the law leaves you free -to dispose of both personalty and real estate as you please, so long -as you bequeath them for no unlawful purpose; for you must have come -across cases of wills disputed on account of the testator's -eccentricities. A will made in the presence of a notary is considered -to be authentic; for the person's identity is established, the notary -certifies that the testator was sane at the time, and there can be no -possible dispute over the signature.--Still, a holograph will, -properly and clearly worded, is quite as safe." - -"I have decided, for reasons of my own, to make a holograph will at -your dictation, and to deposit it with my friend here. Is this -possible?" - -"Quite possible," said the notary. "Will you write? I will begin to -dictate--" - -"Schmucke, bring me my little Boule writing-desk.--Speak low, sir," he -added; "we may be overheard." - -"Just tell me, first of all, what you intend," demanded the notary. - -Ten minutes later La Cibot saw the notary look over the will, while -Schmucke lighted a taper (Pons watching her reflection all the while -in a mirror). She saw the envelope sealed, saw Pons give it to -Schmucke, and heard him say that it must be put away in a secret -drawer in his bureau. Then the testator asked for the key, tied it to -the corner of his handkerchief, and slipped it under his pillow. - -The notary himself, by courtesy, was appointed executor. To him Pons -left a picture of price, such a thing as the law permits a notary to -receive. Trognon went out and came upon Mme. Cibot in the salon. - -"Well, sir, did M. Pons remember me?" - -"You do not expect a notary to betray secrets confided to him, my -dear," returned M. Trognon. "I can only tell you this--there will be -many disappointments, and some that are anxious after the money will -be foiled. M. Pons has made a good and very sensible will, a patriotic -will, which I highly approve." - -La Cibot's curiosity, kindled by such words, reached an unimaginable -pitch. She went downstairs and spent the night at Cibot's bedside, -inwardly resolving that Mlle. Remonencq should take her place towards -two or three in the morning, when she would go up and have a look at -the document. - -Mlle. Brisetout's visit towards half-past ten that night seemed -natural enough to La Cibot; but in her terror lest the ballet-girl -should mention Gaudissart's gift of a thousand francs, she went -upstairs with her, lavishing polite speeches and flattery as if Mlle. -Heloise had been a queen. - -"Ah! my dear, you are much nicer here on your own ground than at the -theatre," Heloise remarked. "I advise you to keep to your employment." - -Heloise was splendidly dressed. Bixiou, her lover, had brought her in -his carriage on the way to an evening party at Mariette's. It so fell -out that the first-floor lodger, M. Chapoulot, a retired braid -manufacturer from the Rue Saint-Denis, returning from the -Ambigu-Comique with his wife and daughter, was dazzled by a vision of -such a costume and such a charming woman upon their staircase. - -"Who is that, Mme. Cibot?" asked Mme. Chapoulot. - -"A no-better-than-she-should-be, a light-skirts that you may see -half-naked any evening for a couple of francs," La Cibot answered in -an undertone for Mme. Chapoulot's ear. - -"Victorine!" called the braid manufacturer's wife, "let the lady pass, -child." - -The matron's alarm signal was not lost upon Heloise. - -"Your daughter must be more inflammable than tinder, madame, if you -are afraid that she will catch fire by touching me," she said. - -M. Chapoulot waited on the landing. "She is uncommonly handsome off -the stage," he remarked. Whereupon Mme. Chapoulot pinched him sharply -and drove him indoors. - -"Here is a second-floor lodger that has a mind to set up for being on -the fourth floor," said Heloise as she continued to climb. - -"But mademoiselle is accustomed to going higher and higher." - -"Well, old boy," said Heloise, entering the bedroom and catching sight -of the old musician's white, wasted face. "Well, old boy, so we are -not very well? Everybody at the theatre is asking after you; but -though one's heart may be in the right place, every one has his own -affairs, you know, and cannot find time to go to see friends. -Gaudissart talks of coming round every day, and every morning the -tiresome management gets hold of him. Still, we are all of us fond of -you--" - -"Mme. Cibot," said the patient, "be so kind as to leave us; we want to -talk about the theatre and my post as conductor, with this lady. -Schmucke, will you go to the door with Mme. Cibot?" - -At a sign from Pons, Schmucke saw Mme. Cibot out at the door, and drew -the bolts. - -"Ah, that blackguard of a German! Is he spoiled, too?" La Cibot said -to herself as she heard the significant sounds. "That is M. Pons' -doing; he taught him those disgusting tricks. . . . But you shall pay -for this, my dears," she thought as she went down stairs. "Pooh! if -that tight-rope dancer tells him about the thousand francs, I shall -say that it is a farce. - -She seated herself by Cibot's pillow. Cibot complained of a burning -sensation in the stomach. Remonencq had called in and given him a -draught while his wife was upstairs. - -As soon as Schmucke had dismissed La Cibot, Pons turned to the -ballet-girl. - -"Dear child, I can trust no one else to find me a notary, an honest -man, and send him here to make my will to-morrow morning at half-past -nine precisely. I want to leave all that I have to Schmucke. If he is -persecuted, poor German that he is, I shall reckon upon the notary; -the notary must defend him. And for that reason I must have a wealthy -notary, highly thought of, a man above the temptations to which -pettifogging lawyers yield. He must succor my poor friend. I cannot -trust Berthier, Cardot's successor. And you know so many people--" - -"Oh! I have the very man for you," Heloise broke in; "there is the -notary that acts for Florine and the Comtesse du Bruel, Leopold -Hannequin, a virtuous man that does not know what a _lorette_ is! He -is a sort of chance-come father--a good soul that will not let you -play ducks and drakes with your earnings; I call him _Le Pere aux -Rats_, because he instils economical notions into the minds of all my -friends. In the first place, my dear fellow, he has a private income -of sixty thousand francs; and he is a notary of the real old sort, a -notary while he walks or sleeps; his children must be little notaries -and notaresses. He is a heavy, pedantic creature, and that's the -truth; but on his own ground, he is not the man to flinch before any -power in creation. . . . No woman ever got money out of him; he is a -fossil pater-familias, his wife worships him, and does not deceive -him, although she is a notary's wife.--What more do you want? as a -notary he has not his match in Paris. He is in the patriarchal style; -not queer and amusing, as Cardot used to be with Malaga; but he will -never decamp like little What's-his-name that lived with Antonia. So I -will send round my man to-morrow morning at eight o'clock. . . . You -may sleep in peace. And I hope, in the first place, that you will get -better, and make charming music for us again; and yet, after all, you -see, life is very dreary--managers chisel you, and kings mizzle and -ministers fizzle and rich fold economizzle.--Artists have nothing left -_here_" (tapping her breast)--"it is a time to die in. Good-bye, old -boy." - -"Heloise, of all things, I ask you to keep my counsel." - -"It is not a theatre affair," she said; "it is sacred for an artist." - -"Who is your gentleman, child?" - -"M. Baudoyer, the mayor of your arrondissement, a man as stupid as the -late Crevel; Crevel once financed Gaudissart, you know, and a few days -ago he died and left me nothing, not so much as a pot of pomatum. That -made me say just now that this age of ours is something sickening." - -"What did he die of?" - -"Of his wife. If he had stayed with me, he would be living now. -Good-bye, dear old boy, I am talking of going off, because I can see -that you will be walking about the boulevards in a week or two, hunting -up pretty little curiosities again. You are not ill; I never saw your -eyes look so bright." And she went, fully convinced that her protege -Garangeot would conduct the orchestra for good. - -Every door stood ajar as she went downstairs. Every lodger, on -tip-toe, watched the lady of the ballet pass on her way out. It was -quite an event in the house. - -Fraisier, like the bulldog that sets his teeth and never lets go, was -on the spot. He stood beside La Cibot when Mlle. Brisetout passed -under the gateway and asked for the door to be opened. Knowing that a -will had been made, he had come to see how the land lay, for Maitre -Trognon, notary, had refused to say a syllable--Fraisier's questions -were as fruitless as Mme. Cibot's. Naturally the ballet-girl's visit -_in extremis_ was not lost upon Fraisier; he vowed to himself that he -would turn it to good account. - -"My dear Mme. Cibot," he began, "now is the critical moment for you." - -"Ah, yes . . . my poor Cibot!" said she. "When I think that he will -not live to enjoy anything I may get--" - -"It is a question of finding out whether M. Pons has left you anything -at all; whether your name is mentioned or left out, in fact," he -interrupted. "I represent the next-of-kin, and to them you must look -in any case. It is a holograph will, and consequently very easy to -upset.--Do you know where our man has put it?" - -"In a secret drawer in his bureau, and he has the key of it. He tied -it to a corner of his handkerchief, and put it under his pillow. I saw -it all." - -"Is the will sealed?" - -"Yes, alas!" - -"It is a criminal offence if you carry off a will and suppress it, but -it is only a misdemeanor to look at it; and anyhow, what does it -amount to? A peccadillo, and nobody will see you. Is your man a heavy -sleeper?" - -"Yes. But when you tried to see all the things and value them, he -ought to have slept like a top, and yet he woke up. Still, I will see -about it. I will take M. Schmucke's place about four o'clock this -morning; and if you care to come, you shall have the will in your -hands for ten minutes." - -"Good. I will come up about four o'clock, and I will knock very -softly--" - -"Mlle Remonencq will take my place with Cibot. She will know, and open -the door; but tap on the window, so as to rouse nobody in the house." - -"Right," said Fraisier. "You will have a light, will you not. A candle -will do." - - - -At midnight poor Schmucke sat in his easy-chair, watching with a -breaking heart that shrinking of the features that comes with death; -Pons looked so worn out with the day's exertions, that death seemed -very near. - -Presently Pons spoke. "I have just enough strength, I think, to last -till to-morrow night," he said philosophically. "To-morrow night the -death agony will begin; poor Schmucke! As soon as the notary and your -two friends are gone, go for our good Abbe Duplanty, the curate of -Saint-Francois. Good man, he does not know that I am ill, and I wish -to take the holy sacrament to-morrow at noon." - -There was a long pause. - -"God so willed it that life has not been as I dreamed," Pons resumed. -"I should so have loved wife and children and home. . . . To be loved -by a very few in some corner--that was my whole ambition! Life is hard -for every one; I have seen people who had all that I wanted so much -and could not have, and yet they were not happy. . . . Then at the end -of my life, God put untold comfort in my way, when He gave me such a -friend. . . . And one thing I have not to reproach myself with--that I -have not known your worth nor appreciated you, my good Schmucke. . . . -I have loved you with my whole heart, with all the strength of love -that is in me. . . . Do not cry, Schmucke; I shall say no more if you -cry and it is so sweet to me to talk of ourselves to you. . . . If I -had listened to you, I should not be dying. I should have left the -world and broken off my habits, and then I should not have been -wounded to death. And now, I want to think of no one but you at the -last--" - -"You are missdaken--" - -"Do not contradict me--listen, dear friend. . . . You are as guileless -and simple as a six-year-old child that has never left its mother; one -honors you for it--it seems to me that God Himself must watch over -such as you. But men are so wicked, that I ought to warn you -beforehand . . . and then you will lose your generous trust, your -saint-like belief in others, the bloom of a purity of soul that only -belongs to genius or to hearts like yours. . . . In a little while you -will see Mme. Cibot, who left the door ajar and watched us closely -while M. Trognon was here--in a little while you will see her come for -the will, as she believes it to be. . . . I expect the worthless -creature will do her business this morning when she thinks you are -asleep. Now, mind what I say, and carry out my instructions to the -letter. . . . Are you listening?" asked the dying man. - -But Schmucke was overcome with grief, his heart was throbbing -painfully, his head fell back on the chair, he seemed to have lost -consciousness. - -"Yes," he answered, "I can hear, but it is as if you vere doo huntert -baces afay from me. . . . It seem to me dat I am going town into der -grafe mit you," said Schmucke, crushed with pain. - -He went over to the bed, took one of Pons' hands in both his own, and -within himself put up a fervent prayer. - -"What is that that you are mumbling in German?" - -"I asked Gott dat He vould take us poth togedders to Himself!" -Schmucke answered simply when he had finished his prayer. - -Pons bent over--it was a great effort, for he was suffering -intolerable pain; but he managed to reach Schmucke, and kissed him on -the forehead, pouring out his soul, as it were, in benediction upon a -nature that recalled the lamb that lies at the foot of the Throne of -God. - -"See here, listen, my good Schmucke, you must do as dying people tell -you--" - -"I am lisdening." - -"The little door in the recess in your bedroom opens into that -closet." - -"Yes, but it is blocked up mit bictures." - -"Clear them away at once, without making too much noise." - -"Yes." - -"Clear a passage on both sides, so that you can pass from your room -into mine.--Now, leave the door ajar.--When La Cibot comes to take -your place (and she is capable of coming an hour earlier than usual), -you can go away to bed as if nothing had happened, and look very -tired. Try to look sleepy. As soon as she settles down into the -armchair, go into the closet, draw aside the muslin curtains over the -glass door, and watch her. . . . Do you understand?" - -"I oondershtand; you belief dat die pad voman is going to purn der -vill." - -"I do not know what she will do; but I am sure of this--that you will -not take her for an angel afterwards.--And now play for me; improvise -and make me happy. It will divert your thoughts; your gloomy ideas -will vanish, and for me the dark hours will be filled with your -dreams. . . ." - -Schmucke sat down at the piano. Here he was in his element; and in a -few moments, musical inspiration, quickened by the pain with which he -was quivering and the consequent irritation that followed came upon -the kindly German, and, after his wont, he was caught up and borne -above the world. On one sublime theme after another he executed -variations, putting into them sometimes Chopin's sorrow, Chopin's -Raphael-like perfection; sometimes the stormy Dante's grandeur of -Liszt--the two musicians who most nearly approach Paganini's -temperament. When execution reaches this supreme degree, the executant -stands beside the poet, as it were; he is to the composer as the actor -is to the writer of plays, a divinely inspired interpreter of things -divine. But that night, when Schmucke gave Pons an earnest of diviner -symphonies, of that heavenly music for which Saint Cecile let fall her -instruments, he was at once Beethoven and Paganini, creator and -interpreter. It was an outpouring of music inexhaustible as the -nightingale's song--varied and full of delicate undergrowth as the -forest flooded with her trills; sublime as the sky overhead. Schmucke -played as he had never played before, and the soul of the old musician -listening to him rose to ecstasy such as Raphael once painted in a -picture which you may see at Bologna. - -A terrific ringing of the door-bell put an end to these visions. The -first-floor lodgers sent up a servant with a message. Would Schmucke -please stop the racket overhead. Madame, Monsieur, and Mademoiselle -Chapoulot had been wakened, and could not sleep for the noise; they -called his attention to the fact that the day was quite long enough -for rehearsals of theatrical music, and added that people ought not to -"strum" all night in a house in the Marais.--It was then three o'clock -in the morning. At half-past three, La Cibot appeared, just as Pons -had predicted. He might have actually heard the conference between -Fraisier and the portress: "Did I not guess exactly how it would be?" -his eyes seemed to say as he glanced at Schmucke, and, turning a -little, he seemed to be fast asleep. - -Schmucke's guileless simplicity was an article of belief with La Cibot -(and be it noted that this faith in simplicity is the great source and -secret of the success of all infantine strategy); La Cibot, therefore, -could not suspect Schmucke of deceit when he came to say to her, with -a face half of distress, half of glad relief: - -"I haf had a derrible night! a derrible dime of it! I vas opliged to -play to keep him kviet, and the virst-floor lodgers vas komm up to -tell _me_ to be kviet! . . . It was frightful, for der life of mein -friend vas at shtake. I am so tired mit der blaying all night, dat dis -morning I am all knocked up." - -"My poor Cibot is very bad, too; one more day like yesterday, and he -will have no strength left. . . . One can't help it; it is God's -will." - -"You haf a heart so honest, a soul so peautiful, dot gif der Zipod -die, ve shall lif togedder," said the cunning Schmucke. - -The craft of simple, straightforward folk is formidable indeed; they -are exactly like children, setting their unsuspected snares with the -perfect craft of the savage. - -"Oh, well go and sleep, sonny!" returned La Cibot. "Your eyes look -tired, they are as big as my fist. But there! if anything could -comfort me for losing Cibot, it would be the thought of ending my days -with a good man like you. Be easy. I will give Mme. Chapoulot a -dressing down. . . . To think of a retired haberdasher's wife giving -herself such airs!" - -Schmucke went to his room and took up his post in the closet. - -La Cibot had left the door ajar on the landing; Fraisier came in and -closed it noiselessly as soon as he heard Schmucke shut his bedroom -door. He had brought with him a lighted taper and a bit of very fine -wire to open the seal of the will. La Cibot, meanwhile, looking under -the pillow, found the handkerchief with the key of the bureau knotted -to one corner; and this so much the more easily because Pons purposely -left the end hanging over the bolster, and lay with his face to the -wall. - -La Cibot went straight to the bureau, opened it cautiously so as to -make as little noise as possible, found the spring of the secret -drawer, and hurried into the salon with the will in her hand. Her -flight roused Pons' curiosity to the highest pitch; and as for -Schmucke, he trembled as if he were the guilty person. - -"Go back," said Fraisier, when she handed over the will. "He may wake, -and he must find you there." - -Fraisier opened the seal with a dexterity which proved that his was no -'prentice hand, and read the following curious document, headed "My -Will," with ever-deepening astonishment: - - "On this fifteenth day of April, eighteen hundred and forty-five, - I, being in my sound mind (as this my Will, drawn up in concert - with M. Trognon, will testify), and feeling that I must shortly - die of the malady from which I have suffered since the beginning - of February last, am anxious to dispose of my property, and have - herein recorded my last wishes:-- - - "I have always been impressed by the untoward circumstances that - injure great pictures, and not unfrequently bring about total - destruction. I have felt sorry for the beautiful paintings - condemned to travel from land to land, never finding some fixed - abode whither admirers of great masterpieces may travel to see - them. And I have always thought that the truly deathless work of a - great master ought to be national property; put where every one of - every nation may see it, even as the light, God's masterpiece, - shines for all His children. - - "And as I have spent my life in collecting together and choosing a - few pictures, some of the greatest masters' most glorious work, - and as these pictures are as the master left them--genuine - examples, neither repainted nor retouched,--it has been a painful - thought to me that the paintings which have been the joy of my - life, may be sold by public auction, and go, some to England, some - to Russia, till they are all scattered abroad again as if they had - never been gathered together. From this wretched fate I have - determined to save both them and the frames in which they are set, - all of them the work of skilled craftsmen. - - "On these grounds, therefore, I give and bequeath the pictures - which compose my collection to the King, for the gallery in the - Louvre, subject to the charge (if the legacy is accepted) of a - life-annuity of two thousand four hundred francs to my friend - Wilhelm Schmucke. - - "If the King, as usufructuary of the Louvre collection, should - refuse the legacy with the charge upon it, the said pictures shall - form a part of the estate which I leave to my friend, Schmucke, on - condition that he shall deliver the _Monkey's Head_, by Goya, to - my cousin, President Camusot; a _Flower-piece_, the tulips, by - Abraham Mignon, to M. Trognon, notary (whom I appoint as my - executor): and allow Mme. Cibot, who has acted as my housekeeper - for ten years, the sum of two hundred francs per annum. - - "Finally, my friend Schmucke is to give the _Descent from the - Cross_, Ruben's sketch for his great picture at Antwerp, to adorn - a chapel in the parish church, in grateful acknowledgment of M. - Duplanty's kindness to me; for to him I owe it that I can die as a - Christian and a Catholic."--So ran the will. - -"This is ruin!" mused Fraisier, "the ruin of all my hopes. Ha! I begin -to believe all that the Presidente told me about this old artist and -his cunning." - -"Well?" La Cibot came back to say. - -"Your gentleman is a monster. He is leaving everything to the Crown. -Now, you cannot plead against the Crown. . . . The will cannot be -disputed. . . . We are robbed, ruined, spoiled, and murdered!" - -"What has he left to me?" - -"Two hundred francs a year." - -"A pretty come-down! . . . Why, he is a finished scoundrel." - -"Go and see," said Fraisier, "and I will put your scoundrel's will -back again in the envelope." - -While Mme. Cibot's back was turned, Fraisier nimbly slipped a sheet of -blank paper into the envelope; the will he put in his pocket. He next -proceeded to seal the envelope again so cleverly that he showed the -seal to Mme. Cibot when she returned, and asked her if she could see -the slightest trace of the operation. La Cibot took up the envelope, -felt it over, assured herself that it was not empty, and heaved a deep -sigh. She had entertained hopes that Fraisier himself would have -burned the unlucky document while she was out of the room. - -"Well, my dear M. Fraisier, what is to be done?" - -"Oh! that is your affair! I am not one of the next-of-kin, myself; but -if I had the slightest claim to any of _that_" (indicating the -collection), "I know very well what I should do." - -"That is just what I want to know," La Cibot answered, with sufficient -simplicity. - -"There is a fire in the grate----" he said. Then he rose to go. - -"After all, no one will know about it, but you and me----" began La -Cibot. - -"It can never be proved that a will existed," asserted the man of law. - -"And you?" - -"I? . . . If M. Pons dies intestate, you shall have a hundred thousand -francs." - -"Oh yes, no doubt," returned she. "People promise you heaps of money, -and when they come by their own, and there is talk of paying they -swindle you like--" "Like Elie Magus," she was going to say, but she -stopped herself just in time. - -"I am going," said Fraisier; "it is not to your interest that I should -be found here; but I shall see you again downstairs." - -La Cibot shut the door and returned with the sealed packet in her -hand. She had quite made up her mind to burn it; but as she went -towards the bedroom fireplace, she felt the grasp of a hand on each -arm, and saw--Schmucke on one hand, and Pons himself on the other, -leaning against the partition wall on either side of the door. - -La Cibot cried out, and fell face downwards in a fit; real or feigned, -no one ever knew the truth. This sight produced such an impression on -Pons that a deadly faintness came upon him, and Schmucke left the -woman on the floor to help Pons back to bed. The friends trembled in -every limb; they had set themselves a hard task, it was done, but it -had been too much for their strength. When Pons lay in bed again, and -Schmucke had regained strength to some extent, he heard a sound of -sobbing. La Cibot, on her knees, bursting into tears, held out -supplicating hands to them in very expressive pantomime. - -"It was pure curiosity!" she sobbed, when she saw that Pons and -Schmucke were paying attention to her proceedings. "Pure curiosity; a -woman's fault, you know. But I did not know how else to get a sight of -your will, and I brought it back again--" - -"Go!" said Schmucke, standing erect, his tall figure gaining in height -by the full height of his indignation. "You are a monster! You dried -to kill mein goot Bons! He is right. You are worse than a monster, you -are a lost soul!" - -La Cibot saw the look of abhorrence in the frank German's face; she -rose, proud as Tartuffe, gave Schmucke a glance which made him quake, -and went out, carrying off under her dress an exquisite little picture -of Metzu's pointed out by Elie Magus. "A diamond," he had called it. -Fraisier downstairs in the porter's lodge was waiting to hear that La -Cibot had burned the envelope and the sheet of blank paper inside it. -Great was his astonishment when he beheld his fair client's agitation -and dismay. - -"What has happened?" - -"_This_ has happened, my dear M. Fraisier. Under pretence of giving me -good advice and telling me what to do, you have lost me my annuity and -the gentlemen's confidence. . . ." - -One of the word-tornadoes in which she excelled was in full progress, -but Fraisier cut her short. - -"This is idle talk. The facts, the facts! and be quick about it." - -"Well; it came about in this way,"--and she told him of the scene -which she had just come through. - -"You have lost nothing through me," was Fraisier's comment. "The -gentlemen had their doubts, or they would not have set this trap for -you. They were lying in wait and spying upon you. . . . You have not -told me everything," he added, with a tiger's glance at the woman -before him. - -"_I_ hide anything from you!" cried she--"after all that we have done -together!" she added with a shudder. - -"My dear madame, _I_ have done nothing blameworthy," returned -Fraisier. Evidently he meant to deny his nocturnal visit to Pons' -rooms. - -Every hair on La Cibot's head seemed to scorch her, while a sense of -icy cold swept over her from head to foot. - -"_What?_" . . . she faltered in bewilderment. - -"Here is a criminal charge on the face of it. . . . You may be accused -of suppressing the will," Fraisier made answer drily. - -La Cibot started. - -"Don't be alarmed; I am your legal adviser. I only wished to show you -how easy it is, in one way or another, to do as I once explained to -you. Let us see, now; what have you done that this simple German -should be hiding in the room?" - -"Nothing at all, unless it was that scene the other day when I stood -M. Pons out that his eyes dazzled. And ever since, the two gentlemen -have been as different as can be. So you have brought all my troubles -upon me; I might have lost my influence with M. Pons, but I was sure -of the German; just now he was talking of marrying me or of taking me -with him--it is all one." - -The excuse was so plausible that Fraisier was fain to be satisfied -with it. "You need fear nothing," he resumed. "I gave you my word that -you shall have your money, and I shall keep my word. The whole matter, -so far, was up in the air, but now it is as good as bank-notes. . . . -You shall have at least twelve hundred francs per annum. . . . But, my -good lady, you must act intelligently under my orders." - -"Yes, my dear M. Fraisier," said La Cibot with cringing servility. She -was completely subdued. - -"Very good. Good-bye," and Fraisier went, taking the dangerous -document with him. He reached home in great spirits. The will was a -terrible weapon. - -"Now," thought he, "I have a hold on Mme. la Presidente de Marville; -she must keep her word with me. If she did not, she would lose the -property." - -At daybreak, when Remonencq had taken down his shutters and left his -sister in charge of the shop, he came, after his wont of late, to -inquire for his good friend Cibot. The portress was contemplating the -Metzu, privately wondering how a little bit of painted wood could be -worth such a lot of money. - -"Aha!" said he, looking over her shoulder, "that is the one picture -which M. Elie Magus regretted; with that little bit of a thing, he -says, his happiness would be complete." - -"What would he give for it?" asked La Cibot. - -"Why, if you will promise to marry me within a year of widowhood, I -will undertake to get twenty thousand francs for it from Elie Magus; -and unless you marry me you will never get a thousand francs for the -picture." - -"Why not?" - -"Because you would be obliged to give a receipt for the money, and -then you might have a lawsuit with the heirs-at-law. If you were my -wife, I myself should sell the thing to M. Magus, and in the way of -business it is enough to make an entry in the day-book, and I should -note that M. Schmucke sold it to me. There, leave the panel with me. -. . . If your husband were to die you might have a lot of bother over -it, but no one would think it odd that I should have a picture in the -shop. . . . You know me quite well. Besides, I will give you a receipt -if you like." - -The covetous portress felt that she had been caught; she agreed to a -proposal which was to bind her for the rest of her life to the -marine-store dealer. - -"You are right," said she, as she locked the picture away in a chest; -"bring me the bit of writing." - -Remonencq beckoned her to the door. - -"I can see, neighbor, that we shall not save our poor dear Cibot," he -said lowering his voice. "Dr. Poulain gave him up yesterday evening, -and said that he could not last out the day. . . . It is a great -misfortune. But after all, this was not the place for you. . . . You -ought to be in a fine curiosity shop on the Boulevard des Capucines. -Do you know that I have made nearly a hundred thousand francs in ten -years? And if you will have as much some day, I will undertake to make -a handsome fortune for you--as my wife. You would be the mistress--my -sister should wait on you and do the work of the house, and--" - -A heartrending moan from the little tailor cut the tempter short; the -death agony had begun. - -"Go away," said La Cibot. "You are a monster to talk of such things -and my poor man dying like this--" - -"Ah! it is because I love you," said Remonencq; "I could let -everything else go to have you--" - -"If you loved me, you would say nothing to me just now," returned she. -And Remonencq departed to his shop, sure of marrying La Cibot. - -Towards ten o'clock there was a sort of commotion in the street; M. -Cibot was taking the Sacrament. All the friends of the pair, all the -porters and porters' wives in the Rue de Normandie and neighboring -streets, had crowded into the lodge, under the archway, and stood on -the pavement outside. Nobody so much as noticed the arrival of M. -Leopold Hannequin and a brother lawyer. Schwab and Brunner reached -Pons' rooms unseen by Mme. Cibot. The notary, inquiring for Pons, was -shown upstairs by the portress of a neighboring house. Brunner -remembered his previous visit to the museum, and went straight in with -his friend Schwab. - -Pons formally revoked his previous will and constituted Schmucke his -universal legatee. This accomplished, he thanked Schwab and Brunner, -and earnestly begged M. Leopold Hannequin to protect Schmucke's -interests. The demands made upon him by last night's scene with La -Cibot, and this final settlement of his worldly affairs, left him so -faint and exhausted that Schmucke begged Schwab to go for the Abbe -Duplanty; it was Pons' great desire to take the Sacrament, and -Schmucke could not bring himself to leave his friend. - -La Cibot, sitting at the foot of her husband's bed, gave not so much -as a thought to Schmucke's breakfast--for that matter had been -forbidden to return; but the morning's events, the sight of Pons' -heroic resignation in the death agony, so oppressed Schmucke's heart -that he was not conscious of hunger. Towards two o'clock, however, as -nothing had been seen of the old German, La Cibot sent Remonencq's -sister to see whether Schmucke wanted anything; prompted not so much -by interest as by curiosity. The Abbe Duplanty had just heard the old -musician's dying confession, and the administration of the sacrament -of extreme unction was disturbed by repeated ringing of the door-bell. -Pons, in his terror of robbery, had made Schmucke promise solemnly to -admit no one into the house; so Schmucke did not stir. Again and again -Mlle. Remonencq pulled the cord, and finally went downstairs in alarm -to tell La Cibot that Schmucke would not open the door; Fraisier made -a note of this. Schmucke had never seen any one die in his life; -before long he would be perplexed by the many difficulties which beset -those who are left with a dead body in Paris, this more especially if -they are lonely and helpless and have no one to act for them. Fraisier -knew, moreover, that in real affliction people lose their heads, and -therefore immediately after breakfast he took up his position in the -porter's lodge, and sitting there in perpetual committee with Dr. -Poulain, conceived the idea of directing all Schmucke's actions -himself. - -To obtain the important result, the doctor and the lawyer took their -measures on this wise:-- - -The beadle of Saint-Francois, Cantinet by name, at one time a retail -dealer in glassware, lived in the Rue d'Orleans, next door to Dr. -Poulain and under the same roof. Mme. Cantinet, who saw to the letting -of the chairs at Saint-Francois, once had fallen ill and Dr. Poulain -had attended her gratuitously; she was, as might be expected, -grateful, and often confided her troubles to him. The "nutcrackers," -punctual in their attendance at Saint-Francois on Sundays and -saints'-days, were on friendly terms with the beadle and the lowest -ecclesiastical rank and file, commonly called in Paris _le bas -clerge_, to whom the devout usually give little presents from time to -time. Mme. Cantinet therefore knew Schmucke almost as well as Schmucke -knew her. And Mme. Cantinet was afflicted with two sore troubles which -enabled the lawyer to use her as a blind and involuntary agent. -Cantinet junior, a stage-struck youth, had deserted the paths of the -Church and turned his back on the prospect of one day becoming a -beadle, to make his _debut_ among the supernumeraries of the -Cirque-Olympique; he was leading a wild life, breaking his mother's -heart and draining her purse by frequent forced loans. Cantinet senior, -much addicted to spirituous liquors and idleness, had, in fact, been -driven to retire from business by those two failings. So far from -reforming, the incorrigible offender had found scope in his new -occupation for the indulgence of both cravings; he did nothing, and he -drank with drivers of wedding-coaches, with the undertaker's men at -funerals, with poor folk relieved by the vicar, till his morning's -occupation was set forth in rubric on his countenance by noon. - -Mme. Cantinet saw no prospect but want in her old age, and yet she had -brought her husband twelve thousand francs, she said. The tale of her -woes related for the hundredth time suggested an idea to Dr. Poulain. -Once introduce her into the old bachelor's quarters, and it would be -easy by her means to establish Mme. Sauvage there as working -housekeeper. It was quite impossible to present Mme. Sauvage herself, -for the "nutcrackers" had grown suspicious of every one. Schmucke's -refusal to admit Mlle. Remonencq had sufficiently opened Fraisier's -eyes. Still, it seemed evident that Pons and Schmucke, being pious -souls, would take any one recommended by the Abbe, with blind -confidence. Mme. Cantinet should bring Mme. Sauvage with her, and to -put in Fraisier's servant was almost tantamount to installing Fraisier -himself. - -The Abbe Duplanty, coming downstairs, found the gateway blocked by the -Cibots' friends, all of them bent upon showing their interest in one -of the oldest and most respectable porters in the Marais. - -Dr. Poulain raised his hat, and took the Abbe aside. - -"I am just about to go to poor M. Pons," he said. "There is still a -chance of recovery; but it is a question of inducing him to undergo an -operation. The calculi are perceptible to the touch, they are setting -up an inflammatory condition which will end fatally, but perhaps it is -not too late to remove them. You should really use your influence to -persuade the patient to submit to surgical treatment; I will answer -for his life, provided that no untoward circumstance occurs during the -operation." - -"I will return as soon as I have taken the sacred ciborium back to the -church," said the Abbe Duplanty, "for M. Schmucke's condition claims -the support of religion." - -"I have just heard that he is alone," said Dr. Poulain. "The German, -good soul, had a little altercation this morning with Mme. Cibot, who -has acted as housekeeper to them both for the past ten years. They -have quarreled (for the moment only, no doubt), but under the -circumstances they must have some one in to help upstairs. It would be -a charity to look after him.--I say, Cantinet," continued the doctor, -beckoning to the beadle, "just go and ask your wife if she will nurse -M. Pons, and look after M. Schmucke, and take Mme. Cibot's place for a -day or two. . . . Even without the quarrel, Mme. Cibot would still -require a substitute. Mme. Cantinet is honest," added the doctor, -turning to M. Duplanty. - -"You could not make a better choice," said the good priest; "she is -intrusted with the letting of chairs in the church." - -A few minutes later, Dr. Poulain stood by Pons' pillow watching the -progress made by death, and Schmucke's vain efforts to persuade his -friend to consent to the operation. To all the poor German's -despairing entreaties Pons only replied by a shake of the head and -occasional impatient movements; till, after awhile, he summoned up all -his fast-failing strength to say, with a heartrending look: - -"Do let me die in peace!" - -Schmucke almost died of sorrow, but he took Pons' hand and softly -kissed it, and held it between his own, as if trying a second time to -give his own vitality to his friend. - -Just at this moment the bell rang, and Dr. Poulain, going to the door, -admitted the Abbe Duplanty. - -"Our poor patient is struggling in the grasp of death," he said. "All -will be over in a few hours. You will send a priest, no doubt, to -watch to-night. But it is time that Mme. Cantinet came, as well as a -woman to do the work, for M. Schmucke is quite unfit to think of -anything: I am afraid for his reason; and there are valuables here -which ought to be in the custody of honest persons." - -The Abbe Duplanty, a kindly, upright priest, guileless and -unsuspicious, was struck with the truth of Dr. Poulain's remarks. He -had, moreover, a certain belief in the doctor of the quarter. So on -the threshold of the death-chamber he stopped and beckoned to -Schmucke, but Schmucke could not bring himself to loosen the grasp of -the hand that grew tighter and tighter. Pons seemed to think that he -was slipping over the edge of a precipice and must catch at something -to save himself. But, as many know, the dying are haunted by an -hallucination that leads them to snatch at things about them, like men -eager to save their most precious possessions from a fire. Presently -Pons released Schmucke to clutch at the bed-clothes, dragging them and -huddling them about himself with a hasty, covetous movement -significant and painful to see. - -"What will you do, left alone with your dead friend?" asked M. l'Abbe -Duplanty when Schmucke came to the door. "You have not Mme. Cibot -now--" - -"Ein monster dat haf killed Bons!" - -"But you must have somebody with you," began Dr. Poulain. "Some one -must sit up with the body to-night." - -"I shall sit up; I shall say die prayers to Gott," the innocent German -answered. - -"But you must eat--and who is to cook for you now?" asked the doctor. - -"Grief haf taken afay mein abbetite," Schmucke said, simply. - -"And some one must give notice to the registrar," said Poulain, "and -lay out the body, and order the funeral; and the person who sits up -with the body and the priest will want meals. Can you do all this by -yourself? A man cannot die like a dog in the capital of the civilized -world." - -Schmucke opened wide eyes of dismay. A brief fit of madness seized -him. - -"But Bons shall not tie! . . ." he cried aloud. "I shall safe him!" - -"You cannot go without sleep much longer, and who will take your -place? Some one must look after M. Pons, and give him drink, and nurse -him--" - -"Ah! dat is drue." - -"Very well," said the Abbe, "I am thinking of sending your Mme. -Cantinet, a good and honest creature--" - -The practical details of the care of the dead bewildered Schmucke, -till he was fain to die with his friend. - -"He is a child," said the doctor, turning to the Abbe Duplanty. - -"Ein child," Schmucke repeated mechanically. - -"There, then," said the curate; "I will speak to Mme. Cantinet, and -send her to you." - -"Do not trouble yourself," said the doctor; "I am going home, and she -lives in the next house." - -The dying seem to struggle with Death as with an invisible assassin; -in the agony at the last, as the final thrust is made, the act of -dying seems to be a conflict, a hand-to-hand fight for life. Pons had -reached the supreme moment. At the sound of his groans and cries, the -three standing in the doorway hurried to the bedside. Then came the -last blow, smiting asunder the bonds between soul and body, striking -down to life's sources; and suddenly Pons regained for a few brief -moments the perfect calm that follows the struggle. He came to -himself, and with the serenity of death in his face he looked round -almost smilingly at them. - -"Ah, doctor, I have had a hard time of it; but you were right, I am -doing better. Thank you, my good Abbe; I was wondering what had become -of Schmucke--" - -"Schmucke has had nothing to eat since yesterday evening, and now it -is four o'clock! You have no one with you now and it would be wise to -send for Mme. Cibot." - -"She is capable of anything!" said Pons, without attempting to conceal -all his abhorrence at the sound of her name. "It is true, Schmucke -ought to have some trustworthy person." - -"M. Duplanty and I have been thinking about you both--" - -"Ah! thank you, I had not thought of that." - -"--And M. Duplanty suggests that you should have Mme. Cantinet--" - -"Oh! Mme. Cantinet who lets the chairs!" exclaimed Pons. "Yes, she is -an excellent creature." - -"She has no liking for Mme. Cibot," continued the doctor, "and she -would take good care of M. Schmucke--" - -"Send her to me, M. Duplanty . . . send her and her husband too. I -shall be easy. Nothing will be stolen here." - -Schmucke had taken Pons' hand again, and held it joyously in his own. -Pons was almost well again, he thought. - -"Let us go, Monsieur l'Abbe," said the doctor. "I will send Mme. -Cantinet round at once. I see how it is. She perhaps may not find M. -Pons alive." - - - -While the Abbe Duplanty was persuading Pons to engage Mme. Cantinet as -his nurse, Fraisier had sent for her. He had plied the beadle's wife -with sophistical reasoning and subtlety. It was difficult to resist -his corrupting influence. And as for Mme. Cantinet--a lean, sallow -woman, with large teeth and thin lips--her intelligence, as so often -happens with women of the people, had been blunted by a hard life, -till she had come to look upon the slenderest daily wage as -prosperity. She soon consented to take Mme. Sauvage with her as -general servant. - -Mme. Sauvage had had her instructions already. She had undertaken to -weave a web of iron wire about the two musicians, and to watch them as -a spider watches a fly caught in the toils; and her reward was to be a -tobacconist's license. Fraisier had found a convenient opportunity of -getting rid of his so-called foster-mother, while he posted her as a -detective and policeman to supervise Mme. Cantinet. As there was a -servant's bedroom and a little kitchen included in the apartment, La -Sauvage could sleep on a truckle-bed and cook for the German. Dr. -Poulain came with the two women just as Pons drew his last breath. -Schmucke was sitting beside his friend, all unconscious of the crisis, -holding the hand that slowly grew colder in his grasp. He signed to -Mme. Cantinet to be silent; but Mme. Sauvage's soldierly figure -surprised him so much that he started in spite of himself, a kind of -homage to which the virago was quite accustomed. - -"M. Duplanty answers for this lady," whispered Mme. Cantinet by way of -introduction. "She once was cook to a bishop; she is honesty itself; -she will do the cooking." - -"Oh! you may talk out loud," wheezed the stalwart dame. "The poor -gentleman is dead. . . . He has just gone." - -A shrill cry broke from Schmucke. He felt Pons' cold hand stiffening -in his, and sat staring into his friend's eyes; the look in them would -have driven him mad, if Mme. Sauvage, doubtless accustomed to scenes -of this sort, had not come to the bedside with a mirror which she held -over the lips of the dead. When she saw that there was no mist upon -the surface, she briskly snatched Schmucke's hand away. - -"Just take away your hand, sir; you may not be able to do it in a -little while. You do not know how the bones harden. A corpse grows -cold very quickly. If you do not lay out a body while it is warm, you -have to break the joints later on. . . ." - -And so it was this terrible woman who closed the poor dead musician's -eyes. - -With a business-like dexterity acquired in ten years of experience, -she stripped and straightened the body, laid the arms by the sides, -and covered the face with the bedclothes, exactly as a shopman wraps a -parcel. - -"A sheet will be wanted to lay him out.--Where is there a sheet?" she -demanded, turning on the terror-stricken Schmucke. - -He had watched the religious ritual with its deep reverence for the -creature made for such high destinies in heaven; and now he saw his -dead friend treated simply as a thing in this packing process--saw -with the sharp pain that dissolves the very elements of thought. - -"Do as you vill----" he answered mechanically. The innocent creature -for the first time in his life had seen a man die, and that man was -Pons, his only friend, the one human being who understood him and -loved him. - -"I will go and ask Mme. Cibot where the sheets are kept," said La -Sauvage. - -"A truckle-bed will be wanted for the person to sleep upon," Mme. -Cantinet came to tell Schmucke. - -Schmucke nodded and broke out into weeping. Mme. Cantinet left the -unhappy man in peace; but an hour later she came back to say: - -"Have you any money, sir, to pay for the things?" - -The look that Schmucke gave Mme. Cantinet would have disarmed the -fiercest hate; it was the white, blank, peaked face of death that he -turned upon her, as an explanation that met everything. - -"Dake it all and leaf me to mein prayers and tears," he said, and -knelt. - -Mme. Sauvage went to Fraisier with the news of Pons' death. Fraisier -took a cab and went to the Presidente. To-morrow she must give him the -power of attorney to enable him to act for the heirs. - -Another hour went by, and Mme. Cantinet came again to Schmucke. - -"I have been to Mme. Cibot, sir, who knows all about things here," she -said. "I asked her to tell me where everything is kept. But she almost -jawed me to death with her abuse. . . . Sir, do listen to me. . . ." - -Schmucke looked up at the woman, and she went on, innocent of any -barbarous intention, for women of her class are accustomed to take the -worst of moral suffering passively, as a matter of course. - -"We must have linen for the shroud, sir, we must have money to buy a -truckle-bed for the person to sleep upon, and some things for the -kitchen--plates, and dishes, and glasses, for a priest will be coming -to pass the night here, and the person says that there is absolutely -nothing in the kitchen." - -"And what is more, sir, I must have coal and firing if I am to get the -dinner ready," echoed La Sauvage, "and not a thing can I find. Not -that there is anything so very surprising in that, as La Cibot used to -do everything for you--" - -Schmucke lay at the feet of the dead; he heard nothing, knew nothing, -saw nothing. Mme. Cantinet pointed to him. "My dear woman, you would -not believe me," she said. "Whatever you say, he does not answer." - -"Very well, child," said La Sauvage; "now I will show you what to do -in a case of this kind." - -She looked round the room as a thief looks in search of possible -hiding-places for money; then she went straight to Pons' chest, opened -the first drawer, saw the bag in which Schmucke had put the rest of -the money after the sale of the pictures, and held it up before him. -He nodded mechanically. - -"Here is money, child," said La Sauvage, turning to Mme. Cantinet. "I -will count it first and take enough to buy everything we want--wine, -provisions, wax-candles, all sorts of things, in fact, for there is -nothing in the house. . . . Just look in the drawers for a sheet to -bury him in. I certainly was told that the poor gentleman was simple, -but I don't know what he is; he is worse. He is like a new-born child; -we shall have to feed him with a funnel." - -The women went about their work, and Schmucke looked on precisely as -an idiot might have done. Broken down with sorrow, wholly absorbed, in -a half-cataleptic state, he could not take his eyes from the face that -seemed to fascinate him, Pons' face refined by the absolute repose of -Death. Schmucke hoped to die; everything was alike indifferent. If the -room had been on fire he would not have stirred. - -"There are twelve hundred and fifty francs here," La Sauvage told him. - -Schmucke shrugged his shoulders. - -But when La Sauvage came near to measure the body by laying the sheet -over it, before cutting out the shroud, a horrible struggle ensued -between her and the poor German. Schmucke was furious. He behaved like -a dog that watches by his dead master's body, and shows his teeth at -all who try to touch it. La Sauvage grew impatient. She grasped him, -set him in the armchair, and held him down with herculean strength. - -"Go on, child; sew him in his shroud," she said, turning to Mme. -Cantinet. - -As soon as this operation was completed, La Sauvage set Schmucke back -in his place at the foot of the bed. - -"Do you understand?" said she. "The poor dead man lying there must be -done up, there is no help for it." - -Schmucke began to cry. The women left him and took possession of the -kitchen, whither they brought all the necessaries in a very short -time. La Sauvage made out a preliminary statement accounting for three -hundred and sixty francs, and then proceeded to prepare a dinner for -four persons. And what a dinner! A fat goose (the cobbler's pheasant) -by way of a substantial roast, an omelette with preserves, a salad, -and the inevitable broth--the quantities of the ingredients for this -last being so excessive that the soup was more like a strong -meat-jelly. - -At nine o'clock the priest, sent by the curate to watch by the dead, -came in with Cantinet, who brought four tall wax candles and some -tapers. In the death-chamber Schmucke was lying with his arms about -the body of his friend, holding him in a tight clasp; nothing but the -authority of religion availed to separate him from his dead. Then the -priest settled himself comfortably in the easy-chair and read his -prayers while Schmucke, kneeling beside the couch, besought God to -work a miracle and unite him to Pons, so that they might be buried in -the same grave; and Mme. Cantinet went on her way to the Temple to buy -a pallet and complete bedding for Mme. Sauvage. The twelve hundred and -fifty francs were regarded as plunder. At eleven o'clock Mme. Cantinet -came in to ask if Schmucke would not eat a morsel, but with a gesture -he signified that he wished to be left in peace. - -"Your supper is ready, M. Pastelot," she said, addressing the priest, -and they went. - -Schmucke, left alone in the room, smiled to himself like a madman free -at last to gratify a desire like the longing of pregnancy. He flung -himself down beside Pons, and yet again he held his friend in a long, -close embrace. At midnight the priest came back and scolded him, and -Schmucke returned to his prayers. At daybreak the priest went, and at -seven o'clock in the morning the doctor came to see Schmucke, and -spoke kindly and tried hard to persuade him to eat, but the German -refused. - -"If you do not eat now you will feel very hungry when you come back," -the doctor told him, "for you must go to the mayor's office and take a -witness with you, so that the registrar may issue a certificate of -death." - -"_I_ must go!" cried Schmucke in frightened tones. - -"Who else? . . . You must go, for you were the one person who saw him -die." - -"Mein legs vill nicht carry me," pleaded Schmucke, imploring the -doctor to come to the rescue. - -"Take a cab," the hypocritical doctor blandly suggested. "I have given -notice already. Ask some one in the house to go with you. The two -women will look after the place while you are away." - -No one imagines how the requirements of the law jar upon a heartfelt -sorrow. The thought of it is enough to make one turn from civilization -and choose rather the customs of the savage. At nine o'clock that -morning Mme. Sauvage half-carried Schmucke downstairs, and from the -cab he was obliged to beg Remonencq to come with him to the registrar -as a second witness. Here in Paris, in this land of ours besotted with -Equality, the inequality of conditions is glaringly apparent -everywhere and in everything. The immutable tendency of things peeps -out even in the practical aspects of Death. In well-to-do families, a -relative, a friend, or a man of business spares the mourners these -painful details; but in this, as in the matter of taxation, the whole -burden falls heaviest upon the shoulders of the poor. - -"Ah! you have good reason to regret him," said Remonencq in answer to -the poor martyr's moan; "he was a very good, a very honest man, and he -has left a fine collection behind him. But being a foreigner, sir, do -you know that you are like to find yourself in a great predicament ---for everybody says that M. Pons left everything to you?" - -Schmucke was not listening. He was sounding the dark depths of sorrow -that border upon madness. There is such a thing as tetanus of the -soul. - -"And you would do well to find some one--some man of business--to -advise you and act for you," pursued Remonencq. - -"Ein mann of pizness!" echoed Schmucke. - -"You will find that you will want some one to act for you. If I were -you, I should take an experienced man, somebody well known to you in -the quarter, a man you can trust. . . . I always go to Tabareau myself -for my bits of affairs--he is the bailiff. If you give his clerk power -to act for you, you need not trouble yourself any further." - -Remonencq and La Cibot, prompted by Fraisier, had agreed beforehand to -make a suggestion which stuck in Schmucke's memory; for there are -times in our lives when grief, as it were, congeals the mind by -arresting all its functions, and any chance impression made at such -moments is retained by a frost-bound memory. Schmucke heard his -companion with such a fixed, mindless stare, that Remonencq said no -more. - -"If he is always to be idiotic like this," thought Remonencq, "I might -easily buy the whole bag of tricks up yonder for a hundred thousand -francs; if it is really his. . . . Here we are at the mayor's office, -sir." - -Remonencq was obliged to take Schmucke out of the cab and to -half-carry him to the registrar's department, where a wedding-party -was assembled. Here they had to wait for their turn, for, by no very -uncommon chance, the clerk had five or six certificates to make out -that morning; and here it was appointed that poor Schmucke should -suffer excruciating anguish. - -"Monsieur is M. Schmucke?" remarked a person in a suit of black, -reducing Schmucke to stupefaction by the mention of his name. He -looked up with the same blank, unseeing eyes that he had turned upon -Remonencq, who now interposed. - -"What do you want with him?" he said. "Just leave him in peace; you -can plainly see that he is in trouble." - -"The gentleman has just lost his friend, and proposes, no doubt, to do -honor to his memory, being, as he is, the sole heir. The gentleman, no -doubt, will not haggle over it, he will buy a piece of ground outright -for a grave. And as M. Pons was such a lover of the arts, it would be -a great pity not to put Music, Painting, and Sculpture on his tomb ---three handsome full-length figures, weeping--" - -Remonencq waved the speaker away, in Auvergnat fashion, but the man -replied with another gesture, which being interpreted means "Don't -spoil sport"; a piece of commercial free-masonry, as it were, which -the dealer understood. - -"I represent the firm of Sonet and Company, monumental stone-masons; -Sir Walter Scott would have dubbed me _Young Mortality_," continued -this person. "If you, sir, should decide to intrust your orders to us, -we would spare you the trouble of the journey to purchase the ground -necessary for the interment of a friend lost to the arts--" - -At this Remonencq nodded assent, and jogged Schmucke's elbow. - -"Every day we receive orders from families to arrange all -formalities," continued he of the black coat, thus encouraged by -Remonencq. "In the first moment of bereavement, the heir-at-law finds -it very difficult to attend to such matters, and we are accustomed to -perform these little services for our clients. Our charges, sir, are -on a fixed scale, so much per foot, freestone or marble. Family vaults -a specialty.--We undertake everything at the most moderate prices. Our -firm executed the magnificent monument erected to the fair Esther -Gobseck and Lucien de Rubempre, one of the finest ornaments of -Pere-Lachaise. We only employ the best workmen, and I must warn you, -sir, against small contractors--who turn out nothing but trash," he -added, seeing that another person in a black suit was coming up to say -a word for another firm of marble-workers. - -It is often said that "death is the end of a journey," but the aptness -of the simile is realized most fully in Paris. Any arrival, especially -of a person of condition, upon the "dark brink," is hailed in much the -same way as the traveler recently landed is hailed by hotel touts and -pestered with their recommendations. With the exception of a few -philosophically-minded persons, or here and there a family secure of -handing down a name to posterity, nobody thinks beforehand of the -practical aspects of death. Death always comes before he is expected; -and, from a sentiment easy to understand, the heirs usually act as if -the event were impossible. For which reason, almost every one that -loses father or mother, wife or child, is immediately beset by scouts -that profit by the confusion caused by grief to snare others. In -former days, agents for monuments used to live round about the famous -cemetery of Pere-Lachaise, and were gathered together in a single -thoroughfare, which should by rights have been called the Street of -Tombs; issuing thence, they fell upon the relatives of the dead as -they came from the cemetery, or even at the grave-side. But -competition and the spirit of speculation induced them to spread -themselves further and further afield, till descending into Paris -itself they reached the very precincts of the mayor's office. Indeed, -the stone-mason's agent has often been known to invade the house of -mourning with a design for the sepulchre in his hand. - -"I am in treaty with this gentleman," said the representative of the -firm of Sonet to another agent who came up. - -"Pons deceased! . . ." called the clerk at this moment. "Where are the -witnesses?" - -"This way, sir," said the stone-mason's agent, this time addressing -Remonencq. - -Schmucke stayed where he had been placed on the bench, an inert mass. -Remonencq begged the agent to help him, and together they pulled -Schmucke towards the balustrade, behind which the registrar shelters -himself from the mourning public. Remonencq, Schmucke's Providence, -was assisted by Dr. Poulain, who filled in the necessary information -as to Pons' age and birthplace; the German knew but one thing--that -Pons was his friend. So soon as the signatures were affixed, Remonencq -and the doctor (followed by the stone-mason's man), put Schmucke into -a cab, the desperate agent whisking in afterwards, bent upon taking a -definite order. - -La Sauvage, on the lookout in the gateway, half-carried Schmucke's -almost unconscious form upstairs. Remonencq and the agent went up with -her. - -"He will be ill!" exclaimed the agent, anxious to make an end of the -piece of business which, according to him, was in progress. - -"I should think he will!" returned Mme. Sauvage. "He has been crying -for twenty-four hours on end, and he would not take anything. There is -nothing like grief for giving one a sinking in the stomach." - -"My dear client," urged the representative of the firm of Sonet, "do -take some broth. You have so much to do; some one must go to the Hotel -de Ville to buy the ground in the cemetery on which you mean to erect -a monument to perpetuate the memory of the friend of the arts, and -bear record to your gratitude." - -"Why, there is no sense in this!" added Mme. Cantinet, coming in with -broth and bread. - -"If you are as weak as this, you ought to think of finding some one to -act for you," added Remonencq, "for you have a good deal on your -hands, my dear sir. There is the funeral to order. You would not have -your friend buried like a pauper!" - -"Come, come, my dear sir," put in La Sauvage, seizing a moment when -Schmucke laid his head back in the great chair to pour a spoonful of -soup into his mouth. She fed him as if he had been a child, and almost -in spite of himself. - -"Now, if you were wise, sir, since you are inclined to give yourself -up quietly to grief, you would find some one to act for you--" - -"As you are thinking of raising a magnificent monument to the memory -of your friend, sir, you have only to leave it all to me; I will -undertake--" - -"What is all this? What is all this?" asked La Sauvage. "Has M. -Schmucke ordered something? Who may you be?" - -"I represent the firm of Sonet, my dear madame, the biggest monumental -stone-masons in Paris," said the person in black, handing a -business-card to the stalwart Sauvage. - -"Very well, that will do. Some one will go with you when the time -comes; but you must not take advantage of the gentleman's condition -now. You can quite see that he is not himself----" - -The agent led her out upon the landing. - -"If you will undertake to get the order for us," he said -confidentially, "I am empowered to offer you forty francs." - -Mme. Sauvage grew placable. "Very well, let me have your address," -said she. - -Schmucke meantime being left to himself, and feeling the stronger for -the soup and bread that he had been forced to swallow, returned at -once to Pons' rooms, and to his prayers. He had lost himself in the -fathomless depths of sorrow, when a voice sounding in his ears drew -him back from the abyss of grief, and a young man in a suit of black -returned for the eleventh time to the charge, pulling the poor, -tortured victim's coatsleeve until he listened. - -"Sir!" said he. - -"Vat ees it now?" - -"Sir! we owe a supreme discovery to Dr. Gannal; we do not dispute his -fame; he has worked miracles of Egypt afresh; but there have been -improvements made upon his system. We have obtained surprising -results. So, if you would like to see your friend again, as he was -when he was alive--" - -"See him again!" cried Schmucke. "Shall he speak to me?" - -"Not exactly. Speech is the only thing wanting," continued the -embalmer's agent. "But he will remain as he is after embalming for all -eternity. The operation is over in a few seconds. Just an incision in -the carotid artery and an injection.--But it is high time; if you wait -one single quarter of an hour, sir, you will not have the sweet -satisfaction of preserving the body. . . ." - -"Go to der teufel! . . . Bons is ein spirit--und dat spirit is in -hefn." - -"That man has no gratitude in his composition," remarked the youthful -agent of one of the famous Gannal's rivals; "he will not embalm his -friend." - -The words were spoken under the archway, and addressed to La Cibot, -who had just submitted her beloved to the process. - -"What would you have, sir!" she said. "He is the heir, the universal -legatee. As soon as they get what they want, the dead are nothing to -them." - -An hour later, Schmucke saw Mme. Sauvage come into the room, followed -by another man in a suit of black, a workman, to all appearance. - -"Cantinet has been so obliging as to send this gentleman, sir," she -said; "he is coffin-maker to the parish." - -The coffin-maker made his bow with a sympathetic and compassionate -air, but none the less he had a business-like look, and seemed to know -that he was indispensable. He turned an expert's eye upon the dead. - -"How does the gentleman wish 'it' to be made? Deal, plain oak, or oak -lead-lined? Oak with a lead lining is the best style. The body is a -stock size,"--he felt for the feet, and proceeded to take the measure ---"one metre seventy!" he added. "You will be thinking of ordering the -funeral service at the church, sir, no doubt?" - -Schmucke looked at him as a dangerous madman might look before -striking a blow. La Sauvage put in a word. - -"You ought to find somebody to look after all these things," she said. - -"Yes----" the victim murmured at length. - -"Shall I fetch M. Tabareau?--for you will have a good deal on your -hands before long. M. Tabareau is the most honest man in the quarter, -you see." - -"Yes. Mennesir Dapareau! Somepody vas speaking of him chust now--" -said Schmucke, completely beaten. - -"Very well. You can be quiet, sir, and give yourself up to grief, when -you have seen your deputy." - -It was nearly two o'clock when M. Tabareau's head-clerk, a young man -who aimed at a bailiff's career, modestly presented himself. Youth has -wonderful privileges; no one is alarmed by youth. This young man -Villemot by name, sat down by Schmucke's side and waited his -opportunity to speak. His diffidence touched Schmucke very much. - -"I am M. Tabareau's head-clerk, sir," he said; "he sent me here to -take charge of your interests, and to superintend the funeral -arrangements. Is this your wish?" - -"You cannot safe my life, I haf not long to lif; but you vill leaf me -in beace!" - -"Oh! you shall not be disturbed," said Villemot. - -"Ver' goot. Vat must I do for dat?" - -"Sign this paper appointing M. Tabareau to act for you in all matters -relating to the settlement of the affairs of the deceased." - -"Goot! gif it to me," said Schmucke, anxious only to sign it at once. - -"No, I must read it over to you first." - -"Read it ofer." - -Schmucke paid not the slightest attention to the reading of the power -of attorney, but he set his name to it. The young clerk took -Schmucke's orders for the funeral, the interment, and the burial -service; undertaking that he should not be troubled again in any way, -nor asked for money. - -"I vould gif all dat I haf to be left in beace," said the unhappy man. -And once more he knelt beside the dead body of his friend. - -Fraisier had triumphed. Villemot and La Sauvage completed the circle -which he had traced about Pons' heir. - -There is no sorrow that sleep cannot overcome. Towards the end of the -day La Sauvage, coming in, found Schmucke stretched asleep at the -bed-foot. She carried him off, put him to bed, tucked him in -maternally, and till the morning Schmucke slept. - -When he awoke, or rather when the truce was over and he again became -conscious of his sorrows, Pons' coffin lay under the gateway in such a -state as a third-class funeral may claim, and Schmucke, seeking vainly -for his friend, wandered from room to room, across vast spaces, as it -seemed to him, empty of everything save hideous memories. La Sauvage -took him in hand, much as a nurse manages a child; she made him take -his breakfast before starting for the church; and while the poor -sufferer forced himself to eat, she discovered, with lamentations -worthy of Jeremiah, that he had not a black coat in his possession. La -Cibot took entire charge of his wardrobe; since Pons fell ill, his -apparel, like his dinner, had been reduced to the lowest terms--to a -couple of coats and two pairs of trousers. - -"And you are going just as you are to M. Pons' funeral? It is an -unheard-of thing; the whole quarter will cry shame upon us!" - -"Und how vill you dat I go?" - -"Why, in mourning--" - -"Mourning!" - -"It is the proper thing." - -"Der bropper ding! . . . Confound all dis stupid nonsense!" cried poor -Schmucke, driven to the last degree of exasperation which a childlike -soul can reach under stress of sorrow. - -"Why, the man is a monster of ingratitude!" said La Sauvage, turning -to a personage who just then appeared. At the sight of this -functionary Schmucke shuddered. The newcomer wore a splendid suit of -black, black knee-breeches, black silk stockings, a pair of white -cuffs, an extremely correct white muslin tie, and white gloves. A -silver chain with a coin attached ornamented his person. A typical -official, stamped with the official expression of decorous gloom, an -ebony wand in his hand by way of insignia of office, he stood waiting -with a three-cornered hat adorned with the tricolor cockade under his -arm. - -"I am the master of the ceremonies," this person remarked in a subdued -voice. - -Accustomed daily to superintend funerals, to move among families -plunged in one and the same kind of tribulation, real or feigned, this -man, like the rest of his fraternity, spoke in hushed and soothing -tones; he was decorous, polished, and formal, like an allegorical -stone figure of Death. - -Schmucke quivered through every nerve as if he were confronting his -executioner. - -"Is this gentleman the son, brother, or father of the deceased?" -inquired the official. - -"I am all dat and more pesides--I am his friend," said Schmucke -through a torrent of weeping. - -"Are you his heir?" - -"Heir? . . ." repeated Schmucke. "Noding matters to me more in dis -vorld," returning to his attitude of hopeless sorrow. - -"Where are the relatives, the friends?" asked the master of the -ceremonies. - -"All here!" exclaimed the German, indicating the pictures and -rarities. "Not von of dem haf efer gifn bain to mein boor Bons. . . . -Here ees everydings dot he lofed, after me." - -Schmucke had taken his seat again, and looked as vacant as before; he -dried his eyes mechanically. Villemot came up at that moment; he had -ordered the funeral, and the master of the ceremonies, recognizing -him, made an appeal to the newcomer. - -"Well, sir, it is time to start. The hearse is here; but I have not -often seen such a funeral as this. Where are the relatives and -friends?" - -"We have been pressed for time," replied Villemot. "This gentleman was -in such deep grief that he could think of nothing. And there is only -one relative." - -The master of the ceremonies looked compassionately at Schmucke; this -expert in sorrow knew real grief when he saw it. He went across to -him. - -"Come, take heart, my dear sir. Think of paying honor to your friend's -memory." - -"We forgot to send out cards; but I took care to send a special -message to M. le Presidente de Marville, the one relative that I -mentioned to you.--There are no friends.--M. Pons was conductor of an -orchestra at a theatre, but I do not think that any one will come. ---This gentleman is the universal legatee, I believe." - -"Then he ought to be chief mourner," said the master of the -ceremonies.--"Have you a black coat?" he continued, noticing -Schmucke's costume. - -"I am all in plack insite!" poor Schmucke replied in heartrending -tones; "so plack it is dot I feel death in me. . . . Gott in hefn is -going to haf pity upon me; He vill send me to mein friend in der -grafe, und I dank Him for it--" - -He clasped his hands. - -"I have told our management before now that we ought to have a -wardrobe department and lend the proper mourning costumes on hire," -said the master of the ceremonies, addressing Villemot; "it is a want -that is more and more felt every day, and we have even now introduced -improvements. But as this gentleman is chief mourner, he ought to wear -a cloak, and this one that I have brought with me will cover him from -head to foot; no one need know that he is not in proper mourning -costume.--Will you be so kind as to rise?" - -Schmucke rose, but he tottered on his feet. - -"Support him," said the master of the ceremonies, turning to Villemot; -"you are his legal representative." - -Villemot held Schmucke's arm while the master of the ceremonies -invested Schmucke with the ample, dismal-looking garment worn by -heirs-at-law in the procession to and from the house and the church. -He tied the black silken cords under the chin, and Schmucke as heir -was in "full dress." - -"And now comes a great difficulty," continued the master of the -ceremonies; "we want four bearers for the pall. . . . If nobody comes -to the funeral, who is to fill the corners? It is half-past ten -already," he added, looking at his watch; "they are waiting for us at -the church." - -"Oh! here comes Fraisier!" Villemot exclaimed, very imprudently; but -there was no one to hear the tacit confession of complicity. - -"Who is this gentleman?" inquired the master of the ceremonies. - -"Oh! he comes on behalf of the family." - -"Whose family?" - -"The disinherited family. He is M. Camusot de Marville's -representative." - -"Good," said the master of the ceremonies, with a satisfied air. "We -shall have two pall-bearers at any rate--you and he." - -And, happy to find two of the places filled up, he took out some -wonderful white buckskin gloves, and politely presented Fraisier and -Villemot with a pair apiece. - -"If you gentlemen will be so good as to act as pall-bearers--" said -he. - -Fraisier, in black from head to foot, pretentiously dressed, with his -white tie and official air, was a sight to shudder at; he embodied a -hundred briefs. - -"Willingly, sir," said he. - -"If only two more persons will come, the four corners will be filled -up," said the master of the ceremonies. - -At that very moment the indefatigable representative of the firm of -Sonet came up, and, closely following him, the man who remembered Pons -and thought of paying him a last tribute of respect. This was a -supernumerary at the theatre, the man who put out the scores on the -music-stands for the orchestra. Pons had been wont to give him a -five-franc piece once a month, knowing that he had a wife and family. - -"Oh, Dobinard (Topinard)!" Schmucke cried out at the sight of him, -"_you_ love Bons!" - -"Why, I have come to ask news of M. Pons every morning, sir." - -"Efery morning! boor Dobinard!" and Schmucke squeezed the man's hand. - -"But they took me for a relation, no doubt, and did not like my visits -at all. I told them that I belonged to the theatre and came to inquire -after M. Pons; but it was no good. They saw through that dodge, they -said. I asked to see the poor dear man, but they never would let me -come upstairs." - -"Dat apominable Zipod!" said Schmucke, squeezing Topinard's horny hand -to his heart. - -"He was the best of men, that good M. Pons. Every month he use to give -me five francs. . . . He knew that I had three children and a wife. My -wife has gone to the church." - -"I shall difide mein pread mit you," cried Schmucke, in his joy at -finding at his side some one who loved Pons. - -"If this gentleman will take a corner of the pall, we shall have all -four filled up," said the master of the ceremonies. - -There had been no difficulty over persuading the agent for monuments. -He took a corner the more readily when he was shown the handsome pair -of gloves which, according to custom, was to be his property. - -"A quarter to eleven! We absolutely must go down. They are waiting for -us at the church." - -The six persons thus assembled went down the staircase. - -The cold-blooded lawyer remained a moment to speak to the two women on -the landing. "Stop here, and let nobody come in," he said, "especially -if you wish to remain in charge, Mme. Cantinet. Aha! two francs a day, -you know!" - -By a coincidence in nowise extraordinary in Paris, two hearses were -waiting at the door, and two coffins standing under the archway; -Cibot's funeral and the solitary state in which Pons was lying was -made even more striking in the street. Schmucke was the only mourner -that followed Pons' coffin; Schmucke, supported by one of the -undertaker's men, for he tottered at every step. From the Rue de -Normandie to the Rue d'Orleans and the Church of Saint-Francois the -two funerals went between a double row of curious onlookers for -everything (as was said before) makes a sensation in the quarter. -Every one remarked the splendor of the white funeral car, with a big -embroidered P suspended on a hatchment, and the one solitary mourner -behind it; while the cheap bier that came after it was followed by an -immense crowd. Happily, Schmucke was so bewildered by the throng of -idlers and the rows of heads in the windows, that he heard no remarks -and only saw the faces through a mist of tears. - -"Oh, it is the nutcracker!" said one, "the musician, you know--" - -"Who can the pall-bearers be?" - -"Pooh! play-actors." - -"I say, just look at poor old Cibot's funeral. There is one worker the -less. What a man! he could never get enough of work!" - -"He never went out." - -"He never kept Saint Monday." - -"How fond he was of his wife!" - -"Ah! There is an unhappy woman!" - -Remonencq walked behind his victim's coffin. People condoled with him -on the loss of his neighbor. - -The two funerals reached the church. Cantinet and the doorkeeper saw -that no beggars troubled Schmucke. Villemot had given his word that -Pons' heir should be left in peace; he watched over his client, and -gave the requisite sums; and Cibot's humble bier, escorted by sixty or -eighty persons, drew all the crowd after it to the cemetery. At the -church door Pons' funeral possession mustered four mourning-coaches, -one for the priest and three for the relations; but one only was -required, for the representative of the firm of Sonet departed during -mass to give notice to his principal that the funeral was on the way, -so that the design for the monument might be ready for the survivor at -the gates of the cemetery. A single coach sufficed for Fraisier, -Villemot, Schmucke, and Topinard; but the remaining two, instead of -returning to the undertaker, followed in the procession to -Pere-Lachaise--a useless procession, not unfrequently seen; there are -always too many coaches when the dead are unknown beyond their own -circle and there is no crowd at the funeral. Dear, indeed, the dead -must have been in their lifetime if relative or friend will go with -them so far as the cemetery in this Paris, where every one would fain -have twenty-five hours in the day. But with the coachmen it is -different; they lose their tips if they do not make the journey; so, -empty or full, the mourning coaches go to the church and cemetery and -return to the house for gratuities. A death is a sort of -drinking-fountain for an unimagined crowd of thirsty mortals. The -attendants at the church, the poor, the undertaker's men, the drivers -and sextons, are creatures like sponges that dip into a hearse and -come out again saturated. - -From the church door, where he was beset with a swarm of beggars -(promptly dispersed by the beadle), to Pere-Lachaise, poor Schmucke -went as criminals went in old times from the Palais de Justice to the -Place de Greve. It was his own funeral that he followed, clinging to -Topinard's hand, to the one living creature besides himself who felt a -pang of real regret for Pons' death. - -As for Topinard, greatly touched by the honor of the request to act as -pall-bearer, content to drive in a carriage, the possessor of a new -pair of gloves,--it began to dawn upon him that this was to be one of -the great days of his life. Schmucke was driven passively along the -road, as some unlucky calf is driven in a butcher's cart to the -slaughter-house. Fraisier and Villemot sat with their backs to the -horses. Now, as those know whose sad fortune it has been to accompany -many of their friends to their last resting-place, all hypocrisy -breaks down in the coach during the journey (often a very long one) -from the church to the eastern cemetery, to that one of the -burying-grounds of Paris in which all vanities, all kinds of display, -are met, so rich is it in sumptuous monuments. On these occasions those -who feel least begin to talk soonest, and in the end the saddest listen, -and their thoughts are diverted. - -"M. le President had already started for the Court." Fraisier told -Villemot, "and I did not think it necessary to tear him away from -business; he would have come too late, in any case. He is the -next-of-kin; but as he has been disinherited, and M. Schmucke gets -everything, I thought that if his legal representative were present -it would be enough." - -Topinard lent an ear to this. - -"Who was the queer customer that took the fourth corner?" continued -Fraisier. - -"He is an agent for a firm of monumental stone-masons. He would like -an order for a tomb, on which he proposes to put three sculptured -marble figures--Music, Painting, and Sculpture shedding tears over the -deceased." - -"It is an idea," said Fraisier; "the old gentleman certainly deserved -that much; but the monument would cost seven or eight hundred francs." - -"Oh! quite that!" - -"If M. Schmucke gives the order, it cannot affect the estate. You -might eat up a whole property with such expenses." - -"There would be a lawsuit, but you would gain it--" - -"Very well," said Fraisier, "then it will be his affair.--It would be -a nice practical joke to play upon the monument-makers," Fraisier -added in Villemot's ear; "for if the will is upset (and I can answer -for that), or if there is no will at all, who would pay them?" - -Villemot grinned like a monkey, and the pair began to talk -confidentially, lowering their voices; but the man from the theatre, -with his wits and senses sharpened in the world behind the scenes, -could guess at the nature of their discourse; in spite of the rumbling -of the carriage and other hindrances, he began to understand that -these representatives of justice were scheming to plunge poor Schmucke -into difficulties; and when at last he heard the ominous word -"Clichy," the honest and loyal servitor of the stage made up his mind -to watch over Pons' friend. - -At the cemetery, where three square yards of ground had been purchased -through the good offices of the firm of Sonet (Villemot having -announced Schmucke's intention of erecting a magnificent monument), -the master of ceremonies led Schmucke through a curious crowd to the -grave into which Pons' coffin was about to be lowered; but here, at -the sight of the square hole, the four men waiting with ropes to lower -the bier, and the clergy saying the last prayer for the dead at the -grave-side, something clutched tightly at the German's heart. He -fainted away. - -Sonet's agent and M. Sonet himself came to help Topinard to carry poor -Schmucke into the marble-works hard by, where Mme. Sonet and Mme. -Vitelot (Sonet's partner's wife) were eagerly prodigal of efforts to -revive him. Topinard stayed. He had seen Fraisier in conversation with -Sonet's agent, and Fraisier, in his opinion, had gallows-bird written -on his face. - -An hour later, towards half-past two o'clock, the poor, innocent -German came to himself. Schmucke thought that he had been dreaming for -the past two days; if he could only wake, he should find Pons still -alive. So many wet towels had been laid on his forehead, he had been -made to inhale salts and vinegar to such an extent, that he opened his -eyes at last. Mme. Sonet make him take some meat-soup, for they had -put the pot on the fire at the marble-works. - -"Our clients do not often take things to heart like this; still, it -happens once in a year or two--" - -At last Schmucke talked of returning to the Rue de Normandie, and at -this Sonet began at once. - -"Here is the design, sir," he said; "Vitelot drew it expressly for -you, and sat up last night to do it. . . . And he has been happily -inspired, it will look fine--" - -"One of the finest in Pere-Lachaise!" said the little Mme. Sonet. "But -you really ought to honor the memory of a friend who left you all his -fortune." - -The design, supposed to have been drawn on purpose, had, as a matter -of fact, been prepared for de Marsay, the famous cabinet minister. His -widow, however, had given the commission to Stidmann; people were -disgusted with the tawdriness of the project, and it was refused. The -three figures at that period represented the three days of July which -brought the eminent minister to power. Subsequently, Sonet and Vitelot -had turned the Three Glorious Days--"_les trois glorieuses_"--into the -Army, Finance, and the Family, and sent in the design for the -sepulchre of the late lamented Charles Keller; and here again Stidmann -took the commission. In the eleven years that followed, the sketch had -been modified to suit all kinds of requirements, and now in Vitelot's -fresh tracing they reappeared as Music, Sculpture, and Painting. - -"It is a mere trifle when you think of the details and cost of setting -it up; for it will take six months," said Vitelot. "Here is the -estimate and the order-form--seven thousand francs, sketch in plaster -not included." - -"If M. Schmucke would like marble," put in Sonet (marble being his -special department), "it would cost twelve thousand francs, and -monsieur would immortalize himself as well as his friend." - -Topinard turned to Vitelot. - -"I have just heard that they are going to dispute the will," he -whispered, "and the relatives are likely to come by their property. Go -and speak to M. Camusot, for this poor, harmless creature has not a -farthing." - -"This is the kind of customer that you always bring us," said Mme. -Vitelot, beginning a quarrel with the agent. - -Topinard led Schmucke away, and they returned home on foot to the Rue -de Normandie, for the mourning-coaches had been sent back. - -"Do not leaf me," Schmucke said, when Topinard had seen him safe into -Mme. Sauvage's hands, and wanted to go. - -"It is four o'clock, dear M. Schmucke. I must go home to dinner. My -wife is a box-opener--she will not know what has become of me. The -theatre opens at a quarter to six, you know." - -"Yes, I know . . . but remember dat I am alone in die earth, dat I haf -no friend. You dat haf shed a tear for Bons enliden me; I am in teep -tarkness, und Bons said dat I vas in der midst of shcoundrels." - -"I have seen that plainly already; I have just prevented them from -sending you to Clichy." - -"_Gligy!_" repeated Schmucke; "I do not understand." - -"Poor man! Well, never mind, I will come to you. Good-bye." - -"Goot-bye; komm again soon," said Schmucke, dropping half-dead with -weariness. - -"Good-bye, mosieu," said Mme. Sauvage, and there was something in her -tone that struck Topinard. - -"Oh, come, what is the matter now?" he asked, banteringly. "You are -attitudinizing like a traitor in a melodrama." - -"Traitor yourself! Why have you come meddling here? Do you want to -have a hand in the master's affairs, and swindle him, eh?" - -"Swindle him! . . . Your very humble servant!" Topinard answered with -superb disdain. "I am only a poor super at a theatre, but I am -something of an artist, and you may as well know that I never asked -anything of anybody yet! Who asked anything of you? Who owes you -anything? eh, old lady!" - -"You are employed at a theatre, and your name is--?" - -"Topinard, at your service." - -"Kind regards to all at home," said La Sauvage, "and my compliments to -your missus, if you are married, mister. . . . That was all I wanted -to know." - -"Why, what is the matter, dear?" asked Mme. Cantinet, coming out. - -"This, child--stop here and look after the dinner while I run round to -speak to monsieur." - -"He is down below, talking with poor Mme. Cibot, that is crying her -eyes out," said Mme. Cantinet. - -La Sauvage dashed down in such headlong haste that the stairs trembled -beneath her tread. - -"Monsieur!" she called, and drew him aside a few paces to point out -Topinard. - -Topinard was just going away, proud at heart to have made some return -already to the man who had done him so many kindnesses. He had saved -Pons' friend from a trap, by a stratagem from that world behind the -scenes in which every one has more or less ready wit. And within -himself he vowed to protect a musician in his orchestra from future -snares set for his simple sincerity. - -"Do you see that little wretch?" said La Sauvage. "He is a kind of -honest man that has a mind to poke his nose into M. Schmucke's -affairs." - -"Who is he?" asked Fraisier. - -"Oh! he is a nobody." - -"In business there is no such thing as a nobody." - -"Oh, he is employed at the theatre," said she; "his name is Topinard." - -"Good, Mme. Sauvage! Go on like this, and you shall have your -tobacconist's shop." - -And Fraisier resumed his conversation with Mme. Cibot. - -"So I say, my dear client, that you have not played openly and -above-board with me, and that one is not bound in any way to a -partner who cheats." - -"And how have I cheated you?" asked La Cibot, hands on hips. "Do you -think that you will frighten me with your sour looks and your frosty -airs? You look about for bad reasons for breaking your promises, and -you call yourself an honest man! Do you know what you are? You are a -blackguard! Yes! yes! scratch your arm; but just pocket that--" - -"No words, and keep your temper, dearie. Listen to me. You have been -feathering your nest. . . . I found this catalogue this morning while -we were getting ready for the funeral; it is all in M. Pons' -handwriting, and made out in duplicate. And as it chanced, my eyes -fell on this--" - -And opening the catalogue, he read: - - "No. 7. _Magnificent portrait painted on marble, by Sebastian del - Piombo, in 1546. Sold by a family who had it removed from Terni - Cathedral. The picture, which represents a Knight-Templar kneeling - in prayer, used to hang above a tomb of the Rossi family with a - companion portrait of a Bishop, afterwards purchased by an - Englishman. The portrait might be attributed to Raphael, but for - the date. This example is, to my mind, superior to the portrait of - Baccio Bandinelli in the Musee; the latter is a little hard, while - the Templar, being painted upon 'lavagna,' or slate, has preserved - its freshness of coloring._" - -"When I come to look for No. 7," continued Fraisier, "I find a -portrait of a lady, signed 'Chardin,' without a number on it! I went -through the pictures with the catalogue while the master of ceremonies -was making up the number of pall-bearers, and found that eight of -those indicated as works of capital importance by M. Pons had -disappeared, and eight paintings of no special merit, and without -numbers, were there instead. . . . And finally, one was missing -altogether, a little panel-painting by Metzu, described in the -catalogue as a masterpiece." - -"And was _I_ in charge of the pictures?" demanded La Cibot. - -"No; but you were in a position of trust. You were M. Pons' -housekeeper, you looked after his affairs, and he has been robbed--" - -"Robbed! Let me tell you this, sir: M. Schmucke sold the pictures, by -M. Pons' orders, to meet expenses." - -"And to whom?" - -"To Messrs. Elie Magus and Remonencq." - -"For how much?" - -"I am sure I do not remember." - -"Look here, my dear madame; you have been feathering your nest, and -very snugly. I shall keep an eye upon you; I have you safe. Help me, I -will say nothing! In any case, you know that since you deemed it -expedient to plunder M. le President Camusot, you ought not to expect -anything from _him_." - -"I was sure that this would all end in smoke, for me," said La Cibot, -mollified by the words "I will say nothing." - -Remonencq chimed in at this point. - -"Here are you finding fault with Mme. Cibot; that is not right!" he -said. "The pictures were sold by private treaty between M. Pons, M. -Magus, and me. We waited for three days before we came to terms with -the deceased; he slept on his pictures. We took receipts in proper -form; and if we gave Madame Cibot a few forty-franc pieces, it is the -custom of the trade--we always do so in private houses when we -conclude a bargain. Ah! my dear sir, if you think to cheat a -defenceless woman, you will not make a good bargain! Do you -understand, master lawyer?--M. Magus rules the market, and if you do -not come down off the high horse, if you do not keep your word to Mme. -Cibot, I shall wait till the collection is sold, and you shall see -what you will lose if you have M. Magus and me against you; we can get -the dealers in a ring. Instead of realizing seven or eight hundred -thousand francs, you will not so much as make two hundred thousand." - -"Good, good, we shall see. We are not going to sell; or if we do, it -will be in London." - -"We know London," said Remonencq. "M. Magus is as powerful there as at -Paris." - -"Good-day, madame; I shall sift these matters to the bottom," said -Fraisier--"unless you continue to do as I tell you" he added. - -"You little pickpocket!--" - -"Take care! I shall be a justice of the peace before long." And with -threats understood to the full upon either side, they separated. - -"Thank you, Remonencq!" said La Cibot; "it is very pleasant to a poor -widow to find a champion." - - - -Towards ten o'clock that evening, Gaudissart sent for Topinard. The -manager was standing with his back to the fire, in a Napoleonic -attitude--a trick which he had learned since be began to command his -army of actors, dancers, _figurants_, musicians, and stage carpenters. -He grasped his left-hand brace with his right hand, always thrust into -his waistcoat; he head was flung far back, his eyes gazed out into -space. - -"Ah! I say, Topinard, have you independent means?" - -"No, sir." - -"Are you on the lookout to better yourself somewhere else?" - -"No, sir--" said Topinard, with a ghastly countenance. - -"Why, hang it all, your wife takes the first row of boxes out of -respect to my predecessor, who came to grief; I gave you the job of -cleaning the lamps in the wings in the daytime, and you put out the -scores. And that is not all, either. You get twenty sous for acting -monsters and managing devils when a hell is required. There is not a -super that does not covet your post, and there are those that are -jealous of you, my friend; you have enemies in the theatre." - -"Enemies!" repeated Topinard. - -"And you have three children; the oldest takes children's parts at -fifty centimes--" - -"Sir!--" - -"You want to meddle in other people's business, and put your finger -into a will case.--Why, you wretched man, you would be crushed like an -egg-shell! My patron is His Excellency, Monseigneur le Comte Popinot, -a clever man and a man of high character, whom the King in his wisdom -has summoned back to the privy council. This statesman, this great -politician, has married his eldest son to a daughter of M. le -President de Marville, one of the foremost men among the high courts -of justice; one of the leading lights of the law-courts. Do you know -the law-courts? Very good. Well, he is cousin and heir to M. Pons, to -our old conductor whose funeral you attended this morning. I do not -blame you for going to pay the last respects to him, poor man. . . . -But if you meddle in M. Schmucke's affairs, you will lose your place. -I wish very well to M. Schmucke, but he is in a delicate position with -regard to the heirs--and as the German is almost nothing to me, and -the President and Count Popinot are a great deal, I recommend you to -leave the worthy German to get out of his difficulties by himself. -There is a special Providence that watches over Germans, and the part -of deputy guardian-angel would not suit you at all. Do you see? Stay -as you are--you cannot do better." - -"Very good, monsieur le directeur," said Topinard, much distressed. -And in this way Schmucke lost the protector sent to him by fate, the -one creature that shed a tear for Pons, the poor super for whose -return he looked on the morrow. - -Next morning poor Schmucke awoke to a sense of his great and heavy -loss. He looked round the empty rooms. Yesterday and the day before -yesterday the preparations for the funeral had made a stir and bustle -which distracted his eyes; but the silence which follows the day, when -the friend, father, son, or loved wife has been laid in the grave--the -dull, cold silence of the morrow is terrible, is glacial. Some -irresistible force drew him to Pons' chamber, but the sight of it was -more than the poor man could bear; he shrank away and sat down in the -dining-room, where Mme. Sauvage was busy making breakfast ready. - -Schmucke drew his chair to the table, but he could eat nothing. A -sudden, somewhat sharp ringing of the door-bell rang through the -house, and Mme. Cantinet and Mme. Sauvage allowed three black-coated -personages to pass. First came Vitel, the justice of the peace, with -his highly respectable clerk; third was Fraisier, neither sweeter nor -milder for the disappointing discovery of a valid will canceling the -formidable instrument so audaciously stolen by him. - -"We have come to affix seals on the property," the justice of the -peace said gently, addressing Schmucke. But the remark was Greek to -Schmucke; he gazed in dismay at his three visitors. - -"We have come at the request of M. Fraisier, legal representative of -M. Camusot de Marville, heir of the late Pons--" added the clerk. - -"The collection is here in this great room, and in the bedroom of the -deceased," remarked Fraisier. - -"Very well, let us go into the next room.--Pardon us, sir; do not let -us interrupt with your breakfast." - -The invasion struck an icy chill of terror into poor Schmucke. -Fraisier's venomous glances seemed to possess some magnetic influence -over his victims, like the power of a spider over a fly. - -"M. Schmucke understood how to turn a will, made in the presence of a -notary, to his own advantage," he said, "and he surely must have -expected some opposition from the family. A family does not allow -itself to be plundered by a stranger without some protest; and we -shall see, sir, which carries the day--fraud and corruption or the -rightful heirs. . . . We have a right as next of kin to affix seals, -and seals shall be affixed. I mean to see that the precaution is taken -with the utmost strictness." - -"Ach, mein Gott! how haf I offended against Hefn?" cried the innocent -Schmucke. - -"There is a good deal of talk about you in the house," said La -Sauvage. "While you were asleep, a little whipper-snapper in a black -suit came here, a puppy that said he was M. Hannequin's head-clerk, -and must see you at all costs; but as you were asleep and tired out -with the funeral yesterday, I told him that M. Villemot, Tabareau's -head-clerk, was acting for you, and if it was a matter of business, I -said, he might speak to M. Villemot. 'Ah, so much the better!' the -youngster said. 'I shall come to an understanding with him. We will -deposit the will at the Tribunal, after showing it to the President.' -So at that, I told him to ask M. Villemot to come here as soon as he -could.--Be easy, my dear sir, there are those that will take care of -you. They shall not shear the fleece off your back. You will have some -one that has beak and claws. M. Villemot will give them a piece of his -mind. I have put myself in a passion once already with that abominable -hussy, La Cibot, a porter's wife that sets up to judge her lodgers, -forsooth, and insists that you have filched the money from the heirs; -you locked M. Pons up, she says, and worked upon him till he was -stark, staring mad. She got as good as she gave, though, the wretched -woman. 'You are a thief and a bad lot,' I told her; 'you will get into -the police-courts for all the things that you have stolen from the -gentlemen,' and she shut up." - -The clerk came out to speak to Schmucke. - -"Would you wish to be present, sir, when the seals are affixed in the -next room?" - -"Go on, go on," said Schmucke; "I shall pe allowed to die in beace, I -bresume?" - -"Oh, under any circumstances a man has a right to die," the clerk -answered, laughing; "most of our business relates to wills. But, in my -experience, the universal legatee very seldom follows the testator to -the tomb." - -"I am going," said Schmucke. Blow after blow had given him an -intolerable pain at the heart. - -"Oh! here comes M. Villemot!" exclaimed La Sauvage. - -"Mennesir Fillemod," said poor Schmucke, "rebresent me." - -"I hurried here at once," said Villemot. "I have come to tell you that -the will is completely in order; it will certainly be confirmed by the -court, and you will be put in possession. You will have a fine -fortune." - -"_I?_ Ein fein vordune?" cried Schmucke, despairingly. That he of all -men should be suspected of caring for the money! - -"And meantime what is the justice of the peace doing here with his wax -candles and his bits of tape?" asked La Sauvage. - -"Oh, he is affixing seals. . . . Come, M. Schmucke, you have a right -to be present." - -"No--go in yourself." - -"But where is the use of the seals if M. Schmucke is in his own house -and everything belongs to him?" asked La Sauvage, doing justice in -feminine fashion, and interpreting the Code according to their fancy, -like one and all of her sex. - -"M. Schmucke is not in possession, madame; he is in M. Pons' house. -Everything will be his, no doubt; but the legatee cannot take -possession without an authorization--an order from the Tribunal. And -if the next-of-kin set aside by the testator should dispute the order, -a lawsuit is the result. And as nobody knows what may happen, -everything is sealed up, and the notaries representing either side -proceed to draw up an inventory during the delay prescribed by the -law. . . . And there you are!" - -Schmucke, hearing such talk for the first time in his life, was -completely bewildered by it; his head sank down upon the back of his -chair--he could not support it, it had grown so heavy. - -Villemot meanwhile went off to chat with the justice of the peace and -his clerk, assisting with professional coolness to affix the seals--a -ceremony which always involves some buffoonery and plentiful comments -on the objects thus secured, unless, indeed, one of the family happens -to be present. At length the party sealed up the chamber and returned -to the dining-room, whither the clerk betook himself. Schmucke watched -the mechanical operation which consists in setting the justice's seal -at either end of a bit of tape stretched across the opening of a -folding-door; or, in the case of a cupboard or ordinary door, from -edge to edge above the door-handle. - -"Now for this room," said Fraisier, pointing to Schmucke's bedroom, -which opened into the dining-room. - -"But that is M. Schmucke's own room," remonstrated La Sauvage, -springing in front of the door. - -"We found the lease among the papers," Fraisier said ruthlessly; -"there was no mention of M. Schmucke in it; it is taken out in M. -Pons' name only. The whole place, and every room in it, is a part of -the estate. And besides"--flinging open the door--"look here, monsieur -le juge de la paix, it is full of pictures." - -"So it is," answered the justice of the peace, and Fraisier thereupon -gained his point. - -"Wait a bit, gentlemen," said Villemot. "Do you know that you are -turning the universal legatee out of doors, and as yet his right has -not been called in question?" - -"Yes, it has," said Fraisier; "we are opposing the transfer of the -property." - -"And upon what grounds?" - -"You shall know that by and by, my boy," Fraisier replied, -banteringly. "At this moment, if the legatee withdraws everything that -he declares to be his, we shall raise no objections, but the room -itself will be sealed. And M. Schmucke may lodge where he pleases." - -"No," said Villemot; "M. Schmucke is going to stay in his room." - -"And how?" - -"I shall demand an immediate special inquiry," continued Villemot, -"and prove that we pay half the rent. You shall not turn us out. Take -away the pictures, decide on the ownership of the various articles, -but here my client stops--'my boy.'" - -"I shall go out!" the old musician suddenly said. He had recovered -energy during the odious dispute. - -"You had better," said Fraisier. "Your course will save expense to -you, for your contention would not be made good. The lease is -evidence--" - -"The lease! the lease!" cried Villemot, "it is a question of good -faith--" - -"That could only be proved in a criminal case, by calling witnesses. ---Do you mean to plunge into experts' fees and verifications, and -orders to show cause why judgment should not be given, and law -proceedings generally?" - -"No, no!" cried Schmucke in dismay. "I shall turn out; I am used to -it--" - -In practice Schmucke was a philosopher, an unconscious cynic, so -greatly had he simplified his life. Two pairs of shoes, a pair of -boots, a couple of suits of clothes, a dozen shirts, a dozen bandana -handkerchiefs, four waistcoats, a superb pipe given to him by Pons, -with an embroidered tobacco-pouch--these were all his belongings. -Overwrought by a fever of indignation, he went into his room and piled -his clothes upon a chair. - -"All dese are mine," he said, with simplicity worthy of Cincinnatus. -"Der biano is also mine." - -Fraisier turned to La Sauvage. "Madame, get help," he said; "take that -piano out and put it on the landing." - -"You are too rough into the bargain," said Villemot, addressing -Fraisier. "The justice of the peace gives orders here; he is supreme." - -"There are valuables in the room," put in the clerk. - -"And besides," added the justice of the peace, "M. Schmucke is going -out of his own free will." - -"Did any one ever see such a client!" Villemot cried indignantly, -turning upon Schmucke. "You are as limp as a rag--" - -"Vat dos it matter vere von dies?" Schmucke said as he went out. "Dese -men haf tiger faces. . . . I shall send somebody to vetch mein bits of -dings." - -"Where are you going, sir?" - -"Vere it shall blease Gott," returned Pons' universal legatee with -supreme indifference. - -"Send me word," said Villemot. - -Fraisier turned to the head-clerk. "Go after him," he whispered. - -Mme. Cantinet was left in charge, with a provision of fifty francs -paid out of the money that they found. The justice of the peace looked -out; there Schmucke stood in the courtyard looking up at the windows -for the last time. - -"You have found a man of butter," remarked the justice. - -"Yes," said Fraisier, "yes. The thing is as good as done. You need not -hesitate to marry your granddaughter to Poulain; he will be -head-surgeon at the Quinze-Vingts." (The Asylum founded by St. Louis -for three hundred blind people.) - -"We shall see.--Good-day, M. Fraisier," said the justice of the peace -with a friendly air. - -"There is a man with a head on his shoulders," remarked the justice's -clerk. "The dog will go a long way." - -By this time it was eleven o'clock. The old German went like an -automaton down the road along which Pons and he had so often walked -together. Wherever he went he saw Pons, he almost thought that Pons -was by his side; and so he reached the theatre just as his friend -Topinard was coming out of it after a morning spent in cleaning the -lamps and meditating on the manager's tyranny. - -"Oh, shoost der ding for me!" cried Schmucke, stopping his -acquaintance. "Dopinart! you haf a lodging someveres, eh?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"A home off your own?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"Are you villing to take me for ein poarder? Oh! I shall pay ver' -vell; I haf nine hundert vrancs of inkomm, und--I haf not ver' long -ter lif. . . . I shall gif no drouble vatefer. . . . I can eat -onydings--I only vant to shmoke mein bipe. Und--you are der only von -dat haf shed a tear for Bons, mit me; und so, I lof you." - -"I should be very glad, sir; but, to begin with, M. Gaudissart has -given me a proper wigging--" - -"_Vigging?_" - -"That is one way of saying that he combed my hair for me." - -"_Combed your hair?_" - -"He gave me a scolding for meddling in your affairs. . . . So we must -be very careful if you come to me. But I doubt whether you will stay -when you have seen the place; you do not know how we poor devils -live." - -"I should rader der boor home of a goot-hearted mann dot haf mourned -Bons, dan der Duileries mit men dot haf ein tiger face. . . . I haf -chust left tigers in Bons' house; dey vill eat up everydings--" - -"Come with me, sir, and you shall see. But--well, anyhow, there is a -garret. Let us see what Mme. Topinard says." - -Schmucke followed like a sheep, while Topinard led the way into one of -the squalid districts which might be called the cancers of Paris--a -spot known as the Cite Bordin. It is a slum out of the Rue de Bondy, a -double row of houses run up by the speculative builder, under the -shadow of the huge mass of the Porte Saint-Martin theatre. The -pavement at the higher end lies below the level of the Rue de Bondy; -at the lower it falls away towards the Rue des Mathurins du Temple. -Follow its course and you find that it terminates in another slum -running at right angles to the first--the Cite Bordin is, in fact, a -T-shaped blind alley. Its two streets thus arranged contain some -thirty houses, six or seven stories high; and every story, and every -room in every story, is a workshop and a warehouse for goods of every -sort and description, for this wart upon the face of Paris is a -miniature Faubourg Saint-Antoine. Cabinet-work and brasswork, -theatrical costumes, blown glass, painted porcelain--all the various -fancy goods known as _l'article Paris_ are made here. Dirty and -productive like commerce, always full of traffic--foot-passengers, -vans, and drays--the Cite Bourdin is an unsavory-looking neighborhood, -with a seething population in keeping with the squalid surroundings. -It is a not unintelligent artisan population, though the whole power -of the intellect is absorbed by the day's manual labor. Topinard, like -every other inhabitant of the Cite Bourdin, lived in it for the sake -of comparatively low rent, the cause of its existence and prosperity. -His sixth floor lodging, in the second house to the left, looked out -upon the belt of green garden, still in existence, at the back of -three or four large mansions in the Rue de Bondy. - -Topinard's apartment consisted of a kitchen and two bedrooms. The -first was a nursery with two little deal bedsteads and a cradle in it, -the second was the bedroom, and the kitchen did duty as a dining-room. -Above, reached by a short ladder, known among builders as a -"trap-ladder," there was a kind of garret, six feet high, with a -sash-window let into the roof. This room, given as a servants' bedroom, -raised the Topinards' establishment from mere "rooms" to the dignity of -a tenement, and the rent to a corresponding sum of four hundred francs. -An arched lobby, lighted from the kitchen by a small round window, did -duty as an ante-chamber, and filled the space between the bedroom, the -kitchen, and house doors--three doors in all. The rooms were paved -with bricks, and hung with a hideous wall-paper at threepence apiece; -the chimneypieces that adorned them were of the kind called -_capucines_--a shelf set on a couple of brackets painted to resemble -wood. Here in these three rooms dwelt five human beings, three of them -children. Any one, therefore, can imagine how the walls were covered -with scores and scratches so far as an infant arm can reach. - -Rich people can scarcely realize the extreme simplicity of a poor -man's kitchen. A Dutch oven, a kettle, a gridiron, a saucepan, two or -three dumpy cooking-pots, and a frying-pan--that was all. All the -crockery in the place, white and brown earthenware together, was not -worth more than twelve francs. Dinner was served on the kitchen table, -which, with a couple of chairs and a couple of stools, completed the -furniture. The stock of fuel was kept under the stove with a -funnel-shaped chimney, and in a corner stood the wash-tub in which the -family linen lay, often steeping over-night in soapsuds. The nursery -ceiling was covered with clothes-lines, the walls were variegated with -theatrical placards and wood-cuts from newspapers or advertisements. -Evidently the eldest boy, the owner of the school-books stacked in a -corner, was left in charge while his parents were absent at the -theatre. In many a French workingman's family, so soon as a child -reaches the age of six or seven, it plays the part of mother to -younger sisters and brothers. - -From this bare outline, it may be imagined that the Topinards, to use -the hackneyed formula, were "poor but honest." Topinard himself was -verging on forty; Mme. Topinard, once leader of a chorus--mistress, -too, it was said, of Gaudissart's predecessor, was certainly thirty -years old. Lolotte had been a fine woman in her day; but the -misfortunes of the previous management had told upon her to such an -extent, that it had seemed to her to be both advisable and necessary -to contract a stage-marriage with Topinard. She did not doubt but -that, as soon as they could muster the sum of a hundred and fifty -francs, her Topinard would perform his vows agreeably to the civil -law, were it only to legitimize the three children, whom he worshiped. -Meantime, Mme. Topinard sewed for the theatre wardrobe in the morning; -and with prodigious effort, the brave couple made nine hundred francs -per annum between them. - -"One more flight!" Topinard had twice repeated since they reached the -third floor. Schmucke, engulfed in his sorrow, did not so much as know -whether he was going up or coming down. - -In another minute Topinard had opened the door; but before he appeared -in his white workman's blouse Mme. Topinard's voice rang from the -kitchen: - -"There, there! children, be quiet! here comes papa!" - -But the children, no doubt, did as they pleased with papa, for the -oldest member of the family, sitting astride a broomstick, continued -to command a charge of cavalry (a reminiscence of the -Cirque-Olympique), the second blew a tin trumpet, while the third did -its best to keep up with the main body of the army. Their mother was -at work on a theatrical costume. - -"Be quiet! or I shall slap you!" shouted Topinard in a formidable -voice; then in an aside for Schmucke's benefit--"Always have to say -that!--Here, little one," he continued, addressing his Lolotte, "this -is M. Schmucke, poor M. Pons' friend. He does not know where to go, -and he would like to live with us. I told him that we were not very -spick-and-span up here, that we lived on the sixth floor, and had only -the garret to offer him; but it was no use, he would come--" - -Schmucke had taken the chair which the woman brought him, and the -children, stricken with sudden shyness, had gathered together to give -the stranger that mute, earnest, so soon-finished scrutiny -characteristic of childhood. For a child, like a dog, is wont to judge -by instinct rather than reason. Schmucke looked up; his eyes rested on -that charming little picture; he saw the performer on the tin trumpet, -a little five-year-old maiden with wonderful golden hair. - -"She looks like ein liddle German girl," said Schmucke, holding out -his arms to the child. - -"Monsieur will not be very comfortable here," said Mme. Topinard. "I -would propose that he should have our room at once, but I am obliged -to have the children near me." - -She opened the door as she spoke, and bade Schmucke come in. Such -splendor as their abode possessed was all concentrated here. Blue -cotton curtains with a white fringe hung from the mahogany bedstead, -and adorned the window; the chest of drawers, bureau, and chairs, -though all made of mahogany, were neatly kept. The clock and -candlesticks on the chimneypiece were evidently the gift of the -bankrupt manager, whose portrait, a truly frightful performance of -Pierre Grassou's, looked down upon the chest of drawers. The children -tried to peep in at the forbidden glories. - -"Monsieur might be comfortable in here," said their mother. - -"No, no," Schmucke replied. "Eh! I haf not ver' long to lif, I only -vant a corner to die in." - -The door was closed, and the three went up to the garret. "Dis is der -ding for me," Schmucke cried at once. "Pefore I lifd mid Bons, I vas -nefer better lodged." - -"Very well. A truckle-bed, a couple of mattresses, a bolster, a -pillow, a couple of chairs, and a table--that is all that you need to -buy. That will not ruin you--it may cost a hundred and fifty francs, -with the crockeryware and strip of carpet for the bedside." - -Everything was settled--save the money, which was not forthcoming. -Schmucke saw that his new friends were very poor, and recollecting -that the theatre was only a few steps away, it naturally occurred to -him to apply to the manager for his salary. He went at once, and found -Gaudissart in his office. Gaudissart received him in the somewhat -stiffly polite manner which he reserved for professionals. Schmucke's -demand for a month's salary took him by surprise, but on inquiry he -found that it was due. - -"Oh, confound it, my good man, a German can always count, even if he -has tears in his eyes. . . . I thought that you would have taken the -thousand francs that I sent you into account, as a final year's -salary, and that we were quits." - -"We haf receifed nodings," said Schmucke; "und gif I komm to you, it -ees because I am in der shtreet, und haf not ein benny. How did you -send us der bonus?" - -"By your portress." - -"By Montame Zipod!" exclaimed Schmucke. "She killed Bons, she robbed -him, she sold him--she tried to purn his vill--she is a pad creature, -a monster!" - -"But, my good man, how come you to be out in the street without a roof -over your head or a penny in your pocket, when you are the sole heir? -That does not necessarily follow, as the saying is." - -"They haf put me out at der door. I am a voreigner, I know nodings of -die laws." - -"Poor man!" thought Gaudissart, foreseeing the probable end of the -unequal contest.--"Listen," he began, "do you know what you ought to -do in this business?" - -"I haf ein mann of pizness!" - -"Very good, come to terms at once with the next-of-kin; make them pay -you a lump sum of money down and an annuity, and you can live in -peace--" - -"I ask noding more." - -"Very well. Let me arrange it for you," said Gaudissart. Fraisier had -told him the whole story only yesterday, and he thought that he saw -his way to making interest out of the case with the young Vicomtesse -Popinot and her mother. He would finish a dirty piece of work, and -some day he would be a privy councillor, at least; or so he told -himself. - -"I gif you full powers." - -"Well. Let me see. Now, to begin with," said Gaudissart, Napoleon of -the boulevard theatres, "to begin with, here are a hundred crowns--" -(he took fifteen louis from his purse and handed them to Schmucke). - -"That is yours, on account of six months' salary. If you leave the -theatre, you can repay me the money. Now for your budget. What are -your yearly expenses? How much do you want to be comfortable? Come, -now, scheme out a life for a Sardanapalus--" - -"I only need two suits of clothes, von for der vinter, von for der -sommer." - -"Three hundred francs," said Gaudissart. - -"Shoes. Vour bairs." - -"Sixty francs." - -"Shtockings--" - -"A dozen pairs--thirty-six francs." - -"Half a tozzen shirts." - -"Six calico shirts, twenty-four francs; as many linen shirts, -forty-eight francs; let us say seventy-two. That makes four hundred -and sixty-eight francs altogether.--Say five hundred, including -cravats and pocket-handkerchiefs; a hundred francs for the laundress ---six hundred. And now, how much for your board--three francs a day?" - -"No, it ees too much." - -"After all, you want hats; that brings it to fifteen hundred. Five -hundred more for rent; that makes two thousand. If I can get two -thousand francs per annum for you, are you willing? . . . Good -securities." - -"Und mein tobacco." - -"Two thousand four hundred, then. . . . Oh! Papa Schmucke, do you call -that tobacco? Very well, the tobacco shall be given in.--So that is -two thousand four hundred francs per annum." - -"Dat ees not all! I should like som monny." - -"Pin-money!--Just so. Oh, these Germans! And calls himself an -innocent, the old Robert Macaire!" thought Gaudissart. Aloud he said, -"How much do you want? But this must be the last." - -"It ees to bay a zacred debt." - -"A debt!" said Gaudissart to himself. What a shark it is! He is worse -than an eldest son. He will invent a bill or two next! We must cut -this short. This Fraisier cannot take large views.--What debt is this, -my good man? Speak out." - -"Dere vas but von mann dot haf mourned Bons mit me. . . . He haf a -tear liddle girl mit wunderschones haar; it vas as if I saw mein boor -Deutschland dot I should nefer haf left. . . . Baris is no blace for -die Germans; dey laugh at dem" (with a little nod as he spoke, and the -air of a man who knows something of life in this world below). - -"He is off his head," Gaudissart said to himself. And a sudden pang of -pity for this poor innocent before him brought a tear to the manager's -eyes. - -"Ah! you understand, mennesir le directeur! Ver' goot. Dat mann mit -die liddle taughter is Dobinard, vat tidies der orchestra and lights -die lamps. Bons vas fery fond of him, und helped him. He vas der -only von dat accombanied mein only friend to die church und to die -grafe. . . . I vant dree tausend vrancs for him, und dree tausend for -die liddle von--" - -"Poor fellow!" said Gaudissart to himself. - -Rough, self-made man though he was, he felt touched by this nobleness -of nature, by a gratitude for a mere trifle, as the world views it; -though for the eyes of this divine innocence the trifle, like -Bossuet's cup of water, was worth more than the victories of great -captains. Beneath all Gaudissart's vanity, beneath the fierce desire -to succeed in life at all costs, to rise to the social level of his -old friend Popinot, there lay a warm heart and a kindly nature. -Wherefore he canceled his too hasty judgments and went over to -Schmucke's side. - -"You shall have it all! But I will do better still, my dear Schmucke. -Topinard is a good sort--" - -"Yes. I haf chust peen to see him in his boor home, vere he ees happy -mit his children--" - -"I will give him the cashier's place. Old Baudrand is going to leave." - -"Ah! Gott pless you!" cried Schmucke. - -"Very well, my good, kind fellow, meet me at Berthier's office about -four o'clock this afternoon. Everything shall be ready, and you shall -be secured from want for the rest of your days. You shall draw your -six thousand francs, and you shall have the same salary with Garangeot -that you used to have with Pons." - -"No," Schmucke answered. "I shall not lif. . . . I haf no heart for -anydings; I feel that I am attacked--" - -"Poor lamb!" Gaudissart muttered to himself as the German took his -leave. "But, after all, one lives on mutton; and, as the sublime -Beranger says, 'Poor sheep! you were made to be shorn,'" and he -hummed the political squib by way of giving vent to his feelings. Then -he rang for the office-boy. - -"Call my carriage," he said. - -"Rue de Hanovre," he told the coachman. - -The man of ambitions by this time had reappeared; he saw the way to -the Council of State lying straight before him. - - - -And Schmucke? He was busy buying flowers and cakes for Topinard's -children, and went home almost joyously. - -"I am gifing die bresents . . ." he said, and he smiled. It was the -first smile for three months, but any one who had seen Schmucke's face -would have shuddered to see it there. - -"But dere is ein condition--" - -"It is too kind of you, sir," said the mother. - -"De liddle girl shall gif me a kiss and put die flowers in her hair, -like die liddle German maidens--" - -"Olga, child, do just as the gentleman wishes," said the mother, -assuming an air of discipline. - -"Do not scold mein liddle German girl," implored Schmucke. It seemed -to him that the little one was his dear Germany. Topinard came in. - -"Three porters are bringing up the whole bag of tricks," he said. - -"Oh! Here are two hundred vrancs to bay for eferydings . . ." said -Schmucke. "But, mein friend, your Montame Dobinard is ver' nice; you -shall marry her, is it not so? I shall gif you tausend crowns, and die -liddle vone shall haf tausend crowns for her toury, and you shall -infest it in her name. . . . Und you are not to pe ein zuper any more ---you are to pe de cashier at de teatre--" - -"_I_?--instead of old Baudrand?" - -"Yes." - -"Who told you so?" - -"Mennesir Gautissart!" - -"Oh! it is enough to send one wild with joy! . . . Eh! I say, Rosalie, -what a rumpus there will be at the theatre! But it is not possible--" - -"Our benefactor must not live in a garret--" - -"Pshaw! for die few tays dat I haf to lif it ees fery komfortable," -said Schmucke. "Goot-pye; I am going to der zemetery, to see vat dey -haf don mit Bons, und to order som flowers for his grafe." - - - -Mme. Camusot de Marville was consumed by the liveliest apprehensions. -At a council held with Fraisier, Berthier, and Godeschal, the two -last-named authorities gave it as their opinion that it was hopeless -to dispute a will drawn up by two notaries in the presence of two -witnesses, so precisely was the instrument worded by Leopold -Hannequin. Honest Godeschal said that even if Schmucke's own legal -adviser should succeed in deceiving him, he would find out the truth -at last, if it were only from some officious barrister, the gentlemen -of the robe being wont to perform such acts of generosity and -disinterestedness by way of self-advertisement. And the two officials -took their leave of the Presidente with a parting caution against -Fraisier, concerning whom they had naturally made inquiries. - -At that very moment Fraisier, straight from the affixing of the seals -in the Rue de Normandie, was waiting for an interview with Mme. de -Marville. Berthier and Godeschal had suggested that he should be shown -into the study; the whole affair was too dirty for the President to -look into (to use their own expression), and they wished to give Mme. -de Marville their opinion in Fraisier's absence. - -"Well, madame, where are these gentlemen?" asked Fraisier, admitted to -audience. - -"They are gone. They advise me to give up," said Mme. de Marville. - -"Give up!" repeated Fraisier, suppressed fury in his voice. "Give up! -. . . Listen to this, madame:-- - - "'At the request of' . . . and so forth (I will omit the - formalities) . . . 'Whereas there has been deposited in the hands - of M. le President of the Court of First Instance, a will drawn up - by Maitres Leopold Hannequin and Alexandre Crottat, notaries of - Paris, and in the presence of two witnesses, the Sieurs Brunner - and Schwab, aliens domiciled at Paris, and by the said will the - Sieur Pons, deceased, has bequeathed his property to one Sieur - Schmucke, a German, to the prejudice of his natural heirs: - - "'Whereas the applicant undertakes to prove that the said will - was obtained under undue influence and by unlawful means; and - persons of credit are prepared to show that it was the testator's - intention to leave his fortune to Mlle. Cecile, daughter of the - aforesaid Sieur de Marville, and the applicant can show that the - said will was extorted from the testator's weakness, he being - unaccountable for his actions at the time: - - "'Whereas as the Sieur Schmucke, to obtain a will in his favor, - sequestrated the testator, and prevented the family from - approaching the deceased during his last illness; and his - subsequent notorious ingratitude was of a nature to scandalize the - house and residents in the quarter who chanced to witness it when - attending the funeral of the porter at the testator's place of - abode: - - "'Whereas as still more serious charges, of which applicant is - collecting proofs, will be formally made before their worships the - judges: - - "'I, the undersigned Registrar of the Court, etc., etc., on - behalf of the aforesaid, etc., have summoned the Sieur Schmucke, - pleading, etc., to appear before their worships the judges of the - first chamber of the Tribunal, and to be present when application - is made that the will received by Maitres Hannequin and Crottat, - being evidently obtained by undue influence, shall be regarded as - null and void in law; and I, the undersigned, on behalf of the - aforesaid, etc., have likewise given notice of protest, should the - Sieur Schmucke as universal legatee make application for an order - to be put into possession of the estate, seeing that the applicant - opposes such order, and makes objection by his application bearing - date of to-day, of which a copy has been duly deposited with the - Sieur Schmucke, costs being charged to . . . etc., etc.' - -"I know the man, Mme. le Presidente. He will come to terms as soon as -he reads this little love-letter. He will take our terms. Are you -going to give the thousand crowns per annum?" - -"Certainly. I only wish I were paying the first installment now." - -"It will be done in three days. The summons will come down upon him -while he is stupefied with grief, for the poor soul regrets Pons and -is taking the death to heart." - -"Can the application be withdrawn?" inquired the lady. - -"Certainly, madame. You can withdraw it at any time." - -"Very well, monsieur, let it be so . . . go on! Yes, the purchase of -land that you have arranged for me is worth the trouble; and, besides, -I have managed Vitel's business--he is to retire, and you must pay -Vitel's sixty thousand francs out of Pons' property. So, you see, you -must succeed." - -"Have you Vitel's resignation?" - -"Yes, monsieur. M. Vitel has put himself in M. de Marville's hands." - -"Very good, madame. I have already saved you sixty thousand francs -which I expected to give to that vile creature Mme. Cibot. But I still -require the tobacconist's license for the woman Sauvage, and an -appointment to the vacant place of head-physician at the Quinze-Vingts -for my friend Poulain." - -"Agreed--it is all arranged." - -"Very well. There is no more to be said. Every one is for you in this -business, even Gaudissart, the manager of the theatre. I went to look -him up yesterday, and he undertook to crush the workman who seemed -likely to give us trouble." - -"Oh, I know M. Gaudissart is devoted to the Popinots." - -Fraisier went out. Unluckily, he missed Gaudissart, and the fatal -summons was served forthwith. - -If all covetous minds will sympathize with the Presidente, all honest -folk will turn in abhorrence from her joy when Gaudissart came twenty -minutes later to report his conversation with poor Schmucke. She gave -her full approval; she was obliged beyond all expression for the -thoughtful way in which the manager relieved her of any remaining -scruples by observations which seemed to her to be very sensible and -just. - -"I thought as I came, Mme. la Presidente, that the poor devil would -not know what to do with the money. 'Tis a patriarchally simple -nature. He is a child, he is a German, he ought to be stuffed and put -in a glass case like a waxen image. Which is to say that, in my -opinion, he is quite puzzled enough already with his income of two -thousand five hundred francs, and here you are provoking him into -extravagance--" - -"It is very generous of him to wish to enrich the poor fellow who -regrets the loss of our cousin," pronounced the Presidente. "For my -own part, I am sorry for the little squabble that estranged M. Pons -and me. If he had come back again, all would have been forgiven. If -you only knew how my husband misses him! M. de Marville received no -notice of the death, and was in despair; family claims are sacred for -him, he would have gone to the service and the interment, and I myself -would have been at the mass--" - -"Very well, fair lady," said Gaudissart. "Be so good as to have the -documents drawn up, and at four o'clock I will bring this German to -you. Please remember me to your charming daughter the Vicomtesse, and -ask her to tell my illustrious friend the great statesman, her good -and excellent father-in-law, how deeply I am devoted to him and his, -and ask him to continue his valued favors. I owe my life to his uncle -the judge, and my success in life to him; and I should wish to be -bound to both you and your daughter by the high esteem which links us -with persons of rank and influence. I wish to leave the theatre and -become a serious person." - -"As you are already, monsieur!" said the Presidente. - -"Adorable!" returned Gaudissart, kissing the lady's shriveled fingers. - -At four o'clock that afternoon several people were gathered together -at Berthier's office; Fraisier, arch-concocter of the whole scheme, -Tabareau, appearing on behalf of Schmucke, and Schmucke himself. -Gaudissart had come with him. Fraisier had been careful to spread out -the money on Berthier's desk, and so dazzled was Schmucke by the sight -of the six thousand-franc bank-notes for which he had asked, and six -hundred francs for the first quarter's allowance, that he paid no heed -whatsoever to the reading of the document. Poor man, he was scarcely -in full possession of his faculties, shaken as they had already been -by so many shocks. Gaudissart had snatched him up on his return from -the cemetery, where he had been talking with Pons, promising to join -him soon--very soon. So Schmucke did not listen to the preamble in -which it was set forth that Maitre Tabareau, bailiff, was acting as -his proxy, and that the Presidente, in the interests of her daughter, -was taking legal proceedings against him. Altogether, in that preamble -the German played a sorry part, but he put his name to the document, -and thereby admitted the truth of Fraisier's abominable allegations; -and so joyous was he over receiving the money for the Topinards, so -glad to bestow wealth according to his little ideas upon the one -creature who loved Pons, that he heard not a word of lawsuit nor -compromise. - -But in the middle of the reading a clerk came into the private office -to speak to his employer. "There is a man here, sir, who wishes to -speak to M. Schmucke," said he. - -The notary looked at Fraisier, and, taking his cue from him, shrugged -his shoulders. - -"Never disturb us when we are signing documents. Just ask his name--is -it a man or a gentleman? Is he a creditor?" - -The clerk went and returned. "He insists that he must speak to M. -Schmucke." - -"His name?" - -"His name is Topinard, he says." - -"I will go out to him. Sign without disturbing yourself," said -Gaudissart, addressing Schmucke. "Make an end of it; I will find out -what he wants with us." - -Gaudissart understood Fraisier; both scented danger. - -"Why are you here?" Gaudissart began. "So you have no mind to be -cashier at the theatre? Discretion is a cashier's first -recommendation." - -"Sir--" - -"Just mind your own business; you will never be anything if you meddle -in other people's affairs." - -"Sir, I cannot eat bread if every mouthful of it is to stick in my -throat. . . . Monsieur Schmucke!--M. Schmucke!" he shouted aloud. - -Schmucke came out at the sound of Topinard's voice. He had just -signed. He held the money in his hand. - -"Thees ees for die liddle German maiden und for you," he said. - -"Oh! my dear M. Schmucke, you have given away your wealth to inhuman -wretches, to people who are trying to take away your good name. I took -this paper to a good man, an attorney who knows this Fraisier, and he -says that you ought to punish such wickedness; you ought to let them -summon you and leave them to get out of it.--Read this," and -Schmucke's imprudent friend held out the summons delivered in the Cite -Bordin. - -Standing in the notary's gateway, Schmucke read the document, saw the -imputations made against him, and, all ignorant as he was of the -amenities of the law, the blow was deadly. The little grain of sand -stopped his heart's beating. Topinard caught him in his arms, hailed a -passing cab, and put the poor German into it. He was suffering from -congestion of the brain; his eyes were dim, his head was throbbing, -but he had enough strength left to put the money into Topinard's -hands. - -Schmucke rallied from the first attack, but he never recovered -consciousness, and refused to eat. Ten days afterwards he died without -a complaint; to the last he had not spoken a word. Mme. Topinard -nursed him, and Topinard laid him by Pons' side. It was an obscure -funeral; Topinard was the only mourner who followed the son of Germany -to his last resting-place. - - - -Fraisier, now a justice of the peace, is very intimate with the -President's family, and much valued by the Presidente. She could not -think of allowing him to marry "that girl of Tabareau's," and promised -infinitely better things for the clever man to whom she considers she -owes not merely the pasture-land and the English cottage at Marville, -but also the President's seat in the Chamber of Deputies, for M. le -President was returned at the general election in 1846. - -Every one, no doubt, wishes to know what became of the heroine of a -story only too veracious in its details; a chronicle which, taken with -its twin sister the preceding volume, _La Cousine Bette_, proves that -Character is a great social force. You, O amateurs, connoisseurs, and -dealers, will guess at once that Pons' collection is now in question. -Wherefore it will suffice if we are present during a conversation that -took place only a few days ago in Count Popinot's house. He was -showing his splendid collection to some visitors. - -"M. le Comte, you possess treasures indeed," remarked a distinguished -foreigner. - -"Oh! as to pictures, nobody can hope to rival an obscure collector, -one Elie Magus, a Jew, an old monomaniac, the prince of -picture-lovers," the Count replied modestly. "And when I say nobody, -I do not speak of Paris only, but of all Europe. When the old Croesus -dies, France ought to spare seven or eight millions of francs to buy -the gallery. For curiosities, my collection is good enough to be -talked about--" - -"But how, busy as you are, and with a fortune so honestly earned in -the first instance in business--" - -"In the drug business," broke in Popinot; "you ask how I can continue -to interest myself in things that are a drug in the market--" - -"No," returned the foreign visitor, "no, but how do you find time to -collect? The curiosities do not come to find you." - -"My father-in-law owned the nucleus of the collection," said the young -Vicomtess; "he loved the arts and beautiful work, but most of his -treasures came to him through me." - -"Through you, madame?--So young! and yet have you such vices as this?" -asked a Russian prince. - -Russians are by nature imitative; imitative indeed to such an extent -that the diseases of civilization break out among them in epidemics. -The bric-a-brac mania had appeared in an acute form in St. Petersburg, -and the Russians caused such a rise of prices in the "art line," as -Remonencq would say, that collection became impossible. The prince who -spoke had come to Paris solely to buy bric-a-brac. - -"The treasures came to me, prince, on the death of a cousin. He was -very fond of me," added the Vicomtesse Popinot, "and he had spent some -forty odd years since 1805 in picking up these masterpieces -everywhere, but more especially in Italy--" - -"And what was his name?" inquired the English lord. - -"Pons," said President Camusot. - -"A charming man he was," piped the Presidente in her thin, flute -tones, "very clever, very eccentric, and yet very good-hearted. This -fan that you admire once belonged to Mme. de Pompadour; he gave it to -me one morning with a pretty speech which you must permit me not to -repeat," and she glanced at her daughter. - -"Mme. la Vicomtesse, tell us the pretty speech," begged the Russian -prince. - -"The speech was as pretty as the fan," returned the Vicomtesse, who -brought out the stereotyped remark on all occasions. "He told my -mother that it was quite time that it should pass from the hands of -vice into those of virtue." - -The English lord looked at Mme. Camusot de Marville with an air of -doubt not a little gratifying to so withered a woman. - -"He used to dine at our house two or three times a week," she said; -"he was so fond of us! We could appreciate him, and artists like the -society of those who relish their wit. My husband was, besides, his -one surviving relative. So when, quite unexpectedly, M. de Marville -came into the property, M. le Comte preferred to take over the whole -collection to save it from a sale by auction; and we ourselves much -preferred to dispose of it in that way, for it would have been so -painful to us to see the beautiful things, in which our dear cousin -was so much interested, all scattered abroad. Elie Magus valued them, -and in that way I became possessed of the cottage that your uncle -built, and I hope you will do us the honor of coming to see us there." - - - -Gaudissart's theatre passed into other hands a year ago, but M. -Topinard is still the cashier. M. Topinard, however, has grown gloomy -and misanthropic; he says little. People think that he has something -on his conscience. Wags at the theatre suggest that his gloom dates -from his marriage with Lolotte. Honest Topinard starts whenever he -hears Fraisier's name mentioned. Some people may think it strange that -the one nature worthy of Pons and Schmucke should be found on the -third floor beneath the stage of a boulevard theatre. - -Mme. Remonencq, much impressed with Mme. Fontaine's prediction, -declines to retire to the country. She is still living in her splendid -shop on the Boulevard de la Madeleine, but she is a widow now for the -second time. Remonencq, in fact, by the terms of the marriage -contract, settled the property upon the survivor, and left a little -glass of vitriol about for his wife to drink by mistake; but his wife, -with the very best intentions, put the glass elsewhere, and Remonencq -swallowed the draught himself. The rascal's appropriate end vindicates -Providence, as well as the chronicler of manners, who is sometimes -accused of neglect on this head, perhaps because Providence has been -so overworked by playwrights of late. - -Pardon the transcriber's errors. - - - - -ADDENDUM - -The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. - -Baudoyer, Isidore - The Government Clerks - The Middle Classes - -Berthier (Parisian notary) - Cousin Betty - -Berthier, Madame - The Muse of the Department - -Bixiou, Jean-Jacques - The Purse - A Bachelor's Establishment - The Government Clerks - Modeste Mignon - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - The Firm of Nucingen - The Muse of the Department - Cousin Betty - The Member for Arcis - Beatrix - A Man of Business - Gaudissart II. - The Unconscious Humorists - -Braulard - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - Cousin Betty - -Brisetout, Heloise - Cousin Betty - The Middle Classes - -Camusot - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - A Bachelor's Establishment - The Muse of the Department - Cesar Birotteau - At the Sign of the Cat and Racket - -Camusot de Marville - Jealousies of a Country Town - The Commission in Lunacy - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - -Camusot de Marville, Madame - The Vendetta - Cesar Birotteau - Jealousies of a Country Town - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - -Cardot (Parisian notary) - The Muse of the Department - A Man of Business - Jealousies of a Country Town - Pierre Grassou - The Middle Classes - -Chanor - Cousin Betty - -Crevel, Celestin - Cesar Birotteau - Cousin Betty - -Crottat, Alexandre - Cesar Birotteau - Colonel Chabert - A Start in Life - A Woman of Thirty - -Desplein - The Atheist's Mass - Lost Illusions - The Thirteen - The Government Clerks - Pierrette - A Bachelor's Establishment - The Seamy Side of History - Modeste Mignon - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - Honorine - -Florent - Cousin Betty - -Fontaine, Madame - The Unconscious Humorists - -Gaudissart, Felix - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - Cesar Birotteau - Honorine - Gaudissart the Great - -Godeschal, Francois-Claude-Marie - Colonel Chabert - A Bachelor's Establishment - A Start in Life - The Commission in Lunacy - The Middle Classes - -Godeschal, Marie - A Bachelor's Establishment - A Start in Life - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - -Gouraud, General, Baron - Pierrette - -Graff, Wolfgang - Cousin Betty - -Granville, Vicomte de (later Comte) - The Gondreville Mystery - Honorine - A Second Home - Farewell (Adieu) - Cesar Birotteau - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - A Daughter of Eve - -Grassou, Pierre - Pierre Grassou - A Bachelor's Establishment - Cousin Betty - The Middle Classes - -Hannequin, Leopold - Albert Savarus - Beatrix - Cousin Betty - -Haudry (doctor) - Cesar Birotteau - The Thirteen - A Bachelor's Establishment - The Seamy Side of History - -Lebrun (physician) - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - -Louchard - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - -Madeleine - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - -Magus, Elie - The Vendetta - A Marriage Settlement - A Bachelor's Establishment - Pierre Grassou - -Matifat (wealthy druggist) - Cesar Birotteau - A Bachelor's Establishment - Lost Illusions - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - The Firm of Nucingen - -Minard, Prudence - The Middle Classes - -Pillerault, Claude-Joseph - Cesar Birotteau - -Popinot, Anselme - Cesar Birotteau - Gaudissart the Great - Cousin Betty - -Popinot, Madame Anselme - Cesar Birotteau - A Prince of Bohemia - Cousin Betty - -Popinot, Vicomte - Cousin Betty - -Rivet, Achille - Cousin Betty - -Schmucke, Wilhelm - A Daughter of Eve - Ursule Mirouet - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - -Stevens, Dinah - A Marriage Settlement - -Stidmann - Modeste Mignon - Beatrix - The Member for Arcis - Cousin Betty - The Unconscious Humorists - -Thouvenin - Cesar Birotteau - -Vinet - Pierrette - The Member for Arcis - The Middle Classes - -Vinet, Olivier - The Member for Arcis - The Middle Classes - -Vivet, Madeleine - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Cousin Pons, by Honore de Balzac - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COUSIN PONS *** - -***** This file should be named 1856.txt or 1856.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.net/1/8/5/1856/ - -Produced by Dagny, and John Bickers, - -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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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* - - - - - -Etext prepared by Dagny, dagnyj@hotmail.com -and John Bickers, jbickers@templar.actrix.gen.nz - - - - - -Cousin Pons - -by Honore de Balzac - - - -Translated by Ellen Marriage - - - - -COUSIN PONS - - - -Towards three o'clock in the afternoon of one October day in the year -1844, a man of sixty or thereabouts, whom anybody might have credited -with more than his actual age, was walking along the Boulevard des -Italiens with his head bent down, as if he were tracking some one. -There was a smug expression about the mouth--he looked like a merchant -who has just done a good stroke of business, or a bachelor emerging -from a boudoir in the best of humors with himself; and in Paris this -is the highest degree of self-satisfaction ever registered by a human -countenance. - -As soon as the elderly person appeared in the distance, a smile broke -out over the faces of the frequenters of the boulevard, who daily, -from their chairs, watch the passers-by, and indulge in the agreeable -pastime of analyzing them. That smile is peculiar to Parisians; it -says so many things--ironical, quizzical, pitying; but nothing save -the rarest of human curiosities can summon that look of interest to -the faces of Parisians, sated as they are with every possible sight. - -A saying recorded of Hyacinthe, an actor celebrated for his repartees, -will explain the archaeological value of the old gentleman, and the -smile repeated like an echo by all eyes. Somebody once asked Hyacinthe -where the hats were made that set the house in a roar as soon as he -appeared. "I don't have them made," he said; "I keep them!" So also -among the million actors who make up the great troupe of Paris, there -are unconscious Hyacinthes who "keep" all the absurd freaks of -vanished fashions upon their backs; and the apparition of some bygone -decade will startle you into laughter as you walk the streets in -bitterness of soul over the treason of one who was your friend in the -past. - -In some respects the passer-by adhered so faithfully to the fashions -of the year 1806, that he was not so much a burlesque caricature as a -reproduction of the Empire period. To an observer, accuracy of detail -in a revival of this sort is extremely valuable, but accuracy of -detail, to be properly appreciated, demands the critical attention of -an expert /flaneur/; while the man in the street who raises a laugh as -soon as he comes in sight is bound to be one of those outrageous -exhibitions which stare you in the face, as the saying goes, and -produce the kind of effect which an actor tries to secure for the -success of his entry. The elderly person, a thin, spare man, wore a -nut-brown spencer over a coat of uncertain green, with white metal -buttons. A man in a spencer in the year 1844! it was as if Napoleon -himself had vouchsafed to come to life again for a couple of hours. - -The spencer, as its name indicates, was the invention of an English -lord, vain, doubtless, of his handsome shape. Some time before the -Peace of Amiens, this nobleman solved the problem of covering the bust -without destroying the outlines of the figure and encumbering the -person with the hideous boxcoat, now finishing its career on the backs -of aged hackney cabmen; but, elegant figures being in the minority, -the success of the spencer was short-lived in France, English though -it was. - -At the sight of the spencer, men of forty or fifty mentally invested -the wearer with top-boots, pistachio-colored kerseymere small clothes -adorned with a knot of ribbon; and beheld themselves in the costumes -of their youth. Elderly ladies thought of former conquests; but the -younger men were asking each other why the aged Alcibiades had cut off -the skirts of his overcoat. The rest of the costume was so much in -keeping with the spencer, that you would not have hesitated to call -the wearer "an Empire man," just as you call a certain kind of -furniture "Empire furniture;" yet the newcomer only symbolized the -Empire for those who had known that great and magnificent epoch at any -rate /de visu/, for a certain accuracy of memory was needed for the -full appreciation of the costume, and even now the Empire is so far -away that not every one of us can picture it in its Gallo-Grecian -reality. - -The stranger's hat, for instance, tipped to the back of his head so as -to leave almost the whole forehead bare, recalled a certain jaunty -air, with which civilians and officials attempted to swagger it with -military men; but the hat itself was a shocking specimen of the -fifteen-franc variety. Constant friction with a pair of enormous ears -had left their marks which no brush could efface from the underside of -the brim; the silk tissue (as usual) fitted badly over the cardboard -foundation, and hung in wrinkles here and there; and some skin-disease -(apparently) had attacked the nap in spite of the hand which rubbed it -down of a morning. - -Beneath the hat, which seemed ready to drop off at any moment, lay an -expanse of countenance grotesque and droll, as the faces which the -Chinese alone of all people can imagine for their quaint curiosities. -The broad visage was as full of holes as a colander, honeycombed with -the shadows of the dints, hollowed out like a Roman mask. It set all -the laws of anatomy at defiance. Close inspection failed to detect the -substructure. Where you expected to find a bone, you discovered a -layer of cartilaginous tissue, and the hollows of an ordinary human -face were here filled out with flabby bosses. A pair of gray eyes, -red-rimmed and lashless, looked forlornly out of a countenance which -was flattened something after the fashion of a pumpkin, and surmounted -by a Don Quixote nose that rose out of it like a monolith above a -plain. It was the kind of nose, as Cervantes must surely have -explained somewhere, which denotes an inborn enthusiasm for all things -great, a tendency which is apt to degenerate into credulity. - -And yet, though the man's ugliness was something almost ludicrous, it -aroused not the slightest inclination to laugh. The exceeding -melancholy which found an outlet in the poor man's faded eyes reached -the mocker himself and froze the gibes on his lips; for all at once -the thought arose that this was a human creature to whom Nature had -forbidden any expression of love or tenderness, since such expression -could only be painful or ridiculous to the woman he loved. In the -presence of such misfortune a Frenchman is silent; to him it seems the -most cruel of all afflictions--to be unable to please! - -The man so ill-favored was dressed after the fashion of shabby -gentility, a fashion which the rich not seldom try to copy. He wore -low shoes beneath gaiters of the pattern worn by the Imperial Guard, -doubtless for the sake of economy, because they kept the socks clean. -The rusty tinge of his black breeches, like the cut and the white or -shiny line of the creases, assigned the date of the purchase some -three years back. The roomy garments failed to disguise the lean -proportions of the wearer, due apparently rather to constitution than -to a Pythagorean regimen, for the worthy man was endowed with thick -lips and a sensual mouth; and when he smiled, displayed a set of white -teeth which would have done credit to a shark. - -A shawl-waistcoat, likewise of black cloth, was supplemented by a -white under-waistcoat, and yet again beneath this gleamed the edge of -a red knitted under-jacket, to put you in mind of Garat's five -waistcoats. A huge white muslin stock with a conspicuous bow, invented -by some exquisite to charm "the charming sex" in 1809, projected so -far above the wearer's chin that the lower part of his face was lost, -as it were, in a muslin abyss. A silk watch-guard, plaited to resemble -the keepsakes made of hair, meandered down the shirt front and secured -his watch from the improbable theft. The greenish coat, though older -by some three years than the breeches, was remarkably neat; the black -velvet collar and shining metal buttons, recently renewed, told of -carefulness which descended even to trifles. - -The particular manner of fixing the hat on the occiput, the triple -waistcoat, the vast cravat engulfing the chin, the gaiters, the metal -buttons on the greenish coat,--all these reminiscences of Imperial -fashions were blended with a sort of afterwaft and lingering perfume -of the coquetry of the Incroyable--with an indescribable finical -something in the folds of the garments, a certain air of stiffness and -correctness in the demeanor that smacked of the school of David, that -recalled Jacob's spindle-legged furniture. - -At first sight, moreover, you set him down either for the gentleman by -birth fallen a victim to some degrading habit, or for the man of small -independent means whose expenses are calculated to such a nicety that -the breakage of a windowpane, a rent in a coat, or a visit from the -philanthropic pest who asks you for subscriptions to a charity, -absorbs the whole of a month's little surplus of pocket-money. If you -had seen him that afternoon, you would have wondered how that -grotesque face came to be lighted up with a smile; usually, surely, it -must have worn the dispirited, passive look of the obscure toiler -condemned to labor without ceasing for the barest necessaries of life. -Yet when you noticed that the odd-looking old man was carrying some -object (evidently precious) in his right hand with a mother's care; -concealing it under the skirts of his coat to keep it from collisions -in the crowd, and still more, when you remarked that important air -always assumed by an idler when intrusted with a commission, you would -have suspected him of recovering some piece of lost property, some -modern equivalent of the marquise's poodle; you would have recognized -the assiduous gallantry of the "man of the Empire" returning in -triumph from his mission to some charming woman of sixty, reluctant as -yet to dispense with the daily visit of her elderly /attentif/. - -In Paris only among great cities will you see such spectacles as this; -for of her boulevards Paris makes a stage where a never-ending drama -is played gratuitously by the French nation in the interests of Art. - -In spite of the rashly assumed spencer, you would scarcely have -thought, after a glance at the contours of the man's bony frame, that -this was an artist--that conventional type which is privileged, in -something of the same way as a Paris gamin, to represent riotous -living to the bourgeois and philistine mind, the most /mirific/ -joviality, in short (to use the old Rabelaisian word newly taken into -use). Yet this elderly person had once taken the medal and the -traveling scholarship; he had composed the first cantata crowned by -the Institut at the time of the re-establishment of the Academie de -Rome; he was M. Sylvain Pons, in fact--M. Sylvain Pons, whose name -appears on the covers of well-known sentimental songs trilled by our -mothers, to say nothing of a couple of operas, played in 1815 and -1816, and divers unpublished scores. The worthy soul was now ending -his days as the conductor of an orchestra in a boulevard theatre, and -a music master in several young ladies' boarding-schools, a post for -which his face particularly recommended him. He was entirely dependent -upon his earnings. Running about to give private lessons at his age!-- -Think of it. How many a mystery lies in that unromantic situation! - -But the last man to wear the spencer carried something about him -besides his Empire Associations; a warning and a lesson was written -large over that triple waistcoat. Wherever he went, he exhibited, -without fee or charge, one of the many victims of the fatal system of -competition which still prevails in France in spite of a century of -trial without result; for Poisson de Marigny, brother of the Pompadour -and Director of Fine Arts, somewhere about 1746 invented this method -of applying pressure to the brain. That was a hundred years ago. Try -if you can count upon your fingers the men of genius among the -prizemen of those hundred years. - -In the first place, no deliberate effort of schoolmaster or -administrator can replace the miracles of chance which produce great -men: of all the mysteries of generation, this most defies the -ambitious modern scientific investigator. In the second--the ancient -Egyptians (we are told) invented incubator-stoves for hatching eggs; -what would be thought of Egyptians who should neglect to fill the -beaks of the callow fledglings? Yet this is precisely what France is -doing. She does her utmost to produce artists by the artificial heat -of competitive examination; but, the sculptor, painter, engraver, or -musician once turned out by this mechanical process, she no more -troubles herself about them and their fate than the dandy cares for -yesterday's flower in his buttonhole. And so it happens that the -really great man is a Greuze, a Watteau, a Felicien David, a Pagnesi, -a Gericault, a Decamps, an Auber, a David d'Angers, an Eugene -Delacroix, or a Meissonier--artists who take but little heed of -/grande prix/, and spring up in the open field under the rays of that -invisible sun called Vocation. - -To resume. The Government sent Sylvain Pons to Rome to make a great -musician of himself; and in Rome Sylvain Pons acquired a taste for the -antique and works of art. He became an admirable judge of those -masterpieces of the brain and hand which are summed up by the useful -neologism "bric-a-brac;" and when the child of Euterpe returned to -Paris somewhere about the year 1810, it was in the character of a -rabid collector, loaded with pictures, statuettes, frames, wood- -carving, ivories, enamels, porcelains, and the like. He had sunk the -greater part of his patrimony, not so much in the purchases themselves -as on the expenses of transit; and every penny inherited from his -mother had been spent in the course of a three-years' travel in Italy -after the residence in Rome came to an end. He had seen Venice, Milan, -Florence, Bologna, and Naples leisurely, as he wished to see them, as -a dreamer of dreams, and a philosopher; careless of the future, for an -artist looks to his talent for support as the /fille de joie/ counts -upon her beauty. - -All through those splendid years of travel Pons was as happy as was -possible to a man with a great soul, a sensitive nature, and a face so -ugly that any "success with the fair" (to use the stereotyped formula -of 1809) was out of the question; the realities of life always fell -short of the ideals which Pons created for himself; the world without -was not in tune with the soul within, but Pons had made up his mind to -the dissonance. Doubtless the sense of beauty that he had kept pure -and living in his inmost soul was the spring from which the delicate, -graceful, and ingenious music flowed and won him reputation between -1810 and 1814. - -Every reputation founded upon the fashion or the fancy of the hour, or -upon the short-lived follies of Paris, produces its Pons. No place in -the world is so inexorable in great things; no city of the globe so -disdainfully indulgent in small. Pons' notes were drowned before long -in floods of German harmony and the music of Rossini; and if in 1824 -he was known as an agreeable musician, a composer of various drawing- -room melodies, judge if he was likely to be famous in 183l! In 1844, -the year in which the single drama of this obscure life began, Sylvain -Pons was of no more value than an antediluvian semiquaver; dealers in -music had never heard of his name, though he was still composing, on -scanty pay, for his own orchestra or for neighboring theatres. - -And yet, the worthy man did justice to the great masters of our day; a -masterpiece finely rendered brought tears to his eyes; but his -religion never bordered on mania, as in the case of Hoffmann's -Kreislers; he kept his enthusiasm to himself; his delight, like the -paradise reached by opium or hashish, lay within his own soul. - -The gift of admiration, of comprehension, the single faculty by which -the ordinary man becomes the brother of the poet, is rare in the city -of Paris, that inn whither all ideas, like travelers, come to stay for -awhile; so rare is it, that Pons surely deserves our respectful -esteem. His personal failure may seem anomalous, but he frankly -admitted that he was weak in harmony. He had neglected the study of -counterpoint; there was a time when he might have begun his studies -afresh and held his own among modern composers, when he might have -been, not certainly a Rossini, but a Herold. But he was alarmed by the -intricacies of modern orchestration; and at length, in the pleasures -of collecting, he found such ever-renewed compensation for his -failure, that if he had been made to choose between his curiosities -and the fame of Rossini--will it be believed?--Pons would have -pronounced for his beloved collection. - -Pons was of the opinion of Chenavard, the print-collector, who laid it -down as an axiom--that you only fully enjoy the pleasure of looking at -your Ruysdael, Hobbema, Holbein, Raphael, Murillo, Greuze, Sebastian -del Piombo, Giorgione, Albrecht Durer, or what not, when you have paid -less than sixty francs for your picture. Pons never gave more than a -hundred francs for any purchase. If he laid out as much as fifty -francs, he was careful to assure himself beforehand that the object -was worth three thousand. The most beautiful thing in the world, if it -cost three hundred francs, did not exist for Pons. Rare had been his -bargains; but he possessed the three qualifications for success--a -stag's legs, an idler's disregard of time, and the patience of a Jew. - -This system, carried out for forty years, in Rome or Paris alike, had -borne its fruits. Since Pons returned from Italy, he had regularly -spent about two thousand francs a year upon a collection of -masterpieces of every sort and description, a collection hidden away -from all eyes but his own; and now his catalogue had reached the -incredible number of 1907. Wandering about Paris between 1811 and -1816, he had picked up many a treasure for ten francs, which would -fetch a thousand or twelve hundred to-day. Some forty-five thousand -canvases change hands annually in Paris picture sales, and these Pons -had sifted through year by year. Pons had Sevres porcelain, /pate -tendre/, bought of Auvergnats, those satellites of the Black Band who -sacked chateaux and carried off the marvels of Pompadour France in -their tumbril carts; he had, in fact, collected the drifted wreck of -the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; he recognized the genius of -the French school, and discerned the merit of the Lepautres and -Lavallee-Poussins and the rest of the great obscure creators of the -Genre Louis Quinze and the Genre Louis Seize. Our modern craftsmen now -draw without acknowledgment from them, pore incessantly over the -treasures of the Cabinet des Estampes, borrow adroitly, and give out -their /pastiches/ for new inventions. Pons had obtained many a piece -by exchange, and therein lies the ineffable joy of the collector. The -joy of buying bric-a-brac is a secondary delight; in the give-and-take -of barter lies the joy of joys. Pons had begun by collecting snuff- -boxes and miniatures; his name was unknown in bric-a-bracology, for he -seldom showed himself in salesrooms or in the shops of well-known -dealers; Pons was not aware that his treasures had any commercial -value. - -The late lamented Dusommerard tried his best to gain Pons' confidence, -but the prince of bric-a-brac died before he could gain an entrance to -the Pons museum, the one private collection which could compare with -the famous Sauvageot museum. Pons and M. Sauvageot indeed resembled -each other in more ways than one. M. Sauvageot, like Pons, was a -musician; he was likewise a comparatively poor man, and he had -collected his bric-a-brac in much the same way, with the same love of -art, the same hatred of rich capitalists with well-known names who -collect for the sake of running up prices as cleverly as possible. -There was yet another point of resemblance between the pair; Pons, -like his rival competitor and antagonist, felt in his heart an -insatiable craving after specimens of the craftsman's skill and -miracles of workmanship; he loved them as a man might love a fair -mistress; an auction in the salerooms in the Rue des Jeuneurs, with -its accompaniments of hammer strokes and brokers' men, was a crime of -/lese-bric-a-brac/ in Pons' eyes. Pons' museum was for his own delight -at every hour; for the soul created to know and feel all the beauty of -a masterpiece has this in common with the lover--to-day's joy is as -great as the joy of yesterday; possession never palls; and a -masterpiece, happily, never grows old. So the object that he held in -his hand with such fatherly care could only be a "find," carried off -with what affection amateurs alone know! - -After the first outlines of this biographical sketch, every one will -cry at once, "Why! this is the happiest man on earth, in spite of his -ugliness!" And, in truth, no spleen, no dullness can resist the -counter-irritant supplied by a "craze," the intellectual moxa of a -hobby. You who can no longer drink of "the cup of pleasure," as it has -been called through all ages, try to collect something, no matter what -(people have been known to collect placards), so shall you receive the -small change for the gold ingot of happiness. Have you a hobby? You -have transferred pleasure to the plane of ideas. And yet, you need not -envy the worthy Pons; such envy, like all kindred sentiments, would be -founded upon a misapprehension. - -With a nature so sensitive, with a soul that lived by tireless -admiration of the magnificent achievements of art, of the high rivalry -between human toil and the work of Nature--Pons was a slave to that -one of the Seven Deadly Sins with which God surely will deal least -hardly; Pons was a glutton. A narrow income, combined with a passion -for bric-a-brac, condemned him to a regimen so abhorrent to a -discriminating palate, that, bachelor as he was, he had cut the knot -of the problem by dining out every day. - -Now, in the time of the Empire, celebrities were more sought after -than at present, perhaps because there were so few of them, perhaps -because they made little or no political pretension. In those days, -besides, you could set up for a poet, a musician, or a painter, with -so little expense. Pons, being regarded as the probable rival of -Nicolo, Paer, and Berton, used to receive so many invitations, that he -was forced to keep a list of engagements, much as barristers note down -the cases for which they are retained. And Pons behaved like an -artist. He presented his amphitryons with copies of his songs, he -"obliged" at the pianoforte, he brought them orders for boxes at the -Feydeau, his own theatre, he organized concerts, he was not above -taking the fiddle himself sometimes in a relation's house, and getting -up a little impromptu dance. In those days, all the handsome men in -France were away at the wars exchanging sabre-cuts with the handsome -men of the Coalition. Pons was said to be, not ugly, but "peculiar- -looking," after the grand rule laid down by Moliere in Eliante's -famous couplets; but if he sometimes heard himself described as a -"charming man" (after he had done some fair lady a service), his good -fortune went no further than words. - -It was between the years 1810 and 1816 that Pons contracted the -unlucky habit of dining out; he grew accustomed to see his hosts -taking pains over the dinner, procuring the first and best of -everything, bringing out their choicest vintages, seeing carefully to -the dessert, the coffee, the liqueurs, giving him of their best, in -short; the best, moreover, of those times of the Empire when Paris was -glutted with kings and queens and princes, and many a private house -emulated royal splendours. - -People used to play at Royalty then as they play nowadays at -parliament, creating a whole host of societies with presidents, vice- -presidents, secretaries and what not--agricultural societies, -industrial societies, societies for the promotion of sericulture, -viticulture, the growth of flax, and so forth. Some have even gone so -far as to look about them for social evils in order to start a society -to cure them. - -But to return to Pons. A stomach thus educated is sure to react upon -the owner's moral fibre; the demoralization of the man varies directly -with his progress in culinary sapience. Voluptuousness, lurking in -every secret recess of the heart, lays down the law therein. Honor and -resolution are battered in breach. The tyranny of the palate has never -been described; as a necessity of life it escapes the criticism of -literature; yet no one imagines how many have been ruined by the -table. The luxury of the table is indeed, in this sense, the -courtesan's one competitor in Paris, besides representing in a manner -the credit side in another account, where she figures as the -expenditure. - -With Pons' decline and fall as an artist came his simultaneous -transformation from invited guest to parasite and hanger-on; he could -not bring himself to quit dinners so excellently served for the -Spartan broth of a two-franc ordinary. Alas! alas! a shudder ran -through him at the mere thought of the great sacrifices which -independence required him to make. He felt that he was capable of -sinking to even lower depths for the sake of good living, if there -were no other way of enjoying the first and best of everything, of -guzzling (vulgar but expressive word) nice little dishes carefully -prepared. Pons lived like a bird, pilfering his meal, flying away when -he had taken his fill, singing a few notes by way of return; he took a -certain pleasure in the thought that he lived at the expense of -society, which asked of him--what but the trifling toll of grimaces? -Like all confirmed bachelors, who hold their lodgings in horror, and -live as much as possible in other people's houses, Pons was accustomed -to the formulas and facial contortions which do duty for feeling in -the world; he used compliments as small change; and as far as others -were concerned, he was satisfied with the labels they bore, and never -plunged a too-curious hand into the sack. - -This not intolerable phase lasted for another ten years. Such years! -Pons' life was closing with a rainy autumn. All through those years he -contrived to dine without expense by making himself necessary in the -houses which he frequented. He took the first step in the downward -path by undertaking a host of small commissions; many and many a time -Pons ran on errands instead of the porter or the servant; many a -purchase he made for his entertainers. He became a kind of harmless, -well-meaning spy, sent by one family into another; but he gained no -credit with those for whom he trudged about, and so often sacrificed -self-respect. - -"Pons is a bachelor," said they; "he is at a loss to know what to do -with his time; he is only too glad to trot about for us.--What else -would he do?" - -Very soon the cold which old age spreads about itself began to set in; -the communicable cold which sensibly lowers the social temperature, -especially if the old man is ugly and poor. Old and ugly and poor--is -not this to be thrice old? Pons' winter had begun, the winter which -brings the reddened nose, and frost-nipped cheeks, and the numbed -fingers, numb in how many ways! - -Invitations very seldom came for Pons now. So far from seeking the -society of the parasite, every family accepted him much as they -accepted the taxes; they valued nothing that Pons could do for them; -real services from Pons counted for nought. The family circles in -which the worthy artist revolved had no respect for art or letters; -they went down on their knees to practical results; they valued -nothing but the fortune or social position acquired since the year -1830. The bourgeoisie is afraid of intellect and genius, but Pons' -spirit and manner were not haughty enough to overawe his relations, -and naturally he had come at last to be accounted less than nothing -with them, though he was not altogether despised. - -He had suffered acutely among them, but, like all timid creatures, he -kept silence as to his pain; and so by degrees schooled himself to -hide his feelings, and learned to take sanctuary in his inmost self. -Many superficial persons interpret this conduct by the short word -"selfishness;" and, indeed, the resemblance between the egoist and the -solitary human creature is strong enough to seem to justify the -harsher verdict; and this is especially true in Paris, where nobody -observes others closely, where all things pass swift as waves, and -last as little as a Ministry. - -So Cousin Pons was accused of selfishness (behind his back); and if -the world accuses any one, it usually finds him guilty and condemns -him into the bargain. Pons bowed to the decision. Do any of us know -how such a timid creature is cast down by an unjust judgment? Who will -ever paint all that the timid suffer? This state of things, now -growing daily worse, explains the sad expression on the poor old -musician's face; he lived by capitulations of which he was ashamed. -Every time we sin against self-respect at the bidding of the ruling -passion, we rivet its hold upon us; the more that passion requires of -us, the stronger it grows, every sacrifice increasing, as it were, the -value of a satisfaction for which so much has been given up, till the -negative sum-total of renouncements looms very large in a man's -imagination. Pons, for instance, after enduring the insolently -patronizing looks of some bourgeois, incased in buckram of stupidity, -sipped his glass of port or finished his quail with breadcrumbs, and -relished something of the savor of revenge, besides. "It is not too -dear at the price!" he said to himself. - -After all, in the eyes of the moralist, there were extenuating -circumstances in Pons' case. Man only lives, in fact, by some personal -satisfaction. The passionless, perfectly righteous man is not human; -he is a monster, an angel wanting wings. The angel of Christian -mythology has nothing but a head. On earth, the righteous person is -the sufficiently tiresome Grandison, for whom the very Venus of the -Crosswords is sexless. - -Setting aside one or two commonplace adventures in Italy, in which -probably the climate accounted for his success, no woman had ever -smiled upon Pons. Plenty of men are doomed to this fate. Pons was an -abnormal birth; the child of parents well stricken in years, he bore -the stigma of his untimely genesis; his cadaverous complexion might -have been contracted in the flask of spirit-of-wine in which science -preserves some extraordinary foetus. Artist though he was, with his -tender, dreamy, sensitive soul, he was forced to accept the character -which belonged to his face; it was hopeless to think of love, and he -remained a bachelor, not so much of choice as of necessity. Then -Gluttony, the sin of the continent monk, beckoned to Pons; he rushed -upon temptation, as he had thrown his whole soul into the adoration of -art and the cult of music. Good cheer and bric-a-brac gave him the -small change for the love which could spend itself in no other way. As -for music, it was his profession, and where will you find the man who -is in love with his means of earning a livelihood? For it is with a -profession as with marriage: in the long length you are sensible of -nothing but the drawbacks. - -Brillat-Savarin has deliberately set himself to justify the -gastronome, but perhaps even he has not dwelt sufficiently on the -reality of the pleasures of the table. The demands of digestion upon -the human economy produce an internal wrestling-bout of human forces -which rivals the highest degree of amorous pleasure. The gastronome is -conscious of an expenditure of vital power, an expenditure so vast -that the brain is atrophied (as it were), that a second brain, located -in the diaphragm, may come into play, and the suspension of all the -faculties is in itself a kind of intoxication. A boa constrictor -gorged with an ox is so stupid with excess that the creature is easily -killed. What man, on the wrong side of forty, is rash enough to work -after dinner? And remark in the same connection, that all great men -have been moderate eaters. The exhilarating effect of the wing of a -chicken upon invalids recovering from serious illness, and long -confined to a stinted and carefully chosen diet, has been frequently -remarked. The sober Pons, whose whole enjoyment was concentrated in -the exercise of his digestive organs, was in the position of chronic -convalescence; he looked to his dinner to give him the utmost degree -of pleasurable sensation, and hitherto he had procured such sensations -daily. Who dares to bid farewell to old habit? Many a man on the brink -of suicide has been plucked back on the threshold of death by the -thought of the cafe where he plays his nightly game of dominoes. - -In the year 1835, chance avenged Pons for the indifference of -womankind by finding him a prop for his declining years, as the saying -goes; and he, who had been old from his cradle, found a support in -friendship. Pons took to himself the only life-partner permitted to -him among his kind--an old man and a fellow-musician. - -But for La Fontaine's fable, /Les Deux Amis/, this sketch should have -borne the title of /The Two Friends/; but to take the name of this -divine story would surely be a deed of violence, a profanation from -which every true man of letters would shrink. The title ought to be -borne alone and for ever by the fabulist's masterpiece, the revelation -of his soul, and the record of his dreams; those three words were set -once and for ever by the poet at the head of a page which is his by a -sacred right of ownership; for it is a shrine before which all -generations, all over the world, will kneel so long as the art of -printing shall endure. - -Pons' friend gave lessons on the pianoforte. They met and struck up an -acquaintance in 1834, one prize day at a boarding-school; and so -congenial were their ways of thinking and living, that Pons used to -say that he had found his friend too late for his happiness. Never, -perhaps, did two souls, so much alike, find each other in the great -ocean of humanity which flowed forth, in disobedience to the will of -God, from its source in the Garden of Eden. Before very long the two -musicians could not live without each other. Confidences were -exchanged, and in a week's time they were like brothers. Schmucke (for -that was his name) had not believed that such a man as Pons existed, -nor had Pons imagined that a Schmucke was possible. Here already you -have a sufficient description of the good couple; but it is not every -mind that takes kindly to the concise synthetic method, and a certain -amount of demonstration is necessary if the credulous are to accept -the conclusion. - -This pianist, like all other pianists, was a German. A German, like -the eminent Liszt and the great Mendelssohn, and Steibelt, and Dussek, -and Meyer, and Mozart, and Doelher, and Thalberg, and Dreschok, and -Hiller, and Leopold Hertz, Woertz, Karr, Wolff, Pixis, and Clara Wieck ---and all Germans, generally speaking. Schmucke was a great musical -composer doomed to remain a music master, so utterly did his character -lack the audacity which a musical genius needs if he is to push his -way to the front. A German's naivete does not invariably last him -through his life; in some cases it fails after a certain age; and even -as a cultivator of the soil brings water from afar by means of -irrigation channels, so, from the springs of his youth, does the -Teuton draw the simplicity which disarms suspicion--the perennial -supplies with which he fertilizes his labors in every field of -science, art, or commerce. A crafty Frenchman here and there will turn -a Parisian tradesman's stupidity to good account in the same way. But -Schmucke had kept his child's simplicity much as Pons continued to -wear his relics of the Empire--all unsuspectingly. The true and noble- -hearted German was at once the theatre and the audience, making music -within himself for himself alone. In this city of Paris he lived as a -nightingale lives among the thickets; and for twenty years he sang on, -mateless, till he met with a second self in Pons. [See /Une Fille -d'Eve/.] - -Both Pons and Schmucke were abundantly given, both by heart and -disposition, to the peculiarly German sentimentality which shows -itself alike in childlike ways--in a passion for flowers, in that form -of nature-worship which prompts a German to plant his garden-beds with -big glass globes for the sake of seeing miniature pictures of the view -which he can behold about him of a natural size; in the inquiring turn -of mind that sets a learned Teuton trudging three hundred miles in his -gaiters in search of a fact which smiles up in his face from a wayside -spring, or lurks laughing under the jessamine leaves in the back-yard; -or (to take a final instance) in the German craving to endow every -least detail in creation with a spiritual significance, a craving -which produces sometimes Hoffmann's tipsiness in type, sometimes the -folios with which Germany hedges the simplest questions round about, -lest haply any fool should fall into her intellectual excavations; -and, indeed, if you fathom these abysses, you find nothing but a -German at the bottom. - -Both friends were Catholics. They went to Mass and performed the -duties of religion together; and, like children, found nothing to tell -their confessors. It was their firm belief that music is to feeling -and thought as thought and feeling are to speech; and of their -converse on this system there was no end. Each made response to the -other in orgies of sound, demonstrating their convictions, each for -each, like lovers. - -Schmucke was as absent-minded as Pons was wide-awake. Pons was a -collector, Schmucke a dreamer of dreams; Schmucke was a student of -beauty seen by the soul, Pons a preserver of material beauty. Pons -would catch sight of a china cup and buy it in the time that Schmucke -took to blow his nose, wondering the while within himself whether the -musical phrase that was ringing in his brain--the /motif/ from Rossini -or Bellini or Beethoven or Mozart--had its origin or its counterpart -in the world of human thought and emotion. Schmucke's economies were -controlled by an absent mind, Pons was a spendthrift through passion, -and for both the result was the same--they had not a penny on Saint -Sylvester's day. - -Perhaps Pons would have given way under his troubles if it had not -been for this friendship; but life became bearable when he found some -one to whom he could pour out his heart. The first time that he -breathed a word of his difficulties, the good German had advised him -to live as he himself did, and eat bread and cheese at home sooner -than dine abroad at such a cost. Alas! Pons did not dare to confess -that heart and stomach were at war within him, that he could digest -affronts which pained his heart, and, cost what it might, a good -dinner that satisfied his palate was a necessity to him, even as your -gay Lothario must have a mistress to tease. - -In time Schmucke understood; not just at once, for he was too much of -a Teuton to possess that gift of swift perception in which the French -rejoice; Schmucke understood and loved poor Pons the better. Nothing -so fortifies a friendship as a belief on the part of one friend that -he is superior to the other. An angel could not have found a word to -say to Schmucke rubbing his hands over the discovery of the hold that -gluttony had gained over Pons. Indeed, the good German adorned their -breakfast-table next morning with delicacies of which he went in -search himself; and every day he was careful to provide something new -for his friend, for they always breakfasted together at home. - -If any one imagines that the pair could not escape ridicule in Paris, -where nothing is respected, he cannot know that city. When Schmucke -and Pons united their riches and poverty, they hit upon the economical -expedient of lodging together, each paying half the rent of the very -unequally divided second-floor of a house in the Rue de Normandie in -the Marais. And as it often happened that they left home together and -walked side by side along their beat of boulevard, the idlers of the -quarter dubbed them "the pair of nutcrackers," a nickname which makes -any portrait of Schmucke quite superfluous, for he was to Pons as the -famous statue of the Nurse of Niobe in the Vatican is to the Tribune -Venus. - -Mme. Cibot, portress of the house in the Rue de Normandie, was the -pivot on which the domestic life of the nutcrackers turned; but Mme. -Cibot plays so large a part in the drama which grew out of their -double existence, that it will be more appropriate to give her -portrait on her first appearance in this Scene of Parisian Life. - -One thing remains to be said of the characters of the pair of friends; -but this one thing is precisely the hardest to make clear to ninety- -nine readers out of a hundred in this forty-seventh year of the -nineteenth century, perhaps by reason of the prodigious financial -development brought about by the railway system. It is a little thing, -and yet it is so much. It is a question, in fact, of giving an idea of -the extreme sensitiveness of their natures. Let us borrow an -illustration from the railways, if only by way of retaliation, as it -were, for the loans which they levy upon us. The railway train of -to-day, tearing over the metals, grinds away fine particles of dust, -grains so minute that a traveler cannot detect them with the eye; but -let a single one of those invisible motes find its way into the -kidneys, it will bring about that most excruciating, and sometimes -fatal, disease known as gravel. And our society, rushing like a -locomotive along its metaled track, is heedless of the all but -imperceptible dust made by the grinding of the wheels; but it was -otherwise with the two musicians; the invisible grains of sand sank -perpetually into the very fibres of their being, causing them -intolerable anguish of heart. Tender exceedingly to the pain of -others, they wept for their own powerlessness to help; and their own -susceptibilities were almost morbidly acute. Neither age nor the -continual spectacle of the drama of Paris life had hardened two souls -still young and childlike and pure; the longer they lived, indeed, the -more keenly they felt their inward suffering; for so it is, alas! with -natures unsullied by the world, with the quiet thinker, and with such -poets among the poets as have never fallen into any excess. - -Since the old men began housekeeping together, the day's routine was -very nearly the same for them both. They worked together in harness in -the fraternal fashion of the Paris cab-horse; rising every morning, -summer and winter, at seven o'clock, and setting out after breakfast -to give music lessons in the boarding-schools, in which, upon -occasion, they would take lessons for each other. Towards noon Pons -repaired to his theatre, if there was a rehearsal on hand; but all his -spare moments were spent in sauntering on the boulevards. Night found -both of them in the orchestra at the theatre, for Pons had found a -place for Schmucke, and upon this wise. - -At the time of their first meeting, Pons had just received that -marshal's baton of the unknown musical composer--an appointment as -conductor of an orchestra. It had come to him unasked, by a favor of -Count Popinot, a bourgeois hero of July, at that time a member of the -Government. Count Popinot had the license of a theatre in his gift, -and Count Popinot had also an old acquaintance of the kind that the -successful man blushes to meet. As he rolls through the streets of -Paris in his carriage, it is not pleasant to see his boyhood's chum -down at heel, with a coat of many improbable colors and trousers -innocent of straps, and a head full of soaring speculations on too -grand a scale to tempt shy, easily scared capital. Moreover, this -friend of his youth, Gaudissart by name, had done not a little in the -past towards founding the fortunes of the great house of Popinot. -Popinot, now a Count and a peer of France, after twice holding a -portfolio had no wish to shake off "the Illustrious Gaudissart." Quite -otherwise. The pomps and vanities of the Court of the Citizen-King had -not spoiled the sometime druggist's kind heart; he wished to put his -ex-commercial traveler in the way of renewing his wardrobe and -replenishing his purse. So when Gaudissart, always an enthusiastic -admirer of the fair sex, applied for the license of a bankrupt -theatre, Popinot granted it on condition that Pons (a parasite of the -Hotel Popinot) should be engaged as conductor of the orchestra; and at -the same time, the Count was careful to send certain elderly amateurs -of beauty to the theatre, so that the new manager might be strongly -supported financially by wealthy admirers of feminine charms revealed -by the costume of the ballet. - -Gaudissart and Company, who, be it said, made their fortune, hit upon -the grand idea of operas for the people, and carried it out in a -boulevard theatre in 1834. A tolerable conductor, who could adapt or -even compose a little music upon occasion, was a necessity for ballets -and pantomimes; but the last management had so long been bankrupt, -that they could not afford to keep a transposer and copyist. Pons -therefore introduced Schmucke to the company as copier of music, a -humble calling which requires no small musical knowledge; and -Schmucke, acting on Pons' advice, came to an understanding with the -/chef-de-service/ at the Opera-Comique, so saving himself the clerical -drudgery. - -The partnership between Pons and Schmucke produced one brilliant -result. Schmucke being a German, harmony was his strong point; he -looked over the instrumentation of Pons' compositions, and Pons -provided the airs. Here and there an amateur among the audience -admired the new pieces of music which served as accompaniment to two -or three great successes, but they attributed the improvement vaguely -to "progress." No one cared to know the composer's name; like -occupants of the /baignoires/, lost to view of the house, to gain a -view of the stage, Pons and Schmucke eclipsed themselves by their -success. In Paris (especially since the Revolution of July) no one can -hope to succeed unless he will push his way /quibuscumque viis/ and -with all his might through a formidable host of competitors; but for -this feat a man needs thews and sinews, and our two friends, be it -remembered, had that affection of the heart which cripples all -ambitious effort. - -Pons, as a rule, only went to his theatre towards eight o'clock, when -the piece in favor came on, and overtures and accompaniments needed -the strict ruling of the baton; most minor theatres are lax in such -matters, and Pons felt the more at ease because he himself had been by -no means grasping in all his dealings with the management; and -Schmucke, if need be, could take his place. Time went by, and Schmucke -became an institution in the orchestra; the Illustrious Gaudissart -said nothing, but he was well aware of the value of Pons' -collaborator. He was obliged to include a pianoforte in the orchestra -(following the example of the leading theatres); the instrument was -placed beside the conductor's chair, and Schmucke played without -increase of salary--a volunteer supernumerary. As Schmucke's -character, his utter lack of ambition or pretence became known, the -orchestra recognized him as one of themselves; and as time went on, he -was intrusted with the often needed miscellaneous musical instruments -which form no part of the regular band of a boulevard theatre. For a -very small addition to his stipend, Schmucke played the viola d'amore, -hautboy, violoncello, and harp, as well as the piano, the castanets -for the /cachucha/, the bells, saxhorn, and the like. If the Germans -cannot draw harmony from the mighty instruments of Liberty, yet to -play all instruments of music comes to them by nature. - -The two old artists were exceedingly popular at the theatre, and took -its ways philosophically. They had put, as it were, scales over their -eyes, lest they should see the offences that needs must come when a -/corps de ballet/ is blended with actors and actresses, one of the -most trying combinations ever created by the laws of supply and demand -for the torment of managers, authors, and composers alike. - -Every one esteemed Pons with his kindness and his modesty, his great -self-respect and respect for others; for a pure and limpid life wins -something like admiration from the worst nature in every social -sphere, and in Paris a fair virtue meets with something of the success -of a large diamond, so great a rarity it is. No actor, no dancer -however brazen, would have indulged in the mildest practical joke at -the expense of either Pons or Schmucke. - -Pons very occasionally put in an appearance in the /foyer/; but all -that Schmucke knew of the theatre was the underground passage from the -street door to the orchestra. Sometimes, however, during an interval, -the good German would venture to make a survey of the house and ask a -few questions of the first flute, a young fellow from Strasbourg, who -came of a German family at Kehl. Gradually under the flute's tuition -Schmucke's childlike imagination acquired a certain amount of -knowledge of the world; he could believe in the existence of that -fabulous creature the /lorette/, the possibility of "marriages at the -Thirteenth Arrondissement," the vagaries of the leading lady, and the -contraband traffic carried on by box-openers. In his eyes the more -harmless forms of vice were the lowest depths of Babylonish iniquity; -he did not believe the stories, he smiled at them for grotesque -inventions. The ingenious reader can see that Pons and Schmucke were -exploited, to use a word much in fashion; but what they lost in money -they gained in consideration and kindly treatment. - -It was after the success of the ballet with which a run of success -began for the Gaudissart Company that the management presented Pons -with a piece of plate--a group of figures attributed to Benvenuto -Cellini. The alarming costliness of the gift caused talk in the green- -room. It was a matter of twelve hundred francs! Pons, poor honest -soul, was for returning the present, and Gaudissart had a world of -trouble to persuade him to keep it. - -"Ah!" said the manager afterwards, when he told his partner of the -interview, "if we could only find actors up to that sample." - -In their joint life, outwardly so quiet, there was the one disturbing -element--the weakness to which Pons sacrificed, the insatiable craving -to dine out. Whenever Schmucke happened to be at home while Pons was -dressing for the evening, the good German would bewail this deplorable -habit. - -"Gif only he vas ony fatter vor it!" he many a time cried. - -And Schmucke would dream of curing his friend of his degrading vice, -for a true friend's instinct in all that belongs to the inner life is -unerring as a dog's sense of smell; a friend knows by intuition the -trouble in his friend's soul, and guesses at the cause and ponders it -in his heart. - -Pons, who always wore a diamond ring on the little finger of his right -hand, an ornament permitted in the time of the Empire, but ridiculous -to-day--Pons, who belonged to the "troubadour time," the sentimental -periods of the first Empire, was too much a child of his age, too much -of a Frenchman to wear the expression of divine serenity which -softened Schmucke's hideous ugliness. From Pons' melancholy looks -Schmucke knew that the profession of parasite was growing daily more -difficult and painful. And, in fact, in that month of October 1844, -the number of houses at which Pons dined was naturally much -restricted; reduced to move round and round the family circle, he had -used the word family in far too wide a sense, as will shortly be seen. - -M. Camusot, the rich silk mercer of the Rue des Bourdonnais, had -married Pons' first cousin, Mlle. Pons, only child and heiress of one -of the well-known firm of Pons Brothers, court embroiderers. Pons' own -father and mother retired from a firm founded before the Revolution of -1789, leaving their capital in the business until Mlle. Pons' father -sold it in 1815 to M. Rivet. M. Camusot had since lost his wife and -married again, and retired from business some ten years, and now in -1844 he was a member of the Board of Trade, a deputy, and what not. -But the Camusot clan were friendly; and Pons, good man, still -considered that he was some kind of cousin to the children of the -second marriage, who were not relations, or even connected with him in -any way. - -The second Mme. Camusot being a Mlle. Cardot, Pons introduced himself -as a relative into the tolerably numerous Cardot family, a second -bourgeois tribe which, taken with its connections, formed quite as -strong a clan as the Camusots; for Cardot the notary (brother of the -second Mme. Camusot) had married a Mlle. Chiffreville; and the well- -known family of Chiffreville, the leading firm of manufacturing -chemists, was closely connected with the whole drug trade, of which M. -Anselme Popinot was for many years the undisputed head, until the -Revolution of July plunged him into the very centre of the dynastic -movement, as everybody knows. So Pons, in the wake of the Camusots and -Cardots, reached the Chiffrevilles, and thence the Popinots, always in -the character of a cousin's cousin. - -The above concise statement of Pons' relations with his entertainers -explains how it came to pass that an old musician was received in 1844 -as one of the family in the houses of four distinguished persons--to -wit, M. le Comte Popinot, peer of France, and twice in office; M. -Cardot, retired notary, mayor and deputy of an arrondissement in -Paris; M. Camusot senior, a member of the Board of Trade and the -Municipal Chamber and a peerage; and lastly, M. Camusot de Marville, -Camusot's son by his first marriage, and Pons' one genuine relation, -albeit even he was a first cousin once removed. - -This Camusot, President of a Chamber of the Court of Appeal in Paris, -had taken the name of his estate at Marville to distinguish himself -from his father and a younger half brother. - -Cardot the retired notary had married his daughter to his successor, -whose name was Berthier; and Pons, transferred as part of the -connection, acquired a right to dine with the Berthiers "in the -presence of a notary," as he put it. - -This was the bourgeois empyrean which Pons called his "family," that -upper world in which he so painfully reserved his right to a knife and -fork. - -Of all these houses, some ten in all, the one in which Pons ought to -have met with the kindest reception should by rights have been his own -cousin's; and, indeed, he paid most attention to President Camusot's -family. But, alas! Mme. Camusot de Marville, daughter of the Sieur -Thirion, usher of the cabinet to Louis XVIII. and Charles X., had -never taken very kindly to her husband's first cousin, once removed. -Pons had tried to soften this formidable relative; he wasted his time; -for in spite of the pianoforte lessons which he gave gratuitously to -Mlle. Camusot, a young woman with hair somewhat inclined to red, it -was impossible to make a musician of her. - -And now, at this very moment, as he walked with that precious object -in his hand, Pons was bound for the President's house, where he always -felt as if he were at the Tuileries itself, so heavily did the solemn -green curtains, the carmelite-brown hangings, thick piled carpets, -heavy furniture, and general atmosphere of magisterial severity -oppress his soul. Strange as it may seem, he felt more at home in the -Hotel Popinot, Rue Basse-du-Rempart, probably because it was full of -works of art; for the master of the house, since he entered public -life, had acquired a mania for collecting beautiful things, by way of -contrast no doubt, for a politician is obliged to pay for secret -services of the ugliest kind. - -President de Marville lived in the Rue de Hanovre, in a house which -his wife had bought ten years previously, on the death of her parents, -for the Sieur and Dame Thirion left their daughter about a hundred and -fifty thousand francs, the savings of a lifetime. With its north -aspect, the house looks gloomy enough seen from the street, but the -back looks towards the south over the courtyard, with a rather pretty -garden beyond it. As the President occupied the whole of the first -floor, once the abode of a great financier of the time of Louis XIV., -and the second was let to a wealthy old lady, the house wore a look of -dignified repose befitting a magistrate's residence. President Camusot -had invested all that he inherited from his mother, together with the -savings of twenty years, in the purchase of the splendid Marville -estate; a chateau (as fine a relic of the past as you will find to-day -in Normandy) standing in a hundred acres of park land, and a fine -dependent farm, nominally bringing in twelve thousand francs per -annum, though, as it cost the President at least a thousand crowns to -keep up a state almost princely in our days, his yearly revenue, "all -told," as the saying is, was a bare nine thousand francs. With this -and his salary, the President's income amounted to about twenty -thousand francs; but though to all appearance a wealthy man, -especially as one-half of his father's property would one day revert -to him as the only child of the first marriage, he was obliged to live -in Paris as befitted his official position, and M. and Mme. de -Marville spent almost the whole of their incomes. Indeed, before the -year 1834 they felt pinched. - -This family schedule sufficiently explains why Mlle. de Marville, aged -three-and-twenty, was still unwed, in spite of a hundred thousand -francs of dowry and tempting prospects, frequently, skilfully, but so -far vainly, held out. For the past five years Pons had listened to -Mme. la Presidente's lamentations as she beheld one young lawyer after -another led to the altar, while all the newly appointed judges at the -Tribunal were fathers of families already; and she, all this time, had -displayed Mlle. de Marville's brilliant expectations before the -undazzled eyes of young Vicomte Popinot, eldest son of the great man -of the drug trade, he of whom it was said by the envious tongues of -the neighborhood of the Rue des Lombards, that the Revolution of July -had been brought about at least as much for his particular benefit as -for the sake of the Orleans branch. - -Arrived at the corner of the Rue de Choiseul and the Rue de Hanovre, -Pons suffered from the inexplicable emotions which torment clear -consciences; for a panic terror such as the worst of scoundrels might -feel at sight of a policeman, an agony caused solely by a doubt as to -Mme. de Marville's probable reception of him. That grain of sand, -grating continually on the fibres of his heart, so far from losing its -angles, grew more and more jagged, and the family in the Rue de -Hanovre always sharpened the edges. Indeed, their unceremonious -treatment and Pons' depreciation in value among them had affected the -servants; and while they did not exactly fail in respect, they looked -on the poor relation as a kind of beggar. - -Pons' arch-enemy in the house was the ladies'-maid, a thin and wizened -spinster, Madeleine Vivet by name. This Madeleine, in spite of, nay, -perhaps on the strength of, a pimpled complexion and a viper-like -length of spine, had made up her mind that some day she would be Mme. -Pons. But in vain she dangled twenty thousand francs of savings before -the old bachelor's eyes; Pons had declined happiness accompanied by so -many pimples. From that time forth the Dido of the ante-chamber, who -fain had called her master and mistress "cousin," wreaked her spite in -petty ways upon the poor musician. She heard him on the stairs, and -cried audibly, "Oh! here comes the sponger!" She stinted him of wine -when she waited at dinner in the footman's absence; she filled the -water-glass to the brim, to give him the difficult task of lifting it -without spilling a drop; or she would pass the old man over -altogether, till the mistress of the house would remind her (and in -what a tone!--it brought the color to the poor cousin's face); or she -would spill the gravy over his clothes. In short, she waged petty war -after the manner of a petty nature, knowing that she could annoy an -unfortunate superior with impunity. - -Madeleine Vivet was Mme. de Marville's maid and housekeeper. She had -lived with M. and Mme. Camusot de Marville since their marriage; she -had shared the early struggles in the provinces when M. Camusot was a -judge at Alencon; she had helped them to exist when M. Camusot, -President of the Tribunal of Mantes, came to Paris, in 1828, to be an -examining magistrate. She was, therefore, too much one of the family -not to wish, for reasons of her own, to revenge herself upon them. -Beneath her desire to pay a trick upon her haughty and ambitious -mistress, and to call her master her cousin, there surely lurked a -long-stifled hatred, built up like an avalanche, upon the pebble of -some past grievance. - -"Here comes your M. Pons, madame, still wearing that spencer of his!" -Madeleine came to tell the Presidente. "He really might tell me how he -manages to make it look the same for five-and-twenty years together." - -Mme. Camusot de Marville, hearing a man's footstep in the little -drawing-room between the large drawing-room and her bedroom, looked at -her daughter and shrugged her shoulders. - -"You always make these announcements so cleverly that you leave me no -time to think, Madeleine." - -"Jean is out, madame, I was all alone; M. Pons rang the bell, I opened -the door; and as he is almost one of the family, I could not prevent -him from coming after me. There he is, taking off his spencer." - -"Poor little puss!" said the Presidente, addressing her daughter, "we -are caught. We shall have to dine at home now.--Let us see," she -added, seeing that the "dear puss" wore a piteous face; "must we get -rid of him for good?" - -"Oh! poor man!" cried Mlle. Camusot, "deprive him of one of his -dinners?" - -Somebody coughed significantly in the next room by way of warning that -he could hear. - -"Very well, let him come in!" said Mme. Camusot, looking at Madeleine -with another shrug. - -"You are here so early, cousin, that you have come in upon us just as -mother was about to dress," said Cecile Camusot in a coaxing tone. But -Cousin Pons had caught sight of the Presidente's shrug, and felt so -cruelly hurt that he could not find a compliment, and contented -himself with the profound remark, "You are always charming, my little -cousin." - -Then, turning to the mother, he continued with a bow: - -"You will not take it amiss, I think, if I have come a little earlier -than usual, dear cousin; I have brought something for you; you once -did me the pleasure of asking me for it." - -Poor Pons! Every time he addressed the President, the President's -wife, or Cecile as "cousin," he gave them excruciating annoyance. As -he spoke, he draw a long, narrow cherry-wood box, marvelously carved, -from his coat-pocket. - -"Oh, did I?--I had forgotten," the lady answered drily. - -It was a heartless speech, was it not? Did not those few words deny -all merit to the pains taken for her by the cousin whose one offence -lay in the fact that he was a poor relation? - -"But it is very kind of you, cousin," she added. "How much to I owe -you for this little trifle?" - -Pons quivered inwardly at the question. He had meant the trinket as a -return for his dinners. - -"I thought that you would permit me to offer it you----" he faltered -out. - -"What?" said Mme. Camusot. "Oh! but there need be no ceremony between -us; we know each other well enough to wash our linen among ourselves. -I know very well that you are not rich enough to give more than you -get. And to go no further, it is quite enough that you should have -spent a good deal of time in running among the dealers--" - -"If you were asked to pay the full price of the fan, my dear cousin, -you would not care to have it," answered poor Pons, hurt and insulted; -"it is one of Watteau's masterpieces, painted on both sides; but you -may be quite easy, cousin, I did not give one-hundredth part of its -value as a work of art." - -To tell a rich man that he is poor! you might as well tell the -Archbishop of Granada that his homilies show signs of senility. Mme. -la Presidente, proud of her husband's position, of the estate of -Marville, and her invitations to court balls, was keenly susceptible -on this point; and what was worse, the remark came from a poverty- -stricken musician to whom she had been charitable. - -"Then the people of whom you buy things of this kind are very stupid, -are they?" she asked quickly. - -"Stupid dealers are unknown in Paris," Pons answered almost drily. - -"Then you must be very clever," put in Cecile by way of calming the -dispute. - -"Clever enough to know a Lancret, a Watteau, a Pater, or Greuze when I -see it, little cousin; but anxious, most of all, to please your dear -mamma." - -Mme. de Marville, ignorant and vain, was unwilling to appear to -receive the slightest trifle from the parasite; and here her ignorance -served her admirably, she did not even know the name of Watteau. And, -on the other hand, if anything can measure the extent of the -collector's passion, which, in truth, is one of the most deeply seated -of all passions, rivaling the very vanity of the author--if anything -can give an idea of the lengths to which a collector will go, it is -the audacity which Pons displayed on this occasion, as he held his own -against his lady cousin for the first time in twenty years. He was -amazed at his own boldness. He made Cecile see the beauties of the -delicate carving on the sticks of this wonder, and as he talked to her -his face grew serene and gentle again. But without some sketch of the -Presidente, it is impossible fully to understand the perturbation of -heart from which Pons suffered. - -Mme. de Marville had been short and fair, plump and fresh; at forty- -six she was as short as ever, but she looked dried up. An arched -forehead and thin lips, that had been softly colored once, lent a -soured look to a face naturally disdainful, and now grown hard and -unpleasant with a long course of absolute domestic rule. Time had -deepened her fair hair to a harsh chestnut hue; the pride of office, -intensified by suppressed envy, looked out of eyes that had lost none -of their brightness nor their satirical expression. As a matter of -fact, Mme. Camusot de Marville felt almost poor in the society of -self-made wealthy bourgeois with whom Pons dined. She could not -forgive the rich retail druggist, ex-president of the Commercial -Court, for his successive elevations as deputy, member of the -Government, count and peer of France. She could not forgive her -father-in-law for putting himself forward instead of his eldest son as -deputy of his arrondissement after Popinot's promotion to the peerage. -After eighteen years of services in Paris, she was still waiting for -the post of Councillor of the Court of Cassation for her husband. It -was Camusot's own incompetence, well known at the Law Courts, which -excluded him from the Council. The Home Secretary of 1844 even -regretted Camusot's nomination to the presidency of the Court of -Indictments in 1834, though, thanks to his past experience as an -examining magistrate, he made himself useful in drafting decrees. - -These disappointments had told upon Mme. de Marville, who, moreover, -had formed a tolerably correct estimate of her husband. A temper -naturally shrewish was soured till she grew positively terrible. She -was not old, but she had aged; she deliberately set herself to extort -by fear all that the world was inclined to refuse her, and was harsh -and rasping as a file. Caustic to excess she had few friends among -women; she surrounded herself with prim, elderly matrons of her own -stamp, who lent each other mutual support, and people stood in awe of -her. As for poor Pons, his relations with this fiend in petticoats -were very much those of a schoolboy with the master whose one idea of -communication is the ferule. - -The Presidente had no idea of the value of the gift. She was puzzled -by her cousin's sudden access of audacity. - -"Then, where did you find this?" inquired Cecile, as she looked -closely at the trinket. - -"In the Rue de Lappe. A dealer in second-hand furniture there had just -brought it back with him from a chateau that is being pulled down near -Dreux, Aulnay. Mme. de Pompadour used to spend part of her time there -before she built Menars. Some of the most splendid wood-carving ever -known has been saved from destruction; Lienard (our most famous living -wood-carver) had kept a couple of oval frames for models, as the /ne -plus ultra/ of the art, so fine it is.--There were treasures in that -place. My man found the fan in the drawer of an inlaid what-not, which -I should certainly have bought if I were collecting things of the -kind, but it is quite out of the question--a single piece of -Riesener's furniture is worth three or four thousand francs! People -here in Paris are just beginning to find out that the famous French -and German marquetry workers of the sixteenth, seventeenth, and -eighteenth centuries composed perfect pictures in wood. It is a -collector's business to be ahead of the fashion. Why, in five years' -time, the Frankenthal ware, which I have been collecting these twenty -years, will fetch twice the price of Sevres /pata tendre/." - -"What is Frankenthal ware?" asked Cecile. - -"That is the name of the porcelain made by the Elector of the -Palatinate; it dates further back than our manufactory at Sevres; just -as the famous gardens at Heidelberg, laid waste by Turenne, had the -bad luck to exist before the garden of Versailles. Sevres copied -Frankenthal to a large extent.--In justice to the Germans, it must be -said that they have done admirable work in Saxony and in the -Palatinate." - -Mother and daughter looked at one another as if Pons were speaking -Chinese. No one can imagine how ignorant and exclusive Parisians are; -they only learn what they are taught, and that only when they choose. - -"And how do you know the Frankenthal ware when you see it?" - -"Eh! by the mark!" cried Pons with enthusiasm. "There is a mark on -every one of those exquisite masterpieces. Frankenthal ware is marked -with a C and T (for Charles Theodore) interlaced and crowned. On old -Dresden china there are two crossed swords and the number of the order -in gilt figures. Vincennes bears a hunting-horn; Vienna, a V closed -and barred. You can tell Berlin by the two bars, Mayence by the wheel, -and Sevres by the two crossed L's. The queen's porcelain is marked A -for Antoinette, with a royal crown above it. In the eighteenth -century, all the crowned heads of Europe had rival porcelain -factories, and workmen were kidnaped. Watteau designed services for -the Dresden factory; they fetch frantic prices at the present day. One -has to know what one is about with them too, for they are turning out -imitations now at Dresden. Wonderful things they used to make; they -will never make the like again--" - -"Oh! pshaw!" - -"No, cousin. Some inlaid work and some kinds of porcelain will never -be made again, just as there will never be another Raphael, nor -Titian, nor Rembrandt, nor Van Eyck, nor Cranach. . . . Well, now! -there are the Chinese; they are very ingenious, very clever; they make -modern copies of their 'grand mandarin' porcelain, as it is called. -But a pair of vases of genuine 'grand mandarin' vases of the largest -size, are worth, six, eight, and ten thousand francs, while you can -buy the modern replicas for a couple of hundred!" - -"You are joking." - -"You are astonished at the prices, but that is nothing, cousin. A -dinner service of Sevres /pate tendre/ (and /pate tendre/ is not -porcelain)--a complete dinner service of Sevres /pate tendre/ for -twelve persons is not merely worth a hundred thousand francs, but that -is the price charged on the invoice. Such a dinner-service cost -fifteen thousand francs at Sevres in 1750; I have seen the original -invoices." - -"But let us go back to this fan," said Cecile. Evidently in her -opinion the trinket was an old-fashioned thing. - -"You can understand that as soon as your dear mamma did me the honor -of asking for a fan, I went round of all the curiosity shops in Paris, -but I found nothing fine enough. I wanted nothing less than a -masterpiece for the dear Presidente, and thought of giving her one -that once belonged to Marie Antoinette, the most beautiful of all -celebrated fans. But yesterday I was dazzled by this divine /chef- -d'oeuvre/, which certainly must have been ordered by Louis XV. -himself. Do you ask how I came to look for fans in the Rue de Lappe, -among an Auvergnat's stock of brass and iron and ormolu furniture? -Well, I myself believe that there is an intelligence in works of art; -they know art-lovers, they call to them--'Cht-tt!' " - -Mme. de Marville shrugged her shoulders and looked at her daughter; -Pons did not notice the rapid pantomime. - -"I know all those sharpers," continued Pons, "so I asked him, -'Anything fresh to-day, Daddy Monistrol?'--(for he always lets me look -over his lots before the big buyers come)--and at that he began to -tell me how Lienard, that did such beautiful work for the Government -in the Chapelle de Dreux, had been at the Aulnay sale and rescued the -carved panels out of the clutches of the Paris dealers, while their -heads were running on china and inlaid furniture.--'I did not do much -myself,' he went on, 'but I may make my traveling expenses out of -/this/,' and he showed me a what-not; a marvel! Boucher's designs -executed in marquetry, and with such art!--One could have gone down on -one's knees before it.--'Look, sir,' he said, 'I have just found this -fan in a little drawer; it was locked, I had to force it open. You -might tell me where I can sell it'--and with that he brings out this -little carved cherry-wood box.--'See,' says he, 'it is the kind of -Pompadour that looks like decorated Gothic.'--'Yes,' I told him, 'the -box is pretty; the box might suit me; but as for the fan, Monistrol, I -have no Mme. Pons to give the old trinket to, and they make very -pretty new ones nowadays; you can buy miracles of painting on vellum -cheaply enough. There are two thousand painters in Paris, you know.'-- -And I opened out the fan carelessly, keeping down my admiration, -looked indifferently at those two exquisite little pictures, touched -off with an ease fit to send you into raptures. I held Mme. de -Pompadour's fan in my hand! Watteau had done his utmost for this.-- -'What do you want for the what-not?'--'Oh! a thousand francs; I have -had a bid already.'--I offered him a price for the fan corresponding -with the probable expenses of the journey. We looked each other in the -eyes, and I saw that I had my man. I put the fan back into the box -lest my Auvergnat should begin to look at it, and went into ecstasies -over the box; indeed, it is a jewel.--'If I take it,' said I, 'it is -for the sake of the box; the box tempts me. As for the what-not, you -will get more than a thousand francs for that. Just see how the brass -is wrought; it is a model. There is business in it. . . . It has never -been copied; it is a unique specimen, made solely for Mme. de -Pompadour'--and so on, till my man, all on fire for his what-not, -forgets the fan, and lets me have it for a mere trifle, because I have -pointed out the beauties of his piece of Riesener's furniture. So here -it is; but it needs a great deal of experience to make such a bargain -as that. It is a duel, eye to eye; and who has such eyes as a Jew or -an Auvergnat?" - -The old artist's wonderful pantomime, his vivid, eager way of telling -the story of the triumph of his shrewdness over the dealer's -ignorance, would have made a subject for a Dutch painter; but it was -all thrown away upon the audience. Mother and daughter exchanged cold, -contemptuous glances.--"What an oddity!" they seemed to say. - -"So it amuses you?" remarked Mme. de Marville. The question sent a -cold chill through Pons; he felt a strong desire to slap the -Presidente. - -"Why, my dear cousin, that is the way to hunt down a work of art. You -are face to face with antagonists that dispute the game with you. It -is craft against craft! A work of art in the hands of a Norman, an -Auvergnat, or a Jew, is like a princess guarded by magicians in a -fairy tale." - -"And how can you tell that this is by Wat--what do you call him?" - -"Watteau, cousin. One of the greatest eighteenth century painters in -France. Look! do you not see that it is his work?" (pointing to a -pastoral scene, court-shepherd swains and shepherdesses dancing in a -ring). "The movement! the life in it! the coloring! There it is--see! ---painted with a stroke of the brush, as a writing-master makes a -flourish with a pen. Not a trace of effort here! And, turn it over, -look!--a ball in a drawing-room. Summer and Winter! And what -ornaments! and how well preserved it is! The hinge-pin is gold, you -see, and on cleaning it, I found a tiny ruby at either side." - -"If it is so, cousin, I could not think of accepting such a valuable -present from you. It would be better to lay up the money for -yourself," said Mme. de Marville; but all the same, she asked no -better than to keep the splendid fan. - -"It is time that it should pass from the service of Vice into the -hands of Virtue," said the good soul, recovering his assurance. "It -has taken a century to work the miracle. No princess at Court, you may -be sure, will have anything to compare with it; for, unfortunately, -men will do more for a Pompadour than for a virtuous queen, such is -human nature." - -"Very well," Mme. de Marville said, laughing, "I will accept your -present.--Cecile, my angel, go to Madeleine and see that dinner is -worthy of your cousin." - -Mme. de Marville wished to make matters even. Her request, made aloud, -in defiance of all rules of good taste, sounded so much like an -attempt to repay at once the balance due to the poor cousin, that Pons -flushed red, like a girl found out in fault. The grain of sand was a -little too large; for some moments he could only let it work in his -heart. Cecile, a red-haired young woman, with a touch of pedantic -affectation, combined her father's ponderous manner with a trace of -her mother's hardness. She went and left poor Pons face to face with -the terrible Presidente. - -"How nice she is, my little Lili!" said the mother. She still called -her Cecile by this baby name. - -"Charming!" said Pons, twirling his thumbs. - -"I /cannot/ understand these times in which we live," broke out the -Presidente. "What is the good of having a President of the Court of -Appeal in Paris and a Commander of the Legion of Honor for your -father, and for a grandfather the richest wholesale silk merchant in -Paris, a deputy, and a millionaire that will be a peer of France some -of these days?" - -The President's zeal for the new Government had, in fact, recently -been rewarded with a commander's ribbon--thanks to his friendship with -Popinot, said the envious. Popinot himself, modest though he was, had, -as has been seen, accepted the title of count, "for his son's sake," -he told his numerous friends. - -"Men look for nothing but money nowadays," said Cousin Pons. "No one -thinks anything of you unless you are rich, and--" - -"What would it have been if Heaven had spared my poor little -Charles!--" cried the lady. - -"Oh, with two children you would be poor," returned the cousin. "It -practically means the division of the property. But you need not -trouble yourself, cousin; Cecile is sure to marry sooner or later. She -is the most accomplished girl I know." - -To such depths had Pons fallen by adapting himself to the company of -his entertainers! In their houses he echoed their ideas, and said the -obvious thing, after the manner of a chorus in a Greek play. He did -not dare to give free play to the artist's originality, which had -overflowed in bright repartee when he was young; he had effaced -himself, till he had almost lost his individuality; and if the real -Pons appeared, as he had done a moment ago, he was immediately -repressed. - -"But I myself was married with only twenty thousand francs for my -portion--" - -"In 1819, cousin. And it was /you/, a woman with a head on your -shoulders, and the royal protection of Louis XVIII." - -"Be still, my child is a perfect angel. She is clever, she has a warm -heart, she will have a hundred thousand francs on her wedding day, to -say nothing of the most brilliant expectations; and yet she stays on -our hands," and so on and so on. For twenty minutes, Mme. de Marville -talked on about herself and her Cecile, pitying herself after the -manner of mothers in bondage to marriageable daughters. - -Pons had dined at the house every week for twenty years, and Camusot -de Marville was the only cousin he had in the world; but he had yet to -hear the first word spoken as to his own affairs--nobody cared to know -how he lived. Here and elsewhere the poor cousin was a kind of sink -down which his relatives poured domestic confidences. His discretion -was well known; indeed, was he not bound over to silence when a single -imprudent word would have shut the door of ten houses upon him? And he -must combine his role of listener with a second part; he must applaud -continually, smile on every one, accuse nobody, defend nobody; from -his point of view, every one must be in the right. And so, in the -house of his kinsman, Pons no longer counted as a man; he was a -digestive apparatus. - -In the course of a long tirade, Mme. Camusot de Marville avowed with -due circumspection that she was prepared to take almost any son-in-law -with her eyes shut. She was even disposed to think that at eight-and- -forty or so a man with twenty thousand francs a year was a good match. - -"Cecile is in her twenty-third year. If it should fall out so -unfortunately that she is not married before she is five or six-and- -twenty, it will be extremely hard to marry her at all. When a girl -reaches that age, people want to know why she has been so long on -hand. We are a good deal talked about in our set. We have come to the -end of all the ordinary excuses--'She is so young.--She is so fond of -her father and mother that she doesn't like to leave them.--She is so -happy at home.--She is hard to please, she would like a good name--' -We are beginning to look silly; I feel that distinctly. And besides, -Cecile is tired of waiting, poor child, she suffers--" - -"In what way?" Pons was noodle enough to ask. - -"Why, because it is humiliating to her to see all her girl friends -married before her," replied the mother, with a duenna's air. - -"But, cousin, has anything happened since the last time that I had the -pleasure of dining here? Why do you think of men of eight-and-forty?" -Pons inquired humbly. - -"This has happened," returned the Presidente. "We were to have had an -interview with a Court Councillor; his son is thirty years old and -very well-to-do, and M. de Marville would have obtained a post in the -audit-office for him and paid the money. The young man is a -supernumerary there at present. And now they tell us that he has taken -it into his head to rush off to Italy in the train of a duchess from -the Bal Mabille. . . . It is nothing but a refusal in disguise. The -fact is, the young man's mother is dead; he has an income of thirty -thousand francs, and more to come at his father's death, and they -don't care about the match for him. You have just come in in the -middle of all this, dear cousin, so you must excuse our bad temper." - -While Pons was casting about for the complimentary answer which -invariably occurred to him too late when he was afraid of his host, -Madeleine came in, handed a folded note to the Presidente, and waited -for an answer. The note ran as follows: - - "DEAR MAMMA,--If we pretend that this note comes to you from papa - at the Palais, and that he wants us both to dine with his friend - because proposals have been renewed--then the cousin will go, and - we can carry out our plan of going to the Popinots." - -"Who brought the master's note?" the Presidente asked quickly. - -"A lad from the Salle du Palais," the withered waiting woman -unblushingly answered, and her mistress knew at once that Madeleine -had woven the plot with Cecile, now at the end of her patience. - -"Tell him that we will both be there at half-past five." - -Madeleine had no sooner left the room than the Presidente turned to -Cousin Pons with that insincere friendliness which is about as -grateful to a sensitive soul as a mixture of milk and vinegar to the -palate of an epicure. - -"Dinner is ordered, dear cousin; you must dine without us; my husband -has just sent word from the court that the question of the marriage -has been reopened, and we are to dine with the Councillor. We need not -stand on ceremony at all. Do just as if you were at home. I have no -secrets from you; I am perfectly open with you, as you see. I am sure -you would not wish to break off the little darling's marriage." - -"/I/, cousin? On the contrary, I should like to find some one for her; -but in my circle--" - -"Oh, that is not at all likely," said the Presidente, cutting him -short insolently. "Then you will stay, will you not? Cecile will keep -you company while I dress. - -"Oh! I can dine somewhere else, cousin." - -Cruelly hurt though he was by her way of casting up his poverty to -him, the prospect of being left alone with the servants was even more -alarming. - -"But why should you? Dinner is ready; you may just as well have it; if -you do not, the servants will eat it." - -At that atrocious speech Pons started up as if he had received a shock -from a galvanic battery, bowed stiffly to the lady, and went to find -his spencer. Now, it so happened that the door of Cecile's bedroom, -beyond the little drawing-room, stood open, and looking into the -mirror, he caught sight of the girl shaking with laughter as she -gesticulated and made signs to her mother. The old artist understood -beyond a doubt that he had been the victim of some cowardly hoax. Pons -went slowly down the stairs; he could not keep back the tears. He -understood that he had been turned out of the house, but why and -wherefore he did not know. - -"I am growing too old," he told himself. "The world has a horror of -old age and poverty--two ugly things. After this I will not go -anywhere unless I am asked." - -Heroic resolve! - -Downstairs the great gate was shut, as it usually is in houses -occupied by the proprietor; the kitchen stood exactly opposite the -porter's lodge, and the door was open. Pons was obliged to listen -while Madeleine told the servants the whole story amid the laughter of -the servants. She had not expected him to leave so soon. The footman -loudly applauded a joke at the expense of a visitor who was always -coming to the house and never gave you more than three francs at the -year's end. - -"Yes," put in the cook; "but if he cuts up rough and does not come -back, there will be three francs the less for some of us on New Year's -day." - -"Eh! How is he to know?" retorted the footman. - -"Pooh!" said Madeleine, "a little sooner or a little later--what -difference does it make? The people at the other houses where he dines -are so tired of him that they are going to turn him out." - -"The gate, if you please!" - -Madeleine had scarcely uttered the words when they heard the old -musician's call to the porter. It sounded like a cry of pain. There -was a sudden silence in the kitchen. - -"He heard!" the footman said. - -"Well, and if he did, so much the worser, or rather so much the -better," retorted Madeleine. "He is an arrant skinflint." - -Poor Pons had lost none of the talk in the kitchen; he heard it all, -even to the last word. He made his way home along the boulevards, in -the same state, physical and mental, as an old woman after a desperate -struggle with burglars. As he went he talked to himself in quick -spasmodic jerks; his honor had been wounded, and the pain of it drove -him on as a gust of wind whirls away a straw. He found himself at last -in the Boulevard du Temple; how he had come thither he could not tell. -It was five o'clock, and, strange to say, he had completely lost his -appetite. - -But if the reader is to understand the revolution which Pons' -unexpected return at that hour was to work in the Rue de Normandie, -the promised biography of Mme. Cibot must be given in this place. - -Any one passing along the Rue de Normandie might be pardoned for -thinking that he was in some small provincial town. Grass runs to seed -in the street, everybody knows everybody else, and the sight of a -stranger is an event. The houses date back to the reign of Henry IV., -when there was a scheme afoot for a quarter in which every street was -to be named after a French province, and all should converge in a -handsome square to which La France should stand godmother. The -Quartier de l'Europe was a revival of the same idea; history repeats -itself everywhere in the world, and even in the world of speculation. - -The house in which the two musicians used to live is an old mansion -with a courtyard in front and a garden at the back; but the front part -of the house which gives upon the street is comparatively modern, -built during the eighteenth century when the Marais was a fashionable -quarter. The friends lived at the back, on the second floor of the old -part of the house. The whole building belongs to M. Pillerault, an old -man of eighty, who left matters very much in the hands of M. and Mme. -Cibot, his porters for the past twenty-six years. - -Now, as a porter cannot live by his lodge alone, the aforesaid Cibot -had other means of gaining a livelihood; and supplemented his five per -cent on the rental and his faggot from every cartload of wood by his -own earnings as a tailor. In time Cibot ceased to work for the master -tailors; he made a connection among the little trades-people of the -quarter, and enjoyed a monopoly of the repairs, renovations, and fine -drawing of all the coats and trousers in three adjacent streets. The -lodge was spacious and wholesome, and boasted a second room; wherefore -the Cibot couple were looked upon as among the luckiest porters in the -arrondissement. - -Cibot, small and stunted, with a complexion almost olive-colored by -reason of sitting day in day out in Turk-fashion on a table level with -the barred window, made about twelve or fourteen francs a week. He -worked still, though he was fifty-eight years old, but fifty-eight is -the porter's golden age; he is used to his lodge, he and his room fit -each other like the shell and the oyster, and "he is known in the -neighborhood." - -Mme. Cibot, sometime opener of oysters at the /Cadran Bleu/, after all -the adventures which come unsought to the belle of an oyster-bar, left -her post for love of Cibot at the age of twenty-eight. The beauty of a -woman of the people is short-lived, especially if she is planted -espalier fashion at a restaurant door. Her features are hardened by -puffs of hot air from the kitchen; the color of the heeltaps of -customers' bottles, finished in the company of the waiters, gradually -filters into her complexion--no beauty is full blown so soon as the -beauty of an oyster-opener. Luckily for Mme. Cibot, lawful wedlock and -a portress' life were offered to her just in time; while she still -preserved a comeliness of a masculine order slandered by rivals of the -Rue de Normandie, who called her "a great blowsy thing," Mme. Cibot -might have sat as a model to Rubens. Those flesh tints reminded you of -the appetizing sheen on a pat of Isigny butter; but plump as she was, -no woman went about her work with more agility. Mme. Cibot had -attained the time of life when women of her stamp are obliged to shave ---which is as much as to say that she had reached the age of forty- -eight. A porter's wife with a moustache is one of the best possible -guarantees of respectability and security that a landlord can have. If -Delacroix could have seen Mme. Cibot leaning proudly on her broom -handle, he would assuredly have painted her as Bellona. - -Strange as it may seem, the circumstances of the Cibots, man and wife -(in the style of an indictment), were one day to affect the lives of -the two friends; wherefore the chronicler, as in duty bound, must give -some particulars as to the Cibots' lodge. - -The house brought in about eight thousand francs for there were three -complete sets of apartments--back and front, on the side nearest the -Rue de Normandie, as well as the three floors in the older mansion -between the courtyard and the garden, and a shop kept by a marine -store-dealer named Remonencq, which fronted on the street. During the -past few months this Remonencq had begun to deal in old curiosities, -and knew the value of Pons' collection so well that he took off his -hat whenever the musician came in or went out. - -A sou in the livre on eight thousand francs therefore brought in about -four hundred francs to the Cibots. They had no rent to pay and no -expenses for firing; Cibot's earnings amounted on an average to seven -or eight hundred francs, add tips at New Year, and the pair had -altogether in income of sixteen hundred francs, every penny of which -they spent, for the Cibots lived and fared better than working people -usually do. "One can only live once," La Cibot used to say. She was -born during the Revolution, you see, and had never learned her -Catechism. - -The husband of this portress with the unblenching tawny eyes was an -object of envy to the whole fraternity, for La Cibot had not forgotten -the knowledge of cookery picked up at the /Cadran Bleu/. So it had -come to pass that the Cibots had passed the prime of life, and saw -themselves on the threshold of old age without a hundred francs put by -for the future. Well clad and well fed, they enjoyed among the -neighbors, it is true, the respect due to twenty-six years of strict -honesty; for if they had nothing of their own, they "hadn't nothing -belonging to nobody else," according to La Cibot, who was a prodigal -of negatives. "There wasn't never such a love of a man," she would say -to her husband. Do you ask why? You might as well ask the reason of -her indifference in matters of religion. - -Both of them were proud of a life lived in open day, of the esteem in -which they were held for six or seven streets round about, and of the -autocratic rule permitted to them by the proprietor ("perprietor," -they called him); but in private they groaned because they had no -money lying at interest. Cibot complained of pains in his hands and -legs, and his wife would lament that her poor, dear Cibot should be -forced to work at his age; and, indeed, the day is not far distant -when a porter after thirty years of such a life will cry shame upon -the injustice of the Government and clamor for the ribbon of the -Legion of Honor. Every time that the gossip of the quarter brought -news of such and such a servant-maid, left an annuity of three or four -hundred francs after eight or ten years of service, the porters' -lodges would resound with complaints, which may give some idea of the -consuming jealousies in the lowest walks of life in Paris. - -"Oh, indeed! It will never happen to the like of us to have our names -mentioned in a will! We have no luck, but we do more than servants, -for all that. We fill a place of trust; we give receipts, we are on -the lookout for squalls, and yet we are treated like dogs, neither -more nor less, and that's the truth!" - -"Some find fortune and some miss fortune," said Cibot, coming in with -a coat. - -"If I had left Cibot here in his lodge and taken a place as cook, we -should have our thirty thousand francs out at interest," cried Mme. -Cibot, standing chatting with a neighbor, her hands on her prominent -hips. "But I didn't understand how to get on in life; housed inside of -a snug lodge and firing found and want for nothing, but that is all." - -In 1836, when the friends took up their abode on the second floor, -they brought about a sort of revolution in the Cibot household. It -befell on this wise. Schmucke, like his friend Pons, usually arranged -that the porter or the porter's wife should undertake the cares of -housekeeping; and being both of one mind on this point when they came -to live in the Rue de Normandie, Mme. Cibot became their housekeeper -at the rate of twenty-five francs per month--twelve francs fifty -centimes for each of them. Before the year was out, the emeritus -portress reigned in the establishment of the two old bachelors, as she -reigned everywhere in the house belonging to M. Pillerault, great -uncle of Mme. le Comtesse Popinot. Their business was her business; -she called them "my gentlemen." And at last, finding the pair of -nutcrackers as mild as lambs, easy to live with, and by no means -suspicious--perfect children, in fact--her heart, the heart of a woman -of the people, prompted her to protect, adore, and serve them with -such thorough devotion, that she read them a lecture now and again, -and saved them from the impositions which swell the cost of living in -Paris. For twenty-five francs a month, the two old bachelors -inadvertently acquired a mother. - -As they became aware of Mme. Cibot's full value, they gave her -outspoken praises, and thanks, and little presents which strengthened -the bonds of the domestic alliance. Mme. Cibot a thousand times -preferred appreciation to money payments; it is a well-known fact that -the sense that one is appreciated makes up for a deficiency in wages. -And Cibot did all that he could for his wife's two gentlemen, and ran -errands and did repairs at half-price for them. - -The second year brought a new element into the friendship between the -lodge and the second floor, and Schmucke concluded a bargain which -satisfied his indolence and desire for a life without cares. For -thirty sous per day, or forty-five francs per month, Mme. Cibot -undertook to provide Schmucke with breakfast and dinner; and Pons, -finding his friend's breakfast very much to his mind, concluded a -separate treaty for that meal only at the rate of eighteen francs. -This arrangement, which added nearly ninety francs every month to the -takings of the porter and his wife, made two inviolable beings of the -lodgers; they became angels, cherubs, divinities. It is very doubtful -whether the King of the French, who is supposed to understand economy, -is as well served as the pair of nutcrackers used to be in those days. - -For them the milk issued pure from the can; they enjoyed a free -perusal of all the morning papers taken by other lodgers, later -risers, who were told, if need be, that the newspapers had not come -yet. Mme. Cibot, moreover, kept their clothes, their rooms, and the -landing as clean as a Flemish interior. As for Schmucke, he enjoyed -unhoped-for happiness; Mme. Cibot had made life easy for him; he paid -her about six francs a month, and she took charge of his linen, -washing, and mending. Altogether, his expenses amounted to sixty-six -francs per month (for he spent fifteen francs on tobacco), and sixty- -six francs multiplied by twelve produces the sum total of seven -hundred and ninety-two francs. Add two hundred and twenty francs for -rent, rates, and taxes, and you have a thousand and twelve francs. -Cibot was Schmucke's tailor; his clothes cost him on average a hundred -and fifty francs, which further swells the total to the sum of twelve -hundred. On twelve hundred francs per annum this profound philosopher -lived. How many people in Europe, whose one thought it is to come to -Paris and live there, will be agreeably surprised to learn that you -may exist in comfort upon an income of twelve hundred francs in the -Rue de Normandie in the Marais, under the wing of a Mme. Cibot. - -Mme. Cibot, to resume the story, was amazed beyond expression to see -Pons, good man, return at five o'clock in the evening. Such a thing -had never happened before; and not only so, but "her gentleman" had -given her no greeting--had not so much as seen her! - -"Well, well, Cibot," said she to her spouse, "M. Pons has come in for -a million, or gone out of his mind!" - -"That is how it looks to me," said Cibot, dropping the coat-sleeve in -which he was making a "dart," in tailor's language. - -The savory odor of a stew pervaded the whole courtyard, as Pons -returned mechanically home. Mme. Cibot was dishing up Schmucke's -dinner, which consisted of scraps of boiled beef from a little cook- -shop not above doing a little trade of this kind. These morsels were -fricasseed in brown butter, with thin slices of onion, until the meat -and vegetables had absorbed the gravy and this true porter's dish was -browned to the right degree. With that fricassee, prepared with loving -care for Cibot and Schmucke, and accompanied by a bottle of beer and a -piece of cheese, the old German music-master was quite content. Not -King Solomon in all his glory, be sure, could dine better than -Schmucke. A dish of boiled beef fricasseed with onions, scraps of -/saute/ chicken, or beef and parsley, or venison, or fish served with -a sauce of La Cibot's own invention (a sauce with which a mother might -unsuspectingly eat her child),--such was Schmucke's ordinary, varying -with the quantity and quality of the remnants of food supplied by -boulevard restaurants to the cook-shop in the Rue Boucherat. Schmucke -took everything that "goot Montame Zipod" gave him, and was content, -and so from day to day "goot Montame Zipod" cut down the cost of his -dinner, until it could be served for twenty sous. - -"It won't be long afore I find out what is the matter with him, poor -dear," said Mme. Cibot to her husband, "for here is M. Schmucke's -dinner all ready for him." - -As she spoke she covered the deep earthenware dish with a plate; and, -notwithstanding her age, she climbed the stair and reached the door -before Schmucke opened it to Pons. - -"Vat is de matter mit you, mein goot friend?" asked the German, scared -by the expression of Pons' face. - -"I will tell you all about it; but I have come home to have dinner -with you--" - -"Tinner! tinner!" cried Schmucke in ecstasy; "but it is impossible!" -the old German added, as he thought of his friend's gastronomical -tastes; and at that very moment he caught sight of Mme. Cibot -listening to the conversation, as she had a right to do as his lawful -housewife. Struck with one of those happy inspirations which only -enlighten a friend's heart, he marched up to the portress and drew her -out to the stairhead. - -"Montame Zipod," he said, "der goot Pons is fond of goot dings; shoost -go rount to der /Catran Pleu/ und order a dainty liddle tinner, mit -anjovies und maggaroni. Ein tinner for Lugullus, in vact." - -"What is that?" inquired La Cibot. - -"Oh! ah!" returned Schmucke, "it is veal /a la pourcheoise/" -(/bourgeoise/, he meant), "a nice fisch, ein pottle off Porteaux, und -nice dings, der fery best dey haf, like groquettes of rice und shmoked -pacon! Bay for it, und say nodings; I vill gif you back de monny -to-morrow morning." - -Back went Schmucke, radiant and rubbing his hands; but his expression -slowly changed to a look of bewildered astonishment as he heard Pons' -story of the troubles that had but just now overwhelmed him in a -moment. He tried to comfort Pons by giving him a sketch of the world -from his own point of view. Paris, in his opinion, was a perpetual -hurly-burly, the men and women in it were whirled away by a -tempestuous waltz; it was no use expecting anything of the world, -which only looked at the outsides of things, "und not at der -inderior." For the hundredth time he related how that the only three -pupils for whom he had really cared, for whom he was ready to die, the -three who had been fond of him, and even allowed him a little pension -of nine hundred francs, each contributing three hundred to the amount ---his favorite pupils had quite forgotten to come to see him; and so -swift was the current of Parisian life which swept them away, that if -he called at their houses, he had not succeeded in seeing them once in -three years--(it is a fact, however, that Schmucke had always thought -fit to call on these great ladies at ten o'clock in the morning!)-- -still, his pension was paid quarterly through the medium of -solicitors. - -"Und yet, dey are hearts of gold," he concluded. "Dey are my liddle -Saint Cecilias, sharming vimmen, Montame de Bordentuere, Montame de -Fantenesse, und Montame du Dilet. Gif I see dem at all, it is at die -Jambs Elusees, und dey do not see me . . . yet dey are ver' fond of -me, und I might go to dine mit dem, und dey vould be ver' bleased to -see me; und I might go to deir country-houses, but I vould much rader -be mit mine friend Bons, because I kann see him venefer I like, und -efery tay." - -Pons took Schmucke's hand and grasped it between his own. All that was -passing in his inmost soul was communicated in that tight pressure. -And so for awhile the friends sat like two lovers, meeting at last -after a long absence. - -"Tine here, efery tay!" broke out Schmucke, inwardly blessing Mme. de -Marville for her hardness of heart. "Look here! Ve shall go a prick-a- -pracking togeders, und der teufel shall nefer show his tail here." - -"Ve shall go prick-a-pracking togeders!" for the full comprehension of -those truly heroic words, it must be confessed that Schmucke's -ignorance of bric-a-brac was something of the densest. It required all -the strength of his friendship to keep him from doing heedless damage -in the sitting-room and study which did duty as a museum for Pons. -Schmucke, wholly absorbed in music, a composer for love of his art, -took about as much interest in his friend's little trifles as a fish -might take in a flower-show at the Luxembourg, supposing that it had -received a ticket of admission. A certain awe which he certainly felt -for the marvels was simply a reflection of the respect which Pons -showed his treasures when he dusted them. To Pons' exclamations of -admiration, he was wont to reply with a "Yes, it is ver' bretty," as a -mother answers baby-gestures with meaningless baby-talk. Seven times -since the friends had lived together, Pons had exchanged a good clock -for a better one, till at last he possessed a timepiece in Boule's -first and best manner, for Boule had two manners, as Raphael had -three. In the first he combined ebony and copper; in the second-- -contrary to his convictions--he sacrificed to tortoise-shell inlaid -work. In spite of Pons' learned dissertations, Schmucke never could -see the slightest difference between the magnificent clock in Boule's -first manner and its six predecessors; but, for Pons' sake, Schmucke -was even more careful among the "chimcracks" than Pons himself. So it -should not be surprising that Schmucke's sublime words comforted Pons -in his despair; for "Ve shall go prick-a-pracking togeders," meant, -being interpreted, "I will put money into bric-a-brac, if you will -only dine here." - -"Dinner is ready," Mme. Cibot announced, with astonishing self- -possession. - -It is not difficult to imagine Pons' surprise when he saw and relished -the dinner due to Schmucke's friendship. Sensations of this kind, that -came so rarely in a lifetime, are never the outcome of the constant, -close relationship by which friend daily says to friend, "You are a -second self to me"; for this, too, becomes a matter of use and wont. -It is only by contact with the barbarism of the world without that the -happiness of that intimate life is revealed to us as a sudden glad -surprise. It is the outer world which renews the bond between friend -and friend, lover and lover, all their lives long, wherever two great -souls are knit together by friendship or by love. - -Pons brushed away two big tears, Schmucke himself wiped his eyes; and -though nothing was said, the two were closer friends than before. -Little friendly nods and glances exchanged across the table were like -balm to Pons, soothing the pain caused by the sand dropped in his -heart by the President's wife. As for Schmucke, he rubbed his hands -till they were sore; for a new idea had occurred to him, one of those -great discoveries which cause a German no surprise, unless they sprout -up suddenly in a Teuton brain frost-bound by the awe and reverence due -to sovereign princes. - -"Mine goot Bons?" began Schmucke. - -"I can guess what you mean; you would like us both to dine together -here, every day--" - -"Gif only I vas rich enof to lif like dis efery tay--" began the good -German in a melancholy voice. But here Mme. Cibot appeared upon the -scene. Pons had given her an order for the theatre from time to time, -and stood in consequence almost as high in her esteem and affection as -her boarder Schmucke. - -"Lord love you," said she, "for three francs and wine extra I can give -you both such a dinner every day that you will be ready to lick the -plates as clean as if they were washed." - -"It is a fact," Schmucke remarked, "dat die dinners dat Montame Zipod -cooks for me are better as de messes dey eat at der royal dable!" In -his eagerness, Schmucke, usually so full of respect for the powers -that be, so far forgot himself as to imitate the irreverent newspapers -which scoffed at the "fixed-price" dinners of Royalty. - -"Really?" said Pons. "Very well, I will try to-morrow." - -And at that promise Schmucke sprang from one end of the table to the -other, sweeping off tablecloth, bottles, and dishes as he went, and -hugged Pons to his heart. So might gas rush to combine with gas. - -"Vat happiness!" cried he. - -Mme. Cibot was quite touched. "Monsieur is going to dine here every -day!" she cried proudly. - -That excellent woman departed downstairs again in ignorance of the -event which had brought about this result, entered her room like -Josepha in /William Tell/, set down the plates and dishes on the table -with a bang, and called aloud to her husband: - -"Cibot! run to the /Cafe Turc/ for two small cups of coffee, and tell -the man at the stove that it is for me." - -Then she sat down and rested her hands on her massive knees, and gazed -out of the window at the opposite wall. - -"I will go to-night and see what Ma'am Fontaine says," she thought. -(Madame Fontaine told fortunes on the cards for all the servants in -the quarter of the Marais.) "Since these two gentlemen came here, we -have put two thousand francs in the savings bank. Two thousand francs -in eight years! What luck! Would it be better to make no profit out of -M. Pons' dinner and keep him here at home? Ma'am Fontaine's hen will -tell me that." - -Three years ago Mme. Cibot had begun to cherish a hope that her name -might be mentioned in "her gentlemen's" wills; she had redoubled her -zeal since that covetous thought tardily sprouted up in the midst of -that so honest moustache. Pons hitherto had dined abroad, eluding her -desire to have both of "her gentlemen" entirely under her management; -his "troubadour" collector's life had scared away certain vague ideas -which hovered in La Cibot's brain; but now her shadowy projects -assumed the formidable shape of a definite plan, dating from that -memorable dinner. Fifteen minutes later she reappeared in the dining- -room with two cups of excellent coffee, flanked by a couple of tiny -glasses of /kirschwasser/. - -"Long lif Montame Zipod!" cried Schmucke; "she haf guessed right!" - -The diner-out bemoaned himself a little, while Schmucke met his -lamentations with coaxing fondness, like a home pigeon welcoming back -a wandering bird. Then the pair set out for the theatre. - -Schmucke could not leave his friend in the condition to which he had -been brought by the Camusots--mistresses and servants. He knew Pons so -well; he feared lest some cruel, sad thought should seize on him at -his conductor's desk, and undo all the good done by his welcome home -to the nest. - -And Schmucke brought his friend back on his arm through the streets at -midnight. A lover could not be more careful of his lady. He pointed -out the edges of the curbstones, he was on the lookout whenever they -stepped on or off the pavement, ready with a warning if there was a -gutter to cross. Schmucke could have wished that the streets were -paved with cotton-down; he would have had a blue sky overhead, and -Pons should hear the music which all the angels in heaven were making -for him. He had won the lost province in his friend's heart! - -For nearly three months Pons and Schmucke dined together every day. -Pons was obliged to retrench at once; for dinner at forty-five francs -a month and wine at thirty-five meant precisely eighty francs less to -spend on bric-a-brac. And very soon, in spite of all that Schmucke -could do, in spite of his little German jokes, Pons fell to regretting -the delicate dishes, the liqueurs, the good coffee, the table talk, -the insincere politeness, the guests, and the gossip, and the houses -where he used to dine. On the wrong side of sixty a man cannot break -himself of a habit of thirty-six years' growth. Wine at a hundred and -thirty francs per hogshead is scarcely a generous liquid in a -/gourmet's/ glass; every time that Pons raised it to his lips he -thought, with infinite regret, of the exquisite wines in his -entertainers' cellars. - -In short, at the end of three months, the cruel pangs which had gone -near to break Pons' sensitive heart had died away; he forgot -everything but the charms of society; and languished for them like -some elderly slave of a petticoat compelled to leave the mistress who -too repeatedly deceives him. In vain he tried to hide his profound and -consuming melancholy; it was too plain that he was suffering from one -of the mysterious complaints which the mind brings upon the body. - -A single symptom will throw light upon this case of nostalgia (as it -were) produced by breaking away from an old habit; in itself it is -trifling, one of the myriad nothings which are as rings in a coat of -chain-mail enveloping the soul in a network of iron. One of the -keenest pleasures of Pons' old life, one of the joys of the dinner- -table parasite at all times, was the "surprise," the thrill produced -by the extra dainty dish added triumphantly to the bill of fare by the -mistress of a bourgeois house, to give a festal air to the dinner. -Pons' stomach hankered after that gastronomical satisfaction. Mme. -Cibot, in the pride of her heart, enumerated every dish beforehand; a -salt and savor once periodically recurrent, had vanished utterly from -daily life. Dinner proceeded without /le plat couvert/, as our -grandsires called it. This lay beyond the bounds of Schmucke's powers -of comprehension. - -Pons had too much delicacy to grumble; but if the case of -unappreciated genius is hard, it goes harder still with the stomach -whose claims are ignored. Slighted affection, a subject of which too -much has been made, is founded upon an illusory longing; for if the -creature fails, love can turn to the Creator who has treasures to -bestow. But the stomach! . . . Nothing can be compared to its -sufferings; for, in the first place, one must live. - -Pons thought wistfully of certain creams--surely the poetry of -cookery!--of certain white sauces, masterpieces of the art; of -truffled chickens, fit to melt your heart; and above these, and more -than all these, of the famous Rhine carp, only known at Paris, served -with what condiments! There were days when Pons, thinking upon Count -Popinot's cook, would sigh aloud, "Ah, Sophie!" Any passer-by hearing -the exclamation might have thought that the old man referred to a lost -mistress; but his fancy dwelt upon something rarer, on a fat Rhine -carp with a sauce, thin in the sauce-boat, creamy upon the palate, a -sauce that deserved the Montyon prize! The conductor of the orchestra, -living on memories of past dinners, grew visibly leaner; he was pining -away, a victim to gastric nostalgia. - -By the beginning of the fourth month (towards the end of January, -1845), Pons' condition attracted attention at the theatre. The flute, -a young man named Wilhelm, like almost all Germans; and Schwab, to -distinguish him from all other Wilhelms, if not from all other -Schwabs, judged it expedient to open Schmucke's eyes to his friend's -state of health. It was a first performance of a piece in which -Schmucke's instruments were all required. - -"The old gentleman is failing," said the flute; "there is something -wrong somewhere; his eyes are heavy, and he doesn't beat time as he -used to do," added Wilhelm Schwab, indicating Pons as he gloomily took -his place. - -"Dat is alvays de vay, gif a man is sixty years old," answered -Schmucke. - -The Highland widow, in /The Chronicles of the Canongate/, sent her son -to his death to have him beside her for twenty-four hours; and -Schmucke could have sacrificed Pons for the sake of seeing his face -every day across the dinner-table. - -"Everybody in the theatre is anxious about him," continued the flute; -"and, as the /premiere danseuse/, Mlle. Brisetout, says, 'he makes -hardly any noise now when he blows his nose.' " - -And, indeed, a peal like a blast of a horn used to resound through the -old musician's bandana handkerchief whenever he raised it to that -lengthy and cavernous feature. The President's wife had more -frequently found fault with him on that score than on any other. - -"I vould gif a goot teal to amuse him," said Schmucke, "he gets so -dull." - -"M. Pons always seems so much above the like of us poor devils, that, -upon my word, I didn't dare to ask him to my wedding," said Wilhelm -Schwab. "I am going to be married--" - -"How?" demanded Schmucke. - -"Oh! quite properly," returned Wilhelm Schwab, taking Schmucke's -quaint inquiry for a gibe, of which that perfect Christian was quite -incapable. - -"Come, gentlemen, take your places!" called Pons, looking round at his -little army, as the stage manager's bell rang for the overture. - -The piece was a dramatized fairy tale, a pantomime called /The Devil's -Betrothed/, which ran for two hundred nights. In the interval, after -the first act, Wilhelm Schwab and Schmucke were left alone in the -orchestra, with a house at a temperature of thirty-two degrees -Reaumur. - -"Tell me your hishdory," said Schmucke. - -"Look there! Do you see that young man in the box yonder? . . . Do you -recognize him?" - -"Nefer a pit--" - -"Ah! That is because he is wearing yellow gloves and shines with all -the radiance of riches, but that is my friend Fritz Brunner out of -Frankfort-on-the-Main." - -"Dat used to komm to see du blav und sit peside you in der orghestra?" - -"The same. You would not believe he could look so different, would -you?" - -The hero of the promised story was a German of that particular type in -which the sombre irony of Goethe's Mephistopheles is blended with a -homely cheerfulness found in the romances of August Lafontaine of -pacific memory; but the predominating element in the compound of -artlessness and guile, of shopkeeper's shrewdness, and the studied -carelessness of a member of the Jockey Club, was that form of disgust -which set a pistol in the hands of a young Werther, bored to death -less by Charlotte than by German princes. It was a thoroughly German -face, full of cunning, full of simplicity, stupidity, and courage; the -knowledge which brings weariness, the worldly wisdom which the veriest -child's trick leaves at fault, the abuse of beer and tobacco,--all -these were there to be seen in it, and to heighten the contrast of -opposed qualities, there was a wild diabolical gleam in the fine blue -eyes with the jaded expression. - -Dressed with all the elegance of a city man, Fritz Brunner sat in full -view of the house displaying a bald crown of the tint beloved by -Titian, and a few stray fiery red hairs on either side of it; a -remnant spared by debauchery and want, that the prodigal might have a -right to spend money with the hairdresser when he should come into his -fortune. A face, once fair and fresh as the traditional portrait of -Jesus Christ, had grown harder since the advent of a red moustache; a -tawny beard lent it an almost sinister look. The bright blue eyes had -lost something of their clearness in the struggle with distress. The -countless courses by which a man sells himself and his honor in Paris -had left their traces upon his eyelids and carved lines about the -eyes, into which a mother once looked with a mother's rapture to find -a copy of her own fashioned by God's hand. - -This precocious philosopher, this wizened youth was the work of a -stepmother. - -Herewith begins the curious history of a prodigal son of Frankfort-on- -the-Main--the most extraordinary and astounding portent ever beheld by -that well-conducted, if central, city. - -Gideon Brunner, father of the aforesaid Fritz, was one of the famous -innkeepers of Frankfort, a tribe who make law-authorized incisions in -travelers' purses with the connivance of the local bankers. An -innkeeper and an honest Calvinist to boot, he had married a converted -Jewess and laid the foundations of his prosperity with the money she -brought him. - -When the Jewess died, leaving a son Fritz, twelve years of age, under -the joint guardianship of his father and maternal uncle, a furrier at -Leipsic, head of the firm of Virlaz and Company, Brunner senior was -compelled by his brother-in-law (who was by no means as soft as his -peltry) to invest little Fritz's money, a goodly quantity of current -coin of the realm, with the house of Al-Sartchild. Not a penny of it -was he allowed to touch. So, by way of revenge for the Israelite's -pertinacity, Brunner senior married again. It was impossible, he said, -to keep his huge hotel single-handed; it needed a woman's eye and -hand. Gideon Brunner's second wife was an innkeeper's daughter, a very -pearl, as he thought; but he had had no experience of only daughters -spoiled by father and mother. - -The second Mme. Brunner behaved as German girls may be expected to -behave when they are frivolous and wayward. She squandered her -fortune, she avenged the first Mme. Brunner by making her husband as -miserable a man as you could find in the compass of the free city of -Frankfort-on-the-Main, where the millionaires, it is said, are about -to pass a law compelling womankind to cherish and obey them alone. She -was partial to all the varieties of vinegar commonly called Rhine wine -in Germany; she was fond of /articles Paris/, of horses and dress; -indeed, the one expensive taste which she had not was a liking for -women. She took a dislike to little Fritz, and would perhaps have -driven him mad if that young offspring of Calvinism and Judaism had -not had Frankfort for his cradle and the firm of Virlaz at Leipsic for -his guardian. Uncle Virlaz, however, deep in his furs, confined his -guardianship to the safe-keeping of Fritz's silver marks, and left the -boy to the tender mercies of this stepmother. - -That hyena in woman's form was the more exasperated against the pretty -child, the lovely Jewess' son, because she herself could have no -children in spite of efforts worthy of a locomotive engine. A -diabolical impulse prompted her to plunge her young stepson, at -twenty-one years of age, into dissipations contrary to all German -habits. The wicked German hoped that English horses, Rhine vinegar, -and Goethe's Marguerites would ruin the Jewess' child and shorten his -days; for when Fritz came of age, Uncle Virlaz had handed over a very -pretty fortune to his nephew. But while roulette at Baden and -elsewhere, and boon companions (Wilhelm Schwab among them) devoured -the substance accumulated by Uncle Virlaz, the prodigal son himself -remained by the will of Providence to point a moral to younger -brothers in the free city of Frankfort; parents held him up as a -warning and an awful example to their offspring to scare them into -steady attendance in their cast-iron counting houses, lined with -silver marks. - -But so far from perishing in the flower of his age, Fritz Brunner had -the pleasure of laying his stepmother in one of those charming little -German cemeteries, in which the Teuton indulges his unbridled passion -for horticulture under the specious pretext of honoring his dead. And -as the second Mme. Brunner expired while the authors of her being were -yet alive, Brunner senior was obliged to bear the loss of the sums of -which his wife had drained his coffers, to say nothing of other ills, -which had told upon a Herculean constitution, till at the age of -sixty-seven the innkeeper had wizened and shrunk as if the famous -Borgia's poison had undermined his system. For ten whole years he had -supported his wife, and now he inherited nothing! The innkeeper was a -second ruin of Heidelberg, repaired continually, it is true, by -travelers' hotel bills, much as the remains of the castle of -Heidelberg itself are repaired to sustain the enthusiasm of the -tourists who flock to see so fine and well-preserved a relic of -antiquity. - -At Frankfort the disappointment caused as much talk as a failure. -People pointed out Brunner, saying, "See what a man may come to with a -bad wife that leaves him nothing and a son brought up in the French -fashion." - -In Italy and Germany the French nation is the root of all evil, the -target for all bullets. "But the god pursuing his way----" (For the -rest, see Lefranc de Pompignan's Ode.) - -The wrath of the proprietor of the Grand Hotel de Hollande fell on -others besides the travelers, whose bills were swelled with his -resentment. When his son was utterly ruined, Gideon, regarding him as -the indirect cause of all his misfortunes, refused him bread and salt, -fire, lodging, and tobacco--the force of the paternal malediction in a -German and an innkeeper could no farther go. Whereupon the local -authorities, making no allowance for the father's misdeeds, regarded -him as one of the most ill-used persons in Frankfort-on-the-Main, came -to his assistance, fastened a quarrel on Fritz (/une querelle -d'Allemand/), and expelled him from the territory of the free city. -Justice in Frankfort is no whit wiser nor more humane than elsewhere, -albeit the city is the seat of the German Diet. It is not often that a -magistrate traces back the stream of wrongdoing and misfortune to the -holder of the urn from which the first beginnings trickled forth. If -Brunner forgot his son, his son's friends speedily followed the old -innkeeper's example. - -Ah! if the journalists, the dandies, and some few fair Parisians among -the audience wondered how that German with the tragical countenance -had cropped up on a first night to occupy a side box all to himself -when fashionable Paris filled the house,--if these could have seen the -history played out upon the stage before the prompter's box, they -would have found it far more interesting than the transformation -scenes of /The Devil's Betrothed/, though indeed it was the two -hundred thousandth representation of a sublime allegory performed -aforetime in Mesopotamia three thousand years before Christ was born. - -Fritz betook himself on foot to Strasbourg, and there found what the -prodigal son of the Bible failed to find--to wit, a friend. And herein -is revealed the superiority of Alsace, where so many generous hearts -beat to show Germany the beauty of a combination of Gallic wit and -Teutonic solidity. Wilhelm Schwab, but lately left in possession of a -hundred thousand francs by the death of both parents, opened his arms, -his heart, his house, his purse to Fritz. As for describing Fritz's -feelings, when dusty, down on his luck, and almost like a leper, he -crossed the Rhine and found a real twenty-franc piece held out by the -hand of a real friend,--that moment transcends the powers of the prose -writer; Pindar alone could give it forth to humanity in Greek that -should rekindle the dying warmth of friendship in the world. - -Put the names of Fritz and Wilheim beside those of Damon and Pythias, -Castor and Pollux, Orestes and Pylades, Dubreuil and Pmejah, Schmucke -and Pons, and all the names that we imagine for the two friends of -Monomotapa, for La Fontaine (man of genius though he was) has made of -them two disembodied spirits--they lack reality. The two new names may -join the illustrious company, and with so much the more reason, since -that Wilhelm who had helped to drink Fritz's inheritance now -proceeded, with Fritz's assistance, to devour his own substance; -smoking, needless to say, every known variety of tobacco. - -The pair, strange to relate, squandered the property in the dullest, -stupidest, most commonplace fashion, in Strasbourg /brasseries/, in -the company of ballet-girls of the Strasbourg theatres, and little -Alsaciennes who had not a rag of a tattered reputation left. - -Every morning they would say, "We really must stop this, and make up -our minds and do something or other with the money that is left." - -"Pooh!" Fritz would retort, "just one more day, and to-morrow" . . . -ah! to-morrow. - -In the lives of Prodigal Sons, /To-day/ is a prodigious coxcomb, but -/To-morrow/ is a very poltroon, taking fright at the big words of his -predecessor. /To-day/ is the truculent captain of old world comedy, -/To-morrow/ the clown of modern pantomime. - -When the two friends had reached their last thousand-franc note, they -took places in the mail-coach, styled Royal, and departed for Paris, -where they installed themselves in the attics of the Hotel du Rhin, in -the Rue du Mail, the property of one Graff, formerly Gideon Brunner's -head-waiter. Fritz found a situation as clerk in the Kellers' bank (on -Graff's recommendation), with a salary of six hundred francs. And a -place as book-keeper was likewise found for Wilhelm, in the business -of Graff the fashionable tailor, brother of Graff of the Hotel du -Rhin, who found the scantily-paid employment for the pair of -prodigals, for the sake of old times, and his apprenticeship at the -Hotel de Hollande. These two incidents--the recognition of a ruined -man by a well-to-do friend, and a German innkeeper interesting himself -in two penniless fellow-countrymen--give, no doubt, an air of -improbability to the story, but truth is so much the more like -fiction, since modern writers of fiction have been at such untold -pains to imitate truth. - -It was not long before Fritz, a clerk with six hundred francs, and -Wilhelm, a book-keeper with precisely the same salary, discovered the -difficulties of existence in a city so full of temptations. In 1837, -the second year of their abode, Wilhelm, who possessed a pretty talent -for the flute, entered Pons' orchestra, to earn a little occasional -butter to put on his dry bread. As to Fritz, his only way to an -increase of income lay through the display of the capacity for -business inherited by a descendant of the Virlaz family. Yet, in spite -of his assiduity, in spite of abilities which possibly may have stood -in his way, his salary only reached the sum of two thousand francs in -1843. Penury, that divine stepmother, did for the two men all that -their mothers had not been able to do for them; Poverty taught them -thrift and worldly wisdom; Poverty gave them her grand rough -education, the lessons which she drives with hard knocks into the -heads of great men, who seldom know a happy childhood. Fritz and -Wilhelm, being but ordinary men, learned as little as they possibly -could in her school; they dodged the blows, shrank from her hard -breast and bony arms, and never discovered the good fairy lurking -within, ready to yield to the caresses of genius. One thing, however, -they learned thoroughly--they discovered the value of money, and vowed -to clip the wings of riches if ever a second fortune should come to -their door. - -This was the history which Wilhelm Schwab related in German, at much -greater length, to his friend the pianist, ending with; - -"Well, Papa Schmucke, the rest is soon explained. Old Brunner is dead. -He left four millions! He made an immense amount of money out of Baden -railways, though neither his son nor M. Graff, with whom we lodge, had -any idea that the old man was one of the original shareholders. I am -playing the flute here for the last time this evening; I would have -left some days ago, but this was a first performance, and I did not -want to spoil my part." - -"Goot, mine friend," said Schmucke. "But who is die prite?" - -"She is Mlle. Graff, the daughter of our host, the landlord of the -Hotel du Rhin. I have loved Mlle. Emilie these seven years; she has -read so many immoral novels, that she refused all offers for me, -without knowing what might come of it. She will be a very wealthy -young lady; her uncles, the tailors in the Rue de Richelieu, will -leave her all their money. Fritz is giving me the money we squandered -at Strasbourg five times over! He is putting a million francs in a -banking house, M. Graff the tailor is adding another five hundred -thousand francs, and Mlle. Emilie's father not only allows me to -incorporate her portion--two hundred and fifty thousand francs--with -the capital, but he himself will be a shareholder with as much again. -So the firm of Brunner, Schwab and Company will start with two -millions five hundred thousand francs. Fritz has just bought fifteen -hundred thousand francs' worth of shares in the Bank of France to -guarantee our account with them. That is not all Fritz's fortune. He -has his father's house property, supposed to be worth another million, -and he has let the Grand Hotel de Hollande already to a cousin of the -Graffs." - -"You look sad ven you look at your friend," remarked Schmucke, who had -listened with great interest. "Kann you pe chealous of him?" - -"I am jealous for Fritz's happiness," said Wilhelm. "Does that face -look as if it belonged to a happy man? I am afraid of Paris; I should -like to see him do as I am doing. The old tempter may awake again. Of -our two heads, his carries the less ballast. His dress, and the opera- -glass and the rest of it make me anxious. He keeps looking at the -lorettes in the house. Oh! if you only knew how hard it is to marry -Fritz. He has a horror of 'going a-courting,' as you say; you would -have to give him a drop into a family, just as in England they give a -man a drop into the next world." - -During the uproar that usually marks the end of a first night, the -flute delivered his invitation to the conductor. Pons accepted -gleefully; and, for the first time in three months, Schmucke saw a -smile on his friend's face. They went back to the Rue de Normandie in -perfect silence; that sudden flash of joy had thrown a light on the -extent of the disease which was consuming Pons. Oh, that a man so -truly noble, so disinterested, so great in feeling, should have such a -weakness! . . . This was the thought that struck the stoic Schmucke -dumb with amazement. He grew woefully sad, for he began to see that -there was no help for it; he must even renounce the pleasure of seeing -"his goot Bons" opposite him at the dinner-table, for the sake of -Pons' welfare; and he did not know whether he could give him up; the -mere thought of it drove him distracted. - -Meantime, Pons' proud silence and withdrawal to the Mons Aventinus of -the Rue de Normandie had, as might be expected, impressed the -Presidente, not that she troubled herself much about her parasite, now -that she was freed from him. She thought, with her charming daughter, -that Cousin Pons had seen through her little "Lili's" joke. But it was -otherwise with her husband the President. - -Camusot de Marville, a short and stout man, grown solemn since his -promotion at the Court, admired Cicero, preferred the Opera-Comique to -the Italiens, compared the actors one with another, and followed the -multitude step by step. He used to recite all the articles in the -Ministerialist journals, as if he were saying something original, and -in giving his opinion at the Council Board he paraphrased the remarks -of the previous speaker. His leading characteristics were sufficiently -well known; his position compelled him to take everything seriously; -and he was particularly tenacious of family ties. - -Like most men who are ruled by their wives, the President asserted his -independence in trifles, in which his wife was very careful not to -thwart him. For a month he was satisfied with the Presidente's -commonplace explanations of Pons' disappearance; but at last it struck -him as singular that the old musician, a friend of forty years' -standing, should first make them so valuable a present as a fan that -belonged to Mme. de Pompadour, and then immediately discontinue his -visits. Count Popinot had pronounced the trinket a masterpiece; when -its owner went to Court, the fan had been passed from hand to hand, -and her vanity was not a little gratified by the compliments it -received; others had dwelt on the beauties of the ten ivory sticks, -each one covered with delicate carving, the like of which had never -been seen. A Russian lady (Russian ladies are apt to forget that they -are not in Russia) had offered her six thousand francs for the marvel -one day at Count Popinot's house, and smiled to see it in such hands. -Truth to tell, it was a fan for a Duchess. - -"It cannot be denied that poor Cousin Pons understands rubbish of that -sort--" said Cecile, the day after the bid. - -"Rubbish!" cried her parent. "Why, Government is just about to buy the -late M. le Conseiller Dusommerard's collection for three hundred -thousand francs; and the State and the Municipality of Paris between -them are spending nearly a million francs over the purchase and repair -of the Hotel de Cluny to house the 'rubbish,' as you call it.--Such -'rubbish,' dear child," he resumed, "is frequently all that remains of -vanished civilizations. An Etruscan jar, and a necklace, which -sometimes fetch forty and fifty thousand francs, is 'rubbish' which -reveals the perfection of art at the time of the siege of Troy, -proving that the Etruscans were Trojan refugees in Italy." - -This was the President's cumbrous way of joking; the short, fat man -was heavily ironical with his wife and daughter. - -"The combination of various kinds of knowledge required to understand -such 'rubbish,' Cecile," he resumed, "is a science in itself, called -archaeology. Archaeology comprehends architecture, sculpture, -painting, goldsmiths' work, ceramics, cabinetmaking (a purely modern -art), lace, tapestry--in short, human handiwork of every sort and -description." - -"Then Cousin Pons is learned?" said Cecile. - -"Ah! by the by, why is he never to be seen nowadays?" asked the -President. He spoke with the air of a man in whom thousands of -forgotten and dormant impressions have suddenly begun to stir, and -shaping themselves into one idea, reach consciousness with a ricochet, -as sportsmen say. - -"He must have taken offence at nothing at all," answered his wife. "I -dare say I was not as fully sensible as I might have been of the value -of the fan that he gave me. I am ignorant enough, as you know, of--" - -"/You!/ One of Servin's best pupils, and you don't know Watteau?" -cried the President. - -"I know Gerard and David and Gros and Griodet, and M. de Forbin and M. -Turpin de Crisse--" - -"You ought--" - -"Ought what, sir?" demanded the lady, gazing at her husband with the -air of a Queen of Sheba. - -"To know a Watteau when you see it, my dear. Watteau is very much in -fashion," answered the President with meekness, that told plainly how -much he owed to his wife. - -This conversation took place a few days before that night of first -performance of /The Devil's Betrothed/, when the whole orchestra -noticed how ill Pons was looking. But by that time all the circle of -dinner-givers who were used to seeing Pons' face at their tables, and -to send him on errands, had begun to ask each other for news of him, -and uneasiness increased when it was reported by some who had seen him -that he was always in his place at the theatre. Pons had been very -careful to avoid his old acquaintances whenever he met them in the -streets; but one day it so fell out that he met Count Popinot, the -ex-cabinet minister, face to face in the bric-a-brac dealer's shop in -the new Boulevard Beaumarchais. The dealer was none other than that -Monistrol of whom Pons had spoken to the Presidente, one of the famous -and audacious vendors whose cunning enthusiasm leads them to set more -and more value daily on their wares; for curiosities, they tell you, -are growing so scarce that they are hardly to be found at all -nowadays. - -"Ah, my dear Pons, how comes it that we never see you now? We miss you -very much, and Mme. Popinot does not know what to think of your -desertion." - -"M. le Comte," said the good man, "I was made to feel in the house of -a relative that at my age one is not wanted in the world. I have never -had much consideration shown me, but at any rate I had not been -insulted. I have never asked anything of any man," he broke out with -an artist's pride. "I have often made myself useful in return for -hospitality. But I have made a mistake, it seems; I am indefinitely -beholden to those who honor me by allowing me to sit at table with -them; my friends, and my relatives. . . . Well and good; I have sent -in my resignation as smellfeast. At home I find daily something which -no other house has offered me--a real friend." - -The old artist's power had not failed him; with tone and gesture he -put such bitterness into the words, that the peer of France was struck -by them. He drew Pons aside. - -"Come, now, my old friend, what is it? What has hurt you? Could you -not tell me in confidence? You will permit me to say that at my house -surely you have always met with consideration--" - -"You are the one exception," said the artist. "And besides, you are a -great lord and a statesman, you have so many things to think about. -That would excuse anything, if there were need for it." - -The diplomatic skill that Popinot had acquired in the management of -men and affairs was brought to bear upon Pons, till at length the -story of his misfortunes in the President's house was drawn from him. - -Popinot took up the victim's cause so warmly that he told the story to -Mme. Popinot as soon as he went home, and that excellent and noble- -natured woman spoke to the Presidente on the subject at the first -opportunity. As Popinot himself likewise said a word or two to the -President, there was a general explanation in the family of Camusot de -Marville. - -Camusot was not exactly master in his own house; but this time his -remonstrance was so well founded in law and in fact, that his wife and -daughter were forced to acknowledge the truth. They both humbled -themselves and threw the blame on the servants. The servants, first -bidden, and then chidden, only obtained pardon by a full confession, -which made it clear to the President's mind that Pons had done rightly -to stop away. The President displayed himself before the servants in -all his masculine and magisterial dignity, after the manner of men who -are ruled by their wives. He informed his household that they should -be dismissed forthwith, and forfeit any advantages which their long -term of service in his house might have brought them, unless from that -time forward his cousin and all those who did him the honor of coming -to his house were treated as he himself was. At which speech Madeleine -was moved to smile. - -"You have only one chance of salvation as it is," continued the -President. "Go to my cousin, make your excuses to him, and tell him -that you will lose your situations unless he forgives you, for I shall -turn you all away if he does not." - -Next morning the President went out fairly early to pay a call on his -cousin before going down to the court. The apparition of M. le -President de Marville, announced by Mme. Cibot, was an event in the -house. Pons, thus honored for the first time in his life saw -reparation ahead. - -"At last, my dear cousin," said the President after the ordinary -greetings; "at last I have discovered the cause of your retreat. Your -behavior increases, if that were possible, my esteem for you. I have -but one word to say in that connection. My servants have all been -dismissed. My wife and daughter are in despair; they want to see you -to have an explanation. In all this, my cousin, there is one innocent -person, and he is an old judge; you will not punish me, will you, for -the escapade of a thoughtless child who wished to dine with the -Popinots? especially when I come to beg for peace, admitting that all -the wrong has been on our side? . . . An old friendship of thirty-six -years, even suppose that there had been a misunderstanding, has still -some claims. Come, sign a treaty of peace by dining with us -to-night--" - -Pons involved himself in a diffuse reply, and ended by informing his -cousin that he was to sign a marriage contract that evening; how that -one of the orchestra was not only going to be married, but also about -to fling his flute to the winds to become a banker. - -"Very well. To-morrow." - -"Mme. la Comtesse Popinot has done me the honor of asking me, cousin. -She was so kind as to write--" - -"The day after to-morrow then." - -"M. Brunner, a German, my first flute's future partner, returns the -compliment paid him to-day by the young couple--" - -"You are such pleasant company that it is not surprising that people -dispute for the honor of seeing you. Very well, next Sunday? Within a -week, as we say at the courts?" - -"On Sunday we are to dine with M. Graff, the flute's father-in-law." - -"Very well, on Saturday. Between now and then you will have time to -reassure a little girl who has shed tears already over her fault. God -asks no more than repentance; you will not be more severe than the -Eternal father with poor little Cecile?--" - -Pons, thus reached on his weak side, again plunged into formulas more -than polite, and went as far as the stairhead with the President. - -An hour later the President's servants arrived in a troop on poor -Pons' second floor. They behaved after the manner of their kind; they -cringed and fawned; they wept. Madeleine took M. Pons aside and flung -herself resolutely at his feet. - -"It is all my fault; and monsieur knows quite well that I love him," -here she burst into tears. "It was vengeance boiling in my veins; -monsieur ought to throw all the blame of the unhappy affair on that. -We are all to lose our pensions. . . . Monsieur, I was mad, and I -would not have the rest suffer for my fault. . . . I can see now well -enough that fate did not make me for monsieur. I have come to my -senses, I aimed too high, but I love you still, monsieur. These ten -years I have thought of nothing but the happiness of making you happy -and looking after things here. What a lot! . . . Oh! if monsieur but -knew how much I love him! But monsieur must have seen it through all -my mischief-making. If I were to die to-morrow, what would they find? ---A will in your favor, monsieur. . . . Yes, monsieur, in my trunk -under my best things." - -Madeleine had set a responsive chord vibrating; the passion inspired -in another may be unwelcome, but it will always be gratifying to self- -love; this was the case with the old bachelor. After generously -pardoning Madeleine, he extended his forgiveness to the other -servants, promising to use his influence with his cousin the -Presidente on their behalf. - -It was unspeakably pleasant to Pons to find all his old enjoyments -restored to him without any loss of self-respect. The world had come -to Pons, he had risen in the esteem of his circle; but Schmucke looked -so downcast and dubious when he heard the story of the triumph, that -Pons felt hurt. When, however, the kind-hearted German saw the sudden -change wrought in Pons' face, he ended by rejoicing with his friend, -and made a sacrifice of the happiness that he had known during those -four months that he had had Pons all to himself. Mental suffering has -this immense advantage over physical ills--when the cause is removed -it ceases at once. Pons was not like the same man that morning. The -old man, depressed and visibly failing, had given place to the -serenely contented Pons, who entered the Presidente's house that -October afternoon with the Marquise de Pompadour's fan in his pocket. -Schmucke, on the other hand, pondered deeply over this phenomenon, and -could not understand it; your true stoic never can understand the -courtier that dwells in a Frenchman. Pons was a born Frenchman of the -Empire; a mixture of eighteenth century gallantry and that devotion to -womankind so often celebrated in songs of the type of /Partant pour la -Syrie/. - -So Schmucke was fain to bury his chagrin beneath the flowers of his -German philosophy; but a week later he grew so yellow that Mme. Cibot -exerted her ingenuity to call in the parish doctor. The leech had -fears of icterus, and left Mme. Cibot frightened half out of her wits -by the Latin word for an attack of the jaundice. - -Meantime the two friends went out to dinner together, perhaps for the -first time in their lives. For Schmucke it was a return to the -Fatherland; for Johann Graff of the Hotel du Rhin and his daughter -Emilie, Wolfgang Graff the tailor and his wife, Fritz Brunner and -Wilhelm Schwab, were Germans, and Pons and the notary were the only -Frenchmen present at the banquet. The Graffs of the tailor's business -owned a splendid house in the Rue de Richelieu, between the Rue Neuve- -des-Petits-Champs and the Rue Villedo; they had brought up their -niece, for Emilie's father, not without reason, had feared contact -with the very mixed society of an inn for his daughter. The good -tailor Graffs, who loved Emilie as if she had been their own daughter, -were giving up the ground floor of their great house to the young -couple, and here the bank of Brunner, Schwab and Company was to be -established. The arrangements for the marriage had been made about a -month ago; some time must elapse before Fritz Brunner, author of all -this felicity, could settle his deceased father's affairs, and the -famous firm of tailors had taken advantage of the delay to redecorate -the first floor and to furnish it very handsomely for the bride and -bridegroom. The offices of the bank had been fitted into the wing -which united a handsome business house with the hotel at the back, -between courtyard and garden. - -On the way from the Rue de Normandie to the Rue de Richelieu, Pons -drew from the abstracted Schmucke the details of the story of the -modern prodigal son, for whom Death had killed the fatted innkeeper. -Pons, but newly reconciled with his nearest relatives, was immediately -smitten with a desire to make a match between Fritz Brunner and Cecile -de Marville. Chance ordained that the notary was none other than -Berthier, old Cardot's son-in-law and successor, the sometime second -clerk with whom Pons had been wont to dine. - -"Ah! M. Berthier, you here!" he said, holding out a hand to his host -of former days. - -"We have not had the pleasure of seeing you at dinner lately; how is -it?" returned the notary. "My wife has been anxious about you. We saw -you at the first performance of /The Devil's Betrothed/, and our -anxiety became curiosity?" - -"Old folk are sensitive," replied the worthy musician; "they make the -mistake of being a century behind the times, but how can it be helped? -It is quite enough to represent one century--they cannot entirely -belong to the century which sees them die." - -"Ah!" said the notary, with a shrewd look, "one cannot run two -centuries at once." - -"By the by," continued Pons, drawing the young lawyer into a corner, -"why do you not find some one for my cousin Cecile de Marville--" - -"Ah! why--?" answered Berthier. "In this century, when luxury has -filtered down to our very porters' lodges, a young fellow hesitates -before uniting his lot with the daughter of a President of the Court -of Appeal in Paris if she brings him only a hundred thousand francs. -In the rank of life in which Mlle. de Marville's husband would take, -the wife was never yet known that did not cost her husband three -thousand francs a year; the interest on a hundred thousand francs -would scarcely find her in pin-money. A bachelor with an income of -fifteen or twenty thousand francs can live on an entre-sol; he is not -expected to cut any figure; he need not keep more than one servant, -and all his surplus income he can spend on his amusements; he puts -himself in the hands of a good tailor, and need not trouble any -further about keeping up appearances. Far-sighted mothers make much of -him; he is one of the kings of fashion in Paris. - -"But a wife changes everything. A wife means a properly furnished -house," continued the lawyer; "she wants the carriage for herself; if -she goes to the play, she wants a box, while the bachelor has only a -stall to pay for; in short, a wife represents the whole of the income -which the bachelor used to spend on himself. Suppose that husband and -wife have thirty thousand francs a year between them--practically, the -sometime bachelor is a poor devil who thinks twice before he drives -out to Chantilly. Bring children on the scene--he is pinched for money -at once. - -"Now, as M. and Mme. de Marville are scarcely turned fifty, Cecile's -expectations are bills that will not fall due for fifteen or twenty -years to come; and no young fellow cares to keep them so long in his -portfolio. The young featherheads who are dancing the polka with -lorettes at the Jardin Mabille, are so cankered with self-interest, -that they don't stand in need of us to explain both sides of the -problem to them. Between ourselves, I may say that Mlle. de Marville -scarcely sets hearts throbbing so fast but that their owners can -perfectly keep their heads, and they are full of these anti- -matrimonial reflections. If any eligible young man, in full possession -of his senses and an income of twenty thousand francs, happens to be -sketching out a programme of marriage that will satisfy his ambitions, -Mlle. de Marville does not altogether answer the description--" - -"And why not?" asked the bewildered musician. - -"Oh!--" said the notary, "well--a young man nowadays may be as ugly as -you and I, my dear Pons, but he is almost sure to have the -impertinence to want six hundred thousand francs, a girl of good -family, with wit and good looks and good breeding--flawless perfection -in short." - -"Then it will not be easy to marry her?" - -"She will not be married so long as M. and Mme. de Marville cannot -make up their minds to settle Marville on her when she marries; if -they had chosen, she might have been the Vicomtesse Popinot by now. -But here comes M. Brunner.--We are about to read the deed of -partnership and the marriage contract." - -Greetings and introductions over, the relations made Pons promise to -sign the contract. He listened to the reading of the documents, and -towards half-past five the party went into the dining-room. The dinner -was magnificent, as a city merchant's dinner can be, when he allows -himself a respite from money-making. Graff of the Hotel du Rhin was -acquainted with the first provision dealers in Paris; never had Pons -nor Schmucke fared so sumptuously. The dishes were a rapture to think -of! Italian paste, delicate of flavor, unknown to the public; smelts -fried as never smelts were fried before; fish from Lake Leman, with a -real Genevese sauce, and a cream for plum-pudding which would have -astonished the London doctor who is said to have invented it. It was -nearly ten o'clock before they rose from table. The amount of wine, -German and French, consumed at that dinner would amaze the -contemporary dandy; nobody knows the amount of liquor that a German -can imbibe and yet keep calm and quiet; to have even an idea of the -quantity, you must dine in Germany and watch bottle succeed to bottle, -like wave rippling after wave along the sunny shores of the -Mediterranean, and disappear as if the Teuton possessed the absorbing -power of sponges or sea sand. Perfect harmony prevails meanwhile; -there is none of the racket that there would be over the liquor in -France; the talk is as sober as a money-lender's extempore speech; -countenances flush, like the faces of the brides in frescoes by -Cornelius or Schnorr (imperceptibly, that is to say), and -reminiscences are poured out slowly while the smoke puffs from the -pipes. - -About half-past ten that evening Pons and Schmucke found themselves -sitting on a bench out in the garden, with the ex-flute between them; -they were explaining their characters, opinions, and misfortunes, with -no very clear idea as to why or how they had come to this point. In -the thick of a potpourri of confidences, Wilhelm spoke of his strong -desire to see Fritz married, expressing himself with vehement and -vinous eloquence. - -"What do you say to this programme for your friend Brunner?" cried -Pons in confidential tones. "A charming and sensible young lady of -twenty-four, belonging to a family of the highest distinction. The -father holds a very high position as a judge; there will be a hundred -thousand francs paid down and a million to come." - -"Wait!" answered Schwab; "I will speak to Fritz this instant." - -The pair watched Brunner and his friend as they walked round and round -the garden; again and again they passed the bench, sometimes one -spoke, sometimes the other. - -Pons was not exactly intoxicated; his head was a little heavy, but his -thoughts, on the contrary, seemed all the lighter; he watched Fritz -Brunner's face through the rainbow mist of fumes of wine, and tried to -read auguries favorable to his family. Before very long Schwab -introduced his friend and partner to M. Pons; Fritz Brunner expressed -his thanks for the trouble which Pons had been so good as to take. - -In the conversation which followed, the two old bachelors Schmucke and -Pons extolled the estate of matrimony, going so far as to say, without -any malicious intent, "that marriage was the end of man." Tea and -ices, punches and cakes, were served in the future home of the -betrothed couple. The wine had begun to tell upon the honest -merchants, and the general hilarity reached its height when it was -announced that Schwab's partner thought of following his example. - -At two o'clock that morning, Schmucke and Pons walked home along the -boulevards, philosophizing /a perte de raison/ as they went on the -harmony pervading the arrangements of this our world below. - -On the morrow of the banquet, Cousin Pons betook himself to his fair -cousin the Presidente, overjoyed--poor dear noble soul!--to return -good for evil. Surely he had attained to a sublime height, as every -one will allow, for we live in an age when the Montyon prize is given -to those who do their duty by carrying out the precepts of the Gospel. - -"Ah!" said Pons to himself, as he turned the corner of the Rue de -Choiseul, "they will lie under immense obligations to their parasite." - -Any man less absorbed in his contentment, any man of the world, any -distrustful nature would have watched the President's wife and -daughter very narrowly on this first return to the house. But the poor -musician was a child, he had all the simplicity of an artist, -believing in goodness as he believed in beauty; so he was delighted -when Cecile and her mother made much of him. After all the -vaudevilles, tragedies, and comedies which had been played under the -worthy man's eyes for twelve long years, he could not detect the -insincerity and grimaces of social comedy, no doubt because he had -seen too much of it. Any one who goes into society in Paris, and knows -the type of woman, dried up, body and soul, by a burning thirst for -social position, and a fierce desire to be thought virtuous, any one -familiar with the sham piety and the domineering character of a woman -whose word is law in her own house, may imagine the lurking hatred she -bore this husband's cousin whom she had wronged. - -All the demonstrative friendliness of mother and daughter was lined -with a formidable longing for revenge, evidently postponed. For the -first time in Amelie de Marville's life she had been put in the wrong, -and that in the sight of the husband over whom she tyrannized; and not -only so--she was obliged to be amiable to the author of her defeat! -You can scarcely find a match for this position save in the -hypocritical dramas which are sometimes kept up for years in the -sacred college of cardinals, or in chapters of certain religious -orders. - -At three o'clock, when the President came back from the law-courts, -Pons had scarcely made an end of the marvelous history of his -acquaintance, M. Frederic Brunner. Cecile had gone straight to the -point. She wanted to know how Frederic Brunner was dressed, how he -looked, his height and figure, the color of his hair and eyes; and -when she had conjectured a distinguished air for Frederic, she admired -his generosity of character. - -"Think of his giving five hundred thousand francs to his companion in -misfortune! Oh! mamma, I shall have a carriage and a box at the -Italiens----" Cecile grew almost pretty as she thought that all her -mother's ambitions for her were about to be realized, that the hopes -which had almost left her were to come to something after all. - -As for the Presidente, all that she said was, "My dear little girl, -you may perhaps be married within the fortnight." - -All mothers with daughters of three-and-twenty address them as "little -girl." - -"Still," added the President, "in any case, we must have time to make -inquiries; never will I give my daughter to just anybody--" - -"As to inquiries," said Pons, "Berthier is drawing up the deeds. As to -the young man himself, my dear cousin, you remember what you told me? -Well, he is quite forty years old; he is bald. He wishes to find in -family life a haven after a storm; I did not dissuade him; every man -has his tastes--" - -"One reason the more for a personal interview," returned the -President. "I am not going to give my daughter to a valetudinarian." - -"Very good, cousin, you shall see my suitor in five days if you like; -for, with your views, a single interview would be enough"--(Cecile and -her mother signified their rapture)--"Frederic is decidedly a -distinguished amateur; he begged me to allow him to see my little -collection at his leisure. You have never seen my pictures and -curiosities; come and see them," he continued, looking at his -relatives. "You can come simply as two ladies, brought by my friend -Schmucke, and make M. Brunner's acquaintance without betraying -yourselves. Frederic need not in the least know who you are." - -"Admirable!" cried the President. - -The attention they paid to the once scorned parasite may be left to -the imagination! Poor Pons that day became the Presidente's cousin. -The happy mother drowned her dislike in floods of joy; her looks, her -smiles, her words sent the old man into ecstasies over the good that -he had done, over the future that he saw by glimpses. Was he not sure -to find dinners such as yesterday's banquet over the signing of the -contract, multiplied indefinitely by three, in the houses of Brunner, -Schwab, and Graff? He saw before him a land of plenty--a /vie de -cocagne/, a miraculous succession of /plats couverts/, of delicate -surprise dishes, of exquisite wines. - -"If Cousin Pons brings this through," said the President, addressing -his wife after Pons had departed, "we ought to settle an income upon -him equal to his salary at the theatre." - -"Certainly," said the lady; and Cecile was informed that if the -proposed suitor found favor in her eyes, she must undertake to induce -the old musician to accept a munificence in such bad taste. - -Next day the President went to Berthier. He was anxious to make sure -of M. Frederic Brunner's financial position. Berthier, forewarned by -Mme. de Marville, had asked his new client Schwab to come. Schwab the -banker was dazzled by the prospect of such a match for his friend -(everybody knows how deeply a German venerates social distinctions, so -much so, that in Germany a wife takes her husband's (official) title, -and is the Frau General, the Frau Rath, and so forth)--Schwab -therefore was as accommodating as a collector who imagines that he is -cheating a dealer. - -"In the first place," said Cecile's father, "as I shall make over my -estate of Marville to my daughter, I should wish the contract to be -drawn up on the dotal system. In that case, M. Brunner would invest a -million francs in land to increase the estate, and by settling the -land on his wife he would secure her and his children from any share -in the liabilities of the bank." - -Berthier stroked his chin. "He is coming on well, is M. le President," -thought he. - -When the dotal system had been explained to Schwab, he seemed much -inclined that way for his friend. He had heard Fritz say that he -wished to find some way of insuring himself against another lapse into -poverty. - -"There is a farm and pasture land worth twelve hundred thousand francs -in the market at this moment," remarked the President. - -"If we take up shares in the Bank of France to the amount of a million -francs, that will be quite enough to guarantee our account," said -Schwab. "Fritz does not want to invest more than two million francs in -business; he will do as you wish, I am sure, M. le President." - -The President's wife and daughter were almost wild with joy when he -brought home this news. Never, surely, did so rich a capture swim so -complacently into the nets of matrimony. - -"You will be Mme. Brunner de Marville," said the parent, addressing -his child; "I will obtain permission for your husband to add the name -to his, and afterwards he can take out letters of naturalization. If I -should be a peer of France some day, he will succeed me!" - -The five days were spent by Mme. de Marville in preparations. On the -great day she dressed Cecile herself, taking as much pains as the -admiral of the British fleet takes over the dressing of the pleasure -yacht for Her Majesty of England when she takes a trip to Germany. - -Pons and Schmucke, on their side, cleaned, swept, and dusted Pons' -museum rooms and furniture with the agility of sailors cleaning down a -man-of-war. There was not a speck of dust on the carved wood; not an -inch of brass but it glistened. The glasses over the pastels obscured -nothing of the work of Latour, Greuze, and Liotard (illustrious -painter of /The Chocolate Girl/), miracles of an art, alas! so -fugitive. The inimitable lustre of Florentine bronze took all the -varying hues of the light; the painted glass glowed with color. Every -line shone out brilliantly, every object threw in its phrase in a -harmony of masterpieces arranged by two musicians--both of whom alike -had attained to be poets. - -With a tact which avoided the difficulties of a late appearance on the -scene of action, the women were the first to arrive; they wished to be -on their own ground. Pons introduced his friend Schmucke, who seemed -to his fair visitors to be an idiot; their heads were so full of the -eligible gentleman with the four millions of francs, that they paid -but little attention to the worthy Pons' dissertations upon matters of -which they were completely ignorant. - -They looked with indifferent eyes at Petitot's enamels, spaced over -crimson velvet, set in three frames of marvelous workmanship. Flowers -by Van Huysum, David, and Heim; butterflies painted by Abraham Mignon; -Van Eycks, undoubted Cranachs and Albrecht Durers; the Giorgione, the -Sebastian del Piombo; Backhuijzen, Hobbema, Gericault, the rarities of -painting--none of these things so much as aroused their curiosity; -they were waiting for the sun to arise and shine upon these treasures. -Still, they were surprised by the beauty of some of the Etruscan -trinkets and the solid value of the snuff-boxes, and out of politeness -they went into ecstasies over some Florentine bronzes which they held -in their hands when Mme. Cibot announced M. Brunner! They did not -turn; they took advantage of a superb Venetian mirror framed in huge -masses of carved ebony to scan this phoenix of eligible young men. - -Frederic, forewarned by Wilhelm, had made the most of the little hair -that remained to him. He wore a neat pair of trousers, a soft shade of -some dark color, a silk waistcoat of superlative elegance and the very -newest cut, a shirt with open-work, its linen hand-woven by a -Friesland woman, and a blue-and-white cravat. His watch chain, like -the head of his cane, came from Messrs. Florent and Chanor; and the -coat, cut by old Graff himself, was of the very finest cloth. The -Suede gloves proclaimed the man who had run through his mother's -fortune. You could have seen the banker's neat little brougham and -pair of horses mirrored in the surface of his speckless varnished -boots, even if two pairs of sharp ears had not already caught the -sound of wheels outside in the Rue de Normandie. - -When the prodigal of twenty years is a kind of chrysalis from which a -banker emerges at the age of forty, the said banker is usually an -observer of human nature; and so much the more shrewd if, as in -Brunner's case, he understands how to turn his German simplicity to -good account. He had assumed for the occasion the abstracted air of a -man who is hesitating between family life and the dissipations of -bachelorhood. This expression in a Frenchified German seemed to Cecile -to be in the highest degree romantic; the descendant of the Virlaz was -a second Werther in her eyes--where is the girl who will not allow -herself to weave a little novel about her marriage? Cecile thought -herself the happiest of women when Brunner, looking round at the -magnificent works of art so patiently collected during forty years, -waxed enthusiastic, and Pons, to his no small satisfaction, found an -appreciative admirer of his treasures for the first time in his life. - -"He is poetical," the young lady said to herself; "he sees millions in -the things. A poet is a man that cannot count and leaves his wife to -look after his money--an easy man to manage and amuse with trifles." - -Every pane in the two windows was a square of Swiss painted glass; the -least of them was worth a thousand francs; and Pons possessed sixteen -of these unrivaled works of art for which amateurs seek so eagerly -nowadays. In 1815 the panes could be bought for six or ten francs -apiece. The value of the glorious collection of pictures, flawless -great works, authentic, untouched since they left the master's hands, -could only be proved in the fiery furnace of a saleroom. Not a picture -but was set in a costly frame; there were frames of every kind-- -Venetians, carved with heavy ornaments, like English plate of the -present day; Romans, distinguishable among the others for a certain -dash that artists call /flafla/; Spanish wreaths in bold relief; -Flemings and Germans with quaint figures, tortoise-shell frames inlaid -with copper and brass and mother-of-pearl and ivory; frames of ebony -and boxwood in the styles of Louis Treize, Louis Quatorze, Louis -Quinze, and Louis Seize--in short, it was a unique collection of the -finest models. Pons, luckier than the art museums of Dresden and -Vienna, possessed a frame by the famous Brustoloni--the Michael Angelo -of wood-carvers. - -Mlle. de Marville naturally asked for explanations of each new -curiosity, and was initiated into the mysteries of art by Brunner. Her -exclamations were so childish, she seemed so pleased to have the value -and beauty of the paintings, carvings, or bronzes pointed out to her, -that the German gradually thawed and looked quite young again, and -both were led on further than they intended at this (purely -accidental) first meeting. - -The private view lasted for three hours. Brunner offered his arm when -Cecile went downstairs. As they descended slowly and discreetly, -Cecile, still talking fine art, wondered that M. Brunner should admire -her cousin's gimcracks so much. - -"Do you really think that these things that we have just seen are -worth a great deal of money?" - -"Mademoiselle, if your cousin would sell his collection, I would give -eight hundred thousand francs for it this evening, and I should not -make a bad bargain. The pictures alone would fetch more than that at a -public sale." - -"Since you say so, I believe it," returned she; "the things took up so -much of your attention that it must be so." - -"On! mademoiselle!" protested Brunner. "For all answer to your -reproach, I will ask your mother's permission to call, so that I may -have the pleasure of seeing you again." - -"How clever she is, that 'little girl' of mine!" thought the -Presidente, following closely upon her daughter's heels. Aloud she -said, "With the greatest pleasure, monsieur. I hope that you will come -at dinner-time with our Cousin Pons. The President will be delighted -to make your acquaintance.--Thank you, cousin." - -The lady squeezed Pons' arm with deep meaning; she could not have said -more if she had used the consecrated formula, "Let us swear an eternal -friendship." The glance which accompanied that "Thank you, cousin," -was a caress. - -When the young lady had been put into the carriage, and the jobbed -brougham had disappeared down the Rue Charlot, Brunner talked bric-a- -brac to Pons, and Pons talked marriage. - -"Then you see no obstacle?" said Pons. - -"Oh!" said Brunner, "she is an insignificant little thing, and the -mother is a trifle prim.--We shall see." - -"A handsome fortune one of these days. . . . More than a million--" - -"Good-bye till Monday!" interrupted the millionaire. "If you should -care to sell your collection of pictures, I would give you five or six -hundred thousand francs--" - -"Ah!" said Pons; he had no idea that he was so rich. "But they are my -great pleasure in life, and I could not bring myself to part with -them. I could only sell my collection to be delivered after my death." - -"Very well. We shall see." - -"Here we have two affairs afoot!" said Pons; he was thinking only of -the marriage. - -Brunner shook hands and drove away in his splendid carriage. Pons -watched it out of sight. He did not notice that Remonencq was smoking -his pipe in the doorway. - -That evening Mme. de Marville went to ask advice of her father-in-law, -and found the whole Popinot family at the Camusots' house. It was only -natural that a mother who had failed to capture an eldest son should -be tempted to take her little revenge; so Mme. de Marville threw out -hints of the splendid marriage that her Cecile was about to make.-- -"Whom can Cecile be going to marry?" was the question upon all lips. -And Cecile's mother, without suspecting that she was betraying her -secret, let fall words and whispered confidences, afterwards -supplemented by Mme. Berthier, till gossip circulating in the -bourgeois empyrean where Pons accomplished his gastronomical -evolutions took something like the following form: - -"Cecile de Marville is engaged to be married to a young German, a -banker from philanthropic motives, for he has four millions; he is -like a hero in a novel, a perfect Werther, charming and kind-hearted. -He has sown his wild oats, and he is distractedly in love with Cecile; -it is a case of love at first sight; and so much the more certain, -since Cecile had all Pons' paintings of Madonnas for rivals," and so -forth and so forth. - -Two or three of the set came to call on the Presidente, ostensibly to -congratulate, but really to find out whether or not the marvelous tale -were true. For their benefit Mme. de Marville executed the following -admirable variations on the theme of son-in-law which mothers may -consult, as people used to refer to the /Complete Letter Writer/. - -"A marriage is not an accomplished fact," she told Mme. Chiffreville, -"until you have been in the mayor's office and the church. We have -only come as far as a personal interview; so I count upon your -friendship to say nothing of our hopes." - -"You are very fortunate, madame; marriages are so difficult to arrange -in these days." - -"What can one do? It was chance; but marriages are often made in that -way." - -"Ah! well. So you are going to marry Cecile?" said Mme. Cardot. - -"Yes," said Cecile's mother, fully understanding the meaning of the -"so." "We were very particular, or Cecile would have been established -before this. But now we have found everything we wish: money, good -temper, good character, and good looks; and my sweet little girl -certainly deserves nothing less. M. Brunner is a charming young man, -most distinguished; he is fond of luxury, he knows life; he is wild -about Cecile, he loves her sincerely; and in spite of his three or -four millions, Cecile is going to accept him.--We had not looked so -high for her; still, store is no sore." - -"It was not so much the fortune as the affection inspired by my -daughter which decided us," the Presidente told Mme. Lebas. "M. -Brunner is in such a hurry that he wants the marriage to take place -with the least possible delay." - -"Is he a foreigner?" - -"Yes, madame; but I am very fortunate, I confess. No, I shall not have -a son-in-law, but a son. M. Brunner's delicacy has quite won our -hearts. No one would imagine how anxious he was to marry under the -dotal system. It is a great security for families. He is going to -invest twelve hundred thousand francs in grazing land, which will be -added to Marville some day." - -More variations followed on the morrow. For instance--M. Brunner was a -great lord, doing everything in lordly fashion; he did not haggle. If -M. de Marville could obtain letters of naturalization, qualifying M. -Brunner for an office under Government (and the Home Secretary surely -could strain a point for M. de Marville), his son-in-law would be a -peer of France. Nobody knew how much money M. Brunner possessed; "he -had the finest horses and the smartest carriages in Paris!" and so on -and so on. - -From the pleasure with which the Camusots published their hopes, it -was pretty clear that this triumph was unexpected. - -Immediately after the interview in Pons' museum, M. de Marville, at -his wife's instance, begged the Home Secretary, his chief, and the -attorney for the crown to dine with him on the occasion of the -introduction of this phoenix of a son-in-law. - -The three great personages accepted the invitation, albeit it was -given on short notice; they all saw the part that they were to play in -the family politics, and readily came to the father's support. In -France we are usually pretty ready to assist the mother of -marriageable daughters to hook an eligible son-in-law. The Count and -Countess Popinot likewise lent their presence to complete the splendor -of the occasion, although they thought the invitation in questionable -taste. - -There were eleven in all. Cecile's grandfather, old Camusot, came, of -course, with his wife to a family reunion purposely arranged to elicit -a proposal from M. Brunner. - -The Camusot de Marvilles had given out that the guest of the evening -was one of the richest capitalists in Germany, a man of taste (he was -in love with "the little girl"), a future rival of the Nucingens, -Kellers, du Tillets, and their like. - -"It is our day," said the Presidente with elaborate simplicity, when -she had named her guests one by one for the German whom she already -regarded as her son-in-law. "We have only a few intimate friends-- -first, my husband's father, who, as you know, is sure to be raised to -the peerage; M. le Comte and Mme. la Comtesse Popinot, whose son was -not thought rich enough for Cecile; the Home Secretary; our First -President; our attorney for the crown; our personal friends, in short. ---We shall be obliged to dine rather late to-night, because the -Chamber is sitting, and people cannot get away before six." - -Brunner looked significantly at Pons, and Pons rubbed his hands as if -to say, "Our friends, you see! /My/ friends!" - -Mme. de Marville, as a clever tactician, had something very particular -to say to her cousin, that Cecile and her Werther might be left -together for a moment. Cecile chattered away volubly, and contrived -that Frederic should catch sight of a German dictionary, a German -grammar, and a volume of Goethe hidden away in a place where he was -likely to find them. - -"Ah! are you learning German?" asked Brunner, flushing red. - -(For laying traps of this kind the Frenchwoman has not her match!) - -"Oh! how naughty you are!" she cried; "it is too bad of you, monsieur, -to explore my hiding-places like this. I want to read Goethe in the -original," she added; "I have been learning German for two years." - -"Then the grammar must be very difficult to learn, for scarcely ten -pages have been cut--" Brunner remarked with much candor. - -Cecile, abashed, turned away to hide her blushes. A German cannot -resist a display of this kind; Brunner caught Cecile's hand, made her -turn, and watched her confusion under his gaze, after the manner of -the heroes of the novels of Auguste Lafontaine of chaste memory. - -"You are adorable," said he. - -Cecile's petulant gesture replied, "So are you--who could help liking -you?" - -"It is all right, mamma," she whispered to her parent, who came up at -that moment with Pons. - -The sight of a family party on these occasions is not to be described. -Everybody was well satisfied to see a mother put her hand on an -eligible son-in-law. Compliments, double-barreled and double-charged, -were paid to Brunner (who pretended to understand nothing); to Cecile, -on whom nothing was lost; and to the Presidente, who fished for them. -Pons heard the blood singing in his ears, the light of all the blazing -gas-jets of the theatre footlights seemed to be dazzling his eyes, -when Cecile, in a low voice and with the most ingenious -circumspection, spoke of her father's plan of the annuity of twelve -hundred francs. The old artist positively declined the offer, bringing -forward the value of his fortune in furniture, only now made known to -him by Brunner. - -The Home Secretary, the First President, the attorney for the crown, -the Popinots, and those who had other engagements, all went; and -before long no one was left except M. Camusot senior, and Cardot the -old notary, and his assistant and son-in-law Berthier. Pons, worthy -soul, looking round and seeing no one but the family, blundered out a -speech of thanks to the President and his wife for the proposal which -Cecile had just made to him. So it is with those who are guided by -their feelings; they act upon impulse. Brunner, hearing of an annuity -offered in this way, thought that it had very much the look of a -commission paid to Pons; he made an Israelite's return upon himself, -his attitude told of more than cool calculation. - -Meanwhile Pons was saying to his astonished relations, "My collection -or its value will, in any case, go to your family, whether I come to -terms with our friend Brunner or keep it." The Camusots were amazed to -hear that Pons was so rich. - -Brunner, watching, saw how all these ignorant people looked favorably -upon a man once believed to be poor so soon as they knew that he had -great possessions. He had seen, too, already that Cecile was spoiled -by her father and mother; he amused himself, therefore, by astonishing -the good bourgeois. - -"I was telling mademoiselle," said he, "that M. Pons' pictures were -worth that sum to /me/; but the prices of works of art have risen so -much of late, that no one can tell how much the collection might sell -for at public auction. The sixty pictures might fetch a million -francs; several that I saw the other day were worth fifty thousand -apiece." - -"It is a fine thing to be your heir!" remarked old Cardot, looking at -Pons. - -"My heir is my Cousin Cecile here," answered Pons, insisting on the -relationship. There was a flutter of admiration at this. - -"She will be a very rich heiress," laughed old Cardot, as he took his -departure. - -Camusot senior, the President and his wife, Cecile, Brunner, Berthier, -and Pons were now left together; for it was assumed that the formal -demand for Cecile's hand was about to be made. No sooner was Cardot -gone, indeed, than Brunner began with an inquiry which augured well. - -"I think I understood," he said, turning to Mme. de Marville, "that -mademoiselle is your only daughter." - -"Certainly," the lady said proudly. - -"Nobody will make any difficulties," Pons, good soul, put in by way of -encouraging Brunner to bring out his proposal. - -But Brunner grew thoughtful, and an ominous silence brought on a -coolness of the strangest kind. The Presidente might have admitted -that her "little girl" was subject to epileptic fits. The President, -thinking that Cecile ought not to be present, signed to her to go. She -went. Still Brunner said nothing. They all began to look at one -another. The situation was growing awkward. - -Camusot senior, a man of experience, took the German to Mme. de -Marville's room, ostensibly to show him Pons' fan. He saw that some -difficulty had arisen, and signed to the rest to leave him alone with -Cecile's suitor-designate. - -"Here is the masterpiece," said Camusot, opening out the fan. - -Brunner took it in his hand and looked at it. "It is worth five -thousand francs," he said after a moment. - -"Did you not come here, sir, to ask for my granddaughter?" inquired -the future peer of France. - -"Yes, sir," said Brunner; "and I beg you to believe that no possible -marriage could be more flattering to my vanity. I shall never find any -one more charming nor more amiable, nor a young lady who answers to my -ideas like Mlle. Cecile; but--" - -"Oh, no /buts/!" old Camusot broke in; "or let us have the translation -of your 'buts' at once, my dear sir." - -"I am very glad, sir, that the matter has gone no further on either -side," Brunner answered gravely. "I had no idea that Mlle. Cecile was -an only daughter. Anybody else would consider this an advantage; but -to me, believe me, it is an insurmountable obstacle to--" - -"What, sir!" cried Camusot, amazed beyond measure. "Do you find a -positive drawback in an immense advantage? Your conduct is really -extraordinary; I should very much like to hear the explanation of it." - -"I came here this evening, sir," returned the German phlegmatically, -"intending to ask M. le President for his daughter's hand. It was my -desire to give Mlle. Cecile a brilliant future by offering her so much -of my fortune as she would consent to accept. But an only daughter is -a child whose will is law to indulgent parents, who has never been -contradicted. I have had the opportunity of observing this in many -families, where parents worship divinities of this kind. And your -granddaughter is not only the idol of the house, but Mme. la -Presidente . . . you know what I mean. I have seen my father's house -turned into a hell, sir, from this very cause. My stepmother, the -source of all my misfortunes, an only daughter, idolized by her -parents, the most charming betrothed imaginable, after marriage became -a fiend incarnate. I do not doubt that Mlle. Cecile is an exception to -the rule; but I am not a young man, I am forty years old, and the -difference between our ages entails difficulties which would put it -out of my power to make the young lady happy, when Mme. la Presidente -always carried out her daughter's every wish and listened to her as if -Mademoiselle was an oracle. What right have I to expect Mlle. Cecile -to change her habits and ideas? Instead of a father and mother who -indulge her every whim, she would find an egotistic man of forty; if -she should resist, the man of forty would have the worst of it. So, as -an honest man--I withdraw. If there should be any need to explain my -visit here, I desire to be entirely sacrificed--" - -"If these are your motives, sir," said the future peer of France, -"however singular they may be, they are plausible--" - -"Do not call my sincerity in question, sir," Brunner interrupted -quickly. "If you know of a penniless girl, one of a large family, well -brought up but without fortune, as happens very often in France; and -if her character offers me security, I will marry her." - -A pause followed; Frederic Brunner left Cecile's grandfather and -politely took leave of his host and hostess. When he was gone, Cecile -appeared, a living commentary upon her Werther's leave-taking; she was -ghastly pale. She had hidden in her mother's wardrobe and overheard -the whole conversation. - -"Refused! . . ." she said in a low voice for her mother's ear. - -"And why?" asked the Presidente, fixing her eyes upon her embarrassed -father-in-law. - -"Upon the fine pretext that an only daughter is a spoilt child," -replied that gentleman. "And he is not altogether wrong there," he -added, seizing an opportunity of putting the blame on the daughter-in- -law, who had worried him not a little for twenty years. - -"It will kill my child!" cried the Presidente, "and it is your doing!" -she exclaimed, addressing Pons, as she supported her fainting -daughter, for Cecile thought well to make good her mother's words by -sinking into her arms. The President and his wife carried Cecile to an -easy-chair, where she swooned outright. The grandfather rang for the -servants. - -"It is a plot of his weaving; I see it all now," said the infuriated -mother. - -Pons sprang up as if the trump of doom were sounding in his ears. - -"Yes!" said the lady, her eyes like two springs of green bile, "this -gentleman wished to repay a harmless joke by an insult. Who will -believe that that German was right in his mind? He is either an -accomplice in a wicked scheme of revenge, or he is crazy. I hope, M. -Pons, that in future you will spare us the annoyance of seeing you in -the house where you have tried to bring shame and dishonor." - -Pons stood like a statue, with his eyes fixed on the pattern of the -carpet. - -"Well! Are you still here, monster of ingratitude?" cried she, turning -round on Pons, who was twirling his thumbs.--"Your master and I are -never at home, remember, if this gentleman calls," she continued, -turning to the servants.--"Jean, go for the doctor; and bring -hartshorn, Madeleine." - -In the Presidente's eyes, the reason given by Brunner was simply an -excuse, there was something else behind; but, at the same time, the -fact that the marriage was broken off was only the more certain. A -woman's mind works swiftly in great crises, and Mme. de Marville had -hit at once upon the one method of repairing the check. She chose to -look upon it as a scheme of revenge. This notion of ascribing a -fiendish scheme to Pons satisfied family honor. Faithful to her -dislike of the cousin, she treated a feminine suspicion as a fact. -Women, generally speaking, hold a creed peculiar to themselves, a code -of their own; to them anything which serves their interests or their -passions is true. The Presidente went a good deal further. In the -course of the evening she talked the President into her belief, and -next morning found the magistrate convinced of his cousin's -culpability. - -Every one, no doubt, will condemn the lady's horrible conduct; but -what mother in Mme. Camusot's position will not do the same? Put the -choice between her own daughter and an alien, she will prefer to -sacrifice the honor of the latter. There are many ways of doing this, -but the end in view is the same. - -The old musician fled down the staircase in haste; but he went slowly -along the boulevards to his theatre, he turned in mechanically at the -door, and mechanically he took his place and conducted the orchestra. -In the interval he gave such random answers to Schmucke's questions, -that his old friend dissembled his fear that Pons' mind had given way. -To so childlike a nature, the recent scene took the proportions of a -catastrophe. He had meant to make every one happy, and he had aroused -a terrible slumbering feeling of hate; everything had been turned -topsy-turvy. He had at last seen mortal hate in the Presidente's eyes, -tones, and gesture. - -On the morrow, Mme. Camusot de Marville made a great resolution; the -President likewise sanctioned the step now forced upon them by -circumstances. It was determined that the estate of Marville should be -settled upon Cecile at the time of her marriage, as well as the house -in the Rue de Hanovre and a hundred thousand francs. In the course of -the morning, the Presidente went to call upon the Comtesse Popinot; -for she saw plainly that nothing but a settled marriage could enable -them to recover after such a check. To the Comtesse Popinot she told -the shocking story of Pons' revenge, Pons' hideous hoax. It all seemed -probable enough when it came out that the marriage had been broken off -simply on the pretext that Cecile was an only daughter. The Presidente -next dwelt artfully upon the advantage of adding "de Marville" to the -name of Popinot; and the immense dowry. At the present price fetched -by land in Normandy, at two per cent, the property represented nine -hundred thousand francs, and the house in the Rue de Hanovre about two -hundred and fifty thousand. No reasonable family could refuse such an -alliance. The Comte and Comtesse Popinot accepted; and as they were -now touched by the honor of the family which they were about to enter, -they promised to help explain away yesterday evening's mishap. - -And now in the house of the elder Camusot, before the very persons who -had heard Mme. de Marville singing Frederic Brunner's praises but a -few days ago, that lady, to whom nobody ventured to speak on the -topic, plunged courageously into explanations. - -"Really, nowadays" (she said), "one could not be too careful if a -marriage was in question, especially if one had to do with -foreigners." - -"And why, madame?" - -"What has happened to you?" asked Mme. Chiffreville. - -"Do you not know about our adventure with that Brunner, who had the -audacity to aspire to marry Cecile? His father was a German that kept -a wine-shop, and his uncle is a dealer in rabbit-skins!" - -"Is it possible? So clear-sighted as you are! . . ." murmured a lady. - -"These adventurers are so cunning. But we found out everything through -Berthier. His friend is a beggar that plays the flute. He is friendly -with a person who lets furnished lodgings in the Rue du Mail and some -tailor or other. . . . We found out that he had led a most -disreputable life, and no amount of fortune would be enough for a -scamp that has run through his mother's property." - -"Why, Mlle. de Marville would have been wretched!" said Mme. Berthier. - -"How did he come to your house?" asked old Mme. Lebas. - -"It was M. Pons. Out of revenge, he introduced this fine gentleman to -us, to make us ridiculous. . . . This Brunner (it is the same name as -Fontaine in French)--this Brunner, that was made out to be such a -grandee, has poor enough health, he is bald, and his teeth are bad. -The first sight of him was enough for me; I distrusted him from the -first." - -"But how about the great fortune that you spoke of?" a young married -woman asked shyly. - -"The fortune was not nearly so large as they said. These tailors and -the landlord and he all scraped the money together among them, and put -all their savings into this bank that they are starting. What is a -bank for those that begin in these days? Simply a license to ruin -themselves. A banker's wife may lie down at night a millionaire and -wake up in the morning with nothing but her settlement. At first word, -at the very first sight of him, we made up our minds about this -gentleman--he is not one of us. You can tell by his gloves, by his -waistcoat, that he is a working man, the son of a man that kept a pot- -house somewhere in Germany; he has not the instincts of a gentleman; -he drinks beer, and he smokes--smokes? ah! madame, /twenty-five pipes -a day!/ . . . What would have become of poor Lili? . . . It makes me -shudder even now to think of it. God has indeed preserved us! And -besides, Cecile never liked him. . . . Who would have expected such a -trick from a relative, an old friend of the house that had dined with -us twice a week for twenty years? We have loaded him with benefits, -and he played his game so well, that he said Cecile was his heir -before the Keeper of the Seals and the Attorney General and the Home -Secretary! . . . That Brunner and M. Pons had their story ready, and -each of them said that the other was worth millions! . . . No, I do -assure you, all of you would have been taken in by an artist's hoax -like that." - -In a few weeks' time, the united forces of the Camusot and Popinot -families gained an easy victory in the world, for nobody undertook to -defend the unfortunate Pons, that parasite, that curmudgeon, that -skinflint, that smooth-faced humbug, on whom everybody heaped scorn; -he was a viper cherished in the bosom of the family, he had not his -match for spite, he was a dangerous mountebank whom nobody ought to -mention. - - - -About a month after the perfidious Werther's withdrawal, poor Pons -left his bed for the first time after an attack of nervous fever, and -walked along the sunny side of the street leaning on Schmucke's arm. -Nobody in the Boulevard du Temple laughed at the "pair of -nutcrackers," for one of the old men looked so shattered, and the -other so touchingly careful of his invalid friend. By the time that -they reached the Boulevard Poissonniere, a little color came back to -Pons' face; he was breathing the air of the boulevards, he felt the -vitalizing power of the atmosphere of the crowded street, the life- -giving property of the air that is noticeable in quarters where human -life abounds; in the filthy Roman Ghetto, for instance, with its -swarming Jewish population, where malaria is unknown. Perhaps, too, -the sight of the streets, the great spectacle of Paris, the daily -pleasure of his life, did the invalid good. They walked on side by -side, though Pons now and again left his friend to look at the shop -windows. Opposite the Theatre des Varietes he saw Count Popinot, and -went up to him very respectfully, for of all men Pons esteemed and -venerated the ex-Minister. - -The peer of France answered him severely: - -"I am at a loss to understand, sir, how you can have no more tact than -to speak to a near connection of a family whom you tried to brand with -shame and ridicule by a trick which no one but an artist could devise. -Understand this, sir, that from to-day we must be complete strangers -to each other. Mme. la Comtesse Popinot, like every one else, feels -indignant at your behavior to the Marvilles." - -And Count Popinot passed on, leaving Pons thunderstruck. Passion, -justice, policy, and great social forces never take into account the -condition of the human creature whom they strike down. The statesman, -driven by family considerations to crush Pons, did not so much as see -the physical weakness of his redoubtable enemy. - -"Vat is it, mine boor friend?" exclaimed Schmucke, seeing how white -Pons had grown. - -"It is a fresh stab in the heart," Pons replied, leaning heavily on -Schmucke's arm. "I think that no one, save God in heaven, can have any -right to do good, and that is why all those who meddle in His work are -so cruelly punished." - -The old artist's sarcasm was uttered with a supreme effort; he was -trying, excellent creature, to quiet the dismay visible in Schmucke's -face. - -"So I dink," Schmucke replied simply. - -Pons could not understand it. Neither the Camusots nor the Popinots -had sent him notice of Cecile's wedding. - -On the Boulevard des Italiens Pons saw M. Cardot coming towards them. -Warned by Count Popinot's allocution, Pons was very careful not to -accost the old acquaintance with whom he had dined once a fortnight -for the last year; he lifted his hat, but the other, mayor and deputy -of Paris, threw him an indignant glance and went by. Pons turned to -Schmucke. - -"Do go and ask him what it is that they all have against me," he said -to the friend who knew all the details of the catastrophe that Pons -could tell him. - -"Mennseir," Schmucke began diplomatically, "mine friend Bons is chust -recofering from an illness; you haf no doubt fail to rekognize him?" - -"Not in the least." - -"But mit vat kann you rebroach him?" - -"You have a monster of ingratitude for a friend, sir; if he is still -alive, it is because nothing kills ill weeds. People do well to -mistrust artists; they are as mischievous and spiteful as monkeys. -This friend of yours tried to dishonor his own family, and to blight a -young girl's character, in revenge for a harmless joke. I wish to have -nothing to do with him; I shall do my best to forget that I have known -him, or that such a man exists. All the members of his family and my -own share the wish, sir, so do all the persons who once did the said -Pons the honor of receiving him." - -"Boot, mennseir, you are a reasonaple mann; gif you vill bermit me, I -shall exblain die affair--" - -"You are quite at liberty to remain his friend, sir, if you are minded -that way," returned Cardot, "but you need go no further; for I must -give you warning that in my opinion those who try to excuse or defend -his conduct are just as much to blame." - -"To chustify it?" - -"Yes, for his conduct can neither be justified nor qualified." And -with that word, the deputy for the Seine went his way; he would not -hear another syllable. - -"I have two powers in the State against me," smiled poor Pons, when -Schmucke had repeated these savage speeches. - -"Eferpody is against us," Schmucke answered dolorously. "Let us go -avay pefore we shall meed oder fools." - -Never before in the course of a truly ovine life had Schmucke uttered -such words as these. Never before had his almost divine meekness been -ruffled. He had smiled childlike on all the mischances that befell -him, but he could not look and see his sublime Pons maltreated; his -Pons, his unknown Aristides, the genius resigned to his lot, the -nature that knew no bitterness, the treasury of kindness, the heart of -gold! . . . Alceste's indignation filled Schmucke's soul--he was moved -to call Pons' amphitryons "fools." For his pacific nature that impulse -equaled the wrath of Roland. - -With wise foresight, Schmucke turned to go home by the way of the -Boulevard du Temple, Pons passively submitting like a fallen fighter, -heedless of blows; but chance ordered that he should know that all his -world was against him. The House of Peers, the Chamber of Deputies, -strangers and the family, the strong, the weak, and the innocent, all -combined to send down the avalanche. - -In the Boulevard Poissonniere, Pons caught sight of that very M. -Cardot's daughter, who, young as she was, had learned to be charitable -to others through trouble of her own. Her husband knew a secret by -which he kept her in bondage. She was the only one among Pons' -hostesses whom he called by her Christian name; he addressed Mme. -Berthier as "Felicie," and he thought that she understood him. The -gentle creature seemed to be distressed by the sight of Cousin Pons, -as he was called (though he was in no way related to the family of the -second wife of a cousin by marriage). There was no help for it, -however; Felicie Berthier stopped to speak to the invalid. - -"I did not think you were cruel, cousin," she said; "but if even a -quarter of all that I hear of you is true, you are very false. . . . -Oh! do not justify yourself," she added quickly, seeing Pons' -significant gesture, "it is useless, for two reasons. In the first -place, I have no right to accuse or judge or condemn anybody, for I -myself know so well how much may be said for those who seem to be most -guilty; secondly, your explanation would do no good. M. Berthier drew -up the marriage contract for Mlle. de Marville and the Vicomte -Popinot; he is so exasperated, that if he knew that I had so much as -spoken one word to you, one word for the last time, he would scold me. -Everybody is against you." - -"So it seems indeed, madame," Pons said, his voice shaking as he -lifted his hat respectfully. - -Painfully he made his way back to the Rue de Normandie. The old German -knew from the heavy weight on his arm that his friend was struggling -bravely against failing physical strength. That third encounter was -like the verdict of the Lamb at the foot of the throne of God; and the -anger of the Angel of the Poor, the symbol of the Peoples, is the last -word of Heaven. They reached home without another word. - -There are moments in our lives when the sense that our friend is near -is all that we can bear. Our wounds smart under the consoling words -that only reveal the depths of pain. The old pianist, you see, -possessed a genius for friendship, the tact of those who, having -suffered much, knew the customs of suffering. - -Pons was never to take a walk again. From one illness he fell into -another. He was of a sanguine-bilious temperament, the bile passed -into his blood, and a violent liver attack was the result. He had -never known a day's illness in his life till a month ago; he had never -consulted a doctor; so La Cibot, with almost motherly care and -intentions at first of the very best, called in "the doctor of the -quarter." - -In every quarter of Paris there is a doctor whose name and address are -only known to the working classes, to the little tradespeople and the -porters, and in consequence he is called "the doctor of the quarter." -He undertakes confinement cases, he lets blood, he is in the medical -profession pretty much what the "general servant" of the advertising -column is in the scale of domestic service. He must perforce be kind -to the poor, and tolerably expert by reason of much practice, and he -is generally popular. Dr. Poulain, called in by Mme. Cibot, gave an -inattentive ear to the old musician's complainings. Pons groaned out -that his skin itched; he had scratched himself all night long, till he -could scarcely feel. The look of his eyes, with the yellow circles -about them, corroborated the symptoms. - -"Had you some violent shock a couple of days ago?" the doctor asked -the patient. - -"Yes, alas!" - -"You have the same complaint that this gentleman was threatened with," -said Dr. Poulain, looking at Schmucke as he spoke; "it is an attack of -jaundice, but you will soon get over it," he added, as he wrote a -prescription. - -But in spite of that comfortable phrase, the doctor's eyes had told -another tale as he looked professionally at the patient; and the -death-sentence, though hidden under stereotyped compassion, can always -be read by those who wish to know the truth. Mme. Cibot gave a spy's -glance at the doctor, and read his thought; his bedside manner did not -deceive her; she followed him out of the room. - -"Do you think he will get over it?" asked Mme. Cibot, at the -stairhead. - -"My dear Mme. Cibot, your lodger is a dead man; not because of the -bile in the system, but because his vitality is low. Still, with great -care, your patient may pull through. Somebody ought to take him away -for a change--" - -"How is he to go?" asked Mme. Cibot. "He has nothing to live upon but -his salary; his friend has just a little money from some great ladies, -very charitable ladies, in return for his services, it seems. They are -two children. I have looked after them for nine years." - -"I spend my life watching people die, not of their disease, but of -another bad and incurable complaint--the want of money," said the -doctor. "How often it happens that so far from taking a fee, I am -obliged to leave a five-franc piece on the mantel-shelf when I go--" - -"Poor, dear M. Poulain!" cried Mme. Cibot. "Ah, if you hadn't only the -hundred thousand livres a year, what some stingy folks has in the -quarter (regular devils from hell they are), you would be like -Providence on earth." - -Dr. Poulain had made the little practice, by which he made a bare -subsistence, chiefly by winning the esteem of the porters' lodges in -his district. So he raised his eyes to heaven and thanked Mme. Cibot -with a solemn face worthy of Tartuffe. - -"Then you think that with careful nursing our dear patient will get -better, my dear M. Poulain?" - -"Yes, if this shock has not been too much for him." - -"Poor man! who can have vexed him? There isn't nobody like him on -earth except his friend M. Schmucke. I will find out what is the -matter, and I will undertake to give them that upset my gentleman a -hauling over the coals--" - -"Look here, my dear Mme. Cibot," said the doctor as they stood in the -gateway, "one of the principal symptoms of his complaint is great -irritability; and as it is hardly to be supposed that he can afford a -nurse, the task of nursing him will fall to you. So--" - -"Are you talking of Mouchieu Ponsh?" asked the marine store-dealer. He -was sitting smoking on the curb-post in the gateway, and now he rose -to join in the conversation. - -"Yes, Daddy Remonencq." - -"All right," said Remonencq, "ash to moneysh, he ish better off than -Mouchieu Monishtrol and the big men in the curioshity line. I know -enough in the art line to tell you thish--the dear man has treasursh!" -he spoke with a broad Auvergne dialect. - -"Look here, I thought you were laughing at me the other day when my -gentlemen were out and I showed you the old rubbish upstairs," said -Mme. Cibot. - -In Paris, where walls have ears, where doors have tongues, and window -bars have eyes, there are few things more dangerous than the practice -of standing to chat in a gateway. Partings are like postscripts to a -letter--indiscreet utterances that do as much mischief to the speaker -as to those who overhear them. A single instance will be sufficient as -a parallel to an event in this history. - -In the time of the Empire, when men paid considerable attention to -their hair, one of the first coiffeurs of the day came out of a house -where he had just been dressing a pretty woman's head. This artist in -question enjoyed the custom of all the lower floor inmates of the -house; and among these, there flourished an elderly bachelor guarded -by a housekeeper who detested her master's next-of-kin. The /ci- -devant/ young man, falling seriously ill, the most famous of doctors -of the day (they were not as yet styled the "princes of science") had -been called in to consult upon his case; and it so chanced that the -learned gentlemen were taking leave of one another in the gateway just -as the hairdresser came out. They were talking as doctors usually talk -among themselves when the farce of a consultation is over. "He is a -dead man," quoth Dr. Haudry.--"He had not a month to live," added -Desplein, "unless a miracle takes place."--These were the words -overheard by the hairdresser. - -Like all hairdressers, he kept up a good understanding with his -customers' servants. Prodigious greed sent the man upstairs again; he -mounted to the /ci-devant/ young man's apartment, and promised the -servant-mistress a tolerably handsome commission to persuade her -master to sink a large portion of his money in an annuity. The dying -bachelor, fifty-six by count of years, and twice as old as his age by -reason of amorous campaigns, owned, among other property, a splendid -house in the Rue de Richelieu, worth at that time about two hundred -and fifty thousand francs. It was this house that the hairdresser -coveted; and on agreement to pay an annuity of thirty thousand francs -so long as the bachelor lived, it passed into his hands. This happened -in 1806. And in this year 1846 the hairdresser is still paying that -annuity. He has retired from business, he is seventy years old; the -/ci-devant/ young man is in his dotage; and as he has married his Mme. -Evrard, he may last for a long while yet. As the hairdresser gave the -woman thirty thousand francs, his bit of real estate has cost him, -first and last, more than a million, and the house at this day is -worth eight or nine hundred thousand francs. - -Like the hairdresser, Remonencq the Auvergnat had overheard Brunner's -parting remark in the gateway on the day of Cecile's first interview -with that phoenix of eligible men. Remonencq at once longed to gain a -sight of Pons' museum; and as he lived on good terms with his -neighbors the Cibots, it was not very long before the opportunity came -one day when the friends were out. The sight of such treasures dazzled -him; he saw a "good haul," in dealers' phrase, which being interpreted -means a chance to steal a fortune. He had been meditating this for -five or six days. - -"I am sho far from joking," he said, in reply to Mme. Cibot's remark, -"that we will talk the thing over; and if the good shentleman will -take an annuity, of fifty thousand francsh, I will shtand a hamper of -wine, if--" - -"Fifty thousand francs!" interrupted the doctor; "what are you -thinking about? Why, if the good man is so well off as that, with me -in attendance, and Mme. Cibot to nurse him, he may get better--for -liver complaint is a disease that attacks strong constitutions." - -"Fifty, did I shay? Why, a shentleman here, on your very doorshtep, -offered him sheven hundred thoushand francsh, shimply for the -pictursh, /fouchtra/!" - -While Remonencq made this announcement, Mme. Cibot was looking at Dr. -Poulain. There was a strange expression in her eyes; the devil might -have kindled that sinister glitter in their tawny depths. - -"Oh, come! we must not pay any attention to such idle tales," said the -doctor, well pleased, however, to find that his patient could afford -to pay for his visits. - -"If my dear Mme. Cibot, here, would let me come and bring an ekshpert -(shinsh the shentleman upshtairs ish in bed), I will shertainly find -the money in a couple of hoursh, even if sheven hundred thousand -francsh ish in queshtion--" - -"All right, my friend," said the doctor. "Now, Mme. Cibot, be careful -never to contradict the invalid. You must be prepared to be very -patient with him, for he will find everything irritating and -wearisome, even your services; nothing will please him; you must -expect grumbling--" - -"He will be uncommonly hard to please," said La Cibot. - -"Look here, mind what I tell you," the doctor said in a tone of -authority, "M. Pons' life is in the hands of those that nurse him; I -shall come perhaps twice a day. I shall take him first on my round." - -The doctor's profound indifference to the fate of a poor patient had -suddenly given place to a most tender solicitude when he saw that the -speculator was serious, and that there was a possible fortune in -question. - -"He will be nursed like a king," said Madame Cibot, forcing up -enthusiasm. She waited till the doctor turned the corner into the Rue -Charlot; then she fell to talking again with the dealer in old iron. -Remonencq had finished smoking his pipe, and stood in the doorway of -his shop, leaning against the frame; he had purposely taken this -position; he meant the portress to come to him. - -The shop had once been a cafe. Nothing had been changed there since -the Auvergnat discovered it and took over the lease; you could still -read "Cafe de Normandie" on the strip left above the windows in all -modern shops. Remonencq had found somebody, probably a housepainter's -apprentice, who did the work for nothing, to paint another inscription -in the remaining space below--"REMONENCQ," it ran, "DEALER IN MARINE -STORES, FURNITURE BOUGHT"--painted in small black letters. All the -mirrors, tables, seats, shelves, and fittings of the Cafe de Normandie -had been sold, as might have been expected, before Remonencq took -possession of the shop as it stood, paying a yearly rent of six -hundred francs for the place, with a back shop, a kitchen, and a -single room above, where the head-waiter used to sleep, for the house -belonging to the Cafe de Normandie was let separately. Of the former -splendor of the cafe, nothing now remained save the plain light green -paper on the walls, and the strong iron bolts and bars of the shop- -front. - -When Remonencq came hither in 1831, after the Revolution of July, he -began by displaying a selection of broken doorbells, cracked plates, -old iron, and the obsolete scales and weights abolished by a -Government which alone fails to carry out its own regulations, for -pence and half pence of the time of Louis XVI. are still in -circulation. After a time this Auvergnat, a match for five ordinary -Auvergnats, bought up old saucepans and kettles, old picture-frames, -old copper, and chipped china. Gradually, as the shop was emptied and -filled, the quality of the stock-in-trade improved, like Nicolet's -farces. Remonencq persisted in an unfailing and prodigiously -profitable martingale, a "system" which any philosophical idler may -study as he watches the increasing value of the stock kept by this -intelligent class of trader. Picture-frames and copper succeed to -tin-ware, argand lamps, and damaged crockery; china marks the next -transition; and after no long tarriance in the "omnium gatherum" -stage, the shop becomes a museum. Some day or other the dusty windows -are cleaned, the interior is restored, the Auvergnat relinquishes -velveteen and jackets for a great-coat, and there he sits like a -dragon guarding his treasure, surrounded by masterpieces! He is a -cunning connoisseur by this time; he has increased his capital -tenfold; he is not to be cheated; he knows the tricks of the trade. -The monster among his treasures looks like some old hag among a score -of young girls that she offers to the public. Beauty and miracles of -art are alike indifferent to him; subtle and dense as he is, he has a -keen eye to profits, he talks roughly to those who know less than he -does; he has learned to act a part, he pretends to love his pictures, -or again he lets you know the price he himself gave for the things, he -offers to let you see the memoranda of the sale. He is a Proteus; in -one hour he can be Jocrisse, Janot, /Queue-rouge/, Mondor, Hapagon, or -Nicodeme. - -The third year found armor, and old pictures, and some tolerably fine -clocks in Remonencq's shop. He sent for his sister, and La Remonencq -came on foot all the way from Auvergne to take charge of the shop -while her brother was away. A big and very ugly woman, dressed like a -Japanese idol, a half-idiotic creature with a vague, staring gaze she -would not bate a centime of the prices fixed by her brother. In the -intervals of business she did the work of the house, and solved the -apparently insoluble problem--how to live on "the mists of the Seine." -The Remonencqs' diet consisted of bread and herrings, with the outside -leaves of lettuce or vegetable refuse selected from the heaps -deposited in the kennel before the doors of eating-houses. The two -between them did not spend more than fivepence a day on food (bread -included), and La Remonencq earned the money by sewing or spinning. - -Remonencq came to Paris in the first instance to work as an errand- -boy. Between the years 1825 and 1831 he ran errands for dealers in -curiosities in the Boulevard Beaumarchais or coppersmiths in the Rue -de Lappe. It is the usual start in life in his line of business. Jews, -Normans, Auvergnats, and Savoyards, those four different races of men -all have the same instincts, and make their fortunes in the same way; -they spend nothing, make small profits, and let them accumulate at -compound interest. Such is their trading charter, and /that/ charter -is no delusion. - -Remonencq at this moment had made it up with his old master Monistrol; -he did business with wholesale dealers, he was a /chineur/ (the -technical word), plying his trade in the /banlieue/, which, as -everybody knows, extends for some forty leagues round Paris. - -After fourteen years of business, he had sixty thousand francs in hand -and a well-stocked shop. He lived in the Rue de Normandie because the -rent was low, but casual customers were scarce, most of his goods were -sold to other dealers, and he was content with moderate gains. All his -business transactions were carried on in the Auvergue dialect or -/charabia/, as people call it. - -Remonencq cherished a dream! He wished to establish himself on a -boulevard, to be a rich dealer in curiosities, and do a direct trade -with amateurs some day. And, indeed, within him there was a formidable -man of business. His countenance was the more inscrutable because it -was glazed over by a deposit of dust and particles of metal glued -together by the sweat of his brow; for he did everything himself, and -the use and wont of bodily labor had given him something of the -stoical impassibility of the old soldiers of 1799. - -In personal appearance Remonencq was short and thin; his little eyes -were set in his head in porcine fashion; a Jew's slyness and -concentrated greed looked out of those dull blue circles, though in -his case the false humility that masks the Hebrew's unfathomed -contempt for the Gentile was lacking. - -The relations between the Cibots and the Remonencqs were those of -benefactors and recipients. Mme. Cibot, convinced that the Auvergnats -were wretchedly poor, used to let them have the remainder of "her -gentlemen's" dinners at ridiculous prices. The Remonencqs would buy a -pound of broken bread, crusts and crumbs, for a farthing, a porringer- -full of cold potatoes for something less, and other scraps in -proportion. Remonencq shrewdly allowed them to believe that he was not -in business on his own account, he worked for Monistrol, the rich -shopkeepers preyed upon him, he said, and the Cibots felt sincerely -sorry for Remonencq. The velveteen jacket, waistcoat, and trousers, -particularly affected by Auvergnats, were covered with patches of -Cibot's making, and not a penny had the little tailor charged for -repairs which kept the three garments together after eleven years of -wear. - -Thus we see that all Jews are not in Israel. - -"You are not laughing at me, Remonencq, are you?" asked the portress. -"Is it possible that M. Pons has such a fortune, living as he does? -There is not a hundred francs in the place--" - -"Amateursh are all like that," Remonencq remarked sententiously. - -"Then do you think that my gentleman has worth of seven hundred -thousand francs, eh?--" - -"In pictures alone," continued Remonencq (it is needless, for the sake -of clearness in the story, to give any further specimens of his -frightful dialect). "If he would take fifty thousand francs for one up -there that I know of, I would find the money if I had to hang myself. -Do you remember those little frames full of enameled copper on crimson -velvet, hanging among the portraits? . . . Well, those are Petitot's -enamels; and there is a cabinet minister as used to be a druggist that -will give three thousand francs apiece for them." - -La Cibot's eyes opened wide. "There are thirty of them in the pair of -frames!" she said. - -"Very well, you can judge for yourself how much he is worth." - -Mme. Cibot's head was swimming; she wheeled round. In a moment came -the thought that she would have a legacy, /she/ would sleep sound on -old Pons' will, like the other servant-mistresses whose annuities had -aroused such envy in the Marais. Her thoughts flew to some commune in -the neighborhood of Paris; she saw herself strutting proudly about her -house in the country, looking after her garden and poultry yard, -ending her days, served like a queen, along with her poor dear Cibot, -who deserved such good fortune, like all angelic creatures whom nobody -knows nor appreciates. - -Her abrupt, unthinking movement told Remonencq that success was sure. -In the /chineur's/ way of business--the /chineur/, be it explained, -goes about the country picking up bargains at the expense of the -ignorant--in the /chineur's/ way of business, the one real difficulty -is the problem of gaining an entrance to a house. No one can imagine -the Scapin's roguery, the tricks of a Sganarelle, the wiles of a -Dorine by which the /chineur/ contrives to make a footing for himself. -These comedies are as good as a play, and founded indeed on the old -stock theme of the dishonesty of servants. For thirty francs in money -or goods, servants, and especially country servants, will sometimes -conclude a bargain on which the /chineur/ makes a profit of a thousand -or two thousand francs. If we could but know the history of such and -such a service of Sevres porcelain, /pate tendre/, we should find that -all the intellect, all the diplomatic subtlety displayed at Munster, -Nimeguen, Utrecht, Ryswick, and Vienna was surpassed by the /chineur/. -His is the more frank comedy; his methods of action fathom depths of -personal interest quite as profound as any that plenipotentiaries can -explore in their difficult search for any means of breaking up the -best cemented alliances. - -"I have set La Cibot nicely on fire," Remonencq told his sister, when -she came to take up her position again on the ramshackle chair. "And -now," he continued, "I shall go to consult the only man that knows, -our Jew, a good sort of Jew that did not ask more than fifteen per -cent of us for his money." - -Remonencq had read La Cibot's heart. To will is to act with women of -her stamp. Let them see the end in view; they will stick at nothing to -gain it, and pass from scrupulous honesty to the last degree of -scoundrelism in the twinkling of an eye. Honesty, like most -dispositions of mind, is divided into two classes--negative and -positive. La Cibot's honesty was of the negative order; she and her -like are honest until they see their way clear to gain money belonging -to somebody else. Positive honesty, the honesty of the bank collector, -can wade knee-deep through temptations. - -A torrent of evil thoughts invaded La Cibot's heart and brain so soon -as Remonencq's diabolical suggestion opened the flood-gates of self- -interest. La Cibot climbed, or, to be more accurate, fled up the -stairs, opened the door on the landing, and showed a face disguised in -false solicitude in the doorway of the room where Pons and Schmucke -were bemoaning themselves. As soon as she came in, Schmucke made her a -warning sign; for, true friend and sublime German that he was, he too -had read the doctor's eyes, and he was afraid that Mme. Cibot might -repeat the verdict. Mme. Cibot answered by a shake of the head -indicative of deep woe. - -"Well, my dear monsieur," asked she, "how are you feeling?" She sat -down on the foot of the bed, hands on hips, and fixed her eyes -lovingly upon the patient; but what a glitter of metal there was in -them, a terrible, tiger-like gleam if any one had watched her. - -"I feel very ill," answered poor Pons. "I have not the slightest -appetite left.--Oh! the world, the world!" he groaned, squeezing -Schmucke's hand. Schmucke was sitting by his bedside, and doubtless -the sick man was talking of the causes of his illness.--"I should have -done far better to follow your advice, my good Schmucke, and dined -here every day, and given up going into this society, that has fallen -on me with all its weight, like a tumbril cart crushing an egg! And -why?" - -"Come, come, don't complain, M. Pons," said La Cibot; "the doctor told -me just how it is--" - -Schmucke tugged at her gown.--"And you will pull through," she -continued, "only we must take great care of you. Be easy, you have a -good friend beside you, and without boasting, a woman as will nurse -you like a mother nurses her first child. I nursed Cibot round once -when Dr. Poulain had given him over; he had the shroud up to his eyes, -as the saying is, and they gave him up for dead. Well, well, you have -not come to that yet, God be thanked, ill though you may be. Count on -me; I would pull you through all by myself, I would! Keep still, don't -you fidget like that." - -She pulled the coverlet over the patient's hands as she spoke. - -"There, sonny! M. Schmucke and I will sit up with you of nights. A -prince won't be no better nursed . . . and besides, you needn't refuse -yourself nothing that's necessary, you can afford it.--I have just -been talking things over with Cibot, for what would he do without me, -poor dear?--Well, and I talked him round; we are both so fond of you, -that he will let me stop up with you of a night. And that is a good -deal to ask of a man like him, for he is as fond of me as ever he was -the day we were married. I don't know how it is. It is the lodge, you -see; we are always there together! Don't you throw off the things like -that!" she cried, making a dash for the bedhead to draw the coverlet -over Pons' chest. "If you are not good, and don't do just as Dr. -Poulain says--and Dr. Poulain is the image of Providence on earth--I -will have no more to do with you. You must do as I tell you--" - -"Yes, Montame Zipod, he vill do vat you dell him," put in Schmucke; -"he vants to lif for his boor friend Schmucke's sake, I'll pe pound." - -"And of all things, don't fidget yourself," continued La Cibot, "for -your illness makes you quite bad enough without your making it worse -for want of patience. God sends us our troubles, my dear good -gentlemen; He punishes us for our sins. Haven't you nothing to -reproach yourself with? some poor little bit of a fault or other?" - -The invalid shook his head. - -"Oh! go on! You were young once, you had your fling, there is some -love-child of yours somewhere--cold, and starving, and homeless. . . . -What monsters men are! Their love doesn't last only for a day, and -then in a jiffy they forget, they don't so much as think of the child -at the breast for months. . . . Poor women!" - -"But no one has ever loved me except Schmucke and my mother," poor -Pons broke in sadly. - -"Oh! come, you aren't no saint! You were young in your time, and a -fine-looking young fellow you must have been at twenty. I should have -fallen in love with you myself, so nice as you are--" - -"I always was as ugly as a toad," Pons put in desperately. - -"You say that because you are modest; nobody can't say that you aren't -modest." - -"My dear Mme. Cibot, /no/, I tell you. I always was ugly, and I never -was loved in my life." - -"You, indeed!" cried the portress. "You want to make me believe at -this time of day that you are as innocent as a young maid at your time -of life. Tell that to your granny! A musician at a theatre too! Why, -if a woman told me that, I wouldn't believe her." - -"Montame Zipod, you irritate him!" cried Schmucke, seeing that Pons -was writhing under the bedclothes. - -"You hold your tongue too! You are a pair of old libertines. If you -were ugly, it don't make no difference; there was never so ugly a -saucepan-lid but it found a pot to match, as the saying is. There is -Cibot, he got one of the handsomest oyster-women in Paris to fall in -love with him, and you are infinitely better looking than him! You are -a nice pair, you are! Come, now, you have sown your wild oats, and God -will punish you for deserting your children, like Abraham--" - -Exhausted though he was, the invalid gathered up all his strength to -make a vehement gesture of denial. - -"Do lie quiet; if you have, it won't prevent you from living as long -as Methuselah." - -"Then, pray let me be quiet!" groaned Pons. "I have never known what -it is to be loved. I have had no child; I am alone in the world." - -"Really, eh?" returned the portress. "You are so kind, and that is -what women like, you see--it draws them--and it looked to me -impossible that when you were in your prime--" - -"Take her away," Pons whispered to Schmucke; "she sets my nerves on -edge." - -"Then there's M. Schmucke, he has children. You old bachelors are not -all like that--" - -"/I!/" cried Schmucke, springing to his feet, "vy!--" - -"Come, then, you have none to come after you either, eh? You both -sprung up out of the earth like mushrooms--" - -"Look here, komm mit me," said Schmucke. The good German manfully took -Mme. Cibot by the waist and carried her off into the next room, in -spite of her exclamations. - -"At your age, you would not take advantage of a defenceless woman!" -cried La Cibot, struggling in his arms. - -"Don't make a noise!" - -"You too, the better one of the two!" returned La Cibot. "Ah! it is my -fault for talking about love to two old men who have never had nothing -to do with women. I have roused your passions," cried she, as -Schmucke's eyes glittered with wrath. "Help! help! police!" - -"You are a stoopid!" said the German. "Look here, vat tid de toctor -say?" - -"You are a ruffian to treat me so," wept La Cibot, now released,--"me -that would go through fire and water for you both! Ah! well, well, -they say that that is the way with men--and true it is! There is my -poor Cibot, /he/ would not be rough with me like this. . . . And I -treated you like my children, for I have none of my own; and -yesterday, yes, only yesterday I said to Cibot, 'God knew well what He -was doing, dear,' I said, 'when He refused us children, for I have two -children there upstairs.' By the holy crucifix and the soul of my -mother, that was what I said to him--" - -"Eh! but vat did der doctor say?" Schmucke demanded furiously, -stamping on the floor for the first time in his life. - -"Well," said Mme. Cibot, drawing Schmucke into the dining-room, "he -just said this--that our dear, darling love lying ill there would die -if he wasn't carefully nursed; but I am here, in spite of all your -brutality, for brutal you were, you that I thought so gentle. And you -are one of that sort! Ah! now, you would not abuse a woman at your -age, great blackguard--" - -"Placard? I? Vill you not oonderstand that I lof nopody but Bons?" - -"Well and good, you will let me alone, won't you?" said she, smiling -at Schmucke. "You had better; for if Cibot knew that anybody had -attempted his honor, he would break every bone in his skin." - -"Take crate care of him, dear Montame Zipod," answered Schmucke, and -he tried to take the portress' hand. - -"Oh! look here now, /again/." - -"Chust listen to me. You shall haf all dot I haf, gif ve safe him." - -"Very well; I will go round to the chemist's to get the things that -are wanted; this illness is going to cost a lot, you see, sir, and -what will you do?" - -"I shall vork; Bons shall be nursed like ein brince." - -"So he shall, M. Schmucke; and look here, don't you trouble about -nothing. Cibot and I, between us, have saved a couple of thousand -francs; they are yours; I have been spending money on you this long -time, I have." - -"Goot voman!" cried Schmucke, brushing the tears from his eyes. "Vat -ein heart!" - -"Wipe your tears; they do me honor; this is my reward," said La Cibot, -melodramatically. "There isn't no more disinterested creature on earth -than me; but don't you go into the room with tears in your eyes, or M. -Pons will be thinking himself worse than he is." - -Schmucke was touched by this delicate feeling. He took La Cibot's hand -and gave it a final squeeze. - -"Spare me!" cried the ex-oysterseller, leering at Schmucke. - -"Bons," the good German said when he returned "Montame Zipod is an -anchel; 'tis an anchel dat brattles, but an anchel all der same." - -"Do you think so? I have grown suspicious in the past month," said the -invalid, shaking his head. "After all I have been through, one comes -to believe in nothing but God and my friend--" - -"Get bedder, and ve vill lif like kings, all tree of us," exclaimed -Schmucke. - - - -"Cibot!" panted the portress as she entered the lodge. "Oh, my dear, -our fortune is made. My two gentlemen haven't nobody to come after -them, no natural children, no nothing, in short! Oh, I shall go round -to Ma'am Fontaine's and get her to tell my fortune on the cards, then -we shall know how much we are going to have--" - -"Wife," said the little tailor, "it's ill counting on dead men's -shoes." - -"Oh, I say, are /you/ going to worry me?" asked she, giving her spouse -a playful tap. "I know what I know! Dr. Poulain has given up M. Pons. -And we are going to be rich! My name will be down in the will. . . . -I'll see to that. Draw your needle in and out, and look after the -lodge; you will not do it for long now. We will retire, and go into -the country, out at Batignolles. A nice house and a fine garden; you -will amuse yourself with gardening, and I shall keep a servant!" - -"Well, neighbor, and how are things going on upstairs?" The words were -spoken with the thick Auvergnat accent, and Remonencq put his head in -at the door. "Do you know what the collection is worth?" - -"No, no, not yet. One can't go at that rate, my good man. I have -begun, myself, by finding out more important things--" - -"More important!" exclaimed Remonencq; "why, what things can be more -important?" - -"Come, let me do the steering, ragamuffin," said La Cibot -authoritatively. - -"But thirty per cent on seven hundred thousand francs," persisted the -dealer in old iron; "you could be your own mistress for the rest of -your days on that." - -"Be easy, Daddy Remonencq; when we want to know the value of the -things that the old man has got together, then we will see." - -La Cibot went for the medicine ordered by Dr. Poulain, and put off her -consultation with Mme. Fontaine until the morrow; the oracle's -faculties would be fresher and clearer in the morning, she thought; -and she would go early, before everybody else came, for there was -often a crowd at Mme. Fontaine's. - -Mme. Fontaine was at this time the oracle of the Marais; she had -survived the rival of forty years, the celebrated Mlle. Lenormand. No -one imagines the part that fortune-tellers play among Parisians of the -lower classes, nor the immense influence which they exert over the -uneducated; general servants, portresses, kept women, workmen, all the -many in Paris who live on hope, consult the privileged beings who -possess the mysterious power of reading the future. - -The belief of the occult science is far more widely spread than -scholars, lawyers, doctors, magistrates, and philosophers imagine. The -instincts of the people are ineradicable. One among those instincts, -so foolishly styled "superstition," runs in the blood of the populace, -and tinges no less the intellects of better educated folk. More than -one French statesman has been known to consult the fortune-teller's -cards. For sceptical minds, astrology, in French, so oddly termed -/astrologie judiciare/, is nothing more than a cunning device for -making a profit out of one of the strongest of all the instincts of -human nature--to wit, curiosity. The sceptical mind consequently -denies that there is any connection between human destiny and the -prognostications obtained by the seven or eight principal methods -known to astrology; and the occult sciences, like many natural -phenomena, are passed over by the freethinker or the materialist -philosopher, /id est/, by those who believe in nothing but visible and -tangible facts, in the results given by the chemist's retort and the -scales of modern physical science. The occult sciences still exist; -they are at work, but they make no progress, for the greatest -intellects of two centuries have abandoned the field. - -If you only look at the practical side of divination, it seems absurd -to imagine that events in a man's past life and secrets known only to -himself can be represented on the spur of the moment by a pack of -cards which he shuffles and cuts for the fortune-teller to lay out in -piles according to certain mysterious rules; but then the steam-engine -was condemned as absurd, aerial navigation is still said to be absurd, -so in their time were the inventions of gunpowder, printing, -spectacles, engraving, and that latest discovery of all--the -daguerreotype. If any man had come to Napoleon to tell him that a -building or a figure is at all times and in all places represented by -an image in the atmosphere, that every existing object has a spectral -intangible double which may become visible, the Emperor would have -sent his informant to Charenton for a lunatic, just as Richelieu -before his day sent that Norman martyr, Salomon de Caux, to the -Bicetre for announcing his immense triumph, the idea of navigation by -steam. Yet Daguerre's discovery amounts to nothing more nor less than -this. - -And if for some clairvoyant eyes God has written each man's destiny -over his whole outward and visible form, if a man's body is the record -of his fate, why should not the hand in a manner epitomize the body?-- -since the hand represents the deed of man, and by his deeds he is -known. - -Herein lies the theory of palmistry. Does not Society imitate God? At -the sight of a soldier we can predict that he will fight; of a lawyer, -that he will talk; of a shoemaker, that he shall make shoes or boots; -of a worker of the soil, that he shall dig the ground and dung it; and -is it a more wonderful thing that such an one with the "seer's" gift -should foretell the events of a man's life from his hand? - -To take a striking example. Genius is so visible in a man that a great -artist cannot walk about the streets of Paris but the most ignorant -people are conscious of his passing. He is a sun, as it were, in the -mental world, shedding light that colors everything in its path. And -who does not know an idiot at once by an impression the exact opposite -of the sensation of the presence of genius? Most observers of human -nature in general, and Parisian nature in particular, can guess the -profession or calling of the man in the street. - -The mysteries of the witches' Sabbath, so wonderfully painted in the -sixteenth century, are no mysteries for us. The Egyptian ancestors of -that mysterious people of Indian origin, the gypsies of the present -day, simply used to drug their clients with hashish, a practice that -fully accounts for broomstick rides and flights up the chimney, the -real-seeming visions, so to speak, of old crones transformed into -young damsels, the frantic dances, the exquisite music, and all the -fantastic tales of devil-worship. - -So many proven facts have been first discovered by occult science, -that some day we shall have professors of occult science, as we -already have professors of chemistry and astronomy. It is even -singular that here in Paris, where we are founding chairs of Mantchu -and Slave and literatures so little professable (to coin a word) as -the literatures of the North (which, so far from providing lessons, -stand very badly in need of them); when the curriculum is full of the -everlasting lectures on Shakespeare and the sixteenth century,--it is -strange that some one has not restored the teaching of the occult -philosophies, once the glory of the University of Paris, under the -title of anthropology. Germany, so childlike and so great, has -outstripped France in this particular; in Germany they have professors -of a science of far more use than a knowledge of the heterogeneous -philosophies, which all come to the same thing at bottom. - -Once admit that certain beings have the power of discerning the future -in its germ-form of the Cause, as the great inventor sees a glimpse of -the industry latent in his invention, or a science in something that -happens every day unnoticed by ordinary eyes--once allow this, and -there is nothing to cause an outcry in such phenomena, no violent -exception to nature's laws, but the operation of a recognized faculty; -possibly a kind of mental somnambulism, as it were. If, therefore, the -hypothesis upon which the various ways of divining the future are -based seem absurd, the facts remain. Remark that it is not really more -wonderful that the seer should foretell the chief events of the future -than that he should read the past. Past and future, on the sceptic's -system, equally lie beyond the limits of knowledge. If the past has -left traces behind it, it is not improbable that future events have, -as it were, their roots in the present. - -If a fortune-teller gives you minute details of past facts known only -to yourself, why should he not foresee the events to be produced by -existing causes? The world of ideas is cut out, so to speak, on the -pattern of the physical world; the same phenomena should be -discernible in both, allowing for the difference of the medium. As, -for instance, a corporeal body actually projects an image upon the -atmosphere--a spectral double detected and recorded by the -daguerreotype; so also ideas, having a real and effective existence, -leave an impression, as it were, upon the atmosphere of the spiritual -world; they likewise produce effects, and exist spectrally (to coin a -word to express phenomena for which no words exist), and certain human -beings are endowed with the faculty of discerning these "forms" or -traces of ideas. - -As for the material means employed to assist the seer--the objects -arranged by the hands of the consultant that the accidents of his life -may be revealed to him,--this is the least inexplicable part of the -process. Everything in the material world is part of a series of -causes and effects. Nothing happens without a cause, every cause is a -part of a whole, and consequently the whole leaves its impression on -the slightest accident. Rabelais, the greatest mind among moderns, -resuming Pythagoras, Hippocrates, Aristophanes, and Dante, pronounced -three centuries ago that "man is a microcosm"--a little world. Three -hundred years later, the great seer Swedenborg declared that "the -world was a man." The prophet and the precursor of incredulity meet -thus in the greatest of all formulas. - -Everything in human life is predestined, so it is also with the -existence of the planet. The least event, the most futile phenomena, -are all subordinate parts of a scheme. Great things, therefore, great -designs, and great thoughts are of necessity reflected in the smallest -actions, and that so faithfully, that should a conspirator shuffle and -cut a pack of playing-cards, he will write the history of his plot for -the eyes of the seer styled gypsy, fortune-teller, charlatan, or what -not. If you once admit fate, which is to say, the chain of links of -cause and effect, astrology has a /locus standi/, and becomes what it -was of yore, a boundless science, requiring the same faculty of -deduction by which Cuvier became so great, a faculty to be exercised -spontaneously, however, and not merely in nights of study in the -closet. - -For seven centuries astrology and divination have exercised an -influence not only (as at present) over the uneducated, but over the -greatest minds, over kings and queens and wealthy people. Animal -magnetism, one of the great sciences of antiquity, had its origin in -occult philosophy; chemistry is the outcome of alchemy; phrenology and -neurology are no less the fruit of similar studies. The first -illustrious workers in these, to all appearance, untouched fields, -made one mistake, the mistake of all inventors; that is to say, they -erected an absolute system on a basis of isolated facts for which -modern analysis as yet cannot account. The Catholic Church, the law of -the land, and modern philosophy, in agreement for once, combined to -prescribe, persecute, and ridicule the mysteries of the Cabala as well -as the adepts; the result is a lamentable interregnum of a century in -occult philosophy. But the uneducated classes, and not a few -cultivated people (women especially), continue to pay a tribute to the -mysterious power of those who can raise the veil of the future; they -go to buy hope, strength, and courage of the fortune-teller; in other -words, to ask of him all that religion alone can give. So the art is -still practised in spite of a certain amount of risk. The eighteenth -century encyclopaedists procured tolerance for the sorcerer; he is no -longer amenable to a court of law, unless, indeed, he lends himself to -fraudulent practices, and frightens his "clients" to extort money from -them, in which case he may be prosecuted on a charge of obtaining -money under false pretences. Unluckily, the exercise of the sublime -art is only too often used as a method of obtaining money under false -pretences, and for the following reasons. - -The seer's wonderful gifts are usually bestowed upon those who are -described by the epithets rough and uneducated. The rough and -uneducated are the chosen vessels into which God pours the elixirs at -which we marvel. From among the rough and uneducated, prophets arise-- -an Apostle Peter, or St. Peter the Hermit. Wherever mental power is -imprisoned, and remains intact and entire for want of an outlet in -conversation, in politics, in literature, in the imaginings of the -scholar, in the efforts of the statesman, in the conceptions of the -inventor, or the soldier's toils of war; the fire within is apt to -flash out in gleams of marvelously vivid light, like the sparks hidden -in an unpolished diamond. Let the occasion come, and the spirit within -kindles and glows, finds wings to traverse space, and the god-like -power of beholding all things. The coal of yesterday under the play of -some mysterious influence becomes a radiant diamond. Better educated -people, many-sided and highly polished, continually giving out all -that is in them, can never exhibit this supreme power, save by one of -the miracles which God sometimes vouchsafes to work. For this reason -the soothsayer is almost always a beggar, whose mind is virgin soil, a -creature coarse to all appearance, a pebble borne along the torrent of -misery and left in the ruts of life, where it spends nothing of itself -save in mere physical suffering. - -The prophet, the seer, in short, is some /Martin le Laboureur/ making -a Louis XVIII. tremble by telling him a secret known only to the king -himself; or it is a Mlle. Lenormand, or a domestic servant like Mme. -Fontaine, or again, perhaps it is some half-idiotic negress, some -herdsman living among his cattle, who receives the gift of vision; -some Hindoo fakir, seated by a pagoda, mortifying the flesh till the -spirit gains the mysterious power of the somnambulist. - -Asia, indeed, through all time, has been the home of the heroes of -occult science. Persons of this kind, recovering their normal state, -are usually just as they were before. They fulfil, in some sort, the -chemical and physical functions of bodies which conduct electricity; -at times inert metal, at other times a channel filled with a -mysterious current. In their normal condition they are given to -practices which bring them before the magistrate, yea, verily, like -the notorious Balthazar, even unto the criminal court, and so to the -hulks. You could hardly find a better proof of the immense influence -of fortune-telling upon the working classes than the fact that poor -Pons' life and death hung upon the prediction that Mme. Fontaine was -to make from the cards. - -Although a certain amount of repetition is inevitable in a canvas so -considerable and so full of detail as a complete picture of French -society in the nineteenth century, it is needless to repeat the -description of Mme. Fontaine's den, already given in /Les Comediens -sans le savoir/; suffice it to say that Mme. Cibot used to go to Mme. -Fontaine's house in the Rue Vieille-du-Temple as regularly as -frequenters of the Cafe Anglais drop in at that restaurant for lunch. -Mme. Cibot, being a very old customer, often introduced young persons -and old gossips consumed with curiosity to the wise woman. - -The old servant who acted as provost marshal flung open the door of -the sanctuary with no further ceremony than the remark, "It's Mme. -Cibot.--Come in, there's nobody here." - -"Well, child, what can bring you here so early of a morning?" asked -the sorceress, as Mme. Fontaine might well be called, for she was -seventy-eight years old, and looked like one of the Parcae. - -"Something has given me a turn," said La Cibot; "I want the /grand -jeu/; it is a question of my fortune." Therewith she explained her -position, and wished to know if her sordid hopes were likely to be -realized. - -"Do you know what the /grand jeu/ means?" asked Mme. Fontaine, with -much solemnity. - -"No, I haven't never seen the trick, I am not rich enough.--A hundred -francs! It's not as if it cost so much! Where was the money to come -from? But now I can't help myself, I must have it." - -"I don't do it often, child," returned Mme. Fontaine; "I only do it -for rich people on great occasions, and they pay me twenty-five louis -for doing it; it tires me, you see, it wears me out. The 'Spirit' -rives my inside, here. It is like going to the 'Sabbath,' as they used -to say." - -"But when I tell you that it means my whole future, my dear good Ma'am -Fontaine--" - -"Well, as it is you that have come to consult me so often, I will -submit myself to the Spirit!" replied Mme. Fontaine, with a look of -genuine terror on her face. - -She rose from her filthy old chair by the fireside, and went to a -table covered with a green cloth so worn that you could count the -threads. A huge toad sat dozing there beside a cage inhabited by a -black disheveled-looking fowl. - -"Astaroth! here, my son!" she said, and the creature looked up -intelligently at her as she rapped him on the back with a long -knitting-needle.--"And you, Mademoiselle Cleopatre!--attention!" she -continued, tapping the ancient fowl on the beak. - -Then Mme. Fontaine began to think; for several seconds she did not -move; she looked like a corpse, her eyes rolled in their sockets and -grew white; then she rose stiff and erect, and a cavernous voice -cried: - -"Here I am!" - -Automatically she scattered millet for Cleopatre, took up the pack of -cards, shuffled them convulsively, and held them out to Mme. Cibot to -cut, sighing heavily all the time. At the sight of that image of Death -in the filthy turban and uncanny-looking bed-jacket, watching the -black fowl as it pecked at the millet-grains, calling to the toad -Astaroth to walk over the cards that lay out on the table, a cold -thrill ran through Mme. Cibot; she shuddered. Nothing but strong -belief can give strong emotions. An assured income, to be or not to -be, that was the question. - -The sorceress opened a magical work and muttered some unintelligible -words in a sepulchral voice, looked at the remaining millet-seeds, and -watched the way in which the toad retired. Then after seven or eight -minutes, she turned her white eyes on the cards and expounded them. - -"You will succeed, although nothing in the affair will fall out as you -expect. You will have many steps to take, but you will reap the fruits -of your labors. You will behave very badly; it will be with you as it -is with all those who sit by a sick-bed and covet part of the -inheritance. Great people will help you in this work of wrongdoing. -Afterwards in the death agony you will repent. Two escaped convicts, a -short man with red hair and an old man with a bald head, will murder -you for the sake of the money you will be supposed to have in the -village whither you will retire with your second husband. Now, my -daughter, it is still open to you to choose your course." - -The excitement which seemed to glow within, lighting up the bony -hollows about the eyes, was suddenly extinguished. As soon as the -horoscope was pronounced, Mme. Fontaine's face wore a dazed -expression; she looked exactly like a sleep-walker aroused from sleep, -gazed about her with an astonished air, recognized Mme. Cibot, and -seemed surprised by her terrified face. - -"Well, child," she said, in a totally different voice, "are you -satisfied?" - -Mme. Cibot stared stupidly at the sorceress, and could not answer. - -"Ah! you would have the /grand jeu/; I have treated you as an old -acquaintance. I only want a hundred francs--" - -"Cibot,--going to die?" gasped the portress. - -"So I have been telling you very dreadful things, have I?" asked Mme. -Fontaine, with an extremely ingenuous air. - -"Why, yes!" said La Cibot, taking a hundred francs from her pocket and -laying them down on the edge of the table. "Going to be murdered, -think of it--" - -"Ah! there it is! You would have the /grand jeu/; but don't take on -so, all the folk that are murdered on the cards don't die." - -"But is it possible, Ma'am Fontaine?" - -"Oh, /I/ know nothing about it, my pretty dear! You would rap at the -door of the future; I pull the cord, and it came." - -"/It/, what?" asked Mme. Cibot. - -"Well, then, the Spirit!" cried the sorceress impatiently. - -"Good-bye, Ma'am Fontaine," exclaimed the portress. "I did not know -what the /grand jeu/ was like. You have given me a good fright, that -you have." - -"The mistress will not put herself in that state twice in a month," -said the servant, as she went with La Cibot to the landing. "She would -do herself to death if she did, it tires her so. She will eat cutlets -now and sleep for three hours afterwards." - -Out in the street La Cibot took counsel of herself as she went along, -and, after the manner of all who ask for advice of any sort or -description, she took the favorable part of the prediction and -rejected the rest. The next day found her confirmed in her resolutions ---she would set all in train to become rich by securing a part of -Pons' collection. Nor for some time had she any other thought than the -combination of various plans to this end. The faculty of self- -concentration seen in rough, uneducated persons, explained on a -previous page, the reserve power accumulated in those whose mental -energies are unworn by the daily wear and tear of social life, and -brought into action so soon as that terrible weapon the "fixed idea" -is brought into play,--all this was pre-eminently manifested in La -Cibot. Even as the "fixed idea" works miracles of evasion, and brings -forth prodigies of sentiment, so greed transformed the portress till -she became as formidable as a Nucingen at bay, as subtle beneath her -seeming stupidity as the irresistible La Palferine. - -About seven o'clock one morning, a few days afterwards, she saw -Remonencq taking down his shutters. She went across to him. - -"How could one find out how much the things yonder in my gentlemen's -rooms are worth?" she asked in a wheedling tone. - -"Oh! that is quite easy," replied the owner of the old curiosity shop. -"If you will play fair and above board with me, I will tell you of -somebody, a very honest man, who will know the value of the pictures -to a farthing--" - -"Who?" - -"M. Magus, a Jew. He only does business to amuse himself now." - -Elie Magus has appeared so often in the /Comedie Humaine/, that it is -needless to say more of him here. Suffice it to add that he had -retired from business, and as a dealer was following the example set -by Pons the amateur. Well-known valuers like Henry, Messrs. Pigeot and -Moret, Theret, Georges, and Roehn, the experts of the Musee, in fact, -were but children compared with Elie Magus. He could see a masterpiece -beneath the accumulated grime of a century; he knew all schools, and -the handwriting of all painters. - -He had come to Paris from Bordeaux, and so long ago as 1835 he had -retired from business without making any change for the better in his -dress, so faithful is the race to old tradition. The persecutions of -the Middle Ages compelled them to wear rags, to snuffle and whine and -groan over their poverty in self-defence, till the habits induced by -the necessities of other times have come to be, as usual, instinctive, -a racial defect. - -Elie Magus had amassed a vast fortune by buying and selling diamonds, -pictures, lace, enamels, delicate carvings, old jewelry, and rarities -of all kinds, a kind of commerce which has developed enormously of -late, so much so indeed that the number of dealers has increased -tenfold during the last twenty years in this city of Paris, whither -all the curiosities in the world come to rub against one another. And -for pictures there are but three marts in the world--Rome, London, and -Paris. - -Elie Magus lived in the Chausee des Minimes, a short, broad street -leading to the Place Royale. He had bought the house, an old-fashioned -mansion, for a song, as the saying is, in 1831. Yet there were -sumptuous apartments within it, decorated in the time of Louis XV.; -for it had once been the Hotel Maulaincourt, built by the great -President of the Cour des Aides, and its remote position had saved it -at the time of the Revolution. - -You may be quite sure that the old Jew had sound reasons for buying -house property, contrary to the Hebrew law and custom. He had ended, -as most of us end, with a hobby that bordered on a craze. He was as -miserly as his friend, the late lamented Gobseck; but he had been -caught by the snare of the eyes, by the beauty of the pictures in -which he dealt. As his taste grew more and more fastidious, it became -one of the passions which princes alone can indulge when they are -wealthy and art-lovers. As the second King of Prussia found nothing -that so kindled enthusiasm as the spectacle of a grenadier over six -feet high, and gave extravagant sums for a new specimen to add to his -living museum of a regiment, so the retired picture-dealer was roused -to passion-pitch only by some canvas in perfect preservation, -untouched since the master laid down the brush; and what was more, it -must be a picture of the painter's best time. No great sales, -therefore, took place but Elie Magus was there; every mart knew him; -he traveled all over Europe. The ice-cold, money-worshiping soul in -him kindled at the sight of a perfect work of art, precisely as a -libertine, weary of fair women, is roused from apathy by the sight of -a beautiful girl, and sets out afresh upon the quest of flawless -loveliness. A Don Juan among fair works of art, a worshiper of the -Ideal, Elie Magus had discovered joys that transcend the pleasure of a -miser gloating over his gold--he lived in a seraglio of great -paintings. - -His masterpieces were housed as became the children of princes; the -whole first floor of the great old mansion was given up to them. The -rooms had been restored under Elie Magus' orders, and with what -magnificence! - -The windows were hung with the richest Venetian brocade; the most -splendid carpets from the Savonnerie covered the parquetry flooring. -The frames of the pictures, nearly a hundred in number, were -magnificent specimens, regilded cunningly by Servais, the one gilder -in Paris whom Elie Magus thought sufficiently painstaking; the old Jew -himself had taught him to use the English leaf, which is infinitely -superior to that produced by French gold-beaters. Servais is among -gilders as Thouvenin among bookbinders--an artist among craftsmen, -making his work a labor of love. Every window in that gallery was -protected by iron-barred shutters. Elie Magus himself lived in a -couple of attics on the floor above; the furniture was wretched, the -rooms were full of rags, and the whole place smacked of the Ghetto; -Elie Magus was finishing his days without any change in his life. - -The whole of the ground floor was given up to the picture trade (for -the Jew still dealt in works of art). Here he stored his canvases, -here also packing-cases were stowed on their arrival from other -countries; and still there was room for a vast studio, where Moret, -most skilful of restorers of pictures, a craftsman whom the Musee -ought to employ, was almost always at work for Magus. The rest of the -rooms on the ground floor were given up to Magus' daughter, the child -of his old age, a Jewess as beautiful as a Jewess can be when the -Semitic type reappears in its purity and nobility in a daughter of -Israel. Noemi was guarded by two servants, fanatical Jewesses, to say -nothing of an advanced-guard, a Polish Jew, Abramko by name, once -involved in a fabulous manner in political troubles, from which Elie -Magus saved him as a business speculation. Abramko, porter of the -silent, grim, deserted mansion, divided his office and his lodge with -three remarkably ferocious animals--an English bull-dog, a -Newfoundland dog, and another of the Pyrenean breed. - -Behold the profound observations of human nature upon which Elie Magus -based his feeling of security, for secure he felt; he left home -without misgivings, slept with both ears shut, and feared no attempt -upon his daughter (his chief treasure), his pictures, or his money. In -the first place, Abramko's salary was increased every year by two -hundred francs so long as his master should live; and Magus, moreover, -was training Abramko as a money-lender in a small way. Abramko never -admitted anybody until he had surveyed them through a formidable -grated opening. He was a Hercules for strength, he worshiped Elie -Magus, as Sancho Panza worshiped Don Quixote. All day long the dogs -were shut up without food; at nightfall Abramko let them loose; and by -a cunning device the old Jew kept each animal at his post in the -courtyard or the garden by hanging a piece of meat just out of reach -on the top of a pole. The animals guarded the house, and sheer hunger -guarded the dogs. No odor that reached their nostrils could tempt them -from the neighborhood of that piece of meat; they would not have left -their places at the foot of the poles for the most engaging female of -the canine species. If a stranger by any chance intruded, the dogs -suspected him of ulterior designs upon their rations, which were only -taken down in the morning by Abramko himself when he awoke. The -advantages of this fiendish scheme are patent. The animals never -barked, Magus' ingenuity had made savages of them; they were -treacherous as Mohicans. And now for the result. - -One night burglars, emboldened by the silence, decided too hastily -that it would be easy enough to "clean out" the old Jew's strong box. -One of their number told off to advance to the assault scrambled up -the garden wall and prepared to descend. This the bull-dog allowed him -to do. The animal, knowing perfectly well what was coming, waited for -the burglar to reach the ground; but when that gentleman directed a -kick at him, the bull-dog flew at the visitor's shins, and, making but -one bite of it, snapped the ankle-bone clean in two. The thief had the -courage to tear him away, and returned, walking upon the bare bone of -the mutilated stump till he reached the rest of the gang, when he fell -fainting, and they carried him off. The /Police News/, of course, did -not fail to report this delightful night incident, but no one believed -in it. - -Magus at this time was seventy-five years old, and there was no reason -why he should not live to a hundred. Rich man though he was, he lived -like the Remonencqs. His necessary expenses, including the money he -lavished on his daughter, did not exceed three thousand francs. No -life could be more regular; the old man rose as soon as it was light, -breakfasted on bread rubbed with a clove of garlic, and ate no more -food until dinner-time. Dinner, a meal frugal enough for a convent, he -took at home. All the forenoons he spent among his treasures, walking -up and down the gallery where they hung in their glory. He would dust -everything himself, furniture and pictures; he never wearied of -admiring. Then he would go downstairs to his daughter, drink deep of a -father's happiness, and start out upon his walks through Paris, to -attend sales or visit exhibitions and the like. - -If Elie Magus found a great work of art under the right conditions, -the discovery put new life into the man; here was a bit of sharp -practice, a bargain to make, a battle of Marengo to win. He would pile -ruse on ruse to buy the new sultana as cheaply as possible. Magus had -a map of Europe on which all great pictures were marked; his -co-religionists in every city spied out business for him, and received -a commission on the purchase. And then, what rewards for all his -pains! The two lost Raphaels so earnestly sought after by Raphael -lovers are both in his collection. Elie Magus owns the original -portrait of /Giorgione's Mistress/, the woman for whom the painter -died; the so-called originals are merely copies of the famous picture, -which is worth five hundred thousand francs, according to its owner's -estimation. This Jew possesses Titian's masterpiece, an /Entombment/ -painted for Charles V., sent by the great man to the great Emperor -with a holograph letter, now fastened down upon the lower part of the -canvas. And Magus has yet another Titian, the original sketch from -which all the portraits of Philip II. were painted. His remaining -ninety-seven pictures are all of the same rank and distinction. -Wherefore Magus laughs at our national collection, raked by the -sunlight which destroys the fairest paintings, pouring in through -panes of glass that act as lenses. Picture galleries can only be -lighted from above; Magus opens and closes his shutters himself; he is -as careful of his pictures as of his daughter, his second idol. And -well the old picture-fancier knows the laws of the lives of pictures. -To hear him talk, a great picture has a life of its own; it is -changeable, it takes its beauty from the color of the light. Magus -talks of his paintings as Dutch fanciers used to talk of their tulips; -he will come home on purpose to see some one picture in the hour of -its glory, when the light is bright and clean. - -And Magus himself was a living picture among the motionless figures on -the wall--a little old man, dressed in a shabby overcoat, a silk -waistcoat, renewed twice in a score of years, and a very dirty pair of -trousers, with a bald head, a face full of deep hollows, a wrinkled, -callous skin, a beard that had a trick of twitching its long white -bristles, a menacing pointed chin, a toothless mouth, eyes bright as -the eyes of his dogs in the yard, and a nose like an obelisk--there he -stood in his gallery smiling at the beauty called into being by -genius. A Jew surrounded by his millions will always be one of the -finest spectacles which humanity can give. Robert Medal, our great -actor, cannot rise to this height of poetry, sublime though he is. - -Paris of all the cities of the world holds most of such men as Magus, -strange beings with a strange religion in their heart of hearts. The -London "eccentric" always finds that worship, like life, brings -weariness and satiety in the end; the Parisian monomaniac lives -cheerfully in concubinage with his crotchet to the last. - -Often shall you meet in Paris some Pons, some Elie Magus, dressed -badly enough, with his face turned from the rising sun (like the -countenance of the perpetual secretary of the Academie), apparently -heeding nothing, conscious of nothing, paying no attention to shop- -windows nor to fair passers-by, walking at random, so to speak, with -nothing in his pockets, and to all appearance an equally empty head. -Do you ask to what Parisian tribe this manner of man belongs? He is a -collector, a millionaire, one of the most impassioned souls upon -earth; he and his like are capable of treading the miry ways that lead -to the police-court if so they may gain possession of a cup, a -picture, or some such rare unpublished piece as Elie Magus once picked -up one memorable day in Germany. - -This was the expert to whom Remonencq with much mystery conducted La -Cibot. Remonencq always asked advice of Elie Magus when he met him in -the streets; and more than once Magus had lent him money through -Abramko, knowing Remonencq's honesty. The Chaussee des Minimes is -close to the Rue de Normandie, and the two fellow-conspirators reached -the house in ten minutes. - -"You will see the richest dealer in curiosities, the greatest -connoisseur in Paris," Remonencq had said. And Mme. Cibot, therefore, -was struck dumb with amazement to be confronted with a little old man -in a great-coat too shabby for Cibot to mend, standing watching a -painter at work upon an old picture in the chilly room on the vast -ground floor. The old man's eyes, full of cold feline malignance, were -turned upon her, and La Cibot shivered. - -"What do you want, Remonencq?" asked this person. - -"It is a question of valuing some pictures; there is nobody but you in -Paris who can tell a poor tinker-fellow like me how much he may give -when he has not thousands to spend, like you." - -"Where is it?" - -"Here is the portress of the house where the gentleman lives; she does -for him, and I have arranged with her--" - -"Who is the owner?" - -"M. Pons!" put in La Cibot. - -"Don't know the name," said Magus, with an innocent air, bringing down -his foot very gently upon his artist's toes. - -Moret the painter, knowing the value of Pons' collection, had looked -up suddenly at the name. It was a move too hazardous to try with any -one but Remonencq and La Cibot, but the Jew had taken the woman's -measure at sight, and his eye was as accurate as a jeweler's scales. -It was impossible that either of the couple should know how often -Magus and old Pons had matched their claws. And, in truth, both rabid -amateurs were jealous of each other. The old Jew had never hoped for a -sight of a seraglio so carefully guarded; it seemed to him that his -head was swimming. Pons' collection was the one private collection in -Paris which could vie with his own. Pons' idea had occurred to Magus -twenty years later; but as a dealer-amateur the door of Pons' museum -had been closed to him, as for Dusommerard. Pons and Magus had at -heart the same jealousy. Neither of them cared about the kind of -celebrity dear to the ordinary collector. And now for Elie Magus came -his chance to see the poor musician's treasures! An amateur of beauty -hiding in a boudoir or a stolen glance at a mistress concealed from -him by his friend might feel as Elie Magus felt at that moment. - -La Cibot was impressed by Remonencq's respect for this singular -person; real power, moreover, even when it cannot be explained, is -always felt; the portress was supple and obedient, she dropped the -autocratic tone which she was wont to use in her lodge and with the -tenants, accepted Magus' conditions, and agreed to admit him into -Pons' museum that very day. - -So the enemy was to be brought into the citadel, and a stab dealt to -Pons' very heart. For ten years Pons had carried his keys about with -him; he had forbidden La Cibot to allow any one, no matter whom, to -cross his threshold; and La Cibot had so far shared Schmucke's -opinions of /bric-a-brac/, that she had obeyed him. The good Schmucke, -by speaking of the splendors as "chimcracks," and deploring his -friend's mania, had taught La Cibot to despise the old rubbish, and so -secured Pons' museum from invasion for many a long year. - -When Pons took to his bed, Schmucke filled his place at the theatre -and gave lessons for him at his boarding-schools. He did his utmost to -do the work of two; but Pons' sorrows weighing heavily upon his mind, -the task took all his strength. He only saw his friend in the morning, -and again at dinnertime. His pupils and the people at the theatre, -seeing the poor German look so unhappy, used to ask for news of Pons; -and so great was his grief, that the indifferent would make the -grimaces of sensibility which Parisians are wont to reserve for the -greatest calamities. The very springs of life had been attacked, the -good German was suffering from Pons' pain as well as from his own. -When he gave a music lesson, he spent half the time in talking of -Pons, interrupting himself to wonder whether his friend felt better -to-day, and the little school-girls listening heard lengthy -explanations of Pons' symptoms. He would rush over to the Rue de -Normandie in the interval between two lessons for the sake of a -quarter of an hour with Pons. - -When at last he saw that their common stock was almost exhausted, when -Mme. Cibot (who had done her best to swell the expenses of the -illness) came to him and frightened him; then the old music-master -felt that he had courage of which he never thought himself capable-- -courage that rose above his anguish. For the first time in his life he -set himself to earn money; money was needed at home. One of the -school-girl pupils, really touched by their troubles, asked Schmucke -how he could leave his friend alone. "Montemoiselle," he answered, -with the sublime smile of those who think no evil, "ve haf Montame -Zipod, ein dreasure, montemoiselle, ein bearl! Bons is nursed like ein -brince." - -So while Schmucke trotted about the streets, La Cibot was mistress of -the house and ruled the invalid. How should Pons superintend his self- -appointed guardian angel, when he had taken no solid food for a -fortnight, and lay there so weak and helpless that La Cibot was -obliged to lift him up and carry him to the sofa while she made the -bed? - -La Cibot's visit to Elie Magus was paid (as might be expected) while -Schmucke breakfasted. She came in again just as the German was bidding -his friend good-bye; for since she learned that Pons possessed a -fortune, she never left the old bachelor; she brooded over him and his -treasures like a hen. From the depths of a comfortable easy-chair at -the foot of the bed she poured forth for Pons' delectation the gossip -in which women of her class excel. With Machiavelian skill, she had -contrived to make Pons think that she was indispensable to him; she -coaxed and she wheedled, always uneasy, always on the alert. Mme. -Fontaine's prophecy had frightened La Cibot; she vowed to herself that -she would gain her ends by kindness. She would sleep secure on M. -Pons' legacy, but her rascality should keep within the limits of the -law. For ten years she had not suspected the value of Pons' -collection; she had a clear record behind her of ten years of -devotion, honesty, and disinterestedness; it was a magnificent -investment, and now she proposed to realize. In one day, Remonencq's -hint of money had hatched the serpent's egg, the craving for riches -that had lain dormant within her for twenty years. Since she had -cherished that craving, it had grown in force with the ferment of all -the evil that lurks in the corners of the heart. How she acted upon -the counsels whispered by the serpent will presently be seen. - -"Well?" she asked of Schmucke, "has this cherub of ours had plenty to -drink? Is he better?" - -"He is not doing fery vell, tear Montame Zipod, not fery vell," said -poor Schmucke, brushing away the tears from his eyes. - -"Pooh! you make too much of it, my dear M. Schmucke; we must take -things as we find them; Cibot might be at death's door, and I should -not take it to heart as you do. Come! the cherub has a good -constitution. And he has been steady, it seems, you see; you have no -idea what an age sober people live. He is very ill, it is true, but -with all the care I take of him, I shall bring him round. Be easy, -look after your affairs, I will keep him company and see that he -drinks his pints of barley water." - -"Gif you vere not here, I should die of anxiety--" said Schmucke, -squeezing his kind housekeeper's hand in both his own to express his -confidence in her. - -La Cibot wiped her eyes as she went back to the invalid's room. - -"What is the matter, Mme. Cibot?" asked Pons. - -"It is M. Schmucke that has upset me; he is crying as if you were -dead," said she. "If you are not well, you are not so bad yet that -nobody need cry over you; but it has given me such a turn! Oh dear! oh -dear! how silly it is of me to get so fond of people, and to think -more of you than of Cibot! For, after all, you aren't nothing to me, -you are only my brother by Adam's side; and yet, whenever you are in -the question, it puts me in such a taking, upon my word it does! I -would cut off my hand--my left hand, of course--to see you coming and -going, eating your meals, and screwing bargains out of dealers as -usual. If I had had a child of my own, I think I should have loved it -as I love you, eh! There, take a drink, dearie; come now, empty the -glass. Drink it off, monsieur, I tell you! The first thing Dr. Poulain -said was, 'If M. Pons has no mind to go to Pere Lachaise, he ought to -drink as many buckets full of water in a day as an Auvergnat will -sell.' So, come now, drink--" - -"But I do drink, Cibot, my good woman; I drink and drink till I am -deluged--" - -"That is right," said the portress, as she took away the empty glass. -"That is the way to get better. Dr. Poulain had another patient ill of -your complaint; but he had nobody to look after him, his children left -him to himself, and he died because he didn't drink enough--so you -must drink, honey, you see--he died and they buried him two months -ago. And if you were to die, you know, you would drag down old M. -Schmucke with you, sir. He is like a child. Ah! he loves you, he does, -the dear lamb of a man; no woman never loved a man like that! He -doesn't care for meat nor drink; he has grown as thin as you are in -the last fortnight, and you are nothing but skin and bones.--It makes -me jealous to see it, for I am very fond of you; but not to that -degree; I haven't lost my appetite, quite the other way; always going -up and down stairs, till my legs are so tired that I drop down of an -evening like a lump of lead. Here am I neglecting my poor Cibot for -you; Mlle. Remonencq cooks his victuals for him, and he goes on about -it and says that nothing is right! At that I tell him that one ought -to put up with something for the sake of other people, and that you -are so ill that I cannot leave you. In the first place, you can't -afford a nurse. And before I would have a nurse here!--I have done for -you these ten years; they want wine and sugar, and foot-warmers, and -all sorts of comforts. And they rob their patients unless the patients -leave them something in their wills. Have a nurse in here to-day, and -to-morrow we should find a picture or something or other gone--" - -"Oh! Mme. Cibot!" cried Pons, quite beside himself, "do not leave me! -No one must touch anything--" - -"I am here," said La Cibot; "so long as I have the strength I shall be -here.--Be easy. There was Dr. Poulain wanting to get a nurse for you; -perhaps he has his eye on your treasures. I just snubbed him, I did. -'The gentleman won't have any one but me,' I told him. 'He is used to -me, and I am used to him.' So he said no more. A nurse, indeed! They -are all thieves; I hate that sort of woman, I do. Here is a tale that -will show you how sly they are. There was once an old gentleman--it -was Dr. Poulain himself, mind you, who told me this--well, a Mme. -Sabatier, a woman of thirty-six that used to sell slippers at the -Palais Royal--you remember the Galerie at the Palais that they pulled -down?" - -Pons nodded. - -"Well, at that time she had not done very well; her husband used to -drink, and died of spontaneous imbustion; but she had been a fine -woman in her time, truth to tell, not that it did her any good, though -she had friends among the lawyers. So, being hard up, she became a -monthly nurse, and lived in the Rue Barre-du-Bec. Well, she went out -to nurse an old gentleman that had a disease of the lurinary guts -(saving your presence); they used to tap him like an artesian well, -and he needed such care that she used to sleep on a truckle-bed in the -same room with him. You would hardly believe such a thing!--'Men -respect nothing,' you'll tell me, 'so selfish as they are.' Well, she -used to talk with him, you understand; she never left him, she amused -him, she told him stories, she drew him on to talk (just as we are -chatting away together now, you and I, eh?), and she found out that -his nephews--the old gentleman had nephews--that his nephews were -wretches; they had worried him, and final end of it, they had brought -on this illness. Well, my dear sir, she saved his life, he married -her, and they have a fine child; Ma'am Bordevin, the butcher's wife in -the Rue Charlot, a relative of hers, stood godmother. There is luck -for you! - -"As for me, I am married; and if I have no children, I don't mind -saying that it is Cibot's fault; he is too fond of me, but if I cared ---never mind. What would have become of me and my Cibot if we had had -a family, when we have not a penny to bless ourselves with after -thirty years' of faithful service? I have not a farthing belonging to -nobody else, that is what comforts me. I have never wronged nobody.-- -Look here, suppose now (there is no harm in supposing when you will be -out and about again in six weeks' time, and sauntering along the -boulevard); well, suppose that you had put me down in your will; very -good, I shouldn't never rest till I had found your heirs and given the -money back. Such is my horror of anything that is not earned by the -sweat of my brow. - -"You will say to me, 'Why, Mme. Cibot, why should you worry yourself -like that? You have fairly earned the money; you looked after your two -gentlemen as if they had been your children; you saved them a thousand -francs a year--' (for there are plenty, sir, you know, that would have -had their ten thousand francs put out to interest by now if they had -been in my place)--'so if the worthy gentleman leaves you a trifle of -an annuity, it is only right.'--Suppose they told me that. Well, now; -I am not thinking of myself.--I cannot think how some women can do a -kindness thinking of themselves all the time. It is not doing good, -sir, is it? I do not go to church myself, I haven't the time; but my -conscience tells me what is right. . . . Don't you fidget like that, -my lamb!--Don't scratch yourself! . . . Dear me, how yellow you grow! -So yellow you are--quite brown. How funny it is that one can come to -look like a lemon in three weeks! . . . Honesty is all that poor folk -have, and one must surely have something! Suppose that you were just -at death's door, I should be the first to tell you that you ought to -leave all that you have to M. Schmucke. It is your duty, for he is all -the family you have. He loves you, he does, as a dog loves his -master." - -"Ah! yes," said Pons; "nobody else has ever loved me all my life -long--" - -"Ah! that is not kind of you, sir," said Mme. Cibot; "then I do not -love you, I suppose?" - -"I do not say so, my dear Mme. Cibot." - -"Good. You take me for a servant, do you, a common servant, as if I -hadn't no heart! Goodness me! for eleven years you do for two old -bachelors, you think of nothing but their comfort. I have turned half -a score of greengrocers' shops upside down for you, I have talked -people round to get you good Brie cheese; I have gone down as far as -the market for fresh butter for you; I have taken such care of things -that nothing of yours hasn't been chipped nor broken in all these ten -years; I have just treated you like my own children; and then to hear -a 'My dear Mme. Cibot,' that shows that there is not a bit of feeling -for you in the heart of an old gentleman that you have cared for like -a king's son! for the little King of Rome was not so well looked -after. He died in his prime; there is proof for you. . . . Come, sir, -you are unjust! You are ungrateful! It is because I am only a poor -portress. Goodness me! are /you/ one of those that think we are -dogs?--" - -"But, my dear Mme. Cibot--" - -"Indeed, you that know so much, tell me why we porters are treated -like this, and are supposed to have no feelings; people look down on -us in these days when they talk of Equality!--As for me, am I not as -good as another woman, I that was one of the finest women in Paris, -and was called /La belle Ecaillere/, and received declarations seven -or eight times a day? And even now if I liked--Look here, sir, you -know that little scrubby marine store-dealer downstairs? Very well, he -would marry me any day, if I were a widow that is, with his eyes shut; -he has had them looking wide open in my direction so often; he is -always saying, 'Oh! what fine arms you have, Ma'am Cibot!--I dreamed -last night that it was bread and I was butter, and I was spread on the -top.' Look, sir, there is an arm!" - -She rolled up her sleeve and displayed the shapeliest arm imaginable, -as white and fresh as her hand was red and rough; a plump, round, -dimpled arm, drawn from its merino sheath like a blade from the -scabbard to dazzle Pons, who looked away. - -"For every oyster the knife opened, the arm has opened a heart! Well, -it belongs to Cibot, and I did wrong when I neglected him, poor dear, -HE would throw himself over a precipice at a word from me; while you, -sir, that call me 'My dear Mme. Cibot' when I do impossible things for -you--" - -"Do just listen to me," broke in the patient; "I cannot call you my -mother, nor my wife--" - -"No, never in all my born days will I take again to anybody--" - -"Do let me speak!" continued Pons. "Let me see; I put M. Schmucke -first--" - -"M. Schmucke! there is a heart for you," cried La Cibot. "Ah! he loves -me, but then he is poor. It is money that deadens the heart; and you -are rich! Oh, well, take a nurse, you will see what a life she will -lead you; she will torment you, you will be like a cockchafer on a -string. The doctor will say that you must have plenty to drink, and -she will do nothing but feed you. She will bring you to your grave and -rob you. You do not deserve to have a Mme. Cibot!--there! When Dr. -Poulain comes, ask him for a nurse." - -"Oh fiddlestickend!" the patient cried angrily. "/Will/ you listen to -me? When I spoke of my friend Schmucke, I was not thinking of women. I -know quite well that no one cares for me so sincerely as you do, you -and Schmucke--" - -"Have the goodness not to irritate yourself in this way!" exclaimed La -Cibot, plunging down upon Pons and covering him by force with the -bedclothes. - -"How should I not love you?" said poor Pons. - -"You love me, really? . . . There, there, forgive me, sir!" she said, -crying and wiping her eyes. "Ah, yes, of course, you love me, as you -love a servant, that is the way!--a servant to whom you throw an -annuity of six hundred francs like a crust you fling into a dog's -kennel--" - -"Oh! Mme. Cibot," cried Pons, "for what do you take me? You do not -know me." - -"Ah! you will care even more than that for me," she said, meeting -Pons' eyes. "You will love your kind old Cibot like a mother, will you -not? A mother, that is it! I am your mother; you are both of you my -children. . . . Ah, if I only knew them that caused you this sorrow, I -would do that which would bring me into the police-courts, and even to -prison; I would tear their eyes out! Such people deserve to die at the -Barriere Saint-Jacques, and that is too good for such scoundrels. -. . . So kind, so good as you are (for you have a heart of -gold), you were sent into the world to make some woman happy! . . . -Yes, you would have her happy, as anybody can see; you were cut out -for that. In the very beginning, when I saw how you were with M. -Schmucke, I said to myself, 'M. Pons has missed the life he was meant -for; he was made to be a good husband.' Come, now, you like women." - -"Ah, yes," said Pons, "and no woman has been mine." - -"Really?" exclaimed La Cibot, with a provocative air as she came -nearer and took Pons' hand in hers. "Do you not know what it is to -love a woman that will do anything for her lover? Is it possible? If I -were in your place, I should not wish to leave this world for another -until I had known the greatest happiness on earth! . . . Poor dear! If -I was now what I was once, I would leave Cibot for you! upon my word, -I would! Why, with a nose shaped like that--for you have a fine nose-- -how did you manage it, poor cherub? . . . You will tell me that 'not -every woman knows a man when she sees him'; and a pity it is that they -marry so at random as they do, it makes you sorry to see it.--Now, for -my own part, I should have thought that you had had mistresses by the -dozen--dancers, actresses, and duchesses, for you went out so much. -. . . When you went out, I used to say to Cibot, 'Look! there is M. -Pons going a-gallivanting,' on my word, I did, I was so sure that -women ran after you. Heaven made you for love. . . . Why, my dear sir, -I found that out the first day that you dined at home, and you were so -touched with M. Schmucke's pleasure. And next day M. Schmucke kept -saying to me, 'Montame Zipod, he haf tined hier,' with the tears in -his eyes, till I cried along with him like a fool, as I am. And how -sad he looked when you took to gadding abroad again and dining out! -Poor man, you never saw any one so disconsolate! Ah! you are quite -right to leave everything to him. Dear worthy man, why he is as good -as a family to you, he is! Do not forget him; for if you do, God will -not receive you into his Paradise, for those that have been ungrateful -to their friends and left them no /rentes/ will not go to heaven." - -In vain Pons tried to put in a word; La Cibot talked as the wind -blows. Means of arresting steam-engines have been invented, but it -would tax a mechanician's genius to discover any plan for stopping a -portress' tongue. - -"I know what you mean," continued she. "But it does not kill you, my -dear gentleman, to make a will when you are out of health; and in your -place I might not leave that poor dear alone, for fear that something -might happen; he is like God Almighty's lamb, he knows nothing about -nothing, and I should not like him to be at the mercy of those sharks -of lawyers and a wretched pack of relations. Let us see now, has one -of them come here to see you in twenty years? And would you leave your -property to /them/? Do you know, they say that all these things here -are worth something." - -"Why, yes," said Pons. - -"Remonencq, who deals in pictures, and knows that you are an amateur, -says that he would be quite ready to pay you an annuity of thirty -thousand francs so long as you live, to have the pictures afterwards. -. . . There is a change! If I were you, I should take it. Why, I -thought he said it for a joke when he told me that. You ought to let -M. Schmucke know the value of all those things, for he is a man that -could be cheated like a child. He has not the slightest idea of the -value of these fine things that you have! He so little suspects it, -that he would give them away for a morsel of bread if he did not keep -them all his life for love of you, always supposing that he lives -after you, for he will die of your death. But /I/ am here; I will take -his part against anybody and everybody! . . . I and Cibot will defend -him." - -"Dear Mme. Cibot!" said Pons, "what would have become of me if it had -not been for you and Schmucke?" He felt touched by this horrible -prattle; the feeling in it seemed to be ingenuous, as it usually is in -the speech of the people. - -"Ah! we really are your only friends on earth, that is very true, that -is. But two good hearts are worth all the families in the world.-- -Don't talk of families to me! A family, as the old actor said of the -tongue, is the best and the worst of all things. . . . Where are those -relations of yours now? Have you any? I have never seen them--" - -"They have brought me to lie here," said Pons, with intense -bitterness. - -"So you have relations! . . . " cried La Cibot, springing up as if her -easy-chair had been heated red-hot. "Oh, well, they are a nice lot, -are your relations! What! these three weeks--for this is the twentieth -day, to-day, that you have been ill and like to die--in these three -weeks they have not come once to ask for news of you? That's a trifle -too strong, that is! . . . Why, in your place, I would leave all I had -to the Foundling Hospital sooner than give them one farthing!" - -"Well, my dear Mme. Cibot, I meant to leave all that I had to a cousin -once removed, the daughter of my first cousin, President Camusot, you -know, who came here one morning nearly two months ago." - -"Oh! a little stout man who sent his servants to beg your pardon--for -his wife's blunder?--The housemaid came asking me questions about you, -an affected old creature she is, my fingers itched to give her velvet -tippet a dusting with my broom handle! A servant wearing a velvet -tippet! did anybody ever see the like? No, upon my word, the world is -turned upside down; what is the use of making a Revolution? Dine twice -a day if you can afford it, you scamps of rich folk! But laws are no -good, I tell you, and nothing will be safe if Louis-Philippe does not -keep people in their places; for, after all, if we are all equal, eh, -sir? a housemaid didn't ought to have a velvet tippet, while I, Mme. -Cibot, haven't one, after thirty years of honest work.--There is a -pretty thing for you! People ought to be able to tell who you are. A -housemaid is a housemaid, just as I myself am a portress. Why do they -have silk epaulettes in the army? Let everybody keep their place. Look -here, do you want me to tell you what all this comes to? Very well, -France is going to the dogs. . . . If the Emperor had been here, -things would have been very different, wouldn't they, sir? . . . So I -said to Cibot, I said, 'See here, Cibot, a house where the servants -wear velvet tippets belongs to people that have no heart in them--' " - -"No heart in them, that is just it," repeated Pons. And with that he -began to tell Mme. Cibot about his troubles and mortifications, she -pouring out abuse of the relations the while and showing exceeding -tenderness on every fresh sentence in the sad history. She fairly wept -at last. - -To understand the sudden intimacy between the old musician and Mme. -Cibot, you have only to imagine the position of an old bachelor lying -on his bed of pain, seriously ill for the first time in his life. Pons -felt that he was alone in the world; the days that he spent by himself -were all the longer because he was struggling with the indefinable -nausea of a liver complaint which blackens the brightest life. Cut off -from all his many interests, the sufferer falls a victim to a kind of -nostalgia; he regrets the many sights to be seen for nothing in Paris. -The isolation, the darkened days, the suffering that affects the mind -and spirits even more than the body, the emptiness of the life,--all -these things tend to induce him to cling to the human being who waits -on him as a drowned man clings to a plank; and this especially if the -bachelor patient's character is as weak as his nature is sensitive and -incredulous. - -Pons was charmed to hear La Cibot's tittle-tattle. Schmucke, Mme. -Cibot, and Dr. Poulain meant all humanity to him now, when his -sickroom became the universe. If invalid's thoughts, as a rule, never -travel beyond in the little space over which his eyes can wander; if -their selfishness, in its narrow sphere, subordinates all creatures -and all things to itself, you can imagine the lengths to which an old -bachelor may go. Before three weeks were out he had even gone so far -as to regret, once and again, that he had not married Madeleine Vivet! -Mme. Cibot, too, had made immense progress in his esteem in those -three weeks; without her he felt that he should have been utterly -lost; for as for Schmucke, the poor invalid looked upon him as a -second Pons. La Cibot's prodigious art consisted in expressing Pons' -own ideas, and this she did quite unconsciously. - -"Ah! here comes the doctor!" she exclaimed, as the bell rang, and away -she went, knowing very well that Remonencq had come with the Jew. - -"Make no noise, gentlemen," said she, "he must not know anything. He -is all on the fidget when his precious treasures are concerned." - -"A walk round will be enough," said the Hebrew, armed with a -magnifying-glass and a lorgnette. - -The greater part of Pons' collection was installed in a great old- -fashioned salon such as French architects used to build for the old -/noblesse/; a room twenty-five feet broad, some thirty feet in length, -and thirteen in height. Pons' pictures to the number of sixty-seven -hung upon the white-and-gold paneled walls; time, however, had -reddened the gold and softened the white to an ivory tint, so that the -whole was toned down, and the general effect subordinated to the -effect of the pictures. Fourteen statues stood on pedestals set in the -corners of the room, or among the pictures, or on brackets inlaid by -Boule; sideboards of carved ebony, royally rich, surrounded the walls -to elbow height, all the shelves filled with curiosities; in the -middle of the room stood a row of carved credence-tables, covered with -rare miracles of handicraft--with ivories and bronzes, wood-carvings -and enamels, jewelry and porcelain. - -As soon as Elie Magus entered the sanctuary, he went straight to the -four masterpieces; he saw at a glance that these were the gems of -Pons' collection, and masters lacking in his own. For Elie Magus these -were the naturalist's /desiderata/ for which men undertake long -voyages from east to west, through deserts and tropical countries, -across southern savannahs, through virgin forests. - -The first was a painting by Sebastian del Piombo, the second a Fra -Bartolommeo della Porta, the third a Hobbema landscape, and the fourth -and last a Durer--a portrait of a woman. Four diamonds indeed! In the -history of art, Sebastian del Piombo is like a shining point in which -three schools meet, each bringing its pre-eminent qualities. A -Venetian painter, he came to Rome to learn the manner of Raphael under -the direction of Michael Angelo, who would fain oppose Raphael on his -own ground by pitting one of his own lieutenants against the reigning -king of art. And so it came to pass that in Del Piombo's indolent -genius Venetian color was blended with Florentine composition and a -something of Raphael's manner in the few pictures which he deigned to -paint, and the sketches were made for him, it is said, by Michael -Angelo himself. - -If you would see the perfection to which the painter attained (armed -as he was with triple power), go to the Louvre and look at the Baccio -Bandinelli portrait; you might place it beside Titian's /Man with a -Glove/, or by that other /Portrait of an Old Man/ in which Raphael's -consummate skill blends with Correggio's art; or, again, compare it -with Leonardo da Vinci's /Charles VIII./, and the picture would -scarcely lose. The four pearls are equal; there is the same lustre and -sheen, the same rounded completeness, the same brilliancy. Art can go -no further than this. Art has risen above Nature, since Nature only -gives her creatures a few brief years of life. - -Pons possessed one example of this immortal great genius and incurably -indolent painter; it was a /Knight of Malta/, a Templar kneeling in -prayer. The picture was painted on slate, and in its unfaded color and -its finish was immeasurably finer than the /Baccio Bandinelli/. - -Fra Bartolommeo was represented by a /Holy Family/, which many -connoisseurs might have taken for a Raphael. The Hobbema would have -fetched sixty thousand francs at a public sale; and as for the Durer, -it was equal to the famous /Holzschuer/ portrait at Nuremberg for -which the kings of Bavaria, Holland, and Prussia have vainly offered -two hundred thousand francs again and again. Was it the portrait of -the wife or the daughter of Holzschuer, Albrecht Durer's personal -friend?--The hypothesis seems to be a certainty, for the attitude of -the figure in Pons' picture suggests that it is meant for a pendant, -the position of the coat-of-arms is the same as in the Nuremberg -portrait; and, finally, the /oetatis suoe XLI./ accords perfectly with -the age inscribed on the picture religiously kept by the Holzschuers -of Nuremberg, and but recently engraved. - -The tears stood in Elie Magus' eyes as he looked from one masterpiece -to another. He turned round to La Cibot, "I will give you a commission -of two thousand francs on each of the pictures if you can arrange that -I shall have them for forty thousand francs," he said. La Cibot was -amazed at this good fortune dropped from the sky. Admiration, or, to -be more accurate, delirious joy, had wrought such havoc in the Jew's -brain, that it had actually unsettled his habitual greed, and he fell -headlong into enthusiasm, as you see. - -"And I?----" put in Remonencq, who knew nothing about pictures. - -"Everything here is equally good," the Jew said cunningly, lowering -his voice for Remonencq's ears; "take ten pictures just as they come -and on the same conditions. Your fortune will be made." - -Again the three thieves looked each other in the face, each one of -them overcome with the keenest of all joys--sated greed. All of a -sudden the sick man's voice rang through the room; the tones vibrated -like the strokes of a bell: - -"Who is there?" called Pons. - -"Monsieur! just go back to bed!" exclaimed La Cibot, springing upon -Pons and dragging him by main force. "What next! Have you a mind to -kill yourself?--Very well, then, it is not Dr. Poulain, it is -Remonencq, good soul, so anxious that he has come to ask after you!-- -Everybody is so fond of you that the whole house is in a flutter. So -what is there to fear?" - -"It seems to me that there are several of you," said Pons. - -"Several? that is good! What next! Are you dreaming!--You will go off -your head before you have done, upon my word!--Here, look!"--and La -Cibot flung open the door, signed to Magus to go, and beckoned to -Remonencq. - -"Well, my dear sir," said the Auvergnat, now supplied with something -to say, "I just came to ask after you, for the whole house is alarmed -about you.--Nobody likes Death to set foot in a house!--And lastly, -Daddy Monistrol, whom you know very well, told me to tell you that if -you wanted money he was at your service----" - -"He sent you here to take a look round at my knick-knacks!" returned -the old collector from his bed; and the sour tones of his voice were -full of suspicion. - -A sufferer from liver complaint nearly always takes momentary and -special dislikes to some person or thing, and concentrates all his -ill-humor upon the object. Pons imagined that some one had designs -upon his precious collection; the thought of guarding it became a -fixed idea with him; Schmucke was continually sent to see if any one -had stolen into the sanctuary. - -"Your collection is fine enough to attract the attention of -/chineurs/," Remonencq answered astutely. "I am not much in the art -line myself; but you are supposed to be such a great connoisseur, sir, -that with my eyes shut--supposing, for instance, that you should need -money some time or other, for nothing costs so much as these -confounded illnesses; there was my sister now, when she would have got -better again just as well without. Doctors are rascals that take -advantage of your condition to--" - -"Thank you, good-day, good-day," broke in Pons, eying the marine -store-dealer uneasily. - -"I will go to the door with him, for fear he should touch something," -La Cibot whispered to her patient. - -"Yes, yes," answered the invalid, thanking her by a glance. - -La Cibot shut the bedroom door behind her, and Pons' suspicions awoke -again at once. - -She found Magus standing motionless before the four pictures. His -immobility, his admiration, can only be understood by other souls open -to ideal beauty, to the ineffable joy of beholding art made perfect; -such as these can stand for whole hours before the /Antiope/-- -Correggio's masterpiece--before Leonardo's /Gioconda/, Titian's -/Mistress/, Andrea del Sarto's /Holy Family/, Domenichino's /Children -Among the Flowers/, Raphael's little cameo, or his /Portrait of an Old -Man/--Art's greatest masterpieces. - -"Be quick and go, and make no noise," said La Cibot. - -The Jew walked slowly backwards, giving the pictures such a farewell -gaze as a lover gives his love. Outside on the landing, La Cibot -tapped his bony arm. His rapt contemplations had put an idea into her -head. - -"Make it /four/ thousand francs for each picture," said she, "or I do -nothing." - -"I am so poor! . . ." began Magus. "I want the pictures simply for -their own sake, simply and solely for the love of art, my dear lady." - -"I can understand that love, sonny, you are so dried up. But if you do -not promise me sixteen thousand francs now, before Remonencq here, I -shall want twenty to-morrow." - -"Sixteen; I promise," returned the Jew, frightened by the woman's -rapacity. - -La Cibot turned to Remonencq. - -"What oath can a Jew swear?" she inquired. - -"You may trust him," replied the marine store-dealer. "He is as honest -as I am." - -"Very well; and you?" asked she, "if I get him to sell them to you, -what will you give me?" - -"Half-share of profits," Remonencq answered briskly. - -"I would rather have a lump sum," returned La Cibot; "I am not in -business myself." - -"You understand business uncommonly well!" put in Elie Magus, smiling; -"a famous saleswoman you would make!" - -"I want her to take me into partnership, me and my goods," said the -Auvergnat, as he took La Cibot's plump arm and gave it playful taps -like hammer-strokes. "I don't ask her to bring anything into the firm -but her good looks! You are making a mistake when your stick to your -Turk of a Cibot and his needle. Is a little bit of a porter the man to -make a woman rich--a fine woman like you? Ah, what a figure you would -make in a shop on the boulevard, all among the curiosities, gossiping -with amateurs and twisting them round your fingers! Just you leave -your lodge as soon as you have lined your purse here, and you shall -see what will become of us both." - -"Lined my purse!" cried Cibot. "I am incapable of taking the worth of -a single pin; you mind that, Remonencq! I am known in the neighborhood -for an honest woman, I am." - -La Cibot's eyes flashed fire. - -"There, never mind," said Elie Magus; "this Auvergnat seems to be too -fond of you to mean to insult you." - -"How she would draw on the customers!" cried the Auvergnat. - -Mme. Cibot softened at this. - -"Be fair, sonnies," quoth she, "and judge for yourselves how I am -placed. These ten years past I have been wearing my life out for these -two old bachelors yonder, and neither or them has given me anything -but words. Remonencq will tell you that I feed them by contract, and -lose twenty or thirty sous a day; all my savings have gone that way, -by the soul of my mother (the only author of my days that I ever -knew), this is as true as that I live, and that this is the light of -day, and may my coffee poison me if I lie about a farthing. Well, -there is one up there that will die soon, eh? and he the richer of the -two that I have treated like my own children. Would you believe it, my -dear sir, I have told him over and over again for days past that he is -at death's door (for Dr. Poulain has given him up), he could not say -less about putting my name down in his will. We shall only get our due -by taking it, upon my word, as an honest woman, for as for trusting to -the next-of-kin!--No fear! There! look you here, words don't stink; it -is a bad world!" - -"That is true," Elie Magus answered cunningly, "that is true; and it -is just the like of us that are among the best," he added, looking at -Remonencq. - -"Just let me be," returned La Cibot; "I am not speaking of you. -'Pressing company is always accepted,' as the old actor said. I swear -to you that the two gentlemen already owe me nearly three thousand -francs; the little I have is gone by now in medicine and things on -their account; and now suppose they refuse to recognize my advances? I -am so stupidly honest that I did not dare to say nothing to them about -it. Now, you that are in business, my dear sir, do you advise me to -got to a lawyer?" - -"A lawyer?" cried Remonencq; "you know more about it than all the -lawyers put together--" - -Just at that moment a sound echoed in the great staircase, a sound as -if some heavy body had fallen in the dining-room. - -"Oh, goodness me!" exclaimed La Cibot; "it seems to me that monsieur -has just taken a ticket for the ground floor." - -She pushed her fellow-conspirators out at the door, and while the pair -descended the stairs with remarkable agility, she ran to the dining- -room, and there beheld Pons, in his shirt, stretched out upon the -tiles. He had fainted. She lifted him as if he had been a feather, -carried him back to his room, laid him in bed, burned feathers under -his nose, bathed his temples with eau-de-cologne, and at last brought -him to consciousness. When she saw his eyes unclose and life return, -she stood over him, hands on hips. - -"No slippers! In your shirt! That is the way to kill yourself! Why do -you suspect me?--If this is to be the way of it, I wish you good-day, -sir. Here have I served you these ten years, I have spent money on you -till my savings are all gone, to spare trouble to that poor M. -Schmucke, crying like a child on the stairs--and /this/ is my reward! -You have been spying on me. God has punished you! It serves you right! -Here I am straining myself to carry you, running the risk of doing -myself a mischief that I shall feel all my days. Oh dear, oh dear! and -the door left open too--" - -"You were talking with some one. Who was it?" - -"Here are notions!" cried La Cibot. "What next! Am I your bond-slave? -Am I to give account of myself to you? Do you know that if you bother -me like this, I shall clear out! You shall take a nurse." - -Frightened by this threat, Pons unwittingly allowed La Cibot to see -the extent of the power of her sword of Damocles. - -"It is my illness!" he pleaded piteously. - -"It is as you please," La Cibot answered roughly. - -She went. Pons, confused, remorseful, admiring his nurse's scalding -devotion, reproached himself for his behavior. The fall on the paved -floor of the dining-room had shaken and bruised him, and aggravated -his illness, but Pons was scarcely conscious of his physical -sufferings. - -La Cibot met Schmucke on the staircase. - -"Come here, sir," she said. "There is bad news, that there is! M. Pons -is going off his head! Just think of it! he got up with nothing on, he -came after me--and down he came full-length. Ask him why--he knows -nothing about it. He is in a bad way. I did nothing to provoke such -violence, unless, perhaps, I waked up ideas by talking to him of his -early amours. Who knows men? Old libertines that they are. I ought not -to have shown him my arms when his eyes were glittering like -/carbuckles/." - -Schmucke listened. Mme. Cibot might have been talking Hebrew for -anything that he understood. - -"I have given myself a wrench that I shall feel all my days," added -she, making as though she were in great pain. (Her arms did, as a -matter of fact, ache a little, and the muscular fatigue suggested an -idea, which she proceeded to turn to profit.) "So stupid I am. When I -saw him lying there on the floor, I just took him up in my arms as if -he had been a child, and carried him back to bed, I did. And I -strained myself, I can feel it now. Ah! how it hurts!--I am going -downstairs. Look after our patient. I will send Cibot for Dr. Poulain. -I had rather die outright than be crippled." - -La Cibot crawled downstairs, clinging to the banisters, and writhing -and groaning so piteously that the tenants, in alarm, came out upon -their landings. Schmucke supported the suffering creature, and told -the story of La Cibot's devotion, the tears running down his cheeks as -he spoke. Before very long the whole house, the whole neighborhood -indeed, had heard of Mme. Cibot's heroism; she had given herself a -dangerous strain, it was said, with lifting one of the "nutcrackers." - -Schmucke meanwhile went to Pons' bedside with the tale. Their factotum -was in a frightful state. "What shall we do without her?" they said, -as they looked at each other; but Pons was so plainly the worse for -his escapade, that Schmucke did not dare to scold him. - -"Gonfounded pric-a-prac! I would sooner purn dem dan loose mein -friend!" he cried, when Pons told him of the cause of the accident. -"To suspect Montame Zipod, dot lend us her safings! It is not goot; -but it is der illness--" - -"Ah! what an illness! I am not the same man, I can feel it," said -Pons. "My dear Schmucke, if only you did not suffer through me!" - -"Scold me," Schmucke answered, "und leaf Montame Zipod in beace." - -As for Mme. Cibot, she soon recovered in Dr. Poulain's hands; and her -restoration, bordering on the miraculous, shed additional lustre on -her name and fame in the Marais. Pons attributed the success to the -excellent constitution of the patient, who resumed her ministrations -seven days later to the great satisfaction of her two gentlemen. Her -influence in their household and her tyranny was increased a hundred- -fold by the accident. In the course of a week, the two nutcrackers ran -into debt; Mme. Cibot paid the outstanding amounts, and took the -opportunity to obtain from Schmucke (how easily!) a receipt for two -thousand francs, which she had lent, she said, to the friends. - -"Oh, what a doctor M. Poulain is!" cried La Cibot, for Pons' benefit. -"He will bring you through, my dear sir, for he pulled me out of my -coffin! Cibot, poor man, thought I was dead. . . . Well, Dr. Poulain -will have told you that while I was in bed I thought of nothing but -you. 'God above,' said I, 'take me, and let my dear Mr. Pons live--' " - -"Poor dear Mme. Cibot, you all but crippled yourself for me." - -"Ah! but for Dr. Poulain I should have been put to bed with a shovel -by now, as we shall all be one day. Well, what must be, must, as the -old actor said. One must take things philosophically. How did you get -on without me?" - -"Schmucke nursed me," said the invalid; "but our poor money-box and -our lessons have suffered. I do not know how he managed." - -"Calm yourself, Bons," exclaimed Schmucke; "ve haf in Zipod ein -panker--" - -"Do not speak of it, my lamb. You are our children, both of you," -cried La Cibot. "Our savings will be well invested; you are safer than -the Bank. So long as we have a morsel of bread, half of it is yours. -It is not worth mentioning--" - -"Boor Montame Zipod!" said Schmucke, and he went. - -Pons said nothing. - -"Would you believe it, my cherub?" said La Cibot, as the sick man -tossed uneasily, "in my agony--for it was a near squeak for me--the -thing that worried me most was the thought that I must leave you -alone, with no one to look after you, and my poor Cibot without a -farthing. . . . My savings are such a trifle, that I only mention them -in connection with my death and Cibot, an angel that he is! No. He -nursed me as if I had been a queen, he did, and cried like a calf over -me! . . . But I counted on you, upon my word. I said to him, 'There, -Cibot! my gentlemen will not let you starve--' " - -Pons made no reply to this thrust /ad testamentum/; but as the -portress waited for him to say something--"I shall recommend you to M. -Schmucke," he said at last. - -"Ah!" cried La Cibot, "whatever you do will be right; I trust in you -and your heart. Let us never talk of this again; you make me feel -ashamed, my cherub. Think of getting better, you will outlive us all -yet." - -Profound uneasiness filled Mme. Cibot's mind. She cast about for some -way of making the sick man understand that she expected a legacy. That -evening, when Schmucke was eating his dinner as usual by Pons' -bedside, she went out, hoping to find Dr. Poulain at home. - -Dr. Poulain lived in the Rue d'Orleans in a small ground floor -establishment, consisting of a lobby, a sitting-room, and two -bedrooms. A closet, opening into the lobby and the bedroom, had been -turned into a study for the doctor. The kitchen, the servant's -bedroom, and a small cellar were situated in a wing of the house, a -huge pile built in the time of the Empire, on the site of an old -mansion of which the garden still remained, though it had been divided -among the three ground floor tenants. - -Nothing had been changed in the doctor's house since it was built. -Paint and paper and ceilings were all redolent of the Empire. The -grimy deposits of forty years lay thick on walls and ceilings, on -paper and paint and mirrors and gilding. And yet, this little -establishment, in the depths of the Marais, paid a rent of a thousand -francs. - -Mme. Poulain, the doctor's mother, aged sixty-seven, was ending her -days in the second bedroom. She worked for a breeches-maker, stitching -men's leggings, breeches, belts, and braces, anything, in fact, that -is made in a way of business which has somewhat fallen off of late -years. Her whole time was spent in keeping her son's house and -superintending the one servant; she never went abroad, and took the -air in the little garden entered through the glass door of the -sitting-room. Twenty years previously, when her husband died, she sold -his business to his best workman, who gave his master's widow work -enough to earn a daily wage of thirty sous. She had made every -sacrifice to educate her son. At all costs, he should occupy a higher -station than his father before him; and now she was proud of her -Aesculapius, she believed in him, and sacrificed everything to him as -before. She was happy to take care of him, to work and put by a little -money, and dream of nothing but his welfare, and love him with an -intelligent love of which every mother is not capable. For instance, -Mme. Poulain remembered that she had been a working girl. She would -not injure her son's prospects; he should not be ashamed by his mother -(for the good woman's grammar was something of the same kind as Mme. -Cibot's); and for this reason she kept in the background, and went to -her room of her own accord if any distinguished patient came to -consult the doctor, or if some old schoolfellow or fellow-student -chanced to call. Dr. Poulain had never had occasion to blush for the -mother whom he revered; and this sublime love of hers more than atoned -for a defective education. - -The breeches-maker's business sold for about twenty thousand francs, -and the widow invested the money in the Funds in 1820. The income of -eleven hundred francs per annum derived from this source was, at one -time, her whole fortune. For many a year the neighbors used to see the -doctor's linen hanging out to dry upon a clothes-line in the garden, -and the servant and Mme. Poulain thriftily washed everything at home; -a piece of domestic economy which did not a little to injure the -doctor's practice, for it was thought that if he was so poor, it must -be through his own fault. Her eleven hundred francs scarcely did more -than pay the rent. During those early days, Mme. Poulain, good, stout, -little old woman, was the breadwinner, and the poor household lived -upon her earnings. After twelve years of perseverance upon a rough and -stony road, Dr. Poulain at last was making an income of three thousand -francs, and Mme. Poulain had an income of about five thousand francs -at her disposal. Five thousand francs for those who know Paris means a -bare subsistence. - -The sitting-room, where patients waited for an interview, was shabbily -furnished. There was the inevitable mahogany sofa covered with yellow- -flowered Utrecht velvet, four easy-chairs, a tea-table, a console, and -half-a-dozen chairs, all the property of the deceased breeches-maker, -and chosen by him. A lyre-shaped clock between two Egyptian -candlesticks still preserved its glass shade intact. You asked -yourself how the yellow chintz window-curtains, covered with red -flowers, had contrived to hang together for so long; for evidently -they had come from the Jouy factory, and Oberkampf received the -Emperor's congratulations upon similar hideous productions of the -cotton industry in 1809. - -The doctor's consulting-room was fitted up in the same style, with -household stuff from the paternal chamber. It looked stiff, poverty- -stricken, and bare. What patient could put faith in the skill of any -unknown doctor who could not even furnish his house? And this in a -time when advertising is all-powerful; when we gild the gas-lamps in -the Place de la Concorde to console the poor man for his poverty by -reminding him that he is rich as a citizen. - -The ante-chamber did duty as a dining-room. The servant sat at her -sewing there whenever she was not busy in the kitchen or keeping the -doctor's mother company. From the dingy short curtains in the windows -you would have guessed at the shabby thrift behind them without -setting foot in the dreary place. What could those wall-cupboards -contain but stale scraps of food, chipped earthenware, corks used over -and over again indefinitely, soiled table-linen, odds and ends that -could descend but one step lower into the dust-heap, and all the -squalid necessities of a pinched household in Paris? - -In these days, when the five-franc piece is always lurking in our -thoughts and intruding itself into our speech, Dr. Poulain, aged -thirty-three, was still a bachelor. Heaven had bestowed on him a -mother with no connections. In ten years he had not met with the -faintest pretext for a romance in his professional career; his -practice lay among clerks and small manufacturers, people in his own -sphere of life, with homes very much like his own. His richer patients -were butchers, bakers, and the more substantial tradespeople of the -neighborhood. These, for the most part, attributed their recovery to -Nature, as an excuse for paying for the services of a medical man, who -came on foot, at the rate of two francs per visit. In his profession, -a carriage is more necessary than medical skill. - -A humdrum monotonous life tells in the end upon the most adventurous -spirit. A man fashions himself to his lot, he accepts a commonplace -existence; and Dr. Poulain, after ten years of his practice, continued -his labors of Sisyphus without the despair that made early days so -bitter. And yet--like every soul in Paris--he cherished a dream. -Remonencq was happy in his dream; La Cibot had a dream of her own; and -Dr. Poulain, too, dreamed. Some day he would be called in to attend a -rich and influential patient, would effect a positive cure, and the -patient would procure a post for him; he would be head surgeon to a -hospital, medical officer of a prison or police-court, or doctor to -the boulevard theatres. He had come by his present appointment as -doctor to the Mairie in this very way. La Cibot had called him in when -the landlord of the house in the Rue de Normandie fell ill; he had -treated the case with complete success; M. Pillerault, the patient, -took an interest in the young doctor, called to thank him, and saw his -carefully-hidden poverty. Count Popinot, the cabinet minister, had -married M. Pillerault's grand-niece, and greatly respected her uncle; -of him, therefore, M. Pillerault had asked for the post, which Poulain -had now held for two years. That appointment and its meagre salary -came just in time to prevent a desperate step; Poulain was thinking of -emigration; and for a Frenchman, it is a kind of death to leave -France. - -Dr. Poulain went, you may be sure, to thank Count Popinot; but as -Count Popinot's family physician was the celebrated Horace Bianchon, -it was pretty clear that his chances of gaining a footing in that -house were something of the slenderest. The poor doctor had fondly -hoped for the patronage of a powerful cabinet minister, one of the -twelve or fifteen cards which a cunning hand has been shuffling for -sixteen years on the green baize of the council table, and now he -dropped back again into his Marais, his old groping life among the -poor and the small tradespeople, with the privilege of issuing -certificates of death for a yearly stipend of twelve hundred francs. - -Dr. Poulain had distinguished himself to some extent as a house- -student; he was a prudent practitioner, and not without experience. -His deaths caused no scandal; he had plenty of opportunities of -studying all kinds of complaints /in anima vili/. Judge, therefore, of -the spleen that he nourished! The expression of his countenance, -lengthy and not too cheerful to begin with, at times was positively -appalling. Set a Tartuffe's all-devouring eyes, and the sour humor of -an Alceste in a sallow-parchment visage, and try to imagine for -yourself the gait, bearing, and expression of a man who thought -himself as good a doctor as the illustrious Bianchon, and felt that he -was held down in his narrow lot by an iron hand. He could not help -comparing his receipts (ten francs a day if he was fortunate) with -Bianchon's five or six hundred. - -Are the hatreds and jealousies of democracy incomprehensible after -this? Ambitious and continually thwarted, he could not reproach -himself. He had once already tried his fortune by inventing a -purgative pill, something like Morrison's, and intrusted the business -operations to an old hospital chum, a house-student who afterwards -took a retail drug business; but, unluckily, the druggist, smitten -with the charms of a ballet-dancer of the Ambigu-Comique, found -himself at length in the bankruptcy court; and as the patent had been -taken out in his name, his partner was literally without a remedy, and -the important discovery enriched the purchaser of the business. The -sometime house-student set sail for Mexico, that land of gold, taking -poor Poulain's little savings with him; and, to add insult to injury, -the opera-dancer treated him as an extortioner when he applied to her -for his money. - -Not a single rich patient had come to him since he had the luck to -cure old M. Pillerault. Poulain made his rounds on foot, scouring the -Marais like a lean cat, and obtained from two to forty sous out of a -score of visits. The paying patient was a phenomenon about as rare as -that anomalous fowl known as a "white blackbird" in all sublunary -regions. - -The briefless barrister, the doctor without a patient, are pre- -eminently the two types of a decorous despair peculiar to this city of -Paris; it is mute, dull despair in human form, dressed in a black coat -and trousers with shining seams that recall the zinc on an attic roof, -a glistening satin waistcoat, a hat preserved like a relic, a pair of -old gloves, and a cotton shirt. The man is the incarnation of a -melancholy poem, sombre as the secrets of the Conciergerie. Other -kinds of poverty, the poverty of the artist--actor, painter, musician, -or poet--are relieved and lightened by the artist's joviality, the -reckless gaiety of the Bohemian border country--the first stage of the -journey to the Thebaid of genius. But these two black-coated -professions that go afoot through the street are brought continually -in contact with disease and dishonor; they see nothing of human nature -but its sores; in the forlorn first stages and beginnings of their -career they eye competitors suspiciously and defiantly; concentrated -dislike and ambition flashes out in glances like the breaking forth of -hidden flames. Let two schoolfellows meet after twenty years, the rich -man will avoid the poor; he does not recognize him, he is afraid even -to glance into the gulf which Fate has set between him and the friend -of other years. The one has been borne through life on the mettlesome -steed called Fortune, or wafted on the golden clouds of success; the -other has been making his way in underground Paris through the sewers, -and bears the marks of his career upon him. How many a chum of old -days turned aside at the sight of the doctor's greatcoat and -waistcoat! - -With this explanation, it should be easy to understand how Dr. Poulain -came to lend himself so readily to the farce of La Cibot's illness and -recovery. Greed of every kind, ambition of every nature, is not easy -to hide. The doctor examined his patient, found that every organ was -sound and healthy, admired the regularity of her pulse and the perfect -ease of her movements; and as she continued to moan aloud, he saw that -for some reason she found it convenient to lie at Death's door. The -speedy cure of a serious imaginary disease was sure to cause a -sensation in the neighborhood; the doctor would be talked about. He -made up his mind at once. He talked of rupture, and of taking it in -time, and thought even worse of the case than La Cibot herself. The -portress was plied with various remedies, and finally underwent a sham -operation, crowned with complete success. Poulain repaired to the -Arsenal Library, looked out a grotesque case in some of Desplein's -records of extraordinary cures, and fitted the details to Mme. Cibot, -modestly attributing the success of the treatment to the great -surgeon, in whose steps (he said) he walked. Such is the impudence of -beginners in Paris. Everything is made to serve as a ladder by which -to climb upon the scene; and as everything, even the rungs of a -ladder, will wear out in time, the new members of every profession are -at a loss to find the right sort of wood of which to make steps for -themselves. - -There are moments when the Parisian is not propitious. He grows tired -of raising pedestals, pouts like a spoiled child, and will have no -more idols; or, to state it more accurately, Paris cannot always find -a proper object for infatuation. Now and then the vein of genius gives -out, and at such times the Parisian may turn supercilious; he is not -always willing to bow down and gild mediocrity. - - - -Mme. Cibot, entering in her usual unceremonious fashion, found the -doctor and his mother at table, before a bowl of lamb's lettuce, the -cheapest of all salad-stuffs. The dessert consisted of a thin wedge of -Brie cheese flanked by a plate of specked foreign apples and a dish of -mixed dry fruits, known as /quatre-mendiants/, in which the raisin -stalks were abundantly conspicuous. - -"You can stay, mother," said the doctor, laying a hand on Mme. -Poulain's arm; "this is Mme. Cibot, of whom I have told you." - -"My respects to you, madame, and my duty to you, sir," said La Cibot, -taking the chair which the doctor offered. "Ah! is this your mother, -sir? She is very happy to have a son who has such talent; he saved my -life, madame, brought me back from the depths." - -The widow, hearing Mme. Cibot praise her son in this way, thought her -a delightful woman. - -"I have just come to tell you, that, between ourselves, poor M. Pons -is doing very badly, sir, and I have something to say to you about -him--" - -"Let us go into the sitting-room," interrupted the doctor, and with a -significant gesture he indicated the servant. - -In the sitting-room La Cibot explained her position with regard to the -pair of nutcrackers at very considerable length. She repeated the -history of her loan with added embellishments, and gave a full account -of the immense services rendered during the past ten years to MM. Pons -and Schmucke. The two old men, to all appearance, could not exist -without her motherly care. She posed as an angel; she told so many -lies, one after another, watering them with her tears, that old Mme. -Poulain was quite touched. - -"You understand, my dear sir," she concluded, "that I really ought to -know how far I can depend on M. Pons' intentions, supposing that he -should not die; not that I want him to die, for looking after those -two innocents is my life, madame, you see; still, when one of them is -gone I shall look after the other. For my own part, I was built by -Nature to rival mothers. Without nobody to care for, nobody to take -for a child, I don't know what I should do. . . . So if M. Poulain -only would, he might do me a service for which I should be very -grateful; and that is, to say a word to M. Pons for me. Goodness me! -an annuity of a thousand francs, is that too much, I ask you? . . . -To. M. Schmucke it would be so much gained.--Our dear patient said -that he should recommend me to the German, poor man; it is his idea, -no doubt, that M. Schmucke should be his heir. But what is a man that -cannot put two ideas together in French? And besides, he would be -quite capable of going back to Germany, he will be in such despair -over his friend's death--" - -The doctor grew grave. "My dear Mme. Cibot," he said, "this sort of -thing does not in the least concern a doctor. I should not be allowed -to exercise my profession if it was known that I interfered in the -matter of my patients' testamentary dispositions. The law forbids a -doctor to receive a legacy from a patient--" - -"A stupid law! What is to hinder me from dividing my legacy with you?" -La Cibot said immediately. - -"I will go further," said the doctor; "my professional conscience will -not permit me to speak to M. Pons of his death. In the first place, he -is not so dangerously ill that there is any need to speak of it, and -in the second, such talk coming from me might give a shock to the -system that would do him real harm, and then his illness might -terminate fatally--" - -"/I/ don't put on gloves to tell him to get his affairs in order," -cried Mme. Cibot, "and he is none the worse for that. He is used to -it. There is nothing to fear." - -"Not a word more about it, my dear Mme. Cibot! These things are not -within a doctor's province; it is a notary's business--" - -"But, my dear M. Poulain, suppose that M. Pons of his own accord -should ask you how he is, and whether he had better make his -arrangements; then, would you refuse to tell him that if you want to -get better it is an excellent plan to set everything in order? Then -you might just slip in a little word for me--" - -"Oh, if /he/ talks of making his will, I certainly shall not dissuade -him," said the doctor. - -"Very well, that is settled. I came to thank you for your care of me," -she added, as she slipped a folded paper containing three gold coins -into the doctor's hands. "It is all I can do at the moment. Ah! my -dear M. Poulain, if I were rich, you should be rich, you that are the -image of Providence on earth.--Madame, you have an angel for a son." - -La Cibot rose to her feet, Mme. Poulain bowed amiably, and the doctor -went to the door with the visitor. Just then a sudden, lurid gleam of -light flashed across the mind of this Lady Macbeth of the streets. She -saw clearly that the doctor was her accomplice--he had taken the fee -for the sham illness. - -"M. Poulain," she began, "how can you refuse to say a word or two to -save me from want, when you helped me in the affair of my accident?" - -The doctor felt that the devil had him by the hair, as the saying is; -he felt, too, that the hair was being twisted round the pitiless red -claw. Startled and afraid lest he should sell his honesty for such a -trifle, he answered the diabolical suggestion by another no less -diabolical. - -"Listen, my dear Mme. Cibot," he said, as he drew her into his -consulting-room. "I will now pay a debt of gratitude that I owe you -for my appointment to the mairie--" - -"We go shares?" she asked briskly. - -"In what?" - -"In the legacy." - -"You do not know me," said Dr. Poulain, drawing himself up like -Valerius Publicola. "Let us have no more of that. I have a friend, an -old schoolfellow of mine, a very intelligent young fellow; and we are -so much the more intimate, because, our lives have fallen out very -much in the same way. He was studying law while I was a house-student, -he was engrossing deeds in Maitre Couture's office. His father was a -shoemaker, and mine was a breeches-maker; he has not found anyone to -take much interest in his career, nor has he any capital; for, after -all, capital is only to be had from sympathizers. He could only afford -to buy a provincial connection--at Mantes--and so little do -provincials understand the Parisian intellect, that they set all sorts -of intrigues on foot against him." - -"The wretches!" cried La Cibot. - -"Yes, said the doctor. "They combined against him to such purpose, -that they forced him to sell his connection by misrepresenting -something that he had done; the attorney for the crown interfered, he -belonged to the place, and sided with his fellow-townsmen. My friend's -name is Fraisier. He is lodged as I am, and he is even leaner and more -threadbare. He took refuge in our arrondissement, and is reduced to -appear for clients in the police-court or before the magistrate. He -lives in the Rue de la Perle close by. Go to No. 9, third floor, and -you will see his name on the door on the landing, painted in gilt -letters on a small square of red leather. Fraisier makes a special -point of disputes among the porters, workmen, and poor folk in the -arrondissement, and his charges are low. He is an honest man; for I -need not tell you that if he had been a scamp, he would be keeping his -carriage by now. I will call and see my friend Fraisier this evening. -Go to him early to-morrow; he knows M. Louchard, the bailiff; M. -Tabareau, the clerk of the court; and the justice of the peace, M. -Vitel; and M. Trognon, the notary. He is even now looked upon as one -of the best men of business in the Quarter. If he takes charge of your -interests, if you can secure him as M. Pons' adviser, you will have a -second self in him, you see. But do not make dishonorable proposals to -him, as you did just now to me; he has a head on his shoulders, you -will understand each other. And as for acknowledging his services, I -will be your intermediary--" - -Mme. Cibot looked askance at the doctor. - -"Is that the lawyer who helped Mme. Florimond the haberdasher in the -Rue Vieille-du-Temple out of a fix in that matter of her friend's -legacy?" - -"The very same." - -"Wasn't it a shame that she did not marry him after he had gained two -thousand francs a year for her?" exclaimed La Cibot. "And she thought -to clear off scores by making him a present of a dozen shirts and a -couple of dozen pocket-handkerchiefs; an outfit, in short." - -"My dear Mme. Cibot, that outfit cost a thousand francs, and Fraisier -was just setting up for himself in the Quarter, and wanted the things -very badly. And what was more, she paid the bill without asking any -questions. That affair brought him clients, and now he is very busy; -but in my line a practice brings--" - -"It is only the righteous that suffer here below," said La Cibot. -"Well, M. Poulain, good-day and thank you." - -And herewith begins the tragedy, or, if you like to have it so, a -terrible comedy--the death of an old bachelor delivered over by -circumstances too strong for him to the rapacity and greed that -gathered about his bed. And other forces came to the support of -rapacity and greed; there was the picture collector's mania, that most -intense of all passions; there was the cupidity of the Sieur Fraisier, -whom you shall presently behold in his den, a sight to make you -shudder; and lastly, there was the Auvergnat thirsting for money, -ready for anything--even for a crime--that should bring him the -capital he wanted. The first part of the story serves in some sort as -a prelude to this comedy in which all the actors who have hitherto -occupied the stage will reappear. - -The degradation of a word is one of those curious freaks of manners -upon which whole volumes of explanation might be written. Write to an -attorney and address him as "Lawyer So-and-so," and you insult him as -surely as you would insult a wholesale colonial produce merchant by -addressing your letter to "Mr. So-and-so, Grocer." There are plenty of -men of the world who ought to be aware, since the knowledge of such -subtle distinctions is their province, that you cannot insult a French -writer more cruelly than by calling him /un homme de lettres/--a -literary man. The word /monsieur/ is a capital example of the life and -death of words. Abbreviated from monseigneur, once so considerable a -title, and even now, in the form of /sire/, reserved for emperors and -kings, it is bestowed indifferently upon all and sundry; while the -twin-word /messire/, which is nothing but its double and equivalent, -if by any chance it slips into a certificate of burial, produces an -outcry in the Republican papers. - -Magistrates, councillors, jurisconsults, judges, barristers, officers -for the crown, bailiffs, attorneys, clerks of the court, procurators, -solicitors, and agents of various kinds, represent or misrepresent -Justice. The "lawyer" and the bailiff's men (commonly called "the -brokers") are the two lowest rungs of the ladder. Now, the bailiff's -man is an outsider, an adventitious minister of justice, appearing to -see that judgment is executed; he is, in fact, a kind of inferior -executioner employed by the county court. But the word "lawyer" (homme -de loi) is a depreciatory term applied to the legal profession. -Consuming professional jealousy finds similar disparaging epithets for -fellow-travelers in every walk of life, and every calling has its -special insult. The scorn flung into the words /homme de loi, homme de -lettres/, is wanting in the plural form, which may be used without -offence; but in Paris every profession, learned or unlearned, has its -/omega/, the individual who brings it down to the level of the lowest -class; and the written law has its connecting link with the custom -right of the streets. There are districts where the pettifogging man -of business, known as Lawyer So-and-So, is still to be found. M. -Fraisier was to the member of the Incorporated Law Society as the -money-lender of the Halles, offering small loans for a short period at -an exorbitant interest, is to the great capitalist. - -Working people, strange to say are as shy of officials as of -fashionable restaurants, they take advice from irregular sources as -they turn into a little wineshop to drink. Each rank in life finds its -own level, and there abides. None but a chosen few care to climb the -heights, few can feel at ease in the presence of their betters, or -take their place among them, like a Beaumarchais letting fall the -watch of the great lord who tried to humiliate him. And if there are -few who can even rise to a higher social level, those among them who -can throw off their swaddling-clothes are rare and great exceptions. - - - -At six o'clock the next morning Mme. Cibot stood in the Rue de la -Perle; she was making a survey of the abode of her future adviser, -Lawyer Fraisier. The house was one of the old-fashioned kind formerly -inhabited by small tradespeople and citizens with small means. A -cabinetmaker's shop occupied almost the whole of the ground floor, as -well as the little yard behind, which was covered with his workshops -and warehouses; the small remaining space being taken up by the -porter's lodge and the passage entry in the middle. The staircase -walls were half rotten with damp and covered with saltpetre to such a -degree that the house seemed to be stricken with leprosy. - -Mme. Cibot went straight to the porter's lodge, and there encountered -one of the fraternity, a shoemaker, his wife, and two small children, -all housed in a room ten feet square, lighted from the yard at the -back. La Cibot mentioned her profession, named herself, and spoke of -her house in the Rue de Normandie, and the two women were on cordial -terms at once. After a quarter of an hour spent in gossip while the -shoemaker's wife made breakfast ready for her husband and the -children, Mme. Cibot turned the conversation to the subject of the -lodgers, and spoke of the lawyer. - -"I have come to see him on business," she said. "One of his friends, -Dr. Poulain, recommended me to him. Do you know Dr. Poulain?" - -"I should think I do," said the lady of the Rue de la Perle. "He saved -my little girl's life when she had the croup." - -"He saved my life, too, madame. What sort of a man is this M. -Fraisier?" - -"He is the sort of man, my dear lady, out of whom it is very difficult -to get the postage-money at the end of the month." - -To a person of La Cibot's intelligence this was enough. - -"One may be poor and honest," observed she. - -"I am sure I hope so," returned Fraisier's portress. "We are not -rolling in coppers, let alone gold or silver; but we have not a -farthing belonging to anybody else." - -This sort of talk sounded familiar to La Cibot. - -"In short, one can trust him, child, eh?" - -"Lord! when M. Fraisier means well by any one, there is not his like, -so I have heard Mme. Florimond say." - -"And why didn't she marry him when she owed her fortune to him?" La -Cibot asked quickly. "It is something for a little haberdasher, kept -by an old man, to be a barrister's wife--" - -"Why?--" asked the portress, bringing Mme. Cibot out into the passage. -"Why?--You are going to see him, are you not, madame?--Very well, when -you are in his office you will know why." - -From the state of the staircase, lighted by sash-windows on the side -of the yard, it was pretty evident that the inmates of the house, with -the exception of the landlord and M. Fraisier himself, were all -workmen. There were traces of various crafts in the deposit of mud -upon the steps--brass-filings, broken buttons, scraps of gauze, and -esparto grass lay scattered about. The walls of the upper stories were -covered with apprentices' ribald scrawls and caricatures. The -portress' last remark had roused La Cibot's curiosity; she decided, -not unnaturally, that she would consult Dr. Poulain's friend; but as -for employing him, that must depend upon her impressions. - -"I sometimes wonder how Mme. Sauvage can stop in his service," said -the portress, by way of comment; she was following in Mme. Cibot's -wake. "I will come up with you, madame" she added; "I am taking the -milk and the newspaper up to my landlord." - -Arrived on the second floor above the entresol, La Cibot beheld a door -of the most villainous description. The doubtful red paint was coated -for seven or eight inches round the keyhole with a filthy glaze, a -grimy deposit from which the modern house-decorator endeavors to -protect the doors of more elegant apartments by glass "finger-plates." -A grating, almost stopped up with some compound similar to the deposit -with which a restaurant-keeper gives an air of cellar-bound antiquity -to a merely middle-aged bottle, only served to heighten the general -resemblance to a prison door; a resemblance further heightened by the -trefoil-shaped iron-work, the formidable hinges, the clumsy nail- -heads. A miser, or a pamphleteer at strife with the world at large, -must surely have invented these fortifications. A leaden sink, which -received the waste water of the household, contributed its quota to -the fetid atmosphere of the staircase, and the ceiling was covered -with fantastic arabesques traced by candle-smoke--such arabesques! On -pulling a greasy acorn tassel attached to the bell-rope, a little bell -jangled feebly somewhere within, complaining of the fissure in its -metal sides. - -Every detail was in keeping with the general dismal effect. La Cibot -heard a heavy footstep, and the asthmatic wheezing of a virago within, -and Mme. Sauvage presently showed herself. Adrien Brauwer might have -painted just such a hag for his picture of /Witches starting for the -Sabbath/; a stout, unwholesome slattern, five feet six inches in -height, with a grenadier countenance and a beard which far surpassed -La Cibot's own; she wore a cheap, hideously ugly cotton gown, a -bandana handkerchief knotted over hair which she still continued to -put in curl papers (using for that purpose the printed circulars which -her master received), and a huge pair of gold earrings like cart- -wheels in her ears. This female Cerberus carried a battered skillet in -one hand, and opening the door, set free an imprisoned odor of -scorched milk--a nauseous and penetrating smell, that lost itself at -once, however, among the fumes outside. - -"What can I do for you, missus?" demanded Mme. Sauvage, and with a -truculent air she looked La Cibot over; evidently she was of the -opinion that the visitor was too well dressed, and her eyes looked the -more murderous because they were naturally bloodshot. - -"I have come to see M. Fraisier; his friend, Dr. Poulain, sent me." - -"Oh! come in, missus," said La Sauvage, grown very amiable of a -sudden, which proves that she was prepared for this morning visit. - -With a sweeping courtesy, the stalwart woman flung open the door of a -private office, which looked upon the street, and discovered the ex- -attorney of Mantes. - -The room was a complete picture of a third-rate solicitor's office; -with the stained wooden cases, the letter-files so old that they had -grown beards (in ecclesiastical language), the red tape dangling limp -and dejected, the pasteboard boxes covered with traces of the gambols -of mice, the dirty floor, the ceiling tawny with smoke. A frugal -allowance of wood was smouldering on a couple of fire-dogs on the -hearth. And on the chimney-piece above stood a foggy mirror and a -modern clock with an inlaid wooden case; Fraisier had picked it up at -an execution sale, together with the tawdry imitation rococo -candlesticks, with the zinc beneath showing through the lacquer in -several places. - -M. Fraisier was small, thin, and unwholesome looking; his red face, -covered with an eruption, told of tainted blood; and he had, moreover, -a trick of continually scratching his right arm. A wig pushed to the -back of his head displayed a brick-colored cranium of ominous -conformation. This person rose from a cane-seated armchair, in which -he sat on a green leather cushion, assumed an agreeable expression, -and brought forward a chair. - -"Mme. Cibot, I believe?" queried he, in dulcet tones. - -"Yes, sir," answered the portress. She had lost her habitual -assurance. - -Something in the tones of a voice which strongly resembled the sounds -of the little door-bell, something in a glance even sharper than the -sharp green eyes of her future legal adviser, scared Mme. Cibot. -Fraisier's presence so pervaded the room, that any one might have -thought there was pestilence in the air; and in a flash Mme. Cibot -understood why Mme. Florimond had not become Mme. Fraisier. - -"Poulain told me about you, my dear madame," said the lawyer, in the -unnatural fashion commonly described by the words "mincing tones"; -tones sharp, thin, and grating as verjuice, in spite of all his -efforts. - -Arrived at this point, he tried to draw the skirts of his dressing- -gown over a pair of angular knees encased in threadbare felt. The robe -was an ancient printed cotton garment, lined with wadding which took -the liberty of protruding itself through various slits in it here and -there; the weight of this lining had pulled the skirts aside, -disclosing a dingy-hued flannel waistcoat beneath. With something of a -coxcomb's manner, Fraisier fastened this refractory article of dress, -tightening the girdle to define his reedy figure; then with a blow of -the tongs, he effected a reconciliation between two burning brands -that had long avoided one another, like brothers after a family -quarrel. A sudden bright idea struck him, and he rose from his chair. - -"Mme. Sauvage!" called he. - -"Well?" - -"I am not at home to anybody!" - -"Eh! bless your life, there's no need to say that!" - -"She is my old nurse," the lawyer said in some confusion. - -"And she has not recovered her figure yet," remarked the heroine of -the Halles. - -Fraisier laughed, and drew the bolt lest his housekeeper should -interrupt Mme. Cibot's confidences. - -"Well, madame, explain your business," said he, making another effort -to drape himself in the dressing-gown. "Any one recommended to me by -the only friend I have in the world may count upon me--I may say-- -absolutely." - -For half an hour Mme. Cibot talked, and the man of law made no -interruption of any sort; his face wore the expression of curious -interest with which a young soldier listens to a pensioner of "The Old -Guard." Fraisier's silence and acquiescence, the rapt attention with -which he appeared to listen to a torrent of gossip similar to the -samples previously given, dispelled some of the prejudices inspired in -La Cibot's mind by his squalid surroundings. The little lawyer with -the black-speckled green eyes was in reality making a study of his -client. When at length she came to a stand and looked to him to speak, -he was seized with a fit of the complaint known as a "churchyard -cough," and had recourse to an earthenware basin half full of herb -tea, which he drained. - -"But for Poulain, my dear madame, I should have been dead before -this," said Fraisier, by way of answer to the portress' look of -motherly compassion; "but he will bring me round, he says--" - -As all the client's confidences appeared to have slipped from the -memory of her legal adviser, she began to cast about for a way of -taking leave of a man so apparently near death. - -"In an affair of this kind, madame," continued the attorney from -Mantes, suddenly returning to business, "there are two things which it -is most important to know. In the first place, whether the property is -sufficient to be worth troubling about; and in the second, who the -next-of-kin may be; for if the property is the booty, the next-of-kin -is the enemy." - -La Cibot immediately began to talk of Remonencq and Elie Magus, and -said that the shrewd couple valued the pictures at six hundred -thousand francs. - -"Would they take them themselves at that price?" inquired the lawyer. -"You see, madame, that men of business are shy of pictures. A picture -may mean a piece of canvas worth a couple of francs or a painting -worth two hundred thousand. Now, paintings worth two hundred thousand -francs are usually well known; and what errors in judgment people make -in estimating even the most famous pictures of all! There was once a -great capitalist whose collection was admired, visited, and engraved-- -actually engraved! He was supposed to have spent millions of francs on -it. He died, as men must, and--well, his /genuine/ pictures did not -fetch more than two hundred thousand francs! You must let me see these -gentlemen.--Now for the next-of-kin," and Fraisier again relapsed into -his attitude of listener. - -When President Camusot's name came up, he nodded with a grimace which -riveted Mme. Cibot's attention. She tried to read the forehead and the -villainous face, and found what is called in business a "wooden head." - -"Yes, my dear sir," repeated La Cibot. "Yes, my M. Pons is own cousin -to President Camusot de Marville; he tells me that ten times a day. M. -Camusot the silk mercer was married twice--" - -"He that has just been nominated for a peer of France?--" - -"And his first wife was a Mlle. Pons, M. Pons' first cousin." - -"Then they are first cousins once removed--" - -"They are 'not cousins.' They have quarreled." - -It may be remembered that before M. Camusot de Marville came to Paris, -he was President of the Tribunal of Mantes for five years; and not -only was his name still remembered there, but he had kept up a -correspondence with Mantes. Camusot's immediate successor, the judge -with whom he had been most intimate during his term of office, was -still President of the Tribunal, and consequently knew all about -Fraisier. - -"Do you know, madame," Fraisier said, when at last the red sluices of -La Cibot's torrent tongue were closed, "do you know that your -principal enemy will be a man who can send you to the scaffold?" - -The portress started on her chair, making a sudden spring like a jack- -in-the-box. - -"Calm yourself, dear madame," continued Fraisier. "You may not have -known the name of the President of the Chamber of Indictments at the -Court of Appeal in Paris; but you ought to have known that M. Pons -must have an heir-at-law. M. le President de Marville is your -invalid's sole heir; but as he is a collateral in the third degree, M. -Pons is entitled by law to leave his fortune as he pleases. You are -not aware either that, six weeks ago at least, M. le President's -daughter married the eldest son of M. le Comte Popinot, peer of -France, once Minister of Agriculture, and President of the Board of -Trade, one of the most influential politicians of the day. President -de Marville is even more formidable through this marriage than in his -own quality of head of the Court of Assize." - -At that word La Cibot shuddered. - -"Yes, and it is he who sends you there," continued Fraisier. "Ah! my -dear madame, you little know what a red robe means! It is bad enough -to have a plain black gown against you! You see me here, ruined, bald, -broken in health--all because, unwittingly, I crossed a mere attorney -for the crown in the provinces. I was forced to sell my connection at -a loss, and very lucky I was to come off with the loss of my money. If -I had tried to stand out, my professional position would have gone as -well. - -"One thing more you do not know," he continued, "and this it is. If -you had only to do with President Camusot himself, it would be -nothing; but he has a wife, mind you!--and if you ever find yourself -face to face with that wife, you will shake in your shoes as if you -were on the first step of the scaffold, your hair will stand on end. -The Presidente is so vindictive that she would spend ten years over -setting a trap to kill you. She sets that husband of hers spinning -like a top. Through her a charming young fellow committed suicide at -the Conciergerie. A count was accused of forgery--she made his -character as white as snow. She all but drove a person of the highest -quality from the Court of Charles X. Finally, she displaced the -Attorney-General, M. de Granville--" - -"That lived in the Rue Vieille-du-Temple, at the corner of the Rue -Saint-Francois?" - -"The very same. They say that she means to make her husband Home -Secretary, and I do not know that she will not gain her end.--If she -were to take it into her head to send us both to the Criminal Court -first and the hulks afterwards--I should apply for a passport and set -sail for America, though I am as innocent as a new-born babe. So well -I know what justice means. Now, see here, my dear Mme. Cibot; to marry -her only daughter to young Vicomte Popinot (heir to M. Pillerault, -your landlord, it is said)--to make that match, she stripped herself -of her whole fortune, so much so that the President and his wife have -nothing at this moment except his official salary. Can you suppose, my -dear madame, that under the circumstances Mme. la Presidente will let -M. Pons' property go out of the family without a word?--Why, I would -sooner face guns loaded with grape-shot than have such a woman for my -enemy--" - -"But they have quarreled," put in La Cibot. - -"What has that got to do with it?" asked Fraisier. "It is one reason -the more for fearing her. To kill a relative of whom you are tired, is -something; but to inherit his property afterwards--that is a real -pleasure!" - -"But the old gentleman has a horror of his relatives. He says over and -over again that these people--M. Cardot, M. Berthier, and the rest of -them (I can't remember their names)--have crushed him as a tumbril -cart crushes an egg--" - -"Have you a mind to be crushed too?" - -"Oh dear! oh dear!" cried La Cibot. "Ah! Ma'am Fontaine was right when -she said that I should meet with difficulties: still, she said that I -should succeed--" - -"Listen, my dear Mme. Cibot.--As for making some thirty thousand -francs out of this business--that is possible; but for the whole of -the property, it is useless to think of it. We talked over your case -yesterday evening, Dr. Poulain and I--" - -La Cibot started again. - -"Well, what is the matter?" - -"But if you knew about the affair, why did you let me chatter away -like a magpie?" - -"Mme. Cibot, I knew all about your business, but I knew nothing of -Mme. Cibot. So many clients, so many characters--" - -Mme. Cibot gave her legal adviser a queer look at this; all her -suspicions gleamed in her eyes. Fraisier saw this. - -"I resume," he continued. "So, our friend Poulain was once called in -by you to attend old M. Pillerault, the Countess Popinot's great- -uncle; that is one of your claims to my devotion. Poulain goes to see -your landlord (mark this!) once a fortnight; he learned all these -particulars from him. M. Pillerault was present at his grand-nephew's -wedding--for he is an uncle with money to leave; he has an income of -fifteen thousand francs, though he has lived like a hermit for the -last five-and-twenty years, and scarcely spends a thousand crowns-- -well, /he/ told Poulain all about this marriage. It seems that your -old musician was precisely the cause of the row; he tried to disgrace -his own family by way of revenge.--If you only hear one bell, you only -hear one sound.--Your invalid says that he meant no harm, but -everybody thinks him a monster of--" - -"And it would not astonish me if he was!" cried La Cibot. "Just -imagine it!--For these ten years past I have been money out of pocket -for him, spending my savings on him, and he knows it, and yet he will -not let me lie down to sleep on a legacy!--No, sir! he will /not/. He -is obstinate, a regular mule he is.--I have talked to him these ten -days, and the cross-grained cur won't stir no more than a sign-post. -He shuts his teeth and looks at me like--The most that he would say -was that he would recommend me to M. Schmucke." - -"Then he means to make his will in favor of this Schmucke?" - -"Everything will go to him--" - -"Listen, my dear Mme. Cibot, if I am to arrive at any definite -conclusions and think of a plan, I must know M. Schmucke. I must see -the property and have some talk with this Jew of whom you speak; and -then, let me direct you--" - -"We shall see, M. Fraisier." - -"What is this? 'We shall see?' " repeated Fraisier, speaking in the -voice natural to him, as he gave La Cibot a viperous glance. "Am I -your legal adviser or am I not, I say? Let us know exactly where we -stand." - -La Cibot felt that he read her thoughts. A cold chill ran down her -back. - -"I have told you all I know," she said. She saw that she was at the -tiger's mercy. - -"We attorneys are accustomed to treachery. Just think carefully over -your position; it is superb.--If you follow my advice point by point, -you will have thirty or forty thousand francs. But there is a reverse -side to this beautiful medal. How if the Presidente comes to hear that -M. Pons' property is worth a million of francs, and that you mean to -have a bit out of it?--for there is always somebody ready to take that -kind of errand--" he added parenthetically. - -This remark, and the little pause that came before and after it, sent -another shudder through La Cibot. She thought at once that Fraisier -himself would probably undertake that office. - -"And then, my dear client, in ten minutes old Pillerault is asked to -dismiss you, and then on a couple of hours' notice--" - -"What does that matter to me?" said La Cibot, rising to her feet like -a Bellona; "I shall stay with the gentlemen as their housekeeper." - -"And then, a trap will be set for you, and some fine morning you and -your husband will wake up in a prison cell, to be tried for your -lives--" - -"/I?/" cried La Cibot, "I that have not a farthing that doesn't belong -to me? . . . /I!/ . . . /I!/" - -For five minutes she held forth, and Fraisier watched the great artist -before him as she executed a concerto of self-praise. He was quite -untouched, and even amused by the performance. His keen glances -pricked La Cibot like stilettos; he chuckled inwardly, till his -shrunken wig was shaking with laughter. He was a Robespierre at an age -when the Sylla of France was make couplets. - -"And how? and why? And on what pretext?" demanded she, when she had -come to an end. - -"You wish to know how you may come to the guillotine?" - -La Cibot turned pale as death at the words; the words fell like a -knife upon her neck. She stared wildly at Fraisier. - -"Listen to me, my dear child," began Fraisier, suppressing his inward -satisfaction at his client's discomfiture. - -"I would sooner leave things as they are--" murmured La Cibot, and she -rose to go. - -"Stay," Fraisier said imperiously. "You ought to know the risks that -you are running; I am bound to give you the benefit of my lights.--You -are dismissed by M. Pillerault, we will say; there is no doubt about -that, is there? You enter the service of these two gentlemen. Very -good! That is a declaration of war against the Presidente. You mean to -do everything you can to gain possession of the property, and to get a -slice of it at any rate-- - -"Oh, I am not blaming you," Fraisier continued, in answer to a gesture -from his client. "It is not my place to do so. This is a battle, and -you will be led on further than you think for. One grows full of one's -ideas, one hits hard--" - -Another gesture of denial. This time La Cibot tossed her head. - -"There, there, old lady," said Fraisier, with odious familiarity, "you -will go a very long way!--" - -"You take me for a thief, I suppose?" - -"Come, now, mamma, you hold a receipt in M. Schmucke's hand which did -not cost you much.--Ah! you are in the confessional, my lady! Don't -deceive your confessor, especially when the confessor has the power of -reading your thoughts." - -La Cibot was dismayed by the man's perspicacity; now she knew why he -had listened to her so intently. - -"Very good," continued he, "you can admit at once that the Presidente -will not allow you to pass her in the race for the property.--You will -be watched and spied upon.--You get your name into M. Pons' will; -nothing could be better. But some fine day the law steps in, arsenic -is found in a glass, and you and your husband are arrested, tried, and -condemned for attempting the life of the Sieur Pons, so as to come by -your legacy. I once defended a poor woman at Versailles; she was in -reality as innocent as you would be in such a case. Things were as I -have told you, and all that I could do was to save her life. The -unhappy creature was sentenced to twenty years' penal servitude. She -is working out her time now at St. Lazare." - -Mme. Cibot's terror grew to the highest pitch. She grew paler and -paler, staring at the little, thin man with the green eyes, as some -wretched Moor, accused of adhering to her own religion, might gaze at -the inquisitor who doomed her to the stake. - -"Then, do you tell me, that if I leave you to act, and put my -interests in your hands, I shall get something without fear?" - -"I guarantee you thirty thousand francs," said Fraisier, speaking like -a man sure of the fact. - -"After all, you know how fond I am of dear Dr. Poulain," she began -again in her most coaxing tones; "he told me to come to you, worthy -man, and he did not send me here to be told that I shall be -guillotined for poisoning some one." - -The thought of the guillotine so moved her that she burst into tears, -her nerves were shaken, terror clutched at her heart, she lost her -head. Fraisier gloated over his triumph. When he saw his client -hesitate, he thought that he had lost his chance; he had set himself -to frighten and quell La Cibot till she was completely in his power, -bound hand and foot. She had walked into his study as a fly walks into -a spider's web; there she was doomed to remain, entangled in the toils -of the little lawyer who meant to feed upon her. Out of this bit of -business, indeed, Fraisier meant to gain the living of old days; -comfort, competence, and consideration. He and his friend Dr. Poulain -had spent the whole previous evening in a microscopic examination of -the case; they had made mature deliberations. The doctor described -Schmucke for his friend's benefit, and the alert pair had plumbed all -hypotheses and scrutinized all risks and resources, till Fraisier, -exultant, cried aloud, "Both our fortunes lie in this!" He had gone so -far as to promise Poulain a hospital, and as for himself, he meant to -be justice of the peace of an arrondissement. - -To be a justice of the peace! For this man with his abundant capacity, -for this doctor of law without a pair of socks to his name, the dream -was a hippogriff so restive, that he thought of it as a deputy- -advocate thinks of the silk gown, as an Italian priest thinks of the -tiara. It was indeed a wild dream! - -M. Vitel, the justice of the peace before whom Fraisier pleaded, was a -man of sixty-nine, in failing health; he talked of retiring on a -pension; and Fraisier used to talk with Poulain of succeeding him, -much as Poulain talked of saving the life of some rich heiress and -marrying her afterwards. No one knows how greedily every post in the -gift of authority is sought after in Paris. Every one wants to live in -Paris. If a stamp or tobacco license falls in, a hundred women rise up -as one and stir all their friends to obtain it. Any vacancy in the -ranks of the twenty-four collectors of taxes sends a flood of -ambitious folk surging in upon the Chamber of Deputies. Decisions are -made in committee, all appointments are made by the Government. Now -the salary of a justice of the peace, the lowest stipendiary -magistrate in Paris, is about six thousand francs. The post of -registrar to the court is worth a hundred thousand francs. Few places -are more coveted in the administration. Fraisier, as a justice of the -peace, with the head physician of a hospital for his friend, would -make a rich marriage himself and a good match for Dr. Poulain. Each -would lend a hand to each. - -Night set its leaden seal upon the plans made by the sometime attorney -of Mantes, and a formidable scheme sprouted up, a flourishing scheme, -fertile in harvests of gain and intrigue. La Cibot was the hinge upon -which the whole matter turned; and for this reason, any rebellion on -the part of the instrument must be at once put down; such action on -her part was quite unexpected; but Fraisier had put forth all the -strength of his rancorous nature, and the audacious portress lay -trampled under his feet. - -"Come, reassure yourself, my dear madame," he remarked, holding out -his hand. The touch of the cold, serpent-like skin made a terrible -impression upon the portress. It brought about something like a -physical reaction, which checked her emotion; Mme. Fontaine's toad, -Astaroth, seemed to her to be less deadly than this poison-sac that -wore a sandy wig and spoke in tones like the creaking of a hinge. - -"Do not imagine that I am frightening you to no purpose," Fraisier -continued. (La Cibot's feeling of repulsion had not escaped him.) "The -affairs which made Mme. la Presidente's dreadful reputation are so -well known at the law-courts, that you can make inquiries there if you -like. The great person who was all but sent into a lunatic asylum was -the Marquis d'Espard. The Marquis d'Esgrignon was saved from the -hulks. The handsome young man with wealth and a great future before -him, who was to have married a daughter of one of the first families -of France, and hanged himself in a cell of the Conciergerie, was the -celebrated Lucien de Rubempre; the affair made a great deal of noise -in Paris at the time. That was a question of a will. His mistress, the -notorious Esther, died and left him several millions, and they accused -the young fellow of poisoning her. He was not even in Paris at the -time of her death, nor did he so much as know the woman had left the -money to him!--One cannot well be more innocent than that! Well, after -M. Camusot examined him, he hanged himself in his cell. Law, like -medicine, has its victims. In the first case, one man suffers for the -many, and in the second, he dies for science," he added, and an ugly -smile stole over his lips. "Well, I know the risks myself, you see; -poor and obscure little attorney as I am, the law has been the ruin of -me. My experience was dearly bought--it is all at your service." - -"Thank you, no," said La Cibot; "I will have nothing to do with it, -upon my word! . . . I shall have nourished ingratitude, that is all! I -want nothing but my due; I have thirty years of honesty behind me, -sir. M. Pons says that he will recommend me to his friend Schmucke; -well and good, I shall end my days in peace with the German, good -man." - -Fraisier had overshot his mark. He had discouraged La Cibot. Now he -was obliged to remove these unpleasant impressions. - -"Do not let us give up," he said; "just go away quietly home. Come, -now, we will steer the affair to a good end." - -"But what about my /rentes/, what am I to do to get them, and--" - -"And feel no remorse?" he interrupted quickly. "Eh! it is precisely -for that that men of business were invented; unless you keep within -the law, you get nothing. You know nothing of law; I know a good deal. -I will see that you keep on the right side of it, and you can hold -your own in all men's sight. As for your conscience, that is your own -affair." - -"Very well, tell me how to do it," returned La Cibot, curious and -delighted. - -"I do not know how yet. I have not looked at the strong points of the -case yet; I have been busy with the obstacles. But the first thing to -be done is to urge him to make a will; you cannot go wrong over that; -and find out, first of all, how Pons means to leave his fortune; for -if you were his heir--" - -"No, no; he does not like me. Ah! if I had but known the value of his -gimcracks, and if I had known what I know now about his amours, I -should be easy in my mind this day--" - -"Keep on, in fact," broke in Fraisier. "Dying folk have queer fancies, -my dear madame; they disappoint hopes many a time. Let him make his -will, and then we shall see. And of all things, the property must be -valued. So I must see this Remonencq and the Jew; they will be very -useful to us. Put entire confidence in me, I am at your disposal. When -a client is a friend to me, I am his friend through thick and thin. -Friend or enemy, that is my character." - -"Very well," said La Cibot, "I am yours entirely; and as for fees, M. -Poulain--" - -"Let us say nothing about that," said Fraisier. "Think how you can -keep Poulain at the bedside; he is one of the most upright and -conscientious men I know; and, you see, we want some one there whom we -can trust. Poulain would do better than I; I have lost my character." - -"You look as if you had," said La Cibot; "but, for my own part, I -should trust you." - -"And you would do well. Come to see me whenever anything happens, and ---there!--you are an intelligent woman; all will go well." - -"Good-day, M. Fraisier. I hope you will recover your health. Your -servant, sir." - -Fraisier went to the door with his client. But this time it was he, -and not La Cibot, who was struck with an idea on the threshold. - -"If you could persuade M. Pons to call me in, it would be a great -step." - -"I will try," said La Cibot. - -Fraisier drew her back into his sanctum. "Look here, old lady, I know -M. Trognon, the notary of the quarter, very well. If M. Pons has not a -notary, mention M. Trognon to him. Make him take M. Trognon--" - -"Right," returned La Cibot. - -And as she came out again she heard the rustle of a dress and the -sound of a stealthy, heavy footstep. - -Out in the street and by herself, Mme. Cibot to some extent recovered -her liberty of mind as she walked. Though the influence of the -conversation was still upon her, and she had always stood in dread of -scaffolds, justice, and judges, she took a very natural resolution -which was to bring about a conflict of strategy between her and her -formidable legal adviser. - -"What do I want with other folk?" said she to herself. "Let us make a -round sum, and afterwards I will take all that they offer me to push -their interests;" and this thought, as will shortly be seen, hastened -the poor old musician's end. - - - -"Well, dear M. Schmucke, and how is our dear, adored patient?" asked -La Cibot, as she came into the room. - -"Fery pad; Bons haf peen vandering all der night." - -"Then, what did he say?" - -"Chust nonsense. He vould dot I haf all his fortune, on kondition dot -I sell nodings.--Den he cried! Boor mann! It made me ver' sad." - -"Never mind, honey," returned the portress. "I have kept you waiting -for your breakfast; it is nine o'clock and past; but don't scold me. I -have business on hand, you see, business of yours. Here are we without -any money, and I have been out to get some." - -"Vere?" asked Schmucke. - -"Of my uncle." - -"Onkel?" - -"Up the spout." - -"Shpout?" - -"Oh! the dear man! how simple he is? No, you are a saint, a love, an -archbishop of innocence, a man that ought to be stuffed, as the old -actor said. What! you have lived in Paris for twenty-nine years; you -saw the Revolution of July, you did, and you have never so much as -heard tell of a pawnbroker--a man that lends you money on your things? ---I have been pawning our silver spoons and forks, eight of them, -thread pattern. Pooh, Cibot can eat his victuals with German silver; -it is quite the fashion now, they say. It is not worth while to say -anything to our angel there; it would upset him and make him yellower -than before, and he is quite cross enough as it is. Let us get him -round again first, and afterwards we shall see. What must be must; and -we must take things as we find them, eh?" - -"Goot voman! nople heart!" cried poor Schmucke, with a great -tenderness in his face. He took La Cibot's hand and clasped it to his -breast. When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes. - -"There, that will do, Papa Schmucke; how funny you are! This is too -bad. I am an old daughter of the people--my heart is in my hand. I -have something /here/, you see, like you have, hearts of gold that you -are," she added, slapping her chest. - -"Baba Schmucke!" continued the musician. "No. To know de tepths of -sorrow, to cry mit tears of blood, to mount up in der hefn--dat is -mein lot! I shall not lif after Bons--" - -"Gracious! I am sure you won't, you are killing yourself.--Listen, -pet!" - -"Bet?" - -"Very well, my sonny--" - -"Zonny?" - -"My lamb, then, if you like it better." - -"It is not more clear." - -"Oh, well, let /me/ take care of you and tell you what to do; for if -you go on like this, I shall have both of you laid up on my hands, you -see. To my little way of thinking, we must do the work between us. You -cannot go about Paris to give lessons for it tires you, and then you -are not fit to do anything afterwards, and somebody must sit up of a -night with M. Pons, now that he is getting worse and worse. I will run -round to-day to all your pupils and tell them that you are ill; is it -not so? And then you can spend the nights with our lamb, and sleep of -a morning from five o'clock till, let us say, two in the afternoon. I -myself will take the day, the most tiring part, for there is your -breakfast and dinner to get ready, and the bed to make, and the things -to change, and the doses of medicine to give. I could not hold out for -another ten days at this rate. What would become of you if I were to -fall ill? And you yourself, it makes one shudder to see you; just look -at yourself, after sitting up with him last night!" - -She drew Schmucke to the glass, and Schmucke thought that there was a -great change. - -"So, if you are of my mind, I'll have your breakfast ready in a jiffy. -Then you will look after our poor dear again till two o'clock. Let me -have a list of your people, and I will soon arrange it. You will be -free for a fortnight. You can go to bed when I come in, and sleep till -night." - -So prudent did the proposition seem, that Schmucke then and there -agreed to it. - -"Not a word to M. Pons; he would think it was all over with him, you -know, if we were to tell him in this way that his engagement at the -theatre and his lessons are put off. He would be thinking that he -should not find his pupils again, poor gentleman--stuff and nonsense! -M. Poulain says that we shall save our Benjamin if we keep him as -quiet as possible." - -"Ach! fery goot! Pring up der preakfast; I shall make der bett, and -gif you die attresses!--You are right; it vould pe too much for me." - -An hour later La Cibot, in her Sunday clothes, departed in great -state, to the no small astonishment of the Remonencqs; she promised -herself that she would support the character of confidential servant -of the pair of nutcrackers, in the boarding-schools and private -families in which they gave music-lessons. - -It is needless to repeat all the gossip in which La Cibot indulged on -her round. The members of every family, the head-mistress of every -boarding-school, were treated to a variation upon the theme of Pons' -illness. A single scene, which took place in the Illustrious -Gaudissart's private room, will give a sufficient idea of the rest. La -Cibot met with unheard-of difficulties, but she succeeded in -penetrating at last to the presence. Kings and cabinet ministers are -less difficult of access than the manager of a theatre in Paris; nor -is it hard to understand why such prodigious barriers are raised -between them and ordinary mortals: a king has only to defend himself -from ambition; the manager of a theatre has reason to dread the -wounded vanity of actors and authors. - -La Cibot, however, struck up an acquaintance with the portress, and -traversed all distances in a brief space. There is a sort of -freemasonry among the porter tribe, and, indeed, among the members of -every profession; for each calling has its shibboleth, as well as its -insulting epithet and the mark with which it brands its followers. - -"Ah! madame, you are the portress here," began La Cibot. "I myself am -a portress, in a small way, in a house in the Rue de Normandie. M. -Pons, your conductor, lodges with us. Oh, how glad I should be to have -your place, and see the actors and dancers and authors go past. It is -the marshal's baton in our profession, as the old actor said." - -"And how is M. Pons going on, good man?" inquired the portress. - -"He is not going on at all; he has not left his bed these two months. -He will only leave the house feet foremost, that is certain." - -"He will be missed." - -"Yes. I have come with a message to the manager from him. Just try to -get me a word with him, dear." - -"A lady from M. Pons to see you, sir!" After this fashion did the -youth attached to the service of the manager's office announce La -Cibot, whom the portress below had particularly recommended to his -care. - -Gaudissart had just come in for a rehearsal. Chance so ordered it that -no one wished to speak with him; actors and authors were alike late. -Delighted to have news of his conductor, he made a Napoleonic gesture, -and La Cibot was admitted. - -The sometime commercial traveler, now the head of a popular theatre, -regarded his sleeping partners in the light of a legitimate wife; they -were not informed of all his doings. The flourishing state of his -finances had reacted upon his person. Grown big and stout and high- -colored with good cheer and prosperity, Gaudissart made no disguise of -his transformation into a Mondor. - -"We are turning into a city-father," he once said, trying to be the -first to laugh. - -"You are only in the Turcaret stage yet, though," retorted Bixiou, who -often replaced Gaudissart in the company of the leading lady of the -ballet, the celebrated Heloise Brisetout. - -The former Illustrious Gaudissart, in fact, was exploiting the theatre -simply and solely for his own particular benefit, and with brutal -disregard of other interests. He first insinuated himself as a -collaborator in various ballets, plays, and vaudevilles; then he -waited till the author wanted money and bought up the other half of -the copyright. These after-pieces and vaudevilles, always added to -successful plays, brought him in a daily harvest of gold coins. He -trafficked by proxy in tickets, allotting a certain number to himself, -as the manager's share, till he took in this way a tithe of the -receipts. And Gaudissart had other methods of making money besides -these official contributions. He sold boxes, he took presents from -indifferent actresses burning to go upon the stage to fill small -speaking parts, or simply to appear as queens, or pages, and the like; -he swelled his nominal third share of the profits to such purpose that -the sleeping partners scarcely received one-tenth instead of the -remaining two-thirds of the net receipts. Even so, however, the tenth -paid them a dividend of fifteen per cent on their capital. On the -strength of that fifteen per cent Gaudissart talked of his -intelligence, honesty, and zeal, and the good fortune of his partners. -When Count Popinot, showing an interest in the concern, asked Matifat, -or General Gouraud (Matifat's son-in-law), or Crevel, whether they -were satisfied with Gaudissart, Gouraud, now a peer of France, -answered, "They say he robs us; but he is such a clever, good-natured -fellow, that we are quite satisfied." - -"This is like La Fontaine's fable," smiled the ex-cabinet minister. - -Gaudissart found investments for his capital in other ventures. He -thought well of Schwab, Brunner, and the Graffs; that firm was -promoting railways, he became a shareholder in the lines. His -shrewdness was carefully hidden beneath the frank carelessness of a -man of pleasure; he seemed to be interested in nothing but amusements -and dress, yet he thought everything over, and his wide experience of -business gained as a commercial traveler stood him in good stead. - -A self-made man, he did not take himself seriously. He gave suppers -and banquets to celebrities in rooms sumptuously furnished by the -house decorator. Showy by nature, with a taste for doing things -handsomely, he affected an easy-going air, and seemed so much the less -formidable because he had kept the slang of "the road" (to use his own -expression), with a few green-room phrases superadded. Now, artists in -the theatrical profession are wont to express themselves with some -vigor; Gaudissart borrowed sufficient racy green-room talk to blend -with his commercial traveler's lively jocularity, and passed for a -wit. He was thinking at that moment of selling his license and "going -into another line," as he said. He thought of being chairman of a -railway company, of becoming a responsible person and an -administrator, and finally of marrying Mlle. Minard, daughter of the -richest mayor in Paris. He might hope to get into the Chamber through -"his line," and, with Popinot's influence, to take office under the -Government. - -"Whom have I the honor of addressing?" inquired Gaudissart, looking -magisterially at La Cibot. - -"I am M. Pons' confidential servant, sir." - -"Well, and how is the dear fellow?" - -"Ill, sir--very ill." - -"The devil he is! I am sorry to hear it--I must come and see him; he -is such a man as you don't often find." - -"Ah yes! sir, he is a cherub, he is. I have always wondered how he -came to be in a theatre." - -"Why, madame, the theatre is a house of correction for morals," said -Gaudissart. "Poor Pons!--Upon my word, one ought to cultivate the -species to keep up the stock. 'Tis a pattern man, and has talent too. -When will he be able to take his orchestra again, do you think? A -theatre, unfortunately, is like a stage coach: empty or full, it -starts at the same time. Here at six o'clock every evening, up goes -the curtain; and if we are never sorry for ourselves, it won't make -good music. Let us see now--how is he?" - -La Cibot pulled out her pocket-handkerchief and held it to her eyes. - -"It is a terrible thing to say, my dear sir," said she; "but I am -afraid we shall lose him, though we are as careful of him as of the -apple of our eyes. And, at the same time, I came to say that you must -not count on M. Schmucke, worthy man, for he is going to sit up with -him at night. One cannot help doing as if there was hope still left, -and trying one's best to snatch the dear, good soul from death. But -the doctor has given him up----" - -"What is the matter with him?" - -"He is dying of grief, jaundice, and liver complaint, with a lot of -family affairs to complicate matters." - -"And a doctor as well," said Gaudissart. "He ought to have had Lebrun, -our doctor; it would have cost him nothing." - -"M. Pons' doctor is a Providence on earth. But what can a doctor do, -no matter how clever he is, with such complications?" - -"I wanted the good pair of nutcrackers badly for the accompaniment of -my new fairy piece." - -"Is there anything that I can do for them?" asked La Cibot, and her -expression would have done credit to a Jocrisse. - -Gaudissart burst out laughing. - -"I am their housekeeper, sir, and do many things for my gentlemen--" -She did not finish her speech, for in the middle of Gaudissart's roar -of laughter a woman's voice exclaimed, "If you are laughing, old man, -one may come in," and the leading lady of the ballet rushed into the -room and flung herself upon the only sofa. The newcomer was Heloise -Brisetout, with a splendid /algerienne/, such as scarves used to be -called, about her shoulders. - -"Who is amusing you? Is it this lady? What post does she want?" asked -this nymph, giving the manager such a glance as artist gives artist, a -glance that would make a subject for a picture. - -Heloise, a young woman of exceedingly literary tastes, was on intimate -terms with great and famous artists in Bohemia. Elegant, accomplished, -and graceful, she was more intelligent than dancers usually are. As -she put her question, she sniffed at a scent-bottle full of some -aromatic perfume. - -"One fine woman is as good as another, madame; and if I don't sniff -the pestilence out of a scent-bottle, nor daub brickdust on my -cheeks--" - -"That would be a sinful waste, child, when Nature put it on for you to -begin with," said Heloise, with a side glance at her manager. - -"I am an honest woman--" - -"So much the worse for you. It is not every one by a long chalk that -can find some one to keep them, and kept I am, and in slap-up style, -madame." - -"So much the worse! What do you mean? Oh, you may toss your head and -go about in scarves, you will never have as many declarations as I -have had, missus. You will never match the /Belle Ecaillere of the -Cadran Bleu/." - -Heloise Brisetout rose at once to her feet, stood at attention, and -made a military salute, like a soldier who meets his general. - -"What?" asked Gaudissart, "are you really /La Belle Ecaillere/ of whom -my father used to talk?" - -"In that case the cachucha and the polka were after your time; and -madame has passed her fiftieth year," remarked Heloise, and striking -an attitude, she declaimed, " 'Cinna, let us be friends.' " - -"Come, Heloise, the lady is not up to this; let her alone." - -"Madame is perhaps the New Heloise," suggested La Cibot, with sly -innocence. - -"Not bad, old lady!" cried Gaudissart. - -"It is a venerable joke," said the dancer, "a grizzled pun; find us -another old lady--or take a cigarette." - -"I beg your pardon, madame, I feel too unhappy to answer you; my two -gentlemen are very ill; and to buy nourishment for them and to spare -them trouble, I have pawned everything down to my husband's clothes -that I pledged this morning. Here is the ticket!" - -"Oh! here, the affair is becoming tragic," cried the fair Heloise. -"What is it all about?" - -"Madame drops down upon us like--" - -"Like a dancer," said Heloise; "let me prompt you,--missus!" - -"Come, I am busy," said Gaudissart. "The joke has gone far enough. -Heloise, this is M. Pons' confidential servant; she had come to tell -me that I must not count upon him; our poor conductor is not expected -to live. I don't know what to do." - -"Oh! poor man; why, he must have a benefit." - -"It would ruin him," said Gaudissart. "He might find next day that he -owed five hundred francs to charitable institutions, and they refuse -to admit that there are any sufferers in Paris except their own. No, -look here, my good woman, since you are going in for the Montyon -prize----" - -He broke off, rang the bell, and the youth before mentioned suddenly -appeared. - -"Tell the cashier to send me up a thousand-franc note.--Sit down, -madame." - -"Ah! poor woman, look, she is crying!" exclaimed Heloise. "How stupid! -There, there, mother, we will go to see him; don't cry.--I say, now," -she continued, taking the manager into a corner, "you want to make me -take the leading part in the ballet in /Ariane/, you Turk. You are -going to be married, and you know how I can make you miserable--" - -"Heloise, my heart is copper-bottomed like a man-of-war." - -"I shall bring your children on the scene! I will borrow some -somewhere." - -"I have owned up about the attachment." - -"Do be nice, and give Pons' post to Garangeot; he has talent, poor -fellow, and he has not a penny; and I promise peace." - -"But wait till Pons is dead, in case the good man may come back -again." - -"Oh, as to that, no, sir," said La Cibot. "He began to wander in his -mind last night, and now he is delirious. It will soon be over, -unfortunately." - -"At any rate, take Garangeot as a stop-gap!" pleaded Heloise. "He has -the whole press on his side--" - -Just at that moment the cashier came in with a note for a thousand -francs in his hand. - -"Give it to madame here," said Gaudissart. "Good-day, my good woman; -take good care of the dear man, and tell him that I am coming to see -him to-morrow, or sometime--as soon as I can, in short." - -"A drowning man," said Heloise. - -"Ah, sir, hearts like yours are only found in a theatre. May God bless -you!" - -"To what account shall I post this item?" asked the cashier. - -"I will countersign the order. Post it to the bonus account." - -Before La Cibot went out, she made Mlle. Brisetout a fine courtesy, -and heard Gaudissart remark to his mistress: - -"Can Garangeot do the dance-music for the /Mohicans/ in twelve days? -If he helps me out of my predicament, he shall have Pons' place." - -La Cibot had cut off the incomes of the two friends, she had left them -without means of subsistence if Pons should chance to recover, and was -better rewarded for all this mischief than for any good that she had -done. In a few days' time her treacherous trick would bring about the -desired result--Elie Magus would have his coveted pictures. But if -this first spoliation was to be effected, La Cibot must throw dust in -Fraisier's eyes, and lull the suspicions of that terrible fellow- -conspirator of her own seeking; and Elie Magus and Remonencq must be -bound over to secrecy. - -As for Remonencq, he had gradually come to feel such a passion as -uneducated people can conceive when they come to Paris from the depths -of the country, bringing with them all the fixed ideas bred of the -solitary country life; all the ignorance of a primitive nature, all -the brute appetites that become so many fixed ideas. Mme. Cibot's -masculine beauty, her vivacity, her market-woman's wit, had all been -remarked by the marine store-dealer. He thought at first of taking La -Cibot from her husband, bigamy among the lower classes in Paris being -much more common than is generally supposed; but greed was like a -slip-knot drawn more and more tightly about his heart, till reason at -length was stifled. When Remonencq computed that the commission paid -by himself and Elie Magus amounted to about forty thousand francs, he -determined to have La Cibot for his legitimate spouse, and his -thoughts turned from a misdemeanor to a crime. A romantic purely -speculative dream, persistently followed through a tobacco-smoker's -long musings as he lounged in the doorway, had brought him to the -point of wishing that the little tailor were dead. At a stroke he -beheld his capital trebled; and then he thought of La Cibot. What a -good saleswoman she would be! What a handsome figure she would make in -a magnificent shop on the boulevards! The twofold covetousness turned -Remonencq's head. In fancy he took a shop that he knew of on the -Boulevard de la Madeleine, he stocked it with Pons' treasures, and -then--after dreaming his dream in sheets of gold, after seeing -millions in the blue spiral wreaths that rose from his pipe, he awoke -to find himself face to face with the little tailor. Cibot was -sweeping the yard, the doorstep, and the pavement just as his neighbor -was taking down the shutters and displaying his wares; for since Pons -fell ill, La Cibot's work had fallen to her husband. - -The Auvergnat began to look upon the little, swarthy, stunted, copper- -colored tailor as the one obstacle in his way, and pondered how to be -rid of him. Meanwhile this growing passion made La Cibot very proud, -for she had reached an age when a woman begins to understand that she -may grow old. - -So early one morning, she meditatively watched Remonencq as he -arranged his odds and ends for sale. She wondered how far his love -could go. He came across to her. - -"Well," he said, "are things going as you wish?" - -"It is you who makes me uneasy," said La Cibot. "I shall be talked -about; the neighbors will see you making sheep's eyes at me." - -She left the doorway and dived into the Auvergnat's back shop. - -"What a notion!" said Remonencq. - -"Come here, I have something to say to you," said La Cibot. "M. Pons' -heirs are about to make a stir; they are capable of giving us a lot of -trouble. God knows what might come of it if they send the lawyers here -to poke their noses into the affair like hunting-dogs. I cannot get M. -Schmucke to sell a few pictures unless you like me well enough to keep -the secret--such a secret!--With your head on the block, you must not -say where the pictures come from, nor who it was that sold them. When -M. Pons is once dead and buried, you understand, nobody will know how -many pictures there ought to be; if there are fifty-three pictures -instead of sixty-seven, nobody will be any the wiser. Besides, if M. -Pons sold them himself while he was alive, nobody can find fault." - -"No," agreed Remonencq, "it is all one to me, but M. Elie Magus will -want receipts in due form." - -"And you shall have your receipt too, bless your life! Do you suppose -that /I/ should write them?--No, M. Schmucke will do that. But tell -your Jew that he must keep the secret as closely as you do," she -continued. - -"We will be as mute as fishes. That is our business. I myself can -read, but I cannot write, and that is why I want a capable wife that -has had education like you. I have thought of nothing but earning my -bread all my days, and now I wish I had some little Remonencqs. Do -leave that Cibot of yours." - -"Why, here comes your Jew," said the portress; "we can arrange the -whole business." - -Elie Magus came every third day very early in the morning to know when -he could buy his pictures. "Well, my dear lady," said he, "how are we -getting on?" - -"Has nobody been to speak to you about M. Pons and his gimcracks?" -asked La Cibot. - -"I received a letter from a lawyer," said Elie Magus, "a rascal that -seems to me to be trying to work for himself; I don't like people of -that sort, so I took no notice of his letter. Three days afterwards he -came to see me, and left his card. I told my porter that I am never at -home when he calls." - -"You are a love of a Jew," said La Cibot. Little did she know Elie -Magus' prudence. "Well, sonnies, in a few days' time I will bring M. -Schmucke to the point of selling you seven or eight pictures, ten at -most. But on two conditions.--Absolute secrecy in the first place. M. -Schmucke will send for you, sir, is not that so? And M. Remonencq -suggested that you might be a purchaser, eh?--And, come what may, I -will not meddle in it for nothing. You are giving forty-six thousand -francs for four pictures, are you not?" - -"So be it," groaned the Jew. - -"Very good. This is the second condition. You will give me /forty- -three/ thousand francs, and pay three thousand only to M. Schmucke; -Remonencq will buy four for two thousand francs, and hand over the -surplus to me.--But at the same time, you see my dear M. Magus, I am -going to help you and Remonencq to a splendid bit of business--on -condition that the profits are shared among the three of us. I will -introduce you to that lawyer, as he, no doubt, will come here. You -shall make a valuation of M. Pons' things at the prices which you can -give for them, so that M. Fraisier may know how much the property is -worth. But--not until after our sale, you understand!" - -"I understand," said the Jew, "but it takes time to look at the things -and value them." - -"You shall have half a day. But, there, that is my affair. Talk it -over between yourselves, my boys, and for that matter the business -will be settled by the day after to-morrow. I will go round to speak -to this Fraisier; for Dr. Poulain tells him everything that goes on in -the house, and it is a great bother to keep that scarecrow quiet." - -La Cibot met Fraisier halfway between the Rue de la Perle and the Rue -de Normandie; so impatient was he to know the "elements of the case" -(to use his own expression), that he was coming to see her. - -"I say! I was going to you," said she. - -Fraisier grumbled because Elie Magus had refused to see him. But La -Cibot extinguished the spark of distrust that gleamed in the lawyer's -eyes by informing him that Elie Magus had returned from a journey, and -that she would arrange for an interview in Pons' rooms and for the -valuation of the property; for the day after to-morrow at latest. - -"Deal frankly with me," returned Fraisier. "It is more than probable -that I shall act for M. Pons' next-of-kin. In that case, I shall be -even better able to serve you." - -The words were spoken so drily that La Cibot quaked. This starving -limb of the law was sure to manoeuvre on his side as she herself was -doing. She resolved forthwith to hurry on the sale of the pictures. - -La Cibot was right. The doctor and lawyer had clubbed together to buy -a new suit of clothes in which Fraisier could decently present himself -before Mme. la Presidente Camusot de Marville. Indeed, if the clothes -had been ready, the interview would have taken place sooner, for the -fate of the couple hung upon its issues. Fraisier left Mme. Cibot, and -went to try on his new clothes. He found them waiting for him, went -home, adjusted his new wig, and towards ten o'clock that morning set -out in a carriage from a livery stable for the Rue de Hanovre, hoping -for an audience. In his white tie, yellow gloves, and new wig, -redolent of /eau de Portugal/, he looked something like a poisonous -essence kept in a cut-glass bottle, seeming but the more deadly -because everything about it is daintily neat, from the stopper covered -with white kid to the label and the thread. His peremptory manner, the -eruption on his blotched countenance, the green eyes, and a malignant -something about him,--all these things struck the beholder with the -same sense of surprise as storm-clouds in a blue sky. If in his -private office, as he showed himself to La Cibot, he was the common -knife that a murderer catches up for his crime,--now, at the -Presidente's door, he was the daintily-wrought dagger which a woman -sets among the ornaments on her what-not. - -A great change had taken place in the Rue de Hanovre. The Count and -Countess Popinot and the young people would not allow the President -and his wife to leave the house that they had settled upon their -daughter to pay rent elsewhere. M. and Mme. la Presidente, therefore, -were installed on the second floor, now left at liberty, for the -elderly lady had made up her mind to end her days in the country. - -Mme. Camusot took Madeleine Vivet, with her cook and her man-servant, -to the second floor, and would have been as much pinched for money as -in the early days, if the house had not been rent free, and the -President's salary increased to ten thousand francs. This /aurea -mediocritas/ was but little satisfactory to Mme. de Marville. Even now -she wished for means more in accordance with her ambitions; for when -she handed over their fortune to their daughter, she spoiled her -husband's prospects. Now Amelie had set her heart upon seeing her -husband in the Chamber of Deputies; she was not one of those women who -find it easy to give up their way; and she by no means despaired of -returning her husband for the arrondissement in which Marville is -situated. So for the past two months she had teased her father-in-law, -M. le Baron Camusot (for the new peer of France had been advanced to -that rank), and done her utmost to extort an advance of a hundred -thousand francs of the inheritance which one day would be theirs. She -wanted, she said, to buy a small estate worth about two thousand -francs per annum set like a wedge within the Marville lands. There she -and her husband would be near their children and in their own house, -while the addition would round out the Marville property. With that -the Presidente laid stress upon the recent sacrifices which she and -her husband had been compelled to make in order to marry Cecile to -Viscount Popinot, and asked the old man how he could bar his eldest -son's way to the highest honors of the magistracy, when such honors -were only to be had by those who made themselves a strong position in -parliament. Her husband would know how to take up such a position, he -would make himself feared by those in office, and so on and so on. - -"They do nothing for you unless you tighten a halter round their necks -to loosen their tongues," said she. "They are ungrateful. What do they -not owe to Camusot! Camusot brought the House of Orleans to the throne -by enforcing the ordinances of July." - -M. Camusot senior answered that he had gone out of his depth in -railway speculations. He quite admitted that it was necessary to come -to the rescue, but put off the day until shares should rise, as they -were expected to do. - -This half-promise, extracted some few days before Fraisier's visit, -had plunged the Presidente into depths of affliction. It was doubtful -whether the ex-proprietor of Marville was eligible for re-election -without the land qualification. - -Fraisier found no difficulty in obtaining speech of Madeleine Vivet; -such viper natures own their kinship at once. - -"I should like to see Mme. la Presidente for a few moments, -mademoiselle," Fraisier said in bland accents; "I have come on a -matter of business which touches her fortune; it is a question of a -legacy, be sure to mention that. I have not the honor of being known -to Mme. la Presidente, so my name is of no consequence. I am not in -the habit of leaving my chambers, but I know the respect that is due -to a President's wife, and I took the trouble of coming myself to save -all possible delay." - -The matter thus broached, when repeated and amplified by the waiting- -maid, naturally brought a favorable answer. It was a decisive moment -for the double ambition hidden in Fraisier's mind. Bold as a petty -provincial attorney, sharp, rough-spoken, and curt as he was, he felt -as captains feel before the decisive battle of a campaign. As he went -into the little drawing-room where Amelie was waiting for him, he felt -a slight perspiration breaking out upon his forehead and down his -back. Every sudorific hitherto employed had failed to produce this -result upon a skin which horrible diseases had left impervious. "Even -if I fail to make my fortune," said he to himself, "I shall recover. -Poulain said that if I could only perspire I should recover." - -The Presidente came forward in her morning gown. - -"Madame--" said Fraisier, stopping short to bow with the humility by -which officials recognize the superior rank of the person whom they -address. - -"Take a seat, monsieur," said the Presidente. She saw at a glance that -this was a man of law. - -"Mme. la Presidente, if I take the liberty of calling your attention -to a matter which concerns M. le President, it is because I am sure -that M. de Marville, occupying, as he does, a high position, would -leave matters to take their natural course, and so lose seven or eight -hundred thousand francs, a sum which ladies (who, in my opinion, have -a far better understanding of private business than the best of -magistrates)--a sum which ladies, I repeat, would by no means -despise--" - -"You spoke of a legacy," interrupted the lady, dazzled by the wealth, -and anxious to hide her surprise. Amelie de Marville, like an -impatient novel-reader, wanted the end of the story. - -"Yes, madame, a legacy that you are like to lose; yes, to lose -altogether; but I can, that is, I /could/, recover it for you, if--" - -"Speak out, monsieur." Mme. de Marville spoke frigidly, scanning -Fraisier as she spoke with a sagacious eye. - -"Madame, your eminent capacity is known to me; I was once at Mantes. -M. Leboeuf, President of the Tribunal, is acquainted with M. de -Marville, and can answer inquiries about me--" - -The Presidente's shrug was so ruthlessly significant, that Fraisier -was compelled to make short work of his parenthetic discourse. - -"So distinguished a woman will at once understand why I speak of -myself in the first place. It is the shortest way to the property." - -To this acute observation the lady replied by a gesture. Fraisier took -the sign for a permission to continue. - -"I was an attorney, madame, at Mantes. My connection was all the -fortune that I was likely to have. I took over M. Levroux's practice. -You knew him, no doubt?" - -The Presidente inclined her head. - -"With borrowed capital and some ten thousand francs of my own, I went -to Mantes. I had been with Desroches, one of the cleverest attorneys -in Paris, I had been his head-clerk for six years. I was so unlucky as -to make an enemy of the attorney for the crown at Mantes, Monsieur--" - -"Olivier Vinet." - -"Son of the Attorney-General, yes, madame. He was paying his court to -a little person--" - -"Whom?" - -"Mme. Vatinelle." - -"Oh! Mme. Vatinelle. She was very pretty and very--er--when I was -there--" - -"She was not unkind to me: /inde iroe/," Fraisier continued. "I was -industrious; I wanted to repay my friends and to marry; I wanted work; -I went in search of it; and before long I had more on my hands than -anybody else. Bah! I had every soul in Mantes against me--attorneys, -notaries, and even the bailiffs. They tried to fasten a quarrel on me. -In our ruthless profession, as you know, madame, if you wish to ruin a -man, it is soon done. I was concerned for both parties in a case, and -they found it out. It was a trifle irregular; but it is sometimes done -in Paris, attorneys in certain cases hand the rhubarb and take the -senna. They do things differently at Mantes. I had done M. Bouyonnet -this little service before; but, egged on by his colleagues and the -attorney for the crown, he betrayed me.--I am keeping back nothing, -you see.--There was a great hue and cry about it. I was a scoundrel; -they made me out blacker than Marat; forced me to sell out; ruined me. -And I am in Paris now. I have tried to get together a practice; but my -health is so bad, that I have only two quiet hours out of the twenty- -four. - -"At this moment I have but one ambition, and a very small one. Some -day," he continued, "you will be the wife of the Keeper of the Seals, -or of the Home Secretary, it may be; but I, poor and sickly as I am, -desire nothing but a post in which I can live in peace for the rest of -my life, a place without any opening in which to vegetate. I should -like to be a justice of the peace in Paris. It would be a mere trifle -for you and M. le President to gain the appointment for me; for the -present Keeper of the Seals must be anxious to keep on good terms with -you . . . - -"And that is not all, madame," added Fraisier. Seeing that Mme. de -Marville was about to speak, he cut her short with a gesture. "I have -a friend, the doctor in attendance on the old man who ought to leave -his property to M. le President. (We are coming to the point, you -see.) The doctor's co-operation is indispensable, and the doctor is -precisely in my position: he has abilities, he is unlucky. I learned -through him how far your interests were imperiled; for even as I -speak, all may be over, and the will disinheriting M. le President may -have been made. This doctor wishes to be head-surgeon of a hospital or -of a Government school. He must have a position in Paris equal to -mine. . . . Pardon me if I have enlarged on a matter so delicate; but -we must have no misunderstandings in this business. The doctor is, -besides, much respected and learned; he saved the life of the Comtesse -Popinot's great-uncle, M. Pillerault. - -"Now, if you are so good as to promise these two posts--the -appointment of justice of the peace and the sinecure for my friend--I -will undertake to bring you the property, /almost/ intact.--Almost -intact, I say, for the co-operation of the legatee and several other -persons is absolutely indispensable, and some obligations will be -incurred. You will not redeem your promises until I have fulfilled -mine." - -The Presidente had folded her arms, and for the last minute or two sat -like a person compelled to listen to a sermon. Now she unfolded her -arms, and looked at Fraisier as she said, "Monsieur, all that you say -concerning your interests has the merit of clearness; but my own -interests in the matter are by no means so clear--" - -"A word or two will explain everything, madame. M. le President is M. -Pons' first cousin once removed, and his sole heir. M. Pons is very -ill; he is about to make his will, if it is not already made, in favor -of a German, a friend of his named Schmucke; and he has more than -seven hundred thousand francs to leave. I hope to have an accurate -valuation made in two or three days--" - -"If this is so," said the Presidente, "I made a great mistake in -quarreling with him and throwing the blame----" she thought aloud, -amazed by the possibility of such a sum. - -"No, madame. If there had been no rupture, he would be as blithe as a -lark at this moment, and might outlive you and M. le President and me. -. . . The ways of Providence are mysterious, let us not seek to fathom -them," he added to palliate to some extent the hideous idea. "It -cannot be helped. We men of business look at the practical aspects of -things. Now you see clearly, madame, that M. de Marville in his public -position would do nothing, and could do nothing, as things are. He has -broken off all relations with his cousin. You see nothing now of Pons; -you have forbidden him the house; you had excellent reasons, no doubt, -for doing as you did, but the old man is ill, and he is leaving his -property to the only friend left to him. A President of the Court of -Appeal in Paris could say nothing under such circumstances if the will -was made out in due form. But between ourselves, madame, when one has -a right to expect seven or eight hundred thousand francs--or a -million, it may be (how should I know?)--it is very unpleasant to have -it slip through one's fingers, especially if one happens to be the -heir-at-law. . . . But, on the other hand, to prevent this, one is -obliged to stoop to dirty work; work so difficult, so ticklish, -bringing you cheek by jowl with such low people, servants and -subordinates; and into such close contact with them too, that no -barrister, no attorney in Paris could take up such a case. - -"What you want is a briefless barrister like me," said he, "a man who -should have real and solid ability, who has learned to be devoted, and -yet, being in a precarious position, is brought temporarily to a level -with such people. In my arrondissement I undertake business for small -tradespeople and working folk. Yes, madame, you see the straits to -which I have been brought by the enmity of an attorney for the crown, -now a deputy-public prosecutor in Paris, who could not forgive me my -superiority.--I know you, madame, I know that your influence means a -solid certainty; and in such a service rendered to you, I saw the end -of my troubles and success for my friend Dr. Poulain." - -The lady sat pensive during a moment of unspeakable torture for -Fraisier. Vinet, an orator of the Centre, attorney-general -(/procureur-general/) for the past sixteen years, nominated half-a- -score of times for the chancellorship, the father, moreover, of the -attorney for the crown at Mantes who had been appointed to a post in -Paris within the last year--Vinet was an enemy and a rival for the -malignant Presidente. The haughty attorney-general did not hide his -contempt for President Camusot. This fact Fraisier did not know, and -could not know. - -"Have you nothing on your conscience but the fact that you were -concerned for both parties?" asked she, looking steadily at Fraisier. - -"Mme. la Presidente can see M. Leboeuf; M. Leboeuf was favorable to -me." - -"Do you feel sure that M. Leboeuf will give M. de Marville and M. le -Comte Popinot a good account of you?" - -"I will answer for it, especially now that M. Olivier Vinet has left -Mantes; for between ourselves, good M. Leboeuf was afraid of that -crabbed little official. If you will permit me, Madame La Presidente, -I will go to Mantes and see M. Leboeuf. No time will be lost, for I -cannot be certain of the precise value of the property for two or -three days. I do not wish that you should know all the ins and outs of -this affair; you ought not to know them, Mme. la Presidente, but is -not the reward that I expect for my complete devotion a pledge of my -success?" - -"Very well. If M. Leboeuf will speak in your favor, and if the -property is worth as much as you think (I doubt it myself), you shall -have both appointments, /if/ you succeed, mind you--" - -"I will answer for it, madame. Only, you must be so good as to have -your notary and your attorney here when I shall need them; you must -give me a power of attorney to act for M. le President, and tell those -gentlemen to follow my instructions, and to do nothing on their own -responsibility." - -"The responsibility rests with you," the Presidente answered solemnly, -"so you ought to have full powers.--But is M. Pons very ill?" she -asked, smiling. - -"Upon my word, madame, he might pull through, especially with so -conscientious a doctor as Poulain in attendance; for this friend of -mine, madame, is simply an unconscious spy directed by me in your -interests. Left to himself, he would save the old man's life; but -there is some one else by the sickbed, a portress, who would push him -into the grave for thirty thousand francs. Not that she would kill him -outright; she will not give him arsenic, she is not so merciful; she -will do worse, she will kill him by inches; she will worry him to -death day by day. If the poor old man were kept quiet and left in -peace; if he were taken into the country and cared for and made much -of by friends, he would get well again; but he is harassed by a sort -of Mme. Evrard. When the woman was young she was one of thirty /Belles -Ecailleres/, famous in Paris, she is a rough, greedy, gossiping woman; -she torments him to make a will and to leave her something handsome, -and the end of it will be induration of the liver, calculi are -possibly forming at this moment, and he has not enough strength to -bear an operation. The doctor, noble soul, is in a horrible -predicament. He really ought to send the woman away--" - -"Why, then, this vixen is a monster!" cried the lady in thin flute- -like tones. - -Fraisier smiled inwardly at the likeness between himself and the -terrible Presidente; he knew all about those suave modulations of a -naturally sharp voice. He thought of another president, the hero of an -anecdote related by Louis XI., stamped by that monarch's final praise. -Blessed with a wife after the pattern of Socrates' spouse, and -ungifted with the sage's philosophy, he mingled salt with the corn in -the mangers and forbad the grooms to give water to the horses. As his -wife rode along the Seine towards their country-house, the animals -bolted into the river with the lady, and the magistrate returned -thanks to Providence for ridding him of his wife "in so natural a -manner." At this present moment Mme. de Marville thanked Heaven for -placing at Pons' bedside a woman so likely to get him "decently" out -of the way. - -Aloud she said, "I would not take a million at the price of a single -scruple.--Your friend ought to speak to M. Pons and have the woman -sent away." - -"In the first place, madame, Messrs. Schmucke and Pons think the woman -an angel; they would send my friend away. And secondly, the doctor -lies under an obligation to this horrid oyster-woman; she called him -in to attend M. Pillerault. When he tells her to be as gentle as -possible with the patient, he simply shows the creature how to make -matters worse." - -"What does your friend think of /my/ cousin's condition?" - -This man's clear, business-like way of putting the facts of the case -frightened Mme. de Marville; she felt that his keen gaze read the -thoughts of a heart as greedy as La Cibot's own. - -"In six weeks the property will change hands." - -The Presidente dropped her eyes. - -"Poor man!" she sighed, vainly striving after a dolorous expression. - -"Have you any message, madame, for M. Leboeuf? I am taking the train -to Mantes." - -"Yes. Wait a moment, and I will write to ask him to dine with us -to-morrow. I want to see him, so that he may act in concert to repair -the injustice to which you have fallen a victim." - -The Presidente left the room. Fraisier saw himself a justice of the -peace. He felt transformed at the thought; he grew stouter; his lungs -were filled with the breath of success, the breeze of prosperity. He -dipped into the mysterious reservoirs of volition for fresh and strong -doses of the divine essence. To reach success, he felt, as Remonencq -half felt, that he was ready for anything, for crime itself, provided -that no proofs of it remained. He had faced the Presidente boldly; he -had transmuted conjecture into reality; he had made assertions right -and left, all to the end that she might authorize him to protect her -interests and win her influence. As he stood there, he represented the -infinite misery of two lives, and the no less boundless desires of two -men. He spurned the squalid horrors of the Rue de la Perle. He saw the -glitter of a thousand crowns in fees from La Cibot, and five thousand -francs from the Presidente. This meant an abode such as befitted his -future prospects. Finally, he was repaying Dr. Poulain. - -There are hard, ill-natured beings, goaded by distress or disease into -active malignity, that yet entertain diametrically opposed sentiments -with a like degree of vehemence. If Richelieu was a good hater, he was -no less a good friend. Fraisier, in his gratitude, would have let -himself be cut in two for Poulain. - -So absorbed was he in these visions of a comfortable and prosperous -life, that he did not see the Presidente come in with the letter in -her hand, and she, looking at him, thought him less ugly now than at -first. He was about to be useful to her, and as soon as a tool belongs -to us we look upon it with other eyes. - -"M. Fraisier," said she, "you have convinced me of your intelligence, -and I think that you can speak frankly." - -Fraisier replied by an eloquent gesture. - -"Very well," continued the lady, "I must ask you to give a candid -reply to this question: Are we, either of us, M. de Marville or I, -likely to be compromised, directly or indirectly, by your action in -this matter?" - -"I would not have come to you, madame, if I thought that some day I -should have to reproach myself for bringing so much as a splash of mud -upon you, for in your position a speck the size of a pin's head is -seen by all the world. You forget, madame, that I must satisfy you if -I am to be a justice of the peace in Paris. I have received one lesson -at the outset of my life; it was so sharp that I do not care to lay -myself open to a second thrashing. To sum it up in a last word, -madame, I will not take a step in which you are indirectly involved -without previously consulting you--" - -"Very good. Here is the letter. And now I shall expect to be informed -of the exact value of the estate." - -"There is the whole matter," said Fraisier shrewdly, making his bow to -the Presidente with as much graciousness as his countenance could -exhibit. - -"What a providence!" thought Mme. Camusot de Marville. "So I am to be -rich! Camusot will be sure of his election if we let loose this -Fraisier upon the Bolbec constituency. What a tool!" - -"What a providence!" Fraisier said to himself as he descended the -staircase; "and what a sharp woman Mme. Camusot is! I should want a -woman in these circumstances. Now to work!" - -And he departed for Mantes to gain the good graces of a man he -scarcely knew; but he counted upon Mme. Vatinelle, to whom, -unfortunately, he owed all his troubles--and some troubles are of a -kind that resemble a protested bill while the defaulter is yet -solvent, in that they bear interest. - -Three days afterwards, while Schmucke slept (for in accordance with -the compact he now sat up at night with the patient), La Cibot had a -"tiff," as she was pleased to call it, with Pons. It will not be out -of place to call attention to one particularly distressing symptom of -liver complaint. The sufferer is always more or less inclined to -impatience and fits of anger; an outburst of this kind seems to give -relief at the time, much as a patient while the fever fit is upon him -feels that he has boundless strength; but collapse sets in so soon as -the excitement passes off, and the full extent of mischief sustained -by the system is discernible. This is especially the case when the -disease has been induced by some great shock; and the prostration is -so much the more dangerous because the patient is kept upon a -restricted diet. It is a kind of fever affecting neither the blood nor -the brain, but the humoristic mechanism, fretting the whole system, -producing melancholy, in which the patient hates himself; in such a -crisis anything may cause dangerous irritation. - -In spite of all that the doctor could say, La Cibot had no belief in -this wear and tear of the nervous system by the humoristic. She was a -woman of the people, without experience or education; Dr. Poulain's -explanations for her were simply "doctor's notions." Like most of her -class, she thought that sick people must be fed, and nothing short of -Dr. Poulain's direct order prevented her from administering ham, a -nice omelette, or vanilla chocolate upon the sly. - -The infatuation of the working classes on this point is very strong. -The reason of their reluctance to enter a hospital is the idea that -they will be starved there. The mortality caused by the food smuggled -in by the wives of patients on visiting-days was at one time so great -that the doctors were obliged to institute a very strict search for -contraband provisions. - -If La Cibot was to realize her profits at once, a momentary quarrel -must be worked up in some way. She began by telling Pons about her -visit to the theatre, not omitting her passage at arms with Mlle. -Heloise the dancer. - -"But why did you go?" the invalid asked for the third time. La Cibot -once launched on a stream of words, he was powerless to stop her. - -"So, then, when I had given her a piece of my mind, Mademoiselle -Heloise saw who I was and knuckled under, and we were the best of -friends.--And now do you ask me why I went?" she added, repeating -Pons' question. - -There are certain babblers, babblers of genius are they, who sweep up -interruptions, objections, and observations in this way as they go -along, by way of provision to swell the matter of their conversation, -as if that source were ever in any danger of running dry. - -"Why I went?" repeated she. "I went to get your M. Gaudissart out of a -fix. He wants some music for a ballet, and you are hardly fit to -scribble on sheets of paper and do your work, dearie.--So I -understood, things being so, that a M. Garangeot was to be asked to -set the /Mohicans/ to music--" - -"Garangeot!" roared Pons in fury. "/Garangeot!/ a man with no talent; -I would not have him for first violin! He is very clever, he is very -good at musical criticism, but as to composing--I doubt it! And what -the devil put the notion of going to the theatre into your head?" - -"How confoundedly contrairy the man is! Look here, dearie, we mustn't -boil over like milk on the fire! How are you to write music in the -state that you are in? Why, you can't have looked at yourself in the -glass! Will you have the glass and see? You are nothing but skin and -bone--you are as weak as a sparrow, and do you think that you are fit -to make your notes! why, you would not so much as make out mine. . . . -And that reminds me that I ought to go up to the third floor lodger's -that owes us seventeen francs, for when the chemist has been paid we -shall not have twenty left.--So I had to tell M. Gaudissart (I like -that name), a good sort he seems to be,--a regular Roger Bontemps that -would just suit me.--/He/ will never have liver complaint!--Well, so I -had to tell him how you were.--Lord! you are not well, and he has put -some one else in your place for a bit--" - -"Some one else in my place!" cried Pons in a terrible voice, as he sat -right up in bed. Sick people, generally speaking, and those most -particularly who lie within the sweep of the scythe of Death, cling to -their places with the same passionate energy that the beginner -displays to gain a start in life. To hear that someone had taken his -place was like a foretaste of death to the dying man. - -"Why, the doctor told me that I was going on as well as possible," -continued he; "he said that I should soon be about again as usual. You -have killed me, ruined me, murdered me!" - -"Tut, tut, tut!" cried La Cibot, "there you go! I am killing you, am -I? Mercy on us! these are the pretty things that you are always -telling M. Schmucke when my back is turned. I hear all that you say, -that I do! You are a monster of ingratitude." - -"But you do not know that if I am only away for another fortnight, -they will tell me that I have had my day, that I am old-fashioned, out -of date, Empire, rococo, when I go back. Garangeot will have made -friends all over the theatre, high and low. He will lower the pitch to -suit some actress that cannot sing, he will lick M. Gaudissart's -boots!" cried the sick man, who clung to life. "He has friends that -will praise him in all the newspapers; and when things are like that -in such a shop, Mme. Cibot, they can find holes in anybody's coat. -. . . What fiend drove you to do it?" - -"Why! plague take it, M. Schmucke talked it over with me for a week. -What would you have? You see nothing but yourself! You are so selfish -that other people may die if you can only get better.--Why poor M. -Schmucke has been tired out this month past! he is tied by the leg, he -can go nowhere, he cannot give lessons nor take his place at the -theatre. Do you really see nothing? He sits up with you at night, and -I take the nursing in the day. If I were to sit up at night with you, -as I tried to do at first when I thought you were so poor, I should -have to sleep all day. And who would see to the house and look out for -squalls! Illness is illness, it cannot be helped, and here are you--" - -"This was not Schmucke's idea, it is quite impossible--" - -"That means that it was /I/ who took it into my head to do it, does -it? Do you think that we are made of iron? Why, if M. Schmucke had -given seven or eight lessons every day and conducted the orchestra -every evening at the theatre from six o'clock till half-past eleven at -night, he would have died in ten days' time. Poor man, he would give -his life for you, and do you want to be the death of him? By the -authors of my days, I have never seen a sick man to match you! Where -are your senses? have you put them in pawn? We are all slaving our -lives out for you; we do all for the best, and you are not satisfied! -Do you want to drive us raging mad? I myself, to begin with, am tired -out as it is----" - -La Cibot rattled on at her ease; Pons was too angry to say a word. He -writhed on his bed, painfully uttering inarticulate sounds; the blow -was killing him. And at this point, as usual, the scolding turned -suddenly to tenderness. The nurse dashed at her patient, grasped him -by the head, made him lie down by main force, and dragged the blankets -over him. - -"How any one can get into such a state!" exclaimed she. "After all, it -is your illness, dearie. That is what good M. Poulain says. See now, -keep quiet and be good, my dear little sonny. Everybody that comes -near you worships you, and the doctor himself comes to see you twice a -day. What would he say if he found you in such a way? You put me out -of all patience; you ought not to behave like this. If you have Ma'am -Cibot to nurse you, you should treat her better. You shout and you -talk!--you ought not to do it, you know that. Talking irritates you. -And why do you fly into a passion? The wrong is all on your side; you -are always bothering me. Look here, let us have it out! If M. Schmucke -and I, who love you like our life, thought that we were doing right-- -well, my cherub, it was right, you may be sure." - -"Schmucke never could have told you to go to the theatre without -speaking to me about it--" - -"And must I wake him, poor dear, when he is sleeping like one of the -blest, and call him in as a witness?" - -"No, no!" cried Pons. "If my kind and loving Schmucke made the -resolution, perhaps I am worse than I thought." His eyes wandered -round the room, dwelling on the beautiful things in it with a -melancholy look painful to see. - -"So I must say good-bye to my dear pictures, to all the things that -have come to be like so many friends to me . . . and to my divine -friend Schmucke? . . . Oh! can it be true?" - -La Cibot, acting her heartless comedy, held her handkerchief to her -eyes; and at that mute response the sufferer fell to dark musing--so -sorely stricken was he by the double stab dealt to health and his -interests by the loss of his post and the near prospect of death, that -he had no strength left for anger. He lay, ghastly and wan, like a -consumptive patient after a wrestling bout with the Destroyer. - -"In M. Schmucke's interests, you see, you would do well to send for M. -Trognon; he is the notary of the quarter and a very good man," said La -Cibot, seeing that her victim was completely exhausted. - -"You are always talking about this Trognon--" - -"Oh! he or another, it is all one to me, for anything you will leave -me." - -She tossed her head to signify that she despised riches. There was -silence in the room. - -A moment later Schmucke came in. He had slept for six hours, hunger -awakened him, and now he stood at Pons' bedside watching his friend -without saying a word, for Mme. Cibot had laid a finger on her lips. - -"Hush!" she whispered. Then she rose and went up to add under her -breath, "He is going off to sleep at last, thank Heaven! He is as -cross as a red donkey!--What can you expect, he is struggling with his -illness----" - -"No, on the contrary, I am very patient," said the victim in a weary -voice that told of a dreadful exhaustion; "but, oh! Schmucke, my dear -friend, she has been to the theatre to turn me out of my place." - -There was a pause. Pons was too weak to say more. La Cibot took the -opportunity and tapped her head significantly. "Do not contradict -him," she said to Schmucke; "it would kill him." - -Pons gazed into Schmucke's honest face. "And she says that you sent -her--" he continued. - -"Yes," Schmucke affirmed heroically. "It had to pe. Hush!--let us safe -your life. It is absurd to vork and train your sdrength gif you haf a -dreasure. Get better; ve vill sell some prick-a-prack und end our tays -kvietly in a corner somveres, mit kind Montame Zipod." - -"She has perverted you," moaned Pons. - -Mme. Cibot had taken up her station behind the bed to make signals -unobserved. Pons thought that she had left the room. "She is murdering -me," he added. - -"What is that? I am murdering you, am I?" cried La Cibot, suddenly -appearing, hand on hips and eyes aflame. "I am as faithful as a dog, -and this is all I get! God Almighty!--" - -She burst into tears and dropped down into the great chair, a tragical -movement which wrought a most disastrous revulsion in Pons. - -"Very good," she said, rising to her feet. The woman's malignant eyes -looked poison and bullets at the two friends. "Very good. Nothing that -I can do is right here, and I am tired of slaving my life out. You -shall take a nurse." - -Pons and Schmucke exchanged glances in dismay. - -"Oh! you may look at each other like actors. I mean it. I shall ask -Dr. Poulain to find a nurse for you. And now we will settle accounts. -You shall pay me back the money that I have spent on you, and that I -would never have asked you for, I that have gone to M. Pillerault to -borrow another five hundred francs of him--" - -"It ees his illness!" cried Schmucke--he sprang to Mme. Cibot and put -an arm round her waist--"haf batience." - -"As for you, you are an angel, I could kiss the ground you tread -upon," said she. "But M. Pons never liked me, he always hated me. -Besides, he thinks perhaps that I want to be mentioned in his will--" - -"Hush! you vill kill him!" cried Schmucke. - -"Good-bye, sir," said La Cibot, with a withering look at Pons. "You -may keep well for all the harm I wish you. When you can speak to me -pleasantly, when you can believe that what I do is done for the best, -I will come back again. Till then I shall stay in my own room. You -were like my own child to me; did anybody ever see a child revolt -against its mother? . . . No, no, M. Schmucke, I do not want to hear -more. I will bring you /your/ dinner and wait upon /you/, but you must -take a nurse. Ask M. Poulain about it." - -And she went out, slamming the door after her so violently that the -precious, fragile objects in the room trembled. To Pons in his -torture, the rattle of china was like the final blow dealt by the -executioner to a victim broken on the wheel. - -An hour later La Cibot called to Schmucke through the door, telling -him that his dinner was waiting for him in the dining-room. She would -not cross the threshold. Poor Schmucke went out to her with a haggard, -tear-stained face. - -"Mein boor Bons in vandering," said he; "he says dat you are ein pad -voman. It ees his illness," he added hastily, to soften La Cibot and -excuse his friend. - -"Oh, I have had enough of his illness! Look here, he is neither -father, nor husband, nor brother, nor child of mine. He has taken a -dislike to me; well and good, that is enough! As for you, you see, I -would follow /you/ to the end of the world; but when a woman gives her -life, her heart, and all her savings, and neglects her husband (for -here has Cibot fallen ill), and then hears that she is a bad woman--it -is coming it rather too strong, it is." - -"Too shtrong?" - -"Too strong, yes. Never mind idle words. Let us come to the facts. As -to that, you owe me for three months at a hundred and ninety francs-- -that is five hundred seventy francs; then there is the rent that I -have paid twice (here are the receipts), six hundred more, including -rates and the sou in the franc for the porter--something under twelve -hundred francs altogether, and with the two thousand francs besides-- -without interest, mind you--the total amounts to three thousand one -hundred and ninety-two francs. And remember that you will want at -least two thousand francs before long for the doctor, and the nurse, -and the medicine, and the nurse's board. That was why I borrowed a -thousand francs of M. Pillerault," and with that she held up -Gaudissart's bank-note. - -It may readily be conceived that Schmucke listened to this reckoning -with amazement, for he knew about as much of business as a cat knows -of music. - -"Montame Zipod," he expostulated, "Bons haf lost his head. Bardon him, -and nurse him as before, und pe our profidence; I peg it of you on -mine knees," and he knelt before La Cibot and kissed the tormentor's -hands. - -La Cibot raised Schmucke and kissed him on the forehead. "Listen, my -lamb," said she, "here is Cibot ill in bed; I have just sent for Dr. -Poulain. So I ought to set my affairs in order. And what is more, -Cibot saw me crying, and flew into such a passion that he will not -have me set foot in here again. It is /he/ who wants the money; it is -his, you see. We women can do nothing when it comes to that. But if -you let him have his money back again--the three thousand two hundred -francs--he will be quiet perhaps. Poor man, it is his all, earned by -the sweat of his brow, the savings of twenty-six years of life -together. He must have his money to-morrow; there is no getting round -him.--You do not know Cibot; when he is angry he would kill a man. -Well, I might perhaps get leave of him to look after you both as -before. Be easy. I will just let him say anything that comes into his -head. I will bear it all for love of you, an angel as you are." - -"No, I am ein boor man, dot lof his friend and vould gif his life to -save him--" - -"But the money?" broke in La Cibot. "My good M. Schmucke, let us -suppose that you pay me nothing; you will want three thousand francs, -and where are they to come from? Upon my word, do you know what I -should do in your place? I should not think twice, I should just sell -seven or eight good-for-nothing pictures and put up some of those -instead that are standing in your closet with their faces to the wall -for want of room. One picture or another, what difference does it -make?" - -"Und vy?" - -"He is so cunning. It is his illness, for he is a lamb when he is -well. He is capable of getting up and prying about; and if by any -chance he went into the salon, he is so weak that he could not go -beyond the door; he would see that they are all still there." - -"Drue!" - -"And when he is quite well, we will tell him about the sale. And if -you wish to confess, throw it all upon me, say that you were obliged -to pay me. Come! I have a broad back--" - -"I cannot tispose of dings dot are not mine," the good German answered -simply. - -"Very well. I will summons you, you and M. Pons." - -"It vould kill him--" - -"Take your choice! Dear me, sell the pictures and tell him about it -afterwards . . . you can show him the summons--" - -"Ver' goot. Summons us. Dot shall pe mine egscuse. I shall show him -der chudgment." - -Mme. Cibot went down to the court, and that very day at seven o'clock -she called to Schmucke. Schmucke found himself confronted with M. -Tabareau the bailiff, who called upon him to pay. Schmucke made -answer, trembling from head to foot, and was forthwith summoned -together with Pons, to appear in the county court to hear judgment -against him. The sight of the bailiff and a bit of stamped paper -covered with scrawls produced such an effect upon Schmucke, that he -held out no longer. - -"Sell die bictures," he said, with tears in his eyes. - -Next morning, at six o'clock, Elie Magus and Remonencq took down the -paintings of their choice. Two receipts for two thousand five hundred -francs were made out in correct form:-- - -"I, the undersigned, representing M. Pons, acknowledge the receipt of -two thousand five hundred francs from M. Elie Magus for the four -pictures sold to him, the said sum being appropriated to the use of M. -Pons. The first picture, attributed to Durer, is a portrait of a -woman; the second, likewise a portrait, is of the Italian School; the -third, a Dutch landscape by Breughel; and the fourth, a /Holy Family/ -by an unknown master of the Florentine School." - -Remonencq's receipt was worded in precisely the same way; a Greuze, a -Claude Lorraine, a Rubens, and a Van Dyck being disguised as pictures -of the French and Flemish schools. - -"Der monny makes me beleef dot the chimcracks haf som value," said -Schmucke when the five thousand francs were paid over. - -"They are worth something," said Remonencq. "I would willingly give -you a hundred thousand francs for the lot." - -Remonencq, asked to do a trifling service, hung eight pictures of the -proper size in the same frames, taking them from among the less -valuable pictures in Schmucke's bedroom. - -No sooner was Elie Magus in possession of the four great pictures than -he went, taking La Cibot with him, under pretence of settling -accounts. But he pleaded poverty, he found fault with the pictures, -they needed rebacking, he offered La Cibot thirty thousand francs by -way of commission, and finally dazzled her with the sheets of paper on -which the Bank of France engraves the words "One thousand francs" in -capital letters. Magus thereupon condemned Remonencq to pay the like -sum to La Cibot, by lending him the money on the security of his four -pictures, which he took with him as a guarantee. So glorious were -they, that Magus could not bring himself to part with them, and next -day he bought them of Remonencq for six thousand francs over and above -the original price, and an invoice was duly made out for the four. -Mme. Cibot, the richer by sixty-eight thousand francs, once more swore -her two accomplices to absolute secrecy. Then she asked the Jew's -advice. She wanted to invest the money in such a way that no one -should know of it. - -"Buy shares in the Orleans Railway," said he; "they are thirty francs -below par, you will double your capital in three years. They will give -you scraps of paper, which you keep safe in a portfolio." - -"Stay here, M. Magus. I will go and fetch the man of business who acts -for M. Pons' family. He wants to know how much you will give him for -the whole bag of tricks upstairs. I will go for him now." - -"If only she were a widow!" said Remonencq when she was gone. "She -would just suit me; she will have plenty of money now--" - -"Especially if she puts her money into the Orleans Railway; she will -double her capital in two years' time. I have put all my poor little -savings into it," added the Jew, "for my daughter's portion.--Come, -let us take a turn on the boulevard until this lawyer arrives." - -"Cibot is very bad as it is," continued Remonencq; "if it should -please God to take him to Himself, I should have a famous wife to keep -a shop; I could set up on a large scale--" - -"Good-day, M. Fraisier," La Cibot began in an ingratiating tone as she -entered her legal adviser's office. "Why, what is this that your -porter has been telling me? are you going to move?" - -"Yes, my dear Mme. Cibot. I am taking the first floor above Dr. -Poulain, and trying to borrow two or three thousand francs so as to -furnish the place properly; it is very nice, upon my word, the -landlord has just papered and painted it. I am acting, as I told you, -in President de Marville's interests and yours. . . . I am not a -solicitor now; I mean to have my name entered on the roll of -barristers, and I must be well lodged. A barrister in Paris cannot -have his name on the rolls unless he has decent furniture and books -and the like. I am a doctor of law, I have kept my terms, and have -powerful interest already. . . . Well, how are we getting on?" - -"Perhaps you would accept my savings," said La Cibot. "I have put them -in a savings bank. I have not much, only three thousand francs, the -fruits of twenty-five years of stinting and scraping. You might give -me a bill of exchange, as Remonencq says; for I am ignorant myself, I -only know what they tell me." - -"No. It is against the rules of the guild for a barrister (/avocat/) -to put his name to a bill. I will give you a receipt, bearing interest -at five per cent per annum, on the understanding that if I make an -income of twelve hundred francs for you out of old Pons' estate you -will cancel it." - -La Cibot, caught in the trap, uttered not a word. - -"Silence gives consent," Fraisier continued. "Let me have it to-morrow -morning." - -"Oh! I am quite willing to pay fees in advance," said La Cibot; "it is -one way of making sure of my money." - -Fraisier nodded. "How are you getting on?" he repeated. "I saw Poulain -yesterday; you are hurrying your invalid along, it seems. . . . One -more scene such as yesterday's, and gall-stones will form. Be gentle -with him, my dear Mme. Cibot, do not lay up remorse for yourself. Life -is not too long." - -"Just let me alone with your remorse! Are you going to talk about the -guillotine again? M. Pons is a contrairy old thing. You don't know -him. It is he that bothers me. There is not a more cross-grained man -alive; his relations are in the right of it, he is sly, revengeful, -and contrairy. . . . M. Magus has come, as I told you, and is waiting -to see you." - -"Right! I will be there as soon as you. Your income depends upon the -price the collection will fetch. If it brings in eight hundred -thousand francs, you shall have fifteen hundred francs a year. It is a -fortune." - -"Very well. I will tell them to value the things on their -consciences." - - - -An hour later, Pons was fast asleep. The doctor had ordered a soothing -draught, which Schmucke administered, all unconscious that La Cibot -had doubled the dose. Fraisier, Remonencq, and Magus, three gallows- -birds, were examining the seventeen hundred different objects which -formed the old musician's collection one by one. - -Schmucke had gone to bed. The three kites, drawn by the scent of a -corpse, were masters of the field. - -"Make no noise," said La Cibot whenever Magus went into ecstasies or -explained the value of some work of art to Remonencq. The dying man -slept on in the neighboring room, while greed in four different forms -appraised the treasures that he must leave behind, and waited -impatiently for him to die--a sight to wring the heart. - -Three hours went by before they had finished the salon. - -"On an average," said the grimy old Jew, "everything here is worth a -thousand francs." - -"Seventeen hundred thousand francs!" exclaimed Fraisier in -bewilderment. - -"Not to me," Magus answered promptly, and his eyes grew dull. "I would -not give more than a hundred thousand francs myself for the -collection. You cannot tell how long you may keep a thing on hand. -. . . There are masterpieces that wait ten years for a buyer, and -meanwhile the purchase money is doubled by compound interest. Still, I -should pay cash." - -"There is stained glass in the other room, as well as enamels and -miniatures and gold and silver snuff-boxes," put in Remonencq. - -"Can they be seen?" inquired Fraisier. - -"I'll see if he is sound asleep," replied La Cibot. She made a sign, -and the three birds of prey came in. - -"There are masterpieces yonder!" said Magus, indicating the salon, -every bristle of his white beard twitching as he spoke. "But the -riches are here! And what riches! Kings have nothing more glorious in -royal treasuries." - -Remonencq's eyes lighted up till they glowed like carbuncles, at the -sight of the gold snuff-boxes. Fraisier, cool and calm as a serpent, -or some snake-creature with the power of rising erect, stood with his -viper head stretched out, in such an attitude as a painter would -choose for Mephistopheles. The three covetous beings, thirsting for -gold as devils thirst for the dew of heaven, looked simultaneously, as -it chanced, at the owner of all this wealth. Some nightmare troubled -Pons; he stirred, and suddenly, under the influence of those -diabolical glances, he opened his eyes with a shrill cry. - -"Thieves! . . . There they are! . . . Help! Murder! Help!" - -The nightmare was evidently still upon him, for he sat up in bed, -staring before him with blank, wide-open eyes, and had not the power -to move. - -Elie Magus and Remonencq made for the door, but a word glued them to -the spot. - -"/Magus/ here! . . . I am betrayed!" - -Instinctively the sick man had known that his beloved pictures were in -danger, a thought that touched him at least as closely as any dread -for himself, and he awoke. Fraisier meanwhile did not stir. - -"Mme. Cibot! who is that gentleman?" cried Pons, shivering at the -sight. - -"Goodness me! how could I put him out of the door?" she inquired, with -a wink and gesture for Fraisier's benefit. "This gentleman came just a -minute ago, from your family." - -Fraisier could not conceal his admiration for La Cibot. - -"Yes, sir," he said, "I have come on behalf of Mme. la Presidente de -Marville, her husband, and her daughter, to express their regret. They -learned quite by accident that you are ill, and they would like to -nurse you themselves. They want you to go to Marville and get well -there. Mme. la Vicomtesse Popinot, the little Cecile that you love so -much, will be your nurse. She took your part with her mother. She -convinced Mme. de Marville that she had made a mistake." - -"So my next-of-kin have sent you to me, have they?" Pons exclaimed -indignantly, "and sent the best judge and expert in all Paris with you -to show you the way? Oh! a nice commission!" he cried, bursting into -wild laughter. "You have come to value my pictures and curiosities, my -snuff-boxes and miniatures! . . . Make your valuation. You have a man -there who understands everything, and more--he can buy everything, for -he is a millionaire ten times over. . . . My dear relatives will not -have long to wait," he added, with bitter irony, "they have choked the -last breath out of me. . . . Ah! Mme. Cibot, you said you were a -mother to me, and you bring dealers into the house, and my competitor -and the Camusots, while I am asleep! . . . Get out, all of you!--" - -The unhappy man was beside himself with anger and fear; he rose from -the bed and stood upright, a gaunt, wasted figure. - -"Take my arm, sir," said La Cibot, rushing to the rescue, lest Pons -should fall. "Pray calm yourself, the gentlemen are gone." - -"I want to see the salon. . . ." said the death-stricken man. La Cibot -made a sign to the three ravens to take flight. Then she caught up -Pons as if he had been a feather, and put him in bed again, in spite -of his cries. When she saw that he was quite helpless and exhausted, -she went to shut the door on the staircase. The three who had done -Pons to death were still on the landing; La Cibot told them to wait. -She heard Fraisier say to Magus: - -"Let me have it in writing, and sign it, both of you. Undertake to pay -nine hundred thousand francs in cash for M. Pons' collection, and we -will see about putting you in the way of making a handsome profit." - -With that he said something to La Cibot in a voice so low that the -others could not catch it, and went down after the two dealers to the -porter's room. - -"Have they gone, Mme. Cibot?" asked the unhappy Pons, when she came -back again. - -"Gone? . . . who?" asked she. - -"Those men." - -"What men? There, now, you have seen men," said she. "You have just -had a raving fit; if it hadn't been for me you would have gone out the -window, and now you are still talking of men in the room. Is it always -to be like this?" - -"What! was there not a gentleman here just now, saying that my -relatives had sent him?" - -"Will you still stand me out?" said she. "Upon my word, do you know -where you ought to be sent?--To the asylum at Charenton. You see -men--" - -"Elie Magus, Remonencq, and--" - -"Oh! as for Remonencq, you may have seen /him/, for he came up to tell -me that my poor Cibot is so bad that I must clear out of this and come -down. My Cibot comes first, you see. When my husband is ill, I can -think of nobody else. Try to keep quiet and sleep for a couple of -hours; I have sent for Dr. Poulain, and I will come up with him. . . . -Take a drink and be good--" - -"Then was there no one in the room just now, when I waked? . . ." - -"No one," said she. "You must have seen M. Remonencq in one of your -looking-glasses." - -"You are right, Mme. Cibot," said Pons, meek as a lamb. - -"Well, now you are sensible again. . . . Good-bye, my cherub; keep -quiet, I shall be back again in a minute." - -When Pons heard the outer door close upon her, he summoned up all his -remaining strength to rise. - -"They are cheating me," he muttered to himself, "they are robbing me! -Schmucke is a child that would let them tie him up in a sack." - -The terrible scene had seemed so real, it could not be a dream, he -thought; a desire to throw light upon the puzzle excited him; he -managed to reach the door, opened it after many efforts, and stood on -the threshold of his salon. There they were--his dear pictures, his -statues, his Florentine bronzes, his porcelain; the sight of them -revived him. The old collector walked in his dressing-gown along the -narrow spaces between the credence-tables and the sideboards that -lined the wall; his feet bare, his head on fire. His first glance of -ownership told him that everything was there; he turned to go back to -bed again, when he noticed that a Greuze portrait looked out of the -frame that had held Sebastian del Piombo's /Templar/. Suspicion -flashed across his brain, making his dark thoughts apparent to him, as -a flash of lightning marks the outlines of the cloud-bars on a stormy -sky. He looked round for the eight capital pictures of the collection; -each one of them was replaced by another. A dark film suddenly -overspread his eyes; his strength failed him; he fell fainting upon -the polished floor. - -So heavy was the swoon, that for two hours he lay as he fell, till -Schmucke awoke and went to see his friend, and found him lying -unconscious in the salon. With endless pains Schmucke raised the half- -dead body and laid it on the bed; but when he came to question the -death-stricken man, and saw the look in the dull eyes and heard the -vague, inarticulate words, the good German, so far from losing his -head, rose to the very heroism of friendship. Man and child as he was, -with the pressure of despair came the inspiration of a mother's -tenderness, a woman's love. He warmed towels (he found towels!), he -wrapped them about Pons' hands, he laid them over the pit of the -stomach; he took the cold, moist forehead in his hands, he summoned -back life with a might of will worthy of Apollonius of Tyana, laying -kisses on his friend's eyelids like some Mary bending over the dead -Christ, in a /pieta/ carved in bas-relief by some great Italian -sculptor. The divine effort, the outpouring of one life into another, -the work of mother and of lover, was crowned with success. In half an -hour the warmth revived Pons; he became himself again, the hues of -life returned to his eyes, suspended faculties gradually resumed their -play under the influence of artificial heat; Schmucke gave him balm- -water with a little wine in it; the spirit of life spread through the -body; intelligence lighted up the forehead so short a while ago -insensible as a stone; and Pons knew that he had been brought back to -life, by what sacred devotion, what might of friendship! - -"But for you, I should die," he said, and as he spoke he felt the good -German's tears falling on his face. Schmucke was laughing and crying -at once. - -Poor Schmucke! he had waited for those words with a frenzy of hope as -costly as the frenzy of despair; and now his strength utterly failed -him, he collapsed like a rent balloon. It was his turn to fall; he -sank into the easy-chair, clasped his hands, and thanked God in -fervent prayer. For him a miracle had just been wrought. He put no -belief in the efficacy of the prayer of his deeds; the miracle had -been wrought by God in direct answer to his cry. And yet that miracle -was a natural effect, such as medical science often records. - -A sick man, surrounded by those who love him, nursed by those who wish -earnestly that he should live, will recover (other things being -equal), when another patient tended by hirelings will die. Doctors -decline to see unconscious magnetism in this phenomenon; for them it -is the result of intelligent nursing, of exact obedience to their -orders; but many a mother knows the virtue of such ardent projection -of strong, unceasing prayer. - -"My good Schmucke--" - -"Say nodings; I shall hear you mit mein heart . . . rest, rest!" said -Schmucke, smiling at him. - -"Poor friend, noble creature, child of God, living in God! . . . The -one being that has loved me. . . ." The words came out with pauses -between them; there was a new note, a something never heard before, in -Pons' voice. All the soul, so soon to take flight, found utterance in -the words that filled Schmucke with happiness almost like a lover's -rapture. - -"Yes, yes. I shall be shtrong as a lion. I shall vork for two!" - -"Listen, my good, my faithful, adorable friend. Let me speak, I have -not much time left. I am a dead man. I cannot recover from these -repeated shocks." - -Schmucke was crying like a child. - -"Just listen," continued Pons, "and cry afterwards. As a Christian, -you must submit. I have been robbed. It is La Cibot's doing. . . . I -ought to open your eyes before I go; you know nothing of life. . . . -Somebody has taken away eight of the pictures, and they were worth a -great deal of money." - -"Vorgif me--I sold dem." - -"/You/ sold them?" - -"Yes, I," said poor Schmucke. "Dey summoned us to der court--" - -"/Summoned?/. . . . Who summoned us?" - -"Wait," said Schmucke. He went for the bit of stamped-paper left by -the bailiff, and gave it to Pons. Pons read the scrawl through with -close attention, then he let the paper drop and lay quite silent for a -while. A close observer of the work of men's hands, unheedful so far -of the workings of the brain, Pons finally counted out the threads of -the plot woven about him by La Cibot. The artist's fire, the intellect -that won the Roman scholarship--all his youth came back to him for a -little. - -"My good Schmucke," he said at last, "you must do as I tell you, and -obey like a soldier. Listen! go downstairs into the lodge and tell -that abominable woman that I should like to see the person sent to me -by my cousin the President; and that unless he comes, I shall leave my -collection to the Musee. Say that a will is in question." - -Schmucke went on his errand; but at the first word, La Cibot answered -by a smile. - -"My good M. Schmucke, our dear invalid has had a delirious fit; he -thought that there were men in the room. On my word, as an honest -woman, no one has come from the family." - -Schmucke went back with his answer, which he repeated word for word. - -"She is cleverer, more astute and cunning and wily, than I thought," -said Pons with a smile. "She lies even in her room. Imagine it! This -morning she brought a Jew here, Elie Magus by name, and Remonencq, and -a third whom I do not know, more terrific than the other two put -together. She meant to make a valuation while I was asleep; I happened -to wake, and saw them all three, estimating the worth of my snuff- -boxes. The stranger said, indeed, that the Camusots had sent him here; -I spoke to him. . . . That shameless woman stood me out that I was -dreaming! . . . My good Schmucke, it was not a dream. I heard the man -perfectly plainly; he spoke to me. . . . The two dealers took fright -and made for the door. . . . I thought that La Cibot would contradict -herself--the experiment failed. . . . I will lay another snare, and -trap the wretched woman. . . . Poor Schmucke, you think that La Cibot -is an angel; and for this month past she has been killing me by inches -to gain her covetous ends. I would not believe that a woman who served -us faithfully for years could be so wicked. That doubt has been my -ruin. . . . How much did the eight pictures fetch?" - -"Vife tausend vrancs." - -"Good heavens! they were worth twenty times as much!" cried Pons; "the -gems of the collection! I have not time now to institute proceedings; -and if I did, you would figure in court as the dupe of those rascals. -. . . A lawsuit would be the death of you. You do not know what -justice means--a court of justice is a sink of iniquity. . . . At the -sight of such horrors, a soul like yours would give way. And besides, -you will have enough. The pictures cost me forty thousand francs. I -have had them for thirty-six years. . . . Oh, we have been robbed with -surprising dexterity. I am on the brink of the grave, I care for -nothing now but thee--for thee, the best soul under the sun. . . . - -"I will not have you plundered; all that I have is yours. So you must -trust nobody, Schmucke, you that have never suspected any one in your -life. I know God watches over you, but He may forget for one moment, -and you will be seized like a vessel among pirates. . . . La Cibot is -a monster! She is killing me; and you think her an angel! You shall -see what she is. Go and ask her to give you the name of a notary, and -I will show you her with her hand in the bag." - -Schmucke listened as if Pons proclaimed an apocalypse. Could so -depraved a creature as La Cibot exist? If Pons was right, it seemed to -imply that there was no God in the world. He went right down again to -Mme. Cibot. - -"Mein boor vriend Bons feel so ill," he said, "dat he vish to make his -vill. Go und pring ein nodary." - -This was said in the hearing of several persons, for Cibot's life was -despaired of. Remonencq and his sister, two women from neighboring -porters' lodges, two or three servants, and the lodger from the first -floor on the side next the street, were all standing outside in the -gateway. - -"Oh! you can just fetch a notary yourself, and have your will made as -you please," cried La Cibot, with tears in her eyes. "My poor Cibot is -dying, and it is no time to leave him. I would give all the Ponses in -the world to save Cibot, that has never given me an ounce of -unhappiness in these thirty years since we were married." - -And in she went, leaving Schmucke in confusion. - -"Is M. Pons really seriously ill, sir?" asked the first-floor lodger, -one Jolivard, a clerk in the registrar's office at the Palais de -Justice. - -"He nearly died chust now," said Schmucke, with deep sorrow in his -voice. - -"M. Trognon lives near by in the Rue Saint-Louis," said M. Jolivard, -"he is the notary of the quarter." - -"Would you like me to go for him?" asked Remonencq. - -"I should pe fery glad," said Schmucke; "for gif Montame Zipod cannot -pe mit mine vriend, I shall not vish to leaf him in der shtate he is -in--" - -"Mme. Cibot told us that he was going out of his mind," resumed -Jolivard. - -"Bons! out off his mind!" cried Schmucke, terror-stricken by the idea. -"Nefer vas he so clear in der head . . . dat is chust der reason vy I -am anxious for him." - -The little group of persons listened to the conversation with a very -natural curiosity, which stamped the scene upon their memories. -Schmucke did not know Fraisier, and could not note his satanic -countenance and glittering eyes. But two words whispered by Fraisier -in La Cibot's ear had prompted a daring piece of acting, somewhat -beyond La Cibot's range, it may be, though she played her part -throughout in a masterly style. To make others believe that the dying -man was out of his mind--it was the very corner-stone of the edifice -reared by the petty lawyer. The morning's incident had done Fraisier -good service; but for him, La Cibot in her trouble might have fallen -into the snare innocently spread by Schmucke, when he asked her to -send back the person sent by the family. - -Remonencq saw Dr. Poulain coming towards them, and asked no better -than to vanish. The fact was that for the last ten days the Auvergnat -had been playing Providence in a manner singularly displeasing to -Justice, which claims the monopoly of that part. He had made up his -mind to rid himself at all costs of the one obstacle in his way to -happiness, and happiness for him meant capital trebled and marriage -with the irresistibly charming portress. He had watched the little -tailor drinking his herb-tea, and a thought struck him. He would -convert the ailment into mortal sickness; his stock of old metals -supplied him with the means. - -One morning as he leaned against the door-post, smoking his pipe and -dreaming of that fine shop on the Boulevard de la Madeleine where Mme. -Cibot, gorgeously arrayed, should some day sit enthroned, his eyes -fell upon a copper disc, about the size of a five-franc piece, covered -thickly with verdigris. The economical idea of using Cibot's medicine -to clean the disc immediately occurred to him. He fastened the thing -in a bit of twine, and came over every morning to inquire for tidings -of his friend the tailor, timing his visit during La Cibot's visit to -her gentlemen upstairs. He dropped the disc into the tumbler, allowed -it to steep there while he talked, and drew it out again by the string -when he went away. - -The trace of tarnished copper, commonly called verdigris, poisoned the -wholesome draught; a minute dose administered by stealth did -incalculable mischief. Behold the results of this criminal -homoeopathy! On the third day poor Cibot's hair came out, his teeth -were loosened in their sockets, his whole system was deranged by a -scarcely perceptible trace of poison. Dr. Poulain racked his brains. -He was enough of a man of science to see that some destructive agent -was at work. He privately carried off the decoction, analyzed it -himself, but found nothing. It so chanced that Remonencq had taken -fright and omitted to dip the disc in the tumbler that day. - -Then Dr. Poulain fell back on himself and science and got out of the -difficulty with a theory. A sedentary life in a damp room; a cramped -position before the barred window--these conditions had vitiated the -blood in the absence of proper exercise, especially as the patient -continually breathed an atmosphere saturated with the fetid -exhalations of the gutter. The Rue de Normandie is one of the old- -fashioned streets that slope towards the middle; the municipal -authorities of Paris as yet have laid on no water supply to flush the -central kennel which drains the houses on either side, and as a result -a stream of filthy ooze meanders among the cobblestones, filters into -the soil, and produces the mud peculiar to the city. La Cibot came and -went; but her husband, a hard-working man, sat day in day out like a -fakir on the table in the window, till his knee-joints were stiffened, -the blood stagnated in his body, and his legs grew so thin and crooked -that he almost lost the use of them. The deep copper tint of the man's -complexion naturally suggested that he had been out of health for a -very long time. The wife's good health and the husband's illness -seemed to the doctor to be satisfactorily accounted for by this -theory. - -"Then what is the matter with my poor Cibot?" asked the portress. - -"My dear Mme. Cibot, he is dying of the porter's disease," said the -doctor. "Incurable vitiation of the blood is evident from the general -anaemic condition." - -No one had anything to gain by a crime so objectless. Dr. Poulain's -first suspicions were effaced by this thought. Who could have any -possible interest in Cibot's death? His wife?--the doctor saw her -taste the herb-tea as she sweetened it. Crimes which escape social -vengeance are many enough, and as a rule they are of this order--to -wit, murders committed without any startling sign of violence, without -bloodshed, bruises, marks of strangling, without any bungling of the -business, in short; if there seems to be no motive for the crime, it -most likely goes unpunished, especially if the death occurs among the -poorer classes. Murder is almost always denounced by its advanced -guards, by hatred or greed well known to those under whose eyes the -whole matter has passed. But in the case of the Cibots, no one save -the doctor had any interest in discovering the actual cause of death. -The little copper-faced tailor's wife adored her husband; he had no -money and no enemies; La Cibot's fortune and the marine-store dealer's -motives were alike hidden in the shade. Poulain knew the portress and -her way of thinking perfectly well; he thought her capable of -tormenting Pons, but he saw that she had neither motive enough nor wit -enough for murder; and besides--every time the doctor came and she -gave her husband a draught, she took a spoonful herself. Poulain -himself, the only person who might have thrown light on the matter, -inclined to believe that this was one of the unaccountable freaks of -disease, one of the astonishing exceptions which make medicine so -perilous a profession. And in truth, the little tailor's unwholesome -life and unsanitary surroundings had unfortunately brought him to such -a pass that the trace of copper-poisoning was like the last straw. -Gossips and neighbors took it upon themselves to explain the sudden -death, and no suspicion of blame lighted upon Remonencq. - -"Oh! this long time past I have said that M. Cibot was not well," -cried one. - -"He worked too hard, he did," said another; "he heated his blood." - -"He would not listen to me," put in a neighbor; "I advised him to walk -out of a Sunday and keep Saint Monday; two days in the week is not too -much for amusement." - -In short, the gossip of the quarter, the tell-tale voice to which -Justice, in the person of the commissary of police, the king of the -poorer classes, lends an attentive ear--gossip explained the little -tailor's demise in a perfectly satisfactory manner. Yet M. Poulain's -pensive air and uneasy eyes embarrassed Remonencq not a little, and at -sight of the doctor he offered eagerly to go in search of M. Trognon, -Fraisier's acquaintance. Fraisier turned to La Cibot to say in a low -voice, "I shall come back again as soon as the will is made. In spite -of your sorrow, you must look for squalls." Then he slipped away like -a shadow and met his friend the doctor. - -"Ah, Poulain!" he exclaimed, "it is all right. We are safe! I will -tell you about it to-night. Look out a post that will suit you, you -shall have it! For my own part, I am a justice of the peace. Tabareau -will not refuse me now for a son-in-law. And as for you, I will -undertake that you shall marry Mlle. Vitel, granddaughter of our -justice of the peace." - -Fraisier left Poulain reduced to dumb bewilderment by these wild -words; bounced like a ball into the boulevard, hailed an omnibus, and -was set down ten minutes later by the modern coach at the corner of -the Rue de Choiseul. By this time it was nearly four o'clock. Fraisier -felt quite sure of a word in private with the Presidente, for -officials seldom leave the Palais de Justice before five o'clock. - -Mme. de Marville's reception of him assured Fraisier that M. Leboeuf -had kept his promise made to Mme. Vatinelle and spoken favorably of -the sometime attorney at Mantes. Amelie's manner was almost caressing. -So might the Duchesse de Montpensier have treated Jacques Clement. The -petty attorney was a knife to her hand. But when Fraisier produced the -joint-letter signed by Elie Magus and Remonencq offering the sum of -nine hundred thousand francs in cash for Pons' collection, then the -Presidente looked at her man of business and the gleam of the money -flashed from her eyes. That ripple of greed reached the attorney. - -"M. le President left a message with me," she said; "he hopes that you -will dine with us to-morrow. It will be a family party. M. Godeschal, -Desroches' successor and my attorney, will come to meet you, and -Berthier, our notary, and my daughter and son-in-law. After dinner, -you and I and the notary and attorney will have the little -consultation for which you ask, and I will give you full powers. The -two gentlemen will do as you require and act upon your inspiration; -and see that /everything/ goes well. You shall have a power of -attorney from M. de Marville as soon as you want it." - -"I shall want it on the day of the decease." - -"It shall be in readiness." - -"Mme. la Presidente, if I ask for a power of attorney, and would -prefer that your attorney's name should not appear I wish it less in -my own interest than in yours. . . . When I give myself, it is without -reserve. And in return, madame, I ask the same fidelity; I ask my -patrons (I do not venture to call you my clients) to put the same -confidence in me. You may think that in acting thus I am trying to -fasten upon this affair--no, no, madame; there may be reprehensible -things done; with an inheritance in view one is dragged on . . . -especially with nine hundred thousand francs in the balance. Well, -now, you could not disavow a man like Maitre Godeschal, honesty -itself, but you can throw all the blame on the back of a miserable -pettifogging lawyer--" - -Mme. Camusot de Marville looked admiringly at Fraisier. - -"You ought to go very high," said she, "or sink very low. In your -place, instead of asking to hide myself away as a justice of the -peace, I would aim at the crown attorney's appointment--at, say, -Mantes!--and make a great career for myself." - -"Let me have my way, madame. The post of justice of the peace is an -ambling pad for M. Vitel; for me it shall be a war-horse." - -And in this way the Presidente proceeded to a final confidence. - -"You seem to be so completely devoted to our interests," she began, -"that I will tell you about the difficulties of our position and our -hopes. The President's great desire, ever since a match was projected -between his daughter and an adventurer who recently started a bank,-- -the President's wish, I say, has been to round out the Marville estate -with some grazing land, at that time in the market. We dispossessed -ourselves of fine property, as you know, to settle it upon our -daughter; but I wish very much, my daughter being an only child, to -buy all that remains of the grass land. Part has been sold already. -The estate belongs to an Englishman who is returning to England after -a twenty years' residence in France. He built the most charming -cottage in a delightful situation, between Marville Park and the -meadows which once were part of the Marville lands; he bought up -covers, copse, and gardens at fancy prices to make the grounds about -the cottage. The house and its surroundings make a feature of the -landscape, and it lies close to my daughter's park palings. The whole, -land and house, should be bought for seven hundred thousand francs, -for the net revenue is about twenty thousand francs. . . . But if Mr. -Wadman finds out that /we/ think of buying it, he is sure to add -another two or three hundred thousand francs to the price; for he will -lose money if the house counts for nothing, as it usually does when -you buy land in the country--" - -"Why, madame," Fraisier broke in, "in my opinion you can be so sure -that the inheritance is yours that I will offer to act the part of -purchaser for you. I will undertake that you shall have the land at -the best possible price, and have a written engagement made out under -private seal, like a contract to deliver goods. . . . I will go to the -Englishman in the character of buyer. I understand that sort of thing; -it was my specialty at Mantes. Vatinelle doubled the value of his -practice, while I worked in his name." - -"Hence your connection with little Madame Vatinelle. He must be very -well off--" - -"But Mme. Vatinelle has expensive tastes. . . . So be easy, madame--I -will serve you up the Englishman done to a turn--" - -"If you can manage that you will have eternal claims to my gratitude. -Good-day, my dear M. Fraisier. Till to-morrow--" - -Fraisier went. His parting bow was a degree less cringing than on the -first occasion. - -"I am to dine to-morrow with President de Marville!" he said to -himself. "Come now, I have these folk in my power. Only, to be -absolute master, I ought to be the German's legal adviser in the -person of Tabareau, the justice's clerk. Tabareau will not have me now -for his daughter, his only daughter, but he will give her to me when I -am a justice of the peace. I shall be eligible. Mlle. Tabareau, that -tall, consumptive girl with the red hair, has a house in the Place -Royale in right of her mother. At her father's death she is sure to -come in for six thousand francs, you must not look too hard at the -plank." - -As he went back to the Rue de Normandie by way of the boulevards, he -dreamed out his golden dream, he gave himself up to the happiness of -the thought that he should never know want again. He would marry his -friend Poulain to Mlle. Vitel, the daughter of the justice of the -peace; together, he and his friend the doctor would reign like kings -in the quarter; he would carry all the elections--municipal, military, -or political. The boulevards seem short if, while you pace afoot, you -mount your ambition on the steed of fancy in this way. - -Schmucke meanwhile went back to his friend Pons with the news that -Cibot was dying, and Remonencq gone in search of M. Trognon, the -notary. Pons was struck by the name. It had come up again and again in -La Cibot's interminable talk, and La Cibot always recommended him as -honesty incarnate. And with that a luminous idea occurred to Pons, in -whom mistrust had grown paramount since the morning, an idea which -completed his plan for outwitting La Cibot and unmasking her -completely for the too-credulous Schmucke. - -So many unexpected things had happened that day that poor Schmucke was -quite bewildered. Pons took his friend's hand. - -"There must be a good deal of confusion in the house, Schmucke; if the -porter is at death's door, we are almost free for a minute or two; -that is to say, there will be no spies--for we are watched, you may be -sure of that. Go out, take a cab, go to the theatre, and tell Mlle. -Heloise Brisetout that I should like to see her before I die. Ask her -to come here to-night when she leaves the theatre. Then go to your -friends Brunner and Schwab and beg them to come to-morrow morning at -nine o'clock to inquire after me; let them come up as if they were -just passing by and called in to see me." - -The old artist felt that he was dying, and this was the scheme that he -forged. He meant Schmucke to be his universal legatee. To protect -Schmucke from any possible legal quibbles, he proposed to dictate his -will to a notary in the presence of witnesses, lest his sanity should -be called in question and the Camusots should attempt upon that -pretext to dispute the will. At the name of Trognon he caught a -glimpse of machinations of some kind; perhaps a flaw purposely -inserted, or premeditated treachery on La Cibot's part. He would -prevent this. Trognon should dictate a holograph will which should be -signed and deposited in a sealed envelope in a drawer. Then Schmucke, -hidden in one of the cabinets in his alcove, should see La Cibot -search for the will, find it, open the envelope, read it through, and -seal it again. Next morning, at nine o'clock, he would cancel the will -and make a new one in the presence of two notaries, everything in due -form and order. La Cibot had treated him as a madman and a visionary; -he saw what this meant--he saw the Presidente's hate and greed, her -revenge in La Cibot's behavior. In the sleepless hours and lonely days -of the last two months, the poor man had sifted the events of his past -life. - -It has been the wont of sculptors, ancient and modern, to set a -tutelary genius with a lighted torch upon either side of a tomb. Those -torches that light up the paths of death throw light for dying eyes -upon the spectacle of a life's mistakes and sins; the carved stone -figures express great ideas, they are symbols of a fact in human -experience. The agony of death has its own wisdom. Not seldom a simple -girl, scarcely more than a child, will grow wise with the experience -of a hundred years, will gain prophetic vision, judge her family, and -see clearly through all pretences, at the near approach of Death. -Herein lies Death's poetry. But, strange and worthy of remark it is, -there are two manners of death. - -The poetry of prophecy, the gift of seeing clearly into the future or -the past, only belongs to those whose bodies are stricken, to those -who die by the destruction of the organs of physical life. Consumptive -patients, for instance, or those who die of gangrene like Louis XIV., -of fever like Pons, of a stomach complaint like Mme. de Mortsauf, or -of wounds received in the full tide of life like soldiers on the -battlefield--all these may possess this supreme lucidity to the full; -their deaths fill us with surprise and wonder. But many, on the other -hand, die of /intelligential/ diseases, as they may be called; of -maladies seated in the brain or in that nervous system which acts as a -kind of purveyor of thought fuel--and these die wholly, body and -spirit are darkened together. The former are spirits deserted by the -body, realizing for us our ideas of the spirits of Scripture; the -latter are bodies untenanted by a spirit. - -Too late the virgin nature, the epicure-Cato, the righteous man almost -without sin, was discovering the Presidente's real character--the sac -of gall that did duty for her heart. He knew the world now that he was -about to leave it, and for the past few hours he had risen gaily to -his part, like a joyous artist finding a pretext for caricature and -laughter in everything. The last links that bound him to life, the -chains of admiration, the strong ties that bind the art lover to Art's -masterpieces, had been snapped that morning. When Pons knew that La -Cibot had robbed him, he bade farewell, like a Christian, to the pomps -and vanities of Art, to his collection, to all his old friendships -with the makers of so many fair things. Our forefathers counted the -day of death as a Christian festival, and in something of the same -spirit Pons' thoughts turned to the coming end. In his tender love he -tried to protect Schmucke when he should be low in the grave. It was -this father's thought that led him to fix his choice upon the leading -lady of the ballet. Mlle. Brisetout should help him to baffle -surrounding treachery, and those who in all probability would never -forgive his innocent universal legatee. - -Heloise Brisetout was one of the few natures that remain true in a -false position. She was an opera-girl of the school of Josepha and -Jenny Cadine, capable of playing any trick on a paying adorer; yet she -was a good comrade, dreading no power on earth, accustomed as she was -to see the weak side of the strong and to hold her own with the police -at the scarcely idyllic Bal de Mabille and the carnival. - -"If she asked for my place for Garangeot, she will think that she owes -me a good turn by so much the more," said Pons to himself. - -Thanks to the prevailing confusion in the porter's lodge, Schmucke -succeeded in getting out of the house. He returned with the utmost -speed, fearing to leave Pons too long alone. M. Trognon reached the -house just as Schmucke came in. Albeit Cibot was dying, his wife came -upstairs with the notary, brought him into the bedroom, and withdrew, -leaving Schmucke and Pons with M. Trognon; but she left the door ajar, -and went no further than the next room. Providing herself with a -little hand-glass of curious workmanship, she took up her station in -the doorway, so that she could not only hear but see all that passed -at the supreme moment. - -"Sir," said Pons, "I am in the full possession of my faculties, -unfortunately for me, for I feel that I am about to die; and -doubtless, by the will of God, I shall be spared nothing of the agony -of death. This is M. Schmucke"--(the notary bowed to M. Schmucke)--"my -one friend on earth," continued Pons. "I wish to make him my universal -legatee. Now, tell me how to word the will, so that my friend, who is -a German and knows nothing of French law, may succeed to my -possessions without any dispute." - -"Anything is liable to be disputed, sir," said the notary; "that is -the drawback of human justice. But in the matter of wills, there are -wills so drafted that they cannot be upset--" - -"In what way?" queried Pons. - -"If a will is made in the presence of a notary, and before witnesses -who can swear that the testator was in the full possession of his -faculties; and if the testator has neither wife nor children, nor -father nor mother--" - -"I have none of these; all my affection is centred upon my dear friend -Schmucke here." - -The tears overflowed Schmucke's eyes. - -"Then, if you have none but distant relatives, the law leaves you free -to dispose of both personalty and real estate as you please, so long -as you bequeath them for no unlawful purpose; for you must have come -across cases of wills disputed on account of the testator's -eccentricities. A will made in the presence of a notary is considered -to be authentic; for the person's identity is established, the notary -certifies that the testator was sane at the time, and there can be no -possible dispute over the signature.--Still, a holograph will, -properly and clearly worded, is quite as safe." - -"I have decided, for reasons of my own, to make a holograph will at -your dictation, and to deposit it with my friend here. Is this -possible?" - -"Quite possible," said the notary. "Will you write? I will begin to -dictate--" - -"Schmucke, bring me my little Boule writing-desk.--Speak low, sir," he -added; "we may be overheard." - -"Just tell me, first of all, what you intend," demanded the notary. - -Ten minutes later La Cibot saw the notary look over the will, while -Schmucke lighted a taper (Pons watching her reflection all the while -in a mirror). She saw the envelope sealed, saw Pons give it to -Schmucke, and heard him say that it must be put away in a secret -drawer in his bureau. Then the testator asked for the key, tied it to -the corner of his handkerchief, and slipped it under his pillow. - -The notary himself, by courtesy, was appointed executor. To him Pons -left a picture of price, such a thing as the law permits a notary to -receive. Trognon went out and came upon Mme. Cibot in the salon. - -"Well, sir, did M. Pons remember me?" - -"You do not expect a notary to betray secrets confided to him, my -dear," returned M. Trognon. "I can only tell you this--there will be -many disappointments, and some that are anxious after the money will -be foiled. M. Pons has made a good and very sensible will, a patriotic -will, which I highly approve." - -La Cibot's curiosity, kindled by such words, reached an unimaginable -pitch. She went downstairs and spent the night at Cibot's bedside, -inwardly resolving that Mlle. Remonencq should take her place towards -two or three in the morning, when she would go up and have a look at -the document. - -Mlle. Brisetout's visit towards half-past ten that night seemed -natural enough to La Cibot; but in her terror lest the ballet-girl -should mention Gaudissart's gift of a thousand francs, she went -upstairs with her, lavishing polite speeches and flattery as if Mlle. -Heloise had been a queen. - -"Ah! my dear, you are much nicer here on your own ground than at the -theatre," Heloise remarked. "I advise you to keep to your employment." - -Heloise was splendidly dressed. Bixiou, her lover, had brought her in -his carriage on the way to an evening party at Mariette's. It so fell -out that the first-floor lodger, M. Chapoulot, a retired braid -manufacturer from the Rue Saint-Denis, returning from the Ambigu- -Comique with his wife and daughter, was dazzled by a vision of such a -costume and such a charming woman upon their staircase. - -"Who is that, Mme. Cibot?" asked Mme. Chapoulot. - -"A no-better-than-she-should-be, a light-skirts that you may see half- -naked any evening for a couple of francs," La Cibot answered in an -undertone for Mme. Chapoulot's ear. - -"Victorine!" called the braid manufacturer's wife, "let the lady pass, -child." - -The matron's alarm signal was not lost upon Heloise. - -"Your daughter must be more inflammable than tinder, madame, if you -are afraid that she will catch fire by touching me," she said. - -M. Chapoulot waited on the landing. "She is uncommonly handsome off -the stage," he remarked. Whereupon Mme. Chapoulot pinched him sharply -and drove him indoors. - -"Here is a second-floor lodger that has a mind to set up for being on -the fourth floor," said Heloise as she continued to climb. - -"But mademoiselle is accustomed to going higher and higher." - -"Well, old boy," said Heloise, entering the bedroom and catching sight -of the old musician's white, wasted face. "Well, old boy, so we are -not very well? Everybody at the theatre is asking after you; but -though one's heart may be in the right place, every one has his own -affairs, you know, and cannot find time to go to see friends. -Gaudissart talks of coming round every day, and every morning the -tiresome management gets hold of him. Still, we are all of us fond of -you--" - -"Mme. Cibot," said the patient, "be so kind as to leave us; we want to -talk about the theatre and my post as conductor, with this lady. -Schmucke, will you go to the door with Mme. Cibot?" - -At a sign from Pons, Schmucke saw Mme. Cibot out at the door, and drew -the bolts. - -"Ah, that blackguard of a German! Is he spoiled, too?" La Cibot said -to herself as she heard the significant sounds. "That is M. Pons' -doing; he taught him those disgusting tricks. . . . But you shall pay -for this, my dears," she thought as she went down stairs. "Pooh! if -that tight-rope dancer tells him about the thousand francs, I shall -say that it is a farce. - -She seated herself by Cibot's pillow. Cibot complained of a burning -sensation in the stomach. Remonencq had called in and given him a -draught while his wife was upstairs. - -As soon as Schmucke had dismissed La Cibot, Pons turned to the ballet- -girl. - -"Dear child, I can trust no one else to find me a notary, an honest -man, and send him here to make my will to-morrow morning at half-past -nine precisely. I want to leave all that I have to Schmucke. If he is -persecuted, poor German that he is, I shall reckon upon the notary; -the notary must defend him. And for that reason I must have a wealthy -notary, highly thought of, a man above the temptations to which -pettifogging lawyers yield. He must succor my poor friend. I cannot -trust Berthier, Cardot's successor. And you know so many people--" - -"Oh! I have the very man for you," Heloise broke in; "there is the -notary that acts for Florine and the Comtesse du Bruel, Leopold -Hannequin, a virtuous man that does not know what a /lorette/ is! He -is a sort of chance-come father--a good soul that will not let you -play ducks and drakes with your earnings; I call him /Le Pere aux -Rats/, because he instils economical notions into the minds of all my -friends. In the first place, my dear fellow, he has a private income -of sixty thousand francs; and he is a notary of the real old sort, a -notary while he walks or sleeps; his children must be little notaries -and notaresses. He is a heavy, pedantic creature, and that's the -truth; but on his own ground, he is not the man to flinch before any -power in creation. . . . No woman ever got money out of him; he is a -fossil pater-familias, his wife worships him, and does not deceive -him, although she is a notary's wife.--What more do you want? as a -notary he has not his match in Paris. He is in the patriarchal style; -not queer and amusing, as Cardot used to be with Malaga; but he will -never decamp like little What's-his-name that lived with Antonia. So I -will send round my man to-morrow morning at eight o'clock. . . . You -may sleep in peace. And I hope, in the first place, that you will get -better, and make charming music for us again; and yet, after all, you -see, life is very dreary--managers chisel you, and kings mizzle and -ministers fizzle and rich fold economizzle.--Artists have nothing left -/here/" (tapping her breast)--"it is a time to die in. Good-bye, old -boy." - -"Heloise, of all things, I ask you to keep my counsel." - -"It is not a theatre affair," she said; "it is sacred for an artist." - -"Who is your gentleman, child?" - -"M. Baudoyer, the mayor of your arrondissement, a man as stupid as the -late Crevel; Crevel once financed Gaudissart, you know, and a few days -ago he died and left me nothing, not so much as a pot of pomatum. That -made me say just now that this age of ours is something sickening." - -"What did he die of?" - -"Of his wife. If he had stayed with me, he would be living now. Good- -bye, dear old boy, I am talking of going off, because I can see that -you will be walking about the boulevards in a week or two, hunting up -pretty little curiosities again. You are not ill; I never saw your -eyes look so bright." And she went, fully convinced that her protege -Garangeot would conduct the orchestra for good. - -Every door stood ajar as she went downstairs. Every lodger, on tip- -toe, watched the lady of the ballet pass on her way out. It was quite -an event in the house. - -Fraisier, like the bulldog that sets his teeth and never lets go, was -on the spot. He stood beside La Cibot when Mlle. Brisetout passed -under the gateway and asked for the door to be opened. Knowing that a -will had been made, he had come to see how the land lay, for Maitre -Trognon, notary, had refused to say a syllable--Fraisier's questions -were as fruitless as Mme. Cibot's. Naturally the ballet-girl's visit -/in extremis/ was not lost upon Fraisier; he vowed to himself that he -would turn it to good account. - -"My dear Mme. Cibot," he began, "now is the critical moment for you." - -"Ah, yes . . . my poor Cibot!" said she. "When I think that he will -not live to enjoy anything I may get--" - -"It is a question of finding out whether M. Pons has left you anything -at all; whether your name is mentioned or left out, in fact," he -interrupted. "I represent the next-of-kin, and to them you must look -in any case. It is a holograph will, and consequently very easy to -upset.--Do you know where our man has put it?" - -"In a secret drawer in his bureau, and he has the key of it. He tied -it to a corner of his handkerchief, and put it under his pillow. I saw -it all." - -"Is the will sealed?" - -"Yes, alas!" - -"It is a criminal offence if you carry off a will and suppress it, but -it is only a misdemeanor to look at it; and anyhow, what does it -amount to? A peccadillo, and nobody will see you. Is your man a heavy -sleeper?" - -"Yes. But when you tried to see all the things and value them, he -ought to have slept like a top, and yet he woke up. Still, I will see -about it. I will take M. Schmucke's place about four o'clock this -morning; and if you care to come, you shall have the will in your -hands for ten minutes." - -"Good. I will come up about four o'clock, and I will knock very -softly--" - -"Mlle Remonencq will take my place with Cibot. She will know, and open -the door; but tap on the window, so as to rouse nobody in the house." - -"Right," said Fraisier. "You will have a light, will you not. A candle -will do." - - - -At midnight poor Schmucke sat in his easy-chair, watching with a -breaking heart that shrinking of the features that comes with death; -Pons looked so worn out with the day's exertions, that death seemed -very near. - -Presently Pons spoke. "I have just enough strength, I think, to last -till to-morrow night," he said philosophically. "To-morrow night the -death agony will begin; poor Schmucke! As soon as the notary and your -two friends are gone, go for our good Abbe Duplanty, the curate of -Saint-Francois. Good man, he does not know that I am ill, and I wish -to take the holy sacrament to-morrow at noon." - -There was a long pause. - -"God so willed it that life has not been as I dreamed," Pons resumed. -"I should so have loved wife and children and home. . . . To be loved -by a very few in some corner--that was my whole ambition! Life is hard -for every one; I have seen people who had all that I wanted so much -and could not have, and yet they were not happy. . . . Then at the end -of my life, God put untold comfort in my way, when He gave me such a -friend. . . . And one thing I have not to reproach myself with--that I -have not known your worth nor appreciated you, my good Schmucke. . . . -I have loved you with my whole heart, with all the strength of love -that is in me. . . . Do not cry, Schmucke; I shall say no more if you -cry and it is so sweet to me to talk of ourselves to you. . . . If I -had listened to you, I should not be dying. I should have left the -world and broken off my habits, and then I should not have been -wounded to death. And now, I want to think of no one but you at the -last--" - -"You are missdaken--" - -"Do not contradict me--listen, dear friend. . . . You are as guileless -and simple as a six-year-old child that has never left its mother; one -honors you for it--it seems to me that God Himself must watch over -such as you. But men are so wicked, that I ought to warn you -beforehand . . . and then you will lose your generous trust, your -saint-like belief in others, the bloom of a purity of soul that only -belongs to genius or to hearts like yours. . . . In a little while you -will see Mme. Cibot, who left the door ajar and watched us closely -while M. Trognon was here--in a little while you will see her come for -the will, as she believes it to be. . . . I expect the worthless -creature will do her business this morning when she thinks you are -asleep. Now, mind what I say, and carry out my instructions to the -letter. . . . Are you listening?" asked the dying man. - -But Schmucke was overcome with grief, his heart was throbbing -painfully, his head fell back on the chair, he seemed to have lost -consciousness. - -"Yes," he answered, "I can hear, but it is as if you vere doo huntert -baces afay from me. . . . It seem to me dat I am going town into der -grafe mit you," said Schmucke, crushed with pain. - -He went over to the bed, took one of Pons' hands in both his own, and -within himself put up a fervent prayer. - -"What is that that you are mumbling in German?" - -"I asked Gott dat He vould take us poth togedders to Himself!" -Schmucke answered simply when he had finished his prayer. - -Pons bent over--it was a great effort, for he was suffering -intolerable pain; but he managed to reach Schmucke, and kissed him on -the forehead, pouring out his soul, as it were, in benediction upon a -nature that recalled the lamb that lies at the foot of the Throne of -God. - -"See here, listen, my good Schmucke, you must do as dying people tell -you--" - -"I am lisdening." - -"The little door in the recess in your bedroom opens into that -closet." - -"Yes, but it is blocked up mit bictures." - -"Clear them away at once, without making too much noise." - -"Yes." - -"Clear a passage on both sides, so that you can pass from your room -into mine.--Now, leave the door ajar.--When La Cibot comes to take -your place (and she is capable of coming an hour earlier than usual), -you can go away to bed as if nothing had happened, and look very -tired. Try to look sleepy. As soon as she settles down into the -armchair, go into the closet, draw aside the muslin curtains over the -glass door, and watch her. . . . Do you understand?" - -"I oondershtand; you belief dat die pad voman is going to purn der -vill." - -"I do not know what she will do; but I am sure of this--that you will -not take her for an angel afterwards.--And now play for me; improvise -and make me happy. It will divert your thoughts; your gloomy ideas -will vanish, and for me the dark hours will be filled with your -dreams. . . ." - -Schmucke sat down at the piano. Here he was in his element; and in a -few moments, musical inspiration, quickened by the pain with which he -was quivering and the consequent irritation that followed came upon -the kindly German, and, after his wont, he was caught up and borne -above the world. On one sublime theme after another he executed -variations, putting into them sometimes Chopin's sorrow, Chopin's -Raphael-like perfection; sometimes the stormy Dante's grandeur of -Liszt--the two musicians who most nearly approach Paganini's -temperament. When execution reaches this supreme degree, the executant -stands beside the poet, as it were; he is to the composer as the actor -is to the writer of plays, a divinely inspired interpreter of things -divine. But that night, when Schmucke gave Pons an earnest of diviner -symphonies, of that heavenly music for which Saint Cecile let fall her -instruments, he was at once Beethoven and Paganini, creator and -interpreter. It was an outpouring of music inexhaustible as the -nightingale's song--varied and full of delicate undergrowth as the -forest flooded with her trills; sublime as the sky overhead. Schmucke -played as he had never played before, and the soul of the old musician -listening to him rose to ecstasy such as Raphael once painted in a -picture which you may see at Bologna. - -A terrific ringing of the door-bell put an end to these visions. The -first-floor lodgers sent up a servant with a message. Would Schmucke -please stop the racket overhead. Madame, Monsieur, and Mademoiselle -Chapoulot had been wakened, and could not sleep for the noise; they -called his attention to the fact that the day was quite long enough -for rehearsals of theatrical music, and added that people ought not to -"strum" all night in a house in the Marais.--It was then three o'clock -in the morning. At half-past three, La Cibot appeared, just as Pons -had predicted. He might have actually heard the conference between -Fraisier and the portress: "Did I not guess exactly how it would be?" -his eyes seemed to say as he glanced at Schmucke, and, turning a -little, he seemed to be fast asleep. - -Schmucke's guileless simplicity was an article of belief with La Cibot -(and be it noted that this faith in simplicity is the great source and -secret of the success of all infantine strategy); La Cibot, therefore, -could not suspect Schmucke of deceit when he came to say to her, with -a face half of distress, half of glad relief: - -"I haf had a derrible night! a derrible dime of it! I vas opliged to -play to keep him kviet, and the virst-floor lodgers vas komm up to -tell /me/ to be kviet! . . . It was frightful, for der life of mein -friend vas at shtake. I am so tired mit der blaying all night, dat dis -morning I am all knocked up." - -"My poor Cibot is very bad, too; one more day like yesterday, and he -will have no strength left. . . . One can't help it; it is God's -will." - -"You haf a heart so honest, a soul so peautiful, dot gif der Zipod -die, ve shall lif togedder," said the cunning Schmucke. - -The craft of simple, straightforward folk is formidable indeed; they -are exactly like children, setting their unsuspected snares with the -perfect craft of the savage. - -"Oh, well go and sleep, sonny!" returned La Cibot. "Your eyes look -tired, they are as big as my fist. But there! if anything could -comfort me for losing Cibot, it would be the thought of ending my days -with a good man like you. Be easy. I will give Mme. Chapoulot a -dressing down. . . . To think of a retired haberdasher's wife giving -herself such airs!" - -Schmucke went to his room and took up his post in the closet. - -La Cibot had left the door ajar on the landing; Fraisier came in and -closed it noiselessly as soon as he heard Schmucke shut his bedroom -door. He had brought with him a lighted taper and a bit of very fine -wire to open the seal of the will. La Cibot, meanwhile, looking under -the pillow, found the handkerchief with the key of the bureau knotted -to one corner; and this so much the more easily because Pons purposely -left the end hanging over the bolster, and lay with his face to the -wall. - -La Cibot went straight to the bureau, opened it cautiously so as to -make as little noise as possible, found the spring of the secret -drawer, and hurried into the salon with the will in her hand. Her -flight roused Pons' curiosity to the highest pitch; and as for -Schmucke, he trembled as if he were the guilty person. - -"Go back," said Fraisier, when she handed over the will. "He may wake, -and he must find you there." - -Fraisier opened the seal with a dexterity which proved that his was no -'prentice hand, and read the following curious document, headed "My -Will," with ever-deepening astonishment: - - "On this fifteenth day of April, eighteen hundred and forty-five, - I, being in my sound mind (as this my Will, drawn up in concert - with M. Trognon, will testify), and feeling that I must shortly - die of the malady from which I have suffered since the beginning - of February last, am anxious to dispose of my property, and have - herein recorded my last wishes:-- - - "I have always been impressed by the untoward circumstances that - injure great pictures, and not unfrequently bring about total - destruction. I have felt sorry for the beautiful paintings - condemned to travel from land to land, never finding some fixed - abode whither admirers of great masterpieces may travel to see - them. And I have always thought that the truly deathless work of a - great master ought to be national property; put where every one of - every nation may see it, even as the light, God's masterpiece, - shines for all His children. - - "And as I have spent my life in collecting together and choosing a - few pictures, some of the greatest masters' most glorious work, - and as these pictures are as the master left them--genuine - examples, neither repainted nor retouched,--it has been a painful - thought to me that the paintings which have been the joy of my - life, may be sold by public auction, and go, some to England, some - to Russia, till they are all scattered abroad again as if they had - never been gathered together. From this wretched fate I have - determined to save both them and the frames in which they are set, - all of them the work of skilled craftsmen. - - "On these grounds, therefore, I give and bequeath the pictures - which compose my collection to the King, for the gallery in the - Louvre, subject to the charge (if the legacy is accepted) of a - life-annuity of two thousand four hundred francs to my friend - Wilhelm Schmucke. - - "If the King, as usufructuary of the Louvre collection, should - refuse the legacy with the charge upon it, the said pictures shall - form a part of the estate which I leave to my friend, Schmucke, on - condition that he shall deliver the /Monkey's Head/, by Goya, to - my cousin, President Camusot; a /Flower-piece/, the tulips, by - Abraham Mignon, to M. Trognon, notary (whom I appoint as my - executor): and allow Mme. Cibot, who has acted as my housekeeper - for ten years, the sum of two hundred francs per annum. - - "Finally, my friend Schmucke is to give the /Descent from the - Cross/, Ruben's sketch for his great picture at Antwerp, to adorn - a chapel in the parish church, in grateful acknowledgment of M. - Duplanty's kindness to me; for to him I owe it that I can die as a - Christian and a Catholic."--So ran the will. - -"This is ruin!" mused Fraisier, "the ruin of all my hopes. Ha! I begin -to believe all that the Presidente told me about this old artist and -his cunning." - -"Well?" La Cibot came back to say. - -"Your gentleman is a monster. He is leaving everything to the Crown. -Now, you cannot plead against the Crown. . . . The will cannot be -disputed. . . . We are robbed, ruined, spoiled, and murdered!" - -"What has he left to me?" - -"Two hundred francs a year." - -"A pretty come-down! . . . Why, he is a finished scoundrel." - -"Go and see," said Fraisier, "and I will put your scoundrel's will -back again in the envelope." - -While Mme. Cibot's back was turned, Fraisier nimbly slipped a sheet of -blank paper into the envelope; the will he put in his pocket. He next -proceeded to seal the envelope again so cleverly that he showed the -seal to Mme. Cibot when she returned, and asked her if she could see -the slightest trace of the operation. La Cibot took up the envelope, -felt it over, assured herself that it was not empty, and heaved a deep -sigh. She had entertained hopes that Fraisier himself would have -burned the unlucky document while she was out of the room. - -"Well, my dear M. Fraisier, what is to be done?" - -"Oh! that is your affair! I am not one of the next-of-kin, myself; but -if I had the slightest claim to any of /that/" (indicating the -collection), "I know very well what I should do." - -"That is just what I want to know," La Cibot answered, with sufficient -simplicity. - -"There is a fire in the grate----" he said. Then he rose to go. - -"After all, no one will know about it, but you and me----" began La -Cibot. - -"It can never be proved that a will existed," asserted the man of law. - -"And you?" - -"I? . . . If M. Pons dies intestate, you shall have a hundred thousand -francs." - -"Oh yes, no doubt," returned she. "People promise you heaps of money, -and when they come by their own, and there is talk of paying they -swindle you like--" "Like Elie Magus," she was going to say, but she -stopped herself just in time. - -"I am going," said Fraisier; "it is not to your interest that I should -be found here; but I shall see you again downstairs." - -La Cibot shut the door and returned with the sealed packet in her -hand. She had quite made up her mind to burn it; but as she went -towards the bedroom fireplace, she felt the grasp of a hand on each -arm, and saw--Schmucke on one hand, and Pons himself on the other, -leaning against the partition wall on either side of the door. - -La Cibot cried out, and fell face downwards in a fit; real or feigned, -no one ever knew the truth. This sight produced such an impression on -Pons that a deadly faintness came upon him, and Schmucke left the -woman on the floor to help Pons back to bed. The friends trembled in -every limb; they had set themselves a hard task, it was done, but it -had been too much for their strength. When Pons lay in bed again, and -Schmucke had regained strength to some extent, he heard a sound of -sobbing. La Cibot, on her knees, bursting into tears, held out -supplicating hands to them in very expressive pantomime. - -"It was pure curiosity!" she sobbed, when she saw that Pons and -Schmucke were paying attention to her proceedings. "Pure curiosity; a -woman's fault, you know. But I did not know how else to get a sight of -your will, and I brought it back again--" - -"Go!" said Schmucke, standing erect, his tall figure gaining in height -by the full height of his indignation. "You are a monster! You dried -to kill mein goot Bons! He is right. You are worse than a monster, you -are a lost soul!" - -La Cibot saw the look of abhorrence in the frank German's face; she -rose, proud as Tartuffe, gave Schmucke a glance which made him quake, -and went out, carrying off under her dress an exquisite little picture -of Metzu's pointed out by Elie Magus. "A diamond," he had called it. -Fraisier downstairs in the porter's lodge was waiting to hear that La -Cibot had burned the envelope and the sheet of blank paper inside it. -Great was his astonishment when he beheld his fair client's agitation -and dismay. - -"What has happened?" - -"/This/ has happened, my dear M. Fraisier. Under pretence of giving me -good advice and telling me what to do, you have lost me my annuity and -the gentlemen's confidence. . . ." - -One of the word-tornadoes in which she excelled was in full progress, -but Fraisier cut her short. - -"This is idle talk. The facts, the facts! and be quick about it." - -"Well; it came about in this way,"--and she told him of the scene -which she had just come through. - -"You have lost nothing through me," was Fraisier's comment. "The -gentlemen had their doubts, or they would not have set this trap for -you. They were lying in wait and spying upon you. . . . You have not -told me everything," he added, with a tiger's glance at the woman -before him. - -"/I/ hide anything from you!" cried she--"after all that we have done -together!" she added with a shudder. - -"My dear madame, /I/ have done nothing blameworthy," returned -Fraisier. Evidently he meant to deny his nocturnal visit to Pons' -rooms. - -Every hair on La Cibot's head seemed to scorch her, while a sense of -icy cold swept over her from head to foot. - -"/What?/" . . . she faltered in bewilderment. - -"Here is a criminal charge on the face of it. . . . You may be accused -of suppressing the will," Fraisier made answer drily. - -La Cibot started. - -"Don't be alarmed; I am your legal adviser. I only wished to show you -how easy it is, in one way or another, to do as I once explained to -you. Let us see, now; what have you done that this simple German -should be hiding in the room?" - -"Nothing at all, unless it was that scene the other day when I stood -M. Pons out that his eyes dazzled. And ever since, the two gentlemen -have been as different as can be. So you have brought all my troubles -upon me; I might have lost my influence with M. Pons, but I was sure -of the German; just now he was talking of marrying me or of taking me -with him--it is all one." - -The excuse was so plausible that Fraisier was fain to be satisfied -with it. "You need fear nothing," he resumed. "I gave you my word that -you shall have your money, and I shall keep my word. The whole matter, -so far, was up in the air, but now it is as good as bank-notes. . . . -You shall have at least twelve hundred francs per annum. . . . But, my -good lady, you must act intelligently under my orders." - -"Yes, my dear M. Fraisier," said La Cibot with cringing servility. She -was completely subdued. - -"Very good. Good-bye," and Fraisier went, taking the dangerous -document with him. He reached home in great spirits. The will was a -terrible weapon. - -"Now," thought he, "I have a hold on Mme. la Presidente de Marville; -she must keep her word with me. If she did not, she would lose the -property." - -At daybreak, when Remonencq had taken down his shutters and left his -sister in charge of the shop, he came, after his wont of late, to -inquire for his good friend Cibot. The portress was contemplating the -Metzu, privately wondering how a little bit of painted wood could be -worth such a lot of money. - -"Aha!" said he, looking over her shoulder, "that is the one picture -which M. Elie Magus regretted; with that little bit of a thing, he -says, his happiness would be complete." - -"What would he give for it?" asked La Cibot. - -"Why, if you will promise to marry me within a year of widowhood, I -will undertake to get twenty thousand francs for it from Elie Magus; -and unless you marry me you will never get a thousand francs for the -picture." - -"Why not?" - -"Because you would be obliged to give a receipt for the money, and -then you might have a lawsuit with the heirs-at-law. If you were my -wife, I myself should sell the thing to M. Magus, and in the way of -business it is enough to make an entry in the day-book, and I should -note that M. Schmucke sold it to me. There, leave the panel with me. -. . . If your husband were to die you might have a lot of bother over -it, but no one would think it odd that I should have a picture in the -shop. . . . You know me quite well. Besides, I will give you a receipt -if you like." - -The covetous portress felt that she had been caught; she agreed to a -proposal which was to bind her for the rest of her life to the marine- -store dealer. - -"You are right," said she, as she locked the picture away in a chest; -"bring me the bit of writing." - -Remonencq beckoned her to the door. - -"I can see, neighbor, that we shall not save our poor dear Cibot," he -said lowering his voice. "Dr. Poulain gave him up yesterday evening, -and said that he could not last out the day. . . . It is a great -misfortune. But after all, this was not the place for you. . . . You -ought to be in a fine curiosity shop on the Boulevard des Capucines. -Do you know that I have made nearly a hundred thousand francs in ten -years? And if you will have as much some day, I will undertake to make -a handsome fortune for you--as my wife. You would be the mistress--my -sister should wait on you and do the work of the house, and--" - -A heartrending moan from the little tailor cut the tempter short; the -death agony had begun. - -"Go away," said La Cibot. "You are a monster to talk of such things -and my poor man dying like this--" - -"Ah! it is because I love you," said Remonencq; "I could let -everything else go to have you--" - -"If you loved me, you would say nothing to me just now," returned she. -And Remonencq departed to his shop, sure of marrying La Cibot. - -Towards ten o'clock there was a sort of commotion in the street; M. -Cibot was taking the Sacrament. All the friends of the pair, all the -porters and porters' wives in the Rue de Normandie and neighboring -streets, had crowded into the lodge, under the archway, and stood on -the pavement outside. Nobody so much as noticed the arrival of M. -Leopold Hannequin and a brother lawyer. Schwab and Brunner reached -Pons' rooms unseen by Mme. Cibot. The notary, inquiring for Pons, was -shown upstairs by the portress of a neighboring house. Brunner -remembered his previous visit to the museum, and went straight in with -his friend Schwab. - -Pons formally revoked his previous will and constituted Schmucke his -universal legatee. This accomplished, he thanked Schwab and Brunner, -and earnestly begged M. Leopold Hannequin to protect Schmucke's -interests. The demands made upon him by last night's scene with La -Cibot, and this final settlement of his worldly affairs, left him so -faint and exhausted that Schmucke begged Schwab to go for the Abbe -Duplanty; it was Pons' great desire to take the Sacrament, and -Schmucke could not bring himself to leave his friend. - -La Cibot, sitting at the foot of her husband's bed, gave not so much -as a thought to Schmucke's breakfast--for that matter had been -forbidden to return; but the morning's events, the sight of Pons' -heroic resignation in the death agony, so oppressed Schmucke's heart -that he was not conscious of hunger. Towards two o'clock, however, as -nothing had been seen of the old German, La Cibot sent Remonencq's -sister to see whether Schmucke wanted anything; prompted not so much -by interest as by curiosity. The Abbe Duplanty had just heard the old -musician's dying confession, and the administration of the sacrament -of extreme unction was disturbed by repeated ringing of the door-bell. -Pons, in his terror of robbery, had made Schmucke promise solemnly to -admit no one into the house; so Schmucke did not stir. Again and again -Mlle. Remonencq pulled the cord, and finally went downstairs in alarm -to tell La Cibot that Schmucke would not open the door; Fraisier made -a note of this. Schmucke had never seen any one die in his life; -before long he would be perplexed by the many difficulties which beset -those who are left with a dead body in Paris, this more especially if -they are lonely and helpless and have no one to act for them. Fraisier -knew, moreover, that in real affliction people lose their heads, and -therefore immediately after breakfast he took up his position in the -porter's lodge, and sitting there in perpetual committee with Dr. -Poulain, conceived the idea of directing all Schmucke's actions -himself. - -To obtain the important result, the doctor and the lawyer took their -measures on this wise:-- - -The beadle of Saint-Francois, Cantinet by name, at one time a retail -dealer in glassware, lived in the Rue d'Orleans, next door to Dr. -Poulain and under the same roof. Mme. Cantinet, who saw to the letting -of the chairs at Saint-Francois, once had fallen ill and Dr. Poulain -had attended her gratuitously; she was, as might be expected, -grateful, and often confided her troubles to him. The "nutcrackers," -punctual in their attendance at Saint-Francois on Sundays and saints'- -days, were on friendly terms with the beadle and the lowest -ecclesiastical rank and file, commonly called in Paris /le bas -clerge/, to whom the devout usually give little presents from time to -time. Mme. Cantinet therefore knew Schmucke almost as well as Schmucke -knew her. And Mme. Cantinet was afflicted with two sore troubles which -enabled the lawyer to use her as a blind and involuntary agent. -Cantinet junior, a stage-struck youth, had deserted the paths of the -Church and turned his back on the prospect of one day becoming a -beadle, to make his /debut/ among the supernumeraries of the Cirque- -Olympique; he was leading a wild life, breaking his mother's heart and -draining her purse by frequent forced loans. Cantinet senior, much -addicted to spirituous liquors and idleness, had, in fact, been driven -to retire from business by those two failings. So far from reforming, -the incorrigible offender had found scope in his new occupation for -the indulgence of both cravings; he did nothing, and he drank with -drivers of wedding-coaches, with the undertaker's men at funerals, -with poor folk relieved by the vicar, till his morning's occupation -was set forth in rubric on his countenance by noon. - -Mme. Cantinet saw no prospect but want in her old age, and yet she had -brought her husband twelve thousand francs, she said. The tale of her -woes related for the hundredth time suggested an idea to Dr. Poulain. -Once introduce her into the old bachelor's quarters, and it would be -easy by her means to establish Mme. Sauvage there as working -housekeeper. It was quite impossible to present Mme. Sauvage herself, -for the "nutcrackers" had grown suspicious of every one. Schmucke's -refusal to admit Mlle. Remonencq had sufficiently opened Fraisier's -eyes. Still, it seemed evident that Pons and Schmucke, being pious -souls, would take any one recommended by the Abbe, with blind -confidence. Mme. Cantinet should bring Mme. Sauvage with her, and to -put in Fraisier's servant was almost tantamount to installing Fraisier -himself. - -The Abbe Duplanty, coming downstairs, found the gateway blocked by the -Cibots' friends, all of them bent upon showing their interest in one -of the oldest and most respectable porters in the Marais. - -Dr. Poulain raised his hat, and took the Abbe aside. - -"I am just about to go to poor M. Pons," he said. "There is still a -chance of recovery; but it is a question of inducing him to undergo an -operation. The calculi are perceptible to the touch, they are setting -up an inflammatory condition which will end fatally, but perhaps it is -not too late to remove them. You should really use your influence to -persuade the patient to submit to surgical treatment; I will answer -for his life, provided that no untoward circumstance occurs during the -operation." - -"I will return as soon as I have taken the sacred ciborium back to the -church," said the Abbe Duplanty, "for M. Schmucke's condition claims -the support of religion." - -"I have just heard that he is alone," said Dr. Poulain. "The German, -good soul, had a little altercation this morning with Mme. Cibot, who -has acted as housekeeper to them both for the past ten years. They -have quarreled (for the moment only, no doubt), but under the -circumstances they must have some one in to help upstairs. It would be -a charity to look after him.--I say, Cantinet," continued the doctor, -beckoning to the beadle, "just go and ask your wife if she will nurse -M. Pons, and look after M. Schmucke, and take Mme. Cibot's place for a -day or two. . . . Even without the quarrel, Mme. Cibot would still -require a substitute. Mme. Cantinet is honest," added the doctor, -turning to M. Duplanty. - -"You could not make a better choice," said the good priest; "she is -intrusted with the letting of chairs in the church." - -A few minutes later, Dr. Poulain stood by Pons' pillow watching the -progress made by death, and Schmucke's vain efforts to persuade his -friend to consent to the operation. To all the poor German's -despairing entreaties Pons only replied by a shake of the head and -occasional impatient movements; till, after awhile, he summoned up all -his fast-failing strength to say, with a heartrending look: - -"Do let me die in peace!" - -Schmucke almost died of sorrow, but he took Pons' hand and softly -kissed it, and held it between his own, as if trying a second time to -give his own vitality to his friend. - -Just at this moment the bell rang, and Dr. Poulain, going to the door, -admitted the Abbe Duplanty. - -"Our poor patient is struggling in the grasp of death," he said. "All -will be over in a few hours. You will send a priest, no doubt, to -watch to-night. But it is time that Mme. Cantinet came, as well as a -woman to do the work, for M. Schmucke is quite unfit to think of -anything: I am afraid for his reason; and there are valuables here -which ought to be in the custody of honest persons." - -The Abbe Duplanty, a kindly, upright priest, guileless and -unsuspicious, was struck with the truth of Dr. Poulain's remarks. He -had, moreover, a certain belief in the doctor of the quarter. So on -the threshold of the death-chamber he stopped and beckoned to -Schmucke, but Schmucke could not bring himself to loosen the grasp of -the hand that grew tighter and tighter. Pons seemed to think that he -was slipping over the edge of a precipice and must catch at something -to save himself. But, as many know, the dying are haunted by an -hallucination that leads them to snatch at things about them, like men -eager to save their most precious possessions from a fire. Presently -Pons released Schmucke to clutch at the bed-clothes, dragging them and -huddling them about himself with a hasty, covetous movement -significant and painful to see. - -"What will you do, left alone with your dead friend?" asked M. l'Abbe -Duplanty when Schmucke came to the door. "You have not Mme. Cibot -now--" - -"Ein monster dat haf killed Bons!" - -"But you must have somebody with you," began Dr. Poulain. "Some one -must sit up with the body to-night." - -"I shall sit up; I shall say die prayers to Gott," the innocent German -answered. - -"But you must eat--and who is to cook for you now?" asked the doctor. - -"Grief haf taken afay mein abbetite," Schmucke said, simply. - -"And some one must give notice to the registrar," said Poulain, "and -lay out the body, and order the funeral; and the person who sits up -with the body and the priest will want meals. Can you do all this by -yourself? A man cannot die like a dog in the capital of the civilized -world." - -Schmucke opened wide eyes of dismay. A brief fit of madness seized -him. - -"But Bons shall not tie! . . ." he cried aloud. "I shall safe him!" - -"You cannot go without sleep much longer, and who will take your -place? Some one must look after M. Pons, and give him drink, and nurse -him--" - -"Ah! dat is drue." - -"Very well," said the Abbe, "I am thinking of sending your Mme. -Cantinet, a good and honest creature--" - -The practical details of the care of the dead bewildered Schmucke, -till he was fain to die with his friend. - -"He is a child," said the doctor, turning to the Abbe Duplanty. - -"Ein child," Schmucke repeated mechanically. - -"There, then," said the curate; "I will speak to Mme. Cantinet, and -send her to you." - -"Do not trouble yourself," said the doctor; "I am going home, and she -lives in the next house." - -The dying seem to struggle with Death as with an invisible assassin; -in the agony at the last, as the final thrust is made, the act of -dying seems to be a conflict, a hand-to-hand fight for life. Pons had -reached the supreme moment. At the sound of his groans and cries, the -three standing in the doorway hurried to the bedside. Then came the -last blow, smiting asunder the bonds between soul and body, striking -down to life's sources; and suddenly Pons regained for a few brief -moments the perfect calm that follows the struggle. He came to -himself, and with the serenity of death in his face he looked round -almost smilingly at them. - -"Ah, doctor, I have had a hard time of it; but you were right, I am -doing better. Thank you, my good Abbe; I was wondering what had become -of Schmucke--" - -"Schmucke has had nothing to eat since yesterday evening, and now it -is four o'clock! You have no one with you now and it would be wise to -send for Mme. Cibot." - -"She is capable of anything!" said Pons, without attempting to conceal -all his abhorrence at the sound of her name. "It is true, Schmucke -ought to have some trustworthy person." - -"M. Duplanty and I have been thinking about you both--" - -"Ah! thank you, I had not thought of that." - -"--And M. Duplanty suggests that you should have Mme. Cantinet--" - -"Oh! Mme. Cantinet who lets the chairs!" exclaimed Pons. "Yes, she is -an excellent creature." - -"She has no liking for Mme. Cibot," continued the doctor, "and she -would take good care of M. Schmucke--" - -"Send her to me, M. Duplanty . . . send her and her husband too. I -shall be easy. Nothing will be stolen here." - -Schmucke had taken Pons' hand again, and held it joyously in his own. -Pons was almost well again, he thought. - -"Let us go, Monsieur l'Abbe," said the doctor. "I will send Mme. -Cantinet round at once. I see how it is. She perhaps may not find M. -Pons alive." - - - -While the Abbe Duplanty was persuading Pons to engage Mme. Cantinet as -his nurse, Fraisier had sent for her. He had plied the beadle's wife -with sophistical reasoning and subtlety. It was difficult to resist -his corrupting influence. And as for Mme. Cantinet--a lean, sallow -woman, with large teeth and thin lips--her intelligence, as so often -happens with women of the people, had been blunted by a hard life, -till she had come to look upon the slenderest daily wage as -prosperity. She soon consented to take Mme. Sauvage with her as -general servant. - -Mme. Sauvage had had her instructions already. She had undertaken to -weave a web of iron wire about the two musicians, and to watch them as -a spider watches a fly caught in the toils; and her reward was to be a -tobacconist's license. Fraisier had found a convenient opportunity of -getting rid of his so-called foster-mother, while he posted her as a -detective and policeman to supervise Mme. Cantinet. As there was a -servant's bedroom and a little kitchen included in the apartment, La -Sauvage could sleep on a truckle-bed and cook for the German. Dr. -Poulain came with the two women just as Pons drew his last breath. -Schmucke was sitting beside his friend, all unconscious of the crisis, -holding the hand that slowly grew colder in his grasp. He signed to -Mme. Cantinet to be silent; but Mme. Sauvage's soldierly figure -surprised him so much that he started in spite of himself, a kind of -homage to which the virago was quite accustomed. - -"M. Duplanty answers for this lady," whispered Mme. Cantinet by way of -introduction. "She once was cook to a bishop; she is honesty itself; -she will do the cooking." - -"Oh! you may talk out loud," wheezed the stalwart dame. "The poor -gentleman is dead. . . . He has just gone." - -A shrill cry broke from Schmucke. He felt Pons' cold hand stiffening -in his, and sat staring into his friend's eyes; the look in them would -have driven him mad, if Mme. Sauvage, doubtless accustomed to scenes -of this sort, had not come to the bedside with a mirror which she held -over the lips of the dead. When she saw that there was no mist upon -the surface, she briskly snatched Schmucke's hand away. - -"Just take away your hand, sir; you may not be able to do it in a -little while. You do not know how the bones harden. A corpse grows -cold very quickly. If you do not lay out a body while it is warm, you -have to break the joints later on. . . ." - -And so it was this terrible woman who closed the poor dead musician's -eyes. - -With a business-like dexterity acquired in ten years of experience, -she stripped and straightened the body, laid the arms by the sides, -and covered the face with the bedclothes, exactly as a shopman wraps a -parcel. - -"A sheet will be wanted to lay him out.--Where is there a sheet?" she -demanded, turning on the terror-stricken Schmucke. - -He had watched the religious ritual with its deep reverence for the -creature made for such high destinies in heaven; and now he saw his -dead friend treated simply as a thing in this packing process--saw -with the sharp pain that dissolves the very elements of thought. - -"Do as you vill----" he answered mechanically. The innocent creature -for the first time in his life had seen a man die, and that man was -Pons, his only friend, the one human being who understood him and -loved him. - -"I will go and ask Mme. Cibot where the sheets are kept," said La -Sauvage. - -"A truckle-bed will be wanted for the person to sleep upon," Mme. -Cantinet came to tell Schmucke. - -Schmucke nodded and broke out into weeping. Mme. Cantinet left the -unhappy man in peace; but an hour later she came back to say: - -"Have you any money, sir, to pay for the things?" - -The look that Schmucke gave Mme. Cantinet would have disarmed the -fiercest hate; it was the white, blank, peaked face of death that he -turned upon her, as an explanation that met everything. - -"Dake it all and leaf me to mein prayers and tears," he said, and -knelt. - -Mme. Sauvage went to Fraisier with the news of Pons' death. Fraisier -took a cab and went to the Presidente. To-morrow she must give him the -power of attorney to enable him to act for the heirs. - -Another hour went by, and Mme. Cantinet came again to Schmucke. - -"I have been to Mme. Cibot, sir, who knows all about things here," she -said. "I asked her to tell me where everything is kept. But she almost -jawed me to death with her abuse. . . . Sir, do listen to me. . . ." - -Schmucke looked up at the woman, and she went on, innocent of any -barbarous intention, for women of her class are accustomed to take the -worst of moral suffering passively, as a matter of course. - -"We must have linen for the shroud, sir, we must have money to buy a -truckle-bed for the person to sleep upon, and some things for the -kitchen--plates, and dishes, and glasses, for a priest will be coming -to pass the night here, and the person says that there is absolutely -nothing in the kitchen." - -"And what is more, sir, I must have coal and firing if I am to get the -dinner ready," echoed La Sauvage, "and not a thing can I find. Not -that there is anything so very surprising in that, as La Cibot used to -do everything for you--" - -Schmucke lay at the feet of the dead; he heard nothing, knew nothing, -saw nothing. Mme. Cantinet pointed to him. "My dear woman, you would -not believe me," she said. "Whatever you say, he does not answer." - -"Very well, child," said La Sauvage; "now I will show you what to do -in a case of this kind." - -She looked round the room as a thief looks in search of possible -hiding-places for money; then she went straight to Pons' chest, opened -the first drawer, saw the bag in which Schmucke had put the rest of -the money after the sale of the pictures, and held it up before him. -He nodded mechanically. - -"Here is money, child," said La Sauvage, turning to Mme. Cantinet. "I -will count it first and take enough to buy everything we want--wine, -provisions, wax-candles, all sorts of things, in fact, for there is -nothing in the house. . . . Just look in the drawers for a sheet to -bury him in. I certainly was told that the poor gentleman was simple, -but I don't know what he is; he is worse. He is like a new-born child; -we shall have to feed him with a funnel." - -The women went about their work, and Schmucke looked on precisely as -an idiot might have done. Broken down with sorrow, wholly absorbed, in -a half-cataleptic state, he could not take his eyes from the face that -seemed to fascinate him, Pons' face refined by the absolute repose of -Death. Schmucke hoped to die; everything was alike indifferent. If the -room had been on fire he would not have stirred. - -"There are twelve hundred and fifty francs here," La Sauvage told him. - -Schmucke shrugged his shoulders. - -But when La Sauvage came near to measure the body by laying the sheet -over it, before cutting out the shroud, a horrible struggle ensued -between her and the poor German. Schmucke was furious. He behaved like -a dog that watches by his dead master's body, and shows his teeth at -all who try to touch it. La Sauvage grew impatient. She grasped him, -set him in the armchair, and held him down with herculean strength. - -"Go on, child; sew him in his shroud," she said, turning to Mme. -Cantinet. - -As soon as this operation was completed, La Sauvage set Schmucke back -in his place at the foot of the bed. - -"Do you understand?" said she. "The poor dead man lying there must be -done up, there is no help for it." - -Schmucke began to cry. The women left him and took possession of the -kitchen, whither they brought all the necessaries in a very short -time. La Sauvage made out a preliminary statement accounting for three -hundred and sixty francs, and then proceeded to prepare a dinner for -four persons. And what a dinner! A fat goose (the cobbler's pheasant) -by way of a substantial roast, an omelette with preserves, a salad, -and the inevitable broth--the quantities of the ingredients for this -last being so excessive that the soup was more like a strong meat- -jelly. - -At nine o'clock the priest, sent by the curate to watch by the dead, -came in with Cantinet, who brought four tall wax candles and some -tapers. In the death-chamber Schmucke was lying with his arms about -the body of his friend, holding him in a tight clasp; nothing but the -authority of religion availed to separate him from his dead. Then the -priest settled himself comfortably in the easy-chair and read his -prayers while Schmucke, kneeling beside the couch, besought God to -work a miracle and unite him to Pons, so that they might be buried in -the same grave; and Mme. Cantinet went on her way to the Temple to buy -a pallet and complete bedding for Mme. Sauvage. The twelve hundred and -fifty francs were regarded as plunder. At eleven o'clock Mme. Cantinet -came in to ask if Schmucke would not eat a morsel, but with a gesture -he signified that he wished to be left in peace. - -"Your supper is ready, M. Pastelot," she said, addressing the priest, -and they went. - -Schmucke, left alone in the room, smiled to himself like a madman free -at last to gratify a desire like the longing of pregnancy. He flung -himself down beside Pons, and yet again he held his friend in a long, -close embrace. At midnight the priest came back and scolded him, and -Schmucke returned to his prayers. At daybreak the priest went, and at -seven o'clock in the morning the doctor came to see Schmucke, and -spoke kindly and tried hard to persuade him to eat, but the German -refused. - -"If you do not eat now you will feel very hungry when you come back," -the doctor told him, "for you must go to the mayor's office and take a -witness with you, so that the registrar may issue a certificate of -death." - -"/I/ must go!" cried Schmucke in frightened tones. - -"Who else? . . . You must go, for you were the one person who saw him -die." - -"Mein legs vill nicht carry me," pleaded Schmucke, imploring the -doctor to come to the rescue. - -"Take a cab," the hypocritical doctor blandly suggested. "I have given -notice already. Ask some one in the house to go with you. The two -women will look after the place while you are away." - -No one imagines how the requirements of the law jar upon a heartfelt -sorrow. The thought of it is enough to make one turn from civilization -and choose rather the customs of the savage. At nine o'clock that -morning Mme. Sauvage half-carried Schmucke downstairs, and from the -cab he was obliged to beg Remonencq to come with him to the registrar -as a second witness. Here in Paris, in this land of ours besotted with -Equality, the inequality of conditions is glaringly apparent -everywhere and in everything. The immutable tendency of things peeps -out even in the practical aspects of Death. In well-to-do families, a -relative, a friend, or a man of business spares the mourners these -painful details; but in this, as in the matter of taxation, the whole -burden falls heaviest upon the shoulders of the poor. - -"Ah! you have good reason to regret him," said Remonencq in answer to -the poor martyr's moan; "he was a very good, a very honest man, and he -has left a fine collection behind him. But being a foreigner, sir, do -you know that you are like to find yourself in a great predicament-- -for everybody says that M. Pons left everything to you?" - -Schmucke was not listening. He was sounding the dark depths of sorrow -that border upon madness. There is such a thing as tetanus of the -soul. - -"And you would do well to find some one--some man of business--to -advise you and act for you," pursued Remonencq. - -"Ein mann of pizness!" echoed Schmucke. - -"You will find that you will want some one to act for you. If I were -you, I should take an experienced man, somebody well known to you in -the quarter, a man you can trust. . . . I always go to Tabareau myself -for my bits of affairs--he is the bailiff. If you give his clerk power -to act for you, you need not trouble yourself any further." - -Remonencq and La Cibot, prompted by Fraisier, had agreed beforehand to -make a suggestion which stuck in Schmucke's memory; for there are -times in our lives when grief, as it were, congeals the mind by -arresting all its functions, and any chance impression made at such -moments is retained by a frost-bound memory. Schmucke heard his -companion with such a fixed, mindless stare, that Remonencq said no -more. - -"If he is always to be idiotic like this," thought Remonencq, "I might -easily buy the whole bag of tricks up yonder for a hundred thousand -francs; if it is really his. . . . Here we are at the mayor's office, -sir." - -Remonencq was obliged to take Schmucke out of the cab and to half- -carry him to the registrar's department, where a wedding-party was -assembled. Here they had to wait for their turn, for, by no very -uncommon chance, the clerk had five or six certificates to make out -that morning; and here it was appointed that poor Schmucke should -suffer excruciating anguish. - -"Monsieur is M. Schmucke?" remarked a person in a suit of black, -reducing Schmucke to stupefaction by the mention of his name. He -looked up with the same blank, unseeing eyes that he had turned upon -Remonencq, who now interposed. - -"What do you want with him?" he said. "Just leave him in peace; you -can plainly see that he is in trouble." - -"The gentleman has just lost his friend, and proposes, no doubt, to do -honor to his memory, being, as he is, the sole heir. The gentleman, no -doubt, will not haggle over it, he will buy a piece of ground outright -for a grave. And as M. Pons was such a lover of the arts, it would be -a great pity not to put Music, Painting, and Sculpture on his tomb-- -three handsome full-length figures, weeping--" - -Remonencq waved the speaker away, in Auvergnat fashion, but the man -replied with another gesture, which being interpreted means "Don't -spoil sport"; a piece of commercial free-masonry, as it were, which -the dealer understood. - -"I represent the firm of Sonet and Company, monumental stone-masons; -Sir Walter Scott would have dubbed me /Young Mortality/," continued -this person. "If you, sir, should decide to intrust your orders to us, -we would spare you the trouble of the journey to purchase the ground -necessary for the interment of a friend lost to the arts--" - -At this Remonencq nodded assent, and jogged Schmucke's elbow. - -"Every day we receive orders from families to arrange all -formalities," continued he of the black coat, thus encouraged by -Remonencq. "In the first moment of bereavement, the heir-at-law finds -it very difficult to attend to such matters, and we are accustomed to -perform these little services for our clients. Our charges, sir, are -on a fixed scale, so much per foot, freestone or marble. Family vaults -a specialty.--We undertake everything at the most moderate prices. Our -firm executed the magnificent monument erected to the fair Esther -Gobseck and Lucien de Rubempre, one of the finest ornaments of Pere- -Lachaise. We only employ the best workmen, and I must warn you, sir, -against small contractors--who turn out nothing but trash," he added, -seeing that another person in a black suit was coming up to say a word -for another firm of marble-workers. - -It is often said that "death is the end of a journey," but the aptness -of the simile is realized most fully in Paris. Any arrival, especially -of a person of condition, upon the "dark brink," is hailed in much the -same way as the traveler recently landed is hailed by hotel touts and -pestered with their recommendations. With the exception of a few -philosophically-minded persons, or here and there a family secure of -handing down a name to posterity, nobody thinks beforehand of the -practical aspects of death. Death always comes before he is expected; -and, from a sentiment easy to understand, the heirs usually act as if -the event were impossible. For which reason, almost every one that -loses father or mother, wife or child, is immediately beset by scouts -that profit by the confusion caused by grief to snare others. In -former days, agents for monuments used to live round about the famous -cemetery of Pere-Lachaise, and were gathered together in a single -thoroughfare, which should by rights have been called the Street of -Tombs; issuing thence, they fell upon the relatives of the dead as -they came from the cemetery, or even at the grave-side. But -competition and the spirit of speculation induced them to spread -themselves further and further afield, till descending into Paris -itself they reached the very precincts of the mayor's office. Indeed, -the stone-mason's agent has often been known to invade the house of -mourning with a design for the sepulchre in his hand. - -"I am in treaty with this gentleman," said the representative of the -firm of Sonet to another agent who came up. - -"Pons deceased! . . ." called the clerk at this moment. "Where are the -witnesses?" - -"This way, sir," said the stone-mason's agent, this time addressing -Remonencq. - -Schmucke stayed where he had been placed on the bench, an inert mass. -Remonencq begged the agent to help him, and together they pulled -Schmucke towards the balustrade, behind which the registrar shelters -himself from the mourning public. Remonencq, Schmucke's Providence, -was assisted by Dr. Poulain, who filled in the necessary information -as to Pons' age and birthplace; the German knew but one thing--that -Pons was his friend. So soon as the signatures were affixed, Remonencq -and the doctor (followed by the stone-mason's man), put Schmucke into -a cab, the desperate agent whisking in afterwards, bent upon taking a -definite order. - -La Sauvage, on the lookout in the gateway, half-carried Schmucke's -almost unconscious form upstairs. Remonencq and the agent went up with -her. - -"He will be ill!" exclaimed the agent, anxious to make an end of the -piece of business which, according to him, was in progress. - -"I should think he will!" returned Mme. Sauvage. "He has been crying -for twenty-four hours on end, and he would not take anything. There is -nothing like grief for giving one a sinking in the stomach." - -"My dear client," urged the representative of the firm of Sonet, "do -take some broth. You have so much to do; some one must go to the Hotel -de Ville to buy the ground in the cemetery on which you mean to erect -a monument to perpetuate the memory of the friend of the arts, and -bear record to your gratitude." - -"Why, there is no sense in this!" added Mme. Cantinet, coming in with -broth and bread. - -"If you are as weak as this, you ought to think of finding some one to -act for you," added Remonencq, "for you have a good deal on your -hands, my dear sir. There is the funeral to order. You would not have -your friend buried like a pauper!" - -"Come, come, my dear sir," put in La Sauvage, seizing a moment when -Schmucke laid his head back in the great chair to pour a spoonful of -soup into his mouth. She fed him as if he had been a child, and almost -in spite of himself. - -"Now, if you were wise, sir, since you are inclined to give yourself -up quietly to grief, you would find some one to act for you--" - -"As you are thinking of raising a magnificent monument to the memory -of your friend, sir, you have only to leave it all to me; I will -undertake--" - -"What is all this? What is all this?" asked La Sauvage. "Has M. -Schmucke ordered something? Who may you be?" - -"I represent the firm of Sonet, my dear madame, the biggest monumental -stone-masons in Paris," said the person in black, handing a business- -card to the stalwart Sauvage. - -"Very well, that will do. Some one will go with you when the time -comes; but you must not take advantage of the gentleman's condition -now. You can quite see that he is not himself----" - -The agent led her out upon the landing. - -"If you will undertake to get the order for us," he said -confidentially, "I am empowered to offer you forty francs." - -Mme. Sauvage grew placable. "Very well, let me have your address," -said she. - -Schmucke meantime being left to himself, and feeling the stronger for -the soup and bread that he had been forced to swallow, returned at -once to Pons' rooms, and to his prayers. He had lost himself in the -fathomless depths of sorrow, when a voice sounding in his ears drew -him back from the abyss of grief, and a young man in a suit of black -returned for the eleventh time to the charge, pulling the poor, -tortured victim's coatsleeve until he listened. - -"Sir!" said he. - -"Vat ees it now?" - -"Sir! we owe a supreme discovery to Dr. Gannal; we do not dispute his -fame; he has worked miracles of Egypt afresh; but there have been -improvements made upon his system. We have obtained surprising -results. So, if you would like to see your friend again, as he was -when he was alive--" - -"See him again!" cried Schmucke. "Shall he speak to me?" - -"Not exactly. Speech is the only thing wanting," continued the -embalmer's agent. "But he will remain as he is after embalming for all -eternity. The operation is over in a few seconds. Just an incision in -the carotid artery and an injection.--But it is high time; if you wait -one single quarter of an hour, sir, you will not have the sweet -satisfaction of preserving the body. . . ." - -"Go to der teufel! . . . Bons is ein spirit--und dat spirit is in -hefn." - -"That man has no gratitude in his composition," remarked the youthful -agent of one of the famous Gannal's rivals; "he will not embalm his -friend." - -The words were spoken under the archway, and addressed to La Cibot, -who had just submitted her beloved to the process. - -"What would you have, sir!" she said. "He is the heir, the universal -legatee. As soon as they get what they want, the dead are nothing to -them." - -An hour later, Schmucke saw Mme. Sauvage come into the room, followed -by another man in a suit of black, a workman, to all appearance. - -"Cantinet has been so obliging as to send this gentleman, sir," she -said; "he is coffin-maker to the parish." - -The coffin-maker made his bow with a sympathetic and compassionate -air, but none the less he had a business-like look, and seemed to know -that he was indispensable. He turned an expert's eye upon the dead. - -"How does the gentleman wish 'it' to be made? Deal, plain oak, or oak -lead-lined? Oak with a lead lining is the best style. The body is a -stock size,"--he felt for the feet, and proceeded to take the measure ---"one metre seventy!" he added. "You will be thinking of ordering the -funeral service at the church, sir, no doubt?" - -Schmucke looked at him as a dangerous madman might look before -striking a blow. La Sauvage put in a word. - -"You ought to find somebody to look after all these things," she said. - -"Yes----" the victim murmured at length. - -"Shall I fetch M. Tabareau?--for you will have a good deal on your -hands before long. M. Tabareau is the most honest man in the quarter, -you see." - -"Yes. Mennesir Dapareau! Somepody vas speaking of him chust now--" -said Schmucke, completely beaten. - -"Very well. You can be quiet, sir, and give yourself up to grief, when -you have seen your deputy." - -It was nearly two o'clock when M. Tabareau's head-clerk, a young man -who aimed at a bailiff's career, modestly presented himself. Youth has -wonderful privileges; no one is alarmed by youth. This young man -Villemot by name, sat down by Schmucke's side and waited his -opportunity to speak. His diffidence touched Schmucke very much. - -"I am M. Tabareau's head-clerk, sir," he said; "he sent me here to -take charge of your interests, and to superintend the funeral -arrangements. Is this your wish?" - -"You cannot safe my life, I haf not long to lif; but you vill leaf me -in beace!" - -"Oh! you shall not be disturbed," said Villemot. - -"Ver' goot. Vat must I do for dat?" - -"Sign this paper appointing M. Tabareau to act for you in all matters -relating to the settlement of the affairs of the deceased." - -"Goot! gif it to me," said Schmucke, anxious only to sign it at once. - -"No, I must read it over to you first." - -"Read it ofer." - -Schmucke paid not the slightest attention to the reading of the power -of attorney, but he set his name to it. The young clerk took -Schmucke's orders for the funeral, the interment, and the burial -service; undertaking that he should not be troubled again in any way, -nor asked for money. - -"I vould gif all dat I haf to be left in beace," said the unhappy man. -And once more he knelt beside the dead body of his friend. - -Fraisier had triumphed. Villemot and La Sauvage completed the circle -which he had traced about Pons' heir. - -There is no sorrow that sleep cannot overcome. Towards the end of the -day La Sauvage, coming in, found Schmucke stretched asleep at the bed- -foot. She carried him off, put him to bed, tucked him in maternally, -and till the morning Schmucke slept. - -When he awoke, or rather when the truce was over and he again became -conscious of his sorrows, Pons' coffin lay under the gateway in such a -state as a third-class funeral may claim, and Schmucke, seeking vainly -for his friend, wandered from room to room, across vast spaces, as it -seemed to him, empty of everything save hideous memories. La Sauvage -took him in hand, much as a nurse manages a child; she made him take -his breakfast before starting for the church; and while the poor -sufferer forced himself to eat, she discovered, with lamentations -worthy of Jeremiah, that he had not a black coat in his possession. La -Cibot took entire charge of his wardrobe; since Pons fell ill, his -apparel, like his dinner, had been reduced to the lowest terms--to a -couple of coats and two pairs of trousers. - -"And you are going just as you are to M. Pons' funeral? It is an -unheard-of thing; the whole quarter will cry shame upon us!" - -"Und how vill you dat I go?" - -"Why, in mourning--" - -"Mourning!" - -"It is the proper thing." - -"Der bropper ding! . . . Confound all dis stupid nonsense!" cried poor -Schmucke, driven to the last degree of exasperation which a childlike -soul can reach under stress of sorrow. - -"Why, the man is a monster of ingratitude!" said La Sauvage, turning -to a personage who just then appeared. At the sight of this -functionary Schmucke shuddered. The newcomer wore a splendid suit of -black, black knee-breeches, black silk stockings, a pair of white -cuffs, an extremely correct white muslin tie, and white gloves. A -silver chain with a coin attached ornamented his person. A typical -official, stamped with the official expression of decorous gloom, an -ebony wand in his hand by way of insignia of office, he stood waiting -with a three-cornered hat adorned with the tricolor cockade under his -arm. - -"I am the master of the ceremonies," this person remarked in a subdued -voice. - -Accustomed daily to superintend funerals, to move among families -plunged in one and the same kind of tribulation, real or feigned, this -man, like the rest of his fraternity, spoke in hushed and soothing -tones; he was decorous, polished, and formal, like an allegorical -stone figure of Death. - -Schmucke quivered through every nerve as if he were confronting his -executioner. - -"Is this gentleman the son, brother, or father of the deceased?" -inquired the official. - -"I am all dat and more pesides--I am his friend," said Schmucke -through a torrent of weeping. - -"Are you his heir?" - -"Heir? . . ." repeated Schmucke. "Noding matters to me more in dis -vorld," returning to his attitude of hopeless sorrow. - -"Where are the relatives, the friends?" asked the master of the -ceremonies. - -"All here!" exclaimed the German, indicating the pictures and -rarities. "Not von of dem haf efer gifn bain to mein boor Bons. . . . -Here ees everydings dot he lofed, after me." - -Schmucke had taken his seat again, and looked as vacant as before; he -dried his eyes mechanically. Villemot came up at that moment; he had -ordered the funeral, and the master of the ceremonies, recognizing -him, made an appeal to the newcomer. - -"Well, sir, it is time to start. The hearse is here; but I have not -often seen such a funeral as this. Where are the relatives and -friends?" - -"We have been pressed for time," replied Villemot. "This gentleman was -in such deep grief that he could think of nothing. And there is only -one relative." - -The master of the ceremonies looked compassionately at Schmucke; this -expert in sorrow knew real grief when he saw it. He went across to -him. - -"Come, take heart, my dear sir. Think of paying honor to your friend's -memory." - -"We forgot to send out cards; but I took care to send a special -message to M. le Presidente de Marville, the one relative that I -mentioned to you.--There are no friends.--M. Pons was conductor of an -orchestra at a theatre, but I do not think that any one will come.-- -This gentleman is the universal legatee, I believe." - -"Then he ought to be chief mourner," said the master of the -ceremonies.--"Have you a black coat?" he continued, noticing -Schmucke's costume. - -"I am all in plack insite!" poor Schmucke replied in heartrending -tones; "so plack it is dot I feel death in me. . . . Gott in hefn is -going to haf pity upon me; He vill send me to mein friend in der -grafe, und I dank Him for it--" - -He clasped his hands. - -"I have told our management before now that we ought to have a -wardrobe department and lend the proper mourning costumes on hire," -said the master of the ceremonies, addressing Villemot; "it is a want -that is more and more felt every day, and we have even now introduced -improvements. But as this gentleman is chief mourner, he ought to wear -a cloak, and this one that I have brought with me will cover him from -head to foot; no one need know that he is not in proper mourning -costume.--Will you be so kind as to rise?" - -Schmucke rose, but he tottered on his feet. - -"Support him," said the master of the ceremonies, turning to Villemot; -"you are his legal representative." - -Villemot held Schmucke's arm while the master of the ceremonies -invested Schmucke with the ample, dismal-looking garment worn by -heirs-at-law in the procession to and from the house and the church. -He tied the black silken cords under the chin, and Schmucke as heir -was in "full dress." - -"And now comes a great difficulty," continued the master of the -ceremonies; "we want four bearers for the pall. . . . If nobody comes -to the funeral, who is to fill the corners? It is half-past ten -already," he added, looking at his watch; "they are waiting for us at -the church." - -"Oh! here comes Fraisier!" Villemot exclaimed, very imprudently; but -there was no one to hear the tacit confession of complicity. - -"Who is this gentleman?" inquired the master of the ceremonies. - -"Oh! he comes on behalf of the family." - -"Whose family?" - -"The disinherited family. He is M. Camusot de Marville's -representative." - -"Good," said the master of the ceremonies, with a satisfied air. "We -shall have two pall-bearers at any rate--you and he." - -And, happy to find two of the places filled up, he took out some -wonderful white buckskin gloves, and politely presented Fraisier and -Villemot with a pair apiece. - -"If you gentlemen will be so good as to act as pall-bearers--" said -he. - -Fraisier, in black from head to foot, pretentiously dressed, with his -white tie and official air, was a sight to shudder at; he embodied a -hundred briefs. - -"Willingly, sir," said he. - -"If only two more persons will come, the four corners will be filled -up," said the master of the ceremonies. - -At that very moment the indefatigable representative of the firm of -Sonet came up, and, closely following him, the man who remembered Pons -and thought of paying him a last tribute of respect. This was a -supernumerary at the theatre, the man who put out the scores on the -music-stands for the orchestra. Pons had been wont to give him a five- -franc piece once a month, knowing that he had a wife and family. - -"Oh, Dobinard (Topinard)!" Schmucke cried out at the sight of him, -"/you/ love Bons!" - -"Why, I have come to ask news of M. Pons every morning, sir." - -"Efery morning! boor Dobinard!" and Schmucke squeezed the man's hand. - -"But they took me for a relation, no doubt, and did not like my visits -at all. I told them that I belonged to the theatre and came to inquire -after M. Pons; but it was no good. They saw through that dodge, they -said. I asked to see the poor dear man, but they never would let me -come upstairs." - -"Dat apominable Zipod!" said Schmucke, squeezing Topinard's horny hand -to his heart. - -"He was the best of men, that good M. Pons. Every month he use to give -me five francs. . . . He knew that I had three children and a wife. My -wife has gone to the church." - -"I shall difide mein pread mit you," cried Schmucke, in his joy at -finding at his side some one who loved Pons. - -"If this gentleman will take a corner of the pall, we shall have all -four filled up," said the master of the ceremonies. - -There had been no difficulty over persuading the agent for monuments. -He took a corner the more readily when he was shown the handsome pair -of gloves which, according to custom, was to be his property. - -"A quarter to eleven! We absolutely must go down. They are waiting for -us at the church." - -The six persons thus assembled went down the staircase. - -The cold-blooded lawyer remained a moment to speak to the two women on -the landing. "Stop here, and let nobody come in," he said, "especially -if you wish to remain in charge, Mme. Cantinet. Aha! two francs a day, -you know!" - -By a coincidence in nowise extraordinary in Paris, two hearses were -waiting at the door, and two coffins standing under the archway; -Cibot's funeral and the solitary state in which Pons was lying was -made even more striking in the street. Schmucke was the only mourner -that followed Pons' coffin; Schmucke, supported by one of the -undertaker's men, for he tottered at every step. From the Rue de -Normandie to the Rue d'Orleans and the Church of Saint-Francois the -two funerals went between a double row of curious onlookers for -everything (as was said before) makes a sensation in the quarter. -Every one remarked the splendor of the white funeral car, with a big -embroidered P suspended on a hatchment, and the one solitary mourner -behind it; while the cheap bier that came after it was followed by an -immense crowd. Happily, Schmucke was so bewildered by the throng of -idlers and the rows of heads in the windows, that he heard no remarks -and only saw the faces through a mist of tears. - -"Oh, it is the nutcracker!" said one, "the musician, you know--" - -"Who can the pall-bearers be?" - -"Pooh! play-actors." - -"I say, just look at poor old Cibot's funeral. There is one worker the -less. What a man! he could never get enough of work!" - -"He never went out." - -"He never kept Saint Monday." - -"How fond he was of his wife!" - -"Ah! There is an unhappy woman!" - -Remonencq walked behind his victim's coffin. People condoled with him -on the loss of his neighbor. - -The two funerals reached the church. Cantinet and the doorkeeper saw -that no beggars troubled Schmucke. Villemot had given his word that -Pons' heir should be left in peace; he watched over his client, and -gave the requisite sums; and Cibot's humble bier, escorted by sixty or -eighty persons, drew all the crowd after it to the cemetery. At the -church door Pons' funeral possession mustered four mourning-coaches, -one for the priest and three for the relations; but one only was -required, for the representative of the firm of Sonet departed during -mass to give notice to his principal that the funeral was on the way, -so that the design for the monument might be ready for the survivor at -the gates of the cemetery. A single coach sufficed for Fraisier, -Villemot, Schmucke, and Topinard; but the remaining two, instead of -returning to the undertaker, followed in the procession to Pere- -Lachaise--a useless procession, not unfrequently seen; there are -always too many coaches when the dead are unknown beyond their own -circle and there is no crowd at the funeral. Dear, indeed, the dead -must have been in their lifetime if relative or friend will go with -them so far as the cemetery in this Paris, where every one would fain -have twenty-five hours in the day. But with the coachmen it is -different; they lose their tips if they do not make the journey; so, -empty or full, the mourning coaches go to the church and cemetery and -return to the house for gratuities. A death is a sort of drinking- -fountain for an unimagined crowd of thirsty mortals. The attendants at -the church, the poor, the undertaker's men, the drivers and sextons, -are creatures like sponges that dip into a hearse and come out again -saturated. - -From the church door, where he was beset with a swarm of beggars -(promptly dispersed by the beadle), to Pere-Lachaise, poor Schmucke -went as criminals went in old times from the Palais de Justice to the -Place de Greve. It was his own funeral that he followed, clinging to -Topinard's hand, to the one living creature besides himself who felt a -pang of real regret for Pons' death. - -As for Topinard, greatly touched by the honor of the request to act as -pall-bearer, content to drive in a carriage, the possessor of a new -pair of gloves,--it began to dawn upon him that this was to be one of -the great days of his life. Schmucke was driven passively along the -road, as some unlucky calf is driven in a butcher's cart to the -slaughter-house. Fraisier and Villemot sat with their backs to the -horses. Now, as those know whose sad fortune it has been to accompany -many of their friends to their last resting-place, all hypocrisy -breaks down in the coach during the journey (often a very long one) -from the church to the eastern cemetery, to that one of the burying- -grounds of Paris in which all vanities, all kinds of display, are met, -so rich is it in sumptuous monuments. On these occasions those who -feel least begin to talk soonest, and in the end the saddest listen, -and their thoughts are diverted. - -"M. le President had already started for the Court." Fraisier told -Villemot, "and I did not think it necessary to tear him away from -business; he would have come too late, in any case. He is the next-of- -kin; but as he has been disinherited, and M. Schmucke gets everything, -I thought that if his legal representative were present it would be -enough." - -Topinard lent an ear to this. - -"Who was the queer customer that took the fourth corner?" continued -Fraisier. - -"He is an agent for a firm of monumental stone-masons. He would like -an order for a tomb, on which he proposes to put three sculptured -marble figures--Music, Painting, and Sculpture shedding tears over the -deceased." - -"It is an idea," said Fraisier; "the old gentleman certainly deserved -that much; but the monument would cost seven or eight hundred francs." - -"Oh! quite that!" - -"If M. Schmucke gives the order, it cannot affect the estate. You -might eat up a whole property with such expenses." - -"There would be a lawsuit, but you would gain it--" - -"Very well," said Fraisier, "then it will be his affair.--It would be -a nice practical joke to play upon the monument-makers," Fraisier -added in Villemot's ear; "for if the will is upset (and I can answer -for that), or if there is no will at all, who would pay them?" - -Villemot grinned like a monkey, and the pair began to talk -confidentially, lowering their voices; but the man from the theatre, -with his wits and senses sharpened in the world behind the scenes, -could guess at the nature of their discourse; in spite of the rumbling -of the carriage and other hindrances, he began to understand that -these representatives of justice were scheming to plunge poor Schmucke -into difficulties; and when at last he heard the ominous word -"Clichy," the honest and loyal servitor of the stage made up his mind -to watch over Pons' friend. - -At the cemetery, where three square yards of ground had been purchased -through the good offices of the firm of Sonet (Villemot having -announced Schmucke's intention of erecting a magnificent monument), -the master of ceremonies led Schmucke through a curious crowd to the -grave into which Pons' coffin was about to be lowered; but here, at -the sight of the square hole, the four men waiting with ropes to lower -the bier, and the clergy saying the last prayer for the dead at the -grave-side, something clutched tightly at the German's heart. He -fainted away. - -Sonet's agent and M. Sonet himself came to help Topinard to carry poor -Schmucke into the marble-works hard by, where Mme. Sonet and Mme. -Vitelot (Sonet's partner's wife) were eagerly prodigal of efforts to -revive him. Topinard stayed. He had seen Fraisier in conversation with -Sonet's agent, and Fraisier, in his opinion, had gallows-bird written -on his face. - -An hour later, towards half-past two o'clock, the poor, innocent -German came to himself. Schmucke thought that he had been dreaming for -the past two days; if he could only wake, he should find Pons still -alive. So many wet towels had been laid on his forehead, he had been -made to inhale salts and vinegar to such an extent, that he opened his -eyes at last. Mme. Sonet make him take some meat-soup, for they had -put the pot on the fire at the marble-works. - -"Our clients do not often take things to heart like this; still, it -happens once in a year or two--" - -At last Schmucke talked of returning to the Rue de Normandie, and at -this Sonet began at once. - -"Here is the design, sir," he said; "Vitelot drew it expressly for -you, and sat up last night to do it. . . . And he has been happily -inspired, it will look fine--" - -"One of the finest in Pere-Lachaise!" said the little Mme. Sonet. "But -you really ought to honor the memory of a friend who left you all his -fortune." - -The design, supposed to have been drawn on purpose, had, as a matter -of fact, been prepared for de Marsay, the famous cabinet minister. His -widow, however, had given the commission to Stidmann; people were -disgusted with the tawdriness of the project, and it was refused. The -three figures at that period represented the three days of July which -brought the eminent minister to power. Subsequently, Sonet and Vitelot -had turned the Three Glorious Days--"/les trois glorieuses/"--into the -Army, Finance, and the Family, and sent in the design for the -sepulchre of the late lamented Charles Keller; and here again Stidmann -took the commission. In the eleven years that followed, the sketch had -been modified to suit all kinds of requirements, and now in Vitelot's -fresh tracing they reappeared as Music, Sculpture, and Painting. - -"It is a mere trifle when you think of the details and cost of setting -it up; for it will take six months," said Vitelot. "Here is the -estimate and the order-form--seven thousand francs, sketch in plaster -not included." - -"If M. Schmucke would like marble," put in Sonet (marble being his -special department), "it would cost twelve thousand francs, and -monsieur would immortalize himself as well as his friend." - -Topinard turned to Vitelot. - -"I have just heard that they are going to dispute the will," he -whispered, "and the relatives are likely to come by their property. Go -and speak to M. Camusot, for this poor, harmless creature has not a -farthing." - -"This is the kind of customer that you always bring us," said Mme. -Vitelot, beginning a quarrel with the agent. - -Topinard led Schmucke away, and they returned home on foot to the Rue -de Normandie, for the mourning-coaches had been sent back. - -"Do not leaf me," Schmucke said, when Topinard had seen him safe into -Mme. Sauvage's hands, and wanted to go. - -"It is four o'clock, dear M. Schmucke. I must go home to dinner. My -wife is a box-opener--she will not know what has become of me. The -theatre opens at a quarter to six, you know." - -"Yes, I know . . . but remember dat I am alone in die earth, dat I haf -no friend. You dat haf shed a tear for Bons enliden me; I am in teep -tarkness, und Bons said dat I vas in der midst of shcoundrels." - -"I have seen that plainly already; I have just prevented them from -sending you to Clichy." - -"/Gligy!/" repeated Schmucke; "I do not understand." - -"Poor man! Well, never mind, I will come to you. Good-bye." - -"Goot-bye; komm again soon," said Schmucke, dropping half-dead with -weariness. - -"Good-bye, mosieu," said Mme. Sauvage, and there was something in her -tone that struck Topinard. - -"Oh, come, what is the matter now?" he asked, banteringly. "You are -attitudinizing like a traitor in a melodrama." - -"Traitor yourself! Why have you come meddling here? Do you want to -have a hand in the master's affairs, and swindle him, eh?" - -"Swindle him! . . . Your very humble servant!" Topinard answered with -superb disdain. "I am only a poor super at a theatre, but I am -something of an artist, and you may as well know that I never asked -anything of anybody yet! Who asked anything of you? Who owes you -anything? eh, old lady!" - -"You are employed at a theatre, and your name is--?" - -"Topinard, at your service." - -"Kind regards to all at home," said La Sauvage, "and my compliments to -your missus, if you are married, mister. . . . That was all I wanted -to know." - -"Why, what is the matter, dear?" asked Mme. Cantinet, coming out. - -"This, child--stop here and look after the dinner while I run round to -speak to monsieur." - -"He is down below, talking with poor Mme. Cibot, that is crying her -eyes out," said Mme. Cantinet. - -La Sauvage dashed down in such headlong haste that the stairs trembled -beneath her tread. - -"Monsieur!" she called, and drew him aside a few paces to point out -Topinard. - -Topinard was just going away, proud at heart to have made some return -already to the man who had done him so many kindnesses. He had saved -Pons' friend from a trap, by a stratagem from that world behind the -scenes in which every one has more or less ready wit. And within -himself he vowed to protect a musician in his orchestra from future -snares set for his simple sincerity. - -"Do you see that little wretch?" said La Sauvage. "He is a kind of -honest man that has a mind to poke his nose into M. Schmucke's -affairs." - -"Who is he?" asked Fraisier. - -"Oh! he is a nobody." - -"In business there is no such thing as a nobody." - -"Oh, he is employed at the theatre," said she; "his name is Topinard." - -"Good, Mme. Sauvage! Go on like this, and you shall have your -tobacconist's shop." - -And Fraisier resumed his conversation with Mme. Cibot. - -"So I say, my dear client, that you have not played openly and above- -board with me, and that one is not bound in any way to a partner who -cheats." - -"And how have I cheated you?" asked La Cibot, hands on hips. "Do you -think that you will frighten me with your sour looks and your frosty -airs? You look about for bad reasons for breaking your promises, and -you call yourself an honest man! Do you know what you are? You are a -blackguard! Yes! yes! scratch your arm; but just pocket that--" - -"No words, and keep your temper, dearie. Listen to me. You have been -feathering your nest. . . . I found this catalogue this morning while -we were getting ready for the funeral; it is all in M. Pons' -handwriting, and made out in duplicate. And as it chanced, my eyes -fell on this--" - -And opening the catalogue, he read: - - "No. 7. /Magnificent portrait painted on marble, by Sebastian del - Piombo, in 1546. Sold by a family who had it removed from Terni - Cathedral. The picture, which represents a Knight-Templar kneeling - in prayer, used to hang above a tomb of the Rossi family with a - companion portrait of a Bishop, afterwards purchased by an - Englishman. The portrait might be attributed to Raphael, but for - the date. This example is, to my mind, superior to the portrait of - Baccio Bandinelli in the Musee; the latter is a little hard, while - the Templar, being painted upon 'lavagna,' or slate, has preserved - its freshness of coloring./" - -"When I come to look for No. 7," continued Fraisier, "I find a -portrait of a lady, signed 'Chardin,' without a number on it! I went -through the pictures with the catalogue while the master of ceremonies -was making up the number of pall-bearers, and found that eight of -those indicated as works of capital importance by M. Pons had -disappeared, and eight paintings of no special merit, and without -numbers, were there instead. . . . And finally, one was missing -altogether, a little panel-painting by Metzu, described in the -catalogue as a masterpiece." - -"And was /I/ in charge of the pictures?" demanded La Cibot. - -"No; but you were in a position of trust. You were M. Pons' -housekeeper, you looked after his affairs, and he has been robbed--" - -"Robbed! Let me tell you this, sir: M. Schmucke sold the pictures, by -M. Pons' orders, to meet expenses." - -"And to whom?" - -"To Messrs. Elie Magus and Remonencq." - -"For how much?" - -"I am sure I do not remember." - -"Look here, my dear madame; you have been feathering your nest, and -very snugly. I shall keep an eye upon you; I have you safe. Help me, I -will say nothing! In any case, you know that since you deemed it -expedient to plunder M. le President Camusot, you ought not to expect -anything from /him/." - -"I was sure that this would all end in smoke, for me," said La Cibot, -mollified by the words "I will say nothing." - -Remonencq chimed in at this point. - -"Here are you finding fault with Mme. Cibot; that is not right!" he -said. "The pictures were sold by private treaty between M. Pons, M. -Magus, and me. We waited for three days before we came to terms with -the deceased; he slept on his pictures. We took receipts in proper -form; and if we gave Madame Cibot a few forty-franc pieces, it is the -custom of the trade--we always do so in private houses when we -conclude a bargain. Ah! my dear sir, if you think to cheat a -defenceless woman, you will not make a good bargain! Do you -understand, master lawyer?--M. Magus rules the market, and if you do -not come down off the high horse, if you do not keep your word to Mme. -Cibot, I shall wait till the collection is sold, and you shall see -what you will lose if you have M. Magus and me against you; we can get -the dealers in a ring. Instead of realizing seven or eight hundred -thousand francs, you will not so much as make two hundred thousand." - -"Good, good, we shall see. We are not going to sell; or if we do, it -will be in London." - -"We know London," said Remonencq. "M. Magus is as powerful there as at -Paris." - -"Good-day, madame; I shall sift these matters to the bottom," said -Fraisier--"unless you continue to do as I tell you" he added. - -"You little pickpocket!--" - -"Take care! I shall be a justice of the peace before long." And with -threats understood to the full upon either side, they separated. - -"Thank you, Remonencq!" said La Cibot; "it is very pleasant to a poor -widow to find a champion." - - - -Towards ten o'clock that evening, Gaudissart sent for Topinard. The -manager was standing with his back to the fire, in a Napoleonic -attitude--a trick which he had learned since be began to command his -army of actors, dancers, /figurants/, musicians, and stage carpenters. -He grasped his left-hand brace with his right hand, always thrust into -his waistcoat; he head was flung far back, his eyes gazed out into -space. - -"Ah! I say, Topinard, have you independent means?" - -"No, sir." - -"Are you on the lookout to better yourself somewhere else?" - -"No, sir--" said Topinard, with a ghastly countenance. - -"Why, hang it all, your wife takes the first row of boxes out of -respect to my predecessor, who came to grief; I gave you the job of -cleaning the lamps in the wings in the daytime, and you put out the -scores. And that is not all, either. You get twenty sous for acting -monsters and managing devils when a hell is required. There is not a -super that does not covet your post, and there are those that are -jealous of you, my friend; you have enemies in the theatre." - -"Enemies!" repeated Topinard. - -"And you have three children; the oldest takes children's parts at -fifty centimes--" - -"Sir!--" - -"You want to meddle in other people's business, and put your finger -into a will case.--Why, you wretched man, you would be crushed like an -egg-shell! My patron is His Excellency, Monseigneur le Comte Popinot, -a clever man and a man of high character, whom the King in his wisdom -has summoned back to the privy council. This statesman, this great -politician, has married his eldest son to a daughter of M. le -President de Marville, one of the foremost men among the high courts -of justice; one of the leading lights of the law-courts. Do you know -the law-courts? Very good. Well, he is cousin and heir to M. Pons, to -our old conductor whose funeral you attended this morning. I do not -blame you for going to pay the last respects to him, poor man. . . . -But if you meddle in M. Schmucke's affairs, you will lose your place. -I wish very well to M. Schmucke, but he is in a delicate position with -regard to the heirs--and as the German is almost nothing to me, and -the President and Count Popinot are a great deal, I recommend you to -leave the worthy German to get out of his difficulties by himself. -There is a special Providence that watches over Germans, and the part -of deputy guardian-angel would not suit you at all. Do you see? Stay -as you are--you cannot do better." - -"Very good, monsieur le directeur," said Topinard, much distressed. -And in this way Schmucke lost the protector sent to him by fate, the -one creature that shed a tear for Pons, the poor super for whose -return he looked on the morrow. - -Next morning poor Schmucke awoke to a sense of his great and heavy -loss. He looked round the empty rooms. Yesterday and the day before -yesterday the preparations for the funeral had made a stir and bustle -which distracted his eyes; but the silence which follows the day, when -the friend, father, son, or loved wife has been laid in the grave--the -dull, cold silence of the morrow is terrible, is glacial. Some -irresistible force drew him to Pons' chamber, but the sight of it was -more than the poor man could bear; he shrank away and sat down in the -dining-room, where Mme. Sauvage was busy making breakfast ready. - -Schmucke drew his chair to the table, but he could eat nothing. A -sudden, somewhat sharp ringing of the door-bell rang through the -house, and Mme. Cantinet and Mme. Sauvage allowed three black-coated -personages to pass. First came Vitel, the justice of the peace, with -his highly respectable clerk; third was Fraisier, neither sweeter nor -milder for the disappointing discovery of a valid will canceling the -formidable instrument so audaciously stolen by him. - -"We have come to affix seals on the property," the justice of the -peace said gently, addressing Schmucke. But the remark was Greek to -Schmucke; he gazed in dismay at his three visitors. - -"We have come at the request of M. Fraisier, legal representative of -M. Camusot de Marville, heir of the late Pons--" added the clerk. - -"The collection is here in this great room, and in the bedroom of the -deceased," remarked Fraisier. - -"Very well, let us go into the next room.--Pardon us, sir; do not let -us interrupt with your breakfast." - -The invasion struck an icy chill of terror into poor Schmucke. -Fraisier's venomous glances seemed to possess some magnetic influence -over his victims, like the power of a spider over a fly. - -"M. Schmucke understood how to turn a will, made in the presence of a -notary, to his own advantage," he said, "and he surely must have -expected some opposition from the family. A family does not allow -itself to be plundered by a stranger without some protest; and we -shall see, sir, which carries the day--fraud and corruption or the -rightful heirs. . . . We have a right as next of kin to affix seals, -and seals shall be affixed. I mean to see that the precaution is taken -with the utmost strictness." - -"Ach, mein Gott! how haf I offended against Hefn?" cried the innocent -Schmucke. - -"There is a good deal of talk about you in the house," said La -Sauvage. "While you were asleep, a little whipper-snapper in a black -suit came here, a puppy that said he was M. Hannequin's head-clerk, -and must see you at all costs; but as you were asleep and tired out -with the funeral yesterday, I told him that M. Villemot, Tabareau's -head-clerk, was acting for you, and if it was a matter of business, I -said, he might speak to M. Villemot. 'Ah, so much the better!' the -youngster said. 'I shall come to an understanding with him. We will -deposit the will at the Tribunal, after showing it to the President.' -So at that, I told him to ask M. Villemot to come here as soon as he -could.--Be easy, my dear sir, there are those that will take care of -you. They shall not shear the fleece off your back. You will have some -one that has beak and claws. M. Villemot will give them a piece of his -mind. I have put myself in a passion once already with that abominable -hussy, La Cibot, a porter's wife that sets up to judge her lodgers, -forsooth, and insists that you have filched the money from the heirs; -you locked M. Pons up, she says, and worked upon him till he was -stark, staring mad. She got as good as she gave, though, the wretched -woman. 'You are a thief and a bad lot,' I told her; 'you will get into -the police-courts for all the things that you have stolen from the -gentlemen,' and she shut up." - -The clerk came out to speak to Schmucke. - -"Would you wish to be present, sir, when the seals are affixed in the -next room?" - -"Go on, go on," said Schmucke; "I shall pe allowed to die in beace, I -bresume?" - -"Oh, under any circumstances a man has a right to die," the clerk -answered, laughing; "most of our business relates to wills. But, in my -experience, the universal legatee very seldom follows the testator to -the tomb." - -"I am going," said Schmucke. Blow after blow had given him an -intolerable pain at the heart. - -"Oh! here comes M. Villemot!" exclaimed La Sauvage. - -"Mennesir Fillemod," said poor Schmucke, "rebresent me." - -"I hurried here at once," said Villemot. "I have come to tell you that -the will is completely in order; it will certainly be confirmed by the -court, and you will be put in possession. You will have a fine -fortune." - -"/I?/ Ein fein vordune?" cried Schmucke, despairingly. That he of all -men should be suspected of caring for the money! - -"And meantime what is the justice of the peace doing here with his wax -candles and his bits of tape?" asked La Sauvage. - -"Oh, he is affixing seals. . . . Come, M. Schmucke, you have a right -to be present." - -"No--go in yourself." - -"But where is the use of the seals if M. Schmucke is in his own house -and everything belongs to him?" asked La Sauvage, doing justice in -feminine fashion, and interpreting the Code according to their fancy, -like one and all of her sex. - -"M. Schmucke is not in possession, madame; he is in M. Pons' house. -Everything will be his, no doubt; but the legatee cannot take -possession without an authorization--an order from the Tribunal. And -if the next-of-kin set aside by the testator should dispute the order, -a lawsuit is the result. And as nobody knows what may happen, -everything is sealed up, and the notaries representing either side -proceed to draw up an inventory during the delay prescribed by the -law. . . . And there you are!" - -Schmucke, hearing such talk for the first time in his life, was -completely bewildered by it; his head sank down upon the back of his -chair--he could not support it, it had grown so heavy. - -Villemot meanwhile went off to chat with the justice of the peace and -his clerk, assisting with professional coolness to affix the seals--a -ceremony which always involves some buffoonery and plentiful comments -on the objects thus secured, unless, indeed, one of the family happens -to be present. At length the party sealed up the chamber and returned -to the dining-room, whither the clerk betook himself. Schmucke watched -the mechanical operation which consists in setting the justice's seal -at either end of a bit of tape stretched across the opening of a -folding-door; or, in the case of a cupboard or ordinary door, from -edge to edge above the door-handle. - -"Now for this room," said Fraisier, pointing to Schmucke's bedroom, -which opened into the dining-room. - -"But that is M. Schmucke's own room," remonstrated La Sauvage, -springing in front of the door. - -"We found the lease among the papers," Fraisier said ruthlessly; -"there was no mention of M. Schmucke in it; it is taken out in M. -Pons' name only. The whole place, and every room in it, is a part of -the estate. And besides"--flinging open the door--"look here, monsieur -le juge de la paix, it is full of pictures." - -"So it is," answered the justice of the peace, and Fraisier thereupon -gained his point. - -"Wait a bit, gentlemen," said Villemot. "Do you know that you are -turning the universal legatee out of doors, and as yet his right has -not been called in question?" - -"Yes, it has," said Fraisier; "we are opposing the transfer of the -property." - -"And upon what grounds?" - -"You shall know that by and by, my boy," Fraisier replied, -banteringly. "At this moment, if the legatee withdraws everything that -he declares to be his, we shall raise no objections, but the room -itself will be sealed. And M. Schmucke may lodge where he pleases." - -"No," said Villemot; "M. Schmucke is going to stay in his room." - -"And how?" - -"I shall demand an immediate special inquiry," continued Villemot, -"and prove that we pay half the rent. You shall not turn us out. Take -away the pictures, decide on the ownership of the various articles, -but here my client stops--'my boy.' " - -"I shall go out!" the old musician suddenly said. He had recovered -energy during the odious dispute. - -"You had better," said Fraisier. "Your course will save expense to -you, for your contention would not be made good. The lease is -evidence--" - -"The lease! the lease!" cried Villemot, "it is a question of good -faith--" - -"That could only be proved in a criminal case, by calling witnesses.-- -Do you mean to plunge into experts' fees and verifications, and orders -to show cause why judgment should not be given, and law proceedings -generally?" - -"No, no!" cried Schmucke in dismay. "I shall turn out; I am used to -it--" - -In practice Schmucke was a philosopher, an unconscious cynic, so -greatly had he simplified his life. Two pairs of shoes, a pair of -boots, a couple of suits of clothes, a dozen shirts, a dozen bandana -handkerchiefs, four waistcoats, a superb pipe given to him by Pons, -with an embroidered tobacco-pouch--these were all his belongings. -Overwrought by a fever of indignation, he went into his room and piled -his clothes upon a chair. - -"All dese are mine," he said, with simplicity worthy of Cincinnatus. -"Der biano is also mine." - -Fraisier turned to La Sauvage. "Madame, get help," he said; "take that -piano out and put it on the landing." - -"You are too rough into the bargain," said Villemot, addressing -Fraisier. "The justice of the peace gives orders here; he is supreme." - -"There are valuables in the room," put in the clerk. - -"And besides," added the justice of the peace, "M. Schmucke is going -out of his own free will." - -"Did any one ever see such a client!" Villemot cried indignantly, -turning upon Schmucke. "You are as limp as a rag--" - -"Vat dos it matter vere von dies?" Schmucke said as he went out. "Dese -men haf tiger faces. . . . I shall send somebody to vetch mein bits of -dings." - -"Where are you going, sir?" - -"Vere it shall blease Gott," returned Pons' universal legatee with -supreme indifference. - -"Send me word," said Villemot. - -Fraisier turned to the head-clerk. "Go after him," he whispered. - -Mme. Cantinet was left in charge, with a provision of fifty francs -paid out of the money that they found. The justice of the peace looked -out; there Schmucke stood in the courtyard looking up at the windows -for the last time. - -"You have found a man of butter," remarked the justice. - -"Yes," said Fraisier, "yes. The thing is as good as done. You need not -hesitate to marry your granddaughter to Poulain; he will be head- -surgeon at the Quinze-Vingts." (The Asylum founded by St. Louis for -three hundred blind people.) - -"We shall see.--Good-day, M. Fraisier," said the justice of the peace -with a friendly air. - -"There is a man with a head on his shoulders," remarked the justice's -clerk. "The dog will go a long way." - -By this time it was eleven o'clock. The old German went like an -automaton down the road along which Pons and he had so often walked -together. Wherever he went he saw Pons, he almost thought that Pons -was by his side; and so he reached the theatre just as his friend -Topinard was coming out of it after a morning spent in cleaning the -lamps and meditating on the manager's tyranny. - -"Oh, shoost der ding for me!" cried Schmucke, stopping his -acquaintance. "Dopinart! you haf a lodging someveres, eh?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"A home off your own?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"Are you villing to take me for ein poarder? Oh! I shall pay ver' -vell; I haf nine hundert vrancs of inkomm, und--I haf not ver' long -ter lif. . . . I shall gif no drouble vatefer. . . . I can eat -onydings--I only vant to shmoke mein bipe. Und--you are der only von -dat haf shed a tear for Bons, mit me; und so, I lof you." - -"I should be very glad, sir; but, to begin with, M. Gaudissart has -given me a proper wigging--" - -"/Vigging?/" - -"That is one way of saying that he combed my hair for me." - -"/Combed your hair?/" - -"He gave me a scolding for meddling in your affairs. . . . So we must -be very careful if you come to me. But I doubt whether you will stay -when you have seen the place; you do not know how we poor devils -live." - -"I should rader der boor home of a goot-hearted mann dot haf mourned -Bons, dan der Duileries mit men dot haf ein tiger face. . . . I haf -chust left tigers in Bons' house; dey vill eat up everydings--" - -"Come with me, sir, and you shall see. But--well, anyhow, there is a -garret. Let us see what Mme. Topinard says." - -Schmucke followed like a sheep, while Topinard led the way into one of -the squalid districts which might be called the cancers of Paris--a -spot known as the Cite Bordin. It is a slum out of the Rue de Bondy, a -double row of houses run up by the speculative builder, under the -shadow of the huge mass of the Porte Saint-Martin theatre. The -pavement at the higher end lies below the level of the Rue de Bondy; -at the lower it falls away towards the Rue des Mathurins du Temple. -Follow its course and you find that it terminates in another slum -running at right angles to the first--the Cite Bordin is, in fact, a -T-shaped blind alley. Its two streets thus arranged contain some -thirty houses, six or seven stories high; and every story, and every -room in every story, is a workshop and a warehouse for goods of every -sort and description, for this wart upon the face of Paris is a -miniature Faubourg Saint-Antoine. Cabinet-work and brasswork, -theatrical costumes, blown glass, painted porcelain--all the various -fancy goods known as /l'article Paris/ are made here. Dirty and -productive like commerce, always full of traffic--foot-passengers, -vans, and drays--the Cite Bourdin is an unsavory-looking neighborhood, -with a seething population in keeping with the squalid surroundings. -It is a not unintelligent artisan population, though the whole power -of the intellect is absorbed by the day's manual labor. Topinard, like -every other inhabitant of the Cite Bourdin, lived in it for the sake -of comparatively low rent, the cause of its existence and prosperity. -His sixth floor lodging, in the second house to the left, looked out -upon the belt of green garden, still in existence, at the back of -three or four large mansions in the Rue de Bondy. - -Topinard's apartment consisted of a kitchen and two bedrooms. The -first was a nursery with two little deal bedsteads and a cradle in it, -the second was the bedroom, and the kitchen did duty as a dining-room. -Above, reached by a short ladder, known among builders as a "trap- -ladder," there was a kind of garret, six feet high, with a sash-window -let into the roof. This room, given as a servants' bedroom, raised the -Topinards' establishment from mere "rooms" to the dignity of a -tenement, and the rent to a corresponding sum of four hundred francs. -An arched lobby, lighted from the kitchen by a small round window, did -duty as an ante-chamber, and filled the space between the bedroom, the -kitchen, and house doors--three doors in all. The rooms were paved -with bricks, and hung with a hideous wall-paper at threepence apiece; -the chimneypieces that adorned them were of the kind called -/capucines/--a shelf set on a couple of brackets painted to resemble -wood. Here in these three rooms dwelt five human beings, three of them -children. Any one, therefore, can imagine how the walls were covered -with scores and scratches so far as an infant arm can reach. - -Rich people can scarcely realize the extreme simplicity of a poor -man's kitchen. A Dutch oven, a kettle, a gridiron, a saucepan, two or -three dumpy cooking-pots, and a frying-pan--that was all. All the -crockery in the place, white and brown earthenware together, was not -worth more than twelve francs. Dinner was served on the kitchen table, -which, with a couple of chairs and a couple of stools, completed the -furniture. The stock of fuel was kept under the stove with a funnel- -shaped chimney, and in a corner stood the wash-tub in which the family -linen lay, often steeping over-night in soapsuds. The nursery ceiling -was covered with clothes-lines, the walls were variegated with -theatrical placards and wood-cuts from newspapers or advertisements. -Evidently the eldest boy, the owner of the school-books stacked in a -corner, was left in charge while his parents were absent at the -theatre. In many a French workingman's family, so soon as a child -reaches the age of six or seven, it plays the part of mother to -younger sisters and brothers. - -From this bare outline, it may be imagined that the Topinards, to use -the hackneyed formula, were "poor but honest." Topinard himself was -verging on forty; Mme. Topinard, once leader of a chorus--mistress, -too, it was said, of Gaudissart's predecessor, was certainly thirty -years old. Lolotte had been a fine woman in her day; but the -misfortunes of the previous management had told upon her to such an -extent, that it had seemed to her to be both advisable and necessary -to contract a stage-marriage with Topinard. She did not doubt but -that, as soon as they could muster the sum of a hundred and fifty -francs, her Topinard would perform his vows agreeably to the civil -law, were it only to legitimize the three children, whom he worshiped. -Meantime, Mme. Topinard sewed for the theatre wardrobe in the morning; -and with prodigious effort, the brave couple made nine hundred francs -per annum between them. - -"One more flight!" Topinard had twice repeated since they reached the -third floor. Schmucke, engulfed in his sorrow, did not so much as know -whether he was going up or coming down. - -In another minute Topinard had opened the door; but before he appeared -in his white workman's blouse Mme. Topinard's voice rang from the -kitchen: - -"There, there! children, be quiet! here comes papa!" - -But the children, no doubt, did as they pleased with papa, for the -oldest member of the family, sitting astride a broomstick, continued -to command a charge of cavalry (a reminiscence of the Cirque- -Olympique), the second blew a tin trumpet, while the third did its -best to keep up with the main body of the army. Their mother was at -work on a theatrical costume. - -"Be quiet! or I shall slap you!" shouted Topinard in a formidable -voice; then in an aside for Schmucke's benefit--"Always have to say -that!--Here, little one," he continued, addressing his Lolotte, "this -is M. Schmucke, poor M. Pons' friend. He does not know where to go, -and he would like to live with us. I told him that we were not very -spick-and-span up here, that we lived on the sixth floor, and had only -the garret to offer him; but it was no use, he would come--" - -Schmucke had taken the chair which the woman brought him, and the -children, stricken with sudden shyness, had gathered together to give -the stranger that mute, earnest, so soon-finished scrutiny -characteristic of childhood. For a child, like a dog, is wont to judge -by instinct rather than reason. Schmucke looked up; his eyes rested on -that charming little picture; he saw the performer on the tin trumpet, -a little five-year-old maiden with wonderful golden hair. - -"She looks like ein liddle German girl," said Schmucke, holding out -his arms to the child. - -"Monsieur will not be very comfortable here," said Mme. Topinard. "I -would propose that he should have our room at once, but I am obliged -to have the children near me." - -She opened the door as she spoke, and bade Schmucke come in. Such -splendor as their abode possessed was all concentrated here. Blue -cotton curtains with a white fringe hung from the mahogany bedstead, -and adorned the window; the chest of drawers, bureau, and chairs, -though all made of mahogany, were neatly kept. The clock and -candlesticks on the chimneypiece were evidently the gift of the -bankrupt manager, whose portrait, a truly frightful performance of -Pierre Grassou's, looked down upon the chest of drawers. The children -tried to peep in at the forbidden glories. - -"Monsieur might be comfortable in here," said their mother. - -"No, no," Schmucke replied. "Eh! I haf not ver' long to lif, I only -vant a corner to die in." - -The door was closed, and the three went up to the garret. "Dis is der -ding for me," Schmucke cried at once. "Pefore I lifd mid Bons, I vas -nefer better lodged." - -"Very well. A truckle-bed, a couple of mattresses, a bolster, a -pillow, a couple of chairs, and a table--that is all that you need to -buy. That will not ruin you--it may cost a hundred and fifty francs, -with the crockeryware and strip of carpet for the bedside." - -Everything was settled--save the money, which was not forthcoming. -Schmucke saw that his new friends were very poor, and recollecting -that the theatre was only a few steps away, it naturally occurred to -him to apply to the manager for his salary. He went at once, and found -Gaudissart in his office. Gaudissart received him in the somewhat -stiffly polite manner which he reserved for professionals. Schmucke's -demand for a month's salary took him by surprise, but on inquiry he -found that it was due. - -"Oh, confound it, my good man, a German can always count, even if he -has tears in his eyes. . . . I thought that you would have taken the -thousand francs that I sent you into account, as a final year's -salary, and that we were quits." - -"We haf receifed nodings," said Schmucke; "und gif I komm to you, it -ees because I am in der shtreet, und haf not ein benny. How did you -send us der bonus?" - -"By your portress." - -"By Montame Zipod!" exclaimed Schmucke. "She killed Bons, she robbed -him, she sold him--she tried to purn his vill--she is a pad creature, -a monster!" - -"But, my good man, how come you to be out in the street without a roof -over your head or a penny in your pocket, when you are the sole heir? -That does not necessarily follow, as the saying is." - -"They haf put me out at der door. I am a voreigner, I know nodings of -die laws." - -"Poor man!" thought Gaudissart, foreseeing the probable end of the -unequal contest.--"Listen," he began, "do you know what you ought to -do in this business?" - -"I haf ein mann of pizness!" - -"Very good, come to terms at once with the next-of-kin; make them pay -you a lump sum of money down and an annuity, and you can live in -peace--" - -"I ask noding more." - -"Very well. Let me arrange it for you," said Gaudissart. Fraisier had -told him the whole story only yesterday, and he thought that he saw -his way to making interest out of the case with the young Vicomtesse -Popinot and her mother. He would finish a dirty piece of work, and -some day he would be a privy councillor, at least; or so he told -himself. - -"I gif you full powers." - -"Well. Let me see. Now, to begin with," said Gaudissart, Napoleon of -the boulevard theatres, "to begin with, here are a hundred crowns--" -(he took fifteen louis from his purse and handed them to Schmucke). - -"That is yours, on account of six months' salary. If you leave the -theatre, you can repay me the money. Now for your budget. What are -your yearly expenses? How much do you want to be comfortable? Come, -now, scheme out a life for a Sardanapalus--" - -"I only need two suits of clothes, von for der vinter, von for der -sommer." - -"Three hundred francs," said Gaudissart. - -"Shoes. Vour bairs." - -"Sixty francs." - -"Shtockings--" - -"A dozen pairs--thirty-six francs." - -"Half a tozzen shirts." - -"Six calico shirts, twenty-four francs; as many linen shirts, forty- -eight francs; let us say seventy-two. That makes four hundred and -sixty-eight francs altogether.--Say five hundred, including cravats -and pocket-handkerchiefs; a hundred francs for the laundress--six -hundred. And now, how much for your board--three francs a day?" - -"No, it ees too much." - -"After all, you want hats; that brings it to fifteen hundred. Five -hundred more for rent; that makes two thousand. If I can get two -thousand francs per annum for you, are you willing? . . . Good -securities." - -"Und mein tobacco." - -"Two thousand four hundred, then. . . . Oh! Papa Schmucke, do you call -that tobacco? Very well, the tobacco shall be given in.--So that is -two thousand four hundred francs per annum." - -"Dat ees not all! I should like som monny." - -"Pin-money!--Just so. Oh, these Germans! And calls himself an -innocent, the old Robert Macaire!" thought Gaudissart. Aloud he said, -"How much do you want? But this must be the last." - -"It ees to bay a zacred debt." - -"A debt!" said Gaudissart to himself. What a shark it is! He is worse -than an eldest son. He will invent a bill or two next! We must cut -this short. This Fraisier cannot take large views.--What debt is this, -my good man? Speak out." - -"Dere vas but von mann dot haf mourned Bons mit me. . . . He haf a -tear liddle girl mit wunderschones haar; it vas as if I saw mein boor -Deutschland dot I should nefer haf left. . . . Baris is no blace for -die Germans; dey laugh at dem" (with a little nod as he spoke, and the -air of a man who knows something of life in this world below). - -"He is off his head," Gaudissart said to himself. And a sudden pang of -pity for this poor innocent before him brought a tear to the manager's -eyes. - -"Ah! you understand, mennesir le directeur! Ver' goot. Dat mann mit -die liddle taughter is Dobinard, vat tidies der orchestra and lights -die lamps. Bons vas fery fond of him, und helped him. He vas der only -von dat accombanied mein only friend to die church und to die grafe. . -. . I vant dree tausend vrancs for him, und dree tausend for die -liddle von--" - -"Poor fellow!" said Gaudissart to himself. - -Rough, self-made man though he was, he felt touched by this nobleness -of nature, by a gratitude for a mere trifle, as the world views it; -though for the eyes of this divine innocence the trifle, like -Bossuet's cup of water, was worth more than the victories of great -captains. Beneath all Gaudissart's vanity, beneath the fierce desire -to succeed in life at all costs, to rise to the social level of his -old friend Popinot, there lay a warm heart and a kindly nature. -Wherefore he canceled his too hasty judgments and went over to -Schmucke's side. - -"You shall have it all! But I will do better still, my dear Schmucke. -Topinard is a good sort--" - -"Yes. I haf chust peen to see him in his boor home, vere he ees happy -mit his children--" - -"I will give him the cashier's place. Old Baudrand is going to leave." - -"Ah! Gott pless you!" cried Schmucke. - -"Very well, my good, kind fellow, meet me at Berthier's office about -four o'clock this afternoon. Everything shall be ready, and you shall -be secured from want for the rest of your days. You shall draw your -six thousand francs, and you shall have the same salary with Garangeot -that you used to have with Pons." - -"No," Schmucke answered. "I shall not lif. . . . I haf no heart for -anydings; I feel that I am attacked--" - -"Poor lamb!" Gaudissart muttered to himself as the German took his -leave. "But, after all, one lives on mutton; and, as the sublime -Beranger says, 'Poor sheep! you were made to be shorn,' " and he -hummed the political squib by way of giving vent to his feelings. Then -he rang for the office-boy. - -"Call my carriage," he said. - -"Rue de Hanovre," he told the coachman. - -The man of ambitions by this time had reappeared; he saw the way to -the Council of State lying straight before him. - - - -And Schmucke? He was busy buying flowers and cakes for Topinard's -children, and went home almost joyously. - -"I am gifing die bresents . . ." he said, and he smiled. It was the -first smile for three months, but any one who had seen Schmucke's face -would have shuddered to see it there. - -"But dere is ein condition--" - -"It is too kind of you, sir," said the mother. - -"De liddle girl shall gif me a kiss and put die flowers in her hair, -like die liddle German maidens--" - -"Olga, child, do just as the gentleman wishes," said the mother, -assuming an air of discipline. - -"Do not scold mein liddle German girl," implored Schmucke. It seemed -to him that the little one was his dear Germany. Topinard came in. - -"Three porters are bringing up the whole bag of tricks," he said. - -"Oh! Here are two hundred vrancs to bay for eferydings . . ." said -Schmucke. "But, mein friend, your Montame Dobinard is ver' nice; you -shall marry her, is it not so? I shall gif you tausend crowns, and die -liddle vone shall haf tausend crowns for her toury, and you shall -infest it in her name. . . . Und you are not to pe ein zuper any more ---you are to pe de cashier at de teatre--" - -"/I/?--instead of old Baudrand?" - -"Yes." - -"Who told you so?" - -"Mennesir Gautissart!" - -"Oh! it is enough to send one wild with joy! . . . Eh! I say, Rosalie, -what a rumpus there will be at the theatre! But it is not possible--" - -"Our benefactor must not live in a garret--" - -"Pshaw! for die few tays dat I haf to lif it ees fery komfortable," -said Schmucke. "Goot-pye; I am going to der zemetery, to see vat dey -haf don mit Bons, und to order som flowers for his grafe." - - - -Mme. Camusot de Marville was consumed by the liveliest apprehensions. -At a council held with Fraisier, Berthier, and Godeschal, the two -last-named authorities gave it as their opinion that it was hopeless -to dispute a will drawn up by two notaries in the presence of two -witnesses, so precisely was the instrument worded by Leopold -Hannequin. Honest Godeschal said that even if Schmucke's own legal -adviser should succeed in deceiving him, he would find out the truth -at last, if it were only from some officious barrister, the gentlemen -of the robe being wont to perform such acts of generosity and -disinterestedness by way of self-advertisement. And the two officials -took their leave of the Presidente with a parting caution against -Fraisier, concerning whom they had naturally made inquiries. - -At that very moment Fraisier, straight from the affixing of the seals -in the Rue de Normandie, was waiting for an interview with Mme. de -Marville. Berthier and Godeschal had suggested that he should be shown -into the study; the whole affair was too dirty for the President to -look into (to use their own expression), and they wished to give Mme. -de Marville their opinion in Fraisier's absence. - -"Well, madame, where are these gentlemen?" asked Fraisier, admitted to -audience. - -"They are gone. They advise me to give up," said Mme. de Marville. - -"Give up!" repeated Fraisier, suppressed fury in his voice. "Give up! -. . . Listen to this, madame:-- - - " 'At the request of' . . . and so forth (I will omit the - formalities) . . . 'Whereas there has been deposited in the hands - of M. le President of the Court of First Instance, a will drawn up - by Maitres Leopold Hannequin and Alexandre Crottat, notaries of - Paris, and in the presence of two witnesses, the Sieurs Brunner - and Schwab, aliens domiciled at Paris, and by the said will the - Sieur Pons, deceased, has bequeathed his property to one Sieur - Schmucke, a German, to the prejudice of his natural heirs: - - " 'Whereas the applicant undertakes to prove that the said will - was obtained under undue influence and by unlawful means; and - persons of credit are prepared to show that it was the testator's - intention to leave his fortune to Mlle. Cecile, daughter of the - aforesaid Sieur de Marville, and the applicant can show that the - said will was extorted from the testator's weakness, he being - unaccountable for his actions at the time: - - " 'Whereas as the Sieur Schmucke, to obtain a will in his favor, - sequestrated the testator, and prevented the family from - approaching the deceased during his last illness; and his - subsequent notorious ingratitude was of a nature to scandalize the - house and residents in the quarter who chanced to witness it when - attending the funeral of the porter at the testator's place of - abode: - - " 'Whereas as still more serious charges, of which applicant is - collecting proofs, will be formally made before their worships the - judges: - - " 'I, the undersigned Registrar of the Court, etc., etc., on - behalf of the aforesaid, etc., have summoned the Sieur Schmucke, - pleading, etc., to appear before their worships the judges of the - first chamber of the Tribunal, and to be present when application - is made that the will received by Maitres Hannequin and Crottat, - being evidently obtained by undue influence, shall be regarded as - null and void in law; and I, the undersigned, on behalf of the - aforesaid, etc., have likewise given notice of protest, should the - Sieur Schmucke as universal legatee make application for an order - to be put into possession of the estate, seeing that the applicant - opposes such order, and makes objection by his application bearing - date of to-day, of which a copy has been duly deposited with the - Sieur Schmucke, costs being charged to . . . etc., etc.' - -"I know the man, Mme. le Presidente. He will come to terms as soon as -he reads this little love-letter. He will take our terms. Are you -going to give the thousand crowns per annum?" - -"Certainly. I only wish I were paying the first installment now." - -"It will be done in three days. The summons will come down upon him -while he is stupefied with grief, for the poor soul regrets Pons and -is taking the death to heart." - -"Can the application be withdrawn?" inquired the lady. - -"Certainly, madame. You can withdraw it at any time." - -"Very well, monsieur, let it be so . . . go on! Yes, the purchase of -land that you have arranged for me is worth the trouble; and, besides, -I have managed Vitel's business--he is to retire, and you must pay -Vitel's sixty thousand francs out of Pons' property. So, you see, you -must succeed." - -"Have you Vitel's resignation?" - -"Yes, monsieur. M. Vitel has put himself in M. de Marville's hands." - -"Very good, madame. I have already saved you sixty thousand francs -which I expected to give to that vile creature Mme. Cibot. But I still -require the tobacconist's license for the woman Sauvage, and an -appointment to the vacant place of head-physician at the Quinze-Vingts -for my friend Poulain." - -"Agreed--it is all arranged." - -"Very well. There is no more to be said. Every one is for you in this -business, even Gaudissart, the manager of the theatre. I went to look -him up yesterday, and he undertook to crush the workman who seemed -likely to give us trouble." - -"Oh, I know M. Gaudissart is devoted to the Popinots." - -Fraisier went out. Unluckily, he missed Gaudissart, and the fatal -summons was served forthwith. - -If all covetous minds will sympathize with the Presidente, all honest -folk will turn in abhorrence from her joy when Gaudissart came twenty -minutes later to report his conversation with poor Schmucke. She gave -her full approval; she was obliged beyond all expression for the -thoughtful way in which the manager relieved her of any remaining -scruples by observations which seemed to her to be very sensible and -just. - -"I thought as I came, Mme. la Presidente, that the poor devil would -not know what to do with the money. 'Tis a patriarchally simple -nature. He is a child, he is a German, he ought to be stuffed and put -in a glass case like a waxen image. Which is to say that, in my -opinion, he is quite puzzled enough already with his income of two -thousand five hundred francs, and here you are provoking him into -extravagance--" - -"It is very generous of him to wish to enrich the poor fellow who -regrets the loss of our cousin," pronounced the Presidente. "For my -own part, I am sorry for the little squabble that estranged M. Pons -and me. If he had come back again, all would have been forgiven. If -you only knew how my husband misses him! M. de Marville received no -notice of the death, and was in despair; family claims are sacred for -him, he would have gone to the service and the interment, and I myself -would have been at the mass--" - -"Very well, fair lady," said Gaudissart. "Be so good as to have the -documents drawn up, and at four o'clock I will bring this German to -you. Please remember me to your charming daughter the Vicomtesse, and -ask her to tell my illustrious friend the great statesman, her good -and excellent father-in-law, how deeply I am devoted to him and his, -and ask him to continue his valued favors. I owe my life to his uncle -the judge, and my success in life to him; and I should wish to be -bound to both you and your daughter by the high esteem which links us -with persons of rank and influence. I wish to leave the theatre and -become a serious person." - -"As you are already, monsieur!" said the Presidente. - -"Adorable!" returned Gaudissart, kissing the lady's shriveled fingers. - -At four o'clock that afternoon several people were gathered together -at Berthier's office; Fraisier, arch-concocter of the whole scheme, -Tabareau, appearing on behalf of Schmucke, and Schmucke himself. -Gaudissart had come with him. Fraisier had been careful to spread out -the money on Berthier's desk, and so dazzled was Schmucke by the sight -of the six thousand-franc bank-notes for which he had asked, and six -hundred francs for the first quarter's allowance, that he paid no heed -whatsoever to the reading of the document. Poor man, he was scarcely -in full possession of his faculties, shaken as they had already been -by so many shocks. Gaudissart had snatched him up on his return from -the cemetery, where he had been talking with Pons, promising to join -him soon--very soon. So Schmucke did not listen to the preamble in -which it was set forth that Maitre Tabareau, bailiff, was acting as -his proxy, and that the Presidente, in the interests of her daughter, -was taking legal proceedings against him. Altogether, in that preamble -the German played a sorry part, but he put his name to the document, -and thereby admitted the truth of Fraisier's abominable allegations; -and so joyous was he over receiving the money for the Topinards, so -glad to bestow wealth according to his little ideas upon the one -creature who loved Pons, that he heard not a word of lawsuit nor -compromise. - -But in the middle of the reading a clerk came into the private office -to speak to his employer. "There is a man here, sir, who wishes to -speak to M. Schmucke," said he. - -The notary looked at Fraisier, and, taking his cue from him, shrugged -his shoulders. - -"Never disturb us when we are signing documents. Just ask his name--is -it a man or a gentleman? Is he a creditor?" - -The clerk went and returned. "He insists that he must speak to M. -Schmucke." - -"His name?" - -"His name is Topinard, he says." - -"I will go out to him. Sign without disturbing yourself," said -Gaudissart, addressing Schmucke. "Make an end of it; I will find out -what he wants with us." - -Gaudissart understood Fraisier; both scented danger. - -"Why are you here?" Gaudissart began. "So you have no mind to be -cashier at the theatre? Discretion is a cashier's first -recommendation." - -"Sir--" - -"Just mind your own business; you will never be anything if you meddle -in other people's affairs." - -"Sir, I cannot eat bread if every mouthful of it is to stick in my -throat. . . . Monsieur Schmucke!--M. Schmucke!" he shouted aloud. - -Schmucke came out at the sound of Topinard's voice. He had just -signed. He held the money in his hand. - -"Thees ees for die liddle German maiden und for you," he said. - -"Oh! my dear M. Schmucke, you have given away your wealth to inhuman -wretches, to people who are trying to take away your good name. I took -this paper to a good man, an attorney who knows this Fraisier, and he -says that you ought to punish such wickedness; you ought to let them -summon you and leave them to get out of it.--Read this," and -Schmucke's imprudent friend held out the summons delivered in the Cite -Bordin. - -Standing in the notary's gateway, Schmucke read the document, saw the -imputations made against him, and, all ignorant as he was of the -amenities of the law, the blow was deadly. The little grain of sand -stopped his heart's beating. Topinard caught him in his arms, hailed a -passing cab, and put the poor German into it. He was suffering from -congestion of the brain; his eyes were dim, his head was throbbing, -but he had enough strength left to put the money into Topinard's -hands. - -Schmucke rallied from the first attack, but he never recovered -consciousness, and refused to eat. Ten days afterwards he died without -a complaint; to the last he had not spoken a word. Mme. Topinard -nursed him, and Topinard laid him by Pons' side. It was an obscure -funeral; Topinard was the only mourner who followed the son of Germany -to his last resting-place. - - - -Fraisier, now a justice of the peace, is very intimate with the -President's family, and much valued by the Presidente. She could not -think of allowing him to marry "that girl of Tabareau's," and promised -infinitely better things for the clever man to whom she considers she -owes not merely the pasture-land and the English cottage at Marville, -but also the President's seat in the Chamber of Deputies, for M. le -President was returned at the general election in 1846. - -Every one, no doubt, wishes to know what became of the heroine of a -story only too veracious in its details; a chronicle which, taken with -its twin sister the preceding volume, /La Cousine Bette/, proves that -Character is a great social force. You, O amateurs, connoisseurs, and -dealers, will guess at once that Pons' collection is now in question. -Wherefore it will suffice if we are present during a conversation that -took place only a few days ago in Count Popinot's house. He was -showing his splendid collection to some visitors. - -"M. le Comte, you possess treasures indeed," remarked a distinguished -foreigner. - -"Oh! as to pictures, nobody can hope to rival an obscure collector, -one Elie Magus, a Jew, an old monomaniac, the prince of picture- -lovers," the Count replied modestly. "And when I say nobody, I do not -speak of Paris only, but of all Europe. When the old Croesus dies, -France ought to spare seven or eight millions of francs to buy the -gallery. For curiosities, my collection is good enough to be talked -about--" - -"But how, busy as you are, and with a fortune so honestly earned in -the first instance in business--" - -"In the drug business," broke in Popinot; "you ask how I can continue -to interest myself in things that are a drug in the market--" - -"No," returned the foreign visitor, "no, but how do you find time to -collect? The curiosities do not come to find you." - -"My father-in-law owned the nucleus of the collection," said the young -Vicomtess; "he loved the arts and beautiful work, but most of his -treasures came to him through me." - -"Through you, madame?--So young! and yet have you such vices as this?" -asked a Russian prince. - -Russians are by nature imitative; imitative indeed to such an extent -that the diseases of civilization break out among them in epidemics. -The bric-a-brac mania had appeared in an acute form in St. Petersburg, -and the Russians caused such a rise of prices in the "art line," as -Remonencq would say, that collection became impossible. The prince who -spoke had come to Paris solely to buy bric-a-brac. - -"The treasures came to me, prince, on the death of a cousin. He was -very fond of me," added the Vicomtesse Popinot, "and he had spent some -forty odd years since 1805 in picking up these masterpieces -everywhere, but more especially in Italy--" - -"And what was his name?" inquired the English lord. - -"Pons," said President Camusot. - -"A charming man he was," piped the Presidente in her thin, flute -tones, "very clever, very eccentric, and yet very good-hearted. This -fan that you admire once belonged to Mme. de Pompadour; he gave it to -me one morning with a pretty speech which you must permit me not to -repeat," and she glanced at her daughter. - -"Mme. la Vicomtesse, tell us the pretty speech," begged the Russian -prince. - -"The speech was as pretty as the fan," returned the Vicomtesse, who -brought out the stereotyped remark on all occasions. "He told my -mother that it was quite time that it should pass from the hands of -vice into those of virtue." - -The English lord looked at Mme. Camusot de Marville with an air of -doubt not a little gratifying to so withered a woman. - -"He used to dine at our house two or three times a week," she said; -"he was so fond of us! We could appreciate him, and artists like the -society of those who relish their wit. My husband was, besides, his -one surviving relative. So when, quite unexpectedly, M. de Marville -came into the property, M. le Comte preferred to take over the whole -collection to save it from a sale by auction; and we ourselves much -preferred to dispose of it in that way, for it would have been so -painful to us to see the beautiful things, in which our dear cousin -was so much interested, all scattered abroad. Elie Magus valued them, -and in that way I became possessed of the cottage that your uncle -built, and I hope you will do us the honor of coming to see us there." - - - -Gaudissart's theatre passed into other hands a year ago, but M. -Topinard is still the cashier. M. Topinard, however, has grown gloomy -and misanthropic; he says little. People think that he has something -on his conscience. Wags at the theatre suggest that his gloom dates -from his marriage with Lolotte. Honest Topinard starts whenever he -hears Fraisier's name mentioned. Some people may think it strange that -the one nature worthy of Pons and Schmucke should be found on the -third floor beneath the stage of a boulevard theatre. - -Mme. Remonencq, much impressed with Mme. Fontaine's prediction, -declines to retire to the country. She is still living in her splendid -shop on the Boulevard de la Madeleine, but she is a widow now for the -second time. Remonencq, in fact, by the terms of the marriage -contract, settled the property upon the survivor, and left a little -glass of vitriol about for his wife to drink by mistake; but his wife, -with the very best intentions, put the glass elsewhere, and Remonencq -swallowed the draught himself. The rascal's appropriate end vindicates -Providence, as well as the chronicler of manners, who is sometimes -accused of neglect on this head, perhaps because Providence has been -so overworked by playwrights of late. - -Pardon the transcriber's errors. - - - - -ADDENDUM - -The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. - -Baudoyer, Isidore - The Government Clerks - The Middle Classes - -Berthier (Parisian notary) - Cousin Betty - -Berthier, Madame - The Muse of the Department - -Bixiou, Jean-Jacques - The Purse - A Bachelor's Establishment - The Government Clerks - Modeste Mignon - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - The Firm of Nucingen - The Muse of the Department - Cousin Betty - The Member for Arcis - Beatrix - A Man of Business - Gaudissart II. - The Unconscious Humorists - -Braulard - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - Cousin Betty - -Brisetout, Heloise - Cousin Betty - The Middle Classes - -Camusot - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - A Bachelor's Establishment - The Muse of the Department - Cesar Birotteau - At the Sign of the Cat and Racket - -Camusot de Marville - Jealousies of a Country Town - The Commission in Lunacy - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - -Camusot de Marville, Madame - The Vendetta - Cesar Birotteau - Jealousies of a Country Town - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - -Cardot (Parisian notary) - The Muse of the Department - A Man of Business - Jealousies of a Country Town - Pierre Grassou - The Middle Classes - -Chanor - Cousin Betty - -Crevel, Celestin - Cesar Birotteau - Cousin Betty - -Crottat, Alexandre - Cesar Birotteau - Colonel Chabert - A Start in Life - A Woman of Thirty - -Desplein - The Atheist's Mass - Lost Illusions - The Thirteen - The Government Clerks - Pierrette - A Bachelor's Establishment - The Seamy Side of History - Modeste Mignon - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - Honorine - -Florent - Cousin Betty - -Fontaine, Madame - The Unconscious Humorists - -Gaudissart, Felix - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - Cesar Birotteau - Honorine - Gaudissart the Great - -Godeschal, Francois-Claude-Marie - Colonel Chabert - A Bachelor's Establishment - A Start in Life - The Commission in Lunacy - The Middle Classes - -Godeschal, Marie - A Bachelor's Establishment - A Start in Life - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - -Gouraud, General, Baron - Pierrette - -Graff, Wolfgang - Cousin Betty - -Granville, Vicomte de (later Comte) - The Gondreville Mystery - Honorine - A Second Home - Farewell (Adieu) - Cesar Birotteau - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - A Daughter of Eve - -Grassou, Pierre - Pierre Grassou - A Bachelor's Establishment - Cousin Betty - The Middle Classes - -Hannequin, Leopold - Albert Savarus - Beatrix - Cousin Betty - -Haudry (doctor) - Cesar Birotteau - The Thirteen - A Bachelor's Establishment - The Seamy Side of History - -Lebrun (physician) - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - -Louchard - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - -Madeleine - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - -Magus, Elie - The Vendetta - A Marriage Settlement - A Bachelor's Establishment - Pierre Grassou - -Matifat (wealthy druggist) - Cesar Birotteau - A Bachelor's Establishment - Lost Illusions - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - The Firm of Nucingen - -Minard, Prudence - The Middle Classes - -Pillerault, Claude-Joseph - Cesar Birotteau - -Popinot, Anselme - Cesar Birotteau - Gaudissart the Great - Cousin Betty - -Popinot, Madame Anselme - Cesar Birotteau - A Prince of Bohemia - Cousin Betty - -Popinot, Vicomte - Cousin Betty - -Rivet, Achille - Cousin Betty - -Schmucke, Wilhelm - A Daughter of Eve - Ursule Mirouet - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - -Stevens, Dinah - A Marriage Settlement - -Stidmann - Modeste Mignon - Beatrix - The Member for Arcis - Cousin Betty - The Unconscious Humorists - -Thouvenin - Cesar Birotteau - -Vinet - Pierrette - The Member for Arcis - The Middle Classes - -Vinet, Olivier - The Member for Arcis - The Middle Classes - -Vivet, Madeleine - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - - - - - -End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Cousin Pons, by Honore de Balzac - diff --git a/old/cspns10.zip b/old/cspns10.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 88219d8..0000000 --- a/old/cspns10.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/cspns10h.htm b/old/cspns10h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 69d22e4..0000000 --- a/old/cspns10h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,13996 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN">
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-Title: Cousin Pons
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-<h1>Cousin Pons</h1>
-
-<h2>by Honore de Balzac</h2>
-
-<h3>Translated by Ellen Marriage</h3>
-
-<p> </p>
-
-<h2>COUSIN PONS</h2>
-
-
-<p>Towards three o'clock in the afternoon of one October day in
-the year 1844, a man of sixty or thereabouts, whom anybody might
-have credited with more than his actual age, was walking along
-the Boulevard des Italiens with his head bent down, as if he were
-tracking some one. There was a smug expression about the
-mouth—he looked like a merchant who has just done a good stroke
-of business, or a bachelor emerging from a boudoir in the best of
-humors with himself; and in Paris this is the highest degree of
-self-satisfaction ever registered by a human countenance.</p>
-
-<p>As soon as the elderly person appeared in the distance, a
-smile broke out over the faces of the frequenters of the
-boulevard, who daily, from their chairs, watch the passers-by,
-and indulge in the agreeable pastime of analyzing them. That
-smile is peculiar to Parisians; it says so many things—ironical,
-quizzical, pitying; but nothing save the rarest of human
-curiosities can summon that look of interest to the faces of
-Parisians, sated as they are with every possible sight.</p>
-
-<p>A saying recorded of Hyacinthe, an actor celebrated for his
-repartees, will explain the archaeological value of the old
-gentleman, and the smile repeated like an echo by all eyes.
-Somebody once asked Hyacinthe where the hats were made that set
-the house in a roar as soon as he appeared. "I don't have them
-made," he said; "I keep them!" So also among the million actors
-who make up the great troupe of Paris, there are unconscious
-Hyacinthes who "keep" all the absurd freaks of vanished fashions
-upon their backs; and the apparition of some bygone decade will
-startle you into laughter as you walk the streets in bitterness
-of soul over the treason of one who was your friend in the
-past.</p>
-
-<p>In some respects the passer-by adhered so faithfully to the
-fashions of the year 1806, that he was not so much a burlesque
-caricature as a reproduction of the Empire period. To an
-observer, accuracy of detail in a revival of this sort is
-extremely valuable, but accuracy of detail, to be properly
-appreciated, demands the critical attention of an expert
-<i>flaneur</i>; while the man in the street who raises a laugh as
-soon as he comes in sight is bound to be one of those outrageous
-exhibitions which stare you in the face, as the saying goes, and
-produce the kind of effect which an actor tries to secure for the
-success of his entry. The elderly person, a thin, spare man, wore
-a nut-brown spencer over a coat of uncertain green, with white
-metal buttons. A man in a spencer in the year 1844! it was as if
-Napoleon himself had vouchsafed to come to life again for a
-couple of hours.</p>
-
-<p>The spencer, as its name indicates, was the invention of an
-English lord, vain, doubtless, of his handsome shape. Some time
-before the Peace of Amiens, this nobleman solved the problem of
-covering the bust without destroying the outlines of the figure
-and encumbering the person with the hideous boxcoat, now
-finishing its career on the backs of aged hackney cabmen; but,
-elegant figures being in the minority, the success of the spencer
-was short-lived in France, English though it was.</p>
-
-<p>At the sight of the spencer, men of forty or fifty mentally
-invested the wearer with top-boots, pistachio-colored kerseymere
-small clothes adorned with a knot of ribbon; and beheld
-themselves in the costumes of their youth. Elderly ladies thought
-of former conquests; but the younger men were asking each other
-why the aged Alcibiades had cut off the skirts of his overcoat.
-The rest of the costume was so much in keeping with the spencer,
-that you would not have hesitated to call the wearer "an Empire
-man," just as you call a certain kind of furniture "Empire
-furniture;" yet the newcomer only symbolized the Empire for those
-who had known that great and magnificent epoch at any rate <i>de
-visu</i>, for a certain accuracy of memory was needed for the
-full appreciation of the costume, and even now the Empire is so
-far away that not every one of us can picture it in its
-Gallo-Grecian reality.</p>
-
-<p>The stranger's hat, for instance, tipped to the back of his
-head so as to leave almost the whole forehead bare, recalled a
-certain jaunty air, with which civilians and officials attempted
-to swagger it with military men; but the hat itself was a
-shocking specimen of the fifteen-franc variety. Constant friction
-with a pair of enormous ears had left their marks which no brush
-could efface from the underside of the brim; the silk tissue (as
-usual) fitted badly over the cardboard foundation, and hung in
-wrinkles here and there; and some skin-disease (apparently) had
-attacked the nap in spite of the hand which rubbed it down of a
-morning.</p>
-
-<p>Beneath the hat, which seemed ready to drop off at any moment,
-lay an expanse of countenance grotesque and droll, as the faces
-which the Chinese alone of all people can imagine for their
-quaint curiosities. The broad visage was as full of holes as a
-colander, honeycombed with the shadows of the dints, hollowed out
-like a Roman mask. It set all the laws of anatomy at defiance.
-Close inspection failed to detect the substructure. Where you
-expected to find a bone, you discovered a layer of cartilaginous
-tissue, and the hollows of an ordinary human face were here
-filled out with flabby bosses. A pair of gray eyes, red-rimmed
-and lashless, looked forlornly out of a countenance which was
-flattened something after the fashion of a pumpkin, and
-surmounted by a Don Quixote nose that rose out of it like a
-monolith above a plain. It was the kind of nose, as Cervantes
-must surely have explained somewhere, which denotes an inborn
-enthusiasm for all things great, a tendency which is apt to
-degenerate into credulity.</p>
-
-<p>And yet, though the man's ugliness was something almost
-ludicrous, it aroused not the slightest inclination to laugh. The
-exceeding melancholy which found an outlet in the poor man's
-faded eyes reached the mocker himself and froze the gibes on his
-lips; for all at once the thought arose that this was a human
-creature to whom Nature had forbidden any expression of love or
-tenderness, since such expression could only be painful or
-ridiculous to the woman he loved. In the presence of such
-misfortune a Frenchman is silent; to him it seems the most cruel
-of all afflictions—to be unable to please!</p>
-
-<p>The man so ill-favored was dressed after the fashion of shabby
-gentility, a fashion which the rich not seldom try to copy. He
-wore low shoes beneath gaiters of the pattern worn by the
-Imperial Guard, doubtless for the sake of economy, because they
-kept the socks clean. The rusty tinge of his black breeches, like
-the cut and the white or shiny line of the creases, assigned the
-date of the purchase some three years back. The roomy garments
-failed to disguise the lean proportions of the wearer, due
-apparently rather to constitution than to a Pythagorean regimen,
-for the worthy man was endowed with thick lips and a sensual
-mouth; and when he smiled, displayed a set of white teeth which
-would have done credit to a shark.</p>
-
-<p>A shawl-waistcoat, likewise of black cloth, was supplemented
-by a white under-waistcoat, and yet again beneath this gleamed
-the edge of a red knitted under-jacket, to put you in mind of
-Garat's five waistcoats. A huge white muslin stock with a
-conspicuous bow, invented by some exquisite to charm "the
-charming sex" in 1809, projected so far above the wearer's chin
-that the lower part of his face was lost, as it were, in a muslin
-abyss. A silk watch-guard, plaited to resemble the keepsakes made
-of hair, meandered down the shirt front and secured his watch
-from the improbable theft. The greenish coat, though older by
-some three years than the breeches, was remarkably neat; the
-black velvet collar and shining metal buttons, recently renewed,
-told of carefulness which descended even to trifles.</p>
-
-<p>The particular manner of fixing the hat on the occiput, the
-triple waistcoat, the vast cravat engulfing the chin, the
-gaiters, the metal buttons on the greenish coat,—all these
-reminiscences of Imperial fashions were blended with a sort of
-afterwaft and lingering perfume of the coquetry of the
-Incroyable—with an indescribable finical something in the folds
-of the garments, a certain air of stiffness and correctness in
-the demeanor that smacked of the school of David, that recalled
-Jacob's spindle-legged furniture.</p>
-
-<p>At first sight, moreover, you set him down either for the
-gentleman by birth fallen a victim to some degrading habit, or
-for the man of small independent means whose expenses are
-calculated to such a nicety that the breakage of a windowpane, a
-rent in a coat, or a visit from the philanthropic pest who asks
-you for subscriptions to a charity, absorbs the whole of a
-month's little surplus of pocket-money. If you had seen him that
-afternoon, you would have wondered how that grotesque face came
-to be lighted up with a smile; usually, surely, it must have worn
-the dispirited, passive look of the obscure toiler condemned to
-labor without ceasing for the barest necessaries of life. Yet
-when you noticed that the odd-looking old man was carrying some
-object (evidently precious) in his right hand with a mother's
-care; concealing it under the skirts of his coat to keep it from
-collisions in the crowd, and still more, when you remarked that
-important air always assumed by an idler when intrusted with a
-commission, you would have suspected him of recovering some piece
-of lost property, some modern equivalent of the marquise's
-poodle; you would have recognized the assiduous gallantry of the
-"man of the Empire" returning in triumph from his mission to some
-charming woman of sixty, reluctant as yet to dispense with the
-daily visit of her elderly <i>attentif</i>.</p>
-
-<p>In Paris only among great cities will you see such spectacles
-as this; for of her boulevards Paris makes a stage where a
-never-ending drama is played gratuitously by the French nation in
-the interests of Art.</p>
-
-<p>In spite of the rashly assumed spencer, you would scarcely
-have thought, after a glance at the contours of the man's bony
-frame, that this was an artist—that conventional type which is
-privileged, in something of the same way as a Paris gamin, to
-represent riotous living to the bourgeois and philistine mind,
-the most <i>mirific</i> joviality, in short (to use the old
-Rabelaisian word newly taken into use). Yet this elderly person
-had once taken the medal and the traveling scholarship; he had
-composed the first cantata crowned by the Institut at the time of
-the re-establishment of the Academie de Rome; he was M. Sylvain
-Pons, in fact—M. Sylvain Pons, whose name appears on the covers
-of well-known sentimental songs trilled by our mothers, to say
-nothing of a couple of operas, played in 1815 and 1816, and
-divers unpublished scores. The worthy soul was now ending his
-days as the conductor of an orchestra in a boulevard theatre, and
-a music master in several young ladies' boarding-schools, a post
-for which his face particularly recommended him. He was entirely
-dependent upon his earnings. Running about to give private
-lessons at his age!— Think of it. How many a mystery lies in
-that unromantic situation!</p>
-
-<p>But the last man to wear the spencer carried something about
-him besides his Empire Associations; a warning and a lesson was
-written large over that triple waistcoat. Wherever he went, he
-exhibited, without fee or charge, one of the many victims of the
-fatal system of competition which still prevails in France in
-spite of a century of trial without result; for Poisson de
-Marigny, brother of the Pompadour and Director of Fine Arts,
-somewhere about 1746 invented this method of applying pressure to
-the brain. That was a hundred years ago. Try if you can count
-upon your fingers the men of genius among the prizemen of those
-hundred years.</p>
-
-<p>In the first place, no deliberate effort of schoolmaster or
-administrator can replace the miracles of chance which produce
-great men: of all the mysteries of generation, this most defies
-the ambitious modern scientific investigator. In the second—the
-ancient Egyptians (we are told) invented incubator-stoves for
-hatching eggs; what would be thought of Egyptians who should
-neglect to fill the beaks of the callow fledglings? Yet this is
-precisely what France is doing. She does her utmost to produce
-artists by the artificial heat of competitive examination; but,
-the sculptor, painter, engraver, or musician once turned out by
-this mechanical process, she no more troubles herself about them
-and their fate than the dandy cares for yesterday's flower in his
-buttonhole. And so it happens that the really great man is a
-Greuze, a Watteau, a Felicien David, a Pagnesi, a Gericault, a
-Decamps, an Auber, a David d'Angers, an Eugene Delacroix, or a
-Meissonier—artists who take but little heed of <i>grande
-prix</i>, and spring up in the open field under the rays of that
-invisible sun called Vocation.</p>
-
-<p>To resume. The Government sent Sylvain Pons to Rome to make a
-great musician of himself; and in Rome Sylvain Pons acquired a
-taste for the antique and works of art. He became an admirable
-judge of those masterpieces of the brain and hand which are
-summed up by the useful neologism "bric-a-brac;" and when the
-child of Euterpe returned to Paris somewhere about the year 1810,
-it was in the character of a rabid collector, loaded with
-pictures, statuettes, frames, wood- carving, ivories, enamels,
-porcelains, and the like. He had sunk the greater part of his
-patrimony, not so much in the purchases themselves as on the
-expenses of transit; and every penny inherited from his mother
-had been spent in the course of a three-years' travel in Italy
-after the residence in Rome came to an end. He had seen Venice,
-Milan, Florence, Bologna, and Naples leisurely, as he wished to
-see them, as a dreamer of dreams, and a philosopher; careless of
-the future, for an artist looks to his talent for support as the
-<i>fille de joie</i> counts upon her beauty.</p>
-
-<p>All through those splendid years of travel Pons was as happy
-as was possible to a man with a great soul, a sensitive nature,
-and a face so ugly that any "success with the fair" (to use the
-stereotyped formula of 1809) was out of the question; the
-realities of life always fell short of the ideals which Pons
-created for himself; the world without was not in tune with the
-soul within, but Pons had made up his mind to the dissonance.
-Doubtless the sense of beauty that he had kept pure and living in
-his inmost soul was the spring from which the delicate, graceful,
-and ingenious music flowed and won him reputation between 1810
-and 1814.</p>
-
-<p>Every reputation founded upon the fashion or the fancy of the
-hour, or upon the short-lived follies of Paris, produces its
-Pons. No place in the world is so inexorable in great things; no
-city of the globe so disdainfully indulgent in small. Pons' notes
-were drowned before long in floods of German harmony and the
-music of Rossini; and if in 1824 he was known as an agreeable
-musician, a composer of various drawing- room melodies, judge if
-he was likely to be famous in 183l! In 1844, the year in which
-the single drama of this obscure life began, Sylvain Pons was of
-no more value than an antediluvian semiquaver; dealers in music
-had never heard of his name, though he was still composing, on
-scanty pay, for his own orchestra or for neighboring
-theatres.</p>
-
-<p>And yet, the worthy man did justice to the great masters of
-our day; a masterpiece finely rendered brought tears to his eyes;
-but his religion never bordered on mania, as in the case of
-Hoffmann's Kreislers; he kept his enthusiasm to himself; his
-delight, like the paradise reached by opium or hashish, lay
-within his own soul.</p>
-
-<p>The gift of admiration, of comprehension, the single faculty
-by which the ordinary man becomes the brother of the poet, is
-rare in the city of Paris, that inn whither all ideas, like
-travelers, come to stay for awhile; so rare is it, that Pons
-surely deserves our respectful esteem. His personal failure may
-seem anomalous, but he frankly admitted that he was weak in
-harmony. He had neglected the study of counterpoint; there was a
-time when he might have begun his studies afresh and held his own
-among modern composers, when he might have been, not certainly a
-Rossini, but a Herold. But he was alarmed by the intricacies of
-modern orchestration; and at length, in the pleasures of
-collecting, he found such ever-renewed compensation for his
-failure, that if he had been made to choose between his
-curiosities and the fame of Rossini—will it be believed?—Pons
-would have pronounced for his beloved collection.</p>
-
-<p>Pons was of the opinion of Chenavard, the print-collector, who
-laid it down as an axiom—that you only fully enjoy the pleasure
-of looking at your Ruysdael, Hobbema, Holbein, Raphael, Murillo,
-Greuze, Sebastian del Piombo, Giorgione, Albrecht Durer, or what
-not, when you have paid less than sixty francs for your picture.
-Pons never gave more than a hundred francs for any purchase. If
-he laid out as much as fifty francs, he was careful to assure
-himself beforehand that the object was worth three thousand. The
-most beautiful thing in the world, if it cost three hundred
-francs, did not exist for Pons. Rare had been his bargains; but
-he possessed the three qualifications for success—a stag's legs,
-an idler's disregard of time, and the patience of a Jew.</p>
-
-<p>This system, carried out for forty years, in Rome or Paris
-alike, had borne its fruits. Since Pons returned from Italy, he
-had regularly spent about two thousand francs a year upon a
-collection of masterpieces of every sort and description, a
-collection hidden away from all eyes but his own; and now his
-catalogue had reached the incredible number of 1907. Wandering
-about Paris between 1811 and 1816, he had picked up many a
-treasure for ten francs, which would fetch a thousand or twelve
-hundred to-day. Some forty-five thousand canvases change hands
-annually in Paris picture sales, and these Pons had sifted
-through year by year. Pons had Sevres porcelain, <i>pate
-tendre,</i> bought of Auvergnats, those satellites of the Black
-Band who sacked chateaux and carried off the marvels of Pompadour
-France in their tumbril carts; he had, in fact, collected the
-drifted wreck of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; he
-recognized the genius of the French school, and discerned the
-merit of the Lepautres and Lavallee-Poussins and the rest of the
-great obscure creators of the Genre Louis Quinze and the Genre
-Louis Seize. Our modern craftsmen now draw without acknowledgment
-from them, pore incessantly over the treasures of the Cabinet des
-Estampes, borrow adroitly, and give out their <i>pastiches</i>
-for new inventions. Pons had obtained many a piece by exchange,
-and therein lies the ineffable joy of the collector. The joy of
-buying bric-a-brac is a secondary delight; in the give-and-take
-of barter lies the joy of joys. Pons had begun by collecting
-snuff- boxes and miniatures; his name was unknown in
-bric-a-bracology, for he seldom showed himself in salesrooms or
-in the shops of well-known dealers; Pons was not aware that his
-treasures had any commercial value.</p>
-
-<p>The late lamented Dusommerard tried his best to gain Pons'
-confidence, but the prince of bric-a-brac died before he could
-gain an entrance to the Pons museum, the one private collection
-which could compare with the famous Sauvageot museum. Pons and M.
-Sauvageot indeed resembled each other in more ways than one. M.
-Sauvageot, like Pons, was a musician; he was likewise a
-comparatively poor man, and he had collected his bric-a-brac in
-much the same way, with the same love of art, the same hatred of
-rich capitalists with well-known names who collect for the sake
-of running up prices as cleverly as possible. There was yet
-another point of resemblance between the pair; Pons, like his
-rival competitor and antagonist, felt in his heart an insatiable
-craving after specimens of the craftsman's skill and miracles of
-workmanship; he loved them as a man might love a fair mistress;
-an auction in the salerooms in the Rue des Jeuneurs, with its
-accompaniments of hammer strokes and brokers' men, was a crime of
-<i>lese-bric-a-brac</i> in Pons' eyes. Pons' museum was for his
-own delight at every hour; for the soul created to know and feel
-all the beauty of a masterpiece has this in common with the
-lover—to-day's joy is as great as the joy of yesterday;
-possession never palls; and a masterpiece, happily, never grows
-old. So the object that he held in his hand with such fatherly
-care could only be a "find," carried off with what affection
-amateurs alone know!</p>
-
-<p>After the first outlines of this biographical sketch, every
-one will cry at once, "Why! this is the happiest man on earth, in
-spite of his ugliness!" And, in truth, no spleen, no dullness can
-resist the counter-irritant supplied by a "craze," the
-intellectual moxa of a hobby. You who can no longer drink of "the
-cup of pleasure," as it has been called through all ages, try to
-collect something, no matter what (people have been known to
-collect placards), so shall you receive the small change for the
-gold ingot of happiness. Have you a hobby? You have transferred
-pleasure to the plane of ideas. And yet, you need not envy the
-worthy Pons; such envy, like all kindred sentiments, would be
-founded upon a misapprehension.</p>
-
-<p>With a nature so sensitive, with a soul that lived by tireless
-admiration of the magnificent achievements of art, of the high
-rivalry between human toil and the work of Nature—Pons was a
-slave to that one of the Seven Deadly Sins with which God surely
-will deal least hardly; Pons was a glutton. A narrow income,
-combined with a passion for bric-a-brac, condemned him to a
-regimen so abhorrent to a discriminating palate, that, bachelor
-as he was, he had cut the knot of the problem by dining out every
-day.</p>
-
-<p>Now, in the time of the Empire, celebrities were more sought
-after than at present, perhaps because there were so few of them,
-perhaps because they made little or no political pretension. In
-those days, besides, you could set up for a poet, a musician, or
-a painter, with so little expense. Pons, being regarded as the
-probable rival of Nicolo, Paer, and Berton, used to receive so
-many invitations, that he was forced to keep a list of
-engagements, much as barristers note down the cases for which
-they are retained. And Pons behaved like an artist. He presented
-his amphitryons with copies of his songs, he "obliged" at the
-pianoforte, he brought them orders for boxes at the Feydeau, his
-own theatre, he organized concerts, he was not above taking the
-fiddle himself sometimes in a relation's house, and getting up a
-little impromptu dance. In those days, all the handsome men in
-France were away at the wars exchanging sabre-cuts with the
-handsome men of the Coalition. Pons was said to be, not ugly, but
-"peculiar- looking," after the grand rule laid down by Moliere in
-Eliante's famous couplets; but if he sometimes heard himself
-described as a "charming man" (after he had done some fair lady a
-service), his good fortune went no further than words.</p>
-
-<p>It was between the years 1810 and 1816 that Pons contracted
-the unlucky habit of dining out; he grew accustomed to see his
-hosts taking pains over the dinner, procuring the first and best
-of everything, bringing out their choicest vintages, seeing
-carefully to the dessert, the coffee, the liqueurs, giving him of
-their best, in short; the best, moreover, of those times of the
-Empire when Paris was glutted with kings and queens and princes,
-and many a private house emulated royal splendours.</p>
-
-<p>People used to play at Royalty then as they play nowadays at
-parliament, creating a whole host of societies with presidents,
-vice- presidents, secretaries and what not—agricultural
-societies, industrial societies, societies for the promotion of
-sericulture, viticulture, the growth of flax, and so forth. Some
-have even gone so far as to look about them for social evils in
-order to start a society to cure them.</p>
-
-<p>But to return to Pons. A stomach thus educated is sure to
-react upon the owner's moral fibre; the demoralization of the man
-varies directly with his progress in culinary sapience.
-Voluptuousness, lurking in every secret recess of the heart, lays
-down the law therein. Honor and resolution are battered in
-breach. The tyranny of the palate has never been described; as a
-necessity of life it escapes the criticism of literature; yet no
-one imagines how many have been ruined by the table. The luxury
-of the table is indeed, in this sense, the courtesan's one
-competitor in Paris, besides representing in a manner the credit
-side in another account, where she figures as the
-expenditure.</p>
-
-<p>With Pons' decline and fall as an artist came his simultaneous
-transformation from invited guest to parasite and hanger-on; he
-could not bring himself to quit dinners so excellently served for
-the Spartan broth of a two-franc ordinary. Alas! alas! a shudder
-ran through him at the mere thought of the great sacrifices which
-independence required him to make. He felt that he was capable of
-sinking to even lower depths for the sake of good living, if
-there were no other way of enjoying the first and best of
-everything, of guzzling (vulgar but expressive word) nice little
-dishes carefully prepared. Pons lived like a bird, pilfering his
-meal, flying away when he had taken his fill, singing a few notes
-by way of return; he took a certain pleasure in the thought that
-he lived at the expense of society, which asked of him—what but
-the trifling toll of grimaces? Like all confirmed bachelors, who
-hold their lodgings in horror, and live as much as possible in
-other people's houses, Pons was accustomed to the formulas and
-facial contortions which do duty for feeling in the world; he
-used compliments as small change; and as far as others were
-concerned, he was satisfied with the labels they bore, and never
-plunged a too-curious hand into the sack.</p>
-
-<p>This not intolerable phase lasted for another ten years. Such
-years! Pons' life was closing with a rainy autumn. All through
-those years he contrived to dine without expense by making
-himself necessary in the houses which he frequented. He took the
-first step in the downward path by undertaking a host of small
-commissions; many and many a time Pons ran on errands instead of
-the porter or the servant; many a purchase he made for his
-entertainers. He became a kind of harmless, well-meaning spy,
-sent by one family into another; but he gained no credit with
-those for whom he trudged about, and so often sacrificed
-self-respect.</p>
-
-<p>"Pons is a bachelor," said they; "he is at a loss to know what
-to do with his time; he is only too glad to trot about for
-us.—What else would he do?"</p>
-
-<p>Very soon the cold which old age spreads about itself began to
-set in; the communicable cold which sensibly lowers the social
-temperature, especially if the old man is ugly and poor. Old and
-ugly and poor—is not this to be thrice old? Pons' winter had
-begun, the winter which brings the reddened nose, and
-frost-nipped cheeks, and the numbed fingers, numb in how many
-ways!</p>
-
-<p>Invitations very seldom came for Pons now. So far from seeking
-the society of the parasite, every family accepted him much as
-they accepted the taxes; they valued nothing that Pons could do
-for them; real services from Pons counted for nought. The family
-circles in which the worthy artist revolved had no respect for
-art or letters; they went down on their knees to practical
-results; they valued nothing but the fortune or social position
-acquired since the year 1830. The bourgeoisie is afraid of
-intellect and genius, but Pons' spirit and manner were not
-haughty enough to overawe his relations, and naturally he had
-come at last to be accounted less than nothing with them, though
-he was not altogether despised.</p>
-
-<p>He had suffered acutely among them, but, like all timid
-creatures, he kept silence as to his pain; and so by degrees
-schooled himself to hide his feelings, and learned to take
-sanctuary in his inmost self. Many superficial persons interpret
-this conduct by the short word "selfishness;" and, indeed, the
-resemblance between the egoist and the solitary human creature is
-strong enough to seem to justify the harsher verdict; and this is
-especially true in Paris, where nobody observes others closely,
-where all things pass swift as waves, and last as little as a
-Ministry.</p>
-
-<p>So Cousin Pons was accused of selfishness (behind his back);
-and if the world accuses any one, it usually finds him guilty and
-condemns him into the bargain. Pons bowed to the decision. Do any
-of us know how such a timid creature is cast down by an unjust
-judgment? Who will ever paint all that the timid suffer? This
-state of things, now growing daily worse, explains the sad
-expression on the poor old musician's face; he lived by
-capitulations of which he was ashamed. Every time we sin against
-self-respect at the bidding of the ruling passion, we rivet its
-hold upon us; the more that passion requires of us, the stronger
-it grows, every sacrifice increasing, as it were, the value of a
-satisfaction for which so much has been given up, till the
-negative sum-total of renouncements looms very large in a man's
-imagination. Pons, for instance, after enduring the insolently
-patronizing looks of some bourgeois, incased in buckram of
-stupidity, sipped his glass of port or finished his quail with
-breadcrumbs, and relished something of the savor of revenge,
-besides. "It is not too dear at the price!" he said to
-himself.</p>
-
-<p>After all, in the eyes of the moralist, there were extenuating
-circumstances in Pons' case. Man only lives, in fact, by some
-personal satisfaction. The passionless, perfectly righteous man
-is not human; he is a monster, an angel wanting wings. The angel
-of Christian mythology has nothing but a head. On earth, the
-righteous person is the sufficiently tiresome Grandison, for whom
-the very Venus of the Crosswords is sexless.</p>
-
-<p>Setting aside one or two commonplace adventures in Italy, in
-which probably the climate accounted for his success, no woman
-had ever smiled upon Pons. Plenty of men are doomed to this fate.
-Pons was an abnormal birth; the child of parents well stricken in
-years, he bore the stigma of his untimely genesis; his cadaverous
-complexion might have been contracted in the flask of
-spirit-of-wine in which science preserves some extraordinary
-foetus. Artist though he was, with his tender, dreamy, sensitive
-soul, he was forced to accept the character which belonged to his
-face; it was hopeless to think of love, and he remained a
-bachelor, not so much of choice as of necessity. Then Gluttony,
-the sin of the continent monk, beckoned to Pons; he rushed upon
-temptation, as he had thrown his whole soul into the adoration of
-art and the cult of music. Good cheer and bric-a-brac gave him
-the small change for the love which could spend itself in no
-other way. As for music, it was his profession, and where will
-you find the man who is in love with his means of earning a
-livelihood? For it is with a profession as with marriage: in the
-long length you are sensible of nothing but the drawbacks.</p>
-
-<p>Brillat-Savarin has deliberately set himself to justify the
-gastronome, but perhaps even he has not dwelt sufficiently on the
-reality of the pleasures of the table. The demands of digestion
-upon the human economy produce an internal wrestling-bout of
-human forces which rivals the highest degree of amorous pleasure.
-The gastronome is conscious of an expenditure of vital power, an
-expenditure so vast that the brain is atrophied (as it were),
-that a second brain, located in the diaphragm, may come into
-play, and the suspension of all the faculties is in itself a kind
-of intoxication. A boa constrictor gorged with an ox is so stupid
-with excess that the creature is easily killed. What man, on the
-wrong side of forty, is rash enough to work after dinner? And
-remark in the same connection, that all great men have been
-moderate eaters. The exhilarating effect of the wing of a chicken
-upon invalids recovering from serious illness, and long confined
-to a stinted and carefully chosen diet, has been frequently
-remarked. The sober Pons, whose whole enjoyment was concentrated
-in the exercise of his digestive organs, was in the position of
-chronic convalescence; he looked to his dinner to give him the
-utmost degree of pleasurable sensation, and hitherto he had
-procured such sensations daily. Who dares to bid farewell to old
-habit? Many a man on the brink of suicide has been plucked back
-on the threshold of death by the thought of the cafe where he
-plays his nightly game of dominoes.</p>
-
-<p>In the year 1835, chance avenged Pons for the indifference of
-womankind by finding him a prop for his declining years, as the
-saying goes; and he, who had been old from his cradle, found a
-support in friendship. Pons took to himself the only life-partner
-permitted to him among his kind—an old man and a
-fellow-musician.</p>
-
-<p>But for La Fontaine's fable, <i>Les Deux Amis</i>, this sketch
-should have borne the title of <i>The Two Friends</i>; but to
-take the name of this divine story would surely be a deed of
-violence, a profanation from which every true man of letters
-would shrink. The title ought to be borne alone and for ever by
-the fabulist's masterpiece, the revelation of his soul, and the
-record of his dreams; those three words were set once and for
-ever by the poet at the head of a page which is his by a sacred
-right of ownership; for it is a shrine before which all
-generations, all over the world, will kneel so long as the art of
-printing shall endure.</p>
-
-<p>Pons' friend gave lessons on the pianoforte. They met and
-struck up an acquaintance in 1834, one prize day at a
-boarding-school; and so congenial were their ways of thinking and
-living, that Pons used to say that he had found his friend too
-late for his happiness. Never, perhaps, did two souls, so much
-alike, find each other in the great ocean of humanity which
-flowed forth, in disobedience to the will of God, from its source
-in the Garden of Eden. Before very long the two musicians could
-not live without each other. Confidences were exchanged, and in a
-week's time they were like brothers. Schmucke (for that was his
-name) had not believed that such a man as Pons existed, nor had
-Pons imagined that a Schmucke was possible. Here already you have
-a sufficient description of the good couple; but it is not every
-mind that takes kindly to the concise synthetic method, and a
-certain amount of demonstration is necessary if the credulous are
-to accept the conclusion.</p>
-
-<p>This pianist, like all other pianists, was a German. A German,
-like the eminent Liszt and the great Mendelssohn, and Steibelt,
-and Dussek, and Meyer, and Mozart, and Doelher, and Thalberg, and
-Dreschok, and Hiller, and Leopold Hertz, Woertz, Karr, Wolff,
-Pixis, and Clara Wieck —and all Germans, generally speaking.
-Schmucke was a great musical composer doomed to remain a music
-master, so utterly did his character lack the audacity which a
-musical genius needs if he is to push his way to the front. A
-German's naivete does not invariably last him through his life;
-in some cases it fails after a certain age; and even as a
-cultivator of the soil brings water from afar by means of
-irrigation channels, so, from the springs of his youth, does the
-Teuton draw the simplicity which disarms suspicion—the perennial
-supplies with which he fertilizes his labors in every field of
-science, art, or commerce. A crafty Frenchman here and there will
-turn a Parisian tradesman's stupidity to good account in the same
-way. But Schmucke had kept his child's simplicity much as Pons
-continued to wear his relics of the Empire—all unsuspectingly.
-The true and noble- hearted German was at once the theatre and
-the audience, making music within himself for himself alone. In
-this city of Paris he lived as a nightingale lives among the
-thickets; and for twenty years he sang on, mateless, till he met
-with a second self in Pons. [See <i>Une Fille d'Eve</i>.]</p>
-
-<p>Both Pons and Schmucke were abundantly given, both by heart
-and disposition, to the peculiarly German sentimentality which
-shows itself alike in childlike ways—in a passion for flowers,
-in that form of nature-worship which prompts a German to plant
-his garden-beds with big glass globes for the sake of seeing
-miniature pictures of the view which he can behold about him of a
-natural size; in the inquiring turn of mind that sets a learned
-Teuton trudging three hundred miles in his gaiters in search of a
-fact which smiles up in his face from a wayside spring, or lurks
-laughing under the jessamine leaves in the back-yard; or (to take
-a final instance) in the German craving to endow every least
-detail in creation with a spiritual significance, a craving which
-produces sometimes Hoffmann's tipsiness in type, sometimes the
-folios with which Germany hedges the simplest questions round
-about, lest haply any fool should fall into her intellectual
-excavations; and, indeed, if you fathom these abysses, you find
-nothing but a German at the bottom.</p>
-
-<p>Both friends were Catholics. They went to Mass and performed
-the duties of religion together; and, like children, found
-nothing to tell their confessors. It was their firm belief that
-music is to feeling and thought as thought and feeling are to
-speech; and of their converse on this system there was no end.
-Each made response to the other in orgies of sound, demonstrating
-their convictions, each for each, like lovers.</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke was as absent-minded as Pons was wide-awake. Pons was
-a collector, Schmucke a dreamer of dreams; Schmucke was a student
-of beauty seen by the soul, Pons a preserver of material beauty.
-Pons would catch sight of a china cup and buy it in the time that
-Schmucke took to blow his nose, wondering the while within
-himself whether the musical phrase that was ringing in his
-brain—the <i>motif</i> from Rossini or Bellini or Beethoven or
-Mozart—had its origin or its counterpart in the world of human
-thought and emotion. Schmucke's economies were controlled by an
-absent mind, Pons was a spendthrift through passion, and for both
-the result was the same—they had not a penny on Saint
-Sylvester's day.</p>
-
-<p>Perhaps Pons would have given way under his troubles if it had
-not been for this friendship; but life became bearable when he
-found some one to whom he could pour out his heart. The first
-time that he breathed a word of his difficulties, the good German
-had advised him to live as he himself did, and eat bread and
-cheese at home sooner than dine abroad at such a cost. Alas! Pons
-did not dare to confess that heart and stomach were at war within
-him, that he could digest affronts which pained his heart, and,
-cost what it might, a good dinner that satisfied his palate was a
-necessity to him, even as your gay Lothario must have a mistress
-to tease.</p>
-
-<p>In time Schmucke understood; not just at once, for he was too
-much of a Teuton to possess that gift of swift perception in
-which the French rejoice; Schmucke understood and loved poor Pons
-the better. Nothing so fortifies a friendship as a belief on the
-part of one friend that he is superior to the other. An angel
-could not have found a word to say to Schmucke rubbing his hands
-over the discovery of the hold that gluttony had gained over
-Pons. Indeed, the good German adorned their breakfast-table next
-morning with delicacies of which he went in search himself; and
-every day he was careful to provide something new for his friend,
-for they always breakfasted together at home.</p>
-
-<p>If any one imagines that the pair could not escape ridicule in
-Paris, where nothing is respected, he cannot know that city. When
-Schmucke and Pons united their riches and poverty, they hit upon
-the economical expedient of lodging together, each paying half
-the rent of the very unequally divided second-floor of a house in
-the Rue de Normandie in the Marais. And as it often happened that
-they left home together and walked side by side along their beat
-of boulevard, the idlers of the quarter dubbed them "the pair of
-nutcrackers," a nickname which makes any portrait of Schmucke
-quite superfluous, for he was to Pons as the famous statue of the
-Nurse of Niobe in the Vatican is to the Tribune Venus.</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Cibot, portress of the house in the Rue de Normandie, was
-the pivot on which the domestic life of the nutcrackers turned;
-but Mme. Cibot plays so large a part in the drama which grew out
-of their double existence, that it will be more appropriate to
-give her portrait on her first appearance in this Scene of
-Parisian Life.</p>
-
-<p>One thing remains to be said of the characters of the pair of
-friends; but this one thing is precisely the hardest to make
-clear to ninety- nine readers out of a hundred in this
-forty-seventh year of the nineteenth century, perhaps by reason
-of the prodigious financial development brought about by the
-railway system. It is a little thing, and yet it is so much. It
-is a question, in fact, of giving an idea of the extreme
-sensitiveness of their natures. Let us borrow an illustration
-from the railways, if only by way of retaliation, as it were, for
-the loans which they levy upon us. The railway train of to-day,
-tearing over the metals, grinds away fine particles of dust,
-grains so minute that a traveler cannot detect them with the eye;
-but let a single one of those invisible motes find its way into
-the kidneys, it will bring about that most excruciating, and
-sometimes fatal, disease known as gravel. And our society,
-rushing like a locomotive along its metaled track, is heedless of
-the all but imperceptible dust made by the grinding of the
-wheels; but it was otherwise with the two musicians; the
-invisible grains of sand sank perpetually into the very fibres of
-their being, causing them intolerable anguish of heart. Tender
-exceedingly to the pain of others, they wept for their own
-powerlessness to help; and their own susceptibilities were almost
-morbidly acute. Neither age nor the continual spectacle of the
-drama of Paris life had hardened two souls still young and
-childlike and pure; the longer they lived, indeed, the more
-keenly they felt their inward suffering; for so it is, alas! with
-natures unsullied by the world, with the quiet thinker, and with
-such poets among the poets as have never fallen into any
-excess.</p>
-
-<p>Since the old men began housekeeping together, the day's
-routine was very nearly the same for them both. They worked
-together in harness in the fraternal fashion of the Paris
-cab-horse; rising every morning, summer and winter, at seven
-o'clock, and setting out after breakfast to give music lessons in
-the boarding-schools, in which, upon occasion, they would take
-lessons for each other. Towards noon Pons repaired to his
-theatre, if there was a rehearsal on hand; but all his spare
-moments were spent in sauntering on the boulevards. Night found
-both of them in the orchestra at the theatre, for Pons had found
-a place for Schmucke, and upon this wise.</p>
-
-<p>At the time of their first meeting, Pons had just received
-that marshal's baton of the unknown musical composer—an
-appointment as conductor of an orchestra. It had come to him
-unasked, by a favor of Count Popinot, a bourgeois hero of July,
-at that time a member of the Government. Count Popinot had the
-license of a theatre in his gift, and Count Popinot had also an
-old acquaintance of the kind that the successful man blushes to
-meet. As he rolls through the streets of Paris in his carriage,
-it is not pleasant to see his boyhood's chum down at heel, with a
-coat of many improbable colors and trousers innocent of straps,
-and a head full of soaring speculations on too grand a scale to
-tempt shy, easily scared capital. Moreover, this friend of his
-youth, Gaudissart by name, had done not a little in the past
-towards founding the fortunes of the great house of Popinot.
-Popinot, now a Count and a peer of France, after twice holding a
-portfolio had no wish to shake off "the Illustrious Gaudissart."
-Quite otherwise. The pomps and vanities of the Court of the
-Citizen-King had not spoiled the sometime druggist's kind heart;
-he wished to put his ex-commercial traveler in the way of
-renewing his wardrobe and replenishing his purse. So when
-Gaudissart, always an enthusiastic admirer of the fair sex,
-applied for the license of a bankrupt theatre, Popinot granted it
-on condition that Pons (a parasite of the Hotel Popinot) should
-be engaged as conductor of the orchestra; and at the same time,
-the Count was careful to send certain elderly amateurs of beauty
-to the theatre, so that the new manager might be strongly
-supported financially by wealthy admirers of feminine charms
-revealed by the costume of the ballet.</p>
-
-<p>Gaudissart and Company, who, be it said, made their fortune,
-hit upon the grand idea of operas for the people, and carried it
-out in a boulevard theatre in 1834. A tolerable conductor, who
-could adapt or even compose a little music upon occasion, was a
-necessity for ballets and pantomimes; but the last management had
-so long been bankrupt, that they could not afford to keep a
-transposer and copyist. Pons therefore introduced Schmucke to the
-company as copier of music, a humble calling which requires no
-small musical knowledge; and Schmucke, acting on Pons' advice,
-came to an understanding with the <i>chef-de-service</i> at the
-Opera-Comique, so saving himself the clerical drudgery.</p>
-
-<p>The partnership between Pons and Schmucke produced one
-brilliant result. Schmucke being a German, harmony was his strong
-point; he looked over the instrumentation of Pons' compositions,
-and Pons provided the airs. Here and there an amateur among the
-audience admired the new pieces of music which served as
-accompaniment to two or three great successes, but they
-attributed the improvement vaguely to "progress." No one cared to
-know the composer's name; like occupants of the
-<i>baignoires</i>, lost to view of the house, to gain a view of
-the stage, Pons and Schmucke eclipsed themselves by their
-success. In Paris (especially since the Revolution of July) no
-one can hope to succeed unless he will push his way
-<i>quibuscumque viis</i> and with all his might through a
-formidable host of competitors; but for this feat a man needs
-thews and sinews, and our two friends, be it remembered, had that
-affection of the heart which cripples all ambitious effort.</p>
-
-<p>Pons, as a rule, only went to his theatre towards eight
-o'clock, when the piece in favor came on, and overtures and
-accompaniments needed the strict ruling of the baton; most minor
-theatres are lax in such matters, and Pons felt the more at ease
-because he himself had been by no means grasping in all his
-dealings with the management; and Schmucke, if need be, could
-take his place. Time went by, and Schmucke became an institution
-in the orchestra; the Illustrious Gaudissart said nothing, but he
-was well aware of the value of Pons' collaborator. He was obliged
-to include a pianoforte in the orchestra (following the example
-of the leading theatres); the instrument was placed beside the
-conductor's chair, and Schmucke played without increase of
-salary—a volunteer supernumerary. As Schmucke's character, his
-utter lack of ambition or pretence became known, the orchestra
-recognized him as one of themselves; and as time went on, he was
-intrusted with the often needed miscellaneous musical instruments
-which form no part of the regular band of a boulevard theatre.
-For a very small addition to his stipend, Schmucke played the
-viola d'amore, hautboy, violoncello, and harp, as well as the
-piano, the castanets for the <i>cachucha</i>, the bells, saxhorn,
-and the like. If the Germans cannot draw harmony from the mighty
-instruments of Liberty, yet to play all instruments of music
-comes to them by nature.</p>
-
-<p>The two old artists were exceedingly popular at the theatre,
-and took its ways philosophically. They had put, as it were,
-scales over their eyes, lest they should see the offences that
-needs must come when a <i>corps de ballet</i> is blended with
-actors and actresses, one of the most trying combinations ever
-created by the laws of supply and demand for the torment of
-managers, authors, and composers alike.</p>
-
-<p>Every one esteemed Pons with his kindness and his modesty, his
-great self-respect and respect for others; for a pure and limpid
-life wins something like admiration from the worst nature in
-every social sphere, and in Paris a fair virtue meets with
-something of the success of a large diamond, so great a rarity it
-is. No actor, no dancer however brazen, would have indulged in
-the mildest practical joke at the expense of either Pons or
-Schmucke.</p>
-
-<p>Pons very occasionally put in an appearance in the
-<i>foyer</i>; but all that Schmucke knew of the theatre was the
-underground passage from the street door to the orchestra.
-Sometimes, however, during an interval, the good German would
-venture to make a survey of the house and ask a few questions of
-the first flute, a young fellow from Strasbourg, who came of a
-German family at Kehl. Gradually under the flute's tuition
-Schmucke's childlike imagination acquired a certain amount of
-knowledge of the world; he could believe in the existence of that
-fabulous creature the <i>lorette</i>, the possibility of
-"marriages at the Thirteenth Arrondissement," the vagaries of the
-leading lady, and the contraband traffic carried on by
-box-openers. In his eyes the more harmless forms of vice were the
-lowest depths of Babylonish iniquity; he did not believe the
-stories, he smiled at them for grotesque inventions. The
-ingenious reader can see that Pons and Schmucke were exploited,
-to use a word much in fashion; but what they lost in money they
-gained in consideration and kindly treatment.</p>
-
-<p>It was after the success of the ballet with which a run of
-success began for the Gaudissart Company that the management
-presented Pons with a piece of plate—a group of figures
-attributed to Benvenuto Cellini. The alarming costliness of the
-gift caused talk in the green- room. It was a matter of twelve
-hundred francs! Pons, poor honest soul, was for returning the
-present, and Gaudissart had a world of trouble to persuade him to
-keep it.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah!" said the manager afterwards, when he told his partner of
-the interview, "if we could only find actors up to that
-sample."</p>
-
-<p>In their joint life, outwardly so quiet, there was the one
-disturbing element—the weakness to which Pons sacrificed, the
-insatiable craving to dine out. Whenever Schmucke happened to be
-at home while Pons was dressing for the evening, the good German
-would bewail this deplorable habit.</p>
-
-<p>"Gif only he vas ony fatter vor it!" he many a time cried.</p>
-
-<p>And Schmucke would dream of curing his friend of his degrading
-vice, for a true friend's instinct in all that belongs to the
-inner life is unerring as a dog's sense of smell; a friend knows
-by intuition the trouble in his friend's soul, and guesses at the
-cause and ponders it in his heart.</p>
-
-<p>Pons, who always wore a diamond ring on the little finger of
-his right hand, an ornament permitted in the time of the Empire,
-but ridiculous to-day—Pons, who belonged to the "troubadour
-time," the sentimental periods of the first Empire, was too much
-a child of his age, too much of a Frenchman to wear the
-expression of divine serenity which softened Schmucke's hideous
-ugliness. From Pons' melancholy looks Schmucke knew that the
-profession of parasite was growing daily more difficult and
-painful. And, in fact, in that month of October 1844, the number
-of houses at which Pons dined was naturally much restricted;
-reduced to move round and round the family circle, he had used
-the word family in far too wide a sense, as will shortly be
-seen.</p>
-
-<p>M. Camusot, the rich silk mercer of the Rue des Bourdonnais,
-had married Pons' first cousin, Mlle. Pons, only child and
-heiress of one of the well-known firm of Pons Brothers, court
-embroiderers. Pons' own father and mother retired from a firm
-founded before the Revolution of 1789, leaving their capital in
-the business until Mlle. Pons' father sold it in 1815 to M.
-Rivet. M. Camusot had since lost his wife and married again, and
-retired from business some ten years, and now in 1844 he was a
-member of the Board of Trade, a deputy, and what not. But the
-Camusot clan were friendly; and Pons, good man, still considered
-that he was some kind of cousin to the children of the second
-marriage, who were not relations, or even connected with him in
-any way.</p>
-
-<p>The second Mme. Camusot being a Mlle. Cardot, Pons introduced
-himself as a relative into the tolerably numerous Cardot family,
-a second bourgeois tribe which, taken with its connections,
-formed quite as strong a clan as the Camusots; for Cardot the
-notary (brother of the second Mme. Camusot) had married a Mlle.
-Chiffreville; and the well- known family of Chiffreville, the
-leading firm of manufacturing chemists, was closely connected
-with the whole drug trade, of which M. Anselme Popinot was for
-many years the undisputed head, until the Revolution of July
-plunged him into the very centre of the dynastic movement, as
-everybody knows. So Pons, in the wake of the Camusots and
-Cardots, reached the Chiffrevilles, and thence the Popinots,
-always in the character of a cousin's cousin.</p>
-
-<p>The above concise statement of Pons' relations with his
-entertainers explains how it came to pass that an old musician
-was received in 1844 as one of the family in the houses of four
-distinguished persons—to wit, M. le Comte Popinot, peer of
-France, and twice in office; M. Cardot, retired notary, mayor and
-deputy of an arrondissement in Paris; M. Camusot senior, a member
-of the Board of Trade and the Municipal Chamber and a peerage;
-and lastly, M. Camusot de Marville, Camusot's son by his first
-marriage, and Pons' one genuine relation, albeit even he was a
-first cousin once removed.</p>
-
-<p>This Camusot, President of a Chamber of the Court of Appeal in
-Paris, had taken the name of his estate at Marville to
-distinguish himself from his father and a younger half
-brother.</p>
-
-<p>Cardot the retired notary had married his daughter to his
-successor, whose name was Berthier; and Pons, transferred as part
-of the connection, acquired a right to dine with the Berthiers
-"in the presence of a notary," as he put it.</p>
-
-<p>This was the bourgeois empyrean which Pons called his
-"family," that upper world in which he so painfully reserved his
-right to a knife and fork.</p>
-
-<p>Of all these houses, some ten in all, the one in which Pons
-ought to have met with the kindest reception should by rights
-have been his own cousin's; and, indeed, he paid most attention
-to President Camusot's family. But, alas! Mme. Camusot de
-Marville, daughter of the Sieur Thirion, usher of the cabinet to
-Louis XVIII. and Charles X., had never taken very kindly to her
-husband's first cousin, once removed. Pons had tried to soften
-this formidable relative; he wasted his time; for in spite of the
-pianoforte lessons which he gave gratuitously to Mlle. Camusot, a
-young woman with hair somewhat inclined to red, it was impossible
-to make a musician of her.</p>
-
-<p>And now, at this very moment, as he walked with that precious
-object in his hand, Pons was bound for the President's house,
-where he always felt as if he were at the Tuileries itself, so
-heavily did the solemn green curtains, the carmelite-brown
-hangings, thick piled carpets, heavy furniture, and general
-atmosphere of magisterial severity oppress his soul. Strange as
-it may seem, he felt more at home in the Hotel Popinot, Rue
-Basse-du-Rempart, probably because it was full of works of art;
-for the master of the house, since he entered public life, had
-acquired a mania for collecting beautiful things, by way of
-contrast no doubt, for a politician is obliged to pay for secret
-services of the ugliest kind.</p>
-
-<p>President de Marville lived in the Rue de Hanovre, in a house
-which his wife had bought ten years previously, on the death of
-her parents, for the Sieur and Dame Thirion left their daughter
-about a hundred and fifty thousand francs, the savings of a
-lifetime. With its north aspect, the house looks gloomy enough
-seen from the street, but the back looks towards the south over
-the courtyard, with a rather pretty garden beyond it. As the
-President occupied the whole of the first floor, once the abode
-of a great financier of the time of Louis XIV., and the second
-was let to a wealthy old lady, the house wore a look of dignified
-repose befitting a magistrate's residence. President Camusot had
-invested all that he inherited from his mother, together with the
-savings of twenty years, in the purchase of the splendid Marville
-estate; a chateau (as fine a relic of the past as you will find
-to-day in Normandy) standing in a hundred acres of park land, and
-a fine dependent farm, nominally bringing in twelve thousand
-francs per annum, though, as it cost the President at least a
-thousand crowns to keep up a state almost princely in our days,
-his yearly revenue, "all told," as the saying is, was a bare nine
-thousand francs. With this and his salary, the President's income
-amounted to about twenty thousand francs; but though to all
-appearance a wealthy man, especially as one-half of his father's
-property would one day revert to him as the only child of the
-first marriage, he was obliged to live in Paris as befitted his
-official position, and M. and Mme. de Marville spent almost the
-whole of their incomes. Indeed, before the year 1834 they felt
-pinched.</p>
-
-<p>This family schedule sufficiently explains why Mlle. de
-Marville, aged three-and-twenty, was still unwed, in spite of a
-hundred thousand francs of dowry and tempting prospects,
-frequently, skilfully, but so far vainly, held out. For the past
-five years Pons had listened to Mme. la Presidente's lamentations
-as she beheld one young lawyer after another led to the altar,
-while all the newly appointed judges at the Tribunal were fathers
-of families already; and she, all this time, had displayed Mlle.
-de Marville's brilliant expectations before the undazzled eyes of
-young Vicomte Popinot, eldest son of the great man of the drug
-trade, he of whom it was said by the envious tongues of the
-neighborhood of the Rue des Lombards, that the Revolution of July
-had been brought about at least as much for his particular
-benefit as for the sake of the Orleans branch.</p>
-
-<p>Arrived at the corner of the Rue de Choiseul and the Rue de
-Hanovre, Pons suffered from the inexplicable emotions which
-torment clear consciences; for a panic terror such as the worst
-of scoundrels might feel at sight of a policeman, an agony caused
-solely by a doubt as to Mme. de Marville's probable reception of
-him. That grain of sand, grating continually on the fibres of his
-heart, so far from losing its angles, grew more and more jagged,
-and the family in the Rue de Hanovre always sharpened the edges.
-Indeed, their unceremonious treatment and Pons' depreciation in
-value among them had affected the servants; and while they did
-not exactly fail in respect, they looked on the poor relation as
-a kind of beggar.</p>
-
-<p>Pons' arch-enemy in the house was the ladies'-maid, a thin and
-wizened spinster, Madeleine Vivet by name. This Madeleine, in
-spite of, nay, perhaps on the strength of, a pimpled complexion
-and a viper-like length of spine, had made up her mind that some
-day she would be Mme. Pons. But in vain she dangled twenty
-thousand francs of savings before the old bachelor's eyes; Pons
-had declined happiness accompanied by so many pimples. From that
-time forth the Dido of the ante-chamber, who fain had called her
-master and mistress "cousin," wreaked her spite in petty ways
-upon the poor musician. She heard him on the stairs, and cried
-audibly, "Oh! here comes the sponger!" She stinted him of wine
-when she waited at dinner in the footman's absence; she filled
-the water-glass to the brim, to give him the difficult task of
-lifting it without spilling a drop; or she would pass the old man
-over altogether, till the mistress of the house would remind her
-(and in what a tone!—it brought the color to the poor cousin's
-face); or she would spill the gravy over his clothes. In short,
-she waged petty war after the manner of a petty nature, knowing
-that she could annoy an unfortunate superior with impunity.</p>
-
-<p>Madeleine Vivet was Mme. de Marville's maid and housekeeper.
-She had lived with M. and Mme. Camusot de Marville since their
-marriage; she had shared the early struggles in the provinces
-when M. Camusot was a judge at Alencon; she had helped them to
-exist when M. Camusot, President of the Tribunal of Mantes, came
-to Paris, in 1828, to be an examining magistrate. She was,
-therefore, too much one of the family not to wish, for reasons of
-her own, to revenge herself upon them. Beneath her desire to pay
-a trick upon her haughty and ambitious mistress, and to call her
-master her cousin, there surely lurked a long-stifled hatred,
-built up like an avalanche, upon the pebble of some past
-grievance.</p>
-
-<p>"Here comes your M. Pons, madame, still wearing that spencer
-of his!" Madeleine came to tell the Presidente. "He really might
-tell me how he manages to make it look the same for
-five-and-twenty years together."</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Camusot de Marville, hearing a man's footstep in the
-little drawing-room between the large drawing-room and her
-bedroom, looked at her daughter and shrugged her shoulders.</p>
-
-<p>"You always make these announcements so cleverly that you
-leave me no time to think, Madeleine."</p>
-
-<p>"Jean is out, madame, I was all alone; M. Pons rang the bell,
-I opened the door; and as he is almost one of the family, I could
-not prevent him from coming after me. There he is, taking off his
-spencer."</p>
-
-<p>"Poor little puss!" said the Presidente, addressing her
-daughter, "we are caught. We shall have to dine at home now.—Let
-us see," she added, seeing that the "dear puss" wore a piteous
-face; "must we get rid of him for good?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! poor man!" cried Mlle. Camusot, "deprive him of one of
-his dinners?"</p>
-
-<p>Somebody coughed significantly in the next room by way of
-warning that he could hear.</p>
-
-<p>"Very well, let him come in!" said Mme. Camusot, looking at
-Madeleine with another shrug.</p>
-
-<p>"You are here so early, cousin, that you have come in upon us
-just as mother was about to dress," said Cecile Camusot in a
-coaxing tone. But Cousin Pons had caught sight of the
-Presidente's shrug, and felt so cruelly hurt that he could not
-find a compliment, and contented himself with the profound
-remark, "You are always charming, my little cousin."</p>
-
-<p>Then, turning to the mother, he continued with a bow:</p>
-
-<p>"You will not take it amiss, I think, if I have come a little
-earlier than usual, dear cousin; I have brought something for
-you; you once did me the pleasure of asking me for it."</p>
-
-<p>Poor Pons! Every time he addressed the President, the
-President's wife, or Cecile as "cousin," he gave them
-excruciating annoyance. As he spoke, he draw a long, narrow
-cherry-wood box, marvelously carved, from his coat-pocket.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, did I?—I had forgotten," the lady answered drily.</p>
-
-<p>It was a heartless speech, was it not? Did not those few words
-deny all merit to the pains taken for her by the cousin whose one
-offence lay in the fact that he was a poor relation?</p>
-
-<p>"But it is very kind of you, cousin," she added. "How much to
-I owe you for this little trifle?"</p>
-
-<p>Pons quivered inwardly at the question. He had meant the
-trinket as a return for his dinners.</p>
-
-<p>"I thought that you would permit me to offer it you——" he
-faltered out.</p>
-
-<p>"What?" said Mme. Camusot. "Oh! but there need be no ceremony
-between us; we know each other well enough to wash our linen
-among ourselves. I know very well that you are not rich enough to
-give more than you get. And to go no further, it is quite enough
-that you should have spent a good deal of time in running among
-the dealers—"</p>
-
-<p>"If you were asked to pay the full price of the fan, my dear
-cousin, you would not care to have it," answered poor Pons, hurt
-and insulted; "it is one of Watteau's masterpieces, painted on
-both sides; but you may be quite easy, cousin, I did not give
-one-hundredth part of its value as a work of art."</p>
-
-<p>To tell a rich man that he is poor! you might as well tell the
-Archbishop of Granada that his homilies show signs of senility.
-Mme. la Presidente, proud of her husband's position, of the
-estate of Marville, and her invitations to court balls, was
-keenly susceptible on this point; and what was worse, the remark
-came from a poverty- stricken musician to whom she had been
-charitable.</p>
-
-<p>"Then the people of whom you buy things of this kind are very
-stupid, are they?" she asked quickly.</p>
-
-<p>"Stupid dealers are unknown in Paris," Pons answered almost
-drily.</p>
-
-<p>"Then you must be very clever," put in Cecile by way of
-calming the dispute.</p>
-
-<p>"Clever enough to know a Lancret, a Watteau, a Pater, or
-Greuze when I see it, little cousin; but anxious, most of all, to
-please your dear mamma."</p>
-
-<p>Mme. de Marville, ignorant and vain, was unwilling to appear
-to receive the slightest trifle from the parasite; and here her
-ignorance served her admirably, she did not even know the name of
-Watteau. And, on the other hand, if anything can measure the
-extent of the collector's passion, which, in truth, is one of the
-most deeply seated of all passions, rivaling the very vanity of
-the author—if anything can give an idea of the lengths to which
-a collector will go, it is the audacity which Pons displayed on
-this occasion, as he held his own against his lady cousin for the
-first time in twenty years. He was amazed at his own boldness. He
-made Cecile see the beauties of the delicate carving on the
-sticks of this wonder, and as he talked to her his face grew
-serene and gentle again. But without some sketch of the
-Presidente, it is impossible fully to understand the perturbation
-of heart from which Pons suffered.</p>
-
-<p>Mme. de Marville had been short and fair, plump and fresh; at
-forty- six she was as short as ever, but she looked dried up. An
-arched forehead and thin lips, that had been softly colored once,
-lent a soured look to a face naturally disdainful, and now grown
-hard and unpleasant with a long course of absolute domestic rule.
-Time had deepened her fair hair to a harsh chestnut hue; the
-pride of office, intensified by suppressed envy, looked out of
-eyes that had lost none of their brightness nor their satirical
-expression. As a matter of fact, Mme. Camusot de Marville felt
-almost poor in the society of self-made wealthy bourgeois with
-whom Pons dined. She could not forgive the rich retail druggist,
-ex-president of the Commercial Court, for his successive
-elevations as deputy, member of the Government, count and peer of
-France. She could not forgive her father-in-law for putting
-himself forward instead of his eldest son as deputy of his
-arrondissement after Popinot's promotion to the peerage. After
-eighteen years of services in Paris, she was still waiting for
-the post of Councillor of the Court of Cassation for her husband.
-It was Camusot's own incompetence, well known at the Law Courts,
-which excluded him from the Council. The Home Secretary of 1844
-even regretted Camusot's nomination to the presidency of the
-Court of Indictments in 1834, though, thanks to his past
-experience as an examining magistrate, he made himself useful in
-drafting decrees.</p>
-
-<p>These disappointments had told upon Mme. de Marville, who,
-moreover, had formed a tolerably correct estimate of her husband.
-A temper naturally shrewish was soured till she grew positively
-terrible. She was not old, but she had aged; she deliberately set
-herself to extort by fear all that the world was inclined to
-refuse her, and was harsh and rasping as a file. Caustic to
-excess she had few friends among women; she surrounded herself
-with prim, elderly matrons of her own stamp, who lent each other
-mutual support, and people stood in awe of her. As for poor Pons,
-his relations with this fiend in petticoats were very much those
-of a schoolboy with the master whose one idea of communication is
-the ferule.</p>
-
-<p>The Presidente had no idea of the value of the gift. She was
-puzzled by her cousin's sudden access of audacity.</p>
-
-<p>"Then, where did you find this?" inquired Cecile, as she
-looked closely at the trinket.</p>
-
-<p>"In the Rue de Lappe. A dealer in second-hand furniture there
-had just brought it back with him from a chateau that is being
-pulled down near Dreux, Aulnay. Mme. de Pompadour used to spend
-part of her time there before she built Menars. Some of the most
-splendid wood-carving ever known has been saved from destruction;
-Lienard (our most famous living wood-carver) had kept a couple of
-oval frames for models, as the <i>ne plus ultra</i> of the art,
-so fine it is.—There were treasures in that place. My man found
-the fan in the drawer of an inlaid what-not, which I should
-certainly have bought if I were collecting things of the kind,
-but it is quite out of the question—a single piece of Riesener's
-furniture is worth three or four thousand francs! People here in
-Paris are just beginning to find out that the famous French and
-German marquetry workers of the sixteenth, seventeenth, and
-eighteenth centuries composed perfect pictures in wood. It is a
-collector's business to be ahead of the fashion. Why, in five
-years' time, the Frankenthal ware, which I have been collecting
-these twenty years, will fetch twice the price of Sevres <i>pata
-tendre.</i>"</p>
-
-<p>"What is Frankenthal ware?" asked Cecile.</p>
-
-<p>"That is the name of the porcelain made by the Elector of the
-Palatinate; it dates further back than our manufactory at Sevres;
-just as the famous gardens at Heidelberg, laid waste by Turenne,
-had the bad luck to exist before the garden of Versailles. Sevres
-copied Frankenthal to a large extent.—In justice to the Germans,
-it must be said that they have done admirable work in Saxony and
-in the Palatinate."</p>
-
-<p>Mother and daughter looked at one another as if Pons were
-speaking Chinese. No one can imagine how ignorant and exclusive
-Parisians are; they only learn what they are taught, and that
-only when they choose.</p>
-
-<p>"And how do you know the Frankenthal ware when you see
-it?"</p>
-
-<p>"Eh! by the mark!" cried Pons with enthusiasm. "There is a
-mark on every one of those exquisite masterpieces. Frankenthal
-ware is marked with a C and T (for Charles Theodore) interlaced
-and crowned. On old Dresden china there are two crossed swords
-and the number of the order in gilt figures. Vincennes bears a
-hunting-horn; Vienna, a V closed and barred. You can tell Berlin
-by the two bars, Mayence by the wheel, and Sevres by the two
-crossed L's. The queen's porcelain is marked A for Antoinette,
-with a royal crown above it. In the eighteenth century, all the
-crowned heads of Europe had rival porcelain factories, and
-workmen were kidnaped. Watteau designed services for the Dresden
-factory; they fetch frantic prices at the present day. One has to
-know what one is about with them too, for they are turning out
-imitations now at Dresden. Wonderful things they used to make;
-they will never make the like again—"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! pshaw!"</p>
-
-<p>"No, cousin. Some inlaid work and some kinds of porcelain will
-never be made again, just as there will never be another Raphael,
-nor Titian, nor Rembrandt, nor Van Eyck, nor Cranach. . . . Well,
-now! there are the Chinese; they are very ingenious, very clever;
-they make modern copies of their 'grand mandarin' porcelain, as
-it is called. But a pair of vases of genuine 'grand mandarin'
-vases of the largest size, are worth, six, eight, and ten
-thousand francs, while you can buy the modern replicas for a
-couple of hundred!"</p>
-
-<p>"You are joking."</p>
-
-<p>"You are astonished at the prices, but that is nothing,
-cousin. A dinner service of Sevres <i>pate tendre</i> (and
-<i>pate tendre</i> is not porcelain)—a complete dinner service
-of Sevres <i>pate tendre</i> for twelve persons is not merely
-worth a hundred thousand francs, but that is the price charged on
-the invoice. Such a dinner-service cost fifteen thousand francs
-at Sevres in 1750; I have seen the original invoices."</p>
-
-<p>"But let us go back to this fan," said Cecile. Evidently in
-her opinion the trinket was an old-fashioned thing.</p>
-
-<p>"You can understand that as soon as your dear mamma did me the
-honor of asking for a fan, I went round of all the curiosity
-shops in Paris, but I found nothing fine enough. I wanted nothing
-less than a masterpiece for the dear Presidente, and thought of
-giving her one that once belonged to Marie Antoinette, the most
-beautiful of all celebrated fans. But yesterday I was dazzled by
-this divine <i>chef</i>- <i>d'oeuvre</i>, which certainly must
-have been ordered by Louis XV. himself. Do you ask how I came to
-look for fans in the Rue de Lappe, among an Auvergnat's stock of
-brass and iron and ormolu furniture? Well, I myself believe that
-there is an intelligence in works of art; they know art-lovers,
-they call to them—'Cht-tt!' "</p>
-
-<p>Mme. de Marville shrugged her shoulders and looked at her
-daughter; Pons did not notice the rapid pantomime.</p>
-
-<p>"I know all those sharpers," continued Pons, "so I asked him,
-'Anything fresh to-day, Daddy Monistrol?'—(for he always lets me
-look over his lots before the big buyers come)—and at that he
-began to tell me how Lienard, that did such beautiful work for
-the Government in the Chapelle de Dreux, had been at the Aulnay
-sale and rescued the carved panels out of the clutches of the
-Paris dealers, while their heads were running on china and inlaid
-furniture.—'I did not do much myself,' he went on, 'but I may
-make my traveling expenses out of <i>this</i>,' and he showed me
-a what-not; a marvel! Boucher's designs executed in marquetry,
-and with such art!—One could have gone down on one's knees
-before it.—'Look, sir,' he said, 'I have just found this fan in
-a little drawer; it was locked, I had to force it open. You might
-tell me where I can sell it'—and with that he brings out this
-little carved cherry-wood box.—'See,' says he, 'it is the kind
-of Pompadour that looks like decorated Gothic.'—'Yes,' I told
-him, 'the box is pretty; the box might suit me; but as for the
-fan, Monistrol, I have no Mme. Pons to give the old trinket to,
-and they make very pretty new ones nowadays; you can buy miracles
-of painting on vellum cheaply enough. There are two thousand
-painters in Paris, you know.'— And I opened out the fan
-carelessly, keeping down my admiration, looked indifferently at
-those two exquisite little pictures, touched off with an ease fit
-to send you into raptures. I held Mme. de Pompadour's fan in my
-hand! Watteau had done his utmost for this.— 'What do you want
-for the what-not?'—'Oh! a thousand francs; I have had a bid
-already.'—I offered him a price for the fan corresponding with
-the probable expenses of the journey. We looked each other in the
-eyes, and I saw that I had my man. I put the fan back into the
-box lest my Auvergnat should begin to look at it, and went into
-ecstasies over the box; indeed, it is a jewel.—'If I take it,'
-said I, 'it is for the sake of the box; the box tempts me. As for
-the what-not, you will get more than a thousand francs for that.
-Just see how the brass is wrought; it is a model. There is
-business in it. . . . It has never been copied; it is a unique
-specimen, made solely for Mme. de Pompadour'—and so on, till my
-man, all on fire for his what-not, forgets the fan, and lets me
-have it for a mere trifle, because I have pointed out the
-beauties of his piece of Riesener's furniture. So here it is; but
-it needs a great deal of experience to make such a bargain as
-that. It is a duel, eye to eye; and who has such eyes as a Jew or
-an Auvergnat?"</p>
-
-<p>The old artist's wonderful pantomime, his vivid, eager way of
-telling the story of the triumph of his shrewdness over the
-dealer's ignorance, would have made a subject for a Dutch
-painter; but it was all thrown away upon the audience. Mother and
-daughter exchanged cold, contemptuous glances.—"What an oddity!"
-they seemed to say.</p>
-
-<p>"So it amuses you?" remarked Mme. de Marville. The question
-sent a cold chill through Pons; he felt a strong desire to slap
-the Presidente.</p>
-
-<p>"Why, my dear cousin, that is the way to hunt down a work of
-art. You are face to face with antagonists that dispute the game
-with you. It is craft against craft! A work of art in the hands
-of a Norman, an Auvergnat, or a Jew, is like a princess guarded
-by magicians in a fairy tale."</p>
-
-<p>"And how can you tell that this is by Wat—what do you call
-him?"</p>
-
-<p>"Watteau, cousin. One of the greatest eighteenth century
-painters in France. Look! do you not see that it is his work?"
-(pointing to a pastoral scene, court-shepherd swains and
-shepherdesses dancing in a ring). "The movement! the life in it!
-the coloring! There it is—see! —painted with a stroke of the
-brush, as a writing-master makes a flourish with a pen. Not a
-trace of effort here! And, turn it over, look!—a ball in a
-drawing-room. Summer and Winter! And what ornaments! and how well
-preserved it is! The hinge-pin is gold, you see, and on cleaning
-it, I found a tiny ruby at either side."</p>
-
-<p>"If it is so, cousin, I could not think of accepting such a
-valuable present from you. It would be better to lay up the money
-for yourself," said Mme. de Marville; but all the same, she asked
-no better than to keep the splendid fan.</p>
-
-<p>"It is time that it should pass from the service of Vice into
-the hands of Virtue," said the good soul, recovering his
-assurance. "It has taken a century to work the miracle. No
-princess at Court, you may be sure, will have anything to compare
-with it; for, unfortunately, men will do more for a Pompadour
-than for a virtuous queen, such is human nature."</p>
-
-<p>"Very well," Mme. de Marville said, laughing, "I will accept
-your present.—Cecile, my angel, go to Madeleine and see that
-dinner is worthy of your cousin."</p>
-
-<p>Mme. de Marville wished to make matters even. Her request,
-made aloud, in defiance of all rules of good taste, sounded so
-much like an attempt to repay at once the balance due to the poor
-cousin, that Pons flushed red, like a girl found out in fault.
-The grain of sand was a little too large; for some moments he
-could only let it work in his heart. Cecile, a red-haired young
-woman, with a touch of pedantic affectation, combined her
-father's ponderous manner with a trace of her mother's hardness.
-She went and left poor Pons face to face with the terrible
-Presidente.</p>
-
-<p>"How nice she is, my little Lili!" said the mother. She still
-called her Cecile by this baby name.</p>
-
-<p>"Charming!" said Pons, twirling his thumbs.</p>
-
-<p>"I <i>cannot</i> understand these times in which we live,"
-broke out the Presidente. "What is the good of having a President
-of the Court of Appeal in Paris and a Commander of the Legion of
-Honor for your father, and for a grandfather the richest
-wholesale silk merchant in Paris, a deputy, and a millionaire
-that will be a peer of France some of these days?"</p>
-
-<p>The President's zeal for the new Government had, in fact,
-recently been rewarded with a commander's ribbon—thanks to his
-friendship with Popinot, said the envious. Popinot himself,
-modest though he was, had, as has been seen, accepted the title
-of count, "for his son's sake," he told his numerous friends.</p>
-
-<p>"Men look for nothing but money nowadays," said Cousin Pons.
-"No one thinks anything of you unless you are rich, and—"</p>
-
-<p>"What would it have been if Heaven had spared my poor little
-Charles!—" cried the lady.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, with two children you would be poor," returned the
-cousin. "It practically means the division of the property. But
-you need not trouble yourself, cousin; Cecile is sure to marry
-sooner or later. She is the most accomplished girl I know."</p>
-
-<p>To such depths had Pons fallen by adapting himself to the
-company of his entertainers! In their houses he echoed their
-ideas, and said the obvious thing, after the manner of a chorus
-in a Greek play. He did not dare to give free play to the
-artist's originality, which had overflowed in bright repartee
-when he was young; he had effaced himself, till he had almost
-lost his individuality; and if the real Pons appeared, as he had
-done a moment ago, he was immediately repressed.</p>
-
-<p>"But I myself was married with only twenty thousand francs for
-my portion—"</p>
-
-<p>"In 1819, cousin. And it was <i>you</i>, a woman with a head
-on your shoulders, and the royal protection of Louis XVIII."</p>
-
-<p>"Be still, my child is a perfect angel. She is clever, she has
-a warm heart, she will have a hundred thousand francs on her
-wedding day, to say nothing of the most brilliant expectations;
-and yet she stays on our hands," and so on and so on. For twenty
-minutes, Mme. de Marville talked on about herself and her Cecile,
-pitying herself after the manner of mothers in bondage to
-marriageable daughters.</p>
-
-<p>Pons had dined at the house every week for twenty years, and
-Camusot de Marville was the only cousin he had in the world; but
-he had yet to hear the first word spoken as to his own
-affairs—nobody cared to know how he lived. Here and elsewhere
-the poor cousin was a kind of sink down which his relatives
-poured domestic confidences. His discretion was well known;
-indeed, was he not bound over to silence when a single imprudent
-word would have shut the door of ten houses upon him? And he must
-combine his role of listener with a second part; he must applaud
-continually, smile on every one, accuse nobody, defend nobody;
-from his point of view, every one must be in the right. And so,
-in the house of his kinsman, Pons no longer counted as a man; he
-was a digestive apparatus.</p>
-
-<p>In the course of a long tirade, Mme. Camusot de Marville
-avowed with due circumspection that she was prepared to take
-almost any son-in-law with her eyes shut. She was even disposed
-to think that at eight-and- forty or so a man with twenty
-thousand francs a year was a good match.</p>
-
-<p>"Cecile is in her twenty-third year. If it should fall out so
-unfortunately that she is not married before she is five or
-six-and- twenty, it will be extremely hard to marry her at all.
-When a girl reaches that age, people want to know why she has
-been so long on hand. We are a good deal talked about in our set.
-We have come to the end of all the ordinary excuses—'She is so
-young.—She is so fond of her father and mother that she doesn't
-like to leave them.—She is so happy at home.—She is hard to
-please, she would like a good name—' We are beginning to look
-silly; I feel that distinctly. And besides, Cecile is tired of
-waiting, poor child, she suffers—"</p>
-
-<p>"In what way?" Pons was noodle enough to ask.</p>
-
-<p>"Why, because it is humiliating to her to see all her girl
-friends married before her," replied the mother, with a duenna's
-air.</p>
-
-<p>"But, cousin, has anything happened since the last time that I
-had the pleasure of dining here? Why do you think of men of
-eight-and-forty?" Pons inquired humbly.</p>
-
-<p>"This has happened," returned the Presidente. "We were to have
-had an interview with a Court Councillor; his son is thirty years
-old and very well-to-do, and M. de Marville would have obtained a
-post in the audit-office for him and paid the money. The young
-man is a supernumerary there at present. And now they tell us
-that he has taken it into his head to rush off to Italy in the
-train of a duchess from the Bal Mabille. . . . It is nothing but
-a refusal in disguise. The fact is, the young man's mother is
-dead; he has an income of thirty thousand francs, and more to
-come at his father's death, and they don't care about the match
-for him. You have just come in in the middle of all this, dear
-cousin, so you must excuse our bad temper."</p>
-
-<p>While Pons was casting about for the complimentary answer
-which invariably occurred to him too late when he was afraid of
-his host, Madeleine came in, handed a folded note to the
-Presidente, and waited for an answer. The note ran as
-follows:</p>
-
-<p>"DEAR MAMMA,—If we pretend that this note comes to you from
-papa at the Palais, and that he wants us both to dine with his
-friend because proposals have been renewed—then the cousin will
-go, and we can carry out our plan of going to the Popinots."</p>
-
-<p>"Who brought the master's note?" the Presidente asked
-quickly.</p>
-
-<p>"A lad from the Salle du Palais," the withered waiting woman
-unblushingly answered, and her mistress knew at once that
-Madeleine had woven the plot with Cecile, now at the end of her
-patience.</p>
-
-<p>"Tell him that we will both be there at half-past five."</p>
-
-<p>Madeleine had no sooner left the room than the Presidente
-turned to Cousin Pons with that insincere friendliness which is
-about as grateful to a sensitive soul as a mixture of milk and
-vinegar to the palate of an epicure.</p>
-
-<p>"Dinner is ordered, dear cousin; you must dine without us; my
-husband has just sent word from the court that the question of
-the marriage has been reopened, and we are to dine with the
-Councillor. We need not stand on ceremony at all. Do just as if
-you were at home. I have no secrets from you; I am perfectly open
-with you, as you see. I am sure you would not wish to break off
-the little darling's marriage."</p>
-
-<p>"<i>I</i>, cousin? On the contrary, I should like to find some
-one for her; but in my circle—"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, that is not at all likely," said the Presidente, cutting
-him short insolently. "Then you will stay, will you not? Cecile
-will keep you company while I dress.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! I can dine somewhere else, cousin."</p>
-
-<p>Cruelly hurt though he was by her way of casting up his
-poverty to him, the prospect of being left alone with the
-servants was even more alarming.</p>
-
-<p>"But why should you? Dinner is ready; you may just as well
-have it; if you do not, the servants will eat it."</p>
-
-<p>At that atrocious speech Pons started up as if he had received
-a shock from a galvanic battery, bowed stiffly to the lady, and
-went to find his spencer. Now, it so happened that the door of
-Cecile's bedroom, beyond the little drawing-room, stood open, and
-looking into the mirror, he caught sight of the girl shaking with
-laughter as she gesticulated and made signs to her mother. The
-old artist understood beyond a doubt that he had been the victim
-of some cowardly hoax. Pons went slowly down the stairs; he could
-not keep back the tears. He understood that he had been turned
-out of the house, but why and wherefore he did not know.</p>
-
-<p>"I am growing too old," he told himself. "The world has a
-horror of old age and poverty—two ugly things. After this I will
-not go anywhere unless I am asked."</p>
-
-<p>Heroic resolve!</p>
-
-<p>Downstairs the great gate was shut, as it usually is in houses
-occupied by the proprietor; the kitchen stood exactly opposite
-the porter's lodge, and the door was open. Pons was obliged to
-listen while Madeleine told the servants the whole story amid the
-laughter of the servants. She had not expected him to leave so
-soon. The footman loudly applauded a joke at the expense of a
-visitor who was always coming to the house and never gave you
-more than three francs at the year's end.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes," put in the cook; "but if he cuts up rough and does not
-come back, there will be three francs the less for some of us on
-New Year's day."</p>
-
-<p>"Eh! How is he to know?" retorted the footman.</p>
-
-<p>"Pooh!" said Madeleine, "a little sooner or a little
-later—what difference does it make? The people at the other
-houses where he dines are so tired of him that they are going to
-turn him out."</p>
-
-<p>"The gate, if you please!"</p>
-
-<p>Madeleine had scarcely uttered the words when they heard the
-old musician's call to the porter. It sounded like a cry of pain.
-There was a sudden silence in the kitchen.</p>
-
-<p>"He heard!" the footman said.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, and if he did, so much the worser, or rather so much
-the better," retorted Madeleine. "He is an arrant skinflint."</p>
-
-<p>Poor Pons had lost none of the talk in the kitchen; he heard
-it all, even to the last word. He made his way home along the
-boulevards, in the same state, physical and mental, as an old
-woman after a desperate struggle with burglars. As he went he
-talked to himself in quick spasmodic jerks; his honor had been
-wounded, and the pain of it drove him on as a gust of wind whirls
-away a straw. He found himself at last in the Boulevard du
-Temple; how he had come thither he could not tell. It was five
-o'clock, and, strange to say, he had completely lost his
-appetite.</p>
-
-<p>But if the reader is to understand the revolution which Pons'
-unexpected return at that hour was to work in the Rue de
-Normandie, the promised biography of Mme. Cibot must be given in
-this place.</p>
-
-<p>Any one passing along the Rue de Normandie might be pardoned
-for thinking that he was in some small provincial town. Grass
-runs to seed in the street, everybody knows everybody else, and
-the sight of a stranger is an event. The houses date back to the
-reign of Henry IV., when there was a scheme afoot for a quarter
-in which every street was to be named after a French province,
-and all should converge in a handsome square to which La France
-should stand godmother. The Quartier de l'Europe was a revival of
-the same idea; history repeats itself everywhere in the world,
-and even in the world of speculation.</p>
-
-<p>The house in which the two musicians used to live is an old
-mansion with a courtyard in front and a garden at the back; but
-the front part of the house which gives upon the street is
-comparatively modern, built during the eighteenth century when
-the Marais was a fashionable quarter. The friends lived at the
-back, on the second floor of the old part of the house. The whole
-building belongs to M. Pillerault, an old man of eighty, who left
-matters very much in the hands of M. and Mme. Cibot, his porters
-for the past twenty-six years.</p>
-
-<p>Now, as a porter cannot live by his lodge alone, the aforesaid
-Cibot had other means of gaining a livelihood; and supplemented
-his five per cent on the rental and his faggot from every
-cartload of wood by his own earnings as a tailor. In time Cibot
-ceased to work for the master tailors; he made a connection among
-the little trades-people of the quarter, and enjoyed a monopoly
-of the repairs, renovations, and fine drawing of all the coats
-and trousers in three adjacent streets. The lodge was spacious
-and wholesome, and boasted a second room; wherefore the Cibot
-couple were looked upon as among the luckiest porters in the
-arrondissement.</p>
-
-<p>Cibot, small and stunted, with a complexion almost
-olive-colored by reason of sitting day in day out in Turk-fashion
-on a table level with the barred window, made about twelve or
-fourteen francs a week. He worked still, though he was
-fifty-eight years old, but fifty-eight is the porter's golden
-age; he is used to his lodge, he and his room fit each other like
-the shell and the oyster, and "he is known in the
-neighborhood."</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Cibot, sometime opener of oysters at the <i>Cadran
-Bleu</i>, after all the adventures which come unsought to the
-belle of an oyster-bar, left her post for love of Cibot at the
-age of twenty-eight. The beauty of a woman of the people is
-short-lived, especially if she is planted espalier fashion at a
-restaurant door. Her features are hardened by puffs of hot air
-from the kitchen; the color of the heeltaps of customers'
-bottles, finished in the company of the waiters, gradually
-filters into her complexion—no beauty is full blown so soon as
-the beauty of an oyster-opener. Luckily for Mme. Cibot, lawful
-wedlock and a portress' life were offered to her just in time;
-while she still preserved a comeliness of a masculine order
-slandered by rivals of the Rue de Normandie, who called her "a
-great blowsy thing," Mme. Cibot might have sat as a model to
-Rubens. Those flesh tints reminded you of the appetizing sheen on
-a pat of Isigny butter; but plump as she was, no woman went about
-her work with more agility. Mme. Cibot had attained the time of
-life when women of her stamp are obliged to shave —which is as
-much as to say that she had reached the age of forty- eight. A
-porter's wife with a moustache is one of the best possible
-guarantees of respectability and security that a landlord can
-have. If Delacroix could have seen Mme. Cibot leaning proudly on
-her broom handle, he would assuredly have painted her as
-Bellona.</p>
-
-<p>Strange as it may seem, the circumstances of the Cibots, man
-and wife (in the style of an indictment), were one day to affect
-the lives of the two friends; wherefore the chronicler, as in
-duty bound, must give some particulars as to the Cibots'
-lodge.</p>
-
-<p>The house brought in about eight thousand francs for there
-were three complete sets of apartments—back and front, on the
-side nearest the Rue de Normandie, as well as the three floors in
-the older mansion between the courtyard and the garden, and a
-shop kept by a marine store-dealer named Remonencq, which fronted
-on the street. During the past few months this Remonencq had
-begun to deal in old curiosities, and knew the value of Pons'
-collection so well that he took off his hat whenever the musician
-came in or went out.</p>
-
-<p>A sou in the livre on eight thousand francs therefore brought
-in about four hundred francs to the Cibots. They had no rent to
-pay and no expenses for firing; Cibot's earnings amounted on an
-average to seven or eight hundred francs, add tips at New Year,
-and the pair had altogether in income of sixteen hundred francs,
-every penny of which they spent, for the Cibots lived and fared
-better than working people usually do. "One can only live once,"
-La Cibot used to say. She was born during the Revolution, you
-see, and had never learned her Catechism.</p>
-
-<p>The husband of this portress with the unblenching tawny eyes
-was an object of envy to the whole fraternity, for La Cibot had
-not forgotten the knowledge of cookery picked up at the <i>Cadran
-Bleu</i>. So it had come to pass that the Cibots had passed the
-prime of life, and saw themselves on the threshold of old age
-without a hundred francs put by for the future. Well clad and
-well fed, they enjoyed among the neighbors, it is true, the
-respect due to twenty-six years of strict honesty; for if they
-had nothing of their own, they "hadn't nothing belonging to
-nobody else," according to La Cibot, who was a prodigal of
-negatives. "There wasn't never such a love of a man," she would
-say to her husband. Do you ask why? You might as well ask the
-reason of her indifference in matters of religion.</p>
-
-<p>Both of them were proud of a life lived in open day, of the
-esteem in which they were held for six or seven streets round
-about, and of the autocratic rule permitted to them by the
-proprietor ("perprietor," they called him); but in private they
-groaned because they had no money lying at interest. Cibot
-complained of pains in his hands and legs, and his wife would
-lament that her poor, dear Cibot should be forced to work at his
-age; and, indeed, the day is not far distant when a porter after
-thirty years of such a life will cry shame upon the injustice of
-the Government and clamor for the ribbon of the Legion of Honor.
-Every time that the gossip of the quarter brought news of such
-and such a servant-maid, left an annuity of three or four hundred
-francs after eight or ten years of service, the porters' lodges
-would resound with complaints, which may give some idea of the
-consuming jealousies in the lowest walks of life in Paris.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, indeed! It will never happen to the like of us to have
-our names mentioned in a will! We have no luck, but we do more
-than servants, for all that. We fill a place of trust; we give
-receipts, we are on the lookout for squalls, and yet we are
-treated like dogs, neither more nor less, and that's the
-truth!"</p>
-
-<p>"Some find fortune and some miss fortune," said Cibot, coming
-in with a coat.</p>
-
-<p>"If I had left Cibot here in his lodge and taken a place as
-cook, we should have our thirty thousand francs out at interest,"
-cried Mme. Cibot, standing chatting with a neighbor, her hands on
-her prominent hips. "But I didn't understand how to get on in
-life; housed inside of a snug lodge and firing found and want for
-nothing, but that is all."</p>
-
-<p>In 1836, when the friends took up their abode on the second
-floor, they brought about a sort of revolution in the Cibot
-household. It befell on this wise. Schmucke, like his friend
-Pons, usually arranged that the porter or the porter's wife
-should undertake the cares of housekeeping; and being both of one
-mind on this point when they came to live in the Rue de
-Normandie, Mme. Cibot became their housekeeper at the rate of
-twenty-five francs per month—twelve francs fifty centimes for
-each of them. Before the year was out, the emeritus portress
-reigned in the establishment of the two old bachelors, as she
-reigned everywhere in the house belonging to M. Pillerault, great
-uncle of Mme. le Comtesse Popinot. Their business was her
-business; she called them "my gentlemen." And at last, finding
-the pair of nutcrackers as mild as lambs, easy to live with, and
-by no means suspicious—perfect children, in fact—her heart, the
-heart of a woman of the people, prompted her to protect, adore,
-and serve them with such thorough devotion, that she read them a
-lecture now and again, and saved them from the impositions which
-swell the cost of living in Paris. For twenty-five francs a
-month, the two old bachelors inadvertently acquired a mother.</p>
-
-<p>As they became aware of Mme. Cibot's full value, they gave her
-outspoken praises, and thanks, and little presents which
-strengthened the bonds of the domestic alliance. Mme. Cibot a
-thousand times preferred appreciation to money payments; it is a
-well-known fact that the sense that one is appreciated makes up
-for a deficiency in wages. And Cibot did all that he could for
-his wife's two gentlemen, and ran errands and did repairs at
-half-price for them.</p>
-
-<p>The second year brought a new element into the friendship
-between the lodge and the second floor, and Schmucke concluded a
-bargain which satisfied his indolence and desire for a life
-without cares. For thirty sous per day, or forty-five francs per
-month, Mme. Cibot undertook to provide Schmucke with breakfast
-and dinner; and Pons, finding his friend's breakfast very much to
-his mind, concluded a separate treaty for that meal only at the
-rate of eighteen francs. This arrangement, which added nearly
-ninety francs every month to the takings of the porter and his
-wife, made two inviolable beings of the lodgers; they became
-angels, cherubs, divinities. It is very doubtful whether the King
-of the French, who is supposed to understand economy, is as well
-served as the pair of nutcrackers used to be in those days.</p>
-
-<p>For them the milk issued pure from the can; they enjoyed a
-free perusal of all the morning papers taken by other lodgers,
-later risers, who were told, if need be, that the newspapers had
-not come yet. Mme. Cibot, moreover, kept their clothes, their
-rooms, and the landing as clean as a Flemish interior. As for
-Schmucke, he enjoyed unhoped-for happiness; Mme. Cibot had made
-life easy for him; he paid her about six francs a month, and she
-took charge of his linen, washing, and mending. Altogether, his
-expenses amounted to sixty-six francs per month (for he spent
-fifteen francs on tobacco), and sixty- six francs multiplied by
-twelve produces the sum total of seven hundred and ninety-two
-francs. Add two hundred and twenty francs for rent, rates, and
-taxes, and you have a thousand and twelve francs. Cibot was
-Schmucke's tailor; his clothes cost him on average a hundred and
-fifty francs, which further swells the total to the sum of twelve
-hundred. On twelve hundred francs per annum this profound
-philosopher lived. How many people in Europe, whose one thought
-it is to come to Paris and live there, will be agreeably
-surprised to learn that you may exist in comfort upon an income
-of twelve hundred francs in the Rue de Normandie in the Marais,
-under the wing of a Mme. Cibot.</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Cibot, to resume the story, was amazed beyond expression
-to see Pons, good man, return at five o'clock in the evening.
-Such a thing had never happened before; and not only so, but "her
-gentleman" had given her no greeting—had not so much as seen
-her!</p>
-
-<p>"Well, well, Cibot," said she to her spouse, "M. Pons has come
-in for a million, or gone out of his mind!"</p>
-
-<p>"That is how it looks to me," said Cibot, dropping the
-coat-sleeve in which he was making a "dart," in tailor's
-language.</p>
-
-<p>The savory odor of a stew pervaded the whole courtyard, as
-Pons returned mechanically home. Mme. Cibot was dishing up
-Schmucke's dinner, which consisted of scraps of boiled beef from
-a little cook- shop not above doing a little trade of this kind.
-These morsels were fricasseed in brown butter, with thin slices
-of onion, until the meat and vegetables had absorbed the gravy
-and this true porter's dish was browned to the right degree. With
-that fricassee, prepared with loving care for Cibot and Schmucke,
-and accompanied by a bottle of beer and a piece of cheese, the
-old German music-master was quite content. Not King Solomon in
-all his glory, be sure, could dine better than Schmucke. A dish
-of boiled beef fricasseed with onions, scraps of <i>saute</i>
-chicken, or beef and parsley, or venison, or fish served with a
-sauce of La Cibot's own invention (a sauce with which a mother
-might unsuspectingly eat her child),—such was Schmucke's
-ordinary, varying with the quantity and quality of the remnants
-of food supplied by boulevard restaurants to the cook-shop in the
-Rue Boucherat. Schmucke took everything that "goot Montame Zipod"
-gave him, and was content, and so from day to day "goot Montame
-Zipod" cut down the cost of his dinner, until it could be served
-for twenty sous.</p>
-
-<p>"It won't be long afore I find out what is the matter with
-him, poor dear," said Mme. Cibot to her husband, "for here is M.
-Schmucke's dinner all ready for him."</p>
-
-<p>As she spoke she covered the deep earthenware dish with a
-plate; and, notwithstanding her age, she climbed the stair and
-reached the door before Schmucke opened it to Pons.</p>
-
-<p>"Vat is de matter mit you, mein goot friend?" asked the
-German, scared by the expression of Pons' face.</p>
-
-<p>"I will tell you all about it; but I have come home to have
-dinner with you—"</p>
-
-<p>"Tinner! tinner!" cried Schmucke in ecstasy; "but it is
-impossible!" the old German added, as he thought of his friend's
-gastronomical tastes; and at that very moment he caught sight of
-Mme. Cibot listening to the conversation, as she had a right to
-do as his lawful housewife. Struck with one of those happy
-inspirations which only enlighten a friend's heart, he marched up
-to the portress and drew her out to the stairhead.</p>
-
-<p>"Montame Zipod," he said, "der goot Pons is fond of goot
-dings; shoost go rount to der <i>Catran Pleu</i> und order a
-dainty liddle tinner, mit anjovies und maggaroni. Ein tinner for
-Lugullus, in vact."</p>
-
-<p>"What is that?" inquired La Cibot.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! ah!" returned Schmucke, "it is veal <i>a la
-pourcheoise</i>" (<i>bourgeoise</i>, he meant), "a nice fisch,
-ein pottle off Porteaux, und nice dings, der fery best dey haf,
-like groquettes of rice und shmoked pacon! Bay for it, und say
-nodings; I vill gif you back de monny to-morrow morning."</p>
-
-<p>Back went Schmucke, radiant and rubbing his hands; but his
-expression slowly changed to a look of bewildered astonishment as
-he heard Pons' story of the troubles that had but just now
-overwhelmed him in a moment. He tried to comfort Pons by giving
-him a sketch of the world from his own point of view. Paris, in
-his opinion, was a perpetual hurly-burly, the men and women in it
-were whirled away by a tempestuous waltz; it was no use expecting
-anything of the world, which only looked at the outsides of
-things, "und not at der inderior." For the hundredth time he
-related how that the only three pupils for whom he had really
-cared, for whom he was ready to die, the three who had been fond
-of him, and even allowed him a little pension of nine hundred
-francs, each contributing three hundred to the amount —his
-favorite pupils had quite forgotten to come to see him; and so
-swift was the current of Parisian life which swept them away,
-that if he called at their houses, he had not succeeded in seeing
-them once in three years—(it is a fact, however, that Schmucke
-had always thought fit to call on these great ladies at ten
-o'clock in the morning!)— still, his pension was paid quarterly
-through the medium of solicitors.</p>
-
-<p>"Und yet, dey are hearts of gold," he concluded. "Dey are my
-liddle Saint Cecilias, sharming vimmen, Montame de Bordentuere,
-Montame de Fantenesse, und Montame du Dilet. Gif I see dem at
-all, it is at die Jambs Elusees, und dey do not see me . . . yet
-dey are ver' fond of me, und I might go to dine mit dem, und dey
-vould be ver' bleased to see me; und I might go to deir
-country-houses, but I vould much rader be mit mine friend Bons,
-because I kann see him venefer I like, und efery tay."</p>
-
-<p>Pons took Schmucke's hand and grasped it between his own. All
-that was passing in his inmost soul was communicated in that
-tight pressure. And so for awhile the friends sat like two
-lovers, meeting at last after a long absence.</p>
-
-<p>"Tine here, efery tay!" broke out Schmucke, inwardly blessing
-Mme. de Marville for her hardness of heart. "Look here! Ve shall
-go a prick-a- pracking togeders, und der teufel shall nefer show
-his tail here."</p>
-
-<p>"Ve shall go prick-a-pracking togeders!" for the full
-comprehension of those truly heroic words, it must be confessed
-that Schmucke's ignorance of bric-a-brac was something of the
-densest. It required all the strength of his friendship to keep
-him from doing heedless damage in the sitting-room and study
-which did duty as a museum for Pons. Schmucke, wholly absorbed in
-music, a composer for love of his art, took about as much
-interest in his friend's little trifles as a fish might take in a
-flower-show at the Luxembourg, supposing that it had received a
-ticket of admission. A certain awe which he certainly felt for
-the marvels was simply a reflection of the respect which Pons
-showed his treasures when he dusted them. To Pons' exclamations
-of admiration, he was wont to reply with a "Yes, it is ver'
-bretty," as a mother answers baby-gestures with meaningless
-baby-talk. Seven times since the friends had lived together, Pons
-had exchanged a good clock for a better one, till at last he
-possessed a timepiece in Boule's first and best manner, for Boule
-had two manners, as Raphael had three. In the first he combined
-ebony and copper; in the second— contrary to his convictions—he
-sacrificed to tortoise-shell inlaid work. In spite of Pons'
-learned dissertations, Schmucke never could see the slightest
-difference between the magnificent clock in Boule's first manner
-and its six predecessors; but, for Pons' sake, Schmucke was even
-more careful among the "chimcracks" than Pons himself. So it
-should not be surprising that Schmucke's sublime words comforted
-Pons in his despair; for "Ve shall go prick-a-pracking togeders,"
-meant, being interpreted, "I will put money into bric-a-brac, if
-you will only dine here."</p>
-
-<p>"Dinner is ready," Mme. Cibot announced, with astonishing
-self- possession.</p>
-
-<p>It is not difficult to imagine Pons' surprise when he saw and
-relished the dinner due to Schmucke's friendship. Sensations of
-this kind, that came so rarely in a lifetime, are never the
-outcome of the constant, close relationship by which friend daily
-says to friend, "You are a second self to me"; for this, too,
-becomes a matter of use and wont. It is only by contact with the
-barbarism of the world without that the happiness of that
-intimate life is revealed to us as a sudden glad surprise. It is
-the outer world which renews the bond between friend and friend,
-lover and lover, all their lives long, wherever two great souls
-are knit together by friendship or by love.</p>
-
-<p>Pons brushed away two big tears, Schmucke himself wiped his
-eyes; and though nothing was said, the two were closer friends
-than before. Little friendly nods and glances exchanged across
-the table were like balm to Pons, soothing the pain caused by the
-sand dropped in his heart by the President's wife. As for
-Schmucke, he rubbed his hands till they were sore; for a new idea
-had occurred to him, one of those great discoveries which cause a
-German no surprise, unless they sprout up suddenly in a Teuton
-brain frost-bound by the awe and reverence due to sovereign
-princes.</p>
-
-<p>"Mine goot Bons?" began Schmucke.</p>
-
-<p>"I can guess what you mean; you would like us both to dine
-together here, every day—"</p>
-
-<p>"Gif only I vas rich enof to lif like dis efery tay—" began
-the good German in a melancholy voice. But here Mme. Cibot
-appeared upon the scene. Pons had given her an order for the
-theatre from time to time, and stood in consequence almost as
-high in her esteem and affection as her boarder Schmucke.</p>
-
-<p>"Lord love you," said she, "for three francs and wine extra I
-can give you both such a dinner every day that you will be ready
-to lick the plates as clean as if they were washed."</p>
-
-<p>"It is a fact," Schmucke remarked, "dat die dinners dat
-Montame Zipod cooks for me are better as de messes dey eat at der
-royal dable!" In his eagerness, Schmucke, usually so full of
-respect for the powers that be, so far forgot himself as to
-imitate the irreverent newspapers which scoffed at the
-"fixed-price" dinners of Royalty.</p>
-
-<p>"Really?" said Pons. "Very well, I will try to-morrow."</p>
-
-<p>And at that promise Schmucke sprang from one end of the table
-to the other, sweeping off tablecloth, bottles, and dishes as he
-went, and hugged Pons to his heart. So might gas rush to combine
-with gas.</p>
-
-<p>"Vat happiness!" cried he.</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Cibot was quite touched. "Monsieur is going to dine here
-every day!" she cried proudly.</p>
-
-<p>That excellent woman departed downstairs again in ignorance of
-the event which had brought about this result, entered her room
-like Josepha in <i>William Tell</i>, set down the plates and
-dishes on the table with a bang, and called aloud to her
-husband:</p>
-
-<p>"Cibot! run to the <i>Cafe Turc</i> for two small cups of
-coffee, and tell the man at the stove that it is for me."</p>
-
-<p>Then she sat down and rested her hands on her massive knees,
-and gazed out of the window at the opposite wall.</p>
-
-<p>"I will go to-night and see what Ma'am Fontaine says," she
-thought. (Madame Fontaine told fortunes on the cards for all the
-servants in the quarter of the Marais.) "Since these two
-gentlemen came here, we have put two thousand francs in the
-savings bank. Two thousand francs in eight years! What luck!
-Would it be better to make no profit out of M. Pons' dinner and
-keep him here at home? Ma'am Fontaine's hen will tell me
-that."</p>
-
-<p>Three years ago Mme. Cibot had begun to cherish a hope that
-her name might be mentioned in "her gentlemen's" wills; she had
-redoubled her zeal since that covetous thought tardily sprouted
-up in the midst of that so honest moustache. Pons hitherto had
-dined abroad, eluding her desire to have both of "her gentlemen"
-entirely under her management; his "troubadour" collector's life
-had scared away certain vague ideas which hovered in La Cibot's
-brain; but now her shadowy projects assumed the formidable shape
-of a definite plan, dating from that memorable dinner. Fifteen
-minutes later she reappeared in the dining- room with two cups of
-excellent coffee, flanked by a couple of tiny glasses of
-<i>kirschwasser</i>.</p>
-
-<p>"Long lif Montame Zipod!" cried Schmucke; "she haf guessed
-right!"</p>
-
-<p>The diner-out bemoaned himself a little, while Schmucke met
-his lamentations with coaxing fondness, like a home pigeon
-welcoming back a wandering bird. Then the pair set out for the
-theatre.</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke could not leave his friend in the condition to which
-he had been brought by the Camusots—mistresses and servants. He
-knew Pons so well; he feared lest some cruel, sad thought should
-seize on him at his conductor's desk, and undo all the good done
-by his welcome home to the nest.</p>
-
-<p>And Schmucke brought his friend back on his arm through the
-streets at midnight. A lover could not be more careful of his
-lady. He pointed out the edges of the curbstones, he was on the
-lookout whenever they stepped on or off the pavement, ready with
-a warning if there was a gutter to cross. Schmucke could have
-wished that the streets were paved with cotton-down; he would
-have had a blue sky overhead, and Pons should hear the music
-which all the angels in heaven were making for him. He had won
-the lost province in his friend's heart!</p>
-
-<p>For nearly three months Pons and Schmucke dined together every
-day. Pons was obliged to retrench at once; for dinner at
-forty-five francs a month and wine at thirty-five meant precisely
-eighty francs less to spend on bric-a-brac. And very soon, in
-spite of all that Schmucke could do, in spite of his little
-German jokes, Pons fell to regretting the delicate dishes, the
-liqueurs, the good coffee, the table talk, the insincere
-politeness, the guests, and the gossip, and the houses where he
-used to dine. On the wrong side of sixty a man cannot break
-himself of a habit of thirty-six years' growth. Wine at a hundred
-and thirty francs per hogshead is scarcely a generous liquid in a
-<i>gourmet's</i> glass; every time that Pons raised it to his
-lips he thought, with infinite regret, of the exquisite wines in
-his entertainers' cellars.</p>
-
-<p>In short, at the end of three months, the cruel pangs which
-had gone near to break Pons' sensitive heart had died away; he
-forgot everything but the charms of society; and languished for
-them like some elderly slave of a petticoat compelled to leave
-the mistress who too repeatedly deceives him. In vain he tried to
-hide his profound and consuming melancholy; it was too plain that
-he was suffering from one of the mysterious complaints which the
-mind brings upon the body.</p>
-
-<p>A single symptom will throw light upon this case of nostalgia
-(as it were) produced by breaking away from an old habit; in
-itself it is trifling, one of the myriad nothings which are as
-rings in a coat of chain-mail enveloping the soul in a network of
-iron. One of the keenest pleasures of Pons' old life, one of the
-joys of the dinner- table parasite at all times, was the
-"surprise," the thrill produced by the extra dainty dish added
-triumphantly to the bill of fare by the mistress of a bourgeois
-house, to give a festal air to the dinner. Pons' stomach hankered
-after that gastronomical satisfaction. Mme. Cibot, in the pride
-of her heart, enumerated every dish beforehand; a salt and savor
-once periodically recurrent, had vanished utterly from daily
-life. Dinner proceeded without <i>le plat couvert</i>, as our
-grandsires called it. This lay beyond the bounds of Schmucke's
-powers of comprehension.</p>
-
-<p>Pons had too much delicacy to grumble; but if the case of
-unappreciated genius is hard, it goes harder still with the
-stomach whose claims are ignored. Slighted affection, a subject
-of which too much has been made, is founded upon an illusory
-longing; for if the creature fails, love can turn to the Creator
-who has treasures to bestow. But the stomach! . . . Nothing can
-be compared to its sufferings; for, in the first place, one must
-live.</p>
-
-<p>Pons thought wistfully of certain creams—surely the poetry of
-cookery!—of certain white sauces, masterpieces of the art; of
-truffled chickens, fit to melt your heart; and above these, and
-more than all these, of the famous Rhine carp, only known at
-Paris, served with what condiments! There were days when Pons,
-thinking upon Count Popinot's cook, would sigh aloud, "Ah,
-Sophie!" Any passer-by hearing the exclamation might have thought
-that the old man referred to a lost mistress; but his fancy dwelt
-upon something rarer, on a fat Rhine carp with a sauce, thin in
-the sauce-boat, creamy upon the palate, a sauce that deserved the
-Montyon prize! The conductor of the orchestra, living on memories
-of past dinners, grew visibly leaner; he was pining away, a
-victim to gastric nostalgia.</p>
-
-<p>By the beginning of the fourth month (towards the end of
-January, 1845), Pons' condition attracted attention at the
-theatre. The flute, a young man named Wilhelm, like almost all
-Germans; and Schwab, to distinguish him from all other Wilhelms,
-if not from all other Schwabs, judged it expedient to open
-Schmucke's eyes to his friend's state of health. It was a first
-performance of a piece in which Schmucke's instruments were all
-required.</p>
-
-<p>"The old gentleman is failing," said the flute; "there is
-something wrong somewhere; his eyes are heavy, and he doesn't
-beat time as he used to do," added Wilhelm Schwab, indicating
-Pons as he gloomily took his place.</p>
-
-<p>"Dat is alvays de vay, gif a man is sixty years old," answered
-Schmucke.</p>
-
-<p>The Highland widow, in <i>The Chronicles of the Canongate</i>,
-sent her son to his death to have him beside her for twenty-four
-hours; and Schmucke could have sacrificed Pons for the sake of
-seeing his face every day across the dinner-table.</p>
-
-<p>"Everybody in the theatre is anxious about him," continued the
-flute; "and, as the <i>premiere danseuse</i>, Mlle. Brisetout,
-says, 'he makes hardly any noise now when he blows his nose.'
-"</p>
-
-<p>And, indeed, a peal like a blast of a horn used to resound
-through the old musician's bandana handkerchief whenever he
-raised it to that lengthy and cavernous feature. The President's
-wife had more frequently found fault with him on that score than
-on any other.</p>
-
-<p>"I vould gif a goot teal to amuse him," said Schmucke, "he
-gets so dull."</p>
-
-<p>"M. Pons always seems so much above the like of us poor
-devils, that, upon my word, I didn't dare to ask him to my
-wedding," said Wilhelm Schwab. "I am going to be married—"</p>
-
-<p>"How?" demanded Schmucke.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! quite properly," returned Wilhelm Schwab, taking
-Schmucke's quaint inquiry for a gibe, of which that perfect
-Christian was quite incapable.</p>
-
-<p>"Come, gentlemen, take your places!" called Pons, looking
-round at his little army, as the stage manager's bell rang for
-the overture.</p>
-
-<p>The piece was a dramatized fairy tale, a pantomime called
-<i>The Devil's Betrothed</i>, which ran for two hundred nights.
-In the interval, after the first act, Wilhelm Schwab and Schmucke
-were left alone in the orchestra, with a house at a temperature
-of thirty-two degrees Reaumur.</p>
-
-<p>"Tell me your hishdory," said Schmucke.</p>
-
-<p>"Look there! Do you see that young man in the box yonder? . .
-. Do you recognize him?"</p>
-
-<p>"Nefer a pit—"</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! That is because he is wearing yellow gloves and shines
-with all the radiance of riches, but that is my friend Fritz
-Brunner out of Frankfort-on-the-Main."</p>
-
-<p>"Dat used to komm to see du blav und sit peside you in der
-orghestra?"</p>
-
-<p>"The same. You would not believe he could look so different,
-would you?"</p>
-
-<p>The hero of the promised story was a German of that particular
-type in which the sombre irony of Goethe's Mephistopheles is
-blended with a homely cheerfulness found in the romances of
-August Lafontaine of pacific memory; but the predominating
-element in the compound of artlessness and guile, of shopkeeper's
-shrewdness, and the studied carelessness of a member of the
-Jockey Club, was that form of disgust which set a pistol in the
-hands of a young Werther, bored to death less by Charlotte than
-by German princes. It was a thoroughly German face, full of
-cunning, full of simplicity, stupidity, and courage; the
-knowledge which brings weariness, the worldly wisdom which the
-veriest child's trick leaves at fault, the abuse of beer and
-tobacco,—all these were there to be seen in it, and to heighten
-the contrast of opposed qualities, there was a wild diabolical
-gleam in the fine blue eyes with the jaded expression.</p>
-
-<p>Dressed with all the elegance of a city man, Fritz Brunner sat
-in full view of the house displaying a bald crown of the tint
-beloved by Titian, and a few stray fiery red hairs on either side
-of it; a remnant spared by debauchery and want, that the prodigal
-might have a right to spend money with the hairdresser when he
-should come into his fortune. A face, once fair and fresh as the
-traditional portrait of Jesus Christ, had grown harder since the
-advent of a red moustache; a tawny beard lent it an almost
-sinister look. The bright blue eyes had lost something of their
-clearness in the struggle with distress. The countless courses by
-which a man sells himself and his honor in Paris had left their
-traces upon his eyelids and carved lines about the eyes, into
-which a mother once looked with a mother's rapture to find a copy
-of her own fashioned by God's hand.</p>
-
-<p>This precocious philosopher, this wizened youth was the work
-of a stepmother.</p>
-
-<p>Herewith begins the curious history of a prodigal son of
-Frankfort-on- the-Main—the most extraordinary and astounding
-portent ever beheld by that well-conducted, if central, city.</p>
-
-<p>Gideon Brunner, father of the aforesaid Fritz, was one of the
-famous innkeepers of Frankfort, a tribe who make law-authorized
-incisions in travelers' purses with the connivance of the local
-bankers. An innkeeper and an honest Calvinist to boot, he had
-married a converted Jewess and laid the foundations of his
-prosperity with the money she brought him.</p>
-
-<p>When the Jewess died, leaving a son Fritz, twelve years of
-age, under the joint guardianship of his father and maternal
-uncle, a furrier at Leipsic, head of the firm of Virlaz and
-Company, Brunner senior was compelled by his brother-in-law (who
-was by no means as soft as his peltry) to invest little Fritz's
-money, a goodly quantity of current coin of the realm, with the
-house of Al-Sartchild. Not a penny of it was he allowed to touch.
-So, by way of revenge for the Israelite's pertinacity, Brunner
-senior married again. It was impossible, he said, to keep his
-huge hotel single-handed; it needed a woman's eye and hand.
-Gideon Brunner's second wife was an innkeeper's daughter, a very
-pearl, as he thought; but he had had no experience of only
-daughters spoiled by father and mother.</p>
-
-<p>The second Mme. Brunner behaved as German girls may be
-expected to behave when they are frivolous and wayward. She
-squandered her fortune, she avenged the first Mme. Brunner by
-making her husband as miserable a man as you could find in the
-compass of the free city of Frankfort-on-the-Main, where the
-millionaires, it is said, are about to pass a law compelling
-womankind to cherish and obey them alone. She was partial to all
-the varieties of vinegar commonly called Rhine wine in Germany;
-she was fond of <i>articles Paris</i>, of horses and dress;
-indeed, the one expensive taste which she had not was a liking
-for women. She took a dislike to little Fritz, and would perhaps
-have driven him mad if that young offspring of Calvinism and
-Judaism had not had Frankfort for his cradle and the firm of
-Virlaz at Leipsic for his guardian. Uncle Virlaz, however, deep
-in his furs, confined his guardianship to the safe-keeping of
-Fritz's silver marks, and left the boy to the tender mercies of
-this stepmother.</p>
-
-<p>That hyena in woman's form was the more exasperated against
-the pretty child, the lovely Jewess' son, because she herself
-could have no children in spite of efforts worthy of a locomotive
-engine. A diabolical impulse prompted her to plunge her young
-stepson, at twenty-one years of age, into dissipations contrary
-to all German habits. The wicked German hoped that English
-horses, Rhine vinegar, and Goethe's Marguerites would ruin the
-Jewess' child and shorten his days; for when Fritz came of age,
-Uncle Virlaz had handed over a very pretty fortune to his nephew.
-But while roulette at Baden and elsewhere, and boon companions
-(Wilhelm Schwab among them) devoured the substance accumulated by
-Uncle Virlaz, the prodigal son himself remained by the will of
-Providence to point a moral to younger brothers in the free city
-of Frankfort; parents held him up as a warning and an awful
-example to their offspring to scare them into steady attendance
-in their cast-iron counting houses, lined with silver marks.</p>
-
-<p>But so far from perishing in the flower of his age, Fritz
-Brunner had the pleasure of laying his stepmother in one of those
-charming little German cemeteries, in which the Teuton indulges
-his unbridled passion for horticulture under the specious pretext
-of honoring his dead. And as the second Mme. Brunner expired
-while the authors of her being were yet alive, Brunner senior was
-obliged to bear the loss of the sums of which his wife had
-drained his coffers, to say nothing of other ills, which had told
-upon a Herculean constitution, till at the age of sixty-seven the
-innkeeper had wizened and shrunk as if the famous Borgia's poison
-had undermined his system. For ten whole years he had supported
-his wife, and now he inherited nothing! The innkeeper was a
-second ruin of Heidelberg, repaired continually, it is true, by
-travelers' hotel bills, much as the remains of the castle of
-Heidelberg itself are repaired to sustain the enthusiasm of the
-tourists who flock to see so fine and well-preserved a relic of
-antiquity.</p>
-
-<p>At Frankfort the disappointment caused as much talk as a
-failure.<br>
- People pointed out Brunner, saying, "See what a man may come to
-with a bad wife that leaves him nothing and a son brought up in
-the French fashion."</p>
-
-<p>In Italy and Germany the French nation is the root of all
-evil, the target for all bullets. "But the god pursuing his
-way——" (For the rest, see Lefranc de Pompignan's Ode.)</p>
-
-<p>The wrath of the proprietor of the Grand Hotel de Hollande
-fell on others besides the travelers, whose bills were swelled
-with his resentment. When his son was utterly ruined, Gideon,
-regarding him as the indirect cause of all his misfortunes,
-refused him bread and salt, fire, lodging, and tobacco—the force
-of the paternal malediction in a German and an innkeeper could no
-farther go. Whereupon the local authorities, making no allowance
-for the father's misdeeds, regarded him as one of the most
-ill-used persons in Frankfort-on-the-Main, came to his
-assistance, fastened a quarrel on Fritz (<i>une querelle
-d'Allemand</i>), and expelled him from the territory of the free
-city.<br>
- Justice in Frankfort is no whit wiser nor more humane than
-elsewhere, albeit the city is the seat of the German Diet. It is
-not often that a magistrate traces back the stream of wrongdoing
-and misfortune to the holder of the urn from which the first
-beginnings trickled forth. If Brunner forgot his son, his son's
-friends speedily followed the old innkeeper's example.</p>
-
-<p>Ah! if the journalists, the dandies, and some few fair
-Parisians among the audience wondered how that German with the
-tragical countenance had cropped up on a first night to occupy a
-side box all to himself when fashionable Paris filled the
-house,—if these could have seen the history played out upon the
-stage before the prompter's box, they would have found it far
-more interesting than the transformation scenes of <i>The Devil's
-Betrothed</i>, though indeed it was the two hundred thousandth
-representation of a sublime allegory performed aforetime in
-Mesopotamia three thousand years before Christ was born.</p>
-
-<p>Fritz betook himself on foot to Strasbourg, and there found
-what the prodigal son of the Bible failed to find—to wit, a
-friend. And herein is revealed the superiority of Alsace, where
-so many generous hearts beat to show Germany the beauty of a
-combination of Gallic wit and Teutonic solidity. Wilhelm Schwab,
-but lately left in possession of a hundred thousand francs by the
-death of both parents, opened his arms, his heart, his house, his
-purse to Fritz. As for describing Fritz's feelings, when dusty,
-down on his luck, and almost like a leper, he crossed the Rhine
-and found a real twenty-franc piece held out by the hand of a
-real friend,—that moment transcends the powers of the prose
-writer; Pindar alone could give it forth to humanity in Greek
-that should rekindle the dying warmth of friendship in the
-world.</p>
-
-<p>Put the names of Fritz and Wilheim beside those of Damon and
-Pythias, Castor and Pollux, Orestes and Pylades, Dubreuil and
-Pmejah, Schmucke and Pons, and all the names that we imagine for
-the two friends of Monomotapa, for La Fontaine (man of genius
-though he was) has made of them two disembodied spirits—they
-lack reality. The two new names may join the illustrious company,
-and with so much the more reason, since that Wilhelm who had
-helped to drink Fritz's inheritance now proceeded, with Fritz's
-assistance, to devour his own substance; smoking, needless to
-say, every known variety of tobacco.</p>
-
-<p>The pair, strange to relate, squandered the property in the
-dullest, stupidest, most commonplace fashion, in Strasbourg
-<i>brasseries</i>, in the company of ballet-girls of the
-Strasbourg theatres, and little Alsaciennes who had not a rag of
-a tattered reputation left.</p>
-
-<p>Every morning they would say, "We really must stop this, and
-make up our minds and do something or other with the money that
-is left."</p>
-
-<p>"Pooh!" Fritz would retort, "just one more day, and to-morrow"
-. . .<br>
- ah! to-morrow.</p>
-
-<p>In the lives of Prodigal Sons, <i>To-day</i> is a prodigious
-coxcomb, but <i>To-morrow</i> is a very poltroon, taking fright
-at the big words of his predecessor. <i>To-day</i> is the
-truculent captain of old world comedy, <i>To-morrow</i> the clown
-of modern pantomime.</p>
-
-<p>When the two friends had reached their last thousand-franc
-note, they took places in the mail-coach, styled Royal, and
-departed for Paris, where they installed themselves in the attics
-of the Hotel du Rhin, in the Rue du Mail, the property of one
-Graff, formerly Gideon Brunner's head-waiter. Fritz found a
-situation as clerk in the Kellers' bank (on Graff's
-recommendation), with a salary of six hundred francs. And a place
-as book-keeper was likewise found for Wilhelm, in the business of
-Graff the fashionable tailor, brother of Graff of the Hotel du
-Rhin, who found the scantily-paid employment for the pair of
-prodigals, for the sake of old times, and his apprenticeship at
-the Hotel de Hollande. These two incidents—the recognition of a
-ruined man by a well-to-do friend, and a German innkeeper
-interesting himself in two penniless fellow-countrymen—give, no
-doubt, an air of improbability to the story, but truth is so much
-the more like fiction, since modern writers of fiction have been
-at such untold pains to imitate truth.</p>
-
-<p>It was not long before Fritz, a clerk with six hundred francs,
-and Wilhelm, a book-keeper with precisely the same salary,
-discovered the difficulties of existence in a city so full of
-temptations. In 1837, the second year of their abode, Wilhelm,
-who possessed a pretty talent for the flute, entered Pons'
-orchestra, to earn a little occasional butter to put on his dry
-bread. As to Fritz, his only way to an increase of income lay
-through the display of the capacity for business inherited by a
-descendant of the Virlaz family. Yet, in spite of his assiduity,
-in spite of abilities which possibly may have stood in his way,
-his salary only reached the sum of two thousand francs in 1843.
-Penury, that divine stepmother, did for the two men all that
-their mothers had not been able to do for them; Poverty taught
-them thrift and worldly wisdom; Poverty gave them her grand rough
-education, the lessons which she drives with hard knocks into the
-heads of great men, who seldom know a happy childhood. Fritz and
-Wilhelm, being but ordinary men, learned as little as they
-possibly could in her school; they dodged the blows, shrank from
-her hard breast and bony arms, and never discovered the good
-fairy lurking within, ready to yield to the caresses of genius.
-One thing, however, they learned thoroughly—they discovered the
-value of money, and vowed to clip the wings of riches if ever a
-second fortune should come to their door.</p>
-
-<p>This was the history which Wilhelm Schwab related in German,
-at much greater length, to his friend the pianist, ending
-with;</p>
-
-<p>"Well, Papa Schmucke, the rest is soon explained. Old Brunner
-is dead.<br>
- He left four millions! He made an immense amount of money out of
-Baden railways, though neither his son nor M. Graff, with whom we
-lodge, had any idea that the old man was one of the original
-shareholders. I am playing the flute here for the last time this
-evening; I would have left some days ago, but this was a first
-performance, and I did not want to spoil my part."</p>
-
-<p>"Goot, mine friend," said Schmucke. "But who is die
-prite?"</p>
-
-<p>"She is Mlle. Graff, the daughter of our host, the landlord of
-the Hotel du Rhin. I have loved Mlle. Emilie these seven years;
-she has read so many immoral novels, that she refused all offers
-for me, without knowing what might come of it. She will be a very
-wealthy young lady; her uncles, the tailors in the Rue de
-Richelieu, will leave her all their money. Fritz is giving me the
-money we squandered at Strasbourg five times over! He is putting
-a million francs in a banking house, M. Graff the tailor is
-adding another five hundred thousand francs, and Mlle. Emilie's
-father not only allows me to incorporate her portion—two hundred
-and fifty thousand francs—with the capital, but he himself will
-be a shareholder with as much again.<br>
- So the firm of Brunner, Schwab and Company will start with two
-millions five hundred thousand francs. Fritz has just bought
-fifteen hundred thousand francs' worth of shares in the Bank of
-France to guarantee our account with them. That is not all
-Fritz's fortune. He has his father's house property, supposed to
-be worth another million, and he has let the Grand Hotel de
-Hollande already to a cousin of the Graffs."</p>
-
-<p>"You look sad ven you look at your friend," remarked Schmucke,
-who had listened with great interest. "Kann you pe chealous of
-him?"</p>
-
-<p>"I am jealous for Fritz's happiness," said Wilhelm. "Does that
-face look as if it belonged to a happy man? I am afraid of Paris;
-I should like to see him do as I am doing. The old tempter may
-awake again. Of our two heads, his carries the less ballast. His
-dress, and the opera- glass and the rest of it make me anxious.
-He keeps looking at the lorettes in the house. Oh! if you only
-knew how hard it is to marry Fritz. He has a horror of 'going
-a-courting,' as you say; you would have to give him a drop into a
-family, just as in England they give a man a drop into the next
-world."</p>
-
-<p>During the uproar that usually marks the end of a first night,
-the flute delivered his invitation to the conductor. Pons
-accepted gleefully; and, for the first time in three months,
-Schmucke saw a smile on his friend's face. They went back to the
-Rue de Normandie in perfect silence; that sudden flash of joy had
-thrown a light on the extent of the disease which was consuming
-Pons. Oh, that a man so truly noble, so disinterested, so great
-in feeling, should have such a weakness! . . . This was the
-thought that struck the stoic Schmucke dumb with amazement. He
-grew woefully sad, for he began to see that there was no help for
-it; he must even renounce the pleasure of seeing "his goot Bons"
-opposite him at the dinner-table, for the sake of Pons' welfare;
-and he did not know whether he could give him up; the mere
-thought of it drove him distracted.</p>
-
-<p>Meantime, Pons' proud silence and withdrawal to the Mons
-Aventinus of the Rue de Normandie had, as might be expected,
-impressed the Presidente, not that she troubled herself much
-about her parasite, now that she was freed from him. She thought,
-with her charming daughter, that Cousin Pons had seen through her
-little "Lili's" joke. But it was otherwise with her husband the
-President.</p>
-
-<p>Camusot de Marville, a short and stout man, grown solemn since
-his promotion at the Court, admired Cicero, preferred the
-Opera-Comique to the Italiens, compared the actors one with
-another, and followed the multitude step by step. He used to
-recite all the articles in the Ministerialist journals, as if he
-were saying something original, and in giving his opinion at the
-Council Board he paraphrased the remarks of the previous speaker.
-His leading characteristics were sufficiently well known; his
-position compelled him to take everything seriously; and he was
-particularly tenacious of family ties.</p>
-
-<p>Like most men who are ruled by their wives, the President
-asserted his independence in trifles, in which his wife was very
-careful not to thwart him. For a month he was satisfied with the
-Presidente's commonplace explanations of Pons' disappearance; but
-at last it struck him as singular that the old musician, a friend
-of forty years' standing, should first make them so valuable a
-present as a fan that belonged to Mme. de Pompadour, and then
-immediately discontinue his visits. Count Popinot had pronounced
-the trinket a masterpiece; when its owner went to Court, the fan
-had been passed from hand to hand, and her vanity was not a
-little gratified by the compliments it received; others had dwelt
-on the beauties of the ten ivory sticks, each one covered with
-delicate carving, the like of which had never been seen. A
-Russian lady (Russian ladies are apt to forget that they are not
-in Russia) had offered her six thousand francs for the marvel one
-day at Count Popinot's house, and smiled to see it in such
-hands.<br>
- Truth to tell, it was a fan for a Duchess.</p>
-
-<p>"It cannot be denied that poor Cousin Pons understands rubbish
-of that sort—" said Cecile, the day after the bid.</p>
-
-<p>"Rubbish!" cried her parent. "Why, Government is just about to
-buy the late M. le Conseiller Dusommerard's collection for three
-hundred thousand francs; and the State and the Municipality of
-Paris between them are spending nearly a million francs over the
-purchase and repair of the Hotel de Cluny to house the 'rubbish,'
-as you call it.—Such 'rubbish,' dear child," he resumed, "is
-frequently all that remains of vanished civilizations. An
-Etruscan jar, and a necklace, which sometimes fetch forty and
-fifty thousand francs, is 'rubbish' which reveals the perfection
-of art at the time of the siege of Troy, proving that the
-Etruscans were Trojan refugees in Italy."</p>
-
-<p>This was the President's cumbrous way of joking; the short,
-fat man was heavily ironical with his wife and daughter.</p>
-
-<p>"The combination of various kinds of knowledge required to
-understand such 'rubbish,' Cecile," he resumed, "is a science in
-itself, called archaeology. Archaeology comprehends architecture,
-sculpture, painting, goldsmiths' work, ceramics, cabinetmaking (a
-purely modern art), lace, tapestry—in short, human handiwork of
-every sort and description."</p>
-
-<p>"Then Cousin Pons is learned?" said Cecile.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! by the by, why is he never to be seen nowadays?" asked
-the President. He spoke with the air of a man in whom thousands
-of forgotten and dormant impressions have suddenly begun to stir,
-and shaping themselves into one idea, reach consciousness with a
-ricochet, as sportsmen say.</p>
-
-<p>"He must have taken offence at nothing at all," answered his
-wife. "I dare say I was not as fully sensible as I might have
-been of the value of the fan that he gave me. I am ignorant
-enough, as you know, of—"</p>
-
-<p>"<i>You</i>! One of Servin's best pupils, and you don't know
-Watteau?" cried the President.</p>
-
-<p>"I know Gerard and David and Gros and Griodet, and M. de
-Forbin and M. Turpin de Crisse—"</p>
-
-<p>"You ought—"</p>
-
-<p>"Ought what, sir?" demanded the lady, gazing at her husband
-with the air of a Queen of Sheba.</p>
-
-<p>"To know a Watteau when you see it, my dear. Watteau is very
-much in fashion," answered the President with meekness, that told
-plainly how much he owed to his wife.</p>
-
-<p>This conversation took place a few days before that night of
-first performance of <i>The Devil's Betrothed</i>, when the whole
-orchestra noticed how ill Pons was looking. But by that time all
-the circle of dinner-givers who were used to seeing Pons' face at
-their tables, and to send him on errands, had begun to ask each
-other for news of him, and uneasiness increased when it was
-reported by some who had seen him that he was always in his place
-at the theatre. Pons had been very careful to avoid his old
-acquaintances whenever he met them in the streets; but one day it
-so fell out that he met Count Popinot, the ex-cabinet minister,
-face to face in the bric-a-brac dealer's shop in the new
-Boulevard Beaumarchais. The dealer was none other than that
-Monistrol of whom Pons had spoken to the Presidente, one of the
-famous and audacious vendors whose cunning enthusiasm leads them
-to set more and more value daily on their wares; for curiosities,
-they tell you, are growing so scarce that they are hardly to be
-found at all nowadays.</p>
-
-<p><br>
- "Ah, my dear Pons, how comes it that we never see you now? We
-miss you very much, and Mme. Popinot does not know what to think
-of your desertion."</p>
-
-<p>"M. le Comte," said the good man, "I was made to feel in the
-house of a relative that at my age one is not wanted in the
-world. I have never had much consideration shown me, but at any
-rate I had not been insulted. I have never asked anything of any
-man," he broke out with an artist's pride. "I have often made
-myself useful in return for hospitality. But I have made a
-mistake, it seems; I am indefinitely beholden to those who honor
-me by allowing me to sit at table with them; my friends, and my
-relatives. . . . Well and good; I have sent in my resignation as
-smellfeast. At home I find daily something which no other house
-has offered me—a real friend."</p>
-
-<p>The old artist's power had not failed him; with tone and
-gesture he put such bitterness into the words, that the peer of
-France was struck by them. He drew Pons aside.</p>
-
-<p>"Come, now, my old friend, what is it? What has hurt you?
-Could you not tell me in confidence? You will permit me to say
-that at my house surely you have always met with
-consideration—"</p>
-
-<p>"You are the one exception," said the artist. "And besides,
-you are a great lord and a statesman, you have so many things to
-think about.<br>
- That would excuse anything, if there were need for it."</p>
-
-<p>The diplomatic skill that Popinot had acquired in the
-management of men and affairs was brought to bear upon Pons, till
-at length the story of his misfortunes in the President's house
-was drawn from him.</p>
-
-<p>Popinot took up the victim's cause so warmly that he told the
-story to Mme. Popinot as soon as he went home, and that excellent
-and noble- natured woman spoke to the Presidente on the subject
-at the first opportunity. As Popinot himself likewise said a word
-or two to the President, there was a general explanation in the
-family of Camusot de Marville.</p>
-
-<p>Camusot was not exactly master in his own house; but this time
-his remonstrance was so well founded in law and in fact, that his
-wife and daughter were forced to acknowledge the truth. They both
-humbled themselves and threw the blame on the servants. The
-servants, first bidden, and then chidden, only obtained pardon by
-a full confession, which made it clear to the President's mind
-that Pons had done rightly to stop away. The President displayed
-himself before the servants in all his masculine and magisterial
-dignity, after the manner of men who are ruled by their wives. He
-informed his household that they should be dismissed forthwith,
-and forfeit any advantages which their long term of service in
-his house might have brought them, unless from that time forward
-his cousin and all those who did him the honor of coming to his
-house were treated as he himself was. At which speech Madeleine
-was moved to smile.</p>
-
-<p>"You have only one chance of salvation as it is," continued
-the President. "Go to my cousin, make your excuses to him, and
-tell him that you will lose your situations unless he forgives
-you, for I shall turn you all away if he does not."</p>
-
-<p>Next morning the President went out fairly early to pay a call
-on his cousin before going down to the court. The apparition of
-M. le President de Marville, announced by Mme. Cibot, was an
-event in the house. Pons, thus honored for the first time in his
-life saw reparation ahead.</p>
-
-<p>"At last, my dear cousin," said the President after the
-ordinary greetings; "at last I have discovered the cause of your
-retreat. Your behavior increases, if that were possible, my
-esteem for you. I have but one word to say in that connection. My
-servants have all been dismissed. My wife and daughter are in
-despair; they want to see you to have an explanation. In all
-this, my cousin, there is one innocent person, and he is an old
-judge; you will not punish me, will you, for the escapade of a
-thoughtless child who wished to dine with the Popinots?
-especially when I come to beg for peace, admitting that all the
-wrong has been on our side? . . . An old friendship of thirty-six
-years, even suppose that there had been a misunderstanding, has
-still some claims. Come, sign a treaty of peace by dining with us
-to-night—"</p>
-
-<p>Pons involved himself in a diffuse reply, and ended by
-informing his cousin that he was to sign a marriage contract that
-evening; how that one of the orchestra was not only going to be
-married, but also about to fling his flute to the winds to become
-a banker.</p>
-
-<p>"Very well. To-morrow."</p>
-
-<p>"Mme. la Comtesse Popinot has done me the honor of asking me,
-cousin.<br>
- She was so kind as to write—"</p>
-
-<p>"The day after to-morrow then."</p>
-
-<p>"M. Brunner, a German, my first flute's future partner,
-returns the compliment paid him to-day by the young couple—"</p>
-
-<p>"You are such pleasant company that it is not surprising that
-people dispute for the honor of seeing you. Very well, next
-Sunday? Within a week, as we say at the courts?"</p>
-
-<p>"On Sunday we are to dine with M. Graff, the flute's
-father-in-law."</p>
-
-<p>"Very well, on Saturday. Between now and then you will have
-time to reassure a little girl who has shed tears already over
-her fault. God asks no more than repentance; you will not be more
-severe than the Eternal father with poor little Cecile?—"</p>
-
-<p>Pons, thus reached on his weak side, again plunged into
-formulas more than polite, and went as far as the stairhead with
-the President.</p>
-
-<p>An hour later the President's servants arrived in a troop on
-poor Pons' second floor. They behaved after the manner of their
-kind; they cringed and fawned; they wept. Madeleine took M. Pons
-aside and flung herself resolutely at his feet.</p>
-
-<p>"It is all my fault; and monsieur knows quite well that I love
-him,"<br>
- here she burst into tears. "It was vengeance boiling in my
-veins; monsieur ought to throw all the blame of the unhappy
-affair on that.<br>
- We are all to lose our pensions. . . . Monsieur, I was mad, and
-I would not have the rest suffer for my fault. . . . I can see
-now well enough that fate did not make me for monsieur. I have
-come to my senses, I aimed too high, but I love you still,
-monsieur. These ten years I have thought of nothing but the
-happiness of making you happy and looking after things here. What
-a lot! . . . Oh! if monsieur but knew how much I love him! But
-monsieur must have seen it through all my mischief-making. If I
-were to die to-morrow, what would they find?<br>
- —A will in your favor, monsieur. . . . Yes, monsieur, in my
-trunk under my best things."</p>
-
-<p>Madeleine had set a responsive chord vibrating; the passion
-inspired in another may be unwelcome, but it will always be
-gratifying to self- love; this was the case with the old
-bachelor. After generously pardoning Madeleine, he extended his
-forgiveness to the other servants, promising to use his influence
-with his cousin the Presidente on their behalf.</p>
-
-<p>It was unspeakably pleasant to Pons to find all his old
-enjoyments restored to him without any loss of self-respect. The
-world had come to Pons, he had risen in the esteem of his circle;
-but Schmucke looked so downcast and dubious when he heard the
-story of the triumph, that Pons felt hurt. When, however, the
-kind-hearted German saw the sudden change wrought in Pons' face,
-he ended by rejoicing with his friend, and made a sacrifice of
-the happiness that he had known during those four months that he
-had had Pons all to himself. Mental suffering has this immense
-advantage over physical ills—when the cause is removed it ceases
-at once. Pons was not like the same man that morning. The old
-man, depressed and visibly failing, had given place to the
-serenely contented Pons, who entered the Presidente's house that
-October afternoon with the Marquise de Pompadour's fan in his
-pocket.<br>
- Schmucke, on the other hand, pondered deeply over this
-phenomenon, and could not understand it; your true stoic never
-can understand the courtier that dwells in a Frenchman. Pons was
-a born Frenchman of the Empire; a mixture of eighteenth century
-gallantry and that devotion to womankind so often celebrated in
-songs of the type of <i>Partant pour la Syrie</i>.</p>
-
-<p>So Schmucke was fain to bury his chagrin beneath the flowers
-of his German philosophy; but a week later he grew so yellow that
-Mme. Cibot exerted her ingenuity to call in the parish doctor.
-The leech had fears of icterus, and left Mme. Cibot frightened
-half out of her wits by the Latin word for an attack of the
-jaundice.</p>
-
-<p>Meantime the two friends went out to dinner together, perhaps
-for the first time in their lives. For Schmucke it was a return
-to the Fatherland; for Johann Graff of the Hotel du Rhin and his
-daughter Emilie, Wolfgang Graff the tailor and his wife, Fritz
-Brunner and Wilhelm Schwab, were Germans, and Pons and the notary
-were the only Frenchmen present at the banquet. The Graffs of the
-tailor's business owned a splendid house in the Rue de Richelieu,
-between the Rue Neuve- des-Petits-Champs and the Rue Villedo;
-they had brought up their niece, for Emilie's father, not without
-reason, had feared contact with the very mixed society of an inn
-for his daughter. The good tailor Graffs, who loved Emilie as if
-she had been their own daughter, were giving up the ground floor
-of their great house to the young couple, and here the bank of
-Brunner, Schwab and Company was to be established. The
-arrangements for the marriage had been made about a month ago;
-some time must elapse before Fritz Brunner, author of all this
-felicity, could settle his deceased father's affairs, and the
-famous firm of tailors had taken advantage of the delay to
-redecorate the first floor and to furnish it very handsomely for
-the bride and bridegroom. The offices of the bank had been fitted
-into the wing which united a handsome business house with the
-hotel at the back, between courtyard and garden.</p>
-
-<p>On the way from the Rue de Normandie to the Rue de Richelieu,
-Pons drew from the abstracted Schmucke the details of the story
-of the modern prodigal son, for whom Death had killed the fatted
-innkeeper.<br>
- Pons, but newly reconciled with his nearest relatives, was
-immediately smitten with a desire to make a match between Fritz
-Brunner and Cecile de Marville. Chance ordained that the notary
-was none other than Berthier, old Cardot's son-in-law and
-successor, the sometime second clerk with whom Pons had been wont
-to dine.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! M. Berthier, you here!" he said, holding out a hand to
-his host of former days.</p>
-
-<p>"We have not had the pleasure of seeing you at dinner lately;
-how is it?" returned the notary. "My wife has been anxious about
-you. We saw you at the first performance of <i>The Devil's
-Betrothed</i>, and our anxiety became curiosity?"</p>
-
-<p>"Old folk are sensitive," replied the worthy musician; "they
-make the mistake of being a century behind the times, but how can
-it be helped?<br>
- It is quite enough to represent one century—they cannot
-entirely belong to the century which sees them die."</p>
-
-<p>"Ah!" said the notary, with a shrewd look, "one cannot run two
-centuries at once."</p>
-
-<p>"By the by," continued Pons, drawing the young lawyer into a
-corner, "why do you not find some one for my cousin Cecile de
-Marville—"</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! why—?" answered Berthier. "In this century, when luxury
-has filtered down to our very porters' lodges, a young fellow
-hesitates before uniting his lot with the daughter of a President
-of the Court of Appeal in Paris if she brings him only a hundred
-thousand francs.<br>
- In the rank of life in which Mlle. de Marville's husband would
-take, the wife was never yet known that did not cost her husband
-three thousand francs a year; the interest on a hundred thousand
-francs would scarcely find her in pin-money. A bachelor with an
-income of fifteen or twenty thousand francs can live on an
-entre-sol; he is not expected to cut any figure; he need not keep
-more than one servant, and all his surplus income he can spend on
-his amusements; he puts himself in the hands of a good tailor,
-and need not trouble any further about keeping up appearances.
-Far-sighted mothers make much of him; he is one of the kings of
-fashion in Paris.</p>
-
-<p>"But a wife changes everything. A wife means a properly
-furnished house," continued the lawyer; "she wants the carriage
-for herself; if she goes to the play, she wants a box, while the
-bachelor has only a stall to pay for; in short, a wife represents
-the whole of the income which the bachelor used to spend on
-himself. Suppose that husband and wife have thirty thousand
-francs a year between them—practically, the sometime bachelor is
-a poor devil who thinks twice before he drives out to Chantilly.
-Bring children on the scene—he is pinched for money at once.</p>
-
-<p>"Now, as M. and Mme. de Marville are scarcely turned fifty,
-Cecile's expectations are bills that will not fall due for
-fifteen or twenty years to come; and no young fellow cares to
-keep them so long in his portfolio. The young featherheads who
-are dancing the polka with lorettes at the Jardin Mabille, are so
-cankered with self-interest, that they don't stand in need of us
-to explain both sides of the problem to them. Between ourselves,
-I may say that Mlle. de Marville scarcely sets hearts throbbing
-so fast but that their owners can perfectly keep their heads, and
-they are full of these anti- matrimonial reflections. If any
-eligible young man, in full possession of his senses and an
-income of twenty thousand francs, happens to be sketching out a
-programme of marriage that will satisfy his ambitions, Mlle. de
-Marville does not altogether answer the description—"</p>
-
-<p>"And why not?" asked the bewildered musician.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh!—" said the notary, "well—a young man nowadays may be as
-ugly as you and I, my dear Pons, but he is almost sure to have
-the impertinence to want six hundred thousand francs, a girl of
-good family, with wit and good looks and good breeding—flawless
-perfection in short."</p>
-
-<p>"Then it will not be easy to marry her?"</p>
-
-<p>"She will not be married so long as M. and Mme. de Marville
-cannot make up their minds to settle Marville on her when she
-marries; if they had chosen, she might have been the Vicomtesse
-Popinot by now.<br>
- But here comes M. Brunner.—We are about to read the deed of
-partnership and the marriage contract."</p>
-
-<p>Greetings and introductions over, the relations made Pons
-promise to sign the contract. He listened to the reading of the
-documents, and towards half-past five the party went into the
-dining-room. The dinner was magnificent, as a city merchant's
-dinner can be, when he allows himself a respite from
-money-making. Graff of the Hotel du Rhin was acquainted with the
-first provision dealers in Paris; never had Pons nor Schmucke
-fared so sumptuously. The dishes were a rapture to think of!
-Italian paste, delicate of flavor, unknown to the public; smelts
-fried as never smelts were fried before; fish from Lake Leman,
-with a real Genevese sauce, and a cream for plum-pudding which
-would have astonished the London doctor who is said to have
-invented it. It was nearly ten o'clock before they rose from
-table. The amount of wine, German and French, consumed at that
-dinner would amaze the contemporary dandy; nobody knows the
-amount of liquor that a German can imbibe and yet keep calm and
-quiet; to have even an idea of the quantity, you must dine in
-Germany and watch bottle succeed to bottle, like wave rippling
-after wave along the sunny shores of the Mediterranean, and
-disappear as if the Teuton possessed the absorbing power of
-sponges or sea sand. Perfect harmony prevails meanwhile; there is
-none of the racket that there would be over the liquor in France;
-the talk is as sober as a money-lender's extempore speech;
-countenances flush, like the faces of the brides in frescoes by
-Cornelius or Schnorr (imperceptibly, that is to say), and
-reminiscences are poured out slowly while the smoke puffs from
-the pipes.</p>
-
-<p>About half-past ten that evening Pons and Schmucke found
-themselves sitting on a bench out in the garden, with the
-ex-flute between them; they were explaining their characters,
-opinions, and misfortunes, with no very clear idea as to why or
-how they had come to this point. In the thick of a potpourri of
-confidences, Wilhelm spoke of his strong desire to see Fritz
-married, expressing himself with vehement and vinous
-eloquence.</p>
-
-<p>"What do you say to this programme for your friend Brunner?"
-cried Pons in confidential tones. "A charming and sensible young
-lady of twenty-four, belonging to a family of the highest
-distinction. The father holds a very high position as a judge;
-there will be a hundred thousand francs paid down and a million
-to come."</p>
-
-<p>"Wait!" answered Schwab; "I will speak to Fritz this
-instant."</p>
-
-<p>The pair watched Brunner and his friend as they walked round
-and round the garden; again and again they passed the bench,
-sometimes one spoke, sometimes the other.</p>
-
-<p>Pons was not exactly intoxicated; his head was a little heavy,
-but his thoughts, on the contrary, seemed all the lighter; he
-watched Fritz Brunner's face through the rainbow mist of fumes of
-wine, and tried to read auguries favorable to his family. Before
-very long Schwab introduced his friend and partner to M. Pons;
-Fritz Brunner expressed his thanks for the trouble which Pons had
-been so good as to take.</p>
-
-<p>In the conversation which followed, the two old bachelors
-Schmucke and Pons extolled the estate of matrimony, going so far
-as to say, without any malicious intent, "that marriage was the
-end of man." Tea and ices, punches and cakes, were served in the
-future home of the betrothed couple. The wine had begun to tell
-upon the honest merchants, and the general hilarity reached its
-height when it was announced that Schwab's partner thought of
-following his example.</p>
-
-<p>At two o'clock that morning, Schmucke and Pons walked home
-along the boulevards, philosophizing <i>a perte de raison</i> as
-they went on the harmony pervading the arrangements of this our
-world below.</p>
-
-<p>On the morrow of the banquet, Cousin Pons betook himself to
-his fair cousin the Presidente, overjoyed—poor dear noble
-soul!—to return good for evil. Surely he had attained to a
-sublime height, as every one will allow, for we live in an age
-when the Montyon prize is given to those who do their duty by
-carrying out the precepts of the Gospel.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah!" said Pons to himself, as he turned the corner of the Rue
-de Choiseul, "they will lie under immense obligations to their
-parasite."</p>
-
-<p>Any man less absorbed in his contentment, any man of the
-world, any distrustful nature would have watched the President's
-wife and daughter very narrowly on this first return to the
-house. But the poor musician was a child, he had all the
-simplicity of an artist, believing in goodness as he believed in
-beauty; so he was delighted when Cecile and her mother made much
-of him. After all the vaudevilles, tragedies, and comedies which
-had been played under the worthy man's eyes for twelve long
-years, he could not detect the insincerity and grimaces of social
-comedy, no doubt because he had seen too much of it. Any one who
-goes into society in Paris, and knows the type of woman, dried
-up, body and soul, by a burning thirst for social position, and a
-fierce desire to be thought virtuous, any one familiar with the
-sham piety and the domineering character of a woman whose word is
-law in her own house, may imagine the lurking hatred she bore
-this husband's cousin whom she had wronged.</p>
-
-<p>All the demonstrative friendliness of mother and daughter was
-lined with a formidable longing for revenge, evidently postponed.
-For the first time in Amelie de Marville's life she had been put
-in the wrong, and that in the sight of the husband over whom she
-tyrannized; and not only so—she was obliged to be amiable to the
-author of her defeat!<br>
- You can scarcely find a match for this position save in the
-hypocritical dramas which are sometimes kept up for years in the
-sacred college of cardinals, or in chapters of certain religious
-orders.</p>
-
-<p>At three o'clock, when the President came back from the
-law-courts, Pons had scarcely made an end of the marvelous
-history of his acquaintance, M. Frederic Brunner. Cecile had gone
-straight to the point. She wanted to know how Frederic Brunner
-was dressed, how he looked, his height and figure, the color of
-his hair and eyes; and when she had conjectured a distinguished
-air for Frederic, she admired his generosity of character.</p>
-
-<p>"Think of his giving five hundred thousand francs to his
-companion in misfortune! Oh! mamma, I shall have a carriage and a
-box at the Italiens——" Cecile grew almost pretty as she thought
-that all her mother's ambitions for her were about to be
-realized, that the hopes which had almost left her were to come
-to something after all.</p>
-
-<p>As for the Presidente, all that she said was, "My dear little
-girl, you may perhaps be married within the fortnight."</p>
-
-<p>All mothers with daughters of three-and-twenty address them as
-"little girl."</p>
-
-<p>"Still," added the President, "in any case, we must have time
-to make inquiries; never will I give my daughter to just
-anybody—"</p>
-
-<p>"As to inquiries," said Pons, "Berthier is drawing up the
-deeds. As to the young man himself, my dear cousin, you remember
-what you told me?<br>
- Well, he is quite forty years old; he is bald. He wishes to find
-in family life a haven after a storm; I did not dissuade him;
-every man has his tastes—"</p>
-
-<p>"One reason the more for a personal interview," returned the
-President. "I am not going to give my daughter to a
-valetudinarian."</p>
-
-<p>"Very good, cousin, you shall see my suitor in five days if
-you like; for, with your views, a single interview would be
-enough"—(Cecile and her mother signified their
-rapture)—"Frederic is decidedly a distinguished amateur; he
-begged me to allow him to see my little collection at his
-leisure. You have never seen my pictures and curiosities; come
-and see them," he continued, looking at his relatives. "You can
-come simply as two ladies, brought by my friend Schmucke, and
-make M. Brunner's acquaintance without betraying yourselves.
-Frederic need not in the least know who you are."</p>
-
-<p>"Admirable!" cried the President.</p>
-
-<p>The attention they paid to the once scorned parasite may be
-left to the imagination! Poor Pons that day became the
-Presidente's cousin.<br>
- The happy mother drowned her dislike in floods of joy; her
-looks, her smiles, her words sent the old man into ecstasies over
-the good that he had done, over the future that he saw by
-glimpses. Was he not sure to find dinners such as yesterday's
-banquet over the signing of the contract, multiplied indefinitely
-by three, in the houses of Brunner, Schwab, and Graff? He saw
-before him a land of plenty—a <i>vie de cocagne</i>, a
-miraculous succession of <i>plats couverts</i>, of delicate
-surprise dishes, of exquisite wines.</p>
-
-<p>"If Cousin Pons brings this through," said the President,
-addressing his wife after Pons had departed, "we ought to settle
-an income upon him equal to his salary at the theatre."</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly," said the lady; and Cecile was informed that if
-the proposed suitor found favor in her eyes, she must undertake
-to induce the old musician to accept a munificence in such bad
-taste.</p>
-
-<p>Next day the President went to Berthier. He was anxious to
-make sure of M. Frederic Brunner's financial position. Berthier,
-forewarned by Mme. de Marville, had asked his new client Schwab
-to come. Schwab the banker was dazzled by the prospect of such a
-match for his friend (everybody knows how deeply a German
-venerates social distinctions, so much so, that in Germany a wife
-takes her husband's (official) title, and is the Frau General,
-the Frau Rath, and so forth)—Schwab therefore was as
-accommodating as a collector who imagines that he is cheating a
-dealer.</p>
-
-<p>"In the first place," said Cecile's father, "as I shall make
-over my estate of Marville to my daughter, I should wish the
-contract to be drawn up on the dotal system. In that case, M.
-Brunner would invest a million francs in land to increase the
-estate, and by settling the land on his wife he would secure her
-and his children from any share in the liabilities of the
-bank."</p>
-
-<p>Berthier stroked his chin. "He is coming on well, is M. le
-President,"<br>
- thought he.</p>
-
-<p>When the dotal system had been explained to Schwab, he seemed
-much inclined that way for his friend. He had heard Fritz say
-that he wished to find some way of insuring himself against
-another lapse into poverty.</p>
-
-<p>"There is a farm and pasture land worth twelve hundred
-thousand francs in the market at this moment," remarked the
-President.</p>
-
-<p>"If we take up shares in the Bank of France to the amount of a
-million francs, that will be quite enough to guarantee our
-account," said Schwab. "Fritz does not want to invest more than
-two million francs in business; he will do as you wish, I am
-sure, M. le President."</p>
-
-<p>The President's wife and daughter were almost wild with joy
-when he brought home this news. Never, surely, did so rich a
-capture swim so complacently into the nets of matrimony.</p>
-
-<p>"You will be Mme. Brunner de Marville," said the parent,
-addressing his child; "I will obtain permission for your husband
-to add the name to his, and afterwards he can take out letters of
-naturalization. If I should be a peer of France some day, he will
-succeed me!"</p>
-
-<p>The five days were spent by Mme. de Marville in preparations.
-On the great day she dressed Cecile herself, taking as much pains
-as the admiral of the British fleet takes over the dressing of
-the pleasure yacht for Her Majesty of England when she takes a
-trip to Germany.</p>
-
-<p>Pons and Schmucke, on their side, cleaned, swept, and dusted
-Pons' museum rooms and furniture with the agility of sailors
-cleaning down a man-of-war. There was not a speck of dust on the
-carved wood; not an inch of brass but it glistened. The glasses
-over the pastels obscured nothing of the work of Latour, Greuze,
-and Liotard (illustrious painter of <i>The Chocolate Girl</i>),
-miracles of an art, alas! so fugitive. The inimitable lustre of
-Florentine bronze took all the varying hues of the light; the
-painted glass glowed with color. Every line shone out
-brilliantly, every object threw in its phrase in a harmony of
-masterpieces arranged by two musicians—both of whom alike had
-attained to be poets.</p>
-
-<p>With a tact which avoided the difficulties of a late
-appearance on the scene of action, the women were the first to
-arrive; they wished to be on their own ground. Pons introduced
-his friend Schmucke, who seemed to his fair visitors to be an
-idiot; their heads were so full of the eligible gentleman with
-the four millions of francs, that they paid but little attention
-to the worthy Pons' dissertations upon matters of which they were
-completely ignorant.</p>
-
-<p>They looked with indifferent eyes at Petitot's enamels, spaced
-over crimson velvet, set in three frames of marvelous
-workmanship. Flowers by Van Huysum, David, and Heim; butterflies
-painted by Abraham Mignon; Van Eycks, undoubted Cranachs and
-Albrecht Durers; the Giorgione, the Sebastian del Piombo;
-Backhuijzen, Hobbema, Gericault, the rarities of painting—none
-of these things so much as aroused their curiosity; they were
-waiting for the sun to arise and shine upon these treasures.<br>
- Still, they were surprised by the beauty of some of the Etruscan
-trinkets and the solid value of the snuff-boxes, and out of
-politeness they went into ecstasies over some Florentine bronzes
-which they held in their hands when Mme. Cibot announced M.
-Brunner! They did not turn; they took advantage of a superb
-Venetian mirror framed in huge masses of carved ebony to scan
-this phoenix of eligible young men.</p>
-
-<p>Frederic, forewarned by Wilhelm, had made the most of the
-little hair that remained to him. He wore a neat pair of
-trousers, a soft shade of some dark color, a silk waistcoat of
-superlative elegance and the very newest cut, a shirt with
-open-work, its linen hand-woven by a Friesland woman, and a
-blue-and-white cravat. His watch chain, like the head of his
-cane, came from Messrs. Florent and Chanor; and the coat, cut by
-old Graff himself, was of the very finest cloth. The Suede gloves
-proclaimed the man who had run through his mother's fortune. You
-could have seen the banker's neat little brougham and pair of
-horses mirrored in the surface of his speckless varnished boots,
-even if two pairs of sharp ears had not already caught the sound
-of wheels outside in the Rue de Normandie.</p>
-
-<p>When the prodigal of twenty years is a kind of chrysalis from
-which a banker emerges at the age of forty, the said banker is
-usually an observer of human nature; and so much the more shrewd
-if, as in Brunner's case, he understands how to turn his German
-simplicity to good account. He had assumed for the occasion the
-abstracted air of a man who is hesitating between family life and
-the dissipations of bachelorhood. This expression in a
-Frenchified German seemed to Cecile to be in the highest degree
-romantic; the descendant of the Virlaz was a second Werther in
-her eyes—where is the girl who will not allow herself to weave a
-little novel about her marriage? Cecile thought herself the
-happiest of women when Brunner, looking round at the magnificent
-works of art so patiently collected during forty years, waxed
-enthusiastic, and Pons, to his no small satisfaction, found an
-appreciative admirer of his treasures for the first time in his
-life.</p>
-
-<p>"He is poetical," the young lady said to herself; "he sees
-millions in the things. A poet is a man that cannot count and
-leaves his wife to look after his money—an easy man to manage
-and amuse with trifles."</p>
-
-<p><br>
- Every pane in the two windows was a square of Swiss painted
-glass; the least of them was worth a thousand francs; and Pons
-possessed sixteen of these unrivaled works of art for which
-amateurs seek so eagerly nowadays. In 1815 the panes could be
-bought for six or ten francs apiece. The value of the glorious
-collection of pictures, flawless great works, authentic,
-untouched since they left the master's hands, could only be
-proved in the fiery furnace of a saleroom. Not a picture but was
-set in a costly frame; there were frames of every kind—
-Venetians, carved with heavy ornaments, like English plate of the
-present day; Romans, distinguishable among the others for a
-certain dash that artists call <i>flafla</i>; Spanish wreaths in
-bold relief; Flemings and Germans with quaint figures,
-tortoise-shell frames inlaid with copper and brass and
-mother-of-pearl and ivory; frames of ebony and boxwood in the
-styles of Louis Treize, Louis Quatorze, Louis Quinze, and Louis
-Seize—in short, it was a unique collection of the finest models.
-Pons, luckier than the art museums of Dresden and Vienna,
-possessed a frame by the famous Brustoloni—the Michael Angelo of
-wood-carvers.</p>
-
-<p>Mlle. de Marville naturally asked for explanations of each new
-curiosity, and was initiated into the mysteries of art by
-Brunner. Her exclamations were so childish, she seemed so pleased
-to have the value and beauty of the paintings, carvings, or
-bronzes pointed out to her, that the German gradually thawed and
-looked quite young again, and both were led on further than they
-intended at this (purely accidental) first meeting.</p>
-
-<p>The private view lasted for three hours. Brunner offered his
-arm when Cecile went downstairs. As they descended slowly and
-discreetly, Cecile, still talking fine art, wondered that M.
-Brunner should admire her cousin's gimcracks so much.</p>
-
-<p>"Do you really think that these things that we have just seen
-are worth a great deal of money?"</p>
-
-<p>"Mademoiselle, if your cousin would sell his collection, I
-would give eight hundred thousand francs for it this evening, and
-I should not make a bad bargain. The pictures alone would fetch
-more than that at a public sale."</p>
-
-<p>"Since you say so, I believe it," returned she; "the things
-took up so much of your attention that it must be so."</p>
-
-<p>"On! mademoiselle!" protested Brunner. "For all answer to your
-reproach, I will ask your mother's permission to call, so that I
-may have the pleasure of seeing you again."</p>
-
-<p>"How clever she is, that 'little girl' of mine!" thought the
-Presidente, following closely upon her daughter's heels. Aloud
-she said, "With the greatest pleasure, monsieur. I hope that you
-will come at dinner-time with our Cousin Pons. The President will
-be delighted to make your acquaintance.—Thank you, cousin."</p>
-
-<p>The lady squeezed Pons' arm with deep meaning; she could not
-have said more if she had used the consecrated formula, "Let us
-swear an eternal friendship." The glance which accompanied that
-"Thank you, cousin,"<br>
- was a caress.</p>
-
-<p>When the young lady had been put into the carriage, and the
-jobbed brougham had disappeared down the Rue Charlot, Brunner
-talked bric-a- brac to Pons, and Pons talked marriage.</p>
-
-<p>"Then you see no obstacle?" said Pons.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh!" said Brunner, "she is an insignificant little thing, and
-the mother is a trifle prim.—We shall see."</p>
-
-<p>"A handsome fortune one of these days. . . . More than a
-million—"</p>
-
-<p>"Good-bye till Monday!" interrupted the millionaire. "If you
-should care to sell your collection of pictures, I would give you
-five or six hundred thousand francs—"</p>
-
-<p>"Ah!" said Pons; he had no idea that he was so rich. "But they
-are my great pleasure in life, and I could not bring myself to
-part with them. I could only sell my collection to be delivered
-after my death."</p>
-
-<p>"Very well. We shall see."</p>
-
-<p>"Here we have two affairs afoot!" said Pons; he was thinking
-only of the marriage.</p>
-
-<p>Brunner shook hands and drove away in his splendid carriage.
-Pons watched it out of sight. He did not notice that Remonencq
-was smoking his pipe in the doorway.</p>
-
-<p>That evening Mme. de Marville went to ask advice of her
-father-in-law, and found the whole Popinot family at the
-Camusots' house. It was only natural that a mother who had failed
-to capture an eldest son should be tempted to take her little
-revenge; so Mme. de Marville threw out hints of the splendid
-marriage that her Cecile was about to make.— "Whom can Cecile be
-going to marry?" was the question upon all lips.<br>
- And Cecile's mother, without suspecting that she was betraying
-her secret, let fall words and whispered confidences, afterwards
-supplemented by Mme. Berthier, till gossip circulating in the
-bourgeois empyrean where Pons accomplished his gastronomical
-evolutions took something like the following form:</p>
-
-<p>"Cecile de Marville is engaged to be married to a young
-German, a banker from philanthropic motives, for he has four
-millions; he is like a hero in a novel, a perfect Werther,
-charming and kind-hearted.<br>
- He has sown his wild oats, and he is distractedly in love with
-Cecile; it is a case of love at first sight; and so much the more
-certain, since Cecile had all Pons' paintings of Madonnas for
-rivals," and so forth and so forth.</p>
-
-<p>Two or three of the set came to call on the Presidente,
-ostensibly to congratulate, but really to find out whether or not
-the marvelous tale were true. For their benefit Mme. de Marville
-executed the following admirable variations on the theme of
-son-in-law which mothers may consult, as people used to refer to
-the <i>Complete Letter Writer</i>.</p>
-
-<p>"A marriage is not an accomplished fact," she told Mme.
-Chiffreville, "until you have been in the mayor's office and the
-church. We have only come as far as a personal interview; so I
-count upon your friendship to say nothing of our hopes."</p>
-
-<p>"You are very fortunate, madame; marriages are so difficult to
-arrange in these days."</p>
-
-<p>"What can one do? It was chance; but marriages are often made
-in that way."</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! well. So you are going to marry Cecile?" said Mme.
-Cardot.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes," said Cecile's mother, fully understanding the meaning
-of the "so." "We were very particular, or Cecile would have been
-established before this. But now we have found everything we
-wish: money, good temper, good character, and good looks; and my
-sweet little girl certainly deserves nothing less. M. Brunner is
-a charming young man, most distinguished; he is fond of luxury,
-he knows life; he is wild about Cecile, he loves her sincerely;
-and in spite of his three or four millions, Cecile is going to
-accept him.—We had not looked so high for her; still, store is
-no sore."</p>
-
-<p>"It was not so much the fortune as the affection inspired by
-my daughter which decided us," the Presidente told Mme. Lebas.
-"M.<br>
- Brunner is in such a hurry that he wants the marriage to take
-place with the least possible delay."</p>
-
-<p>"Is he a foreigner?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, madame; but I am very fortunate, I confess. No, I shall
-not have a son-in-law, but a son. M. Brunner's delicacy has quite
-won our hearts. No one would imagine how anxious he was to marry
-under the dotal system. It is a great security for families. He
-is going to invest twelve hundred thousand francs in grazing
-land, which will be added to Marville some day."</p>
-
-<p>More variations followed on the morrow. For instance—M.
-Brunner was a great lord, doing everything in lordly fashion; he
-did not haggle. If M. de Marville could obtain letters of
-naturalization, qualifying M.<br>
- Brunner for an office under Government (and the Home Secretary
-surely could strain a point for M. de Marville), his son-in-law
-would be a peer of France. Nobody knew how much money M. Brunner
-possessed; "he had the finest horses and the smartest carriages
-in Paris!" and so on and so on.</p>
-
-<p>From the pleasure with which the Camusots published their
-hopes, it was pretty clear that this triumph was unexpected.</p>
-
-<p>Immediately after the interview in Pons' museum, M. de
-Marville, at his wife's instance, begged the Home Secretary, his
-chief, and the attorney for the crown to dine with him on the
-occasion of the introduction of this phoenix of a son-in-law.</p>
-
-<p>The three great personages accepted the invitation, albeit it
-was given on short notice; they all saw the part that they were
-to play in the family politics, and readily came to the father's
-support. In France we are usually pretty ready to assist the
-mother of marriageable daughters to hook an eligible son-in-law.
-The Count and Countess Popinot likewise lent their presence to
-complete the splendor of the occasion, although they thought the
-invitation in questionable taste.</p>
-
-<p>There were eleven in all. Cecile's grandfather, old Camusot,
-came, of course, with his wife to a family reunion purposely
-arranged to elicit a proposal from M. Brunner.</p>
-
-<p>The Camusot de Marvilles had given out that the guest of the
-evening was one of the richest capitalists in Germany, a man of
-taste (he was in love with "the little girl"), a future rival of
-the Nucingens, Kellers, du Tillets, and their like.</p>
-
-<p>"It is our day," said the Presidente with elaborate
-simplicity, when she had named her guests one by one for the
-German whom she already regarded as her son-in-law. "We have only
-a few intimate friends— first, my husband's father, who, as you
-know, is sure to be raised to the peerage; M. le Comte and Mme.
-la Comtesse Popinot, whose son was not thought rich enough for
-Cecile; the Home Secretary; our First President; our attorney for
-the crown; our personal friends, in short.<br>
- —We shall be obliged to dine rather late to-night, because the
-Chamber is sitting, and people cannot get away before six."</p>
-
-<p>Brunner looked significantly at Pons, and Pons rubbed his
-hands as if to say, "Our friends, you see! <i>My</i>
-friends!"</p>
-
-<p>Mme. de Marville, as a clever tactician, had something very
-particular to say to her cousin, that Cecile and her Werther
-might be left together for a moment. Cecile chattered away
-volubly, and contrived that Frederic should catch sight of a
-German dictionary, a German grammar, and a volume of Goethe
-hidden away in a place where he was likely to find them.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! are you learning German?" asked Brunner, flushing
-red.</p>
-
-<p>(For laying traps of this kind the Frenchwoman has not her
-match!)</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! how naughty you are!" she cried; "it is too bad of you,
-monsieur, to explore my hiding-places like this. I want to read
-Goethe in the original," she added; "I have been learning German
-for two years."</p>
-
-<p>"Then the grammar must be very difficult to learn, for
-scarcely ten pages have been cut—" Brunner remarked with much
-candor.</p>
-
-<p>Cecile, abashed, turned away to hide her blushes. A German
-cannot resist a display of this kind; Brunner caught Cecile's
-hand, made her turn, and watched her confusion under his gaze,
-after the manner of the heroes of the novels of Auguste
-Lafontaine of chaste memory.</p>
-
-<p>"You are adorable," said he.</p>
-
-<p>Cecile's petulant gesture replied, "So are you—who could help
-liking you?"</p>
-
-<p>"It is all right, mamma," she whispered to her parent, who
-came up at that moment with Pons.</p>
-
-<p>The sight of a family party on these occasions is not to be
-described.<br>
- Everybody was well satisfied to see a mother put her hand on an
-eligible son-in-law. Compliments, double-barreled and
-double-charged, were paid to Brunner (who pretended to understand
-nothing); to Cecile, on whom nothing was lost; and to the
-Presidente, who fished for them.<br>
- Pons heard the blood singing in his ears, the light of all the
-blazing gas-jets of the theatre footlights seemed to be dazzling
-his eyes, when Cecile, in a low voice and with the most ingenious
-circumspection, spoke of her father's plan of the annuity of
-twelve hundred francs. The old artist positively declined the
-offer, bringing forward the value of his fortune in furniture,
-only now made known to him by Brunner.</p>
-
-<p>The Home Secretary, the First President, the attorney for the
-crown, the Popinots, and those who had other engagements, all
-went; and before long no one was left except M. Camusot senior,
-and Cardot the old notary, and his assistant and son-in-law
-Berthier. Pons, worthy soul, looking round and seeing no one but
-the family, blundered out a speech of thanks to the President and
-his wife for the proposal which Cecile had just made to him. So
-it is with those who are guided by their feelings; they act upon
-impulse. Brunner, hearing of an annuity offered in this way,
-thought that it had very much the look of a commission paid to
-Pons; he made an Israelite's return upon himself, his attitude
-told of more than cool calculation.</p>
-
-<p>Meanwhile Pons was saying to his astonished relations, "My
-collection or its value will, in any case, go to your family,
-whether I come to terms with our friend Brunner or keep it." The
-Camusots were amazed to hear that Pons was so rich.</p>
-
-<p>Brunner, watching, saw how all these ignorant people looked
-favorably upon a man once believed to be poor so soon as they
-knew that he had great possessions. He had seen, too, already
-that Cecile was spoiled by her father and mother; he amused
-himself, therefore, by astonishing the good bourgeois.</p>
-
-<p>"I was telling mademoiselle," said he, "that M. Pons' pictures
-were worth that sum to <i>me</i>; but the prices of works of art
-have risen so much of late, that no one can tell how much the
-collection might sell for at public auction. The sixty pictures
-might fetch a million francs; several that I saw the other day
-were worth fifty thousand apiece."</p>
-
-<p>"It is a fine thing to be your heir!" remarked old Cardot,
-looking at Pons.</p>
-
-<p>"My heir is my Cousin Cecile here," answered Pons, insisting
-on the relationship. There was a flutter of admiration at
-this.</p>
-
-<p>"She will be a very rich heiress," laughed old Cardot, as he
-took his departure.</p>
-
-<p>Camusot senior, the President and his wife, Cecile, Brunner,
-Berthier, and Pons were now left together; for it was assumed
-that the formal demand for Cecile's hand was about to be made. No
-sooner was Cardot gone, indeed, than Brunner began with an
-inquiry which augured well.</p>
-
-<p>"I think I understood," he said, turning to Mme. de Marville,
-"that mademoiselle is your only daughter."</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly," the lady said proudly.</p>
-
-<p>"Nobody will make any difficulties," Pons, good soul, put in
-by way of encouraging Brunner to bring out his proposal.</p>
-
-<p>But Brunner grew thoughtful, and an ominous silence brought on
-a coolness of the strangest kind. The Presidente might have
-admitted that her "little girl" was subject to epileptic fits.
-The President, thinking that Cecile ought not to be present,
-signed to her to go. She went. Still Brunner said nothing. They
-all began to look at one another. The situation was growing
-awkward.</p>
-
-<p>Camusot senior, a man of experience, took the German to Mme.
-de Marville's room, ostensibly to show him Pons' fan. He saw that
-some difficulty had arisen, and signed to the rest to leave him
-alone with Cecile's suitor-designate.</p>
-
-<p>"Here is the masterpiece," said Camusot, opening out the
-fan.</p>
-
-<p>Brunner took it in his hand and looked at it. "It is worth
-five thousand francs," he said after a moment.</p>
-
-<p>"Did you not come here, sir, to ask for my granddaughter?"
-inquired the future peer of France.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, sir," said Brunner; "and I beg you to believe that no
-possible marriage could be more flattering to my vanity. I shall
-never find any one more charming nor more amiable, nor a young
-lady who answers to my ideas like Mlle. Cecile; but—"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, no <i>buts</i>!" old Camusot broke in; "or let us have
-the translation of your 'buts' at once, my dear sir."</p>
-
-<p>"I am very glad, sir, that the matter has gone no further on
-either side," Brunner answered gravely. "I had no idea that Mlle.
-Cecile was an only daughter. Anybody else would consider this an
-advantage; but to me, believe me, it is an insurmountable
-obstacle to—"</p>
-
-<p>"What, sir!" cried Camusot, amazed beyond measure. "Do you
-find a positive drawback in an immense advantage? Your conduct is
-really extraordinary; I should very much like to hear the
-explanation of it."</p>
-
-<p>"I came here this evening, sir," returned the German
-phlegmatically, "intending to ask M. le President for his
-daughter's hand. It was my desire to give Mlle. Cecile a
-brilliant future by offering her so much of my fortune as she
-would consent to accept. But an only daughter is a child whose
-will is law to indulgent parents, who has never been
-contradicted. I have had the opportunity of observing this in
-many families, where parents worship divinities of this kind. And
-your granddaughter is not only the idol of the house, but Mme. la
-Presidente . . . you know what I mean. I have seen my father's
-house turned into a hell, sir, from this very cause. My
-stepmother, the source of all my misfortunes, an only daughter,
-idolized by her parents, the most charming betrothed imaginable,
-after marriage became a fiend incarnate. I do not doubt that
-Mlle. Cecile is an exception to the rule; but I am not a young
-man, I am forty years old, and the difference between our ages
-entails difficulties which would put it out of my power to make
-the young lady happy, when Mme. la Presidente always carried out
-her daughter's every wish and listened to her as if Mademoiselle
-was an oracle. What right have I to expect Mlle. Cecile to change
-her habits and ideas? Instead of a father and mother who indulge
-her every whim, she would find an egotistic man of forty; if she
-should resist, the man of forty would have the worst of it. So,
-as an honest man—I withdraw. If there should be any need to
-explain my visit here, I desire to be entirely sacrificed—"</p>
-
-<p>"If these are your motives, sir," said the future peer of
-France, "however singular they may be, they are plausible—"</p>
-
-<p>"Do not call my sincerity in question, sir," Brunner
-interrupted quickly. "If you know of a penniless girl, one of a
-large family, well brought up but without fortune, as happens
-very often in France; and if her character offers me security, I
-will marry her."</p>
-
-<p>A pause followed; Frederic Brunner left Cecile's grandfather
-and politely took leave of his host and hostess. When he was
-gone, Cecile appeared, a living commentary upon her Werther's
-leave-taking; she was ghastly pale. She had hidden in her
-mother's wardrobe and overheard the whole conversation.</p>
-
-<p>"Refused! . . ." she said in a low voice for her mother's
-ear.</p>
-
-<p>"And why?" asked the Presidente, fixing her eyes upon her
-embarrassed father-in-law.</p>
-
-<p>"Upon the fine pretext that an only daughter is a spoilt
-child,"<br>
- replied that gentleman. "And he is not altogether wrong there,"
-he added, seizing an opportunity of putting the blame on the
-daughter-in- law, who had worried him not a little for twenty
-years.</p>
-
-<p>"It will kill my child!" cried the Presidente, "and it is your
-doing!"<br>
- she exclaimed, addressing Pons, as she supported her fainting
-daughter, for Cecile thought well to make good her mother's words
-by sinking into her arms. The President and his wife carried
-Cecile to an easy-chair, where she swooned outright. The
-grandfather rang for the servants.</p>
-
-<p>"It is a plot of his weaving; I see it all now," said the
-infuriated mother.</p>
-
-<p>Pons sprang up as if the trump of doom were sounding in his
-ears.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes!" said the lady, her eyes like two springs of green bile,
-"this gentleman wished to repay a harmless joke by an insult. Who
-will believe that that German was right in his mind? He is either
-an accomplice in a wicked scheme of revenge, or he is crazy. I
-hope, M.<br>
- Pons, that in future you will spare us the annoyance of seeing
-you in the house where you have tried to bring shame and
-dishonor."</p>
-
-<p>Pons stood like a statue, with his eyes fixed on the pattern
-of the carpet.</p>
-
-<p>"Well! Are you still here, monster of ingratitude?" cried she,
-turning round on Pons, who was twirling his thumbs.—"Your master
-and I are never at home, remember, if this gentleman calls," she
-continued, turning to the servants.—"Jean, go for the doctor;
-and bring hartshorn, Madeleine."</p>
-
-<p>In the Presidente's eyes, the reason given by Brunner was
-simply an excuse, there was something else behind; but, at the
-same time, the fact that the marriage was broken off was only the
-more certain. A woman's mind works swiftly in great crises, and
-Mme. de Marville had hit at once upon the one method of repairing
-the check. She chose to look upon it as a scheme of revenge. This
-notion of ascribing a fiendish scheme to Pons satisfied family
-honor. Faithful to her dislike of the cousin, she treated a
-feminine suspicion as a fact.<br>
- Women, generally speaking, hold a creed peculiar to themselves,
-a code of their own; to them anything which serves their
-interests or their passions is true. The Presidente went a good
-deal further. In the course of the evening she talked the
-President into her belief, and next morning found the magistrate
-convinced of his cousin's culpability.</p>
-
-<p>Every one, no doubt, will condemn the lady's horrible conduct;
-but what mother in Mme. Camusot's position will not do the same?
-Put the choice between her own daughter and an alien, she will
-prefer to sacrifice the honor of the latter. There are many ways
-of doing this, but the end in view is the same.</p>
-
-<p>The old musician fled down the staircase in haste; but he went
-slowly along the boulevards to his theatre, he turned in
-mechanically at the door, and mechanically he took his place and
-conducted the orchestra.<br>
- In the interval he gave such random answers to Schmucke's
-questions, that his old friend dissembled his fear that Pons'
-mind had given way.<br>
- To so childlike a nature, the recent scene took the proportions
-of a catastrophe. He had meant to make every one happy, and he
-had aroused a terrible slumbering feeling of hate; everything had
-been turned topsy-turvy. He had at last seen mortal hate in the
-Presidente's eyes, tones, and gesture.</p>
-
-<p>On the morrow, Mme. Camusot de Marville made a great
-resolution; the President likewise sanctioned the step now forced
-upon them by circumstances. It was determined that the estate of
-Marville should be settled upon Cecile at the time of her
-marriage, as well as the house in the Rue de Hanovre and a
-hundred thousand francs. In the course of the morning, the
-Presidente went to call upon the Comtesse Popinot; for she saw
-plainly that nothing but a settled marriage could enable them to
-recover after such a check. To the Comtesse Popinot she told the
-shocking story of Pons' revenge, Pons' hideous hoax. It all
-seemed probable enough when it came out that the marriage had
-been broken off simply on the pretext that Cecile was an only
-daughter. The Presidente next dwelt artfully upon the advantage
-of adding "de Marville" to the name of Popinot; and the immense
-dowry. At the present price fetched by land in Normandy, at two
-per cent, the property represented nine hundred thousand francs,
-and the house in the Rue de Hanovre about two hundred and fifty
-thousand. No reasonable family could refuse such an alliance. The
-Comte and Comtesse Popinot accepted; and as they were now touched
-by the honor of the family which they were about to enter, they
-promised to help explain away yesterday evening's mishap.</p>
-
-<p><br>
- And now in the house of the elder Camusot, before the very
-persons who had heard Mme. de Marville singing Frederic Brunner's
-praises but a few days ago, that lady, to whom nobody ventured to
-speak on the topic, plunged courageously into explanations.</p>
-
-<p>"Really, nowadays" (she said), "one could not be too careful
-if a marriage was in question, especially if one had to do with
-foreigners."</p>
-
-<p>"And why, madame?"</p>
-
-<p>"What has happened to you?" asked Mme. Chiffreville.</p>
-
-<p>"Do you not know about our adventure with that Brunner, who
-had the audacity to aspire to marry Cecile? His father was a
-German that kept a wine-shop, and his uncle is a dealer in
-rabbit-skins!"</p>
-
-<p>"Is it possible? So clear-sighted as you are! . . ." murmured
-a lady.</p>
-
-<p>"These adventurers are so cunning. But we found out everything
-through Berthier. His friend is a beggar that plays the flute. He
-is friendly with a person who lets furnished lodgings in the Rue
-du Mail and some tailor or other. . . . We found out that he had
-led a most disreputable life, and no amount of fortune would be
-enough for a scamp that has run through his mother's
-property."</p>
-
-<p>"Why, Mlle. de Marville would have been wretched!" said Mme.
-Berthier.</p>
-
-<p>"How did he come to your house?" asked old Mme. Lebas.</p>
-
-<p>"It was M. Pons. Out of revenge, he introduced this fine
-gentleman to us, to make us ridiculous. . . . This Brunner (it is
-the same name as Fontaine in French)—this Brunner, that was made
-out to be such a grandee, has poor enough health, he is bald, and
-his teeth are bad.<br>
- The first sight of him was enough for me; I distrusted him from
-the first."</p>
-
-<p>"But how about the great fortune that you spoke of?" a young
-married woman asked shyly.</p>
-
-<p>"The fortune was not nearly so large as they said. These
-tailors and the landlord and he all scraped the money together
-among them, and put all their savings into this bank that they
-are starting. What is a bank for those that begin in these days?
-Simply a license to ruin themselves. A banker's wife may lie down
-at night a millionaire and wake up in the morning with nothing
-but her settlement. At first word, at the very first sight of
-him, we made up our minds about this gentleman—he is not one of
-us. You can tell by his gloves, by his waistcoat, that he is a
-working man, the son of a man that kept a pot- house somewhere in
-Germany; he has not the instincts of a gentleman; he drinks beer,
-and he smokes—smokes? ah! madame, <i>twenty-five pipes a
-day!</i> . . . What would have become of poor Lili? . . . It
-makes me shudder even now to think of it. God has indeed
-preserved us! And besides, Cecile never liked him. . . . Who
-would have expected such a trick from a relative, an old friend
-of the house that had dined with us twice a week for twenty
-years? We have loaded him with benefits, and he played his game
-so well, that he said Cecile was his heir before the Keeper of
-the Seals and the Attorney General and the Home Secretary! . . .
-That Brunner and M. Pons had their story ready, and each of them
-said that the other was worth millions! . . . No, I do assure
-you, all of you would have been taken in by an artist's hoax like
-that."</p>
-
-<p>In a few weeks' time, the united forces of the Camusot and
-Popinot families gained an easy victory in the world, for nobody
-undertook to defend the unfortunate Pons, that parasite, that
-curmudgeon, that skinflint, that smooth-faced humbug, on whom
-everybody heaped scorn; he was a viper cherished in the bosom of
-the family, he had not his match for spite, he was a dangerous
-mountebank whom nobody ought to mention.</p>
-
-<p>About a month after the perfidious Werther's withdrawal, poor
-Pons left his bed for the first time after an attack of nervous
-fever, and walked along the sunny side of the street leaning on
-Schmucke's arm.<br>
- Nobody in the Boulevard du Temple laughed at the "pair of
-nutcrackers," for one of the old men looked so shattered, and the
-other so touchingly careful of his invalid friend. By the time
-that they reached the Boulevard Poissonniere, a little color came
-back to Pons' face; he was breathing the air of the boulevards,
-he felt the vitalizing power of the atmosphere of the crowded
-street, the life- giving property of the air that is noticeable
-in quarters where human life abounds; in the filthy Roman Ghetto,
-for instance, with its swarming Jewish population, where malaria
-is unknown. Perhaps, too, the sight of the streets, the great
-spectacle of Paris, the daily pleasure of his life, did the
-invalid good. They walked on side by side, though Pons now and
-again left his friend to look at the shop windows. Opposite the
-Theatre des Varietes he saw Count Popinot, and went up to him
-very respectfully, for of all men Pons esteemed and venerated the
-ex-Minister.</p>
-
-<p>The peer of France answered him severely:</p>
-
-<p>"I am at a loss to understand, sir, how you can have no more
-tact than to speak to a near connection of a family whom you
-tried to brand with shame and ridicule by a trick which no one
-but an artist could devise.<br>
- Understand this, sir, that from to-day we must be complete
-strangers to each other. Mme. la Comtesse Popinot, like every one
-else, feels indignant at your behavior to the Marvilles."</p>
-
-<p>And Count Popinot passed on, leaving Pons thunderstruck.
-Passion, justice, policy, and great social forces never take into
-account the condition of the human creature whom they strike
-down. The statesman, driven by family considerations to crush
-Pons, did not so much as see the physical weakness of his
-redoubtable enemy.</p>
-
-<p>"Vat is it, mine boor friend?" exclaimed Schmucke, seeing how
-white Pons had grown.</p>
-
-<p>"It is a fresh stab in the heart," Pons replied, leaning
-heavily on Schmucke's arm. "I think that no one, save God in
-heaven, can have any right to do good, and that is why all those
-who meddle in His work are so cruelly punished."</p>
-
-<p>The old artist's sarcasm was uttered with a supreme effort; he
-was trying, excellent creature, to quiet the dismay visible in
-Schmucke's face.</p>
-
-<p>"So I dink," Schmucke replied simply.</p>
-
-<p>Pons could not understand it. Neither the Camusots nor the
-Popinots had sent him notice of Cecile's wedding.</p>
-
-<p>On the Boulevard des Italiens Pons saw M. Cardot coming
-towards them.<br>
- Warned by Count Popinot's allocution, Pons was very careful not
-to accost the old acquaintance with whom he had dined once a
-fortnight for the last year; he lifted his hat, but the other,
-mayor and deputy of Paris, threw him an indignant glance and went
-by. Pons turned to Schmucke.</p>
-
-<p>"Do go and ask him what it is that they all have against me,"
-he said to the friend who knew all the details of the catastrophe
-that Pons could tell him.</p>
-
-<p>"Mennseir," Schmucke began diplomatically, "mine friend Bons
-is chust recofering from an illness; you haf no doubt fail to
-rekognize him?"</p>
-
-<p>"Not in the least."</p>
-
-<p>"But mit vat kann you rebroach him?"</p>
-
-<p>"You have a monster of ingratitude for a friend, sir; if he is
-still alive, it is because nothing kills ill weeds. People do
-well to mistrust artists; they are as mischievous and spiteful as
-monkeys.<br>
- This friend of yours tried to dishonor his own family, and to
-blight a young girl's character, in revenge for a harmless joke.
-I wish to have nothing to do with him; I shall do my best to
-forget that I have known him, or that such a man exists. All the
-members of his family and my own share the wish, sir, so do all
-the persons who once did the said Pons the honor of receiving
-him."</p>
-
-<p>"Boot, mennseir, you are a reasonaple mann; gif you vill
-bermit me, I shall exblain die affair—"</p>
-
-<p>"You are quite at liberty to remain his friend, sir, if you
-are minded that way," returned Cardot, "but you need go no
-further; for I must give you warning that in my opinion those who
-try to excuse or defend his conduct are just as much to
-blame."</p>
-
-<p>"To chustify it?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, for his conduct can neither be justified nor qualified."
-And with that word, the deputy for the Seine went his way; he
-would not hear another syllable.</p>
-
-<p>"I have two powers in the State against me," smiled poor Pons,
-when Schmucke had repeated these savage speeches.</p>
-
-<p>"Eferpody is against us," Schmucke answered dolorously. "Let
-us go avay pefore we shall meed oder fools."</p>
-
-<p>Never before in the course of a truly ovine life had Schmucke
-uttered such words as these. Never before had his almost divine
-meekness been ruffled. He had smiled childlike on all the
-mischances that befell him, but he could not look and see his
-sublime Pons maltreated; his Pons, his unknown Aristides, the
-genius resigned to his lot, the nature that knew no bitterness,
-the treasury of kindness, the heart of gold! . . . Alceste's
-indignation filled Schmucke's soul—he was moved to call Pons'
-amphitryons "fools." For his pacific nature that impulse equaled
-the wrath of Roland.</p>
-
-<p>With wise foresight, Schmucke turned to go home by the way of
-the Boulevard du Temple, Pons passively submitting like a fallen
-fighter, heedless of blows; but chance ordered that he should
-know that all his world was against him. The House of Peers, the
-Chamber of Deputies, strangers and the family, the strong, the
-weak, and the innocent, all combined to send down the
-avalanche.</p>
-
-<p>In the Boulevard Poissonniere, Pons caught sight of that very
-M.<br>
- Cardot's daughter, who, young as she was, had learned to be
-charitable to others through trouble of her own. Her husband knew
-a secret by which he kept her in bondage. She was the only one
-among Pons' hostesses whom he called by her Christian name; he
-addressed Mme.<br>
- Berthier as "Felicie," and he thought that she understood him.
-The gentle creature seemed to be distressed by the sight of
-Cousin Pons, as he was called (though he was in no way related to
-the family of the second wife of a cousin by marriage). There was
-no help for it, however; Felicie Berthier stopped to speak to the
-invalid.</p>
-
-<p>"I did not think you were cruel, cousin," she said; "but if
-even a quarter of all that I hear of you is true, you are very
-false. . . .<br>
- Oh! do not justify yourself," she added quickly, seeing Pons'
-significant gesture, "it is useless, for two reasons. In the
-first place, I have no right to accuse or judge or condemn
-anybody, for I myself know so well how much may be said for those
-who seem to be most guilty; secondly, your explanation would do
-no good. M. Berthier drew up the marriage contract for Mlle. de
-Marville and the Vicomte Popinot; he is so exasperated, that if
-he knew that I had so much as spoken one word to you, one word
-for the last time, he would scold me.<br>
- Everybody is against you."</p>
-
-<p>"So it seems indeed, madame," Pons said, his voice shaking as
-he lifted his hat respectfully.</p>
-
-<p>Painfully he made his way back to the Rue de Normandie. The
-old German knew from the heavy weight on his arm that his friend
-was struggling bravely against failing physical strength. That
-third encounter was like the verdict of the Lamb at the foot of
-the throne of God; and the anger of the Angel of the Poor, the
-symbol of the Peoples, is the last word of Heaven. They reached
-home without another word.</p>
-
-<p>There are moments in our lives when the sense that our friend
-is near is all that we can bear. Our wounds smart under the
-consoling words that only reveal the depths of pain. The old
-pianist, you see, possessed a genius for friendship, the tact of
-those who, having suffered much, knew the customs of
-suffering.</p>
-
-<p>Pons was never to take a walk again. From one illness he fell
-into another. He was of a sanguine-bilious temperament, the bile
-passed into his blood, and a violent liver attack was the result.
-He had never known a day's illness in his life till a month ago;
-he had never consulted a doctor; so La Cibot, with almost
-motherly care and intentions at first of the very best, called in
-"the doctor of the quarter."</p>
-
-<p>In every quarter of Paris there is a doctor whose name and
-address are only known to the working classes, to the little
-tradespeople and the porters, and in consequence he is called
-"the doctor of the quarter."<br>
- He undertakes confinement cases, he lets blood, he is in the
-medical profession pretty much what the "general servant" of the
-advertising column is in the scale of domestic service. He must
-perforce be kind to the poor, and tolerably expert by reason of
-much practice, and he is generally popular. Dr. Poulain, called
-in by Mme. Cibot, gave an inattentive ear to the old musician's
-complainings. Pons groaned out that his skin itched; he had
-scratched himself all night long, till he could scarcely feel.
-The look of his eyes, with the yellow circles about them,
-corroborated the symptoms.</p>
-
-<p>"Had you some violent shock a couple of days ago?" the doctor
-asked the patient.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, alas!"</p>
-
-<p>"You have the same complaint that this gentleman was
-threatened with,"<br>
- said Dr. Poulain, looking at Schmucke as he spoke; "it is an
-attack of jaundice, but you will soon get over it," he added, as
-he wrote a prescription.</p>
-
-<p>But in spite of that comfortable phrase, the doctor's eyes had
-told another tale as he looked professionally at the patient; and
-the death-sentence, though hidden under stereotyped compassion,
-can always be read by those who wish to know the truth. Mme.
-Cibot gave a spy's glance at the doctor, and read his thought;
-his bedside manner did not deceive her; she followed him out of
-the room.</p>
-
-<p>"Do you think he will get over it?" asked Mme. Cibot, at the
-stairhead.</p>
-
-<p>"My dear Mme. Cibot, your lodger is a dead man; not because of
-the bile in the system, but because his vitality is low. Still,
-with great care, your patient may pull through. Somebody ought to
-take him away for a change—"</p>
-
-<p>"How is he to go?" asked Mme. Cibot. "He has nothing to live
-upon but his salary; his friend has just a little money from some
-great ladies, very charitable ladies, in return for his services,
-it seems. They are two children. I have looked after them for
-nine years."</p>
-
-<p>"I spend my life watching people die, not of their disease,
-but of another bad and incurable complaint—the want of money,"
-said the doctor. "How often it happens that so far from taking a
-fee, I am obliged to leave a five-franc piece on the mantel-shelf
-when I go—"</p>
-
-<p>"Poor, dear M. Poulain!" cried Mme. Cibot. "Ah, if you hadn't
-only the hundred thousand livres a year, what some stingy folks
-has in the quarter (regular devils from hell they are), you would
-be like Providence on earth."</p>
-
-<p>Dr. Poulain had made the little practice, by which he made a
-bare subsistence, chiefly by winning the esteem of the porters'
-lodges in his district. So he raised his eyes to heaven and
-thanked Mme. Cibot with a solemn face worthy of Tartuffe.</p>
-
-<p>"Then you think that with careful nursing our dear patient
-will get better, my dear M. Poulain?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, if this shock has not been too much for him."</p>
-
-<p>"Poor man! who can have vexed him? There isn't nobody like him
-on earth except his friend M. Schmucke. I will find out what is
-the matter, and I will undertake to give them that upset my
-gentleman a hauling over the coals—"</p>
-
-<p>"Look here, my dear Mme. Cibot," said the doctor as they stood
-in the gateway, "one of the principal symptoms of his complaint
-is great irritability; and as it is hardly to be supposed that he
-can afford a nurse, the task of nursing him will fall to you.
-So—"</p>
-
-<p>"Are you talking of Mouchieu Ponsh?" asked the marine
-store-dealer. He was sitting smoking on the curb-post in the
-gateway, and now he rose to join in the conversation.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, Daddy Remonencq."</p>
-
-<p>"All right," said Remonencq, "ash to moneysh, he ish better
-off than Mouchieu Monishtrol and the big men in the curioshity
-line. I know enough in the art line to tell you thish—the dear
-man has treasursh!"<br>
- he spoke with a broad Auvergne dialect.</p>
-
-<p>"Look here, I thought you were laughing at me the other day
-when my gentlemen were out and I showed you the old rubbish
-upstairs," said Mme. Cibot.</p>
-
-<p>In Paris, where walls have ears, where doors have tongues, and
-window bars have eyes, there are few things more dangerous than
-the practice of standing to chat in a gateway. Partings are like
-postscripts to a letter—indiscreet utterances that do as much
-mischief to the speaker as to those who overhear them. A single
-instance will be sufficient as a parallel to an event in this
-history.</p>
-
-<p>In the time of the Empire, when men paid considerable
-attention to their hair, one of the first coiffeurs of the day
-came out of a house where he had just been dressing a pretty
-woman's head. This artist in question enjoyed the custom of all
-the lower floor inmates of the house; and among these, there
-flourished an elderly bachelor guarded by a housekeeper who
-detested her master's next-of-kin. The <i>ci- devant</i> young
-man, falling seriously ill, the most famous of doctors of the day
-(they were not as yet styled the "princes of science") had been
-called in to consult upon his case; and it so chanced that the
-learned gentlemen were taking leave of one another in the gateway
-just as the hairdresser came out. They were talking as doctors
-usually talk among themselves when the farce of a consultation is
-over. "He is a dead man," quoth Dr. Haudry.—"He had not a month
-to live," added Desplein, "unless a miracle takes place."—These
-were the words overheard by the hairdresser.</p>
-
-<p>Like all hairdressers, he kept up a good understanding with
-his customers' servants. Prodigious greed sent the man upstairs
-again; he mounted to the <i>ci-devant</i> young man's apartment,
-and promised the servant-mistress a tolerably handsome commission
-to persuade her master to sink a large portion of his money in an
-annuity. The dying bachelor, fifty-six by count of years, and
-twice as old as his age by reason of amorous campaigns, owned,
-among other property, a splendid house in the Rue de Richelieu,
-worth at that time about two hundred and fifty thousand francs.
-It was this house that the hairdresser coveted; and on agreement
-to pay an annuity of thirty thousand francs so long as the
-bachelor lived, it passed into his hands. This happened in 1806.
-And in this year 1846 the hairdresser is still paying that
-annuity. He has retired from business, he is seventy years old;
-the <i>ci-devant</i> young man is in his dotage; and as he has
-married his Mme.<br>
- Evrard, he may last for a long while yet. As the hairdresser
-gave the woman thirty thousand francs, his bit of real estate has
-cost him, first and last, more than a million, and the house at
-this day is worth eight or nine hundred thousand francs.</p>
-
-<p>Like the hairdresser, Remonencq the Auvergnat had overheard
-Brunner's parting remark in the gateway on the day of Cecile's
-first interview with that phoenix of eligible men. Remonencq at
-once longed to gain a sight of Pons' museum; and as he lived on
-good terms with his neighbors the Cibots, it was not very long
-before the opportunity came one day when the friends were out.
-The sight of such treasures dazzled him; he saw a "good haul," in
-dealers' phrase, which being interpreted means a chance to steal
-a fortune. He had been meditating this for five or six days.</p>
-
-<p>"I am sho far from joking," he said, in reply to Mme. Cibot's
-remark, "that we will talk the thing over; and if the good
-shentleman will take an annuity, of fifty thousand francsh, I
-will shtand a hamper of wine, if—"</p>
-
-<p>"Fifty thousand francs!" interrupted the doctor; "what are you
-thinking about? Why, if the good man is so well off as that, with
-me in attendance, and Mme. Cibot to nurse him, he may get
-better—for liver complaint is a disease that attacks strong
-constitutions."</p>
-
-<p>"Fifty, did I shay? Why, a shentleman here, on your very
-doorshtep, offered him sheven hundred thoushand francsh, shimply
-for the pictursh, <i>fouchtra</i>!"</p>
-
-<p>While Remonencq made this announcement, Mme. Cibot was looking
-at Dr.<br>
- Poulain. There was a strange expression in her eyes; the devil
-might have kindled that sinister glitter in their tawny
-depths.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, come! we must not pay any attention to such idle tales,"
-said the doctor, well pleased, however, to find that his patient
-could afford to pay for his visits.</p>
-
-<p>"If my dear Mme. Cibot, here, would let me come and bring an
-ekshpert (shinsh the shentleman upshtairs ish in bed), I will
-shertainly find the money in a couple of hoursh, even if sheven
-hundred thousand francsh ish in queshtion—"</p>
-
-<p>"All right, my friend," said the doctor. "Now, Mme. Cibot, be
-careful never to contradict the invalid. You must be prepared to
-be very patient with him, for he will find everything irritating
-and wearisome, even your services; nothing will please him; you
-must expect grumbling—"</p>
-
-<p>"He will be uncommonly hard to please," said La Cibot.</p>
-
-<p>"Look here, mind what I tell you," the doctor said in a tone
-of authority, "M. Pons' life is in the hands of those that nurse
-him; I shall come perhaps twice a day. I shall take him first on
-my round."</p>
-
-<p>The doctor's profound indifference to the fate of a poor
-patient had suddenly given place to a most tender solicitude when
-he saw that the speculator was serious, and that there was a
-possible fortune in question.</p>
-
-<p>"He will be nursed like a king," said Madame Cibot, forcing up
-enthusiasm. She waited till the doctor turned the corner into the
-Rue Charlot; then she fell to talking again with the dealer in
-old iron.<br>
- Remonencq had finished smoking his pipe, and stood in the
-doorway of his shop, leaning against the frame; he had purposely
-taken this position; he meant the portress to come to him.</p>
-
-<p>The shop had once been a cafe. Nothing had been changed there
-since the Auvergnat discovered it and took over the lease; you
-could still read "Cafe de Normandie" on the strip left above the
-windows in all modern shops. Remonencq had found somebody,
-probably a housepainter's apprentice, who did the work for
-nothing, to paint another inscription in the remaining space
-below—"REMONENCQ," it ran, "DEALER IN MARINE STORES, FURNITURE
-BOUGHT"—painted in small black letters. All the mirrors, tables,
-seats, shelves, and fittings of the Cafe de Normandie had been
-sold, as might have been expected, before Remonencq took
-possession of the shop as it stood, paying a yearly rent of six
-hundred francs for the place, with a back shop, a kitchen, and a
-single room above, where the head-waiter used to sleep, for the
-house belonging to the Cafe de Normandie was let separately. Of
-the former splendor of the cafe, nothing now remained save the
-plain light green paper on the walls, and the strong iron bolts
-and bars of the shop- front.</p>
-
-<p>When Remonencq came hither in 1831, after the Revolution of
-July, he began by displaying a selection of broken doorbells,
-cracked plates, old iron, and the obsolete scales and weights
-abolished by a Government which alone fails to carry out its own
-regulations, for pence and half pence of the time of Louis XVI.
-are still in circulation. After a time this Auvergnat, a match
-for five ordinary Auvergnats, bought up old saucepans and
-kettles, old picture-frames, old copper, and chipped china.
-Gradually, as the shop was emptied and filled, the quality of the
-stock-in-trade improved, like Nicolet's farces. Remonencq
-persisted in an unfailing and prodigiously profitable martingale,
-a "system" which any philosophical idler may study as he watches
-the increasing value of the stock kept by this intelligent class
-of trader. Picture-frames and copper succeed to tin-ware, argand
-lamps, and damaged crockery; china marks the next transition; and
-after no long tarriance in the "omnium gatherum"<br>
- stage, the shop becomes a museum. Some day or other the dusty
-windows are cleaned, the interior is restored, the Auvergnat
-relinquishes velveteen and jackets for a great-coat, and there he
-sits like a dragon guarding his treasure, surrounded by
-masterpieces! He is a cunning connoisseur by this time; he has
-increased his capital tenfold; he is not to be cheated; he knows
-the tricks of the trade.<br>
- The monster among his treasures looks like some old hag among a
-score of young girls that she offers to the public. Beauty and
-miracles of art are alike indifferent to him; subtle and dense as
-he is, he has a keen eye to profits, he talks roughly to those
-who know less than he does; he has learned to act a part, he
-pretends to love his pictures, or again he lets you know the
-price he himself gave for the things, he offers to let you see
-the memoranda of the sale. He is a Proteus; in one hour he can be
-Jocrisse, Janot, <i>Queue-rouge</i>, Mondor, Hapagon, or
-Nicodeme.</p>
-
-<p>The third year found armor, and old pictures, and some
-tolerably fine clocks in Remonencq's shop. He sent for his
-sister, and La Remonencq came on foot all the way from Auvergne
-to take charge of the shop while her brother was away. A big and
-very ugly woman, dressed like a Japanese idol, a half-idiotic
-creature with a vague, staring gaze she would not bate a centime
-of the prices fixed by her brother. In the intervals of business
-she did the work of the house, and solved the apparently
-insoluble problem—how to live on "the mists of the Seine."<br>
- The Remonencqs' diet consisted of bread and herrings, with the
-outside leaves of lettuce or vegetable refuse selected from the
-heaps deposited in the kennel before the doors of eating-houses.
-The two between them did not spend more than fivepence a day on
-food (bread included), and La Remonencq earned the money by
-sewing or spinning.</p>
-
-<p><br>
- Remonencq came to Paris in the first instance to work as an
-errand- boy. Between the years 1825 and 1831 he ran errands for
-dealers in curiosities in the Boulevard Beaumarchais or
-coppersmiths in the Rue de Lappe. It is the usual start in life
-in his line of business. Jews, Normans, Auvergnats, and
-Savoyards, those four different races of men all have the same
-instincts, and make their fortunes in the same way; they spend
-nothing, make small profits, and let them accumulate at compound
-interest. Such is their trading charter, and <i>that</i> charter
-is no delusion.</p>
-
-<p>Remonencq at this moment had made it up with his old master
-Monistrol; he did business with wholesale dealers, he was a
-<i>chineur</i> (the technical word), plying his trade in the
-<i>banlieue</i>, which, as everybody knows, extends for some
-forty leagues round Paris.</p>
-
-<p>After fourteen years of business, he had sixty thousand francs
-in hand and a well-stocked shop. He lived in the Rue de Normandie
-because the rent was low, but casual customers were scarce, most
-of his goods were sold to other dealers, and he was content with
-moderate gains. All his business transactions were carried on in
-the Auvergue dialect or <i>charabia</i>, as people call it.</p>
-
-<p>Remonencq cherished a dream! He wished to establish himself on
-a boulevard, to be a rich dealer in curiosities, and do a direct
-trade with amateurs some day. And, indeed, within him there was a
-formidable man of business. His countenance was the more
-inscrutable because it was glazed over by a deposit of dust and
-particles of metal glued together by the sweat of his brow; for
-he did everything himself, and the use and wont of bodily labor
-had given him something of the stoical impassibility of the old
-soldiers of 1799.</p>
-
-<p>In personal appearance Remonencq was short and thin; his
-little eyes were set in his head in porcine fashion; a Jew's
-slyness and concentrated greed looked out of those dull blue
-circles, though in his case the false humility that masks the
-Hebrew's unfathomed contempt for the Gentile was lacking.</p>
-
-<p>The relations between the Cibots and the Remonencqs were those
-of benefactors and recipients. Mme. Cibot, convinced that the
-Auvergnats were wretchedly poor, used to let them have the
-remainder of "her gentlemen's" dinners at ridiculous prices. The
-Remonencqs would buy a pound of broken bread, crusts and crumbs,
-for a farthing, a porringer- full of cold potatoes for something
-less, and other scraps in proportion. Remonencq shrewdly allowed
-them to believe that he was not in business on his own account,
-he worked for Monistrol, the rich shopkeepers preyed upon him, he
-said, and the Cibots felt sincerely sorry for Remonencq. The
-velveteen jacket, waistcoat, and trousers, particularly affected
-by Auvergnats, were covered with patches of Cibot's making, and
-not a penny had the little tailor charged for repairs which kept
-the three garments together after eleven years of wear.</p>
-
-<p>Thus we see that all Jews are not in Israel.</p>
-
-<p>"You are not laughing at me, Remonencq, are you?" asked the
-portress.<br>
- "Is it possible that M. Pons has such a fortune, living as he
-does?<br>
- There is not a hundred francs in the place—"</p>
-
-<p>"Amateursh are all like that," Remonencq remarked
-sententiously.</p>
-
-<p>"Then do you think that my gentleman has worth of seven
-hundred thousand francs, eh?—"</p>
-
-<p>"In pictures alone," continued Remonencq (it is needless, for
-the sake of clearness in the story, to give any further specimens
-of his frightful dialect). "If he would take fifty thousand
-francs for one up there that I know of, I would find the money if
-I had to hang myself.<br>
- Do you remember those little frames full of enameled copper on
-crimson velvet, hanging among the portraits? . . . Well, those
-are Petitot's enamels; and there is a cabinet minister as used to
-be a druggist that will give three thousand francs apiece for
-them."</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot's eyes opened wide. "There are thirty of them in the
-pair of frames!" she said.</p>
-
-<p>"Very well, you can judge for yourself how much he is
-worth."</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Cibot's head was swimming; she wheeled round. In a moment
-came the thought that she would have a legacy, <i>she</i> would
-sleep sound on old Pons' will, like the other servant-mistresses
-whose annuities had aroused such envy in the Marais. Her thoughts
-flew to some commune in the neighborhood of Paris; she saw
-herself strutting proudly about her house in the country, looking
-after her garden and poultry yard, ending her days, served like a
-queen, along with her poor dear Cibot, who deserved such good
-fortune, like all angelic creatures whom nobody knows nor
-appreciates.</p>
-
-<p>Her abrupt, unthinking movement told Remonencq that success
-was sure.<br>
- In the <i>chineur's</i> way of business—the <i>chineur</i>, be
-it explained, goes about the country picking up bargains at the
-expense of the ignorant—in the <i>chineur's</i> way of business,
-the one real difficulty is the problem of gaining an entrance to
-a house. No one can imagine the Scapin's roguery, the tricks of a
-Sganarelle, the wiles of a Dorine by which the <i>chineur</i>
-contrives to make a footing for himself.<br>
- These comedies are as good as a play, and founded indeed on the
-old stock theme of the dishonesty of servants. For thirty francs
-in money or goods, servants, and especially country servants,
-will sometimes conclude a bargain on which the <i>chineur</i>
-makes a profit of a thousand or two thousand francs. If we could
-but know the history of such and such a service of Sevres
-porcelain, <i>pate tendre</i>, we should find that all the
-intellect, all the diplomatic subtlety displayed at Munster,
-Nimeguen, Utrecht, Ryswick, and Vienna was surpassed by the
-<i>chineur</i>.<br>
- His is the more frank comedy; his methods of action fathom
-depths of personal interest quite as profound as any that
-plenipotentiaries can explore in their difficult search for any
-means of breaking up the best cemented alliances.</p>
-
-<p>"I have set La Cibot nicely on fire," Remonencq told his
-sister, when she came to take up her position again on the
-ramshackle chair. "And now," he continued, "I shall go to consult
-the only man that knows, our Jew, a good sort of Jew that did not
-ask more than fifteen per cent of us for his money."</p>
-
-<p>Remonencq had read La Cibot's heart. To will is to act with
-women of her stamp. Let them see the end in view; they will stick
-at nothing to gain it, and pass from scrupulous honesty to the
-last degree of scoundrelism in the twinkling of an eye. Honesty,
-like most dispositions of mind, is divided into two
-classes—negative and positive. La Cibot's honesty was of the
-negative order; she and her like are honest until they see their
-way clear to gain money belonging to somebody else. Positive
-honesty, the honesty of the bank collector, can wade knee-deep
-through temptations.</p>
-
-<p>A torrent of evil thoughts invaded La Cibot's heart and brain
-so soon as Remonencq's diabolical suggestion opened the
-flood-gates of self- interest. La Cibot climbed, or, to be more
-accurate, fled up the stairs, opened the door on the landing, and
-showed a face disguised in false solicitude in the doorway of the
-room where Pons and Schmucke were bemoaning themselves. As soon
-as she came in, Schmucke made her a warning sign; for, true
-friend and sublime German that he was, he too had read the
-doctor's eyes, and he was afraid that Mme. Cibot might repeat the
-verdict. Mme. Cibot answered by a shake of the head indicative of
-deep woe.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, my dear monsieur," asked she, "how are you feeling?"
-She sat down on the foot of the bed, hands on hips, and fixed her
-eyes lovingly upon the patient; but what a glitter of metal there
-was in them, a terrible, tiger-like gleam if any one had watched
-her.</p>
-
-<p>"I feel very ill," answered poor Pons. "I have not the
-slightest appetite left.—Oh! the world, the world!" he groaned,
-squeezing Schmucke's hand. Schmucke was sitting by his bedside,
-and doubtless the sick man was talking of the causes of his
-illness.—"I should have done far better to follow your advice,
-my good Schmucke, and dined here every day, and given up going
-into this society, that has fallen on me with all its weight,
-like a tumbril cart crushing an egg! And why?"</p>
-
-<p>"Come, come, don't complain, M. Pons," said La Cibot; "the
-doctor told me just how it is—"</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke tugged at her gown.—"And you will pull through," she
-continued, "only we must take great care of you. Be easy, you
-have a good friend beside you, and without boasting, a woman as
-will nurse you like a mother nurses her first child. I nursed
-Cibot round once when Dr. Poulain had given him over; he had the
-shroud up to his eyes, as the saying is, and they gave him up for
-dead. Well, well, you have not come to that yet, God be thanked,
-ill though you may be. Count on me; I would pull you through all
-by myself, I would! Keep still, don't you fidget like that."</p>
-
-<p>She pulled the coverlet over the patient's hands as she
-spoke.</p>
-
-<p>"There, sonny! M. Schmucke and I will sit up with you of
-nights. A prince won't be no better nursed . . . and besides, you
-needn't refuse yourself nothing that's necessary, you can afford
-it.—I have just been talking things over with Cibot, for what
-would he do without me, poor dear?—Well, and I talked him round;
-we are both so fond of you, that he will let me stop up with you
-of a night. And that is a good deal to ask of a man like him, for
-he is as fond of me as ever he was the day we were married. I
-don't know how it is. It is the lodge, you see; we are always
-there together! Don't you throw off the things like that!" she
-cried, making a dash for the bedhead to draw the coverlet over
-Pons' chest. "If you are not good, and don't do just as Dr.<br>
- Poulain says—and Dr. Poulain is the image of Providence on
-earth—I will have no more to do with you. You must do as I tell
-you—"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, Montame Zipod, he vill do vat you dell him," put in
-Schmucke; "he vants to lif for his boor friend Schmucke's sake,
-I'll pe pound."</p>
-
-<p>"And of all things, don't fidget yourself," continued La
-Cibot, "for your illness makes you quite bad enough without your
-making it worse for want of patience. God sends us our troubles,
-my dear good gentlemen; He punishes us for our sins. Haven't you
-nothing to reproach yourself with? some poor little bit of a
-fault or other?"</p>
-
-<p>The invalid shook his head.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! go on! You were young once, you had your fling, there is
-some love-child of yours somewhere—cold, and starving, and
-homeless. . . .<br>
- What monsters men are! Their love doesn't last only for a day,
-and then in a jiffy they forget, they don't so much as think of
-the child at the breast for months. . . . Poor women!"</p>
-
-<p>"But no one has ever loved me except Schmucke and my mother,"
-poor Pons broke in sadly.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! come, you aren't no saint! You were young in your time,
-and a fine-looking young fellow you must have been at twenty. I
-should have fallen in love with you myself, so nice as you
-are—"</p>
-
-<p>"I always was as ugly as a toad," Pons put in desperately.</p>
-
-<p>"You say that because you are modest; nobody can't say that
-you aren't modest."</p>
-
-<p>"My dear Mme. Cibot, <i>no</i>, I tell you. I always was ugly,
-and I never was loved in my life."</p>
-
-<p>"You, indeed!" cried the portress. "You want to make me
-believe at this time of day that you are as innocent as a young
-maid at your time of life. Tell that to your granny! A musician
-at a theatre too! Why, if a woman told me that, I wouldn't
-believe her."</p>
-
-<p>"Montame Zipod, you irritate him!" cried Schmucke, seeing that
-Pons was writhing under the bedclothes.</p>
-
-<p>"You hold your tongue too! You are a pair of old libertines.
-If you were ugly, it don't make no difference; there was never so
-ugly a saucepan-lid but it found a pot to match, as the saying
-is. There is Cibot, he got one of the handsomest oyster-women in
-Paris to fall in love with him, and you are infinitely better
-looking than him! You are a nice pair, you are! Come, now, you
-have sown your wild oats, and God will punish you for deserting
-your children, like Abraham—"</p>
-
-<p>Exhausted though he was, the invalid gathered up all his
-strength to make a vehement gesture of denial.</p>
-
-<p>"Do lie quiet; if you have, it won't prevent you from living
-as long as Methuselah."</p>
-
-<p>"Then, pray let me be quiet!" groaned Pons. "I have never
-known what it is to be loved. I have had no child; I am alone in
-the world."</p>
-
-<p>"Really, eh?" returned the portress. "You are so kind, and
-that is what women like, you see—it draws them—and it looked to
-me impossible that when you were in your prime—"</p>
-
-<p>"Take her away," Pons whispered to Schmucke; "she sets my
-nerves on edge."</p>
-
-<p>"Then there's M. Schmucke, he has children. You old bachelors
-are not all like that—"</p>
-
-<p>"<i>I</i>!" cried Schmucke, springing to his feet, "vy!—"</p>
-
-<p>"Come, then, you have none to come after you either, eh? You
-both sprung up out of the earth like mushrooms—"</p>
-
-<p>"Look here, komm mit me," said Schmucke. The good German
-manfully took Mme. Cibot by the waist and carried her off into
-the next room, in spite of her exclamations.</p>
-
-<p>"At your age, you would not take advantage of a defenceless
-woman!"<br>
- cried La Cibot, struggling in his arms.</p>
-
-<p>"Don't make a noise!"</p>
-
-<p>"You too, the better one of the two!" returned La Cibot. "Ah!
-it is my fault for talking about love to two old men who have
-never had nothing to do with women. I have roused your passions,"
-cried she, as Schmucke's eyes glittered with wrath. "Help! help!
-police!"</p>
-
-<p>"You are a stoopid!" said the German. "Look here, vat tid de
-toctor say?"</p>
-
-<p>"You are a ruffian to treat me so," wept La Cibot, now
-released,—"me that would go through fire and water for you both!
-Ah! well, well, they say that that is the way with men—and true
-it is! There is my poor Cibot, <i>he</i> would not be rough with
-me like this. . . . And I treated you like my children, for I
-have none of my own; and yesterday, yes, only yesterday I said to
-Cibot, 'God knew well what He was doing, dear,' I said, 'when He
-refused us children, for I have two children there upstairs.' By
-the holy crucifix and the soul of my mother, that was what I said
-to him—"</p>
-
-<p>"Eh! but vat did der doctor say?" Schmucke demanded furiously,
-stamping on the floor for the first time in his life.</p>
-
-<p>"Well," said Mme. Cibot, drawing Schmucke into the
-dining-room, "he just said this—that our dear, darling love
-lying ill there would die if he wasn't carefully nursed; but I am
-here, in spite of all your brutality, for brutal you were, you
-that I thought so gentle. And you are one of that sort! Ah! now,
-you would not abuse a woman at your age, great blackguard—"</p>
-
-<p>"Placard? I? Vill you not oonderstand that I lof nopody but
-Bons?"</p>
-
-<p>"Well and good, you will let me alone, won't you?" said she,
-smiling at Schmucke. "You had better; for if Cibot knew that
-anybody had attempted his honor, he would break every bone in his
-skin."</p>
-
-<p>"Take crate care of him, dear Montame Zipod," answered
-Schmucke, and he tried to take the portress' hand.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! look here now, <i>again</i>."</p>
-
-<p>"Chust listen to me. You shall haf all dot I haf, gif ve safe
-him."</p>
-
-<p>"Very well; I will go round to the chemist's to get the things
-that are wanted; this illness is going to cost a lot, you see,
-sir, and what will you do?"</p>
-
-<p>"I shall vork; Bons shall be nursed like ein brince."</p>
-
-<p>"So he shall, M. Schmucke; and look here, don't you trouble
-about nothing. Cibot and I, between us, have saved a couple of
-thousand francs; they are yours; I have been spending money on
-you this long time, I have."</p>
-
-<p>"Goot voman!" cried Schmucke, brushing the tears from his
-eyes. "Vat ein heart!"</p>
-
-<p>"Wipe your tears; they do me honor; this is my reward," said
-La Cibot, melodramatically. "There isn't no more disinterested
-creature on earth than me; but don't you go into the room with
-tears in your eyes, or M.<br>
- Pons will be thinking himself worse than he is."</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke was touched by this delicate feeling. He took La
-Cibot's hand and gave it a final squeeze.</p>
-
-<p>"Spare me!" cried the ex-oysterseller, leering at
-Schmucke.</p>
-
-<p>"Bons," the good German said when he returned "Montame Zipod
-is an anchel; 'tis an anchel dat brattles, but an anchel all der
-same."</p>
-
-<p>"Do you think so? I have grown suspicious in the past month,"
-said the invalid, shaking his head. "After all I have been
-through, one comes to believe in nothing but God and my
-friend—"</p>
-
-<p>"Get bedder, and ve vill lif like kings, all tree of us,"
-exclaimed Schmucke.</p>
-
-<p>"Cibot!" panted the portress as she entered the lodge. "Oh, my
-dear, our fortune is made. My two gentlemen haven't nobody to
-come after them, no natural children, no nothing, in short! Oh, I
-shall go round to Ma'am Fontaine's and get her to tell my fortune
-on the cards, then we shall know how much we are going to
-have—"</p>
-
-<p>"Wife," said the little tailor, "it's ill counting on dead
-men's shoes."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, I say, are <i>you</i> going to worry me?" asked she,
-giving her spouse a playful tap. "I know what I know! Dr. Poulain
-has given up M. Pons.<br>
- And we are going to be rich! My name will be down in the will. .
-. .<br>
- I'll see to that. Draw your needle in and out, and look after
-the lodge; you will not do it for long now. We will retire, and
-go into the country, out at Batignolles. A nice house and a fine
-garden; you will amuse yourself with gardening, and I shall keep
-a servant!"</p>
-
-<p>"Well, neighbor, and how are things going on upstairs?" The
-words were spoken with the thick Auvergnat accent, and Remonencq
-put his head in at the door. "Do you know what the collection is
-worth?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, no, not yet. One can't go at that rate, my good man. I
-have begun, myself, by finding out more important things—"</p>
-
-<p>"More important!" exclaimed Remonencq; "why, what things can
-be more important?"</p>
-
-<p>"Come, let me do the steering, ragamuffin," said La Cibot
-authoritatively.</p>
-
-<p>"But thirty per cent on seven hundred thousand francs,"
-persisted the dealer in old iron; "you could be your own mistress
-for the rest of your days on that."</p>
-
-<p>"Be easy, Daddy Remonencq; when we want to know the value of
-the things that the old man has got together, then we will
-see."</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot went for the medicine ordered by Dr. Poulain, and put
-off her consultation with Mme. Fontaine until the morrow; the
-oracle's faculties would be fresher and clearer in the morning,
-she thought; and she would go early, before everybody else came,
-for there was often a crowd at Mme. Fontaine's.</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Fontaine was at this time the oracle of the Marais; she
-had survived the rival of forty years, the celebrated Mlle.
-Lenormand. No one imagines the part that fortune-tellers play
-among Parisians of the lower classes, nor the immense influence
-which they exert over the uneducated; general servants,
-portresses, kept women, workmen, all the many in Paris who live
-on hope, consult the privileged beings who possess the mysterious
-power of reading the future.</p>
-
-<p>The belief of the occult science is far more widely spread
-than scholars, lawyers, doctors, magistrates, and philosophers
-imagine. The instincts of the people are ineradicable. One among
-those instincts, so foolishly styled "superstition," runs in the
-blood of the populace, and tinges no less the intellects of
-better educated folk. More than one French statesman has been
-known to consult the fortune-teller's cards. For sceptical minds,
-astrology, in French, so oddly termed <i>astrologie
-judiciare</i>, is nothing more than a cunning device for making a
-profit out of one of the strongest of all the instincts of human
-nature—to wit, curiosity. The sceptical mind consequently denies
-that there is any connection between human destiny and the
-prognostications obtained by the seven or eight principal methods
-known to astrology; and the occult sciences, like many natural
-phenomena, are passed over by the freethinker or the materialist
-philosopher, <i>id est</i>, by those who believe in nothing but
-visible and tangible facts, in the results given by the chemist's
-retort and the scales of modern physical science. The occult
-sciences still exist; they are at work, but they make no
-progress, for the greatest intellects of two centuries have
-abandoned the field.</p>
-
-<p>If you only look at the practical side of divination, it seems
-absurd to imagine that events in a man's past life and secrets
-known only to himself can be represented on the spur of the
-moment by a pack of cards which he shuffles and cuts for the
-fortune-teller to lay out in piles according to certain
-mysterious rules; but then the steam-engine was condemned as
-absurd, aerial navigation is still said to be absurd, so in their
-time were the inventions of gunpowder, printing, spectacles,
-engraving, and that latest discovery of all—the daguerreotype.
-If any man had come to Napoleon to tell him that a building or a
-figure is at all times and in all places represented by an image
-in the atmosphere, that every existing object has a spectral
-intangible double which may become visible, the Emperor would
-have sent his informant to Charenton for a lunatic, just as
-Richelieu before his day sent that Norman martyr, Salomon de
-Caux, to the Bicetre for announcing his immense triumph, the idea
-of navigation by steam. Yet Daguerre's discovery amounts to
-nothing more nor less than this.</p>
-
-<p>And if for some clairvoyant eyes God has written each man's
-destiny over his whole outward and visible form, if a man's body
-is the record of his fate, why should not the hand in a manner
-epitomize the body?— since the hand represents the deed of man,
-and by his deeds he is known.</p>
-
-<p>Herein lies the theory of palmistry. Does not Society imitate
-God? At the sight of a soldier we can predict that he will fight;
-of a lawyer, that he will talk; of a shoemaker, that he shall
-make shoes or boots; of a worker of the soil, that he shall dig
-the ground and dung it; and is it a more wonderful thing that
-such an one with the "seer's" gift should foretell the events of
-a man's life from his hand?</p>
-
-<p>To take a striking example. Genius is so visible in a man that
-a great artist cannot walk about the streets of Paris but the
-most ignorant people are conscious of his passing. He is a sun,
-as it were, in the mental world, shedding light that colors
-everything in its path. And who does not know an idiot at once by
-an impression the exact opposite of the sensation of the presence
-of genius? Most observers of human nature in general, and
-Parisian nature in particular, can guess the profession or
-calling of the man in the street.</p>
-
-<p>The mysteries of the witches' Sabbath, so wonderfully painted
-in the sixteenth century, are no mysteries for us. The Egyptian
-ancestors of that mysterious people of Indian origin, the gypsies
-of the present day, simply used to drug their clients with
-hashish, a practice that fully accounts for broomstick rides and
-flights up the chimney, the real-seeming visions, so to speak, of
-old crones transformed into young damsels, the frantic dances,
-the exquisite music, and all the fantastic tales of
-devil-worship.</p>
-
-<p>So many proven facts have been first discovered by occult
-science, that some day we shall have professors of occult
-science, as we already have professors of chemistry and
-astronomy. It is even singular that here in Paris, where we are
-founding chairs of Mantchu and Slave and literatures so little
-professable (to coin a word) as the literatures of the North
-(which, so far from providing lessons, stand very badly in need
-of them); when the curriculum is full of the everlasting lectures
-on Shakespeare and the sixteenth century,—it is strange that
-some one has not restored the teaching of the occult
-philosophies, once the glory of the University of Paris, under
-the title of anthropology. Germany, so childlike and so great,
-has outstripped France in this particular; in Germany they have
-professors of a science of far more use than a knowledge of the
-heterogeneous philosophies, which all come to the same thing at
-bottom.</p>
-
-<p>Once admit that certain beings have the power of discerning
-the future in its germ-form of the Cause, as the great inventor
-sees a glimpse of the industry latent in his invention, or a
-science in something that happens every day unnoticed by ordinary
-eyes—once allow this, and there is nothing to cause an outcry in
-such phenomena, no violent exception to nature's laws, but the
-operation of a recognized faculty; possibly a kind of mental
-somnambulism, as it were. If, therefore, the hypothesis upon
-which the various ways of divining the future are based seem
-absurd, the facts remain. Remark that it is not really more
-wonderful that the seer should foretell the chief events of the
-future than that he should read the past. Past and future, on the
-sceptic's system, equally lie beyond the limits of knowledge. If
-the past has left traces behind it, it is not improbable that
-future events have, as it were, their roots in the present.</p>
-
-<p>If a fortune-teller gives you minute details of past facts
-known only to yourself, why should he not foresee the events to
-be produced by existing causes? The world of ideas is cut out, so
-to speak, on the pattern of the physical world; the same
-phenomena should be discernible in both, allowing for the
-difference of the medium. As, for instance, a corporeal body
-actually projects an image upon the atmosphere—a spectral double
-detected and recorded by the daguerreotype; so also ideas, having
-a real and effective existence, leave an impression, as it were,
-upon the atmosphere of the spiritual world; they likewise produce
-effects, and exist spectrally (to coin a word to express
-phenomena for which no words exist), and certain human beings are
-endowed with the faculty of discerning these "forms" or traces of
-ideas.</p>
-
-<p>As for the material means employed to assist the seer—the
-objects arranged by the hands of the consultant that the
-accidents of his life may be revealed to him,—this is the least
-inexplicable part of the process. Everything in the material
-world is part of a series of causes and effects. Nothing happens
-without a cause, every cause is a part of a whole, and
-consequently the whole leaves its impression on the slightest
-accident. Rabelais, the greatest mind among moderns, resuming
-Pythagoras, Hippocrates, Aristophanes, and Dante, pronounced
-three centuries ago that "man is a microcosm"—a little world.
-Three hundred years later, the great seer Swedenborg declared
-that "the world was a man." The prophet and the precursor of
-incredulity meet thus in the greatest of all formulas.</p>
-
-<p>Everything in human life is predestined, so it is also with
-the existence of the planet. The least event, the most futile
-phenomena, are all subordinate parts of a scheme. Great things,
-therefore, great designs, and great thoughts are of necessity
-reflected in the smallest actions, and that so faithfully, that
-should a conspirator shuffle and cut a pack of playing-cards, he
-will write the history of his plot for the eyes of the seer
-styled gypsy, fortune-teller, charlatan, or what not. If you once
-admit fate, which is to say, the chain of links of cause and
-effect, astrology has a <i>locus standi</i>, and becomes what it
-was of yore, a boundless science, requiring the same faculty of
-deduction by which Cuvier became so great, a faculty to be
-exercised spontaneously, however, and not merely in nights of
-study in the closet.</p>
-
-<p>For seven centuries astrology and divination have exercised an
-influence not only (as at present) over the uneducated, but over
-the greatest minds, over kings and queens and wealthy people.
-Animal magnetism, one of the great sciences of antiquity, had its
-origin in occult philosophy; chemistry is the outcome of alchemy;
-phrenology and neurology are no less the fruit of similar
-studies. The first illustrious workers in these, to all
-appearance, untouched fields, made one mistake, the mistake of
-all inventors; that is to say, they erected an absolute system on
-a basis of isolated facts for which modern analysis as yet cannot
-account. The Catholic Church, the law of the land, and modern
-philosophy, in agreement for once, combined to prescribe,
-persecute, and ridicule the mysteries of the Cabala as well as
-the adepts; the result is a lamentable interregnum of a century
-in occult philosophy. But the uneducated classes, and not a few
-cultivated people (women especially), continue to pay a tribute
-to the mysterious power of those who can raise the veil of the
-future; they go to buy hope, strength, and courage of the
-fortune-teller; in other words, to ask of him all that religion
-alone can give. So the art is still practised in spite of a
-certain amount of risk. The eighteenth century encyclopaedists
-procured tolerance for the sorcerer; he is no longer amenable to
-a court of law, unless, indeed, he lends himself to fraudulent
-practices, and frightens his "clients" to extort money from them,
-in which case he may be prosecuted on a charge of obtaining money
-under false pretences. Unluckily, the exercise of the sublime art
-is only too often used as a method of obtaining money under false
-pretences, and for the following reasons.</p>
-
-<p><br>
- The seer's wonderful gifts are usually bestowed upon those who
-are described by the epithets rough and uneducated. The rough and
-uneducated are the chosen vessels into which God pours the
-elixirs at which we marvel. From among the rough and uneducated,
-prophets arise— an Apostle Peter, or St. Peter the Hermit.
-Wherever mental power is imprisoned, and remains intact and
-entire for want of an outlet in conversation, in politics, in
-literature, in the imaginings of the scholar, in the efforts of
-the statesman, in the conceptions of the inventor, or the
-soldier's toils of war; the fire within is apt to flash out in
-gleams of marvelously vivid light, like the sparks hidden in an
-unpolished diamond. Let the occasion come, and the spirit within
-kindles and glows, finds wings to traverse space, and the
-god-like power of beholding all things. The coal of yesterday
-under the play of some mysterious influence becomes a radiant
-diamond. Better educated people, many-sided and highly polished,
-continually giving out all that is in them, can never exhibit
-this supreme power, save by one of the miracles which God
-sometimes vouchsafes to work. For this reason the soothsayer is
-almost always a beggar, whose mind is virgin soil, a creature
-coarse to all appearance, a pebble borne along the torrent of
-misery and left in the ruts of life, where it spends nothing of
-itself save in mere physical suffering.</p>
-
-<p>The prophet, the seer, in short, is some <i>Martin le
-Laboureur</i> making a Louis XVIII. tremble by telling him a
-secret known only to the king himself; or it is a Mlle.
-Lenormand, or a domestic servant like Mme.<br>
- Fontaine, or again, perhaps it is some half-idiotic negress,
-some herdsman living among his cattle, who receives the gift of
-vision; some Hindoo fakir, seated by a pagoda, mortifying the
-flesh till the spirit gains the mysterious power of the
-somnambulist.</p>
-
-<p>Asia, indeed, through all time, has been the home of the
-heroes of occult science. Persons of this kind, recovering their
-normal state, are usually just as they were before. They fulfil,
-in some sort, the chemical and physical functions of bodies which
-conduct electricity; at times inert metal, at other times a
-channel filled with a mysterious current. In their normal
-condition they are given to practices which bring them before the
-magistrate, yea, verily, like the notorious Balthazar, even unto
-the criminal court, and so to the hulks. You could hardly find a
-better proof of the immense influence of fortune-telling upon the
-working classes than the fact that poor Pons' life and death hung
-upon the prediction that Mme. Fontaine was to make from the
-cards.</p>
-
-<p>Although a certain amount of repetition is inevitable in a
-canvas so considerable and so full of detail as a complete
-picture of French society in the nineteenth century, it is
-needless to repeat the description of Mme. Fontaine's den,
-already given in <i>Les Comediens sans le savoir</i>; suffice it
-to say that Mme. Cibot used to go to Mme.<br>
- Fontaine's house in the Rue Vieille-du-Temple as regularly as
-frequenters of the Cafe Anglais drop in at that restaurant for
-lunch.<br>
- Mme. Cibot, being a very old customer, often introduced young
-persons and old gossips consumed with curiosity to the wise
-woman.</p>
-
-<p>The old servant who acted as provost marshal flung open the
-door of the sanctuary with no further ceremony than the remark,
-"It's Mme.<br>
- Cibot.—Come in, there's nobody here."</p>
-
-<p>"Well, child, what can bring you here so early of a morning?"
-asked the sorceress, as Mme. Fontaine might well be called, for
-she was seventy-eight years old, and looked like one of the
-Parcae.</p>
-
-<p>"Something has given me a turn," said La Cibot; "I want the
-<i>grand jeu</i>; it is a question of my fortune." Therewith she
-explained her position, and wished to know if her sordid hopes
-were likely to be realized.</p>
-
-<p>"Do you know what the <i>grand jeu</i> means?" asked Mme.
-Fontaine, with much solemnity.</p>
-
-<p>"No, I haven't never seen the trick, I am not rich enough.—A
-hundred francs! It's not as if it cost so much! Where was the
-money to come from? But now I can't help myself, I must have
-it."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't do it often, child," returned Mme. Fontaine; "I only
-do it for rich people on great occasions, and they pay me
-twenty-five louis for doing it; it tires me, you see, it wears me
-out. The 'Spirit' rives my inside, here. It is like going to the
-'Sabbath,' as they used to say."</p>
-
-<p>"But when I tell you that it means my whole future, my dear
-good Ma'am Fontaine—"</p>
-
-<p>"Well, as it is you that have come to consult me so often, I
-will submit myself to the Spirit!" replied Mme. Fontaine, with a
-look of genuine terror on her face.</p>
-
-<p>She rose from her filthy old chair by the fireside, and went
-to a table covered with a green cloth so worn that you could
-count the threads. A huge toad sat dozing there beside a cage
-inhabited by a black disheveled-looking fowl.</p>
-
-<p>"Astaroth! here, my son!" she said, and the creature looked up
-intelligently at her as she rapped him on the back with a long
-knitting-needle.—"And you, Mademoiselle Cleopatre!—attention!"
-she continued, tapping the ancient fowl on the beak.</p>
-
-<p>Then Mme. Fontaine began to think; for several seconds she did
-not move; she looked like a corpse, her eyes rolled in their
-sockets and grew white; then she rose stiff and erect, and a
-cavernous voice cried:</p>
-
-<p>"Here I am!"</p>
-
-<p>Automatically she scattered millet for Cleopatre, took up the
-pack of cards, shuffled them convulsively, and held them out to
-Mme. Cibot to cut, sighing heavily all the time. At the sight of
-that image of Death in the filthy turban and uncanny-looking
-bed-jacket, watching the black fowl as it pecked at the
-millet-grains, calling to the toad Astaroth to walk over the
-cards that lay out on the table, a cold thrill ran through Mme.
-Cibot; she shuddered. Nothing but strong belief can give strong
-emotions. An assured income, to be or not to be, that was the
-question.</p>
-
-<p>The sorceress opened a magical work and muttered some
-unintelligible words in a sepulchral voice, looked at the
-remaining millet-seeds, and watched the way in which the toad
-retired. Then after seven or eight minutes, she turned her white
-eyes on the cards and expounded them.</p>
-
-<p>"You will succeed, although nothing in the affair will fall
-out as you expect. You will have many steps to take, but you will
-reap the fruits of your labors. You will behave very badly; it
-will be with you as it is with all those who sit by a sick-bed
-and covet part of the inheritance. Great people will help you in
-this work of wrongdoing.<br>
- Afterwards in the death agony you will repent. Two escaped
-convicts, a short man with red hair and an old man with a bald
-head, will murder you for the sake of the money you will be
-supposed to have in the village whither you will retire with your
-second husband. Now, my daughter, it is still open to you to
-choose your course."</p>
-
-<p>The excitement which seemed to glow within, lighting up the
-bony hollows about the eyes, was suddenly extinguished. As soon
-as the horoscope was pronounced, Mme. Fontaine's face wore a
-dazed expression; she looked exactly like a sleep-walker aroused
-from sleep, gazed about her with an astonished air, recognized
-Mme. Cibot, and seemed surprised by her terrified face.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, child," she said, in a totally different voice, "are
-you satisfied?"</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Cibot stared stupidly at the sorceress, and could not
-answer.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! you would have the <i>grand jeu</i>; I have treated you
-as an old acquaintance. I only want a hundred francs—"</p>
-
-<p>"Cibot,—going to die?" gasped the portress.</p>
-
-<p>"So I have been telling you very dreadful things, have I?"
-asked Mme.<br>
- Fontaine, with an extremely ingenuous air.</p>
-
-<p>"Why, yes!" said La Cibot, taking a hundred francs from her
-pocket and laying them down on the edge of the table. "Going to
-be murdered, think of it—"</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! there it is! You would have the <i>grand jeu</i>; but
-don't take on so, all the folk that are murdered on the cards
-don't die."</p>
-
-<p>"But is it possible, Ma'am Fontaine?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, <i>I</i> know nothing about it, my pretty dear! You would
-rap at the door of the future; I pull the cord, and it came."</p>
-
-<p>"<i>It</i>, what?" asked Mme. Cibot.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, then, the Spirit!" cried the sorceress impatiently.</p>
-
-<p>"Good-bye, Ma'am Fontaine," exclaimed the portress. "I did not
-know what the <i>grand jeu</i> was like. You have given me a good
-fright, that you have."</p>
-
-<p>"The mistress will not put herself in that state twice in a
-month,"<br>
- said the servant, as she went with La Cibot to the landing. "She
-would do herself to death if she did, it tires her so. She will
-eat cutlets now and sleep for three hours afterwards."</p>
-
-<p>Out in the street La Cibot took counsel of herself as she went
-along, and, after the manner of all who ask for advice of any
-sort or description, she took the favorable part of the
-prediction and rejected the rest. The next day found her
-confirmed in her resolutions —she would set all in train to
-become rich by securing a part of Pons' collection. Nor for some
-time had she any other thought than the combination of various
-plans to this end. The faculty of self- concentration seen in
-rough, uneducated persons, explained on a previous page, the
-reserve power accumulated in those whose mental energies are
-unworn by the daily wear and tear of social life, and brought
-into action so soon as that terrible weapon the "fixed idea"<br>
- is brought into play,—all this was pre-eminently manifested in
-La Cibot. Even as the "fixed idea" works miracles of evasion, and
-brings forth prodigies of sentiment, so greed transformed the
-portress till she became as formidable as a Nucingen at bay, as
-subtle beneath her seeming stupidity as the irresistible La
-Palferine.</p>
-
-<p>About seven o'clock one morning, a few days afterwards, she
-saw Remonencq taking down his shutters. She went across to
-him.</p>
-
-<p>"How could one find out how much the things yonder in my
-gentlemen's rooms are worth?" she asked in a wheedling tone.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! that is quite easy," replied the owner of the old
-curiosity shop.<br>
- "If you will play fair and above board with me, I will tell you
-of somebody, a very honest man, who will know the value of the
-pictures to a farthing—"</p>
-
-<p>"Who?"</p>
-
-<p>"M. Magus, a Jew. He only does business to amuse himself
-now."</p>
-
-<p>Elie Magus has appeared so often in the <i>Comedie
-Humaine</i>, that it is needless to say more of him here. Suffice
-it to add that he had retired from business, and as a dealer was
-following the example set by Pons the amateur. Well-known valuers
-like Henry, Messrs. Pigeot and Moret, Theret, Georges, and Roehn,
-the experts of the Musee, in fact, were but children compared
-with Elie Magus. He could see a masterpiece beneath the
-accumulated grime of a century; he knew all schools, and the
-handwriting of all painters.</p>
-
-<p>He had come to Paris from Bordeaux, and so long ago as 1835 he
-had retired from business without making any change for the
-better in his dress, so faithful is the race to old tradition.
-The persecutions of the Middle Ages compelled them to wear rags,
-to snuffle and whine and groan over their poverty in
-self-defence, till the habits induced by the necessities of other
-times have come to be, as usual, instinctive, a racial
-defect.</p>
-
-<p>Elie Magus had amassed a vast fortune by buying and selling
-diamonds, pictures, lace, enamels, delicate carvings, old
-jewelry, and rarities of all kinds, a kind of commerce which has
-developed enormously of late, so much so indeed that the number
-of dealers has increased tenfold during the last twenty years in
-this city of Paris, whither all the curiosities in the world come
-to rub against one another. And for pictures there are but three
-marts in the world—Rome, London, and Paris.</p>
-
-<p>Elie Magus lived in the Chausee des Minimes, a short, broad
-street leading to the Place Royale. He had bought the house, an
-old-fashioned mansion, for a song, as the saying is, in 1831. Yet
-there were sumptuous apartments within it, decorated in the time
-of Louis XV.; for it had once been the Hotel Maulaincourt, built
-by the great President of the Cour des Aides, and its remote
-position had saved it at the time of the Revolution.</p>
-
-<p>You may be quite sure that the old Jew had sound reasons for
-buying house property, contrary to the Hebrew law and custom. He
-had ended, as most of us end, with a hobby that bordered on a
-craze. He was as miserly as his friend, the late lamented
-Gobseck; but he had been caught by the snare of the eyes, by the
-beauty of the pictures in which he dealt. As his taste grew more
-and more fastidious, it became one of the passions which princes
-alone can indulge when they are wealthy and art-lovers. As the
-second King of Prussia found nothing that so kindled enthusiasm
-as the spectacle of a grenadier over six feet high, and gave
-extravagant sums for a new specimen to add to his living museum
-of a regiment, so the retired picture-dealer was roused to
-passion-pitch only by some canvas in perfect preservation,
-untouched since the master laid down the brush; and what was
-more, it must be a picture of the painter's best time. No great
-sales, therefore, took place but Elie Magus was there; every mart
-knew him; he traveled all over Europe. The ice-cold,
-money-worshiping soul in him kindled at the sight of a perfect
-work of art, precisely as a libertine, weary of fair women, is
-roused from apathy by the sight of a beautiful girl, and sets out
-afresh upon the quest of flawless loveliness. A Don Juan among
-fair works of art, a worshiper of the Ideal, Elie Magus had
-discovered joys that transcend the pleasure of a miser gloating
-over his gold—he lived in a seraglio of great paintings.</p>
-
-<p>His masterpieces were housed as became the children of
-princes; the whole first floor of the great old mansion was given
-up to them. The rooms had been restored under Elie Magus' orders,
-and with what magnificence!</p>
-
-<p>The windows were hung with the richest Venetian brocade; the
-most splendid carpets from the Savonnerie covered the parquetry
-flooring.<br>
- The frames of the pictures, nearly a hundred in number, were
-magnificent specimens, regilded cunningly by Servais, the one
-gilder in Paris whom Elie Magus thought sufficiently painstaking;
-the old Jew himself had taught him to use the English leaf, which
-is infinitely superior to that produced by French gold-beaters.
-Servais is among gilders as Thouvenin among bookbinders—an
-artist among craftsmen, making his work a labor of love. Every
-window in that gallery was protected by iron-barred shutters.
-Elie Magus himself lived in a couple of attics on the floor
-above; the furniture was wretched, the rooms were full of rags,
-and the whole place smacked of the Ghetto; Elie Magus was
-finishing his days without any change in his life.</p>
-
-<p>The whole of the ground floor was given up to the picture
-trade (for the Jew still dealt in works of art). Here he stored
-his canvases, here also packing-cases were stowed on their
-arrival from other countries; and still there was room for a vast
-studio, where Moret, most skilful of restorers of pictures, a
-craftsman whom the Musee ought to employ, was almost always at
-work for Magus. The rest of the rooms on the ground floor were
-given up to Magus' daughter, the child of his old age, a Jewess
-as beautiful as a Jewess can be when the Semitic type reappears
-in its purity and nobility in a daughter of Israel. Noemi was
-guarded by two servants, fanatical Jewesses, to say nothing of an
-advanced-guard, a Polish Jew, Abramko by name, once involved in a
-fabulous manner in political troubles, from which Elie Magus
-saved him as a business speculation. Abramko, porter of the
-silent, grim, deserted mansion, divided his office and his lodge
-with three remarkably ferocious animals—an English bull-dog, a
-Newfoundland dog, and another of the Pyrenean breed.</p>
-
-<p>Behold the profound observations of human nature upon which
-Elie Magus based his feeling of security, for secure he felt; he
-left home without misgivings, slept with both ears shut, and
-feared no attempt upon his daughter (his chief treasure), his
-pictures, or his money. In the first place, Abramko's salary was
-increased every year by two hundred francs so long as his master
-should live; and Magus, moreover, was training Abramko as a
-money-lender in a small way. Abramko never admitted anybody until
-he had surveyed them through a formidable grated opening. He was
-a Hercules for strength, he worshiped Elie Magus, as Sancho Panza
-worshiped Don Quixote. All day long the dogs were shut up without
-food; at nightfall Abramko let them loose; and by a cunning
-device the old Jew kept each animal at his post in the courtyard
-or the garden by hanging a piece of meat just out of reach on the
-top of a pole. The animals guarded the house, and sheer hunger
-guarded the dogs. No odor that reached their nostrils could tempt
-them from the neighborhood of that piece of meat; they would not
-have left their places at the foot of the poles for the most
-engaging female of the canine species. If a stranger by any
-chance intruded, the dogs suspected him of ulterior designs upon
-their rations, which were only taken down in the morning by
-Abramko himself when he awoke. The advantages of this fiendish
-scheme are patent. The animals never barked, Magus' ingenuity had
-made savages of them; they were treacherous as Mohicans. And now
-for the result.</p>
-
-<p>One night burglars, emboldened by the silence, decided too
-hastily that it would be easy enough to "clean out" the old Jew's
-strong box.<br>
- One of their number told off to advance to the assault scrambled
-up the garden wall and prepared to descend. This the bull-dog
-allowed him to do. The animal, knowing perfectly well what was
-coming, waited for the burglar to reach the ground; but when that
-gentleman directed a kick at him, the bull-dog flew at the
-visitor's shins, and, making but one bite of it, snapped the
-ankle-bone clean in two. The thief had the courage to tear him
-away, and returned, walking upon the bare bone of the mutilated
-stump till he reached the rest of the gang, when he fell
-fainting, and they carried him off. The <i>Police News</i>, of
-course, did not fail to report this delightful night incident,
-but no one believed in it.</p>
-
-<p>Magus at this time was seventy-five years old, and there was
-no reason why he should not live to a hundred. Rich man though he
-was, he lived like the Remonencqs. His necessary expenses,
-including the money he lavished on his daughter, did not exceed
-three thousand francs. No life could be more regular; the old man
-rose as soon as it was light, breakfasted on bread rubbed with a
-clove of garlic, and ate no more food until dinner-time. Dinner,
-a meal frugal enough for a convent, he took at home. All the
-forenoons he spent among his treasures, walking up and down the
-gallery where they hung in their glory. He would dust everything
-himself, furniture and pictures; he never wearied of admiring.
-Then he would go downstairs to his daughter, drink deep of a
-father's happiness, and start out upon his walks through Paris,
-to attend sales or visit exhibitions and the like.</p>
-
-<p>If Elie Magus found a great work of art under the right
-conditions, the discovery put new life into the man; here was a
-bit of sharp practice, a bargain to make, a battle of Marengo to
-win. He would pile ruse on ruse to buy the new sultana as cheaply
-as possible. Magus had a map of Europe on which all great
-pictures were marked; his co-religionists in every city spied out
-business for him, and received a commission on the purchase. And
-then, what rewards for all his pains! The two lost Raphaels so
-earnestly sought after by Raphael lovers are both in his
-collection. Elie Magus owns the original portrait of
-<i>Giorgione's Mistress</i>, the woman for whom the painter died;
-the so-called originals are merely copies of the famous picture,
-which is worth five hundred thousand francs, according to its
-owner's estimation. This Jew possesses Titian's masterpiece, an
-<i>Entombment</i> painted for Charles V., sent by the great man
-to the great Emperor with a holograph letter, now fastened down
-upon the lower part of the canvas. And Magus has yet another
-Titian, the original sketch from which all the portraits of
-Philip II. were painted. His remaining ninety-seven pictures are
-all of the same rank and distinction.<br>
- Wherefore Magus laughs at our national collection, raked by the
-sunlight which destroys the fairest paintings, pouring in through
-panes of glass that act as lenses. Picture galleries can only be
-lighted from above; Magus opens and closes his shutters himself;
-he is as careful of his pictures as of his daughter, his second
-idol. And well the old picture-fancier knows the laws of the
-lives of pictures.<br>
- To hear him talk, a great picture has a life of its own; it is
-changeable, it takes its beauty from the color of the light.
-Magus talks of his paintings as Dutch fanciers used to talk of
-their tulips; he will come home on purpose to see some one
-picture in the hour of its glory, when the light is bright and
-clean.</p>
-
-<p><br>
- And Magus himself was a living picture among the motionless
-figures on the wall—a little old man, dressed in a shabby
-overcoat, a silk waistcoat, renewed twice in a score of years,
-and a very dirty pair of trousers, with a bald head, a face full
-of deep hollows, a wrinkled, callous skin, a beard that had a
-trick of twitching its long white bristles, a menacing pointed
-chin, a toothless mouth, eyes bright as the eyes of his dogs in
-the yard, and a nose like an obelisk—there he stood in his
-gallery smiling at the beauty called into being by genius. A Jew
-surrounded by his millions will always be one of the finest
-spectacles which humanity can give. Robert Medal, our great
-actor, cannot rise to this height of poetry, sublime though he
-is.</p>
-
-<p>Paris of all the cities of the world holds most of such men as
-Magus, strange beings with a strange religion in their heart of
-hearts. The London "eccentric" always finds that worship, like
-life, brings weariness and satiety in the end; the Parisian
-monomaniac lives cheerfully in concubinage with his crotchet to
-the last.</p>
-
-<p>Often shall you meet in Paris some Pons, some Elie Magus,
-dressed badly enough, with his face turned from the rising sun
-(like the countenance of the perpetual secretary of the
-Academie), apparently heeding nothing, conscious of nothing,
-paying no attention to shop- windows nor to fair passers-by,
-walking at random, so to speak, with nothing in his pockets, and
-to all appearance an equally empty head.<br>
- Do you ask to what Parisian tribe this manner of man belongs? He
-is a collector, a millionaire, one of the most impassioned souls
-upon earth; he and his like are capable of treading the miry ways
-that lead to the police-court if so they may gain possession of a
-cup, a picture, or some such rare unpublished piece as Elie Magus
-once picked up one memorable day in Germany.</p>
-
-<p>This was the expert to whom Remonencq with much mystery
-conducted La Cibot. Remonencq always asked advice of Elie Magus
-when he met him in the streets; and more than once Magus had lent
-him money through Abramko, knowing Remonencq's honesty. The
-Chaussee des Minimes is close to the Rue de Normandie, and the
-two fellow-conspirators reached the house in ten minutes.</p>
-
-<p>"You will see the richest dealer in curiosities, the greatest
-connoisseur in Paris," Remonencq had said. And Mme. Cibot,
-therefore, was struck dumb with amazement to be confronted with a
-little old man in a great-coat too shabby for Cibot to mend,
-standing watching a painter at work upon an old picture in the
-chilly room on the vast ground floor. The old man's eyes, full of
-cold feline malignance, were turned upon her, and La Cibot
-shivered.</p>
-
-<p>"What do you want, Remonencq?" asked this person.</p>
-
-<p>"It is a question of valuing some pictures; there is nobody
-but you in Paris who can tell a poor tinker-fellow like me how
-much he may give when he has not thousands to spend, like
-you."</p>
-
-<p>"Where is it?"</p>
-
-<p>"Here is the portress of the house where the gentleman lives;
-she does for him, and I have arranged with her—"</p>
-
-<p>"Who is the owner?"</p>
-
-<p>"M. Pons!" put in La Cibot.</p>
-
-<p>"Don't know the name," said Magus, with an innocent air,
-bringing down his foot very gently upon his artist's toes.</p>
-
-<p>Moret the painter, knowing the value of Pons' collection, had
-looked up suddenly at the name. It was a move too hazardous to
-try with any one but Remonencq and La Cibot, but the Jew had
-taken the woman's measure at sight, and his eye was as accurate
-as a jeweler's scales.<br>
- It was impossible that either of the couple should know how
-often Magus and old Pons had matched their claws. And, in truth,
-both rabid amateurs were jealous of each other. The old Jew had
-never hoped for a sight of a seraglio so carefully guarded; it
-seemed to him that his head was swimming. Pons' collection was
-the one private collection in Paris which could vie with his own.
-Pons' idea had occurred to Magus twenty years later; but as a
-dealer-amateur the door of Pons' museum had been closed to him,
-as for Dusommerard. Pons and Magus had at heart the same
-jealousy. Neither of them cared about the kind of celebrity dear
-to the ordinary collector. And now for Elie Magus came his chance
-to see the poor musician's treasures! An amateur of beauty hiding
-in a boudoir or a stolen glance at a mistress concealed from him
-by his friend might feel as Elie Magus felt at that moment.</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot was impressed by Remonencq's respect for this
-singular person; real power, moreover, even when it cannot be
-explained, is always felt; the portress was supple and obedient,
-she dropped the autocratic tone which she was wont to use in her
-lodge and with the tenants, accepted Magus' conditions, and
-agreed to admit him into Pons' museum that very day.</p>
-
-<p>So the enemy was to be brought into the citadel, and a stab
-dealt to Pons' very heart. For ten years Pons had carried his
-keys about with him; he had forbidden La Cibot to allow any one,
-no matter whom, to cross his threshold; and La Cibot had so far
-shared Schmucke's opinions of <i>bric-a-brac</i>, that she had
-obeyed him. The good Schmucke, by speaking of the splendors as
-"chimcracks," and deploring his friend's mania, had taught La
-Cibot to despise the old rubbish, and so secured Pons' museum
-from invasion for many a long year.</p>
-
-<p>When Pons took to his bed, Schmucke filled his place at the
-theatre and gave lessons for him at his boarding-schools. He did
-his utmost to do the work of two; but Pons' sorrows weighing
-heavily upon his mind, the task took all his strength. He only
-saw his friend in the morning, and again at dinnertime. His
-pupils and the people at the theatre, seeing the poor German look
-so unhappy, used to ask for news of Pons; and so great was his
-grief, that the indifferent would make the grimaces of
-sensibility which Parisians are wont to reserve for the greatest
-calamities. The very springs of life had been attacked, the good
-German was suffering from Pons' pain as well as from his own.<br>
- When he gave a music lesson, he spent half the time in talking
-of Pons, interrupting himself to wonder whether his friend felt
-better to-day, and the little school-girls listening heard
-lengthy explanations of Pons' symptoms. He would rush over to the
-Rue de Normandie in the interval between two lessons for the sake
-of a quarter of an hour with Pons.</p>
-
-<p>When at last he saw that their common stock was almost
-exhausted, when Mme. Cibot (who had done her best to swell the
-expenses of the illness) came to him and frightened him; then the
-old music-master felt that he had courage of which he never
-thought himself capable— courage that rose above his anguish.
-For the first time in his life he set himself to earn money;
-money was needed at home. One of the school-girl pupils, really
-touched by their troubles, asked Schmucke how he could leave his
-friend alone. "Montemoiselle," he answered, with the sublime
-smile of those who think no evil, "ve haf Montame Zipod, ein
-dreasure, montemoiselle, ein bearl! Bons is nursed like ein
-brince."</p>
-
-<p>So while Schmucke trotted about the streets, La Cibot was
-mistress of the house and ruled the invalid. How should Pons
-superintend his self- appointed guardian angel, when he had taken
-no solid food for a fortnight, and lay there so weak and helpless
-that La Cibot was obliged to lift him up and carry him to the
-sofa while she made the bed?</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot's visit to Elie Magus was paid (as might be expected)
-while Schmucke breakfasted. She came in again just as the German
-was bidding his friend good-bye; for since she learned that Pons
-possessed a fortune, she never left the old bachelor; she brooded
-over him and his treasures like a hen. From the depths of a
-comfortable easy-chair at the foot of the bed she poured forth
-for Pons' delectation the gossip in which women of her class
-excel. With Machiavelian skill, she had contrived to make Pons
-think that she was indispensable to him; she coaxed and she
-wheedled, always uneasy, always on the alert. Mme.<br>
- Fontaine's prophecy had frightened La Cibot; she vowed to
-herself that she would gain her ends by kindness. She would sleep
-secure on M.<br>
- Pons' legacy, but her rascality should keep within the limits of
-the law. For ten years she had not suspected the value of Pons'
-collection; she had a clear record behind her of ten years of
-devotion, honesty, and disinterestedness; it was a magnificent
-investment, and now she proposed to realize. In one day,
-Remonencq's hint of money had hatched the serpent's egg, the
-craving for riches that had lain dormant within her for twenty
-years. Since she had cherished that craving, it had grown in
-force with the ferment of all the evil that lurks in the corners
-of the heart. How she acted upon the counsels whispered by the
-serpent will presently be seen.</p>
-
-<p>"Well?" she asked of Schmucke, "has this cherub of ours had
-plenty to drink? Is he better?"</p>
-
-<p>"He is not doing fery vell, tear Montame Zipod, not fery
-vell," said poor Schmucke, brushing away the tears from his
-eyes.</p>
-
-<p>"Pooh! you make too much of it, my dear M. Schmucke; we must
-take things as we find them; Cibot might be at death's door, and
-I should not take it to heart as you do. Come! the cherub has a
-good constitution. And he has been steady, it seems, you see; you
-have no idea what an age sober people live. He is very ill, it is
-true, but with all the care I take of him, I shall bring him
-round. Be easy, look after your affairs, I will keep him company
-and see that he drinks his pints of barley water."</p>
-
-<p>"Gif you vere not here, I should die of anxiety—" said
-Schmucke, squeezing his kind housekeeper's hand in both his own
-to express his confidence in her.</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot wiped her eyes as she went back to the invalid's
-room.</p>
-
-<p>"What is the matter, Mme. Cibot?" asked Pons.</p>
-
-<p>"It is M. Schmucke that has upset me; he is crying as if you
-were dead," said she. "If you are not well, you are not so bad
-yet that nobody need cry over you; but it has given me such a
-turn! Oh dear! oh dear! how silly it is of me to get so fond of
-people, and to think more of you than of Cibot! For, after all,
-you aren't nothing to me, you are only my brother by Adam's side;
-and yet, whenever you are in the question, it puts me in such a
-taking, upon my word it does! I would cut off my hand—my left
-hand, of course—to see you coming and going, eating your meals,
-and screwing bargains out of dealers as usual. If I had had a
-child of my own, I think I should have loved it as I love you,
-eh! There, take a drink, dearie; come now, empty the glass. Drink
-it off, monsieur, I tell you! The first thing Dr. Poulain said
-was, 'If M. Pons has no mind to go to Pere Lachaise, he ought to
-drink as many buckets full of water in a day as an Auvergnat will
-sell.' So, come now, drink—"</p>
-
-<p>"But I do drink, Cibot, my good woman; I drink and drink till
-I am deluged—"</p>
-
-<p>"That is right," said the portress, as she took away the empty
-glass.<br>
- "That is the way to get better. Dr. Poulain had another patient
-ill of your complaint; but he had nobody to look after him, his
-children left him to himself, and he died because he didn't drink
-enough—so you must drink, honey, you see—he died and they
-buried him two months ago. And if you were to die, you know, you
-would drag down old M.<br>
- Schmucke with you, sir. He is like a child. Ah! he loves you, he
-does, the dear lamb of a man; no woman never loved a man like
-that! He doesn't care for meat nor drink; he has grown as thin as
-you are in the last fortnight, and you are nothing but skin and
-bones.—It makes me jealous to see it, for I am very fond of you;
-but not to that degree; I haven't lost my appetite, quite the
-other way; always going up and down stairs, till my legs are so
-tired that I drop down of an evening like a lump of lead. Here am
-I neglecting my poor Cibot for you; Mlle. Remonencq cooks his
-victuals for him, and he goes on about it and says that nothing
-is right! At that I tell him that one ought to put up with
-something for the sake of other people, and that you are so ill
-that I cannot leave you. In the first place, you can't afford a
-nurse. And before I would have a nurse here!—I have done for you
-these ten years; they want wine and sugar, and foot-warmers, and
-all sorts of comforts. And they rob their patients unless the
-patients leave them something in their wills. Have a nurse in
-here to-day, and to-morrow we should find a picture or something
-or other gone—"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! Mme. Cibot!" cried Pons, quite beside himself, "do not
-leave me!<br>
- No one must touch anything—"</p>
-
-<p>"I am here," said La Cibot; "so long as I have the strength I
-shall be here.—Be easy. There was Dr. Poulain wanting to get a
-nurse for you; perhaps he has his eye on your treasures. I just
-snubbed him, I did.<br>
- 'The gentleman won't have any one but me,' I told him. 'He is
-used to me, and I am used to him.' So he said no more. A nurse,
-indeed! They are all thieves; I hate that sort of woman, I do.
-Here is a tale that will show you how sly they are. There was
-once an old gentleman—it was Dr. Poulain himself, mind you, who
-told me this—well, a Mme.<br>
- Sabatier, a woman of thirty-six that used to sell slippers at
-the Palais Royal—you remember the Galerie at the Palais that
-they pulled down?"</p>
-
-<p>Pons nodded.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, at that time she had not done very well; her husband
-used to drink, and died of spontaneous imbustion; but she had
-been a fine woman in her time, truth to tell, not that it did her
-any good, though she had friends among the lawyers. So, being
-hard up, she became a monthly nurse, and lived in the Rue
-Barre-du-Bec. Well, she went out to nurse an old gentleman that
-had a disease of the lurinary guts (saving your presence); they
-used to tap him like an artesian well, and he needed such care
-that she used to sleep on a truckle-bed in the same room with
-him. You would hardly believe such a thing!—'Men respect
-nothing,' you'll tell me, 'so selfish as they are.' Well, she
-used to talk with him, you understand; she never left him, she
-amused him, she told him stories, she drew him on to talk (just
-as we are chatting away together now, you and I, eh?), and she
-found out that his nephews—the old gentleman had nephews—that
-his nephews were wretches; they had worried him, and final end of
-it, they had brought on this illness. Well, my dear sir, she
-saved his life, he married her, and they have a fine child; Ma'am
-Bordevin, the butcher's wife in the Rue Charlot, a relative of
-hers, stood godmother. There is luck for you!</p>
-
-<p>"As for me, I am married; and if I have no children, I don't
-mind saying that it is Cibot's fault; he is too fond of me, but
-if I cared —never mind. What would have become of me and my
-Cibot if we had had a family, when we have not a penny to bless
-ourselves with after thirty years' of faithful service? I have
-not a farthing belonging to nobody else, that is what comforts
-me. I have never wronged nobody.— Look here, suppose now (there
-is no harm in supposing when you will be out and about again in
-six weeks' time, and sauntering along the boulevard); well,
-suppose that you had put me down in your will; very good, I
-shouldn't never rest till I had found your heirs and given the
-money back. Such is my horror of anything that is not earned by
-the sweat of my brow.</p>
-
-<p>"You will say to me, 'Why, Mme. Cibot, why should you worry
-yourself like that? You have fairly earned the money; you looked
-after your two gentlemen as if they had been your children; you
-saved them a thousand francs a year—' (for there are plenty,
-sir, you know, that would have had their ten thousand francs put
-out to interest by now if they had been in my place)—'so if the
-worthy gentleman leaves you a trifle of an annuity, it is only
-right.'—Suppose they told me that. Well, now; I am not thinking
-of myself.—I cannot think how some women can do a kindness
-thinking of themselves all the time. It is not doing good, sir,
-is it? I do not go to church myself, I haven't the time; but my
-conscience tells me what is right. . . . Don't you fidget like
-that, my lamb!—Don't scratch yourself! . . . Dear me, how yellow
-you grow!<br>
- So yellow you are—quite brown. How funny it is that one can
-come to look like a lemon in three weeks! . . . Honesty is all
-that poor folk have, and one must surely have something! Suppose
-that you were just at death's door, I should be the first to tell
-you that you ought to leave all that you have to M. Schmucke. It
-is your duty, for he is all the family you have. He loves you, he
-does, as a dog loves his master."</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! yes," said Pons; "nobody else has ever loved me all my
-life long—"</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! that is not kind of you, sir," said Mme. Cibot; "then I
-do not love you, I suppose?"</p>
-
-<p>"I do not say so, my dear Mme. Cibot."</p>
-
-<p>"Good. You take me for a servant, do you, a common servant, as
-if I hadn't no heart! Goodness me! for eleven years you do for
-two old bachelors, you think of nothing but their comfort. I have
-turned half a score of greengrocers' shops upside down for you, I
-have talked people round to get you good Brie cheese; I have gone
-down as far as the market for fresh butter for you; I have taken
-such care of things that nothing of yours hasn't been chipped nor
-broken in all these ten years; I have just treated you like my
-own children; and then to hear a 'My dear Mme. Cibot,' that shows
-that there is not a bit of feeling for you in the heart of an old
-gentleman that you have cared for like a king's son! for the
-little King of Rome was not so well looked after. He died in his
-prime; there is proof for you. . . . Come, sir, you are unjust!
-You are ungrateful! It is because I am only a poor portress.
-Goodness me! are <i>you</i> one of those that think we are
-dogs?—"</p>
-
-<p>"But, my dear Mme. Cibot—"</p>
-
-<p>"Indeed, you that know so much, tell me why we porters are
-treated like this, and are supposed to have no feelings; people
-look down on us in these days when they talk of Equality!—As for
-me, am I not as good as another woman, I that was one of the
-finest women in Paris, and was called <i>La belle Ecaillere</i>,
-and received declarations seven or eight times a day? And even
-now if I liked—Look here, sir, you know that little scrubby
-marine store-dealer downstairs? Very well, he would marry me any
-day, if I were a widow that is, with his eyes shut; he has had
-them looking wide open in my direction so often; he is always
-saying, 'Oh! what fine arms you have, Ma'am Cibot!—I dreamed
-last night that it was bread and I was butter, and I was spread
-on the top.' Look, sir, there is an arm!"</p>
-
-<p>She rolled up her sleeve and displayed the shapeliest arm
-imaginable, as white and fresh as her hand was red and rough; a
-plump, round, dimpled arm, drawn from its merino sheath like a
-blade from the scabbard to dazzle Pons, who looked away.</p>
-
-<p>"For every oyster the knife opened, the arm has opened a
-heart! Well, it belongs to Cibot, and I did wrong when I
-neglected him, poor dear, HE would throw himself over a precipice
-at a word from me; while you, sir, that call me 'My dear Mme.
-Cibot' when I do impossible things for you—"</p>
-
-<p>"Do just listen to me," broke in the patient; "I cannot call
-you my mother, nor my wife—"</p>
-
-<p>"No, never in all my born days will I take again to
-anybody—"</p>
-
-<p>"Do let me speak!" continued Pons. "Let me see; I put M.
-Schmucke first—"</p>
-
-<p>"M. Schmucke! there is a heart for you," cried La Cibot. "Ah!
-he loves me, but then he is poor. It is money that deadens the
-heart; and you are rich! Oh, well, take a nurse, you will see
-what a life she will lead you; she will torment you, you will be
-like a cockchafer on a string. The doctor will say that you must
-have plenty to drink, and she will do nothing but feed you. She
-will bring you to your grave and rob you. You do not deserve to
-have a Mme. Cibot!—there! When Dr.<br>
- Poulain comes, ask him for a nurse."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh fiddlestickend!" the patient cried angrily. "<i>Will</i>
-you listen to me? When I spoke of my friend Schmucke, I was not
-thinking of women. I know quite well that no one cares for me so
-sincerely as you do, you and Schmucke—"</p>
-
-<p>"Have the goodness not to irritate yourself in this way!"
-exclaimed La Cibot, plunging down upon Pons and covering him by
-force with the bedclothes.</p>
-
-<p>"How should I not love you?" said poor Pons.</p>
-
-<p>"You love me, really? . . . There, there, forgive me, sir!"
-she said, crying and wiping her eyes. "Ah, yes, of course, you
-love me, as you love a servant, that is the way!—a servant to
-whom you throw an annuity of six hundred francs like a crust you
-fling into a dog's kennel—"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! Mme. Cibot," cried Pons, "for what do you take me? You do
-not know me."</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! you will care even more than that for me," she said,
-meeting Pons' eyes. "You will love your kind old Cibot like a
-mother, will you not? A mother, that is it! I am your mother; you
-are both of you my children. . . . Ah, if I only knew them that
-caused you this sorrow, I would do that which would bring me into
-the police-courts, and even to prison; I would tear their eyes
-out! Such people deserve to die at the Barriere Saint-Jacques,
-and that is too good for such scoundrels.<br>
- . . . So kind, so good as you are (for you have a heart of
-gold), you were sent into the world to make some woman happy! . .
-.<br>
- Yes, you would have her happy, as anybody can see; you were cut
-out for that. In the very beginning, when I saw how you were with
-M.<br>
- Schmucke, I said to myself, 'M. Pons has missed the life he was
-meant for; he was made to be a good husband.' Come, now, you like
-women."</p>
-
-<p>"Ah, yes," said Pons, "and no woman has been mine."</p>
-
-<p>"Really?" exclaimed La Cibot, with a provocative air as she
-came nearer and took Pons' hand in hers. "Do you not know what it
-is to love a woman that will do anything for her lover? Is it
-possible? If I were in your place, I should not wish to leave
-this world for another until I had known the greatest happiness
-on earth! . . . Poor dear! If I was now what I was once, I would
-leave Cibot for you! upon my word, I would! Why, with a nose
-shaped like that—for you have a fine nose— how did you manage
-it, poor cherub? . . . You will tell me that 'not every woman
-knows a man when she sees him'; and a pity it is that they marry
-so at random as they do, it makes you sorry to see it.—Now, for
-my own part, I should have thought that you had had mistresses by
-the dozen—dancers, actresses, and duchesses, for you went out so
-much.<br>
- . . . When you went out, I used to say to Cibot, 'Look! there is
-M.<br>
- Pons going a-gallivanting,' on my word, I did, I was so sure
-that women ran after you. Heaven made you for love. . . . Why, my
-dear sir, I found that out the first day that you dined at home,
-and you were so touched with M. Schmucke's pleasure. And next day
-M. Schmucke kept saying to me, 'Montame Zipod, he haf tined
-hier,' with the tears in his eyes, till I cried along with him
-like a fool, as I am. And how sad he looked when you took to
-gadding abroad again and dining out!<br>
- Poor man, you never saw any one so disconsolate! Ah! you are
-quite right to leave everything to him. Dear worthy man, why he
-is as good as a family to you, he is! Do not forget him; for if
-you do, God will not receive you into his Paradise, for those
-that have been ungrateful to their friends and left them no
-<i>rentes</i> will not go to heaven."</p>
-
-<p><br>
- In vain Pons tried to put in a word; La Cibot talked as the wind
-blows. Means of arresting steam-engines have been invented, but
-it would tax a mechanician's genius to discover any plan for
-stopping a portress' tongue.</p>
-
-<p>"I know what you mean," continued she. "But it does not kill
-you, my dear gentleman, to make a will when you are out of
-health; and in your place I might not leave that poor dear alone,
-for fear that something might happen; he is like God Almighty's
-lamb, he knows nothing about nothing, and I should not like him
-to be at the mercy of those sharks of lawyers and a wretched pack
-of relations. Let us see now, has one of them come here to see
-you in twenty years? And would you leave your property to
-<i>them</i>? Do you know, they say that all these things here are
-worth something."</p>
-
-<p>"Why, yes," said Pons.</p>
-
-<p>"Remonencq, who deals in pictures, and knows that you are an
-amateur, says that he would be quite ready to pay you an annuity
-of thirty thousand francs so long as you live, to have the
-pictures afterwards.<br>
- . . . There is a change! If I were you, I should take it. Why, I
-thought he said it for a joke when he told me that. You ought to
-let M. Schmucke know the value of all those things, for he is a
-man that could be cheated like a child. He has not the slightest
-idea of the value of these fine things that you have! He so
-little suspects it, that he would give them away for a morsel of
-bread if he did not keep them all his life for love of you,
-always supposing that he lives after you, for he will die of your
-death. But <i>I</i> am here; I will take his part against anybody
-and everybody! . . . I and Cibot will defend him."</p>
-
-<p>"Dear Mme. Cibot!" said Pons, "what would have become of me if
-it had not been for you and Schmucke?" He felt touched by this
-horrible prattle; the feeling in it seemed to be ingenuous, as it
-usually is in the speech of the people.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! we really are your only friends on earth, that is very
-true, that is. But two good hearts are worth all the families in
-the world.— Don't talk of families to me! A family, as the old
-actor said of the tongue, is the best and the worst of all
-things. . . . Where are those relations of yours now? Have you
-any? I have never seen them—"</p>
-
-<p>"They have brought me to lie here," said Pons, with intense
-bitterness.</p>
-
-<p>"So you have relations! . . . " cried La Cibot, springing up
-as if her easy-chair had been heated red-hot. "Oh, well, they are
-a nice lot, are your relations! What! these three weeks—for this
-is the twentieth day, to-day, that you have been ill and like to
-die—in these three weeks they have not come once to ask for news
-of you? That's a trifle too strong, that is! . . . Why, in your
-place, I would leave all I had to the Foundling Hospital sooner
-than give them one farthing!"</p>
-
-<p>"Well, my dear Mme. Cibot, I meant to leave all that I had to
-a cousin once removed, the daughter of my first cousin, President
-Camusot, you know, who came here one morning nearly two months
-ago."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! a little stout man who sent his servants to beg your
-pardon—for his wife's blunder?—The housemaid came asking me
-questions about you, an affected old creature she is, my fingers
-itched to give her velvet tippet a dusting with my broom handle!
-A servant wearing a velvet tippet! did anybody ever see the like?
-No, upon my word, the world is turned upside down; what is the
-use of making a Revolution? Dine twice a day if you can afford
-it, you scamps of rich folk! But laws are no good, I tell you,
-and nothing will be safe if Louis-Philippe does not keep people
-in their places; for, after all, if we are all equal, eh, sir? a
-housemaid didn't ought to have a velvet tippet, while I, Mme.<br>
- Cibot, haven't one, after thirty years of honest work.—There is
-a pretty thing for you! People ought to be able to tell who you
-are. A housemaid is a housemaid, just as I myself am a portress.
-Why do they have silk epaulettes in the army? Let everybody keep
-their place. Look here, do you want me to tell you what all this
-comes to? Very well, France is going to the dogs. . . . If the
-Emperor had been here, things would have been very different,
-wouldn't they, sir? . . . So I said to Cibot, I said, 'See here,
-Cibot, a house where the servants wear velvet tippets belongs to
-people that have no heart in them—' "</p>
-
-<p>"No heart in them, that is just it," repeated Pons. And with
-that he began to tell Mme. Cibot about his troubles and
-mortifications, she pouring out abuse of the relations the while
-and showing exceeding tenderness on every fresh sentence in the
-sad history. She fairly wept at last.</p>
-
-<p>To understand the sudden intimacy between the old musician and
-Mme.<br>
- Cibot, you have only to imagine the position of an old bachelor
-lying on his bed of pain, seriously ill for the first time in his
-life. Pons felt that he was alone in the world; the days that he
-spent by himself were all the longer because he was struggling
-with the indefinable nausea of a liver complaint which blackens
-the brightest life. Cut off from all his many interests, the
-sufferer falls a victim to a kind of nostalgia; he regrets the
-many sights to be seen for nothing in Paris.<br>
- The isolation, the darkened days, the suffering that affects the
-mind and spirits even more than the body, the emptiness of the
-life,—all these things tend to induce him to cling to the human
-being who waits on him as a drowned man clings to a plank; and
-this especially if the bachelor patient's character is as weak as
-his nature is sensitive and incredulous.</p>
-
-<p>Pons was charmed to hear La Cibot's tittle-tattle. Schmucke,
-Mme.<br>
- Cibot, and Dr. Poulain meant all humanity to him now, when his
-sickroom became the universe. If invalid's thoughts, as a rule,
-never travel beyond in the little space over which his eyes can
-wander; if their selfishness, in its narrow sphere, subordinates
-all creatures and all things to itself, you can imagine the
-lengths to which an old bachelor may go. Before three weeks were
-out he had even gone so far as to regret, once and again, that he
-had not married Madeleine Vivet!<br>
- Mme. Cibot, too, had made immense progress in his esteem in
-those three weeks; without her he felt that he should have been
-utterly lost; for as for Schmucke, the poor invalid looked upon
-him as a second Pons. La Cibot's prodigious art consisted in
-expressing Pons' own ideas, and this she did quite
-unconsciously.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! here comes the doctor!" she exclaimed, as the bell rang,
-and away she went, knowing very well that Remonencq had come with
-the Jew.</p>
-
-<p>"Make no noise, gentlemen," said she, "he must not know
-anything. He is all on the fidget when his precious treasures are
-concerned."</p>
-
-<p>"A walk round will be enough," said the Hebrew, armed with a
-magnifying-glass and a lorgnette.</p>
-
-<p>The greater part of Pons' collection was installed in a great
-old- fashioned salon such as French architects used to build for
-the old <i>noblesse</i>; a room twenty-five feet broad, some
-thirty feet in length, and thirteen in height. Pons' pictures to
-the number of sixty-seven hung upon the white-and-gold paneled
-walls; time, however, had reddened the gold and softened the
-white to an ivory tint, so that the whole was toned down, and the
-general effect subordinated to the effect of the pictures.
-Fourteen statues stood on pedestals set in the corners of the
-room, or among the pictures, or on brackets inlaid by Boule;
-sideboards of carved ebony, royally rich, surrounded the walls to
-elbow height, all the shelves filled with curiosities; in the
-middle of the room stood a row of carved credence-tables, covered
-with rare miracles of handicraft—with ivories and bronzes,
-wood-carvings and enamels, jewelry and porcelain.</p>
-
-<p>As soon as Elie Magus entered the sanctuary, he went straight
-to the four masterpieces; he saw at a glance that these were the
-gems of Pons' collection, and masters lacking in his own. For
-Elie Magus these were the naturalist's <i>desiderata</i> for
-which men undertake long voyages from east to west, through
-deserts and tropical countries, across southern savannahs,
-through virgin forests.</p>
-
-<p>The first was a painting by Sebastian del Piombo, the second a
-Fra Bartolommeo della Porta, the third a Hobbema landscape, and
-the fourth and last a Durer—a portrait of a woman. Four diamonds
-indeed! In the history of art, Sebastian del Piombo is like a
-shining point in which three schools meet, each bringing its
-pre-eminent qualities. A Venetian painter, he came to Rome to
-learn the manner of Raphael under the direction of Michael
-Angelo, who would fain oppose Raphael on his own ground by
-pitting one of his own lieutenants against the reigning king of
-art. And so it came to pass that in Del Piombo's indolent genius
-Venetian color was blended with Florentine composition and a
-something of Raphael's manner in the few pictures which he
-deigned to paint, and the sketches were made for him, it is said,
-by Michael Angelo himself.</p>
-
-<p>If you would see the perfection to which the painter attained
-(armed as he was with triple power), go to the Louvre and look at
-the Baccio Bandinelli portrait; you might place it beside
-Titian's <i>Man with a Glove</i>, or by that other <i>Portrait of
-an Old Man</i> in which Raphael's consummate skill blends with
-Correggio's art; or, again, compare it with Leonardo da Vinci's
-<i>Charles VIII.</i>, and the picture would scarcely lose. The
-four pearls are equal; there is the same lustre and sheen, the
-same rounded completeness, the same brilliancy. Art can go no
-further than this. Art has risen above Nature, since Nature only
-gives her creatures a few brief years of life.</p>
-
-<p>Pons possessed one example of this immortal great genius and
-incurably indolent painter; it was a <i>Knight of Malta</i>, a
-Templar kneeling in prayer. The picture was painted on slate, and
-in its unfaded color and its finish was immeasurably finer than
-the <i>Baccio Bandinelli</i>.</p>
-
-<p>Fra Bartolommeo was represented by a <i>Holy Family</i>, which
-many connoisseurs might have taken for a Raphael. The Hobbema
-would have fetched sixty thousand francs at a public sale; and as
-for the Durer, it was equal to the famous <i>Holzschuer</i>
-portrait at Nuremberg for which the kings of Bavaria, Holland,
-and Prussia have vainly offered two hundred thousand francs again
-and again. Was it the portrait of the wife or the daughter of
-Holzschuer, Albrecht Durer's personal friend?—The hypothesis
-seems to be a certainty, for the attitude of the figure in Pons'
-picture suggests that it is meant for a pendant, the position of
-the coat-of-arms is the same as in the Nuremberg portrait; and,
-finally, the <i>oetatis suoe XLI.</i> accords perfectly with the
-age inscribed on the picture religiously kept by the Holzschuers
-of Nuremberg, and but recently engraved.</p>
-
-<p>The tears stood in Elie Magus' eyes as he looked from one
-masterpiece to another. He turned round to La Cibot, "I will give
-you a commission of two thousand francs on each of the pictures
-if you can arrange that I shall have them for forty thousand
-francs," he said. La Cibot was amazed at this good fortune
-dropped from the sky. Admiration, or, to be more accurate,
-delirious joy, had wrought such havoc in the Jew's brain, that it
-had actually unsettled his habitual greed, and he fell headlong
-into enthusiasm, as you see.</p>
-
-<p>"And I?——" put in Remonencq, who knew nothing about
-pictures.</p>
-
-<p>"Everything here is equally good," the Jew said cunningly,
-lowering his voice for Remonencq's ears; "take ten pictures just
-as they come and on the same conditions. Your fortune will be
-made."</p>
-
-<p>Again the three thieves looked each other in the face, each
-one of them overcome with the keenest of all joys—sated greed.
-All of a sudden the sick man's voice rang through the room; the
-tones vibrated like the strokes of a bell:</p>
-
-<p>"Who is there?" called Pons.</p>
-
-<p>"Monsieur! just go back to bed!" exclaimed La Cibot, springing
-upon Pons and dragging him by main force. "What next! Have you a
-mind to kill yourself?—Very well, then, it is not Dr. Poulain,
-it is Remonencq, good soul, so anxious that he has come to ask
-after you!— Everybody is so fond of you that the whole house is
-in a flutter. So what is there to fear?"</p>
-
-<p>"It seems to me that there are several of you," said Pons.</p>
-
-<p>"Several? that is good! What next! Are you dreaming!—You will
-go off your head before you have done, upon my word!—Here,
-look!"—and La Cibot flung open the door, signed to Magus to go,
-and beckoned to Remonencq.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, my dear sir," said the Auvergnat, now supplied with
-something to say, "I just came to ask after you, for the whole
-house is alarmed about you.—Nobody likes Death to set foot in a
-house!—And lastly, Daddy Monistrol, whom you know very well,
-told me to tell you that if you wanted money he was at your
-service——"</p>
-
-<p>"He sent you here to take a look round at my knick-knacks!"
-returned the old collector from his bed; and the sour tones of
-his voice were full of suspicion.</p>
-
-<p>A sufferer from liver complaint nearly always takes momentary
-and special dislikes to some person or thing, and concentrates
-all his ill-humor upon the object. Pons imagined that some one
-had designs upon his precious collection; the thought of guarding
-it became a fixed idea with him; Schmucke was continually sent to
-see if any one had stolen into the sanctuary.</p>
-
-<p>"Your collection is fine enough to attract the attention of
-<i>chineurs</i>," Remonencq answered astutely. "I am not much in
-the art line myself; but you are supposed to be such a great
-connoisseur, sir, that with my eyes shut—supposing, for
-instance, that you should need money some time or other, for
-nothing costs so much as these confounded illnesses; there was my
-sister now, when she would have got better again just as well
-without. Doctors are rascals that take advantage of your
-condition to—"</p>
-
-<p>"Thank you, good-day, good-day," broke in Pons, eying the
-marine store-dealer uneasily.</p>
-
-<p>"I will go to the door with him, for fear he should touch
-something,"<br>
- La Cibot whispered to her patient.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, yes," answered the invalid, thanking her by a
-glance.</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot shut the bedroom door behind her, and Pons'
-suspicions awoke again at once.</p>
-
-<p>She found Magus standing motionless before the four pictures.
-His immobility, his admiration, can only be understood by other
-souls open to ideal beauty, to the ineffable joy of beholding art
-made perfect; such as these can stand for whole hours before the
-<i>Antiope</i>— Correggio's masterpiece—before Leonardo's
-<i>Gioconda</i>, Titian's <i>Mistress</i>, Andrea del Sarto's
-<i>Holy Family</i>, Domenichino's <i>Children Among the
-Flowers</i>, Raphael's little cameo, or his <i>Portrait of an Old
-Man</i>—Art's greatest masterpieces.</p>
-
-<p>"Be quick and go, and make no noise," said La Cibot.</p>
-
-<p>The Jew walked slowly backwards, giving the pictures such a
-farewell gaze as a lover gives his love. Outside on the landing,
-La Cibot tapped his bony arm. His rapt contemplations had put an
-idea into her head.</p>
-
-<p>"Make it <i>four</i> thousand francs for each picture," said
-she, "or I do nothing."</p>
-
-<p>"I am so poor! . . ." began Magus. "I want the pictures simply
-for their own sake, simply and solely for the love of art, my
-dear lady."</p>
-
-<p>"I can understand that love, sonny, you are so dried up. But
-if you do not promise me sixteen thousand francs now, before
-Remonencq here, I shall want twenty to-morrow."</p>
-
-<p>"Sixteen; I promise," returned the Jew, frightened by the
-woman's rapacity.</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot turned to Remonencq.</p>
-
-<p>"What oath can a Jew swear?" she inquired.</p>
-
-<p>"You may trust him," replied the marine store-dealer. "He is
-as honest as I am."</p>
-
-<p>"Very well; and you?" asked she, "if I get him to sell them to
-you, what will you give me?"</p>
-
-<p>"Half-share of profits," Remonencq answered briskly.</p>
-
-<p>"I would rather have a lump sum," returned La Cibot; "I am not
-in business myself."</p>
-
-<p>"You understand business uncommonly well!" put in Elie Magus,
-smiling; "a famous saleswoman you would make!"</p>
-
-<p>"I want her to take me into partnership, me and my goods,"
-said the Auvergnat, as he took La Cibot's plump arm and gave it
-playful taps like hammer-strokes. "I don't ask her to bring
-anything into the firm but her good looks! You are making a
-mistake when your stick to your Turk of a Cibot and his needle.
-Is a little bit of a porter the man to make a woman rich—a fine
-woman like you? Ah, what a figure you would make in a shop on the
-boulevard, all among the curiosities, gossiping with amateurs and
-twisting them round your fingers! Just you leave your lodge as
-soon as you have lined your purse here, and you shall see what
-will become of us both."</p>
-
-<p>"Lined my purse!" cried Cibot. "I am incapable of taking the
-worth of a single pin; you mind that, Remonencq! I am known in
-the neighborhood for an honest woman, I am."</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot's eyes flashed fire.</p>
-
-<p>"There, never mind," said Elie Magus; "this Auvergnat seems to
-be too fond of you to mean to insult you."</p>
-
-<p>"How she would draw on the customers!" cried the
-Auvergnat.</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Cibot softened at this.</p>
-
-<p>"Be fair, sonnies," quoth she, "and judge for yourselves how I
-am placed. These ten years past I have been wearing my life out
-for these two old bachelors yonder, and neither or them has given
-me anything but words. Remonencq will tell you that I feed them
-by contract, and lose twenty or thirty sous a day; all my savings
-have gone that way, by the soul of my mother (the only author of
-my days that I ever knew), this is as true as that I live, and
-that this is the light of day, and may my coffee poison me if I
-lie about a farthing. Well, there is one up there that will die
-soon, eh? and he the richer of the two that I have treated like
-my own children. Would you believe it, my dear sir, I have told
-him over and over again for days past that he is at death's door
-(for Dr. Poulain has given him up), he could not say less about
-putting my name down in his will. We shall only get our due by
-taking it, upon my word, as an honest woman, for as for trusting
-to the next-of-kin!—No fear! There! look you here, words don't
-stink; it is a bad world!"</p>
-
-<p><br>
- "That is true," Elie Magus answered cunningly, "that is true;
-and it is just the like of us that are among the best," he added,
-looking at Remonencq.</p>
-
-<p>"Just let me be," returned La Cibot; "I am not speaking of
-you.<br>
- 'Pressing company is always accepted,' as the old actor said. I
-swear to you that the two gentlemen already owe me nearly three
-thousand francs; the little I have is gone by now in medicine and
-things on their account; and now suppose they refuse to recognize
-my advances? I am so stupidly honest that I did not dare to say
-nothing to them about it. Now, you that are in business, my dear
-sir, do you advise me to got to a lawyer?"</p>
-
-<p>"A lawyer?" cried Remonencq; "you know more about it than all
-the lawyers put together—"</p>
-
-<p>Just at that moment a sound echoed in the great staircase, a
-sound as if some heavy body had fallen in the dining-room.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, goodness me!" exclaimed La Cibot; "it seems to me that
-monsieur has just taken a ticket for the ground floor."</p>
-
-<p>She pushed her fellow-conspirators out at the door, and while
-the pair descended the stairs with remarkable agility, she ran to
-the dining- room, and there beheld Pons, in his shirt, stretched
-out upon the tiles. He had fainted. She lifted him as if he had
-been a feather, carried him back to his room, laid him in bed,
-burned feathers under his nose, bathed his temples with
-eau-de-cologne, and at last brought him to consciousness. When
-she saw his eyes unclose and life return, she stood over him,
-hands on hips.</p>
-
-<p>"No slippers! In your shirt! That is the way to kill yourself!
-Why do you suspect me?—If this is to be the way of it, I wish
-you good-day, sir. Here have I served you these ten years, I have
-spent money on you till my savings are all gone, to spare trouble
-to that poor M.<br>
- Schmucke, crying like a child on the stairs—and <i>this</i> is
-my reward!<br>
- You have been spying on me. God has punished you! It serves you
-right!<br>
- Here I am straining myself to carry you, running the risk of
-doing myself a mischief that I shall feel all my days. Oh dear,
-oh dear! and the door left open too—"</p>
-
-<p>"You were talking with some one. Who was it?"</p>
-
-<p>"Here are notions!" cried La Cibot. "What next! Am I your
-bond-slave?<br>
- Am I to give account of myself to you? Do you know that if you
-bother me like this, I shall clear out! You shall take a
-nurse."</p>
-
-<p>Frightened by this threat, Pons unwittingly allowed La Cibot
-to see the extent of the power of her sword of Damocles.</p>
-
-<p>"It is my illness!" he pleaded piteously.</p>
-
-<p>"It is as you please," La Cibot answered roughly.</p>
-
-<p>She went. Pons, confused, remorseful, admiring his nurse's
-scalding devotion, reproached himself for his behavior. The fall
-on the paved floor of the dining-room had shaken and bruised him,
-and aggravated his illness, but Pons was scarcely conscious of
-his physical sufferings.</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot met Schmucke on the staircase.</p>
-
-<p>"Come here, sir," she said. "There is bad news, that there is!
-M. Pons is going off his head! Just think of it! he got up with
-nothing on, he came after me—and down he came full-length. Ask
-him why—he knows nothing about it. He is in a bad way. I did
-nothing to provoke such violence, unless, perhaps, I waked up
-ideas by talking to him of his early amours. Who knows men? Old
-libertines that they are. I ought not to have shown him my arms
-when his eyes were glittering like <i>carbuckles</i>."</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke listened. Mme. Cibot might have been talking Hebrew
-for anything that he understood.</p>
-
-<p>"I have given myself a wrench that I shall feel all my days,"
-added she, making as though she were in great pain. (Her arms
-did, as a matter of fact, ache a little, and the muscular fatigue
-suggested an idea, which she proceeded to turn to profit.) "So
-stupid I am. When I saw him lying there on the floor, I just took
-him up in my arms as if he had been a child, and carried him back
-to bed, I did. And I strained myself, I can feel it now. Ah! how
-it hurts!—I am going downstairs. Look after our patient. I will
-send Cibot for Dr. Poulain.<br>
- I had rather die outright than be crippled."</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot crawled downstairs, clinging to the banisters, and
-writhing and groaning so piteously that the tenants, in alarm,
-came out upon their landings. Schmucke supported the suffering
-creature, and told the story of La Cibot's devotion, the tears
-running down his cheeks as he spoke. Before very long the whole
-house, the whole neighborhood indeed, had heard of Mme. Cibot's
-heroism; she had given herself a dangerous strain, it was said,
-with lifting one of the "nutcrackers."</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke meanwhile went to Pons' bedside with the tale. Their
-factotum was in a frightful state. "What shall we do without
-her?" they said, as they looked at each other; but Pons was so
-plainly the worse for his escapade, that Schmucke did not dare to
-scold him.</p>
-
-<p>"Gonfounded pric-a-prac! I would sooner purn dem dan loose
-mein friend!" he cried, when Pons told him of the cause of the
-accident.<br>
- "To suspect Montame Zipod, dot lend us her safings! It is not
-goot; but it is der illness—"</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! what an illness! I am not the same man, I can feel it,"
-said Pons. "My dear Schmucke, if only you did not suffer through
-me!"</p>
-
-<p>"Scold me," Schmucke answered, "und leaf Montame Zipod in
-beace."</p>
-
-<p>As for Mme. Cibot, she soon recovered in Dr. Poulain's hands;
-and her restoration, bordering on the miraculous, shed additional
-lustre on her name and fame in the Marais. Pons attributed the
-success to the excellent constitution of the patient, who resumed
-her ministrations seven days later to the great satisfaction of
-her two gentlemen. Her influence in their household and her
-tyranny was increased a hundred- fold by the accident. In the
-course of a week, the two nutcrackers ran into debt; Mme. Cibot
-paid the outstanding amounts, and took the opportunity to obtain
-from Schmucke (how easily!) a receipt for two thousand francs,
-which she had lent, she said, to the friends.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, what a doctor M. Poulain is!" cried La Cibot, for Pons'
-benefit.<br>
- "He will bring you through, my dear sir, for he pulled me out of
-my coffin! Cibot, poor man, thought I was dead. . . . Well, Dr.
-Poulain will have told you that while I was in bed I thought of
-nothing but you. 'God above,' said I, 'take me, and let my dear
-Mr. Pons live—' "</p>
-
-<p>"Poor dear Mme. Cibot, you all but crippled yourself for
-me."</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! but for Dr. Poulain I should have been put to bed with a
-shovel by now, as we shall all be one day. Well, what must be,
-must, as the old actor said. One must take things
-philosophically. How did you get on without me?"</p>
-
-<p>"Schmucke nursed me," said the invalid; "but our poor
-money-box and our lessons have suffered. I do not know how he
-managed."</p>
-
-<p>"Calm yourself, Bons," exclaimed Schmucke; "ve haf in Zipod
-ein panker—"</p>
-
-<p>"Do not speak of it, my lamb. You are our children, both of
-you,"<br>
- cried La Cibot. "Our savings will be well invested; you are
-safer than the Bank. So long as we have a morsel of bread, half
-of it is yours.<br>
- It is not worth mentioning—"</p>
-
-<p>"Boor Montame Zipod!" said Schmucke, and he went.</p>
-
-<p>Pons said nothing.</p>
-
-<p>"Would you believe it, my cherub?" said La Cibot, as the sick
-man tossed uneasily, "in my agony—for it was a near squeak for
-me—the thing that worried me most was the thought that I must
-leave you alone, with no one to look after you, and my poor Cibot
-without a farthing. . . . My savings are such a trifle, that I
-only mention them in connection with my death and Cibot, an angel
-that he is! No. He nursed me as if I had been a queen, he did,
-and cried like a calf over me! . . . But I counted on you, upon
-my word. I said to him, 'There, Cibot! my gentlemen will not let
-you starve—' "</p>
-
-<p>Pons made no reply to this thrust <i>ad testamentum</i>; but
-as the portress waited for him to say something—"I shall
-recommend you to M.<br>
- Schmucke," he said at last.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah!" cried La Cibot, "whatever you do will be right; I trust
-in you and your heart. Let us never talk of this again; you make
-me feel ashamed, my cherub. Think of getting better, you will
-outlive us all yet."</p>
-
-<p>Profound uneasiness filled Mme. Cibot's mind. She cast about
-for some way of making the sick man understand that she expected
-a legacy. That evening, when Schmucke was eating his dinner as
-usual by Pons' bedside, she went out, hoping to find Dr. Poulain
-at home.</p>
-
-<p>Dr. Poulain lived in the Rue d'Orleans in a small ground floor
-establishment, consisting of a lobby, a sitting-room, and two
-bedrooms. A closet, opening into the lobby and the bedroom, had
-been turned into a study for the doctor. The kitchen, the
-servant's bedroom, and a small cellar were situated in a wing of
-the house, a huge pile built in the time of the Empire, on the
-site of an old mansion of which the garden still remained, though
-it had been divided among the three ground floor tenants.</p>
-
-<p>Nothing had been changed in the doctor's house since it was
-built.<br>
- Paint and paper and ceilings were all redolent of the Empire.
-The grimy deposits of forty years lay thick on walls and
-ceilings, on paper and paint and mirrors and gilding. And yet,
-this little establishment, in the depths of the Marais, paid a
-rent of a thousand francs.</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Poulain, the doctor's mother, aged sixty-seven, was
-ending her days in the second bedroom. She worked for a
-breeches-maker, stitching men's leggings, breeches, belts, and
-braces, anything, in fact, that is made in a way of business
-which has somewhat fallen off of late years. Her whole time was
-spent in keeping her son's house and superintending the one
-servant; she never went abroad, and took the air in the little
-garden entered through the glass door of the sitting-room. Twenty
-years previously, when her husband died, she sold his business to
-his best workman, who gave his master's widow work enough to earn
-a daily wage of thirty sous. She had made every sacrifice to
-educate her son. At all costs, he should occupy a higher station
-than his father before him; and now she was proud of her
-Aesculapius, she believed in him, and sacrificed everything to
-him as before. She was happy to take care of him, to work and put
-by a little money, and dream of nothing but his welfare, and love
-him with an intelligent love of which every mother is not
-capable. For instance, Mme. Poulain remembered that she had been
-a working girl. She would not injure her son's prospects; he
-should not be ashamed by his mother (for the good woman's grammar
-was something of the same kind as Mme.<br>
- Cibot's); and for this reason she kept in the background, and
-went to her room of her own accord if any distinguished patient
-came to consult the doctor, or if some old schoolfellow or
-fellow-student chanced to call. Dr. Poulain had never had
-occasion to blush for the mother whom he revered; and this
-sublime love of hers more than atoned for a defective
-education.</p>
-
-<p>The breeches-maker's business sold for about twenty thousand
-francs, and the widow invested the money in the Funds in 1820.
-The income of eleven hundred francs per annum derived from this
-source was, at one time, her whole fortune. For many a year the
-neighbors used to see the doctor's linen hanging out to dry upon
-a clothes-line in the garden, and the servant and Mme. Poulain
-thriftily washed everything at home; a piece of domestic economy
-which did not a little to injure the doctor's practice, for it
-was thought that if he was so poor, it must be through his own
-fault. Her eleven hundred francs scarcely did more than pay the
-rent. During those early days, Mme. Poulain, good, stout, little
-old woman, was the breadwinner, and the poor household lived upon
-her earnings. After twelve years of perseverance upon a rough and
-stony road, Dr. Poulain at last was making an income of three
-thousand francs, and Mme. Poulain had an income of about five
-thousand francs at her disposal. Five thousand francs for those
-who know Paris means a bare subsistence.</p>
-
-<p>The sitting-room, where patients waited for an interview, was
-shabbily furnished. There was the inevitable mahogany sofa
-covered with yellow- flowered Utrecht velvet, four easy-chairs, a
-tea-table, a console, and half-a-dozen chairs, all the property
-of the deceased breeches-maker, and chosen by him. A lyre-shaped
-clock between two Egyptian candlesticks still preserved its glass
-shade intact. You asked yourself how the yellow chintz
-window-curtains, covered with red flowers, had contrived to hang
-together for so long; for evidently they had come from the Jouy
-factory, and Oberkampf received the Emperor's congratulations
-upon similar hideous productions of the cotton industry in
-1809.</p>
-
-<p>The doctor's consulting-room was fitted up in the same style,
-with household stuff from the paternal chamber. It looked stiff,
-poverty- stricken, and bare. What patient could put faith in the
-skill of any unknown doctor who could not even furnish his house?
-And this in a time when advertising is all-powerful; when we gild
-the gas-lamps in the Place de la Concorde to console the poor man
-for his poverty by reminding him that he is rich as a
-citizen.</p>
-
-<p>The ante-chamber did duty as a dining-room. The servant sat at
-her sewing there whenever she was not busy in the kitchen or
-keeping the doctor's mother company. From the dingy short
-curtains in the windows you would have guessed at the shabby
-thrift behind them without setting foot in the dreary place. What
-could those wall-cupboards contain but stale scraps of food,
-chipped earthenware, corks used over and over again indefinitely,
-soiled table-linen, odds and ends that could descend but one step
-lower into the dust-heap, and all the squalid necessities of a
-pinched household in Paris?</p>
-
-<p>In these days, when the five-franc piece is always lurking in
-our thoughts and intruding itself into our speech, Dr. Poulain,
-aged thirty-three, was still a bachelor. Heaven had bestowed on
-him a mother with no connections. In ten years he had not met
-with the faintest pretext for a romance in his professional
-career; his practice lay among clerks and small manufacturers,
-people in his own sphere of life, with homes very much like his
-own. His richer patients were butchers, bakers, and the more
-substantial tradespeople of the neighborhood. These, for the most
-part, attributed their recovery to Nature, as an excuse for
-paying for the services of a medical man, who came on foot, at
-the rate of two francs per visit. In his profession, a carriage
-is more necessary than medical skill.</p>
-
-<p>A humdrum monotonous life tells in the end upon the most
-adventurous spirit. A man fashions himself to his lot, he accepts
-a commonplace existence; and Dr. Poulain, after ten years of his
-practice, continued his labors of Sisyphus without the despair
-that made early days so bitter. And yet—like every soul in
-Paris—he cherished a dream.<br>
- Remonencq was happy in his dream; La Cibot had a dream of her
-own; and Dr. Poulain, too, dreamed. Some day he would be called
-in to attend a rich and influential patient, would effect a
-positive cure, and the patient would procure a post for him; he
-would be head surgeon to a hospital, medical officer of a prison
-or police-court, or doctor to the boulevard theatres. He had come
-by his present appointment as doctor to the Mairie in this very
-way. La Cibot had called him in when the landlord of the house in
-the Rue de Normandie fell ill; he had treated the case with
-complete success; M. Pillerault, the patient, took an interest in
-the young doctor, called to thank him, and saw his
-carefully-hidden poverty. Count Popinot, the cabinet minister,
-had married M. Pillerault's grand-niece, and greatly respected
-her uncle; of him, therefore, M. Pillerault had asked for the
-post, which Poulain had now held for two years. That appointment
-and its meagre salary came just in time to prevent a desperate
-step; Poulain was thinking of emigration; and for a Frenchman, it
-is a kind of death to leave France.</p>
-
-<p>Dr. Poulain went, you may be sure, to thank Count Popinot; but
-as Count Popinot's family physician was the celebrated Horace
-Bianchon, it was pretty clear that his chances of gaining a
-footing in that house were something of the slenderest. The poor
-doctor had fondly hoped for the patronage of a powerful cabinet
-minister, one of the twelve or fifteen cards which a cunning hand
-has been shuffling for sixteen years on the green baize of the
-council table, and now he dropped back again into his Marais, his
-old groping life among the poor and the small tradespeople, with
-the privilege of issuing certificates of death for a yearly
-stipend of twelve hundred francs.</p>
-
-<p>Dr. Poulain had distinguished himself to some extent as a
-house- student; he was a prudent practitioner, and not without
-experience.<br>
- His deaths caused no scandal; he had plenty of opportunities of
-studying all kinds of complaints <i>in anima vili</i>. Judge,
-therefore, of the spleen that he nourished! The expression of his
-countenance, lengthy and not too cheerful to begin with, at times
-was positively appalling. Set a Tartuffe's all-devouring eyes,
-and the sour humor of an Alceste in a sallow-parchment visage,
-and try to imagine for yourself the gait, bearing, and expression
-of a man who thought himself as good a doctor as the illustrious
-Bianchon, and felt that he was held down in his narrow lot by an
-iron hand. He could not help comparing his receipts (ten francs a
-day if he was fortunate) with Bianchon's five or six hundred.</p>
-
-<p>Are the hatreds and jealousies of democracy incomprehensible
-after this? Ambitious and continually thwarted, he could not
-reproach himself. He had once already tried his fortune by
-inventing a purgative pill, something like Morrison's, and
-intrusted the business operations to an old hospital chum, a
-house-student who afterwards took a retail drug business; but,
-unluckily, the druggist, smitten with the charms of a
-ballet-dancer of the Ambigu-Comique, found himself at length in
-the bankruptcy court; and as the patent had been taken out in his
-name, his partner was literally without a remedy, and the
-important discovery enriched the purchaser of the business. The
-sometime house-student set sail for Mexico, that land of gold,
-taking poor Poulain's little savings with him; and, to add insult
-to injury, the opera-dancer treated him as an extortioner when he
-applied to her for his money.</p>
-
-<p>Not a single rich patient had come to him since he had the
-luck to cure old M. Pillerault. Poulain made his rounds on foot,
-scouring the Marais like a lean cat, and obtained from two to
-forty sous out of a score of visits. The paying patient was a
-phenomenon about as rare as that anomalous fowl known as a "white
-blackbird" in all sublunary regions.</p>
-
-<p>The briefless barrister, the doctor without a patient, are
-pre- eminently the two types of a decorous despair peculiar to
-this city of Paris; it is mute, dull despair in human form,
-dressed in a black coat and trousers with shining seams that
-recall the zinc on an attic roof, a glistening satin waistcoat, a
-hat preserved like a relic, a pair of old gloves, and a cotton
-shirt. The man is the incarnation of a melancholy poem, sombre as
-the secrets of the Conciergerie. Other kinds of poverty, the
-poverty of the artist—actor, painter, musician, or poet—are
-relieved and lightened by the artist's joviality, the reckless
-gaiety of the Bohemian border country—the first stage of the
-journey to the Thebaid of genius. But these two black-coated
-professions that go afoot through the street are brought
-continually in contact with disease and dishonor; they see
-nothing of human nature but its sores; in the forlorn first
-stages and beginnings of their career they eye competitors
-suspiciously and defiantly; concentrated dislike and ambition
-flashes out in glances like the breaking forth of hidden flames.
-Let two schoolfellows meet after twenty years, the rich man will
-avoid the poor; he does not recognize him, he is afraid even to
-glance into the gulf which Fate has set between him and the
-friend of other years. The one has been borne through life on the
-mettlesome steed called Fortune, or wafted on the golden clouds
-of success; the other has been making his way in underground
-Paris through the sewers, and bears the marks of his career upon
-him. How many a chum of old days turned aside at the sight of the
-doctor's greatcoat and waistcoat!</p>
-
-<p>With this explanation, it should be easy to understand how Dr.
-Poulain came to lend himself so readily to the farce of La
-Cibot's illness and recovery. Greed of every kind, ambition of
-every nature, is not easy to hide. The doctor examined his
-patient, found that every organ was sound and healthy, admired
-the regularity of her pulse and the perfect ease of her
-movements; and as she continued to moan aloud, he saw that for
-some reason she found it convenient to lie at Death's door. The
-speedy cure of a serious imaginary disease was sure to cause a
-sensation in the neighborhood; the doctor would be talked about.
-He made up his mind at once. He talked of rupture, and of taking
-it in time, and thought even worse of the case than La Cibot
-herself. The portress was plied with various remedies, and
-finally underwent a sham operation, crowned with complete
-success. Poulain repaired to the Arsenal Library, looked out a
-grotesque case in some of Desplein's records of extraordinary
-cures, and fitted the details to Mme. Cibot, modestly attributing
-the success of the treatment to the great surgeon, in whose steps
-(he said) he walked. Such is the impudence of beginners in Paris.
-Everything is made to serve as a ladder by which to climb upon
-the scene; and as everything, even the rungs of a ladder, will
-wear out in time, the new members of every profession are at a
-loss to find the right sort of wood of which to make steps for
-themselves.</p>
-
-<p>There are moments when the Parisian is not propitious. He
-grows tired of raising pedestals, pouts like a spoiled child, and
-will have no more idols; or, to state it more accurately, Paris
-cannot always find a proper object for infatuation. Now and then
-the vein of genius gives out, and at such times the Parisian may
-turn supercilious; he is not always willing to bow down and gild
-mediocrity.</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Cibot, entering in her usual unceremonious fashion, found
-the doctor and his mother at table, before a bowl of lamb's
-lettuce, the cheapest of all salad-stuffs. The dessert consisted
-of a thin wedge of Brie cheese flanked by a plate of specked
-foreign apples and a dish of mixed dry fruits, known as
-<i>quatre-mendiants</i>, in which the raisin stalks were
-abundantly conspicuous.</p>
-
-<p>"You can stay, mother," said the doctor, laying a hand on
-Mme.<br>
- Poulain's arm; "this is Mme. Cibot, of whom I have told
-you."</p>
-
-<p>"My respects to you, madame, and my duty to you, sir," said La
-Cibot, taking the chair which the doctor offered. "Ah! is this
-your mother, sir? She is very happy to have a son who has such
-talent; he saved my life, madame, brought me back from the
-depths."</p>
-
-<p>The widow, hearing Mme. Cibot praise her son in this way,
-thought her a delightful woman.</p>
-
-<p>"I have just come to tell you, that, between ourselves, poor
-M. Pons is doing very badly, sir, and I have something to say to
-you about him—"</p>
-
-<p>"Let us go into the sitting-room," interrupted the doctor, and
-with a significant gesture he indicated the servant.</p>
-
-<p>In the sitting-room La Cibot explained her position with
-regard to the pair of nutcrackers at very considerable length.
-She repeated the history of her loan with added embellishments,
-and gave a full account of the immense services rendered during
-the past ten years to MM. Pons and Schmucke. The two old men, to
-all appearance, could not exist without her motherly care. She
-posed as an angel; she told so many lies, one after another,
-watering them with her tears, that old Mme.<br>
- Poulain was quite touched.</p>
-
-<p>"You understand, my dear sir," she concluded, "that I really
-ought to know how far I can depend on M. Pons' intentions,
-supposing that he should not die; not that I want him to die, for
-looking after those two innocents is my life, madame, you see;
-still, when one of them is gone I shall look after the other. For
-my own part, I was built by Nature to rival mothers. Without
-nobody to care for, nobody to take for a child, I don't know what
-I should do. . . . So if M. Poulain only would, he might do me a
-service for which I should be very grateful; and that is, to say
-a word to M. Pons for me. Goodness me!<br>
- an annuity of a thousand francs, is that too much, I ask you? .
-. .<br>
- To. M. Schmucke it would be so much gained.—Our dear patient
-said that he should recommend me to the German, poor man; it is
-his idea, no doubt, that M. Schmucke should be his heir. But what
-is a man that cannot put two ideas together in French? And
-besides, he would be quite capable of going back to Germany, he
-will be in such despair over his friend's death—"</p>
-
-<p>The doctor grew grave. "My dear Mme. Cibot," he said, "this
-sort of thing does not in the least concern a doctor. I should
-not be allowed to exercise my profession if it was known that I
-interfered in the matter of my patients' testamentary
-dispositions. The law forbids a doctor to receive a legacy from a
-patient—"</p>
-
-<p>"A stupid law! What is to hinder me from dividing my legacy
-with you?"<br>
- La Cibot said immediately.</p>
-
-<p>"I will go further," said the doctor; "my professional
-conscience will not permit me to speak to M. Pons of his death.
-In the first place, he is not so dangerously ill that there is
-any need to speak of it, and in the second, such talk coming from
-me might give a shock to the system that would do him real harm,
-and then his illness might terminate fatally—"</p>
-
-<p>"<i>I</i> don't put on gloves to tell him to get his affairs
-in order,"<br>
- cried Mme. Cibot, "and he is none the worse for that. He is used
-to it. There is nothing to fear."</p>
-
-<p>"Not a word more about it, my dear Mme. Cibot! These things
-are not within a doctor's province; it is a notary's
-business—"</p>
-
-<p>"But, my dear M. Poulain, suppose that M. Pons of his own
-accord should ask you how he is, and whether he had better make
-his arrangements; then, would you refuse to tell him that if you
-want to get better it is an excellent plan to set everything in
-order? Then you might just slip in a little word for me—"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, if <i>he</i> talks of making his will, I certainly shall
-not dissuade him," said the doctor.</p>
-
-<p>"Very well, that is settled. I came to thank you for your care
-of me,"<br>
- she added, as she slipped a folded paper containing three gold
-coins into the doctor's hands. "It is all I can do at the moment.
-Ah! my dear M. Poulain, if I were rich, you should be rich, you
-that are the image of Providence on earth.—Madame, you have an
-angel for a son."</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot rose to her feet, Mme. Poulain bowed amiably, and the
-doctor went to the door with the visitor. Just then a sudden,
-lurid gleam of light flashed across the mind of this Lady Macbeth
-of the streets. She saw clearly that the doctor was her
-accomplice—he had taken the fee for the sham illness.</p>
-
-<p>"M. Poulain," she began, "how can you refuse to say a word or
-two to save me from want, when you helped me in the affair of my
-accident?"</p>
-
-<p>The doctor felt that the devil had him by the hair, as the
-saying is; he felt, too, that the hair was being twisted round
-the pitiless red claw. Startled and afraid lest he should sell
-his honesty for such a trifle, he answered the diabolical
-suggestion by another no less diabolical.</p>
-
-<p>"Listen, my dear Mme. Cibot," he said, as he drew her into his
-consulting-room. "I will now pay a debt of gratitude that I owe
-you for my appointment to the mairie—"</p>
-
-<p>"We go shares?" she asked briskly.</p>
-
-<p>"In what?"</p>
-
-<p>"In the legacy."</p>
-
-<p>"You do not know me," said Dr. Poulain, drawing himself up
-like Valerius Publicola. "Let us have no more of that. I have a
-friend, an old schoolfellow of mine, a very intelligent young
-fellow; and we are so much the more intimate, because, our lives
-have fallen out very much in the same way. He was studying law
-while I was a house-student, he was engrossing deeds in Maitre
-Couture's office. His father was a shoemaker, and mine was a
-breeches-maker; he has not found anyone to take much interest in
-his career, nor has he any capital; for, after all, capital is
-only to be had from sympathizers. He could only afford to buy a
-provincial connection—at Mantes—and so little do provincials
-understand the Parisian intellect, that they set all sorts of
-intrigues on foot against him."</p>
-
-<p>"The wretches!" cried La Cibot.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, said the doctor. "They combined against him to such
-purpose, that they forced him to sell his connection by
-misrepresenting something that he had done; the attorney for the
-crown interfered, he belonged to the place, and sided with his
-fellow-townsmen. My friend's name is Fraisier. He is lodged as I
-am, and he is even leaner and more threadbare. He took refuge in
-our arrondissement, and is reduced to appear for clients in the
-police-court or before the magistrate. He lives in the Rue de la
-Perle close by. Go to No. 9, third floor, and you will see his
-name on the door on the landing, painted in gilt letters on a
-small square of red leather. Fraisier makes a special point of
-disputes among the porters, workmen, and poor folk in the
-arrondissement, and his charges are low. He is an honest man; for
-I need not tell you that if he had been a scamp, he would be
-keeping his carriage by now. I will call and see my friend
-Fraisier this evening.<br>
- Go to him early to-morrow; he knows M. Louchard, the bailiff;
-M.<br>
- Tabareau, the clerk of the court; and the justice of the peace,
-M.<br>
- Vitel; and M. Trognon, the notary. He is even now looked upon as
-one of the best men of business in the Quarter. If he takes
-charge of your interests, if you can secure him as M. Pons'
-adviser, you will have a second self in him, you see. But do not
-make dishonorable proposals to him, as you did just now to me; he
-has a head on his shoulders, you will understand each other. And
-as for acknowledging his services, I will be your
-intermediary—"</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Cibot looked askance at the doctor.</p>
-
-<p>"Is that the lawyer who helped Mme. Florimond the haberdasher
-in the Rue Vieille-du-Temple out of a fix in that matter of her
-friend's legacy?"</p>
-
-<p>"The very same."</p>
-
-<p>"Wasn't it a shame that she did not marry him after he had
-gained two thousand francs a year for her?" exclaimed La Cibot.
-"And she thought to clear off scores by making him a present of a
-dozen shirts and a couple of dozen pocket-handkerchiefs; an
-outfit, in short."</p>
-
-<p>"My dear Mme. Cibot, that outfit cost a thousand francs, and
-Fraisier was just setting up for himself in the Quarter, and
-wanted the things very badly. And what was more, she paid the
-bill without asking any questions. That affair brought him
-clients, and now he is very busy; but in my line a practice
-brings—"</p>
-
-<p>"It is only the righteous that suffer here below," said La
-Cibot.<br>
- "Well, M. Poulain, good-day and thank you."</p>
-
-<p>And herewith begins the tragedy, or, if you like to have it
-so, a terrible comedy—the death of an old bachelor delivered
-over by circumstances too strong for him to the rapacity and
-greed that gathered about his bed. And other forces came to the
-support of rapacity and greed; there was the picture collector's
-mania, that most intense of all passions; there was the cupidity
-of the Sieur Fraisier, whom you shall presently behold in his
-den, a sight to make you shudder; and lastly, there was the
-Auvergnat thirsting for money, ready for anything—even for a
-crime—that should bring him the capital he wanted. The first
-part of the story serves in some sort as a prelude to this comedy
-in which all the actors who have hitherto occupied the stage will
-reappear.</p>
-
-<p>The degradation of a word is one of those curious freaks of
-manners upon which whole volumes of explanation might be written.
-Write to an attorney and address him as "Lawyer So-and-so," and
-you insult him as surely as you would insult a wholesale colonial
-produce merchant by addressing your letter to "Mr. So-and-so,
-Grocer." There are plenty of men of the world who ought to be
-aware, since the knowledge of such subtle distinctions is their
-province, that you cannot insult a French writer more cruelly
-than by calling him <i>un homme de lettres</i>—a literary man.
-The word <i>monsieur</i> is a capital example of the life and
-death of words. Abbreviated from monseigneur, once so
-considerable a title, and even now, in the form of <i>sire</i>,
-reserved for emperors and kings, it is bestowed indifferently
-upon all and sundry; while the twin-word <i>messire</i>, which is
-nothing but its double and equivalent, if by any chance it slips
-into a certificate of burial, produces an outcry in the
-Republican papers.</p>
-
-<p>Magistrates, councillors, jurisconsults, judges, barristers,
-officers for the crown, bailiffs, attorneys, clerks of the court,
-procurators, solicitors, and agents of various kinds, represent
-or misrepresent Justice. The "lawyer" and the bailiff's men
-(commonly called "the brokers") are the two lowest rungs of the
-ladder. Now, the bailiff's man is an outsider, an adventitious
-minister of justice, appearing to see that judgment is executed;
-he is, in fact, a kind of inferior executioner employed by the
-county court. But the word "lawyer" (homme de loi) is a
-depreciatory term applied to the legal profession.<br>
- Consuming professional jealousy finds similar disparaging
-epithets for fellow-travelers in every walk of life, and every
-calling has its special insult. The scorn flung into the words
-<i>homme de loi, homme de lettres</i>, is wanting in the plural
-form, which may be used without offence; but in Paris every
-profession, learned or unlearned, has its <i>omega</i>, the
-individual who brings it down to the level of the lowest class;
-and the written law has its connecting link with the custom right
-of the streets. There are districts where the pettifogging man of
-business, known as Lawyer So-and-So, is still to be found. M.<br>
- Fraisier was to the member of the Incorporated Law Society as
-the money-lender of the Halles, offering small loans for a short
-period at an exorbitant interest, is to the great capitalist.</p>
-
-<p>Working people, strange to say are as shy of officials as of
-fashionable restaurants, they take advice from irregular sources
-as they turn into a little wineshop to drink. Each rank in life
-finds its own level, and there abides. None but a chosen few care
-to climb the heights, few can feel at ease in the presence of
-their betters, or take their place among them, like a
-Beaumarchais letting fall the watch of the great lord who tried
-to humiliate him. And if there are few who can even rise to a
-higher social level, those among them who can throw off their
-swaddling-clothes are rare and great exceptions.</p>
-
-<p>At six o'clock the next morning Mme. Cibot stood in the Rue de
-la Perle; she was making a survey of the abode of her future
-adviser, Lawyer Fraisier. The house was one of the old-fashioned
-kind formerly inhabited by small tradespeople and citizens with
-small means. A cabinetmaker's shop occupied almost the whole of
-the ground floor, as well as the little yard behind, which was
-covered with his workshops and warehouses; the small remaining
-space being taken up by the porter's lodge and the passage entry
-in the middle. The staircase walls were half rotten with damp and
-covered with saltpetre to such a degree that the house seemed to
-be stricken with leprosy.</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Cibot went straight to the porter's lodge, and there
-encountered one of the fraternity, a shoemaker, his wife, and two
-small children, all housed in a room ten feet square, lighted
-from the yard at the back. La Cibot mentioned her profession,
-named herself, and spoke of her house in the Rue de Normandie,
-and the two women were on cordial terms at once. After a quarter
-of an hour spent in gossip while the shoemaker's wife made
-breakfast ready for her husband and the children, Mme. Cibot
-turned the conversation to the subject of the lodgers, and spoke
-of the lawyer.</p>
-
-<p>"I have come to see him on business," she said. "One of his
-friends, Dr. Poulain, recommended me to him. Do you know Dr.
-Poulain?"</p>
-
-<p>"I should think I do," said the lady of the Rue de la Perle.
-"He saved my little girl's life when she had the croup."</p>
-
-<p>"He saved my life, too, madame. What sort of a man is this
-M.<br>
- Fraisier?"</p>
-
-<p>"He is the sort of man, my dear lady, out of whom it is very
-difficult to get the postage-money at the end of the month."</p>
-
-<p>To a person of La Cibot's intelligence this was enough.</p>
-
-<p>"One may be poor and honest," observed she.</p>
-
-<p>"I am sure I hope so," returned Fraisier's portress. "We are
-not rolling in coppers, let alone gold or silver; but we have not
-a farthing belonging to anybody else."</p>
-
-<p>This sort of talk sounded familiar to La Cibot.</p>
-
-<p>"In short, one can trust him, child, eh?"</p>
-
-<p>"Lord! when M. Fraisier means well by any one, there is not
-his like, so I have heard Mme. Florimond say."</p>
-
-<p>"And why didn't she marry him when she owed her fortune to
-him?" La Cibot asked quickly. "It is something for a little
-haberdasher, kept by an old man, to be a barrister's wife—"</p>
-
-<p>"Why?—" asked the portress, bringing Mme. Cibot out into the
-passage.<br>
- "Why?—You are going to see him, are you not, madame?—Very
-well, when you are in his office you will know why."</p>
-
-<p>From the state of the staircase, lighted by sash-windows on
-the side of the yard, it was pretty evident that the inmates of
-the house, with the exception of the landlord and M. Fraisier
-himself, were all workmen. There were traces of various crafts in
-the deposit of mud upon the steps—brass-filings, broken buttons,
-scraps of gauze, and esparto grass lay scattered about. The walls
-of the upper stories were covered with apprentices' ribald
-scrawls and caricatures. The portress' last remark had roused La
-Cibot's curiosity; she decided, not unnaturally, that she would
-consult Dr. Poulain's friend; but as for employing him, that must
-depend upon her impressions.</p>
-
-<p>"I sometimes wonder how Mme. Sauvage can stop in his service,"
-said the portress, by way of comment; she was following in Mme.
-Cibot's wake. "I will come up with you, madame" she added; "I am
-taking the milk and the newspaper up to my landlord."</p>
-
-<p>Arrived on the second floor above the entresol, La Cibot
-beheld a door of the most villainous description. The doubtful
-red paint was coated for seven or eight inches round the keyhole
-with a filthy glaze, a grimy deposit from which the modern
-house-decorator endeavors to protect the doors of more elegant
-apartments by glass "finger-plates."<br>
- A grating, almost stopped up with some compound similar to the
-deposit with which a restaurant-keeper gives an air of
-cellar-bound antiquity to a merely middle-aged bottle, only
-served to heighten the general resemblance to a prison door; a
-resemblance further heightened by the trefoil-shaped iron-work,
-the formidable hinges, the clumsy nail- heads. A miser, or a
-pamphleteer at strife with the world at large, must surely have
-invented these fortifications. A leaden sink, which received the
-waste water of the household, contributed its quota to the fetid
-atmosphere of the staircase, and the ceiling was covered with
-fantastic arabesques traced by candle-smoke—such arabesques! On
-pulling a greasy acorn tassel attached to the bell-rope, a little
-bell jangled feebly somewhere within, complaining of the fissure
-in its metal sides.</p>
-
-<p><br>
- Every detail was in keeping with the general dismal effect. La
-Cibot heard a heavy footstep, and the asthmatic wheezing of a
-virago within, and Mme. Sauvage presently showed herself. Adrien
-Brauwer might have painted just such a hag for his picture of
-<i>Witches</i> <i>starting for the Sabbath</i>; a stout,
-unwholesome slattern, five feet six inches in height, with a
-grenadier countenance and a beard which far surpassed La Cibot's
-own; she wore a cheap, hideously ugly cotton gown, a bandana
-handkerchief knotted over hair which she still continued to put
-in curl papers (using for that purpose the printed circulars
-which her master received), and a huge pair of gold earrings like
-cart- wheels in her ears. This female Cerberus carried a battered
-skillet in one hand, and opening the door, set free an imprisoned
-odor of scorched milk—a nauseous and penetrating smell, that
-lost itself at once, however, among the fumes outside.</p>
-
-<p>"What can I do for you, missus?" demanded Mme. Sauvage, and
-with a truculent air she looked La Cibot over; evidently she was
-of the opinion that the visitor was too well dressed, and her
-eyes looked the more murderous because they were naturally
-bloodshot.</p>
-
-<p>"I have come to see M. Fraisier; his friend, Dr. Poulain, sent
-me."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! come in, missus," said La Sauvage, grown very amiable of
-a sudden, which proves that she was prepared for this morning
-visit.</p>
-
-<p>With a sweeping courtesy, the stalwart woman flung open the
-door of a private office, which looked upon the street, and
-discovered the ex- attorney of Mantes.</p>
-
-<p>The room was a complete picture of a third-rate solicitor's
-office; with the stained wooden cases, the letter-files so old
-that they had grown beards (in ecclesiastical language), the red
-tape dangling limp and dejected, the pasteboard boxes covered
-with traces of the gambols of mice, the dirty floor, the ceiling
-tawny with smoke. A frugal allowance of wood was smouldering on a
-couple of fire-dogs on the hearth. And on the chimney-piece above
-stood a foggy mirror and a modern clock with an inlaid wooden
-case; Fraisier had picked it up at an execution sale, together
-with the tawdry imitation rococo candlesticks, with the zinc
-beneath showing through the lacquer in several places.</p>
-
-<p>M. Fraisier was small, thin, and unwholesome looking; his red
-face, covered with an eruption, told of tainted blood; and he
-had, moreover, a trick of continually scratching his right arm. A
-wig pushed to the back of his head displayed a brick-colored
-cranium of ominous conformation. This person rose from a
-cane-seated armchair, in which he sat on a green leather cushion,
-assumed an agreeable expression, and brought forward a chair.</p>
-
-<p>"Mme. Cibot, I believe?" queried he, in dulcet tones.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, sir," answered the portress. She had lost her habitual
-assurance.</p>
-
-<p>Something in the tones of a voice which strongly resembled the
-sounds of the little door-bell, something in a glance even
-sharper than the sharp green eyes of her future legal adviser,
-scared Mme. Cibot.<br>
- Fraisier's presence so pervaded the room, that any one might
-have thought there was pestilence in the air; and in a flash Mme.
-Cibot understood why Mme. Florimond had not become Mme.
-Fraisier.</p>
-
-<p>"Poulain told me about you, my dear madame," said the lawyer,
-in the unnatural fashion commonly described by the words "mincing
-tones"; tones sharp, thin, and grating as verjuice, in spite of
-all his efforts.</p>
-
-<p>Arrived at this point, he tried to draw the skirts of his
-dressing- gown over a pair of angular knees encased in threadbare
-felt. The robe was an ancient printed cotton garment, lined with
-wadding which took the liberty of protruding itself through
-various slits in it here and there; the weight of this lining had
-pulled the skirts aside, disclosing a dingy-hued flannel
-waistcoat beneath. With something of a coxcomb's manner, Fraisier
-fastened this refractory article of dress, tightening the girdle
-to define his reedy figure; then with a blow of the tongs, he
-effected a reconciliation between two burning brands that had
-long avoided one another, like brothers after a family quarrel. A
-sudden bright idea struck him, and he rose from his chair.</p>
-
-<p>"Mme. Sauvage!" called he.</p>
-
-<p>"Well?"</p>
-
-<p>"I am not at home to anybody!"</p>
-
-<p>"Eh! bless your life, there's no need to say that!"</p>
-
-<p>"She is my old nurse," the lawyer said in some confusion.</p>
-
-<p>"And she has not recovered her figure yet," remarked the
-heroine of the Halles.</p>
-
-<p>Fraisier laughed, and drew the bolt lest his housekeeper
-should interrupt Mme. Cibot's confidences.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, madame, explain your business," said he, making another
-effort to drape himself in the dressing-gown. "Any one
-recommended to me by the only friend I have in the world may
-count upon me—I may say— absolutely."</p>
-
-<p>For half an hour Mme. Cibot talked, and the man of law made no
-interruption of any sort; his face wore the expression of curious
-interest with which a young soldier listens to a pensioner of
-"The Old Guard." Fraisier's silence and acquiescence, the rapt
-attention with which he appeared to listen to a torrent of gossip
-similar to the samples previously given, dispelled some of the
-prejudices inspired in La Cibot's mind by his squalid
-surroundings. The little lawyer with the black-speckled green
-eyes was in reality making a study of his client. When at length
-she came to a stand and looked to him to speak, he was seized
-with a fit of the complaint known as a "churchyard cough," and
-had recourse to an earthenware basin half full of herb tea, which
-he drained.</p>
-
-<p>"But for Poulain, my dear madame, I should have been dead
-before this," said Fraisier, by way of answer to the portress'
-look of motherly compassion; "but he will bring me round, he
-says—"</p>
-
-<p>As all the client's confidences appeared to have slipped from
-the memory of her legal adviser, she began to cast about for a
-way of taking leave of a man so apparently near death.</p>
-
-<p>"In an affair of this kind, madame," continued the attorney
-from Mantes, suddenly returning to business, "there are two
-things which it is most important to know. In the first place,
-whether the property is sufficient to be worth troubling about;
-and in the second, who the next-of-kin may be; for if the
-property is the booty, the next-of-kin is the enemy."</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot immediately began to talk of Remonencq and Elie
-Magus, and said that the shrewd couple valued the pictures at six
-hundred thousand francs.</p>
-
-<p>"Would they take them themselves at that price?" inquired the
-lawyer.<br>
- "You see, madame, that men of business are shy of pictures. A
-picture may mean a piece of canvas worth a couple of francs or a
-painting worth two hundred thousand. Now, paintings worth two
-hundred thousand francs are usually well known; and what errors
-in judgment people make in estimating even the most famous
-pictures of all! There was once a great capitalist whose
-collection was admired, visited, and engraved— actually
-engraved! He was supposed to have spent millions of francs on it.
-He died, as men must, and—well, his <i>genuine</i> pictures did
-not fetch more than two hundred thousand francs! You must let me
-see these gentlemen.—Now for the next-of-kin," and Fraisier
-again relapsed into his attitude of listener.</p>
-
-<p>When President Camusot's name came up, he nodded with a
-grimace which riveted Mme. Cibot's attention. She tried to read
-the forehead and the villainous face, and found what is called in
-business a "wooden head."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, my dear sir," repeated La Cibot. "Yes, my M. Pons is own
-cousin to President Camusot de Marville; he tells me that ten
-times a day. M.<br>
- Camusot the silk mercer was married twice—"</p>
-
-<p>"He that has just been nominated for a peer of France?—"</p>
-
-<p>"And his first wife was a Mlle. Pons, M. Pons' first
-cousin."</p>
-
-<p>"Then they are first cousins once removed—"</p>
-
-<p>"They are 'not cousins.' They have quarreled."</p>
-
-<p>It may be remembered that before M. Camusot de Marville came
-to Paris, he was President of the Tribunal of Mantes for five
-years; and not only was his name still remembered there, but he
-had kept up a correspondence with Mantes. Camusot's immediate
-successor, the judge with whom he had been most intimate during
-his term of office, was still President of the Tribunal, and
-consequently knew all about Fraisier.</p>
-
-<p>"Do you know, madame," Fraisier said, when at last the red
-sluices of La Cibot's torrent tongue were closed, "do you know
-that your principal enemy will be a man who can send you to the
-scaffold?"</p>
-
-<p>The portress started on her chair, making a sudden spring like
-a jack- in-the-box.</p>
-
-<p>"Calm yourself, dear madame," continued Fraisier. "You may not
-have known the name of the President of the Chamber of
-Indictments at the Court of Appeal in Paris; but you ought to
-have known that M. Pons must have an heir-at-law. M. le President
-de Marville is your invalid's sole heir; but as he is a
-collateral in the third degree, M.<br>
- Pons is entitled by law to leave his fortune as he pleases. You
-are not aware either that, six weeks ago at least, M. le
-President's daughter married the eldest son of M. le Comte
-Popinot, peer of France, once Minister of Agriculture, and
-President of the Board of Trade, one of the most influential
-politicians of the day. President de Marville is even more
-formidable through this marriage than in his own quality of head
-of the Court of Assize."</p>
-
-<p>At that word La Cibot shuddered.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, and it is he who sends you there," continued Fraisier.
-"Ah! my dear madame, you little know what a red robe means! It is
-bad enough to have a plain black gown against you! You see me
-here, ruined, bald, broken in health—all because, unwittingly, I
-crossed a mere attorney for the crown in the provinces. I was
-forced to sell my connection at a loss, and very lucky I was to
-come off with the loss of my money. If I had tried to stand out,
-my professional position would have gone as well.</p>
-
-<p>"One thing more you do not know," he continued, "and this it
-is. If you had only to do with President Camusot himself, it
-would be nothing; but he has a wife, mind you!—and if you ever
-find yourself face to face with that wife, you will shake in your
-shoes as if you were on the first step of the scaffold, your hair
-will stand on end.<br>
- The Presidente is so vindictive that she would spend ten years
-over setting a trap to kill you. She sets that husband of hers
-spinning like a top. Through her a charming young fellow
-committed suicide at the Conciergerie. A count was accused of
-forgery—she made his character as white as snow. She all but
-drove a person of the highest quality from the Court of Charles
-X. Finally, she displaced the Attorney-General, M. de
-Granville—"</p>
-
-<p>"That lived in the Rue Vieille-du-Temple, at the corner of the
-Rue Saint-Francois?"</p>
-
-<p>"The very same. They say that she means to make her husband
-Home Secretary, and I do not know that she will not gain her
-end.—If she were to take it into her head to send us both to the
-Criminal Court first and the hulks afterwards—I should apply for
-a passport and set sail for America, though I am as innocent as a
-new-born babe. So well I know what justice means. Now, see here,
-my dear Mme. Cibot; to marry her only daughter to young Vicomte
-Popinot (heir to M. Pillerault, your landlord, it is said)—to
-make that match, she stripped herself of her whole fortune, so
-much so that the President and his wife have nothing at this
-moment except his official salary. Can you suppose, my dear
-madame, that under the circumstances Mme. la Presidente will let
-M. Pons' property go out of the family without a word?—Why, I
-would sooner face guns loaded with grape-shot than have such a
-woman for my enemy—"</p>
-
-<p>"But they have quarreled," put in La Cibot.</p>
-
-<p>"What has that got to do with it?" asked Fraisier. "It is one
-reason the more for fearing her. To kill a relative of whom you
-are tired, is something; but to inherit his property
-afterwards—that is a real pleasure!"</p>
-
-<p>"But the old gentleman has a horror of his relatives. He says
-over and over again that these people—M. Cardot, M. Berthier,
-and the rest of them (I can't remember their names)—have crushed
-him as a tumbril cart crushes an egg—"</p>
-
-<p>"Have you a mind to be crushed too?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh dear! oh dear!" cried La Cibot. "Ah! Ma'am Fontaine was
-right when she said that I should meet with difficulties: still,
-she said that I should succeed—"</p>
-
-<p>"Listen, my dear Mme. Cibot.—As for making some thirty
-thousand francs out of this business—that is possible; but for
-the whole of the property, it is useless to think of it. We
-talked over your case yesterday evening, Dr. Poulain and I—"</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot started again.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, what is the matter?"</p>
-
-<p>"But if you knew about the affair, why did you let me chatter
-away like a magpie?"</p>
-
-<p>"Mme. Cibot, I knew all about your business, but I knew
-nothing of Mme. Cibot. So many clients, so many characters—"</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Cibot gave her legal adviser a queer look at this; all
-her suspicions gleamed in her eyes. Fraisier saw this.</p>
-
-<p>"I resume," he continued. "So, our friend Poulain was once
-called in by you to attend old M. Pillerault, the Countess
-Popinot's great- uncle; that is one of your claims to my
-devotion. Poulain goes to see your landlord (mark this!) once a
-fortnight; he learned all these particulars from him. M.
-Pillerault was present at his grand-nephew's wedding—for he is
-an uncle with money to leave; he has an income of fifteen
-thousand francs, though he has lived like a hermit for the last
-five-and-twenty years, and scarcely spends a thousand crowns—
-well, <i>he</i> told Poulain all about this marriage. It seems
-that your old musician was precisely the cause of the row; he
-tried to disgrace his own family by way of revenge.—If you only
-hear one bell, you only hear one sound.—Your invalid says that
-he meant no harm, but everybody thinks him a monster of—"</p>
-
-<p>"And it would not astonish me if he was!" cried La Cibot.
-"Just imagine it!—For these ten years past I have been money out
-of pocket for him, spending my savings on him, and he knows it,
-and yet he will not let me lie down to sleep on a legacy!—No,
-sir! he will <i>not</i>. He is obstinate, a regular mule he
-is.—I have talked to him these ten days, and the cross-grained
-cur won't stir no more than a sign-post.<br>
- He shuts his teeth and looks at me like—The most that he would
-say was that he would recommend me to M. Schmucke."</p>
-
-<p>"Then he means to make his will in favor of this
-Schmucke?"</p>
-
-<p>"Everything will go to him—"</p>
-
-<p>"Listen, my dear Mme. Cibot, if I am to arrive at any definite
-conclusions and think of a plan, I must know M. Schmucke. I must
-see the property and have some talk with this Jew of whom you
-speak; and then, let me direct you—"</p>
-
-<p>"We shall see, M. Fraisier."</p>
-
-<p>"What is this? 'We shall see?' " repeated Fraisier, speaking
-in the voice natural to him, as he gave La Cibot a viperous
-glance. "Am I your legal adviser or am I not, I say? Let us know
-exactly where we stand."</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot felt that he read her thoughts. A cold chill ran down
-her back.</p>
-
-<p>"I have told you all I know," she said. She saw that she was
-at the tiger's mercy.</p>
-
-<p>"We attorneys are accustomed to treachery. Just think
-carefully over your position; it is superb.—If you follow my
-advice point by point, you will have thirty or forty thousand
-francs. But there is a reverse side to this beautiful medal. How
-if the Presidente comes to hear that M. Pons' property is worth a
-million of francs, and that you mean to have a bit out of
-it?—for there is always somebody ready to take that kind of
-errand—" he added parenthetically.</p>
-
-<p>This remark, and the little pause that came before and after
-it, sent another shudder through La Cibot. She thought at once
-that Fraisier himself would probably undertake that office.</p>
-
-<p>"And then, my dear client, in ten minutes old Pillerault is
-asked to dismiss you, and then on a couple of hours'
-notice—"</p>
-
-<p>"What does that matter to me?" said La Cibot, rising to her
-feet like a Bellona; "I shall stay with the gentlemen as their
-housekeeper."</p>
-
-<p>"And then, a trap will be set for you, and some fine morning
-you and your husband will wake up in a prison cell, to be tried
-for your lives—"</p>
-
-<p>"<i>I?</i>" cried La Cibot, "I that have not a farthing that
-doesn't belong to me? . . . <i>I!</i> . . . <i>I</i>!"</p>
-
-<p>For five minutes she held forth, and Fraisier watched the
-great artist before him as she executed a concerto of
-self-praise. He was quite untouched, and even amused by the
-performance. His keen glances pricked La Cibot like stilettos; he
-chuckled inwardly, till his shrunken wig was shaking with
-laughter. He was a Robespierre at an age when the Sylla of France
-was make couplets.</p>
-
-<p>"And how? and why? And on what pretext?" demanded she, when
-she had come to an end.</p>
-
-<p>"You wish to know how you may come to the guillotine?"</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot turned pale as death at the words; the words fell
-like a knife upon her neck. She stared wildly at Fraisier.</p>
-
-<p>"Listen to me, my dear child," began Fraisier, suppressing his
-inward satisfaction at his client's discomfiture.</p>
-
-<p>"I would sooner leave things as they are—" murmured La Cibot,
-and she rose to go.</p>
-
-<p>"Stay," Fraisier said imperiously. "You ought to know the
-risks that you are running; I am bound to give you the benefit of
-my lights.—You are dismissed by M. Pillerault, we will say;
-there is no doubt about that, is there? You enter the service of
-these two gentlemen. Very good! That is a declaration of war
-against the Presidente. You mean to do everything you can to gain
-possession of the property, and to get a slice of it at any
-rate—</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, I am not blaming you," Fraisier continued, in answer to a
-gesture from his client. "It is not my place to do so. This is a
-battle, and you will be led on further than you think for. One
-grows full of one's ideas, one hits hard—"</p>
-
-<p>Another gesture of denial. This time La Cibot tossed her
-head.</p>
-
-<p>"There, there, old lady," said Fraisier, with odious
-familiarity, "you will go a very long way!—"</p>
-
-<p>"You take me for a thief, I suppose?"</p>
-
-<p>"Come, now, mamma, you hold a receipt in M. Schmucke's hand
-which did not cost you much.—Ah! you are in the confessional, my
-lady! Don't deceive your confessor, especially when the confessor
-has the power of reading your thoughts."</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot was dismayed by the man's perspicacity; now she knew
-why he had listened to her so intently.</p>
-
-<p>"Very good," continued he, "you can admit at once that the
-Presidente will not allow you to pass her in the race for the
-property.—You will be watched and spied upon.—You get your name
-into M. Pons' will; nothing could be better. But some fine day
-the law steps in, arsenic is found in a glass, and you and your
-husband are arrested, tried, and condemned for attempting the
-life of the Sieur Pons, so as to come by your legacy. I once
-defended a poor woman at Versailles; she was in reality as
-innocent as you would be in such a case. Things were as I have
-told you, and all that I could do was to save her life. The
-unhappy creature was sentenced to twenty years' penal servitude.
-She is working out her time now at St. Lazare."</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Cibot's terror grew to the highest pitch. She grew paler
-and paler, staring at the little, thin man with the green eyes,
-as some wretched Moor, accused of adhering to her own religion,
-might gaze at the inquisitor who doomed her to the stake.</p>
-
-<p>"Then, do you tell me, that if I leave you to act, and put my
-interests in your hands, I shall get something without fear?"</p>
-
-<p>"I guarantee you thirty thousand francs," said Fraisier,
-speaking like a man sure of the fact.</p>
-
-<p>"After all, you know how fond I am of dear Dr. Poulain," she
-began again in her most coaxing tones; "he told me to come to
-you, worthy man, and he did not send me here to be told that I
-shall be guillotined for poisoning some one."</p>
-
-<p>The thought of the guillotine so moved her that she burst into
-tears, her nerves were shaken, terror clutched at her heart, she
-lost her head. Fraisier gloated over his triumph. When he saw his
-client hesitate, he thought that he had lost his chance; he had
-set himself to frighten and quell La Cibot till she was
-completely in his power, bound hand and foot. She had walked into
-his study as a fly walks into a spider's web; there she was
-doomed to remain, entangled in the toils of the little lawyer who
-meant to feed upon her. Out of this bit of business, indeed,
-Fraisier meant to gain the living of old days; comfort,
-competence, and consideration. He and his friend Dr. Poulain had
-spent the whole previous evening in a microscopic examination of
-the case; they had made mature deliberations. The doctor
-described Schmucke for his friend's benefit, and the alert pair
-had plumbed all hypotheses and scrutinized all risks and
-resources, till Fraisier, exultant, cried aloud, "Both our
-fortunes lie in this!" He had gone so far as to promise Poulain a
-hospital, and as for himself, he meant to be justice of the peace
-of an arrondissement.</p>
-
-<p>To be a justice of the peace! For this man with his abundant
-capacity, for this doctor of law without a pair of socks to his
-name, the dream was a hippogriff so restive, that he thought of
-it as a deputy- advocate thinks of the silk gown, as an Italian
-priest thinks of the tiara. It was indeed a wild dream!</p>
-
-<p>M. Vitel, the justice of the peace before whom Fraisier
-pleaded, was a man of sixty-nine, in failing health; he talked of
-retiring on a pension; and Fraisier used to talk with Poulain of
-succeeding him, much as Poulain talked of saving the life of some
-rich heiress and marrying her afterwards. No one knows how
-greedily every post in the gift of authority is sought after in
-Paris. Every one wants to live in Paris. If a stamp or tobacco
-license falls in, a hundred women rise up as one and stir all
-their friends to obtain it. Any vacancy in the ranks of the
-twenty-four collectors of taxes sends a flood of ambitious folk
-surging in upon the Chamber of Deputies. Decisions are made in
-committee, all appointments are made by the Government. Now the
-salary of a justice of the peace, the lowest stipendiary
-magistrate in Paris, is about six thousand francs. The post of
-registrar to the court is worth a hundred thousand francs. Few
-places are more coveted in the administration. Fraisier, as a
-justice of the peace, with the head physician of a hospital for
-his friend, would make a rich marriage himself and a good match
-for Dr. Poulain. Each would lend a hand to each.</p>
-
-<p>Night set its leaden seal upon the plans made by the sometime
-attorney of Mantes, and a formidable scheme sprouted up, a
-flourishing scheme, fertile in harvests of gain and intrigue. La
-Cibot was the hinge upon which the whole matter turned; and for
-this reason, any rebellion on the part of the instrument must be
-at once put down; such action on her part was quite unexpected;
-but Fraisier had put forth all the strength of his rancorous
-nature, and the audacious portress lay trampled under his
-feet.</p>
-
-<p>"Come, reassure yourself, my dear madame," he remarked,
-holding out his hand. The touch of the cold, serpent-like skin
-made a terrible impression upon the portress. It brought about
-something like a physical reaction, which checked her emotion;
-Mme. Fontaine's toad, Astaroth, seemed to her to be less deadly
-than this poison-sac that wore a sandy wig and spoke in tones
-like the creaking of a hinge.</p>
-
-<p>"Do not imagine that I am frightening you to no purpose,"
-Fraisier continued. (La Cibot's feeling of repulsion had not
-escaped him.) "The affairs which made Mme. la Presidente's
-dreadful reputation are so well known at the law-courts, that you
-can make inquiries there if you like. The great person who was
-all but sent into a lunatic asylum was the Marquis d'Espard. The
-Marquis d'Esgrignon was saved from the hulks. The handsome young
-man with wealth and a great future before him, who was to have
-married a daughter of one of the first families of France, and
-hanged himself in a cell of the Conciergerie, was the celebrated
-Lucien de Rubempre; the affair made a great deal of noise in
-Paris at the time. That was a question of a will. His mistress,
-the notorious Esther, died and left him several millions, and
-they accused the young fellow of poisoning her. He was not even
-in Paris at the time of her death, nor did he so much as know the
-woman had left the money to him!—One cannot well be more
-innocent than that! Well, after M. Camusot examined him, he
-hanged himself in his cell. Law, like medicine, has its victims.
-In the first case, one man suffers for the many, and in the
-second, he dies for science," he added, and an ugly smile stole
-over his lips. "Well, I know the risks myself, you see; poor and
-obscure little attorney as I am, the law has been the ruin of me.
-My experience was dearly bought—it is all at your service."</p>
-
-<p>"Thank you, no," said La Cibot; "I will have nothing to do
-with it, upon my word! . . . I shall have nourished ingratitude,
-that is all! I want nothing but my due; I have thirty years of
-honesty behind me, sir. M. Pons says that he will recommend me to
-his friend Schmucke; well and good, I shall end my days in peace
-with the German, good man."</p>
-
-<p>Fraisier had overshot his mark. He had discouraged La Cibot.
-Now he was obliged to remove these unpleasant impressions.</p>
-
-<p>"Do not let us give up," he said; "just go away quietly home.
-Come, now, we will steer the affair to a good end."</p>
-
-<p>"But what about my <i>rentes</i>, what am I to do to get them,
-and—"</p>
-
-<p>"And feel no remorse?" he interrupted quickly. "Eh! it is
-precisely for that that men of business were invented; unless you
-keep within the law, you get nothing. You know nothing of law; I
-know a good deal.<br>
- I will see that you keep on the right side of it, and you can
-hold your own in all men's sight. As for your conscience, that is
-your own affair."</p>
-
-<p>"Very well, tell me how to do it," returned La Cibot, curious
-and delighted.</p>
-
-<p>"I do not know how yet. I have not looked at the strong points
-of the case yet; I have been busy with the obstacles. But the
-first thing to be done is to urge him to make a will; you cannot
-go wrong over that; and find out, first of all, how Pons means to
-leave his fortune; for if you were his heir—"</p>
-
-<p>"No, no; he does not like me. Ah! if I had but known the value
-of his gimcracks, and if I had known what I know now about his
-amours, I should be easy in my mind this day—"</p>
-
-<p>"Keep on, in fact," broke in Fraisier. "Dying folk have queer
-fancies, my dear madame; they disappoint hopes many a time. Let
-him make his will, and then we shall see. And of all things, the
-property must be valued. So I must see this Remonencq and the
-Jew; they will be very useful to us. Put entire confidence in me,
-I am at your disposal. When a client is a friend to me, I am his
-friend through thick and thin.<br>
- Friend or enemy, that is my character."</p>
-
-<p>"Very well," said La Cibot, "I am yours entirely; and as for
-fees, M.<br>
- Poulain—"</p>
-
-<p>"Let us say nothing about that," said Fraisier. "Think how you
-can keep Poulain at the bedside; he is one of the most upright
-and conscientious men I know; and, you see, we want some one
-there whom we can trust. Poulain would do better than I; I have
-lost my character."</p>
-
-<p>"You look as if you had," said La Cibot; "but, for my own
-part, I should trust you."</p>
-
-<p>"And you would do well. Come to see me whenever anything
-happens, and —there!—you are an intelligent woman; all will go
-well."</p>
-
-<p>"Good-day, M. Fraisier. I hope you will recover your health.
-Your servant, sir."</p>
-
-<p>Fraisier went to the door with his client. But this time it
-was he, and not La Cibot, who was struck with an idea on the
-threshold.</p>
-
-<p>"If you could persuade M. Pons to call me in, it would be a
-great step."</p>
-
-<p>"I will try," said La Cibot.</p>
-
-<p>Fraisier drew her back into his sanctum. "Look here, old lady,
-I know M. Trognon, the notary of the quarter, very well. If M.
-Pons has not a notary, mention M. Trognon to him. Make him take
-M. Trognon—"</p>
-
-<p>"Right," returned La Cibot.</p>
-
-<p>And as she came out again she heard the rustle of a dress and
-the sound of a stealthy, heavy footstep.</p>
-
-<p>Out in the street and by herself, Mme. Cibot to some extent
-recovered her liberty of mind as she walked. Though the influence
-of the conversation was still upon her, and she had always stood
-in dread of scaffolds, justice, and judges, she took a very
-natural resolution which was to bring about a conflict of
-strategy between her and her formidable legal adviser.</p>
-
-<p>"What do I want with other folk?" said she to herself. "Let us
-make a round sum, and afterwards I will take all that they offer
-me to push their interests;" and this thought, as will shortly be
-seen, hastened the poor old musician's end.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, dear M. Schmucke, and how is our dear, adored patient?"
-asked La Cibot, as she came into the room.</p>
-
-<p>"Fery pad; Bons haf peen vandering all der night."</p>
-
-<p>"Then, what did he say?"</p>
-
-<p>"Chust nonsense. He vould dot I haf all his fortune, on
-kondition dot I sell nodings.—Den he cried! Boor mann! It made
-me ver' sad."</p>
-
-<p>"Never mind, honey," returned the portress. "I have kept you
-waiting for your breakfast; it is nine o'clock and past; but
-don't scold me. I have business on hand, you see, business of
-yours. Here are we without any money, and I have been out to get
-some."</p>
-
-<p>"Vere?" asked Schmucke.</p>
-
-<p>"Of my uncle."</p>
-
-<p>"Onkel?"</p>
-
-<p>"Up the spout."</p>
-
-<p>"Shpout?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! the dear man! how simple he is? No, you are a saint, a
-love, an archbishop of innocence, a man that ought to be stuffed,
-as the old actor said. What! you have lived in Paris for
-twenty-nine years; you saw the Revolution of July, you did, and
-you have never so much as heard tell of a pawnbroker—a man that
-lends you money on your things?<br>
- —I have been pawning our silver spoons and forks, eight of
-them, thread pattern. Pooh, Cibot can eat his victuals with
-German silver; it is quite the fashion now, they say. It is not
-worth while to say anything to our angel there; it would upset
-him and make him yellower than before, and he is quite cross
-enough as it is. Let us get him round again first, and afterwards
-we shall see. What must be must; and we must take things as we
-find them, eh?"</p>
-
-<p>"Goot voman! nople heart!" cried poor Schmucke, with a great
-tenderness in his face. He took La Cibot's hand and clasped it to
-his breast. When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes.</p>
-
-<p>"There, that will do, Papa Schmucke; how funny you are! This
-is too bad. I am an old daughter of the people—my heart is in my
-hand. I have something <i>here</i>, you see, like you have,
-hearts of gold that you are," she added, slapping her chest.</p>
-
-<p>"Baba Schmucke!" continued the musician. "No. To know de
-tepths of sorrow, to cry mit tears of blood, to mount up in der
-hefn—dat is mein lot! I shall not lif after Bons—"</p>
-
-<p>"Gracious! I am sure you won't, you are killing
-yourself.—Listen, pet!"</p>
-
-<p>"Bet?"</p>
-
-<p>"Very well, my sonny—"</p>
-
-<p>"Zonny?"</p>
-
-<p>"My lamb, then, if you like it better."</p>
-
-<p>"It is not more clear."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, well, let <i>me</i> take care of you and tell you what to
-do; for if you go on like this, I shall have both of you laid up
-on my hands, you see. To my little way of thinking, we must do
-the work between us. You cannot go about Paris to give lessons
-for it tires you, and then you are not fit to do anything
-afterwards, and somebody must sit up of a night with M. Pons, now
-that he is getting worse and worse. I will run round to-day to
-all your pupils and tell them that you are ill; is it not so? And
-then you can spend the nights with our lamb, and sleep of a
-morning from five o'clock till, let us say, two in the afternoon.
-I myself will take the day, the most tiring part, for there is
-your breakfast and dinner to get ready, and the bed to make, and
-the things to change, and the doses of medicine to give. I could
-not hold out for another ten days at this rate. What would become
-of you if I were to fall ill? And you yourself, it makes one
-shudder to see you; just look at yourself, after sitting up with
-him last night!"</p>
-
-<p>She drew Schmucke to the glass, and Schmucke thought that
-there was a great change.</p>
-
-<p>"So, if you are of my mind, I'll have your breakfast ready in
-a jiffy.<br>
- Then you will look after our poor dear again till two o'clock.
-Let me have a list of your people, and I will soon arrange it.
-You will be free for a fortnight. You can go to bed when I come
-in, and sleep till night."</p>
-
-<p>So prudent did the proposition seem, that Schmucke then and
-there agreed to it.</p>
-
-<p>"Not a word to M. Pons; he would think it was all over with
-him, you know, if we were to tell him in this way that his
-engagement at the theatre and his lessons are put off. He would
-be thinking that he should not find his pupils again, poor
-gentleman—stuff and nonsense!<br>
- M. Poulain says that we shall save our Benjamin if we keep him
-as quiet as possible."</p>
-
-<p>"Ach! fery goot! Pring up der preakfast; I shall make der
-bett, and gif you die attresses!—You are right; it vould pe too
-much for me."</p>
-
-<p>An hour later La Cibot, in her Sunday clothes, departed in
-great state, to the no small astonishment of the Remonencqs; she
-promised herself that she would support the character of
-confidential servant of the pair of nutcrackers, in the
-boarding-schools and private families in which they gave
-music-lessons.</p>
-
-<p>It is needless to repeat all the gossip in which La Cibot
-indulged on her round. The members of every family, the
-head-mistress of every boarding-school, were treated to a
-variation upon the theme of Pons' illness. A single scene, which
-took place in the Illustrious Gaudissart's private room, will
-give a sufficient idea of the rest. La Cibot met with unheard-of
-difficulties, but she succeeded in penetrating at last to the
-presence. Kings and cabinet ministers are less difficult of
-access than the manager of a theatre in Paris; nor is it hard to
-understand why such prodigious barriers are raised between them
-and ordinary mortals: a king has only to defend himself from
-ambition; the manager of a theatre has reason to dread the
-wounded vanity of actors and authors.</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot, however, struck up an acquaintance with the
-portress, and traversed all distances in a brief space. There is
-a sort of freemasonry among the porter tribe, and, indeed, among
-the members of every profession; for each calling has its
-shibboleth, as well as its insulting epithet and the mark with
-which it brands its followers.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! madame, you are the portress here," began La Cibot. "I
-myself am a portress, in a small way, in a house in the Rue de
-Normandie. M.<br>
- Pons, your conductor, lodges with us. Oh, how glad I should be
-to have your place, and see the actors and dancers and authors go
-past. It is the marshal's baton in our profession, as the old
-actor said."</p>
-
-<p>"And how is M. Pons going on, good man?" inquired the
-portress.</p>
-
-<p>"He is not going on at all; he has not left his bed these two
-months.<br>
- He will only leave the house feet foremost, that is
-certain."</p>
-
-<p>"He will be missed."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes. I have come with a message to the manager from him. Just
-try to get me a word with him, dear."</p>
-
-<p>"A lady from M. Pons to see you, sir!" After this fashion did
-the youth attached to the service of the manager's office
-announce La Cibot, whom the portress below had particularly
-recommended to his care.</p>
-
-<p>Gaudissart had just come in for a rehearsal. Chance so ordered
-it that no one wished to speak with him; actors and authors were
-alike late.<br>
- Delighted to have news of his conductor, he made a Napoleonic
-gesture, and La Cibot was admitted.</p>
-
-<p>The sometime commercial traveler, now the head of a popular
-theatre, regarded his sleeping partners in the light of a
-legitimate wife; they were not informed of all his doings. The
-flourishing state of his finances had reacted upon his person.
-Grown big and stout and high- colored with good cheer and
-prosperity, Gaudissart made no disguise of his transformation
-into a Mondor.</p>
-
-<p>"We are turning into a city-father," he once said, trying to
-be the first to laugh.</p>
-
-<p>"You are only in the Turcaret stage yet, though," retorted
-Bixiou, who often replaced Gaudissart in the company of the
-leading lady of the ballet, the celebrated Heloise Brisetout.</p>
-
-<p>The former Illustrious Gaudissart, in fact, was exploiting the
-theatre simply and solely for his own particular benefit, and
-with brutal disregard of other interests. He first insinuated
-himself as a collaborator in various ballets, plays, and
-vaudevilles; then he waited till the author wanted money and
-bought up the other half of the copyright. These after-pieces and
-vaudevilles, always added to successful plays, brought him in a
-daily harvest of gold coins. He trafficked by proxy in tickets,
-allotting a certain number to himself, as the manager's share,
-till he took in this way a tithe of the receipts. And Gaudissart
-had other methods of making money besides these official
-contributions. He sold boxes, he took presents from indifferent
-actresses burning to go upon the stage to fill small speaking
-parts, or simply to appear as queens, or pages, and the like; he
-swelled his nominal third share of the profits to such purpose
-that the sleeping partners scarcely received one-tenth instead of
-the remaining two-thirds of the net receipts. Even so, however,
-the tenth paid them a dividend of fifteen per cent on their
-capital. On the strength of that fifteen per cent Gaudissart
-talked of his intelligence, honesty, and zeal, and the good
-fortune of his partners.<br>
- When Count Popinot, showing an interest in the concern, asked
-Matifat, or General Gouraud (Matifat's son-in-law), or Crevel,
-whether they were satisfied with Gaudissart, Gouraud, now a peer
-of France, answered, "They say he robs us; but he is such a
-clever, good-natured fellow, that we are quite satisfied."</p>
-
-<p><br>
- "This is like La Fontaine's fable," smiled the ex-cabinet
-minister.</p>
-
-<p>Gaudissart found investments for his capital in other
-ventures. He thought well of Schwab, Brunner, and the Graffs;
-that firm was promoting railways, he became a shareholder in the
-lines. His shrewdness was carefully hidden beneath the frank
-carelessness of a man of pleasure; he seemed to be interested in
-nothing but amusements and dress, yet he thought everything over,
-and his wide experience of business gained as a commercial
-traveler stood him in good stead.</p>
-
-<p>A self-made man, he did not take himself seriously. He gave
-suppers and banquets to celebrities in rooms sumptuously
-furnished by the house decorator. Showy by nature, with a taste
-for doing things handsomely, he affected an easy-going air, and
-seemed so much the less formidable because he had kept the slang
-of "the road" (to use his own expression), with a few green-room
-phrases superadded. Now, artists in the theatrical profession are
-wont to express themselves with some vigor; Gaudissart borrowed
-sufficient racy green-room talk to blend with his commercial
-traveler's lively jocularity, and passed for a wit. He was
-thinking at that moment of selling his license and "going into
-another line," as he said. He thought of being chairman of a
-railway company, of becoming a responsible person and an
-administrator, and finally of marrying Mlle. Minard, daughter of
-the richest mayor in Paris. He might hope to get into the Chamber
-through "his line," and, with Popinot's influence, to take office
-under the Government.</p>
-
-<p>"Whom have I the honor of addressing?" inquired Gaudissart,
-looking magisterially at La Cibot.</p>
-
-<p>"I am M. Pons' confidential servant, sir."</p>
-
-<p>"Well, and how is the dear fellow?"</p>
-
-<p>"Ill, sir—very ill."</p>
-
-<p>"The devil he is! I am sorry to hear it—I must come and see
-him; he is such a man as you don't often find."</p>
-
-<p>"Ah yes! sir, he is a cherub, he is. I have always wondered
-how he came to be in a theatre."</p>
-
-<p>"Why, madame, the theatre is a house of correction for
-morals," said Gaudissart. "Poor Pons!—Upon my word, one ought to
-cultivate the species to keep up the stock. 'Tis a pattern man,
-and has talent too.<br>
- When will he be able to take his orchestra again, do you think?
-A theatre, unfortunately, is like a stage coach: empty or full,
-it starts at the same time. Here at six o'clock every evening, up
-goes the curtain; and if we are never sorry for ourselves, it
-won't make good music. Let us see now—how is he?"</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot pulled out her pocket-handkerchief and held it to her
-eyes.</p>
-
-<p>"It is a terrible thing to say, my dear sir," said she; "but I
-am afraid we shall lose him, though we are as careful of him as
-of the apple of our eyes. And, at the same time, I came to say
-that you must not count on M. Schmucke, worthy man, for he is
-going to sit up with him at night. One cannot help doing as if
-there was hope still left, and trying one's best to snatch the
-dear, good soul from death. But the doctor has given him
-up——"</p>
-
-<p>"What is the matter with him?"</p>
-
-<p>"He is dying of grief, jaundice, and liver complaint, with a
-lot of family affairs to complicate matters."</p>
-
-<p>"And a doctor as well," said Gaudissart. "He ought to have had
-Lebrun, our doctor; it would have cost him nothing."</p>
-
-<p>"M. Pons' doctor is a Providence on earth. But what can a
-doctor do, no matter how clever he is, with such
-complications?"</p>
-
-<p>"I wanted the good pair of nutcrackers badly for the
-accompaniment of my new fairy piece."</p>
-
-<p>"Is there anything that I can do for them?" asked La Cibot,
-and her expression would have done credit to a Jocrisse.</p>
-
-<p>Gaudissart burst out laughing.</p>
-
-<p>"I am their housekeeper, sir, and do many things for my
-gentlemen—"<br>
- She did not finish her speech, for in the middle of Gaudissart's
-roar of laughter a woman's voice exclaimed, "If you are laughing,
-old man, one may come in," and the leading lady of the ballet
-rushed into the room and flung herself upon the only sofa. The
-newcomer was Heloise Brisetout, with a splendid
-<i>algerienne</i>, such as scarves used to be called, about her
-shoulders.</p>
-
-<p>"Who is amusing you? Is it this lady? What post does she
-want?" asked this nymph, giving the manager such a glance as
-artist gives artist, a glance that would make a subject for a
-picture.</p>
-
-<p>Heloise, a young woman of exceedingly literary tastes, was on
-intimate terms with great and famous artists in Bohemia. Elegant,
-accomplished, and graceful, she was more intelligent than dancers
-usually are. As she put her question, she sniffed at a
-scent-bottle full of some aromatic perfume.</p>
-
-<p>"One fine woman is as good as another, madame; and if I don't
-sniff the pestilence out of a scent-bottle, nor daub brickdust on
-my cheeks—"</p>
-
-<p>"That would be a sinful waste, child, when Nature put it on
-for you to begin with," said Heloise, with a side glance at her
-manager.</p>
-
-<p>"I am an honest woman—"</p>
-
-<p>"So much the worse for you. It is not every one by a long
-chalk that can find some one to keep them, and kept I am, and in
-slap-up style, madame."</p>
-
-<p>"So much the worse! What do you mean? Oh, you may toss your
-head and go about in scarves, you will never have as many
-declarations as I have had, missus. You will never match the
-<i>Belle Ecaillere of the Cadran Bleu</i>."</p>
-
-<p>Heloise Brisetout rose at once to her feet, stood at
-attention, and made a military salute, like a soldier who meets
-his general.</p>
-
-<p>"What?" asked Gaudissart, "are you really <i>La Belle
-Ecaillere</i> of whom my father used to talk?"</p>
-
-<p>"In that case the cachucha and the polka were after your time;
-and madame has passed her fiftieth year," remarked Heloise, and
-striking an attitude, she declaimed, " 'Cinna, let us be
-friends.' "</p>
-
-<p>"Come, Heloise, the lady is not up to this; let her
-alone."</p>
-
-<p>"Madame is perhaps the New Heloise," suggested La Cibot, with
-sly innocence.</p>
-
-<p>"Not bad, old lady!" cried Gaudissart.</p>
-
-<p>"It is a venerable joke," said the dancer, "a grizzled pun;
-find us another old lady—or take a cigarette."</p>
-
-<p>"I beg your pardon, madame, I feel too unhappy to answer you;
-my two gentlemen are very ill; and to buy nourishment for them
-and to spare them trouble, I have pawned everything down to my
-husband's clothes that I pledged this morning. Here is the
-ticket!"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! here, the affair is becoming tragic," cried the fair
-Heloise.<br>
- "What is it all about?"</p>
-
-<p>"Madame drops down upon us like—"</p>
-
-<p>"Like a dancer," said Heloise; "let me prompt
-you,—missus!"</p>
-
-<p>"Come, I am busy," said Gaudissart. "The joke has gone far
-enough.<br>
- Heloise, this is M. Pons' confidential servant; she had come to
-tell me that I must not count upon him; our poor conductor is not
-expected to live. I don't know what to do."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! poor man; why, he must have a benefit."</p>
-
-<p>"It would ruin him," said Gaudissart. "He might find next day
-that he owed five hundred francs to charitable institutions, and
-they refuse to admit that there are any sufferers in Paris except
-their own. No, look here, my good woman, since you are going in
-for the Montyon prize——"</p>
-
-<p>He broke off, rang the bell, and the youth before mentioned
-suddenly appeared.</p>
-
-<p>"Tell the cashier to send me up a thousand-franc note.—Sit
-down, madame."</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! poor woman, look, she is crying!" exclaimed Heloise. "How
-stupid!<br>
- There, there, mother, we will go to see him; don't cry.—I say,
-now,"<br>
- she continued, taking the manager into a corner, "you want to
-make me take the leading part in the ballet in <i>Ariane</i>, you
-Turk. You are going to be married, and you know how I can make
-you miserable—"</p>
-
-<p>"Heloise, my heart is copper-bottomed like a man-of-war."</p>
-
-<p>"I shall bring your children on the scene! I will borrow some
-somewhere."</p>
-
-<p>"I have owned up about the attachment."</p>
-
-<p>"Do be nice, and give Pons' post to Garangeot; he has talent,
-poor fellow, and he has not a penny; and I promise peace."</p>
-
-<p>"But wait till Pons is dead, in case the good man may come
-back again."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, as to that, no, sir," said La Cibot. "He began to wander
-in his mind last night, and now he is delirious. It will soon be
-over, unfortunately."</p>
-
-<p>"At any rate, take Garangeot as a stop-gap!" pleaded Heloise.
-"He has the whole press on his side—"</p>
-
-<p>Just at that moment the cashier came in with a note for a
-thousand francs in his hand.</p>
-
-<p>"Give it to madame here," said Gaudissart. "Good-day, my good
-woman; take good care of the dear man, and tell him that I am
-coming to see him to-morrow, or sometime—as soon as I can, in
-short."</p>
-
-<p>"A drowning man," said Heloise.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah, sir, hearts like yours are only found in a theatre. May
-God bless you!"</p>
-
-<p>"To what account shall I post this item?" asked the
-cashier.</p>
-
-<p>"I will countersign the order. Post it to the bonus
-account."</p>
-
-<p>Before La Cibot went out, she made Mlle. Brisetout a fine
-courtesy, and heard Gaudissart remark to his mistress:</p>
-
-<p>"Can Garangeot do the dance-music for the <i>Mohicans</i> in
-twelve days?<br>
- If he helps me out of my predicament, he shall have Pons'
-place."</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot had cut off the incomes of the two friends, she had
-left them without means of subsistence if Pons should chance to
-recover, and was better rewarded for all this mischief than for
-any good that she had done. In a few days' time her treacherous
-trick would bring about the desired result—Elie Magus would have
-his coveted pictures. But if this first spoliation was to be
-effected, La Cibot must throw dust in Fraisier's eyes, and lull
-the suspicions of that terrible fellow- conspirator of her own
-seeking; and Elie Magus and Remonencq must be bound over to
-secrecy.</p>
-
-<p>As for Remonencq, he had gradually come to feel such a passion
-as uneducated people can conceive when they come to Paris from
-the depths of the country, bringing with them all the fixed ideas
-bred of the solitary country life; all the ignorance of a
-primitive nature, all the brute appetites that become so many
-fixed ideas. Mme. Cibot's masculine beauty, her vivacity, her
-market-woman's wit, had all been remarked by the marine
-store-dealer. He thought at first of taking La Cibot from her
-husband, bigamy among the lower classes in Paris being much more
-common than is generally supposed; but greed was like a slip-knot
-drawn more and more tightly about his heart, till reason at
-length was stifled. When Remonencq computed that the commission
-paid by himself and Elie Magus amounted to about forty thousand
-francs, he determined to have La Cibot for his legitimate spouse,
-and his thoughts turned from a misdemeanor to a crime. A romantic
-purely speculative dream, persistently followed through a
-tobacco-smoker's long musings as he lounged in the doorway, had
-brought him to the point of wishing that the little tailor were
-dead. At a stroke he beheld his capital trebled; and then he
-thought of La Cibot. What a good saleswoman she would be! What a
-handsome figure she would make in a magnificent shop on the
-boulevards! The twofold covetousness turned Remonencq's head. In
-fancy he took a shop that he knew of on the Boulevard de la
-Madeleine, he stocked it with Pons' treasures, and then—after
-dreaming his dream in sheets of gold, after seeing millions in
-the blue spiral wreaths that rose from his pipe, he awoke to find
-himself face to face with the little tailor. Cibot was sweeping
-the yard, the doorstep, and the pavement just as his neighbor was
-taking down the shutters and displaying his wares; for since Pons
-fell ill, La Cibot's work had fallen to her husband.</p>
-
-<p>The Auvergnat began to look upon the little, swarthy, stunted,
-copper- colored tailor as the one obstacle in his way, and
-pondered how to be rid of him. Meanwhile this growing passion
-made La Cibot very proud, for she had reached an age when a woman
-begins to understand that she may grow old.</p>
-
-<p>So early one morning, she meditatively watched Remonencq as he
-arranged his odds and ends for sale. She wondered how far his
-love could go. He came across to her.</p>
-
-<p>"Well," he said, "are things going as you wish?"</p>
-
-<p>"It is you who makes me uneasy," said La Cibot. "I shall be
-talked about; the neighbors will see you making sheep's eyes at
-me."</p>
-
-<p>She left the doorway and dived into the Auvergnat's back
-shop.</p>
-
-<p>"What a notion!" said Remonencq.</p>
-
-<p>"Come here, I have something to say to you," said La Cibot.
-"M. Pons' heirs are about to make a stir; they are capable of
-giving us a lot of trouble. God knows what might come of it if
-they send the lawyers here to poke their noses into the affair
-like hunting-dogs. I cannot get M.<br>
- Schmucke to sell a few pictures unless you like me well enough
-to keep the secret—such a secret!—With your head on the block,
-you must not say where the pictures come from, nor who it was
-that sold them. When M. Pons is once dead and buried, you
-understand, nobody will know how many pictures there ought to be;
-if there are fifty-three pictures instead of sixty-seven, nobody
-will be any the wiser. Besides, if M.<br>
- Pons sold them himself while he was alive, nobody can find
-fault."</p>
-
-<p>"No," agreed Remonencq, "it is all one to me, but M. Elie
-Magus will want receipts in due form."</p>
-
-<p>"And you shall have your receipt too, bless your life! Do you
-suppose that <i>I</i> should write them?—No, M. Schmucke will do
-that. But tell your Jew that he must keep the secret as closely
-as you do," she continued.</p>
-
-<p>"We will be as mute as fishes. That is our business. I myself
-can read, but I cannot write, and that is why I want a capable
-wife that has had education like you. I have thought of nothing
-but earning my bread all my days, and now I wish I had some
-little Remonencqs. Do leave that Cibot of yours."</p>
-
-<p>"Why, here comes your Jew," said the portress; "we can arrange
-the whole business."</p>
-
-<p>Elie Magus came every third day very early in the morning to
-know when he could buy his pictures. "Well, my dear lady," said
-he, "how are we getting on?"</p>
-
-<p>"Has nobody been to speak to you about M. Pons and his
-gimcracks?"<br>
- asked La Cibot.</p>
-
-<p>"I received a letter from a lawyer," said Elie Magus, "a
-rascal that seems to me to be trying to work for himself; I don't
-like people of that sort, so I took no notice of his letter.
-Three days afterwards he came to see me, and left his card. I
-told my porter that I am never at home when he calls."</p>
-
-<p>"You are a love of a Jew," said La Cibot. Little did she know
-Elie Magus' prudence. "Well, sonnies, in a few days' time I will
-bring M.<br>
- Schmucke to the point of selling you seven or eight pictures,
-ten at most. But on two conditions.—Absolute secrecy in the
-first place. M.<br>
- Schmucke will send for you, sir, is not that so? And M.
-Remonencq suggested that you might be a purchaser, eh?—And, come
-what may, I will not meddle in it for nothing. You are giving
-forty-six thousand francs for four pictures, are you not?"</p>
-
-<p>"So be it," groaned the Jew.</p>
-
-<p>"Very good. This is the second condition. You will give me
-<i>forty- three</i> thousand francs, and pay three thousand only
-to M. Schmucke; Remonencq will buy four for two thousand francs,
-and hand over the surplus to me.—But at the same time, you see
-my dear M. Magus, I am going to help you and Remonencq to a
-splendid bit of business—on condition that the profits are
-shared among the three of us. I will introduce you to that
-lawyer, as he, no doubt, will come here. You shall make a
-valuation of M. Pons' things at the prices which you can give for
-them, so that M. Fraisier may know how much the property is
-worth. But—not until after our sale, you understand!"</p>
-
-<p>"I understand," said the Jew, "but it takes time to look at
-the things and value them."</p>
-
-<p>"You shall have half a day. But, there, that is my affair.
-Talk it over between yourselves, my boys, and for that matter the
-business will be settled by the day after to-morrow. I will go
-round to speak to this Fraisier; for Dr. Poulain tells him
-everything that goes on in the house, and it is a great bother to
-keep that scarecrow quiet."</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot met Fraisier halfway between the Rue de la Perle and
-the Rue de Normandie; so impatient was he to know the "elements
-of the case"<br>
- (to use his own expression), that he was coming to see her.</p>
-
-<p>"I say! I was going to you," said she.</p>
-
-<p>Fraisier grumbled because Elie Magus had refused to see him.
-But La Cibot extinguished the spark of distrust that gleamed in
-the lawyer's eyes by informing him that Elie Magus had returned
-from a journey, and that she would arrange for an interview in
-Pons' rooms and for the valuation of the property; for the day
-after to-morrow at latest.</p>
-
-<p>"Deal frankly with me," returned Fraisier. "It is more than
-probable that I shall act for M. Pons' next-of-kin. In that case,
-I shall be even better able to serve you."</p>
-
-<p>The words were spoken so drily that La Cibot quaked. This
-starving limb of the law was sure to manoeuvre on his side as she
-herself was doing. She resolved forthwith to hurry on the sale of
-the pictures.</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot was right. The doctor and lawyer had clubbed together
-to buy a new suit of clothes in which Fraisier could decently
-present himself before Mme. la Presidente Camusot de Marville.
-Indeed, if the clothes had been ready, the interview would have
-taken place sooner, for the fate of the couple hung upon its
-issues. Fraisier left Mme. Cibot, and went to try on his new
-clothes. He found them waiting for him, went home, adjusted his
-new wig, and towards ten o'clock that morning set out in a
-carriage from a livery stable for the Rue de Hanovre, hoping for
-an audience. In his white tie, yellow gloves, and new wig,
-redolent of <i>eau de Portugal</i>, he looked something like a
-poisonous essence kept in a cut-glass bottle, seeming but the
-more deadly because everything about it is daintily neat, from
-the stopper covered with white kid to the label and the thread.
-His peremptory manner, the eruption on his blotched countenance,
-the green eyes, and a malignant something about him,—all these
-things struck the beholder with the same sense of surprise as
-storm-clouds in a blue sky. If in his private office, as he
-showed himself to La Cibot, he was the common knife that a
-murderer catches up for his crime,—now, at the Presidente's
-door, he was the daintily-wrought dagger which a woman sets among
-the ornaments on her what-not.</p>
-
-<p>A great change had taken place in the Rue de Hanovre. The
-Count and Countess Popinot and the young people would not allow
-the President and his wife to leave the house that they had
-settled upon their daughter to pay rent elsewhere. M. and Mme. la
-Presidente, therefore, were installed on the second floor, now
-left at liberty, for the elderly lady had made up her mind to end
-her days in the country.</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Camusot took Madeleine Vivet, with her cook and her
-man-servant, to the second floor, and would have been as much
-pinched for money as in the early days, if the house had not been
-rent free, and the President's salary increased to ten thousand
-francs. This <i>aurea mediocritas</i> was but little satisfactory
-to Mme. de Marville. Even now she wished for means more in
-accordance with her ambitions; for when she handed over their
-fortune to their daughter, she spoiled her husband's prospects.
-Now Amelie had set her heart upon seeing her husband in the
-Chamber of Deputies; she was not one of those women who find it
-easy to give up their way; and she by no means despaired of
-returning her husband for the arrondissement in which Marville is
-situated. So for the past two months she had teased her
-father-in-law, M. le Baron Camusot (for the new peer of France
-had been advanced to that rank), and done her utmost to extort an
-advance of a hundred thousand francs of the inheritance which one
-day would be theirs. She wanted, she said, to buy a small estate
-worth about two thousand francs per annum set like a wedge within
-the Marville lands. There she and her husband would be near their
-children and in their own house, while the addition would round
-out the Marville property. With that the Presidente laid stress
-upon the recent sacrifices which she and her husband had been
-compelled to make in order to marry Cecile to Viscount Popinot,
-and asked the old man how he could bar his eldest son's way to
-the highest honors of the magistracy, when such honors were only
-to be had by those who made themselves a strong position in
-parliament. Her husband would know how to take up such a
-position, he would make himself feared by those in office, and so
-on and so on.</p>
-
-<p><br>
- "They do nothing for you unless you tighten a halter round their
-necks to loosen their tongues," said she. "They are ungrateful.
-What do they not owe to Camusot! Camusot brought the House of
-Orleans to the throne by enforcing the ordinances of July."</p>
-
-<p>M. Camusot senior answered that he had gone out of his depth
-in railway speculations. He quite admitted that it was necessary
-to come to the rescue, but put off the day until shares should
-rise, as they were expected to do.</p>
-
-<p>This half-promise, extracted some few days before Fraisier's
-visit, had plunged the Presidente into depths of affliction. It
-was doubtful whether the ex-proprietor of Marville was eligible
-for re-election without the land qualification.</p>
-
-<p>Fraisier found no difficulty in obtaining speech of Madeleine
-Vivet; such viper natures own their kinship at once.</p>
-
-<p>"I should like to see Mme. la Presidente for a few moments,
-mademoiselle," Fraisier said in bland accents; "I have come on a
-matter of business which touches her fortune; it is a question of
-a legacy, be sure to mention that. I have not the honor of being
-known to Mme. la Presidente, so my name is of no consequence. I
-am not in the habit of leaving my chambers, but I know the
-respect that is due to a President's wife, and I took the trouble
-of coming myself to save all possible delay."</p>
-
-<p>The matter thus broached, when repeated and amplified by the
-waiting- maid, naturally brought a favorable answer. It was a
-decisive moment for the double ambition hidden in Fraisier's
-mind. Bold as a petty provincial attorney, sharp, rough-spoken,
-and curt as he was, he felt as captains feel before the decisive
-battle of a campaign. As he went into the little drawing-room
-where Amelie was waiting for him, he felt a slight perspiration
-breaking out upon his forehead and down his back. Every sudorific
-hitherto employed had failed to produce this result upon a skin
-which horrible diseases had left impervious. "Even if I fail to
-make my fortune," said he to himself, "I shall recover.<br>
- Poulain said that if I could only perspire I should
-recover."</p>
-
-<p>The Presidente came forward in her morning gown.</p>
-
-<p>"Madame—" said Fraisier, stopping short to bow with the
-humility by which officials recognize the superior rank of the
-person whom they address.</p>
-
-<p>"Take a seat, monsieur," said the Presidente. She saw at a
-glance that this was a man of law.</p>
-
-<p>"Mme. la Presidente, if I take the liberty of calling your
-attention to a matter which concerns M. le President, it is
-because I am sure that M. de Marville, occupying, as he does, a
-high position, would leave matters to take their natural course,
-and so lose seven or eight hundred thousand francs, a sum which
-ladies (who, in my opinion, have a far better understanding of
-private business than the best of magistrates)—a sum which
-ladies, I repeat, would by no means despise—"</p>
-
-<p>"You spoke of a legacy," interrupted the lady, dazzled by the
-wealth, and anxious to hide her surprise. Amelie de Marville,
-like an impatient novel-reader, wanted the end of the story.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, madame, a legacy that you are like to lose; yes, to lose
-altogether; but I can, that is, I <i>could</i>, recover it for
-you, if—"</p>
-
-<p>"Speak out, monsieur." Mme. de Marville spoke frigidly,
-scanning Fraisier as she spoke with a sagacious eye.</p>
-
-<p>"Madame, your eminent capacity is known to me; I was once at
-Mantes.<br>
- M. Leboeuf, President of the Tribunal, is acquainted with M. de
-Marville, and can answer inquiries about me—"</p>
-
-<p>The Presidente's shrug was so ruthlessly significant, that
-Fraisier was compelled to make short work of his parenthetic
-discourse.</p>
-
-<p>"So distinguished a woman will at once understand why I speak
-of myself in the first place. It is the shortest way to the
-property."</p>
-
-<p>To this acute observation the lady replied by a gesture.
-Fraisier took the sign for a permission to continue.</p>
-
-<p>"I was an attorney, madame, at Mantes. My connection was all
-the fortune that I was likely to have. I took over M. Levroux's
-practice.<br>
- You knew him, no doubt?"</p>
-
-<p>The Presidente inclined her head.</p>
-
-<p>"With borrowed capital and some ten thousand francs of my own,
-I went to Mantes. I had been with Desroches, one of the cleverest
-attorneys in Paris, I had been his head-clerk for six years. I
-was so unlucky as to make an enemy of the attorney for the crown
-at Mantes, Monsieur—"</p>
-
-<p>"Olivier Vinet."</p>
-
-<p>"Son of the Attorney-General, yes, madame. He was paying his
-court to a little person—"</p>
-
-<p>"Whom?"</p>
-
-<p>"Mme. Vatinelle."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! Mme. Vatinelle. She was very pretty and very—er—when I
-was there—"</p>
-
-<p>"She was not unkind to me: <i>inde iroe</i>," Fraisier
-continued. "I was industrious; I wanted to repay my friends and
-to marry; I wanted work; I went in search of it; and before long
-I had more on my hands than anybody else. Bah! I had every soul
-in Mantes against me—attorneys, notaries, and even the bailiffs.
-They tried to fasten a quarrel on me.<br>
- In our ruthless profession, as you know, madame, if you wish to
-ruin a man, it is soon done. I was concerned for both parties in
-a case, and they found it out. It was a trifle irregular; but it
-is sometimes done in Paris, attorneys in certain cases hand the
-rhubarb and take the senna. They do things differently at Mantes.
-I had done M. Bouyonnet this little service before; but, egged on
-by his colleagues and the attorney for the crown, he betrayed
-me.—I am keeping back nothing, you see.—There was a great hue
-and cry about it. I was a scoundrel; they made me out blacker
-than Marat; forced me to sell out; ruined me.<br>
- And I am in Paris now. I have tried to get together a practice;
-but my health is so bad, that I have only two quiet hours out of
-the twenty- four.</p>
-
-<p>"At this moment I have but one ambition, and a very small one.
-Some day," he continued, "you will be the wife of the Keeper of
-the Seals, or of the Home Secretary, it may be; but I, poor and
-sickly as I am, desire nothing but a post in which I can live in
-peace for the rest of my life, a place without any opening in
-which to vegetate. I should like to be a justice of the peace in
-Paris. It would be a mere trifle for you and M. le President to
-gain the appointment for me; for the present Keeper of the Seals
-must be anxious to keep on good terms with you . . .</p>
-
-<p>"And that is not all, madame," added Fraisier. Seeing that
-Mme. de Marville was about to speak, he cut her short with a
-gesture. "I have a friend, the doctor in attendance on the old
-man who ought to leave his property to M. le President. (We are
-coming to the point, you see.) The doctor's co-operation is
-indispensable, and the doctor is precisely in my position: he has
-abilities, he is unlucky. I learned through him how far your
-interests were imperiled; for even as I speak, all may be over,
-and the will disinheriting M. le President may have been made.
-This doctor wishes to be head-surgeon of a hospital or of a
-Government school. He must have a position in Paris equal to
-mine. . . . Pardon me if I have enlarged on a matter so delicate;
-but we must have no misunderstandings in this business. The
-doctor is, besides, much respected and learned; he saved the life
-of the Comtesse Popinot's great-uncle, M. Pillerault.</p>
-
-<p>"Now, if you are so good as to promise these two posts—the
-appointment of justice of the peace and the sinecure for my
-friend—I will undertake to bring you the property, <i>almost</i>
-intact.—Almost intact, I say, for the co-operation of the
-legatee and several other persons is absolutely indispensable,
-and some obligations will be incurred. You will not redeem your
-promises until I have fulfilled mine."</p>
-
-<p>The Presidente had folded her arms, and for the last minute or
-two sat like a person compelled to listen to a sermon. Now she
-unfolded her arms, and looked at Fraisier as she said, "Monsieur,
-all that you say concerning your interests has the merit of
-clearness; but my own interests in the matter are by no means so
-clear—"</p>
-
-<p>"A word or two will explain everything, madame. M. le
-President is M.<br>
- Pons' first cousin once removed, and his sole heir. M. Pons is
-very ill; he is about to make his will, if it is not already
-made, in favor of a German, a friend of his named Schmucke; and
-he has more than seven hundred thousand francs to leave. I hope
-to have an accurate valuation made in two or three days—"</p>
-
-<p>"If this is so," said the Presidente, "I made a great mistake
-in quarreling with him and throwing the blame——" she thought
-aloud, amazed by the possibility of such a sum.</p>
-
-<p>"No, madame. If there had been no rupture, he would be as
-blithe as a lark at this moment, and might outlive you and M. le
-President and me.<br>
- . . . The ways of Providence are mysterious, let us not seek to
-fathom them," he added to palliate to some extent the hideous
-idea. "It cannot be helped. We men of business look at the
-practical aspects of things. Now you see clearly, madame, that M.
-de Marville in his public position would do nothing, and could do
-nothing, as things are. He has broken off all relations with his
-cousin. You see nothing now of Pons; you have forbidden him the
-house; you had excellent reasons, no doubt, for doing as you did,
-but the old man is ill, and he is leaving his property to the
-only friend left to him. A President of the Court of Appeal in
-Paris could say nothing under such circumstances if the will was
-made out in due form. But between ourselves, madame, when one has
-a right to expect seven or eight hundred thousand francs—or a
-million, it may be (how should I know?)—it is very unpleasant to
-have it slip through one's fingers, especially if one happens to
-be the heir-at-law. . . . But, on the other hand, to prevent
-this, one is obliged to stoop to dirty work; work so difficult,
-so ticklish, bringing you cheek by jowl with such low people,
-servants and subordinates; and into such close contact with them
-too, that no barrister, no attorney in Paris could take up such a
-case.</p>
-
-<p>"What you want is a briefless barrister like me," said he, "a
-man who should have real and solid ability, who has learned to be
-devoted, and yet, being in a precarious position, is brought
-temporarily to a level with such people. In my arrondissement I
-undertake business for small tradespeople and working folk. Yes,
-madame, you see the straits to which I have been brought by the
-enmity of an attorney for the crown, now a deputy-public
-prosecutor in Paris, who could not forgive me my superiority.—I
-know you, madame, I know that your influence means a solid
-certainty; and in such a service rendered to you, I saw the end
-of my troubles and success for my friend Dr. Poulain."</p>
-
-<p>The lady sat pensive during a moment of unspeakable torture
-for Fraisier. Vinet, an orator of the Centre, attorney-general
-(<i>procureur-general</i>) for the past sixteen years, nominated
-half-a- score of times for the chancellorship, the father,
-moreover, of the attorney for the crown at Mantes who had been
-appointed to a post in Paris within the last year—Vinet was an
-enemy and a rival for the malignant Presidente. The haughty
-attorney-general did not hide his contempt for President Camusot.
-This fact Fraisier did not know, and could not know.</p>
-
-<p>"Have you nothing on your conscience but the fact that you
-were concerned for both parties?" asked she, looking steadily at
-Fraisier.</p>
-
-<p>"Mme. la Presidente can see M. Leboeuf; M. Leboeuf was
-favorable to me."</p>
-
-<p>"Do you feel sure that M. Leboeuf will give M. de Marville and
-M. le Comte Popinot a good account of you?"</p>
-
-<p>"I will answer for it, especially now that M. Olivier Vinet
-has left Mantes; for between ourselves, good M. Leboeuf was
-afraid of that crabbed little official. If you will permit me,
-Madame La Presidente, I will go to Mantes and see M. Leboeuf. No
-time will be lost, for I cannot be certain of the precise value
-of the property for two or three days. I do not wish that you
-should know all the ins and outs of this affair; you ought not to
-know them, Mme. la Presidente, but is not the reward that I
-expect for my complete devotion a pledge of my success?"</p>
-
-<p>"Very well. If M. Leboeuf will speak in your favor, and if the
-property is worth as much as you think (I doubt it myself), you
-shall have both appointments, <i>if</i> you succeed, mind
-you—"</p>
-
-<p>"I will answer for it, madame. Only, you must be so good as to
-have your notary and your attorney here when I shall need them;
-you must give me a power of attorney to act for M. le President,
-and tell those gentlemen to follow my instructions, and to do
-nothing on their own responsibility."</p>
-
-<p>"The responsibility rests with you," the Presidente answered
-solemnly, "so you ought to have full powers.—But is M. Pons very
-ill?" she asked, smiling.</p>
-
-<p>"Upon my word, madame, he might pull through, especially with
-so conscientious a doctor as Poulain in attendance; for this
-friend of mine, madame, is simply an unconscious spy directed by
-me in your interests. Left to himself, he would save the old
-man's life; but there is some one else by the sickbed, a
-portress, who would push him into the grave for thirty thousand
-francs. Not that she would kill him outright; she will not give
-him arsenic, she is not so merciful; she will do worse, she will
-kill him by inches; she will worry him to death day by day. If
-the poor old man were kept quiet and left in peace; if he were
-taken into the country and cared for and made much of by friends,
-he would get well again; but he is harassed by a sort of Mme.
-Evrard. When the woman was young she was one of thirty
-<i>Belles</i> <i>Ecailleres</i>, famous in Paris, she is a rough,
-greedy, gossiping woman; she torments him to make a will and to
-leave her something handsome, and the end of it will be
-induration of the liver, calculi are possibly forming at this
-moment, and he has not enough strength to bear an operation. The
-doctor, noble soul, is in a horrible predicament. He really ought
-to send the woman away—"</p>
-
-<p>"Why, then, this vixen is a monster!" cried the lady in thin
-flute- like tones.</p>
-
-<p>Fraisier smiled inwardly at the likeness between himself and
-the terrible Presidente; he knew all about those suave
-modulations of a naturally sharp voice. He thought of another
-president, the hero of an anecdote related by Louis XI., stamped
-by that monarch's final praise.<br>
- Blessed with a wife after the pattern of Socrates' spouse, and
-ungifted with the sage's philosophy, he mingled salt with the
-corn in the mangers and forbad the grooms to give water to the
-horses. As his wife rode along the Seine towards their
-country-house, the animals bolted into the river with the lady,
-and the magistrate returned thanks to Providence for ridding him
-of his wife "in so natural a manner." At this present moment Mme.
-de Marville thanked Heaven for placing at Pons' bedside a woman
-so likely to get him "decently" out of the way.</p>
-
-<p>Aloud she said, "I would not take a million at the price of a
-single scruple.—Your friend ought to speak to M. Pons and have
-the woman sent away."</p>
-
-<p>"In the first place, madame, Messrs. Schmucke and Pons think
-the woman an angel; they would send my friend away. And secondly,
-the doctor lies under an obligation to this horrid oyster-woman;
-she called him in to attend M. Pillerault. When he tells her to
-be as gentle as possible with the patient, he simply shows the
-creature how to make matters worse."</p>
-
-<p>"What does your friend think of <i>my</i> cousin's
-condition?"</p>
-
-<p>This man's clear, business-like way of putting the facts of
-the case frightened Mme. de Marville; she felt that his keen gaze
-read the thoughts of a heart as greedy as La Cibot's own.</p>
-
-<p>"In six weeks the property will change hands."</p>
-
-<p>The Presidente dropped her eyes.</p>
-
-<p>"Poor man!" she sighed, vainly striving after a dolorous
-expression.</p>
-
-<p>"Have you any message, madame, for M. Leboeuf? I am taking the
-train to Mantes."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes. Wait a moment, and I will write to ask him to dine with
-us to-morrow. I want to see him, so that he may act in concert to
-repair the injustice to which you have fallen a victim."</p>
-
-<p>The Presidente left the room. Fraisier saw himself a justice
-of the peace. He felt transformed at the thought; he grew
-stouter; his lungs were filled with the breath of success, the
-breeze of prosperity. He dipped into the mysterious reservoirs of
-volition for fresh and strong doses of the divine essence. To
-reach success, he felt, as Remonencq half felt, that he was ready
-for anything, for crime itself, provided that no proofs of it
-remained. He had faced the Presidente boldly; he had transmuted
-conjecture into reality; he had made assertions right and left,
-all to the end that she might authorize him to protect her
-interests and win her influence. As he stood there, he
-represented the infinite misery of two lives, and the no less
-boundless desires of two men. He spurned the squalid horrors of
-the Rue de la Perle. He saw the glitter of a thousand crowns in
-fees from La Cibot, and five thousand francs from the Presidente.
-This meant an abode such as befitted his future prospects.
-Finally, he was repaying Dr. Poulain.</p>
-
-<p>There are hard, ill-natured beings, goaded by distress or
-disease into active malignity, that yet entertain diametrically
-opposed sentiments with a like degree of vehemence. If Richelieu
-was a good hater, he was no less a good friend. Fraisier, in his
-gratitude, would have let himself be cut in two for Poulain.</p>
-
-<p>So absorbed was he in these visions of a comfortable and
-prosperous life, that he did not see the Presidente come in with
-the letter in her hand, and she, looking at him, thought him less
-ugly now than at first. He was about to be useful to her, and as
-soon as a tool belongs to us we look upon it with other eyes.</p>
-
-<p>"M. Fraisier," said she, "you have convinced me of your
-intelligence, and I think that you can speak frankly."</p>
-
-<p>Fraisier replied by an eloquent gesture.</p>
-
-<p>"Very well," continued the lady, "I must ask you to give a
-candid reply to this question: Are we, either of us, M. de
-Marville or I, likely to be compromised, directly or indirectly,
-by your action in this matter?"</p>
-
-<p>"I would not have come to you, madame, if I thought that some
-day I should have to reproach myself for bringing so much as a
-splash of mud upon you, for in your position a speck the size of
-a pin's head is seen by all the world. You forget, madame, that I
-must satisfy you if I am to be a justice of the peace in Paris. I
-have received one lesson at the outset of my life; it was so
-sharp that I do not care to lay myself open to a second
-thrashing. To sum it up in a last word, madame, I will not take a
-step in which you are indirectly involved without previously
-consulting you—"</p>
-
-<p>"Very good. Here is the letter. And now I shall expect to be
-informed of the exact value of the estate."</p>
-
-<p>"There is the whole matter," said Fraisier shrewdly, making
-his bow to the Presidente with as much graciousness as his
-countenance could exhibit.</p>
-
-<p>"What a providence!" thought Mme. Camusot de Marville. "So I
-am to be rich! Camusot will be sure of his election if we let
-loose this Fraisier upon the Bolbec constituency. What a
-tool!"</p>
-
-<p>"What a providence!" Fraisier said to himself as he descended
-the staircase; "and what a sharp woman Mme. Camusot is! I should
-want a woman in these circumstances. Now to work!"</p>
-
-<p>And he departed for Mantes to gain the good graces of a man he
-scarcely knew; but he counted upon Mme. Vatinelle, to whom,
-unfortunately, he owed all his troubles—and some troubles are of
-a kind that resemble a protested bill while the defaulter is yet
-solvent, in that they bear interest.</p>
-
-<p>Three days afterwards, while Schmucke slept (for in accordance
-with the compact he now sat up at night with the patient), La
-Cibot had a "tiff," as she was pleased to call it, with Pons. It
-will not be out of place to call attention to one particularly
-distressing symptom of liver complaint. The sufferer is always
-more or less inclined to impatience and fits of anger; an
-outburst of this kind seems to give relief at the time, much as a
-patient while the fever fit is upon him feels that he has
-boundless strength; but collapse sets in so soon as the
-excitement passes off, and the full extent of mischief sustained
-by the system is discernible. This is especially the case when
-the disease has been induced by some great shock; and the
-prostration is so much the more dangerous because the patient is
-kept upon a restricted diet. It is a kind of fever affecting
-neither the blood nor the brain, but the humoristic mechanism,
-fretting the whole system, producing melancholy, in which the
-patient hates himself; in such a crisis anything may cause
-dangerous irritation.</p>
-
-<p>In spite of all that the doctor could say, La Cibot had no
-belief in this wear and tear of the nervous system by the
-humoristic. She was a woman of the people, without experience or
-education; Dr. Poulain's explanations for her were simply
-"doctor's notions." Like most of her class, she thought that sick
-people must be fed, and nothing short of Dr. Poulain's direct
-order prevented her from administering ham, a nice omelette, or
-vanilla chocolate upon the sly.</p>
-
-<p>The infatuation of the working classes on this point is very
-strong.<br>
- The reason of their reluctance to enter a hospital is the idea
-that they will be starved there. The mortality caused by the food
-smuggled in by the wives of patients on visiting-days was at one
-time so great that the doctors were obliged to institute a very
-strict search for contraband provisions.</p>
-
-<p>If La Cibot was to realize her profits at once, a momentary
-quarrel must be worked up in some way. She began by telling Pons
-about her visit to the theatre, not omitting her passage at arms
-with Mlle.<br>
- Heloise the dancer.</p>
-
-<p>"But why did you go?" the invalid asked for the third time. La
-Cibot once launched on a stream of words, he was powerless to
-stop her.</p>
-
-<p>"So, then, when I had given her a piece of my mind,
-Mademoiselle Heloise saw who I was and knuckled under, and we
-were the best of friends.—And now do you ask me why I went?" she
-added, repeating Pons' question.</p>
-
-<p>There are certain babblers, babblers of genius are they, who
-sweep up interruptions, objections, and observations in this way
-as they go along, by way of provision to swell the matter of
-their conversation, as if that source were ever in any danger of
-running dry.</p>
-
-<p>"Why I went?" repeated she. "I went to get your M. Gaudissart
-out of a fix. He wants some music for a ballet, and you are
-hardly fit to scribble on sheets of paper and do your work,
-dearie.—So I understood, things being so, that a M. Garangeot
-was to be asked to set the <i>Mohicans</i> to music—"</p>
-
-<p>"Garangeot!" roared Pons in fury. "<i>Garangeot</i>! a man
-with no talent; I would not have him for first violin! He is very
-clever, he is very good at musical criticism, but as to
-composing—I doubt it! And what the devil put the notion of going
-to the theatre into your head?"</p>
-
-<p>"How confoundedly contrairy the man is! Look here, dearie, we
-mustn't boil over like milk on the fire! How are you to write
-music in the state that you are in? Why, you can't have looked at
-yourself in the glass! Will you have the glass and see? You are
-nothing but skin and bone—you are as weak as a sparrow, and do
-you think that you are fit to make your notes! why, you would not
-so much as make out mine. . . .<br>
- And that reminds me that I ought to go up to the third floor
-lodger's that owes us seventeen francs, for when the chemist has
-been paid we shall not have twenty left.—So I had to tell M.
-Gaudissart (I like that name), a good sort he seems to be,—a
-regular Roger Bontemps that would just suit me.—<i>He</i> will
-never have liver complaint!—Well, so I had to tell him how you
-were.—Lord! you are not well, and he has put some one else in
-your place for a bit—"</p>
-
-<p>"Some one else in my place!" cried Pons in a terrible voice,
-as he sat right up in bed. Sick people, generally speaking, and
-those most particularly who lie within the sweep of the scythe of
-Death, cling to their places with the same passionate energy that
-the beginner displays to gain a start in life. To hear that
-someone had taken his place was like a foretaste of death to the
-dying man.</p>
-
-<p>"Why, the doctor told me that I was going on as well as
-possible,"<br>
- continued he; "he said that I should soon be about again as
-usual. You have killed me, ruined me, murdered me!"</p>
-
-<p>"Tut, tut, tut!" cried La Cibot, "there you go! I am killing
-you, am I? Mercy on us! these are the pretty things that you are
-always telling M. Schmucke when my back is turned. I hear all
-that you say, that I do! You are a monster of ingratitude."</p>
-
-<p>"But you do not know that if I am only away for another
-fortnight, they will tell me that I have had my day, that I am
-old-fashioned, out of date, Empire, rococo, when I go back.
-Garangeot will have made friends all over the theatre, high and
-low. He will lower the pitch to suit some actress that cannot
-sing, he will lick M. Gaudissart's boots!" cried the sick man,
-who clung to life. "He has friends that will praise him in all
-the newspapers; and when things are like that in such a shop,
-Mme. Cibot, they can find holes in anybody's coat.<br>
- . . . What fiend drove you to do it?"</p>
-
-<p>"Why! plague take it, M. Schmucke talked it over with me for a
-week.<br>
- What would you have? You see nothing but yourself! You are so
-selfish that other people may die if you can only get
-better.—Why poor M.<br>
- Schmucke has been tired out this month past! he is tied by the
-leg, he can go nowhere, he cannot give lessons nor take his place
-at the theatre. Do you really see nothing? He sits up with you at
-night, and I take the nursing in the day. If I were to sit up at
-night with you, as I tried to do at first when I thought you were
-so poor, I should have to sleep all day. And who would see to the
-house and look out for squalls! Illness is illness, it cannot be
-helped, and here are you—"</p>
-
-<p>"This was not Schmucke's idea, it is quite impossible—"</p>
-
-<p>"That means that it was <i>I</i> who took it into my head to
-do it, does it? Do you think that we are made of iron? Why, if M.
-Schmucke had given seven or eight lessons every day and conducted
-the orchestra every evening at the theatre from six o'clock till
-half-past eleven at night, he would have died in ten days' time.
-Poor man, he would give his life for you, and do you want to be
-the death of him? By the authors of my days, I have never seen a
-sick man to match you! Where are your senses? have you put them
-in pawn? We are all slaving our lives out for you; we do all for
-the best, and you are not satisfied!<br>
- Do you want to drive us raging mad? I myself, to begin with, am
-tired out as it is——"</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot rattled on at her ease; Pons was too angry to say a
-word. He writhed on his bed, painfully uttering inarticulate
-sounds; the blow was killing him. And at this point, as usual,
-the scolding turned suddenly to tenderness. The nurse dashed at
-her patient, grasped him by the head, made him lie down by main
-force, and dragged the blankets over him.</p>
-
-<p>"How any one can get into such a state!" exclaimed she. "After
-all, it is your illness, dearie. That is what good M. Poulain
-says. See now, keep quiet and be good, my dear little sonny.
-Everybody that comes near you worships you, and the doctor
-himself comes to see you twice a day. What would he say if he
-found you in such a way? You put me out of all patience; you
-ought not to behave like this. If you have Ma'am Cibot to nurse
-you, you should treat her better. You shout and you talk!—you
-ought not to do it, you know that. Talking irritates you.<br>
- And why do you fly into a passion? The wrong is all on your
-side; you are always bothering me. Look here, let us have it out!
-If M. Schmucke and I, who love you like our life, thought that we
-were doing right— well, my cherub, it was right, you may be
-sure."</p>
-
-<p>"Schmucke never could have told you to go to the theatre
-without speaking to me about it—"</p>
-
-<p>"And must I wake him, poor dear, when he is sleeping like one
-of the blest, and call him in as a witness?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, no!" cried Pons. "If my kind and loving Schmucke made the
-resolution, perhaps I am worse than I thought." His eyes wandered
-round the room, dwelling on the beautiful things in it with a
-melancholy look painful to see.</p>
-
-<p>"So I must say good-bye to my dear pictures, to all the things
-that have come to be like so many friends to me . . . and to my
-divine friend Schmucke? . . . Oh! can it be true?"</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot, acting her heartless comedy, held her handkerchief
-to her eyes; and at that mute response the sufferer fell to dark
-musing—so sorely stricken was he by the double stab dealt to
-health and his interests by the loss of his post and the near
-prospect of death, that he had no strength left for anger. He
-lay, ghastly and wan, like a consumptive patient after a
-wrestling bout with the Destroyer.</p>
-
-<p>"In M. Schmucke's interests, you see, you would do well to
-send for M.<br>
- Trognon; he is the notary of the quarter and a very good man,"
-said La Cibot, seeing that her victim was completely
-exhausted.</p>
-
-<p>"You are always talking about this Trognon—"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! he or another, it is all one to me, for anything you will
-leave me."</p>
-
-<p>She tossed her head to signify that she despised riches. There
-was silence in the room.</p>
-
-<p>A moment later Schmucke came in. He had slept for six hours,
-hunger awakened him, and now he stood at Pons' bedside watching
-his friend without saying a word, for Mme. Cibot had laid a
-finger on her lips.</p>
-
-<p>"Hush!" she whispered. Then she rose and went up to add under
-her breath, "He is going off to sleep at last, thank Heaven! He
-is as cross as a red donkey!—What can you expect, he is
-struggling with his illness——"</p>
-
-<p>"No, on the contrary, I am very patient," said the victim in a
-weary voice that told of a dreadful exhaustion; "but, oh!
-Schmucke, my dear friend, she has been to the theatre to turn me
-out of my place."</p>
-
-<p>There was a pause. Pons was too weak to say more. La Cibot
-took the opportunity and tapped her head significantly. "Do not
-contradict him," she said to Schmucke; "it would kill him."</p>
-
-<p>Pons gazed into Schmucke's honest face. "And she says that you
-sent her—" he continued.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes," Schmucke affirmed heroically. "It had to pe. Hush!—let
-us safe your life. It is absurd to vork and train your sdrength
-gif you haf a dreasure. Get better; ve vill sell some
-prick-a-prack und end our tays kvietly in a corner somveres, mit
-kind Montame Zipod."</p>
-
-<p>"She has perverted you," moaned Pons.</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Cibot had taken up her station behind the bed to make
-signals unobserved. Pons thought that she had left the room. "She
-is murdering me," he added.</p>
-
-<p>"What is that? I am murdering you, am I?" cried La Cibot,
-suddenly appearing, hand on hips and eyes aflame. "I am as
-faithful as a dog, and this is all I get! God Almighty!—"</p>
-
-<p>She burst into tears and dropped down into the great chair, a
-tragical movement which wrought a most disastrous revulsion in
-Pons.</p>
-
-<p>"Very good," she said, rising to her feet. The woman's
-malignant eyes looked poison and bullets at the two friends.
-"Very good. Nothing that I can do is right here, and I am tired
-of slaving my life out. You shall take a nurse."</p>
-
-<p>Pons and Schmucke exchanged glances in dismay.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! you may look at each other like actors. I mean it. I
-shall ask Dr. Poulain to find a nurse for you. And now we will
-settle accounts.<br>
- You shall pay me back the money that I have spent on you, and
-that I would never have asked you for, I that have gone to M.
-Pillerault to borrow another five hundred francs of him—"</p>
-
-<p>"It ees his illness!" cried Schmucke—he sprang to Mme. Cibot
-and put an arm round her waist—"haf batience."</p>
-
-<p>"As for you, you are an angel, I could kiss the ground you
-tread upon," said she. "But M. Pons never liked me, he always
-hated me.<br>
- Besides, he thinks perhaps that I want to be mentioned in his
-will—"</p>
-
-<p>"Hush! you vill kill him!" cried Schmucke.</p>
-
-<p>"Good-bye, sir," said La Cibot, with a withering look at Pons.
-"You may keep well for all the harm I wish you. When you can
-speak to me pleasantly, when you can believe that what I do is
-done for the best, I will come back again. Till then I shall stay
-in my own room. You were like my own child to me; did anybody
-ever see a child revolt against its mother? . . . No, no, M.
-Schmucke, I do not want to hear more. I will bring you
-<i>your</i> dinner and wait upon <i>you</i>, but you must take a
-nurse. Ask M. Poulain about it."</p>
-
-<p>And she went out, slamming the door after her so violently
-that the precious, fragile objects in the room trembled. To Pons
-in his torture, the rattle of china was like the final blow dealt
-by the executioner to a victim broken on the wheel.</p>
-
-<p>An hour later La Cibot called to Schmucke through the door,
-telling him that his dinner was waiting for him in the
-dining-room. She would not cross the threshold. Poor Schmucke
-went out to her with a haggard, tear-stained face.</p>
-
-<p>"Mein boor Bons in vandering," said he; "he says dat you are
-ein pad voman. It ees his illness," he added hastily, to soften
-La Cibot and excuse his friend.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, I have had enough of his illness! Look here, he is
-neither father, nor husband, nor brother, nor child of mine. He
-has taken a dislike to me; well and good, that is enough! As for
-you, you see, I would follow <i>you</i> to the end of the world;
-but when a woman gives her life, her heart, and all her savings,
-and neglects her husband (for here has Cibot fallen ill), and
-then hears that she is a bad woman—it is coming it rather too
-strong, it is."</p>
-
-<p>"Too shtrong?"</p>
-
-<p>"Too strong, yes. Never mind idle words. Let us come to the
-facts. As to that, you owe me for three months at a hundred and
-ninety francs— that is five hundred seventy francs; then there
-is the rent that I have paid twice (here are the receipts), six
-hundred more, including rates and the sou in the franc for the
-porter—something under twelve hundred francs altogether, and
-with the two thousand francs besides— without interest, mind
-you—the total amounts to three thousand one hundred and
-ninety-two francs. And remember that you will want at least two
-thousand francs before long for the doctor, and the nurse, and
-the medicine, and the nurse's board. That was why I borrowed a
-thousand francs of M. Pillerault," and with that she held up
-Gaudissart's bank-note.</p>
-
-<p>It may readily be conceived that Schmucke listened to this
-reckoning with amazement, for he knew about as much of business
-as a cat knows of music.</p>
-
-<p>"Montame Zipod," he expostulated, "Bons haf lost his head.
-Bardon him, and nurse him as before, und pe our profidence; I peg
-it of you on mine knees," and he knelt before La Cibot and kissed
-the tormentor's hands.</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot raised Schmucke and kissed him on the forehead.
-"Listen, my lamb," said she, "here is Cibot ill in bed; I have
-just sent for Dr.<br>
- Poulain. So I ought to set my affairs in order. And what is
-more, Cibot saw me crying, and flew into such a passion that he
-will not have me set foot in here again. It is <i>he</i> who
-wants the money; it is his, you see. We women can do nothing when
-it comes to that. But if you let him have his money back
-again—the three thousand two hundred francs—he will be quiet
-perhaps. Poor man, it is his all, earned by the sweat of his
-brow, the savings of twenty-six years of life together. He must
-have his money to-morrow; there is no getting round him.—You do
-not know Cibot; when he is angry he would kill a man.<br>
- Well, I might perhaps get leave of him to look after you both as
-before. Be easy. I will just let him say anything that comes into
-his head. I will bear it all for love of you, an angel as you
-are."</p>
-
-<p>"No, I am ein boor man, dot lof his friend and vould gif his
-life to save him—"</p>
-
-<p>"But the money?" broke in La Cibot. "My good M. Schmucke, let
-us suppose that you pay me nothing; you will want three thousand
-francs, and where are they to come from? Upon my word, do you
-know what I should do in your place? I should not think twice, I
-should just sell seven or eight good-for-nothing pictures and put
-up some of those instead that are standing in your closet with
-their faces to the wall for want of room. One picture or another,
-what difference does it make?"</p>
-
-<p>"Und vy?"</p>
-
-<p>"He is so cunning. It is his illness, for he is a lamb when he
-is well. He is capable of getting up and prying about; and if by
-any chance he went into the salon, he is so weak that he could
-not go beyond the door; he would see that they are all still
-there."</p>
-
-<p>"Drue!"</p>
-
-<p>"And when he is quite well, we will tell him about the sale.
-And if you wish to confess, throw it all upon me, say that you
-were obliged to pay me. Come! I have a broad back—"</p>
-
-<p>"I cannot tispose of dings dot are not mine," the good German
-answered simply.</p>
-
-<p>"Very well. I will summons you, you and M. Pons."</p>
-
-<p>"It vould kill him—"</p>
-
-<p>"Take your choice! Dear me, sell the pictures and tell him
-about it afterwards . . . you can show him the summons—"</p>
-
-<p>"Ver' goot. Summons us. Dot shall pe mine egscuse. I shall
-show him der chudgment."</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Cibot went down to the court, and that very day at seven
-o'clock she called to Schmucke. Schmucke found himself confronted
-with M.<br>
- Tabareau the bailiff, who called upon him to pay. Schmucke made
-answer, trembling from head to foot, and was forthwith summoned
-together with Pons, to appear in the county court to hear
-judgment against him. The sight of the bailiff and a bit of
-stamped paper covered with scrawls produced such an effect upon
-Schmucke, that he held out no longer.</p>
-
-<p>"Sell die bictures," he said, with tears in his eyes.</p>
-
-<p>Next morning, at six o'clock, Elie Magus and Remonencq took
-down the paintings of their choice. Two receipts for two thousand
-five hundred francs were made out in correct form:—</p>
-
-<p>"I, the undersigned, representing M. Pons, acknowledge the
-receipt of two thousand five hundred francs from M. Elie Magus
-for the four pictures sold to him, the said sum being
-appropriated to the use of M.<br>
- Pons. The first picture, attributed to Durer, is a portrait of a
-woman; the second, likewise a portrait, is of the Italian School;
-the third, a Dutch landscape by Breughel; and the fourth, a
-<i>Holy Family</i> by an unknown master of the Florentine
-School."</p>
-
-<p>Remonencq's receipt was worded in precisely the same way; a
-Greuze, a Claude Lorraine, a Rubens, and a Van Dyck being
-disguised as pictures of the French and Flemish schools.</p>
-
-<p>"Der monny makes me beleef dot the chimcracks haf som value,"
-said Schmucke when the five thousand francs were paid over.</p>
-
-<p>"They are worth something," said Remonencq. "I would willingly
-give you a hundred thousand francs for the lot."</p>
-
-<p>Remonencq, asked to do a trifling service, hung eight pictures
-of the proper size in the same frames, taking them from among the
-less valuable pictures in Schmucke's bedroom.</p>
-
-<p>No sooner was Elie Magus in possession of the four great
-pictures than he went, taking La Cibot with him, under pretence
-of settling accounts. But he pleaded poverty, he found fault with
-the pictures, they needed rebacking, he offered La Cibot thirty
-thousand francs by way of commission, and finally dazzled her
-with the sheets of paper on which the Bank of France engraves the
-words "One thousand francs" in capital letters. Magus thereupon
-condemned Remonencq to pay the like sum to La Cibot, by lending
-him the money on the security of his four pictures, which he took
-with him as a guarantee. So glorious were they, that Magus could
-not bring himself to part with them, and next day he bought them
-of Remonencq for six thousand francs over and above the original
-price, and an invoice was duly made out for the four.<br>
- Mme. Cibot, the richer by sixty-eight thousand francs, once more
-swore her two accomplices to absolute secrecy. Then she asked the
-Jew's advice. She wanted to invest the money in such a way that
-no one should know of it.</p>
-
-<p>"Buy shares in the Orleans Railway," said he; "they are thirty
-francs below par, you will double your capital in three years.
-They will give you scraps of paper, which you keep safe in a
-portfolio."</p>
-
-<p>"Stay here, M. Magus. I will go and fetch the man of business
-who acts for M. Pons' family. He wants to know how much you will
-give him for the whole bag of tricks upstairs. I will go for him
-now."</p>
-
-<p>"If only she were a widow!" said Remonencq when she was gone.
-"She would just suit me; she will have plenty of money now—"</p>
-
-<p>"Especially if she puts her money into the Orleans Railway;
-she will double her capital in two years' time. I have put all my
-poor little savings into it," added the Jew, "for my daughter's
-portion.—Come, let us take a turn on the boulevard until this
-lawyer arrives."</p>
-
-<p>"Cibot is very bad as it is," continued Remonencq; "if it
-should please God to take him to Himself, I should have a famous
-wife to keep a shop; I could set up on a large scale—"</p>
-
-<p>"Good-day, M. Fraisier," La Cibot began in an ingratiating
-tone as she entered her legal adviser's office. "Why, what is
-this that your porter has been telling me? are you going to
-move?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, my dear Mme. Cibot. I am taking the first floor above
-Dr.<br>
- Poulain, and trying to borrow two or three thousand francs so as
-to furnish the place properly; it is very nice, upon my word, the
-landlord has just papered and painted it. I am acting, as I told
-you, in President de Marville's interests and yours. . . . I am
-not a solicitor now; I mean to have my name entered on the roll
-of barristers, and I must be well lodged. A barrister in Paris
-cannot have his name on the rolls unless he has decent furniture
-and books and the like. I am a doctor of law, I have kept my
-terms, and have powerful interest already. . . . Well, how are we
-getting on?"</p>
-
-<p>"Perhaps you would accept my savings," said La Cibot. "I have
-put them in a savings bank. I have not much, only three thousand
-francs, the fruits of twenty-five years of stinting and scraping.
-You might give me a bill of exchange, as Remonencq says; for I am
-ignorant myself, I only know what they tell me."</p>
-
-<p>"No. It is against the rules of the guild for a barrister
-(<i>avocat</i>) to put his name to a bill. I will give you a
-receipt, bearing interest at five per cent per annum, on the
-understanding that if I make an income of twelve hundred francs
-for you out of old Pons' estate you will cancel it."</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot, caught in the trap, uttered not a word.</p>
-
-<p>"Silence gives consent," Fraisier continued. "Let me have it
-to-morrow morning."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! I am quite willing to pay fees in advance," said La
-Cibot; "it is one way of making sure of my money."</p>
-
-<p>Fraisier nodded. "How are you getting on?" he repeated. "I saw
-Poulain yesterday; you are hurrying your invalid along, it seems.
-. . . One more scene such as yesterday's, and gall-stones will
-form. Be gentle with him, my dear Mme. Cibot, do not lay up
-remorse for yourself. Life is not too long."</p>
-
-<p>"Just let me alone with your remorse! Are you going to talk
-about the guillotine again? M. Pons is a contrairy old thing. You
-don't know him. It is he that bothers me. There is not a more
-cross-grained man alive; his relations are in the right of it, he
-is sly, revengeful, and contrairy. . . . M. Magus has come, as I
-told you, and is waiting to see you."</p>
-
-<p>"Right! I will be there as soon as you. Your income depends
-upon the price the collection will fetch. If it brings in eight
-hundred thousand francs, you shall have fifteen hundred francs a
-year. It is a fortune."</p>
-
-<p>"Very well. I will tell them to value the things on their
-consciences."</p>
-
-<p>An hour later, Pons was fast asleep. The doctor had ordered a
-soothing draught, which Schmucke administered, all unconscious
-that La Cibot had doubled the dose. Fraisier, Remonencq, and
-Magus, three gallows- birds, were examining the seventeen hundred
-different objects which formed the old musician's collection one
-by one.</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke had gone to bed. The three kites, drawn by the scent
-of a corpse, were masters of the field.</p>
-
-<p>"Make no noise," said La Cibot whenever Magus went into
-ecstasies or explained the value of some work of art to
-Remonencq. The dying man slept on in the neighboring room, while
-greed in four different forms appraised the treasures that he
-must leave behind, and waited impatiently for him to die—a sight
-to wring the heart.</p>
-
-<p>Three hours went by before they had finished the salon.</p>
-
-<p>"On an average," said the grimy old Jew, "everything here is
-worth a thousand francs."</p>
-
-<p>"Seventeen hundred thousand francs!" exclaimed Fraisier in
-bewilderment.</p>
-
-<p>"Not to me," Magus answered promptly, and his eyes grew dull.
-"I would not give more than a hundred thousand francs myself for
-the collection. You cannot tell how long you may keep a thing on
-hand.<br>
- . . . There are masterpieces that wait ten years for a buyer,
-and meanwhile the purchase money is doubled by compound interest.
-Still, I should pay cash."</p>
-
-<p>"There is stained glass in the other room, as well as enamels
-and miniatures and gold and silver snuff-boxes," put in
-Remonencq.</p>
-
-<p>"Can they be seen?" inquired Fraisier.</p>
-
-<p>"I'll see if he is sound asleep," replied La Cibot. She made a
-sign, and the three birds of prey came in.</p>
-
-<p>"There are masterpieces yonder!" said Magus, indicating the
-salon, every bristle of his white beard twitching as he spoke.
-"But the riches are here! And what riches! Kings have nothing
-more glorious in royal treasuries."</p>
-
-<p>Remonencq's eyes lighted up till they glowed like carbuncles,
-at the sight of the gold snuff-boxes. Fraisier, cool and calm as
-a serpent, or some snake-creature with the power of rising erect,
-stood with his viper head stretched out, in such an attitude as a
-painter would choose for Mephistopheles. The three covetous
-beings, thirsting for gold as devils thirst for the dew of
-heaven, looked simultaneously, as it chanced, at the owner of all
-this wealth. Some nightmare troubled Pons; he stirred, and
-suddenly, under the influence of those diabolical glances, he
-opened his eyes with a shrill cry.</p>
-
-<p><br>
- "Thieves! . . . There they are! . . . Help! Murder! Help!"</p>
-
-<p>The nightmare was evidently still upon him, for he sat up in
-bed, staring before him with blank, wide-open eyes, and had not
-the power to move.</p>
-
-<p>Elie Magus and Remonencq made for the door, but a word glued
-them to the spot.</p>
-
-<p>"<i>Magus</i> here! . . . I am betrayed!"</p>
-
-<p>Instinctively the sick man had known that his beloved pictures
-were in danger, a thought that touched him at least as closely as
-any dread for himself, and he awoke. Fraisier meanwhile did not
-stir.</p>
-
-<p>"Mme. Cibot! who is that gentleman?" cried Pons, shivering at
-the sight.</p>
-
-<p>"Goodness me! how could I put him out of the door?" she
-inquired, with a wink and gesture for Fraisier's benefit. "This
-gentleman came just a minute ago, from your family."</p>
-
-<p>Fraisier could not conceal his admiration for La Cibot.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, sir," he said, "I have come on behalf of Mme. la
-Presidente de Marville, her husband, and her daughter, to express
-their regret. They learned quite by accident that you are ill,
-and they would like to nurse you themselves. They want you to go
-to Marville and get well there. Mme. la Vicomtesse Popinot, the
-little Cecile that you love so much, will be your nurse. She took
-your part with her mother. She convinced Mme. de Marville that
-she had made a mistake."</p>
-
-<p>"So my next-of-kin have sent you to me, have they?" Pons
-exclaimed indignantly, "and sent the best judge and expert in all
-Paris with you to show you the way? Oh! a nice commission!" he
-cried, bursting into wild laughter. "You have come to value my
-pictures and curiosities, my snuff-boxes and miniatures! . . .
-Make your valuation. You have a man there who understands
-everything, and more—he can buy everything, for he is a
-millionaire ten times over. . . . My dear relatives will not have
-long to wait," he added, with bitter irony, "they have choked the
-last breath out of me. . . . Ah! Mme. Cibot, you said you were a
-mother to me, and you bring dealers into the house, and my
-competitor and the Camusots, while I am asleep! . . . Get out,
-all of you!—"</p>
-
-<p>The unhappy man was beside himself with anger and fear; he
-rose from the bed and stood upright, a gaunt, wasted figure.</p>
-
-<p>"Take my arm, sir," said La Cibot, rushing to the rescue, lest
-Pons should fall. "Pray calm yourself, the gentlemen are
-gone."</p>
-
-<p>"I want to see the salon. . . ." said the death-stricken man.
-La Cibot made a sign to the three ravens to take flight. Then she
-caught up Pons as if he had been a feather, and put him in bed
-again, in spite of his cries. When she saw that he was quite
-helpless and exhausted, she went to shut the door on the
-staircase. The three who had done Pons to death were still on the
-landing; La Cibot told them to wait.<br>
- She heard Fraisier say to Magus:</p>
-
-<p>"Let me have it in writing, and sign it, both of you.
-Undertake to pay nine hundred thousand francs in cash for M.
-Pons' collection, and we will see about putting you in the way of
-making a handsome profit."</p>
-
-<p>With that he said something to La Cibot in a voice so low that
-the others could not catch it, and went down after the two
-dealers to the porter's room.</p>
-
-<p>"Have they gone, Mme. Cibot?" asked the unhappy Pons, when she
-came back again.</p>
-
-<p>"Gone? . . . who?" asked she.</p>
-
-<p>"Those men."</p>
-
-<p>"What men? There, now, you have seen men," said she. "You have
-just had a raving fit; if it hadn't been for me you would have
-gone out the window, and now you are still talking of men in the
-room. Is it always to be like this?"</p>
-
-<p>"What! was there not a gentleman here just now, saying that my
-relatives had sent him?"</p>
-
-<p>"Will you still stand me out?" said she. "Upon my word, do you
-know where you ought to be sent?—To the asylum at Charenton. You
-see men—"</p>
-
-<p>"Elie Magus, Remonencq, and—"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! as for Remonencq, you may have seen <i>him</i>, for he
-came up to tell me that my poor Cibot is so bad that I must clear
-out of this and come down. My Cibot comes first, you see. When my
-husband is ill, I can think of nobody else. Try to keep quiet and
-sleep for a couple of hours; I have sent for Dr. Poulain, and I
-will come up with him. . . .<br>
- Take a drink and be good—"</p>
-
-<p>"Then was there no one in the room just now, when I waked? . .
-."</p>
-
-<p>"No one," said she. "You must have seen M. Remonencq in one of
-your looking-glasses."</p>
-
-<p>"You are right, Mme. Cibot," said Pons, meek as a lamb.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, now you are sensible again. . . . Good-bye, my cherub;
-keep quiet, I shall be back again in a minute."</p>
-
-<p>When Pons heard the outer door close upon her, he summoned up
-all his remaining strength to rise.</p>
-
-<p>"They are cheating me," he muttered to himself, "they are
-robbing me!<br>
- Schmucke is a child that would let them tie him up in a
-sack."</p>
-
-<p>The terrible scene had seemed so real, it could not be a
-dream, he thought; a desire to throw light upon the puzzle
-excited him; he managed to reach the door, opened it after many
-efforts, and stood on the threshold of his salon. There they
-were—his dear pictures, his statues, his Florentine bronzes, his
-porcelain; the sight of them revived him. The old collector
-walked in his dressing-gown along the narrow spaces between the
-credence-tables and the sideboards that lined the wall; his feet
-bare, his head on fire. His first glance of ownership told him
-that everything was there; he turned to go back to bed again,
-when he noticed that a Greuze portrait looked out of the frame
-that had held Sebastian del Piombo's <i>Templar</i>. Suspicion
-flashed across his brain, making his dark thoughts apparent to
-him, as a flash of lightning marks the outlines of the cloud-bars
-on a stormy sky. He looked round for the eight capital pictures
-of the collection; each one of them was replaced by another. A
-dark film suddenly overspread his eyes; his strength failed him;
-he fell fainting upon the polished floor.</p>
-
-<p>So heavy was the swoon, that for two hours he lay as he fell,
-till Schmucke awoke and went to see his friend, and found him
-lying unconscious in the salon. With endless pains Schmucke
-raised the half- dead body and laid it on the bed; but when he
-came to question the death-stricken man, and saw the look in the
-dull eyes and heard the vague, inarticulate words, the good
-German, so far from losing his head, rose to the very heroism of
-friendship. Man and child as he was, with the pressure of despair
-came the inspiration of a mother's tenderness, a woman's love. He
-warmed towels (he found towels!), he wrapped them about Pons'
-hands, he laid them over the pit of the stomach; he took the
-cold, moist forehead in his hands, he summoned back life with a
-might of will worthy of Apollonius of Tyana, laying kisses on his
-friend's eyelids like some Mary bending over the dead Christ, in
-a <i>pieta</i> carved in bas-relief by some great Italian
-sculptor. The divine effort, the outpouring of one life into
-another, the work of mother and of lover, was crowned with
-success. In half an hour the warmth revived Pons; he became
-himself again, the hues of life returned to his eyes, suspended
-faculties gradually resumed their play under the influence of
-artificial heat; Schmucke gave him balm- water with a little wine
-in it; the spirit of life spread through the body; intelligence
-lighted up the forehead so short a while ago insensible as a
-stone; and Pons knew that he had been brought back to life, by
-what sacred devotion, what might of friendship!</p>
-
-<p>"But for you, I should die," he said, and as he spoke he felt
-the good German's tears falling on his face. Schmucke was
-laughing and crying at once.</p>
-
-<p>Poor Schmucke! he had waited for those words with a frenzy of
-hope as costly as the frenzy of despair; and now his strength
-utterly failed him, he collapsed like a rent balloon. It was his
-turn to fall; he sank into the easy-chair, clasped his hands, and
-thanked God in fervent prayer. For him a miracle had just been
-wrought. He put no belief in the efficacy of the prayer of his
-deeds; the miracle had been wrought by God in direct answer to
-his cry. And yet that miracle was a natural effect, such as
-medical science often records.</p>
-
-<p>A sick man, surrounded by those who love him, nursed by those
-who wish earnestly that he should live, will recover (other
-things being equal), when another patient tended by hirelings
-will die. Doctors decline to see unconscious magnetism in this
-phenomenon; for them it is the result of intelligent nursing, of
-exact obedience to their orders; but many a mother knows the
-virtue of such ardent projection of strong, unceasing prayer.</p>
-
-<p>"My good Schmucke—"</p>
-
-<p>"Say nodings; I shall hear you mit mein heart . . . rest,
-rest!" said Schmucke, smiling at him.</p>
-
-<p>"Poor friend, noble creature, child of God, living in God! . .
-. The one being that has loved me. . . ." The words came out with
-pauses between them; there was a new note, a something never
-heard before, in Pons' voice. All the soul, so soon to take
-flight, found utterance in the words that filled Schmucke with
-happiness almost like a lover's rapture.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, yes. I shall be shtrong as a lion. I shall vork for
-two!"</p>
-
-<p>"Listen, my good, my faithful, adorable friend. Let me speak,
-I have not much time left. I am a dead man. I cannot recover from
-these repeated shocks."</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke was crying like a child.</p>
-
-<p>"Just listen," continued Pons, "and cry afterwards. As a
-Christian, you must submit. I have been robbed. It is La Cibot's
-doing. . . . I ought to open your eyes before I go; you know
-nothing of life. . . .<br>
- Somebody has taken away eight of the pictures, and they were
-worth a great deal of money."</p>
-
-<p>"Vorgif me—I sold dem."</p>
-
-<p>"<i>You</i> sold them?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, I," said poor Schmucke. "Dey summoned us to der
-court—"</p>
-
-<p>"<i>Summoned?</i>. . . . Who summoned us?"</p>
-
-<p>"Wait," said Schmucke. He went for the bit of stamped-paper
-left by the bailiff, and gave it to Pons. Pons read the scrawl
-through with close attention, then he let the paper drop and lay
-quite silent for a while. A close observer of the work of men's
-hands, unheedful so far of the workings of the brain, Pons
-finally counted out the threads of the plot woven about him by La
-Cibot. The artist's fire, the intellect that won the Roman
-scholarship—all his youth came back to him for a little.</p>
-
-<p>"My good Schmucke," he said at last, "you must do as I tell
-you, and obey like a soldier. Listen! go downstairs into the
-lodge and tell that abominable woman that I should like to see
-the person sent to me by my cousin the President; and that unless
-he comes, I shall leave my collection to the Musee. Say that a
-will is in question."</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke went on his errand; but at the first word, La Cibot
-answered by a smile.</p>
-
-<p>"My good M. Schmucke, our dear invalid has had a delirious
-fit; he thought that there were men in the room. On my word, as
-an honest woman, no one has come from the family."</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke went back with his answer, which he repeated word for
-word.</p>
-
-<p>"She is cleverer, more astute and cunning and wily, than I
-thought,"<br>
- said Pons with a smile. "She lies even in her room. Imagine it!
-This morning she brought a Jew here, Elie Magus by name, and
-Remonencq, and a third whom I do not know, more terrific than the
-other two put together. She meant to make a valuation while I was
-asleep; I happened to wake, and saw them all three, estimating
-the worth of my snuff- boxes. The stranger said, indeed, that the
-Camusots had sent him here; I spoke to him. . . . That shameless
-woman stood me out that I was dreaming! . . . My good Schmucke,
-it was not a dream. I heard the man perfectly plainly; he spoke
-to me. . . . The two dealers took fright and made for the door. .
-. . I thought that La Cibot would contradict herself—the
-experiment failed. . . . I will lay another snare, and trap the
-wretched woman. . . . Poor Schmucke, you think that La Cibot is
-an angel; and for this month past she has been killing me by
-inches to gain her covetous ends. I would not believe that a
-woman who served us faithfully for years could be so wicked. That
-doubt has been my ruin. . . . How much did the eight pictures
-fetch?"</p>
-
-<p>"Vife tausend vrancs."</p>
-
-<p>"Good heavens! they were worth twenty times as much!" cried
-Pons; "the gems of the collection! I have not time now to
-institute proceedings; and if I did, you would figure in court as
-the dupe of those rascals.<br>
- . . . A lawsuit would be the death of you. You do not know what
-justice means—a court of justice is a sink of iniquity. . . . At
-the sight of such horrors, a soul like yours would give way. And
-besides, you will have enough. The pictures cost me forty
-thousand francs. I have had them for thirty-six years. . . . Oh,
-we have been robbed with surprising dexterity. I am on the brink
-of the grave, I care for nothing now but thee—for thee, the best
-soul under the sun. . . .</p>
-
-<p>"I will not have you plundered; all that I have is yours. So
-you must trust nobody, Schmucke, you that have never suspected
-any one in your life. I know God watches over you, but He may
-forget for one moment, and you will be seized like a vessel among
-pirates. . . . La Cibot is a monster! She is killing me; and you
-think her an angel! You shall see what she is. Go and ask her to
-give you the name of a notary, and I will show you her with her
-hand in the bag."</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke listened as if Pons proclaimed an apocalypse. Could
-so depraved a creature as La Cibot exist? If Pons was right, it
-seemed to imply that there was no God in the world. He went right
-down again to Mme. Cibot.</p>
-
-<p>"Mein boor vriend Bons feel so ill," he said, "dat he vish to
-make his vill. Go und pring ein nodary."</p>
-
-<p>This was said in the hearing of several persons, for Cibot's
-life was despaired of. Remonencq and his sister, two women from
-neighboring porters' lodges, two or three servants, and the
-lodger from the first floor on the side next the street, were all
-standing outside in the gateway.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! you can just fetch a notary yourself, and have your will
-made as you please," cried La Cibot, with tears in her eyes. "My
-poor Cibot is dying, and it is no time to leave him. I would give
-all the Ponses in the world to save Cibot, that has never given
-me an ounce of unhappiness in these thirty years since we were
-married."</p>
-
-<p>And in she went, leaving Schmucke in confusion.</p>
-
-<p>"Is M. Pons really seriously ill, sir?" asked the first-floor
-lodger, one Jolivard, a clerk in the registrar's office at the
-Palais de Justice.</p>
-
-<p>"He nearly died chust now," said Schmucke, with deep sorrow in
-his voice.</p>
-
-<p>"M. Trognon lives near by in the Rue Saint-Louis," said M.
-Jolivard, "he is the notary of the quarter."</p>
-
-<p>"Would you like me to go for him?" asked Remonencq.</p>
-
-<p>"I should pe fery glad," said Schmucke; "for gif Montame Zipod
-cannot pe mit mine vriend, I shall not vish to leaf him in der
-shtate he is in—"</p>
-
-<p>"Mme. Cibot told us that he was going out of his mind,"
-resumed Jolivard.</p>
-
-<p>"Bons! out off his mind!" cried Schmucke, terror-stricken by
-the idea.<br>
- "Nefer vas he so clear in der head . . . dat is chust der reason
-vy I am anxious for him."</p>
-
-<p>The little group of persons listened to the conversation with
-a very natural curiosity, which stamped the scene upon their
-memories.<br>
- Schmucke did not know Fraisier, and could not note his satanic
-countenance and glittering eyes. But two words whispered by
-Fraisier in La Cibot's ear had prompted a daring piece of acting,
-somewhat beyond La Cibot's range, it may be, though she played
-her part throughout in a masterly style. To make others believe
-that the dying man was out of his mind—it was the very
-corner-stone of the edifice reared by the petty lawyer. The
-morning's incident had done Fraisier good service; but for him,
-La Cibot in her trouble might have fallen into the snare
-innocently spread by Schmucke, when he asked her to send back the
-person sent by the family.</p>
-
-<p>Remonencq saw Dr. Poulain coming towards them, and asked no
-better than to vanish. The fact was that for the last ten days
-the Auvergnat had been playing Providence in a manner singularly
-displeasing to Justice, which claims the monopoly of that part.
-He had made up his mind to rid himself at all costs of the one
-obstacle in his way to happiness, and happiness for him meant
-capital trebled and marriage with the irresistibly charming
-portress. He had watched the little tailor drinking his herb-tea,
-and a thought struck him. He would convert the ailment into
-mortal sickness; his stock of old metals supplied him with the
-means.</p>
-
-<p>One morning as he leaned against the door-post, smoking his
-pipe and dreaming of that fine shop on the Boulevard de la
-Madeleine where Mme.<br>
- Cibot, gorgeously arrayed, should some day sit enthroned, his
-eyes fell upon a copper disc, about the size of a five-franc
-piece, covered thickly with verdigris. The economical idea of
-using Cibot's medicine to clean the disc immediately occurred to
-him. He fastened the thing in a bit of twine, and came over every
-morning to inquire for tidings of his friend the tailor, timing
-his visit during La Cibot's visit to her gentlemen upstairs. He
-dropped the disc into the tumbler, allowed it to steep there
-while he talked, and drew it out again by the string when he went
-away.</p>
-
-<p>The trace of tarnished copper, commonly called verdigris,
-poisoned the wholesome draught; a minute dose administered by
-stealth did incalculable mischief. Behold the results of this
-criminal homoeopathy! On the third day poor Cibot's hair came
-out, his teeth were loosened in their sockets, his whole system
-was deranged by a scarcely perceptible trace of poison. Dr.
-Poulain racked his brains.<br>
- He was enough of a man of science to see that some destructive
-agent was at work. He privately carried off the decoction,
-analyzed it himself, but found nothing. It so chanced that
-Remonencq had taken fright and omitted to dip the disc in the
-tumbler that day.</p>
-
-<p>Then Dr. Poulain fell back on himself and science and got out
-of the difficulty with a theory. A sedentary life in a damp room;
-a cramped position before the barred window—these conditions had
-vitiated the blood in the absence of proper exercise, especially
-as the patient continually breathed an atmosphere saturated with
-the fetid exhalations of the gutter. The Rue de Normandie is one
-of the old- fashioned streets that slope towards the middle; the
-municipal authorities of Paris as yet have laid on no water
-supply to flush the central kennel which drains the houses on
-either side, and as a result a stream of filthy ooze meanders
-among the cobblestones, filters into the soil, and produces the
-mud peculiar to the city. La Cibot came and went; but her
-husband, a hard-working man, sat day in day out like a fakir on
-the table in the window, till his knee-joints were stiffened, the
-blood stagnated in his body, and his legs grew so thin and
-crooked that he almost lost the use of them. The deep copper tint
-of the man's complexion naturally suggested that he had been out
-of health for a very long time. The wife's good health and the
-husband's illness seemed to the doctor to be satisfactorily
-accounted for by this theory.</p>
-
-<p>"Then what is the matter with my poor Cibot?" asked the
-portress.</p>
-
-<p>"My dear Mme. Cibot, he is dying of the porter's disease,"
-said the doctor. "Incurable vitiation of the blood is evident
-from the general anaemic condition."</p>
-
-<p>No one had anything to gain by a crime so objectless. Dr.
-Poulain's first suspicions were effaced by this thought. Who
-could have any possible interest in Cibot's death? His wife?—the
-doctor saw her taste the herb-tea as she sweetened it. Crimes
-which escape social vengeance are many enough, and as a rule they
-are of this order—to wit, murders committed without any
-startling sign of violence, without bloodshed, bruises, marks of
-strangling, without any bungling of the business, in short; if
-there seems to be no motive for the crime, it most likely goes
-unpunished, especially if the death occurs among the poorer
-classes. Murder is almost always denounced by its advanced
-guards, by hatred or greed well known to those under whose eyes
-the whole matter has passed. But in the case of the Cibots, no
-one save the doctor had any interest in discovering the actual
-cause of death.<br>
- The little copper-faced tailor's wife adored her husband; he had
-no money and no enemies; La Cibot's fortune and the marine-store
-dealer's motives were alike hidden in the shade. Poulain knew the
-portress and her way of thinking perfectly well; he thought her
-capable of tormenting Pons, but he saw that she had neither
-motive enough nor wit enough for murder; and besides—every time
-the doctor came and she gave her husband a draught, she took a
-spoonful herself. Poulain himself, the only person who might have
-thrown light on the matter, inclined to believe that this was one
-of the unaccountable freaks of disease, one of the astonishing
-exceptions which make medicine so perilous a profession. And in
-truth, the little tailor's unwholesome life and unsanitary
-surroundings had unfortunately brought him to such a pass that
-the trace of copper-poisoning was like the last straw.<br>
- Gossips and neighbors took it upon themselves to explain the
-sudden death, and no suspicion of blame lighted upon
-Remonencq.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! this long time past I have said that M. Cibot was not
-well,"<br>
- cried one.</p>
-
-<p>"He worked too hard, he did," said another; "he heated his
-blood."</p>
-
-<p>"He would not listen to me," put in a neighbor; "I advised him
-to walk out of a Sunday and keep Saint Monday; two days in the
-week is not too much for amusement."</p>
-
-<p>In short, the gossip of the quarter, the tell-tale voice to
-which Justice, in the person of the commissary of police, the
-king of the poorer classes, lends an attentive ear—gossip
-explained the little tailor's demise in a perfectly satisfactory
-manner. Yet M. Poulain's pensive air and uneasy eyes embarrassed
-Remonencq not a little, and at sight of the doctor he offered
-eagerly to go in search of M. Trognon, Fraisier's acquaintance.
-Fraisier turned to La Cibot to say in a low voice, "I shall come
-back again as soon as the will is made. In spite of your sorrow,
-you must look for squalls." Then he slipped away like a shadow
-and met his friend the doctor.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah, Poulain!" he exclaimed, "it is all right. We are safe! I
-will tell you about it to-night. Look out a post that will suit
-you, you shall have it! For my own part, I am a justice of the
-peace. Tabareau will not refuse me now for a son-in-law. And as
-for you, I will undertake that you shall marry Mlle. Vitel,
-granddaughter of our justice of the peace."</p>
-
-<p>Fraisier left Poulain reduced to dumb bewilderment by these
-wild words; bounced like a ball into the boulevard, hailed an
-omnibus, and was set down ten minutes later by the modern coach
-at the corner of the Rue de Choiseul. By this time it was nearly
-four o'clock. Fraisier felt quite sure of a word in private with
-the Presidente, for officials seldom leave the Palais de Justice
-before five o'clock.</p>
-
-<p>Mme. de Marville's reception of him assured Fraisier that M.
-Leboeuf had kept his promise made to Mme. Vatinelle and spoken
-favorably of the sometime attorney at Mantes. Amelie's manner was
-almost caressing.<br>
- So might the Duchesse de Montpensier have treated Jacques
-Clement. The petty attorney was a knife to her hand. But when
-Fraisier produced the joint-letter signed by Elie Magus and
-Remonencq offering the sum of nine hundred thousand francs in
-cash for Pons' collection, then the Presidente looked at her man
-of business and the gleam of the money flashed from her eyes.
-That ripple of greed reached the attorney.</p>
-
-<p>"M. le President left a message with me," she said; "he hopes
-that you will dine with us to-morrow. It will be a family party.
-M. Godeschal, Desroches' successor and my attorney, will come to
-meet you, and Berthier, our notary, and my daughter and
-son-in-law. After dinner, you and I and the notary and attorney
-will have the little consultation for which you ask, and I will
-give you full powers. The two gentlemen will do as you require
-and act upon your inspiration; and see that <i>everything</i>
-goes well. You shall have a power of attorney from M. de Marville
-as soon as you want it."</p>
-
-<p>"I shall want it on the day of the decease."</p>
-
-<p>"It shall be in readiness."</p>
-
-<p>"Mme. la Presidente, if I ask for a power of attorney, and
-would prefer that your attorney's name should not appear I wish
-it less in my own interest than in yours. . . . When I give
-myself, it is without reserve. And in return, madame, I ask the
-same fidelity; I ask my patrons (I do not venture to call you my
-clients) to put the same confidence in me. You may think that in
-acting thus I am trying to fasten upon this affair—no, no,
-madame; there may be reprehensible things done; with an
-inheritance in view one is dragged on . . .<br>
- especially with nine hundred thousand francs in the balance.
-Well, now, you could not disavow a man like Maitre Godeschal,
-honesty itself, but you can throw all the blame on the back of a
-miserable pettifogging lawyer—"</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Camusot de Marville looked admiringly at Fraisier.</p>
-
-<p>"You ought to go very high," said she, "or sink very low. In
-your place, instead of asking to hide myself away as a justice of
-the peace, I would aim at the crown attorney's appointment—at,
-say, Mantes!—and make a great career for myself."</p>
-
-<p>"Let me have my way, madame. The post of justice of the peace
-is an ambling pad for M. Vitel; for me it shall be a
-war-horse."</p>
-
-<p>And in this way the Presidente proceeded to a final
-confidence.</p>
-
-<p>"You seem to be so completely devoted to our interests," she
-began, "that I will tell you about the difficulties of our
-position and our hopes. The President's great desire, ever since
-a match was projected between his daughter and an adventurer who
-recently started a bank,— the President's wish, I say, has been
-to round out the Marville estate with some grazing land, at that
-time in the market. We dispossessed ourselves of fine property,
-as you know, to settle it upon our daughter; but I wish very
-much, my daughter being an only child, to buy all that remains of
-the grass land. Part has been sold already.<br>
- The estate belongs to an Englishman who is returning to England
-after a twenty years' residence in France. He built the most
-charming cottage in a delightful situation, between Marville Park
-and the meadows which once were part of the Marville lands; he
-bought up covers, copse, and gardens at fancy prices to make the
-grounds about the cottage. The house and its surroundings make a
-feature of the landscape, and it lies close to my daughter's park
-palings. The whole, land and house, should be bought for seven
-hundred thousand francs, for the net revenue is about twenty
-thousand francs. . . . But if Mr.<br>
- Wadman finds out that <i>we</i> think of buying it, he is sure
-to add another two or three hundred thousand francs to the price;
-for he will lose money if the house counts for nothing, as it
-usually does when you buy land in the country—"</p>
-
-<p>"Why, madame," Fraisier broke in, "in my opinion you can be so
-sure that the inheritance is yours that I will offer to act the
-part of purchaser for you. I will undertake that you shall have
-the land at the best possible price, and have a written
-engagement made out under private seal, like a contract to
-deliver goods. . . . I will go to the Englishman in the character
-of buyer. I understand that sort of thing; it was my specialty at
-Mantes. Vatinelle doubled the value of his practice, while I
-worked in his name."</p>
-
-<p>"Hence your connection with little Madame Vatinelle. He must
-be very well off—"</p>
-
-<p>"But Mme. Vatinelle has expensive tastes. . . . So be easy,
-madame—I will serve you up the Englishman done to a turn—"</p>
-
-<p>"If you can manage that you will have eternal claims to my
-gratitude.<br>
- Good-day, my dear M. Fraisier. Till to-morrow—"</p>
-
-<p>Fraisier went. His parting bow was a degree less cringing than
-on the first occasion.</p>
-
-<p>"I am to dine to-morrow with President de Marville!" he said
-to himself. "Come now, I have these folk in my power. Only, to be
-absolute master, I ought to be the German's legal adviser in the
-person of Tabareau, the justice's clerk. Tabareau will not have
-me now for his daughter, his only daughter, but he will give her
-to me when I am a justice of the peace. I shall be eligible.
-Mlle. Tabareau, that tall, consumptive girl with the red hair,
-has a house in the Place Royale in right of her mother. At her
-father's death she is sure to come in for six thousand francs,
-you must not look too hard at the plank."</p>
-
-<p>As he went back to the Rue de Normandie by way of the
-boulevards, he dreamed out his golden dream, he gave himself up
-to the happiness of the thought that he should never know want
-again. He would marry his friend Poulain to Mlle. Vitel, the
-daughter of the justice of the peace; together, he and his friend
-the doctor would reign like kings in the quarter; he would carry
-all the elections—municipal, military, or political. The
-boulevards seem short if, while you pace afoot, you mount your
-ambition on the steed of fancy in this way.</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke meanwhile went back to his friend Pons with the news
-that Cibot was dying, and Remonencq gone in search of M. Trognon,
-the notary. Pons was struck by the name. It had come up again and
-again in La Cibot's interminable talk, and La Cibot always
-recommended him as honesty incarnate. And with that a luminous
-idea occurred to Pons, in whom mistrust had grown paramount since
-the morning, an idea which completed his plan for outwitting La
-Cibot and unmasking her completely for the too-credulous
-Schmucke.</p>
-
-<p>So many unexpected things had happened that day that poor
-Schmucke was quite bewildered. Pons took his friend's hand.</p>
-
-<p>"There must be a good deal of confusion in the house,
-Schmucke; if the porter is at death's door, we are almost free
-for a minute or two; that is to say, there will be no spies—for
-we are watched, you may be sure of that. Go out, take a cab, go
-to the theatre, and tell Mlle.<br>
- Heloise Brisetout that I should like to see her before I die.
-Ask her to come here to-night when she leaves the theatre. Then
-go to your friends Brunner and Schwab and beg them to come
-to-morrow morning at nine o'clock to inquire after me; let them
-come up as if they were just passing by and called in to see
-me."</p>
-
-<p>The old artist felt that he was dying, and this was the scheme
-that he forged. He meant Schmucke to be his universal legatee. To
-protect Schmucke from any possible legal quibbles, he proposed to
-dictate his will to a notary in the presence of witnesses, lest
-his sanity should be called in question and the Camusots should
-attempt upon that pretext to dispute the will. At the name of
-Trognon he caught a glimpse of machinations of some kind; perhaps
-a flaw purposely inserted, or premeditated treachery on La
-Cibot's part. He would prevent this. Trognon should dictate a
-holograph will which should be signed and deposited in a sealed
-envelope in a drawer. Then Schmucke, hidden in one of the
-cabinets in his alcove, should see La Cibot search for the will,
-find it, open the envelope, read it through, and seal it again.
-Next morning, at nine o'clock, he would cancel the will and make
-a new one in the presence of two notaries, everything in due form
-and order. La Cibot had treated him as a madman and a visionary;
-he saw what this meant—he saw the Presidente's hate and greed,
-her revenge in La Cibot's behavior. In the sleepless hours and
-lonely days of the last two months, the poor man had sifted the
-events of his past life.</p>
-
-<p>It has been the wont of sculptors, ancient and modern, to set
-a tutelary genius with a lighted torch upon either side of a
-tomb. Those torches that light up the paths of death throw light
-for dying eyes upon the spectacle of a life's mistakes and sins;
-the carved stone figures express great ideas, they are symbols of
-a fact in human experience. The agony of death has its own
-wisdom. Not seldom a simple girl, scarcely more than a child,
-will grow wise with the experience of a hundred years, will gain
-prophetic vision, judge her family, and see clearly through all
-pretences, at the near approach of Death.<br>
- Herein lies Death's poetry. But, strange and worthy of remark it
-is, there are two manners of death.</p>
-
-<p>The poetry of prophecy, the gift of seeing clearly into the
-future or the past, only belongs to those whose bodies are
-stricken, to those who die by the destruction of the organs of
-physical life. Consumptive patients, for instance, or those who
-die of gangrene like Louis XIV., of fever like Pons, of a stomach
-complaint like Mme. de Mortsauf, or of wounds received in the
-full tide of life like soldiers on the battlefield—all these may
-possess this supreme lucidity to the full; their deaths fill us
-with surprise and wonder. But many, on the other hand, die of
-<i>intelligential</i> diseases, as they may be called; of
-maladies seated in the brain or in that nervous system which acts
-as a kind of purveyor of thought fuel—and these die wholly, body
-and spirit are darkened together. The former are spirits deserted
-by the body, realizing for us our ideas of the spirits of
-Scripture; the latter are bodies untenanted by a spirit.</p>
-
-<p>Too late the virgin nature, the epicure-Cato, the righteous
-man almost without sin, was discovering the Presidente's real
-character—the sac of gall that did duty for her heart. He knew
-the world now that he was about to leave it, and for the past few
-hours he had risen gaily to his part, like a joyous artist
-finding a pretext for caricature and laughter in everything. The
-last links that bound him to life, the chains of admiration, the
-strong ties that bind the art lover to Art's masterpieces, had
-been snapped that morning. When Pons knew that La Cibot had
-robbed him, he bade farewell, like a Christian, to the pomps and
-vanities of Art, to his collection, to all his old friendships
-with the makers of so many fair things. Our forefathers counted
-the day of death as a Christian festival, and in something of the
-same spirit Pons' thoughts turned to the coming end. In his
-tender love he tried to protect Schmucke when he should be low in
-the grave. It was this father's thought that led him to fix his
-choice upon the leading lady of the ballet. Mlle. Brisetout
-should help him to baffle surrounding treachery, and those who in
-all probability would never forgive his innocent universal
-legatee.</p>
-
-<p>Heloise Brisetout was one of the few natures that remain true
-in a false position. She was an opera-girl of the school of
-Josepha and Jenny Cadine, capable of playing any trick on a
-paying adorer; yet she was a good comrade, dreading no power on
-earth, accustomed as she was to see the weak side of the strong
-and to hold her own with the police at the scarcely idyllic Bal
-de Mabille and the carnival.</p>
-
-<p>"If she asked for my place for Garangeot, she will think that
-she owes me a good turn by so much the more," said Pons to
-himself.</p>
-
-<p>Thanks to the prevailing confusion in the porter's lodge,
-Schmucke succeeded in getting out of the house. He returned with
-the utmost speed, fearing to leave Pons too long alone. M.
-Trognon reached the house just as Schmucke came in. Albeit Cibot
-was dying, his wife came upstairs with the notary, brought him
-into the bedroom, and withdrew, leaving Schmucke and Pons with M.
-Trognon; but she left the door ajar, and went no further than the
-next room. Providing herself with a little hand-glass of curious
-workmanship, she took up her station in the doorway, so that she
-could not only hear but see all that passed at the supreme
-moment.</p>
-
-<p>"Sir," said Pons, "I am in the full possession of my
-faculties, unfortunately for me, for I feel that I am about to
-die; and doubtless, by the will of God, I shall be spared nothing
-of the agony of death. This is M. Schmucke"—(the notary bowed to
-M. Schmucke)—"my one friend on earth," continued Pons. "I wish
-to make him my universal legatee. Now, tell me how to word the
-will, so that my friend, who is a German and knows nothing of
-French law, may succeed to my possessions without any
-dispute."</p>
-
-<p>"Anything is liable to be disputed, sir," said the notary;
-"that is the drawback of human justice. But in the matter of
-wills, there are wills so drafted that they cannot be
-upset—"</p>
-
-<p>"In what way?" queried Pons.</p>
-
-<p>"If a will is made in the presence of a notary, and before
-witnesses who can swear that the testator was in the full
-possession of his faculties; and if the testator has neither wife
-nor children, nor father nor mother—"</p>
-
-<p>"I have none of these; all my affection is centred upon my
-dear friend Schmucke here."</p>
-
-<p>The tears overflowed Schmucke's eyes.</p>
-
-<p>"Then, if you have none but distant relatives, the law leaves
-you free to dispose of both personalty and real estate as you
-please, so long as you bequeath them for no unlawful purpose; for
-you must have come across cases of wills disputed on account of
-the testator's eccentricities. A will made in the presence of a
-notary is considered to be authentic; for the person's identity
-is established, the notary certifies that the testator was sane
-at the time, and there can be no possible dispute over the
-signature.—Still, a holograph will, properly and clearly worded,
-is quite as safe."</p>
-
-<p>"I have decided, for reasons of my own, to make a holograph
-will at your dictation, and to deposit it with my friend here. Is
-this possible?"</p>
-
-<p>"Quite possible," said the notary. "Will you write? I will
-begin to dictate—"</p>
-
-<p>"Schmucke, bring me my little Boule writing-desk.—Speak low,
-sir," he added; "we may be overheard."</p>
-
-<p>"Just tell me, first of all, what you intend," demanded the
-notary.</p>
-
-<p>Ten minutes later La Cibot saw the notary look over the will,
-while Schmucke lighted a taper (Pons watching her reflection all
-the while in a mirror). She saw the envelope sealed, saw Pons
-give it to Schmucke, and heard him say that it must be put away
-in a secret drawer in his bureau. Then the testator asked for the
-key, tied it to the corner of his handkerchief, and slipped it
-under his pillow.</p>
-
-<p>The notary himself, by courtesy, was appointed executor. To
-him Pons left a picture of price, such a thing as the law permits
-a notary to receive. Trognon went out and came upon Mme. Cibot in
-the salon.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, sir, did M. Pons remember me?"</p>
-
-<p>"You do not expect a notary to betray secrets confided to him,
-my dear," returned M. Trognon. "I can only tell you this—there
-will be many disappointments, and some that are anxious after the
-money will be foiled. M. Pons has made a good and very sensible
-will, a patriotic will, which I highly approve."</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot's curiosity, kindled by such words, reached an
-unimaginable pitch. She went downstairs and spent the night at
-Cibot's bedside, inwardly resolving that Mlle. Remonencq should
-take her place towards two or three in the morning, when she
-would go up and have a look at the document.</p>
-
-<p>Mlle. Brisetout's visit towards half-past ten that night
-seemed natural enough to La Cibot; but in her terror lest the
-ballet-girl should mention Gaudissart's gift of a thousand
-francs, she went upstairs with her, lavishing polite speeches and
-flattery as if Mlle.<br>
- Heloise had been a queen.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! my dear, you are much nicer here on your own ground than
-at the theatre," Heloise remarked. "I advise you to keep to your
-employment."</p>
-
-<p>Heloise was splendidly dressed. Bixiou, her lover, had brought
-her in his carriage on the way to an evening party at Mariette's.
-It so fell out that the first-floor lodger, M. Chapoulot, a
-retired braid manufacturer from the Rue Saint-Denis, returning
-from the Ambigu- Comique with his wife and daughter, was dazzled
-by a vision of such a costume and such a charming woman upon
-their staircase.</p>
-
-<p>"Who is that, Mme. Cibot?" asked Mme. Chapoulot.</p>
-
-<p>"A no-better-than-she-should-be, a light-skirts that you may
-see half- naked any evening for a couple of francs," La Cibot
-answered in an undertone for Mme. Chapoulot's ear.</p>
-
-<p>"Victorine!" called the braid manufacturer's wife, "let the
-lady pass, child."</p>
-
-<p>The matron's alarm signal was not lost upon Heloise.</p>
-
-<p>"Your daughter must be more inflammable than tinder, madame,
-if you are afraid that she will catch fire by touching me," she
-said.</p>
-
-<p>M. Chapoulot waited on the landing. "She is uncommonly
-handsome off the stage," he remarked. Whereupon Mme. Chapoulot
-pinched him sharply and drove him indoors.</p>
-
-<p>"Here is a second-floor lodger that has a mind to set up for
-being on the fourth floor," said Heloise as she continued to
-climb.</p>
-
-<p>"But mademoiselle is accustomed to going higher and
-higher."</p>
-
-<p>"Well, old boy," said Heloise, entering the bedroom and
-catching sight of the old musician's white, wasted face. "Well,
-old boy, so we are not very well? Everybody at the theatre is
-asking after you; but though one's heart may be in the right
-place, every one has his own affairs, you know, and cannot find
-time to go to see friends.<br>
- Gaudissart talks of coming round every day, and every morning
-the tiresome management gets hold of him. Still, we are all of us
-fond of you—"</p>
-
-<p>"Mme. Cibot," said the patient, "be so kind as to leave us; we
-want to talk about the theatre and my post as conductor, with
-this lady.<br>
- Schmucke, will you go to the door with Mme. Cibot?"</p>
-
-<p>At a sign from Pons, Schmucke saw Mme. Cibot out at the door,
-and drew the bolts.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah, that blackguard of a German! Is he spoiled, too?" La
-Cibot said to herself as she heard the significant sounds. "That
-is M. Pons' doing; he taught him those disgusting tricks. . . .
-But you shall pay for this, my dears," she thought as she went
-down stairs. "Pooh! if that tight-rope dancer tells him about the
-thousand francs, I shall say that it is a farce.</p>
-
-<p>She seated herself by Cibot's pillow. Cibot complained of a
-burning sensation in the stomach. Remonencq had called in and
-given him a draught while his wife was upstairs.</p>
-
-<p>As soon as Schmucke had dismissed La Cibot, Pons turned to the
-ballet- girl.</p>
-
-<p>"Dear child, I can trust no one else to find me a notary, an
-honest man, and send him here to make my will to-morrow morning
-at half-past nine precisely. I want to leave all that I have to
-Schmucke. If he is persecuted, poor German that he is, I shall
-reckon upon the notary; the notary must defend him. And for that
-reason I must have a wealthy notary, highly thought of, a man
-above the temptations to which pettifogging lawyers yield. He
-must succor my poor friend. I cannot trust Berthier, Cardot's
-successor. And you know so many people—"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! I have the very man for you," Heloise broke in; "there is
-the notary that acts for Florine and the Comtesse du Bruel,
-Leopold Hannequin, a virtuous man that does not know what a
-<i>lorette</i> is! He is a sort of chance-come father—a good
-soul that will not let you play ducks and drakes with your
-earnings; I call him <i>Le Pere aux Rats</i>, because he instils
-economical notions into the minds of all my friends. In the first
-place, my dear fellow, he has a private income of sixty thousand
-francs; and he is a notary of the real old sort, a notary while
-he walks or sleeps; his children must be little notaries and
-notaresses. He is a heavy, pedantic creature, and that's the
-truth; but on his own ground, he is not the man to flinch before
-any power in creation. . . . No woman ever got money out of him;
-he is a fossil pater-familias, his wife worships him, and does
-not deceive him, although she is a notary's wife.—What more do
-you want? as a notary he has not his match in Paris. He is in the
-patriarchal style; not queer and amusing, as Cardot used to be
-with Malaga; but he will never decamp like little What's-his-name
-that lived with Antonia. So I will send round my man to-morrow
-morning at eight o'clock. . . . You may sleep in peace. And I
-hope, in the first place, that you will get better, and make
-charming music for us again; and yet, after all, you see, life is
-very dreary—managers chisel you, and kings mizzle and ministers
-fizzle and rich fold economizzle.—Artists have nothing left
-<i>here</i>" (tapping her breast)—"it is a time to die in.
-Good-bye, old boy."</p>
-
-<p><br>
- "Heloise, of all things, I ask you to keep my counsel."</p>
-
-<p>"It is not a theatre affair," she said; "it is sacred for an
-artist."</p>
-
-<p>"Who is your gentleman, child?"</p>
-
-<p>"M. Baudoyer, the mayor of your arrondissement, a man as
-stupid as the late Crevel; Crevel once financed Gaudissart, you
-know, and a few days ago he died and left me nothing, not so much
-as a pot of pomatum. That made me say just now that this age of
-ours is something sickening."</p>
-
-<p>"What did he die of?"</p>
-
-<p>"Of his wife. If he had stayed with me, he would be living
-now. Good- bye, dear old boy, I am talking of going off, because
-I can see that you will be walking about the boulevards in a week
-or two, hunting up pretty little curiosities again. You are not
-ill; I never saw your eyes look so bright." And she went, fully
-convinced that her protege Garangeot would conduct the orchestra
-for good.</p>
-
-<p>Every door stood ajar as she went downstairs. Every lodger, on
-tip- toe, watched the lady of the ballet pass on her way out. It
-was quite an event in the house.</p>
-
-<p>Fraisier, like the bulldog that sets his teeth and never lets
-go, was on the spot. He stood beside La Cibot when Mlle.
-Brisetout passed under the gateway and asked for the door to be
-opened. Knowing that a will had been made, he had come to see how
-the land lay, for Maitre Trognon, notary, had refused to say a
-syllable—Fraisier's questions were as fruitless as Mme. Cibot's.
-Naturally the ballet-girl's visit <i>in extremis</i> was not lost
-upon Fraisier; he vowed to himself that he would turn it to good
-account.</p>
-
-<p>"My dear Mme. Cibot," he began, "now is the critical moment
-for you."</p>
-
-<p>"Ah, yes . . . my poor Cibot!" said she. "When I think that he
-will not live to enjoy anything I may get—"</p>
-
-<p>"It is a question of finding out whether M. Pons has left you
-anything at all; whether your name is mentioned or left out, in
-fact," he interrupted. "I represent the next-of-kin, and to them
-you must look in any case. It is a holograph will, and
-consequently very easy to upset.—Do you know where our man has
-put it?"</p>
-
-<p>"In a secret drawer in his bureau, and he has the key of it.
-He tied it to a corner of his handkerchief, and put it under his
-pillow. I saw it all."</p>
-
-<p>"Is the will sealed?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, alas!"</p>
-
-<p>"It is a criminal offence if you carry off a will and suppress
-it, but it is only a misdemeanor to look at it; and anyhow, what
-does it amount to? A peccadillo, and nobody will see you. Is your
-man a heavy sleeper?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes. But when you tried to see all the things and value them,
-he ought to have slept like a top, and yet he woke up. Still, I
-will see about it. I will take M. Schmucke's place about four
-o'clock this morning; and if you care to come, you shall have the
-will in your hands for ten minutes."</p>
-
-<p>"Good. I will come up about four o'clock, and I will knock
-very softly—"</p>
-
-<p>"Mlle Remonencq will take my place with Cibot. She will know,
-and open the door; but tap on the window, so as to rouse nobody
-in the house."</p>
-
-<p>"Right," said Fraisier. "You will have a light, will you not.
-A candle will do."</p>
-
-<p>At midnight poor Schmucke sat in his easy-chair, watching with
-a breaking heart that shrinking of the features that comes with
-death; Pons looked so worn out with the day's exertions, that
-death seemed very near.</p>
-
-<p>Presently Pons spoke. "I have just enough strength, I think,
-to last till to-morrow night," he said philosophically.
-"To-morrow night the death agony will begin; poor Schmucke! As
-soon as the notary and your two friends are gone, go for our good
-Abbe Duplanty, the curate of Saint-Francois. Good man, he does
-not know that I am ill, and I wish to take the holy sacrament
-to-morrow at noon."</p>
-
-<p>There was a long pause.</p>
-
-<p>"God so willed it that life has not been as I dreamed," Pons
-resumed.<br>
- "I should so have loved wife and children and home. . . . To be
-loved by a very few in some corner—that was my whole ambition!
-Life is hard for every one; I have seen people who had all that I
-wanted so much and could not have, and yet they were not happy. .
-. . Then at the end of my life, God put untold comfort in my way,
-when He gave me such a friend. . . . And one thing I have not to
-reproach myself with—that I have not known your worth nor
-appreciated you, my good Schmucke. . . .<br>
- I have loved you with my whole heart, with all the strength of
-love that is in me. . . . Do not cry, Schmucke; I shall say no
-more if you cry and it is so sweet to me to talk of ourselves to
-you. . . . If I had listened to you, I should not be dying. I
-should have left the world and broken off my habits, and then I
-should not have been wounded to death. And now, I want to think
-of no one but you at the last—"</p>
-
-<p>"You are missdaken—"</p>
-
-<p>"Do not contradict me—listen, dear friend. . . . You are as
-guileless and simple as a six-year-old child that has never left
-its mother; one honors you for it—it seems to me that God
-Himself must watch over such as you. But men are so wicked, that
-I ought to warn you beforehand . . . and then you will lose your
-generous trust, your saint-like belief in others, the bloom of a
-purity of soul that only belongs to genius or to hearts like
-yours. . . . In a little while you will see Mme. Cibot, who left
-the door ajar and watched us closely while M. Trognon was
-here—in a little while you will see her come for the will, as
-she believes it to be. . . . I expect the worthless creature will
-do her business this morning when she thinks you are asleep. Now,
-mind what I say, and carry out my instructions to the letter. . .
-. Are you listening?" asked the dying man.</p>
-
-<p>But Schmucke was overcome with grief, his heart was throbbing
-painfully, his head fell back on the chair, he seemed to have
-lost consciousness.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes," he answered, "I can hear, but it is as if you vere doo
-huntert baces afay from me. . . . It seem to me dat I am going
-town into der grafe mit you," said Schmucke, crushed with
-pain.</p>
-
-<p>He went over to the bed, took one of Pons' hands in both his
-own, and within himself put up a fervent prayer.</p>
-
-<p>"What is that that you are mumbling in German?"</p>
-
-<p>"I asked Gott dat He vould take us poth togedders to
-Himself!"<br>
- Schmucke answered simply when he had finished his prayer.</p>
-
-<p>Pons bent over—it was a great effort, for he was suffering
-intolerable pain; but he managed to reach Schmucke, and kissed
-him on the forehead, pouring out his soul, as it were, in
-benediction upon a nature that recalled the lamb that lies at the
-foot of the Throne of God.</p>
-
-<p>"See here, listen, my good Schmucke, you must do as dying
-people tell you—"</p>
-
-<p>"I am lisdening."</p>
-
-<p>"The little door in the recess in your bedroom opens into that
-closet."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, but it is blocked up mit bictures."</p>
-
-<p>"Clear them away at once, without making too much noise."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes."</p>
-
-<p>"Clear a passage on both sides, so that you can pass from your
-room into mine.—Now, leave the door ajar.—When La Cibot comes
-to take your place (and she is capable of coming an hour earlier
-than usual), you can go away to bed as if nothing had happened,
-and look very tired. Try to look sleepy. As soon as she settles
-down into the armchair, go into the closet, draw aside the muslin
-curtains over the glass door, and watch her. . . . Do you
-understand?"</p>
-
-<p>"I oondershtand; you belief dat die pad voman is going to purn
-der vill."</p>
-
-<p>"I do not know what she will do; but I am sure of this—that
-you will not take her for an angel afterwards.—And now play for
-me; improvise and make me happy. It will divert your thoughts;
-your gloomy ideas will vanish, and for me the dark hours will be
-filled with your dreams. . . ."</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke sat down at the piano. Here he was in his element;
-and in a few moments, musical inspiration, quickened by the pain
-with which he was quivering and the consequent irritation that
-followed came upon the kindly German, and, after his wont, he was
-caught up and borne above the world. On one sublime theme after
-another he executed variations, putting into them sometimes
-Chopin's sorrow, Chopin's Raphael-like perfection; sometimes the
-stormy Dante's grandeur of Liszt—the two musicians who most
-nearly approach Paganini's temperament. When execution reaches
-this supreme degree, the executant stands beside the poet, as it
-were; he is to the composer as the actor is to the writer of
-plays, a divinely inspired interpreter of things divine. But that
-night, when Schmucke gave Pons an earnest of diviner symphonies,
-of that heavenly music for which Saint Cecile let fall her
-instruments, he was at once Beethoven and Paganini, creator and
-interpreter. It was an outpouring of music inexhaustible as the
-nightingale's song—varied and full of delicate undergrowth as
-the forest flooded with her trills; sublime as the sky overhead.
-Schmucke played as he had never played before, and the soul of
-the old musician listening to him rose to ecstasy such as Raphael
-once painted in a picture which you may see at Bologna.</p>
-
-<p>A terrific ringing of the door-bell put an end to these
-visions. The first-floor lodgers sent up a servant with a
-message. Would Schmucke please stop the racket overhead. Madame,
-Monsieur, and Mademoiselle Chapoulot had been wakened, and could
-not sleep for the noise; they called his attention to the fact
-that the day was quite long enough for rehearsals of theatrical
-music, and added that people ought not to "strum" all night in a
-house in the Marais.—It was then three o'clock in the morning.
-At half-past three, La Cibot appeared, just as Pons had
-predicted. He might have actually heard the conference between
-Fraisier and the portress: "Did I not guess exactly how it would
-be?"<br>
- his eyes seemed to say as he glanced at Schmucke, and, turning a
-little, he seemed to be fast asleep.</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke's guileless simplicity was an article of belief with
-La Cibot (and be it noted that this faith in simplicity is the
-great source and secret of the success of all infantine
-strategy); La Cibot, therefore, could not suspect Schmucke of
-deceit when he came to say to her, with a face half of distress,
-half of glad relief:</p>
-
-<p>"I haf had a derrible night! a derrible dime of it! I vas
-opliged to play to keep him kviet, and the virst-floor lodgers
-vas komm up to tell <i>me</i> to be kviet! . . . It was
-frightful, for der life of mein friend vas at shtake. I am so
-tired mit der blaying all night, dat dis morning I am all knocked
-up."</p>
-
-<p>"My poor Cibot is very bad, too; one more day like yesterday,
-and he will have no strength left. . . . One can't help it; it is
-God's will."</p>
-
-<p>"You haf a heart so honest, a soul so peautiful, dot gif der
-Zipod die, ve shall lif togedder," said the cunning Schmucke.</p>
-
-<p>The craft of simple, straightforward folk is formidable
-indeed; they are exactly like children, setting their unsuspected
-snares with the perfect craft of the savage.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, well go and sleep, sonny!" returned La Cibot. "Your eyes
-look tired, they are as big as my fist. But there! if anything
-could comfort me for losing Cibot, it would be the thought of
-ending my days with a good man like you. Be easy. I will give
-Mme. Chapoulot a dressing down. . . . To think of a retired
-haberdasher's wife giving herself such airs!"</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke went to his room and took up his post in the
-closet.</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot had left the door ajar on the landing; Fraisier came
-in and closed it noiselessly as soon as he heard Schmucke shut
-his bedroom door. He had brought with him a lighted taper and a
-bit of very fine wire to open the seal of the will. La Cibot,
-meanwhile, looking under the pillow, found the handkerchief with
-the key of the bureau knotted to one corner; and this so much the
-more easily because Pons purposely left the end hanging over the
-bolster, and lay with his face to the wall.</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot went straight to the bureau, opened it cautiously so
-as to make as little noise as possible, found the spring of the
-secret drawer, and hurried into the salon with the will in her
-hand. Her flight roused Pons' curiosity to the highest pitch; and
-as for Schmucke, he trembled as if he were the guilty person.</p>
-
-<p>"Go back," said Fraisier, when she handed over the will. "He
-may wake, and he must find you there."</p>
-
-<p>Fraisier opened the seal with a dexterity which proved that
-his was no 'prentice hand, and read the following curious
-document, headed "My Will," with ever-deepening astonishment:</p>
-
-<p>"On this fifteenth day of April, eighteen hundred and
-forty-five, I, being in my sound mind (as this my Will, drawn up
-in concert with M. Trognon, will testify), and feeling that I
-must shortly die of the malady from which I have suffered since
-the beginning of February last, am anxious to dispose of my
-property, and have herein recorded my last wishes:—</p>
-
-<p>"I have always been impressed by the untoward circumstances
-that injure great pictures, and not unfrequently bring about
-total destruction. I have felt sorry for the beautiful paintings
-condemned to travel from land to land, never finding some fixed
-abode whither admirers of great masterpieces may travel to see
-them. And I have always thought that the truly deathless work of
-a great master ought to be national property; put where every one
-of every nation may see it, even as the light, God's masterpiece,
-shines for all His children.</p>
-
-<p>"And as I have spent my life in collecting together and
-choosing a few pictures, some of the greatest masters' most
-glorious work, and as these pictures are as the master left
-them—genuine examples, neither repainted nor retouched,—it has
-been a painful thought to me that the paintings which have been
-the joy of my life, may be sold by public auction, and go, some
-to England, some to Russia, till they are all scattered abroad
-again as if they had never been gathered together. From this
-wretched fate I have determined to save both them and the frames
-in which they are set, all of them the work of skilled
-craftsmen.</p>
-
-<p>"On these grounds, therefore, I give and bequeath the pictures
-which compose my collection to the King, for the gallery in the
-Louvre, subject to the charge (if the legacy is accepted) of a
-life-annuity of two thousand four hundred francs to my friend
-Wilhelm Schmucke.</p>
-
-<p>"If the King, as usufructuary of the Louvre collection, should
-refuse the legacy with the charge upon it, the said pictures
-shall form a part of the estate which I leave to my friend,
-Schmucke, on condition that he shall deliver the <i>Monkey's
-Head,</i> by Goya, to my cousin, President Camusot; a
-<i>Flower-piece</i>, the tulips, by Abraham Mignon, to M.
-Trognon, notary (whom I appoint as my executor): and allow Mme.
-Cibot, who has acted as my housekeeper for ten years, the sum of
-two hundred francs per annum.</p>
-
-<p>"Finally, my friend Schmucke is to give the <i>Descent from
-the Cross</i>, Ruben's sketch for his great picture at Antwerp,
-to adorn a chapel in the parish church, in grateful
-acknowledgment of M.<br>
- Duplanty's kindness to me; for to him I owe it that I can die as
-a Christian and a Catholic."—So ran the will.</p>
-
-<p>"This is ruin!" mused Fraisier, "the ruin of all my hopes. Ha!
-I begin to believe all that the Presidente told me about this old
-artist and his cunning."</p>
-
-<p>"Well?" La Cibot came back to say.</p>
-
-<p>"Your gentleman is a monster. He is leaving everything to the
-Crown.<br>
- Now, you cannot plead against the Crown. . . . The will cannot
-be disputed. . . . We are robbed, ruined, spoiled, and
-murdered!"</p>
-
-<p>"What has he left to me?"</p>
-
-<p>"Two hundred francs a year."</p>
-
-<p>"A pretty come-down! . . . Why, he is a finished
-scoundrel."</p>
-
-<p>"Go and see," said Fraisier, "and I will put your scoundrel's
-will back again in the envelope."</p>
-
-<p>While Mme. Cibot's back was turned, Fraisier nimbly slipped a
-sheet of blank paper into the envelope; the will he put in his
-pocket. He next proceeded to seal the envelope again so cleverly
-that he showed the seal to Mme. Cibot when she returned, and
-asked her if she could see the slightest trace of the operation.
-La Cibot took up the envelope, felt it over, assured herself that
-it was not empty, and heaved a deep sigh. She had entertained
-hopes that Fraisier himself would have burned the unlucky
-document while she was out of the room.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, my dear M. Fraisier, what is to be done?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! that is your affair! I am not one of the next-of-kin,
-myself; but if I had the slightest claim to any of <i>that</i>"
-(indicating the collection), "I know very well what I should
-do."</p>
-
-<p>"That is just what I want to know," La Cibot answered, with
-sufficient simplicity.</p>
-
-<p>"There is a fire in the grate——" he said. Then he rose to
-go.</p>
-
-<p>"After all, no one will know about it, but you and me——"
-began La Cibot.</p>
-
-<p>"It can never be proved that a will existed," asserted the man
-of law.</p>
-
-<p>"And you?"</p>
-
-<p>"I? . . . If M. Pons dies intestate, you shall have a hundred
-thousand francs."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh yes, no doubt," returned she. "People promise you heaps of
-money, and when they come by their own, and there is talk of
-paying they swindle you like—" "Like Elie Magus," she was going
-to say, but she stopped herself just in time.</p>
-
-<p>"I am going," said Fraisier; "it is not to your interest that
-I should be found here; but I shall see you again
-downstairs."</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot shut the door and returned with the sealed packet in
-her hand. She had quite made up her mind to burn it; but as she
-went towards the bedroom fireplace, she felt the grasp of a hand
-on each arm, and saw—Schmucke on one hand, and Pons himself on
-the other, leaning against the partition wall on either side of
-the door.</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot cried out, and fell face downwards in a fit; real or
-feigned, no one ever knew the truth. This sight produced such an
-impression on Pons that a deadly faintness came upon him, and
-Schmucke left the woman on the floor to help Pons back to bed.
-The friends trembled in every limb; they had set themselves a
-hard task, it was done, but it had been too much for their
-strength. When Pons lay in bed again, and Schmucke had regained
-strength to some extent, he heard a sound of sobbing. La Cibot,
-on her knees, bursting into tears, held out supplicating hands to
-them in very expressive pantomime.</p>
-
-<p>"It was pure curiosity!" she sobbed, when she saw that Pons
-and Schmucke were paying attention to her proceedings. "Pure
-curiosity; a woman's fault, you know. But I did not know how else
-to get a sight of your will, and I brought it back again—"</p>
-
-<p>"Go!" said Schmucke, standing erect, his tall figure gaining
-in height by the full height of his indignation. "You are a
-monster! You dried to kill mein goot Bons! He is right. You are
-worse than a monster, you are a lost soul!"</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot saw the look of abhorrence in the frank German's
-face; she rose, proud as Tartuffe, gave Schmucke a glance which
-made him quake, and went out, carrying off under her dress an
-exquisite little picture of Metzu's pointed out by Elie Magus. "A
-diamond," he had called it.<br>
- Fraisier downstairs in the porter's lodge was waiting to hear
-that La Cibot had burned the envelope and the sheet of blank
-paper inside it.<br>
- Great was his astonishment when he beheld his fair client's
-agitation and dismay.</p>
-
-<p>"What has happened?"</p>
-
-<p>"<i>This</i> has happened, my dear M. Fraisier. Under pretence
-of giving me good advice and telling me what to do, you have lost
-me my annuity and the gentlemen's confidence. . . ."</p>
-
-<p>One of the word-tornadoes in which she excelled was in full
-progress, but Fraisier cut her short.</p>
-
-<p>"This is idle talk. The facts, the facts! and be quick about
-it."</p>
-
-<p>"Well; it came about in this way,"—and she told him of the
-scene which she had just come through.</p>
-
-<p>"You have lost nothing through me," was Fraisier's comment.
-"The gentlemen had their doubts, or they would not have set this
-trap for you. They were lying in wait and spying upon you. . . .
-You have not told me everything," he added, with a tiger's glance
-at the woman before him.</p>
-
-<p>"<i>I</i> hide anything from you!" cried she—"after all that
-we have done together!" she added with a shudder.</p>
-
-<p>"My dear madame, <i>I</i> have done nothing blameworthy,"
-returned Fraisier. Evidently he meant to deny his nocturnal visit
-to Pons' rooms.</p>
-
-<p>Every hair on La Cibot's head seemed to scorch her, while a
-sense of icy cold swept over her from head to foot.</p>
-
-<p>"<i>What?</i>" . . . she faltered in bewilderment.</p>
-
-<p>"Here is a criminal charge on the face of it. . . . You may be
-accused of suppressing the will," Fraisier made answer drily.</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot started.</p>
-
-<p>"Don't be alarmed; I am your legal adviser. I only wished to
-show you how easy it is, in one way or another, to do as I once
-explained to you. Let us see, now; what have you done that this
-simple German should be hiding in the room?"</p>
-
-<p>"Nothing at all, unless it was that scene the other day when I
-stood M. Pons out that his eyes dazzled. And ever since, the two
-gentlemen have been as different as can be. So you have brought
-all my troubles upon me; I might have lost my influence with M.
-Pons, but I was sure of the German; just now he was talking of
-marrying me or of taking me with him—it is all one."</p>
-
-<p>The excuse was so plausible that Fraisier was fain to be
-satisfied with it. "You need fear nothing," he resumed. "I gave
-you my word that you shall have your money, and I shall keep my
-word. The whole matter, so far, was up in the air, but now it is
-as good as bank-notes. . . .<br>
- You shall have at least twelve hundred francs per annum. . . .
-But, my good lady, you must act intelligently under my
-orders."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, my dear M. Fraisier," said La Cibot with cringing
-servility. She was completely subdued.</p>
-
-<p>"Very good. Good-bye," and Fraisier went, taking the dangerous
-document with him. He reached home in great spirits. The will was
-a terrible weapon.</p>
-
-<p>"Now," thought he, "I have a hold on Mme. la Presidente de
-Marville; she must keep her word with me. If she did not, she
-would lose the property."</p>
-
-<p>At daybreak, when Remonencq had taken down his shutters and
-left his sister in charge of the shop, he came, after his wont of
-late, to inquire for his good friend Cibot. The portress was
-contemplating the Metzu, privately wondering how a little bit of
-painted wood could be worth such a lot of money.</p>
-
-<p>"Aha!" said he, looking over her shoulder, "that is the one
-picture which M. Elie Magus regretted; with that little bit of a
-thing, he says, his happiness would be complete."</p>
-
-<p>"What would he give for it?" asked La Cibot.</p>
-
-<p>"Why, if you will promise to marry me within a year of
-widowhood, I will undertake to get twenty thousand francs for it
-from Elie Magus; and unless you marry me you will never get a
-thousand francs for the picture."</p>
-
-<p>"Why not?"</p>
-
-<p>"Because you would be obliged to give a receipt for the money,
-and then you might have a lawsuit with the heirs-at-law. If you
-were my wife, I myself should sell the thing to M. Magus, and in
-the way of business it is enough to make an entry in the
-day-book, and I should note that M. Schmucke sold it to me.
-There, leave the panel with me.<br>
- . . . If your husband were to die you might have a lot of bother
-over it, but no one would think it odd that I should have a
-picture in the shop. . . . You know me quite well. Besides, I
-will give you a receipt if you like."</p>
-
-<p>The covetous portress felt that she had been caught; she
-agreed to a proposal which was to bind her for the rest of her
-life to the marine- store dealer.</p>
-
-<p>"You are right," said she, as she locked the picture away in a
-chest; "bring me the bit of writing."</p>
-
-<p>Remonencq beckoned her to the door.</p>
-
-<p>"I can see, neighbor, that we shall not save our poor dear
-Cibot," he said lowering his voice. "Dr. Poulain gave him up
-yesterday evening, and said that he could not last out the day. .
-. . It is a great misfortune. But after all, this was not the
-place for you. . . . You ought to be in a fine curiosity shop on
-the Boulevard des Capucines.<br>
- Do you know that I have made nearly a hundred thousand francs in
-ten years? And if you will have as much some day, I will
-undertake to make a handsome fortune for you—as my wife. You
-would be the mistress—my sister should wait on you and do the
-work of the house, and—"</p>
-
-<p>A heartrending moan from the little tailor cut the tempter
-short; the death agony had begun.</p>
-
-<p>"Go away," said La Cibot. "You are a monster to talk of such
-things and my poor man dying like this—"</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! it is because I love you," said Remonencq; "I could let
-everything else go to have you—"</p>
-
-<p>"If you loved me, you would say nothing to me just now,"
-returned she.<br>
- And Remonencq departed to his shop, sure of marrying La
-Cibot.</p>
-
-<p>Towards ten o'clock there was a sort of commotion in the
-street; M.<br>
- Cibot was taking the Sacrament. All the friends of the pair, all
-the porters and porters' wives in the Rue de Normandie and
-neighboring streets, had crowded into the lodge, under the
-archway, and stood on the pavement outside. Nobody so much as
-noticed the arrival of M.<br>
- Leopold Hannequin and a brother lawyer. Schwab and Brunner
-reached Pons' rooms unseen by Mme. Cibot. The notary, inquiring
-for Pons, was shown upstairs by the portress of a neighboring
-house. Brunner remembered his previous visit to the museum, and
-went straight in with his friend Schwab.</p>
-
-<p>Pons formally revoked his previous will and constituted
-Schmucke his universal legatee. This accomplished, he thanked
-Schwab and Brunner, and earnestly begged M. Leopold Hannequin to
-protect Schmucke's interests. The demands made upon him by last
-night's scene with La Cibot, and this final settlement of his
-worldly affairs, left him so faint and exhausted that Schmucke
-begged Schwab to go for the Abbe Duplanty; it was Pons' great
-desire to take the Sacrament, and Schmucke could not bring
-himself to leave his friend.</p>
-
-<p>La Cibot, sitting at the foot of her husband's bed, gave not
-so much as a thought to Schmucke's breakfast—for that matter had
-been forbidden to return; but the morning's events, the sight of
-Pons' heroic resignation in the death agony, so oppressed
-Schmucke's heart that he was not conscious of hunger. Towards two
-o'clock, however, as nothing had been seen of the old German, La
-Cibot sent Remonencq's sister to see whether Schmucke wanted
-anything; prompted not so much by interest as by curiosity. The
-Abbe Duplanty had just heard the old musician's dying confession,
-and the administration of the sacrament of extreme unction was
-disturbed by repeated ringing of the door-bell.<br>
- Pons, in his terror of robbery, had made Schmucke promise
-solemnly to admit no one into the house; so Schmucke did not
-stir. Again and again Mlle. Remonencq pulled the cord, and
-finally went downstairs in alarm to tell La Cibot that Schmucke
-would not open the door; Fraisier made a note of this. Schmucke
-had never seen any one die in his life; before long he would be
-perplexed by the many difficulties which beset those who are left
-with a dead body in Paris, this more especially if they are
-lonely and helpless and have no one to act for them. Fraisier
-knew, moreover, that in real affliction people lose their heads,
-and therefore immediately after breakfast he took up his position
-in the porter's lodge, and sitting there in perpetual committee
-with Dr.<br>
- Poulain, conceived the idea of directing all Schmucke's actions
-himself.</p>
-
-<p><br>
- To obtain the important result, the doctor and the lawyer took
-their measures on this wise:—</p>
-
-<p>The beadle of Saint-Francois, Cantinet by name, at one time a
-retail dealer in glassware, lived in the Rue d'Orleans, next door
-to Dr.<br>
- Poulain and under the same roof. Mme. Cantinet, who saw to the
-letting of the chairs at Saint-Francois, once had fallen ill and
-Dr. Poulain had attended her gratuitously; she was, as might be
-expected, grateful, and often confided her troubles to him. The
-"nutcrackers,"<br>
- punctual in their attendance at Saint-Francois on Sundays and
-saints'- days, were on friendly terms with the beadle and the
-lowest ecclesiastical rank and file, commonly called in Paris
-<i>le bas clerge</i>, to whom the devout usually give little
-presents from time to time. Mme. Cantinet therefore knew Schmucke
-almost as well as Schmucke knew her. And Mme. Cantinet was
-afflicted with two sore troubles which enabled the lawyer to use
-her as a blind and involuntary agent.<br>
- Cantinet junior, a stage-struck youth, had deserted the paths of
-the Church and turned his back on the prospect of one day
-becoming a beadle, to make his <i>debut</i> among the
-supernumeraries of the Cirque- Olympique; he was leading a wild
-life, breaking his mother's heart and draining her purse by
-frequent forced loans. Cantinet senior, much addicted to
-spirituous liquors and idleness, had, in fact, been driven to
-retire from business by those two failings. So far from
-reforming, the incorrigible offender had found scope in his new
-occupation for the indulgence of both cravings; he did nothing,
-and he drank with drivers of wedding-coaches, with the
-undertaker's men at funerals, with poor folk relieved by the
-vicar, till his morning's occupation was set forth in rubric on
-his countenance by noon.</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Cantinet saw no prospect but want in her old age, and yet
-she had brought her husband twelve thousand francs, she said. The
-tale of her woes related for the hundredth time suggested an idea
-to Dr. Poulain.<br>
- Once introduce her into the old bachelor's quarters, and it
-would be easy by her means to establish Mme. Sauvage there as
-working housekeeper. It was quite impossible to present Mme.
-Sauvage herself, for the "nutcrackers" had grown suspicious of
-every one. Schmucke's refusal to admit Mlle. Remonencq had
-sufficiently opened Fraisier's eyes. Still, it seemed evident
-that Pons and Schmucke, being pious souls, would take any one
-recommended by the Abbe, with blind confidence. Mme. Cantinet
-should bring Mme. Sauvage with her, and to put in Fraisier's
-servant was almost tantamount to installing Fraisier himself.</p>
-
-<p>The Abbe Duplanty, coming downstairs, found the gateway
-blocked by the Cibots' friends, all of them bent upon showing
-their interest in one of the oldest and most respectable porters
-in the Marais.</p>
-
-<p>Dr. Poulain raised his hat, and took the Abbe aside.</p>
-
-<p>"I am just about to go to poor M. Pons," he said. "There is
-still a chance of recovery; but it is a question of inducing him
-to undergo an operation. The calculi are perceptible to the
-touch, they are setting up an inflammatory condition which will
-end fatally, but perhaps it is not too late to remove them. You
-should really use your influence to persuade the patient to
-submit to surgical treatment; I will answer for his life,
-provided that no untoward circumstance occurs during the
-operation."</p>
-
-<p>"I will return as soon as I have taken the sacred ciborium
-back to the church," said the Abbe Duplanty, "for M. Schmucke's
-condition claims the support of religion."</p>
-
-<p>"I have just heard that he is alone," said Dr. Poulain. "The
-German, good soul, had a little altercation this morning with
-Mme. Cibot, who has acted as housekeeper to them both for the
-past ten years. They have quarreled (for the moment only, no
-doubt), but under the circumstances they must have some one in to
-help upstairs. It would be a charity to look after him.—I say,
-Cantinet," continued the doctor, beckoning to the beadle, "just
-go and ask your wife if she will nurse M. Pons, and look after M.
-Schmucke, and take Mme. Cibot's place for a day or two. . . .
-Even without the quarrel, Mme. Cibot would still require a
-substitute. Mme. Cantinet is honest," added the doctor, turning
-to M. Duplanty.</p>
-
-<p>"You could not make a better choice," said the good priest;
-"she is intrusted with the letting of chairs in the church."</p>
-
-<p>A few minutes later, Dr. Poulain stood by Pons' pillow
-watching the progress made by death, and Schmucke's vain efforts
-to persuade his friend to consent to the operation. To all the
-poor German's despairing entreaties Pons only replied by a shake
-of the head and occasional impatient movements; till, after
-awhile, he summoned up all his fast-failing strength to say, with
-a heartrending look:</p>
-
-<p>"Do let me die in peace!"</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke almost died of sorrow, but he took Pons' hand and
-softly kissed it, and held it between his own, as if trying a
-second time to give his own vitality to his friend.</p>
-
-<p>Just at this moment the bell rang, and Dr. Poulain, going to
-the door, admitted the Abbe Duplanty.</p>
-
-<p>"Our poor patient is struggling in the grasp of death," he
-said. "All will be over in a few hours. You will send a priest,
-no doubt, to watch to-night. But it is time that Mme. Cantinet
-came, as well as a woman to do the work, for M. Schmucke is quite
-unfit to think of anything: I am afraid for his reason; and there
-are valuables here which ought to be in the custody of honest
-persons."</p>
-
-<p>The Abbe Duplanty, a kindly, upright priest, guileless and
-unsuspicious, was struck with the truth of Dr. Poulain's remarks.
-He had, moreover, a certain belief in the doctor of the quarter.
-So on the threshold of the death-chamber he stopped and beckoned
-to Schmucke, but Schmucke could not bring himself to loosen the
-grasp of the hand that grew tighter and tighter. Pons seemed to
-think that he was slipping over the edge of a precipice and must
-catch at something to save himself. But, as many know, the dying
-are haunted by an hallucination that leads them to snatch at
-things about them, like men eager to save their most precious
-possessions from a fire. Presently Pons released Schmucke to
-clutch at the bed-clothes, dragging them and huddling them about
-himself with a hasty, covetous movement significant and painful
-to see.</p>
-
-<p>"What will you do, left alone with your dead friend?" asked M.
-l'Abbe Duplanty when Schmucke came to the door. "You have not
-Mme. Cibot now—"</p>
-
-<p>"Ein monster dat haf killed Bons!"</p>
-
-<p>"But you must have somebody with you," began Dr. Poulain.
-"Some one must sit up with the body to-night."</p>
-
-<p>"I shall sit up; I shall say die prayers to Gott," the
-innocent German answered.</p>
-
-<p>"But you must eat—and who is to cook for you now?" asked the
-doctor.</p>
-
-<p>"Grief haf taken afay mein abbetite," Schmucke said,
-simply.</p>
-
-<p>"And some one must give notice to the registrar," said
-Poulain, "and lay out the body, and order the funeral; and the
-person who sits up with the body and the priest will want meals.
-Can you do all this by yourself? A man cannot die like a dog in
-the capital of the civilized world."</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke opened wide eyes of dismay. A brief fit of madness
-seized him.</p>
-
-<p>"But Bons shall not tie! . . ." he cried aloud. "I shall safe
-him!"</p>
-
-<p>"You cannot go without sleep much longer, and who will take
-your place? Some one must look after M. Pons, and give him drink,
-and nurse him—"</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! dat is drue."</p>
-
-<p>"Very well," said the Abbe, "I am thinking of sending your
-Mme.<br>
- Cantinet, a good and honest creature—"</p>
-
-<p>The practical details of the care of the dead bewildered
-Schmucke, till he was fain to die with his friend.</p>
-
-<p>"He is a child," said the doctor, turning to the Abbe
-Duplanty.</p>
-
-<p>"Ein child," Schmucke repeated mechanically.</p>
-
-<p>"There, then," said the curate; "I will speak to Mme.
-Cantinet, and send her to you."</p>
-
-<p>"Do not trouble yourself," said the doctor; "I am going home,
-and she lives in the next house."</p>
-
-<p>The dying seem to struggle with Death as with an invisible
-assassin; in the agony at the last, as the final thrust is made,
-the act of dying seems to be a conflict, a hand-to-hand fight for
-life. Pons had reached the supreme moment. At the sound of his
-groans and cries, the three standing in the doorway hurried to
-the bedside. Then came the last blow, smiting asunder the bonds
-between soul and body, striking down to life's sources; and
-suddenly Pons regained for a few brief moments the perfect calm
-that follows the struggle. He came to himself, and with the
-serenity of death in his face he looked round almost smilingly at
-them.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah, doctor, I have had a hard time of it; but you were right,
-I am doing better. Thank you, my good Abbe; I was wondering what
-had become of Schmucke—"</p>
-
-<p>"Schmucke has had nothing to eat since yesterday evening, and
-now it is four o'clock! You have no one with you now and it would
-be wise to send for Mme. Cibot."</p>
-
-<p>"She is capable of anything!" said Pons, without attempting to
-conceal all his abhorrence at the sound of her name. "It is true,
-Schmucke ought to have some trustworthy person."</p>
-
-<p>"M. Duplanty and I have been thinking about you both—"</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! thank you, I had not thought of that."</p>
-
-<p>"—And M. Duplanty suggests that you should have Mme.
-Cantinet—"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! Mme. Cantinet who lets the chairs!" exclaimed Pons. "Yes,
-she is an excellent creature."</p>
-
-<p>"She has no liking for Mme. Cibot," continued the doctor, "and
-she would take good care of M. Schmucke—"</p>
-
-<p>"Send her to me, M. Duplanty . . . send her and her husband
-too. I shall be easy. Nothing will be stolen here."</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke had taken Pons' hand again, and held it joyously in
-his own.<br>
- Pons was almost well again, he thought.</p>
-
-<p>"Let us go, Monsieur l'Abbe," said the doctor. "I will send
-Mme.<br>
- Cantinet round at once. I see how it is. She perhaps may not
-find M.<br>
- Pons alive."</p>
-
-<p>While the Abbe Duplanty was persuading Pons to engage Mme.
-Cantinet as his nurse, Fraisier had sent for her. He had plied
-the beadle's wife with sophistical reasoning and subtlety. It was
-difficult to resist his corrupting influence. And as for Mme.
-Cantinet—a lean, sallow woman, with large teeth and thin
-lips—her intelligence, as so often happens with women of the
-people, had been blunted by a hard life, till she had come to
-look upon the slenderest daily wage as prosperity. She soon
-consented to take Mme. Sauvage with her as general servant.</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Sauvage had had her instructions already. She had
-undertaken to weave a web of iron wire about the two musicians,
-and to watch them as a spider watches a fly caught in the toils;
-and her reward was to be a tobacconist's license. Fraisier had
-found a convenient opportunity of getting rid of his so-called
-foster-mother, while he posted her as a detective and policeman
-to supervise Mme. Cantinet. As there was a servant's bedroom and
-a little kitchen included in the apartment, La Sauvage could
-sleep on a truckle-bed and cook for the German. Dr.<br>
- Poulain came with the two women just as Pons drew his last
-breath.<br>
- Schmucke was sitting beside his friend, all unconscious of the
-crisis, holding the hand that slowly grew colder in his grasp. He
-signed to Mme. Cantinet to be silent; but Mme. Sauvage's
-soldierly figure surprised him so much that he started in spite
-of himself, a kind of homage to which the virago was quite
-accustomed.</p>
-
-<p>"M. Duplanty answers for this lady," whispered Mme. Cantinet
-by way of introduction. "She once was cook to a bishop; she is
-honesty itself; she will do the cooking."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! you may talk out loud," wheezed the stalwart dame. "The
-poor gentleman is dead. . . . He has just gone."</p>
-
-<p>A shrill cry broke from Schmucke. He felt Pons' cold hand
-stiffening in his, and sat staring into his friend's eyes; the
-look in them would have driven him mad, if Mme. Sauvage,
-doubtless accustomed to scenes of this sort, had not come to the
-bedside with a mirror which she held over the lips of the dead.
-When she saw that there was no mist upon the surface, she briskly
-snatched Schmucke's hand away.</p>
-
-<p>"Just take away your hand, sir; you may not be able to do it
-in a little while. You do not know how the bones harden. A corpse
-grows cold very quickly. If you do not lay out a body while it is
-warm, you have to break the joints later on. . . ."</p>
-
-<p>And so it was this terrible woman who closed the poor dead
-musician's eyes.</p>
-
-<p>With a business-like dexterity acquired in ten years of
-experience, she stripped and straightened the body, laid the arms
-by the sides, and covered the face with the bedclothes, exactly
-as a shopman wraps a parcel.</p>
-
-<p>"A sheet will be wanted to lay him out.—Where is there a
-sheet?" she demanded, turning on the terror-stricken
-Schmucke.</p>
-
-<p>He had watched the religious ritual with its deep reverence
-for the creature made for such high destinies in heaven; and now
-he saw his dead friend treated simply as a thing in this packing
-process—saw with the sharp pain that dissolves the very elements
-of thought.</p>
-
-<p>"Do as you vill——" he answered mechanically. The innocent
-creature for the first time in his life had seen a man die, and
-that man was Pons, his only friend, the one human being who
-understood him and loved him.</p>
-
-<p>"I will go and ask Mme. Cibot where the sheets are kept," said
-La Sauvage.</p>
-
-<p>"A truckle-bed will be wanted for the person to sleep upon,"
-Mme.<br>
- Cantinet came to tell Schmucke.</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke nodded and broke out into weeping. Mme. Cantinet left
-the unhappy man in peace; but an hour later she came back to
-say:</p>
-
-<p>"Have you any money, sir, to pay for the things?"</p>
-
-<p>The look that Schmucke gave Mme. Cantinet would have disarmed
-the fiercest hate; it was the white, blank, peaked face of death
-that he turned upon her, as an explanation that met
-everything.</p>
-
-<p>"Dake it all and leaf me to mein prayers and tears," he said,
-and knelt.</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Sauvage went to Fraisier with the news of Pons' death.
-Fraisier took a cab and went to the Presidente. To-morrow she
-must give him the power of attorney to enable him to act for the
-heirs.</p>
-
-<p>Another hour went by, and Mme. Cantinet came again to
-Schmucke.</p>
-
-<p>"I have been to Mme. Cibot, sir, who knows all about things
-here," she said. "I asked her to tell me where everything is
-kept. But she almost jawed me to death with her abuse. . . . Sir,
-do listen to me. . . ."</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke looked up at the woman, and she went on, innocent of
-any barbarous intention, for women of her class are accustomed to
-take the worst of moral suffering passively, as a matter of
-course.</p>
-
-<p>"We must have linen for the shroud, sir, we must have money to
-buy a truckle-bed for the person to sleep upon, and some things
-for the kitchen—plates, and dishes, and glasses, for a priest
-will be coming to pass the night here, and the person says that
-there is absolutely nothing in the kitchen."</p>
-
-<p>"And what is more, sir, I must have coal and firing if I am to
-get the dinner ready," echoed La Sauvage, "and not a thing can I
-find. Not that there is anything so very surprising in that, as
-La Cibot used to do everything for you—"</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke lay at the feet of the dead; he heard nothing, knew
-nothing, saw nothing. Mme. Cantinet pointed to him. "My dear
-woman, you would not believe me," she said. "Whatever you say, he
-does not answer."</p>
-
-<p>"Very well, child," said La Sauvage; "now I will show you what
-to do in a case of this kind."</p>
-
-<p>She looked round the room as a thief looks in search of
-possible hiding-places for money; then she went straight to Pons'
-chest, opened the first drawer, saw the bag in which Schmucke had
-put the rest of the money after the sale of the pictures, and
-held it up before him.<br>
- He nodded mechanically.</p>
-
-<p>"Here is money, child," said La Sauvage, turning to Mme.
-Cantinet. "I will count it first and take enough to buy
-everything we want—wine, provisions, wax-candles, all sorts of
-things, in fact, for there is nothing in the house. . . . Just
-look in the drawers for a sheet to bury him in. I certainly was
-told that the poor gentleman was simple, but I don't know what he
-is; he is worse. He is like a new-born child; we shall have to
-feed him with a funnel."</p>
-
-<p>The women went about their work, and Schmucke looked on
-precisely as an idiot might have done. Broken down with sorrow,
-wholly absorbed, in a half-cataleptic state, he could not take
-his eyes from the face that seemed to fascinate him, Pons' face
-refined by the absolute repose of Death. Schmucke hoped to die;
-everything was alike indifferent. If the room had been on fire he
-would not have stirred.</p>
-
-<p>"There are twelve hundred and fifty francs here," La Sauvage
-told him.</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke shrugged his shoulders.</p>
-
-<p>But when La Sauvage came near to measure the body by laying
-the sheet over it, before cutting out the shroud, a horrible
-struggle ensued between her and the poor German. Schmucke was
-furious. He behaved like a dog that watches by his dead master's
-body, and shows his teeth at all who try to touch it. La Sauvage
-grew impatient. She grasped him, set him in the armchair, and
-held him down with herculean strength.</p>
-
-<p>"Go on, child; sew him in his shroud," she said, turning to
-Mme.<br>
- Cantinet.</p>
-
-<p>As soon as this operation was completed, La Sauvage set
-Schmucke back in his place at the foot of the bed.</p>
-
-<p>"Do you understand?" said she. "The poor dead man lying there
-must be done up, there is no help for it."</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke began to cry. The women left him and took possession
-of the kitchen, whither they brought all the necessaries in a
-very short time. La Sauvage made out a preliminary statement
-accounting for three hundred and sixty francs, and then proceeded
-to prepare a dinner for four persons. And what a dinner! A fat
-goose (the cobbler's pheasant) by way of a substantial roast, an
-omelette with preserves, a salad, and the inevitable broth—the
-quantities of the ingredients for this last being so excessive
-that the soup was more like a strong meat- jelly.</p>
-
-<p>At nine o'clock the priest, sent by the curate to watch by the
-dead, came in with Cantinet, who brought four tall wax candles
-and some tapers. In the death-chamber Schmucke was lying with his
-arms about the body of his friend, holding him in a tight clasp;
-nothing but the authority of religion availed to separate him
-from his dead. Then the priest settled himself comfortably in the
-easy-chair and read his prayers while Schmucke, kneeling beside
-the couch, besought God to work a miracle and unite him to Pons,
-so that they might be buried in the same grave; and Mme. Cantinet
-went on her way to the Temple to buy a pallet and complete
-bedding for Mme. Sauvage. The twelve hundred and fifty francs
-were regarded as plunder. At eleven o'clock Mme. Cantinet came in
-to ask if Schmucke would not eat a morsel, but with a gesture he
-signified that he wished to be left in peace.</p>
-
-<p>"Your supper is ready, M. Pastelot," she said, addressing the
-priest, and they went.</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke, left alone in the room, smiled to himself like a
-madman free at last to gratify a desire like the longing of
-pregnancy. He flung himself down beside Pons, and yet again he
-held his friend in a long, close embrace. At midnight the priest
-came back and scolded him, and Schmucke returned to his prayers.
-At daybreak the priest went, and at seven o'clock in the morning
-the doctor came to see Schmucke, and spoke kindly and tried hard
-to persuade him to eat, but the German refused.</p>
-
-<p>"If you do not eat now you will feel very hungry when you come
-back,"<br>
- the doctor told him, "for you must go to the mayor's office and
-take a witness with you, so that the registrar may issue a
-certificate of death."</p>
-
-<p>"<i>I</i> must go!" cried Schmucke in frightened tones.</p>
-
-<p>"Who else? . . . You must go, for you were the one person who
-saw him die."</p>
-
-<p>"Mein legs vill nicht carry me," pleaded Schmucke, imploring
-the doctor to come to the rescue.</p>
-
-<p>"Take a cab," the hypocritical doctor blandly suggested. "I
-have given notice already. Ask some one in the house to go with
-you. The two women will look after the place while you are
-away."</p>
-
-<p>No one imagines how the requirements of the law jar upon a
-heartfelt sorrow. The thought of it is enough to make one turn
-from civilization and choose rather the customs of the savage. At
-nine o'clock that morning Mme. Sauvage half-carried Schmucke
-downstairs, and from the cab he was obliged to beg Remonencq to
-come with him to the registrar as a second witness. Here in
-Paris, in this land of ours besotted with Equality, the
-inequality of conditions is glaringly apparent everywhere and in
-everything. The immutable tendency of things peeps out even in
-the practical aspects of Death. In well-to-do families, a
-relative, a friend, or a man of business spares the mourners
-these painful details; but in this, as in the matter of taxation,
-the whole burden falls heaviest upon the shoulders of the
-poor.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! you have good reason to regret him," said Remonencq in
-answer to the poor martyr's moan; "he was a very good, a very
-honest man, and he has left a fine collection behind him. But
-being a foreigner, sir, do you know that you are like to find
-yourself in a great predicament— for everybody says that M. Pons
-left everything to you?"</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke was not listening. He was sounding the dark depths of
-sorrow that border upon madness. There is such a thing as tetanus
-of the soul.</p>
-
-<p>"And you would do well to find some one—some man of
-business—to advise you and act for you," pursued Remonencq.</p>
-
-<p>"Ein mann of pizness!" echoed Schmucke.</p>
-
-<p>"You will find that you will want some one to act for you. If
-I were you, I should take an experienced man, somebody well known
-to you in the quarter, a man you can trust. . . . I always go to
-Tabareau myself for my bits of affairs—he is the bailiff. If you
-give his clerk power to act for you, you need not trouble
-yourself any further."</p>
-
-<p>Remonencq and La Cibot, prompted by Fraisier, had agreed
-beforehand to make a suggestion which stuck in Schmucke's memory;
-for there are times in our lives when grief, as it were, congeals
-the mind by arresting all its functions, and any chance
-impression made at such moments is retained by a frost-bound
-memory. Schmucke heard his companion with such a fixed, mindless
-stare, that Remonencq said no more.</p>
-
-<p>"If he is always to be idiotic like this," thought Remonencq,
-"I might easily buy the whole bag of tricks up yonder for a
-hundred thousand francs; if it is really his. . . . Here we are
-at the mayor's office, sir."</p>
-
-<p>Remonencq was obliged to take Schmucke out of the cab and to
-half- carry him to the registrar's department, where a
-wedding-party was assembled. Here they had to wait for their
-turn, for, by no very uncommon chance, the clerk had five or six
-certificates to make out that morning; and here it was appointed
-that poor Schmucke should suffer excruciating anguish.</p>
-
-<p>"Monsieur is M. Schmucke?" remarked a person in a suit of
-black, reducing Schmucke to stupefaction by the mention of his
-name. He looked up with the same blank, unseeing eyes that he had
-turned upon Remonencq, who now interposed.</p>
-
-<p>"What do you want with him?" he said. "Just leave him in
-peace; you can plainly see that he is in trouble."</p>
-
-<p>"The gentleman has just lost his friend, and proposes, no
-doubt, to do honor to his memory, being, as he is, the sole heir.
-The gentleman, no doubt, will not haggle over it, he will buy a
-piece of ground outright for a grave. And as M. Pons was such a
-lover of the arts, it would be a great pity not to put Music,
-Painting, and Sculpture on his tomb— three handsome full-length
-figures, weeping—"</p>
-
-<p>Remonencq waved the speaker away, in Auvergnat fashion, but
-the man replied with another gesture, which being interpreted
-means "Don't spoil sport"; a piece of commercial free-masonry, as
-it were, which the dealer understood.</p>
-
-<p>"I represent the firm of Sonet and Company, monumental
-stone-masons; Sir Walter Scott would have dubbed me <i>Young
-Mortality</i>," continued this person. "If you, sir, should
-decide to intrust your orders to us, we would spare you the
-trouble of the journey to purchase the ground necessary for the
-interment of a friend lost to the arts—"</p>
-
-<p>At this Remonencq nodded assent, and jogged Schmucke's
-elbow.</p>
-
-<p>"Every day we receive orders from families to arrange all
-formalities," continued he of the black coat, thus encouraged by
-Remonencq. "In the first moment of bereavement, the heir-at-law
-finds it very difficult to attend to such matters, and we are
-accustomed to perform these little services for our clients. Our
-charges, sir, are on a fixed scale, so much per foot, freestone
-or marble. Family vaults a specialty.—We undertake everything at
-the most moderate prices. Our firm executed the magnificent
-monument erected to the fair Esther Gobseck and Lucien de
-Rubempre, one of the finest ornaments of Pere- Lachaise. We only
-employ the best workmen, and I must warn you, sir, against small
-contractors—who turn out nothing but trash," he added, seeing
-that another person in a black suit was coming up to say a word
-for another firm of marble-workers.</p>
-
-<p>It is often said that "death is the end of a journey," but the
-aptness of the simile is realized most fully in Paris. Any
-arrival, especially of a person of condition, upon the "dark
-brink," is hailed in much the same way as the traveler recently
-landed is hailed by hotel touts and pestered with their
-recommendations. With the exception of a few
-philosophically-minded persons, or here and there a family secure
-of handing down a name to posterity, nobody thinks beforehand of
-the practical aspects of death. Death always comes before he is
-expected; and, from a sentiment easy to understand, the heirs
-usually act as if the event were impossible. For which reason,
-almost every one that loses father or mother, wife or child, is
-immediately beset by scouts that profit by the confusion caused
-by grief to snare others. In former days, agents for monuments
-used to live round about the famous cemetery of Pere-Lachaise,
-and were gathered together in a single thoroughfare, which should
-by rights have been called the Street of Tombs; issuing thence,
-they fell upon the relatives of the dead as they came from the
-cemetery, or even at the grave-side. But competition and the
-spirit of speculation induced them to spread themselves further
-and further afield, till descending into Paris itself they
-reached the very precincts of the mayor's office. Indeed, the
-stone-mason's agent has often been known to invade the house of
-mourning with a design for the sepulchre in his hand.</p>
-
-<p><br>
- "I am in treaty with this gentleman," said the representative of
-the firm of Sonet to another agent who came up.</p>
-
-<p>"Pons deceased! . . ." called the clerk at this moment. "Where
-are the witnesses?"</p>
-
-<p>"This way, sir," said the stone-mason's agent, this time
-addressing Remonencq.</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke stayed where he had been placed on the bench, an
-inert mass.<br>
- Remonencq begged the agent to help him, and together they pulled
-Schmucke towards the balustrade, behind which the registrar
-shelters himself from the mourning public. Remonencq, Schmucke's
-Providence, was assisted by Dr. Poulain, who filled in the
-necessary information as to Pons' age and birthplace; the German
-knew but one thing—that Pons was his friend. So soon as the
-signatures were affixed, Remonencq and the doctor (followed by
-the stone-mason's man), put Schmucke into a cab, the desperate
-agent whisking in afterwards, bent upon taking a definite
-order.</p>
-
-<p>La Sauvage, on the lookout in the gateway, half-carried
-Schmucke's almost unconscious form upstairs. Remonencq and the
-agent went up with her.</p>
-
-<p>"He will be ill!" exclaimed the agent, anxious to make an end
-of the piece of business which, according to him, was in
-progress.</p>
-
-<p>"I should think he will!" returned Mme. Sauvage. "He has been
-crying for twenty-four hours on end, and he would not take
-anything. There is nothing like grief for giving one a sinking in
-the stomach."</p>
-
-<p>"My dear client," urged the representative of the firm of
-Sonet, "do take some broth. You have so much to do; some one must
-go to the Hotel de Ville to buy the ground in the cemetery on
-which you mean to erect a monument to perpetuate the memory of
-the friend of the arts, and bear record to your gratitude."</p>
-
-<p>"Why, there is no sense in this!" added Mme. Cantinet, coming
-in with broth and bread.</p>
-
-<p>"If you are as weak as this, you ought to think of finding
-some one to act for you," added Remonencq, "for you have a good
-deal on your hands, my dear sir. There is the funeral to order.
-You would not have your friend buried like a pauper!"</p>
-
-<p>"Come, come, my dear sir," put in La Sauvage, seizing a moment
-when Schmucke laid his head back in the great chair to pour a
-spoonful of soup into his mouth. She fed him as if he had been a
-child, and almost in spite of himself.</p>
-
-<p>"Now, if you were wise, sir, since you are inclined to give
-yourself up quietly to grief, you would find some one to act for
-you—"</p>
-
-<p>"As you are thinking of raising a magnificent monument to the
-memory of your friend, sir, you have only to leave it all to me;
-I will undertake—"</p>
-
-<p>"What is all this? What is all this?" asked La Sauvage. "Has
-M.<br>
- Schmucke ordered something? Who may you be?"</p>
-
-<p>"I represent the firm of Sonet, my dear madame, the biggest
-monumental stone-masons in Paris," said the person in black,
-handing a business- card to the stalwart Sauvage.</p>
-
-<p>"Very well, that will do. Some one will go with you when the
-time comes; but you must not take advantage of the gentleman's
-condition now. You can quite see that he is not himself——"</p>
-
-<p>The agent led her out upon the landing.</p>
-
-<p>"If you will undertake to get the order for us," he said
-confidentially, "I am empowered to offer you forty francs."</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Sauvage grew placable. "Very well, let me have your
-address,"<br>
- said she.</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke meantime being left to himself, and feeling the
-stronger for the soup and bread that he had been forced to
-swallow, returned at once to Pons' rooms, and to his prayers. He
-had lost himself in the fathomless depths of sorrow, when a voice
-sounding in his ears drew him back from the abyss of grief, and a
-young man in a suit of black returned for the eleventh time to
-the charge, pulling the poor, tortured victim's coatsleeve until
-he listened.</p>
-
-<p>"Sir!" said he.</p>
-
-<p>"Vat ees it now?"</p>
-
-<p>"Sir! we owe a supreme discovery to Dr. Gannal; we do not
-dispute his fame; he has worked miracles of Egypt afresh; but
-there have been improvements made upon his system. We have
-obtained surprising results. So, if you would like to see your
-friend again, as he was when he was alive—"</p>
-
-<p>"See him again!" cried Schmucke. "Shall he speak to me?"</p>
-
-<p>"Not exactly. Speech is the only thing wanting," continued the
-embalmer's agent. "But he will remain as he is after embalming
-for all eternity. The operation is over in a few seconds. Just an
-incision in the carotid artery and an injection.—But it is high
-time; if you wait one single quarter of an hour, sir, you will
-not have the sweet satisfaction of preserving the body. . .
-."</p>
-
-<p>"Go to der teufel! . . . Bons is ein spirit—und dat spirit is
-in hefn."</p>
-
-<p>"That man has no gratitude in his composition," remarked the
-youthful agent of one of the famous Gannal's rivals; "he will not
-embalm his friend."</p>
-
-<p>The words were spoken under the archway, and addressed to La
-Cibot, who had just submitted her beloved to the process.</p>
-
-<p>"What would you have, sir!" she said. "He is the heir, the
-universal legatee. As soon as they get what they want, the dead
-are nothing to them."</p>
-
-<p>An hour later, Schmucke saw Mme. Sauvage come into the room,
-followed by another man in a suit of black, a workman, to all
-appearance.</p>
-
-<p>"Cantinet has been so obliging as to send this gentleman,
-sir," she said; "he is coffin-maker to the parish."</p>
-
-<p>The coffin-maker made his bow with a sympathetic and
-compassionate air, but none the less he had a business-like look,
-and seemed to know that he was indispensable. He turned an
-expert's eye upon the dead.</p>
-
-<p>"How does the gentleman wish 'it' to be made? Deal, plain oak,
-or oak lead-lined? Oak with a lead lining is the best style. The
-body is a stock size,"—he felt for the feet, and proceeded to
-take the measure —"one metre seventy!" he added. "You will be
-thinking of ordering the funeral service at the church, sir, no
-doubt?"</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke looked at him as a dangerous madman might look before
-striking a blow. La Sauvage put in a word.</p>
-
-<p>"You ought to find somebody to look after all these things,"
-she said.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes——" the victim murmured at length.</p>
-
-<p>"Shall I fetch M. Tabareau?—for you will have a good deal on
-your hands before long. M. Tabareau is the most honest man in the
-quarter, you see."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes. Mennesir Dapareau! Somepody vas speaking of him chust
-now—"<br>
- said Schmucke, completely beaten.</p>
-
-<p>"Very well. You can be quiet, sir, and give yourself up to
-grief, when you have seen your deputy."</p>
-
-<p>It was nearly two o'clock when M. Tabareau's head-clerk, a
-young man who aimed at a bailiff's career, modestly presented
-himself. Youth has wonderful privileges; no one is alarmed by
-youth. This young man Villemot by name, sat down by Schmucke's
-side and waited his opportunity to speak. His diffidence touched
-Schmucke very much.</p>
-
-<p>"I am M. Tabareau's head-clerk, sir," he said; "he sent me
-here to take charge of your interests, and to superintend the
-funeral arrangements. Is this your wish?"</p>
-
-<p>"You cannot safe my life, I haf not long to lif; but you vill
-leaf me in beace!"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! you shall not be disturbed," said Villemot.</p>
-
-<p>"Ver' goot. Vat must I do for dat?"</p>
-
-<p>"Sign this paper appointing M. Tabareau to act for you in all
-matters relating to the settlement of the affairs of the
-deceased."</p>
-
-<p>"Goot! gif it to me," said Schmucke, anxious only to sign it
-at once.</p>
-
-<p>"No, I must read it over to you first."</p>
-
-<p>"Read it ofer."</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke paid not the slightest attention to the reading of
-the power of attorney, but he set his name to it. The young clerk
-took Schmucke's orders for the funeral, the interment, and the
-burial service; undertaking that he should not be troubled again
-in any way, nor asked for money.</p>
-
-<p>"I vould gif all dat I haf to be left in beace," said the
-unhappy man.<br>
- And once more he knelt beside the dead body of his friend.</p>
-
-<p>Fraisier had triumphed. Villemot and La Sauvage completed the
-circle which he had traced about Pons' heir.</p>
-
-<p>There is no sorrow that sleep cannot overcome. Towards the end
-of the day La Sauvage, coming in, found Schmucke stretched asleep
-at the bed- foot. She carried him off, put him to bed, tucked him
-in maternally, and till the morning Schmucke slept.</p>
-
-<p>When he awoke, or rather when the truce was over and he again
-became conscious of his sorrows, Pons' coffin lay under the
-gateway in such a state as a third-class funeral may claim, and
-Schmucke, seeking vainly for his friend, wandered from room to
-room, across vast spaces, as it seemed to him, empty of
-everything save hideous memories. La Sauvage took him in hand,
-much as a nurse manages a child; she made him take his breakfast
-before starting for the church; and while the poor sufferer
-forced himself to eat, she discovered, with lamentations worthy
-of Jeremiah, that he had not a black coat in his possession. La
-Cibot took entire charge of his wardrobe; since Pons fell ill,
-his apparel, like his dinner, had been reduced to the lowest
-terms—to a couple of coats and two pairs of trousers.</p>
-
-<p>"And you are going just as you are to M. Pons' funeral? It is
-an unheard-of thing; the whole quarter will cry shame upon
-us!"</p>
-
-<p>"Und how vill you dat I go?"</p>
-
-<p>"Why, in mourning—"</p>
-
-<p>"Mourning!"</p>
-
-<p>"It is the proper thing."</p>
-
-<p>"Der bropper ding! . . . Confound all dis stupid nonsense!"
-cried poor Schmucke, driven to the last degree of exasperation
-which a childlike soul can reach under stress of sorrow.</p>
-
-<p>"Why, the man is a monster of ingratitude!" said La Sauvage,
-turning to a personage who just then appeared. At the sight of
-this functionary Schmucke shuddered. The newcomer wore a splendid
-suit of black, black knee-breeches, black silk stockings, a pair
-of white cuffs, an extremely correct white muslin tie, and white
-gloves. A silver chain with a coin attached ornamented his
-person. A typical official, stamped with the official expression
-of decorous gloom, an ebony wand in his hand by way of insignia
-of office, he stood waiting with a three-cornered hat adorned
-with the tricolor cockade under his arm.</p>
-
-<p>"I am the master of the ceremonies," this person remarked in a
-subdued voice.</p>
-
-<p>Accustomed daily to superintend funerals, to move among
-families plunged in one and the same kind of tribulation, real or
-feigned, this man, like the rest of his fraternity, spoke in
-hushed and soothing tones; he was decorous, polished, and formal,
-like an allegorical stone figure of Death.</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke quivered through every nerve as if he were
-confronting his executioner.</p>
-
-<p>"Is this gentleman the son, brother, or father of the
-deceased?"<br>
- inquired the official.</p>
-
-<p>"I am all dat and more pesides—I am his friend," said
-Schmucke through a torrent of weeping.</p>
-
-<p>"Are you his heir?"</p>
-
-<p>"Heir? . . ." repeated Schmucke. "Noding matters to me more in
-dis vorld," returning to his attitude of hopeless sorrow.</p>
-
-<p>"Where are the relatives, the friends?" asked the master of
-the ceremonies.</p>
-
-<p>"All here!" exclaimed the German, indicating the pictures and
-rarities. "Not von of dem haf efer gifn bain to mein boor Bons. .
-. .<br>
- Here ees everydings dot he lofed, after me."</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke had taken his seat again, and looked as vacant as
-before; he dried his eyes mechanically. Villemot came up at that
-moment; he had ordered the funeral, and the master of the
-ceremonies, recognizing him, made an appeal to the newcomer.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, sir, it is time to start. The hearse is here; but I
-have not often seen such a funeral as this. Where are the
-relatives and friends?"</p>
-
-<p>"We have been pressed for time," replied Villemot. "This
-gentleman was in such deep grief that he could think of nothing.
-And there is only one relative."</p>
-
-<p>The master of the ceremonies looked compassionately at
-Schmucke; this expert in sorrow knew real grief when he saw it.
-He went across to him.</p>
-
-<p>"Come, take heart, my dear sir. Think of paying honor to your
-friend's memory."</p>
-
-<p>"We forgot to send out cards; but I took care to send a
-special message to M. le Presidente de Marville, the one relative
-that I mentioned to you.—There are no friends.—M. Pons was
-conductor of an orchestra at a theatre, but I do not think that
-any one will come.— This gentleman is the universal legatee, I
-believe."</p>
-
-<p>"Then he ought to be chief mourner," said the master of the
-ceremonies.—"Have you a black coat?" he continued, noticing
-Schmucke's costume.</p>
-
-<p>"I am all in plack insite!" poor Schmucke replied in
-heartrending tones; "so plack it is dot I feel death in me. . . .
-Gott in hefn is going to haf pity upon me; He vill send me to
-mein friend in der grafe, und I dank Him for it—"</p>
-
-<p>He clasped his hands.</p>
-
-<p>"I have told our management before now that we ought to have a
-wardrobe department and lend the proper mourning costumes on
-hire,"<br>
- said the master of the ceremonies, addressing Villemot; "it is a
-want that is more and more felt every day, and we have even now
-introduced improvements. But as this gentleman is chief mourner,
-he ought to wear a cloak, and this one that I have brought with
-me will cover him from head to foot; no one need know that he is
-not in proper mourning costume.—Will you be so kind as to
-rise?"</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke rose, but he tottered on his feet.</p>
-
-<p>"Support him," said the master of the ceremonies, turning to
-Villemot; "you are his legal representative."</p>
-
-<p>Villemot held Schmucke's arm while the master of the
-ceremonies invested Schmucke with the ample, dismal-looking
-garment worn by heirs-at-law in the procession to and from the
-house and the church.<br>
- He tied the black silken cords under the chin, and Schmucke as
-heir was in "full dress."</p>
-
-<p>"And now comes a great difficulty," continued the master of
-the ceremonies; "we want four bearers for the pall. . . . If
-nobody comes to the funeral, who is to fill the corners? It is
-half-past ten already," he added, looking at his watch; "they are
-waiting for us at the church."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! here comes Fraisier!" Villemot exclaimed, very
-imprudently; but there was no one to hear the tacit confession of
-complicity.</p>
-
-<p>"Who is this gentleman?" inquired the master of the
-ceremonies.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! he comes on behalf of the family."</p>
-
-<p>"Whose family?"</p>
-
-<p>"The disinherited family. He is M. Camusot de Marville's
-representative."</p>
-
-<p>"Good," said the master of the ceremonies, with a satisfied
-air. "We shall have two pall-bearers at any rate—you and
-he."</p>
-
-<p>And, happy to find two of the places filled up, he took out
-some wonderful white buckskin gloves, and politely presented
-Fraisier and Villemot with a pair apiece.</p>
-
-<p>"If you gentlemen will be so good as to act as pall-bearers—"
-said he.</p>
-
-<p>Fraisier, in black from head to foot, pretentiously dressed,
-with his white tie and official air, was a sight to shudder at;
-he embodied a hundred briefs.</p>
-
-<p>"Willingly, sir," said he.</p>
-
-<p>"If only two more persons will come, the four corners will be
-filled up," said the master of the ceremonies.</p>
-
-<p>At that very moment the indefatigable representative of the
-firm of Sonet came up, and, closely following him, the man who
-remembered Pons and thought of paying him a last tribute of
-respect. This was a supernumerary at the theatre, the man who put
-out the scores on the music-stands for the orchestra. Pons had
-been wont to give him a five- franc piece once a month, knowing
-that he had a wife and family.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, Dobinard (Topinard)!" Schmucke cried out at the sight of
-him, "<i>you</i> love Bons!"</p>
-
-<p>"Why, I have come to ask news of M. Pons every morning,
-sir."</p>
-
-<p>"Efery morning! boor Dobinard!" and Schmucke squeezed the
-man's hand.</p>
-
-<p>"But they took me for a relation, no doubt, and did not like
-my visits at all. I told them that I belonged to the theatre and
-came to inquire after M. Pons; but it was no good. They saw
-through that dodge, they said. I asked to see the poor dear man,
-but they never would let me come upstairs."</p>
-
-<p>"Dat apominable Zipod!" said Schmucke, squeezing Topinard's
-horny hand to his heart.</p>
-
-<p>"He was the best of men, that good M. Pons. Every month he use
-to give me five francs. . . . He knew that I had three children
-and a wife. My wife has gone to the church."</p>
-
-<p>"I shall difide mein pread mit you," cried Schmucke, in his
-joy at finding at his side some one who loved Pons.</p>
-
-<p>"If this gentleman will take a corner of the pall, we shall
-have all four filled up," said the master of the ceremonies.</p>
-
-<p>There had been no difficulty over persuading the agent for
-monuments.<br>
- He took a corner the more readily when he was shown the handsome
-pair of gloves which, according to custom, was to be his
-property.</p>
-
-<p>"A quarter to eleven! We absolutely must go down. They are
-waiting for us at the church."</p>
-
-<p>The six persons thus assembled went down the staircase.</p>
-
-<p>The cold-blooded lawyer remained a moment to speak to the two
-women on the landing. "Stop here, and let nobody come in," he
-said, "especially if you wish to remain in charge, Mme. Cantinet.
-Aha! two francs a day, you know!"</p>
-
-<p>By a coincidence in nowise extraordinary in Paris, two hearses
-were waiting at the door, and two coffins standing under the
-archway; Cibot's funeral and the solitary state in which Pons was
-lying was made even more striking in the street. Schmucke was the
-only mourner that followed Pons' coffin; Schmucke, supported by
-one of the undertaker's men, for he tottered at every step. From
-the Rue de Normandie to the Rue d'Orleans and the Church of
-Saint-Francois the two funerals went between a double row of
-curious onlookers for everything (as was said before) makes a
-sensation in the quarter.<br>
- Every one remarked the splendor of the white funeral car, with a
-big embroidered P suspended on a hatchment, and the one solitary
-mourner behind it; while the cheap bier that came after it was
-followed by an immense crowd. Happily, Schmucke was so bewildered
-by the throng of idlers and the rows of heads in the windows,
-that he heard no remarks and only saw the faces through a mist of
-tears.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, it is the nutcracker!" said one, "the musician, you
-know—"</p>
-
-<p>"Who can the pall-bearers be?"</p>
-
-<p>"Pooh! play-actors."</p>
-
-<p>"I say, just look at poor old Cibot's funeral. There is one
-worker the less. What a man! he could never get enough of
-work!"</p>
-
-<p>"He never went out."</p>
-
-<p>"He never kept Saint Monday."</p>
-
-<p>"How fond he was of his wife!"</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! There is an unhappy woman!"</p>
-
-<p>Remonencq walked behind his victim's coffin. People condoled
-with him on the loss of his neighbor.</p>
-
-<p>The two funerals reached the church. Cantinet and the
-doorkeeper saw that no beggars troubled Schmucke. Villemot had
-given his word that Pons' heir should be left in peace; he
-watched over his client, and gave the requisite sums; and Cibot's
-humble bier, escorted by sixty or eighty persons, drew all the
-crowd after it to the cemetery. At the church door Pons' funeral
-possession mustered four mourning-coaches, one for the priest and
-three for the relations; but one only was required, for the
-representative of the firm of Sonet departed during mass to give
-notice to his principal that the funeral was on the way, so that
-the design for the monument might be ready for the survivor at
-the gates of the cemetery. A single coach sufficed for Fraisier,
-Villemot, Schmucke, and Topinard; but the remaining two, instead
-of returning to the undertaker, followed in the procession to
-Pere- Lachaise—a useless procession, not unfrequently seen;
-there are always too many coaches when the dead are unknown
-beyond their own circle and there is no crowd at the funeral.
-Dear, indeed, the dead must have been in their lifetime if
-relative or friend will go with them so far as the cemetery in
-this Paris, where every one would fain have twenty-five hours in
-the day. But with the coachmen it is different; they lose their
-tips if they do not make the journey; so, empty or full, the
-mourning coaches go to the church and cemetery and return to the
-house for gratuities. A death is a sort of drinking- fountain for
-an unimagined crowd of thirsty mortals. The attendants at the
-church, the poor, the undertaker's men, the drivers and sextons,
-are creatures like sponges that dip into a hearse and come out
-again saturated.</p>
-
-<p><br>
- From the church door, where he was beset with a swarm of beggars
-(promptly dispersed by the beadle), to Pere-Lachaise, poor
-Schmucke went as criminals went in old times from the Palais de
-Justice to the Place de Greve. It was his own funeral that he
-followed, clinging to Topinard's hand, to the one living creature
-besides himself who felt a pang of real regret for Pons'
-death.</p>
-
-<p>As for Topinard, greatly touched by the honor of the request
-to act as pall-bearer, content to drive in a carriage, the
-possessor of a new pair of gloves,—it began to dawn upon him
-that this was to be one of the great days of his life. Schmucke
-was driven passively along the road, as some unlucky calf is
-driven in a butcher's cart to the slaughter-house. Fraisier and
-Villemot sat with their backs to the horses. Now, as those know
-whose sad fortune it has been to accompany many of their friends
-to their last resting-place, all hypocrisy breaks down in the
-coach during the journey (often a very long one) from the church
-to the eastern cemetery, to that one of the burying- grounds of
-Paris in which all vanities, all kinds of display, are met, so
-rich is it in sumptuous monuments. On these occasions those who
-feel least begin to talk soonest, and in the end the saddest
-listen, and their thoughts are diverted.</p>
-
-<p>"M. le President had already started for the Court." Fraisier
-told Villemot, "and I did not think it necessary to tear him away
-from business; he would have come too late, in any case. He is
-the next-of- kin; but as he has been disinherited, and M.
-Schmucke gets everything, I thought that if his legal
-representative were present it would be enough."</p>
-
-<p>Topinard lent an ear to this.</p>
-
-<p>"Who was the queer customer that took the fourth corner?"
-continued Fraisier.</p>
-
-<p>"He is an agent for a firm of monumental stone-masons. He
-would like an order for a tomb, on which he proposes to put three
-sculptured marble figures—Music, Painting, and Sculpture
-shedding tears over the deceased."</p>
-
-<p>"It is an idea," said Fraisier; "the old gentleman certainly
-deserved that much; but the monument would cost seven or eight
-hundred francs."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! quite that!"</p>
-
-<p>"If M. Schmucke gives the order, it cannot affect the estate.
-You might eat up a whole property with such expenses."</p>
-
-<p>"There would be a lawsuit, but you would gain it—"</p>
-
-<p>"Very well," said Fraisier, "then it will be his affair.—It
-would be a nice practical joke to play upon the monument-makers,"
-Fraisier added in Villemot's ear; "for if the will is upset (and
-I can answer for that), or if there is no will at all, who would
-pay them?"</p>
-
-<p>Villemot grinned like a monkey, and the pair began to talk
-confidentially, lowering their voices; but the man from the
-theatre, with his wits and senses sharpened in the world behind
-the scenes, could guess at the nature of their discourse; in
-spite of the rumbling of the carriage and other hindrances, he
-began to understand that these representatives of justice were
-scheming to plunge poor Schmucke into difficulties; and when at
-last he heard the ominous word "Clichy," the honest and loyal
-servitor of the stage made up his mind to watch over Pons'
-friend.</p>
-
-<p>At the cemetery, where three square yards of ground had been
-purchased through the good offices of the firm of Sonet (Villemot
-having announced Schmucke's intention of erecting a magnificent
-monument), the master of ceremonies led Schmucke through a
-curious crowd to the grave into which Pons' coffin was about to
-be lowered; but here, at the sight of the square hole, the four
-men waiting with ropes to lower the bier, and the clergy saying
-the last prayer for the dead at the grave-side, something
-clutched tightly at the German's heart. He fainted away.</p>
-
-<p>Sonet's agent and M. Sonet himself came to help Topinard to
-carry poor Schmucke into the marble-works hard by, where Mme.
-Sonet and Mme.<br>
- Vitelot (Sonet's partner's wife) were eagerly prodigal of
-efforts to revive him. Topinard stayed. He had seen Fraisier in
-conversation with Sonet's agent, and Fraisier, in his opinion,
-had gallows-bird written on his face.</p>
-
-<p>An hour later, towards half-past two o'clock, the poor,
-innocent German came to himself. Schmucke thought that he had
-been dreaming for the past two days; if he could only wake, he
-should find Pons still alive. So many wet towels had been laid on
-his forehead, he had been made to inhale salts and vinegar to
-such an extent, that he opened his eyes at last. Mme. Sonet make
-him take some meat-soup, for they had put the pot on the fire at
-the marble-works.</p>
-
-<p>"Our clients do not often take things to heart like this;
-still, it happens once in a year or two—"</p>
-
-<p>At last Schmucke talked of returning to the Rue de Normandie,
-and at this Sonet began at once.</p>
-
-<p>"Here is the design, sir," he said; "Vitelot drew it expressly
-for you, and sat up last night to do it. . . . And he has been
-happily inspired, it will look fine—"</p>
-
-<p>"One of the finest in Pere-Lachaise!" said the little Mme.
-Sonet. "But you really ought to honor the memory of a friend who
-left you all his fortune."</p>
-
-<p>The design, supposed to have been drawn on purpose, had, as a
-matter of fact, been prepared for de Marsay, the famous cabinet
-minister. His widow, however, had given the commission to
-Stidmann; people were disgusted with the tawdriness of the
-project, and it was refused. The three figures at that period
-represented the three days of July which brought the eminent
-minister to power. Subsequently, Sonet and Vitelot had turned the
-Three Glorious Days—"<i>les trois glorieuses</i>"—into the
-Army, Finance, and the Family, and sent in the design for the
-sepulchre of the late lamented Charles Keller; and here again
-Stidmann took the commission. In the eleven years that followed,
-the sketch had been modified to suit all kinds of requirements,
-and now in Vitelot's fresh tracing they reappeared as Music,
-Sculpture, and Painting.</p>
-
-<p>"It is a mere trifle when you think of the details and cost of
-setting it up; for it will take six months," said Vitelot. "Here
-is the estimate and the order-form—seven thousand francs, sketch
-in plaster not included."</p>
-
-<p>"If M. Schmucke would like marble," put in Sonet (marble being
-his special department), "it would cost twelve thousand francs,
-and monsieur would immortalize himself as well as his
-friend."</p>
-
-<p>Topinard turned to Vitelot.</p>
-
-<p>"I have just heard that they are going to dispute the will,"
-he whispered, "and the relatives are likely to come by their
-property. Go and speak to M. Camusot, for this poor, harmless
-creature has not a farthing."</p>
-
-<p>"This is the kind of customer that you always bring us," said
-Mme.<br>
- Vitelot, beginning a quarrel with the agent.</p>
-
-<p>Topinard led Schmucke away, and they returned home on foot to
-the Rue de Normandie, for the mourning-coaches had been sent
-back.</p>
-
-<p>"Do not leaf me," Schmucke said, when Topinard had seen him
-safe into Mme. Sauvage's hands, and wanted to go.</p>
-
-<p>"It is four o'clock, dear M. Schmucke. I must go home to
-dinner. My wife is a box-opener—she will not know what has
-become of me. The theatre opens at a quarter to six, you
-know."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, I know . . . but remember dat I am alone in die earth,
-dat I haf no friend. You dat haf shed a tear for Bons enliden me;
-I am in teep tarkness, und Bons said dat I vas in der midst of
-shcoundrels."</p>
-
-<p>"I have seen that plainly already; I have just prevented them
-from sending you to Clichy."</p>
-
-<p>"<i>Gligy</i>!" repeated Schmucke; "I do not understand."</p>
-
-<p>"Poor man! Well, never mind, I will come to you.
-Good-bye."</p>
-
-<p>"Goot-bye; komm again soon," said Schmucke, dropping half-dead
-with weariness.</p>
-
-<p>"Good-bye, mosieu," said Mme. Sauvage, and there was something
-in her tone that struck Topinard.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, come, what is the matter now?" he asked, banteringly.
-"You are attitudinizing like a traitor in a melodrama."</p>
-
-<p>"Traitor yourself! Why have you come meddling here? Do you
-want to have a hand in the master's affairs, and swindle him,
-eh?"</p>
-
-<p>"Swindle him! . . . Your very humble servant!" Topinard
-answered with superb disdain. "I am only a poor super at a
-theatre, but I am something of an artist, and you may as well
-know that I never asked anything of anybody yet! Who asked
-anything of you? Who owes you anything? eh, old lady!"</p>
-
-<p>"You are employed at a theatre, and your name is—?"</p>
-
-<p>"Topinard, at your service."</p>
-
-<p>"Kind regards to all at home," said La Sauvage, "and my
-compliments to your missus, if you are married, mister. . . .
-That was all I wanted to know."</p>
-
-<p>"Why, what is the matter, dear?" asked Mme. Cantinet, coming
-out.</p>
-
-<p>"This, child—stop here and look after the dinner while I run
-round to speak to monsieur."</p>
-
-<p>"He is down below, talking with poor Mme. Cibot, that is
-crying her eyes out," said Mme. Cantinet.</p>
-
-<p>La Sauvage dashed down in such headlong haste that the stairs
-trembled beneath her tread.</p>
-
-<p>"Monsieur!" she called, and drew him aside a few paces to
-point out Topinard.</p>
-
-<p>Topinard was just going away, proud at heart to have made some
-return already to the man who had done him so many kindnesses. He
-had saved Pons' friend from a trap, by a stratagem from that
-world behind the scenes in which every one has more or less ready
-wit. And within himself he vowed to protect a musician in his
-orchestra from future snares set for his simple sincerity.</p>
-
-<p>"Do you see that little wretch?" said La Sauvage. "He is a
-kind of honest man that has a mind to poke his nose into M.
-Schmucke's affairs."</p>
-
-<p>"Who is he?" asked Fraisier.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! he is a nobody."</p>
-
-<p>"In business there is no such thing as a nobody."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, he is employed at the theatre," said she; "his name is
-Topinard."</p>
-
-<p>"Good, Mme. Sauvage! Go on like this, and you shall have your
-tobacconist's shop."</p>
-
-<p>And Fraisier resumed his conversation with Mme. Cibot.</p>
-
-<p>"So I say, my dear client, that you have not played openly and
-above- board with me, and that one is not bound in any way to a
-partner who cheats."</p>
-
-<p>"And how have I cheated you?" asked La Cibot, hands on hips.
-"Do you think that you will frighten me with your sour looks and
-your frosty airs? You look about for bad reasons for breaking
-your promises, and you call yourself an honest man! Do you know
-what you are? You are a blackguard! Yes! yes! scratch your arm;
-but just pocket that—"</p>
-
-<p>"No words, and keep your temper, dearie. Listen to me. You
-have been feathering your nest. . . . I found this catalogue this
-morning while we were getting ready for the funeral; it is all in
-M. Pons' handwriting, and made out in duplicate. And as it
-chanced, my eyes fell on this—"</p>
-
-<p>And opening the catalogue, he read:</p>
-
-<p>"No. 7. <i>Magnificent portrait painted on marble, by
-Sebastian del Piombo, in 1546. Sold by a family who had it
-removed from Terni Cathedral. The picture, which represents a
-Knight-Templar kneeling in prayer, used to hang above a tomb of
-the Rossi family with a companion portrait of a Bishop,
-afterwards purchased by an Englishman. The portrait might be
-attributed to Raphael, but for the date. This example is, to my
-mind, superior to the portrait of Baccio Bandinelli in the Musee;
-the latter is a little hard, while the Templar, being painted
-upon 'lavagna,' or slate, has preserved its freshness of
-coloring.</i>"</p>
-
-<p>"When I come to look for No. 7," continued Fraisier, "I find a
-portrait of a lady, signed 'Chardin,' without a number on it! I
-went through the pictures with the catalogue while the master of
-ceremonies was making up the number of pall-bearers, and found
-that eight of those indicated as works of capital importance by
-M. Pons had disappeared, and eight paintings of no special merit,
-and without numbers, were there instead. . . . And finally, one
-was missing altogether, a little panel-painting by Metzu,
-described in the catalogue as a masterpiece."</p>
-
-<p>"And was <i>I</i> in charge of the pictures?" demanded La
-Cibot.</p>
-
-<p>"No; but you were in a position of trust. You were M. Pons'
-housekeeper, you looked after his affairs, and he has been
-robbed—"</p>
-
-<p>"Robbed! Let me tell you this, sir: M. Schmucke sold the
-pictures, by M. Pons' orders, to meet expenses."</p>
-
-<p>"And to whom?"</p>
-
-<p>"To Messrs. Elie Magus and Remonencq."</p>
-
-<p>"For how much?"</p>
-
-<p>"I am sure I do not remember."</p>
-
-<p>"Look here, my dear madame; you have been feathering your
-nest, and very snugly. I shall keep an eye upon you; I have you
-safe. Help me, I will say nothing! In any case, you know that
-since you deemed it expedient to plunder M. le President Camusot,
-you ought not to expect anything from <i>him</i>."</p>
-
-<p>"I was sure that this would all end in smoke, for me," said La
-Cibot, mollified by the words "I will say nothing."</p>
-
-<p>Remonencq chimed in at this point.</p>
-
-<p>"Here are you finding fault with Mme. Cibot; that is not
-right!" he said. "The pictures were sold by private treaty
-between M. Pons, M.<br>
- Magus, and me. We waited for three days before we came to terms
-with the deceased; he slept on his pictures. We took receipts in
-proper form; and if we gave Madame Cibot a few forty-franc
-pieces, it is the custom of the trade—we always do so in private
-houses when we conclude a bargain. Ah! my dear sir, if you think
-to cheat a defenceless woman, you will not make a good bargain!
-Do you understand, master lawyer?—M. Magus rules the market, and
-if you do not come down off the high horse, if you do not keep
-your word to Mme.<br>
- Cibot, I shall wait till the collection is sold, and you shall
-see what you will lose if you have M. Magus and me against you;
-we can get the dealers in a ring. Instead of realizing seven or
-eight hundred thousand francs, you will not so much as make two
-hundred thousand."</p>
-
-<p>"Good, good, we shall see. We are not going to sell; or if we
-do, it will be in London."</p>
-
-<p>"We know London," said Remonencq. "M. Magus is as powerful
-there as at Paris."</p>
-
-<p>"Good-day, madame; I shall sift these matters to the bottom,"
-said Fraisier—"unless you continue to do as I tell you" he
-added.</p>
-
-<p>"You little pickpocket!—"</p>
-
-<p>"Take care! I shall be a justice of the peace before long."
-And with threats understood to the full upon either side, they
-separated.</p>
-
-<p>"Thank you, Remonencq!" said La Cibot; "it is very pleasant to
-a poor widow to find a champion."</p>
-
-<p>Towards ten o'clock that evening, Gaudissart sent for
-Topinard. The manager was standing with his back to the fire, in
-a Napoleonic attitude—a trick which he had learned since be
-began to command his army of actors, dancers, <i>figurants</i>,
-musicians, and stage carpenters.<br>
- He grasped his left-hand brace with his right hand, always
-thrust into his waistcoat; he head was flung far back, his eyes
-gazed out into space.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! I say, Topinard, have you independent means?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, sir."</p>
-
-<p>"Are you on the lookout to better yourself somewhere
-else?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, sir—" said Topinard, with a ghastly countenance.</p>
-
-<p>"Why, hang it all, your wife takes the first row of boxes out
-of respect to my predecessor, who came to grief; I gave you the
-job of cleaning the lamps in the wings in the daytime, and you
-put out the scores. And that is not all, either. You get twenty
-sous for acting monsters and managing devils when a hell is
-required. There is not a super that does not covet your post, and
-there are those that are jealous of you, my friend; you have
-enemies in the theatre."</p>
-
-<p>"Enemies!" repeated Topinard.</p>
-
-<p>"And you have three children; the oldest takes children's
-parts at fifty centimes—"</p>
-
-<p>"Sir!—"</p>
-
-<p>"You want to meddle in other people's business, and put your
-finger into a will case.—Why, you wretched man, you would be
-crushed like an egg-shell! My patron is His Excellency,
-Monseigneur le Comte Popinot, a clever man and a man of high
-character, whom the King in his wisdom has summoned back to the
-privy council. This statesman, this great politician, has married
-his eldest son to a daughter of M. le President de Marville, one
-of the foremost men among the high courts of justice; one of the
-leading lights of the law-courts. Do you know the law-courts?
-Very good. Well, he is cousin and heir to M. Pons, to our old
-conductor whose funeral you attended this morning. I do not blame
-you for going to pay the last respects to him, poor man. . .
-.<br>
- But if you meddle in M. Schmucke's affairs, you will lose your
-place.<br>
- I wish very well to M. Schmucke, but he is in a delicate
-position with regard to the heirs—and as the German is almost
-nothing to me, and the President and Count Popinot are a great
-deal, I recommend you to leave the worthy German to get out of
-his difficulties by himself.<br>
- There is a special Providence that watches over Germans, and the
-part of deputy guardian-angel would not suit you at all. Do you
-see? Stay as you are—you cannot do better."</p>
-
-<p>"Very good, monsieur le directeur," said Topinard, much
-distressed.<br>
- And in this way Schmucke lost the protector sent to him by fate,
-the one creature that shed a tear for Pons, the poor super for
-whose return he looked on the morrow.</p>
-
-<p>Next morning poor Schmucke awoke to a sense of his great and
-heavy loss. He looked round the empty rooms. Yesterday and the
-day before yesterday the preparations for the funeral had made a
-stir and bustle which distracted his eyes; but the silence which
-follows the day, when the friend, father, son, or loved wife has
-been laid in the grave—the dull, cold silence of the morrow is
-terrible, is glacial. Some irresistible force drew him to Pons'
-chamber, but the sight of it was more than the poor man could
-bear; he shrank away and sat down in the dining-room, where Mme.
-Sauvage was busy making breakfast ready.</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke drew his chair to the table, but he could eat
-nothing. A sudden, somewhat sharp ringing of the door-bell rang
-through the house, and Mme. Cantinet and Mme. Sauvage allowed
-three black-coated personages to pass. First came Vitel, the
-justice of the peace, with his highly respectable clerk; third
-was Fraisier, neither sweeter nor milder for the disappointing
-discovery of a valid will canceling the formidable instrument so
-audaciously stolen by him.</p>
-
-<p>"We have come to affix seals on the property," the justice of
-the peace said gently, addressing Schmucke. But the remark was
-Greek to Schmucke; he gazed in dismay at his three visitors.</p>
-
-<p>"We have come at the request of M. Fraisier, legal
-representative of M. Camusot de Marville, heir of the late
-Pons—" added the clerk.</p>
-
-<p>"The collection is here in this great room, and in the bedroom
-of the deceased," remarked Fraisier.</p>
-
-<p>"Very well, let us go into the next room.—Pardon us, sir; do
-not let us interrupt with your breakfast."</p>
-
-<p>The invasion struck an icy chill of terror into poor
-Schmucke.<br>
- Fraisier's venomous glances seemed to possess some magnetic
-influence over his victims, like the power of a spider over a
-fly.</p>
-
-<p>"M. Schmucke understood how to turn a will, made in the
-presence of a notary, to his own advantage," he said, "and he
-surely must have expected some opposition from the family. A
-family does not allow itself to be plundered by a stranger
-without some protest; and we shall see, sir, which carries the
-day—fraud and corruption or the rightful heirs. . . . We have a
-right as next of kin to affix seals, and seals shall be affixed.
-I mean to see that the precaution is taken with the utmost
-strictness."</p>
-
-<p>"Ach, mein Gott! how haf I offended against Hefn?" cried the
-innocent Schmucke.</p>
-
-<p>"There is a good deal of talk about you in the house," said La
-Sauvage. "While you were asleep, a little whipper-snapper in a
-black suit came here, a puppy that said he was M. Hannequin's
-head-clerk, and must see you at all costs; but as you were asleep
-and tired out with the funeral yesterday, I told him that M.
-Villemot, Tabareau's head-clerk, was acting for you, and if it
-was a matter of business, I said, he might speak to M. Villemot.
-'Ah, so much the better!' the youngster said. 'I shall come to an
-understanding with him. We will deposit the will at the Tribunal,
-after showing it to the President.' So at that, I told him to ask
-M. Villemot to come here as soon as he could.—Be easy, my dear
-sir, there are those that will take care of you. They shall not
-shear the fleece off your back. You will have some one that has
-beak and claws. M. Villemot will give them a piece of his mind. I
-have put myself in a passion once already with that abominable
-hussy, La Cibot, a porter's wife that sets up to judge her
-lodgers, forsooth, and insists that you have filched the money
-from the heirs; you locked M. Pons up, she says, and worked upon
-him till he was stark, staring mad. She got as good as she gave,
-though, the wretched woman. 'You are a thief and a bad lot,' I
-told her; 'you will get into the police-courts for all the things
-that you have stolen from the gentlemen,' and she shut up."</p>
-
-<p>The clerk came out to speak to Schmucke.</p>
-
-<p>"Would you wish to be present, sir, when the seals are affixed
-in the next room?"</p>
-
-<p>"Go on, go on," said Schmucke; "I shall pe allowed to die in
-beace, I bresume?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, under any circumstances a man has a right to die," the
-clerk answered, laughing; "most of our business relates to wills.
-But, in my experience, the universal legatee very seldom follows
-the testator to the tomb."</p>
-
-<p>"I am going," said Schmucke. Blow after blow had given him an
-intolerable pain at the heart.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! here comes M. Villemot!" exclaimed La Sauvage.</p>
-
-<p>"Mennesir Fillemod," said poor Schmucke, "rebresent me."</p>
-
-<p>"I hurried here at once," said Villemot. "I have come to tell
-you that the will is completely in order; it will certainly be
-confirmed by the court, and you will be put in possession. You
-will have a fine fortune."</p>
-
-<p>"<i>I?</i> Ein fein vordune?" cried Schmucke, despairingly.
-That he of all men should be suspected of caring for the
-money!</p>
-
-<p>"And meantime what is the justice of the peace doing here with
-his wax candles and his bits of tape?" asked La Sauvage.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, he is affixing seals. . . . Come, M. Schmucke, you have a
-right to be present."</p>
-
-<p>"No—go in yourself."</p>
-
-<p>"But where is the use of the seals if M. Schmucke is in his
-own house and everything belongs to him?" asked La Sauvage, doing
-justice in feminine fashion, and interpreting the Code according
-to their fancy, like one and all of her sex.</p>
-
-<p>"M. Schmucke is not in possession, madame; he is in M. Pons'
-house.<br>
- Everything will be his, no doubt; but the legatee cannot take
-possession without an authorization—an order from the Tribunal.
-And if the next-of-kin set aside by the testator should dispute
-the order, a lawsuit is the result. And as nobody knows what may
-happen, everything is sealed up, and the notaries representing
-either side proceed to draw up an inventory during the delay
-prescribed by the law. . . . And there you are!"</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke, hearing such talk for the first time in his life,
-was completely bewildered by it; his head sank down upon the back
-of his chair—he could not support it, it had grown so heavy.</p>
-
-<p>Villemot meanwhile went off to chat with the justice of the
-peace and his clerk, assisting with professional coolness to
-affix the seals—a ceremony which always involves some buffoonery
-and plentiful comments on the objects thus secured, unless,
-indeed, one of the family happens to be present. At length the
-party sealed up the chamber and returned to the dining-room,
-whither the clerk betook himself. Schmucke watched the mechanical
-operation which consists in setting the justice's seal at either
-end of a bit of tape stretched across the opening of a
-folding-door; or, in the case of a cupboard or ordinary door,
-from edge to edge above the door-handle.</p>
-
-<p>"Now for this room," said Fraisier, pointing to Schmucke's
-bedroom, which opened into the dining-room.</p>
-
-<p>"But that is M. Schmucke's own room," remonstrated La Sauvage,
-springing in front of the door.</p>
-
-<p>"We found the lease among the papers," Fraisier said
-ruthlessly; "there was no mention of M. Schmucke in it; it is
-taken out in M.<br>
- Pons' name only. The whole place, and every room in it, is a
-part of the estate. And besides"—flinging open the door—"look
-here, monsieur le juge de la paix, it is full of pictures."</p>
-
-<p>"So it is," answered the justice of the peace, and Fraisier
-thereupon gained his point.</p>
-
-<p>"Wait a bit, gentlemen," said Villemot. "Do you know that you
-are turning the universal legatee out of doors, and as yet his
-right has not been called in question?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, it has," said Fraisier; "we are opposing the transfer of
-the property."</p>
-
-<p>"And upon what grounds?"</p>
-
-<p>"You shall know that by and by, my boy," Fraisier replied,
-banteringly. "At this moment, if the legatee withdraws everything
-that he declares to be his, we shall raise no objections, but the
-room itself will be sealed. And M. Schmucke may lodge where he
-pleases."</p>
-
-<p>"No," said Villemot; "M. Schmucke is going to stay in his
-room."</p>
-
-<p>"And how?"</p>
-
-<p>"I shall demand an immediate special inquiry," continued
-Villemot, "and prove that we pay half the rent. You shall not
-turn us out. Take away the pictures, decide on the ownership of
-the various articles, but here my client stops—'my boy.' "</p>
-
-<p>"I shall go out!" the old musician suddenly said. He had
-recovered energy during the odious dispute.</p>
-
-<p>"You had better," said Fraisier. "Your course will save
-expense to you, for your contention would not be made good. The
-lease is evidence—"</p>
-
-<p>"The lease! the lease!" cried Villemot, "it is a question of
-good faith—"</p>
-
-<p>"That could only be proved in a criminal case, by calling
-witnesses.— Do you mean to plunge into experts' fees and
-verifications, and orders to show cause why judgment should not
-be given, and law proceedings generally?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, no!" cried Schmucke in dismay. "I shall turn out; I am
-used to it—"</p>
-
-<p>In practice Schmucke was a philosopher, an unconscious cynic,
-so greatly had he simplified his life. Two pairs of shoes, a pair
-of boots, a couple of suits of clothes, a dozen shirts, a dozen
-bandana handkerchiefs, four waistcoats, a superb pipe given to
-him by Pons, with an embroidered tobacco-pouch—these were all
-his belongings.<br>
- Overwrought by a fever of indignation, he went into his room and
-piled his clothes upon a chair.</p>
-
-<p>"All dese are mine," he said, with simplicity worthy of
-Cincinnatus.<br>
- "Der biano is also mine."</p>
-
-<p>Fraisier turned to La Sauvage. "Madame, get help," he said;
-"take that piano out and put it on the landing."</p>
-
-<p>"You are too rough into the bargain," said Villemot,
-addressing Fraisier. "The justice of the peace gives orders here;
-he is supreme."</p>
-
-<p>"There are valuables in the room," put in the clerk.</p>
-
-<p>"And besides," added the justice of the peace, "M. Schmucke is
-going out of his own free will."</p>
-
-<p>"Did any one ever see such a client!" Villemot cried
-indignantly, turning upon Schmucke. "You are as limp as a
-rag—"</p>
-
-<p>"Vat dos it matter vere von dies?" Schmucke said as he went
-out. "Dese men haf tiger faces. . . . I shall send somebody to
-vetch mein bits of dings."</p>
-
-<p>"Where are you going, sir?"</p>
-
-<p>"Vere it shall blease Gott," returned Pons' universal legatee
-with supreme indifference.</p>
-
-<p>"Send me word," said Villemot.</p>
-
-<p>Fraisier turned to the head-clerk. "Go after him," he
-whispered.</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Cantinet was left in charge, with a provision of fifty
-francs paid out of the money that they found. The justice of the
-peace looked out; there Schmucke stood in the courtyard looking
-up at the windows for the last time.</p>
-
-<p>"You have found a man of butter," remarked the justice.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes," said Fraisier, "yes. The thing is as good as done. You
-need not hesitate to marry your granddaughter to Poulain; he will
-be head- surgeon at the Quinze-Vingts." (The Asylum founded by
-St. Louis for three hundred blind people.)</p>
-
-<p>"We shall see.—Good-day, M. Fraisier," said the justice of
-the peace with a friendly air.</p>
-
-<p>"There is a man with a head on his shoulders," remarked the
-justice's clerk. "The dog will go a long way."</p>
-
-<p>By this time it was eleven o'clock. The old German went like
-an automaton down the road along which Pons and he had so often
-walked together. Wherever he went he saw Pons, he almost thought
-that Pons was by his side; and so he reached the theatre just as
-his friend Topinard was coming out of it after a morning spent in
-cleaning the lamps and meditating on the manager's tyranny.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, shoost der ding for me!" cried Schmucke, stopping his
-acquaintance. "Dopinart! you haf a lodging someveres, eh?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
-
-<p>"A home off your own?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
-
-<p>"Are you villing to take me for ein poarder? Oh! I shall pay
-ver' vell; I haf nine hundert vrancs of inkomm, und—I haf not
-ver' long ter lif. . . . I shall gif no drouble vatefer. . . . I
-can eat onydings—I only vant to shmoke mein bipe. Und—you are
-der only von dat haf shed a tear for Bons, mit me; und so, I lof
-you."</p>
-
-<p>"I should be very glad, sir; but, to begin with, M. Gaudissart
-has given me a proper wigging—"</p>
-
-<p>"<i>Vigging</i>?"</p>
-
-<p>"That is one way of saying that he combed my hair for me."</p>
-
-<p>"<i>Combed your hair?</i>"</p>
-
-<p>"He gave me a scolding for meddling in your affairs. . . . So
-we must be very careful if you come to me. But I doubt whether
-you will stay when you have seen the place; you do not know how
-we poor devils live."</p>
-
-<p>"I should rader der boor home of a goot-hearted mann dot haf
-mourned Bons, dan der Duileries mit men dot haf ein tiger face. .
-. . I haf chust left tigers in Bons' house; dey vill eat up
-everydings—"</p>
-
-<p>"Come with me, sir, and you shall see. But—well, anyhow,
-there is a garret. Let us see what Mme. Topinard says."</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke followed like a sheep, while Topinard led the way
-into one of the squalid districts which might be called the
-cancers of Paris—a spot known as the Cite Bordin. It is a slum
-out of the Rue de Bondy, a double row of houses run up by the
-speculative builder, under the shadow of the huge mass of the
-Porte Saint-Martin theatre. The pavement at the higher end lies
-below the level of the Rue de Bondy; at the lower it falls away
-towards the Rue des Mathurins du Temple.<br>
- Follow its course and you find that it terminates in another
-slum running at right angles to the first—the Cite Bordin is, in
-fact, a T-shaped blind alley. Its two streets thus arranged
-contain some thirty houses, six or seven stories high; and every
-story, and every room in every story, is a workshop and a
-warehouse for goods of every sort and description, for this wart
-upon the face of Paris is a miniature Faubourg Saint-Antoine.
-Cabinet-work and brasswork, theatrical costumes, blown glass,
-painted porcelain—all the various fancy goods known as
-<i>l'article Paris</i> are made here. Dirty and productive like
-commerce, always full of traffic—foot-passengers, vans, and
-drays—the Cite Bourdin is an unsavory-looking neighborhood, with
-a seething population in keeping with the squalid
-surroundings.<br>
- It is a not unintelligent artisan population, though the whole
-power of the intellect is absorbed by the day's manual labor.
-Topinard, like every other inhabitant of the Cite Bourdin, lived
-in it for the sake of comparatively low rent, the cause of its
-existence and prosperity.<br>
- His sixth floor lodging, in the second house to the left, looked
-out upon the belt of green garden, still in existence, at the
-back of three or four large mansions in the Rue de Bondy.</p>
-
-<p><br>
- Topinard's apartment consisted of a kitchen and two bedrooms.
-The first was a nursery with two little deal bedsteads and a
-cradle in it, the second was the bedroom, and the kitchen did
-duty as a dining-room.<br>
- Above, reached by a short ladder, known among builders as a
-"trap- ladder," there was a kind of garret, six feet high, with a
-sash-window let into the roof. This room, given as a servants'
-bedroom, raised the Topinards' establishment from mere "rooms" to
-the dignity of a tenement, and the rent to a corresponding sum of
-four hundred francs.<br>
- An arched lobby, lighted from the kitchen by a small round
-window, did duty as an ante-chamber, and filled the space between
-the bedroom, the kitchen, and house doors—three doors in all.
-The rooms were paved with bricks, and hung with a hideous
-wall-paper at threepence apiece; the chimneypieces that adorned
-them were of the kind called <i>capucines</i>—a shelf set on a
-couple of brackets painted to resemble wood. Here in these three
-rooms dwelt five human beings, three of them children. Any one,
-therefore, can imagine how the walls were covered with scores and
-scratches so far as an infant arm can reach.</p>
-
-<p>Rich people can scarcely realize the extreme simplicity of a
-poor man's kitchen. A Dutch oven, a kettle, a gridiron, a
-saucepan, two or three dumpy cooking-pots, and a frying-pan—that
-was all. All the crockery in the place, white and brown
-earthenware together, was not worth more than twelve francs.
-Dinner was served on the kitchen table, which, with a couple of
-chairs and a couple of stools, completed the furniture. The stock
-of fuel was kept under the stove with a funnel- shaped chimney,
-and in a corner stood the wash-tub in which the family linen lay,
-often steeping over-night in soapsuds. The nursery ceiling was
-covered with clothes-lines, the walls were variegated with
-theatrical placards and wood-cuts from newspapers or
-advertisements.<br>
- Evidently the eldest boy, the owner of the school-books stacked
-in a corner, was left in charge while his parents were absent at
-the theatre. In many a French workingman's family, so soon as a
-child reaches the age of six or seven, it plays the part of
-mother to younger sisters and brothers.</p>
-
-<p>From this bare outline, it may be imagined that the Topinards,
-to use the hackneyed formula, were "poor but honest." Topinard
-himself was verging on forty; Mme. Topinard, once leader of a
-chorus—mistress, too, it was said, of Gaudissart's predecessor,
-was certainly thirty years old. Lolotte had been a fine woman in
-her day; but the misfortunes of the previous management had told
-upon her to such an extent, that it had seemed to her to be both
-advisable and necessary to contract a stage-marriage with
-Topinard. She did not doubt but that, as soon as they could
-muster the sum of a hundred and fifty francs, her Topinard would
-perform his vows agreeably to the civil law, were it only to
-legitimize the three children, whom he worshiped.<br>
- Meantime, Mme. Topinard sewed for the theatre wardrobe in the
-morning; and with prodigious effort, the brave couple made nine
-hundred francs per annum between them.</p>
-
-<p>"One more flight!" Topinard had twice repeated since they
-reached the third floor. Schmucke, engulfed in his sorrow, did
-not so much as know whether he was going up or coming down.</p>
-
-<p>In another minute Topinard had opened the door; but before he
-appeared in his white workman's blouse Mme. Topinard's voice rang
-from the kitchen:</p>
-
-<p>"There, there! children, be quiet! here comes papa!"</p>
-
-<p>But the children, no doubt, did as they pleased with papa, for
-the oldest member of the family, sitting astride a broomstick,
-continued to command a charge of cavalry (a reminiscence of the
-Cirque- Olympique), the second blew a tin trumpet, while the
-third did its best to keep up with the main body of the army.
-Their mother was at work on a theatrical costume.</p>
-
-<p>"Be quiet! or I shall slap you!" shouted Topinard in a
-formidable voice; then in an aside for Schmucke's
-benefit—"Always have to say that!—Here, little one," he
-continued, addressing his Lolotte, "this is M. Schmucke, poor M.
-Pons' friend. He does not know where to go, and he would like to
-live with us. I told him that we were not very spick-and-span up
-here, that we lived on the sixth floor, and had only the garret
-to offer him; but it was no use, he would come—"</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke had taken the chair which the woman brought him, and
-the children, stricken with sudden shyness, had gathered together
-to give the stranger that mute, earnest, so soon-finished
-scrutiny characteristic of childhood. For a child, like a dog, is
-wont to judge by instinct rather than reason. Schmucke looked up;
-his eyes rested on that charming little picture; he saw the
-performer on the tin trumpet, a little five-year-old maiden with
-wonderful golden hair.</p>
-
-<p>"She looks like ein liddle German girl," said Schmucke,
-holding out his arms to the child.</p>
-
-<p>"Monsieur will not be very comfortable here," said Mme.
-Topinard. "I would propose that he should have our room at once,
-but I am obliged to have the children near me."</p>
-
-<p>She opened the door as she spoke, and bade Schmucke come in.
-Such splendor as their abode possessed was all concentrated here.
-Blue cotton curtains with a white fringe hung from the mahogany
-bedstead, and adorned the window; the chest of drawers, bureau,
-and chairs, though all made of mahogany, were neatly kept. The
-clock and candlesticks on the chimneypiece were evidently the
-gift of the bankrupt manager, whose portrait, a truly frightful
-performance of Pierre Grassou's, looked down upon the chest of
-drawers. The children tried to peep in at the forbidden
-glories.</p>
-
-<p>"Monsieur might be comfortable in here," said their
-mother.</p>
-
-<p>"No, no," Schmucke replied. "Eh! I haf not ver' long to lif, I
-only vant a corner to die in."</p>
-
-<p>The door was closed, and the three went up to the garret. "Dis
-is der ding for me," Schmucke cried at once. "Pefore I lifd mid
-Bons, I vas nefer better lodged."</p>
-
-<p>"Very well. A truckle-bed, a couple of mattresses, a bolster,
-a pillow, a couple of chairs, and a table—that is all that you
-need to buy. That will not ruin you—it may cost a hundred and
-fifty francs, with the crockeryware and strip of carpet for the
-bedside."</p>
-
-<p>Everything was settled—save the money, which was not
-forthcoming.<br>
- Schmucke saw that his new friends were very poor, and
-recollecting that the theatre was only a few steps away, it
-naturally occurred to him to apply to the manager for his salary.
-He went at once, and found Gaudissart in his office. Gaudissart
-received him in the somewhat stiffly polite manner which he
-reserved for professionals. Schmucke's demand for a month's
-salary took him by surprise, but on inquiry he found that it was
-due.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, confound it, my good man, a German can always count, even
-if he has tears in his eyes. . . . I thought that you would have
-taken the thousand francs that I sent you into account, as a
-final year's salary, and that we were quits."</p>
-
-<p>"We haf receifed nodings," said Schmucke; "und gif I komm to
-you, it ees because I am in der shtreet, und haf not ein benny.
-How did you send us der bonus?"</p>
-
-<p>"By your portress."</p>
-
-<p>"By Montame Zipod!" exclaimed Schmucke. "She killed Bons, she
-robbed him, she sold him—she tried to purn his vill—she is a
-pad creature, a monster!"</p>
-
-<p>"But, my good man, how come you to be out in the street
-without a roof over your head or a penny in your pocket, when you
-are the sole heir?<br>
- That does not necessarily follow, as the saying is."</p>
-
-<p>"They haf put me out at der door. I am a voreigner, I know
-nodings of die laws."</p>
-
-<p>"Poor man!" thought Gaudissart, foreseeing the probable end of
-the unequal contest.—"Listen," he began, "do you know what you
-ought to do in this business?"</p>
-
-<p>"I haf ein mann of pizness!"</p>
-
-<p>"Very good, come to terms at once with the next-of-kin; make
-them pay you a lump sum of money down and an annuity, and you can
-live in peace—"</p>
-
-<p>"I ask noding more."</p>
-
-<p>"Very well. Let me arrange it for you," said Gaudissart.
-Fraisier had told him the whole story only yesterday, and he
-thought that he saw his way to making interest out of the case
-with the young Vicomtesse Popinot and her mother. He would finish
-a dirty piece of work, and some day he would be a privy
-councillor, at least; or so he told himself.</p>
-
-<p>"I gif you full powers."</p>
-
-<p>"Well. Let me see. Now, to begin with," said Gaudissart,
-Napoleon of the boulevard theatres, "to begin with, here are a
-hundred crowns—"<br>
- (he took fifteen louis from his purse and handed them to
-Schmucke).</p>
-
-<p>"That is yours, on account of six months' salary. If you leave
-the theatre, you can repay me the money. Now for your budget.
-What are your yearly expenses? How much do you want to be
-comfortable? Come, now, scheme out a life for a
-Sardanapalus—"</p>
-
-<p>"I only need two suits of clothes, von for der vinter, von for
-der sommer."</p>
-
-<p>"Three hundred francs," said Gaudissart.</p>
-
-<p>"Shoes. Vour bairs."</p>
-
-<p>"Sixty francs."</p>
-
-<p>"Shtockings—"</p>
-
-<p>"A dozen pairs—thirty-six francs."</p>
-
-<p>"Half a tozzen shirts."</p>
-
-<p>"Six calico shirts, twenty-four francs; as many linen shirts,
-forty- eight francs; let us say seventy-two. That makes four
-hundred and sixty-eight francs altogether.—Say five hundred,
-including cravats and pocket-handkerchiefs; a hundred francs for
-the laundress—six hundred. And now, how much for your
-board—three francs a day?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, it ees too much."</p>
-
-<p>"After all, you want hats; that brings it to fifteen hundred.
-Five hundred more for rent; that makes two thousand. If I can get
-two thousand francs per annum for you, are you willing? . . .
-Good securities."</p>
-
-<p>"Und mein tobacco."</p>
-
-<p>"Two thousand four hundred, then. . . . Oh! Papa Schmucke, do
-you call that tobacco? Very well, the tobacco shall be given
-in.—So that is two thousand four hundred francs per annum."</p>
-
-<p>"Dat ees not all! I should like som monny."</p>
-
-<p>"Pin-money!—Just so. Oh, these Germans! And calls himself an
-innocent, the old Robert Macaire!" thought Gaudissart. Aloud he
-said, "How much do you want? But this must be the last."</p>
-
-<p>"It ees to bay a zacred debt."</p>
-
-<p>"A debt!" said Gaudissart to himself. What a shark it is! He
-is worse than an eldest son. He will invent a bill or two next!
-We must cut this short. This Fraisier cannot take large
-views.—What debt is this, my good man? Speak out."</p>
-
-<p>"Dere vas but von mann dot haf mourned Bons mit me. . . . He
-haf a tear liddle girl mit wunderschones haar; it vas as if I saw
-mein boor Deutschland dot I should nefer haf left. . . . Baris is
-no blace for die Germans; dey laugh at dem" (with a little nod as
-he spoke, and the air of a man who knows something of life in
-this world below).</p>
-
-<p>"He is off his head," Gaudissart said to himself. And a sudden
-pang of pity for this poor innocent before him brought a tear to
-the manager's eyes.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! you understand, mennesir le directeur! Ver' goot. Dat
-mann mit die liddle taughter is Dobinard, vat tidies der
-orchestra and lights die lamps. Bons vas fery fond of him, und
-helped him. He vas der only von dat accombanied mein only friend
-to die church und to die grafe. .<br>
- . . I vant dree tausend vrancs for him, und dree tausend for die
-liddle von—"</p>
-
-<p>"Poor fellow!" said Gaudissart to himself.</p>
-
-<p>Rough, self-made man though he was, he felt touched by this
-nobleness of nature, by a gratitude for a mere trifle, as the
-world views it; though for the eyes of this divine innocence the
-trifle, like Bossuet's cup of water, was worth more than the
-victories of great captains. Beneath all Gaudissart's vanity,
-beneath the fierce desire to succeed in life at all costs, to
-rise to the social level of his old friend Popinot, there lay a
-warm heart and a kindly nature.<br>
- Wherefore he canceled his too hasty judgments and went over to
-Schmucke's side.</p>
-
-<p>"You shall have it all! But I will do better still, my dear
-Schmucke.<br>
- Topinard is a good sort—"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes. I haf chust peen to see him in his boor home, vere he
-ees happy mit his children—"</p>
-
-<p>"I will give him the cashier's place. Old Baudrand is going to
-leave."</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! Gott pless you!" cried Schmucke.</p>
-
-<p>"Very well, my good, kind fellow, meet me at Berthier's office
-about four o'clock this afternoon. Everything shall be ready, and
-you shall be secured from want for the rest of your days. You
-shall draw your six thousand francs, and you shall have the same
-salary with Garangeot that you used to have with Pons."</p>
-
-<p>"No," Schmucke answered. "I shall not lif. . . . I haf no
-heart for anydings; I feel that I am attacked—"</p>
-
-<p>"Poor lamb!" Gaudissart muttered to himself as the German took
-his leave. "But, after all, one lives on mutton; and, as the
-sublime Beranger says, 'Poor sheep! you were made to be shorn,' "
-and he hummed the political squib by way of giving vent to his
-feelings. Then he rang for the office-boy.</p>
-
-<p>"Call my carriage," he said.</p>
-
-<p>"Rue de Hanovre," he told the coachman.</p>
-
-<p>The man of ambitions by this time had reappeared; he saw the
-way to the Council of State lying straight before him.</p>
-
-<p>And Schmucke? He was busy buying flowers and cakes for
-Topinard's children, and went home almost joyously.</p>
-
-<p>"I am gifing die bresents . . ." he said, and he smiled. It
-was the first smile for three months, but any one who had seen
-Schmucke's face would have shuddered to see it there.</p>
-
-<p>"But dere is ein condition—"</p>
-
-<p>"It is too kind of you, sir," said the mother.</p>
-
-<p>"De liddle girl shall gif me a kiss and put die flowers in her
-hair, like die liddle German maidens—"</p>
-
-<p>"Olga, child, do just as the gentleman wishes," said the
-mother, assuming an air of discipline.</p>
-
-<p>"Do not scold mein liddle German girl," implored Schmucke. It
-seemed to him that the little one was his dear Germany. Topinard
-came in.</p>
-
-<p>"Three porters are bringing up the whole bag of tricks," he
-said.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! Here are two hundred vrancs to bay for eferydings . . ."
-said Schmucke. "But, mein friend, your Montame Dobinard is ver'
-nice; you shall marry her, is it not so? I shall gif you tausend
-crowns, and die liddle vone shall haf tausend crowns for her
-toury, and you shall infest it in her name. . . . Und you are not
-to pe ein zuper any more —you are to pe de cashier at de
-teatre—"</p>
-
-<p>"<i>I</i>?—instead of old Baudrand?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes."</p>
-
-<p>"Who told you so?"</p>
-
-<p>"Mennesir Gautissart!"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! it is enough to send one wild with joy! . . . Eh! I say,
-Rosalie, what a rumpus there will be at the theatre! But it is
-not possible—"</p>
-
-<p>"Our benefactor must not live in a garret—"</p>
-
-<p>"Pshaw! for die few tays dat I haf to lif it ees fery
-komfortable,"<br>
- said Schmucke. "Goot-pye; I am going to der zemetery, to see vat
-dey haf don mit Bons, und to order som flowers for his
-grafe."</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Camusot de Marville was consumed by the liveliest
-apprehensions.<br>
- At a council held with Fraisier, Berthier, and Godeschal, the
-two last-named authorities gave it as their opinion that it was
-hopeless to dispute a will drawn up by two notaries in the
-presence of two witnesses, so precisely was the instrument worded
-by Leopold Hannequin. Honest Godeschal said that even if
-Schmucke's own legal adviser should succeed in deceiving him, he
-would find out the truth at last, if it were only from some
-officious barrister, the gentlemen of the robe being wont to
-perform such acts of generosity and disinterestedness by way of
-self-advertisement. And the two officials took their leave of the
-Presidente with a parting caution against Fraisier, concerning
-whom they had naturally made inquiries.</p>
-
-<p>At that very moment Fraisier, straight from the affixing of
-the seals in the Rue de Normandie, was waiting for an interview
-with Mme. de Marville. Berthier and Godeschal had suggested that
-he should be shown into the study; the whole affair was too dirty
-for the President to look into (to use their own expression), and
-they wished to give Mme.<br>
- de Marville their opinion in Fraisier's absence.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, madame, where are these gentlemen?" asked Fraisier,
-admitted to audience.</p>
-
-<p>"They are gone. They advise me to give up," said Mme. de
-Marville.</p>
-
-<p>"Give up!" repeated Fraisier, suppressed fury in his voice.
-"Give up!<br>
- . . . Listen to this, madame:—</p>
-
-<p>" 'At the request of' . . . and so forth (I will omit the
-formalities) . . . 'Whereas there has been deposited in the hands
-of M. le President of the Court of First Instance, a will drawn
-up by Maitres Leopold Hannequin and Alexandre Crottat, notaries
-of Paris, and in the presence of two witnesses, the Sieurs
-Brunner and Schwab, aliens domiciled at Paris, and by the said
-will the Sieur Pons, deceased, has bequeathed his property to one
-Sieur Schmucke, a German, to the prejudice of his natural
-heirs:</p>
-
-<p>" 'Whereas the applicant undertakes to prove that the said
-will was obtained under undue influence and by unlawful means;
-and persons of credit are prepared to show that it was the
-testator's intention to leave his fortune to Mlle. Cecile,
-daughter of the aforesaid Sieur de Marville, and the applicant
-can show that the said will was extorted from the testator's
-weakness, he being unaccountable for his actions at the time:</p>
-
-<p>" 'Whereas as the Sieur Schmucke, to obtain a will in his
-favor, sequestrated the testator, and prevented the family from
-approaching the deceased during his last illness; and his
-subsequent notorious ingratitude was of a nature to scandalize
-the house and residents in the quarter who chanced to witness it
-when attending the funeral of the porter at the testator's place
-of abode:</p>
-
-<p>" 'Whereas as still more serious charges, of which applicant
-is collecting proofs, will be formally made before their worships
-the judges:</p>
-
-<p>" 'I, the undersigned Registrar of the Court, etc., etc., on
-behalf of the aforesaid, etc., have summoned the Sieur Schmucke,
-pleading, etc., to appear before their worships the judges of the
-first chamber of the Tribunal, and to be present when application
-is made that the will received by Maitres Hannequin and Crottat,
-being evidently obtained by undue influence, shall be regarded as
-null and void in law; and I, the undersigned, on behalf of the
-aforesaid, etc., have likewise given notice of protest, should
-the Sieur Schmucke as universal legatee make application for an
-order to be put into possession of the estate, seeing that the
-applicant opposes such order, and makes objection by his
-application bearing date of to-day, of which a copy has been duly
-deposited with the Sieur Schmucke, costs being charged to . . .
-etc., etc.'</p>
-
-<p>"I know the man, Mme. le Presidente. He will come to terms as
-soon as he reads this little love-letter. He will take our terms.
-Are you going to give the thousand crowns per annum?"</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly. I only wish I were paying the first installment
-now."</p>
-
-<p>"It will be done in three days. The summons will come down
-upon him while he is stupefied with grief, for the poor soul
-regrets Pons and is taking the death to heart."</p>
-
-<p>"Can the application be withdrawn?" inquired the lady.</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly, madame. You can withdraw it at any time."</p>
-
-<p>"Very well, monsieur, let it be so . . . go on! Yes, the
-purchase of land that you have arranged for me is worth the
-trouble; and, besides, I have managed Vitel's business—he is to
-retire, and you must pay Vitel's sixty thousand francs out of
-Pons' property. So, you see, you must succeed."</p>
-
-<p>"Have you Vitel's resignation?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, monsieur. M. Vitel has put himself in M. de Marville's
-hands."</p>
-
-<p>"Very good, madame. I have already saved you sixty thousand
-francs which I expected to give to that vile creature Mme. Cibot.
-But I still require the tobacconist's license for the woman
-Sauvage, and an appointment to the vacant place of head-physician
-at the Quinze-Vingts for my friend Poulain."</p>
-
-<p>"Agreed—it is all arranged."</p>
-
-<p>"Very well. There is no more to be said. Every one is for you
-in this business, even Gaudissart, the manager of the theatre. I
-went to look him up yesterday, and he undertook to crush the
-workman who seemed likely to give us trouble."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, I know M. Gaudissart is devoted to the Popinots."</p>
-
-<p>Fraisier went out. Unluckily, he missed Gaudissart, and the
-fatal summons was served forthwith.</p>
-
-<p>If all covetous minds will sympathize with the Presidente, all
-honest folk will turn in abhorrence from her joy when Gaudissart
-came twenty minutes later to report his conversation with poor
-Schmucke. She gave her full approval; she was obliged beyond all
-expression for the thoughtful way in which the manager relieved
-her of any remaining scruples by observations which seemed to her
-to be very sensible and just.</p>
-
-<p>"I thought as I came, Mme. la Presidente, that the poor devil
-would not know what to do with the money. 'Tis a patriarchally
-simple nature. He is a child, he is a German, he ought to be
-stuffed and put in a glass case like a waxen image. Which is to
-say that, in my opinion, he is quite puzzled enough already with
-his income of two thousand five hundred francs, and here you are
-provoking him into extravagance—"</p>
-
-<p>"It is very generous of him to wish to enrich the poor fellow
-who regrets the loss of our cousin," pronounced the Presidente.
-"For my own part, I am sorry for the little squabble that
-estranged M. Pons and me. If he had come back again, all would
-have been forgiven. If you only knew how my husband misses him!
-M. de Marville received no notice of the death, and was in
-despair; family claims are sacred for him, he would have gone to
-the service and the interment, and I myself would have been at
-the mass—"</p>
-
-<p>"Very well, fair lady," said Gaudissart. "Be so good as to
-have the documents drawn up, and at four o'clock I will bring
-this German to you. Please remember me to your charming daughter
-the Vicomtesse, and ask her to tell my illustrious friend the
-great statesman, her good and excellent father-in-law, how deeply
-I am devoted to him and his, and ask him to continue his valued
-favors. I owe my life to his uncle the judge, and my success in
-life to him; and I should wish to be bound to both you and your
-daughter by the high esteem which links us with persons of rank
-and influence. I wish to leave the theatre and become a serious
-person."</p>
-
-<p>"As you are already, monsieur!" said the Presidente.</p>
-
-<p>"Adorable!" returned Gaudissart, kissing the lady's shriveled
-fingers.</p>
-
-<p>At four o'clock that afternoon several people were gathered
-together at Berthier's office; Fraisier, arch-concocter of the
-whole scheme, Tabareau, appearing on behalf of Schmucke, and
-Schmucke himself.<br>
- Gaudissart had come with him. Fraisier had been careful to
-spread out the money on Berthier's desk, and so dazzled was
-Schmucke by the sight of the six thousand-franc bank-notes for
-which he had asked, and six hundred francs for the first
-quarter's allowance, that he paid no heed whatsoever to the
-reading of the document. Poor man, he was scarcely in full
-possession of his faculties, shaken as they had already been by
-so many shocks. Gaudissart had snatched him up on his return from
-the cemetery, where he had been talking with Pons, promising to
-join him soon—very soon. So Schmucke did not listen to the
-preamble in which it was set forth that Maitre Tabareau, bailiff,
-was acting as his proxy, and that the Presidente, in the
-interests of her daughter, was taking legal proceedings against
-him. Altogether, in that preamble the German played a sorry part,
-but he put his name to the document, and thereby admitted the
-truth of Fraisier's abominable allegations; and so joyous was he
-over receiving the money for the Topinards, so glad to bestow
-wealth according to his little ideas upon the one creature who
-loved Pons, that he heard not a word of lawsuit nor
-compromise.</p>
-
-<p><br>
- But in the middle of the reading a clerk came into the private
-office to speak to his employer. "There is a man here, sir, who
-wishes to speak to M. Schmucke," said he.</p>
-
-<p>The notary looked at Fraisier, and, taking his cue from him,
-shrugged his shoulders.</p>
-
-<p>"Never disturb us when we are signing documents. Just ask his
-name—is it a man or a gentleman? Is he a creditor?"</p>
-
-<p>The clerk went and returned. "He insists that he must speak to
-M.<br>
- Schmucke."</p>
-
-<p>"His name?"</p>
-
-<p>"His name is Topinard, he says."</p>
-
-<p>"I will go out to him. Sign without disturbing yourself," said
-Gaudissart, addressing Schmucke. "Make an end of it; I will find
-out what he wants with us."</p>
-
-<p>Gaudissart understood Fraisier; both scented danger.</p>
-
-<p>"Why are you here?" Gaudissart began. "So you have no mind to
-be cashier at the theatre? Discretion is a cashier's first
-recommendation."</p>
-
-<p>"Sir—"</p>
-
-<p>"Just mind your own business; you will never be anything if
-you meddle in other people's affairs."</p>
-
-<p>"Sir, I cannot eat bread if every mouthful of it is to stick
-in my throat. . . . Monsieur Schmucke!—M. Schmucke!" he shouted
-aloud.</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke came out at the sound of Topinard's voice. He had
-just signed. He held the money in his hand.</p>
-
-<p>"Thees ees for die liddle German maiden und for you," he
-said.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! my dear M. Schmucke, you have given away your wealth to
-inhuman wretches, to people who are trying to take away your good
-name. I took this paper to a good man, an attorney who knows this
-Fraisier, and he says that you ought to punish such wickedness;
-you ought to let them summon you and leave them to get out of
-it.—Read this," and Schmucke's imprudent friend held out the
-summons delivered in the Cite Bordin.</p>
-
-<p>Standing in the notary's gateway, Schmucke read the document,
-saw the imputations made against him, and, all ignorant as he was
-of the amenities of the law, the blow was deadly. The little
-grain of sand stopped his heart's beating. Topinard caught him in
-his arms, hailed a passing cab, and put the poor German into it.
-He was suffering from congestion of the brain; his eyes were dim,
-his head was throbbing, but he had enough strength left to put
-the money into Topinard's hands.</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke rallied from the first attack, but he never recovered
-consciousness, and refused to eat. Ten days afterwards he died
-without a complaint; to the last he had not spoken a word. Mme.
-Topinard nursed him, and Topinard laid him by Pons' side. It was
-an obscure funeral; Topinard was the only mourner who followed
-the son of Germany to his last resting-place.</p>
-
-<p>Fraisier, now a justice of the peace, is very intimate with
-the President's family, and much valued by the Presidente. She
-could not think of allowing him to marry "that girl of
-Tabareau's," and promised infinitely better things for the clever
-man to whom she considers she owes not merely the pasture-land
-and the English cottage at Marville, but also the President's
-seat in the Chamber of Deputies, for M. le President was returned
-at the general election in 1846.</p>
-
-<p>Every one, no doubt, wishes to know what became of the heroine
-of a story only too veracious in its details; a chronicle which,
-taken with its twin sister the preceding volume, <i>La Cousine
-Bette</i>, proves that Character is a great social force. You, O
-amateurs, connoisseurs, and dealers, will guess at once that
-Pons' collection is now in question.<br>
- Wherefore it will suffice if we are present during a
-conversation that took place only a few days ago in Count
-Popinot's house. He was showing his splendid collection to some
-visitors.</p>
-
-<p>"M. le Comte, you possess treasures indeed," remarked a
-distinguished foreigner.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! as to pictures, nobody can hope to rival an obscure
-collector, one Elie Magus, a Jew, an old monomaniac, the prince
-of picture- lovers," the Count replied modestly. "And when I say
-nobody, I do not speak of Paris only, but of all Europe. When the
-old Croesus dies, France ought to spare seven or eight millions
-of francs to buy the gallery. For curiosities, my collection is
-good enough to be talked about—"</p>
-
-<p>"But how, busy as you are, and with a fortune so honestly
-earned in the first instance in business—"</p>
-
-<p>"In the drug business," broke in Popinot; "you ask how I can
-continue to interest myself in things that are a drug in the
-market—"</p>
-
-<p>"No," returned the foreign visitor, "no, but how do you find
-time to collect? The curiosities do not come to find you."</p>
-
-<p>"My father-in-law owned the nucleus of the collection," said
-the young Vicomtess; "he loved the arts and beautiful work, but
-most of his treasures came to him through me."</p>
-
-<p>"Through you, madame?—So young! and yet have you such vices
-as this?"<br>
- asked a Russian prince.</p>
-
-<p>Russians are by nature imitative; imitative indeed to such an
-extent that the diseases of civilization break out among them in
-epidemics.<br>
- The bric-a-brac mania had appeared in an acute form in St.
-Petersburg, and the Russians caused such a rise of prices in the
-"art line," as Remonencq would say, that collection became
-impossible. The prince who spoke had come to Paris solely to buy
-bric-a-brac.</p>
-
-<p>"The treasures came to me, prince, on the death of a cousin.
-He was very fond of me," added the Vicomtesse Popinot, "and he
-had spent some forty odd years since 1805 in picking up these
-masterpieces everywhere, but more especially in Italy—"</p>
-
-<p>"And what was his name?" inquired the English lord.</p>
-
-<p>"Pons," said President Camusot.</p>
-
-<p>"A charming man he was," piped the Presidente in her thin,
-flute tones, "very clever, very eccentric, and yet very
-good-hearted. This fan that you admire once belonged to Mme. de
-Pompadour; he gave it to me one morning with a pretty speech
-which you must permit me not to repeat," and she glanced at her
-daughter.</p>
-
-<p>"Mme. la Vicomtesse, tell us the pretty speech," begged the
-Russian prince.</p>
-
-<p>"The speech was as pretty as the fan," returned the
-Vicomtesse, who brought out the stereotyped remark on all
-occasions. "He told my mother that it was quite time that it
-should pass from the hands of vice into those of virtue."</p>
-
-<p>The English lord looked at Mme. Camusot de Marville with an
-air of doubt not a little gratifying to so withered a woman.</p>
-
-<p>"He used to dine at our house two or three times a week," she
-said; "he was so fond of us! We could appreciate him, and artists
-like the society of those who relish their wit. My husband was,
-besides, his one surviving relative. So when, quite unexpectedly,
-M. de Marville came into the property, M. le Comte preferred to
-take over the whole collection to save it from a sale by auction;
-and we ourselves much preferred to dispose of it in that way, for
-it would have been so painful to us to see the beautiful things,
-in which our dear cousin was so much interested, all scattered
-abroad. Elie Magus valued them, and in that way I became
-possessed of the cottage that your uncle built, and I hope you
-will do us the honor of coming to see us there."</p>
-
-<p>Gaudissart's theatre passed into other hands a year ago, but
-M.<br>
- Topinard is still the cashier. M. Topinard, however, has grown
-gloomy and misanthropic; he says little. People think that he has
-something on his conscience. Wags at the theatre suggest that his
-gloom dates from his marriage with Lolotte. Honest Topinard
-starts whenever he hears Fraisier's name mentioned. Some people
-may think it strange that the one nature worthy of Pons and
-Schmucke should be found on the third floor beneath the stage of
-a boulevard theatre.</p>
-
-<p>Mme. Remonencq, much impressed with Mme. Fontaine's
-prediction, declines to retire to the country. She is still
-living in her splendid shop on the Boulevard de la Madeleine, but
-she is a widow now for the second time. Remonencq, in fact, by
-the terms of the marriage contract, settled the property upon the
-survivor, and left a little glass of vitriol about for his wife
-to drink by mistake; but his wife, with the very best intentions,
-put the glass elsewhere, and Remonencq swallowed the draught
-himself. The rascal's appropriate end vindicates Providence, as
-well as the chronicler of manners, who is sometimes accused of
-neglect on this head, perhaps because Providence has been so
-overworked by playwrights of late.</p>
-
-<p>Pardon the transcriber's errors.</p>
-
-<p>ADDENDUM</p>
-
-<p>The following personages appear in other stories of the Human
-Comedy.</p>
-
-<p>Baudoyer, Isidore The Government Clerks The Middle Classes</p>
-
-<p>Berthier (Parisian notary) Cousin Betty</p>
-
-<p>Berthier, Madame The Muse of the Department</p>
-
-<p>Bixiou, Jean-Jacques The Purse A Bachelor's Establishment The
-Government Clerks Modeste Mignon Scenes from a Courtesan's Life
-The Firm of Nucingen The Muse of the Department Cousin Betty The
-Member for Arcis Beatrix A Man of Business Gaudissart II.<br>
- The Unconscious Humorists</p>
-
-<p>Braulard A Distinguished Provincial at Paris Cousin Betty</p>
-
-<p>Brisetout, Heloise Cousin Betty The Middle Classes</p>
-
-<p>Camusot A Distinguished Provincial at Paris A Bachelor's
-Establishment The Muse of the Department Cesar Birotteau At the
-Sign of the Cat and Racket</p>
-
-<p>Camusot de Marville Jealousies of a Country Town The
-Commission in Lunacy Scenes from a Courtesan's Life</p>
-
-<p>Camusot de Marville, Madame The Vendetta Cesar Birotteau
-Jealousies of a Country Town Scenes from a Courtesan's Life</p>
-
-<p>Cardot (Parisian notary) The Muse of the Department A Man of
-Business Jealousies of a Country Town Pierre Grassou The Middle
-Classes</p>
-
-<p>Chanor Cousin Betty</p>
-
-<p>Crevel, Celestin Cesar Birotteau Cousin Betty</p>
-
-<p>Crottat, Alexandre Cesar Birotteau Colonel Chabert A Start in
-Life A Woman of Thirty</p>
-
-<p>Desplein The Atheist's Mass Lost Illusions The Thirteen The
-Government Clerks Pierrette A Bachelor's Establishment The Seamy
-Side of History Modeste Mignon Scenes from a Courtesan's Life
-Honorine</p>
-
-<p>Florent Cousin Betty</p>
-
-<p>Fontaine, Madame The Unconscious Humorists</p>
-
-<p>Gaudissart, Felix Scenes from a Courtesan's Life Cesar
-Birotteau Honorine Gaudissart the Great</p>
-
-<p>Godeschal, Francois-Claude-Marie Colonel Chabert A Bachelor's
-Establishment A Start in Life The Commission in Lunacy The Middle
-Classes</p>
-
-<p>Godeschal, Marie A Bachelor's Establishment A Start in Life
-Scenes from a Courtesan's Life</p>
-
-<p>Gouraud, General, Baron Pierrette</p>
-
-<p>Graff, Wolfgang Cousin Betty</p>
-
-<p>Granville, Vicomte de (later Comte) The Gondreville Mystery
-Honorine A Second Home Farewell (Adieu) Cesar Birotteau Scenes
-from a Courtesan's Life A Daughter of Eve</p>
-
-<p>Grassou, Pierre Pierre Grassou A Bachelor's Establishment
-Cousin Betty The Middle Classes</p>
-
-<p>Hannequin, Leopold Albert Savarus Beatrix Cousin Betty</p>
-
-<p>Haudry (doctor) Cesar Birotteau The Thirteen A Bachelor's
-Establishment The Seamy Side of History</p>
-
-<p>Lebrun (physician) Scenes from a Courtesan's Life</p>
-
-<p>Louchard Scenes from a Courtesan's Life</p>
-
-<p>Madeleine Scenes from a Courtesan's Life</p>
-
-<p>Magus, Elie The Vendetta A Marriage Settlement A Bachelor's
-Establishment Pierre Grassou</p>
-
-<p>Matifat (wealthy druggist) Cesar Birotteau A Bachelor's
-Establishment Lost Illusions A Distinguished Provincial at Paris
-The Firm of Nucingen</p>
-
-<p>Minard, Prudence The Middle Classes</p>
-
-<p>Pillerault, Claude-Joseph Cesar Birotteau</p>
-
-<p>Popinot, Anselme Cesar Birotteau Gaudissart the Great Cousin
-Betty</p>
-
-<p>Popinot, Madame Anselme Cesar Birotteau A Prince of Bohemia
-Cousin Betty</p>
-
-<p>Popinot, Vicomte Cousin Betty</p>
-
-<p>Rivet, Achille Cousin Betty</p>
-
-<p>Schmucke, Wilhelm A Daughter of Eve Ursule Mirouet Scenes from
-a Courtesan's Life</p>
-
-<p>Stevens, Dinah A Marriage Settlement</p>
-
-<p>Stidmann Modeste Mignon Beatrix The Member for Arcis Cousin
-Betty The Unconscious Humorists</p>
-
-<p>Thouvenin Cesar Birotteau</p>
-
-<p>Vinet Pierrette The Member for Arcis The Middle Classes</p>
-
-<p>Vinet, Olivier The Member for Arcis The Middle Classes</p>
-
-<p>Vivet, Madeleine Scenes from a Courtesan's Life</p>
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
-
-End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Cousin Pons, by Honore de Balzac
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diff --git a/old/cspns10h.zip b/old/cspns10h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 6be0d11..0000000 --- a/old/cspns10h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old-2025-02-18/1856-0.txt b/old/old-2025-02-18/1856-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c612461..0000000 --- a/old/old-2025-02-18/1856-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,12681 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Cousin Pons, 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: Cousin Pons - -Author: Honore de Balzac - -Translator: Ellen Marriage - -Release Date: August, 1999 [Etext #1856] -Posting Date: March 3, 2010 -Last Updated: November 23, 2016 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COUSIN PONS *** - - - - -Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny - - - - - -COUSIN PONS - - -By Honore De Balzac - - - -Translated by Ellen Marriage - - - - -COUSIN PONS - - -Towards three o’clock in the afternoon of one October day in the year -1844, a man of sixty or thereabouts, whom anybody might have credited -with more than his actual age, was walking along the Boulevard des -Italiens with his head bent down, as if he were tracking some one. There -was a smug expression about the mouth--he looked like a merchant who -has just done a good stroke of business, or a bachelor emerging from -a boudoir in the best of humors with himself; and in Paris this is -the highest degree of self-satisfaction ever registered by a human -countenance. - -As soon as the elderly person appeared in the distance, a smile broke -out over the faces of the frequenters of the boulevard, who daily, from -their chairs, watch the passers-by, and indulge in the agreeable pastime -of analyzing them. That smile is peculiar to Parisians; it says so many -things--ironical, quizzical, pitying; but nothing save the rarest of -human curiosities can summon that look of interest to the faces of -Parisians, sated as they are with every possible sight. - -A saying recorded of Hyacinthe, an actor celebrated for his repartees, -will explain the archaeological value of the old gentleman, and the -smile repeated like an echo by all eyes. Somebody once asked Hyacinthe -where the hats were made that set the house in a roar as soon as he -appeared. “I don’t have them made,” he said; “I keep them!” So also -among the million actors who make up the great troupe of Paris, there -are unconscious Hyacinthes who “keep” all the absurd freaks of vanished -fashions upon their backs; and the apparition of some bygone decade will -startle you into laughter as you walk the streets in bitterness of soul -over the treason of one who was your friend in the past. - -In some respects the passer-by adhered so faithfully to the fashions -of the year 1806, that he was not so much a burlesque caricature as a -reproduction of the Empire period. To an observer, accuracy of detail in -a revival of this sort is extremely valuable, but accuracy of detail, -to be properly appreciated, demands the critical attention of an expert -_flaneur_; while the man in the street who raises a laugh as soon as he -comes in sight is bound to be one of those outrageous exhibitions which -stare you in the face, as the saying goes, and produce the kind of -effect which an actor tries to secure for the success of his entry. The -elderly person, a thin, spare man, wore a nut-brown spencer over a coat -of uncertain green, with white metal buttons. A man in a spencer in the -year 1844! it was as if Napoleon himself had vouchsafed to come to life -again for a couple of hours. - -The spencer, as its name indicates, was the invention of an English -lord, vain, doubtless, of his handsome shape. Some time before the Peace -of Amiens, this nobleman solved the problem of covering the bust without -destroying the outlines of the figure and encumbering the person with -the hideous boxcoat, now finishing its career on the backs of aged -hackney cabmen; but, elegant figures being in the minority, the success -of the spencer was short-lived in France, English though it was. - -At the sight of the spencer, men of forty or fifty mentally invested -the wearer with top-boots, pistachio-colored kerseymere small clothes -adorned with a knot of ribbon; and beheld themselves in the costumes of -their youth. Elderly ladies thought of former conquests; but the younger -men were asking each other why the aged Alcibiades had cut off the -skirts of his overcoat. The rest of the costume was so much in keeping -with the spencer, that you would not have hesitated to call the wearer -“an Empire man,” just as you call a certain kind of furniture “Empire -furniture;” yet the newcomer only symbolized the Empire for those who -had known that great and magnificent epoch at any rate _de visu_, for a -certain accuracy of memory was needed for the full appreciation of the -costume, and even now the Empire is so far away that not every one of us -can picture it in its Gallo-Grecian reality. - -The stranger’s hat, for instance, tipped to the back of his head so as -to leave almost the whole forehead bare, recalled a certain jaunty air, -with which civilians and officials attempted to swagger it with military -men; but the hat itself was a shocking specimen of the fifteen-franc -variety. Constant friction with a pair of enormous ears had left their -marks which no brush could efface from the underside of the brim; the -silk tissue (as usual) fitted badly over the cardboard foundation, and -hung in wrinkles here and there; and some skin-disease (apparently) had -attacked the nap in spite of the hand which rubbed it down of a morning. - -Beneath the hat, which seemed ready to drop off at any moment, lay -an expanse of countenance grotesque and droll, as the faces which the -Chinese alone of all people can imagine for their quaint curiosities. -The broad visage was as full of holes as a colander, honeycombed with -the shadows of the dints, hollowed out like a Roman mask. It set all -the laws of anatomy at defiance. Close inspection failed to detect the -substructure. Where you expected to find a bone, you discovered a layer -of cartilaginous tissue, and the hollows of an ordinary human face were -here filled out with flabby bosses. A pair of gray eyes, red-rimmed -and lashless, looked forlornly out of a countenance which was flattened -something after the fashion of a pumpkin, and surmounted by a Don -Quixote nose that rose out of it like a monolith above a plain. It was -the kind of nose, as Cervantes must surely have explained somewhere, -which denotes an inborn enthusiasm for all things great, a tendency -which is apt to degenerate into credulity. - -And yet, though the man’s ugliness was something almost ludicrous, it -aroused not the slightest inclination to laugh. The exceeding melancholy -which found an outlet in the poor man’s faded eyes reached the mocker -himself and froze the gibes on his lips; for all at once the thought -arose that this was a human creature to whom Nature had forbidden any -expression of love or tenderness, since such expression could only be -painful or ridiculous to the woman he loved. In the presence of such -misfortune a Frenchman is silent; to him it seems the most cruel of all -afflictions--to be unable to please! - -The man so ill-favored was dressed after the fashion of shabby -gentility, a fashion which the rich not seldom try to copy. He wore -low shoes beneath gaiters of the pattern worn by the Imperial Guard, -doubtless for the sake of economy, because they kept the socks clean. -The rusty tinge of his black breeches, like the cut and the white or -shiny line of the creases, assigned the date of the purchase some three -years back. The roomy garments failed to disguise the lean proportions -of the wearer, due apparently rather to constitution than to a -Pythagorean regimen, for the worthy man was endowed with thick lips -and a sensual mouth; and when he smiled, displayed a set of white teeth -which would have done credit to a shark. - -A shawl-waistcoat, likewise of black cloth, was supplemented by a white -under-waistcoat, and yet again beneath this gleamed the edge of a red -knitted under-jacket, to put you in mind of Garat’s five waistcoats. -A huge white muslin stock with a conspicuous bow, invented by some -exquisite to charm “the charming sex” in 1809, projected so far above -the wearer’s chin that the lower part of his face was lost, as it were, -in a muslin abyss. A silk watch-guard, plaited to resemble the keepsakes -made of hair, meandered down the shirt front and secured his watch from -the improbable theft. The greenish coat, though older by some three -years than the breeches, was remarkably neat; the black velvet collar -and shining metal buttons, recently renewed, told of carefulness which -descended even to trifles. - -The particular manner of fixing the hat on the occiput, the triple -waistcoat, the vast cravat engulfing the chin, the gaiters, the metal -buttons on the greenish coat,--all these reminiscences of Imperial -fashions were blended with a sort of afterwaft and lingering perfume of -the coquetry of the Incroyable--with an indescribable finical something -in the folds of the garments, a certain air of stiffness and correctness -in the demeanor that smacked of the school of David, that recalled -Jacob’s spindle-legged furniture. - -At first sight, moreover, you set him down either for the gentleman by -birth fallen a victim to some degrading habit, or for the man of small -independent means whose expenses are calculated to such a nicety that -the breakage of a windowpane, a rent in a coat, or a visit from the -philanthropic pest who asks you for subscriptions to a charity, absorbs -the whole of a month’s little surplus of pocket-money. If you had seen -him that afternoon, you would have wondered how that grotesque face came -to be lighted up with a smile; usually, surely, it must have worn -the dispirited, passive look of the obscure toiler condemned to labor -without ceasing for the barest necessaries of life. Yet when you -noticed that the odd-looking old man was carrying some object (evidently -precious) in his right hand with a mother’s care; concealing it under -the skirts of his coat to keep it from collisions in the crowd, and -still more, when you remarked that important air always assumed by an -idler when intrusted with a commission, you would have suspected him of -recovering some piece of lost property, some modern equivalent of the -marquise’s poodle; you would have recognized the assiduous gallantry of -the “man of the Empire” returning in triumph from his mission to some -charming woman of sixty, reluctant as yet to dispense with the daily -visit of her elderly _attentif_. - -In Paris only among great cities will you see such spectacles as this; -for of her boulevards Paris makes a stage where a never-ending drama is -played gratuitously by the French nation in the interests of Art. - -In spite of the rashly assumed spencer, you would scarcely have thought, -after a glance at the contours of the man’s bony frame, that this was an -artist--that conventional type which is privileged, in something of the -same way as a Paris gamin, to represent riotous living to the bourgeois -and philistine mind, the most _mirific_ joviality, in short (to use the -old Rabelaisian word newly taken into use). Yet this elderly person had -once taken the medal and the traveling scholarship; he had composed -the first cantata crowned by the Institut at the time of the -re-establishment of the Academie de Rome; he was M. Sylvain Pons, in -fact--M. Sylvain Pons, whose name appears on the covers of well-known -sentimental songs trilled by our mothers, to say nothing of a couple -of operas, played in 1815 and 1816, and divers unpublished scores. The -worthy soul was now ending his days as the conductor of an orchestra -in a boulevard theatre, and a music master in several young ladies’ -boarding-schools, a post for which his face particularly recommended -him. He was entirely dependent upon his earnings. Running about to give -private lessons at his age!--Think of it. How many a mystery lies in -that unromantic situation! - -But the last man to wear the spencer carried something about him besides -his Empire Associations; a warning and a lesson was written large over -that triple waistcoat. Wherever he went, he exhibited, without fee or -charge, one of the many victims of the fatal system of competition which -still prevails in France in spite of a century of trial without result; -for Poisson de Marigny, brother of the Pompadour and Director of Fine -Arts, somewhere about 1746 invented this method of applying pressure to -the brain. That was a hundred years ago. Try if you can count upon your -fingers the men of genius among the prizemen of those hundred years. - -In the first place, no deliberate effort of schoolmaster or -administrator can replace the miracles of chance which produce great -men: of all the mysteries of generation, this most defies the ambitious -modern scientific investigator. In the second--the ancient Egyptians -(we are told) invented incubator-stoves for hatching eggs; what would be -thought of Egyptians who should neglect to fill the beaks of the callow -fledglings? Yet this is precisely what France is doing. She does -her utmost to produce artists by the artificial heat of competitive -examination; but, the sculptor, painter, engraver, or musician once -turned out by this mechanical process, she no more troubles herself -about them and their fate than the dandy cares for yesterday’s flower in -his buttonhole. And so it happens that the really great man is a Greuze, -a Watteau, a Felicien David, a Pagnesi, a Gericault, a Decamps, an -Auber, a David d’Angers, an Eugene Delacroix, or a Meissonier--artists -who take but little heed of _grande prix_, and spring up in the open -field under the rays of that invisible sun called Vocation. - -To resume. The Government sent Sylvain Pons to Rome to make a great -musician of himself; and in Rome Sylvain Pons acquired a taste for -the antique and works of art. He became an admirable judge of those -masterpieces of the brain and hand which are summed up by the useful -neologism “bric-a-brac;” and when the child of Euterpe returned to -Paris somewhere about the year 1810, it was in the character of a rabid -collector, loaded with pictures, statuettes, frames, wood-carving, -ivories, enamels, porcelains, and the like. He had sunk the greater -part of his patrimony, not so much in the purchases themselves as on the -expenses of transit; and every penny inherited from his mother had -been spent in the course of a three-years’ travel in Italy after the -residence in Rome came to an end. He had seen Venice, Milan, Florence, -Bologna, and Naples leisurely, as he wished to see them, as a dreamer of -dreams, and a philosopher; careless of the future, for an artist looks -to his talent for support as the _fille de joie_ counts upon her beauty. - -All through those splendid years of travel Pons was as happy as was -possible to a man with a great soul, a sensitive nature, and a face so -ugly that any “success with the fair” (to use the stereotyped formula of -1809) was out of the question; the realities of life always fell short -of the ideals which Pons created for himself; the world without was -not in tune with the soul within, but Pons had made up his mind to the -dissonance. Doubtless the sense of beauty that he had kept pure and -living in his inmost soul was the spring from which the delicate, -graceful, and ingenious music flowed and won him reputation between 1810 -and 1814. - -Every reputation founded upon the fashion or the fancy of the hour, or -upon the short-lived follies of Paris, produces its Pons. No place in -the world is so inexorable in great things; no city of the globe so -disdainfully indulgent in small. Pons’ notes were drowned before long in -floods of German harmony and the music of Rossini; and if in 1824 he -was known as an agreeable musician, a composer of various drawing-room -melodies, judge if he was likely to be famous in 183l! In 1844, the year -in which the single drama of this obscure life began, Sylvain Pons was -of no more value than an antediluvian semiquaver; dealers in music had -never heard of his name, though he was still composing, on scanty pay, -for his own orchestra or for neighboring theatres. - -And yet, the worthy man did justice to the great masters of our day; a -masterpiece finely rendered brought tears to his eyes; but his religion -never bordered on mania, as in the case of Hoffmann’s Kreislers; he kept -his enthusiasm to himself; his delight, like the paradise reached by -opium or hashish, lay within his own soul. - -The gift of admiration, of comprehension, the single faculty by which -the ordinary man becomes the brother of the poet, is rare in the city -of Paris, that inn whither all ideas, like travelers, come to stay for -awhile; so rare is it, that Pons surely deserves our respectful esteem. -His personal failure may seem anomalous, but he frankly admitted that he -was weak in harmony. He had neglected the study of counterpoint; there -was a time when he might have begun his studies afresh and held his -own among modern composers, when he might have been, not certainly a -Rossini, but a Herold. But he was alarmed by the intricacies of modern -orchestration; and at length, in the pleasures of collecting, he found -such ever-renewed compensation for his failure, that if he had been made -to choose between his curiosities and the fame of Rossini--will it be -believed?--Pons would have pronounced for his beloved collection. - -Pons was of the opinion of Chenavard, the print-collector, who laid it -down as an axiom--that you only fully enjoy the pleasure of looking at -your Ruysdael, Hobbema, Holbein, Raphael, Murillo, Greuze, Sebastian del -Piombo, Giorgione, Albrecht Durer, or what not, when you have paid less -than sixty francs for your picture. Pons never gave more than a hundred -francs for any purchase. If he laid out as much as fifty francs, he was -careful to assure himself beforehand that the object was worth three -thousand. The most beautiful thing in the world, if it cost three -hundred francs, did not exist for Pons. Rare had been his bargains; but -he possessed the three qualifications for success--a stag’s legs, an -idler’s disregard of time, and the patience of a Jew. - -This system, carried out for forty years, in Rome or Paris alike, had -borne its fruits. Since Pons returned from Italy, he had regularly spent -about two thousand francs a year upon a collection of masterpieces of -every sort and description, a collection hidden away from all eyes but -his own; and now his catalogue had reached the incredible number of -1907. Wandering about Paris between 1811 and 1816, he had picked up -many a treasure for ten francs, which would fetch a thousand or twelve -hundred to-day. Some forty-five thousand canvases change hands annually -in Paris picture sales, and these Pons had sifted through year by year. -Pons had Sevres porcelain, _pate tendre_, bought of Auvergnats, those -satellites of the Black Band who sacked chateaux and carried off the -marvels of Pompadour France in their tumbril carts; he had, in fact, -collected the drifted wreck of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; -he recognized the genius of the French school, and discerned the merit -of the Lepautres and Lavallee-Poussins and the rest of the great obscure -creators of the Genre Louis Quinze and the Genre Louis Seize. Our modern -craftsmen now draw without acknowledgment from them, pore incessantly -over the treasures of the Cabinet des Estampes, borrow adroitly, and -give out their _pastiches_ for new inventions. Pons had obtained many a -piece by exchange, and therein lies the ineffable joy of the -collector. The joy of buying bric-a-brac is a secondary delight; in -the give-and-take of barter lies the joy of joys. Pons had begun -by collecting snuff-boxes and miniatures; his name was unknown in -bric-a-bracology, for he seldom showed himself in salesrooms or in the -shops of well-known dealers; Pons was not aware that his treasures had -any commercial value. - -The late lamented Dusommerard tried his best to gain Pons’ confidence, -but the prince of bric-a-brac died before he could gain an entrance to -the Pons museum, the one private collection which could compare with -the famous Sauvageot museum. Pons and M. Sauvageot indeed resembled each -other in more ways than one. M. Sauvageot, like Pons, was a musician; -he was likewise a comparatively poor man, and he had collected his -bric-a-brac in much the same way, with the same love of art, the same -hatred of rich capitalists with well-known names who collect for the -sake of running up prices as cleverly as possible. There was yet another -point of resemblance between the pair; Pons, like his rival competitor -and antagonist, felt in his heart an insatiable craving after specimens -of the craftsman’s skill and miracles of workmanship; he loved them as -a man might love a fair mistress; an auction in the salerooms in the -Rue des Jeuneurs, with its accompaniments of hammer strokes and brokers’ -men, was a crime of _lese-bric-a-brac_ in Pons’ eyes. Pons’ museum was -for his own delight at every hour; for the soul created to know and -feel all the beauty of a masterpiece has this in common with the -lover--to-day’s joy is as great as the joy of yesterday; possession -never palls; and a masterpiece, happily, never grows old. So the object -that he held in his hand with such fatherly care could only be a “find,” - carried off with what affection amateurs alone know! - -After the first outlines of this biographical sketch, every one will -cry at once, “Why! this is the happiest man on earth, in spite of -his ugliness!” And, in truth, no spleen, no dullness can resist the -counter-irritant supplied by a “craze,” the intellectual moxa of a -hobby. You who can no longer drink of “the cup of pleasure,” as it has -been called through all ages, try to collect something, no matter what -(people have been known to collect placards), so shall you receive the -small change for the gold ingot of happiness. Have you a hobby? You have -transferred pleasure to the plane of ideas. And yet, you need not -envy the worthy Pons; such envy, like all kindred sentiments, would be -founded upon a misapprehension. - -With a nature so sensitive, with a soul that lived by tireless -admiration of the magnificent achievements of art, of the high rivalry -between human toil and the work of Nature--Pons was a slave to that one -of the Seven Deadly Sins with which God surely will deal least hardly; -Pons was a glutton. A narrow income, combined with a passion for -bric-a-brac, condemned him to a regimen so abhorrent to a discriminating -palate, that, bachelor as he was, he had cut the knot of the problem by -dining out every day. - -Now, in the time of the Empire, celebrities were more sought after than -at present, perhaps because there were so few of them, perhaps because -they made little or no political pretension. In those days, besides, -you could set up for a poet, a musician, or a painter, with so little -expense. Pons, being regarded as the probable rival of Nicolo, Paer, and -Berton, used to receive so many invitations, that he was forced to keep -a list of engagements, much as barristers note down the cases for which -they are retained. And Pons behaved like an artist. He presented his -amphitryons with copies of his songs, he “obliged” at the pianoforte, -he brought them orders for boxes at the Feydeau, his own theatre, he -organized concerts, he was not above taking the fiddle himself sometimes -in a relation’s house, and getting up a little impromptu dance. In those -days, all the handsome men in France were away at the wars exchanging -sabre-cuts with the handsome men of the Coalition. Pons was said to -be, not ugly, but “peculiar-looking,” after the grand rule laid down by -Moliere in Eliante’s famous couplets; but if he sometimes heard himself -described as a “charming man” (after he had done some fair lady a -service), his good fortune went no further than words. - -It was between the years 1810 and 1816 that Pons contracted the unlucky -habit of dining out; he grew accustomed to see his hosts taking pains -over the dinner, procuring the first and best of everything, bringing -out their choicest vintages, seeing carefully to the dessert, the -coffee, the liqueurs, giving him of their best, in short; the best, -moreover, of those times of the Empire when Paris was glutted with -kings and queens and princes, and many a private house emulated royal -splendours. - -People used to play at Royalty then as they play nowadays at parliament, -creating a whole host of societies with presidents, vice-presidents, -secretaries and what not--agricultural societies, industrial societies, -societies for the promotion of sericulture, viticulture, the growth of -flax, and so forth. Some have even gone so far as to look about them for -social evils in order to start a society to cure them. - -But to return to Pons. A stomach thus educated is sure to react upon the -owner’s moral fibre; the demoralization of the man varies directly with -his progress in culinary sapience. Voluptuousness, lurking in every -secret recess of the heart, lays down the law therein. Honor and -resolution are battered in breach. The tyranny of the palate has never -been described; as a necessity of life it escapes the criticism of -literature; yet no one imagines how many have been ruined by the table. -The luxury of the table is indeed, in this sense, the courtesan’s one -competitor in Paris, besides representing in a manner the credit side in -another account, where she figures as the expenditure. - -With Pons’ decline and fall as an artist came his simultaneous -transformation from invited guest to parasite and hanger-on; he could -not bring himself to quit dinners so excellently served for the Spartan -broth of a two-franc ordinary. Alas! alas! a shudder ran through him at -the mere thought of the great sacrifices which independence required him -to make. He felt that he was capable of sinking to even lower depths -for the sake of good living, if there were no other way of enjoying the -first and best of everything, of guzzling (vulgar but expressive word) -nice little dishes carefully prepared. Pons lived like a bird, pilfering -his meal, flying away when he had taken his fill, singing a few notes by -way of return; he took a certain pleasure in the thought that he lived -at the expense of society, which asked of him--what but the trifling -toll of grimaces? Like all confirmed bachelors, who hold their lodgings -in horror, and live as much as possible in other people’s houses, Pons -was accustomed to the formulas and facial contortions which do duty for -feeling in the world; he used compliments as small change; and as far as -others were concerned, he was satisfied with the labels they bore, and -never plunged a too-curious hand into the sack. - -This not intolerable phase lasted for another ten years. Such years! -Pons’ life was closing with a rainy autumn. All through those years he -contrived to dine without expense by making himself necessary in the -houses which he frequented. He took the first step in the downward path -by undertaking a host of small commissions; many and many a time Pons -ran on errands instead of the porter or the servant; many a purchase he -made for his entertainers. He became a kind of harmless, well-meaning -spy, sent by one family into another; but he gained no credit with those -for whom he trudged about, and so often sacrificed self-respect. - -“Pons is a bachelor,” said they; “he is at a loss to know what to do -with his time; he is only too glad to trot about for us.--What else -would he do?” - -Very soon the cold which old age spreads about itself began to set in; -the communicable cold which sensibly lowers the social temperature, -especially if the old man is ugly and poor. Old and ugly and poor--is -not this to be thrice old? Pons’ winter had begun, the winter which -brings the reddened nose, and frost-nipped cheeks, and the numbed -fingers, numb in how many ways! - -Invitations very seldom came for Pons now. So far from seeking the -society of the parasite, every family accepted him much as they accepted -the taxes; they valued nothing that Pons could do for them; real -services from Pons counted for nought. The family circles in which the -worthy artist revolved had no respect for art or letters; they went down -on their knees to practical results; they valued nothing but the fortune -or social position acquired since the year 1830. The bourgeoisie is -afraid of intellect and genius, but Pons’ spirit and manner were not -haughty enough to overawe his relations, and naturally he had come at -last to be accounted less than nothing with them, though he was not -altogether despised. - -He had suffered acutely among them, but, like all timid creatures, he -kept silence as to his pain; and so by degrees schooled himself to hide -his feelings, and learned to take sanctuary in his inmost self. -Many superficial persons interpret this conduct by the short word -“selfishness;” and, indeed, the resemblance between the egoist and the -solitary human creature is strong enough to seem to justify the harsher -verdict; and this is especially true in Paris, where nobody observes -others closely, where all things pass swift as waves, and last as little -as a Ministry. - -So Cousin Pons was accused of selfishness (behind his back); and if the -world accuses any one, it usually finds him guilty and condemns him into -the bargain. Pons bowed to the decision. Do any of us know how such a -timid creature is cast down by an unjust judgment? Who will ever paint -all that the timid suffer? This state of things, now growing daily -worse, explains the sad expression on the poor old musician’s face; -he lived by capitulations of which he was ashamed. Every time we sin -against self-respect at the bidding of the ruling passion, we rivet -its hold upon us; the more that passion requires of us, the stronger -it grows, every sacrifice increasing, as it were, the value of a -satisfaction for which so much has been given up, till the negative -sum-total of renouncements looms very large in a man’s imagination. -Pons, for instance, after enduring the insolently patronizing looks of -some bourgeois, incased in buckram of stupidity, sipped his glass of -port or finished his quail with breadcrumbs, and relished something of -the savor of revenge, besides. “It is not too dear at the price!” he -said to himself. - -After all, in the eyes of the moralist, there were extenuating -circumstances in Pons’ case. Man only lives, in fact, by some personal -satisfaction. The passionless, perfectly righteous man is not human; he -is a monster, an angel wanting wings. The angel of Christian mythology -has nothing but a head. On earth, the righteous person is the -sufficiently tiresome Grandison, for whom the very Venus of the -Crosswords is sexless. - -Setting aside one or two commonplace adventures in Italy, in which -probably the climate accounted for his success, no woman had ever smiled -upon Pons. Plenty of men are doomed to this fate. Pons was an abnormal -birth; the child of parents well stricken in years, he bore the stigma -of his untimely genesis; his cadaverous complexion might have been -contracted in the flask of spirit-of-wine in which science preserves -some extraordinary foetus. Artist though he was, with his tender, -dreamy, sensitive soul, he was forced to accept the character which -belonged to his face; it was hopeless to think of love, and he remained -a bachelor, not so much of choice as of necessity. Then Gluttony, the -sin of the continent monk, beckoned to Pons; he rushed upon temptation, -as he had thrown his whole soul into the adoration of art and the cult -of music. Good cheer and bric-a-brac gave him the small change for the -love which could spend itself in no other way. As for music, it was -his profession, and where will you find the man who is in love with -his means of earning a livelihood? For it is with a profession as -with marriage: in the long length you are sensible of nothing but the -drawbacks. - -Brillat-Savarin has deliberately set himself to justify the gastronome, -but perhaps even he has not dwelt sufficiently on the reality of the -pleasures of the table. The demands of digestion upon the human economy -produce an internal wrestling-bout of human forces which rivals the -highest degree of amorous pleasure. The gastronome is conscious of an -expenditure of vital power, an expenditure so vast that the brain is -atrophied (as it were), that a second brain, located in the diaphragm, -may come into play, and the suspension of all the faculties is in itself -a kind of intoxication. A boa constrictor gorged with an ox is so stupid -with excess that the creature is easily killed. What man, on the wrong -side of forty, is rash enough to work after dinner? And remark in the -same connection, that all great men have been moderate eaters. The -exhilarating effect of the wing of a chicken upon invalids recovering -from serious illness, and long confined to a stinted and carefully -chosen diet, has been frequently remarked. The sober Pons, whose whole -enjoyment was concentrated in the exercise of his digestive organs, was -in the position of chronic convalescence; he looked to his dinner to -give him the utmost degree of pleasurable sensation, and hitherto he had -procured such sensations daily. Who dares to bid farewell to old -habit? Many a man on the brink of suicide has been plucked back on the -threshold of death by the thought of the cafe where he plays his nightly -game of dominoes. - -In the year 1835, chance avenged Pons for the indifference of womankind -by finding him a prop for his declining years, as the saying goes; and -he, who had been old from his cradle, found a support in friendship. -Pons took to himself the only life-partner permitted to him among his -kind--an old man and a fellow-musician. - -But for La Fontaine’s fable, _Les Deux Amis_, this sketch should have -borne the title of _The Two Friends_; but to take the name of this -divine story would surely be a deed of violence, a profanation from -which every true man of letters would shrink. The title ought to be -borne alone and for ever by the fabulist’s masterpiece, the revelation -of his soul, and the record of his dreams; those three words were set -once and for ever by the poet at the head of a page which is his by -a sacred right of ownership; for it is a shrine before which all -generations, all over the world, will kneel so long as the art of -printing shall endure. - -Pons’ friend gave lessons on the pianoforte. They met and struck up -an acquaintance in 1834, one prize day at a boarding-school; and so -congenial were their ways of thinking and living, that Pons used to say -that he had found his friend too late for his happiness. Never, perhaps, -did two souls, so much alike, find each other in the great ocean of -humanity which flowed forth, in disobedience to the will of God, from -its source in the Garden of Eden. Before very long the two musicians -could not live without each other. Confidences were exchanged, and in -a week’s time they were like brothers. Schmucke (for that was his name) -had not believed that such a man as Pons existed, nor had Pons imagined -that a Schmucke was possible. Here already you have a sufficient -description of the good couple; but it is not every mind that takes -kindly to the concise synthetic method, and a certain amount of -demonstration is necessary if the credulous are to accept the -conclusion. - -This pianist, like all other pianists, was a German. A German, like the -eminent Liszt and the great Mendelssohn, and Steibelt, and Dussek, and -Meyer, and Mozart, and Doelher, and Thalberg, and Dreschok, and Hiller, -and Leopold Hertz, Woertz, Karr, Wolff, Pixis, and Clara Wieck--and -all Germans, generally speaking. Schmucke was a great musical composer -doomed to remain a music master, so utterly did his character lack the -audacity which a musical genius needs if he is to push his way to the -front. A German’s naivete does not invariably last him through his life; -in some cases it fails after a certain age; and even as a cultivator -of the soil brings water from afar by means of irrigation channels, so, -from the springs of his youth, does the Teuton draw the simplicity which -disarms suspicion--the perennial supplies with which he fertilizes his -labors in every field of science, art, or commerce. A crafty Frenchman -here and there will turn a Parisian tradesman’s stupidity to good -account in the same way. But Schmucke had kept his child’s simplicity -much as Pons continued to wear his relics of the Empire--all -unsuspectingly. The true and noble-hearted German was at once the -theatre and the audience, making music within himself for himself -alone. In this city of Paris he lived as a nightingale lives among the -thickets; and for twenty years he sang on, mateless, till he met with a -second self in Pons. [See _Une Fille d’Eve_.] - -Both Pons and Schmucke were abundantly given, both by heart and -disposition, to the peculiarly German sentimentality which shows itself -alike in childlike ways--in a passion for flowers, in that form of -nature-worship which prompts a German to plant his garden-beds with big -glass globes for the sake of seeing miniature pictures of the view which -he can behold about him of a natural size; in the inquiring turn of mind -that sets a learned Teuton trudging three hundred miles in his gaiters -in search of a fact which smiles up in his face from a wayside spring, -or lurks laughing under the jessamine leaves in the back-yard; or (to -take a final instance) in the German craving to endow every least detail -in creation with a spiritual significance, a craving which produces -sometimes Hoffmann’s tipsiness in type, sometimes the folios with which -Germany hedges the simplest questions round about, lest haply any fool -should fall into her intellectual excavations; and, indeed, if you -fathom these abysses, you find nothing but a German at the bottom. - -Both friends were Catholics. They went to Mass and performed the duties -of religion together; and, like children, found nothing to tell their -confessors. It was their firm belief that music is to feeling and -thought as thought and feeling are to speech; and of their converse on -this system there was no end. Each made response to the other in orgies -of sound, demonstrating their convictions, each for each, like lovers. - -Schmucke was as absent-minded as Pons was wide-awake. Pons was a -collector, Schmucke a dreamer of dreams; Schmucke was a student of -beauty seen by the soul, Pons a preserver of material beauty. Pons would -catch sight of a china cup and buy it in the time that Schmucke took to -blow his nose, wondering the while within himself whether the musical -phrase that was ringing in his brain--the _motif_ from Rossini or -Bellini or Beethoven or Mozart--had its origin or its counterpart in the -world of human thought and emotion. Schmucke’s economies were controlled -by an absent mind, Pons was a spendthrift through passion, and for both -the result was the same--they had not a penny on Saint Sylvester’s day. - -Perhaps Pons would have given way under his troubles if it had not been -for this friendship; but life became bearable when he found some one to -whom he could pour out his heart. The first time that he breathed a -word of his difficulties, the good German had advised him to live as he -himself did, and eat bread and cheese at home sooner than dine abroad at -such a cost. Alas! Pons did not dare to confess that heart and stomach -were at war within him, that he could digest affronts which pained his -heart, and, cost what it might, a good dinner that satisfied his palate -was a necessity to him, even as your gay Lothario must have a mistress -to tease. - -In time Schmucke understood; not just at once, for he was too much of -a Teuton to possess that gift of swift perception in which the French -rejoice; Schmucke understood and loved poor Pons the better. Nothing so -fortifies a friendship as a belief on the part of one friend that he is -superior to the other. An angel could not have found a word to say to -Schmucke rubbing his hands over the discovery of the hold that -gluttony had gained over Pons. Indeed, the good German adorned their -breakfast-table next morning with delicacies of which he went in search -himself; and every day he was careful to provide something new for his -friend, for they always breakfasted together at home. - -If any one imagines that the pair could not escape ridicule in Paris, -where nothing is respected, he cannot know that city. When Schmucke -and Pons united their riches and poverty, they hit upon the economical -expedient of lodging together, each paying half the rent of the very -unequally divided second-floor of a house in the Rue de Normandie in the -Marais. And as it often happened that they left home together and walked -side by side along their beat of boulevard, the idlers of the quarter -dubbed them “the pair of nutcrackers,” a nickname which makes any -portrait of Schmucke quite superfluous, for he was to Pons as the famous -statue of the Nurse of Niobe in the Vatican is to the Tribune Venus. - -Mme. Cibot, portress of the house in the Rue de Normandie, was the pivot -on which the domestic life of the nutcrackers turned; but Mme. Cibot -plays so large a part in the drama which grew out of their double -existence, that it will be more appropriate to give her portrait on her -first appearance in this Scene of Parisian Life. - -One thing remains to be said of the characters of the pair of friends; -but this one thing is precisely the hardest to make clear to ninety-nine -readers out of a hundred in this forty-seventh year of the nineteenth -century, perhaps by reason of the prodigious financial development -brought about by the railway system. It is a little thing, and yet it -is so much. It is a question, in fact, of giving an idea of the extreme -sensitiveness of their natures. Let us borrow an illustration from the -railways, if only by way of retaliation, as it were, for the loans which -they levy upon us. The railway train of to-day, tearing over the metals, -grinds away fine particles of dust, grains so minute that a traveler -cannot detect them with the eye; but let a single one of those invisible -motes find its way into the kidneys, it will bring about that most -excruciating, and sometimes fatal, disease known as gravel. And our -society, rushing like a locomotive along its metaled track, is heedless -of the all but imperceptible dust made by the grinding of the wheels; -but it was otherwise with the two musicians; the invisible grains of -sand sank perpetually into the very fibres of their being, causing them -intolerable anguish of heart. Tender exceedingly to the pain of -others, they wept for their own powerlessness to help; and their -own susceptibilities were almost morbidly acute. Neither age nor the -continual spectacle of the drama of Paris life had hardened two souls -still young and childlike and pure; the longer they lived, indeed, the -more keenly they felt their inward suffering; for so it is, alas! with -natures unsullied by the world, with the quiet thinker, and with such -poets among the poets as have never fallen into any excess. - -Since the old men began housekeeping together, the day’s routine was -very nearly the same for them both. They worked together in harness -in the fraternal fashion of the Paris cab-horse; rising every morning, -summer and winter, at seven o’clock, and setting out after breakfast -to give music lessons in the boarding-schools, in which, upon occasion, -they would take lessons for each other. Towards noon Pons repaired to -his theatre, if there was a rehearsal on hand; but all his spare moments -were spent in sauntering on the boulevards. Night found both of them in -the orchestra at the theatre, for Pons had found a place for Schmucke, -and upon this wise. - -At the time of their first meeting, Pons had just received that -marshal’s baton of the unknown musical composer--an appointment as -conductor of an orchestra. It had come to him unasked, by a favor of -Count Popinot, a bourgeois hero of July, at that time a member of the -Government. Count Popinot had the license of a theatre in his gift, -and Count Popinot had also an old acquaintance of the kind that the -successful man blushes to meet. As he rolls through the streets of Paris -in his carriage, it is not pleasant to see his boyhood’s chum down at -heel, with a coat of many improbable colors and trousers innocent of -straps, and a head full of soaring speculations on too grand a scale to -tempt shy, easily scared capital. Moreover, this friend of his youth, -Gaudissart by name, had done not a little in the past towards founding -the fortunes of the great house of Popinot. Popinot, now a Count and a -peer of France, after twice holding a portfolio had no wish to shake off -“the Illustrious Gaudissart.” Quite otherwise. The pomps and vanities -of the Court of the Citizen-King had not spoiled the sometime druggist’s -kind heart; he wished to put his ex-commercial traveler in the way of -renewing his wardrobe and replenishing his purse. So when Gaudissart, -always an enthusiastic admirer of the fair sex, applied for the license -of a bankrupt theatre, Popinot granted it on condition that Pons (a -parasite of the Hotel Popinot) should be engaged as conductor of the -orchestra; and at the same time, the Count was careful to send certain -elderly amateurs of beauty to the theatre, so that the new manager might -be strongly supported financially by wealthy admirers of feminine charms -revealed by the costume of the ballet. - -Gaudissart and Company, who, be it said, made their fortune, hit -upon the grand idea of operas for the people, and carried it out in a -boulevard theatre in 1834. A tolerable conductor, who could adapt or -even compose a little music upon occasion, was a necessity for ballets -and pantomimes; but the last management had so long been bankrupt, that -they could not afford to keep a transposer and copyist. Pons therefore -introduced Schmucke to the company as copier of music, a humble calling -which requires no small musical knowledge; and Schmucke, acting on -Pons’ advice, came to an understanding with the _chef-de-service_ at the -Opera-Comique, so saving himself the clerical drudgery. - -The partnership between Pons and Schmucke produced one brilliant result. -Schmucke being a German, harmony was his strong point; he looked over -the instrumentation of Pons’ compositions, and Pons provided the airs. -Here and there an amateur among the audience admired the new pieces of -music which served as accompaniment to two or three great successes, but -they attributed the improvement vaguely to “progress.” No one cared to -know the composer’s name; like occupants of the _baignoires_, lost -to view of the house, to gain a view of the stage, Pons and Schmucke -eclipsed themselves by their success. In Paris (especially since the -Revolution of July) no one can hope to succeed unless he will push his -way _quibuscumque viis_ and with all his might through a formidable host -of competitors; but for this feat a man needs thews and sinews, and our -two friends, be it remembered, had that affection of the heart which -cripples all ambitious effort. - -Pons, as a rule, only went to his theatre towards eight o’clock, when -the piece in favor came on, and overtures and accompaniments needed the -strict ruling of the baton; most minor theatres are lax in such matters, -and Pons felt the more at ease because he himself had been by no means -grasping in all his dealings with the management; and Schmucke, if -need be, could take his place. Time went by, and Schmucke became an -institution in the orchestra; the Illustrious Gaudissart said nothing, -but he was well aware of the value of Pons’ collaborator. He was obliged -to include a pianoforte in the orchestra (following the example of the -leading theatres); the instrument was placed beside the conductor’s -chair, and Schmucke played without increase of salary--a volunteer -supernumerary. As Schmucke’s character, his utter lack of ambition -or pretence became known, the orchestra recognized him as one of -themselves; and as time went on, he was intrusted with the often needed -miscellaneous musical instruments which form no part of the regular -band of a boulevard theatre. For a very small addition to his stipend, -Schmucke played the viola d’amore, hautboy, violoncello, and harp, as -well as the piano, the castanets for the _cachucha_, the bells, saxhorn, -and the like. If the Germans cannot draw harmony from the mighty -instruments of Liberty, yet to play all instruments of music comes to -them by nature. - -The two old artists were exceedingly popular at the theatre, and took -its ways philosophically. They had put, as it were, scales over their -eyes, lest they should see the offences that needs must come when a -_corps de ballet_ is blended with actors and actresses, one of the most -trying combinations ever created by the laws of supply and demand for -the torment of managers, authors, and composers alike. - -Every one esteemed Pons with his kindness and his modesty, his great -self-respect and respect for others; for a pure and limpid life wins -something like admiration from the worst nature in every social sphere, -and in Paris a fair virtue meets with something of the success of a -large diamond, so great a rarity it is. No actor, no dancer however -brazen, would have indulged in the mildest practical joke at the expense -of either Pons or Schmucke. - -Pons very occasionally put in an appearance in the _foyer_; but all that -Schmucke knew of the theatre was the underground passage from the street -door to the orchestra. Sometimes, however, during an interval, the -good German would venture to make a survey of the house and ask a few -questions of the first flute, a young fellow from Strasbourg, who -came of a German family at Kehl. Gradually under the flute’s tuition -Schmucke’s childlike imagination acquired a certain amount of knowledge -of the world; he could believe in the existence of that fabulous -creature the _lorette_, the possibility of “marriages at the Thirteenth -Arrondissement,” the vagaries of the leading lady, and the contraband -traffic carried on by box-openers. In his eyes the more harmless forms -of vice were the lowest depths of Babylonish iniquity; he did not -believe the stories, he smiled at them for grotesque inventions. The -ingenious reader can see that Pons and Schmucke were exploited, to use -a word much in fashion; but what they lost in money they gained in -consideration and kindly treatment. - -It was after the success of the ballet with which a run of success began -for the Gaudissart Company that the management presented Pons with a -piece of plate--a group of figures attributed to Benvenuto Cellini. The -alarming costliness of the gift caused talk in the green-room. It was -a matter of twelve hundred francs! Pons, poor honest soul, was for -returning the present, and Gaudissart had a world of trouble to persuade -him to keep it. - -“Ah!” said the manager afterwards, when he told his partner of the -interview, “if we could only find actors up to that sample.” - -In their joint life, outwardly so quiet, there was the one disturbing -element--the weakness to which Pons sacrificed, the insatiable craving -to dine out. Whenever Schmucke happened to be at home while Pons was -dressing for the evening, the good German would bewail this deplorable -habit. - -“Gif only he vas ony fatter vor it!” he many a time cried. - -And Schmucke would dream of curing his friend of his degrading vice, -for a true friend’s instinct in all that belongs to the inner life is -unerring as a dog’s sense of smell; a friend knows by intuition the -trouble in his friend’s soul, and guesses at the cause and ponders it in -his heart. - -Pons, who always wore a diamond ring on the little finger of his right -hand, an ornament permitted in the time of the Empire, but ridiculous -to-day--Pons, who belonged to the “troubadour time,” the sentimental -periods of the first Empire, was too much a child of his age, too much -of a Frenchman to wear the expression of divine serenity which softened -Schmucke’s hideous ugliness. From Pons’ melancholy looks Schmucke knew -that the profession of parasite was growing daily more difficult and -painful. And, in fact, in that month of October 1844, the number of -houses at which Pons dined was naturally much restricted; reduced to -move round and round the family circle, he had used the word family in -far too wide a sense, as will shortly be seen. - -M. Camusot, the rich silk mercer of the Rue des Bourdonnais, had married -Pons’ first cousin, Mlle. Pons, only child and heiress of one of the -well-known firm of Pons Brothers, court embroiderers. Pons’ own father -and mother retired from a firm founded before the Revolution of 1789, -leaving their capital in the business until Mlle. Pons’ father sold -it in 1815 to M. Rivet. M. Camusot had since lost his wife and married -again, and retired from business some ten years, and now in 1844 he was -a member of the Board of Trade, a deputy, and what not. But the Camusot -clan were friendly; and Pons, good man, still considered that he was -some kind of cousin to the children of the second marriage, who were not -relations, or even connected with him in any way. - -The second Mme. Camusot being a Mlle. Cardot, Pons introduced himself as -a relative into the tolerably numerous Cardot family, a second bourgeois -tribe which, taken with its connections, formed quite as strong a clan -as the Camusots; for Cardot the notary (brother of the second Mme. -Camusot) had married a Mlle. Chiffreville; and the well-known family of -Chiffreville, the leading firm of manufacturing chemists, was closely -connected with the whole drug trade, of which M. Anselme Popinot was for -many years the undisputed head, until the Revolution of July plunged him -into the very centre of the dynastic movement, as everybody knows. -So Pons, in the wake of the Camusots and Cardots, reached the -Chiffrevilles, and thence the Popinots, always in the character of a -cousin’s cousin. - -The above concise statement of Pons’ relations with his entertainers -explains how it came to pass that an old musician was received in 1844 -as one of the family in the houses of four distinguished persons--to -wit, M. le Comte Popinot, peer of France, and twice in office; M. -Cardot, retired notary, mayor and deputy of an arrondissement in Paris; -M. Camusot senior, a member of the Board of Trade and the Municipal -Chamber and a peerage; and lastly, M. Camusot de Marville, Camusot’s son -by his first marriage, and Pons’ one genuine relation, albeit even he -was a first cousin once removed. - -This Camusot, President of a Chamber of the Court of Appeal in Paris, -had taken the name of his estate at Marville to distinguish himself from -his father and a younger half brother. - -Cardot the retired notary had married his daughter to his successor, -whose name was Berthier; and Pons, transferred as part of the -connection, acquired a right to dine with the Berthiers “in the presence -of a notary,” as he put it. - -This was the bourgeois empyrean which Pons called his “family,” that -upper world in which he so painfully reserved his right to a knife and -fork. - -Of all these houses, some ten in all, the one in which Pons ought to -have met with the kindest reception should by rights have been his own -cousin’s; and, indeed, he paid most attention to President Camusot’s -family. But, alas! Mme. Camusot de Marville, daughter of the Sieur -Thirion, usher of the cabinet to Louis XVIII. and Charles X., had never -taken very kindly to her husband’s first cousin, once removed. Pons had -tried to soften this formidable relative; he wasted his time; for in -spite of the pianoforte lessons which he gave gratuitously to Mlle. -Camusot, a young woman with hair somewhat inclined to red, it was -impossible to make a musician of her. - -And now, at this very moment, as he walked with that precious object in -his hand, Pons was bound for the President’s house, where he always felt -as if he were at the Tuileries itself, so heavily did the solemn green -curtains, the carmelite-brown hangings, thick piled carpets, heavy -furniture, and general atmosphere of magisterial severity oppress his -soul. Strange as it may seem, he felt more at home in the Hotel Popinot, -Rue Basse-du-Rempart, probably because it was full of works of art; for -the master of the house, since he entered public life, had acquired a -mania for collecting beautiful things, by way of contrast no doubt, for -a politician is obliged to pay for secret services of the ugliest kind. - -President de Marville lived in the Rue de Hanovre, in a house which his -wife had bought ten years previously, on the death of her parents, for -the Sieur and Dame Thirion left their daughter about a hundred and fifty -thousand francs, the savings of a lifetime. With its north aspect, -the house looks gloomy enough seen from the street, but the back looks -towards the south over the courtyard, with a rather pretty garden beyond -it. As the President occupied the whole of the first floor, once the -abode of a great financier of the time of Louis XIV., and the second -was let to a wealthy old lady, the house wore a look of dignified repose -befitting a magistrate’s residence. President Camusot had invested all -that he inherited from his mother, together with the savings of twenty -years, in the purchase of the splendid Marville estate; a chateau (as -fine a relic of the past as you will find to-day in Normandy) standing -in a hundred acres of park land, and a fine dependent farm, nominally -bringing in twelve thousand francs per annum, though, as it cost the -President at least a thousand crowns to keep up a state almost princely -in our days, his yearly revenue, “all told,” as the saying is, was a -bare nine thousand francs. With this and his salary, the President’s -income amounted to about twenty thousand francs; but though to all -appearance a wealthy man, especially as one-half of his father’s -property would one day revert to him as the only child of the first -marriage, he was obliged to live in Paris as befitted his official -position, and M. and Mme. de Marville spent almost the whole of their -incomes. Indeed, before the year 1834 they felt pinched. - -This family schedule sufficiently explains why Mlle. de Marville, aged -three-and-twenty, was still unwed, in spite of a hundred thousand francs -of dowry and tempting prospects, frequently, skilfully, but so far -vainly, held out. For the past five years Pons had listened to Mme. la -Presidente’s lamentations as she beheld one young lawyer after another -led to the altar, while all the newly appointed judges at the Tribunal -were fathers of families already; and she, all this time, had displayed -Mlle. de Marville’s brilliant expectations before the undazzled eyes of -young Vicomte Popinot, eldest son of the great man of the drug trade, -he of whom it was said by the envious tongues of the neighborhood of the -Rue des Lombards, that the Revolution of July had been brought about at -least as much for his particular benefit as for the sake of the Orleans -branch. - -Arrived at the corner of the Rue de Choiseul and the Rue de Hanovre, -Pons suffered from the inexplicable emotions which torment clear -consciences; for a panic terror such as the worst of scoundrels might -feel at sight of a policeman, an agony caused solely by a doubt as -to Mme. de Marville’s probable reception of him. That grain of sand, -grating continually on the fibres of his heart, so far from losing its -angles, grew more and more jagged, and the family in the Rue de Hanovre -always sharpened the edges. Indeed, their unceremonious treatment and -Pons’ depreciation in value among them had affected the servants; and -while they did not exactly fail in respect, they looked on the poor -relation as a kind of beggar. - -Pons’ arch-enemy in the house was the ladies’-maid, a thin and wizened -spinster, Madeleine Vivet by name. This Madeleine, in spite of, nay, -perhaps on the strength of, a pimpled complexion and a viper-like length -of spine, had made up her mind that some day she would be Mme. Pons. -But in vain she dangled twenty thousand francs of savings before the -old bachelor’s eyes; Pons had declined happiness accompanied by so many -pimples. From that time forth the Dido of the ante-chamber, who fain had -called her master and mistress “cousin,” wreaked her spite in petty ways -upon the poor musician. She heard him on the stairs, and cried audibly, -“Oh! here comes the sponger!” She stinted him of wine when she waited at -dinner in the footman’s absence; she filled the water-glass to the brim, -to give him the difficult task of lifting it without spilling a drop; -or she would pass the old man over altogether, till the mistress of the -house would remind her (and in what a tone!--it brought the color to the -poor cousin’s face); or she would spill the gravy over his clothes. In -short, she waged petty war after the manner of a petty nature, knowing -that she could annoy an unfortunate superior with impunity. - -Madeleine Vivet was Mme. de Marville’s maid and housekeeper. She had -lived with M. and Mme. Camusot de Marville since their marriage; she had -shared the early struggles in the provinces when M. Camusot was a judge -at Alencon; she had helped them to exist when M. Camusot, President -of the Tribunal of Mantes, came to Paris, in 1828, to be an examining -magistrate. She was, therefore, too much one of the family not to wish, -for reasons of her own, to revenge herself upon them. Beneath her desire -to pay a trick upon her haughty and ambitious mistress, and to call her -master her cousin, there surely lurked a long-stifled hatred, built up -like an avalanche, upon the pebble of some past grievance. - -“Here comes your M. Pons, madame, still wearing that spencer of his!” - Madeleine came to tell the Presidente. “He really might tell me how he -manages to make it look the same for five-and-twenty years together.” - -Mme. Camusot de Marville, hearing a man’s footstep in the little -drawing-room between the large drawing-room and her bedroom, looked at -her daughter and shrugged her shoulders. - -“You always make these announcements so cleverly that you leave me no -time to think, Madeleine.” - -“Jean is out, madame, I was all alone; M. Pons rang the bell, I opened -the door; and as he is almost one of the family, I could not prevent him -from coming after me. There he is, taking off his spencer.” - -“Poor little puss!” said the Presidente, addressing her daughter, “we -are caught. We shall have to dine at home now.--Let us see,” she added, -seeing that the “dear puss” wore a piteous face; “must we get rid of him -for good?” - -“Oh! poor man!” cried Mlle. Camusot, “deprive him of one of his -dinners?” - -Somebody coughed significantly in the next room by way of warning that -he could hear. - -“Very well, let him come in!” said Mme. Camusot, looking at Madeleine -with another shrug. - -“You are here so early, cousin, that you have come in upon us just as -mother was about to dress,” said Cecile Camusot in a coaxing tone. But -Cousin Pons had caught sight of the Presidente’s shrug, and felt so -cruelly hurt that he could not find a compliment, and contented himself -with the profound remark, “You are always charming, my little cousin.” - -Then, turning to the mother, he continued with a bow: - -“You will not take it amiss, I think, if I have come a little earlier -than usual, dear cousin; I have brought something for you; you once did -me the pleasure of asking me for it.” - -Poor Pons! Every time he addressed the President, the President’s wife, -or Cecile as “cousin,” he gave them excruciating annoyance. As he spoke, -he draw a long, narrow cherry-wood box, marvelously carved, from his -coat-pocket. - -“Oh, did I?--I had forgotten,” the lady answered drily. - -It was a heartless speech, was it not? Did not those few words deny all -merit to the pains taken for her by the cousin whose one offence lay in -the fact that he was a poor relation? - -“But it is very kind of you, cousin,” she added. “How much to I owe you -for this little trifle?” - -Pons quivered inwardly at the question. He had meant the trinket as a -return for his dinners. - -“I thought that you would permit me to offer it you----” he faltered -out. - -“What?” said Mme. Camusot. “Oh! but there need be no ceremony between -us; we know each other well enough to wash our linen among ourselves. I -know very well that you are not rich enough to give more than you get. -And to go no further, it is quite enough that you should have spent a -good deal of time in running among the dealers--” - -“If you were asked to pay the full price of the fan, my dear cousin, you -would not care to have it,” answered poor Pons, hurt and insulted; “it -is one of Watteau’s masterpieces, painted on both sides; but you may be -quite easy, cousin, I did not give one-hundredth part of its value as a -work of art.” - -To tell a rich man that he is poor! you might as well tell the -Archbishop of Granada that his homilies show signs of senility. Mme. la -Presidente, proud of her husband’s position, of the estate of Marville, -and her invitations to court balls, was keenly susceptible on this -point; and what was worse, the remark came from a poverty-stricken -musician to whom she had been charitable. - -“Then the people of whom you buy things of this kind are very stupid, -are they?” she asked quickly. - -“Stupid dealers are unknown in Paris,” Pons answered almost drily. - -“Then you must be very clever,” put in Cecile by way of calming the -dispute. - -“Clever enough to know a Lancret, a Watteau, a Pater, or Greuze when -I see it, little cousin; but anxious, most of all, to please your dear -mamma.” - -Mme. de Marville, ignorant and vain, was unwilling to appear to receive -the slightest trifle from the parasite; and here her ignorance served -her admirably, she did not even know the name of Watteau. And, on -the other hand, if anything can measure the extent of the collector’s -passion, which, in truth, is one of the most deeply seated of all -passions, rivaling the very vanity of the author--if anything can give -an idea of the lengths to which a collector will go, it is the audacity -which Pons displayed on this occasion, as he held his own against his -lady cousin for the first time in twenty years. He was amazed at his own -boldness. He made Cecile see the beauties of the delicate carving on the -sticks of this wonder, and as he talked to her his face grew serene -and gentle again. But without some sketch of the Presidente, it is -impossible fully to understand the perturbation of heart from which Pons -suffered. - -Mme. de Marville had been short and fair, plump and fresh; at forty-six -she was as short as ever, but she looked dried up. An arched forehead -and thin lips, that had been softly colored once, lent a soured look to -a face naturally disdainful, and now grown hard and unpleasant with a -long course of absolute domestic rule. Time had deepened her fair hair -to a harsh chestnut hue; the pride of office, intensified by suppressed -envy, looked out of eyes that had lost none of their brightness nor -their satirical expression. As a matter of fact, Mme. Camusot de -Marville felt almost poor in the society of self-made wealthy bourgeois -with whom Pons dined. She could not forgive the rich retail druggist, -ex-president of the Commercial Court, for his successive elevations as -deputy, member of the Government, count and peer of France. She could -not forgive her father-in-law for putting himself forward instead of his -eldest son as deputy of his arrondissement after Popinot’s promotion to -the peerage. After eighteen years of services in Paris, she was still -waiting for the post of Councillor of the Court of Cassation for her -husband. It was Camusot’s own incompetence, well known at the Law -Courts, which excluded him from the Council. The Home Secretary of 1844 -even regretted Camusot’s nomination to the presidency of the Court -of Indictments in 1834, though, thanks to his past experience as an -examining magistrate, he made himself useful in drafting decrees. - -These disappointments had told upon Mme. de Marville, who, moreover, had -formed a tolerably correct estimate of her husband. A temper naturally -shrewish was soured till she grew positively terrible. She was not old, -but she had aged; she deliberately set herself to extort by fear all -that the world was inclined to refuse her, and was harsh and rasping -as a file. Caustic to excess she had few friends among women; she -surrounded herself with prim, elderly matrons of her own stamp, who lent -each other mutual support, and people stood in awe of her. As for poor -Pons, his relations with this fiend in petticoats were very much those -of a schoolboy with the master whose one idea of communication is the -ferule. - -The Presidente had no idea of the value of the gift. She was puzzled by -her cousin’s sudden access of audacity. - -“Then, where did you find this?” inquired Cecile, as she looked closely -at the trinket. - -“In the Rue de Lappe. A dealer in second-hand furniture there had just -brought it back with him from a chateau that is being pulled down near -Dreux, Aulnay. Mme. de Pompadour used to spend part of her time there -before she built Menars. Some of the most splendid wood-carving ever -known has been saved from destruction; Lienard (our most famous living -wood-carver) had kept a couple of oval frames for models, as the _ne -plus ultra_ of the art, so fine it is.--There were treasures in that -place. My man found the fan in the drawer of an inlaid what-not, which -I should certainly have bought if I were collecting things of the -kind, but it is quite out of the question--a single piece of Riesener’s -furniture is worth three or four thousand francs! People here in -Paris are just beginning to find out that the famous French and -German marquetry workers of the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth -centuries composed perfect pictures in wood. It is a collector’s -business to be ahead of the fashion. Why, in five years’ time, the -Frankenthal ware, which I have been collecting these twenty years, will -fetch twice the price of Sevres _pata tendre_.” - -“What is Frankenthal ware?” asked Cecile. - -“That is the name of the porcelain made by the Elector of the -Palatinate; it dates further back than our manufactory at Sevres; just -as the famous gardens at Heidelberg, laid waste by Turenne, had the bad -luck to exist before the garden of Versailles. Sevres copied Frankenthal -to a large extent.--In justice to the Germans, it must be said that they -have done admirable work in Saxony and in the Palatinate.” - -Mother and daughter looked at one another as if Pons were speaking -Chinese. No one can imagine how ignorant and exclusive Parisians are; -they only learn what they are taught, and that only when they choose. - -“And how do you know the Frankenthal ware when you see it?” - -“Eh! by the mark!” cried Pons with enthusiasm. “There is a mark on every -one of those exquisite masterpieces. Frankenthal ware is marked with a -C and T (for Charles Theodore) interlaced and crowned. On old Dresden -china there are two crossed swords and the number of the order in gilt -figures. Vincennes bears a hunting-horn; Vienna, a V closed and barred. -You can tell Berlin by the two bars, Mayence by the wheel, and Sevres by -the two crossed L’s. The queen’s porcelain is marked A for Antoinette, -with a royal crown above it. In the eighteenth century, all the -crowned heads of Europe had rival porcelain factories, and workmen were -kidnaped. Watteau designed services for the Dresden factory; they fetch -frantic prices at the present day. One has to know what one is about -with them too, for they are turning out imitations now at Dresden. -Wonderful things they used to make; they will never make the like -again--” - -“Oh! pshaw!” - -“No, cousin. Some inlaid work and some kinds of porcelain will never be -made again, just as there will never be another Raphael, nor Titian, -nor Rembrandt, nor Van Eyck, nor Cranach.... Well, now! there are the -Chinese; they are very ingenious, very clever; they make modern copies -of their ‘grand mandarin’ porcelain, as it is called. But a pair of -vases of genuine ‘grand mandarin’ vases of the largest size, are worth, -six, eight, and ten thousand francs, while you can buy the modern -replicas for a couple of hundred!” - -“You are joking.” - -“You are astonished at the prices, but that is nothing, cousin. A dinner -service of Sevres _pate tendre_ (and _pate tendre_ is not porcelain)--a -complete dinner service of Sevres _pate tendre_ for twelve persons -is not merely worth a hundred thousand francs, but that is the price -charged on the invoice. Such a dinner-service cost fifteen thousand -francs at Sevres in 1750; I have seen the original invoices.” - -“But let us go back to this fan,” said Cecile. Evidently in her opinion -the trinket was an old-fashioned thing. - -“You can understand that as soon as your dear mamma did me the honor of -asking for a fan, I went round of all the curiosity shops in Paris, but -I found nothing fine enough. I wanted nothing less than a masterpiece -for the dear Presidente, and thought of giving her one that once -belonged to Marie Antoinette, the most beautiful of all celebrated -fans. But yesterday I was dazzled by this divine _chef-d’oeuvre_, which -certainly must have been ordered by Louis XV. himself. Do you ask how I -came to look for fans in the Rue de Lappe, among an Auvergnat’s stock of -brass and iron and ormolu furniture? Well, I myself believe that there -is an intelligence in works of art; they know art-lovers, they call to -them--‘Cht-tt!’” - -Mme. de Marville shrugged her shoulders and looked at her daughter; Pons -did not notice the rapid pantomime. - -“I know all those sharpers,” continued Pons, “so I asked him, ‘Anything -fresh to-day, Daddy Monistrol?’--(for he always lets me look over his -lots before the big buyers come)--and at that he began to tell me how -Lienard, that did such beautiful work for the Government in the Chapelle -de Dreux, had been at the Aulnay sale and rescued the carved panels out -of the clutches of the Paris dealers, while their heads were running -on china and inlaid furniture.--‘I did not do much myself,’ he went on, -‘but I may make my traveling expenses out of _this_,’ and he showed me -a what-not; a marvel! Boucher’s designs executed in marquetry, and with -such art!--One could have gone down on one’s knees before it.--‘Look, -sir,’ he said, ‘I have just found this fan in a little drawer; it was -locked, I had to force it open. You might tell me where I can sell -it’--and with that he brings out this little carved cherry-wood -box.--‘See,’ says he, ‘it is the kind of Pompadour that looks like -decorated Gothic.’--‘Yes,’ I told him, ‘the box is pretty; the box might -suit me; but as for the fan, Monistrol, I have no Mme. Pons to give the -old trinket to, and they make very pretty new ones nowadays; you can buy -miracles of painting on vellum cheaply enough. There are two thousand -painters in Paris, you know.’--And I opened out the fan carelessly, -keeping down my admiration, looked indifferently at those two exquisite -little pictures, touched off with an ease fit to send you into raptures. -I held Mme. de Pompadour’s fan in my hand! Watteau had done his utmost -for this.--‘What do you want for the what-not?’--‘Oh! a thousand -francs; I have had a bid already.’--I offered him a price for the fan -corresponding with the probable expenses of the journey. We looked each -other in the eyes, and I saw that I had my man. I put the fan back into -the box lest my Auvergnat should begin to look at it, and went into -ecstasies over the box; indeed, it is a jewel.--‘If I take it,’ said I, -‘it is for the sake of the box; the box tempts me. As for the what-not, -you will get more than a thousand francs for that. Just see how the -brass is wrought; it is a model. There is business in it.... It has -never been copied; it is a unique specimen, made solely for Mme. de -Pompadour’--and so on, till my man, all on fire for his what-not, -forgets the fan, and lets me have it for a mere trifle, because I have -pointed out the beauties of his piece of Riesener’s furniture. So here -it is; but it needs a great deal of experience to make such a bargain -as that. It is a duel, eye to eye; and who has such eyes as a Jew or an -Auvergnat?” - -The old artist’s wonderful pantomime, his vivid, eager way of telling -the story of the triumph of his shrewdness over the dealer’s ignorance, -would have made a subject for a Dutch painter; but it was all thrown -away upon the audience. Mother and daughter exchanged cold, contemptuous -glances.--“What an oddity!” they seemed to say. - -“So it amuses you?” remarked Mme. de Marville. The question sent a cold -chill through Pons; he felt a strong desire to slap the Presidente. - -“Why, my dear cousin, that is the way to hunt down a work of art. You -are face to face with antagonists that dispute the game with you. It -is craft against craft! A work of art in the hands of a Norman, an -Auvergnat, or a Jew, is like a princess guarded by magicians in a fairy -tale.” - -“And how can you tell that this is by Wat--what do you call him?” - -“Watteau, cousin. One of the greatest eighteenth century painters -in France. Look! do you not see that it is his work?” (pointing to a -pastoral scene, court-shepherd swains and shepherdesses dancing in -a ring). “The movement! the life in it! the coloring! There it -is--see!--painted with a stroke of the brush, as a writing-master makes -a flourish with a pen. Not a trace of effort here! And, turn it over, -look!--a ball in a drawing-room. Summer and Winter! And what ornaments! -and how well preserved it is! The hinge-pin is gold, you see, and on -cleaning it, I found a tiny ruby at either side.” - -“If it is so, cousin, I could not think of accepting such a valuable -present from you. It would be better to lay up the money for yourself,” - said Mme. de Marville; but all the same, she asked no better than to -keep the splendid fan. - -“It is time that it should pass from the service of Vice into the hands -of Virtue,” said the good soul, recovering his assurance. “It has taken -a century to work the miracle. No princess at Court, you may be sure, -will have anything to compare with it; for, unfortunately, men will do -more for a Pompadour than for a virtuous queen, such is human nature.” - -“Very well,” Mme. de Marville said, laughing, “I will accept your -present.--Cecile, my angel, go to Madeleine and see that dinner is -worthy of your cousin.” - -Mme. de Marville wished to make matters even. Her request, made aloud, -in defiance of all rules of good taste, sounded so much like an attempt -to repay at once the balance due to the poor cousin, that Pons flushed -red, like a girl found out in fault. The grain of sand was a little too -large; for some moments he could only let it work in his heart. Cecile, -a red-haired young woman, with a touch of pedantic affectation, combined -her father’s ponderous manner with a trace of her mother’s hardness. She -went and left poor Pons face to face with the terrible Presidente. - -“How nice she is, my little Lili!” said the mother. She still called her -Cecile by this baby name. - -“Charming!” said Pons, twirling his thumbs. - -“I _cannot_ understand these times in which we live,” broke out the -Presidente. “What is the good of having a President of the Court of -Appeal in Paris and a Commander of the Legion of Honor for your father, -and for a grandfather the richest wholesale silk merchant in Paris, a -deputy, and a millionaire that will be a peer of France some of these -days?” - -The President’s zeal for the new Government had, in fact, recently -been rewarded with a commander’s ribbon--thanks to his friendship with -Popinot, said the envious. Popinot himself, modest though he was, had, -as has been seen, accepted the title of count, “for his son’s sake,” he -told his numerous friends. - -“Men look for nothing but money nowadays,” said Cousin Pons. “No one -thinks anything of you unless you are rich, and--” - -“What would it have been if Heaven had spared my poor little Charles!--” - cried the lady. - -“Oh, with two children you would be poor,” returned the cousin. “It -practically means the division of the property. But you need not trouble -yourself, cousin; Cecile is sure to marry sooner or later. She is the -most accomplished girl I know.” - -To such depths had Pons fallen by adapting himself to the company of -his entertainers! In their houses he echoed their ideas, and said the -obvious thing, after the manner of a chorus in a Greek play. He did not -dare to give free play to the artist’s originality, which had overflowed -in bright repartee when he was young; he had effaced himself, till he -had almost lost his individuality; and if the real Pons appeared, as he -had done a moment ago, he was immediately repressed. - -“But I myself was married with only twenty thousand francs for my -portion--” - -“In 1819, cousin. And it was _you_, a woman with a head on your -shoulders, and the royal protection of Louis XVIII.” - -“Be still, my child is a perfect angel. She is clever, she has a warm -heart, she will have a hundred thousand francs on her wedding day, to -say nothing of the most brilliant expectations; and yet she stays on our -hands,” and so on and so on. For twenty minutes, Mme. de Marville talked -on about herself and her Cecile, pitying herself after the manner of -mothers in bondage to marriageable daughters. - -Pons had dined at the house every week for twenty years, and Camusot de -Marville was the only cousin he had in the world; but he had yet to hear -the first word spoken as to his own affairs--nobody cared to know how he -lived. Here and elsewhere the poor cousin was a kind of sink down which -his relatives poured domestic confidences. His discretion was well -known; indeed, was he not bound over to silence when a single imprudent -word would have shut the door of ten houses upon him? And he must -combine his role of listener with a second part; he must applaud -continually, smile on every one, accuse nobody, defend nobody; from his -point of view, every one must be in the right. And so, in the house -of his kinsman, Pons no longer counted as a man; he was a digestive -apparatus. - -In the course of a long tirade, Mme. Camusot de Marville avowed with due -circumspection that she was prepared to take almost any son-in-law with -her eyes shut. She was even disposed to think that at eight-and-forty or -so a man with twenty thousand francs a year was a good match. - -“Cecile is in her twenty-third year. If it should fall out so -unfortunately that she is not married before she is five or -six-and-twenty, it will be extremely hard to marry her at all. When a -girl reaches that age, people want to know why she has been so long on -hand. We are a good deal talked about in our set. We have come to the -end of all the ordinary excuses--‘She is so young.--She is so fond of -her father and mother that she doesn’t like to leave them.--She is so -happy at home.--She is hard to please, she would like a good name--’ We -are beginning to look silly; I feel that distinctly. And besides, Cecile -is tired of waiting, poor child, she suffers--” - -“In what way?” Pons was noodle enough to ask. - -“Why, because it is humiliating to her to see all her girl friends -married before her,” replied the mother, with a duenna’s air. - -“But, cousin, has anything happened since the last time that I had the -pleasure of dining here? Why do you think of men of eight-and-forty?” - Pons inquired humbly. - -“This has happened,” returned the Presidente. “We were to have had an -interview with a Court Councillor; his son is thirty years old and -very well-to-do, and M. de Marville would have obtained a post in -the audit-office for him and paid the money. The young man is a -supernumerary there at present. And now they tell us that he has taken -it into his head to rush off to Italy in the train of a duchess from the -Bal Mabille.... It is nothing but a refusal in disguise. The fact is, -the young man’s mother is dead; he has an income of thirty thousand -francs, and more to come at his father’s death, and they don’t care -about the match for him. You have just come in in the middle of all -this, dear cousin, so you must excuse our bad temper.” - -While Pons was casting about for the complimentary answer which -invariably occurred to him too late when he was afraid of his host, -Madeleine came in, handed a folded note to the Presidente, and waited -for an answer. The note ran as follows: - - “DEAR MAMMA,--If we pretend that this note comes to you from papa - at the Palais, and that he wants us both to dine with his friend - because proposals have been renewed--then the cousin will go, and - we can carry out our plan of going to the Popinots.” - -“Who brought the master’s note?” the Presidente asked quickly. - -“A lad from the Salle du Palais,” the withered waiting woman -unblushingly answered, and her mistress knew at once that Madeleine had -woven the plot with Cecile, now at the end of her patience. - -“Tell him that we will both be there at half-past five.” - -Madeleine had no sooner left the room than the Presidente turned to -Cousin Pons with that insincere friendliness which is about as grateful -to a sensitive soul as a mixture of milk and vinegar to the palate of an -epicure. - -“Dinner is ordered, dear cousin; you must dine without us; my husband -has just sent word from the court that the question of the marriage has -been reopened, and we are to dine with the Councillor. We need not stand -on ceremony at all. Do just as if you were at home. I have no secrets -from you; I am perfectly open with you, as you see. I am sure you would -not wish to break off the little darling’s marriage.” - -“_I_, cousin? On the contrary, I should like to find some one for her; -but in my circle--” - -“Oh, that is not at all likely,” said the Presidente, cutting him short -insolently. “Then you will stay, will you not? Cecile will keep you -company while I dress. - -“Oh! I can dine somewhere else, cousin.” - -Cruelly hurt though he was by her way of casting up his poverty to -him, the prospect of being left alone with the servants was even more -alarming. - -“But why should you? Dinner is ready; you may just as well have it; if -you do not, the servants will eat it.” - -At that atrocious speech Pons started up as if he had received a shock -from a galvanic battery, bowed stiffly to the lady, and went to find his -spencer. Now, it so happened that the door of Cecile’s bedroom, beyond -the little drawing-room, stood open, and looking into the mirror, he -caught sight of the girl shaking with laughter as she gesticulated and -made signs to her mother. The old artist understood beyond a doubt that -he had been the victim of some cowardly hoax. Pons went slowly down the -stairs; he could not keep back the tears. He understood that he had been -turned out of the house, but why and wherefore he did not know. - -“I am growing too old,” he told himself. “The world has a horror of -old age and poverty--two ugly things. After this I will not go anywhere -unless I am asked.” - -Heroic resolve! - -Downstairs the great gate was shut, as it usually is in houses occupied -by the proprietor; the kitchen stood exactly opposite the porter’s -lodge, and the door was open. Pons was obliged to listen while Madeleine -told the servants the whole story amid the laughter of the servants. She -had not expected him to leave so soon. The footman loudly applauded a -joke at the expense of a visitor who was always coming to the house and -never gave you more than three francs at the year’s end. - -“Yes,” put in the cook; “but if he cuts up rough and does not come back, -there will be three francs the less for some of us on New Year’s day.” - -“Eh! How is he to know?” retorted the footman. - -“Pooh!” said Madeleine, “a little sooner or a little later--what -difference does it make? The people at the other houses where he dines -are so tired of him that they are going to turn him out.” - -“The gate, if you please!” - -Madeleine had scarcely uttered the words when they heard the old -musician’s call to the porter. It sounded like a cry of pain. There was -a sudden silence in the kitchen. - -“He heard!” the footman said. - -“Well, and if he did, so much the worser, or rather so much the better,” - retorted Madeleine. “He is an arrant skinflint.” - -Poor Pons had lost none of the talk in the kitchen; he heard it all, -even to the last word. He made his way home along the boulevards, in -the same state, physical and mental, as an old woman after a desperate -struggle with burglars. As he went he talked to himself in quick -spasmodic jerks; his honor had been wounded, and the pain of it drove -him on as a gust of wind whirls away a straw. He found himself at last -in the Boulevard du Temple; how he had come thither he could not tell. -It was five o’clock, and, strange to say, he had completely lost his -appetite. - -But if the reader is to understand the revolution which Pons’ unexpected -return at that hour was to work in the Rue de Normandie, the promised -biography of Mme. Cibot must be given in this place. - -Any one passing along the Rue de Normandie might be pardoned for -thinking that he was in some small provincial town. Grass runs to -seed in the street, everybody knows everybody else, and the sight of a -stranger is an event. The houses date back to the reign of Henry IV., -when there was a scheme afoot for a quarter in which every street was to -be named after a French province, and all should converge in a handsome -square to which La France should stand godmother. The Quartier de -l’Europe was a revival of the same idea; history repeats itself -everywhere in the world, and even in the world of speculation. - -The house in which the two musicians used to live is an old mansion with -a courtyard in front and a garden at the back; but the front part of the -house which gives upon the street is comparatively modern, built during -the eighteenth century when the Marais was a fashionable quarter. The -friends lived at the back, on the second floor of the old part of -the house. The whole building belongs to M. Pillerault, an old man of -eighty, who left matters very much in the hands of M. and Mme. Cibot, -his porters for the past twenty-six years. - -Now, as a porter cannot live by his lodge alone, the aforesaid Cibot had -other means of gaining a livelihood; and supplemented his five per cent -on the rental and his faggot from every cartload of wood by his own -earnings as a tailor. In time Cibot ceased to work for the master -tailors; he made a connection among the little trades-people of the -quarter, and enjoyed a monopoly of the repairs, renovations, and fine -drawing of all the coats and trousers in three adjacent streets. The -lodge was spacious and wholesome, and boasted a second room; wherefore -the Cibot couple were looked upon as among the luckiest porters in the -arrondissement. - -Cibot, small and stunted, with a complexion almost olive-colored by -reason of sitting day in day out in Turk-fashion on a table level with -the barred window, made about twelve or fourteen francs a week. He -worked still, though he was fifty-eight years old, but fifty-eight is -the porter’s golden age; he is used to his lodge, he and his room -fit each other like the shell and the oyster, and “he is known in the -neighborhood.” - -Mme. Cibot, sometime opener of oysters at the _Cadran Bleu_, after all -the adventures which come unsought to the belle of an oyster-bar, left -her post for love of Cibot at the age of twenty-eight. The beauty of -a woman of the people is short-lived, especially if she is planted -espalier fashion at a restaurant door. Her features are hardened -by puffs of hot air from the kitchen; the color of the heeltaps of -customers’ bottles, finished in the company of the waiters, gradually -filters into her complexion--no beauty is full blown so soon as the -beauty of an oyster-opener. Luckily for Mme. Cibot, lawful wedlock and -a portress’ life were offered to her just in time; while she still -preserved a comeliness of a masculine order slandered by rivals of the -Rue de Normandie, who called her “a great blowsy thing,” Mme. Cibot -might have sat as a model to Rubens. Those flesh tints reminded you of -the appetizing sheen on a pat of Isigny butter; but plump as she was, no -woman went about her work with more agility. Mme. Cibot had attained the -time of life when women of her stamp are obliged to shave--which is as -much as to say that she had reached the age of forty-eight. A porter’s -wife with a moustache is one of the best possible guarantees of -respectability and security that a landlord can have. If Delacroix -could have seen Mme. Cibot leaning proudly on her broom handle, he would -assuredly have painted her as Bellona. - -Strange as it may seem, the circumstances of the Cibots, man and wife -(in the style of an indictment), were one day to affect the lives of the -two friends; wherefore the chronicler, as in duty bound, must give some -particulars as to the Cibots’ lodge. - -The house brought in about eight thousand francs for there were three -complete sets of apartments--back and front, on the side nearest the Rue -de Normandie, as well as the three floors in the older mansion between -the courtyard and the garden, and a shop kept by a marine store-dealer -named Remonencq, which fronted on the street. During the past few months -this Remonencq had begun to deal in old curiosities, and knew the -value of Pons’ collection so well that he took off his hat whenever the -musician came in or went out. - -A sou in the livre on eight thousand francs therefore brought in about -four hundred francs to the Cibots. They had no rent to pay and no -expenses for firing; Cibot’s earnings amounted on an average to seven or -eight hundred francs, add tips at New Year, and the pair had altogether -in income of sixteen hundred francs, every penny of which they spent, -for the Cibots lived and fared better than working people usually do. -“One can only live once,” La Cibot used to say. She was born during the -Revolution, you see, and had never learned her Catechism. - -The husband of this portress with the unblenching tawny eyes was an -object of envy to the whole fraternity, for La Cibot had not forgotten -the knowledge of cookery picked up at the _Cadran Bleu_. So it had come -to pass that the Cibots had passed the prime of life, and saw themselves -on the threshold of old age without a hundred francs put by for the -future. Well clad and well fed, they enjoyed among the neighbors, it is -true, the respect due to twenty-six years of strict honesty; for if -they had nothing of their own, they “hadn’t nothing belonging to nobody -else,” according to La Cibot, who was a prodigal of negatives. “There -wasn’t never such a love of a man,” she would say to her husband. Do you -ask why? You might as well ask the reason of her indifference in matters -of religion. - -Both of them were proud of a life lived in open day, of the esteem in -which they were held for six or seven streets round about, and of the -autocratic rule permitted to them by the proprietor (“perprietor,” they -called him); but in private they groaned because they had no money lying -at interest. Cibot complained of pains in his hands and legs, and his -wife would lament that her poor, dear Cibot should be forced to work -at his age; and, indeed, the day is not far distant when a porter after -thirty years of such a life will cry shame upon the injustice of the -Government and clamor for the ribbon of the Legion of Honor. Every -time that the gossip of the quarter brought news of such and such a -servant-maid, left an annuity of three or four hundred francs after -eight or ten years of service, the porters’ lodges would resound with -complaints, which may give some idea of the consuming jealousies in the -lowest walks of life in Paris. - -“Oh, indeed! It will never happen to the like of us to have our names -mentioned in a will! We have no luck, but we do more than servants, -for all that. We fill a place of trust; we give receipts, we are on the -lookout for squalls, and yet we are treated like dogs, neither more nor -less, and that’s the truth!” - -“Some find fortune and some miss fortune,” said Cibot, coming in with a -coat. - -“If I had left Cibot here in his lodge and taken a place as cook, we -should have our thirty thousand francs out at interest,” cried Mme. -Cibot, standing chatting with a neighbor, her hands on her prominent -hips. “But I didn’t understand how to get on in life; housed inside of a -snug lodge and firing found and want for nothing, but that is all.” - -In 1836, when the friends took up their abode on the second floor, they -brought about a sort of revolution in the Cibot household. It befell -on this wise. Schmucke, like his friend Pons, usually arranged that the -porter or the porter’s wife should undertake the cares of housekeeping; -and being both of one mind on this point when they came to live in the -Rue de Normandie, Mme. Cibot became their housekeeper at the rate of -twenty-five francs per month--twelve francs fifty centimes for each -of them. Before the year was out, the emeritus portress reigned in the -establishment of the two old bachelors, as she reigned everywhere in -the house belonging to M. Pillerault, great uncle of Mme. le Comtesse -Popinot. Their business was her business; she called them “my -gentlemen.” And at last, finding the pair of nutcrackers as mild as -lambs, easy to live with, and by no means suspicious--perfect children, -in fact--her heart, the heart of a woman of the people, prompted her -to protect, adore, and serve them with such thorough devotion, that she -read them a lecture now and again, and saved them from the impositions -which swell the cost of living in Paris. For twenty-five francs a month, -the two old bachelors inadvertently acquired a mother. - -As they became aware of Mme. Cibot’s full value, they gave her outspoken -praises, and thanks, and little presents which strengthened the bonds -of the domestic alliance. Mme. Cibot a thousand times preferred -appreciation to money payments; it is a well-known fact that the sense -that one is appreciated makes up for a deficiency in wages. And Cibot -did all that he could for his wife’s two gentlemen, and ran errands and -did repairs at half-price for them. - -The second year brought a new element into the friendship between the -lodge and the second floor, and Schmucke concluded a bargain which -satisfied his indolence and desire for a life without cares. For thirty -sous per day, or forty-five francs per month, Mme. Cibot undertook -to provide Schmucke with breakfast and dinner; and Pons, finding his -friend’s breakfast very much to his mind, concluded a separate treaty -for that meal only at the rate of eighteen francs. This arrangement, -which added nearly ninety francs every month to the takings of the -porter and his wife, made two inviolable beings of the lodgers; they -became angels, cherubs, divinities. It is very doubtful whether the King -of the French, who is supposed to understand economy, is as well served -as the pair of nutcrackers used to be in those days. - -For them the milk issued pure from the can; they enjoyed a free perusal -of all the morning papers taken by other lodgers, later risers, who -were told, if need be, that the newspapers had not come yet. Mme. Cibot, -moreover, kept their clothes, their rooms, and the landing as clean as -a Flemish interior. As for Schmucke, he enjoyed unhoped-for happiness; -Mme. Cibot had made life easy for him; he paid her about six francs -a month, and she took charge of his linen, washing, and mending. -Altogether, his expenses amounted to sixty-six francs per month (for -he spent fifteen francs on tobacco), and sixty-six francs multiplied by -twelve produces the sum total of seven hundred and ninety-two francs. -Add two hundred and twenty francs for rent, rates, and taxes, and you -have a thousand and twelve francs. Cibot was Schmucke’s tailor; his -clothes cost him on average a hundred and fifty francs, which further -swells the total to the sum of twelve hundred. On twelve hundred francs -per annum this profound philosopher lived. How many people in Europe, -whose one thought it is to come to Paris and live there, will be -agreeably surprised to learn that you may exist in comfort upon an -income of twelve hundred francs in the Rue de Normandie in the Marais, -under the wing of a Mme. Cibot. - -Mme. Cibot, to resume the story, was amazed beyond expression to see -Pons, good man, return at five o’clock in the evening. Such a thing had -never happened before; and not only so, but “her gentleman” had given -her no greeting--had not so much as seen her! - -“Well, well, Cibot,” said she to her spouse, “M. Pons has come in for a -million, or gone out of his mind!” - -“That is how it looks to me,” said Cibot, dropping the coat-sleeve in -which he was making a “dart,” in tailor’s language. - -The savory odor of a stew pervaded the whole courtyard, as Pons returned -mechanically home. Mme. Cibot was dishing up Schmucke’s dinner, which -consisted of scraps of boiled beef from a little cook-shop not above -doing a little trade of this kind. These morsels were fricasseed in -brown butter, with thin slices of onion, until the meat and vegetables -had absorbed the gravy and this true porter’s dish was browned to the -right degree. With that fricassee, prepared with loving care for Cibot -and Schmucke, and accompanied by a bottle of beer and a piece of cheese, -the old German music-master was quite content. Not King Solomon in all -his glory, be sure, could dine better than Schmucke. A dish of boiled -beef fricasseed with onions, scraps of _saute_ chicken, or beef and -parsley, or venison, or fish served with a sauce of La Cibot’s own -invention (a sauce with which a mother might unsuspectingly eat her -child),--such was Schmucke’s ordinary, varying with the quantity and -quality of the remnants of food supplied by boulevard restaurants to -the cook-shop in the Rue Boucherat. Schmucke took everything that “goot -Montame Zipod” gave him, and was content, and so from day to day “goot -Montame Zipod” cut down the cost of his dinner, until it could be served -for twenty sous. - -“It won’t be long afore I find out what is the matter with him, poor -dear,” said Mme. Cibot to her husband, “for here is M. Schmucke’s dinner -all ready for him.” - -As she spoke she covered the deep earthenware dish with a plate; and, -notwithstanding her age, she climbed the stair and reached the door -before Schmucke opened it to Pons. - -“Vat is de matter mit you, mein goot friend?” asked the German, scared -by the expression of Pons’ face. - -“I will tell you all about it; but I have come home to have dinner with -you--” - -“Tinner! tinner!” cried Schmucke in ecstasy; “but it is impossible!” the -old German added, as he thought of his friend’s gastronomical tastes; -and at that very moment he caught sight of Mme. Cibot listening to the -conversation, as she had a right to do as his lawful housewife. Struck -with one of those happy inspirations which only enlighten a friend’s -heart, he marched up to the portress and drew her out to the stairhead. - -“Montame Zipod,” he said, “der goot Pons is fond of goot dings; shoost -go rount to der _Catran Pleu_ und order a dainty liddle tinner, mit -anjovies und maggaroni. Ein tinner for Lugullus, in vact.” - -“What is that?” inquired La Cibot. - -“Oh! ah!” returned Schmucke, “it is veal _a la pourcheoise_” - (_bourgeoise_, he meant), “a nice fisch, ein pottle off Porteaux, und -nice dings, der fery best dey haf, like groquettes of rice und shmoked -pacon! Bay for it, und say nodings; I vill gif you back de monny -to-morrow morning.” - -Back went Schmucke, radiant and rubbing his hands; but his expression -slowly changed to a look of bewildered astonishment as he heard Pons’ -story of the troubles that had but just now overwhelmed him in a moment. -He tried to comfort Pons by giving him a sketch of the world from his -own point of view. Paris, in his opinion, was a perpetual hurly-burly, -the men and women in it were whirled away by a tempestuous waltz; it -was no use expecting anything of the world, which only looked at the -outsides of things, “und not at der inderior.” For the hundredth time he -related how that the only three pupils for whom he had really cared, for -whom he was ready to die, the three who had been fond of him, and even -allowed him a little pension of nine hundred francs, each contributing -three hundred to the amount--his favorite pupils had quite forgotten -to come to see him; and so swift was the current of Parisian life which -swept them away, that if he called at their houses, he had not succeeded -in seeing them once in three years--(it is a fact, however, that -Schmucke had always thought fit to call on these great ladies at ten -o’clock in the morning!)--still, his pension was paid quarterly through -the medium of solicitors. - -“Und yet, dey are hearts of gold,” he concluded. “Dey are my liddle -Saint Cecilias, sharming vimmen, Montame de Bordentuere, Montame de -Fantenesse, und Montame du Dilet. Gif I see dem at all, it is at die -Jambs Elusees, und dey do not see me... yet dey are ver’ fond of me, und -I might go to dine mit dem, und dey vould be ver’ bleased to see me; und -I might go to deir country-houses, but I vould much rader be mit mine -friend Bons, because I kann see him venefer I like, und efery tay.” - -Pons took Schmucke’s hand and grasped it between his own. All that was -passing in his inmost soul was communicated in that tight pressure. And -so for awhile the friends sat like two lovers, meeting at last after a -long absence. - -“Tine here, efery tay!” broke out Schmucke, inwardly blessing Mme. -de Marville for her hardness of heart. “Look here! Ve shall go a -prick-a-pracking togeders, und der teufel shall nefer show his tail -here.” - -“Ve shall go prick-a-pracking togeders!” for the full comprehension of -those truly heroic words, it must be confessed that Schmucke’s ignorance -of bric-a-brac was something of the densest. It required all the -strength of his friendship to keep him from doing heedless damage in the -sitting-room and study which did duty as a museum for Pons. Schmucke, -wholly absorbed in music, a composer for love of his art, took about as -much interest in his friend’s little trifles as a fish might take in a -flower-show at the Luxembourg, supposing that it had received a ticket -of admission. A certain awe which he certainly felt for the marvels was -simply a reflection of the respect which Pons showed his treasures when -he dusted them. To Pons’ exclamations of admiration, he was wont to -reply with a “Yes, it is ver’ bretty,” as a mother answers baby-gestures -with meaningless baby-talk. Seven times since the friends had lived -together, Pons had exchanged a good clock for a better one, till at last -he possessed a timepiece in Boule’s first and best manner, for Boule had -two manners, as Raphael had three. In the first he combined ebony and -copper; in the second--contrary to his convictions--he sacrificed to -tortoise-shell inlaid work. In spite of Pons’ learned dissertations, -Schmucke never could see the slightest difference between the -magnificent clock in Boule’s first manner and its six predecessors; but, -for Pons’ sake, Schmucke was even more careful among the “chimcracks” - than Pons himself. So it should not be surprising that Schmucke’s -sublime words comforted Pons in his despair; for “Ve shall go -prick-a-pracking togeders,” meant, being interpreted, “I will put money -into bric-a-brac, if you will only dine here.” - -“Dinner is ready,” Mme. Cibot announced, with astonishing -self-possession. - -It is not difficult to imagine Pons’ surprise when he saw and relished -the dinner due to Schmucke’s friendship. Sensations of this kind, that -came so rarely in a lifetime, are never the outcome of the constant, -close relationship by which friend daily says to friend, “You are a -second self to me”; for this, too, becomes a matter of use and wont. -It is only by contact with the barbarism of the world without that -the happiness of that intimate life is revealed to us as a sudden glad -surprise. It is the outer world which renews the bond between friend and -friend, lover and lover, all their lives long, wherever two great souls -are knit together by friendship or by love. - -Pons brushed away two big tears, Schmucke himself wiped his eyes; and -though nothing was said, the two were closer friends than before. Little -friendly nods and glances exchanged across the table were like balm to -Pons, soothing the pain caused by the sand dropped in his heart by the -President’s wife. As for Schmucke, he rubbed his hands till they were -sore; for a new idea had occurred to him, one of those great discoveries -which cause a German no surprise, unless they sprout up suddenly in -a Teuton brain frost-bound by the awe and reverence due to sovereign -princes. - -“Mine goot Bons?” began Schmucke. - -“I can guess what you mean; you would like us both to dine together -here, every day--” - -“Gif only I vas rich enof to lif like dis efery tay--” began the good -German in a melancholy voice. But here Mme. Cibot appeared upon the -scene. Pons had given her an order for the theatre from time to time, -and stood in consequence almost as high in her esteem and affection as -her boarder Schmucke. - -“Lord love you,” said she, “for three francs and wine extra I can give -you both such a dinner every day that you will be ready to lick the -plates as clean as if they were washed.” - -“It is a fact,” Schmucke remarked, “dat die dinners dat Montame Zipod -cooks for me are better as de messes dey eat at der royal dable!” In his -eagerness, Schmucke, usually so full of respect for the powers that -be, so far forgot himself as to imitate the irreverent newspapers which -scoffed at the “fixed-price” dinners of Royalty. - -“Really?” said Pons. “Very well, I will try to-morrow.” - -And at that promise Schmucke sprang from one end of the table to the -other, sweeping off tablecloth, bottles, and dishes as he went, and -hugged Pons to his heart. So might gas rush to combine with gas. - -“Vat happiness!” cried he. - -Mme. Cibot was quite touched. “Monsieur is going to dine here every -day!” she cried proudly. - -That excellent woman departed downstairs again in ignorance of the event -which had brought about this result, entered her room like Josepha in -_William Tell_, set down the plates and dishes on the table with a bang, -and called aloud to her husband: - -“Cibot! run to the _Cafe Turc_ for two small cups of coffee, and tell -the man at the stove that it is for me.” - -Then she sat down and rested her hands on her massive knees, and gazed -out of the window at the opposite wall. - -“I will go to-night and see what Ma’am Fontaine says,” she thought. -(Madame Fontaine told fortunes on the cards for all the servants in the -quarter of the Marais.) “Since these two gentlemen came here, we have -put two thousand francs in the savings bank. Two thousand francs in -eight years! What luck! Would it be better to make no profit out of M. -Pons’ dinner and keep him here at home? Ma’am Fontaine’s hen will tell -me that.” - -Three years ago Mme. Cibot had begun to cherish a hope that her name -might be mentioned in “her gentlemen’s” wills; she had redoubled her -zeal since that covetous thought tardily sprouted up in the midst of -that so honest moustache. Pons hitherto had dined abroad, eluding her -desire to have both of “her gentlemen” entirely under her management; -his “troubadour” collector’s life had scared away certain vague ideas -which hovered in La Cibot’s brain; but now her shadowy projects assumed -the formidable shape of a definite plan, dating from that memorable -dinner. Fifteen minutes later she reappeared in the dining-room with -two cups of excellent coffee, flanked by a couple of tiny glasses of -_kirschwasser_. - -“Long lif Montame Zipod!” cried Schmucke; “she haf guessed right!” - -The diner-out bemoaned himself a little, while Schmucke met his -lamentations with coaxing fondness, like a home pigeon welcoming back a -wandering bird. Then the pair set out for the theatre. - -Schmucke could not leave his friend in the condition to which he had -been brought by the Camusots--mistresses and servants. He knew Pons so -well; he feared lest some cruel, sad thought should seize on him at his -conductor’s desk, and undo all the good done by his welcome home to the -nest. - -And Schmucke brought his friend back on his arm through the streets at -midnight. A lover could not be more careful of his lady. He pointed out -the edges of the curbstones, he was on the lookout whenever they stepped -on or off the pavement, ready with a warning if there was a gutter -to cross. Schmucke could have wished that the streets were paved with -cotton-down; he would have had a blue sky overhead, and Pons should hear -the music which all the angels in heaven were making for him. He had won -the lost province in his friend’s heart! - -For nearly three months Pons and Schmucke dined together every day. Pons -was obliged to retrench at once; for dinner at forty-five francs a month -and wine at thirty-five meant precisely eighty francs less to spend on -bric-a-brac. And very soon, in spite of all that Schmucke could do, in -spite of his little German jokes, Pons fell to regretting the delicate -dishes, the liqueurs, the good coffee, the table talk, the insincere -politeness, the guests, and the gossip, and the houses where he used to -dine. On the wrong side of sixty a man cannot break himself of a habit -of thirty-six years’ growth. Wine at a hundred and thirty francs per -hogshead is scarcely a generous liquid in a _gourmet’s_ glass; every -time that Pons raised it to his lips he thought, with infinite regret, -of the exquisite wines in his entertainers’ cellars. - -In short, at the end of three months, the cruel pangs which had gone -near to break Pons’ sensitive heart had died away; he forgot everything -but the charms of society; and languished for them like some elderly -slave of a petticoat compelled to leave the mistress who too repeatedly -deceives him. In vain he tried to hide his profound and consuming -melancholy; it was too plain that he was suffering from one of the -mysterious complaints which the mind brings upon the body. - -A single symptom will throw light upon this case of nostalgia (as it -were) produced by breaking away from an old habit; in itself it is -trifling, one of the myriad nothings which are as rings in a coat of -chain-mail enveloping the soul in a network of iron. One of the keenest -pleasures of Pons’ old life, one of the joys of the dinner-table -parasite at all times, was the “surprise,” the thrill produced by the -extra dainty dish added triumphantly to the bill of fare by the mistress -of a bourgeois house, to give a festal air to the dinner. Pons’ stomach -hankered after that gastronomical satisfaction. Mme. Cibot, in the pride -of her heart, enumerated every dish beforehand; a salt and savor once -periodically recurrent, had vanished utterly from daily life. Dinner -proceeded without _le plat couvert_, as our grandsires called it. This -lay beyond the bounds of Schmucke’s powers of comprehension. - -Pons had too much delicacy to grumble; but if the case of unappreciated -genius is hard, it goes harder still with the stomach whose claims are -ignored. Slighted affection, a subject of which too much has been made, -is founded upon an illusory longing; for if the creature fails, love -can turn to the Creator who has treasures to bestow. But the stomach!... -Nothing can be compared to its sufferings; for, in the first place, one -must live. - -Pons thought wistfully of certain creams--surely the poetry of -cookery!--of certain white sauces, masterpieces of the art; of truffled -chickens, fit to melt your heart; and above these, and more than all -these, of the famous Rhine carp, only known at Paris, served with what -condiments! There were days when Pons, thinking upon Count Popinot’s -cook, would sigh aloud, “Ah, Sophie!” Any passer-by hearing the -exclamation might have thought that the old man referred to a lost -mistress; but his fancy dwelt upon something rarer, on a fat Rhine carp -with a sauce, thin in the sauce-boat, creamy upon the palate, a sauce -that deserved the Montyon prize! The conductor of the orchestra, living -on memories of past dinners, grew visibly leaner; he was pining away, a -victim to gastric nostalgia. - -By the beginning of the fourth month (towards the end of January, 1845), -Pons’ condition attracted attention at the theatre. The flute, a young -man named Wilhelm, like almost all Germans; and Schwab, to distinguish -him from all other Wilhelms, if not from all other Schwabs, judged it -expedient to open Schmucke’s eyes to his friend’s state of health. It -was a first performance of a piece in which Schmucke’s instruments were -all required. - -“The old gentleman is failing,” said the flute; “there is something -wrong somewhere; his eyes are heavy, and he doesn’t beat time as he used -to do,” added Wilhelm Schwab, indicating Pons as he gloomily took his -place. - -“Dat is alvays de vay, gif a man is sixty years old,” answered Schmucke. - -The Highland widow, in _The Chronicles of the Canongate_, sent her son -to his death to have him beside her for twenty-four hours; and Schmucke -could have sacrificed Pons for the sake of seeing his face every day -across the dinner-table. - -“Everybody in the theatre is anxious about him,” continued the flute; -“and, as the _premiere danseuse_, Mlle. Brisetout, says, ‘he makes -hardly any noise now when he blows his nose.’” - -And, indeed, a peal like a blast of a horn used to resound through -the old musician’s bandana handkerchief whenever he raised it to that -lengthy and cavernous feature. The President’s wife had more frequently -found fault with him on that score than on any other. - -“I vould gif a goot teal to amuse him,” said Schmucke, “he gets so -dull.” - -“M. Pons always seems so much above the like of us poor devils, that, -upon my word, I didn’t dare to ask him to my wedding,” said Wilhelm -Schwab. “I am going to be married--” - -“How?” demanded Schmucke. - -“Oh! quite properly,” returned Wilhelm Schwab, taking Schmucke’s quaint -inquiry for a gibe, of which that perfect Christian was quite incapable. - -“Come, gentlemen, take your places!” called Pons, looking round at his -little army, as the stage manager’s bell rang for the overture. - -The piece was a dramatized fairy tale, a pantomime called _The Devil’s -Betrothed_, which ran for two hundred nights. In the interval, after the -first act, Wilhelm Schwab and Schmucke were left alone in the orchestra, -with a house at a temperature of thirty-two degrees Reaumur. - -“Tell me your hishdory,” said Schmucke. - -“Look there! Do you see that young man in the box yonder?... Do you -recognize him?” - -“Nefer a pit--” - -“Ah! That is because he is wearing yellow gloves and shines with all -the radiance of riches, but that is my friend Fritz Brunner out of -Frankfort-on-the-Main.” - -“Dat used to komm to see du blav und sit peside you in der orghestra?” - -“The same. You would not believe he could look so different, would you?” - -The hero of the promised story was a German of that particular type -in which the sombre irony of Goethe’s Mephistopheles is blended with -a homely cheerfulness found in the romances of August Lafontaine -of pacific memory; but the predominating element in the compound of -artlessness and guile, of shopkeeper’s shrewdness, and the studied -carelessness of a member of the Jockey Club, was that form of disgust -which set a pistol in the hands of a young Werther, bored to death less -by Charlotte than by German princes. It was a thoroughly German face, -full of cunning, full of simplicity, stupidity, and courage; the -knowledge which brings weariness, the worldly wisdom which the veriest -child’s trick leaves at fault, the abuse of beer and tobacco,--all these -were there to be seen in it, and to heighten the contrast of opposed -qualities, there was a wild diabolical gleam in the fine blue eyes with -the jaded expression. - -Dressed with all the elegance of a city man, Fritz Brunner sat in full -view of the house displaying a bald crown of the tint beloved by Titian, -and a few stray fiery red hairs on either side of it; a remnant spared -by debauchery and want, that the prodigal might have a right to spend -money with the hairdresser when he should come into his fortune. A face, -once fair and fresh as the traditional portrait of Jesus Christ, had -grown harder since the advent of a red moustache; a tawny beard lent -it an almost sinister look. The bright blue eyes had lost something of -their clearness in the struggle with distress. The countless courses by -which a man sells himself and his honor in Paris had left their traces -upon his eyelids and carved lines about the eyes, into which a mother -once looked with a mother’s rapture to find a copy of her own fashioned -by God’s hand. - -This precocious philosopher, this wizened youth was the work of a -stepmother. - -Herewith begins the curious history of a prodigal son of -Frankfort-on-the-Main--the most extraordinary and astounding portent -ever beheld by that well-conducted, if central, city. - -Gideon Brunner, father of the aforesaid Fritz, was one of the famous -innkeepers of Frankfort, a tribe who make law-authorized incisions in -travelers’ purses with the connivance of the local bankers. An innkeeper -and an honest Calvinist to boot, he had married a converted Jewess and -laid the foundations of his prosperity with the money she brought him. - -When the Jewess died, leaving a son Fritz, twelve years of age, under -the joint guardianship of his father and maternal uncle, a furrier at -Leipsic, head of the firm of Virlaz and Company, Brunner senior was -compelled by his brother-in-law (who was by no means as soft as his -peltry) to invest little Fritz’s money, a goodly quantity of current -coin of the realm, with the house of Al-Sartchild. Not a penny of it -was he allowed to touch. So, by way of revenge for the Israelite’s -pertinacity, Brunner senior married again. It was impossible, he said, -to keep his huge hotel single-handed; it needed a woman’s eye and hand. -Gideon Brunner’s second wife was an innkeeper’s daughter, a very pearl, -as he thought; but he had had no experience of only daughters spoiled by -father and mother. - -The second Mme. Brunner behaved as German girls may be expected to -behave when they are frivolous and wayward. She squandered her fortune, -she avenged the first Mme. Brunner by making her husband as miserable -a man as you could find in the compass of the free city of -Frankfort-on-the-Main, where the millionaires, it is said, are about to -pass a law compelling womankind to cherish and obey them alone. She was -partial to all the varieties of vinegar commonly called Rhine wine in -Germany; she was fond of _articles Paris_, of horses and dress; indeed, -the one expensive taste which she had not was a liking for women. She -took a dislike to little Fritz, and would perhaps have driven him mad if -that young offspring of Calvinism and Judaism had not had Frankfort for -his cradle and the firm of Virlaz at Leipsic for his guardian. Uncle -Virlaz, however, deep in his furs, confined his guardianship to the -safe-keeping of Fritz’s silver marks, and left the boy to the tender -mercies of this stepmother. - -That hyena in woman’s form was the more exasperated against the pretty -child, the lovely Jewess’ son, because she herself could have no -children in spite of efforts worthy of a locomotive engine. A diabolical -impulse prompted her to plunge her young stepson, at twenty-one years of -age, into dissipations contrary to all German habits. The wicked German -hoped that English horses, Rhine vinegar, and Goethe’s Marguerites would -ruin the Jewess’ child and shorten his days; for when Fritz came of age, -Uncle Virlaz had handed over a very pretty fortune to his nephew. But -while roulette at Baden and elsewhere, and boon companions (Wilhelm -Schwab among them) devoured the substance accumulated by Uncle Virlaz, -the prodigal son himself remained by the will of Providence to point a -moral to younger brothers in the free city of Frankfort; parents held -him up as a warning and an awful example to their offspring to scare -them into steady attendance in their cast-iron counting houses, lined -with silver marks. - -But so far from perishing in the flower of his age, Fritz Brunner had -the pleasure of laying his stepmother in one of those charming little -German cemeteries, in which the Teuton indulges his unbridled passion -for horticulture under the specious pretext of honoring his dead. And as -the second Mme. Brunner expired while the authors of her being were yet -alive, Brunner senior was obliged to bear the loss of the sums of which -his wife had drained his coffers, to say nothing of other ills, which -had told upon a Herculean constitution, till at the age of sixty-seven -the innkeeper had wizened and shrunk as if the famous Borgia’s poison -had undermined his system. For ten whole years he had supported his -wife, and now he inherited nothing! The innkeeper was a second ruin of -Heidelberg, repaired continually, it is true, by travelers’ hotel bills, -much as the remains of the castle of Heidelberg itself are repaired -to sustain the enthusiasm of the tourists who flock to see so fine and -well-preserved a relic of antiquity. - -At Frankfort the disappointment caused as much talk as a failure. People -pointed out Brunner, saying, “See what a man may come to with a bad wife -that leaves him nothing and a son brought up in the French fashion.” - -In Italy and Germany the French nation is the root of all evil, the -target for all bullets. “But the god pursuing his way----” (For the -rest, see Lefranc de Pompignan’s Ode.) - -The wrath of the proprietor of the Grand Hotel de Hollande fell -on others besides the travelers, whose bills were swelled with his -resentment. When his son was utterly ruined, Gideon, regarding him as -the indirect cause of all his misfortunes, refused him bread and salt, -fire, lodging, and tobacco--the force of the paternal malediction in -a German and an innkeeper could no farther go. Whereupon the local -authorities, making no allowance for the father’s misdeeds, regarded him -as one of the most ill-used persons in Frankfort-on-the-Main, came to -his assistance, fastened a quarrel on Fritz (_une querelle d’Allemand_), -and expelled him from the territory of the free city. Justice in -Frankfort is no whit wiser nor more humane than elsewhere, albeit the -city is the seat of the German Diet. It is not often that a magistrate -traces back the stream of wrongdoing and misfortune to the holder of the -urn from which the first beginnings trickled forth. If Brunner forgot -his son, his son’s friends speedily followed the old innkeeper’s -example. - -Ah! if the journalists, the dandies, and some few fair Parisians among -the audience wondered how that German with the tragical countenance had -cropped up on a first night to occupy a side box all to himself when -fashionable Paris filled the house,--if these could have seen the -history played out upon the stage before the prompter’s box, they would -have found it far more interesting than the transformation scenes of -_The Devil’s Betrothed_, though indeed it was the two hundred thousandth -representation of a sublime allegory performed aforetime in Mesopotamia -three thousand years before Christ was born. - -Fritz betook himself on foot to Strasbourg, and there found what the -prodigal son of the Bible failed to find--to wit, a friend. And herein -is revealed the superiority of Alsace, where so many generous hearts -beat to show Germany the beauty of a combination of Gallic wit and -Teutonic solidity. Wilhelm Schwab, but lately left in possession of a -hundred thousand francs by the death of both parents, opened his arms, -his heart, his house, his purse to Fritz. As for describing Fritz’s -feelings, when dusty, down on his luck, and almost like a leper, he -crossed the Rhine and found a real twenty-franc piece held out by the -hand of a real friend,--that moment transcends the powers of the prose -writer; Pindar alone could give it forth to humanity in Greek that -should rekindle the dying warmth of friendship in the world. - -Put the names of Fritz and Wilheim beside those of Damon and Pythias, -Castor and Pollux, Orestes and Pylades, Dubreuil and Pmejah, Schmucke -and Pons, and all the names that we imagine for the two friends of -Monomotapa, for La Fontaine (man of genius though he was) has made of -them two disembodied spirits--they lack reality. The two new names may -join the illustrious company, and with so much the more reason, since -that Wilhelm who had helped to drink Fritz’s inheritance now proceeded, -with Fritz’s assistance, to devour his own substance; smoking, needless -to say, every known variety of tobacco. - -The pair, strange to relate, squandered the property in the dullest, -stupidest, most commonplace fashion, in Strasbourg _brasseries_, in -the company of ballet-girls of the Strasbourg theatres, and little -Alsaciennes who had not a rag of a tattered reputation left. - -Every morning they would say, “We really must stop this, and make up our -minds and do something or other with the money that is left.” - -“Pooh!” Fritz would retort, “just one more day, and to-morrow”... ah! -to-morrow. - -In the lives of Prodigal Sons, _To-day_ is a prodigious coxcomb, but -_To-morrow_ is a very poltroon, taking fright at the big words of his -predecessor. _To-day_ is the truculent captain of old world comedy, -_To-morrow_ the clown of modern pantomime. - -When the two friends had reached their last thousand-franc note, they -took places in the mail-coach, styled Royal, and departed for Paris, -where they installed themselves in the attics of the Hotel du Rhin, in -the Rue du Mail, the property of one Graff, formerly Gideon Brunner’s -head-waiter. Fritz found a situation as clerk in the Kellers’ bank (on -Graff’s recommendation), with a salary of six hundred francs. And a -place as book-keeper was likewise found for Wilhelm, in the business of -Graff the fashionable tailor, brother of Graff of the Hotel du Rhin, who -found the scantily-paid employment for the pair of prodigals, for the -sake of old times, and his apprenticeship at the Hotel de Hollande. -These two incidents--the recognition of a ruined man by a well-to-do -friend, and a German innkeeper interesting himself in two penniless -fellow-countrymen--give, no doubt, an air of improbability to the story, -but truth is so much the more like fiction, since modern writers of -fiction have been at such untold pains to imitate truth. - -It was not long before Fritz, a clerk with six hundred francs, and -Wilhelm, a book-keeper with precisely the same salary, discovered the -difficulties of existence in a city so full of temptations. In 1837, the -second year of their abode, Wilhelm, who possessed a pretty talent for -the flute, entered Pons’ orchestra, to earn a little occasional butter -to put on his dry bread. As to Fritz, his only way to an increase of -income lay through the display of the capacity for business inherited -by a descendant of the Virlaz family. Yet, in spite of his assiduity, in -spite of abilities which possibly may have stood in his way, his salary -only reached the sum of two thousand francs in 1843. Penury, that divine -stepmother, did for the two men all that their mothers had not been able -to do for them; Poverty taught them thrift and worldly wisdom; Poverty -gave them her grand rough education, the lessons which she drives -with hard knocks into the heads of great men, who seldom know a happy -childhood. Fritz and Wilhelm, being but ordinary men, learned as little -as they possibly could in her school; they dodged the blows, shrank -from her hard breast and bony arms, and never discovered the good fairy -lurking within, ready to yield to the caresses of genius. One thing, -however, they learned thoroughly--they discovered the value of money, -and vowed to clip the wings of riches if ever a second fortune should -come to their door. - -This was the history which Wilhelm Schwab related in German, at much -greater length, to his friend the pianist, ending with; - -“Well, Papa Schmucke, the rest is soon explained. Old Brunner is dead. -He left four millions! He made an immense amount of money out of Baden -railways, though neither his son nor M. Graff, with whom we lodge, had -any idea that the old man was one of the original shareholders. I am -playing the flute here for the last time this evening; I would have left -some days ago, but this was a first performance, and I did not want to -spoil my part.” - -“Goot, mine friend,” said Schmucke. “But who is die prite?” - -“She is Mlle. Graff, the daughter of our host, the landlord of the Hotel -du Rhin. I have loved Mlle. Emilie these seven years; she has read so -many immoral novels, that she refused all offers for me, without knowing -what might come of it. She will be a very wealthy young lady; her -uncles, the tailors in the Rue de Richelieu, will leave her all their -money. Fritz is giving me the money we squandered at Strasbourg five -times over! He is putting a million francs in a banking house, M. Graff -the tailor is adding another five hundred thousand francs, and Mlle. -Emilie’s father not only allows me to incorporate her portion--two -hundred and fifty thousand francs--with the capital, but he himself will -be a shareholder with as much again. So the firm of Brunner, Schwab and -Company will start with two millions five hundred thousand francs. Fritz -has just bought fifteen hundred thousand francs’ worth of shares in -the Bank of France to guarantee our account with them. That is not all -Fritz’s fortune. He has his father’s house property, supposed to be -worth another million, and he has let the Grand Hotel de Hollande -already to a cousin of the Graffs.” - -“You look sad ven you look at your friend,” remarked Schmucke, who had -listened with great interest. “Kann you pe chealous of him?” - -“I am jealous for Fritz’s happiness,” said Wilhelm. “Does that face look -as if it belonged to a happy man? I am afraid of Paris; I should like -to see him do as I am doing. The old tempter may awake again. Of our two -heads, his carries the less ballast. His dress, and the opera-glass and -the rest of it make me anxious. He keeps looking at the lorettes in -the house. Oh! if you only knew how hard it is to marry Fritz. He has a -horror of ‘going a-courting,’ as you say; you would have to give him a -drop into a family, just as in England they give a man a drop into the -next world.” - -During the uproar that usually marks the end of a first night, the flute -delivered his invitation to the conductor. Pons accepted gleefully; and, -for the first time in three months, Schmucke saw a smile on his friend’s -face. They went back to the Rue de Normandie in perfect silence; that -sudden flash of joy had thrown a light on the extent of the -disease which was consuming Pons. Oh, that a man so truly noble, so -disinterested, so great in feeling, should have such a weakness!... This -was the thought that struck the stoic Schmucke dumb with amazement. He -grew woefully sad, for he began to see that there was no help for it; he -must even renounce the pleasure of seeing “his goot Bons” opposite him -at the dinner-table, for the sake of Pons’ welfare; and he did not -know whether he could give him up; the mere thought of it drove him -distracted. - -Meantime, Pons’ proud silence and withdrawal to the Mons Aventinus -of the Rue de Normandie had, as might be expected, impressed the -Presidente, not that she troubled herself much about her parasite, now -that she was freed from him. She thought, with her charming daughter, -that Cousin Pons had seen through her little “Lili’s” joke. But it was -otherwise with her husband the President. - -Camusot de Marville, a short and stout man, grown solemn since his -promotion at the Court, admired Cicero, preferred the Opera-Comique to -the Italiens, compared the actors one with another, and followed the -multitude step by step. He used to recite all the articles in the -Ministerialist journals, as if he were saying something original, and -in giving his opinion at the Council Board he paraphrased the remarks of -the previous speaker. His leading characteristics were sufficiently well -known; his position compelled him to take everything seriously; and he -was particularly tenacious of family ties. - -Like most men who are ruled by their wives, the President asserted -his independence in trifles, in which his wife was very careful not -to thwart him. For a month he was satisfied with the Presidente’s -commonplace explanations of Pons’ disappearance; but at last it -struck him as singular that the old musician, a friend of forty years’ -standing, should first make them so valuable a present as a fan that -belonged to Mme. de Pompadour, and then immediately discontinue his -visits. Count Popinot had pronounced the trinket a masterpiece; when its -owner went to Court, the fan had been passed from hand to hand, and her -vanity was not a little gratified by the compliments it received; others -had dwelt on the beauties of the ten ivory sticks, each one covered with -delicate carving, the like of which had never been seen. A Russian -lady (Russian ladies are apt to forget that they are not in Russia) -had offered her six thousand francs for the marvel one day at Count -Popinot’s house, and smiled to see it in such hands. Truth to tell, it -was a fan for a Duchess. - -“It cannot be denied that poor Cousin Pons understands rubbish of that -sort--” said Cecile, the day after the bid. - -“Rubbish!” cried her parent. “Why, Government is just about to buy -the late M. le Conseiller Dusommerard’s collection for three hundred -thousand francs; and the State and the Municipality of Paris between -them are spending nearly a million francs over the purchase and repair -of the Hotel de Cluny to house the ‘rubbish,’ as you call it.--Such -‘rubbish,’ dear child,” he resumed, “is frequently all that remains of -vanished civilizations. An Etruscan jar, and a necklace, which sometimes -fetch forty and fifty thousand francs, is ‘rubbish’ which reveals the -perfection of art at the time of the siege of Troy, proving that the -Etruscans were Trojan refugees in Italy.” - -This was the President’s cumbrous way of joking; the short, fat man was -heavily ironical with his wife and daughter. - -“The combination of various kinds of knowledge required to understand -such ‘rubbish,’ Cecile,” he resumed, “is a science in itself, called -archaeology. Archaeology comprehends architecture, sculpture, painting, -goldsmiths’ work, ceramics, cabinetmaking (a purely modern art), lace, -tapestry--in short, human handiwork of every sort and description.” - -“Then Cousin Pons is learned?” said Cecile. - -“Ah! by the by, why is he never to be seen nowadays?” asked the -President. He spoke with the air of a man in whom thousands of forgotten -and dormant impressions have suddenly begun to stir, and shaping -themselves into one idea, reach consciousness with a ricochet, as -sportsmen say. - -“He must have taken offence at nothing at all,” answered his wife. “I -dare say I was not as fully sensible as I might have been of the value -of the fan that he gave me. I am ignorant enough, as you know, of--” - -“_You!_ One of Servin’s best pupils, and you don’t know Watteau?” cried -the President. - -“I know Gerard and David and Gros and Griodet, and M. de Forbin and M. -Turpin de Crisse--” - -“You ought--” - -“Ought what, sir?” demanded the lady, gazing at her husband with the air -of a Queen of Sheba. - -“To know a Watteau when you see it, my dear. Watteau is very much in -fashion,” answered the President with meekness, that told plainly how -much he owed to his wife. - -This conversation took place a few days before that night of first -performance of _The Devil’s Betrothed_, when the whole orchestra -noticed how ill Pons was looking. But by that time all the circle of -dinner-givers who were used to seeing Pons’ face at their tables, and -to send him on errands, had begun to ask each other for news of him, and -uneasiness increased when it was reported by some who had seen him that -he was always in his place at the theatre. Pons had been very careful to -avoid his old acquaintances whenever he met them in the streets; but one -day it so fell out that he met Count Popinot, the ex-cabinet minister, -face to face in the bric-a-brac dealer’s shop in the new Boulevard -Beaumarchais. The dealer was none other than that Monistrol of whom Pons -had spoken to the Presidente, one of the famous and audacious vendors -whose cunning enthusiasm leads them to set more and more value daily on -their wares; for curiosities, they tell you, are growing so scarce that -they are hardly to be found at all nowadays. - -“Ah, my dear Pons, how comes it that we never see you now? We miss -you very much, and Mme. Popinot does not know what to think of your -desertion.” - -“M. le Comte,” said the good man, “I was made to feel in the house of a -relative that at my age one is not wanted in the world. I have never had -much consideration shown me, but at any rate I had not been insulted. -I have never asked anything of any man,” he broke out with an artist’s -pride. “I have often made myself useful in return for hospitality. But -I have made a mistake, it seems; I am indefinitely beholden to those who -honor me by allowing me to sit at table with them; my friends, and -my relatives.... Well and good; I have sent in my resignation as -smellfeast. At home I find daily something which no other house has -offered me--a real friend.” - -The old artist’s power had not failed him; with tone and gesture he put -such bitterness into the words, that the peer of France was struck by -them. He drew Pons aside. - -“Come, now, my old friend, what is it? What has hurt you? Could you not -tell me in confidence? You will permit me to say that at my house surely -you have always met with consideration--” - -“You are the one exception,” said the artist. “And besides, you are a -great lord and a statesman, you have so many things to think about. That -would excuse anything, if there were need for it.” - -The diplomatic skill that Popinot had acquired in the management of men -and affairs was brought to bear upon Pons, till at length the story of -his misfortunes in the President’s house was drawn from him. - -Popinot took up the victim’s cause so warmly that he told the story -to Mme. Popinot as soon as he went home, and that excellent and -noble-natured woman spoke to the Presidente on the subject at the first -opportunity. As Popinot himself likewise said a word or two to the -President, there was a general explanation in the family of Camusot de -Marville. - -Camusot was not exactly master in his own house; but this time his -remonstrance was so well founded in law and in fact, that his wife -and daughter were forced to acknowledge the truth. They both humbled -themselves and threw the blame on the servants. The servants, first -bidden, and then chidden, only obtained pardon by a full confession, -which made it clear to the President’s mind that Pons had done rightly -to stop away. The President displayed himself before the servants in all -his masculine and magisterial dignity, after the manner of men who are -ruled by their wives. He informed his household that they should be -dismissed forthwith, and forfeit any advantages which their long term -of service in his house might have brought them, unless from that time -forward his cousin and all those who did him the honor of coming to -his house were treated as he himself was. At which speech Madeleine was -moved to smile. - -“You have only one chance of salvation as it is,” continued the -President. “Go to my cousin, make your excuses to him, and tell him that -you will lose your situations unless he forgives you, for I shall turn -you all away if he does not.” - -Next morning the President went out fairly early to pay a call on his -cousin before going down to the court. The apparition of M. le President -de Marville, announced by Mme. Cibot, was an event in the house. Pons, -thus honored for the first time in his life saw reparation ahead. - -“At last, my dear cousin,” said the President after the ordinary -greetings; “at last I have discovered the cause of your retreat. Your -behavior increases, if that were possible, my esteem for you. I have but -one word to say in that connection. My servants have all been dismissed. -My wife and daughter are in despair; they want to see you to have an -explanation. In all this, my cousin, there is one innocent person, and -he is an old judge; you will not punish me, will you, for the escapade -of a thoughtless child who wished to dine with the Popinots? especially -when I come to beg for peace, admitting that all the wrong has been on -our side?... An old friendship of thirty-six years, even suppose that -there had been a misunderstanding, has still some claims. Come, sign a -treaty of peace by dining with us to-night--” - -Pons involved himself in a diffuse reply, and ended by informing his -cousin that he was to sign a marriage contract that evening; how that -one of the orchestra was not only going to be married, but also about to -fling his flute to the winds to become a banker. - -“Very well. To-morrow.” - -“Mme. la Comtesse Popinot has done me the honor of asking me, cousin. -She was so kind as to write--” - -“The day after to-morrow then.” - -“M. Brunner, a German, my first flute’s future partner, returns the -compliment paid him to-day by the young couple--” - -“You are such pleasant company that it is not surprising that people -dispute for the honor of seeing you. Very well, next Sunday? Within a -week, as we say at the courts?” - -“On Sunday we are to dine with M. Graff, the flute’s father-in-law.” - -“Very well, on Saturday. Between now and then you will have time to -reassure a little girl who has shed tears already over her fault. God -asks no more than repentance; you will not be more severe than the -Eternal father with poor little Cecile?--” - -Pons, thus reached on his weak side, again plunged into formulas more -than polite, and went as far as the stairhead with the President. - -An hour later the President’s servants arrived in a troop on poor Pons’ -second floor. They behaved after the manner of their kind; they cringed -and fawned; they wept. Madeleine took M. Pons aside and flung herself -resolutely at his feet. - -“It is all my fault; and monsieur knows quite well that I love him,” - here she burst into tears. “It was vengeance boiling in my veins; -monsieur ought to throw all the blame of the unhappy affair on that. We -are all to lose our pensions.... Monsieur, I was mad, and I would not -have the rest suffer for my fault.... I can see now well enough that -fate did not make me for monsieur. I have come to my senses, I aimed too -high, but I love you still, monsieur. These ten years I have thought of -nothing but the happiness of making you happy and looking after things -here. What a lot!... Oh! if monsieur but knew how much I love him! But -monsieur must have seen it through all my mischief-making. If I were to -die to-morrow, what would they find?--A will in your favor, monsieur.... -Yes, monsieur, in my trunk under my best things.” - -Madeleine had set a responsive chord vibrating; the passion inspired in -another may be unwelcome, but it will always be gratifying to self-love; -this was the case with the old bachelor. After generously pardoning -Madeleine, he extended his forgiveness to the other servants, promising -to use his influence with his cousin the Presidente on their behalf. - -It was unspeakably pleasant to Pons to find all his old enjoyments -restored to him without any loss of self-respect. The world had come to -Pons, he had risen in the esteem of his circle; but Schmucke looked so -downcast and dubious when he heard the story of the triumph, that Pons -felt hurt. When, however, the kind-hearted German saw the sudden change -wrought in Pons’ face, he ended by rejoicing with his friend, and made -a sacrifice of the happiness that he had known during those four months -that he had had Pons all to himself. Mental suffering has this immense -advantage over physical ills--when the cause is removed it ceases -at once. Pons was not like the same man that morning. The old man, -depressed and visibly failing, had given place to the serenely contented -Pons, who entered the Presidente’s house that October afternoon with the -Marquise de Pompadour’s fan in his pocket. Schmucke, on the other hand, -pondered deeply over this phenomenon, and could not understand it; your -true stoic never can understand the courtier that dwells in a Frenchman. -Pons was a born Frenchman of the Empire; a mixture of eighteenth century -gallantry and that devotion to womankind so often celebrated in songs of -the type of _Partant pour la Syrie_. - -So Schmucke was fain to bury his chagrin beneath the flowers of his -German philosophy; but a week later he grew so yellow that Mme. Cibot -exerted her ingenuity to call in the parish doctor. The leech had fears -of icterus, and left Mme. Cibot frightened half out of her wits by the -Latin word for an attack of the jaundice. - -Meantime the two friends went out to dinner together, perhaps for -the first time in their lives. For Schmucke it was a return to the -Fatherland; for Johann Graff of the Hotel du Rhin and his daughter -Emilie, Wolfgang Graff the tailor and his wife, Fritz Brunner and -Wilhelm Schwab, were Germans, and Pons and the notary were the only -Frenchmen present at the banquet. The Graffs of the tailor’s business -owned a splendid house in the Rue de Richelieu, between the Rue -Neuve-des-Petits-Champs and the Rue Villedo; they had brought up their -niece, for Emilie’s father, not without reason, had feared contact -with the very mixed society of an inn for his daughter. The good tailor -Graffs, who loved Emilie as if she had been their own daughter, were -giving up the ground floor of their great house to the young couple, and -here the bank of Brunner, Schwab and Company was to be established. The -arrangements for the marriage had been made about a month ago; some time -must elapse before Fritz Brunner, author of all this felicity, could -settle his deceased father’s affairs, and the famous firm of tailors -had taken advantage of the delay to redecorate the first floor and to -furnish it very handsomely for the bride and bridegroom. The offices of -the bank had been fitted into the wing which united a handsome business -house with the hotel at the back, between courtyard and garden. - -On the way from the Rue de Normandie to the Rue de Richelieu, Pons drew -from the abstracted Schmucke the details of the story of the modern -prodigal son, for whom Death had killed the fatted innkeeper. Pons, but -newly reconciled with his nearest relatives, was immediately smitten -with a desire to make a match between Fritz Brunner and Cecile de -Marville. Chance ordained that the notary was none other than Berthier, -old Cardot’s son-in-law and successor, the sometime second clerk with -whom Pons had been wont to dine. - -“Ah! M. Berthier, you here!” he said, holding out a hand to his host of -former days. - -“We have not had the pleasure of seeing you at dinner lately; how is -it?” returned the notary. “My wife has been anxious about you. We saw -you at the first performance of _The Devil’s Betrothed_, and our anxiety -became curiosity?” - -“Old folk are sensitive,” replied the worthy musician; “they make the -mistake of being a century behind the times, but how can it be helped? -It is quite enough to represent one century--they cannot entirely belong -to the century which sees them die.” - -“Ah!” said the notary, with a shrewd look, “one cannot run two centuries -at once.” - -“By the by,” continued Pons, drawing the young lawyer into a corner, -“why do you not find some one for my cousin Cecile de Marville--” - -“Ah! why--?” answered Berthier. “In this century, when luxury has -filtered down to our very porters’ lodges, a young fellow hesitates -before uniting his lot with the daughter of a President of the Court of -Appeal in Paris if she brings him only a hundred thousand francs. In the -rank of life in which Mlle. de Marville’s husband would take, the wife -was never yet known that did not cost her husband three thousand francs -a year; the interest on a hundred thousand francs would scarcely -find her in pin-money. A bachelor with an income of fifteen or twenty -thousand francs can live on an entre-sol; he is not expected to cut -any figure; he need not keep more than one servant, and all his surplus -income he can spend on his amusements; he puts himself in the hands of -a good tailor, and need not trouble any further about keeping up -appearances. Far-sighted mothers make much of him; he is one of the -kings of fashion in Paris. - -“But a wife changes everything. A wife means a properly furnished -house,” continued the lawyer; “she wants the carriage for herself; if -she goes to the play, she wants a box, while the bachelor has only a -stall to pay for; in short, a wife represents the whole of the income -which the bachelor used to spend on himself. Suppose that husband and -wife have thirty thousand francs a year between them--practically, the -sometime bachelor is a poor devil who thinks twice before he drives out -to Chantilly. Bring children on the scene--he is pinched for money at -once. - -“Now, as M. and Mme. de Marville are scarcely turned fifty, Cecile’s -expectations are bills that will not fall due for fifteen or twenty -years to come; and no young fellow cares to keep them so long in -his portfolio. The young featherheads who are dancing the polka with -lorettes at the Jardin Mabille, are so cankered with self-interest, that -they don’t stand in need of us to explain both sides of the problem to -them. Between ourselves, I may say that Mlle. de Marville scarcely sets -hearts throbbing so fast but that their owners can perfectly keep their -heads, and they are full of these anti-matrimonial reflections. If any -eligible young man, in full possession of his senses and an income -of twenty thousand francs, happens to be sketching out a programme of -marriage that will satisfy his ambitions, Mlle. de Marville does not -altogether answer the description--” - -“And why not?” asked the bewildered musician. - -“Oh!--” said the notary, “well--a young man nowadays may be as ugly as -you and I, my dear Pons, but he is almost sure to have the impertinence -to want six hundred thousand francs, a girl of good family, with wit and -good looks and good breeding--flawless perfection in short.” - -“Then it will not be easy to marry her?” - -“She will not be married so long as M. and Mme. de Marville cannot make -up their minds to settle Marville on her when she marries; if they had -chosen, she might have been the Vicomtesse Popinot by now. But here -comes M. Brunner.--We are about to read the deed of partnership and the -marriage contract.” - -Greetings and introductions over, the relations made Pons promise to -sign the contract. He listened to the reading of the documents, and -towards half-past five the party went into the dining-room. The dinner -was magnificent, as a city merchant’s dinner can be, when he allows -himself a respite from money-making. Graff of the Hotel du Rhin was -acquainted with the first provision dealers in Paris; never had Pons nor -Schmucke fared so sumptuously. The dishes were a rapture to think of! -Italian paste, delicate of flavor, unknown to the public; smelts fried -as never smelts were fried before; fish from Lake Leman, with a real -Genevese sauce, and a cream for plum-pudding which would have astonished -the London doctor who is said to have invented it. It was nearly ten -o’clock before they rose from table. The amount of wine, German and -French, consumed at that dinner would amaze the contemporary dandy; -nobody knows the amount of liquor that a German can imbibe and yet keep -calm and quiet; to have even an idea of the quantity, you must dine in -Germany and watch bottle succeed to bottle, like wave rippling after -wave along the sunny shores of the Mediterranean, and disappear as if -the Teuton possessed the absorbing power of sponges or sea sand. Perfect -harmony prevails meanwhile; there is none of the racket that there would -be over the liquor in France; the talk is as sober as a money-lender’s -extempore speech; countenances flush, like the faces of the brides in -frescoes by Cornelius or Schnorr (imperceptibly, that is to say), and -reminiscences are poured out slowly while the smoke puffs from the -pipes. - -About half-past ten that evening Pons and Schmucke found themselves -sitting on a bench out in the garden, with the ex-flute between them; -they were explaining their characters, opinions, and misfortunes, with -no very clear idea as to why or how they had come to this point. In the -thick of a potpourri of confidences, Wilhelm spoke of his strong desire -to see Fritz married, expressing himself with vehement and vinous -eloquence. - -“What do you say to this programme for your friend Brunner?” cried -Pons in confidential tones. “A charming and sensible young lady of -twenty-four, belonging to a family of the highest distinction. The -father holds a very high position as a judge; there will be a hundred -thousand francs paid down and a million to come.” - -“Wait!” answered Schwab; “I will speak to Fritz this instant.” - -The pair watched Brunner and his friend as they walked round and round -the garden; again and again they passed the bench, sometimes one spoke, -sometimes the other. - -Pons was not exactly intoxicated; his head was a little heavy, but his -thoughts, on the contrary, seemed all the lighter; he watched Fritz -Brunner’s face through the rainbow mist of fumes of wine, and tried -to read auguries favorable to his family. Before very long Schwab -introduced his friend and partner to M. Pons; Fritz Brunner expressed -his thanks for the trouble which Pons had been so good as to take. - -In the conversation which followed, the two old bachelors Schmucke and -Pons extolled the estate of matrimony, going so far as to say, without -any malicious intent, “that marriage was the end of man.” Tea and ices, -punches and cakes, were served in the future home of the betrothed -couple. The wine had begun to tell upon the honest merchants, and the -general hilarity reached its height when it was announced that Schwab’s -partner thought of following his example. - -At two o’clock that morning, Schmucke and Pons walked home along the -boulevards, philosophizing _a perte de raison_ as they went on the -harmony pervading the arrangements of this our world below. - -On the morrow of the banquet, Cousin Pons betook himself to his fair -cousin the Presidente, overjoyed--poor dear noble soul!--to return good -for evil. Surely he had attained to a sublime height, as every one will -allow, for we live in an age when the Montyon prize is given to those -who do their duty by carrying out the precepts of the Gospel. - -“Ah!” said Pons to himself, as he turned the corner of the Rue de -Choiseul, “they will lie under immense obligations to their parasite.” - -Any man less absorbed in his contentment, any man of the world, any -distrustful nature would have watched the President’s wife and daughter -very narrowly on this first return to the house. But the poor musician -was a child, he had all the simplicity of an artist, believing in -goodness as he believed in beauty; so he was delighted when Cecile and -her mother made much of him. After all the vaudevilles, tragedies, and -comedies which had been played under the worthy man’s eyes for twelve -long years, he could not detect the insincerity and grimaces of social -comedy, no doubt because he had seen too much of it. Any one who goes -into society in Paris, and knows the type of woman, dried up, body and -soul, by a burning thirst for social position, and a fierce desire to -be thought virtuous, any one familiar with the sham piety and the -domineering character of a woman whose word is law in her own house, may -imagine the lurking hatred she bore this husband’s cousin whom she had -wronged. - -All the demonstrative friendliness of mother and daughter was lined with -a formidable longing for revenge, evidently postponed. For the first -time in Amelie de Marville’s life she had been put in the wrong, and -that in the sight of the husband over whom she tyrannized; and not only -so--she was obliged to be amiable to the author of her defeat! You can -scarcely find a match for this position save in the hypocritical -dramas which are sometimes kept up for years in the sacred college of -cardinals, or in chapters of certain religious orders. - -At three o’clock, when the President came back from the law-courts, Pons -had scarcely made an end of the marvelous history of his acquaintance, -M. Frederic Brunner. Cecile had gone straight to the point. She wanted -to know how Frederic Brunner was dressed, how he looked, his height and -figure, the color of his hair and eyes; and when she had conjectured a -distinguished air for Frederic, she admired his generosity of character. - -“Think of his giving five hundred thousand francs to his companion -in misfortune! Oh! mamma, I shall have a carriage and a box at the -Italiens----” Cecile grew almost pretty as she thought that all her -mother’s ambitions for her were about to be realized, that the hopes -which had almost left her were to come to something after all. - -As for the Presidente, all that she said was, “My dear little girl, you -may perhaps be married within the fortnight.” - -All mothers with daughters of three-and-twenty address them as “little -girl.” - -“Still,” added the President, “in any case, we must have time to make -inquiries; never will I give my daughter to just anybody--” - -“As to inquiries,” said Pons, “Berthier is drawing up the deeds. As to -the young man himself, my dear cousin, you remember what you told me? -Well, he is quite forty years old; he is bald. He wishes to find in -family life a haven after a storm; I did not dissuade him; every man has -his tastes--” - -“One reason the more for a personal interview,” returned the President. -“I am not going to give my daughter to a valetudinarian.” - -“Very good, cousin, you shall see my suitor in five days if you like; -for, with your views, a single interview would be enough”--(Cecile -and her mother signified their rapture)--“Frederic is decidedly a -distinguished amateur; he begged me to allow him to see my little -collection at his leisure. You have never seen my pictures and -curiosities; come and see them,” he continued, looking at his relatives. -“You can come simply as two ladies, brought by my friend Schmucke, and -make M. Brunner’s acquaintance without betraying yourselves. Frederic -need not in the least know who you are.” - -“Admirable!” cried the President. - -The attention they paid to the once scorned parasite may be left to -the imagination! Poor Pons that day became the Presidente’s cousin. -The happy mother drowned her dislike in floods of joy; her looks, her -smiles, her words sent the old man into ecstasies over the good that he -had done, over the future that he saw by glimpses. Was he not sure -to find dinners such as yesterday’s banquet over the signing of the -contract, multiplied indefinitely by three, in the houses of Brunner, -Schwab, and Graff? He saw before him a land of plenty--a _vie de -cocagne_, a miraculous succession of _plats couverts_, of delicate -surprise dishes, of exquisite wines. - -“If Cousin Pons brings this through,” said the President, addressing -his wife after Pons had departed, “we ought to settle an income upon him -equal to his salary at the theatre.” - -“Certainly,” said the lady; and Cecile was informed that if the proposed -suitor found favor in her eyes, she must undertake to induce the old -musician to accept a munificence in such bad taste. - -Next day the President went to Berthier. He was anxious to make sure of -M. Frederic Brunner’s financial position. Berthier, forewarned by Mme. -de Marville, had asked his new client Schwab to come. Schwab the banker -was dazzled by the prospect of such a match for his friend (everybody -knows how deeply a German venerates social distinctions, so much so, -that in Germany a wife takes her husband’s (official) title, and is -the Frau General, the Frau Rath, and so forth)--Schwab therefore was as -accommodating as a collector who imagines that he is cheating a dealer. - -“In the first place,” said Cecile’s father, “as I shall make over my -estate of Marville to my daughter, I should wish the contract to be -drawn up on the dotal system. In that case, M. Brunner would invest a -million francs in land to increase the estate, and by settling the land -on his wife he would secure her and his children from any share in the -liabilities of the bank.” - -Berthier stroked his chin. “He is coming on well, is M. le President,” - thought he. - -When the dotal system had been explained to Schwab, he seemed much -inclined that way for his friend. He had heard Fritz say that he wished -to find some way of insuring himself against another lapse into poverty. - -“There is a farm and pasture land worth twelve hundred thousand francs -in the market at this moment,” remarked the President. - -“If we take up shares in the Bank of France to the amount of a million -francs, that will be quite enough to guarantee our account,” said -Schwab. “Fritz does not want to invest more than two million francs in -business; he will do as you wish, I am sure, M. le President.” - -The President’s wife and daughter were almost wild with joy when he -brought home this news. Never, surely, did so rich a capture swim so -complacently into the nets of matrimony. - -“You will be Mme. Brunner de Marville,” said the parent, addressing his -child; “I will obtain permission for your husband to add the name to -his, and afterwards he can take out letters of naturalization. If I -should be a peer of France some day, he will succeed me!” - -The five days were spent by Mme. de Marville in preparations. On the -great day she dressed Cecile herself, taking as much pains as the -admiral of the British fleet takes over the dressing of the pleasure -yacht for Her Majesty of England when she takes a trip to Germany. - -Pons and Schmucke, on their side, cleaned, swept, and dusted Pons’ -museum rooms and furniture with the agility of sailors cleaning down -a man-of-war. There was not a speck of dust on the carved wood; not an -inch of brass but it glistened. The glasses over the pastels obscured -nothing of the work of Latour, Greuze, and Liotard (illustrious painter -of _The Chocolate Girl_), miracles of an art, alas! so fugitive. The -inimitable lustre of Florentine bronze took all the varying hues of -the light; the painted glass glowed with color. Every line shone -out brilliantly, every object threw in its phrase in a harmony of -masterpieces arranged by two musicians--both of whom alike had attained -to be poets. - -With a tact which avoided the difficulties of a late appearance on the -scene of action, the women were the first to arrive; they wished to be -on their own ground. Pons introduced his friend Schmucke, who seemed -to his fair visitors to be an idiot; their heads were so full of the -eligible gentleman with the four millions of francs, that they paid but -little attention to the worthy Pons’ dissertations upon matters of which -they were completely ignorant. - -They looked with indifferent eyes at Petitot’s enamels, spaced over -crimson velvet, set in three frames of marvelous workmanship. Flowers by -Van Huysum, David, and Heim; butterflies painted by Abraham Mignon; -Van Eycks, undoubted Cranachs and Albrecht Durers; the Giorgione, the -Sebastian del Piombo; Backhuijzen, Hobbema, Gericault, the rarities of -painting--none of these things so much as aroused their curiosity; they -were waiting for the sun to arise and shine upon these treasures. Still, -they were surprised by the beauty of some of the Etruscan trinkets and -the solid value of the snuff-boxes, and out of politeness they went into -ecstasies over some Florentine bronzes which they held in their hands -when Mme. Cibot announced M. Brunner! They did not turn; they took -advantage of a superb Venetian mirror framed in huge masses of carved -ebony to scan this phoenix of eligible young men. - -Frederic, forewarned by Wilhelm, had made the most of the little hair -that remained to him. He wore a neat pair of trousers, a soft shade of -some dark color, a silk waistcoat of superlative elegance and the very -newest cut, a shirt with open-work, its linen hand-woven by a Friesland -woman, and a blue-and-white cravat. His watch chain, like the head of -his cane, came from Messrs. Florent and Chanor; and the coat, cut by old -Graff himself, was of the very finest cloth. The Suede gloves proclaimed -the man who had run through his mother’s fortune. You could have seen -the banker’s neat little brougham and pair of horses mirrored in the -surface of his speckless varnished boots, even if two pairs of sharp -ears had not already caught the sound of wheels outside in the Rue de -Normandie. - -When the prodigal of twenty years is a kind of chrysalis from which -a banker emerges at the age of forty, the said banker is usually -an observer of human nature; and so much the more shrewd if, as in -Brunner’s case, he understands how to turn his German simplicity to good -account. He had assumed for the occasion the abstracted air of a man who -is hesitating between family life and the dissipations of bachelorhood. -This expression in a Frenchified German seemed to Cecile to be in the -highest degree romantic; the descendant of the Virlaz was a second -Werther in her eyes--where is the girl who will not allow herself to -weave a little novel about her marriage? Cecile thought herself the -happiest of women when Brunner, looking round at the magnificent works -of art so patiently collected during forty years, waxed enthusiastic, -and Pons, to his no small satisfaction, found an appreciative admirer of -his treasures for the first time in his life. - -“He is poetical,” the young lady said to herself; “he sees millions in -the things. A poet is a man that cannot count and leaves his wife to -look after his money--an easy man to manage and amuse with trifles.” - -Every pane in the two windows was a square of Swiss painted glass; the -least of them was worth a thousand francs; and Pons possessed sixteen -of these unrivaled works of art for which amateurs seek so eagerly -nowadays. In 1815 the panes could be bought for six or ten francs -apiece. The value of the glorious collection of pictures, flawless great -works, authentic, untouched since they left the master’s hands, could -only be proved in the fiery furnace of a saleroom. Not a picture but -was set in a costly frame; there were frames of every kind--Venetians, -carved with heavy ornaments, like English plate of the present day; -Romans, distinguishable among the others for a certain dash that artists -call _flafla_; Spanish wreaths in bold relief; Flemings and Germans with -quaint figures, tortoise-shell frames inlaid with copper and brass and -mother-of-pearl and ivory; frames of ebony and boxwood in the styles of -Louis Treize, Louis Quatorze, Louis Quinze, and Louis Seize--in short, -it was a unique collection of the finest models. Pons, luckier than -the art museums of Dresden and Vienna, possessed a frame by the famous -Brustoloni--the Michael Angelo of wood-carvers. - -Mlle. de Marville naturally asked for explanations of each new -curiosity, and was initiated into the mysteries of art by Brunner. Her -exclamations were so childish, she seemed so pleased to have the value -and beauty of the paintings, carvings, or bronzes pointed out to her, -that the German gradually thawed and looked quite young again, and both -were led on further than they intended at this (purely accidental) first -meeting. - -The private view lasted for three hours. Brunner offered his arm when -Cecile went downstairs. As they descended slowly and discreetly, Cecile, -still talking fine art, wondered that M. Brunner should admire her -cousin’s gimcracks so much. - -“Do you really think that these things that we have just seen are worth -a great deal of money?” - -“Mademoiselle, if your cousin would sell his collection, I would give -eight hundred thousand francs for it this evening, and I should not make -a bad bargain. The pictures alone would fetch more than that at a public -sale.” - -“Since you say so, I believe it,” returned she; “the things took up so -much of your attention that it must be so.” - -“On! mademoiselle!” protested Brunner. “For all answer to your reproach, -I will ask your mother’s permission to call, so that I may have the -pleasure of seeing you again.” - -“How clever she is, that ‘little girl’ of mine!” thought the Presidente, -following closely upon her daughter’s heels. Aloud she said, “With the -greatest pleasure, monsieur. I hope that you will come at dinner-time -with our Cousin Pons. The President will be delighted to make your -acquaintance.--Thank you, cousin.” - -The lady squeezed Pons’ arm with deep meaning; she could not have said -more if she had used the consecrated formula, “Let us swear an eternal -friendship.” The glance which accompanied that “Thank you, cousin,” was -a caress. - -When the young lady had been put into the carriage, and the jobbed -brougham had disappeared down the Rue Charlot, Brunner talked -bric-a-brac to Pons, and Pons talked marriage. - -“Then you see no obstacle?” said Pons. - -“Oh!” said Brunner, “she is an insignificant little thing, and the -mother is a trifle prim.--We shall see.” - -“A handsome fortune one of these days.... More than a million--” - -“Good-bye till Monday!” interrupted the millionaire. “If you should -care to sell your collection of pictures, I would give you five or six -hundred thousand francs--” - -“Ah!” said Pons; he had no idea that he was so rich. “But they are my -great pleasure in life, and I could not bring myself to part with them. -I could only sell my collection to be delivered after my death.” - -“Very well. We shall see.” - -“Here we have two affairs afoot!” said Pons; he was thinking only of the -marriage. - -Brunner shook hands and drove away in his splendid carriage. Pons -watched it out of sight. He did not notice that Remonencq was smoking -his pipe in the doorway. - -That evening Mme. de Marville went to ask advice of her father-in-law, -and found the whole Popinot family at the Camusots’ house. It was only -natural that a mother who had failed to capture an eldest son should be -tempted to take her little revenge; so Mme. de Marville threw out hints -of the splendid marriage that her Cecile was about to make.--“Whom can -Cecile be going to marry?” was the question upon all lips. And Cecile’s -mother, without suspecting that she was betraying her secret, let -fall words and whispered confidences, afterwards supplemented by Mme. -Berthier, till gossip circulating in the bourgeois empyrean where -Pons accomplished his gastronomical evolutions took something like the -following form: - -“Cecile de Marville is engaged to be married to a young German, a banker -from philanthropic motives, for he has four millions; he is like a hero -in a novel, a perfect Werther, charming and kind-hearted. He has sown -his wild oats, and he is distractedly in love with Cecile; it is a case -of love at first sight; and so much the more certain, since Cecile had -all Pons’ paintings of Madonnas for rivals,” and so forth and so forth. - -Two or three of the set came to call on the Presidente, ostensibly to -congratulate, but really to find out whether or not the marvelous tale -were true. For their benefit Mme. de Marville executed the following -admirable variations on the theme of son-in-law which mothers may -consult, as people used to refer to the _Complete Letter Writer_. - -“A marriage is not an accomplished fact,” she told Mme. Chiffreville, -“until you have been in the mayor’s office and the church. We have only -come as far as a personal interview; so I count upon your friendship to -say nothing of our hopes.” - -“You are very fortunate, madame; marriages are so difficult to arrange -in these days.” - -“What can one do? It was chance; but marriages are often made in that -way.” - -“Ah! well. So you are going to marry Cecile?” said Mme. Cardot. - -“Yes,” said Cecile’s mother, fully understanding the meaning of the -“so.” “We were very particular, or Cecile would have been established -before this. But now we have found everything we wish: money, good -temper, good character, and good looks; and my sweet little girl -certainly deserves nothing less. M. Brunner is a charming young man, -most distinguished; he is fond of luxury, he knows life; he is wild -about Cecile, he loves her sincerely; and in spite of his three or four -millions, Cecile is going to accept him.--We had not looked so high for -her; still, store is no sore.” - -“It was not so much the fortune as the affection inspired by my daughter -which decided us,” the Presidente told Mme. Lebas. “M. Brunner is in -such a hurry that he wants the marriage to take place with the least -possible delay.” - -“Is he a foreigner?” - -“Yes, madame; but I am very fortunate, I confess. No, I shall not have -a son-in-law, but a son. M. Brunner’s delicacy has quite won our hearts. -No one would imagine how anxious he was to marry under the dotal system. -It is a great security for families. He is going to invest twelve -hundred thousand francs in grazing land, which will be added to Marville -some day.” - -More variations followed on the morrow. For instance--M. Brunner was a -great lord, doing everything in lordly fashion; he did not haggle. If -M. de Marville could obtain letters of naturalization, qualifying M. -Brunner for an office under Government (and the Home Secretary surely -could strain a point for M. de Marville), his son-in-law would be a peer -of France. Nobody knew how much money M. Brunner possessed; “he had the -finest horses and the smartest carriages in Paris!” and so on and so on. - -From the pleasure with which the Camusots published their hopes, it was -pretty clear that this triumph was unexpected. - -Immediately after the interview in Pons’ museum, M. de Marville, at his -wife’s instance, begged the Home Secretary, his chief, and the attorney -for the crown to dine with him on the occasion of the introduction of -this phoenix of a son-in-law. - -The three great personages accepted the invitation, albeit it was given -on short notice; they all saw the part that they were to play in the -family politics, and readily came to the father’s support. In France we -are usually pretty ready to assist the mother of marriageable daughters -to hook an eligible son-in-law. The Count and Countess Popinot likewise -lent their presence to complete the splendor of the occasion, although -they thought the invitation in questionable taste. - -There were eleven in all. Cecile’s grandfather, old Camusot, came, of -course, with his wife to a family reunion purposely arranged to elicit a -proposal from M. Brunner. - -The Camusot de Marvilles had given out that the guest of the evening -was one of the richest capitalists in Germany, a man of taste (he was in -love with “the little girl”), a future rival of the Nucingens, Kellers, -du Tillets, and their like. - -“It is our day,” said the Presidente with elaborate simplicity, when she -had named her guests one by one for the German whom she already regarded -as her son-in-law. “We have only a few intimate friends--first, my -husband’s father, who, as you know, is sure to be raised to the peerage; -M. le Comte and Mme. la Comtesse Popinot, whose son was not thought rich -enough for Cecile; the Home Secretary; our First President; our attorney -for the crown; our personal friends, in short.--We shall be obliged to -dine rather late to-night, because the Chamber is sitting, and people -cannot get away before six.” - -Brunner looked significantly at Pons, and Pons rubbed his hands as if to -say, “Our friends, you see! _My_ friends!” - -Mme. de Marville, as a clever tactician, had something very particular -to say to her cousin, that Cecile and her Werther might be left together -for a moment. Cecile chattered away volubly, and contrived that Frederic -should catch sight of a German dictionary, a German grammar, and a -volume of Goethe hidden away in a place where he was likely to find -them. - -“Ah! are you learning German?” asked Brunner, flushing red. - -(For laying traps of this kind the Frenchwoman has not her match!) - -“Oh! how naughty you are!” she cried; “it is too bad of you, monsieur, -to explore my hiding-places like this. I want to read Goethe in the -original,” she added; “I have been learning German for two years.” - -“Then the grammar must be very difficult to learn, for scarcely ten -pages have been cut--” Brunner remarked with much candor. - -Cecile, abashed, turned away to hide her blushes. A German cannot resist -a display of this kind; Brunner caught Cecile’s hand, made her turn, and -watched her confusion under his gaze, after the manner of the heroes of -the novels of Auguste Lafontaine of chaste memory. - -“You are adorable,” said he. - -Cecile’s petulant gesture replied, “So are you--who could help liking -you?” - -“It is all right, mamma,” she whispered to her parent, who came up at -that moment with Pons. - -The sight of a family party on these occasions is not to be described. -Everybody was well satisfied to see a mother put her hand on an eligible -son-in-law. Compliments, double-barreled and double-charged, were paid -to Brunner (who pretended to understand nothing); to Cecile, on whom -nothing was lost; and to the Presidente, who fished for them. Pons heard -the blood singing in his ears, the light of all the blazing gas-jets of -the theatre footlights seemed to be dazzling his eyes, when Cecile, in -a low voice and with the most ingenious circumspection, spoke of her -father’s plan of the annuity of twelve hundred francs. The old artist -positively declined the offer, bringing forward the value of his fortune -in furniture, only now made known to him by Brunner. - -The Home Secretary, the First President, the attorney for the crown, the -Popinots, and those who had other engagements, all went; and before long -no one was left except M. Camusot senior, and Cardot the old notary, and -his assistant and son-in-law Berthier. Pons, worthy soul, looking round -and seeing no one but the family, blundered out a speech of thanks to -the President and his wife for the proposal which Cecile had just made -to him. So it is with those who are guided by their feelings; they -act upon impulse. Brunner, hearing of an annuity offered in this way, -thought that it had very much the look of a commission paid to Pons; he -made an Israelite’s return upon himself, his attitude told of more than -cool calculation. - -Meanwhile Pons was saying to his astonished relations, “My collection or -its value will, in any case, go to your family, whether I come to terms -with our friend Brunner or keep it.” The Camusots were amazed to hear -that Pons was so rich. - -Brunner, watching, saw how all these ignorant people looked favorably -upon a man once believed to be poor so soon as they knew that he had -great possessions. He had seen, too, already that Cecile was spoiled by -her father and mother; he amused himself, therefore, by astonishing the -good bourgeois. - -“I was telling mademoiselle,” said he, “that M. Pons’ pictures were -worth that sum to _me_; but the prices of works of art have risen so -much of late, that no one can tell how much the collection might sell -for at public auction. The sixty pictures might fetch a million francs; -several that I saw the other day were worth fifty thousand apiece.” - -“It is a fine thing to be your heir!” remarked old Cardot, looking at -Pons. - -“My heir is my Cousin Cecile here,” answered Pons, insisting on the -relationship. There was a flutter of admiration at this. - -“She will be a very rich heiress,” laughed old Cardot, as he took his -departure. - -Camusot senior, the President and his wife, Cecile, Brunner, Berthier, -and Pons were now left together; for it was assumed that the formal -demand for Cecile’s hand was about to be made. No sooner was Cardot -gone, indeed, than Brunner began with an inquiry which augured well. - -“I think I understood,” he said, turning to Mme. de Marville, “that -mademoiselle is your only daughter.” - -“Certainly,” the lady said proudly. - -“Nobody will make any difficulties,” Pons, good soul, put in by way of -encouraging Brunner to bring out his proposal. - -But Brunner grew thoughtful, and an ominous silence brought on a -coolness of the strangest kind. The Presidente might have admitted that -her “little girl” was subject to epileptic fits. The President, thinking -that Cecile ought not to be present, signed to her to go. She went. -Still Brunner said nothing. They all began to look at one another. The -situation was growing awkward. - -Camusot senior, a man of experience, took the German to Mme. de -Marville’s room, ostensibly to show him Pons’ fan. He saw that some -difficulty had arisen, and signed to the rest to leave him alone with -Cecile’s suitor-designate. - -“Here is the masterpiece,” said Camusot, opening out the fan. - -Brunner took it in his hand and looked at it. “It is worth five thousand -francs,” he said after a moment. - -“Did you not come here, sir, to ask for my granddaughter?” inquired the -future peer of France. - -“Yes, sir,” said Brunner; “and I beg you to believe that no possible -marriage could be more flattering to my vanity. I shall never find any -one more charming nor more amiable, nor a young lady who answers to my -ideas like Mlle. Cecile; but--” - -“Oh, no _buts_!” old Camusot broke in; “or let us have the translation -of your ‘buts’ at once, my dear sir.” - -“I am very glad, sir, that the matter has gone no further on either -side,” Brunner answered gravely. “I had no idea that Mlle. Cecile was an -only daughter. Anybody else would consider this an advantage; but to me, -believe me, it is an insurmountable obstacle to--” - -“What, sir!” cried Camusot, amazed beyond measure. “Do you find a -positive drawback in an immense advantage? Your conduct is really -extraordinary; I should very much like to hear the explanation of it.” - -“I came here this evening, sir,” returned the German phlegmatically, -“intending to ask M. le President for his daughter’s hand. It was my -desire to give Mlle. Cecile a brilliant future by offering her so much -of my fortune as she would consent to accept. But an only daughter is -a child whose will is law to indulgent parents, who has never been -contradicted. I have had the opportunity of observing this in many -families, where parents worship divinities of this kind. And -your granddaughter is not only the idol of the house, but Mme. la -Presidente... you know what I mean. I have seen my father’s house turned -into a hell, sir, from this very cause. My stepmother, the source of -all my misfortunes, an only daughter, idolized by her parents, the most -charming betrothed imaginable, after marriage became a fiend incarnate. -I do not doubt that Mlle. Cecile is an exception to the rule; but I am -not a young man, I am forty years old, and the difference between our -ages entails difficulties which would put it out of my power to make -the young lady happy, when Mme. la Presidente always carried out her -daughter’s every wish and listened to her as if Mademoiselle was an -oracle. What right have I to expect Mlle. Cecile to change her habits -and ideas? Instead of a father and mother who indulge her every whim, -she would find an egotistic man of forty; if she should resist, the man -of forty would have the worst of it. So, as an honest man--I withdraw. -If there should be any need to explain my visit here, I desire to be -entirely sacrificed--” - -“If these are your motives, sir,” said the future peer of France, -“however singular they may be, they are plausible--” - -“Do not call my sincerity in question, sir,” Brunner interrupted -quickly. “If you know of a penniless girl, one of a large family, well -brought up but without fortune, as happens very often in France; and if -her character offers me security, I will marry her.” - -A pause followed; Frederic Brunner left Cecile’s grandfather and -politely took leave of his host and hostess. When he was gone, Cecile -appeared, a living commentary upon her Werther’s leave-taking; she was -ghastly pale. She had hidden in her mother’s wardrobe and overheard the -whole conversation. - -“Refused!...” she said in a low voice for her mother’s ear. - -“And why?” asked the Presidente, fixing her eyes upon her embarrassed -father-in-law. - -“Upon the fine pretext that an only daughter is a spoilt child,” replied -that gentleman. “And he is not altogether wrong there,” he added, -seizing an opportunity of putting the blame on the daughter-in-law, who -had worried him not a little for twenty years. - -“It will kill my child!” cried the Presidente, “and it is your doing!” - she exclaimed, addressing Pons, as she supported her fainting daughter, -for Cecile thought well to make good her mother’s words by sinking into -her arms. The President and his wife carried Cecile to an easy-chair, -where she swooned outright. The grandfather rang for the servants. - -“It is a plot of his weaving; I see it all now,” said the infuriated -mother. - -Pons sprang up as if the trump of doom were sounding in his ears. - -“Yes!” said the lady, her eyes like two springs of green bile, “this -gentleman wished to repay a harmless joke by an insult. Who will believe -that that German was right in his mind? He is either an accomplice in -a wicked scheme of revenge, or he is crazy. I hope, M. Pons, that in -future you will spare us the annoyance of seeing you in the house where -you have tried to bring shame and dishonor.” - -Pons stood like a statue, with his eyes fixed on the pattern of the -carpet. - -“Well! Are you still here, monster of ingratitude?” cried she, turning -round on Pons, who was twirling his thumbs.--“Your master and I are -never at home, remember, if this gentleman calls,” she continued, -turning to the servants.--“Jean, go for the doctor; and bring hartshorn, -Madeleine.” - -In the Presidente’s eyes, the reason given by Brunner was simply an -excuse, there was something else behind; but, at the same time, the fact -that the marriage was broken off was only the more certain. A woman’s -mind works swiftly in great crises, and Mme. de Marville had hit at once -upon the one method of repairing the check. She chose to look upon it as -a scheme of revenge. This notion of ascribing a fiendish scheme to -Pons satisfied family honor. Faithful to her dislike of the cousin, she -treated a feminine suspicion as a fact. Women, generally speaking, hold -a creed peculiar to themselves, a code of their own; to them anything -which serves their interests or their passions is true. The Presidente -went a good deal further. In the course of the evening she talked -the President into her belief, and next morning found the magistrate -convinced of his cousin’s culpability. - -Every one, no doubt, will condemn the lady’s horrible conduct; but what -mother in Mme. Camusot’s position will not do the same? Put the choice -between her own daughter and an alien, she will prefer to sacrifice the -honor of the latter. There are many ways of doing this, but the end in -view is the same. - -The old musician fled down the staircase in haste; but he went slowly -along the boulevards to his theatre, he turned in mechanically at the -door, and mechanically he took his place and conducted the orchestra. In -the interval he gave such random answers to Schmucke’s questions, that -his old friend dissembled his fear that Pons’ mind had given way. To -so childlike a nature, the recent scene took the proportions of a -catastrophe. He had meant to make every one happy, and he had aroused -a terrible slumbering feeling of hate; everything had been turned -topsy-turvy. He had at last seen mortal hate in the Presidente’s eyes, -tones, and gesture. - -On the morrow, Mme. Camusot de Marville made a great resolution; -the President likewise sanctioned the step now forced upon them by -circumstances. It was determined that the estate of Marville should be -settled upon Cecile at the time of her marriage, as well as the house in -the Rue de Hanovre and a hundred thousand francs. In the course of the -morning, the Presidente went to call upon the Comtesse Popinot; for she -saw plainly that nothing but a settled marriage could enable them -to recover after such a check. To the Comtesse Popinot she told the -shocking story of Pons’ revenge, Pons’ hideous hoax. It all seemed -probable enough when it came out that the marriage had been broken off -simply on the pretext that Cecile was an only daughter. The Presidente -next dwelt artfully upon the advantage of adding “de Marville” to the -name of Popinot; and the immense dowry. At the present price fetched by -land in Normandy, at two per cent, the property represented nine hundred -thousand francs, and the house in the Rue de Hanovre about two hundred -and fifty thousand. No reasonable family could refuse such an alliance. -The Comte and Comtesse Popinot accepted; and as they were now touched by -the honor of the family which they were about to enter, they promised to -help explain away yesterday evening’s mishap. - -And now in the house of the elder Camusot, before the very persons who -had heard Mme. de Marville singing Frederic Brunner’s praises but a -few days ago, that lady, to whom nobody ventured to speak on the topic, -plunged courageously into explanations. - -“Really, nowadays” (she said), “one could not be too careful if a -marriage was in question, especially if one had to do with foreigners.” - -“And why, madame?” - -“What has happened to you?” asked Mme. Chiffreville. - -“Do you not know about our adventure with that Brunner, who had the -audacity to aspire to marry Cecile? His father was a German that kept a -wine-shop, and his uncle is a dealer in rabbit-skins!” - -“Is it possible? So clear-sighted as you are!...” murmured a lady. - -“These adventurers are so cunning. But we found out everything through -Berthier. His friend is a beggar that plays the flute. He is friendly -with a person who lets furnished lodgings in the Rue du Mail and some -tailor or other.... We found out that he had led a most disreputable -life, and no amount of fortune would be enough for a scamp that has run -through his mother’s property.” - -“Why, Mlle. de Marville would have been wretched!” said Mme. Berthier. - -“How did he come to your house?” asked old Mme. Lebas. - -“It was M. Pons. Out of revenge, he introduced this fine gentleman -to us, to make us ridiculous.... This Brunner (it is the same name -as Fontaine in French)--this Brunner, that was made out to be such a -grandee, has poor enough health, he is bald, and his teeth are bad. The -first sight of him was enough for me; I distrusted him from the first.” - -“But how about the great fortune that you spoke of?” a young married -woman asked shyly. - -“The fortune was not nearly so large as they said. These tailors and the -landlord and he all scraped the money together among them, and put all -their savings into this bank that they are starting. What is a bank for -those that begin in these days? Simply a license to ruin themselves. -A banker’s wife may lie down at night a millionaire and wake up in the -morning with nothing but her settlement. At first word, at the very -first sight of him, we made up our minds about this gentleman--he is not -one of us. You can tell by his gloves, by his waistcoat, that he is -a working man, the son of a man that kept a pot-house somewhere in -Germany; he has not the instincts of a gentleman; he drinks beer, and -he smokes--smokes? ah! madame, _twenty-five pipes a day!_... What would -have become of poor Lili? ... It makes me shudder even now to think of -it. God has indeed preserved us! And besides, Cecile never liked him.... -Who would have expected such a trick from a relative, an old friend of -the house that had dined with us twice a week for twenty years? We have -loaded him with benefits, and he played his game so well, that he said -Cecile was his heir before the Keeper of the Seals and the Attorney -General and the Home Secretary!... That Brunner and M. Pons had their -story ready, and each of them said that the other was worth millions!... -No, I do assure you, all of you would have been taken in by an artist’s -hoax like that.” - -In a few weeks’ time, the united forces of the Camusot and Popinot -families gained an easy victory in the world, for nobody undertook -to defend the unfortunate Pons, that parasite, that curmudgeon, that -skinflint, that smooth-faced humbug, on whom everybody heaped scorn; he -was a viper cherished in the bosom of the family, he had not his match -for spite, he was a dangerous mountebank whom nobody ought to mention. - - - -About a month after the perfidious Werther’s withdrawal, poor Pons left -his bed for the first time after an attack of nervous fever, and walked -along the sunny side of the street leaning on Schmucke’s arm. Nobody in -the Boulevard du Temple laughed at the “pair of nutcrackers,” for one of -the old men looked so shattered, and the other so touchingly careful -of his invalid friend. By the time that they reached the Boulevard -Poissonniere, a little color came back to Pons’ face; he was breathing -the air of the boulevards, he felt the vitalizing power of the -atmosphere of the crowded street, the life-giving property of the air -that is noticeable in quarters where human life abounds; in the filthy -Roman Ghetto, for instance, with its swarming Jewish population, where -malaria is unknown. Perhaps, too, the sight of the streets, the great -spectacle of Paris, the daily pleasure of his life, did the invalid -good. They walked on side by side, though Pons now and again left his -friend to look at the shop windows. Opposite the Theatre des Varietes he -saw Count Popinot, and went up to him very respectfully, for of all men -Pons esteemed and venerated the ex-Minister. - -The peer of France answered him severely: - -“I am at a loss to understand, sir, how you can have no more tact than -to speak to a near connection of a family whom you tried to brand with -shame and ridicule by a trick which no one but an artist could devise. -Understand this, sir, that from to-day we must be complete strangers -to each other. Mme. la Comtesse Popinot, like every one else, feels -indignant at your behavior to the Marvilles.” - -And Count Popinot passed on, leaving Pons thunderstruck. Passion, -justice, policy, and great social forces never take into account the -condition of the human creature whom they strike down. The statesman, -driven by family considerations to crush Pons, did not so much as see -the physical weakness of his redoubtable enemy. - -“Vat is it, mine boor friend?” exclaimed Schmucke, seeing how white Pons -had grown. - -“It is a fresh stab in the heart,” Pons replied, leaning heavily on -Schmucke’s arm. “I think that no one, save God in heaven, can have any -right to do good, and that is why all those who meddle in His work are -so cruelly punished.” - -The old artist’s sarcasm was uttered with a supreme effort; he was -trying, excellent creature, to quiet the dismay visible in Schmucke’s -face. - -“So I dink,” Schmucke replied simply. - -Pons could not understand it. Neither the Camusots nor the Popinots had -sent him notice of Cecile’s wedding. - -On the Boulevard des Italiens Pons saw M. Cardot coming towards them. -Warned by Count Popinot’s allocution, Pons was very careful not to -accost the old acquaintance with whom he had dined once a fortnight for -the last year; he lifted his hat, but the other, mayor and deputy -of Paris, threw him an indignant glance and went by. Pons turned to -Schmucke. - -“Do go and ask him what it is that they all have against me,” he said to -the friend who knew all the details of the catastrophe that Pons could -tell him. - -“Mennseir,” Schmucke began diplomatically, “mine friend Bons is chust -recofering from an illness; you haf no doubt fail to rekognize him?” - -“Not in the least.” - -“But mit vat kann you rebroach him?” - -“You have a monster of ingratitude for a friend, sir; if he is still -alive, it is because nothing kills ill weeds. People do well to mistrust -artists; they are as mischievous and spiteful as monkeys. This friend -of yours tried to dishonor his own family, and to blight a young girl’s -character, in revenge for a harmless joke. I wish to have nothing to do -with him; I shall do my best to forget that I have known him, or that -such a man exists. All the members of his family and my own share the -wish, sir, so do all the persons who once did the said Pons the honor of -receiving him.” - -“Boot, mennseir, you are a reasonaple mann; gif you vill bermit me, I -shall exblain die affair--” - -“You are quite at liberty to remain his friend, sir, if you are minded -that way,” returned Cardot, “but you need go no further; for I must give -you warning that in my opinion those who try to excuse or defend his -conduct are just as much to blame.” - -“To chustify it?” - -“Yes, for his conduct can neither be justified nor qualified.” And with -that word, the deputy for the Seine went his way; he would not hear -another syllable. - -“I have two powers in the State against me,” smiled poor Pons, when -Schmucke had repeated these savage speeches. - -“Eferpody is against us,” Schmucke answered dolorously. “Let us go avay -pefore we shall meed oder fools.” - -Never before in the course of a truly ovine life had Schmucke uttered -such words as these. Never before had his almost divine meekness been -ruffled. He had smiled childlike on all the mischances that befell him, -but he could not look and see his sublime Pons maltreated; his Pons, his -unknown Aristides, the genius resigned to his lot, the nature that knew -no bitterness, the treasury of kindness, the heart of gold!... -Alceste’s indignation filled Schmucke’s soul--he was moved to call Pons’ -amphitryons “fools.” For his pacific nature that impulse equaled the -wrath of Roland. - -With wise foresight, Schmucke turned to go home by the way of the -Boulevard du Temple, Pons passively submitting like a fallen fighter, -heedless of blows; but chance ordered that he should know that all his -world was against him. The House of Peers, the Chamber of Deputies, -strangers and the family, the strong, the weak, and the innocent, all -combined to send down the avalanche. - -In the Boulevard Poissonniere, Pons caught sight of that very M. -Cardot’s daughter, who, young as she was, had learned to be charitable -to others through trouble of her own. Her husband knew a secret by which -he kept her in bondage. She was the only one among Pons’ hostesses -whom he called by her Christian name; he addressed Mme. Berthier as -“Felicie,” and he thought that she understood him. The gentle creature -seemed to be distressed by the sight of Cousin Pons, as he was called -(though he was in no way related to the family of the second wife of a -cousin by marriage). There was no help for it, however; Felicie Berthier -stopped to speak to the invalid. - -“I did not think you were cruel, cousin,” she said; “but if even a -quarter of all that I hear of you is true, you are very false.... Oh! -do not justify yourself,” she added quickly, seeing Pons’ significant -gesture, “it is useless, for two reasons. In the first place, I have no -right to accuse or judge or condemn anybody, for I myself know so well -how much may be said for those who seem to be most guilty; secondly, -your explanation would do no good. M. Berthier drew up the marriage -contract for Mlle. de Marville and the Vicomte Popinot; he is so -exasperated, that if he knew that I had so much as spoken one word to -you, one word for the last time, he would scold me. Everybody is against -you.” - -“So it seems indeed, madame,” Pons said, his voice shaking as he lifted -his hat respectfully. - -Painfully he made his way back to the Rue de Normandie. The old German -knew from the heavy weight on his arm that his friend was struggling -bravely against failing physical strength. That third encounter was like -the verdict of the Lamb at the foot of the throne of God; and the anger -of the Angel of the Poor, the symbol of the Peoples, is the last word of -Heaven. They reached home without another word. - -There are moments in our lives when the sense that our friend is near -is all that we can bear. Our wounds smart under the consoling words that -only reveal the depths of pain. The old pianist, you see, possessed a -genius for friendship, the tact of those who, having suffered much, knew -the customs of suffering. - -Pons was never to take a walk again. From one illness he fell into -another. He was of a sanguine-bilious temperament, the bile passed into -his blood, and a violent liver attack was the result. He had never known -a day’s illness in his life till a month ago; he had never consulted a -doctor; so La Cibot, with almost motherly care and intentions at first -of the very best, called in “the doctor of the quarter.” - -In every quarter of Paris there is a doctor whose name and address are -only known to the working classes, to the little tradespeople and the -porters, and in consequence he is called “the doctor of the quarter.” - He undertakes confinement cases, he lets blood, he is in the medical -profession pretty much what the “general servant” of the advertising -column is in the scale of domestic service. He must perforce be kind -to the poor, and tolerably expert by reason of much practice, and he -is generally popular. Dr. Poulain, called in by Mme. Cibot, gave an -inattentive ear to the old musician’s complainings. Pons groaned out -that his skin itched; he had scratched himself all night long, till he -could scarcely feel. The look of his eyes, with the yellow circles about -them, corroborated the symptoms. - -“Had you some violent shock a couple of days ago?” the doctor asked the -patient. - -“Yes, alas!” - -“You have the same complaint that this gentleman was threatened with,” - said Dr. Poulain, looking at Schmucke as he spoke; “it is an attack -of jaundice, but you will soon get over it,” he added, as he wrote a -prescription. - -But in spite of that comfortable phrase, the doctor’s eyes had told -another tale as he looked professionally at the patient; and the -death-sentence, though hidden under stereotyped compassion, can always -be read by those who wish to know the truth. Mme. Cibot gave a spy’s -glance at the doctor, and read his thought; his bedside manner did not -deceive her; she followed him out of the room. - -“Do you think he will get over it?” asked Mme. Cibot, at the stairhead. - -“My dear Mme. Cibot, your lodger is a dead man; not because of the bile -in the system, but because his vitality is low. Still, with great care, -your patient may pull through. Somebody ought to take him away for a -change--” - -“How is he to go?” asked Mme. Cibot. “He has nothing to live upon but -his salary; his friend has just a little money from some great ladies, -very charitable ladies, in return for his services, it seems. They are -two children. I have looked after them for nine years.” - -“I spend my life watching people die, not of their disease, but of -another bad and incurable complaint--the want of money,” said the -doctor. “How often it happens that so far from taking a fee, I am -obliged to leave a five-franc piece on the mantel-shelf when I go--” - -“Poor, dear M. Poulain!” cried Mme. Cibot. “Ah, if you hadn’t only -the hundred thousand livres a year, what some stingy folks has in -the quarter (regular devils from hell they are), you would be like -Providence on earth.” - -Dr. Poulain had made the little practice, by which he made a bare -subsistence, chiefly by winning the esteem of the porters’ lodges in his -district. So he raised his eyes to heaven and thanked Mme. Cibot with a -solemn face worthy of Tartuffe. - -“Then you think that with careful nursing our dear patient will get -better, my dear M. Poulain?” - -“Yes, if this shock has not been too much for him.” - -“Poor man! who can have vexed him? There isn’t nobody like him on earth -except his friend M. Schmucke. I will find out what is the matter, and -I will undertake to give them that upset my gentleman a hauling over the -coals--” - -“Look here, my dear Mme. Cibot,” said the doctor as they stood in -the gateway, “one of the principal symptoms of his complaint is great -irritability; and as it is hardly to be supposed that he can afford a -nurse, the task of nursing him will fall to you. So--” - -“Are you talking of Mouchieu Ponsh?” asked the marine store-dealer. He -was sitting smoking on the curb-post in the gateway, and now he rose to -join in the conversation. - -“Yes, Daddy Remonencq.” - -“All right,” said Remonencq, “ash to moneysh, he ish better off than -Mouchieu Monishtrol and the big men in the curioshity line. I know -enough in the art line to tell you thish--the dear man has treasursh!” - he spoke with a broad Auvergne dialect. - -“Look here, I thought you were laughing at me the other day when my -gentlemen were out and I showed you the old rubbish upstairs,” said Mme. -Cibot. - -In Paris, where walls have ears, where doors have tongues, and window -bars have eyes, there are few things more dangerous than the practice -of standing to chat in a gateway. Partings are like postscripts to a -letter--indiscreet utterances that do as much mischief to the speaker -as to those who overhear them. A single instance will be sufficient as a -parallel to an event in this history. - -In the time of the Empire, when men paid considerable attention to their -hair, one of the first coiffeurs of the day came out of a house where -he had just been dressing a pretty woman’s head. This artist in question -enjoyed the custom of all the lower floor inmates of the house; -and among these, there flourished an elderly bachelor guarded by a -housekeeper who detested her master’s next-of-kin. The _ci-devant_ young -man, falling seriously ill, the most famous of doctors of the day (they -were not as yet styled the “princes of science”) had been called in to -consult upon his case; and it so chanced that the learned gentlemen were -taking leave of one another in the gateway just as the hairdresser came -out. They were talking as doctors usually talk among themselves when -the farce of a consultation is over. “He is a dead man,” quoth Dr. -Haudry.--“He had not a month to live,” added Desplein, “unless a miracle -takes place.”--These were the words overheard by the hairdresser. - -Like all hairdressers, he kept up a good understanding with his -customers’ servants. Prodigious greed sent the man upstairs again; -he mounted to the _ci-devant_ young man’s apartment, and promised the -servant-mistress a tolerably handsome commission to persuade her master -to sink a large portion of his money in an annuity. The dying bachelor, -fifty-six by count of years, and twice as old as his age by reason of -amorous campaigns, owned, among other property, a splendid house in -the Rue de Richelieu, worth at that time about two hundred and fifty -thousand francs. It was this house that the hairdresser coveted; and -on agreement to pay an annuity of thirty thousand francs so long as the -bachelor lived, it passed into his hands. This happened in 1806. And -in this year 1846 the hairdresser is still paying that annuity. He has -retired from business, he is seventy years old; the _ci-devant_ young -man is in his dotage; and as he has married his Mme. Evrard, he may last -for a long while yet. As the hairdresser gave the woman thirty thousand -francs, his bit of real estate has cost him, first and last, more than -a million, and the house at this day is worth eight or nine hundred -thousand francs. - -Like the hairdresser, Remonencq the Auvergnat had overheard Brunner’s -parting remark in the gateway on the day of Cecile’s first interview -with that phoenix of eligible men. Remonencq at once longed to gain a -sight of Pons’ museum; and as he lived on good terms with his neighbors -the Cibots, it was not very long before the opportunity came one day -when the friends were out. The sight of such treasures dazzled him; he -saw a “good haul,” in dealers’ phrase, which being interpreted means a -chance to steal a fortune. He had been meditating this for five or six -days. - -“I am sho far from joking,” he said, in reply to Mme. Cibot’s remark, -“that we will talk the thing over; and if the good shentleman will take -an annuity, of fifty thousand francsh, I will shtand a hamper of wine, -if--” - -“Fifty thousand francs!” interrupted the doctor; “what are you -thinking about? Why, if the good man is so well off as that, with me in -attendance, and Mme. Cibot to nurse him, he may get better--for liver -complaint is a disease that attacks strong constitutions.” - -“Fifty, did I shay? Why, a shentleman here, on your very doorshtep, -offered him sheven hundred thoushand francsh, shimply for the pictursh, -_fouchtra_!” - -While Remonencq made this announcement, Mme. Cibot was looking at Dr. -Poulain. There was a strange expression in her eyes; the devil might -have kindled that sinister glitter in their tawny depths. - -“Oh, come! we must not pay any attention to such idle tales,” said the -doctor, well pleased, however, to find that his patient could afford to -pay for his visits. - -“If my dear Mme. Cibot, here, would let me come and bring an ekshpert -(shinsh the shentleman upshtairs ish in bed), I will shertainly find the -money in a couple of hoursh, even if sheven hundred thousand francsh ish -in queshtion--” - -“All right, my friend,” said the doctor. “Now, Mme. Cibot, be careful -never to contradict the invalid. You must be prepared to be very patient -with him, for he will find everything irritating and wearisome, even -your services; nothing will please him; you must expect grumbling--” - -“He will be uncommonly hard to please,” said La Cibot. - -“Look here, mind what I tell you,” the doctor said in a tone of -authority, “M. Pons’ life is in the hands of those that nurse him; I -shall come perhaps twice a day. I shall take him first on my round.” - -The doctor’s profound indifference to the fate of a poor patient had -suddenly given place to a most tender solicitude when he saw that -the speculator was serious, and that there was a possible fortune in -question. - -“He will be nursed like a king,” said Madame Cibot, forcing up -enthusiasm. She waited till the doctor turned the corner into the Rue -Charlot; then she fell to talking again with the dealer in old iron. -Remonencq had finished smoking his pipe, and stood in the doorway of his -shop, leaning against the frame; he had purposely taken this position; -he meant the portress to come to him. - -The shop had once been a cafe. Nothing had been changed there since the -Auvergnat discovered it and took over the lease; you could still read -“Cafe de Normandie” on the strip left above the windows in all -modern shops. Remonencq had found somebody, probably a housepainter’s -apprentice, who did the work for nothing, to paint another inscription -in the remaining space below--“REMONENCQ,” it ran, “DEALER IN MARINE -STORES, FURNITURE BOUGHT”--painted in small black letters. All the -mirrors, tables, seats, shelves, and fittings of the Cafe de Normandie -had been sold, as might have been expected, before Remonencq took -possession of the shop as it stood, paying a yearly rent of six hundred -francs for the place, with a back shop, a kitchen, and a single room -above, where the head-waiter used to sleep, for the house belonging to -the Cafe de Normandie was let separately. Of the former splendor of -the cafe, nothing now remained save the plain light green paper on the -walls, and the strong iron bolts and bars of the shop-front. - -When Remonencq came hither in 1831, after the Revolution of July, he -began by displaying a selection of broken doorbells, cracked plates, -old iron, and the obsolete scales and weights abolished by a Government -which alone fails to carry out its own regulations, for pence and half -pence of the time of Louis XVI. are still in circulation. After a time -this Auvergnat, a match for five ordinary Auvergnats, bought up old -saucepans and kettles, old picture-frames, old copper, and chipped -china. Gradually, as the shop was emptied and filled, the quality of the -stock-in-trade improved, like Nicolet’s farces. Remonencq persisted in -an unfailing and prodigiously profitable martingale, a “system” which -any philosophical idler may study as he watches the increasing value of -the stock kept by this intelligent class of trader. Picture-frames and -copper succeed to tin-ware, argand lamps, and damaged crockery; china -marks the next transition; and after no long tarriance in the “omnium -gatherum” stage, the shop becomes a museum. Some day or other the -dusty windows are cleaned, the interior is restored, the Auvergnat -relinquishes velveteen and jackets for a great-coat, and there he sits -like a dragon guarding his treasure, surrounded by masterpieces! He is a -cunning connoisseur by this time; he has increased his capital tenfold; -he is not to be cheated; he knows the tricks of the trade. The monster -among his treasures looks like some old hag among a score of young girls -that she offers to the public. Beauty and miracles of art are alike -indifferent to him; subtle and dense as he is, he has a keen eye to -profits, he talks roughly to those who know less than he does; he has -learned to act a part, he pretends to love his pictures, or again he -lets you know the price he himself gave for the things, he offers to let -you see the memoranda of the sale. He is a Proteus; in one hour he can -be Jocrisse, Janot, _Queue-rouge_, Mondor, Hapagon, or Nicodeme. - -The third year found armor, and old pictures, and some tolerably fine -clocks in Remonencq’s shop. He sent for his sister, and La Remonencq -came on foot all the way from Auvergne to take charge of the shop while -her brother was away. A big and very ugly woman, dressed like a Japanese -idol, a half-idiotic creature with a vague, staring gaze she would not -bate a centime of the prices fixed by her brother. In the intervals -of business she did the work of the house, and solved the apparently -insoluble problem--how to live on “the mists of the Seine.” The -Remonencqs’ diet consisted of bread and herrings, with the outside -leaves of lettuce or vegetable refuse selected from the heaps deposited -in the kennel before the doors of eating-houses. The two between them -did not spend more than fivepence a day on food (bread included), and La -Remonencq earned the money by sewing or spinning. - -Remonencq came to Paris in the first instance to work as an errand-boy. -Between the years 1825 and 1831 he ran errands for dealers in -curiosities in the Boulevard Beaumarchais or coppersmiths in the Rue -de Lappe. It is the usual start in life in his line of business. Jews, -Normans, Auvergnats, and Savoyards, those four different races of men -all have the same instincts, and make their fortunes in the same way; -they spend nothing, make small profits, and let them accumulate at -compound interest. Such is their trading charter, and _that_ charter is -no delusion. - -Remonencq at this moment had made it up with his old master Monistrol; -he did business with wholesale dealers, he was a _chineur_ (the -technical word), plying his trade in the _banlieue_, which, as everybody -knows, extends for some forty leagues round Paris. - -After fourteen years of business, he had sixty thousand francs in hand -and a well-stocked shop. He lived in the Rue de Normandie because the -rent was low, but casual customers were scarce, most of his goods were -sold to other dealers, and he was content with moderate gains. All -his business transactions were carried on in the Auvergue dialect or -_charabia_, as people call it. - -Remonencq cherished a dream! He wished to establish himself on a -boulevard, to be a rich dealer in curiosities, and do a direct trade -with amateurs some day. And, indeed, within him there was a formidable -man of business. His countenance was the more inscrutable because it was -glazed over by a deposit of dust and particles of metal glued together -by the sweat of his brow; for he did everything himself, and the use -and wont of bodily labor had given him something of the stoical -impassibility of the old soldiers of 1799. - -In personal appearance Remonencq was short and thin; his little -eyes were set in his head in porcine fashion; a Jew’s slyness and -concentrated greed looked out of those dull blue circles, though in his -case the false humility that masks the Hebrew’s unfathomed contempt for -the Gentile was lacking. - -The relations between the Cibots and the Remonencqs were those of -benefactors and recipients. Mme. Cibot, convinced that the Auvergnats -were wretchedly poor, used to let them have the remainder of “her -gentlemen’s” dinners at ridiculous prices. The Remonencqs would buy -a pound of broken bread, crusts and crumbs, for a farthing, a -porringer-full of cold potatoes for something less, and other scraps in -proportion. Remonencq shrewdly allowed them to believe that he was -not in business on his own account, he worked for Monistrol, the rich -shopkeepers preyed upon him, he said, and the Cibots felt sincerely -sorry for Remonencq. The velveteen jacket, waistcoat, and trousers, -particularly affected by Auvergnats, were covered with patches of -Cibot’s making, and not a penny had the little tailor charged for -repairs which kept the three garments together after eleven years of -wear. - -Thus we see that all Jews are not in Israel. - -“You are not laughing at me, Remonencq, are you?” asked the portress. -“Is it possible that M. Pons has such a fortune, living as he does? -There is not a hundred francs in the place--” - -“Amateursh are all like that,” Remonencq remarked sententiously. - -“Then do you think that my gentleman has worth of seven hundred thousand -francs, eh?--” - -“In pictures alone,” continued Remonencq (it is needless, for the -sake of clearness in the story, to give any further specimens of his -frightful dialect). “If he would take fifty thousand francs for one up -there that I know of, I would find the money if I had to hang myself. -Do you remember those little frames full of enameled copper on crimson -velvet, hanging among the portraits?... Well, those are Petitot’s -enamels; and there is a cabinet minister as used to be a druggist that -will give three thousand francs apiece for them.” - -La Cibot’s eyes opened wide. “There are thirty of them in the pair of -frames!” she said. - -“Very well, you can judge for yourself how much he is worth.” - -Mme. Cibot’s head was swimming; she wheeled round. In a moment came the -thought that she would have a legacy, _she_ would sleep sound on old -Pons’ will, like the other servant-mistresses whose annuities had -aroused such envy in the Marais. Her thoughts flew to some commune in -the neighborhood of Paris; she saw herself strutting proudly about her -house in the country, looking after her garden and poultry yard, ending -her days, served like a queen, along with her poor dear Cibot, who -deserved such good fortune, like all angelic creatures whom nobody knows -nor appreciates. - -Her abrupt, unthinking movement told Remonencq that success was sure. -In the _chineur’s_ way of business--the _chineur_, be it explained, goes -about the country picking up bargains at the expense of the ignorant--in -the _chineur’s_ way of business, the one real difficulty is the problem -of gaining an entrance to a house. No one can imagine the Scapin’s -roguery, the tricks of a Sganarelle, the wiles of a Dorine by which the -_chineur_ contrives to make a footing for himself. These comedies are -as good as a play, and founded indeed on the old stock theme of the -dishonesty of servants. For thirty francs in money or goods, servants, -and especially country servants, will sometimes conclude a bargain on -which the _chineur_ makes a profit of a thousand or two thousand francs. -If we could but know the history of such and such a service of Sevres -porcelain, _pate tendre_, we should find that all the intellect, all the -diplomatic subtlety displayed at Munster, Nimeguen, Utrecht, Ryswick, -and Vienna was surpassed by the _chineur_. His is the more frank comedy; -his methods of action fathom depths of personal interest quite as -profound as any that plenipotentiaries can explore in their difficult -search for any means of breaking up the best cemented alliances. - -“I have set La Cibot nicely on fire,” Remonencq told his sister, when -she came to take up her position again on the ramshackle chair. “And -now,” he continued, “I shall go to consult the only man that knows, our -Jew, a good sort of Jew that did not ask more than fifteen per cent of -us for his money.” - -Remonencq had read La Cibot’s heart. To will is to act with women of her -stamp. Let them see the end in view; they will stick at nothing to gain -it, and pass from scrupulous honesty to the last degree of scoundrelism -in the twinkling of an eye. Honesty, like most dispositions of mind, is -divided into two classes--negative and positive. La Cibot’s honesty was -of the negative order; she and her like are honest until they see their -way clear to gain money belonging to somebody else. Positive honesty, -the honesty of the bank collector, can wade knee-deep through -temptations. - -A torrent of evil thoughts invaded La Cibot’s heart and brain so soon -as Remonencq’s diabolical suggestion opened the flood-gates of -self-interest. La Cibot climbed, or, to be more accurate, fled up the -stairs, opened the door on the landing, and showed a face disguised in -false solicitude in the doorway of the room where Pons and Schmucke -were bemoaning themselves. As soon as she came in, Schmucke made her a -warning sign; for, true friend and sublime German that he was, he too -had read the doctor’s eyes, and he was afraid that Mme. Cibot might -repeat the verdict. Mme. Cibot answered by a shake of the head -indicative of deep woe. - -“Well, my dear monsieur,” asked she, “how are you feeling?” She sat down -on the foot of the bed, hands on hips, and fixed her eyes lovingly upon -the patient; but what a glitter of metal there was in them, a terrible, -tiger-like gleam if any one had watched her. - -“I feel very ill,” answered poor Pons. “I have not the slightest -appetite left.--Oh! the world, the world!” he groaned, squeezing -Schmucke’s hand. Schmucke was sitting by his bedside, and doubtless the -sick man was talking of the causes of his illness.--“I should have done -far better to follow your advice, my good Schmucke, and dined here every -day, and given up going into this society, that has fallen on me with -all its weight, like a tumbril cart crushing an egg! And why?” - -“Come, come, don’t complain, M. Pons,” said La Cibot; “the doctor told -me just how it is--” - -Schmucke tugged at her gown.--“And you will pull through,” she -continued, “only we must take great care of you. Be easy, you have a -good friend beside you, and without boasting, a woman as will nurse you -like a mother nurses her first child. I nursed Cibot round once when -Dr. Poulain had given him over; he had the shroud up to his eyes, as the -saying is, and they gave him up for dead. Well, well, you have not come -to that yet, God be thanked, ill though you may be. Count on me; I would -pull you through all by myself, I would! Keep still, don’t you fidget -like that.” - -She pulled the coverlet over the patient’s hands as she spoke. - -“There, sonny! M. Schmucke and I will sit up with you of nights. A -prince won’t be no better nursed... and besides, you needn’t refuse -yourself nothing that’s necessary, you can afford it.--I have just been -talking things over with Cibot, for what would he do without me, poor -dear?--Well, and I talked him round; we are both so fond of you, that he -will let me stop up with you of a night. And that is a good deal to ask -of a man like him, for he is as fond of me as ever he was the day we -were married. I don’t know how it is. It is the lodge, you see; we are -always there together! Don’t you throw off the things like that!” she -cried, making a dash for the bedhead to draw the coverlet over Pons’ -chest. “If you are not good, and don’t do just as Dr. Poulain says--and -Dr. Poulain is the image of Providence on earth--I will have no more to -do with you. You must do as I tell you--” - -“Yes, Montame Zipod, he vill do vat you dell him,” put in Schmucke; “he -vants to lif for his boor friend Schmucke’s sake, I’ll pe pound.” - -“And of all things, don’t fidget yourself,” continued La Cibot, “for -your illness makes you quite bad enough without your making it worse for -want of patience. God sends us our troubles, my dear good gentlemen; He -punishes us for our sins. Haven’t you nothing to reproach yourself with? -some poor little bit of a fault or other?” - -The invalid shook his head. - -“Oh! go on! You were young once, you had your fling, there is some -love-child of yours somewhere--cold, and starving, and homeless.... What -monsters men are! Their love doesn’t last only for a day, and then in -a jiffy they forget, they don’t so much as think of the child at the -breast for months.... Poor women!” - -“But no one has ever loved me except Schmucke and my mother,” poor Pons -broke in sadly. - -“Oh! come, you aren’t no saint! You were young in your time, and a -fine-looking young fellow you must have been at twenty. I should have -fallen in love with you myself, so nice as you are--” - -“I always was as ugly as a toad,” Pons put in desperately. - -“You say that because you are modest; nobody can’t say that you aren’t -modest.” - -“My dear Mme. Cibot, _no_, I tell you. I always was ugly, and I never -was loved in my life.” - -“You, indeed!” cried the portress. “You want to make me believe at this -time of day that you are as innocent as a young maid at your time of -life. Tell that to your granny! A musician at a theatre too! Why, if a -woman told me that, I wouldn’t believe her.” - -“Montame Zipod, you irritate him!” cried Schmucke, seeing that Pons was -writhing under the bedclothes. - -“You hold your tongue too! You are a pair of old libertines. If you -were ugly, it don’t make no difference; there was never so ugly a -saucepan-lid but it found a pot to match, as the saying is. There is -Cibot, he got one of the handsomest oyster-women in Paris to fall in -love with him, and you are infinitely better looking than him! You are -a nice pair, you are! Come, now, you have sown your wild oats, and God -will punish you for deserting your children, like Abraham--” - -Exhausted though he was, the invalid gathered up all his strength to -make a vehement gesture of denial. - -“Do lie quiet; if you have, it won’t prevent you from living as long as -Methuselah.” - -“Then, pray let me be quiet!” groaned Pons. “I have never known what it -is to be loved. I have had no child; I am alone in the world.” - -“Really, eh?” returned the portress. “You are so kind, and that is what -women like, you see--it draws them--and it looked to me impossible that -when you were in your prime--” - -“Take her away,” Pons whispered to Schmucke; “she sets my nerves on -edge.” - -“Then there’s M. Schmucke, he has children. You old bachelors are not -all like that--” - -“_I!_” cried Schmucke, springing to his feet, “vy!--” - -“Come, then, you have none to come after you either, eh? You both sprung -up out of the earth like mushrooms--” - -“Look here, komm mit me,” said Schmucke. The good German manfully took -Mme. Cibot by the waist and carried her off into the next room, in spite -of her exclamations. - -“At your age, you would not take advantage of a defenceless woman!” - cried La Cibot, struggling in his arms. - -“Don’t make a noise!” - -“You too, the better one of the two!” returned La Cibot. “Ah! it is my -fault for talking about love to two old men who have never had nothing -to do with women. I have roused your passions,” cried she, as Schmucke’s -eyes glittered with wrath. “Help! help! police!” - -“You are a stoopid!” said the German. “Look here, vat tid de toctor -say?” - -“You are a ruffian to treat me so,” wept La Cibot, now released,--“me -that would go through fire and water for you both! Ah! well, well, they -say that that is the way with men--and true it is! There is my poor -Cibot, _he_ would not be rough with me like this.... And I treated you -like my children, for I have none of my own; and yesterday, yes, only -yesterday I said to Cibot, ‘God knew well what He was doing, dear,’ -I said, ‘when He refused us children, for I have two children there -upstairs.’ By the holy crucifix and the soul of my mother, that was what -I said to him--” - -“Eh! but vat did der doctor say?” Schmucke demanded furiously, stamping -on the floor for the first time in his life. - -“Well,” said Mme. Cibot, drawing Schmucke into the dining-room, “he just -said this--that our dear, darling love lying ill there would die if he -wasn’t carefully nursed; but I am here, in spite of all your brutality, -for brutal you were, you that I thought so gentle. And you are one -of that sort! Ah! now, you would not abuse a woman at your age, great -blackguard--” - -“Placard? I? Vill you not oonderstand that I lof nopody but Bons?” - -“Well and good, you will let me alone, won’t you?” said she, smiling at -Schmucke. “You had better; for if Cibot knew that anybody had attempted -his honor, he would break every bone in his skin.” - -“Take crate care of him, dear Montame Zipod,” answered Schmucke, and he -tried to take the portress’ hand. - -“Oh! look here now, _again_.” - -“Chust listen to me. You shall haf all dot I haf, gif ve safe him.” - -“Very well; I will go round to the chemist’s to get the things that are -wanted; this illness is going to cost a lot, you see, sir, and what will -you do?” - -“I shall vork; Bons shall be nursed like ein brince.” - -“So he shall, M. Schmucke; and look here, don’t you trouble about -nothing. Cibot and I, between us, have saved a couple of thousand -francs; they are yours; I have been spending money on you this long -time, I have.” - -“Goot voman!” cried Schmucke, brushing the tears from his eyes. “Vat ein -heart!” - -“Wipe your tears; they do me honor; this is my reward,” said La Cibot, -melodramatically. “There isn’t no more disinterested creature on earth -than me; but don’t you go into the room with tears in your eyes, or M. -Pons will be thinking himself worse than he is.” - -Schmucke was touched by this delicate feeling. He took La Cibot’s hand -and gave it a final squeeze. - -“Spare me!” cried the ex-oysterseller, leering at Schmucke. - -“Bons,” the good German said when he returned “Montame Zipod is an -anchel; ‘tis an anchel dat brattles, but an anchel all der same.” - -“Do you think so? I have grown suspicious in the past month,” said the -invalid, shaking his head. “After all I have been through, one comes to -believe in nothing but God and my friend--” - -“Get bedder, and ve vill lif like kings, all tree of us,” exclaimed -Schmucke. - - - -“Cibot!” panted the portress as she entered the lodge. “Oh, my dear, our -fortune is made. My two gentlemen haven’t nobody to come after them, no -natural children, no nothing, in short! Oh, I shall go round to Ma’am -Fontaine’s and get her to tell my fortune on the cards, then we shall -know how much we are going to have--” - -“Wife,” said the little tailor, “it’s ill counting on dead men’s shoes.” - -“Oh, I say, are _you_ going to worry me?” asked she, giving her spouse a -playful tap. “I know what I know! Dr. Poulain has given up M. Pons. And -we are going to be rich! My name will be down in the will.... I’ll see -to that. Draw your needle in and out, and look after the lodge; you will -not do it for long now. We will retire, and go into the country, out -at Batignolles. A nice house and a fine garden; you will amuse yourself -with gardening, and I shall keep a servant!” - -“Well, neighbor, and how are things going on upstairs?” The words were -spoken with the thick Auvergnat accent, and Remonencq put his head in at -the door. “Do you know what the collection is worth?” - -“No, no, not yet. One can’t go at that rate, my good man. I have begun, -myself, by finding out more important things--” - -“More important!” exclaimed Remonencq; “why, what things can be more -important?” - -“Come, let me do the steering, ragamuffin,” said La Cibot -authoritatively. - -“But thirty per cent on seven hundred thousand francs,” persisted the -dealer in old iron; “you could be your own mistress for the rest of your -days on that.” - -“Be easy, Daddy Remonencq; when we want to know the value of the things -that the old man has got together, then we will see.” - -La Cibot went for the medicine ordered by Dr. Poulain, and put off her -consultation with Mme. Fontaine until the morrow; the oracle’s faculties -would be fresher and clearer in the morning, she thought; and she would -go early, before everybody else came, for there was often a crowd at -Mme. Fontaine’s. - -Mme. Fontaine was at this time the oracle of the Marais; she had -survived the rival of forty years, the celebrated Mlle. Lenormand. No -one imagines the part that fortune-tellers play among Parisians of -the lower classes, nor the immense influence which they exert over the -uneducated; general servants, portresses, kept women, workmen, all -the many in Paris who live on hope, consult the privileged beings who -possess the mysterious power of reading the future. - -The belief of the occult science is far more widely spread than -scholars, lawyers, doctors, magistrates, and philosophers imagine. The -instincts of the people are ineradicable. One among those instincts, so -foolishly styled “superstition,” runs in the blood of the populace, and -tinges no less the intellects of better educated folk. More than one -French statesman has been known to consult the fortune-teller’s cards. -For sceptical minds, astrology, in French, so oddly termed _astrologie -judiciare_, is nothing more than a cunning device for making a profit -out of one of the strongest of all the instincts of human nature--to -wit, curiosity. The sceptical mind consequently denies that there is any -connection between human destiny and the prognostications obtained by -the seven or eight principal methods known to astrology; and the -occult sciences, like many natural phenomena, are passed over by the -freethinker or the materialist philosopher, _id est_, by those who -believe in nothing but visible and tangible facts, in the results given -by the chemist’s retort and the scales of modern physical science. -The occult sciences still exist; they are at work, but they make no -progress, for the greatest intellects of two centuries have abandoned -the field. - -If you only look at the practical side of divination, it seems absurd -to imagine that events in a man’s past life and secrets known only to -himself can be represented on the spur of the moment by a pack of cards -which he shuffles and cuts for the fortune-teller to lay out in piles -according to certain mysterious rules; but then the steam-engine was -condemned as absurd, aerial navigation is still said to be absurd, so -in their time were the inventions of gunpowder, printing, spectacles, -engraving, and that latest discovery of all--the daguerreotype. If any -man had come to Napoleon to tell him that a building or a figure is at -all times and in all places represented by an image in the atmosphere, -that every existing object has a spectral intangible double which may -become visible, the Emperor would have sent his informant to Charenton -for a lunatic, just as Richelieu before his day sent that Norman martyr, -Salomon de Caux, to the Bicetre for announcing his immense triumph, the -idea of navigation by steam. Yet Daguerre’s discovery amounts to nothing -more nor less than this. - -And if for some clairvoyant eyes God has written each man’s destiny over -his whole outward and visible form, if a man’s body is the record of his -fate, why should not the hand in a manner epitomize the body?--since the -hand represents the deed of man, and by his deeds he is known. - -Herein lies the theory of palmistry. Does not Society imitate God? At -the sight of a soldier we can predict that he will fight; of a lawyer, -that he will talk; of a shoemaker, that he shall make shoes or boots; of -a worker of the soil, that he shall dig the ground and dung it; and is -it a more wonderful thing that such an one with the “seer’s” gift should -foretell the events of a man’s life from his hand? - -To take a striking example. Genius is so visible in a man that a great -artist cannot walk about the streets of Paris but the most ignorant -people are conscious of his passing. He is a sun, as it were, in the -mental world, shedding light that colors everything in its path. And who -does not know an idiot at once by an impression the exact opposite of -the sensation of the presence of genius? Most observers of human nature -in general, and Parisian nature in particular, can guess the profession -or calling of the man in the street. - -The mysteries of the witches’ Sabbath, so wonderfully painted in the -sixteenth century, are no mysteries for us. The Egyptian ancestors of -that mysterious people of Indian origin, the gypsies of the present day, -simply used to drug their clients with hashish, a practice that -fully accounts for broomstick rides and flights up the chimney, the -real-seeming visions, so to speak, of old crones transformed into young -damsels, the frantic dances, the exquisite music, and all the fantastic -tales of devil-worship. - -So many proven facts have been first discovered by occult science, that -some day we shall have professors of occult science, as we already have -professors of chemistry and astronomy. It is even singular that here in -Paris, where we are founding chairs of Mantchu and Slave and literatures -so little professable (to coin a word) as the literatures of the North -(which, so far from providing lessons, stand very badly in need of -them); when the curriculum is full of the everlasting lectures on -Shakespeare and the sixteenth century,--it is strange that some one has -not restored the teaching of the occult philosophies, once the glory of -the University of Paris, under the title of anthropology. Germany, so -childlike and so great, has outstripped France in this particular; -in Germany they have professors of a science of far more use than a -knowledge of the heterogeneous philosophies, which all come to the same -thing at bottom. - -Once admit that certain beings have the power of discerning the future -in its germ-form of the Cause, as the great inventor sees a glimpse of -the industry latent in his invention, or a science in something that -happens every day unnoticed by ordinary eyes--once allow this, and there -is nothing to cause an outcry in such phenomena, no violent exception -to nature’s laws, but the operation of a recognized faculty; possibly a -kind of mental somnambulism, as it were. If, therefore, the hypothesis -upon which the various ways of divining the future are based seem -absurd, the facts remain. Remark that it is not really more wonderful -that the seer should foretell the chief events of the future than that -he should read the past. Past and future, on the sceptic’s system, -equally lie beyond the limits of knowledge. If the past has left traces -behind it, it is not improbable that future events have, as it were, -their roots in the present. - -If a fortune-teller gives you minute details of past facts known only -to yourself, why should he not foresee the events to be produced by -existing causes? The world of ideas is cut out, so to speak, on the -pattern of the physical world; the same phenomena should be discernible -in both, allowing for the difference of the medium. As, for instance, -a corporeal body actually projects an image upon the atmosphere--a -spectral double detected and recorded by the daguerreotype; so also -ideas, having a real and effective existence, leave an impression, as it -were, upon the atmosphere of the spiritual world; they likewise produce -effects, and exist spectrally (to coin a word to express phenomena for -which no words exist), and certain human beings are endowed with the -faculty of discerning these “forms” or traces of ideas. - -As for the material means employed to assist the seer--the objects -arranged by the hands of the consultant that the accidents of his life -may be revealed to him,--this is the least inexplicable part of the -process. Everything in the material world is part of a series of causes -and effects. Nothing happens without a cause, every cause is a part of a -whole, and consequently the whole leaves its impression on the -slightest accident. Rabelais, the greatest mind among moderns, resuming -Pythagoras, Hippocrates, Aristophanes, and Dante, pronounced three -centuries ago that “man is a microcosm”--a little world. Three hundred -years later, the great seer Swedenborg declared that “the world was -a man.” The prophet and the precursor of incredulity meet thus in the -greatest of all formulas. - -Everything in human life is predestined, so it is also with the -existence of the planet. The least event, the most futile phenomena, -are all subordinate parts of a scheme. Great things, therefore, great -designs, and great thoughts are of necessity reflected in the smallest -actions, and that so faithfully, that should a conspirator shuffle and -cut a pack of playing-cards, he will write the history of his plot for -the eyes of the seer styled gypsy, fortune-teller, charlatan, or what -not. If you once admit fate, which is to say, the chain of links of -cause and effect, astrology has a _locus standi_, and becomes what -it was of yore, a boundless science, requiring the same faculty of -deduction by which Cuvier became so great, a faculty to be exercised -spontaneously, however, and not merely in nights of study in the closet. - -For seven centuries astrology and divination have exercised an influence -not only (as at present) over the uneducated, but over the greatest -minds, over kings and queens and wealthy people. Animal magnetism, one -of the great sciences of antiquity, had its origin in occult philosophy; -chemistry is the outcome of alchemy; phrenology and neurology are no -less the fruit of similar studies. The first illustrious workers in -these, to all appearance, untouched fields, made one mistake, the -mistake of all inventors; that is to say, they erected an absolute -system on a basis of isolated facts for which modern analysis as yet -cannot account. The Catholic Church, the law of the land, and modern -philosophy, in agreement for once, combined to prescribe, persecute, and -ridicule the mysteries of the Cabala as well as the adepts; the result -is a lamentable interregnum of a century in occult philosophy. But the -uneducated classes, and not a few cultivated people (women especially), -continue to pay a tribute to the mysterious power of those who can raise -the veil of the future; they go to buy hope, strength, and courage of -the fortune-teller; in other words, to ask of him all that religion -alone can give. So the art is still practised in spite of a certain -amount of risk. The eighteenth century encyclopaedists procured -tolerance for the sorcerer; he is no longer amenable to a court of law, -unless, indeed, he lends himself to fraudulent practices, and frightens -his “clients” to extort money from them, in which case he may be -prosecuted on a charge of obtaining money under false pretences. -Unluckily, the exercise of the sublime art is only too often used as a -method of obtaining money under false pretences, and for the following -reasons. - -The seer’s wonderful gifts are usually bestowed upon those who are -described by the epithets rough and uneducated. The rough and uneducated -are the chosen vessels into which God pours the elixirs at which we -marvel. From among the rough and uneducated, prophets arise--an Apostle -Peter, or St. Peter the Hermit. Wherever mental power is imprisoned, -and remains intact and entire for want of an outlet in conversation, -in politics, in literature, in the imaginings of the scholar, in the -efforts of the statesman, in the conceptions of the inventor, or the -soldier’s toils of war; the fire within is apt to flash out in gleams -of marvelously vivid light, like the sparks hidden in an unpolished -diamond. Let the occasion come, and the spirit within kindles and glows, -finds wings to traverse space, and the god-like power of beholding -all things. The coal of yesterday under the play of some mysterious -influence becomes a radiant diamond. Better educated people, many-sided -and highly polished, continually giving out all that is in them, can -never exhibit this supreme power, save by one of the miracles which God -sometimes vouchsafes to work. For this reason the soothsayer is almost -always a beggar, whose mind is virgin soil, a creature coarse to all -appearance, a pebble borne along the torrent of misery and left in the -ruts of life, where it spends nothing of itself save in mere physical -suffering. - -The prophet, the seer, in short, is some _Martin le Laboureur_ making -a Louis XVIII. tremble by telling him a secret known only to the king -himself; or it is a Mlle. Lenormand, or a domestic servant like Mme. -Fontaine, or again, perhaps it is some half-idiotic negress, some -herdsman living among his cattle, who receives the gift of vision; some -Hindoo fakir, seated by a pagoda, mortifying the flesh till the spirit -gains the mysterious power of the somnambulist. - -Asia, indeed, through all time, has been the home of the heroes of -occult science. Persons of this kind, recovering their normal state, -are usually just as they were before. They fulfil, in some sort, the -chemical and physical functions of bodies which conduct electricity; -at times inert metal, at other times a channel filled with a mysterious -current. In their normal condition they are given to practices which -bring them before the magistrate, yea, verily, like the notorious -Balthazar, even unto the criminal court, and so to the hulks. You could -hardly find a better proof of the immense influence of fortune-telling -upon the working classes than the fact that poor Pons’ life and death -hung upon the prediction that Mme. Fontaine was to make from the cards. - -Although a certain amount of repetition is inevitable in a canvas so -considerable and so full of detail as a complete picture of French -society in the nineteenth century, it is needless to repeat the -description of Mme. Fontaine’s den, already given in _Les Comediens -sans le savoir_; suffice it to say that Mme. Cibot used to go to -Mme. Fontaine’s house in the Rue Vieille-du-Temple as regularly as -frequenters of the Cafe Anglais drop in at that restaurant for lunch. -Mme. Cibot, being a very old customer, often introduced young persons -and old gossips consumed with curiosity to the wise woman. - -The old servant who acted as provost marshal flung open the door of -the sanctuary with no further ceremony than the remark, “It’s Mme. -Cibot.--Come in, there’s nobody here.” - -“Well, child, what can bring you here so early of a morning?” asked -the sorceress, as Mme. Fontaine might well be called, for she was -seventy-eight years old, and looked like one of the Parcae. - -“Something has given me a turn,” said La Cibot; “I want the _grand jeu_; -it is a question of my fortune.” Therewith she explained her position, -and wished to know if her sordid hopes were likely to be realized. - -“Do you know what the _grand jeu_ means?” asked Mme. Fontaine, with much -solemnity. - -“No, I haven’t never seen the trick, I am not rich enough.--A hundred -francs! It’s not as if it cost so much! Where was the money to come -from? But now I can’t help myself, I must have it.” - -“I don’t do it often, child,” returned Mme. Fontaine; “I only do it for -rich people on great occasions, and they pay me twenty-five louis for -doing it; it tires me, you see, it wears me out. The ‘Spirit’ rives my -inside, here. It is like going to the ‘Sabbath,’ as they used to say.” - -“But when I tell you that it means my whole future, my dear good Ma’am -Fontaine--” - -“Well, as it is you that have come to consult me so often, I will submit -myself to the Spirit!” replied Mme. Fontaine, with a look of genuine -terror on her face. - -She rose from her filthy old chair by the fireside, and went to a table -covered with a green cloth so worn that you could count the threads. -A huge toad sat dozing there beside a cage inhabited by a black -disheveled-looking fowl. - -“Astaroth! here, my son!” she said, and the creature looked up -intelligently at her as she rapped him on the back with a long -knitting-needle.--“And you, Mademoiselle Cleopatre!--attention!” she -continued, tapping the ancient fowl on the beak. - -Then Mme. Fontaine began to think; for several seconds she did not move; -she looked like a corpse, her eyes rolled in their sockets and grew -white; then she rose stiff and erect, and a cavernous voice cried: - -“Here I am!” - -Automatically she scattered millet for Cleopatre, took up the pack of -cards, shuffled them convulsively, and held them out to Mme. Cibot to -cut, sighing heavily all the time. At the sight of that image of Death -in the filthy turban and uncanny-looking bed-jacket, watching the black -fowl as it pecked at the millet-grains, calling to the toad Astaroth to -walk over the cards that lay out on the table, a cold thrill ran through -Mme. Cibot; she shuddered. Nothing but strong belief can give strong -emotions. An assured income, to be or not to be, that was the question. - -The sorceress opened a magical work and muttered some unintelligible -words in a sepulchral voice, looked at the remaining millet-seeds, and -watched the way in which the toad retired. Then after seven or eight -minutes, she turned her white eyes on the cards and expounded them. - -“You will succeed, although nothing in the affair will fall out as you -expect. You will have many steps to take, but you will reap the fruits -of your labors. You will behave very badly; it will be with you as it is -with all those who sit by a sick-bed and covet part of the inheritance. -Great people will help you in this work of wrongdoing. Afterwards in the -death agony you will repent. Two escaped convicts, a short man with red -hair and an old man with a bald head, will murder you for the sake of -the money you will be supposed to have in the village whither you will -retire with your second husband. Now, my daughter, it is still open to -you to choose your course.” - -The excitement which seemed to glow within, lighting up the bony hollows -about the eyes, was suddenly extinguished. As soon as the horoscope was -pronounced, Mme. Fontaine’s face wore a dazed expression; she looked -exactly like a sleep-walker aroused from sleep, gazed about her with -an astonished air, recognized Mme. Cibot, and seemed surprised by her -terrified face. - -“Well, child,” she said, in a totally different voice, “are you -satisfied?” - -Mme. Cibot stared stupidly at the sorceress, and could not answer. - -“Ah! you would have the _grand jeu_; I have treated you as an old -acquaintance. I only want a hundred francs--” - -“Cibot,--going to die?” gasped the portress. - -“So I have been telling you very dreadful things, have I?” asked Mme. -Fontaine, with an extremely ingenuous air. - -“Why, yes!” said La Cibot, taking a hundred francs from her pocket and -laying them down on the edge of the table. “Going to be murdered, think -of it--” - -“Ah! there it is! You would have the _grand jeu_; but don’t take on so, -all the folk that are murdered on the cards don’t die.” - -“But is it possible, Ma’am Fontaine?” - -“Oh, _I_ know nothing about it, my pretty dear! You would rap at the -door of the future; I pull the cord, and it came.” - -“_It_, what?” asked Mme. Cibot. - -“Well, then, the Spirit!” cried the sorceress impatiently. - -“Good-bye, Ma’am Fontaine,” exclaimed the portress. “I did not know -what the _grand jeu_ was like. You have given me a good fright, that you -have.” - -“The mistress will not put herself in that state twice in a month,” said -the servant, as she went with La Cibot to the landing. “She would do -herself to death if she did, it tires her so. She will eat cutlets now -and sleep for three hours afterwards.” - -Out in the street La Cibot took counsel of herself as she went -along, and, after the manner of all who ask for advice of any sort or -description, she took the favorable part of the prediction and rejected -the rest. The next day found her confirmed in her resolutions--she would -set all in train to become rich by securing a part of Pons’ collection. -Nor for some time had she any other thought than the combination of -various plans to this end. The faculty of self-concentration seen in -rough, uneducated persons, explained on a previous page, the reserve -power accumulated in those whose mental energies are unworn by the daily -wear and tear of social life, and brought into action so soon as that -terrible weapon the “fixed idea” is brought into play,--all this was -pre-eminently manifested in La Cibot. Even as the “fixed idea” works -miracles of evasion, and brings forth prodigies of sentiment, so greed -transformed the portress till she became as formidable as a Nucingen -at bay, as subtle beneath her seeming stupidity as the irresistible La -Palferine. - -About seven o’clock one morning, a few days afterwards, she saw -Remonencq taking down his shutters. She went across to him. - -“How could one find out how much the things yonder in my gentlemen’s -rooms are worth?” she asked in a wheedling tone. - -“Oh! that is quite easy,” replied the owner of the old curiosity shop. -“If you will play fair and above board with me, I will tell you of -somebody, a very honest man, who will know the value of the pictures to -a farthing--” - -“Who?” - -“M. Magus, a Jew. He only does business to amuse himself now.” - -Elie Magus has appeared so often in the _Comedie Humaine_, that it is -needless to say more of him here. Suffice it to add that he had retired -from business, and as a dealer was following the example set by Pons -the amateur. Well-known valuers like Henry, Messrs. Pigeot and Moret, -Theret, Georges, and Roehn, the experts of the Musee, in fact, were but -children compared with Elie Magus. He could see a masterpiece beneath -the accumulated grime of a century; he knew all schools, and the -handwriting of all painters. - -He had come to Paris from Bordeaux, and so long ago as 1835 he had -retired from business without making any change for the better in his -dress, so faithful is the race to old tradition. The persecutions of the -Middle Ages compelled them to wear rags, to snuffle and whine and groan -over their poverty in self-defence, till the habits induced by the -necessities of other times have come to be, as usual, instinctive, a -racial defect. - -Elie Magus had amassed a vast fortune by buying and selling diamonds, -pictures, lace, enamels, delicate carvings, old jewelry, and rarities of -all kinds, a kind of commerce which has developed enormously of late, so -much so indeed that the number of dealers has increased tenfold during -the last twenty years in this city of Paris, whither all the curiosities -in the world come to rub against one another. And for pictures there are -but three marts in the world--Rome, London, and Paris. - -Elie Magus lived in the Chausee des Minimes, a short, broad street -leading to the Place Royale. He had bought the house, an old-fashioned -mansion, for a song, as the saying is, in 1831. Yet there were sumptuous -apartments within it, decorated in the time of Louis XV.; for it had -once been the Hotel Maulaincourt, built by the great President of the -Cour des Aides, and its remote position had saved it at the time of the -Revolution. - -You may be quite sure that the old Jew had sound reasons for buying -house property, contrary to the Hebrew law and custom. He had ended, as -most of us end, with a hobby that bordered on a craze. He was as miserly -as his friend, the late lamented Gobseck; but he had been caught by the -snare of the eyes, by the beauty of the pictures in which he dealt. As -his taste grew more and more fastidious, it became one of the passions -which princes alone can indulge when they are wealthy and art-lovers. As -the second King of Prussia found nothing that so kindled enthusiasm as -the spectacle of a grenadier over six feet high, and gave extravagant -sums for a new specimen to add to his living museum of a regiment, so -the retired picture-dealer was roused to passion-pitch only by some -canvas in perfect preservation, untouched since the master laid down -the brush; and what was more, it must be a picture of the painter’s best -time. No great sales, therefore, took place but Elie Magus was there; -every mart knew him; he traveled all over Europe. The ice-cold, -money-worshiping soul in him kindled at the sight of a perfect work -of art, precisely as a libertine, weary of fair women, is roused from -apathy by the sight of a beautiful girl, and sets out afresh upon the -quest of flawless loveliness. A Don Juan among fair works of art, a -worshiper of the Ideal, Elie Magus had discovered joys that transcend -the pleasure of a miser gloating over his gold--he lived in a seraglio -of great paintings. - -His masterpieces were housed as became the children of princes; the -whole first floor of the great old mansion was given up to them. -The rooms had been restored under Elie Magus’ orders, and with what -magnificence! - -The windows were hung with the richest Venetian brocade; the most -splendid carpets from the Savonnerie covered the parquetry flooring. -The frames of the pictures, nearly a hundred in number, were magnificent -specimens, regilded cunningly by Servais, the one gilder in Paris whom -Elie Magus thought sufficiently painstaking; the old Jew himself had -taught him to use the English leaf, which is infinitely superior to that -produced by French gold-beaters. Servais is among gilders as Thouvenin -among bookbinders--an artist among craftsmen, making his work a labor -of love. Every window in that gallery was protected by iron-barred -shutters. Elie Magus himself lived in a couple of attics on the floor -above; the furniture was wretched, the rooms were full of rags, and the -whole place smacked of the Ghetto; Elie Magus was finishing his days -without any change in his life. - -The whole of the ground floor was given up to the picture trade (for the -Jew still dealt in works of art). Here he stored his canvases, here also -packing-cases were stowed on their arrival from other countries; and -still there was room for a vast studio, where Moret, most skilful of -restorers of pictures, a craftsman whom the Musee ought to employ, was -almost always at work for Magus. The rest of the rooms on the ground -floor were given up to Magus’ daughter, the child of his old age, a -Jewess as beautiful as a Jewess can be when the Semitic type reappears -in its purity and nobility in a daughter of Israel. Noemi was guarded by -two servants, fanatical Jewesses, to say nothing of an advanced-guard, -a Polish Jew, Abramko by name, once involved in a fabulous manner -in political troubles, from which Elie Magus saved him as a business -speculation. Abramko, porter of the silent, grim, deserted mansion, -divided his office and his lodge with three remarkably ferocious -animals--an English bull-dog, a Newfoundland dog, and another of the -Pyrenean breed. - -Behold the profound observations of human nature upon which Elie Magus -based his feeling of security, for secure he felt; he left home without -misgivings, slept with both ears shut, and feared no attempt upon his -daughter (his chief treasure), his pictures, or his money. In the first -place, Abramko’s salary was increased every year by two hundred francs -so long as his master should live; and Magus, moreover, was training -Abramko as a money-lender in a small way. Abramko never admitted anybody -until he had surveyed them through a formidable grated opening. He was -a Hercules for strength, he worshiped Elie Magus, as Sancho Panza -worshiped Don Quixote. All day long the dogs were shut up without food; -at nightfall Abramko let them loose; and by a cunning device the old Jew -kept each animal at his post in the courtyard or the garden by hanging -a piece of meat just out of reach on the top of a pole. The animals -guarded the house, and sheer hunger guarded the dogs. No odor that -reached their nostrils could tempt them from the neighborhood of that -piece of meat; they would not have left their places at the foot of the -poles for the most engaging female of the canine species. If a stranger -by any chance intruded, the dogs suspected him of ulterior designs upon -their rations, which were only taken down in the morning by Abramko -himself when he awoke. The advantages of this fiendish scheme are -patent. The animals never barked, Magus’ ingenuity had made savages of -them; they were treacherous as Mohicans. And now for the result. - -One night burglars, emboldened by the silence, decided too hastily that -it would be easy enough to “clean out” the old Jew’s strong box. One of -their number told off to advance to the assault scrambled up the garden -wall and prepared to descend. This the bull-dog allowed him to do. The -animal, knowing perfectly well what was coming, waited for the burglar -to reach the ground; but when that gentleman directed a kick at him, the -bull-dog flew at the visitor’s shins, and, making but one bite of it, -snapped the ankle-bone clean in two. The thief had the courage to tear -him away, and returned, walking upon the bare bone of the mutilated -stump till he reached the rest of the gang, when he fell fainting, and -they carried him off. The _Police News_, of course, did not fail to -report this delightful night incident, but no one believed in it. - -Magus at this time was seventy-five years old, and there was no reason -why he should not live to a hundred. Rich man though he was, he lived -like the Remonencqs. His necessary expenses, including the money he -lavished on his daughter, did not exceed three thousand francs. No -life could be more regular; the old man rose as soon as it was light, -breakfasted on bread rubbed with a clove of garlic, and ate no more food -until dinner-time. Dinner, a meal frugal enough for a convent, he took -at home. All the forenoons he spent among his treasures, walking up -and down the gallery where they hung in their glory. He would dust -everything himself, furniture and pictures; he never wearied of -admiring. Then he would go downstairs to his daughter, drink deep of -a father’s happiness, and start out upon his walks through Paris, to -attend sales or visit exhibitions and the like. - -If Elie Magus found a great work of art under the right conditions, the -discovery put new life into the man; here was a bit of sharp practice, a -bargain to make, a battle of Marengo to win. He would pile ruse on ruse -to buy the new sultana as cheaply as possible. Magus had a map of Europe -on which all great pictures were marked; his co-religionists in every -city spied out business for him, and received a commission on the -purchase. And then, what rewards for all his pains! The two lost -Raphaels so earnestly sought after by Raphael lovers are both in his -collection. Elie Magus owns the original portrait of _Giorgione’s -Mistress_, the woman for whom the painter died; the so-called originals -are merely copies of the famous picture, which is worth five hundred -thousand francs, according to its owner’s estimation. This Jew possesses -Titian’s masterpiece, an _Entombment_ painted for Charles V., sent by -the great man to the great Emperor with a holograph letter, now fastened -down upon the lower part of the canvas. And Magus has yet another -Titian, the original sketch from which all the portraits of Philip II. -were painted. His remaining ninety-seven pictures are all of the same -rank and distinction. Wherefore Magus laughs at our national collection, -raked by the sunlight which destroys the fairest paintings, pouring in -through panes of glass that act as lenses. Picture galleries can only be -lighted from above; Magus opens and closes his shutters himself; he is -as careful of his pictures as of his daughter, his second idol. And well -the old picture-fancier knows the laws of the lives of pictures. To hear -him talk, a great picture has a life of its own; it is changeable, -it takes its beauty from the color of the light. Magus talks of his -paintings as Dutch fanciers used to talk of their tulips; he will come -home on purpose to see some one picture in the hour of its glory, when -the light is bright and clean. - -And Magus himself was a living picture among the motionless figures -on the wall--a little old man, dressed in a shabby overcoat, a silk -waistcoat, renewed twice in a score of years, and a very dirty pair of -trousers, with a bald head, a face full of deep hollows, a wrinkled, -callous skin, a beard that had a trick of twitching its long white -bristles, a menacing pointed chin, a toothless mouth, eyes bright as the -eyes of his dogs in the yard, and a nose like an obelisk--there he stood -in his gallery smiling at the beauty called into being by genius. A Jew -surrounded by his millions will always be one of the finest spectacles -which humanity can give. Robert Medal, our great actor, cannot rise to -this height of poetry, sublime though he is. - -Paris of all the cities of the world holds most of such men as Magus, -strange beings with a strange religion in their heart of hearts. -The London “eccentric” always finds that worship, like life, brings -weariness and satiety in the end; the Parisian monomaniac lives -cheerfully in concubinage with his crotchet to the last. - -Often shall you meet in Paris some Pons, some Elie Magus, dressed badly -enough, with his face turned from the rising sun (like the countenance -of the perpetual secretary of the Academie), apparently heeding nothing, -conscious of nothing, paying no attention to shop-windows nor to fair -passers-by, walking at random, so to speak, with nothing in his pockets, -and to all appearance an equally empty head. Do you ask to what Parisian -tribe this manner of man belongs? He is a collector, a millionaire, one -of the most impassioned souls upon earth; he and his like are capable of -treading the miry ways that lead to the police-court if so they may gain -possession of a cup, a picture, or some such rare unpublished piece as -Elie Magus once picked up one memorable day in Germany. - -This was the expert to whom Remonencq with much mystery conducted La -Cibot. Remonencq always asked advice of Elie Magus when he met him -in the streets; and more than once Magus had lent him money through -Abramko, knowing Remonencq’s honesty. The Chaussee des Minimes is close -to the Rue de Normandie, and the two fellow-conspirators reached the -house in ten minutes. - -“You will see the richest dealer in curiosities, the greatest -connoisseur in Paris,” Remonencq had said. And Mme. Cibot, therefore, -was struck dumb with amazement to be confronted with a little old man in -a great-coat too shabby for Cibot to mend, standing watching a painter -at work upon an old picture in the chilly room on the vast ground floor. -The old man’s eyes, full of cold feline malignance, were turned upon -her, and La Cibot shivered. - -“What do you want, Remonencq?” asked this person. - -“It is a question of valuing some pictures; there is nobody but you in -Paris who can tell a poor tinker-fellow like me how much he may give -when he has not thousands to spend, like you.” - -“Where is it?” - -“Here is the portress of the house where the gentleman lives; she does -for him, and I have arranged with her--” - -“Who is the owner?” - -“M. Pons!” put in La Cibot. - -“Don’t know the name,” said Magus, with an innocent air, bringing down -his foot very gently upon his artist’s toes. - -Moret the painter, knowing the value of Pons’ collection, had looked up -suddenly at the name. It was a move too hazardous to try with any one -but Remonencq and La Cibot, but the Jew had taken the woman’s measure -at sight, and his eye was as accurate as a jeweler’s scales. It was -impossible that either of the couple should know how often Magus and old -Pons had matched their claws. And, in truth, both rabid amateurs were -jealous of each other. The old Jew had never hoped for a sight of -a seraglio so carefully guarded; it seemed to him that his head was -swimming. Pons’ collection was the one private collection in Paris which -could vie with his own. Pons’ idea had occurred to Magus twenty years -later; but as a dealer-amateur the door of Pons’ museum had been -closed to him, as for Dusommerard. Pons and Magus had at heart the same -jealousy. Neither of them cared about the kind of celebrity dear to the -ordinary collector. And now for Elie Magus came his chance to see the -poor musician’s treasures! An amateur of beauty hiding in a boudoir or a -stolen glance at a mistress concealed from him by his friend might feel -as Elie Magus felt at that moment. - -La Cibot was impressed by Remonencq’s respect for this singular person; -real power, moreover, even when it cannot be explained, is always felt; -the portress was supple and obedient, she dropped the autocratic tone -which she was wont to use in her lodge and with the tenants, accepted -Magus’ conditions, and agreed to admit him into Pons’ museum that very -day. - -So the enemy was to be brought into the citadel, and a stab dealt to -Pons’ very heart. For ten years Pons had carried his keys about with -him; he had forbidden La Cibot to allow any one, no matter whom, to -cross his threshold; and La Cibot had so far shared Schmucke’s opinions -of _bric-a-brac_, that she had obeyed him. The good Schmucke, by -speaking of the splendors as “chimcracks,” and deploring his friend’s -mania, had taught La Cibot to despise the old rubbish, and so secured -Pons’ museum from invasion for many a long year. - -When Pons took to his bed, Schmucke filled his place at the theatre and -gave lessons for him at his boarding-schools. He did his utmost to do -the work of two; but Pons’ sorrows weighing heavily upon his mind, the -task took all his strength. He only saw his friend in the morning, and -again at dinnertime. His pupils and the people at the theatre, seeing -the poor German look so unhappy, used to ask for news of Pons; and so -great was his grief, that the indifferent would make the grimaces -of sensibility which Parisians are wont to reserve for the greatest -calamities. The very springs of life had been attacked, the good German -was suffering from Pons’ pain as well as from his own. When he gave a -music lesson, he spent half the time in talking of Pons, interrupting -himself to wonder whether his friend felt better to-day, and the little -school-girls listening heard lengthy explanations of Pons’ symptoms. -He would rush over to the Rue de Normandie in the interval between two -lessons for the sake of a quarter of an hour with Pons. - -When at last he saw that their common stock was almost exhausted, when -Mme. Cibot (who had done her best to swell the expenses of the illness) -came to him and frightened him; then the old music-master felt that he -had courage of which he never thought himself capable--courage that rose -above his anguish. For the first time in his life he set himself to earn -money; money was needed at home. One of the school-girl pupils, really -touched by their troubles, asked Schmucke how he could leave his friend -alone. “Montemoiselle,” he answered, with the sublime smile of those who -think no evil, “ve haf Montame Zipod, ein dreasure, montemoiselle, ein -bearl! Bons is nursed like ein brince.” - -So while Schmucke trotted about the streets, La Cibot was mistress -of the house and ruled the invalid. How should Pons superintend his -self-appointed guardian angel, when he had taken no solid food for a -fortnight, and lay there so weak and helpless that La Cibot was obliged -to lift him up and carry him to the sofa while she made the bed? - -La Cibot’s visit to Elie Magus was paid (as might be expected) while -Schmucke breakfasted. She came in again just as the German was bidding -his friend good-bye; for since she learned that Pons possessed a -fortune, she never left the old bachelor; she brooded over him and his -treasures like a hen. From the depths of a comfortable easy-chair at -the foot of the bed she poured forth for Pons’ delectation the gossip -in which women of her class excel. With Machiavelian skill, she had -contrived to make Pons think that she was indispensable to him; she -coaxed and she wheedled, always uneasy, always on the alert. Mme. -Fontaine’s prophecy had frightened La Cibot; she vowed to herself that -she would gain her ends by kindness. She would sleep secure on M. Pons’ -legacy, but her rascality should keep within the limits of the law. For -ten years she had not suspected the value of Pons’ collection; she had -a clear record behind her of ten years of devotion, honesty, and -disinterestedness; it was a magnificent investment, and now she proposed -to realize. In one day, Remonencq’s hint of money had hatched the -serpent’s egg, the craving for riches that had lain dormant within her -for twenty years. Since she had cherished that craving, it had grown in -force with the ferment of all the evil that lurks in the corners of the -heart. How she acted upon the counsels whispered by the serpent will -presently be seen. - -“Well?” she asked of Schmucke, “has this cherub of ours had plenty to -drink? Is he better?” - -“He is not doing fery vell, tear Montame Zipod, not fery vell,” said -poor Schmucke, brushing away the tears from his eyes. - -“Pooh! you make too much of it, my dear M. Schmucke; we must take things -as we find them; Cibot might be at death’s door, and I should not take -it to heart as you do. Come! the cherub has a good constitution. And he -has been steady, it seems, you see; you have no idea what an age sober -people live. He is very ill, it is true, but with all the care I take of -him, I shall bring him round. Be easy, look after your affairs, I will -keep him company and see that he drinks his pints of barley water.” - -“Gif you vere not here, I should die of anxiety--” said Schmucke, -squeezing his kind housekeeper’s hand in both his own to express his -confidence in her. - -La Cibot wiped her eyes as she went back to the invalid’s room. - -“What is the matter, Mme. Cibot?” asked Pons. - -“It is M. Schmucke that has upset me; he is crying as if you were dead,” - said she. “If you are not well, you are not so bad yet that nobody need -cry over you; but it has given me such a turn! Oh dear! oh dear! how -silly it is of me to get so fond of people, and to think more of you -than of Cibot! For, after all, you aren’t nothing to me, you are only -my brother by Adam’s side; and yet, whenever you are in the question, -it puts me in such a taking, upon my word it does! I would cut off my -hand--my left hand, of course--to see you coming and going, eating your -meals, and screwing bargains out of dealers as usual. If I had had -a child of my own, I think I should have loved it as I love you, eh! -There, take a drink, dearie; come now, empty the glass. Drink it off, -monsieur, I tell you! The first thing Dr. Poulain said was, ‘If M. Pons -has no mind to go to Pere Lachaise, he ought to drink as many buckets -full of water in a day as an Auvergnat will sell.’ So, come now, -drink--” - -“But I do drink, Cibot, my good woman; I drink and drink till I am -deluged--” - -“That is right,” said the portress, as she took away the empty glass. -“That is the way to get better. Dr. Poulain had another patient ill of -your complaint; but he had nobody to look after him, his children left -him to himself, and he died because he didn’t drink enough--so you must -drink, honey, you see--he died and they buried him two months ago. And -if you were to die, you know, you would drag down old M. Schmucke with -you, sir. He is like a child. Ah! he loves you, he does, the dear lamb -of a man; no woman never loved a man like that! He doesn’t care for meat -nor drink; he has grown as thin as you are in the last fortnight, and -you are nothing but skin and bones.--It makes me jealous to see it, -for I am very fond of you; but not to that degree; I haven’t lost my -appetite, quite the other way; always going up and down stairs, till my -legs are so tired that I drop down of an evening like a lump of lead. -Here am I neglecting my poor Cibot for you; Mlle. Remonencq cooks his -victuals for him, and he goes on about it and says that nothing is -right! At that I tell him that one ought to put up with something for -the sake of other people, and that you are so ill that I cannot leave -you. In the first place, you can’t afford a nurse. And before I would -have a nurse here!--I have done for you these ten years; they want wine -and sugar, and foot-warmers, and all sorts of comforts. And they rob -their patients unless the patients leave them something in their wills. -Have a nurse in here to-day, and to-morrow we should find a picture or -something or other gone--” - -“Oh! Mme. Cibot!” cried Pons, quite beside himself, “do not leave me! No -one must touch anything--” - -“I am here,” said La Cibot; “so long as I have the strength I shall be -here.--Be easy. There was Dr. Poulain wanting to get a nurse for you; -perhaps he has his eye on your treasures. I just snubbed him, I did. -‘The gentleman won’t have any one but me,’ I told him. ‘He is used to -me, and I am used to him.’ So he said no more. A nurse, indeed! They are -all thieves; I hate that sort of woman, I do. Here is a tale that will -show you how sly they are. There was once an old gentleman--it was Dr. -Poulain himself, mind you, who told me this--well, a Mme. Sabatier, a -woman of thirty-six that used to sell slippers at the Palais Royal--you -remember the Galerie at the Palais that they pulled down?” - -Pons nodded. - -“Well, at that time she had not done very well; her husband used to -drink, and died of spontaneous imbustion; but she had been a fine woman -in her time, truth to tell, not that it did her any good, though she -had friends among the lawyers. So, being hard up, she became a monthly -nurse, and lived in the Rue Barre-du-Bec. Well, she went out to nurse -an old gentleman that had a disease of the lurinary guts (saving your -presence); they used to tap him like an artesian well, and he needed -such care that she used to sleep on a truckle-bed in the same room with -him. You would hardly believe such a thing!--‘Men respect nothing,’ -you’ll tell me, ‘so selfish as they are.’ Well, she used to talk with -him, you understand; she never left him, she amused him, she told him -stories, she drew him on to talk (just as we are chatting away together -now, you and I, eh?), and she found out that his nephews--the old -gentleman had nephews--that his nephews were wretches; they had worried -him, and final end of it, they had brought on this illness. Well, my -dear sir, she saved his life, he married her, and they have a fine -child; Ma’am Bordevin, the butcher’s wife in the Rue Charlot, a relative -of hers, stood godmother. There is luck for you! - -“As for me, I am married; and if I have no children, I don’t mind saying -that it is Cibot’s fault; he is too fond of me, but if I cared--never -mind. What would have become of me and my Cibot if we had had a family, -when we have not a penny to bless ourselves with after thirty years’ of -faithful service? I have not a farthing belonging to nobody else, that -is what comforts me. I have never wronged nobody.--Look here, suppose -now (there is no harm in supposing when you will be out and about again -in six weeks’ time, and sauntering along the boulevard); well, suppose -that you had put me down in your will; very good, I shouldn’t never rest -till I had found your heirs and given the money back. Such is my horror -of anything that is not earned by the sweat of my brow. - -“You will say to me, ‘Why, Mme. Cibot, why should you worry yourself -like that? You have fairly earned the money; you looked after your two -gentlemen as if they had been your children; you saved them a thousand -francs a year--’ (for there are plenty, sir, you know, that would have -had their ten thousand francs put out to interest by now if they had -been in my place)--‘so if the worthy gentleman leaves you a trifle of an -annuity, it is only right.’--Suppose they told me that. Well, now; I am -not thinking of myself.--I cannot think how some women can do a kindness -thinking of themselves all the time. It is not doing good, sir, is it? I -do not go to church myself, I haven’t the time; but my conscience tells -me what is right.... Don’t you fidget like that, my lamb!--Don’t scratch -yourself!... Dear me, how yellow you grow! So yellow you are--quite -brown. How funny it is that one can come to look like a lemon in three -weeks!... Honesty is all that poor folk have, and one must surely have -something! Suppose that you were just at death’s door, I should be -the first to tell you that you ought to leave all that you have to M. -Schmucke. It is your duty, for he is all the family you have. He loves -you, he does, as a dog loves his master.” - -“Ah! yes,” said Pons; “nobody else has ever loved me all my life long--” - -“Ah! that is not kind of you, sir,” said Mme. Cibot; “then I do not love -you, I suppose?” - -“I do not say so, my dear Mme. Cibot.” - -“Good. You take me for a servant, do you, a common servant, as if -I hadn’t no heart! Goodness me! for eleven years you do for two old -bachelors, you think of nothing but their comfort. I have turned half a -score of greengrocers’ shops upside down for you, I have talked people -round to get you good Brie cheese; I have gone down as far as the market -for fresh butter for you; I have taken such care of things that nothing -of yours hasn’t been chipped nor broken in all these ten years; I have -just treated you like my own children; and then to hear a ‘My dear Mme. -Cibot,’ that shows that there is not a bit of feeling for you in the -heart of an old gentleman that you have cared for like a king’s son! -for the little King of Rome was not so well looked after. He died in -his prime; there is proof for you.... Come, sir, you are unjust! You are -ungrateful! It is because I am only a poor portress. Goodness me! are -_you_ one of those that think we are dogs?--” - -“But, my dear Mme. Cibot--” - -“Indeed, you that know so much, tell me why we porters are treated like -this, and are supposed to have no feelings; people look down on us in -these days when they talk of Equality!--As for me, am I not as good -as another woman, I that was one of the finest women in Paris, and was -called _La belle Ecaillere_, and received declarations seven or eight -times a day? And even now if I liked--Look here, sir, you know that -little scrubby marine store-dealer downstairs? Very well, he would marry -me any day, if I were a widow that is, with his eyes shut; he has had -them looking wide open in my direction so often; he is always saying, -‘Oh! what fine arms you have, Ma’am Cibot!--I dreamed last night that -it was bread and I was butter, and I was spread on the top.’ Look, sir, -there is an arm!” - -She rolled up her sleeve and displayed the shapeliest arm imaginable, as -white and fresh as her hand was red and rough; a plump, round, dimpled -arm, drawn from its merino sheath like a blade from the scabbard to -dazzle Pons, who looked away. - -“For every oyster the knife opened, the arm has opened a heart! Well, -it belongs to Cibot, and I did wrong when I neglected him, poor dear, HE -would throw himself over a precipice at a word from me; while you, sir, -that call me ‘My dear Mme. Cibot’ when I do impossible things for you--” - -“Do just listen to me,” broke in the patient; “I cannot call you my -mother, nor my wife--” - -“No, never in all my born days will I take again to anybody--” - -“Do let me speak!” continued Pons. “Let me see; I put M. Schmucke -first--” - -“M. Schmucke! there is a heart for you,” cried La Cibot. “Ah! he loves -me, but then he is poor. It is money that deadens the heart; and you -are rich! Oh, well, take a nurse, you will see what a life she will lead -you; she will torment you, you will be like a cockchafer on a string. -The doctor will say that you must have plenty to drink, and she will do -nothing but feed you. She will bring you to your grave and rob you. You -do not deserve to have a Mme. Cibot!--there! When Dr. Poulain comes, ask -him for a nurse.” - -“Oh fiddlestickend!” the patient cried angrily. “_Will_ you listen to -me? When I spoke of my friend Schmucke, I was not thinking of women. I -know quite well that no one cares for me so sincerely as you do, you and -Schmucke--” - -“Have the goodness not to irritate yourself in this way!” exclaimed -La Cibot, plunging down upon Pons and covering him by force with the -bedclothes. - -“How should I not love you?” said poor Pons. - -“You love me, really?... There, there, forgive me, sir!” she said, -crying and wiping her eyes. “Ah, yes, of course, you love me, as you -love a servant, that is the way!--a servant to whom you throw an annuity -of six hundred francs like a crust you fling into a dog’s kennel--” - -“Oh! Mme. Cibot,” cried Pons, “for what do you take me? You do not know -me.” - -“Ah! you will care even more than that for me,” she said, meeting Pons’ -eyes. “You will love your kind old Cibot like a mother, will you not? -A mother, that is it! I am your mother; you are both of you my -children.... Ah, if I only knew them that caused you this sorrow, I -would do that which would bring me into the police-courts, and even to -prison; I would tear their eyes out! Such people deserve to die at the -Barriere Saint-Jacques, and that is too good for such scoundrels. ... So -kind, so good as you are (for you have a heart of gold), you were sent -into the world to make some woman happy!... Yes, you would have her -happy, as anybody can see; you were cut out for that. In the very -beginning, when I saw how you were with M. Schmucke, I said to myself, -‘M. Pons has missed the life he was meant for; he was made to be a good -husband.’ Come, now, you like women.” - -“Ah, yes,” said Pons, “and no woman has been mine.” - -“Really?” exclaimed La Cibot, with a provocative air as she came nearer -and took Pons’ hand in hers. “Do you not know what it is to love a woman -that will do anything for her lover? Is it possible? If I were in your -place, I should not wish to leave this world for another until I had -known the greatest happiness on earth!... Poor dear! If I was now what I -was once, I would leave Cibot for you! upon my word, I would! Why, with -a nose shaped like that--for you have a fine nose--how did you manage -it, poor cherub?... You will tell me that ‘not every woman knows a man -when she sees him’; and a pity it is that they marry so at random as -they do, it makes you sorry to see it.--Now, for my own part, I -should have thought that you had had mistresses by the dozen--dancers, -actresses, and duchesses, for you went out so much. ... When you -went out, I used to say to Cibot, ‘Look! there is M. Pons going -a-gallivanting,’ on my word, I did, I was so sure that women ran after -you. Heaven made you for love.... Why, my dear sir, I found that out -the first day that you dined at home, and you were so touched with -M. Schmucke’s pleasure. And next day M. Schmucke kept saying to me, -‘Montame Zipod, he haf tined hier,’ with the tears in his eyes, till I -cried along with him like a fool, as I am. And how sad he looked when -you took to gadding abroad again and dining out! Poor man, you never saw -any one so disconsolate! Ah! you are quite right to leave everything to -him. Dear worthy man, why he is as good as a family to you, he is! -Do not forget him; for if you do, God will not receive you into his -Paradise, for those that have been ungrateful to their friends and left -them no _rentes_ will not go to heaven.” - -In vain Pons tried to put in a word; La Cibot talked as the wind blows. -Means of arresting steam-engines have been invented, but it would tax -a mechanician’s genius to discover any plan for stopping a portress’ -tongue. - -“I know what you mean,” continued she. “But it does not kill you, my -dear gentleman, to make a will when you are out of health; and in your -place I might not leave that poor dear alone, for fear that something -might happen; he is like God Almighty’s lamb, he knows nothing about -nothing, and I should not like him to be at the mercy of those sharks -of lawyers and a wretched pack of relations. Let us see now, has one -of them come here to see you in twenty years? And would you leave your -property to _them_? Do you know, they say that all these things here are -worth something.” - -“Why, yes,” said Pons. - -“Remonencq, who deals in pictures, and knows that you are an amateur, -says that he would be quite ready to pay you an annuity of thirty -thousand francs so long as you live, to have the pictures afterwards. -... There is a change! If I were you, I should take it. Why, I thought -he said it for a joke when he told me that. You ought to let M. Schmucke -know the value of all those things, for he is a man that could be -cheated like a child. He has not the slightest idea of the value of -these fine things that you have! He so little suspects it, that he would -give them away for a morsel of bread if he did not keep them all his -life for love of you, always supposing that he lives after you, for he -will die of your death. But _I_ am here; I will take his part against -anybody and everybody!... I and Cibot will defend him.” - -“Dear Mme. Cibot!” said Pons, “what would have become of me if it -had not been for you and Schmucke?” He felt touched by this horrible -prattle; the feeling in it seemed to be ingenuous, as it usually is in -the speech of the people. - -“Ah! we really are your only friends on earth, that is very true, that -is. But two good hearts are worth all the families in the world.--Don’t -talk of families to me! A family, as the old actor said of the tongue, -is the best and the worst of all things.... Where are those relations of -yours now? Have you any? I have never seen them--” - -“They have brought me to lie here,” said Pons, with intense bitterness. - -“So you have relations!...” cried La Cibot, springing up as if her -easy-chair had been heated red-hot. “Oh, well, they are a nice lot, are -your relations! What! these three weeks--for this is the twentieth day, -to-day, that you have been ill and like to die--in these three weeks -they have not come once to ask for news of you? That’s a trifle too -strong, that is!... Why, in your place, I would leave all I had to the -Foundling Hospital sooner than give them one farthing!” - -“Well, my dear Mme. Cibot, I meant to leave all that I had to a cousin -once removed, the daughter of my first cousin, President Camusot, you -know, who came here one morning nearly two months ago.” - -“Oh! a little stout man who sent his servants to beg your pardon--for -his wife’s blunder?--The housemaid came asking me questions about you, -an affected old creature she is, my fingers itched to give her velvet -tippet a dusting with my broom handle! A servant wearing a velvet -tippet! did anybody ever see the like? No, upon my word, the world is -turned upside down; what is the use of making a Revolution? Dine twice a -day if you can afford it, you scamps of rich folk! But laws are no good, -I tell you, and nothing will be safe if Louis-Philippe does not keep -people in their places; for, after all, if we are all equal, eh, sir? -a housemaid didn’t ought to have a velvet tippet, while I, Mme. Cibot, -haven’t one, after thirty years of honest work.--There is a pretty thing -for you! People ought to be able to tell who you are. A housemaid is -a housemaid, just as I myself am a portress. Why do they have silk -epaulettes in the army? Let everybody keep their place. Look here, do -you want me to tell you what all this comes to? Very well, France is -going to the dogs.... If the Emperor had been here, things would have -been very different, wouldn’t they, sir?... So I said to Cibot, I said, -‘See here, Cibot, a house where the servants wear velvet tippets belongs -to people that have no heart in them--’” - -“No heart in them, that is just it,” repeated Pons. And with that he -began to tell Mme. Cibot about his troubles and mortifications, she -pouring out abuse of the relations the while and showing exceeding -tenderness on every fresh sentence in the sad history. She fairly wept -at last. - -To understand the sudden intimacy between the old musician and Mme. -Cibot, you have only to imagine the position of an old bachelor lying on -his bed of pain, seriously ill for the first time in his life. Pons felt -that he was alone in the world; the days that he spent by himself were -all the longer because he was struggling with the indefinable nausea of -a liver complaint which blackens the brightest life. Cut off from all -his many interests, the sufferer falls a victim to a kind of nostalgia; -he regrets the many sights to be seen for nothing in Paris. The -isolation, the darkened days, the suffering that affects the mind and -spirits even more than the body, the emptiness of the life,--all these -things tend to induce him to cling to the human being who waits on him -as a drowned man clings to a plank; and this especially if the -bachelor patient’s character is as weak as his nature is sensitive and -incredulous. - -Pons was charmed to hear La Cibot’s tittle-tattle. Schmucke, Mme. Cibot, -and Dr. Poulain meant all humanity to him now, when his sickroom became -the universe. If invalid’s thoughts, as a rule, never travel beyond in -the little space over which his eyes can wander; if their selfishness, -in its narrow sphere, subordinates all creatures and all things to -itself, you can imagine the lengths to which an old bachelor may go. -Before three weeks were out he had even gone so far as to regret, once -and again, that he had not married Madeleine Vivet! Mme. Cibot, too, had -made immense progress in his esteem in those three weeks; without her -he felt that he should have been utterly lost; for as for Schmucke, the -poor invalid looked upon him as a second Pons. La Cibot’s prodigious -art consisted in expressing Pons’ own ideas, and this she did quite -unconsciously. - -“Ah! here comes the doctor!” she exclaimed, as the bell rang, and away -she went, knowing very well that Remonencq had come with the Jew. - -“Make no noise, gentlemen,” said she, “he must not know anything. He is -all on the fidget when his precious treasures are concerned.” - -“A walk round will be enough,” said the Hebrew, armed with a -magnifying-glass and a lorgnette. - -The greater part of Pons’ collection was installed in a great -old-fashioned salon such as French architects used to build for the old -_noblesse_; a room twenty-five feet broad, some thirty feet in length, -and thirteen in height. Pons’ pictures to the number of sixty-seven hung -upon the white-and-gold paneled walls; time, however, had reddened the -gold and softened the white to an ivory tint, so that the whole was -toned down, and the general effect subordinated to the effect of the -pictures. Fourteen statues stood on pedestals set in the corners of the -room, or among the pictures, or on brackets inlaid by Boule; sideboards -of carved ebony, royally rich, surrounded the walls to elbow height, all -the shelves filled with curiosities; in the middle of the room stood -a row of carved credence-tables, covered with rare miracles of -handicraft--with ivories and bronzes, wood-carvings and enamels, jewelry -and porcelain. - -As soon as Elie Magus entered the sanctuary, he went straight to the -four masterpieces; he saw at a glance that these were the gems of Pons’ -collection, and masters lacking in his own. For Elie Magus these were -the naturalist’s _desiderata_ for which men undertake long voyages from -east to west, through deserts and tropical countries, across southern -savannahs, through virgin forests. - -The first was a painting by Sebastian del Piombo, the second a Fra -Bartolommeo della Porta, the third a Hobbema landscape, and the fourth -and last a Durer--a portrait of a woman. Four diamonds indeed! In the -history of art, Sebastian del Piombo is like a shining point in which -three schools meet, each bringing its pre-eminent qualities. A Venetian -painter, he came to Rome to learn the manner of Raphael under the -direction of Michael Angelo, who would fain oppose Raphael on his own -ground by pitting one of his own lieutenants against the reigning king -of art. And so it came to pass that in Del Piombo’s indolent genius -Venetian color was blended with Florentine composition and a something -of Raphael’s manner in the few pictures which he deigned to paint, and -the sketches were made for him, it is said, by Michael Angelo himself. - -If you would see the perfection to which the painter attained (armed -as he was with triple power), go to the Louvre and look at the Baccio -Bandinelli portrait; you might place it beside Titian’s _Man with a -Glove_, or by that other _Portrait of an Old Man_ in which Raphael’s -consummate skill blends with Correggio’s art; or, again, compare it -with Leonardo da Vinci’s _Charles VIII._, and the picture would scarcely -lose. The four pearls are equal; there is the same lustre and sheen, the -same rounded completeness, the same brilliancy. Art can go no further -than this. Art has risen above Nature, since Nature only gives her -creatures a few brief years of life. - -Pons possessed one example of this immortal great genius and incurably -indolent painter; it was a _Knight of Malta_, a Templar kneeling in -prayer. The picture was painted on slate, and in its unfaded color and -its finish was immeasurably finer than the _Baccio Bandinelli_. - -Fra Bartolommeo was represented by a _Holy Family_, which many -connoisseurs might have taken for a Raphael. The Hobbema would have -fetched sixty thousand francs at a public sale; and as for the Durer, it -was equal to the famous _Holzschuer_ portrait at Nuremberg for which the -kings of Bavaria, Holland, and Prussia have vainly offered two hundred -thousand francs again and again. Was it the portrait of the wife or -the daughter of Holzschuer, Albrecht Durer’s personal friend?--The -hypothesis seems to be a certainty, for the attitude of the figure in -Pons’ picture suggests that it is meant for a pendant, the position of -the coat-of-arms is the same as in the Nuremberg portrait; and, finally, -the _oetatis suoe XLI._ accords perfectly with the age inscribed on -the picture religiously kept by the Holzschuers of Nuremberg, and but -recently engraved. - -The tears stood in Elie Magus’ eyes as he looked from one masterpiece to -another. He turned round to La Cibot, “I will give you a commission of -two thousand francs on each of the pictures if you can arrange that I -shall have them for forty thousand francs,” he said. La Cibot was amazed -at this good fortune dropped from the sky. Admiration, or, to be more -accurate, delirious joy, had wrought such havoc in the Jew’s brain, that -it had actually unsettled his habitual greed, and he fell headlong into -enthusiasm, as you see. - -“And I?----” put in Remonencq, who knew nothing about pictures. - -“Everything here is equally good,” the Jew said cunningly, lowering his -voice for Remonencq’s ears; “take ten pictures just as they come and on -the same conditions. Your fortune will be made.” - -Again the three thieves looked each other in the face, each one of them -overcome with the keenest of all joys--sated greed. All of a sudden -the sick man’s voice rang through the room; the tones vibrated like the -strokes of a bell: - -“Who is there?” called Pons. - -“Monsieur! just go back to bed!” exclaimed La Cibot, springing upon -Pons and dragging him by main force. “What next! Have you a mind to kill -yourself?--Very well, then, it is not Dr. Poulain, it is Remonencq, good -soul, so anxious that he has come to ask after you!--Everybody is so -fond of you that the whole house is in a flutter. So what is there to -fear?” - -“It seems to me that there are several of you,” said Pons. - -“Several? that is good! What next! Are you dreaming!--You will go off -your head before you have done, upon my word!--Here, look!”--and La -Cibot flung open the door, signed to Magus to go, and beckoned to -Remonencq. - -“Well, my dear sir,” said the Auvergnat, now supplied with something to -say, “I just came to ask after you, for the whole house is alarmed about -you.--Nobody likes Death to set foot in a house!--And lastly, Daddy -Monistrol, whom you know very well, told me to tell you that if you -wanted money he was at your service----” - -“He sent you here to take a look round at my knick-knacks!” returned the -old collector from his bed; and the sour tones of his voice were full of -suspicion. - -A sufferer from liver complaint nearly always takes momentary and -special dislikes to some person or thing, and concentrates all his -ill-humor upon the object. Pons imagined that some one had designs upon -his precious collection; the thought of guarding it became a fixed idea -with him; Schmucke was continually sent to see if any one had stolen -into the sanctuary. - -“Your collection is fine enough to attract the attention of _chineurs_,” - Remonencq answered astutely. “I am not much in the art line myself; but -you are supposed to be such a great connoisseur, sir, that with my eyes -shut--supposing, for instance, that you should need money some time or -other, for nothing costs so much as these confounded illnesses; there -was my sister now, when she would have got better again just as well -without. Doctors are rascals that take advantage of your condition to--” - -“Thank you, good-day, good-day,” broke in Pons, eying the marine -store-dealer uneasily. - -“I will go to the door with him, for fear he should touch something,” La -Cibot whispered to her patient. - -“Yes, yes,” answered the invalid, thanking her by a glance. - -La Cibot shut the bedroom door behind her, and Pons’ suspicions awoke -again at once. - -She found Magus standing motionless before the four pictures. His -immobility, his admiration, can only be understood by other souls open -to ideal beauty, to the ineffable joy of beholding art made -perfect; such as these can stand for whole hours before the -_Antiope_--Correggio’s masterpiece--before Leonardo’s _Gioconda_, -Titian’s _Mistress_, Andrea del Sarto’s _Holy Family_, Domenichino’s -_Children Among the Flowers_, Raphael’s little cameo, or his _Portrait -of an Old Man_--Art’s greatest masterpieces. - -“Be quick and go, and make no noise,” said La Cibot. - -The Jew walked slowly backwards, giving the pictures such a farewell -gaze as a lover gives his love. Outside on the landing, La Cibot tapped -his bony arm. His rapt contemplations had put an idea into her head. - -“Make it _four_ thousand francs for each picture,” said she, “or I do -nothing.” - -“I am so poor!...” began Magus. “I want the pictures simply for their -own sake, simply and solely for the love of art, my dear lady.” - -“I can understand that love, sonny, you are so dried up. But if you do -not promise me sixteen thousand francs now, before Remonencq here, I -shall want twenty to-morrow.” - -“Sixteen; I promise,” returned the Jew, frightened by the woman’s -rapacity. - -La Cibot turned to Remonencq. - -“What oath can a Jew swear?” she inquired. - -“You may trust him,” replied the marine store-dealer. “He is as honest -as I am.” - -“Very well; and you?” asked she, “if I get him to sell them to you, what -will you give me?” - -“Half-share of profits,” Remonencq answered briskly. - -“I would rather have a lump sum,” returned La Cibot; “I am not in -business myself.” - -“You understand business uncommonly well!” put in Elie Magus, smiling; -“a famous saleswoman you would make!” - -“I want her to take me into partnership, me and my goods,” said the -Auvergnat, as he took La Cibot’s plump arm and gave it playful taps like -hammer-strokes. “I don’t ask her to bring anything into the firm but her -good looks! You are making a mistake when your stick to your Turk of -a Cibot and his needle. Is a little bit of a porter the man to make a -woman rich--a fine woman like you? Ah, what a figure you would make in -a shop on the boulevard, all among the curiosities, gossiping with -amateurs and twisting them round your fingers! Just you leave your lodge -as soon as you have lined your purse here, and you shall see what will -become of us both.” - -“Lined my purse!” cried Cibot. “I am incapable of taking the worth of a -single pin; you mind that, Remonencq! I am known in the neighborhood for -an honest woman, I am.” - -La Cibot’s eyes flashed fire. - -“There, never mind,” said Elie Magus; “this Auvergnat seems to be too -fond of you to mean to insult you.” - -“How she would draw on the customers!” cried the Auvergnat. - -Mme. Cibot softened at this. - -“Be fair, sonnies,” quoth she, “and judge for yourselves how I am -placed. These ten years past I have been wearing my life out for these -two old bachelors yonder, and neither or them has given me anything but -words. Remonencq will tell you that I feed them by contract, and lose -twenty or thirty sous a day; all my savings have gone that way, by the -soul of my mother (the only author of my days that I ever knew), this -is as true as that I live, and that this is the light of day, and may my -coffee poison me if I lie about a farthing. Well, there is one up there -that will die soon, eh? and he the richer of the two that I have treated -like my own children. Would you believe it, my dear sir, I have told him -over and over again for days past that he is at death’s door (for Dr. -Poulain has given him up), he could not say less about putting my name -down in his will. We shall only get our due by taking it, upon my word, -as an honest woman, for as for trusting to the next-of-kin!--No fear! -There! look you here, words don’t stink; it is a bad world!” - -“That is true,” Elie Magus answered cunningly, “that is true; and it -is just the like of us that are among the best,” he added, looking at -Remonencq. - -“Just let me be,” returned La Cibot; “I am not speaking of you. -‘Pressing company is always accepted,’ as the old actor said. I swear to -you that the two gentlemen already owe me nearly three thousand francs; -the little I have is gone by now in medicine and things on their -account; and now suppose they refuse to recognize my advances? I am so -stupidly honest that I did not dare to say nothing to them about it. -Now, you that are in business, my dear sir, do you advise me to got to a -lawyer?” - -“A lawyer?” cried Remonencq; “you know more about it than all the -lawyers put together--” - -Just at that moment a sound echoed in the great staircase, a sound as if -some heavy body had fallen in the dining-room. - -“Oh, goodness me!” exclaimed La Cibot; “it seems to me that monsieur has -just taken a ticket for the ground floor.” - -She pushed her fellow-conspirators out at the door, and while the -pair descended the stairs with remarkable agility, she ran to the -dining-room, and there beheld Pons, in his shirt, stretched out upon -the tiles. He had fainted. She lifted him as if he had been a feather, -carried him back to his room, laid him in bed, burned feathers under his -nose, bathed his temples with eau-de-cologne, and at last brought him to -consciousness. When she saw his eyes unclose and life return, she stood -over him, hands on hips. - -“No slippers! In your shirt! That is the way to kill yourself! Why do -you suspect me?--If this is to be the way of it, I wish you good-day, -sir. Here have I served you these ten years, I have spent money on you -till my savings are all gone, to spare trouble to that poor M. Schmucke, -crying like a child on the stairs--and _this_ is my reward! You have -been spying on me. God has punished you! It serves you right! Here I -am straining myself to carry you, running the risk of doing myself a -mischief that I shall feel all my days. Oh dear, oh dear! and the door -left open too--” - -“You were talking with some one. Who was it?” - -“Here are notions!” cried La Cibot. “What next! Am I your bond-slave? -Am I to give account of myself to you? Do you know that if you bother me -like this, I shall clear out! You shall take a nurse.” - -Frightened by this threat, Pons unwittingly allowed La Cibot to see the -extent of the power of her sword of Damocles. - -“It is my illness!” he pleaded piteously. - -“It is as you please,” La Cibot answered roughly. - -She went. Pons, confused, remorseful, admiring his nurse’s scalding -devotion, reproached himself for his behavior. The fall on the paved -floor of the dining-room had shaken and bruised him, and aggravated his -illness, but Pons was scarcely conscious of his physical sufferings. - -La Cibot met Schmucke on the staircase. - -“Come here, sir,” she said. “There is bad news, that there is! M. Pons -is going off his head! Just think of it! he got up with nothing on, -he came after me--and down he came full-length. Ask him why--he knows -nothing about it. He is in a bad way. I did nothing to provoke such -violence, unless, perhaps, I waked up ideas by talking to him of his -early amours. Who knows men? Old libertines that they are. I ought -not to have shown him my arms when his eyes were glittering like -_carbuckles_.” - -Schmucke listened. Mme. Cibot might have been talking Hebrew for -anything that he understood. - -“I have given myself a wrench that I shall feel all my days,” added she, -making as though she were in great pain. (Her arms did, as a matter of -fact, ache a little, and the muscular fatigue suggested an idea, which -she proceeded to turn to profit.) “So stupid I am. When I saw him lying -there on the floor, I just took him up in my arms as if he had been a -child, and carried him back to bed, I did. And I strained myself, I can -feel it now. Ah! how it hurts!--I am going downstairs. Look after our -patient. I will send Cibot for Dr. Poulain. I had rather die outright -than be crippled.” - -La Cibot crawled downstairs, clinging to the banisters, and writhing and -groaning so piteously that the tenants, in alarm, came out upon their -landings. Schmucke supported the suffering creature, and told the story -of La Cibot’s devotion, the tears running down his cheeks as he spoke. -Before very long the whole house, the whole neighborhood indeed, had -heard of Mme. Cibot’s heroism; she had given herself a dangerous strain, -it was said, with lifting one of the “nutcrackers.” - -Schmucke meanwhile went to Pons’ bedside with the tale. Their factotum -was in a frightful state. “What shall we do without her?” they said, -as they looked at each other; but Pons was so plainly the worse for his -escapade, that Schmucke did not dare to scold him. - -“Gonfounded pric-a-prac! I would sooner purn dem dan loose mein friend!” - he cried, when Pons told him of the cause of the accident. “To suspect -Montame Zipod, dot lend us her safings! It is not goot; but it is der -illness--” - -“Ah! what an illness! I am not the same man, I can feel it,” said Pons. -“My dear Schmucke, if only you did not suffer through me!” - -“Scold me,” Schmucke answered, “und leaf Montame Zipod in beace.” - -As for Mme. Cibot, she soon recovered in Dr. Poulain’s hands; and her -restoration, bordering on the miraculous, shed additional lustre on -her name and fame in the Marais. Pons attributed the success to the -excellent constitution of the patient, who resumed her ministrations -seven days later to the great satisfaction of her two gentlemen. -Her influence in their household and her tyranny was increased -a hundred-fold by the accident. In the course of a week, the two -nutcrackers ran into debt; Mme. Cibot paid the outstanding amounts, and -took the opportunity to obtain from Schmucke (how easily!) a receipt for -two thousand francs, which she had lent, she said, to the friends. - -“Oh, what a doctor M. Poulain is!” cried La Cibot, for Pons’ benefit. -“He will bring you through, my dear sir, for he pulled me out of my -coffin! Cibot, poor man, thought I was dead.... Well, Dr. Poulain will -have told you that while I was in bed I thought of nothing but you. ‘God -above,’ said I, ‘take me, and let my dear Mr. Pons live--’” - -“Poor dear Mme. Cibot, you all but crippled yourself for me.” - -“Ah! but for Dr. Poulain I should have been put to bed with a shovel by -now, as we shall all be one day. Well, what must be, must, as the old -actor said. One must take things philosophically. How did you get on -without me?” - -“Schmucke nursed me,” said the invalid; “but our poor money-box and our -lessons have suffered. I do not know how he managed.” - -“Calm yourself, Bons,” exclaimed Schmucke; “ve haf in Zipod ein -panker--” - -“Do not speak of it, my lamb. You are our children, both of you,” cried -La Cibot. “Our savings will be well invested; you are safer than the -Bank. So long as we have a morsel of bread, half of it is yours. It is -not worth mentioning--” - -“Boor Montame Zipod!” said Schmucke, and he went. - -Pons said nothing. - -“Would you believe it, my cherub?” said La Cibot, as the sick man tossed -uneasily, “in my agony--for it was a near squeak for me--the thing that -worried me most was the thought that I must leave you alone, with no one -to look after you, and my poor Cibot without a farthing.... My savings -are such a trifle, that I only mention them in connection with my death -and Cibot, an angel that he is! No. He nursed me as if I had been a -queen, he did, and cried like a calf over me!... But I counted on you, -upon my word. I said to him, ‘There, Cibot! my gentlemen will not let -you starve--’” - -Pons made no reply to this thrust _ad testamentum_; but as the portress -waited for him to say something--“I shall recommend you to M. Schmucke,” - he said at last. - -“Ah!” cried La Cibot, “whatever you do will be right; I trust in you and -your heart. Let us never talk of this again; you make me feel ashamed, -my cherub. Think of getting better, you will outlive us all yet.” - -Profound uneasiness filled Mme. Cibot’s mind. She cast about for some -way of making the sick man understand that she expected a legacy. That -evening, when Schmucke was eating his dinner as usual by Pons’ bedside, -she went out, hoping to find Dr. Poulain at home. - -Dr. Poulain lived in the Rue d’Orleans in a small ground floor -establishment, consisting of a lobby, a sitting-room, and two bedrooms. -A closet, opening into the lobby and the bedroom, had been turned into -a study for the doctor. The kitchen, the servant’s bedroom, and a small -cellar were situated in a wing of the house, a huge pile built in the -time of the Empire, on the site of an old mansion of which the garden -still remained, though it had been divided among the three ground floor -tenants. - -Nothing had been changed in the doctor’s house since it was built. -Paint and paper and ceilings were all redolent of the Empire. The grimy -deposits of forty years lay thick on walls and ceilings, on paper and -paint and mirrors and gilding. And yet, this little establishment, in -the depths of the Marais, paid a rent of a thousand francs. - -Mme. Poulain, the doctor’s mother, aged sixty-seven, was ending her days -in the second bedroom. She worked for a breeches-maker, stitching men’s -leggings, breeches, belts, and braces, anything, in fact, that is made -in a way of business which has somewhat fallen off of late years. Her -whole time was spent in keeping her son’s house and superintending -the one servant; she never went abroad, and took the air in the little -garden entered through the glass door of the sitting-room. Twenty years -previously, when her husband died, she sold his business to his best -workman, who gave his master’s widow work enough to earn a daily wage -of thirty sous. She had made every sacrifice to educate her son. At all -costs, he should occupy a higher station than his father before him; -and now she was proud of her Aesculapius, she believed in him, and -sacrificed everything to him as before. She was happy to take care of -him, to work and put by a little money, and dream of nothing but his -welfare, and love him with an intelligent love of which every mother is -not capable. For instance, Mme. Poulain remembered that she had been a -working girl. She would not injure her son’s prospects; he should not be -ashamed by his mother (for the good woman’s grammar was something of -the same kind as Mme. Cibot’s); and for this reason she kept in the -background, and went to her room of her own accord if any distinguished -patient came to consult the doctor, or if some old schoolfellow or -fellow-student chanced to call. Dr. Poulain had never had occasion to -blush for the mother whom he revered; and this sublime love of hers more -than atoned for a defective education. - -The breeches-maker’s business sold for about twenty thousand francs, and -the widow invested the money in the Funds in 1820. The income of eleven -hundred francs per annum derived from this source was, at one time, her -whole fortune. For many a year the neighbors used to see the doctor’s -linen hanging out to dry upon a clothes-line in the garden, and the -servant and Mme. Poulain thriftily washed everything at home; a piece of -domestic economy which did not a little to injure the doctor’s practice, -for it was thought that if he was so poor, it must be through his own -fault. Her eleven hundred francs scarcely did more than pay the rent. -During those early days, Mme. Poulain, good, stout, little old woman, -was the breadwinner, and the poor household lived upon her earnings. -After twelve years of perseverance upon a rough and stony road, Dr. -Poulain at last was making an income of three thousand francs, and Mme. -Poulain had an income of about five thousand francs at her disposal. -Five thousand francs for those who know Paris means a bare subsistence. - -The sitting-room, where patients waited for an interview, was shabbily -furnished. There was the inevitable mahogany sofa covered with -yellow-flowered Utrecht velvet, four easy-chairs, a tea-table, a -console, and half-a-dozen chairs, all the property of the deceased -breeches-maker, and chosen by him. A lyre-shaped clock between two -Egyptian candlesticks still preserved its glass shade intact. You -asked yourself how the yellow chintz window-curtains, covered with red -flowers, had contrived to hang together for so long; for evidently they -had come from the Jouy factory, and Oberkampf received the Emperor’s -congratulations upon similar hideous productions of the cotton industry -in 1809. - -The doctor’s consulting-room was fitted up in the same style, -with household stuff from the paternal chamber. It looked stiff, -poverty-stricken, and bare. What patient could put faith in the skill of -any unknown doctor who could not even furnish his house? And this in a -time when advertising is all-powerful; when we gild the gas-lamps in -the Place de la Concorde to console the poor man for his poverty by -reminding him that he is rich as a citizen. - -The ante-chamber did duty as a dining-room. The servant sat at her -sewing there whenever she was not busy in the kitchen or keeping the -doctor’s mother company. From the dingy short curtains in the windows -you would have guessed at the shabby thrift behind them without setting -foot in the dreary place. What could those wall-cupboards contain but -stale scraps of food, chipped earthenware, corks used over and over -again indefinitely, soiled table-linen, odds and ends that could descend -but one step lower into the dust-heap, and all the squalid necessities -of a pinched household in Paris? - -In these days, when the five-franc piece is always lurking in our -thoughts and intruding itself into our speech, Dr. Poulain, aged -thirty-three, was still a bachelor. Heaven had bestowed on him a mother -with no connections. In ten years he had not met with the faintest -pretext for a romance in his professional career; his practice lay among -clerks and small manufacturers, people in his own sphere of life, with -homes very much like his own. His richer patients were butchers, bakers, -and the more substantial tradespeople of the neighborhood. These, for -the most part, attributed their recovery to Nature, as an excuse for -paying for the services of a medical man, who came on foot, at the rate -of two francs per visit. In his profession, a carriage is more necessary -than medical skill. - -A humdrum monotonous life tells in the end upon the most adventurous -spirit. A man fashions himself to his lot, he accepts a commonplace -existence; and Dr. Poulain, after ten years of his practice, continued -his labors of Sisyphus without the despair that made early days so -bitter. And yet--like every soul in Paris--he cherished a dream. -Remonencq was happy in his dream; La Cibot had a dream of her own; and -Dr. Poulain, too, dreamed. Some day he would be called in to attend -a rich and influential patient, would effect a positive cure, and the -patient would procure a post for him; he would be head surgeon to a -hospital, medical officer of a prison or police-court, or doctor to the -boulevard theatres. He had come by his present appointment as doctor -to the Mairie in this very way. La Cibot had called him in when the -landlord of the house in the Rue de Normandie fell ill; he had treated -the case with complete success; M. Pillerault, the patient, took -an interest in the young doctor, called to thank him, and saw his -carefully-hidden poverty. Count Popinot, the cabinet minister, had -married M. Pillerault’s grand-niece, and greatly respected her uncle; of -him, therefore, M. Pillerault had asked for the post, which Poulain had -now held for two years. That appointment and its meagre salary came just -in time to prevent a desperate step; Poulain was thinking of emigration; -and for a Frenchman, it is a kind of death to leave France. - -Dr. Poulain went, you may be sure, to thank Count Popinot; but as Count -Popinot’s family physician was the celebrated Horace Bianchon, it was -pretty clear that his chances of gaining a footing in that house were -something of the slenderest. The poor doctor had fondly hoped for the -patronage of a powerful cabinet minister, one of the twelve or fifteen -cards which a cunning hand has been shuffling for sixteen years on the -green baize of the council table, and now he dropped back again into his -Marais, his old groping life among the poor and the small tradespeople, -with the privilege of issuing certificates of death for a yearly stipend -of twelve hundred francs. - -Dr. Poulain had distinguished himself to some extent as a house-student; -he was a prudent practitioner, and not without experience. His deaths -caused no scandal; he had plenty of opportunities of studying all kinds -of complaints _in anima vili_. Judge, therefore, of the spleen that -he nourished! The expression of his countenance, lengthy and not -too cheerful to begin with, at times was positively appalling. Set a -Tartuffe’s all-devouring eyes, and the sour humor of an Alceste in -a sallow-parchment visage, and try to imagine for yourself the gait, -bearing, and expression of a man who thought himself as good a doctor as -the illustrious Bianchon, and felt that he was held down in his narrow -lot by an iron hand. He could not help comparing his receipts (ten -francs a day if he was fortunate) with Bianchon’s five or six hundred. - -Are the hatreds and jealousies of democracy incomprehensible after this? -Ambitious and continually thwarted, he could not reproach himself. -He had once already tried his fortune by inventing a purgative pill, -something like Morrison’s, and intrusted the business operations to an -old hospital chum, a house-student who afterwards took a retail drug -business; but, unluckily, the druggist, smitten with the charms of a -ballet-dancer of the Ambigu-Comique, found himself at length in the -bankruptcy court; and as the patent had been taken out in his name, -his partner was literally without a remedy, and the important discovery -enriched the purchaser of the business. The sometime house-student set -sail for Mexico, that land of gold, taking poor Poulain’s little savings -with him; and, to add insult to injury, the opera-dancer treated him as -an extortioner when he applied to her for his money. - -Not a single rich patient had come to him since he had the luck to cure -old M. Pillerault. Poulain made his rounds on foot, scouring the Marais -like a lean cat, and obtained from two to forty sous out of a score -of visits. The paying patient was a phenomenon about as rare as that -anomalous fowl known as a “white blackbird” in all sublunary regions. - -The briefless barrister, the doctor without a patient, are pre-eminently -the two types of a decorous despair peculiar to this city of Paris; -it is mute, dull despair in human form, dressed in a black coat and -trousers with shining seams that recall the zinc on an attic roof, a -glistening satin waistcoat, a hat preserved like a relic, a pair of old -gloves, and a cotton shirt. The man is the incarnation of a melancholy -poem, sombre as the secrets of the Conciergerie. Other kinds of poverty, -the poverty of the artist--actor, painter, musician, or poet--are -relieved and lightened by the artist’s joviality, the reckless gaiety -of the Bohemian border country--the first stage of the journey to the -Thebaid of genius. But these two black-coated professions that go afoot -through the street are brought continually in contact with disease and -dishonor; they see nothing of human nature but its sores; in the -forlorn first stages and beginnings of their career they eye competitors -suspiciously and defiantly; concentrated dislike and ambition flashes -out in glances like the breaking forth of hidden flames. Let two -schoolfellows meet after twenty years, the rich man will avoid the poor; -he does not recognize him, he is afraid even to glance into the gulf -which Fate has set between him and the friend of other years. The one -has been borne through life on the mettlesome steed called Fortune, or -wafted on the golden clouds of success; the other has been making his -way in underground Paris through the sewers, and bears the marks of his -career upon him. How many a chum of old days turned aside at the sight -of the doctor’s greatcoat and waistcoat! - -With this explanation, it should be easy to understand how Dr. Poulain -came to lend himself so readily to the farce of La Cibot’s illness and -recovery. Greed of every kind, ambition of every nature, is not easy to -hide. The doctor examined his patient, found that every organ was sound -and healthy, admired the regularity of her pulse and the perfect ease of -her movements; and as she continued to moan aloud, he saw that for some -reason she found it convenient to lie at Death’s door. The speedy cure -of a serious imaginary disease was sure to cause a sensation in the -neighborhood; the doctor would be talked about. He made up his mind at -once. He talked of rupture, and of taking it in time, and thought even -worse of the case than La Cibot herself. The portress was plied with -various remedies, and finally underwent a sham operation, crowned with -complete success. Poulain repaired to the Arsenal Library, looked out a -grotesque case in some of Desplein’s records of extraordinary cures, and -fitted the details to Mme. Cibot, modestly attributing the success of -the treatment to the great surgeon, in whose steps (he said) he walked. -Such is the impudence of beginners in Paris. Everything is made to serve -as a ladder by which to climb upon the scene; and as everything, even -the rungs of a ladder, will wear out in time, the new members of every -profession are at a loss to find the right sort of wood of which to make -steps for themselves. - -There are moments when the Parisian is not propitious. He grows tired -of raising pedestals, pouts like a spoiled child, and will have no -more idols; or, to state it more accurately, Paris cannot always find -a proper object for infatuation. Now and then the vein of genius gives -out, and at such times the Parisian may turn supercilious; he is not -always willing to bow down and gild mediocrity. - - - -Mme. Cibot, entering in her usual unceremonious fashion, found the -doctor and his mother at table, before a bowl of lamb’s lettuce, the -cheapest of all salad-stuffs. The dessert consisted of a thin wedge of -Brie cheese flanked by a plate of specked foreign apples and a dish -of mixed dry fruits, known as _quatre-mendiants_, in which the raisin -stalks were abundantly conspicuous. - -“You can stay, mother,” said the doctor, laying a hand on Mme. Poulain’s -arm; “this is Mme. Cibot, of whom I have told you.” - -“My respects to you, madame, and my duty to you, sir,” said La Cibot, -taking the chair which the doctor offered. “Ah! is this your mother, -sir? She is very happy to have a son who has such talent; he saved my -life, madame, brought me back from the depths.” - -The widow, hearing Mme. Cibot praise her son in this way, thought her a -delightful woman. - -“I have just come to tell you, that, between ourselves, poor M. Pons is -doing very badly, sir, and I have something to say to you about him--” - -“Let us go into the sitting-room,” interrupted the doctor, and with a -significant gesture he indicated the servant. - -In the sitting-room La Cibot explained her position with regard to -the pair of nutcrackers at very considerable length. She repeated the -history of her loan with added embellishments, and gave a full account -of the immense services rendered during the past ten years to MM. -Pons and Schmucke. The two old men, to all appearance, could not exist -without her motherly care. She posed as an angel; she told so many lies, -one after another, watering them with her tears, that old Mme. Poulain -was quite touched. - -“You understand, my dear sir,” she concluded, “that I really ought to -know how far I can depend on M. Pons’ intentions, supposing that he -should not die; not that I want him to die, for looking after those two -innocents is my life, madame, you see; still, when one of them is gone -I shall look after the other. For my own part, I was built by Nature to -rival mothers. Without nobody to care for, nobody to take for a child, I -don’t know what I should do.... So if M. Poulain only would, he might do -me a service for which I should be very grateful; and that is, to say a -word to M. Pons for me. Goodness me! an annuity of a thousand francs, -is that too much, I ask you?... To. M. Schmucke it would be so much -gained.--Our dear patient said that he should recommend me to the -German, poor man; it is his idea, no doubt, that M. Schmucke should -be his heir. But what is a man that cannot put two ideas together in -French? And besides, he would be quite capable of going back to Germany, -he will be in such despair over his friend’s death--” - -The doctor grew grave. “My dear Mme. Cibot,” he said, “this sort of -thing does not in the least concern a doctor. I should not be allowed to -exercise my profession if it was known that I interfered in the matter -of my patients’ testamentary dispositions. The law forbids a doctor to -receive a legacy from a patient--” - -“A stupid law! What is to hinder me from dividing my legacy with you?” - La Cibot said immediately. - -“I will go further,” said the doctor; “my professional conscience will -not permit me to speak to M. Pons of his death. In the first place, he -is not so dangerously ill that there is any need to speak of it, and in -the second, such talk coming from me might give a shock to the system -that would do him real harm, and then his illness might terminate -fatally--” - -“_I_ don’t put on gloves to tell him to get his affairs in order,” cried -Mme. Cibot, “and he is none the worse for that. He is used to it. There -is nothing to fear.” - -“Not a word more about it, my dear Mme. Cibot! These things are not -within a doctor’s province; it is a notary’s business--” - -“But, my dear M. Poulain, suppose that M. Pons of his own accord should -ask you how he is, and whether he had better make his arrangements; -then, would you refuse to tell him that if you want to get better it is -an excellent plan to set everything in order? Then you might just slip -in a little word for me--” - -“Oh, if _he_ talks of making his will, I certainly shall not dissuade -him,” said the doctor. - -“Very well, that is settled. I came to thank you for your care of me,” - she added, as she slipped a folded paper containing three gold coins -into the doctor’s hands. “It is all I can do at the moment. Ah! my dear -M. Poulain, if I were rich, you should be rich, you that are the image -of Providence on earth.--Madame, you have an angel for a son.” - -La Cibot rose to her feet, Mme. Poulain bowed amiably, and the doctor -went to the door with the visitor. Just then a sudden, lurid gleam of -light flashed across the mind of this Lady Macbeth of the streets. She -saw clearly that the doctor was her accomplice--he had taken the fee for -the sham illness. - -“M. Poulain,” she began, “how can you refuse to say a word or two to -save me from want, when you helped me in the affair of my accident?” - -The doctor felt that the devil had him by the hair, as the saying is; he -felt, too, that the hair was being twisted round the pitiless red claw. -Startled and afraid lest he should sell his honesty for such a trifle, -he answered the diabolical suggestion by another no less diabolical. - -“Listen, my dear Mme. Cibot,” he said, as he drew her into his -consulting-room. “I will now pay a debt of gratitude that I owe you for -my appointment to the mairie--” - -“We go shares?” she asked briskly. - -“In what?” - -“In the legacy.” - -“You do not know me,” said Dr. Poulain, drawing himself up like Valerius -Publicola. “Let us have no more of that. I have a friend, an old -schoolfellow of mine, a very intelligent young fellow; and we are so -much the more intimate, because, our lives have fallen out very much in -the same way. He was studying law while I was a house-student, he was -engrossing deeds in Maitre Couture’s office. His father was a shoemaker, -and mine was a breeches-maker; he has not found anyone to take much -interest in his career, nor has he any capital; for, after all, capital -is only to be had from sympathizers. He could only afford to buy -a provincial connection--at Mantes--and so little do provincials -understand the Parisian intellect, that they set all sorts of intrigues -on foot against him.” - -“The wretches!” cried La Cibot. - -“Yes,” said the doctor. “They combined against him to such purpose, that -they forced him to sell his connection by misrepresenting something that -he had done; the attorney for the crown interfered, he belonged to the -place, and sided with his fellow-townsmen. My friend’s name is Fraisier. -He is lodged as I am, and he is even leaner and more threadbare. He took -refuge in our arrondissement, and is reduced to appear for clients in -the police-court or before the magistrate. He lives in the Rue de la -Perle close by. Go to No. 9, third floor, and you will see his name on -the door on the landing, painted in gilt letters on a small square -of red leather. Fraisier makes a special point of disputes among the -porters, workmen, and poor folk in the arrondissement, and his charges -are low. He is an honest man; for I need not tell you that if he had -been a scamp, he would be keeping his carriage by now. I will call and -see my friend Fraisier this evening. Go to him early to-morrow; he knows -M. Louchard, the bailiff; M. Tabareau, the clerk of the court; and the -justice of the peace, M. Vitel; and M. Trognon, the notary. He is even -now looked upon as one of the best men of business in the Quarter. If -he takes charge of your interests, if you can secure him as M. Pons’ -adviser, you will have a second self in him, you see. But do not make -dishonorable proposals to him, as you did just now to me; he has a -head on his shoulders, you will understand each other. And as for -acknowledging his services, I will be your intermediary--” - -Mme. Cibot looked askance at the doctor. - -“Is that the lawyer who helped Mme. Florimond the haberdasher in the Rue -Vieille-du-Temple out of a fix in that matter of her friend’s legacy?” - -“The very same.” - -“Wasn’t it a shame that she did not marry him after he had gained two -thousand francs a year for her?” exclaimed La Cibot. “And she thought to -clear off scores by making him a present of a dozen shirts and a couple -of dozen pocket-handkerchiefs; an outfit, in short.” - -“My dear Mme. Cibot, that outfit cost a thousand francs, and Fraisier -was just setting up for himself in the Quarter, and wanted the things -very badly. And what was more, she paid the bill without asking any -questions. That affair brought him clients, and now he is very busy; but -in my line a practice brings--” - -“It is only the righteous that suffer here below,” said La Cibot. “Well, -M. Poulain, good-day and thank you.” - -And herewith begins the tragedy, or, if you like to have it so, -a terrible comedy--the death of an old bachelor delivered over by -circumstances too strong for him to the rapacity and greed that gathered -about his bed. And other forces came to the support of rapacity and -greed; there was the picture collector’s mania, that most intense of all -passions; there was the cupidity of the Sieur Fraisier, whom you shall -presently behold in his den, a sight to make you shudder; and lastly, -there was the Auvergnat thirsting for money, ready for anything--even -for a crime--that should bring him the capital he wanted. The first part -of the story serves in some sort as a prelude to this comedy in which -all the actors who have hitherto occupied the stage will reappear. - -The degradation of a word is one of those curious freaks of manners -upon which whole volumes of explanation might be written. Write to an -attorney and address him as “Lawyer So-and-so,” and you insult him as -surely as you would insult a wholesale colonial produce merchant by -addressing your letter to “Mr. So-and-so, Grocer.” There are plenty -of men of the world who ought to be aware, since the knowledge of such -subtle distinctions is their province, that you cannot insult a French -writer more cruelly than by calling him _un homme de lettres_--a -literary man. The word _monsieur_ is a capital example of the life and -death of words. Abbreviated from monseigneur, once so considerable a -title, and even now, in the form of _sire_, reserved for emperors and -kings, it is bestowed indifferently upon all and sundry; while the -twin-word _messire_, which is nothing but its double and equivalent, if -by any chance it slips into a certificate of burial, produces an outcry -in the Republican papers. - -Magistrates, councillors, jurisconsults, judges, barristers, officers -for the crown, bailiffs, attorneys, clerks of the court, procurators, -solicitors, and agents of various kinds, represent or misrepresent -Justice. The “lawyer” and the bailiff’s men (commonly called “the -brokers”) are the two lowest rungs of the ladder. Now, the bailiff’s man -is an outsider, an adventitious minister of justice, appearing to -see that judgment is executed; he is, in fact, a kind of inferior -executioner employed by the county court. But the word “lawyer” - (homme de loi) is a depreciatory term applied to the legal profession. -Consuming professional jealousy finds similar disparaging epithets -for fellow-travelers in every walk of life, and every calling has its -special insult. The scorn flung into the words _homme de loi, homme -de lettres_, is wanting in the plural form, which may be used without -offence; but in Paris every profession, learned or unlearned, has its -_omega_, the individual who brings it down to the level of the lowest -class; and the written law has its connecting link with the custom -right of the streets. There are districts where the pettifogging man of -business, known as Lawyer So-and-So, is still to be found. M. Fraisier -was to the member of the Incorporated Law Society as the money-lender -of the Halles, offering small loans for a short period at an exorbitant -interest, is to the great capitalist. - -Working people, strange to say are as shy of officials as of fashionable -restaurants, they take advice from irregular sources as they turn into -a little wineshop to drink. Each rank in life finds its own level, and -there abides. None but a chosen few care to climb the heights, few can -feel at ease in the presence of their betters, or take their place among -them, like a Beaumarchais letting fall the watch of the great lord who -tried to humiliate him. And if there are few who can even rise to -a higher social level, those among them who can throw off their -swaddling-clothes are rare and great exceptions. - - - -At six o’clock the next morning Mme. Cibot stood in the Rue de la Perle; -she was making a survey of the abode of her future adviser, Lawyer -Fraisier. The house was one of the old-fashioned kind formerly inhabited -by small tradespeople and citizens with small means. A cabinetmaker’s -shop occupied almost the whole of the ground floor, as well as the -little yard behind, which was covered with his workshops and warehouses; -the small remaining space being taken up by the porter’s lodge and the -passage entry in the middle. The staircase walls were half rotten with -damp and covered with saltpetre to such a degree that the house seemed -to be stricken with leprosy. - -Mme. Cibot went straight to the porter’s lodge, and there encountered -one of the fraternity, a shoemaker, his wife, and two small children, -all housed in a room ten feet square, lighted from the yard at the back. -La Cibot mentioned her profession, named herself, and spoke of her house -in the Rue de Normandie, and the two women were on cordial terms at -once. After a quarter of an hour spent in gossip while the shoemaker’s -wife made breakfast ready for her husband and the children, Mme. Cibot -turned the conversation to the subject of the lodgers, and spoke of the -lawyer. - -“I have come to see him on business,” she said. “One of his friends, Dr. -Poulain, recommended me to him. Do you know Dr. Poulain?” - -“I should think I do,” said the lady of the Rue de la Perle. “He saved -my little girl’s life when she had the croup.” - -“He saved my life, too, madame. What sort of a man is this M. Fraisier?” - -“He is the sort of man, my dear lady, out of whom it is very difficult -to get the postage-money at the end of the month.” - -To a person of La Cibot’s intelligence this was enough. - -“One may be poor and honest,” observed she. - -“I am sure I hope so,” returned Fraisier’s portress. “We are not -rolling in coppers, let alone gold or silver; but we have not a farthing -belonging to anybody else.” - -This sort of talk sounded familiar to La Cibot. - -“In short, one can trust him, child, eh?” - -“Lord! when M. Fraisier means well by any one, there is not his like, so -I have heard Mme. Florimond say.” - -“And why didn’t she marry him when she owed her fortune to him?” La -Cibot asked quickly. “It is something for a little haberdasher, kept by -an old man, to be a barrister’s wife--” - -“Why?--” asked the portress, bringing Mme. Cibot out into the passage. -“Why?--You are going to see him, are you not, madame?--Very well, when -you are in his office you will know why.” - -From the state of the staircase, lighted by sash-windows on the side of -the yard, it was pretty evident that the inmates of the house, with the -exception of the landlord and M. Fraisier himself, were all workmen. -There were traces of various crafts in the deposit of mud upon the -steps--brass-filings, broken buttons, scraps of gauze, and esparto grass -lay scattered about. The walls of the upper stories were covered with -apprentices’ ribald scrawls and caricatures. The portress’ last remark -had roused La Cibot’s curiosity; she decided, not unnaturally, that she -would consult Dr. Poulain’s friend; but as for employing him, that must -depend upon her impressions. - -“I sometimes wonder how Mme. Sauvage can stop in his service,” said the -portress, by way of comment; she was following in Mme. Cibot’s wake. “I -will come up with you, madame” she added; “I am taking the milk and the -newspaper up to my landlord.” - -Arrived on the second floor above the entresol, La Cibot beheld a door -of the most villainous description. The doubtful red paint was coated -for seven or eight inches round the keyhole with a filthy glaze, a grimy -deposit from which the modern house-decorator endeavors to protect the -doors of more elegant apartments by glass “finger-plates.” A grating, -almost stopped up with some compound similar to the deposit with which -a restaurant-keeper gives an air of cellar-bound antiquity to a merely -middle-aged bottle, only served to heighten the general resemblance to -a prison door; a resemblance further heightened by the trefoil-shaped -iron-work, the formidable hinges, the clumsy nail-heads. A miser, or a -pamphleteer at strife with the world at large, must surely have invented -these fortifications. A leaden sink, which received the waste water -of the household, contributed its quota to the fetid atmosphere of the -staircase, and the ceiling was covered with fantastic arabesques traced -by candle-smoke--such arabesques! On pulling a greasy acorn tassel -attached to the bell-rope, a little bell jangled feebly somewhere -within, complaining of the fissure in its metal sides. - -Every detail was in keeping with the general dismal effect. La Cibot -heard a heavy footstep, and the asthmatic wheezing of a virago within, -and Mme. Sauvage presently showed herself. Adrien Brauwer might have -painted just such a hag for his picture of _Witches starting for the -Sabbath_; a stout, unwholesome slattern, five feet six inches in height, -with a grenadier countenance and a beard which far surpassed La -Cibot’s own; she wore a cheap, hideously ugly cotton gown, a bandana -handkerchief knotted over hair which she still continued to put in curl -papers (using for that purpose the printed circulars which her master -received), and a huge pair of gold earrings like cart-wheels in her -ears. This female Cerberus carried a battered skillet in one hand, -and opening the door, set free an imprisoned odor of scorched milk--a -nauseous and penetrating smell, that lost itself at once, however, among -the fumes outside. - -“What can I do for you, missus?” demanded Mme. Sauvage, and with a -truculent air she looked La Cibot over; evidently she was of the opinion -that the visitor was too well dressed, and her eyes looked the more -murderous because they were naturally bloodshot. - -“I have come to see M. Fraisier; his friend, Dr. Poulain, sent me.” - -“Oh! come in, missus,” said La Sauvage, grown very amiable of a sudden, -which proves that she was prepared for this morning visit. - -With a sweeping courtesy, the stalwart woman flung open the door of -a private office, which looked upon the street, and discovered the -ex-attorney of Mantes. - -The room was a complete picture of a third-rate solicitor’s office; with -the stained wooden cases, the letter-files so old that they had grown -beards (in ecclesiastical language), the red tape dangling limp and -dejected, the pasteboard boxes covered with traces of the gambols of -mice, the dirty floor, the ceiling tawny with smoke. A frugal allowance -of wood was smouldering on a couple of fire-dogs on the hearth. And on -the chimney-piece above stood a foggy mirror and a modern clock with -an inlaid wooden case; Fraisier had picked it up at an execution sale, -together with the tawdry imitation rococo candlesticks, with the zinc -beneath showing through the lacquer in several places. - -M. Fraisier was small, thin, and unwholesome looking; his red face, -covered with an eruption, told of tainted blood; and he had, moreover, a -trick of continually scratching his right arm. A wig pushed to the back -of his head displayed a brick-colored cranium of ominous conformation. -This person rose from a cane-seated armchair, in which he sat on a green -leather cushion, assumed an agreeable expression, and brought forward a -chair. - -“Mme. Cibot, I believe?” queried he, in dulcet tones. - -“Yes, sir,” answered the portress. She had lost her habitual assurance. - -Something in the tones of a voice which strongly resembled the sounds of -the little door-bell, something in a glance even sharper than the sharp -green eyes of her future legal adviser, scared Mme. Cibot. Fraisier’s -presence so pervaded the room, that any one might have thought there -was pestilence in the air; and in a flash Mme. Cibot understood why Mme. -Florimond had not become Mme. Fraisier. - -“Poulain told me about you, my dear madame,” said the lawyer, in the -unnatural fashion commonly described by the words “mincing tones”; tones -sharp, thin, and grating as verjuice, in spite of all his efforts. - -Arrived at this point, he tried to draw the skirts of his dressing-gown -over a pair of angular knees encased in threadbare felt. The robe was -an ancient printed cotton garment, lined with wadding which took the -liberty of protruding itself through various slits in it here and there; -the weight of this lining had pulled the skirts aside, disclosing a -dingy-hued flannel waistcoat beneath. With something of a coxcomb’s -manner, Fraisier fastened this refractory article of dress, tightening -the girdle to define his reedy figure; then with a blow of the tongs, -he effected a reconciliation between two burning brands that had long -avoided one another, like brothers after a family quarrel. A sudden -bright idea struck him, and he rose from his chair. - -“Mme. Sauvage!” called he. - -“Well?” - -“I am not at home to anybody!” - -“Eh! bless your life, there’s no need to say that!” - -“She is my old nurse,” the lawyer said in some confusion. - -“And she has not recovered her figure yet,” remarked the heroine of the -Halles. - -Fraisier laughed, and drew the bolt lest his housekeeper should -interrupt Mme. Cibot’s confidences. - -“Well, madame, explain your business,” said he, making another effort -to drape himself in the dressing-gown. “Any one recommended to me by -the only friend I have in the world may count upon me--I may -say--absolutely.” - -For half an hour Mme. Cibot talked, and the man of law made no -interruption of any sort; his face wore the expression of curious -interest with which a young soldier listens to a pensioner of “The Old -Guard.” Fraisier’s silence and acquiescence, the rapt attention with -which he appeared to listen to a torrent of gossip similar to the -samples previously given, dispelled some of the prejudices inspired in -La Cibot’s mind by his squalid surroundings. The little lawyer with the -black-speckled green eyes was in reality making a study of his client. -When at length she came to a stand and looked to him to speak, he was -seized with a fit of the complaint known as a “churchyard cough,” and -had recourse to an earthenware basin half full of herb tea, which he -drained. - -“But for Poulain, my dear madame, I should have been dead before this,” - said Fraisier, by way of answer to the portress’ look of motherly -compassion; “but he will bring me round, he says--” - -As all the client’s confidences appeared to have slipped from the memory -of her legal adviser, she began to cast about for a way of taking leave -of a man so apparently near death. - -“In an affair of this kind, madame,” continued the attorney from Mantes, -suddenly returning to business, “there are two things which it is -most important to know. In the first place, whether the property is -sufficient to be worth troubling about; and in the second, who the -next-of-kin may be; for if the property is the booty, the next-of-kin is -the enemy.” - -La Cibot immediately began to talk of Remonencq and Elie Magus, and -said that the shrewd couple valued the pictures at six hundred thousand -francs. - -“Would they take them themselves at that price?” inquired the lawyer. -“You see, madame, that men of business are shy of pictures. A picture -may mean a piece of canvas worth a couple of francs or a painting worth -two hundred thousand. Now, paintings worth two hundred thousand francs -are usually well known; and what errors in judgment people make in -estimating even the most famous pictures of all! There was once a great -capitalist whose collection was admired, visited, and engraved--actually -engraved! He was supposed to have spent millions of francs on it. He -died, as men must, and--well, his _genuine_ pictures did not fetch -more than two hundred thousand francs! You must let me see these -gentlemen.--Now for the next-of-kin,” and Fraisier again relapsed into -his attitude of listener. - -When President Camusot’s name came up, he nodded with a grimace which -riveted Mme. Cibot’s attention. She tried to read the forehead and the -villainous face, and found what is called in business a “wooden head.” - -“Yes, my dear sir,” repeated La Cibot. “Yes, my M. Pons is own cousin -to President Camusot de Marville; he tells me that ten times a day. M. -Camusot the silk mercer was married twice--” - -“He that has just been nominated for a peer of France?--” - -“And his first wife was a Mlle. Pons, M. Pons’ first cousin.” - -“Then they are first cousins once removed--” - -“They are ‘not cousins.’ They have quarreled.” - -It may be remembered that before M. Camusot de Marville came to Paris, -he was President of the Tribunal of Mantes for five years; and not only -was his name still remembered there, but he had kept up a correspondence -with Mantes. Camusot’s immediate successor, the judge with whom he had -been most intimate during his term of office, was still President of the -Tribunal, and consequently knew all about Fraisier. - -“Do you know, madame,” Fraisier said, when at last the red sluices of -La Cibot’s torrent tongue were closed, “do you know that your principal -enemy will be a man who can send you to the scaffold?” - -The portress started on her chair, making a sudden spring like a -jack-in-the-box. - -“Calm yourself, dear madame,” continued Fraisier. “You may not have -known the name of the President of the Chamber of Indictments at the -Court of Appeal in Paris; but you ought to have known that M. Pons must -have an heir-at-law. M. le President de Marville is your invalid’s sole -heir; but as he is a collateral in the third degree, M. Pons is entitled -by law to leave his fortune as he pleases. You are not aware either -that, six weeks ago at least, M. le President’s daughter married the -eldest son of M. le Comte Popinot, peer of France, once Minister of -Agriculture, and President of the Board of Trade, one of the most -influential politicians of the day. President de Marville is even more -formidable through this marriage than in his own quality of head of the -Court of Assize.” - -At that word La Cibot shuddered. - -“Yes, and it is he who sends you there,” continued Fraisier. “Ah! my -dear madame, you little know what a red robe means! It is bad enough -to have a plain black gown against you! You see me here, ruined, bald, -broken in health--all because, unwittingly, I crossed a mere attorney -for the crown in the provinces. I was forced to sell my connection at a -loss, and very lucky I was to come off with the loss of my money. If -I had tried to stand out, my professional position would have gone as -well. - -“One thing more you do not know,” he continued, “and this it is. If you -had only to do with President Camusot himself, it would be nothing; but -he has a wife, mind you!--and if you ever find yourself face to face -with that wife, you will shake in your shoes as if you were on the first -step of the scaffold, your hair will stand on end. The Presidente is so -vindictive that she would spend ten years over setting a trap to kill -you. She sets that husband of hers spinning like a top. Through her a -charming young fellow committed suicide at the Conciergerie. A count was -accused of forgery--she made his character as white as snow. She all -but drove a person of the highest quality from the Court of Charles X. -Finally, she displaced the Attorney-General, M. de Granville--” - -“That lived in the Rue Vieille-du-Temple, at the corner of the Rue -Saint-Francois?” - -“The very same. They say that she means to make her husband Home -Secretary, and I do not know that she will not gain her end.--If she -were to take it into her head to send us both to the Criminal Court -first and the hulks afterwards--I should apply for a passport and set -sail for America, though I am as innocent as a new-born babe. So well I -know what justice means. Now, see here, my dear Mme. Cibot; to marry -her only daughter to young Vicomte Popinot (heir to M. Pillerault, your -landlord, it is said)--to make that match, she stripped herself of her -whole fortune, so much so that the President and his wife have nothing -at this moment except his official salary. Can you suppose, my dear -madame, that under the circumstances Mme. la Presidente will let M. -Pons’ property go out of the family without a word?--Why, I would sooner -face guns loaded with grape-shot than have such a woman for my enemy--” - -“But they have quarreled,” put in La Cibot. - -“What has that got to do with it?” asked Fraisier. “It is one reason -the more for fearing her. To kill a relative of whom you are tired, -is something; but to inherit his property afterwards--that is a real -pleasure!” - -“But the old gentleman has a horror of his relatives. He says over and -over again that these people--M. Cardot, M. Berthier, and the rest of -them (I can’t remember their names)--have crushed him as a tumbril cart -crushes an egg--” - -“Have you a mind to be crushed too?” - -“Oh dear! oh dear!” cried La Cibot. “Ah! Ma’am Fontaine was right when -she said that I should meet with difficulties: still, she said that I -should succeed--” - -“Listen, my dear Mme. Cibot.--As for making some thirty thousand -francs out of this business--that is possible; but for the whole of -the property, it is useless to think of it. We talked over your case -yesterday evening, Dr. Poulain and I--” - -La Cibot started again. - -“Well, what is the matter?” - -“But if you knew about the affair, why did you let me chatter away like -a magpie?” - -“Mme. Cibot, I knew all about your business, but I knew nothing of Mme. -Cibot. So many clients, so many characters--” - -Mme. Cibot gave her legal adviser a queer look at this; all her -suspicions gleamed in her eyes. Fraisier saw this. - -“I resume,” he continued. “So, our friend Poulain was once called in -by you to attend old M. Pillerault, the Countess Popinot’s great-uncle; -that is one of your claims to my devotion. Poulain goes to see your -landlord (mark this!) once a fortnight; he learned all these particulars -from him. M. Pillerault was present at his grand-nephew’s wedding--for -he is an uncle with money to leave; he has an income of fifteen thousand -francs, though he has lived like a hermit for the last five-and-twenty -years, and scarcely spends a thousand crowns--well, _he_ told Poulain -all about this marriage. It seems that your old musician was precisely -the cause of the row; he tried to disgrace his own family by way of -revenge.--If you only hear one bell, you only hear one sound.--Your -invalid says that he meant no harm, but everybody thinks him a monster -of--” - -“And it would not astonish me if he was!” cried La Cibot. “Just imagine -it!--For these ten years past I have been money out of pocket for him, -spending my savings on him, and he knows it, and yet he will not let me -lie down to sleep on a legacy!--No, sir! he will _not_. He is obstinate, -a regular mule he is.--I have talked to him these ten days, and the -cross-grained cur won’t stir no more than a sign-post. He shuts his -teeth and looks at me like--The most that he would say was that he would -recommend me to M. Schmucke.” - -“Then he means to make his will in favor of this Schmucke?” - -“Everything will go to him--” - -“Listen, my dear Mme. Cibot, if I am to arrive at any definite -conclusions and think of a plan, I must know M. Schmucke. I must see the -property and have some talk with this Jew of whom you speak; and then, -let me direct you--” - -“We shall see, M. Fraisier.” - -“What is this? ‘We shall see?’” repeated Fraisier, speaking in the voice -natural to him, as he gave La Cibot a viperous glance. “Am I your legal -adviser or am I not, I say? Let us know exactly where we stand.” - -La Cibot felt that he read her thoughts. A cold chill ran down her back. - -“I have told you all I know,” she said. She saw that she was at the -tiger’s mercy. - -“We attorneys are accustomed to treachery. Just think carefully over -your position; it is superb.--If you follow my advice point by point, -you will have thirty or forty thousand francs. But there is a reverse -side to this beautiful medal. How if the Presidente comes to hear that -M. Pons’ property is worth a million of francs, and that you mean to -have a bit out of it?--for there is always somebody ready to take that -kind of errand--” he added parenthetically. - -This remark, and the little pause that came before and after it, sent -another shudder through La Cibot. She thought at once that Fraisier -himself would probably undertake that office. - -“And then, my dear client, in ten minutes old Pillerault is asked to -dismiss you, and then on a couple of hours’ notice--” - -“What does that matter to me?” said La Cibot, rising to her feet like a -Bellona; “I shall stay with the gentlemen as their housekeeper.” - -“And then, a trap will be set for you, and some fine morning you -and your husband will wake up in a prison cell, to be tried for your -lives--” - -“_I?_” cried La Cibot, “I that have not a farthing that doesn’t belong -to me?... _I!_... _I!_” - -For five minutes she held forth, and Fraisier watched the great artist -before him as she executed a concerto of self-praise. He was quite -untouched, and even amused by the performance. His keen glances pricked -La Cibot like stilettos; he chuckled inwardly, till his shrunken wig was -shaking with laughter. He was a Robespierre at an age when the Sylla of -France was make couplets. - -“And how? and why? And on what pretext?” demanded she, when she had come -to an end. - -“You wish to know how you may come to the guillotine?” - -La Cibot turned pale as death at the words; the words fell like a knife -upon her neck. She stared wildly at Fraisier. - -“Listen to me, my dear child,” began Fraisier, suppressing his inward -satisfaction at his client’s discomfiture. - -“I would sooner leave things as they are--” murmured La Cibot, and she -rose to go. - -“Stay,” Fraisier said imperiously. “You ought to know the risks that you -are running; I am bound to give you the benefit of my lights.--You are -dismissed by M. Pillerault, we will say; there is no doubt about that, -is there? You enter the service of these two gentlemen. Very good! -That is a declaration of war against the Presidente. You mean to do -everything you can to gain possession of the property, and to get a -slice of it at any rate-- - -“Oh, I am not blaming you,” Fraisier continued, in answer to a gesture -from his client. “It is not my place to do so. This is a battle, and -you will be led on further than you think for. One grows full of one’s -ideas, one hits hard--” - -Another gesture of denial. This time La Cibot tossed her head. - -“There, there, old lady,” said Fraisier, with odious familiarity, “you -will go a very long way!--” - -“You take me for a thief, I suppose?” - -“Come, now, mamma, you hold a receipt in M. Schmucke’s hand which did -not cost you much.--Ah! you are in the confessional, my lady! Don’t -deceive your confessor, especially when the confessor has the power of -reading your thoughts.” - -La Cibot was dismayed by the man’s perspicacity; now she knew why he had -listened to her so intently. - -“Very good,” continued he, “you can admit at once that the Presidente -will not allow you to pass her in the race for the property.--You -will be watched and spied upon.--You get your name into M. Pons’ will; -nothing could be better. But some fine day the law steps in, arsenic -is found in a glass, and you and your husband are arrested, tried, and -condemned for attempting the life of the Sieur Pons, so as to come by -your legacy. I once defended a poor woman at Versailles; she was in -reality as innocent as you would be in such a case. Things were as I -have told you, and all that I could do was to save her life. The unhappy -creature was sentenced to twenty years’ penal servitude. She is working -out her time now at St. Lazare.” - -Mme. Cibot’s terror grew to the highest pitch. She grew paler and paler, -staring at the little, thin man with the green eyes, as some wretched -Moor, accused of adhering to her own religion, might gaze at the -inquisitor who doomed her to the stake. - -“Then, do you tell me, that if I leave you to act, and put my interests -in your hands, I shall get something without fear?” - -“I guarantee you thirty thousand francs,” said Fraisier, speaking like a -man sure of the fact. - -“After all, you know how fond I am of dear Dr. Poulain,” she began again -in her most coaxing tones; “he told me to come to you, worthy man, -and he did not send me here to be told that I shall be guillotined for -poisoning some one.” - -The thought of the guillotine so moved her that she burst into tears, -her nerves were shaken, terror clutched at her heart, she lost her head. -Fraisier gloated over his triumph. When he saw his client hesitate, he -thought that he had lost his chance; he had set himself to frighten -and quell La Cibot till she was completely in his power, bound hand and -foot. She had walked into his study as a fly walks into a spider’s web; -there she was doomed to remain, entangled in the toils of the little -lawyer who meant to feed upon her. Out of this bit of business, indeed, -Fraisier meant to gain the living of old days; comfort, competence, -and consideration. He and his friend Dr. Poulain had spent the whole -previous evening in a microscopic examination of the case; they had made -mature deliberations. The doctor described Schmucke for his friend’s -benefit, and the alert pair had plumbed all hypotheses and scrutinized -all risks and resources, till Fraisier, exultant, cried aloud, “Both -our fortunes lie in this!” He had gone so far as to promise Poulain a -hospital, and as for himself, he meant to be justice of the peace of an -arrondissement. - -To be a justice of the peace! For this man with his abundant capacity, -for this doctor of law without a pair of socks to his name, the dream -was a hippogriff so restive, that he thought of it as a deputy-advocate -thinks of the silk gown, as an Italian priest thinks of the tiara. It -was indeed a wild dream! - -M. Vitel, the justice of the peace before whom Fraisier pleaded, was -a man of sixty-nine, in failing health; he talked of retiring on a -pension; and Fraisier used to talk with Poulain of succeeding him, much -as Poulain talked of saving the life of some rich heiress and marrying -her afterwards. No one knows how greedily every post in the gift of -authority is sought after in Paris. Every one wants to live in Paris. If -a stamp or tobacco license falls in, a hundred women rise up as one and -stir all their friends to obtain it. Any vacancy in the ranks of the -twenty-four collectors of taxes sends a flood of ambitious folk surging -in upon the Chamber of Deputies. Decisions are made in committee, all -appointments are made by the Government. Now the salary of a justice -of the peace, the lowest stipendiary magistrate in Paris, is about six -thousand francs. The post of registrar to the court is worth a hundred -thousand francs. Few places are more coveted in the administration. -Fraisier, as a justice of the peace, with the head physician of a -hospital for his friend, would make a rich marriage himself and a good -match for Dr. Poulain. Each would lend a hand to each. - -Night set its leaden seal upon the plans made by the sometime attorney -of Mantes, and a formidable scheme sprouted up, a flourishing scheme, -fertile in harvests of gain and intrigue. La Cibot was the hinge upon -which the whole matter turned; and for this reason, any rebellion on the -part of the instrument must be at once put down; such action on her part -was quite unexpected; but Fraisier had put forth all the strength of -his rancorous nature, and the audacious portress lay trampled under his -feet. - -“Come, reassure yourself, my dear madame,” he remarked, holding out -his hand. The touch of the cold, serpent-like skin made a terrible -impression upon the portress. It brought about something like a physical -reaction, which checked her emotion; Mme. Fontaine’s toad, Astaroth, -seemed to her to be less deadly than this poison-sac that wore a sandy -wig and spoke in tones like the creaking of a hinge. - -“Do not imagine that I am frightening you to no purpose,” Fraisier -continued. (La Cibot’s feeling of repulsion had not escaped him.) “The -affairs which made Mme. la Presidente’s dreadful reputation are so well -known at the law-courts, that you can make inquiries there if you like. -The great person who was all but sent into a lunatic asylum was the -Marquis d’Espard. The Marquis d’Esgrignon was saved from the hulks. The -handsome young man with wealth and a great future before him, who was -to have married a daughter of one of the first families of France, and -hanged himself in a cell of the Conciergerie, was the celebrated Lucien -de Rubempre; the affair made a great deal of noise in Paris at the time. -That was a question of a will. His mistress, the notorious Esther, died -and left him several millions, and they accused the young fellow of -poisoning her. He was not even in Paris at the time of her death, nor -did he so much as know the woman had left the money to him!--One cannot -well be more innocent than that! Well, after M. Camusot examined him, he -hanged himself in his cell. Law, like medicine, has its victims. In the -first case, one man suffers for the many, and in the second, he dies for -science,” he added, and an ugly smile stole over his lips. “Well, I know -the risks myself, you see; poor and obscure little attorney as I am, the -law has been the ruin of me. My experience was dearly bought--it is all -at your service.” - -“Thank you, no,” said La Cibot; “I will have nothing to do with it, -upon my word!... I shall have nourished ingratitude, that is all! I want -nothing but my due; I have thirty years of honesty behind me, sir. M. -Pons says that he will recommend me to his friend Schmucke; well and -good, I shall end my days in peace with the German, good man.” - -Fraisier had overshot his mark. He had discouraged La Cibot. Now he was -obliged to remove these unpleasant impressions. - -“Do not let us give up,” he said; “just go away quietly home. Come, now, -we will steer the affair to a good end.” - -“But what about my _rentes_, what am I to do to get them, and--” - -“And feel no remorse?” he interrupted quickly. “Eh! it is precisely for -that that men of business were invented; unless you keep within the law, -you get nothing. You know nothing of law; I know a good deal. I will see -that you keep on the right side of it, and you can hold your own in all -men’s sight. As for your conscience, that is your own affair.” - -“Very well, tell me how to do it,” returned La Cibot, curious and -delighted. - -“I do not know how yet. I have not looked at the strong points of the -case yet; I have been busy with the obstacles. But the first thing to be -done is to urge him to make a will; you cannot go wrong over that; and -find out, first of all, how Pons means to leave his fortune; for if you -were his heir--” - -“No, no; he does not like me. Ah! if I had but known the value of his -gimcracks, and if I had known what I know now about his amours, I should -be easy in my mind this day--” - -“Keep on, in fact,” broke in Fraisier. “Dying folk have queer fancies, -my dear madame; they disappoint hopes many a time. Let him make his -will, and then we shall see. And of all things, the property must be -valued. So I must see this Remonencq and the Jew; they will be very -useful to us. Put entire confidence in me, I am at your disposal. When a -client is a friend to me, I am his friend through thick and thin. Friend -or enemy, that is my character.” - -“Very well,” said La Cibot, “I am yours entirely; and as for fees, M. -Poulain--” - -“Let us say nothing about that,” said Fraisier. “Think how you can keep -Poulain at the bedside; he is one of the most upright and conscientious -men I know; and, you see, we want some one there whom we can trust. -Poulain would do better than I; I have lost my character.” - -“You look as if you had,” said La Cibot; “but, for my own part, I should -trust you.” - -“And you would do well. Come to see me whenever anything happens, -and--there!--you are an intelligent woman; all will go well.” - -“Good-day, M. Fraisier. I hope you will recover your health. Your -servant, sir.” - -Fraisier went to the door with his client. But this time it was he, and -not La Cibot, who was struck with an idea on the threshold. - -“If you could persuade M. Pons to call me in, it would be a great step.” - -“I will try,” said La Cibot. - -Fraisier drew her back into his sanctum. “Look here, old lady, I know -M. Trognon, the notary of the quarter, very well. If M. Pons has not a -notary, mention M. Trognon to him. Make him take M. Trognon--” - -“Right,” returned La Cibot. - -And as she came out again she heard the rustle of a dress and the sound -of a stealthy, heavy footstep. - -Out in the street and by herself, Mme. Cibot to some extent recovered -her liberty of mind as she walked. Though the influence of the -conversation was still upon her, and she had always stood in dread of -scaffolds, justice, and judges, she took a very natural resolution which -was to bring about a conflict of strategy between her and her formidable -legal adviser. - -“What do I want with other folk?” said she to herself. “Let us make a -round sum, and afterwards I will take all that they offer me to push -their interests;” and this thought, as will shortly be seen, hastened -the poor old musician’s end. - - - -“Well, dear M. Schmucke, and how is our dear, adored patient?” asked La -Cibot, as she came into the room. - -“Fery pad; Bons haf peen vandering all der night.” - -“Then, what did he say?” - -“Chust nonsense. He vould dot I haf all his fortune, on kondition dot I -sell nodings.--Den he cried! Boor mann! It made me ver’ sad.” - -“Never mind, honey,” returned the portress. “I have kept you waiting for -your breakfast; it is nine o’clock and past; but don’t scold me. I have -business on hand, you see, business of yours. Here are we without any -money, and I have been out to get some.” - -“Vere?” asked Schmucke. - -“Of my uncle.” - -“Onkel?” - -“Up the spout.” - -“Shpout?” - -“Oh! the dear man! how simple he is? No, you are a saint, a love, an -archbishop of innocence, a man that ought to be stuffed, as the old -actor said. What! you have lived in Paris for twenty-nine years; you -saw the Revolution of July, you did, and you have never so much as heard -tell of a pawnbroker--a man that lends you money on your things?--I have -been pawning our silver spoons and forks, eight of them, thread pattern. -Pooh, Cibot can eat his victuals with German silver; it is quite the -fashion now, they say. It is not worth while to say anything to our -angel there; it would upset him and make him yellower than before, and -he is quite cross enough as it is. Let us get him round again first, and -afterwards we shall see. What must be must; and we must take things as -we find them, eh?” - -“Goot voman! nople heart!” cried poor Schmucke, with a great tenderness -in his face. He took La Cibot’s hand and clasped it to his breast. When -he looked up, there were tears in his eyes. - -“There, that will do, Papa Schmucke; how funny you are! This is too -bad. I am an old daughter of the people--my heart is in my hand. I have -something _here_, you see, like you have, hearts of gold that you are,” - she added, slapping her chest. - -“Baba Schmucke!” continued the musician. “No. To know de tepths of -sorrow, to cry mit tears of blood, to mount up in der hefn--dat is mein -lot! I shall not lif after Bons--” - -“Gracious! I am sure you won’t, you are killing yourself.--Listen, pet!” - -“Bet?” - -“Very well, my sonny--” - -“Zonny?” - -“My lamb, then, if you like it better.” - -“It is not more clear.” - -“Oh, well, let _me_ take care of you and tell you what to do; for if you -go on like this, I shall have both of you laid up on my hands, you see. -To my little way of thinking, we must do the work between us. You cannot -go about Paris to give lessons for it tires you, and then you are not -fit to do anything afterwards, and somebody must sit up of a night with -M. Pons, now that he is getting worse and worse. I will run round to-day -to all your pupils and tell them that you are ill; is it not so? And -then you can spend the nights with our lamb, and sleep of a morning from -five o’clock till, let us say, two in the afternoon. I myself will take -the day, the most tiring part, for there is your breakfast and dinner to -get ready, and the bed to make, and the things to change, and the doses -of medicine to give. I could not hold out for another ten days at this -rate. What would become of you if I were to fall ill? And you yourself, -it makes one shudder to see you; just look at yourself, after sitting up -with him last night!” - -She drew Schmucke to the glass, and Schmucke thought that there was a -great change. - -“So, if you are of my mind, I’ll have your breakfast ready in a jiffy. -Then you will look after our poor dear again till two o’clock. Let me -have a list of your people, and I will soon arrange it. You will be -free for a fortnight. You can go to bed when I come in, and sleep till -night.” - -So prudent did the proposition seem, that Schmucke then and there agreed -to it. - -“Not a word to M. Pons; he would think it was all over with him, you -know, if we were to tell him in this way that his engagement at the -theatre and his lessons are put off. He would be thinking that he -should not find his pupils again, poor gentleman--stuff and nonsense! M. -Poulain says that we shall save our Benjamin if we keep him as quiet as -possible.” - -“Ach! fery goot! Pring up der preakfast; I shall make der bett, and gif -you die attresses!--You are right; it vould pe too much for me.” - -An hour later La Cibot, in her Sunday clothes, departed in great state, -to the no small astonishment of the Remonencqs; she promised herself -that she would support the character of confidential servant of the pair -of nutcrackers, in the boarding-schools and private families in which -they gave music-lessons. - -It is needless to repeat all the gossip in which La Cibot indulged -on her round. The members of every family, the head-mistress of every -boarding-school, were treated to a variation upon the theme of -Pons’ illness. A single scene, which took place in the Illustrious -Gaudissart’s private room, will give a sufficient idea of the rest. La -Cibot met with unheard-of difficulties, but she succeeded in penetrating -at last to the presence. Kings and cabinet ministers are less difficult -of access than the manager of a theatre in Paris; nor is it hard to -understand why such prodigious barriers are raised between them and -ordinary mortals: a king has only to defend himself from ambition; the -manager of a theatre has reason to dread the wounded vanity of actors -and authors. - -La Cibot, however, struck up an acquaintance with the portress, and -traversed all distances in a brief space. There is a sort of freemasonry -among the porter tribe, and, indeed, among the members of every -profession; for each calling has its shibboleth, as well as its -insulting epithet and the mark with which it brands its followers. - -“Ah! madame, you are the portress here,” began La Cibot. “I myself am a -portress, in a small way, in a house in the Rue de Normandie. M. Pons, -your conductor, lodges with us. Oh, how glad I should be to have your -place, and see the actors and dancers and authors go past. It is the -marshal’s baton in our profession, as the old actor said.” - -“And how is M. Pons going on, good man?” inquired the portress. - -“He is not going on at all; he has not left his bed these two months. He -will only leave the house feet foremost, that is certain.” - -“He will be missed.” - -“Yes. I have come with a message to the manager from him. Just try to -get me a word with him, dear.” - -“A lady from M. Pons to see you, sir!” After this fashion did the youth -attached to the service of the manager’s office announce La Cibot, whom -the portress below had particularly recommended to his care. - -Gaudissart had just come in for a rehearsal. Chance so ordered it that -no one wished to speak with him; actors and authors were alike late. -Delighted to have news of his conductor, he made a Napoleonic gesture, -and La Cibot was admitted. - -The sometime commercial traveler, now the head of a popular theatre, -regarded his sleeping partners in the light of a legitimate wife; -they were not informed of all his doings. The flourishing state of -his finances had reacted upon his person. Grown big and stout and -high-colored with good cheer and prosperity, Gaudissart made no disguise -of his transformation into a Mondor. - -“We are turning into a city-father,” he once said, trying to be the -first to laugh. - -“You are only in the Turcaret stage yet, though,” retorted Bixiou, who -often replaced Gaudissart in the company of the leading lady of the -ballet, the celebrated Heloise Brisetout. - -The former Illustrious Gaudissart, in fact, was exploiting the theatre -simply and solely for his own particular benefit, and with brutal -disregard of other interests. He first insinuated himself as a -collaborator in various ballets, plays, and vaudevilles; then he -waited till the author wanted money and bought up the other half of -the copyright. These after-pieces and vaudevilles, always added to -successful plays, brought him in a daily harvest of gold coins. He -trafficked by proxy in tickets, allotting a certain number to himself, -as the manager’s share, till he took in this way a tithe of the -receipts. And Gaudissart had other methods of making money besides these -official contributions. He sold boxes, he took presents from indifferent -actresses burning to go upon the stage to fill small speaking parts, -or simply to appear as queens, or pages, and the like; he swelled his -nominal third share of the profits to such purpose that the sleeping -partners scarcely received one-tenth instead of the remaining two-thirds -of the net receipts. Even so, however, the tenth paid them a dividend of -fifteen per cent on their capital. On the strength of that fifteen per -cent Gaudissart talked of his intelligence, honesty, and zeal, and the -good fortune of his partners. When Count Popinot, showing an interest in -the concern, asked Matifat, or General Gouraud (Matifat’s son-in-law), -or Crevel, whether they were satisfied with Gaudissart, Gouraud, now a -peer of France, answered, “They say he robs us; but he is such a clever, -good-natured fellow, that we are quite satisfied.” - -“This is like La Fontaine’s fable,” smiled the ex-cabinet minister. - -Gaudissart found investments for his capital in other ventures. He -thought well of Schwab, Brunner, and the Graffs; that firm was promoting -railways, he became a shareholder in the lines. His shrewdness was -carefully hidden beneath the frank carelessness of a man of pleasure; -he seemed to be interested in nothing but amusements and dress, yet he -thought everything over, and his wide experience of business gained as a -commercial traveler stood him in good stead. - -A self-made man, he did not take himself seriously. He gave suppers -and banquets to celebrities in rooms sumptuously furnished by the house -decorator. Showy by nature, with a taste for doing things handsomely, -he affected an easy-going air, and seemed so much the less formidable -because he had kept the slang of “the road” (to use his own expression), -with a few green-room phrases superadded. Now, artists in the theatrical -profession are wont to express themselves with some vigor; Gaudissart -borrowed sufficient racy green-room talk to blend with his commercial -traveler’s lively jocularity, and passed for a wit. He was thinking at -that moment of selling his license and “going into another line,” as he -said. He thought of being chairman of a railway company, of becoming a -responsible person and an administrator, and finally of marrying Mlle. -Minard, daughter of the richest mayor in Paris. He might hope to get -into the Chamber through “his line,” and, with Popinot’s influence, to -take office under the Government. - -“Whom have I the honor of addressing?” inquired Gaudissart, looking -magisterially at La Cibot. - -“I am M. Pons’ confidential servant, sir.” - -“Well, and how is the dear fellow?” - -“Ill, sir--very ill.” - -“The devil he is! I am sorry to hear it--I must come and see him; he is -such a man as you don’t often find.” - -“Ah yes! sir, he is a cherub, he is. I have always wondered how he came -to be in a theatre.” - -“Why, madame, the theatre is a house of correction for morals,” said -Gaudissart. “Poor Pons!--Upon my word, one ought to cultivate the -species to keep up the stock. ‘Tis a pattern man, and has talent too. -When will he be able to take his orchestra again, do you think? A -theatre, unfortunately, is like a stage coach: empty or full, it -starts at the same time. Here at six o’clock every evening, up goes the -curtain; and if we are never sorry for ourselves, it won’t make good -music. Let us see now--how is he?” - -La Cibot pulled out her pocket-handkerchief and held it to her eyes. - -“It is a terrible thing to say, my dear sir,” said she; “but I am afraid -we shall lose him, though we are as careful of him as of the apple of -our eyes. And, at the same time, I came to say that you must not count -on M. Schmucke, worthy man, for he is going to sit up with him at night. -One cannot help doing as if there was hope still left, and trying one’s -best to snatch the dear, good soul from death. But the doctor has given -him up----” - -“What is the matter with him?” - -“He is dying of grief, jaundice, and liver complaint, with a lot of -family affairs to complicate matters.” - -“And a doctor as well,” said Gaudissart. “He ought to have had Lebrun, -our doctor; it would have cost him nothing.” - -“M. Pons’ doctor is a Providence on earth. But what can a doctor do, no -matter how clever he is, with such complications?” - -“I wanted the good pair of nutcrackers badly for the accompaniment of my -new fairy piece.” - -“Is there anything that I can do for them?” asked La Cibot, and her -expression would have done credit to a Jocrisse. - -Gaudissart burst out laughing. - -“I am their housekeeper, sir, and do many things for my gentlemen--” - She did not finish her speech, for in the middle of Gaudissart’s roar of -laughter a woman’s voice exclaimed, “If you are laughing, old man, one -may come in,” and the leading lady of the ballet rushed into the -room and flung herself upon the only sofa. The newcomer was Heloise -Brisetout, with a splendid _algerienne_, such as scarves used to be -called, about her shoulders. - -“Who is amusing you? Is it this lady? What post does she want?” asked -this nymph, giving the manager such a glance as artist gives artist, a -glance that would make a subject for a picture. - -Heloise, a young woman of exceedingly literary tastes, was on intimate -terms with great and famous artists in Bohemia. Elegant, accomplished, -and graceful, she was more intelligent than dancers usually are. As she -put her question, she sniffed at a scent-bottle full of some aromatic -perfume. - -“One fine woman is as good as another, madame; and if I don’t sniff the -pestilence out of a scent-bottle, nor daub brickdust on my cheeks--” - -“That would be a sinful waste, child, when Nature put it on for you to -begin with,” said Heloise, with a side glance at her manager. - -“I am an honest woman--” - -“So much the worse for you. It is not every one by a long chalk that -can find some one to keep them, and kept I am, and in slap-up style, -madame.” - -“So much the worse! What do you mean? Oh, you may toss your head and -go about in scarves, you will never have as many declarations as I have -had, missus. You will never match the _Belle Ecaillere of the Cadran -Bleu_.” - -Heloise Brisetout rose at once to her feet, stood at attention, and made -a military salute, like a soldier who meets his general. - -“What?” asked Gaudissart, “are you really _La Belle Ecaillere_ of whom -my father used to talk?” - -“In that case the cachucha and the polka were after your time; and -madame has passed her fiftieth year,” remarked Heloise, and striking an -attitude, she declaimed, “‘Cinna, let us be friends.’” - -“Come, Heloise, the lady is not up to this; let her alone.” - -“Madame is perhaps the New Heloise,” suggested La Cibot, with sly -innocence. - -“Not bad, old lady!” cried Gaudissart. - -“It is a venerable joke,” said the dancer, “a grizzled pun; find us -another old lady--or take a cigarette.” - -“I beg your pardon, madame, I feel too unhappy to answer you; my two -gentlemen are very ill; and to buy nourishment for them and to spare -them trouble, I have pawned everything down to my husband’s clothes that -I pledged this morning. Here is the ticket!” - -“Oh! here, the affair is becoming tragic,” cried the fair Heloise. “What -is it all about?” - -“Madame drops down upon us like--” - -“Like a dancer,” said Heloise; “let me prompt you,--missus!” - -“Come, I am busy,” said Gaudissart. “The joke has gone far enough. -Heloise, this is M. Pons’ confidential servant; she had come to tell me -that I must not count upon him; our poor conductor is not expected to -live. I don’t know what to do.” - -“Oh! poor man; why, he must have a benefit.” - -“It would ruin him,” said Gaudissart. “He might find next day that he -owed five hundred francs to charitable institutions, and they refuse to -admit that there are any sufferers in Paris except their own. No, look -here, my good woman, since you are going in for the Montyon prize----” - -He broke off, rang the bell, and the youth before mentioned suddenly -appeared. - -“Tell the cashier to send me up a thousand-franc note.--Sit down, -madame.” - -“Ah! poor woman, look, she is crying!” exclaimed Heloise. “How stupid! -There, there, mother, we will go to see him; don’t cry.--I say, now,” - she continued, taking the manager into a corner, “you want to make me -take the leading part in the ballet in _Ariane_, you Turk. You are going -to be married, and you know how I can make you miserable--” - -“Heloise, my heart is copper-bottomed like a man-of-war.” - -“I shall bring your children on the scene! I will borrow some -somewhere.” - -“I have owned up about the attachment.” - -“Do be nice, and give Pons’ post to Garangeot; he has talent, poor -fellow, and he has not a penny; and I promise peace.” - -“But wait till Pons is dead, in case the good man may come back again.” - -“Oh, as to that, no, sir,” said La Cibot. “He began to wander in -his mind last night, and now he is delirious. It will soon be over, -unfortunately.” - -“At any rate, take Garangeot as a stop-gap!” pleaded Heloise. “He has -the whole press on his side--” - -Just at that moment the cashier came in with a note for a thousand -francs in his hand. - -“Give it to madame here,” said Gaudissart. “Good-day, my good woman; -take good care of the dear man, and tell him that I am coming to see him -to-morrow, or sometime--as soon as I can, in short.” - -“A drowning man,” said Heloise. - -“Ah, sir, hearts like yours are only found in a theatre. May God bless -you!” - -“To what account shall I post this item?” asked the cashier. - -“I will countersign the order. Post it to the bonus account.” - -Before La Cibot went out, she made Mlle. Brisetout a fine courtesy, and -heard Gaudissart remark to his mistress: - -“Can Garangeot do the dance-music for the _Mohicans_ in twelve days? If -he helps me out of my predicament, he shall have Pons’ place.” - -La Cibot had cut off the incomes of the two friends, she had left them -without means of subsistence if Pons should chance to recover, and was -better rewarded for all this mischief than for any good that she had -done. In a few days’ time her treacherous trick would bring about the -desired result--Elie Magus would have his coveted pictures. But if -this first spoliation was to be effected, La Cibot must throw dust -in Fraisier’s eyes, and lull the suspicions of that terrible -fellow-conspirator of her own seeking; and Elie Magus and Remonencq must -be bound over to secrecy. - -As for Remonencq, he had gradually come to feel such a passion as -uneducated people can conceive when they come to Paris from the depths -of the country, bringing with them all the fixed ideas bred of the -solitary country life; all the ignorance of a primitive nature, all the -brute appetites that become so many fixed ideas. Mme. Cibot’s masculine -beauty, her vivacity, her market-woman’s wit, had all been remarked by -the marine store-dealer. He thought at first of taking La Cibot from her -husband, bigamy among the lower classes in Paris being much more common -than is generally supposed; but greed was like a slip-knot drawn more -and more tightly about his heart, till reason at length was stifled. -When Remonencq computed that the commission paid by himself and Elie -Magus amounted to about forty thousand francs, he determined to have -La Cibot for his legitimate spouse, and his thoughts turned from -a misdemeanor to a crime. A romantic purely speculative dream, -persistently followed through a tobacco-smoker’s long musings as he -lounged in the doorway, had brought him to the point of wishing that the -little tailor were dead. At a stroke he beheld his capital trebled; and -then he thought of La Cibot. What a good saleswoman she would be! What a -handsome figure she would make in a magnificent shop on the boulevards! -The twofold covetousness turned Remonencq’s head. In fancy he took a -shop that he knew of on the Boulevard de la Madeleine, he stocked it -with Pons’ treasures, and then--after dreaming his dream in sheets of -gold, after seeing millions in the blue spiral wreaths that rose from -his pipe, he awoke to find himself face to face with the little tailor. -Cibot was sweeping the yard, the doorstep, and the pavement just as -his neighbor was taking down the shutters and displaying his wares; for -since Pons fell ill, La Cibot’s work had fallen to her husband. - -The Auvergnat began to look upon the little, swarthy, stunted, -copper-colored tailor as the one obstacle in his way, and pondered how -to be rid of him. Meanwhile this growing passion made La Cibot very -proud, for she had reached an age when a woman begins to understand that -she may grow old. - -So early one morning, she meditatively watched Remonencq as he arranged -his odds and ends for sale. She wondered how far his love could go. He -came across to her. - -“Well,” he said, “are things going as you wish?” - -“It is you who makes me uneasy,” said La Cibot. “I shall be talked -about; the neighbors will see you making sheep’s eyes at me.” - -She left the doorway and dived into the Auvergnat’s back shop. - -“What a notion!” said Remonencq. - -“Come here, I have something to say to you,” said La Cibot. “M. Pons’ -heirs are about to make a stir; they are capable of giving us a lot of -trouble. God knows what might come of it if they send the lawyers here -to poke their noses into the affair like hunting-dogs. I cannot get M. -Schmucke to sell a few pictures unless you like me well enough to keep -the secret--such a secret!--With your head on the block, you must not -say where the pictures come from, nor who it was that sold them. When M. -Pons is once dead and buried, you understand, nobody will know how many -pictures there ought to be; if there are fifty-three pictures instead of -sixty-seven, nobody will be any the wiser. Besides, if M. Pons sold them -himself while he was alive, nobody can find fault.” - -“No,” agreed Remonencq, “it is all one to me, but M. Elie Magus will -want receipts in due form.” - -“And you shall have your receipt too, bless your life! Do you suppose -that _I_ should write them?--No, M. Schmucke will do that. But tell your -Jew that he must keep the secret as closely as you do,” she continued. - -“We will be as mute as fishes. That is our business. I myself can read, -but I cannot write, and that is why I want a capable wife that has had -education like you. I have thought of nothing but earning my bread all -my days, and now I wish I had some little Remonencqs. Do leave that -Cibot of yours.” - -“Why, here comes your Jew,” said the portress; “we can arrange the whole -business.” - -Elie Magus came every third day very early in the morning to know when -he could buy his pictures. “Well, my dear lady,” said he, “how are we -getting on?” - -“Has nobody been to speak to you about M. Pons and his gimcracks?” asked -La Cibot. - -“I received a letter from a lawyer,” said Elie Magus, “a rascal that -seems to me to be trying to work for himself; I don’t like people of -that sort, so I took no notice of his letter. Three days afterwards he -came to see me, and left his card. I told my porter that I am never at -home when he calls.” - -“You are a love of a Jew,” said La Cibot. Little did she know Elie -Magus’ prudence. “Well, sonnies, in a few days’ time I will bring M. -Schmucke to the point of selling you seven or eight pictures, ten at -most. But on two conditions.--Absolute secrecy in the first place. -M. Schmucke will send for you, sir, is not that so? And M. Remonencq -suggested that you might be a purchaser, eh?--And, come what may, I will -not meddle in it for nothing. You are giving forty-six thousand francs -for four pictures, are you not?” - -“So be it,” groaned the Jew. - -“Very good. This is the second condition. You will give me _forty-three_ -thousand francs, and pay three thousand only to M. Schmucke; Remonencq -will buy four for two thousand francs, and hand over the surplus to -me.--But at the same time, you see my dear M. Magus, I am going to help -you and Remonencq to a splendid bit of business--on condition that the -profits are shared among the three of us. I will introduce you to that -lawyer, as he, no doubt, will come here. You shall make a valuation of -M. Pons’ things at the prices which you can give for them, so that M. -Fraisier may know how much the property is worth. But--not until after -our sale, you understand!” - -“I understand,” said the Jew, “but it takes time to look at the things -and value them.” - -“You shall have half a day. But, there, that is my affair. Talk it over -between yourselves, my boys, and for that matter the business will be -settled by the day after to-morrow. I will go round to speak to this -Fraisier; for Dr. Poulain tells him everything that goes on in the -house, and it is a great bother to keep that scarecrow quiet.” - -La Cibot met Fraisier halfway between the Rue de la Perle and the Rue -de Normandie; so impatient was he to know the “elements of the case” (to -use his own expression), that he was coming to see her. - -“I say! I was going to you,” said she. - -Fraisier grumbled because Elie Magus had refused to see him. But La -Cibot extinguished the spark of distrust that gleamed in the lawyer’s -eyes by informing him that Elie Magus had returned from a journey, -and that she would arrange for an interview in Pons’ rooms and for the -valuation of the property; for the day after to-morrow at latest. - -“Deal frankly with me,” returned Fraisier. “It is more than probable -that I shall act for M. Pons’ next-of-kin. In that case, I shall be even -better able to serve you.” - -The words were spoken so drily that La Cibot quaked. This starving limb -of the law was sure to manoeuvre on his side as she herself was doing. -She resolved forthwith to hurry on the sale of the pictures. - -La Cibot was right. The doctor and lawyer had clubbed together to buy -a new suit of clothes in which Fraisier could decently present himself -before Mme. la Presidente Camusot de Marville. Indeed, if the clothes -had been ready, the interview would have taken place sooner, for the -fate of the couple hung upon its issues. Fraisier left Mme. Cibot, and -went to try on his new clothes. He found them waiting for him, went -home, adjusted his new wig, and towards ten o’clock that morning set out -in a carriage from a livery stable for the Rue de Hanovre, hoping for an -audience. In his white tie, yellow gloves, and new wig, redolent of _eau -de Portugal_, he looked something like a poisonous essence kept in a -cut-glass bottle, seeming but the more deadly because everything about -it is daintily neat, from the stopper covered with white kid to the -label and the thread. His peremptory manner, the eruption on his -blotched countenance, the green eyes, and a malignant something about -him,--all these things struck the beholder with the same sense of -surprise as storm-clouds in a blue sky. If in his private office, as -he showed himself to La Cibot, he was the common knife that a murderer -catches up for his crime,--now, at the Presidente’s door, he was the -daintily-wrought dagger which a woman sets among the ornaments on her -what-not. - -A great change had taken place in the Rue de Hanovre. The Count and -Countess Popinot and the young people would not allow the President and -his wife to leave the house that they had settled upon their daughter to -pay rent elsewhere. M. and Mme. la Presidente, therefore, were installed -on the second floor, now left at liberty, for the elderly lady had made -up her mind to end her days in the country. - -Mme. Camusot took Madeleine Vivet, with her cook and her man-servant, -to the second floor, and would have been as much pinched for money as in -the early days, if the house had not been rent free, and the President’s -salary increased to ten thousand francs. This _aurea mediocritas_ was -but little satisfactory to Mme. de Marville. Even now she wished for -means more in accordance with her ambitions; for when she handed over -their fortune to their daughter, she spoiled her husband’s prospects. -Now Amelie had set her heart upon seeing her husband in the Chamber of -Deputies; she was not one of those women who find it easy to give up -their way; and she by no means despaired of returning her husband for -the arrondissement in which Marville is situated. So for the past two -months she had teased her father-in-law, M. le Baron Camusot (for the -new peer of France had been advanced to that rank), and done her utmost -to extort an advance of a hundred thousand francs of the inheritance -which one day would be theirs. She wanted, she said, to buy a small -estate worth about two thousand francs per annum set like a wedge -within the Marville lands. There she and her husband would be near their -children and in their own house, while the addition would round out the -Marville property. With that the Presidente laid stress upon the recent -sacrifices which she and her husband had been compelled to make in order -to marry Cecile to Viscount Popinot, and asked the old man how he could -bar his eldest son’s way to the highest honors of the magistracy, when -such honors were only to be had by those who made themselves a strong -position in parliament. Her husband would know how to take up such a -position, he would make himself feared by those in office, and so on and -so on. - -“They do nothing for you unless you tighten a halter round their necks -to loosen their tongues,” said she. “They are ungrateful. What do they -not owe to Camusot! Camusot brought the House of Orleans to the throne -by enforcing the ordinances of July.” - -M. Camusot senior answered that he had gone out of his depth in railway -speculations. He quite admitted that it was necessary to come to the -rescue, but put off the day until shares should rise, as they were -expected to do. - -This half-promise, extracted some few days before Fraisier’s visit, -had plunged the Presidente into depths of affliction. It was doubtful -whether the ex-proprietor of Marville was eligible for re-election -without the land qualification. - -Fraisier found no difficulty in obtaining speech of Madeleine Vivet; -such viper natures own their kinship at once. - -“I should like to see Mme. la Presidente for a few moments, -mademoiselle,” Fraisier said in bland accents; “I have come on a matter -of business which touches her fortune; it is a question of a legacy, -be sure to mention that. I have not the honor of being known to Mme. la -Presidente, so my name is of no consequence. I am not in the habit of -leaving my chambers, but I know the respect that is due to a President’s -wife, and I took the trouble of coming myself to save all possible -delay.” - -The matter thus broached, when repeated and amplified by the -waiting-maid, naturally brought a favorable answer. It was a decisive -moment for the double ambition hidden in Fraisier’s mind. Bold as a -petty provincial attorney, sharp, rough-spoken, and curt as he was, he -felt as captains feel before the decisive battle of a campaign. As he -went into the little drawing-room where Amelie was waiting for him, he -felt a slight perspiration breaking out upon his forehead and down -his back. Every sudorific hitherto employed had failed to produce this -result upon a skin which horrible diseases had left impervious. “Even -if I fail to make my fortune,” said he to himself, “I shall recover. -Poulain said that if I could only perspire I should recover.” - -The Presidente came forward in her morning gown. - -“Madame--” said Fraisier, stopping short to bow with the humility by -which officials recognize the superior rank of the person whom they -address. - -“Take a seat, monsieur,” said the Presidente. She saw at a glance that -this was a man of law. - -“Mme. la Presidente, if I take the liberty of calling your attention to -a matter which concerns M. le President, it is because I am sure that M. -de Marville, occupying, as he does, a high position, would leave -matters to take their natural course, and so lose seven or eight hundred -thousand francs, a sum which ladies (who, in my opinion, have a -far better understanding of private business than the best of -magistrates)--a sum which ladies, I repeat, would by no means despise--” - -“You spoke of a legacy,” interrupted the lady, dazzled by the wealth, -and anxious to hide her surprise. Amelie de Marville, like an impatient -novel-reader, wanted the end of the story. - -“Yes, madame, a legacy that you are like to lose; yes, to lose -altogether; but I can, that is, I _could_, recover it for you, if--” - -“Speak out, monsieur.” Mme. de Marville spoke frigidly, scanning -Fraisier as she spoke with a sagacious eye. - -“Madame, your eminent capacity is known to me; I was once at Mantes. M. -Leboeuf, President of the Tribunal, is acquainted with M. de Marville, -and can answer inquiries about me--” - -The Presidente’s shrug was so ruthlessly significant, that Fraisier was -compelled to make short work of his parenthetic discourse. - -“So distinguished a woman will at once understand why I speak of myself -in the first place. It is the shortest way to the property.” - -To this acute observation the lady replied by a gesture. Fraisier took -the sign for a permission to continue. - -“I was an attorney, madame, at Mantes. My connection was all the fortune -that I was likely to have. I took over M. Levroux’s practice. You knew -him, no doubt?” - -The Presidente inclined her head. - -“With borrowed capital and some ten thousand francs of my own, I went -to Mantes. I had been with Desroches, one of the cleverest attorneys in -Paris, I had been his head-clerk for six years. I was so unlucky as to -make an enemy of the attorney for the crown at Mantes, Monsieur--” - -“Olivier Vinet.” - -“Son of the Attorney-General, yes, madame. He was paying his court to a -little person--” - -“Whom?” - -“Mme. Vatinelle.” - -“Oh! Mme. Vatinelle. She was very pretty and very--er--when I was -there--” - -“She was not unkind to me: _inde iroe_,” Fraisier continued. “I was -industrious; I wanted to repay my friends and to marry; I wanted work; -I went in search of it; and before long I had more on my hands than -anybody else. Bah! I had every soul in Mantes against me--attorneys, -notaries, and even the bailiffs. They tried to fasten a quarrel on me. -In our ruthless profession, as you know, madame, if you wish to ruin a -man, it is soon done. I was concerned for both parties in a case, and -they found it out. It was a trifle irregular; but it is sometimes done -in Paris, attorneys in certain cases hand the rhubarb and take the -senna. They do things differently at Mantes. I had done M. Bouyonnet -this little service before; but, egged on by his colleagues and the -attorney for the crown, he betrayed me.--I am keeping back nothing, you -see.--There was a great hue and cry about it. I was a scoundrel; they -made me out blacker than Marat; forced me to sell out; ruined me. And I -am in Paris now. I have tried to get together a practice; but my health -is so bad, that I have only two quiet hours out of the twenty-four. - -“At this moment I have but one ambition, and a very small one. Some -day,” he continued, “you will be the wife of the Keeper of the Seals, or -of the Home Secretary, it may be; but I, poor and sickly as I am, desire -nothing but a post in which I can live in peace for the rest of my life, -a place without any opening in which to vegetate. I should like to be a -justice of the peace in Paris. It would be a mere trifle for you and M. -le President to gain the appointment for me; for the present Keeper of -the Seals must be anxious to keep on good terms with you... - -“And that is not all, madame,” added Fraisier. Seeing that Mme. de -Marville was about to speak, he cut her short with a gesture. “I have a -friend, the doctor in attendance on the old man who ought to leave his -property to M. le President. (We are coming to the point, you see.) The -doctor’s co-operation is indispensable, and the doctor is precisely in -my position: he has abilities, he is unlucky. I learned through him how -far your interests were imperiled; for even as I speak, all may be over, -and the will disinheriting M. le President may have been made. This -doctor wishes to be head-surgeon of a hospital or of a Government -school. He must have a position in Paris equal to mine.... Pardon me -if I have enlarged on a matter so delicate; but we must have no -misunderstandings in this business. The doctor is, besides, much -respected and learned; he saved the life of the Comtesse Popinot’s -great-uncle, M. Pillerault. - -“Now, if you are so good as to promise these two posts--the appointment -of justice of the peace and the sinecure for my friend--I will undertake -to bring you the property, _almost_ intact.--Almost intact, I say, for -the co-operation of the legatee and several other persons is absolutely -indispensable, and some obligations will be incurred. You will not -redeem your promises until I have fulfilled mine.” - -The Presidente had folded her arms, and for the last minute or two sat -like a person compelled to listen to a sermon. Now she unfolded her -arms, and looked at Fraisier as she said, “Monsieur, all that you -say concerning your interests has the merit of clearness; but my own -interests in the matter are by no means so clear--” - -“A word or two will explain everything, madame. M. le President is M. -Pons’ first cousin once removed, and his sole heir. M. Pons is very ill; -he is about to make his will, if it is not already made, in favor of -a German, a friend of his named Schmucke; and he has more than seven -hundred thousand francs to leave. I hope to have an accurate valuation -made in two or three days--” - -“If this is so,” said the Presidente, “I made a great mistake in -quarreling with him and throwing the blame----” she thought aloud, -amazed by the possibility of such a sum. - -“No, madame. If there had been no rupture, he would be as blithe as a -lark at this moment, and might outlive you and M. le President and me. -... The ways of Providence are mysterious, let us not seek to fathom -them,” he added to palliate to some extent the hideous idea. “It cannot -be helped. We men of business look at the practical aspects of things. -Now you see clearly, madame, that M. de Marville in his public position -would do nothing, and could do nothing, as things are. He has broken -off all relations with his cousin. You see nothing now of Pons; you have -forbidden him the house; you had excellent reasons, no doubt, for doing -as you did, but the old man is ill, and he is leaving his property to -the only friend left to him. A President of the Court of Appeal in Paris -could say nothing under such circumstances if the will was made out in -due form. But between ourselves, madame, when one has a right to expect -seven or eight hundred thousand francs--or a million, it may be (how -should I know?)--it is very unpleasant to have it slip through one’s -fingers, especially if one happens to be the heir-at-law.... But, on the -other hand, to prevent this, one is obliged to stoop to dirty work; -work so difficult, so ticklish, bringing you cheek by jowl with such low -people, servants and subordinates; and into such close contact with them -too, that no barrister, no attorney in Paris could take up such a case. - -“What you want is a briefless barrister like me,” said he, “a man who -should have real and solid ability, who has learned to be devoted, and -yet, being in a precarious position, is brought temporarily to a level -with such people. In my arrondissement I undertake business for small -tradespeople and working folk. Yes, madame, you see the straits to which -I have been brought by the enmity of an attorney for the crown, now -a deputy-public prosecutor in Paris, who could not forgive me my -superiority.--I know you, madame, I know that your influence means a -solid certainty; and in such a service rendered to you, I saw the end of -my troubles and success for my friend Dr. Poulain.” - -The lady sat pensive during a moment of unspeakable torture -for Fraisier. Vinet, an orator of the Centre, attorney-general -(_procureur-general_) for the past sixteen years, nominated half-a-score -of times for the chancellorship, the father, moreover, of the attorney -for the crown at Mantes who had been appointed to a post in Paris -within the last year--Vinet was an enemy and a rival for the malignant -Presidente. The haughty attorney-general did not hide his contempt for -President Camusot. This fact Fraisier did not know, and could not know. - -“Have you nothing on your conscience but the fact that you were -concerned for both parties?” asked she, looking steadily at Fraisier. - -“Mme. la Presidente can see M. Leboeuf; M. Leboeuf was favorable to me.” - -“Do you feel sure that M. Leboeuf will give M. de Marville and M. le -Comte Popinot a good account of you?” - -“I will answer for it, especially now that M. Olivier Vinet has left -Mantes; for between ourselves, good M. Leboeuf was afraid of that -crabbed little official. If you will permit me, Madame La Presidente, I -will go to Mantes and see M. Leboeuf. No time will be lost, for I cannot -be certain of the precise value of the property for two or three days. -I do not wish that you should know all the ins and outs of this affair; -you ought not to know them, Mme. la Presidente, but is not the reward -that I expect for my complete devotion a pledge of my success?” - -“Very well. If M. Leboeuf will speak in your favor, and if the property -is worth as much as you think (I doubt it myself), you shall have both -appointments, _if_ you succeed, mind you--” - -“I will answer for it, madame. Only, you must be so good as to have your -notary and your attorney here when I shall need them; you must give me -a power of attorney to act for M. le President, and tell those -gentlemen to follow my instructions, and to do nothing on their own -responsibility.” - -“The responsibility rests with you,” the Presidente answered solemnly, -“so you ought to have full powers.--But is M. Pons very ill?” she asked, -smiling. - -“Upon my word, madame, he might pull through, especially with so -conscientious a doctor as Poulain in attendance; for this friend of -mine, madame, is simply an unconscious spy directed by me in your -interests. Left to himself, he would save the old man’s life; but there -is some one else by the sickbed, a portress, who would push him into the -grave for thirty thousand francs. Not that she would kill him outright; -she will not give him arsenic, she is not so merciful; she will do -worse, she will kill him by inches; she will worry him to death day by -day. If the poor old man were kept quiet and left in peace; if he were -taken into the country and cared for and made much of by friends, he -would get well again; but he is harassed by a sort of Mme. Evrard. When -the woman was young she was one of thirty _Belles Ecailleres_, famous in -Paris, she is a rough, greedy, gossiping woman; she torments him to make -a will and to leave her something handsome, and the end of it will be -induration of the liver, calculi are possibly forming at this moment, -and he has not enough strength to bear an operation. The doctor, noble -soul, is in a horrible predicament. He really ought to send the woman -away--” - -“Why, then, this vixen is a monster!” cried the lady in thin flute-like -tones. - -Fraisier smiled inwardly at the likeness between himself and the -terrible Presidente; he knew all about those suave modulations of a -naturally sharp voice. He thought of another president, the hero of an -anecdote related by Louis XI., stamped by that monarch’s final praise. -Blessed with a wife after the pattern of Socrates’ spouse, and ungifted -with the sage’s philosophy, he mingled salt with the corn in the mangers -and forbad the grooms to give water to the horses. As his wife rode -along the Seine towards their country-house, the animals bolted into the -river with the lady, and the magistrate returned thanks to Providence -for ridding him of his wife “in so natural a manner.” At this present -moment Mme. de Marville thanked Heaven for placing at Pons’ bedside a -woman so likely to get him “decently” out of the way. - -Aloud she said, “I would not take a million at the price of a single -scruple.--Your friend ought to speak to M. Pons and have the woman sent -away.” - -“In the first place, madame, Messrs. Schmucke and Pons think the woman -an angel; they would send my friend away. And secondly, the doctor lies -under an obligation to this horrid oyster-woman; she called him in to -attend M. Pillerault. When he tells her to be as gentle as possible with -the patient, he simply shows the creature how to make matters worse.” - -“What does your friend think of _my_ cousin’s condition?” - -This man’s clear, business-like way of putting the facts of the case -frightened Mme. de Marville; she felt that his keen gaze read the -thoughts of a heart as greedy as La Cibot’s own. - -“In six weeks the property will change hands.” - -The Presidente dropped her eyes. - -“Poor man!” she sighed, vainly striving after a dolorous expression. - -“Have you any message, madame, for M. Leboeuf? I am taking the train to -Mantes.” - -“Yes. Wait a moment, and I will write to ask him to dine with us -to-morrow. I want to see him, so that he may act in concert to repair -the injustice to which you have fallen a victim.” - -The Presidente left the room. Fraisier saw himself a justice of the -peace. He felt transformed at the thought; he grew stouter; his lungs -were filled with the breath of success, the breeze of prosperity. He -dipped into the mysterious reservoirs of volition for fresh and strong -doses of the divine essence. To reach success, he felt, as Remonencq -half felt, that he was ready for anything, for crime itself, provided -that no proofs of it remained. He had faced the Presidente boldly; he -had transmuted conjecture into reality; he had made assertions right -and left, all to the end that she might authorize him to protect her -interests and win her influence. As he stood there, he represented the -infinite misery of two lives, and the no less boundless desires of two -men. He spurned the squalid horrors of the Rue de la Perle. He saw the -glitter of a thousand crowns in fees from La Cibot, and five thousand -francs from the Presidente. This meant an abode such as befitted his -future prospects. Finally, he was repaying Dr. Poulain. - -There are hard, ill-natured beings, goaded by distress or disease into -active malignity, that yet entertain diametrically opposed sentiments -with a like degree of vehemence. If Richelieu was a good hater, he -was no less a good friend. Fraisier, in his gratitude, would have let -himself be cut in two for Poulain. - -So absorbed was he in these visions of a comfortable and prosperous -life, that he did not see the Presidente come in with the letter in her -hand, and she, looking at him, thought him less ugly now than at first. -He was about to be useful to her, and as soon as a tool belongs to us we -look upon it with other eyes. - -“M. Fraisier,” said she, “you have convinced me of your intelligence, -and I think that you can speak frankly.” - -Fraisier replied by an eloquent gesture. - -“Very well,” continued the lady, “I must ask you to give a candid reply -to this question: Are we, either of us, M. de Marville or I, likely to -be compromised, directly or indirectly, by your action in this matter?” - -“I would not have come to you, madame, if I thought that some day I -should have to reproach myself for bringing so much as a splash of mud -upon you, for in your position a speck the size of a pin’s head is seen -by all the world. You forget, madame, that I must satisfy you if I am -to be a justice of the peace in Paris. I have received one lesson at the -outset of my life; it was so sharp that I do not care to lay myself open -to a second thrashing. To sum it up in a last word, madame, I will not -take a step in which you are indirectly involved without previously -consulting you--” - -“Very good. Here is the letter. And now I shall expect to be informed of -the exact value of the estate.” - -“There is the whole matter,” said Fraisier shrewdly, making his bow -to the Presidente with as much graciousness as his countenance could -exhibit. - -“What a providence!” thought Mme. Camusot de Marville. “So I am to be -rich! Camusot will be sure of his election if we let loose this Fraisier -upon the Bolbec constituency. What a tool!” - -“What a providence!” Fraisier said to himself as he descended the -staircase; “and what a sharp woman Mme. Camusot is! I should want a -woman in these circumstances. Now to work!” - -And he departed for Mantes to gain the good graces of a man he scarcely -knew; but he counted upon Mme. Vatinelle, to whom, unfortunately, he -owed all his troubles--and some troubles are of a kind that resemble -a protested bill while the defaulter is yet solvent, in that they bear -interest. - -Three days afterwards, while Schmucke slept (for in accordance with the -compact he now sat up at night with the patient), La Cibot had a “tiff,” - as she was pleased to call it, with Pons. It will not be out of place -to call attention to one particularly distressing symptom of liver -complaint. The sufferer is always more or less inclined to impatience -and fits of anger; an outburst of this kind seems to give relief at the -time, much as a patient while the fever fit is upon him feels that he -has boundless strength; but collapse sets in so soon as the excitement -passes off, and the full extent of mischief sustained by the system -is discernible. This is especially the case when the disease has been -induced by some great shock; and the prostration is so much the more -dangerous because the patient is kept upon a restricted diet. It is -a kind of fever affecting neither the blood nor the brain, but the -humoristic mechanism, fretting the whole system, producing melancholy, -in which the patient hates himself; in such a crisis anything may cause -dangerous irritation. - -In spite of all that the doctor could say, La Cibot had no belief in -this wear and tear of the nervous system by the humoristic. She was -a woman of the people, without experience or education; Dr. Poulain’s -explanations for her were simply “doctor’s notions.” Like most of her -class, she thought that sick people must be fed, and nothing short of -Dr. Poulain’s direct order prevented her from administering ham, a nice -omelette, or vanilla chocolate upon the sly. - -The infatuation of the working classes on this point is very strong. -The reason of their reluctance to enter a hospital is the idea that they -will be starved there. The mortality caused by the food smuggled in by -the wives of patients on visiting-days was at one time so great that the -doctors were obliged to institute a very strict search for contraband -provisions. - -If La Cibot was to realize her profits at once, a momentary quarrel must -be worked up in some way. She began by telling Pons about her visit to -the theatre, not omitting her passage at arms with Mlle. Heloise the -dancer. - -“But why did you go?” the invalid asked for the third time. La Cibot -once launched on a stream of words, he was powerless to stop her. - -“So, then, when I had given her a piece of my mind, Mademoiselle Heloise -saw who I was and knuckled under, and we were the best of friends.--And -now do you ask me why I went?” she added, repeating Pons’ question. - -There are certain babblers, babblers of genius are they, who sweep -up interruptions, objections, and observations in this way as they go -along, by way of provision to swell the matter of their conversation, as -if that source were ever in any danger of running dry. - -“Why I went?” repeated she. “I went to get your M. Gaudissart out of -a fix. He wants some music for a ballet, and you are hardly fit to -scribble on sheets of paper and do your work, dearie.--So I understood, -things being so, that a M. Garangeot was to be asked to set the -_Mohicans_ to music--” - -“Garangeot!” roared Pons in fury. “_Garangeot!_ a man with no talent; I -would not have him for first violin! He is very clever, he is very good -at musical criticism, but as to composing--I doubt it! And what the -devil put the notion of going to the theatre into your head?” - -“How confoundedly contrairy the man is! Look here, dearie, we mustn’t -boil over like milk on the fire! How are you to write music in the state -that you are in? Why, you can’t have looked at yourself in the glass! -Will you have the glass and see? You are nothing but skin and bone--you -are as weak as a sparrow, and do you think that you are fit to make your -notes! why, you would not so much as make out mine.... And that reminds -me that I ought to go up to the third floor lodger’s that owes us -seventeen francs, for when the chemist has been paid we shall not have -twenty left.--So I had to tell M. Gaudissart (I like that name), a good -sort he seems to be,--a regular Roger Bontemps that would just suit -me.--_He_ will never have liver complaint!--Well, so I had to tell him -how you were.--Lord! you are not well, and he has put some one else in -your place for a bit--” - -“Some one else in my place!” cried Pons in a terrible voice, as he -sat right up in bed. Sick people, generally speaking, and those most -particularly who lie within the sweep of the scythe of Death, cling to -their places with the same passionate energy that the beginner displays -to gain a start in life. To hear that someone had taken his place was -like a foretaste of death to the dying man. - -“Why, the doctor told me that I was going on as well as possible,” - continued he; “he said that I should soon be about again as usual. You -have killed me, ruined me, murdered me!” - -“Tut, tut, tut!” cried La Cibot, “there you go! I am killing you, am I? -Mercy on us! these are the pretty things that you are always telling M. -Schmucke when my back is turned. I hear all that you say, that I do! You -are a monster of ingratitude.” - -“But you do not know that if I am only away for another fortnight, they -will tell me that I have had my day, that I am old-fashioned, out of -date, Empire, rococo, when I go back. Garangeot will have made friends -all over the theatre, high and low. He will lower the pitch to suit some -actress that cannot sing, he will lick M. Gaudissart’s boots!” cried the -sick man, who clung to life. “He has friends that will praise him in -all the newspapers; and when things are like that in such a shop, Mme. -Cibot, they can find holes in anybody’s coat. ... What fiend drove you -to do it?” - -“Why! plague take it, M. Schmucke talked it over with me for a week. -What would you have? You see nothing but yourself! You are so selfish -that other people may die if you can only get better.--Why poor M. -Schmucke has been tired out this month past! he is tied by the leg, -he can go nowhere, he cannot give lessons nor take his place at the -theatre. Do you really see nothing? He sits up with you at night, and I -take the nursing in the day. If I were to sit up at night with you, as -I tried to do at first when I thought you were so poor, I should have to -sleep all day. And who would see to the house and look out for squalls! -Illness is illness, it cannot be helped, and here are you--” - -“This was not Schmucke’s idea, it is quite impossible--” - -“That means that it was _I_ who took it into my head to do it, does it? -Do you think that we are made of iron? Why, if M. Schmucke had given -seven or eight lessons every day and conducted the orchestra every -evening at the theatre from six o’clock till half-past eleven at night, -he would have died in ten days’ time. Poor man, he would give his life -for you, and do you want to be the death of him? By the authors of my -days, I have never seen a sick man to match you! Where are your senses? -have you put them in pawn? We are all slaving our lives out for you; we -do all for the best, and you are not satisfied! Do you want to drive us -raging mad? I myself, to begin with, am tired out as it is----” - -La Cibot rattled on at her ease; Pons was too angry to say a word. He -writhed on his bed, painfully uttering inarticulate sounds; the blow was -killing him. And at this point, as usual, the scolding turned suddenly -to tenderness. The nurse dashed at her patient, grasped him by the head, -made him lie down by main force, and dragged the blankets over him. - -“How any one can get into such a state!” exclaimed she. “After all, it -is your illness, dearie. That is what good M. Poulain says. See now, -keep quiet and be good, my dear little sonny. Everybody that comes near -you worships you, and the doctor himself comes to see you twice a day. -What would he say if he found you in such a way? You put me out of all -patience; you ought not to behave like this. If you have Ma’am Cibot -to nurse you, you should treat her better. You shout and you talk!--you -ought not to do it, you know that. Talking irritates you. And why do -you fly into a passion? The wrong is all on your side; you are always -bothering me. Look here, let us have it out! If M. Schmucke and I, -who love you like our life, thought that we were doing right--well, my -cherub, it was right, you may be sure.” - -“Schmucke never could have told you to go to the theatre without -speaking to me about it--” - -“And must I wake him, poor dear, when he is sleeping like one of the -blest, and call him in as a witness?” - -“No, no!” cried Pons. “If my kind and loving Schmucke made the -resolution, perhaps I am worse than I thought.” His eyes wandered round -the room, dwelling on the beautiful things in it with a melancholy look -painful to see. - -“So I must say good-bye to my dear pictures, to all the things that -have come to be like so many friends to me... and to my divine friend -Schmucke?... Oh! can it be true?” - -La Cibot, acting her heartless comedy, held her handkerchief to her -eyes; and at that mute response the sufferer fell to dark musing--so -sorely stricken was he by the double stab dealt to health and his -interests by the loss of his post and the near prospect of death, that -he had no strength left for anger. He lay, ghastly and wan, like a -consumptive patient after a wrestling bout with the Destroyer. - -“In M. Schmucke’s interests, you see, you would do well to send for M. -Trognon; he is the notary of the quarter and a very good man,” said La -Cibot, seeing that her victim was completely exhausted. - -“You are always talking about this Trognon--” - -“Oh! he or another, it is all one to me, for anything you will leave -me.” - -She tossed her head to signify that she despised riches. There was -silence in the room. - -A moment later Schmucke came in. He had slept for six hours, hunger -awakened him, and now he stood at Pons’ bedside watching his friend -without saying a word, for Mme. Cibot had laid a finger on her lips. - -“Hush!” she whispered. Then she rose and went up to add under her -breath, “He is going off to sleep at last, thank Heaven! He is as -cross as a red donkey!--What can you expect, he is struggling with his -illness----” - -“No, on the contrary, I am very patient,” said the victim in a weary -voice that told of a dreadful exhaustion; “but, oh! Schmucke, my dear -friend, she has been to the theatre to turn me out of my place.” - -There was a pause. Pons was too weak to say more. La Cibot took the -opportunity and tapped her head significantly. “Do not contradict him,” - she said to Schmucke; “it would kill him.” - -Pons gazed into Schmucke’s honest face. “And she says that you sent -her--” he continued. - -“Yes,” Schmucke affirmed heroically. “It had to pe. Hush!--let us safe -your life. It is absurd to vork and train your sdrength gif you haf a -dreasure. Get better; ve vill sell some prick-a-prack und end our tays -kvietly in a corner somveres, mit kind Montame Zipod.” - -“She has perverted you,” moaned Pons. - -Mme. Cibot had taken up her station behind the bed to make signals -unobserved. Pons thought that she had left the room. “She is murdering -me,” he added. - -“What is that? I am murdering you, am I?” cried La Cibot, suddenly -appearing, hand on hips and eyes aflame. “I am as faithful as a dog, and -this is all I get! God Almighty!--” - -She burst into tears and dropped down into the great chair, a tragical -movement which wrought a most disastrous revulsion in Pons. - -“Very good,” she said, rising to her feet. The woman’s malignant eyes -looked poison and bullets at the two friends. “Very good. Nothing that -I can do is right here, and I am tired of slaving my life out. You shall -take a nurse.” - -Pons and Schmucke exchanged glances in dismay. - -“Oh! you may look at each other like actors. I mean it. I shall ask Dr. -Poulain to find a nurse for you. And now we will settle accounts. You -shall pay me back the money that I have spent on you, and that I would -never have asked you for, I that have gone to M. Pillerault to borrow -another five hundred francs of him--” - -“It ees his illness!” cried Schmucke--he sprang to Mme. Cibot and put an -arm round her waist--“haf batience.” - -“As for you, you are an angel, I could kiss the ground you tread upon,” - said she. “But M. Pons never liked me, he always hated me. Besides, he -thinks perhaps that I want to be mentioned in his will--” - -“Hush! you vill kill him!” cried Schmucke. - -“Good-bye, sir,” said La Cibot, with a withering look at Pons. “You -may keep well for all the harm I wish you. When you can speak to me -pleasantly, when you can believe that what I do is done for the best, -I will come back again. Till then I shall stay in my own room. You were -like my own child to me; did anybody ever see a child revolt against its -mother?... No, no, M. Schmucke, I do not want to hear more. I will bring -you _your_ dinner and wait upon _you_, but you must take a nurse. Ask M. -Poulain about it.” - -And she went out, slamming the door after her so violently that the -precious, fragile objects in the room trembled. To Pons in his torture, -the rattle of china was like the final blow dealt by the executioner to -a victim broken on the wheel. - -An hour later La Cibot called to Schmucke through the door, telling him -that his dinner was waiting for him in the dining-room. She would not -cross the threshold. Poor Schmucke went out to her with a haggard, -tear-stained face. - -“Mein boor Bons in vandering,” said he; “he says dat you are ein pad -voman. It ees his illness,” he added hastily, to soften La Cibot and -excuse his friend. - -“Oh, I have had enough of his illness! Look here, he is neither father, -nor husband, nor brother, nor child of mine. He has taken a dislike to -me; well and good, that is enough! As for you, you see, I would follow -_you_ to the end of the world; but when a woman gives her life, her -heart, and all her savings, and neglects her husband (for here has Cibot -fallen ill), and then hears that she is a bad woman--it is coming it -rather too strong, it is.” - -“Too shtrong?” - -“Too strong, yes. Never mind idle words. Let us come to the facts. As to -that, you owe me for three months at a hundred and ninety francs--that -is five hundred seventy francs; then there is the rent that I have paid -twice (here are the receipts), six hundred more, including rates and the -sou in the franc for the porter--something under twelve hundred francs -altogether, and with the two thousand francs besides--without interest, -mind you--the total amounts to three thousand one hundred and ninety-two -francs. And remember that you will want at least two thousand francs -before long for the doctor, and the nurse, and the medicine, and -the nurse’s board. That was why I borrowed a thousand francs of M. -Pillerault,” and with that she held up Gaudissart’s bank-note. - -It may readily be conceived that Schmucke listened to this reckoning -with amazement, for he knew about as much of business as a cat knows of -music. - -“Montame Zipod,” he expostulated, “Bons haf lost his head. Bardon him, -and nurse him as before, und pe our profidence; I peg it of you on mine -knees,” and he knelt before La Cibot and kissed the tormentor’s hands. - -La Cibot raised Schmucke and kissed him on the forehead. “Listen, my -lamb,” said she, “here is Cibot ill in bed; I have just sent for Dr. -Poulain. So I ought to set my affairs in order. And what is more, Cibot -saw me crying, and flew into such a passion that he will not have me set -foot in here again. It is _he_ who wants the money; it is his, you see. -We women can do nothing when it comes to that. But if you let him have -his money back again--the three thousand two hundred francs--he will be -quiet perhaps. Poor man, it is his all, earned by the sweat of his brow, -the savings of twenty-six years of life together. He must have his money -to-morrow; there is no getting round him.--You do not know Cibot; when -he is angry he would kill a man. Well, I might perhaps get leave of -him to look after you both as before. Be easy. I will just let him say -anything that comes into his head. I will bear it all for love of you, -an angel as you are.” - -“No, I am ein boor man, dot lof his friend and vould gif his life to -save him--” - -“But the money?” broke in La Cibot. “My good M. Schmucke, let us suppose -that you pay me nothing; you will want three thousand francs, and where -are they to come from? Upon my word, do you know what I should do in -your place? I should not think twice, I should just sell seven or eight -good-for-nothing pictures and put up some of those instead that are -standing in your closet with their faces to the wall for want of room. -One picture or another, what difference does it make?” - -“Und vy?” - -“He is so cunning. It is his illness, for he is a lamb when he is well. -He is capable of getting up and prying about; and if by any chance he -went into the salon, he is so weak that he could not go beyond the door; -he would see that they are all still there.” - -“Drue!” - -“And when he is quite well, we will tell him about the sale. And if you -wish to confess, throw it all upon me, say that you were obliged to pay -me. Come! I have a broad back--” - -“I cannot tispose of dings dot are not mine,” the good German answered -simply. - -“Very well. I will summons you, you and M. Pons.” - -“It vould kill him--” - -“Take your choice! Dear me, sell the pictures and tell him about it -afterwards... you can show him the summons--” - -“Ver’ goot. Summons us. Dot shall pe mine egscuse. I shall show him der -chudgment.” - -Mme. Cibot went down to the court, and that very day at seven o’clock -she called to Schmucke. Schmucke found himself confronted with M. -Tabareau the bailiff, who called upon him to pay. Schmucke made answer, -trembling from head to foot, and was forthwith summoned together with -Pons, to appear in the county court to hear judgment against him. The -sight of the bailiff and a bit of stamped paper covered with scrawls -produced such an effect upon Schmucke, that he held out no longer. - -“Sell die bictures,” he said, with tears in his eyes. - -Next morning, at six o’clock, Elie Magus and Remonencq took down the -paintings of their choice. Two receipts for two thousand five hundred -francs were made out in correct form:-- - -“I, the undersigned, representing M. Pons, acknowledge the receipt -of two thousand five hundred francs from M. Elie Magus for the four -pictures sold to him, the said sum being appropriated to the use of M. -Pons. The first picture, attributed to Durer, is a portrait of a woman; -the second, likewise a portrait, is of the Italian School; the third, -a Dutch landscape by Breughel; and the fourth, a _Holy Family_ by an -unknown master of the Florentine School.” - -Remonencq’s receipt was worded in precisely the same way; a Greuze, a -Claude Lorraine, a Rubens, and a Van Dyck being disguised as pictures of -the French and Flemish schools. - -“Der monny makes me beleef dot the chimcracks haf som value,” said -Schmucke when the five thousand francs were paid over. - -“They are worth something,” said Remonencq. “I would willingly give you -a hundred thousand francs for the lot.” - -Remonencq, asked to do a trifling service, hung eight pictures of the -proper size in the same frames, taking them from among the less valuable -pictures in Schmucke’s bedroom. - -No sooner was Elie Magus in possession of the four great pictures than -he went, taking La Cibot with him, under pretence of settling accounts. -But he pleaded poverty, he found fault with the pictures, they needed -rebacking, he offered La Cibot thirty thousand francs by way of -commission, and finally dazzled her with the sheets of paper on which -the Bank of France engraves the words “One thousand francs” in capital -letters. Magus thereupon condemned Remonencq to pay the like sum to La -Cibot, by lending him the money on the security of his four pictures, -which he took with him as a guarantee. So glorious were they, that Magus -could not bring himself to part with them, and next day he bought them -of Remonencq for six thousand francs over and above the original price, -and an invoice was duly made out for the four. Mme. Cibot, the richer -by sixty-eight thousand francs, once more swore her two accomplices to -absolute secrecy. Then she asked the Jew’s advice. She wanted to invest -the money in such a way that no one should know of it. - -“Buy shares in the Orleans Railway,” said he; “they are thirty francs -below par, you will double your capital in three years. They will give -you scraps of paper, which you keep safe in a portfolio.” - -“Stay here, M. Magus. I will go and fetch the man of business who acts -for M. Pons’ family. He wants to know how much you will give him for the -whole bag of tricks upstairs. I will go for him now.” - -“If only she were a widow!” said Remonencq when she was gone. “She would -just suit me; she will have plenty of money now--” - -“Especially if she puts her money into the Orleans Railway; she will -double her capital in two years’ time. I have put all my poor little -savings into it,” added the Jew, “for my daughter’s portion.--Come, let -us take a turn on the boulevard until this lawyer arrives.” - -“Cibot is very bad as it is,” continued Remonencq; “if it should please -God to take him to Himself, I should have a famous wife to keep a shop; -I could set up on a large scale--” - -“Good-day, M. Fraisier,” La Cibot began in an ingratiating tone as she -entered her legal adviser’s office. “Why, what is this that your porter -has been telling me? are you going to move?” - -“Yes, my dear Mme. Cibot. I am taking the first floor above Dr. Poulain, -and trying to borrow two or three thousand francs so as to furnish the -place properly; it is very nice, upon my word, the landlord has just -papered and painted it. I am acting, as I told you, in President de -Marville’s interests and yours.... I am not a solicitor now; I mean -to have my name entered on the roll of barristers, and I must be well -lodged. A barrister in Paris cannot have his name on the rolls unless -he has decent furniture and books and the like. I am a doctor of law, I -have kept my terms, and have powerful interest already.... Well, how are -we getting on?” - -“Perhaps you would accept my savings,” said La Cibot. “I have put them -in a savings bank. I have not much, only three thousand francs, the -fruits of twenty-five years of stinting and scraping. You might give me -a bill of exchange, as Remonencq says; for I am ignorant myself, I only -know what they tell me.” - -“No. It is against the rules of the guild for a barrister (_avocat_) to -put his name to a bill. I will give you a receipt, bearing interest at -five per cent per annum, on the understanding that if I make an income -of twelve hundred francs for you out of old Pons’ estate you will cancel -it.” - -La Cibot, caught in the trap, uttered not a word. - -“Silence gives consent,” Fraisier continued. “Let me have it to-morrow -morning.” - -“Oh! I am quite willing to pay fees in advance,” said La Cibot; “it is -one way of making sure of my money.” - -Fraisier nodded. “How are you getting on?” he repeated. “I saw Poulain -yesterday; you are hurrying your invalid along, it seems.... One more -scene such as yesterday’s, and gall-stones will form. Be gentle with -him, my dear Mme. Cibot, do not lay up remorse for yourself. Life is not -too long.” - -“Just let me alone with your remorse! Are you going to talk about the -guillotine again? M. Pons is a contrairy old thing. You don’t know him. -It is he that bothers me. There is not a more cross-grained man alive; -his relations are in the right of it, he is sly, revengeful, and -contrairy.... M. Magus has come, as I told you, and is waiting to see -you.” - -“Right! I will be there as soon as you. Your income depends upon the -price the collection will fetch. If it brings in eight hundred thousand -francs, you shall have fifteen hundred francs a year. It is a fortune.” - -“Very well. I will tell them to value the things on their consciences.” - - - -An hour later, Pons was fast asleep. The doctor had ordered a soothing -draught, which Schmucke administered, all unconscious that La Cibot had -doubled the dose. Fraisier, Remonencq, and Magus, three gallows-birds, -were examining the seventeen hundred different objects which formed the -old musician’s collection one by one. - -Schmucke had gone to bed. The three kites, drawn by the scent of a -corpse, were masters of the field. - -“Make no noise,” said La Cibot whenever Magus went into ecstasies or -explained the value of some work of art to Remonencq. The dying man -slept on in the neighboring room, while greed in four different -forms appraised the treasures that he must leave behind, and waited -impatiently for him to die--a sight to wring the heart. - -Three hours went by before they had finished the salon. - -“On an average,” said the grimy old Jew, “everything here is worth a -thousand francs.” - -“Seventeen hundred thousand francs!” exclaimed Fraisier in bewilderment. - -“Not to me,” Magus answered promptly, and his eyes grew dull. “I would -not give more than a hundred thousand francs myself for the collection. -You cannot tell how long you may keep a thing on hand. ... There are -masterpieces that wait ten years for a buyer, and meanwhile the purchase -money is doubled by compound interest. Still, I should pay cash.” - -“There is stained glass in the other room, as well as enamels and -miniatures and gold and silver snuff-boxes,” put in Remonencq. - -“Can they be seen?” inquired Fraisier. - -“I’ll see if he is sound asleep,” replied La Cibot. She made a sign, and -the three birds of prey came in. - -“There are masterpieces yonder!” said Magus, indicating the salon, every -bristle of his white beard twitching as he spoke. “But the riches -are here! And what riches! Kings have nothing more glorious in royal -treasuries.” - -Remonencq’s eyes lighted up till they glowed like carbuncles, at the -sight of the gold snuff-boxes. Fraisier, cool and calm as a serpent, or -some snake-creature with the power of rising erect, stood with his viper -head stretched out, in such an attitude as a painter would choose for -Mephistopheles. The three covetous beings, thirsting for gold as devils -thirst for the dew of heaven, looked simultaneously, as it chanced, at -the owner of all this wealth. Some nightmare troubled Pons; he stirred, -and suddenly, under the influence of those diabolical glances, he opened -his eyes with a shrill cry. - -“Thieves!... There they are!... Help! Murder! Help!” - -The nightmare was evidently still upon him, for he sat up in bed, -staring before him with blank, wide-open eyes, and had not the power to -move. - -Elie Magus and Remonencq made for the door, but a word glued them to the -spot. - -“_Magus_ here!... I am betrayed!” - -Instinctively the sick man had known that his beloved pictures were in -danger, a thought that touched him at least as closely as any dread for -himself, and he awoke. Fraisier meanwhile did not stir. - -“Mme. Cibot! who is that gentleman?” cried Pons, shivering at the sight. - -“Goodness me! how could I put him out of the door?” she inquired, with -a wink and gesture for Fraisier’s benefit. “This gentleman came just a -minute ago, from your family.” - -Fraisier could not conceal his admiration for La Cibot. - -“Yes, sir,” he said, “I have come on behalf of Mme. la Presidente de -Marville, her husband, and her daughter, to express their regret. They -learned quite by accident that you are ill, and they would like to nurse -you themselves. They want you to go to Marville and get well there. Mme. -la Vicomtesse Popinot, the little Cecile that you love so much, will be -your nurse. She took your part with her mother. She convinced Mme. de -Marville that she had made a mistake.” - -“So my next-of-kin have sent you to me, have they?” Pons exclaimed -indignantly, “and sent the best judge and expert in all Paris with you -to show you the way? Oh! a nice commission!” he cried, bursting into -wild laughter. “You have come to value my pictures and curiosities, my -snuff-boxes and miniatures!... Make your valuation. You have a man there -who understands everything, and more--he can buy everything, for he is -a millionaire ten times over.... My dear relatives will not have long -to wait,” he added, with bitter irony, “they have choked the last breath -out of me.... Ah! Mme. Cibot, you said you were a mother to me, and you -bring dealers into the house, and my competitor and the Camusots, while -I am asleep!... Get out, all of you!--” - -The unhappy man was beside himself with anger and fear; he rose from the -bed and stood upright, a gaunt, wasted figure. - -“Take my arm, sir,” said La Cibot, rushing to the rescue, lest Pons -should fall. “Pray calm yourself, the gentlemen are gone.” - -“I want to see the salon....” said the death-stricken man. La Cibot made -a sign to the three ravens to take flight. Then she caught up Pons as if -he had been a feather, and put him in bed again, in spite of his cries. -When she saw that he was quite helpless and exhausted, she went to shut -the door on the staircase. The three who had done Pons to death were -still on the landing; La Cibot told them to wait. She heard Fraisier say -to Magus: - -“Let me have it in writing, and sign it, both of you. Undertake to pay -nine hundred thousand francs in cash for M. Pons’ collection, and we -will see about putting you in the way of making a handsome profit.” - -With that he said something to La Cibot in a voice so low that the -others could not catch it, and went down after the two dealers to the -porter’s room. - -“Have they gone, Mme. Cibot?” asked the unhappy Pons, when she came back -again. - -“Gone?... who?” asked she. - -“Those men.” - -“What men? There, now, you have seen men,” said she. “You have just -had a raving fit; if it hadn’t been for me you would have gone out the -window, and now you are still talking of men in the room. Is it always -to be like this?” - -“What! was there not a gentleman here just now, saying that my relatives -had sent him?” - -“Will you still stand me out?” said she. “Upon my word, do you know -where you ought to be sent?--To the asylum at Charenton. You see men--” - -“Elie Magus, Remonencq, and--” - -“Oh! as for Remonencq, you may have seen _him_, for he came up to tell -me that my poor Cibot is so bad that I must clear out of this and come -down. My Cibot comes first, you see. When my husband is ill, I can think -of nobody else. Try to keep quiet and sleep for a couple of hours; I -have sent for Dr. Poulain, and I will come up with him.... Take a drink -and be good--” - -“Then was there no one in the room just now, when I waked?...” - -“No one,” said she. “You must have seen M. Remonencq in one of your -looking-glasses.” - -“You are right, Mme. Cibot,” said Pons, meek as a lamb. - -“Well, now you are sensible again.... Good-bye, my cherub; keep quiet, I -shall be back again in a minute.” - -When Pons heard the outer door close upon her, he summoned up all his -remaining strength to rise. - -“They are cheating me,” he muttered to himself, “they are robbing me! -Schmucke is a child that would let them tie him up in a sack.” - -The terrible scene had seemed so real, it could not be a dream, he -thought; a desire to throw light upon the puzzle excited him; he managed -to reach the door, opened it after many efforts, and stood on the -threshold of his salon. There they were--his dear pictures, his statues, -his Florentine bronzes, his porcelain; the sight of them revived him. -The old collector walked in his dressing-gown along the narrow spaces -between the credence-tables and the sideboards that lined the wall; his -feet bare, his head on fire. His first glance of ownership told him that -everything was there; he turned to go back to bed again, when he noticed -that a Greuze portrait looked out of the frame that had held Sebastian -del Piombo’s _Templar_. Suspicion flashed across his brain, making -his dark thoughts apparent to him, as a flash of lightning marks the -outlines of the cloud-bars on a stormy sky. He looked round for the -eight capital pictures of the collection; each one of them was replaced -by another. A dark film suddenly overspread his eyes; his strength -failed him; he fell fainting upon the polished floor. - -So heavy was the swoon, that for two hours he lay as he fell, till -Schmucke awoke and went to see his friend, and found him lying -unconscious in the salon. With endless pains Schmucke raised the -half-dead body and laid it on the bed; but when he came to question -the death-stricken man, and saw the look in the dull eyes and heard the -vague, inarticulate words, the good German, so far from losing his head, -rose to the very heroism of friendship. Man and child as he was, with -the pressure of despair came the inspiration of a mother’s tenderness, a -woman’s love. He warmed towels (he found towels!), he wrapped them about -Pons’ hands, he laid them over the pit of the stomach; he took the cold, -moist forehead in his hands, he summoned back life with a might of will -worthy of Apollonius of Tyana, laying kisses on his friend’s eyelids -like some Mary bending over the dead Christ, in a _pieta_ carved in -bas-relief by some great Italian sculptor. The divine effort, the -outpouring of one life into another, the work of mother and of lover, -was crowned with success. In half an hour the warmth revived Pons; he -became himself again, the hues of life returned to his eyes, suspended -faculties gradually resumed their play under the influence of artificial -heat; Schmucke gave him balm-water with a little wine in it; the spirit -of life spread through the body; intelligence lighted up the forehead so -short a while ago insensible as a stone; and Pons knew that he had been -brought back to life, by what sacred devotion, what might of friendship! - -“But for you, I should die,” he said, and as he spoke he felt the good -German’s tears falling on his face. Schmucke was laughing and crying at -once. - -Poor Schmucke! he had waited for those words with a frenzy of hope as -costly as the frenzy of despair; and now his strength utterly failed -him, he collapsed like a rent balloon. It was his turn to fall; he -sank into the easy-chair, clasped his hands, and thanked God in fervent -prayer. For him a miracle had just been wrought. He put no belief in the -efficacy of the prayer of his deeds; the miracle had been wrought by God -in direct answer to his cry. And yet that miracle was a natural effect, -such as medical science often records. - -A sick man, surrounded by those who love him, nursed by those who wish -earnestly that he should live, will recover (other things being equal), -when another patient tended by hirelings will die. Doctors decline to -see unconscious magnetism in this phenomenon; for them it is the result -of intelligent nursing, of exact obedience to their orders; but many a -mother knows the virtue of such ardent projection of strong, unceasing -prayer. - -“My good Schmucke--” - -“Say nodings; I shall hear you mit mein heart... rest, rest!” said -Schmucke, smiling at him. - -“Poor friend, noble creature, child of God, living in God!... The one -being that has loved me....” The words came out with pauses between -them; there was a new note, a something never heard before, in Pons’ -voice. All the soul, so soon to take flight, found utterance in the -words that filled Schmucke with happiness almost like a lover’s rapture. - -“Yes, yes. I shall be shtrong as a lion. I shall vork for two!” - -“Listen, my good, my faithful, adorable friend. Let me speak, I have not -much time left. I am a dead man. I cannot recover from these repeated -shocks.” - -Schmucke was crying like a child. - -“Just listen,” continued Pons, “and cry afterwards. As a Christian, you -must submit. I have been robbed. It is La Cibot’s doing.... I ought to -open your eyes before I go; you know nothing of life.... Somebody has -taken away eight of the pictures, and they were worth a great deal of -money.” - -“Vorgif me--I sold dem.” - -“_You_ sold them?” - -“Yes, I,” said poor Schmucke. “Dey summoned us to der court--” - -“_Summoned?_.... Who summoned us?” - -“Wait,” said Schmucke. He went for the bit of stamped-paper left by the -bailiff, and gave it to Pons. Pons read the scrawl through with close -attention, then he let the paper drop and lay quite silent for a while. -A close observer of the work of men’s hands, unheedful so far of the -workings of the brain, Pons finally counted out the threads of the plot -woven about him by La Cibot. The artist’s fire, the intellect that won -the Roman scholarship--all his youth came back to him for a little. - -“My good Schmucke,” he said at last, “you must do as I tell you, and -obey like a soldier. Listen! go downstairs into the lodge and tell that -abominable woman that I should like to see the person sent to me by -my cousin the President; and that unless he comes, I shall leave my -collection to the Musee. Say that a will is in question.” - -Schmucke went on his errand; but at the first word, La Cibot answered by -a smile. - -“My good M. Schmucke, our dear invalid has had a delirious fit; he -thought that there were men in the room. On my word, as an honest woman, -no one has come from the family.” - -Schmucke went back with his answer, which he repeated word for word. - -“She is cleverer, more astute and cunning and wily, than I thought,” - said Pons with a smile. “She lies even in her room. Imagine it! This -morning she brought a Jew here, Elie Magus by name, and Remonencq, and a -third whom I do not know, more terrific than the other two put together. -She meant to make a valuation while I was asleep; I happened to wake, -and saw them all three, estimating the worth of my snuff-boxes. The -stranger said, indeed, that the Camusots had sent him here; I spoke to -him.... That shameless woman stood me out that I was dreaming!... My -good Schmucke, it was not a dream. I heard the man perfectly plainly; he -spoke to me.... The two dealers took fright and made for the door.... -I thought that La Cibot would contradict herself--the experiment -failed.... I will lay another snare, and trap the wretched woman.... -Poor Schmucke, you think that La Cibot is an angel; and for this month -past she has been killing me by inches to gain her covetous ends. I -would not believe that a woman who served us faithfully for years could -be so wicked. That doubt has been my ruin.... How much did the eight -pictures fetch?” - -“Vife tausend vrancs.” - -“Good heavens! they were worth twenty times as much!” cried Pons; “the -gems of the collection! I have not time now to institute proceedings; -and if I did, you would figure in court as the dupe of those rascals. -... A lawsuit would be the death of you. You do not know what justice -means--a court of justice is a sink of iniquity.... At the sight of such -horrors, a soul like yours would give way. And besides, you will have -enough. The pictures cost me forty thousand francs. I have had them for -thirty-six years.... Oh, we have been robbed with surprising dexterity. -I am on the brink of the grave, I care for nothing now but thee--for -thee, the best soul under the sun.... - -“I will not have you plundered; all that I have is yours. So you must -trust nobody, Schmucke, you that have never suspected any one in your -life. I know God watches over you, but He may forget for one moment, -and you will be seized like a vessel among pirates.... La Cibot is a -monster! She is killing me; and you think her an angel! You shall see -what she is. Go and ask her to give you the name of a notary, and I will -show you her with her hand in the bag.” - -Schmucke listened as if Pons proclaimed an apocalypse. Could so depraved -a creature as La Cibot exist? If Pons was right, it seemed to imply that -there was no God in the world. He went right down again to Mme. Cibot. - -“Mein boor vriend Bons feel so ill,” he said, “dat he vish to make his -vill. Go und pring ein nodary.” - -This was said in the hearing of several persons, for Cibot’s life was -despaired of. Remonencq and his sister, two women from neighboring -porters’ lodges, two or three servants, and the lodger from the first -floor on the side next the street, were all standing outside in the -gateway. - -“Oh! you can just fetch a notary yourself, and have your will made as -you please,” cried La Cibot, with tears in her eyes. “My poor Cibot is -dying, and it is no time to leave him. I would give all the Ponses in -the world to save Cibot, that has never given me an ounce of unhappiness -in these thirty years since we were married.” - -And in she went, leaving Schmucke in confusion. - -“Is M. Pons really seriously ill, sir?” asked the first-floor lodger, -one Jolivard, a clerk in the registrar’s office at the Palais de -Justice. - -“He nearly died chust now,” said Schmucke, with deep sorrow in his -voice. - -“M. Trognon lives near by in the Rue Saint-Louis,” said M. Jolivard, “he -is the notary of the quarter.” - -“Would you like me to go for him?” asked Remonencq. - -“I should pe fery glad,” said Schmucke; “for gif Montame Zipod cannot pe -mit mine vriend, I shall not vish to leaf him in der shtate he is in--” - -“Mme. Cibot told us that he was going out of his mind,” resumed -Jolivard. - -“Bons! out off his mind!” cried Schmucke, terror-stricken by the idea. -“Nefer vas he so clear in der head... dat is chust der reason vy I am -anxious for him.” - -The little group of persons listened to the conversation with a very -natural curiosity, which stamped the scene upon their memories. Schmucke -did not know Fraisier, and could not note his satanic countenance and -glittering eyes. But two words whispered by Fraisier in La Cibot’s ear -had prompted a daring piece of acting, somewhat beyond La Cibot’s range, -it may be, though she played her part throughout in a masterly style. To -make others believe that the dying man was out of his mind--it was -the very corner-stone of the edifice reared by the petty lawyer. The -morning’s incident had done Fraisier good service; but for him, La Cibot -in her trouble might have fallen into the snare innocently spread by -Schmucke, when he asked her to send back the person sent by the family. - -Remonencq saw Dr. Poulain coming towards them, and asked no better than -to vanish. The fact was that for the last ten days the Auvergnat had -been playing Providence in a manner singularly displeasing to Justice, -which claims the monopoly of that part. He had made up his mind to rid -himself at all costs of the one obstacle in his way to happiness, -and happiness for him meant capital trebled and marriage with the -irresistibly charming portress. He had watched the little tailor -drinking his herb-tea, and a thought struck him. He would convert the -ailment into mortal sickness; his stock of old metals supplied him with -the means. - -One morning as he leaned against the door-post, smoking his pipe and -dreaming of that fine shop on the Boulevard de la Madeleine where Mme. -Cibot, gorgeously arrayed, should some day sit enthroned, his eyes -fell upon a copper disc, about the size of a five-franc piece, covered -thickly with verdigris. The economical idea of using Cibot’s medicine to -clean the disc immediately occurred to him. He fastened the thing in a -bit of twine, and came over every morning to inquire for tidings of -his friend the tailor, timing his visit during La Cibot’s visit to her -gentlemen upstairs. He dropped the disc into the tumbler, allowed it to -steep there while he talked, and drew it out again by the string when he -went away. - -The trace of tarnished copper, commonly called verdigris, poisoned -the wholesome draught; a minute dose administered by stealth did -incalculable mischief. Behold the results of this criminal homoeopathy! -On the third day poor Cibot’s hair came out, his teeth were loosened in -their sockets, his whole system was deranged by a scarcely perceptible -trace of poison. Dr. Poulain racked his brains. He was enough of a man -of science to see that some destructive agent was at work. He privately -carried off the decoction, analyzed it himself, but found nothing. It so -chanced that Remonencq had taken fright and omitted to dip the disc in -the tumbler that day. - -Then Dr. Poulain fell back on himself and science and got out of the -difficulty with a theory. A sedentary life in a damp room; a cramped -position before the barred window--these conditions had vitiated the -blood in the absence of proper exercise, especially as the patient -continually breathed an atmosphere saturated with the fetid exhalations -of the gutter. The Rue de Normandie is one of the old-fashioned streets -that slope towards the middle; the municipal authorities of Paris as yet -have laid on no water supply to flush the central kennel which drains -the houses on either side, and as a result a stream of filthy ooze -meanders among the cobblestones, filters into the soil, and produces -the mud peculiar to the city. La Cibot came and went; but her husband, -a hard-working man, sat day in day out like a fakir on the table in the -window, till his knee-joints were stiffened, the blood stagnated in his -body, and his legs grew so thin and crooked that he almost lost the -use of them. The deep copper tint of the man’s complexion naturally -suggested that he had been out of health for a very long time. The -wife’s good health and the husband’s illness seemed to the doctor to be -satisfactorily accounted for by this theory. - -“Then what is the matter with my poor Cibot?” asked the portress. - -“My dear Mme. Cibot, he is dying of the porter’s disease,” said the -doctor. “Incurable vitiation of the blood is evident from the general -anaemic condition.” - -No one had anything to gain by a crime so objectless. Dr. Poulain’s -first suspicions were effaced by this thought. Who could have any -possible interest in Cibot’s death? His wife?--the doctor saw her taste -the herb-tea as she sweetened it. Crimes which escape social vengeance -are many enough, and as a rule they are of this order--to wit, murders -committed without any startling sign of violence, without bloodshed, -bruises, marks of strangling, without any bungling of the business, in -short; if there seems to be no motive for the crime, it most likely goes -unpunished, especially if the death occurs among the poorer classes. -Murder is almost always denounced by its advanced guards, by hatred or -greed well known to those under whose eyes the whole matter has passed. -But in the case of the Cibots, no one save the doctor had any interest -in discovering the actual cause of death. The little copper-faced -tailor’s wife adored her husband; he had no money and no enemies; La -Cibot’s fortune and the marine-store dealer’s motives were alike -hidden in the shade. Poulain knew the portress and her way of thinking -perfectly well; he thought her capable of tormenting Pons, but he -saw that she had neither motive enough nor wit enough for murder; and -besides--every time the doctor came and she gave her husband a draught, -she took a spoonful herself. Poulain himself, the only person who might -have thrown light on the matter, inclined to believe that this was -one of the unaccountable freaks of disease, one of the astonishing -exceptions which make medicine so perilous a profession. And in truth, -the little tailor’s unwholesome life and unsanitary surroundings -had unfortunately brought him to such a pass that the trace of -copper-poisoning was like the last straw. Gossips and neighbors took it -upon themselves to explain the sudden death, and no suspicion of blame -lighted upon Remonencq. - -“Oh! this long time past I have said that M. Cibot was not well,” cried -one. - -“He worked too hard, he did,” said another; “he heated his blood.” - -“He would not listen to me,” put in a neighbor; “I advised him to walk -out of a Sunday and keep Saint Monday; two days in the week is not too -much for amusement.” - -In short, the gossip of the quarter, the tell-tale voice to which -Justice, in the person of the commissary of police, the king of the -poorer classes, lends an attentive ear--gossip explained the little -tailor’s demise in a perfectly satisfactory manner. Yet M. Poulain’s -pensive air and uneasy eyes embarrassed Remonencq not a little, and at -sight of the doctor he offered eagerly to go in search of M. Trognon, -Fraisier’s acquaintance. Fraisier turned to La Cibot to say in a low -voice, “I shall come back again as soon as the will is made. In spite -of your sorrow, you must look for squalls.” Then he slipped away like a -shadow and met his friend the doctor. - -“Ah, Poulain!” he exclaimed, “it is all right. We are safe! I will tell -you about it to-night. Look out a post that will suit you, you shall -have it! For my own part, I am a justice of the peace. Tabareau will not -refuse me now for a son-in-law. And as for you, I will undertake that -you shall marry Mlle. Vitel, granddaughter of our justice of the peace.” - -Fraisier left Poulain reduced to dumb bewilderment by these wild words; -bounced like a ball into the boulevard, hailed an omnibus, and was set -down ten minutes later by the modern coach at the corner of the Rue de -Choiseul. By this time it was nearly four o’clock. Fraisier felt quite -sure of a word in private with the Presidente, for officials seldom -leave the Palais de Justice before five o’clock. - -Mme. de Marville’s reception of him assured Fraisier that M. Leboeuf -had kept his promise made to Mme. Vatinelle and spoken favorably of the -sometime attorney at Mantes. Amelie’s manner was almost caressing. So -might the Duchesse de Montpensier have treated Jacques Clement. The -petty attorney was a knife to her hand. But when Fraisier produced the -joint-letter signed by Elie Magus and Remonencq offering the sum of -nine hundred thousand francs in cash for Pons’ collection, then the -Presidente looked at her man of business and the gleam of the money -flashed from her eyes. That ripple of greed reached the attorney. - -“M. le President left a message with me,” she said; “he hopes that you -will dine with us to-morrow. It will be a family party. M. Godeschal, -Desroches’ successor and my attorney, will come to meet you, and -Berthier, our notary, and my daughter and son-in-law. After dinner, you -and I and the notary and attorney will have the little consultation for -which you ask, and I will give you full powers. The two gentlemen -will do as you require and act upon your inspiration; and see that -_everything_ goes well. You shall have a power of attorney from M. de -Marville as soon as you want it.” - -“I shall want it on the day of the decease.” - -“It shall be in readiness.” - -“Mme. la Presidente, if I ask for a power of attorney, and would prefer -that your attorney’s name should not appear I wish it less in my own -interest than in yours.... When I give myself, it is without reserve. -And in return, madame, I ask the same fidelity; I ask my patrons (I do -not venture to call you my clients) to put the same confidence in -me. You may think that in acting thus I am trying to fasten upon this -affair--no, no, madame; there may be reprehensible things done; with an -inheritance in view one is dragged on... especially with nine hundred -thousand francs in the balance. Well, now, you could not disavow a man -like Maitre Godeschal, honesty itself, but you can throw all the blame -on the back of a miserable pettifogging lawyer--” - -Mme. Camusot de Marville looked admiringly at Fraisier. - -“You ought to go very high,” said she, “or sink very low. In your place, -instead of asking to hide myself away as a justice of the peace, I would -aim at the crown attorney’s appointment--at, say, Mantes!--and make a -great career for myself.” - -“Let me have my way, madame. The post of justice of the peace is an -ambling pad for M. Vitel; for me it shall be a war-horse.” - -And in this way the Presidente proceeded to a final confidence. - -“You seem to be so completely devoted to our interests,” she began, -“that I will tell you about the difficulties of our position and our -hopes. The President’s great desire, ever since a match was projected -between his daughter and an adventurer who recently started a bank,--the -President’s wish, I say, has been to round out the Marville estate with -some grazing land, at that time in the market. We dispossessed ourselves -of fine property, as you know, to settle it upon our daughter; but I -wish very much, my daughter being an only child, to buy all that remains -of the grass land. Part has been sold already. The estate belongs to an -Englishman who is returning to England after a twenty years’ residence -in France. He built the most charming cottage in a delightful situation, -between Marville Park and the meadows which once were part of the -Marville lands; he bought up covers, copse, and gardens at fancy prices -to make the grounds about the cottage. The house and its surroundings -make a feature of the landscape, and it lies close to my daughter’s park -palings. The whole, land and house, should be bought for seven hundred -thousand francs, for the net revenue is about twenty thousand francs.... -But if Mr. Wadman finds out that _we_ think of buying it, he is sure to -add another two or three hundred thousand francs to the price; for he -will lose money if the house counts for nothing, as it usually does when -you buy land in the country--” - -“Why, madame,” Fraisier broke in, “in my opinion you can be so sure that -the inheritance is yours that I will offer to act the part of purchaser -for you. I will undertake that you shall have the land at the best -possible price, and have a written engagement made out under private -seal, like a contract to deliver goods.... I will go to the Englishman -in the character of buyer. I understand that sort of thing; it was my -specialty at Mantes. Vatinelle doubled the value of his practice, while -I worked in his name.” - -“Hence your connection with little Madame Vatinelle. He must be very -well off--” - -“But Mme. Vatinelle has expensive tastes.... So be easy, madame--I will -serve you up the Englishman done to a turn--” - -“If you can manage that you will have eternal claims to my gratitude. -Good-day, my dear M. Fraisier. Till to-morrow--” - -Fraisier went. His parting bow was a degree less cringing than on the -first occasion. - -“I am to dine to-morrow with President de Marville!” he said to himself. -“Come now, I have these folk in my power. Only, to be absolute master, -I ought to be the German’s legal adviser in the person of Tabareau, the -justice’s clerk. Tabareau will not have me now for his daughter, his -only daughter, but he will give her to me when I am a justice of the -peace. I shall be eligible. Mlle. Tabareau, that tall, consumptive -girl with the red hair, has a house in the Place Royale in right of her -mother. At her father’s death she is sure to come in for six thousand -francs, you must not look too hard at the plank.” - -As he went back to the Rue de Normandie by way of the boulevards, he -dreamed out his golden dream, he gave himself up to the happiness of the -thought that he should never know want again. He would marry his friend -Poulain to Mlle. Vitel, the daughter of the justice of the peace; -together, he and his friend the doctor would reign like kings in the -quarter; he would carry all the elections--municipal, military, or -political. The boulevards seem short if, while you pace afoot, you mount -your ambition on the steed of fancy in this way. - -Schmucke meanwhile went back to his friend Pons with the news that Cibot -was dying, and Remonencq gone in search of M. Trognon, the notary. Pons -was struck by the name. It had come up again and again in La Cibot’s -interminable talk, and La Cibot always recommended him as honesty -incarnate. And with that a luminous idea occurred to Pons, in whom -mistrust had grown paramount since the morning, an idea which completed -his plan for outwitting La Cibot and unmasking her completely for the -too-credulous Schmucke. - -So many unexpected things had happened that day that poor Schmucke was -quite bewildered. Pons took his friend’s hand. - -“There must be a good deal of confusion in the house, Schmucke; if the -porter is at death’s door, we are almost free for a minute or two; that -is to say, there will be no spies--for we are watched, you may be sure -of that. Go out, take a cab, go to the theatre, and tell Mlle. Heloise -Brisetout that I should like to see her before I die. Ask her to come -here to-night when she leaves the theatre. Then go to your friends -Brunner and Schwab and beg them to come to-morrow morning at nine -o’clock to inquire after me; let them come up as if they were just -passing by and called in to see me.” - -The old artist felt that he was dying, and this was the scheme that -he forged. He meant Schmucke to be his universal legatee. To protect -Schmucke from any possible legal quibbles, he proposed to dictate his -will to a notary in the presence of witnesses, lest his sanity should be -called in question and the Camusots should attempt upon that pretext -to dispute the will. At the name of Trognon he caught a glimpse of -machinations of some kind; perhaps a flaw purposely inserted, or -premeditated treachery on La Cibot’s part. He would prevent this. -Trognon should dictate a holograph will which should be signed and -deposited in a sealed envelope in a drawer. Then Schmucke, hidden in one -of the cabinets in his alcove, should see La Cibot search for the will, -find it, open the envelope, read it through, and seal it again. Next -morning, at nine o’clock, he would cancel the will and make a new one in -the presence of two notaries, everything in due form and order. La Cibot -had treated him as a madman and a visionary; he saw what this meant--he -saw the Presidente’s hate and greed, her revenge in La Cibot’s behavior. -In the sleepless hours and lonely days of the last two months, the poor -man had sifted the events of his past life. - -It has been the wont of sculptors, ancient and modern, to set a tutelary -genius with a lighted torch upon either side of a tomb. Those torches -that light up the paths of death throw light for dying eyes upon the -spectacle of a life’s mistakes and sins; the carved stone figures -express great ideas, they are symbols of a fact in human experience. The -agony of death has its own wisdom. Not seldom a simple girl, scarcely -more than a child, will grow wise with the experience of a hundred -years, will gain prophetic vision, judge her family, and see clearly -through all pretences, at the near approach of Death. Herein lies -Death’s poetry. But, strange and worthy of remark it is, there are two -manners of death. - -The poetry of prophecy, the gift of seeing clearly into the future or -the past, only belongs to those whose bodies are stricken, to those -who die by the destruction of the organs of physical life. Consumptive -patients, for instance, or those who die of gangrene like Louis XIV., -of fever like Pons, of a stomach complaint like Mme. de Mortsauf, or -of wounds received in the full tide of life like soldiers on the -battlefield--all these may possess this supreme lucidity to the full; -their deaths fill us with surprise and wonder. But many, on the other -hand, die of _intelligential_ diseases, as they may be called; of -maladies seated in the brain or in that nervous system which acts as a -kind of purveyor of thought fuel--and these die wholly, body and spirit -are darkened together. The former are spirits deserted by the body, -realizing for us our ideas of the spirits of Scripture; the latter are -bodies untenanted by a spirit. - -Too late the virgin nature, the epicure-Cato, the righteous man almost -without sin, was discovering the Presidente’s real character--the sac -of gall that did duty for her heart. He knew the world now that he was -about to leave it, and for the past few hours he had risen gaily to his -part, like a joyous artist finding a pretext for caricature and laughter -in everything. The last links that bound him to life, the chains -of admiration, the strong ties that bind the art lover to Art’s -masterpieces, had been snapped that morning. When Pons knew that La -Cibot had robbed him, he bade farewell, like a Christian, to the pomps -and vanities of Art, to his collection, to all his old friendships with -the makers of so many fair things. Our forefathers counted the day of -death as a Christian festival, and in something of the same spirit -Pons’ thoughts turned to the coming end. In his tender love he tried -to protect Schmucke when he should be low in the grave. It was this -father’s thought that led him to fix his choice upon the leading lady -of the ballet. Mlle. Brisetout should help him to baffle surrounding -treachery, and those who in all probability would never forgive his -innocent universal legatee. - -Heloise Brisetout was one of the few natures that remain true in a -false position. She was an opera-girl of the school of Josepha and Jenny -Cadine, capable of playing any trick on a paying adorer; yet she was a -good comrade, dreading no power on earth, accustomed as she was to see -the weak side of the strong and to hold her own with the police at the -scarcely idyllic Bal de Mabille and the carnival. - -“If she asked for my place for Garangeot, she will think that she owes -me a good turn by so much the more,” said Pons to himself. - -Thanks to the prevailing confusion in the porter’s lodge, Schmucke -succeeded in getting out of the house. He returned with the utmost -speed, fearing to leave Pons too long alone. M. Trognon reached the -house just as Schmucke came in. Albeit Cibot was dying, his wife came -upstairs with the notary, brought him into the bedroom, and withdrew, -leaving Schmucke and Pons with M. Trognon; but she left the door ajar, -and went no further than the next room. Providing herself with a little -hand-glass of curious workmanship, she took up her station in the -doorway, so that she could not only hear but see all that passed at the -supreme moment. - -“Sir,” said Pons, “I am in the full possession of my faculties, -unfortunately for me, for I feel that I am about to die; and doubtless, -by the will of God, I shall be spared nothing of the agony of death. -This is M. Schmucke”--(the notary bowed to M. Schmucke)--“my one friend -on earth,” continued Pons. “I wish to make him my universal legatee. -Now, tell me how to word the will, so that my friend, who is a German -and knows nothing of French law, may succeed to my possessions without -any dispute.” - -“Anything is liable to be disputed, sir,” said the notary; “that is the -drawback of human justice. But in the matter of wills, there are wills -so drafted that they cannot be upset--” - -“In what way?” queried Pons. - -“If a will is made in the presence of a notary, and before witnesses who -can swear that the testator was in the full possession of his faculties; -and if the testator has neither wife nor children, nor father nor -mother--” - -“I have none of these; all my affection is centred upon my dear friend -Schmucke here.” - -The tears overflowed Schmucke’s eyes. - -“Then, if you have none but distant relatives, the law leaves you free -to dispose of both personalty and real estate as you please, so long as -you bequeath them for no unlawful purpose; for you must have come across -cases of wills disputed on account of the testator’s eccentricities. A -will made in the presence of a notary is considered to be authentic; -for the person’s identity is established, the notary certifies that the -testator was sane at the time, and there can be no possible dispute over -the signature.--Still, a holograph will, properly and clearly worded, is -quite as safe.” - -“I have decided, for reasons of my own, to make a holograph will at your -dictation, and to deposit it with my friend here. Is this possible?” - -“Quite possible,” said the notary. “Will you write? I will begin to -dictate--” - -“Schmucke, bring me my little Boule writing-desk.--Speak low, sir,” he -added; “we may be overheard.” - -“Just tell me, first of all, what you intend,” demanded the notary. - -Ten minutes later La Cibot saw the notary look over the will, while -Schmucke lighted a taper (Pons watching her reflection all the while in -a mirror). She saw the envelope sealed, saw Pons give it to Schmucke, -and heard him say that it must be put away in a secret drawer in his -bureau. Then the testator asked for the key, tied it to the corner of -his handkerchief, and slipped it under his pillow. - -The notary himself, by courtesy, was appointed executor. To him Pons -left a picture of price, such a thing as the law permits a notary to -receive. Trognon went out and came upon Mme. Cibot in the salon. - -“Well, sir, did M. Pons remember me?” - -“You do not expect a notary to betray secrets confided to him, my dear,” - returned M. Trognon. “I can only tell you this--there will be many -disappointments, and some that are anxious after the money will be -foiled. M. Pons has made a good and very sensible will, a patriotic -will, which I highly approve.” - -La Cibot’s curiosity, kindled by such words, reached an unimaginable -pitch. She went downstairs and spent the night at Cibot’s bedside, -inwardly resolving that Mlle. Remonencq should take her place towards -two or three in the morning, when she would go up and have a look at the -document. - -Mlle. Brisetout’s visit towards half-past ten that night seemed natural -enough to La Cibot; but in her terror lest the ballet-girl should -mention Gaudissart’s gift of a thousand francs, she went upstairs with -her, lavishing polite speeches and flattery as if Mlle. Heloise had been -a queen. - -“Ah! my dear, you are much nicer here on your own ground than at the -theatre,” Heloise remarked. “I advise you to keep to your employment.” - -Heloise was splendidly dressed. Bixiou, her lover, had brought her in -his carriage on the way to an evening party at Mariette’s. It so -fell out that the first-floor lodger, M. Chapoulot, a retired braid -manufacturer from the Rue Saint-Denis, returning from the Ambigu-Comique -with his wife and daughter, was dazzled by a vision of such a costume -and such a charming woman upon their staircase. - -“Who is that, Mme. Cibot?” asked Mme. Chapoulot. - -“A no-better-than-she-should-be, a light-skirts that you may see -half-naked any evening for a couple of francs,” La Cibot answered in an -undertone for Mme. Chapoulot’s ear. - -“Victorine!” called the braid manufacturer’s wife, “let the lady pass, -child.” - -The matron’s alarm signal was not lost upon Heloise. - -“Your daughter must be more inflammable than tinder, madame, if you are -afraid that she will catch fire by touching me,” she said. - -M. Chapoulot waited on the landing. “She is uncommonly handsome off the -stage,” he remarked. Whereupon Mme. Chapoulot pinched him sharply and -drove him indoors. - -“Here is a second-floor lodger that has a mind to set up for being on -the fourth floor,” said Heloise as she continued to climb. - -“But mademoiselle is accustomed to going higher and higher.” - -“Well, old boy,” said Heloise, entering the bedroom and catching sight -of the old musician’s white, wasted face. “Well, old boy, so we are -not very well? Everybody at the theatre is asking after you; but though -one’s heart may be in the right place, every one has his own affairs, -you know, and cannot find time to go to see friends. Gaudissart talks of -coming round every day, and every morning the tiresome management gets -hold of him. Still, we are all of us fond of you--” - -“Mme. Cibot,” said the patient, “be so kind as to leave us; we want -to talk about the theatre and my post as conductor, with this lady. -Schmucke, will you go to the door with Mme. Cibot?” - -At a sign from Pons, Schmucke saw Mme. Cibot out at the door, and drew -the bolts. - -“Ah, that blackguard of a German! Is he spoiled, too?” La Cibot said to -herself as she heard the significant sounds. “That is M. Pons’ doing; -he taught him those disgusting tricks.... But you shall pay for this, my -dears,” she thought as she went down stairs. “Pooh! if that tight-rope -dancer tells him about the thousand francs, I shall say that it is a -farce.” - -She seated herself by Cibot’s pillow. Cibot complained of a burning -sensation in the stomach. Remonencq had called in and given him a -draught while his wife was upstairs. - -As soon as Schmucke had dismissed La Cibot, Pons turned to the -ballet-girl. - -“Dear child, I can trust no one else to find me a notary, an honest man, -and send him here to make my will to-morrow morning at half-past -nine precisely. I want to leave all that I have to Schmucke. If he is -persecuted, poor German that he is, I shall reckon upon the notary; -the notary must defend him. And for that reason I must have a wealthy -notary, highly thought of, a man above the temptations to which -pettifogging lawyers yield. He must succor my poor friend. I cannot -trust Berthier, Cardot’s successor. And you know so many people--” - -“Oh! I have the very man for you,” Heloise broke in; “there is the -notary that acts for Florine and the Comtesse du Bruel, Leopold -Hannequin, a virtuous man that does not know what a _lorette_ is! He -is a sort of chance-come father--a good soul that will not let you play -ducks and drakes with your earnings; I call him _Le Pere aux Rats_, -because he instils economical notions into the minds of all my friends. -In the first place, my dear fellow, he has a private income of sixty -thousand francs; and he is a notary of the real old sort, a notary while -he walks or sleeps; his children must be little notaries and notaresses. -He is a heavy, pedantic creature, and that’s the truth; but on his own -ground, he is not the man to flinch before any power in creation.... No -woman ever got money out of him; he is a fossil pater-familias, his -wife worships him, and does not deceive him, although she is a notary’s -wife.--What more do you want? as a notary he has not his match in Paris. -He is in the patriarchal style; not queer and amusing, as Cardot used -to be with Malaga; but he will never decamp like little What’s-his-name -that lived with Antonia. So I will send round my man to-morrow morning -at eight o’clock.... You may sleep in peace. And I hope, in the first -place, that you will get better, and make charming music for us again; -and yet, after all, you see, life is very dreary--managers chisel -you, and kings mizzle and ministers fizzle and rich fold -economizzle.--Artists have nothing left _here_” (tapping her -breast)--“it is a time to die in. Good-bye, old boy.” - -“Heloise, of all things, I ask you to keep my counsel.” - -“It is not a theatre affair,” she said; “it is sacred for an artist.” - -“Who is your gentleman, child?” - -“M. Baudoyer, the mayor of your arrondissement, a man as stupid as the -late Crevel; Crevel once financed Gaudissart, you know, and a few days -ago he died and left me nothing, not so much as a pot of pomatum. That -made me say just now that this age of ours is something sickening.” - -“What did he die of?” - -“Of his wife. If he had stayed with me, he would be living now. -Good-bye, dear old boy, I am talking of going off, because I can see -that you will be walking about the boulevards in a week or two, hunting -up pretty little curiosities again. You are not ill; I never saw your -eyes look so bright.” And she went, fully convinced that her protege -Garangeot would conduct the orchestra for good. - -Every door stood ajar as she went downstairs. Every lodger, on tip-toe, -watched the lady of the ballet pass on her way out. It was quite an -event in the house. - -Fraisier, like the bulldog that sets his teeth and never lets go, was on -the spot. He stood beside La Cibot when Mlle. Brisetout passed under -the gateway and asked for the door to be opened. Knowing that a will -had been made, he had come to see how the land lay, for Maitre Trognon, -notary, had refused to say a syllable--Fraisier’s questions were -as fruitless as Mme. Cibot’s. Naturally the ballet-girl’s visit _in -extremis_ was not lost upon Fraisier; he vowed to himself that he would -turn it to good account. - -“My dear Mme. Cibot,” he began, “now is the critical moment for you.” - -“Ah, yes... my poor Cibot!” said she. “When I think that he will not -live to enjoy anything I may get--” - -“It is a question of finding out whether M. Pons has left you anything -at all; whether your name is mentioned or left out, in fact,” he -interrupted. “I represent the next-of-kin, and to them you must look -in any case. It is a holograph will, and consequently very easy to -upset.--Do you know where our man has put it?” - -“In a secret drawer in his bureau, and he has the key of it. He tied it -to a corner of his handkerchief, and put it under his pillow. I saw it -all.” - -“Is the will sealed?” - -“Yes, alas!” - -“It is a criminal offence if you carry off a will and suppress it, but -it is only a misdemeanor to look at it; and anyhow, what does it amount -to? A peccadillo, and nobody will see you. Is your man a heavy sleeper?” - -“Yes. But when you tried to see all the things and value them, he ought -to have slept like a top, and yet he woke up. Still, I will see about -it. I will take M. Schmucke’s place about four o’clock this morning; -and if you care to come, you shall have the will in your hands for ten -minutes.” - -“Good. I will come up about four o’clock, and I will knock very -softly--” - -“Mlle Remonencq will take my place with Cibot. She will know, and open -the door; but tap on the window, so as to rouse nobody in the house.” - -“Right,” said Fraisier. “You will have a light, will you not. A candle -will do.” - - - -At midnight poor Schmucke sat in his easy-chair, watching with a -breaking heart that shrinking of the features that comes with death; -Pons looked so worn out with the day’s exertions, that death seemed very -near. - -Presently Pons spoke. “I have just enough strength, I think, to last -till to-morrow night,” he said philosophically. “To-morrow night the -death agony will begin; poor Schmucke! As soon as the notary and your -two friends are gone, go for our good Abbe Duplanty, the curate of -Saint-Francois. Good man, he does not know that I am ill, and I wish to -take the holy sacrament to-morrow at noon.” - -There was a long pause. - -“God so willed it that life has not been as I dreamed,” Pons resumed. -“I should so have loved wife and children and home.... To be loved by -a very few in some corner--that was my whole ambition! Life is hard -for every one; I have seen people who had all that I wanted so much and -could not have, and yet they were not happy.... Then at the end of -my life, God put untold comfort in my way, when He gave me such a -friend.... And one thing I have not to reproach myself with--that I have -not known your worth nor appreciated you, my good Schmucke.... I have -loved you with my whole heart, with all the strength of love that is in -me.... Do not cry, Schmucke; I shall say no more if you cry and it is so -sweet to me to talk of ourselves to you.... If I had listened to you, -I should not be dying. I should have left the world and broken off my -habits, and then I should not have been wounded to death. And now, I -want to think of no one but you at the last--” - -“You are missdaken--” - -“Do not contradict me--listen, dear friend.... You are as guileless -and simple as a six-year-old child that has never left its mother; one -honors you for it--it seems to me that God Himself must watch over such -as you. But men are so wicked, that I ought to warn you beforehand... -and then you will lose your generous trust, your saint-like belief in -others, the bloom of a purity of soul that only belongs to genius or -to hearts like yours.... In a little while you will see Mme. Cibot, who -left the door ajar and watched us closely while M. Trognon was here--in -a little while you will see her come for the will, as she believes it to -be.... I expect the worthless creature will do her business this morning -when she thinks you are asleep. Now, mind what I say, and carry out my -instructions to the letter.... Are you listening?” asked the dying man. - -But Schmucke was overcome with grief, his heart was throbbing painfully, -his head fell back on the chair, he seemed to have lost consciousness. - -“Yes,” he answered, “I can hear, but it is as if you vere doo huntert -baces afay from me.... It seem to me dat I am going town into der grafe -mit you,” said Schmucke, crushed with pain. - -He went over to the bed, took one of Pons’ hands in both his own, and -within himself put up a fervent prayer. - -“What is that that you are mumbling in German?” - -“I asked Gott dat He vould take us poth togedders to Himself!” Schmucke -answered simply when he had finished his prayer. - -Pons bent over--it was a great effort, for he was suffering intolerable -pain; but he managed to reach Schmucke, and kissed him on the forehead, -pouring out his soul, as it were, in benediction upon a nature that -recalled the lamb that lies at the foot of the Throne of God. - -“See here, listen, my good Schmucke, you must do as dying people tell -you--” - -“I am lisdening.” - -“The little door in the recess in your bedroom opens into that closet.” - -“Yes, but it is blocked up mit bictures.” - -“Clear them away at once, without making too much noise.” - -“Yes.” - -“Clear a passage on both sides, so that you can pass from your room into -mine.--Now, leave the door ajar.--When La Cibot comes to take your place -(and she is capable of coming an hour earlier than usual), you can go -away to bed as if nothing had happened, and look very tired. Try to -look sleepy. As soon as she settles down into the armchair, go into the -closet, draw aside the muslin curtains over the glass door, and watch -her.... Do you understand?” - -“I oondershtand; you belief dat die pad voman is going to purn der -vill.” - -“I do not know what she will do; but I am sure of this--that you will -not take her for an angel afterwards.--And now play for me; improvise -and make me happy. It will divert your thoughts; your gloomy ideas will -vanish, and for me the dark hours will be filled with your dreams....” - -Schmucke sat down at the piano. Here he was in his element; and in a few -moments, musical inspiration, quickened by the pain with which he was -quivering and the consequent irritation that followed came upon the -kindly German, and, after his wont, he was caught up and borne above -the world. On one sublime theme after another he executed variations, -putting into them sometimes Chopin’s sorrow, Chopin’s Raphael-like -perfection; sometimes the stormy Dante’s grandeur of Liszt--the -two musicians who most nearly approach Paganini’s temperament. When -execution reaches this supreme degree, the executant stands beside the -poet, as it were; he is to the composer as the actor is to the writer of -plays, a divinely inspired interpreter of things divine. But that -night, when Schmucke gave Pons an earnest of diviner symphonies, of that -heavenly music for which Saint Cecile let fall her instruments, he -was at once Beethoven and Paganini, creator and interpreter. It was an -outpouring of music inexhaustible as the nightingale’s song--varied -and full of delicate undergrowth as the forest flooded with her trills; -sublime as the sky overhead. Schmucke played as he had never played -before, and the soul of the old musician listening to him rose to -ecstasy such as Raphael once painted in a picture which you may see at -Bologna. - -A terrific ringing of the door-bell put an end to these visions. The -first-floor lodgers sent up a servant with a message. Would Schmucke -please stop the racket overhead. Madame, Monsieur, and Mademoiselle -Chapoulot had been wakened, and could not sleep for the noise; they -called his attention to the fact that the day was quite long enough -for rehearsals of theatrical music, and added that people ought not to -“strum” all night in a house in the Marais.--It was then three o’clock -in the morning. At half-past three, La Cibot appeared, just as Pons had -predicted. He might have actually heard the conference between Fraisier -and the portress: “Did I not guess exactly how it would be?” his eyes -seemed to say as he glanced at Schmucke, and, turning a little, he -seemed to be fast asleep. - -Schmucke’s guileless simplicity was an article of belief with La Cibot -(and be it noted that this faith in simplicity is the great source and -secret of the success of all infantine strategy); La Cibot, therefore, -could not suspect Schmucke of deceit when he came to say to her, with a -face half of distress, half of glad relief: - -“I haf had a derrible night! a derrible dime of it! I vas opliged to -play to keep him kviet, and the virst-floor lodgers vas komm up to tell -_me_ to be kviet!... It was frightful, for der life of mein friend vas -at shtake. I am so tired mit der blaying all night, dat dis morning I am -all knocked up.” - -“My poor Cibot is very bad, too; one more day like yesterday, and he -will have no strength left.... One can’t help it; it is God’s will.” - -“You haf a heart so honest, a soul so peautiful, dot gif der Zipod die, -ve shall lif togedder,” said the cunning Schmucke. - -The craft of simple, straightforward folk is formidable indeed; they are -exactly like children, setting their unsuspected snares with the perfect -craft of the savage. - -“Oh, well go and sleep, sonny!” returned La Cibot. “Your eyes look -tired, they are as big as my fist. But there! if anything could comfort -me for losing Cibot, it would be the thought of ending my days with -a good man like you. Be easy. I will give Mme. Chapoulot a dressing -down.... To think of a retired haberdasher’s wife giving herself such -airs!” - -Schmucke went to his room and took up his post in the closet. - -La Cibot had left the door ajar on the landing; Fraisier came in and -closed it noiselessly as soon as he heard Schmucke shut his bedroom -door. He had brought with him a lighted taper and a bit of very fine -wire to open the seal of the will. La Cibot, meanwhile, looking under -the pillow, found the handkerchief with the key of the bureau knotted to -one corner; and this so much the more easily because Pons purposely left -the end hanging over the bolster, and lay with his face to the wall. - -La Cibot went straight to the bureau, opened it cautiously so as to make -as little noise as possible, found the spring of the secret drawer, -and hurried into the salon with the will in her hand. Her flight roused -Pons’ curiosity to the highest pitch; and as for Schmucke, he trembled -as if he were the guilty person. - -“Go back,” said Fraisier, when she handed over the will. “He may wake, -and he must find you there.” - -Fraisier opened the seal with a dexterity which proved that his was -no ‘prentice hand, and read the following curious document, headed “My -Will,” with ever-deepening astonishment: - - “On this fifteenth day of April, eighteen hundred and forty-five, - I, being in my sound mind (as this my Will, drawn up in concert - with M. Trognon, will testify), and feeling that I must shortly - die of the malady from which I have suffered since the beginning - of February last, am anxious to dispose of my property, and have - herein recorded my last wishes:-- - - “I have always been impressed by the untoward circumstances that - injure great pictures, and not unfrequently bring about total - destruction. I have felt sorry for the beautiful paintings - condemned to travel from land to land, never finding some fixed - abode whither admirers of great masterpieces may travel to see - them. And I have always thought that the truly deathless work of a - great master ought to be national property; put where every one of - every nation may see it, even as the light, God’s masterpiece, - shines for all His children. - - “And as I have spent my life in collecting together and choosing a - few pictures, some of the greatest masters’ most glorious work, - and as these pictures are as the master left them--genuine - examples, neither repainted nor retouched,--it has been a painful - thought to me that the paintings which have been the joy of my - life, may be sold by public auction, and go, some to England, some - to Russia, till they are all scattered abroad again as if they had - never been gathered together. From this wretched fate I have - determined to save both them and the frames in which they are set, - all of them the work of skilled craftsmen. - - “On these grounds, therefore, I give and bequeath the pictures - which compose my collection to the King, for the gallery in the - Louvre, subject to the charge (if the legacy is accepted) of a - life-annuity of two thousand four hundred francs to my friend - Wilhelm Schmucke. - - “If the King, as usufructuary of the Louvre collection, should - refuse the legacy with the charge upon it, the said pictures shall - form a part of the estate which I leave to my friend, Schmucke, on - condition that he shall deliver the _Monkey’s Head_, by Goya, to - my cousin, President Camusot; a _Flower-piece_, the tulips, by - Abraham Mignon, to M. Trognon, notary (whom I appoint as my - executor): and allow Mme. Cibot, who has acted as my housekeeper - for ten years, the sum of two hundred francs per annum. - - “Finally, my friend Schmucke is to give the _Descent from the - Cross_, Ruben’s sketch for his great picture at Antwerp, to adorn - a chapel in the parish church, in grateful acknowledgment of M. - Duplanty’s kindness to me; for to him I owe it that I can die as a - Christian and a Catholic.”--So ran the will. - -“This is ruin!” mused Fraisier, “the ruin of all my hopes. Ha! I begin -to believe all that the Presidente told me about this old artist and his -cunning.” - -“Well?” La Cibot came back to say. - -“Your gentleman is a monster. He is leaving everything to the Crown. -Now, you cannot plead against the Crown.... The will cannot be -disputed.... We are robbed, ruined, spoiled, and murdered!” - -“What has he left to me?” - -“Two hundred francs a year.” - -“A pretty come-down!... Why, he is a finished scoundrel.” - -“Go and see,” said Fraisier, “and I will put your scoundrel’s will back -again in the envelope.” - -While Mme. Cibot’s back was turned, Fraisier nimbly slipped a sheet of -blank paper into the envelope; the will he put in his pocket. He next -proceeded to seal the envelope again so cleverly that he showed the -seal to Mme. Cibot when she returned, and asked her if she could see the -slightest trace of the operation. La Cibot took up the envelope, felt it -over, assured herself that it was not empty, and heaved a deep sigh. -She had entertained hopes that Fraisier himself would have burned the -unlucky document while she was out of the room. - -“Well, my dear M. Fraisier, what is to be done?” - -“Oh! that is your affair! I am not one of the next-of-kin, myself; -but if I had the slightest claim to any of _that_” (indicating the -collection), “I know very well what I should do.” - -“That is just what I want to know,” La Cibot answered, with sufficient -simplicity. - -“There is a fire in the grate----” he said. Then he rose to go. - -“After all, no one will know about it, but you and me----” began La -Cibot. - -“It can never be proved that a will existed,” asserted the man of law. - -“And you?” - -“I?... If M. Pons dies intestate, you shall have a hundred thousand -francs.” - -“Oh yes, no doubt,” returned she. “People promise you heaps of money, -and when they come by their own, and there is talk of paying they -swindle you like--” “Like Elie Magus,” she was going to say, but she -stopped herself just in time. - -“I am going,” said Fraisier; “it is not to your interest that I should -be found here; but I shall see you again downstairs.” - -La Cibot shut the door and returned with the sealed packet in her hand. -She had quite made up her mind to burn it; but as she went towards -the bedroom fireplace, she felt the grasp of a hand on each arm, and -saw--Schmucke on one hand, and Pons himself on the other, leaning -against the partition wall on either side of the door. - -La Cibot cried out, and fell face downwards in a fit; real or feigned, -no one ever knew the truth. This sight produced such an impression on -Pons that a deadly faintness came upon him, and Schmucke left the woman -on the floor to help Pons back to bed. The friends trembled in every -limb; they had set themselves a hard task, it was done, but it had been -too much for their strength. When Pons lay in bed again, and Schmucke -had regained strength to some extent, he heard a sound of sobbing. La -Cibot, on her knees, bursting into tears, held out supplicating hands to -them in very expressive pantomime. - -“It was pure curiosity!” she sobbed, when she saw that Pons and Schmucke -were paying attention to her proceedings. “Pure curiosity; a woman’s -fault, you know. But I did not know how else to get a sight of your -will, and I brought it back again--” - -“Go!” said Schmucke, standing erect, his tall figure gaining in height -by the full height of his indignation. “You are a monster! You dried to -kill mein goot Bons! He is right. You are worse than a monster, you are -a lost soul!” - -La Cibot saw the look of abhorrence in the frank German’s face; she -rose, proud as Tartuffe, gave Schmucke a glance which made him quake, -and went out, carrying off under her dress an exquisite little picture -of Metzu’s pointed out by Elie Magus. “A diamond,” he had called it. -Fraisier downstairs in the porter’s lodge was waiting to hear that La -Cibot had burned the envelope and the sheet of blank paper inside it. -Great was his astonishment when he beheld his fair client’s agitation -and dismay. - -“What has happened?” - -“_This_ has happened, my dear M. Fraisier. Under pretence of giving me -good advice and telling me what to do, you have lost me my annuity and -the gentlemen’s confidence....” - -One of the word-tornadoes in which she excelled was in full progress, -but Fraisier cut her short. - -“This is idle talk. The facts, the facts! and be quick about it.” - -“Well; it came about in this way,”--and she told him of the scene which -she had just come through. - -“You have lost nothing through me,” was Fraisier’s comment. “The -gentlemen had their doubts, or they would not have set this trap for -you. They were lying in wait and spying upon you.... You have not told -me everything,” he added, with a tiger’s glance at the woman before him. - -“_I_ hide anything from you!” cried she--“after all that we have done -together!” she added with a shudder. - -“My dear madame, _I_ have done nothing blameworthy,” returned Fraisier. -Evidently he meant to deny his nocturnal visit to Pons’ rooms. - -Every hair on La Cibot’s head seemed to scorch her, while a sense of icy -cold swept over her from head to foot. - -“_What?_”... she faltered in bewilderment. - -“Here is a criminal charge on the face of it.... You may be accused of -suppressing the will,” Fraisier made answer drily. - -La Cibot started. - -“Don’t be alarmed; I am your legal adviser. I only wished to show you -how easy it is, in one way or another, to do as I once explained to you. -Let us see, now; what have you done that this simple German should be -hiding in the room?” - -“Nothing at all, unless it was that scene the other day when I stood M. -Pons out that his eyes dazzled. And ever since, the two gentlemen have -been as different as can be. So you have brought all my troubles upon -me; I might have lost my influence with M. Pons, but I was sure of the -German; just now he was talking of marrying me or of taking me with -him--it is all one.” - -The excuse was so plausible that Fraisier was fain to be satisfied with -it. “You need fear nothing,” he resumed. “I gave you my word that you -shall have your money, and I shall keep my word. The whole matter, so -far, was up in the air, but now it is as good as bank-notes.... You -shall have at least twelve hundred francs per annum.... But, my good -lady, you must act intelligently under my orders.” - -“Yes, my dear M. Fraisier,” said La Cibot with cringing servility. She -was completely subdued. - -“Very good. Good-bye,” and Fraisier went, taking the dangerous document -with him. He reached home in great spirits. The will was a terrible -weapon. - -“Now,” thought he, “I have a hold on Mme. la Presidente de Marville; -she must keep her word with me. If she did not, she would lose the -property.” - -At daybreak, when Remonencq had taken down his shutters and left his -sister in charge of the shop, he came, after his wont of late, to -inquire for his good friend Cibot. The portress was contemplating the -Metzu, privately wondering how a little bit of painted wood could be -worth such a lot of money. - -“Aha!” said he, looking over her shoulder, “that is the one picture -which M. Elie Magus regretted; with that little bit of a thing, he says, -his happiness would be complete.” - -“What would he give for it?” asked La Cibot. - -“Why, if you will promise to marry me within a year of widowhood, I -will undertake to get twenty thousand francs for it from Elie Magus; -and unless you marry me you will never get a thousand francs for the -picture.” - -“Why not?” - -“Because you would be obliged to give a receipt for the money, and then -you might have a lawsuit with the heirs-at-law. If you were my wife, I -myself should sell the thing to M. Magus, and in the way of business it -is enough to make an entry in the day-book, and I should note that M. -Schmucke sold it to me. There, leave the panel with me. ... If your -husband were to die you might have a lot of bother over it, but no one -would think it odd that I should have a picture in the shop.... You know -me quite well. Besides, I will give you a receipt if you like.” - -The covetous portress felt that she had been caught; she agreed to -a proposal which was to bind her for the rest of her life to the -marine-store dealer. - -“You are right,” said she, as she locked the picture away in a chest; -“bring me the bit of writing.” - -Remonencq beckoned her to the door. - -“I can see, neighbor, that we shall not save our poor dear Cibot,” he -said lowering his voice. “Dr. Poulain gave him up yesterday evening, and -said that he could not last out the day.... It is a great misfortune. -But after all, this was not the place for you.... You ought to be in a -fine curiosity shop on the Boulevard des Capucines. Do you know that I -have made nearly a hundred thousand francs in ten years? And if you will -have as much some day, I will undertake to make a handsome fortune for -you--as my wife. You would be the mistress--my sister should wait on you -and do the work of the house, and--” - -A heartrending moan from the little tailor cut the tempter short; the -death agony had begun. - -“Go away,” said La Cibot. “You are a monster to talk of such things and -my poor man dying like this--” - -“Ah! it is because I love you,” said Remonencq; “I could let everything -else go to have you--” - -“If you loved me, you would say nothing to me just now,” returned she. -And Remonencq departed to his shop, sure of marrying La Cibot. - -Towards ten o’clock there was a sort of commotion in the street; M. -Cibot was taking the Sacrament. All the friends of the pair, all the -porters and porters’ wives in the Rue de Normandie and neighboring -streets, had crowded into the lodge, under the archway, and stood on the -pavement outside. Nobody so much as noticed the arrival of M. Leopold -Hannequin and a brother lawyer. Schwab and Brunner reached Pons’ rooms -unseen by Mme. Cibot. The notary, inquiring for Pons, was shown upstairs -by the portress of a neighboring house. Brunner remembered his previous -visit to the museum, and went straight in with his friend Schwab. - -Pons formally revoked his previous will and constituted Schmucke his -universal legatee. This accomplished, he thanked Schwab and Brunner, and -earnestly begged M. Leopold Hannequin to protect Schmucke’s interests. -The demands made upon him by last night’s scene with La Cibot, and this -final settlement of his worldly affairs, left him so faint and exhausted -that Schmucke begged Schwab to go for the Abbe Duplanty; it was Pons’ -great desire to take the Sacrament, and Schmucke could not bring himself -to leave his friend. - -La Cibot, sitting at the foot of her husband’s bed, gave not so much as -a thought to Schmucke’s breakfast--for that matter had been forbidden to -return; but the morning’s events, the sight of Pons’ heroic resignation -in the death agony, so oppressed Schmucke’s heart that he was not -conscious of hunger. Towards two o’clock, however, as nothing had been -seen of the old German, La Cibot sent Remonencq’s sister to see whether -Schmucke wanted anything; prompted not so much by interest as by -curiosity. The Abbe Duplanty had just heard the old musician’s dying -confession, and the administration of the sacrament of extreme unction -was disturbed by repeated ringing of the door-bell. Pons, in his terror -of robbery, had made Schmucke promise solemnly to admit no one into the -house; so Schmucke did not stir. Again and again Mlle. Remonencq pulled -the cord, and finally went downstairs in alarm to tell La Cibot that -Schmucke would not open the door; Fraisier made a note of this. -Schmucke had never seen any one die in his life; before long he would be -perplexed by the many difficulties which beset those who are left with a -dead body in Paris, this more especially if they are lonely and helpless -and have no one to act for them. Fraisier knew, moreover, that in real -affliction people lose their heads, and therefore immediately after -breakfast he took up his position in the porter’s lodge, and sitting -there in perpetual committee with Dr. Poulain, conceived the idea of -directing all Schmucke’s actions himself. - -To obtain the important result, the doctor and the lawyer took their -measures on this wise:-- - -The beadle of Saint-Francois, Cantinet by name, at one time a retail -dealer in glassware, lived in the Rue d’Orleans, next door to Dr. -Poulain and under the same roof. Mme. Cantinet, who saw to the letting -of the chairs at Saint-Francois, once had fallen ill and Dr. Poulain had -attended her gratuitously; she was, as might be expected, grateful, and -often confided her troubles to him. The “nutcrackers,” punctual in -their attendance at Saint-Francois on Sundays and saints’-days, were on -friendly terms with the beadle and the lowest ecclesiastical rank and -file, commonly called in Paris _le bas clerge_, to whom the devout -usually give little presents from time to time. Mme. Cantinet therefore -knew Schmucke almost as well as Schmucke knew her. And Mme. Cantinet was -afflicted with two sore troubles which enabled the lawyer to use her as -a blind and involuntary agent. Cantinet junior, a stage-struck youth, -had deserted the paths of the Church and turned his back on the -prospect of one day becoming a beadle, to make his _debut_ among the -supernumeraries of the Cirque-Olympique; he was leading a wild life, -breaking his mother’s heart and draining her purse by frequent forced -loans. Cantinet senior, much addicted to spirituous liquors and -idleness, had, in fact, been driven to retire from business by those -two failings. So far from reforming, the incorrigible offender had found -scope in his new occupation for the indulgence of both cravings; he -did nothing, and he drank with drivers of wedding-coaches, with the -undertaker’s men at funerals, with poor folk relieved by the vicar, till -his morning’s occupation was set forth in rubric on his countenance by -noon. - -Mme. Cantinet saw no prospect but want in her old age, and yet she had -brought her husband twelve thousand francs, she said. The tale of her -woes related for the hundredth time suggested an idea to Dr. Poulain. -Once introduce her into the old bachelor’s quarters, and it would -be easy by her means to establish Mme. Sauvage there as working -housekeeper. It was quite impossible to present Mme. Sauvage herself, -for the “nutcrackers” had grown suspicious of every one. Schmucke’s -refusal to admit Mlle. Remonencq had sufficiently opened Fraisier’s -eyes. Still, it seemed evident that Pons and Schmucke, being pious -souls, would take any one recommended by the Abbe, with blind -confidence. Mme. Cantinet should bring Mme. Sauvage with her, and to -put in Fraisier’s servant was almost tantamount to installing Fraisier -himself. - -The Abbe Duplanty, coming downstairs, found the gateway blocked by the -Cibots’ friends, all of them bent upon showing their interest in one of -the oldest and most respectable porters in the Marais. - -Dr. Poulain raised his hat, and took the Abbe aside. - -“I am just about to go to poor M. Pons,” he said. “There is still a -chance of recovery; but it is a question of inducing him to undergo an -operation. The calculi are perceptible to the touch, they are setting up -an inflammatory condition which will end fatally, but perhaps it is -not too late to remove them. You should really use your influence to -persuade the patient to submit to surgical treatment; I will answer -for his life, provided that no untoward circumstance occurs during the -operation.” - -“I will return as soon as I have taken the sacred ciborium back to the -church,” said the Abbe Duplanty, “for M. Schmucke’s condition claims the -support of religion.” - -“I have just heard that he is alone,” said Dr. Poulain. “The German, -good soul, had a little altercation this morning with Mme. Cibot, who -has acted as housekeeper to them both for the past ten years. They have -quarreled (for the moment only, no doubt), but under the circumstances -they must have some one in to help upstairs. It would be a charity to -look after him.--I say, Cantinet,” continued the doctor, beckoning to -the beadle, “just go and ask your wife if she will nurse M. Pons, and -look after M. Schmucke, and take Mme. Cibot’s place for a day or two.... -Even without the quarrel, Mme. Cibot would still require a substitute. -Mme. Cantinet is honest,” added the doctor, turning to M. Duplanty. - -“You could not make a better choice,” said the good priest; “she is -intrusted with the letting of chairs in the church.” - -A few minutes later, Dr. Poulain stood by Pons’ pillow watching the -progress made by death, and Schmucke’s vain efforts to persuade his -friend to consent to the operation. To all the poor German’s despairing -entreaties Pons only replied by a shake of the head and occasional -impatient movements; till, after awhile, he summoned up all his -fast-failing strength to say, with a heartrending look: - -“Do let me die in peace!” - -Schmucke almost died of sorrow, but he took Pons’ hand and softly kissed -it, and held it between his own, as if trying a second time to give his -own vitality to his friend. - -Just at this moment the bell rang, and Dr. Poulain, going to the door, -admitted the Abbe Duplanty. - -“Our poor patient is struggling in the grasp of death,” he said. “All -will be over in a few hours. You will send a priest, no doubt, to watch -to-night. But it is time that Mme. Cantinet came, as well as a woman to -do the work, for M. Schmucke is quite unfit to think of anything: I am -afraid for his reason; and there are valuables here which ought to be in -the custody of honest persons.” - -The Abbe Duplanty, a kindly, upright priest, guileless and unsuspicious, -was struck with the truth of Dr. Poulain’s remarks. He had, moreover, a -certain belief in the doctor of the quarter. So on the threshold of the -death-chamber he stopped and beckoned to Schmucke, but Schmucke could -not bring himself to loosen the grasp of the hand that grew tighter and -tighter. Pons seemed to think that he was slipping over the edge of -a precipice and must catch at something to save himself. But, as many -know, the dying are haunted by an hallucination that leads them to -snatch at things about them, like men eager to save their most precious -possessions from a fire. Presently Pons released Schmucke to clutch at -the bed-clothes, dragging them and huddling them about himself with a -hasty, covetous movement significant and painful to see. - -“What will you do, left alone with your dead friend?” asked M. l’Abbe -Duplanty when Schmucke came to the door. “You have not Mme. Cibot now--” - -“Ein monster dat haf killed Bons!” - -“But you must have somebody with you,” began Dr. Poulain. “Some one must -sit up with the body to-night.” - -“I shall sit up; I shall say die prayers to Gott,” the innocent German -answered. - -“But you must eat--and who is to cook for you now?” asked the doctor. - -“Grief haf taken afay mein abbetite,” Schmucke said, simply. - -“And some one must give notice to the registrar,” said Poulain, “and lay -out the body, and order the funeral; and the person who sits up with the -body and the priest will want meals. Can you do all this by yourself? A -man cannot die like a dog in the capital of the civilized world.” - -Schmucke opened wide eyes of dismay. A brief fit of madness seized him. - -“But Bons shall not tie!...” he cried aloud. “I shall safe him!” - -“You cannot go without sleep much longer, and who will take your place? -Some one must look after M. Pons, and give him drink, and nurse him--” - -“Ah! dat is drue.” - -“Very well,” said the Abbe, “I am thinking of sending your Mme. -Cantinet, a good and honest creature--” - -The practical details of the care of the dead bewildered Schmucke, till -he was fain to die with his friend. - -“He is a child,” said the doctor, turning to the Abbe Duplanty. - -“Ein child,” Schmucke repeated mechanically. - -“There, then,” said the curate; “I will speak to Mme. Cantinet, and send -her to you.” - -“Do not trouble yourself,” said the doctor; “I am going home, and she -lives in the next house.” - -The dying seem to struggle with Death as with an invisible assassin; -in the agony at the last, as the final thrust is made, the act of dying -seems to be a conflict, a hand-to-hand fight for life. Pons had reached -the supreme moment. At the sound of his groans and cries, the three -standing in the doorway hurried to the bedside. Then came the last blow, -smiting asunder the bonds between soul and body, striking down to life’s -sources; and suddenly Pons regained for a few brief moments the perfect -calm that follows the struggle. He came to himself, and with the -serenity of death in his face he looked round almost smilingly at them. - -“Ah, doctor, I have had a hard time of it; but you were right, I am -doing better. Thank you, my good Abbe; I was wondering what had become -of Schmucke--” - -“Schmucke has had nothing to eat since yesterday evening, and now it is -four o’clock! You have no one with you now and it would be wise to send -for Mme. Cibot.” - -“She is capable of anything!” said Pons, without attempting to conceal -all his abhorrence at the sound of her name. “It is true, Schmucke ought -to have some trustworthy person.” - -“M. Duplanty and I have been thinking about you both--” - -“Ah! thank you, I had not thought of that.” - -“--And M. Duplanty suggests that you should have Mme. Cantinet--” - -“Oh! Mme. Cantinet who lets the chairs!” exclaimed Pons. “Yes, she is an -excellent creature.” - -“She has no liking for Mme. Cibot,” continued the doctor, “and she would -take good care of M. Schmucke--” - -“Send her to me, M. Duplanty... send her and her husband too. I shall be -easy. Nothing will be stolen here.” - -Schmucke had taken Pons’ hand again, and held it joyously in his own. -Pons was almost well again, he thought. - -“Let us go, Monsieur l’Abbe,” said the doctor. “I will send Mme. -Cantinet round at once. I see how it is. She perhaps may not find M. -Pons alive.” - - - -While the Abbe Duplanty was persuading Pons to engage Mme. Cantinet as -his nurse, Fraisier had sent for her. He had plied the beadle’s wife -with sophistical reasoning and subtlety. It was difficult to resist his -corrupting influence. And as for Mme. Cantinet--a lean, sallow woman, -with large teeth and thin lips--her intelligence, as so often happens -with women of the people, had been blunted by a hard life, till she -had come to look upon the slenderest daily wage as prosperity. She soon -consented to take Mme. Sauvage with her as general servant. - -Mme. Sauvage had had her instructions already. She had undertaken to -weave a web of iron wire about the two musicians, and to watch them as -a spider watches a fly caught in the toils; and her reward was to be a -tobacconist’s license. Fraisier had found a convenient opportunity of -getting rid of his so-called foster-mother, while he posted her as -a detective and policeman to supervise Mme. Cantinet. As there was a -servant’s bedroom and a little kitchen included in the apartment, -La Sauvage could sleep on a truckle-bed and cook for the German. Dr. -Poulain came with the two women just as Pons drew his last breath. -Schmucke was sitting beside his friend, all unconscious of the crisis, -holding the hand that slowly grew colder in his grasp. He signed to Mme. -Cantinet to be silent; but Mme. Sauvage’s soldierly figure surprised him -so much that he started in spite of himself, a kind of homage to which -the virago was quite accustomed. - -“M. Duplanty answers for this lady,” whispered Mme. Cantinet by way of -introduction. “She once was cook to a bishop; she is honesty itself; she -will do the cooking.” - -“Oh! you may talk out loud,” wheezed the stalwart dame. “The poor -gentleman is dead.... He has just gone.” - -A shrill cry broke from Schmucke. He felt Pons’ cold hand stiffening in -his, and sat staring into his friend’s eyes; the look in them would have -driven him mad, if Mme. Sauvage, doubtless accustomed to scenes of this -sort, had not come to the bedside with a mirror which she held over the -lips of the dead. When she saw that there was no mist upon the surface, -she briskly snatched Schmucke’s hand away. - -“Just take away your hand, sir; you may not be able to do it in a little -while. You do not know how the bones harden. A corpse grows cold very -quickly. If you do not lay out a body while it is warm, you have to -break the joints later on....” - -And so it was this terrible woman who closed the poor dead musician’s -eyes. - -With a business-like dexterity acquired in ten years of experience, -she stripped and straightened the body, laid the arms by the sides, -and covered the face with the bedclothes, exactly as a shopman wraps a -parcel. - -“A sheet will be wanted to lay him out.--Where is there a sheet?” she -demanded, turning on the terror-stricken Schmucke. - -He had watched the religious ritual with its deep reverence for the -creature made for such high destinies in heaven; and now he saw his dead -friend treated simply as a thing in this packing process--saw with the -sharp pain that dissolves the very elements of thought. - -“Do as you vill----” he answered mechanically. The innocent creature for -the first time in his life had seen a man die, and that man was Pons, -his only friend, the one human being who understood him and loved him. - -“I will go and ask Mme. Cibot where the sheets are kept,” said La -Sauvage. - -“A truckle-bed will be wanted for the person to sleep upon,” Mme. -Cantinet came to tell Schmucke. - -Schmucke nodded and broke out into weeping. Mme. Cantinet left the -unhappy man in peace; but an hour later she came back to say: - -“Have you any money, sir, to pay for the things?” - -The look that Schmucke gave Mme. Cantinet would have disarmed the -fiercest hate; it was the white, blank, peaked face of death that he -turned upon her, as an explanation that met everything. - -“Dake it all and leaf me to mein prayers and tears,” he said, and knelt. - -Mme. Sauvage went to Fraisier with the news of Pons’ death. Fraisier -took a cab and went to the Presidente. To-morrow she must give him the -power of attorney to enable him to act for the heirs. - -Another hour went by, and Mme. Cantinet came again to Schmucke. - -“I have been to Mme. Cibot, sir, who knows all about things here,” she -said. “I asked her to tell me where everything is kept. But she almost -jawed me to death with her abuse.... Sir, do listen to me....” - -Schmucke looked up at the woman, and she went on, innocent of any -barbarous intention, for women of her class are accustomed to take the -worst of moral suffering passively, as a matter of course. - -“We must have linen for the shroud, sir, we must have money to buy -a truckle-bed for the person to sleep upon, and some things for the -kitchen--plates, and dishes, and glasses, for a priest will be coming -to pass the night here, and the person says that there is absolutely -nothing in the kitchen.” - -“And what is more, sir, I must have coal and firing if I am to get the -dinner ready,” echoed La Sauvage, “and not a thing can I find. Not that -there is anything so very surprising in that, as La Cibot used to do -everything for you--” - -Schmucke lay at the feet of the dead; he heard nothing, knew nothing, -saw nothing. Mme. Cantinet pointed to him. “My dear woman, you would not -believe me,” she said. “Whatever you say, he does not answer.” - -“Very well, child,” said La Sauvage; “now I will show you what to do in -a case of this kind.” - -She looked round the room as a thief looks in search of possible -hiding-places for money; then she went straight to Pons’ chest, opened -the first drawer, saw the bag in which Schmucke had put the rest of -the money after the sale of the pictures, and held it up before him. He -nodded mechanically. - -“Here is money, child,” said La Sauvage, turning to Mme. Cantinet. “I -will count it first and take enough to buy everything we want--wine, -provisions, wax-candles, all sorts of things, in fact, for there is -nothing in the house.... Just look in the drawers for a sheet to bury -him in. I certainly was told that the poor gentleman was simple, but -I don’t know what he is; he is worse. He is like a new-born child; we -shall have to feed him with a funnel.” - -The women went about their work, and Schmucke looked on precisely as an -idiot might have done. Broken down with sorrow, wholly absorbed, in a -half-cataleptic state, he could not take his eyes from the face that -seemed to fascinate him, Pons’ face refined by the absolute repose of -Death. Schmucke hoped to die; everything was alike indifferent. If the -room had been on fire he would not have stirred. - -“There are twelve hundred and fifty francs here,” La Sauvage told him. - -Schmucke shrugged his shoulders. - -But when La Sauvage came near to measure the body by laying the sheet -over it, before cutting out the shroud, a horrible struggle ensued -between her and the poor German. Schmucke was furious. He behaved like -a dog that watches by his dead master’s body, and shows his teeth at all -who try to touch it. La Sauvage grew impatient. She grasped him, set him -in the armchair, and held him down with herculean strength. - -“Go on, child; sew him in his shroud,” she said, turning to Mme. -Cantinet. - -As soon as this operation was completed, La Sauvage set Schmucke back in -his place at the foot of the bed. - -“Do you understand?” said she. “The poor dead man lying there must be -done up, there is no help for it.” - -Schmucke began to cry. The women left him and took possession of the -kitchen, whither they brought all the necessaries in a very short time. -La Sauvage made out a preliminary statement accounting for three hundred -and sixty francs, and then proceeded to prepare a dinner for four -persons. And what a dinner! A fat goose (the cobbler’s pheasant) by way -of a substantial roast, an omelette with preserves, a salad, and the -inevitable broth--the quantities of the ingredients for this last being -so excessive that the soup was more like a strong meat-jelly. - -At nine o’clock the priest, sent by the curate to watch by the dead, -came in with Cantinet, who brought four tall wax candles and some -tapers. In the death-chamber Schmucke was lying with his arms about -the body of his friend, holding him in a tight clasp; nothing but the -authority of religion availed to separate him from his dead. Then -the priest settled himself comfortably in the easy-chair and read his -prayers while Schmucke, kneeling beside the couch, besought God to work -a miracle and unite him to Pons, so that they might be buried in the -same grave; and Mme. Cantinet went on her way to the Temple to buy a -pallet and complete bedding for Mme. Sauvage. The twelve hundred and -fifty francs were regarded as plunder. At eleven o’clock Mme. Cantinet -came in to ask if Schmucke would not eat a morsel, but with a gesture he -signified that he wished to be left in peace. - -“Your supper is ready, M. Pastelot,” she said, addressing the priest, -and they went. - -Schmucke, left alone in the room, smiled to himself like a madman free -at last to gratify a desire like the longing of pregnancy. He flung -himself down beside Pons, and yet again he held his friend in a long, -close embrace. At midnight the priest came back and scolded him, and -Schmucke returned to his prayers. At daybreak the priest went, and at -seven o’clock in the morning the doctor came to see Schmucke, and spoke -kindly and tried hard to persuade him to eat, but the German refused. - -“If you do not eat now you will feel very hungry when you come back,” - the doctor told him, “for you must go to the mayor’s office and take -a witness with you, so that the registrar may issue a certificate of -death.” - -“_I_ must go!” cried Schmucke in frightened tones. - -“Who else?... You must go, for you were the one person who saw him die.” - -“Mein legs vill nicht carry me,” pleaded Schmucke, imploring the doctor -to come to the rescue. - -“Take a cab,” the hypocritical doctor blandly suggested. “I have given -notice already. Ask some one in the house to go with you. The two women -will look after the place while you are away.” - -No one imagines how the requirements of the law jar upon a heartfelt -sorrow. The thought of it is enough to make one turn from civilization -and choose rather the customs of the savage. At nine o’clock that -morning Mme. Sauvage half-carried Schmucke downstairs, and from the cab -he was obliged to beg Remonencq to come with him to the registrar as -a second witness. Here in Paris, in this land of ours besotted with -Equality, the inequality of conditions is glaringly apparent everywhere -and in everything. The immutable tendency of things peeps out even in -the practical aspects of Death. In well-to-do families, a relative, a -friend, or a man of business spares the mourners these painful details; -but in this, as in the matter of taxation, the whole burden falls -heaviest upon the shoulders of the poor. - -“Ah! you have good reason to regret him,” said Remonencq in answer to -the poor martyr’s moan; “he was a very good, a very honest man, and he -has left a fine collection behind him. But being a foreigner, sir, do -you know that you are like to find yourself in a great predicament--for -everybody says that M. Pons left everything to you?” - -Schmucke was not listening. He was sounding the dark depths of sorrow -that border upon madness. There is such a thing as tetanus of the soul. - -“And you would do well to find some one--some man of business--to advise -you and act for you,” pursued Remonencq. - -“Ein mann of pizness!” echoed Schmucke. - -“You will find that you will want some one to act for you. If I were -you, I should take an experienced man, somebody well known to you in the -quarter, a man you can trust.... I always go to Tabareau myself for my -bits of affairs--he is the bailiff. If you give his clerk power to act -for you, you need not trouble yourself any further.” - -Remonencq and La Cibot, prompted by Fraisier, had agreed beforehand to -make a suggestion which stuck in Schmucke’s memory; for there are times -in our lives when grief, as it were, congeals the mind by arresting -all its functions, and any chance impression made at such moments is -retained by a frost-bound memory. Schmucke heard his companion with such -a fixed, mindless stare, that Remonencq said no more. - -“If he is always to be idiotic like this,” thought Remonencq, “I might -easily buy the whole bag of tricks up yonder for a hundred thousand -francs; if it is really his.... Here we are at the mayor’s office, sir.” - -Remonencq was obliged to take Schmucke out of the cab and to half-carry -him to the registrar’s department, where a wedding-party was assembled. -Here they had to wait for their turn, for, by no very uncommon chance, -the clerk had five or six certificates to make out that morning; and -here it was appointed that poor Schmucke should suffer excruciating -anguish. - -“Monsieur is M. Schmucke?” remarked a person in a suit of black, -reducing Schmucke to stupefaction by the mention of his name. He looked -up with the same blank, unseeing eyes that he had turned upon Remonencq, -who now interposed. - -“What do you want with him?” he said. “Just leave him in peace; you can -plainly see that he is in trouble.” - -“The gentleman has just lost his friend, and proposes, no doubt, to do -honor to his memory, being, as he is, the sole heir. The gentleman, no -doubt, will not haggle over it, he will buy a piece of ground outright -for a grave. And as M. Pons was such a lover of the arts, it would be a -great pity not to put Music, Painting, and Sculpture on his tomb--three -handsome full-length figures, weeping--” - -Remonencq waved the speaker away, in Auvergnat fashion, but the man -replied with another gesture, which being interpreted means “Don’t spoil -sport”; a piece of commercial free-masonry, as it were, which the dealer -understood. - -“I represent the firm of Sonet and Company, monumental stone-masons; -Sir Walter Scott would have dubbed me _Young Mortality_,” continued this -person. “If you, sir, should decide to intrust your orders to us, -we would spare you the trouble of the journey to purchase the ground -necessary for the interment of a friend lost to the arts--” - -At this Remonencq nodded assent, and jogged Schmucke’s elbow. - -“Every day we receive orders from families to arrange all formalities,” - continued he of the black coat, thus encouraged by Remonencq. “In the -first moment of bereavement, the heir-at-law finds it very difficult to -attend to such matters, and we are accustomed to perform these little -services for our clients. Our charges, sir, are on a fixed scale, so -much per foot, freestone or marble. Family vaults a specialty.--We -undertake everything at the most moderate prices. Our firm executed the -magnificent monument erected to the fair Esther Gobseck and Lucien de -Rubempre, one of the finest ornaments of Pere-Lachaise. We only -employ the best workmen, and I must warn you, sir, against small -contractors--who turn out nothing but trash,” he added, seeing that -another person in a black suit was coming up to say a word for another -firm of marble-workers. - -It is often said that “death is the end of a journey,” but the aptness -of the simile is realized most fully in Paris. Any arrival, especially -of a person of condition, upon the “dark brink,” is hailed in much the -same way as the traveler recently landed is hailed by hotel touts -and pestered with their recommendations. With the exception of a few -philosophically-minded persons, or here and there a family secure -of handing down a name to posterity, nobody thinks beforehand of the -practical aspects of death. Death always comes before he is expected; -and, from a sentiment easy to understand, the heirs usually act as if -the event were impossible. For which reason, almost every one that loses -father or mother, wife or child, is immediately beset by scouts that -profit by the confusion caused by grief to snare others. In former days, -agents for monuments used to live round about the famous cemetery of -Pere-Lachaise, and were gathered together in a single thoroughfare, -which should by rights have been called the Street of Tombs; issuing -thence, they fell upon the relatives of the dead as they came from the -cemetery, or even at the grave-side. But competition and the spirit -of speculation induced them to spread themselves further and further -afield, till descending into Paris itself they reached the very -precincts of the mayor’s office. Indeed, the stone-mason’s agent has -often been known to invade the house of mourning with a design for the -sepulchre in his hand. - -“I am in treaty with this gentleman,” said the representative of the -firm of Sonet to another agent who came up. - -“Pons deceased!...” called the clerk at this moment. “Where are the -witnesses?” - -“This way, sir,” said the stone-mason’s agent, this time addressing -Remonencq. - -Schmucke stayed where he had been placed on the bench, an inert mass. -Remonencq begged the agent to help him, and together they pulled -Schmucke towards the balustrade, behind which the registrar shelters -himself from the mourning public. Remonencq, Schmucke’s Providence, was -assisted by Dr. Poulain, who filled in the necessary information as to -Pons’ age and birthplace; the German knew but one thing--that Pons was -his friend. So soon as the signatures were affixed, Remonencq and the -doctor (followed by the stone-mason’s man), put Schmucke into a cab, -the desperate agent whisking in afterwards, bent upon taking a definite -order. - -La Sauvage, on the lookout in the gateway, half-carried Schmucke’s -almost unconscious form upstairs. Remonencq and the agent went up with -her. - -“He will be ill!” exclaimed the agent, anxious to make an end of the -piece of business which, according to him, was in progress. - -“I should think he will!” returned Mme. Sauvage. “He has been crying -for twenty-four hours on end, and he would not take anything. There is -nothing like grief for giving one a sinking in the stomach.” - -“My dear client,” urged the representative of the firm of Sonet, “do -take some broth. You have so much to do; some one must go to the Hotel -de Ville to buy the ground in the cemetery on which you mean to erect -a monument to perpetuate the memory of the friend of the arts, and bear -record to your gratitude.” - -“Why, there is no sense in this!” added Mme. Cantinet, coming in with -broth and bread. - -“If you are as weak as this, you ought to think of finding some one to -act for you,” added Remonencq, “for you have a good deal on your hands, -my dear sir. There is the funeral to order. You would not have your -friend buried like a pauper!” - -“Come, come, my dear sir,” put in La Sauvage, seizing a moment when -Schmucke laid his head back in the great chair to pour a spoonful of -soup into his mouth. She fed him as if he had been a child, and almost -in spite of himself. - -“Now, if you were wise, sir, since you are inclined to give yourself up -quietly to grief, you would find some one to act for you--” - -“As you are thinking of raising a magnificent monument to the memory -of your friend, sir, you have only to leave it all to me; I will -undertake--” - -“What is all this? What is all this?” asked La Sauvage. “Has M. Schmucke -ordered something? Who may you be?” - -“I represent the firm of Sonet, my dear madame, the biggest -monumental stone-masons in Paris,” said the person in black, handing a -business-card to the stalwart Sauvage. - -“Very well, that will do. Some one will go with you when the time comes; -but you must not take advantage of the gentleman’s condition now. You -can quite see that he is not himself----” - -The agent led her out upon the landing. - -“If you will undertake to get the order for us,” he said confidentially, -“I am empowered to offer you forty francs.” - -Mme. Sauvage grew placable. “Very well, let me have your address,” said -she. - -Schmucke meantime being left to himself, and feeling the stronger for -the soup and bread that he had been forced to swallow, returned at -once to Pons’ rooms, and to his prayers. He had lost himself in the -fathomless depths of sorrow, when a voice sounding in his ears drew -him back from the abyss of grief, and a young man in a suit of black -returned for the eleventh time to the charge, pulling the poor, tortured -victim’s coatsleeve until he listened. - -“Sir!” said he. - -“Vat ees it now?” - -“Sir! we owe a supreme discovery to Dr. Gannal; we do not dispute -his fame; he has worked miracles of Egypt afresh; but there have been -improvements made upon his system. We have obtained surprising results. -So, if you would like to see your friend again, as he was when he was -alive--” - -“See him again!” cried Schmucke. “Shall he speak to me?” - -“Not exactly. Speech is the only thing wanting,” continued the -embalmer’s agent. “But he will remain as he is after embalming for all -eternity. The operation is over in a few seconds. Just an incision in -the carotid artery and an injection.--But it is high time; if you -wait one single quarter of an hour, sir, you will not have the sweet -satisfaction of preserving the body....” - -“Go to der teufel!... Bons is ein spirit--und dat spirit is in hefn.” - -“That man has no gratitude in his composition,” remarked the youthful -agent of one of the famous Gannal’s rivals; “he will not embalm his -friend.” - -The words were spoken under the archway, and addressed to La Cibot, who -had just submitted her beloved to the process. - -“What would you have, sir!” she said. “He is the heir, the universal -legatee. As soon as they get what they want, the dead are nothing to -them.” - -An hour later, Schmucke saw Mme. Sauvage come into the room, followed by -another man in a suit of black, a workman, to all appearance. - -“Cantinet has been so obliging as to send this gentleman, sir,” she -said; “he is coffin-maker to the parish.” - -The coffin-maker made his bow with a sympathetic and compassionate air, -but none the less he had a business-like look, and seemed to know that -he was indispensable. He turned an expert’s eye upon the dead. - -“How does the gentleman wish ‘it’ to be made? Deal, plain oak, or oak -lead-lined? Oak with a lead lining is the best style. The body is -a stock size,”--he felt for the feet, and proceeded to take the -measure--“one metre seventy!” he added. “You will be thinking of -ordering the funeral service at the church, sir, no doubt?” - -Schmucke looked at him as a dangerous madman might look before striking -a blow. La Sauvage put in a word. - -“You ought to find somebody to look after all these things,” she said. - -“Yes----” the victim murmured at length. - -“Shall I fetch M. Tabareau?--for you will have a good deal on your hands -before long. M. Tabareau is the most honest man in the quarter, you -see.” - -“Yes. Mennesir Dapareau! Somepody vas speaking of him chust now--” said -Schmucke, completely beaten. - -“Very well. You can be quiet, sir, and give yourself up to grief, when -you have seen your deputy.” - -It was nearly two o’clock when M. Tabareau’s head-clerk, a young man -who aimed at a bailiff’s career, modestly presented himself. Youth -has wonderful privileges; no one is alarmed by youth. This young man -Villemot by name, sat down by Schmucke’s side and waited his opportunity -to speak. His diffidence touched Schmucke very much. - -“I am M. Tabareau’s head-clerk, sir,” he said; “he sent me here to take -charge of your interests, and to superintend the funeral arrangements. -Is this your wish?” - -“You cannot safe my life, I haf not long to lif; but you vill leaf me in -beace!” - -“Oh! you shall not be disturbed,” said Villemot. - -“Ver’ goot. Vat must I do for dat?” - -“Sign this paper appointing M. Tabareau to act for you in all matters -relating to the settlement of the affairs of the deceased.” - -“Goot! gif it to me,” said Schmucke, anxious only to sign it at once. - -“No, I must read it over to you first.” - -“Read it ofer.” - -Schmucke paid not the slightest attention to the reading of the power -of attorney, but he set his name to it. The young clerk took Schmucke’s -orders for the funeral, the interment, and the burial service; -undertaking that he should not be troubled again in any way, nor asked -for money. - -“I vould gif all dat I haf to be left in beace,” said the unhappy man. -And once more he knelt beside the dead body of his friend. - -Fraisier had triumphed. Villemot and La Sauvage completed the circle -which he had traced about Pons’ heir. - -There is no sorrow that sleep cannot overcome. Towards the end of -the day La Sauvage, coming in, found Schmucke stretched asleep at the -bed-foot. She carried him off, put him to bed, tucked him in maternally, -and till the morning Schmucke slept. - -When he awoke, or rather when the truce was over and he again became -conscious of his sorrows, Pons’ coffin lay under the gateway in such a -state as a third-class funeral may claim, and Schmucke, seeking vainly -for his friend, wandered from room to room, across vast spaces, as it -seemed to him, empty of everything save hideous memories. La Sauvage -took him in hand, much as a nurse manages a child; she made him take his -breakfast before starting for the church; and while the poor sufferer -forced himself to eat, she discovered, with lamentations worthy of -Jeremiah, that he had not a black coat in his possession. La Cibot took -entire charge of his wardrobe; since Pons fell ill, his apparel, like -his dinner, had been reduced to the lowest terms--to a couple of coats -and two pairs of trousers. - -“And you are going just as you are to M. Pons’ funeral? It is an -unheard-of thing; the whole quarter will cry shame upon us!” - -“Und how vill you dat I go?” - -“Why, in mourning--” - -“Mourning!” - -“It is the proper thing.” - -“Der bropper ding!... Confound all dis stupid nonsense!” cried poor -Schmucke, driven to the last degree of exasperation which a childlike -soul can reach under stress of sorrow. - -“Why, the man is a monster of ingratitude!” said La Sauvage, turning -to a personage who just then appeared. At the sight of this functionary -Schmucke shuddered. The newcomer wore a splendid suit of black, black -knee-breeches, black silk stockings, a pair of white cuffs, an extremely -correct white muslin tie, and white gloves. A silver chain with a coin -attached ornamented his person. A typical official, stamped with the -official expression of decorous gloom, an ebony wand in his hand by -way of insignia of office, he stood waiting with a three-cornered hat -adorned with the tricolor cockade under his arm. - -“I am the master of the ceremonies,” this person remarked in a subdued -voice. - -Accustomed daily to superintend funerals, to move among families plunged -in one and the same kind of tribulation, real or feigned, this man, like -the rest of his fraternity, spoke in hushed and soothing tones; he was -decorous, polished, and formal, like an allegorical stone figure of -Death. - -Schmucke quivered through every nerve as if he were confronting his -executioner. - -“Is this gentleman the son, brother, or father of the deceased?” - inquired the official. - -“I am all dat and more pesides--I am his friend,” said Schmucke through -a torrent of weeping. - -“Are you his heir?” - -“Heir?...” repeated Schmucke. “Noding matters to me more in dis vorld,” - returning to his attitude of hopeless sorrow. - -“Where are the relatives, the friends?” asked the master of the -ceremonies. - -“All here!” exclaimed the German, indicating the pictures and rarities. -“Not von of dem haf efer gifn bain to mein boor Bons.... Here ees -everydings dot he lofed, after me.” - -Schmucke had taken his seat again, and looked as vacant as before; he -dried his eyes mechanically. Villemot came up at that moment; he had -ordered the funeral, and the master of the ceremonies, recognizing him, -made an appeal to the newcomer. - -“Well, sir, it is time to start. The hearse is here; but I have not -often seen such a funeral as this. Where are the relatives and friends?” - -“We have been pressed for time,” replied Villemot. “This gentleman was -in such deep grief that he could think of nothing. And there is only one -relative.” - -The master of the ceremonies looked compassionately at Schmucke; this -expert in sorrow knew real grief when he saw it. He went across to him. - -“Come, take heart, my dear sir. Think of paying honor to your friend’s -memory.” - -“We forgot to send out cards; but I took care to send a special message -to M. le Presidente de Marville, the one relative that I mentioned to -you.--There are no friends.--M. Pons was conductor of an orchestra at a -theatre, but I do not think that any one will come.--This gentleman is -the universal legatee, I believe.” - -“Then he ought to be chief mourner,” said the master of the -ceremonies.--“Have you a black coat?” he continued, noticing Schmucke’s -costume. - -“I am all in plack insite!” poor Schmucke replied in heartrending tones; -“so plack it is dot I feel death in me.... Gott in hefn is going to haf -pity upon me; He vill send me to mein friend in der grafe, und I dank -Him for it--” - -He clasped his hands. - -“I have told our management before now that we ought to have a wardrobe -department and lend the proper mourning costumes on hire,” said the -master of the ceremonies, addressing Villemot; “it is a want that -is more and more felt every day, and we have even now introduced -improvements. But as this gentleman is chief mourner, he ought to wear a -cloak, and this one that I have brought with me will cover him from -head to foot; no one need know that he is not in proper mourning -costume.--Will you be so kind as to rise?” - -Schmucke rose, but he tottered on his feet. - -“Support him,” said the master of the ceremonies, turning to Villemot; -“you are his legal representative.” - -Villemot held Schmucke’s arm while the master of the ceremonies invested -Schmucke with the ample, dismal-looking garment worn by heirs-at-law in -the procession to and from the house and the church. He tied the black -silken cords under the chin, and Schmucke as heir was in “full dress.” - -“And now comes a great difficulty,” continued the master of the -ceremonies; “we want four bearers for the pall.... If nobody comes to -the funeral, who is to fill the corners? It is half-past ten already,” - he added, looking at his watch; “they are waiting for us at the church.” - -“Oh! here comes Fraisier!” Villemot exclaimed, very imprudently; but -there was no one to hear the tacit confession of complicity. - -“Who is this gentleman?” inquired the master of the ceremonies. - -“Oh! he comes on behalf of the family.” - -“Whose family?” - -“The disinherited family. He is M. Camusot de Marville’s -representative.” - -“Good,” said the master of the ceremonies, with a satisfied air. “We -shall have two pall-bearers at any rate--you and he.” - -And, happy to find two of the places filled up, he took out some -wonderful white buckskin gloves, and politely presented Fraisier and -Villemot with a pair apiece. - -“If you gentlemen will be so good as to act as pall-bearers--” said he. - -Fraisier, in black from head to foot, pretentiously dressed, with his -white tie and official air, was a sight to shudder at; he embodied a -hundred briefs. - -“Willingly, sir,” said he. - -“If only two more persons will come, the four corners will be filled -up,” said the master of the ceremonies. - -At that very moment the indefatigable representative of the firm of -Sonet came up, and, closely following him, the man who remembered -Pons and thought of paying him a last tribute of respect. This was a -supernumerary at the theatre, the man who put out the scores on the -music-stands for the orchestra. Pons had been wont to give him a -five-franc piece once a month, knowing that he had a wife and family. - -“Oh, Dobinard (Topinard)!” Schmucke cried out at the sight of him, -“_you_ love Bons!” - -“Why, I have come to ask news of M. Pons every morning, sir.” - -“Efery morning! boor Dobinard!” and Schmucke squeezed the man’s hand. - -“But they took me for a relation, no doubt, and did not like my visits -at all. I told them that I belonged to the theatre and came to inquire -after M. Pons; but it was no good. They saw through that dodge, they -said. I asked to see the poor dear man, but they never would let me come -upstairs.” - -“Dat apominable Zipod!” said Schmucke, squeezing Topinard’s horny hand -to his heart. - -“He was the best of men, that good M. Pons. Every month he use to give -me five francs.... He knew that I had three children and a wife. My wife -has gone to the church.” - -“I shall difide mein pread mit you,” cried Schmucke, in his joy at -finding at his side some one who loved Pons. - -“If this gentleman will take a corner of the pall, we shall have all -four filled up,” said the master of the ceremonies. - -There had been no difficulty over persuading the agent for monuments. -He took a corner the more readily when he was shown the handsome pair of -gloves which, according to custom, was to be his property. - -“A quarter to eleven! We absolutely must go down. They are waiting for -us at the church.” - -The six persons thus assembled went down the staircase. - -The cold-blooded lawyer remained a moment to speak to the two women on -the landing. “Stop here, and let nobody come in,” he said, “especially -if you wish to remain in charge, Mme. Cantinet. Aha! two francs a day, -you know!” - -By a coincidence in nowise extraordinary in Paris, two hearses were -waiting at the door, and two coffins standing under the archway; Cibot’s -funeral and the solitary state in which Pons was lying was made even -more striking in the street. Schmucke was the only mourner that followed -Pons’ coffin; Schmucke, supported by one of the undertaker’s men, for he -tottered at every step. From the Rue de Normandie to the Rue d’Orleans -and the Church of Saint-Francois the two funerals went between a double -row of curious onlookers for everything (as was said before) makes a -sensation in the quarter. Every one remarked the splendor of the white -funeral car, with a big embroidered P suspended on a hatchment, and the -one solitary mourner behind it; while the cheap bier that came after it -was followed by an immense crowd. Happily, Schmucke was so bewildered by -the throng of idlers and the rows of heads in the windows, that he heard -no remarks and only saw the faces through a mist of tears. - -“Oh, it is the nutcracker!” said one, “the musician, you know--” - -“Who can the pall-bearers be?” - -“Pooh! play-actors.” - -“I say, just look at poor old Cibot’s funeral. There is one worker the -less. What a man! he could never get enough of work!” - -“He never went out.” - -“He never kept Saint Monday.” - -“How fond he was of his wife!” - -“Ah! There is an unhappy woman!” - -Remonencq walked behind his victim’s coffin. People condoled with him on -the loss of his neighbor. - -The two funerals reached the church. Cantinet and the doorkeeper saw -that no beggars troubled Schmucke. Villemot had given his word that -Pons’ heir should be left in peace; he watched over his client, and gave -the requisite sums; and Cibot’s humble bier, escorted by sixty or eighty -persons, drew all the crowd after it to the cemetery. At the church door -Pons’ funeral possession mustered four mourning-coaches, one for the -priest and three for the relations; but one only was required, for the -representative of the firm of Sonet departed during mass to give notice -to his principal that the funeral was on the way, so that the design -for the monument might be ready for the survivor at the gates of the -cemetery. A single coach sufficed for Fraisier, Villemot, Schmucke, and -Topinard; but the remaining two, instead of returning to the undertaker, -followed in the procession to Pere-Lachaise--a useless procession, not -unfrequently seen; there are always too many coaches when the dead are -unknown beyond their own circle and there is no crowd at the funeral. -Dear, indeed, the dead must have been in their lifetime if relative or -friend will go with them so far as the cemetery in this Paris, where -every one would fain have twenty-five hours in the day. But with the -coachmen it is different; they lose their tips if they do not make the -journey; so, empty or full, the mourning coaches go to the church and -cemetery and return to the house for gratuities. A death is a sort -of drinking-fountain for an unimagined crowd of thirsty mortals. The -attendants at the church, the poor, the undertaker’s men, the drivers -and sextons, are creatures like sponges that dip into a hearse and come -out again saturated. - -From the church door, where he was beset with a swarm of beggars -(promptly dispersed by the beadle), to Pere-Lachaise, poor Schmucke went -as criminals went in old times from the Palais de Justice to the -Place de Greve. It was his own funeral that he followed, clinging to -Topinard’s hand, to the one living creature besides himself who felt a -pang of real regret for Pons’ death. - -As for Topinard, greatly touched by the honor of the request to act as -pall-bearer, content to drive in a carriage, the possessor of a new pair -of gloves,--it began to dawn upon him that this was to be one of the -great days of his life. Schmucke was driven passively along the road, as -some unlucky calf is driven in a butcher’s cart to the slaughter-house. -Fraisier and Villemot sat with their backs to the horses. Now, as those -know whose sad fortune it has been to accompany many of their friends to -their last resting-place, all hypocrisy breaks down in the coach during -the journey (often a very long one) from the church to the eastern -cemetery, to that one of the burying-grounds of Paris in which all -vanities, all kinds of display, are met, so rich is it in sumptuous -monuments. On these occasions those who feel least begin to talk -soonest, and in the end the saddest listen, and their thoughts are -diverted. - -“M. le President had already started for the Court.” Fraisier told -Villemot, “and I did not think it necessary to tear him away from -business; he would have come too late, in any case. He is the -next-of-kin; but as he has been disinherited, and M. Schmucke gets -everything, I thought that if his legal representative were present it -would be enough.” - -Topinard lent an ear to this. - -“Who was the queer customer that took the fourth corner?” continued -Fraisier. - -“He is an agent for a firm of monumental stone-masons. He would like an -order for a tomb, on which he proposes to put three sculptured marble -figures--Music, Painting, and Sculpture shedding tears over the -deceased.” - -“It is an idea,” said Fraisier; “the old gentleman certainly deserved -that much; but the monument would cost seven or eight hundred francs.” - -“Oh! quite that!” - -“If M. Schmucke gives the order, it cannot affect the estate. You might -eat up a whole property with such expenses.” - -“There would be a lawsuit, but you would gain it--” - -“Very well,” said Fraisier, “then it will be his affair.--It would be a -nice practical joke to play upon the monument-makers,” Fraisier added in -Villemot’s ear; “for if the will is upset (and I can answer for that), -or if there is no will at all, who would pay them?” - -Villemot grinned like a monkey, and the pair began to talk -confidentially, lowering their voices; but the man from the theatre, -with his wits and senses sharpened in the world behind the scenes, could -guess at the nature of their discourse; in spite of the rumbling of -the carriage and other hindrances, he began to understand that these -representatives of justice were scheming to plunge poor Schmucke into -difficulties; and when at last he heard the ominous word “Clichy,” the -honest and loyal servitor of the stage made up his mind to watch over -Pons’ friend. - -At the cemetery, where three square yards of ground had been purchased -through the good offices of the firm of Sonet (Villemot having announced -Schmucke’s intention of erecting a magnificent monument), the master of -ceremonies led Schmucke through a curious crowd to the grave into which -Pons’ coffin was about to be lowered; but here, at the sight of the -square hole, the four men waiting with ropes to lower the bier, and the -clergy saying the last prayer for the dead at the grave-side, something -clutched tightly at the German’s heart. He fainted away. - -Sonet’s agent and M. Sonet himself came to help Topinard to carry -poor Schmucke into the marble-works hard by, where Mme. Sonet and Mme. -Vitelot (Sonet’s partner’s wife) were eagerly prodigal of efforts to -revive him. Topinard stayed. He had seen Fraisier in conversation with -Sonet’s agent, and Fraisier, in his opinion, had gallows-bird written on -his face. - -An hour later, towards half-past two o’clock, the poor, innocent German -came to himself. Schmucke thought that he had been dreaming for the past -two days; if he could only wake, he should find Pons still alive. So -many wet towels had been laid on his forehead, he had been made to -inhale salts and vinegar to such an extent, that he opened his eyes at -last. Mme. Sonet make him take some meat-soup, for they had put the pot -on the fire at the marble-works. - -“Our clients do not often take things to heart like this; still, it -happens once in a year or two--” - -At last Schmucke talked of returning to the Rue de Normandie, and at -this Sonet began at once. - -“Here is the design, sir,” he said; “Vitelot drew it expressly for you, -and sat up last night to do it.... And he has been happily inspired, it -will look fine--” - -“One of the finest in Pere-Lachaise!” said the little Mme. Sonet. “But -you really ought to honor the memory of a friend who left you all his -fortune.” - -The design, supposed to have been drawn on purpose, had, as a matter -of fact, been prepared for de Marsay, the famous cabinet minister. -His widow, however, had given the commission to Stidmann; people were -disgusted with the tawdriness of the project, and it was refused. The -three figures at that period represented the three days of July which -brought the eminent minister to power. Subsequently, Sonet and Vitelot -had turned the Three Glorious Days--“_les trois glorieuses_”--into the -Army, Finance, and the Family, and sent in the design for the sepulchre -of the late lamented Charles Keller; and here again Stidmann took the -commission. In the eleven years that followed, the sketch had been -modified to suit all kinds of requirements, and now in Vitelot’s fresh -tracing they reappeared as Music, Sculpture, and Painting. - -“It is a mere trifle when you think of the details and cost of setting -it up; for it will take six months,” said Vitelot. “Here is the estimate -and the order-form--seven thousand francs, sketch in plaster not -included.” - -“If M. Schmucke would like marble,” put in Sonet (marble being his -special department), “it would cost twelve thousand francs, and monsieur -would immortalize himself as well as his friend.” - -Topinard turned to Vitelot. - -“I have just heard that they are going to dispute the will,” he -whispered, “and the relatives are likely to come by their property. -Go and speak to M. Camusot, for this poor, harmless creature has not a -farthing.” - -“This is the kind of customer that you always bring us,” said Mme. -Vitelot, beginning a quarrel with the agent. - -Topinard led Schmucke away, and they returned home on foot to the Rue de -Normandie, for the mourning-coaches had been sent back. - -“Do not leaf me,” Schmucke said, when Topinard had seen him safe into -Mme. Sauvage’s hands, and wanted to go. - -“It is four o’clock, dear M. Schmucke. I must go home to dinner. My wife -is a box-opener--she will not know what has become of me. The theatre -opens at a quarter to six, you know.” - -“Yes, I know... but remember dat I am alone in die earth, dat I haf -no friend. You dat haf shed a tear for Bons enliden me; I am in teep -tarkness, und Bons said dat I vas in der midst of shcoundrels.” - -“I have seen that plainly already; I have just prevented them from -sending you to Clichy.” - -“_Gligy!_” repeated Schmucke; “I do not understand.” - -“Poor man! Well, never mind, I will come to you. Good-bye.” - -“Goot-bye; komm again soon,” said Schmucke, dropping half-dead with -weariness. - -“Good-bye, mosieu,” said Mme. Sauvage, and there was something in her -tone that struck Topinard. - -“Oh, come, what is the matter now?” he asked, banteringly. “You are -attitudinizing like a traitor in a melodrama.” - -“Traitor yourself! Why have you come meddling here? Do you want to have -a hand in the master’s affairs, and swindle him, eh?” - -“Swindle him!... Your very humble servant!” Topinard answered with -superb disdain. “I am only a poor super at a theatre, but I am something -of an artist, and you may as well know that I never asked anything of -anybody yet! Who asked anything of you? Who owes you anything? eh, old -lady!” - -“You are employed at a theatre, and your name is--?” - -“Topinard, at your service.” - -“Kind regards to all at home,” said La Sauvage, “and my compliments to -your missus, if you are married, mister.... That was all I wanted to -know.” - -“Why, what is the matter, dear?” asked Mme. Cantinet, coming out. - -“This, child--stop here and look after the dinner while I run round to -speak to monsieur.” - -“He is down below, talking with poor Mme. Cibot, that is crying her eyes -out,” said Mme. Cantinet. - -La Sauvage dashed down in such headlong haste that the stairs trembled -beneath her tread. - -“Monsieur!” she called, and drew him aside a few paces to point out -Topinard. - -Topinard was just going away, proud at heart to have made some return -already to the man who had done him so many kindnesses. He had saved -Pons’ friend from a trap, by a stratagem from that world behind the -scenes in which every one has more or less ready wit. And within himself -he vowed to protect a musician in his orchestra from future snares set -for his simple sincerity. - -“Do you see that little wretch?” said La Sauvage. “He is a kind of -honest man that has a mind to poke his nose into M. Schmucke’s affairs.” - -“Who is he?” asked Fraisier. - -“Oh! he is a nobody.” - -“In business there is no such thing as a nobody.” - -“Oh, he is employed at the theatre,” said she; “his name is Topinard.” - -“Good, Mme. Sauvage! Go on like this, and you shall have your -tobacconist’s shop.” - -And Fraisier resumed his conversation with Mme. Cibot. - -“So I say, my dear client, that you have not played openly and -above-board with me, and that one is not bound in any way to a partner -who cheats.” - -“And how have I cheated you?” asked La Cibot, hands on hips. “Do you -think that you will frighten me with your sour looks and your frosty -airs? You look about for bad reasons for breaking your promises, and -you call yourself an honest man! Do you know what you are? You are a -blackguard! Yes! yes! scratch your arm; but just pocket that--” - -“No words, and keep your temper, dearie. Listen to me. You have been -feathering your nest.... I found this catalogue this morning while we -were getting ready for the funeral; it is all in M. Pons’ handwriting, -and made out in duplicate. And as it chanced, my eyes fell on this--” - -And opening the catalogue, he read: - - “No. 7. _Magnificent portrait painted on marble, by Sebastian del - Piombo, in 1546. Sold by a family who had it removed from Terni - Cathedral. The picture, which represents a Knight-Templar kneeling - in prayer, used to hang above a tomb of the Rossi family with a - companion portrait of a Bishop, afterwards purchased by an - Englishman. The portrait might be attributed to Raphael, but for - the date. This example is, to my mind, superior to the portrait of - Baccio Bandinelli in the Musee; the latter is a little hard, while - the Templar, being painted upon ‘lavagna,’ or slate, has preserved - its freshness of coloring._” - -“When I come to look for No. 7,” continued Fraisier, “I find a portrait -of a lady, signed ‘Chardin,’ without a number on it! I went through the -pictures with the catalogue while the master of ceremonies was making up -the number of pall-bearers, and found that eight of those indicated -as works of capital importance by M. Pons had disappeared, and -eight paintings of no special merit, and without numbers, were -there instead.... And finally, one was missing altogether, a little -panel-painting by Metzu, described in the catalogue as a masterpiece.” - -“And was _I_ in charge of the pictures?” demanded La Cibot. - -“No; but you were in a position of trust. You were M. Pons’ housekeeper, -you looked after his affairs, and he has been robbed--” - -“Robbed! Let me tell you this, sir: M. Schmucke sold the pictures, by M. -Pons’ orders, to meet expenses.” - -“And to whom?” - -“To Messrs. Elie Magus and Remonencq.” - -“For how much?” - -“I am sure I do not remember.” - -“Look here, my dear madame; you have been feathering your nest, and very -snugly. I shall keep an eye upon you; I have you safe. Help me, I will -say nothing! In any case, you know that since you deemed it expedient to -plunder M. le President Camusot, you ought not to expect anything from -_him_.” - -“I was sure that this would all end in smoke, for me,” said La Cibot, -mollified by the words “I will say nothing.” - -Remonencq chimed in at this point. - -“Here are you finding fault with Mme. Cibot; that is not right!” he -said. “The pictures were sold by private treaty between M. Pons, M. -Magus, and me. We waited for three days before we came to terms with the -deceased; he slept on his pictures. We took receipts in proper form; and -if we gave Madame Cibot a few forty-franc pieces, it is the custom of -the trade--we always do so in private houses when we conclude a bargain. -Ah! my dear sir, if you think to cheat a defenceless woman, you will not -make a good bargain! Do you understand, master lawyer?--M. Magus rules -the market, and if you do not come down off the high horse, if you do -not keep your word to Mme. Cibot, I shall wait till the collection is -sold, and you shall see what you will lose if you have M. Magus and -me against you; we can get the dealers in a ring. Instead of realizing -seven or eight hundred thousand francs, you will not so much as make two -hundred thousand.” - -“Good, good, we shall see. We are not going to sell; or if we do, it -will be in London.” - -“We know London,” said Remonencq. “M. Magus is as powerful there as at -Paris.” - -“Good-day, madame; I shall sift these matters to the bottom,” said -Fraisier--“unless you continue to do as I tell you” he added. - -“You little pickpocket!--” - -“Take care! I shall be a justice of the peace before long.” And with -threats understood to the full upon either side, they separated. - -“Thank you, Remonencq!” said La Cibot; “it is very pleasant to a poor -widow to find a champion.” - - - -Towards ten o’clock that evening, Gaudissart sent for Topinard. -The manager was standing with his back to the fire, in a Napoleonic -attitude--a trick which he had learned since be began to command his -army of actors, dancers, _figurants_, musicians, and stage carpenters. -He grasped his left-hand brace with his right hand, always thrust into -his waistcoat; the head was flung far back, his eyes gazed out into -space. - -“Ah! I say, Topinard, have you independent means?” - -“No, sir.” - -“Are you on the lookout to better yourself somewhere else?” - -“No, sir--” said Topinard, with a ghastly countenance. - -“Why, hang it all, your wife takes the first row of boxes out of respect -to my predecessor, who came to grief; I gave you the job of cleaning the -lamps in the wings in the daytime, and you put out the scores. And that -is not all, either. You get twenty sous for acting monsters and managing -devils when a hell is required. There is not a super that does not covet -your post, and there are those that are jealous of you, my friend; you -have enemies in the theatre.” - -“Enemies!” repeated Topinard. - -“And you have three children; the oldest takes children’s parts at fifty -centimes--” - -“Sir!--” - -“You want to meddle in other people’s business, and put your finger -into a will case.--Why, you wretched man, you would be crushed like an -egg-shell! My patron is His Excellency, Monseigneur le Comte Popinot, a -clever man and a man of high character, whom the King in his wisdom -has summoned back to the privy council. This statesman, this great -politician, has married his eldest son to a daughter of M. le President -de Marville, one of the foremost men among the high courts of justice; -one of the leading lights of the law-courts. Do you know the law-courts? -Very good. Well, he is cousin and heir to M. Pons, to our old conductor -whose funeral you attended this morning. I do not blame you for going -to pay the last respects to him, poor man.... But if you meddle in M. -Schmucke’s affairs, you will lose your place. I wish very well to M. -Schmucke, but he is in a delicate position with regard to the heirs--and -as the German is almost nothing to me, and the President and Count -Popinot are a great deal, I recommend you to leave the worthy German to -get out of his difficulties by himself. There is a special Providence -that watches over Germans, and the part of deputy guardian-angel would -not suit you at all. Do you see? Stay as you are--you cannot do better.” - -“Very good, monsieur le directeur,” said Topinard, much distressed. And -in this way Schmucke lost the protector sent to him by fate, the one -creature that shed a tear for Pons, the poor super for whose return he -looked on the morrow. - -Next morning poor Schmucke awoke to a sense of his great and heavy loss. -He looked round the empty rooms. Yesterday and the day before yesterday -the preparations for the funeral had made a stir and bustle which -distracted his eyes; but the silence which follows the day, when the -friend, father, son, or loved wife has been laid in the grave--the dull, -cold silence of the morrow is terrible, is glacial. Some irresistible -force drew him to Pons’ chamber, but the sight of it was more than the -poor man could bear; he shrank away and sat down in the dining-room, -where Mme. Sauvage was busy making breakfast ready. - -Schmucke drew his chair to the table, but he could eat nothing. A -sudden, somewhat sharp ringing of the door-bell rang through the house, -and Mme. Cantinet and Mme. Sauvage allowed three black-coated personages -to pass. First came Vitel, the justice of the peace, with his highly -respectable clerk; third was Fraisier, neither sweeter nor milder for -the disappointing discovery of a valid will canceling the formidable -instrument so audaciously stolen by him. - -“We have come to affix seals on the property,” the justice of the peace -said gently, addressing Schmucke. But the remark was Greek to Schmucke; -he gazed in dismay at his three visitors. - -“We have come at the request of M. Fraisier, legal representative of M. -Camusot de Marville, heir of the late Pons--” added the clerk. - -“The collection is here in this great room, and in the bedroom of the -deceased,” remarked Fraisier. - -“Very well, let us go into the next room.--Pardon us, sir; do not let us -interrupt with your breakfast.” - -The invasion struck an icy chill of terror into poor Schmucke. -Fraisier’s venomous glances seemed to possess some magnetic influence -over his victims, like the power of a spider over a fly. - -“M. Schmucke understood how to turn a will, made in the presence of -a notary, to his own advantage,” he said, “and he surely must have -expected some opposition from the family. A family does not allow itself -to be plundered by a stranger without some protest; and we shall -see, sir, which carries the day--fraud and corruption or the rightful -heirs.... We have a right as next of kin to affix seals, and seals shall -be affixed. I mean to see that the precaution is taken with the utmost -strictness.” - -“Ach, mein Gott! how haf I offended against Hefn?” cried the innocent -Schmucke. - -“There is a good deal of talk about you in the house,” said La Sauvage. -“While you were asleep, a little whipper-snapper in a black suit came -here, a puppy that said he was M. Hannequin’s head-clerk, and must see -you at all costs; but as you were asleep and tired out with the funeral -yesterday, I told him that M. Villemot, Tabareau’s head-clerk, was -acting for you, and if it was a matter of business, I said, he might -speak to M. Villemot. ‘Ah, so much the better!’ the youngster said. ‘I -shall come to an understanding with him. We will deposit the will at the -Tribunal, after showing it to the President.’ So at that, I told him to -ask M. Villemot to come here as soon as he could.--Be easy, my dear sir, -there are those that will take care of you. They shall not shear the -fleece off your back. You will have some one that has beak and claws. -M. Villemot will give them a piece of his mind. I have put myself in a -passion once already with that abominable hussy, La Cibot, a porter’s -wife that sets up to judge her lodgers, forsooth, and insists that you -have filched the money from the heirs; you locked M. Pons up, she says, -and worked upon him till he was stark, staring mad. She got as good as -she gave, though, the wretched woman. ‘You are a thief and a bad lot,’ -I told her; ‘you will get into the police-courts for all the things that -you have stolen from the gentlemen,’ and she shut up.” - -The clerk came out to speak to Schmucke. - -“Would you wish to be present, sir, when the seals are affixed in the -next room?” - -“Go on, go on,” said Schmucke; “I shall pe allowed to die in beace, I -bresume?” - -“Oh, under any circumstances a man has a right to die,” the clerk -answered, laughing; “most of our business relates to wills. But, in my -experience, the universal legatee very seldom follows the testator to -the tomb.” - -“I am going,” said Schmucke. Blow after blow had given him an -intolerable pain at the heart. - -“Oh! here comes M. Villemot!” exclaimed La Sauvage. - -“Mennesir Fillemod,” said poor Schmucke, “rebresent me.” - -“I hurried here at once,” said Villemot. “I have come to tell you that -the will is completely in order; it will certainly be confirmed by the -court, and you will be put in possession. You will have a fine fortune.” - -“_I?_ Ein fein vordune?” cried Schmucke, despairingly. That he of all -men should be suspected of caring for the money! - -“And meantime what is the justice of the peace doing here with his wax -candles and his bits of tape?” asked La Sauvage. - -“Oh, he is affixing seals.... Come, M. Schmucke, you have a right to be -present.” - -“No--go in yourself.” - -“But where is the use of the seals if M. Schmucke is in his own house -and everything belongs to him?” asked La Sauvage, doing justice in -feminine fashion, and interpreting the Code according to their fancy, -like one and all of her sex. - -“M. Schmucke is not in possession, madame; he is in M. Pons’ house. -Everything will be his, no doubt; but the legatee cannot take possession -without an authorization--an order from the Tribunal. And if the -next-of-kin set aside by the testator should dispute the order, a -lawsuit is the result. And as nobody knows what may happen, everything -is sealed up, and the notaries representing either side proceed to draw -up an inventory during the delay prescribed by the law.... And there you -are!” - -Schmucke, hearing such talk for the first time in his life, was -completely bewildered by it; his head sank down upon the back of his -chair--he could not support it, it had grown so heavy. - -Villemot meanwhile went off to chat with the justice of the peace and -his clerk, assisting with professional coolness to affix the seals--a -ceremony which always involves some buffoonery and plentiful comments on -the objects thus secured, unless, indeed, one of the family happens to -be present. At length the party sealed up the chamber and returned to -the dining-room, whither the clerk betook himself. Schmucke watched the -mechanical operation which consists in setting the justice’s seal -at either end of a bit of tape stretched across the opening of a -folding-door; or, in the case of a cupboard or ordinary door, from edge -to edge above the door-handle. - -“Now for this room,” said Fraisier, pointing to Schmucke’s bedroom, -which opened into the dining-room. - -“But that is M. Schmucke’s own room,” remonstrated La Sauvage, springing -in front of the door. - -“We found the lease among the papers,” Fraisier said ruthlessly; “there -was no mention of M. Schmucke in it; it is taken out in M. Pons’ name -only. The whole place, and every room in it, is a part of the estate. -And besides”--flinging open the door--“look here, monsieur le juge de la -paix, it is full of pictures.” - -“So it is,” answered the justice of the peace, and Fraisier thereupon -gained his point. - -“Wait a bit, gentlemen,” said Villemot. “Do you know that you are -turning the universal legatee out of doors, and as yet his right has not -been called in question?” - -“Yes, it has,” said Fraisier; “we are opposing the transfer of the -property.” - -“And upon what grounds?” - -“You shall know that by and by, my boy,” Fraisier replied, banteringly. -“At this moment, if the legatee withdraws everything that he declares -to be his, we shall raise no objections, but the room itself will be -sealed. And M. Schmucke may lodge where he pleases.” - -“No,” said Villemot; “M. Schmucke is going to stay in his room.” - -“And how?” - -“I shall demand an immediate special inquiry,” continued Villemot, “and -prove that we pay half the rent. You shall not turn us out. Take away -the pictures, decide on the ownership of the various articles, but here -my client stops--‘my boy.’” - -“I shall go out!” the old musician suddenly said. He had recovered -energy during the odious dispute. - -“You had better,” said Fraisier. “Your course will save expense to you, -for your contention would not be made good. The lease is evidence--” - -“The lease! the lease!” cried Villemot, “it is a question of good -faith--” - -“That could only be proved in a criminal case, by calling witnesses.--Do -you mean to plunge into experts’ fees and verifications, and orders -to show cause why judgment should not be given, and law proceedings -generally?” - -“No, no!” cried Schmucke in dismay. “I shall turn out; I am used to -it--” - -In practice Schmucke was a philosopher, an unconscious cynic, so greatly -had he simplified his life. Two pairs of shoes, a pair of boots, -a couple of suits of clothes, a dozen shirts, a dozen bandana -handkerchiefs, four waistcoats, a superb pipe given to him by Pons, with -an embroidered tobacco-pouch--these were all his belongings. Overwrought -by a fever of indignation, he went into his room and piled his clothes -upon a chair. - -“All dese are mine,” he said, with simplicity worthy of Cincinnatus. -“Der biano is also mine.” - -Fraisier turned to La Sauvage. “Madame, get help,” he said; “take that -piano out and put it on the landing.” - -“You are too rough into the bargain,” said Villemot, addressing -Fraisier. “The justice of the peace gives orders here; he is supreme.” - -“There are valuables in the room,” put in the clerk. - -“And besides,” added the justice of the peace, “M. Schmucke is going out -of his own free will.” - -“Did any one ever see such a client!” Villemot cried indignantly, -turning upon Schmucke. “You are as limp as a rag--” - -“Vat dos it matter vere von dies?” Schmucke said as he went out. “Dese -men haf tiger faces.... I shall send somebody to vetch mein bits of -dings.” - -“Where are you going, sir?” - -“Vere it shall blease Gott,” returned Pons’ universal legatee with -supreme indifference. - -“Send me word,” said Villemot. - -Fraisier turned to the head-clerk. “Go after him,” he whispered. - -Mme. Cantinet was left in charge, with a provision of fifty francs paid -out of the money that they found. The justice of the peace looked out; -there Schmucke stood in the courtyard looking up at the windows for the -last time. - -“You have found a man of butter,” remarked the justice. - -“Yes,” said Fraisier, “yes. The thing is as good as done. You need not -hesitate to marry your granddaughter to Poulain; he will be head-surgeon -at the Quinze-Vingts.” (The Asylum founded by St. Louis for three -hundred blind people.) - -“We shall see.--Good-day, M. Fraisier,” said the justice of the peace -with a friendly air. - -“There is a man with a head on his shoulders,” remarked the justice’s -clerk. “The dog will go a long way.” - -By this time it was eleven o’clock. The old German went like an -automaton down the road along which Pons and he had so often walked -together. Wherever he went he saw Pons, he almost thought that Pons was -by his side; and so he reached the theatre just as his friend Topinard -was coming out of it after a morning spent in cleaning the lamps and -meditating on the manager’s tyranny. - -“Oh, shoost der ding for me!” cried Schmucke, stopping his acquaintance. -“Dopinart! you haf a lodging someveres, eh?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“A home off your own?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Are you villing to take me for ein poarder? Oh! I shall pay ver’ -vell; I haf nine hundert vrancs of inkomm, und--I haf not ver’ long ter -lif.... I shall gif no drouble vatefer.... I can eat onydings--I only -vant to shmoke mein bipe. Und--you are der only von dat haf shed a tear -for Bons, mit me; und so, I lof you.” - -“I should be very glad, sir; but, to begin with, M. Gaudissart has given -me a proper wigging--” - -“_Vigging?_” - -“That is one way of saying that he combed my hair for me.” - -“_Combed your hair?_” - -“He gave me a scolding for meddling in your affairs.... So we must be -very careful if you come to me. But I doubt whether you will stay when -you have seen the place; you do not know how we poor devils live.” - -“I should rader der boor home of a goot-hearted mann dot haf mourned -Bons, dan der Duileries mit men dot haf ein tiger face.... I haf chust -left tigers in Bons’ house; dey vill eat up everydings--” - -“Come with me, sir, and you shall see. But--well, anyhow, there is a -garret. Let us see what Mme. Topinard says.” - -Schmucke followed like a sheep, while Topinard led the way into one of -the squalid districts which might be called the cancers of Paris--a spot -known as the Cite Bordin. It is a slum out of the Rue de Bondy, a double -row of houses run up by the speculative builder, under the shadow of the -huge mass of the Porte Saint-Martin theatre. The pavement at the higher -end lies below the level of the Rue de Bondy; at the lower it falls away -towards the Rue des Mathurins du Temple. Follow its course and you -find that it terminates in another slum running at right angles to the -first--the Cite Bordin is, in fact, a T-shaped blind alley. Its two -streets thus arranged contain some thirty houses, six or seven stories -high; and every story, and every room in every story, is a workshop and -a warehouse for goods of every sort and description, for this wart upon -the face of Paris is a miniature Faubourg Saint-Antoine. Cabinet-work -and brasswork, theatrical costumes, blown glass, painted porcelain--all -the various fancy goods known as _l’article Paris_ are made here. Dirty -and productive like commerce, always full of traffic--foot-passengers, -vans, and drays--the Cite Bourdin is an unsavory-looking neighborhood, -with a seething population in keeping with the squalid surroundings. It -is a not unintelligent artisan population, though the whole power of the -intellect is absorbed by the day’s manual labor. Topinard, like every -other inhabitant of the Cite Bourdin, lived in it for the sake of -comparatively low rent, the cause of its existence and prosperity. His -sixth floor lodging, in the second house to the left, looked out upon -the belt of green garden, still in existence, at the back of three or -four large mansions in the Rue de Bondy. - -Topinard’s apartment consisted of a kitchen and two bedrooms. The first -was a nursery with two little deal bedsteads and a cradle in it, the -second was the bedroom, and the kitchen did duty as a dining-room. -Above, reached by a short ladder, known among builders as a -“trap-ladder,” there was a kind of garret, six feet high, with a -sash-window let into the roof. This room, given as a servants’ bedroom, -raised the Topinards’ establishment from mere “rooms” to the dignity of -a tenement, and the rent to a corresponding sum of four hundred francs. -An arched lobby, lighted from the kitchen by a small round window, did -duty as an ante-chamber, and filled the space between the bedroom, the -kitchen, and house doors--three doors in all. The rooms were paved with -bricks, and hung with a hideous wall-paper at threepence apiece; the -chimneypieces that adorned them were of the kind called _capucines_--a -shelf set on a couple of brackets painted to resemble wood. Here in -these three rooms dwelt five human beings, three of them children. Any -one, therefore, can imagine how the walls were covered with scores and -scratches so far as an infant arm can reach. - -Rich people can scarcely realize the extreme simplicity of a poor man’s -kitchen. A Dutch oven, a kettle, a gridiron, a saucepan, two or three -dumpy cooking-pots, and a frying-pan--that was all. All the crockery in -the place, white and brown earthenware together, was not worth more than -twelve francs. Dinner was served on the kitchen table, which, with a -couple of chairs and a couple of stools, completed the furniture. The -stock of fuel was kept under the stove with a funnel-shaped chimney, -and in a corner stood the wash-tub in which the family linen lay, often -steeping over-night in soapsuds. The nursery ceiling was covered with -clothes-lines, the walls were variegated with theatrical placards and -wood-cuts from newspapers or advertisements. Evidently the eldest boy, -the owner of the school-books stacked in a corner, was left in -charge while his parents were absent at the theatre. In many a French -workingman’s family, so soon as a child reaches the age of six or seven, -it plays the part of mother to younger sisters and brothers. - -From this bare outline, it may be imagined that the Topinards, to use -the hackneyed formula, were “poor but honest.” Topinard himself was -verging on forty; Mme. Topinard, once leader of a chorus--mistress, too, -it was said, of Gaudissart’s predecessor, was certainly thirty years -old. Lolotte had been a fine woman in her day; but the misfortunes of -the previous management had told upon her to such an extent, that it -had seemed to her to be both advisable and necessary to contract a -stage-marriage with Topinard. She did not doubt but that, as soon as -they could muster the sum of a hundred and fifty francs, her Topinard -would perform his vows agreeably to the civil law, were it only to -legitimize the three children, whom he worshiped. Meantime, Mme. -Topinard sewed for the theatre wardrobe in the morning; and with -prodigious effort, the brave couple made nine hundred francs per annum -between them. - -“One more flight!” Topinard had twice repeated since they reached the -third floor. Schmucke, engulfed in his sorrow, did not so much as know -whether he was going up or coming down. - -In another minute Topinard had opened the door; but before he appeared -in his white workman’s blouse Mme. Topinard’s voice rang from the -kitchen: - -“There, there! children, be quiet! here comes papa!” - -But the children, no doubt, did as they pleased with papa, for the -oldest member of the family, sitting astride a broomstick, continued to -command a charge of cavalry (a reminiscence of the Cirque-Olympique), -the second blew a tin trumpet, while the third did its best to keep up -with the main body of the army. Their mother was at work on a theatrical -costume. - -“Be quiet! or I shall slap you!” shouted Topinard in a formidable -voice; then in an aside for Schmucke’s benefit--“Always have to say -that!--Here, little one,” he continued, addressing his Lolotte, “this is -M. Schmucke, poor M. Pons’ friend. He does not know where to go, and -he would like to live with us. I told him that we were not very -spick-and-span up here, that we lived on the sixth floor, and had only -the garret to offer him; but it was no use, he would come--” - -Schmucke had taken the chair which the woman brought him, and the -children, stricken with sudden shyness, had gathered together to -give the stranger that mute, earnest, so soon-finished scrutiny -characteristic of childhood. For a child, like a dog, is wont to judge -by instinct rather than reason. Schmucke looked up; his eyes rested on -that charming little picture; he saw the performer on the tin trumpet, a -little five-year-old maiden with wonderful golden hair. - -“She looks like ein liddle German girl,” said Schmucke, holding out his -arms to the child. - -“Monsieur will not be very comfortable here,” said Mme. Topinard. “I -would propose that he should have our room at once, but I am obliged to -have the children near me.” - -She opened the door as she spoke, and bade Schmucke come in. Such -splendor as their abode possessed was all concentrated here. Blue -cotton curtains with a white fringe hung from the mahogany bedstead, and -adorned the window; the chest of drawers, bureau, and chairs, though all -made of mahogany, were neatly kept. The clock and candlesticks on the -chimneypiece were evidently the gift of the bankrupt manager, whose -portrait, a truly frightful performance of Pierre Grassou’s, looked -down upon the chest of drawers. The children tried to peep in at the -forbidden glories. - -“Monsieur might be comfortable in here,” said their mother. - -“No, no,” Schmucke replied. “Eh! I haf not ver’ long to lif, I only vant -a corner to die in.” - -The door was closed, and the three went up to the garret. “Dis is der -ding for me,” Schmucke cried at once. “Pefore I lifd mid Bons, I vas -nefer better lodged.” - -“Very well. A truckle-bed, a couple of mattresses, a bolster, a pillow, -a couple of chairs, and a table--that is all that you need to buy. That -will not ruin you--it may cost a hundred and fifty francs, with the -crockeryware and strip of carpet for the bedside.” - -Everything was settled--save the money, which was not forthcoming. -Schmucke saw that his new friends were very poor, and recollecting that -the theatre was only a few steps away, it naturally occurred to him -to apply to the manager for his salary. He went at once, and found -Gaudissart in his office. Gaudissart received him in the somewhat -stiffly polite manner which he reserved for professionals. Schmucke’s -demand for a month’s salary took him by surprise, but on inquiry he -found that it was due. - -“Oh, confound it, my good man, a German can always count, even if he has -tears in his eyes.... I thought that you would have taken the thousand -francs that I sent you into account, as a final year’s salary, and that -we were quits.” - -“We haf receifed nodings,” said Schmucke; “und gif I komm to you, it ees -because I am in der shtreet, und haf not ein benny. How did you send us -der bonus?” - -“By your portress.” - -“By Montame Zipod!” exclaimed Schmucke. “She killed Bons, she robbed -him, she sold him--she tried to purn his vill--she is a pad creature, a -monster!” - -“But, my good man, how come you to be out in the street without a roof -over your head or a penny in your pocket, when you are the sole heir? -That does not necessarily follow, as the saying is.” - -“They haf put me out at der door. I am a voreigner, I know nodings of -die laws.” - -“Poor man!” thought Gaudissart, foreseeing the probable end of the -unequal contest.--“Listen,” he began, “do you know what you ought to do -in this business?” - -“I haf ein mann of pizness!” - -“Very good, come to terms at once with the next-of-kin; make them -pay you a lump sum of money down and an annuity, and you can live in -peace--” - -“I ask noding more.” - -“Very well. Let me arrange it for you,” said Gaudissart. Fraisier had -told him the whole story only yesterday, and he thought that he saw his -way to making interest out of the case with the young Vicomtesse Popinot -and her mother. He would finish a dirty piece of work, and some day he -would be a privy councillor, at least; or so he told himself. - -“I gif you full powers.” - -“Well. Let me see. Now, to begin with,” said Gaudissart, Napoleon of -the boulevard theatres, “to begin with, here are a hundred crowns--” (he -took fifteen louis from his purse and handed them to Schmucke). - -“That is yours, on account of six months’ salary. If you leave the -theatre, you can repay me the money. Now for your budget. What are your -yearly expenses? How much do you want to be comfortable? Come, now, -scheme out a life for a Sardanapalus--” - -“I only need two suits of clothes, von for der vinter, von for der -sommer.” - -“Three hundred francs,” said Gaudissart. - -“Shoes. Vour bairs.” - -“Sixty francs.” - -“Shtockings--” - -“A dozen pairs--thirty-six francs.” - -“Half a tozzen shirts.” - -“Six calico shirts, twenty-four francs; as many linen shirts, -forty-eight francs; let us say seventy-two. That makes four hundred and -sixty-eight francs altogether.--Say five hundred, including cravats and -pocket-handkerchiefs; a hundred francs for the laundress--six hundred. -And now, how much for your board--three francs a day?” - -“No, it ees too much.” - -“After all, you want hats; that brings it to fifteen hundred. Five -hundred more for rent; that makes two thousand. If I can get two -thousand francs per annum for you, are you willing?... Good securities.” - -“Und mein tobacco.” - -“Two thousand four hundred, then.... Oh! Papa Schmucke, do you call -that tobacco? Very well, the tobacco shall be given in.--So that is two -thousand four hundred francs per annum.” - -“Dat ees not all! I should like som monny.” - -“Pin-money!--Just so. Oh, these Germans! And calls himself an innocent, -the old Robert Macaire!” thought Gaudissart. Aloud he said, “How much do -you want? But this must be the last.” - -“It ees to bay a zacred debt.” - -“A debt!” said Gaudissart to himself. What a shark it is! He is worse -than an eldest son. He will invent a bill or two next! We must cut this -short. This Fraisier cannot take large views.--What debt is this, my -good man? Speak out.” - -“Dere vas but von mann dot haf mourned Bons mit me.... He haf a tear -liddle girl mit wunderschones haar; it vas as if I saw mein boor -Deutschland dot I should nefer haf left.... Baris is no blace for die -Germans; dey laugh at dem” (with a little nod as he spoke, and the air -of a man who knows something of life in this world below). - -“He is off his head,” Gaudissart said to himself. And a sudden pang of -pity for this poor innocent before him brought a tear to the manager’s -eyes. - -“Ah! you understand, mennesir le directeur! Ver’ goot. Dat mann mit die -liddle taughter is Dobinard, vat tidies der orchestra and lights die -lamps. Bons vas fery fond of him, und helped him. He vas der only von -dat accombanied mein only friend to die church und to die grafe.... I -vant dree tausend vrancs for him, und dree tausend for die liddle von--” - -“Poor fellow!” said Gaudissart to himself. - -Rough, self-made man though he was, he felt touched by this nobleness of -nature, by a gratitude for a mere trifle, as the world views it; though -for the eyes of this divine innocence the trifle, like Bossuet’s cup of -water, was worth more than the victories of great captains. Beneath all -Gaudissart’s vanity, beneath the fierce desire to succeed in life at all -costs, to rise to the social level of his old friend Popinot, there lay -a warm heart and a kindly nature. Wherefore he canceled his too hasty -judgments and went over to Schmucke’s side. - -“You shall have it all! But I will do better still, my dear Schmucke. -Topinard is a good sort--” - -“Yes. I haf chust peen to see him in his boor home, vere he ees happy -mit his children--” - -“I will give him the cashier’s place. Old Baudrand is going to leave.” - -“Ah! Gott pless you!” cried Schmucke. - -“Very well, my good, kind fellow, meet me at Berthier’s office about -four o’clock this afternoon. Everything shall be ready, and you shall -be secured from want for the rest of your days. You shall draw your six -thousand francs, and you shall have the same salary with Garangeot that -you used to have with Pons.” - -“No,” Schmucke answered. “I shall not lif.... I haf no heart for -anydings; I feel that I am attacked--” - -“Poor lamb!” Gaudissart muttered to himself as the German took his -leave. “But, after all, one lives on mutton; and, as the sublime -Beranger says, ‘Poor sheep! you were made to be shorn,’” and he hummed -the political squib by way of giving vent to his feelings. Then he rang -for the office-boy. - -“Call my carriage,” he said. - -“Rue de Hanovre,” he told the coachman. - -The man of ambitions by this time had reappeared; he saw the way to the -Council of State lying straight before him. - - - -And Schmucke? He was busy buying flowers and cakes for Topinard’s -children, and went home almost joyously. - -“I am gifing die bresents...” he said, and he smiled. It was the first -smile for three months, but any one who had seen Schmucke’s face would -have shuddered to see it there. - -“But dere is ein condition--” - -“It is too kind of you, sir,” said the mother. - -“De liddle girl shall gif me a kiss and put die flowers in her hair, -like die liddle German maidens--” - -“Olga, child, do just as the gentleman wishes,” said the mother, -assuming an air of discipline. - -“Do not scold mein liddle German girl,” implored Schmucke. It seemed to -him that the little one was his dear Germany. Topinard came in. - -“Three porters are bringing up the whole bag of tricks,” he said. - -“Oh! Here are two hundred vrancs to bay for eferydings...” said -Schmucke. “But, mein friend, your Montame Dobinard is ver’ nice; you -shall marry her, is it not so? I shall gif you tausend crowns, and die -liddle vone shall haf tausend crowns for her toury, and you shall infest -it in her name.... Und you are not to pe ein zuper any more--you are to -pe de cashier at de teatre--” - -“_I_?--instead of old Baudrand?” - -“Yes.” - -“Who told you so?” - -“Mennesir Gautissart!” - -“Oh! it is enough to send one wild with joy!... Eh! I say, Rosalie, what -a rumpus there will be at the theatre! But it is not possible--” - -“Our benefactor must not live in a garret--” - -“Pshaw! for die few tays dat I haf to lif it ees fery komfortable,” said -Schmucke. “Goot-pye; I am going to der zemetery, to see vat dey haf don -mit Bons, und to order som flowers for his grafe.” - - - -Mme. Camusot de Marville was consumed by the liveliest apprehensions. -At a council held with Fraisier, Berthier, and Godeschal, the two -last-named authorities gave it as their opinion that it was hopeless -to dispute a will drawn up by two notaries in the presence of two -witnesses, so precisely was the instrument worded by Leopold Hannequin. -Honest Godeschal said that even if Schmucke’s own legal adviser should -succeed in deceiving him, he would find out the truth at last, if it -were only from some officious barrister, the gentlemen of the robe being -wont to perform such acts of generosity and disinterestedness by way -of self-advertisement. And the two officials took their leave of the -Presidente with a parting caution against Fraisier, concerning whom they -had naturally made inquiries. - -At that very moment Fraisier, straight from the affixing of the seals -in the Rue de Normandie, was waiting for an interview with Mme. de -Marville. Berthier and Godeschal had suggested that he should be shown -into the study; the whole affair was too dirty for the President to -look into (to use their own expression), and they wished to give Mme. de -Marville their opinion in Fraisier’s absence. - -“Well, madame, where are these gentlemen?” asked Fraisier, admitted to -audience. - -“They are gone. They advise me to give up,” said Mme. de Marville. - -“Give up!” repeated Fraisier, suppressed fury in his voice. “Give up! -... Listen to this, madame:-- - - “‘At the request of’... and so forth (I will omit the - formalities)... ‘Whereas there has been deposited in the hands - of M. le President of the Court of First Instance, a will drawn up - by Maitres Leopold Hannequin and Alexandre Crottat, notaries of - Paris, and in the presence of two witnesses, the Sieurs Brunner - and Schwab, aliens domiciled at Paris, and by the said will the - Sieur Pons, deceased, has bequeathed his property to one Sieur - Schmucke, a German, to the prejudice of his natural heirs: - - “‘Whereas the applicant undertakes to prove that the said will - was obtained under undue influence and by unlawful means; and - persons of credit are prepared to show that it was the testator’s - intention to leave his fortune to Mlle. Cecile, daughter of the - aforesaid Sieur de Marville, and the applicant can show that the - said will was extorted from the testator’s weakness, he being - unaccountable for his actions at the time: - - “‘Whereas as the Sieur Schmucke, to obtain a will in his favor, - sequestrated the testator, and prevented the family from - approaching the deceased during his last illness; and his - subsequent notorious ingratitude was of a nature to scandalize the - house and residents in the quarter who chanced to witness it when - attending the funeral of the porter at the testator’s place of - abode: - - “‘Whereas as still more serious charges, of which applicant is - collecting proofs, will be formally made before their worships the - judges: - - “‘I, the undersigned Registrar of the Court, etc., etc., on - behalf of the aforesaid, etc., have summoned the Sieur Schmucke, - pleading, etc., to appear before their worships the judges of the - first chamber of the Tribunal, and to be present when application - is made that the will received by Maitres Hannequin and Crottat, - being evidently obtained by undue influence, shall be regarded as - null and void in law; and I, the undersigned, on behalf of the - aforesaid, etc., have likewise given notice of protest, should the - Sieur Schmucke as universal legatee make application for an order - to be put into possession of the estate, seeing that the applicant - opposes such order, and makes objection by his application bearing - date of to-day, of which a copy has been duly deposited with the - Sieur Schmucke, costs being charged to... etc., etc.’ - -“I know the man, Mme. le Presidente. He will come to terms as soon as he -reads this little love-letter. He will take our terms. Are you going to -give the thousand crowns per annum?” - -“Certainly. I only wish I were paying the first installment now.” - -“It will be done in three days. The summons will come down upon him -while he is stupefied with grief, for the poor soul regrets Pons and is -taking the death to heart.” - -“Can the application be withdrawn?” inquired the lady. - -“Certainly, madame. You can withdraw it at any time.” - -“Very well, monsieur, let it be so... go on! Yes, the purchase of land -that you have arranged for me is worth the trouble; and, besides, I -have managed Vitel’s business--he is to retire, and you must pay Vitel’s -sixty thousand francs out of Pons’ property. So, you see, you must -succeed.” - -“Have you Vitel’s resignation?” - -“Yes, monsieur. M. Vitel has put himself in M. de Marville’s hands.” - -“Very good, madame. I have already saved you sixty thousand francs which -I expected to give to that vile creature Mme. Cibot. But I still require -the tobacconist’s license for the woman Sauvage, and an appointment to -the vacant place of head-physician at the Quinze-Vingts for my friend -Poulain.” - -“Agreed--it is all arranged.” - -“Very well. There is no more to be said. Every one is for you in this -business, even Gaudissart, the manager of the theatre. I went to look -him up yesterday, and he undertook to crush the workman who seemed -likely to give us trouble.” - -“Oh, I know M. Gaudissart is devoted to the Popinots.” - -Fraisier went out. Unluckily, he missed Gaudissart, and the fatal -summons was served forthwith. - -If all covetous minds will sympathize with the Presidente, all honest -folk will turn in abhorrence from her joy when Gaudissart came twenty -minutes later to report his conversation with poor Schmucke. She -gave her full approval; she was obliged beyond all expression for -the thoughtful way in which the manager relieved her of any remaining -scruples by observations which seemed to her to be very sensible and -just. - -“I thought as I came, Mme. la Presidente, that the poor devil would not -know what to do with the money. ‘Tis a patriarchally simple nature. He -is a child, he is a German, he ought to be stuffed and put in a glass -case like a waxen image. Which is to say that, in my opinion, he is -quite puzzled enough already with his income of two thousand five -hundred francs, and here you are provoking him into extravagance--” - -“It is very generous of him to wish to enrich the poor fellow who -regrets the loss of our cousin,” pronounced the Presidente. “For my own -part, I am sorry for the little squabble that estranged M. Pons and me. -If he had come back again, all would have been forgiven. If you only -knew how my husband misses him! M. de Marville received no notice of the -death, and was in despair; family claims are sacred for him, he would -have gone to the service and the interment, and I myself would have been -at the mass--” - -“Very well, fair lady,” said Gaudissart. “Be so good as to have the -documents drawn up, and at four o’clock I will bring this German to you. -Please remember me to your charming daughter the Vicomtesse, and ask -her to tell my illustrious friend the great statesman, her good and -excellent father-in-law, how deeply I am devoted to him and his, and ask -him to continue his valued favors. I owe my life to his uncle the judge, -and my success in life to him; and I should wish to be bound to both you -and your daughter by the high esteem which links us with persons of rank -and influence. I wish to leave the theatre and become a serious person.” - -“As you are already, monsieur!” said the Presidente. - -“Adorable!” returned Gaudissart, kissing the lady’s shriveled fingers. - -At four o’clock that afternoon several people were gathered together -at Berthier’s office; Fraisier, arch-concocter of the whole scheme, -Tabareau, appearing on behalf of Schmucke, and Schmucke himself. -Gaudissart had come with him. Fraisier had been careful to spread out -the money on Berthier’s desk, and so dazzled was Schmucke by the sight -of the six thousand-franc bank-notes for which he had asked, and six -hundred francs for the first quarter’s allowance, that he paid no heed -whatsoever to the reading of the document. Poor man, he was scarcely in -full possession of his faculties, shaken as they had already been by -so many shocks. Gaudissart had snatched him up on his return from the -cemetery, where he had been talking with Pons, promising to join him -soon--very soon. So Schmucke did not listen to the preamble in which it -was set forth that Maitre Tabareau, bailiff, was acting as his proxy, -and that the Presidente, in the interests of her daughter, was taking -legal proceedings against him. Altogether, in that preamble the German -played a sorry part, but he put his name to the document, and thereby -admitted the truth of Fraisier’s abominable allegations; and so joyous -was he over receiving the money for the Topinards, so glad to bestow -wealth according to his little ideas upon the one creature who loved -Pons, that he heard not a word of lawsuit nor compromise. - -But in the middle of the reading a clerk came into the private office to -speak to his employer. “There is a man here, sir, who wishes to speak to -M. Schmucke,” said he. - -The notary looked at Fraisier, and, taking his cue from him, shrugged -his shoulders. - -“Never disturb us when we are signing documents. Just ask his name--is -it a man or a gentleman? Is he a creditor?” - -The clerk went and returned. “He insists that he must speak to M. -Schmucke.” - -“His name?” - -“His name is Topinard, he says.” - -“I will go out to him. Sign without disturbing yourself,” said -Gaudissart, addressing Schmucke. “Make an end of it; I will find out -what he wants with us.” - -Gaudissart understood Fraisier; both scented danger. - -“Why are you here?” Gaudissart began. “So you have no mind to be cashier -at the theatre? Discretion is a cashier’s first recommendation.” - -“Sir--” - -“Just mind your own business; you will never be anything if you meddle -in other people’s affairs.” - -“Sir, I cannot eat bread if every mouthful of it is to stick in my -throat.... Monsieur Schmucke!--M. Schmucke!” he shouted aloud. - -Schmucke came out at the sound of Topinard’s voice. He had just signed. -He held the money in his hand. - -“Thees ees for die liddle German maiden und for you,” he said. - -“Oh! my dear M. Schmucke, you have given away your wealth to inhuman -wretches, to people who are trying to take away your good name. I took -this paper to a good man, an attorney who knows this Fraisier, and he -says that you ought to punish such wickedness; you ought to let them -summon you and leave them to get out of it.--Read this,” and Schmucke’s -imprudent friend held out the summons delivered in the Cite Bordin. - -Standing in the notary’s gateway, Schmucke read the document, saw -the imputations made against him, and, all ignorant as he was of the -amenities of the law, the blow was deadly. The little grain of sand -stopped his heart’s beating. Topinard caught him in his arms, hailed -a passing cab, and put the poor German into it. He was suffering from -congestion of the brain; his eyes were dim, his head was throbbing, but -he had enough strength left to put the money into Topinard’s hands. - -Schmucke rallied from the first attack, but he never recovered -consciousness, and refused to eat. Ten days afterwards he died without -a complaint; to the last he had not spoken a word. Mme. Topinard nursed -him, and Topinard laid him by Pons’ side. It was an obscure funeral; -Topinard was the only mourner who followed the son of Germany to his -last resting-place. - - - -Fraisier, now a justice of the peace, is very intimate with the -President’s family, and much valued by the Presidente. She could not -think of allowing him to marry “that girl of Tabareau’s,” and promised -infinitely better things for the clever man to whom she considers she -owes not merely the pasture-land and the English cottage at Marville, -but also the President’s seat in the Chamber of Deputies, for M. le -President was returned at the general election in 1846. - -Every one, no doubt, wishes to know what became of the heroine of a -story only too veracious in its details; a chronicle which, taken with -its twin sister the preceding volume, _La Cousine Bette_, proves that -Character is a great social force. You, O amateurs, connoisseurs, and -dealers, will guess at once that Pons’ collection is now in question. -Wherefore it will suffice if we are present during a conversation that -took place only a few days ago in Count Popinot’s house. He was showing -his splendid collection to some visitors. - -“M. le Comte, you possess treasures indeed,” remarked a distinguished -foreigner. - -“Oh! as to pictures, nobody can hope to rival an obscure collector, one -Elie Magus, a Jew, an old monomaniac, the prince of picture-lovers,” the -Count replied modestly. “And when I say nobody, I do not speak of Paris -only, but of all Europe. When the old Croesus dies, France ought -to spare seven or eight millions of francs to buy the gallery. For -curiosities, my collection is good enough to be talked about--” - -“But how, busy as you are, and with a fortune so honestly earned in the -first instance in business--” - -“In the drug business,” broke in Popinot; “you ask how I can continue to -interest myself in things that are a drug in the market--” - -“No,” returned the foreign visitor, “no, but how do you find time to -collect? The curiosities do not come to find you.” - -“My father-in-law owned the nucleus of the collection,” said the young -Vicomtess; “he loved the arts and beautiful work, but most of his -treasures came to him through me.” - -“Through you, madame?--So young! and yet have you such vices as this?” - asked a Russian prince. - -Russians are by nature imitative; imitative indeed to such an extent -that the diseases of civilization break out among them in epidemics. The -bric-a-brac mania had appeared in an acute form in St. Petersburg, -and the Russians caused such a rise of prices in the “art line,” as -Remonencq would say, that collection became impossible. The prince who -spoke had come to Paris solely to buy bric-a-brac. - -“The treasures came to me, prince, on the death of a cousin. He was very -fond of me,” added the Vicomtesse Popinot, “and he had spent some forty -odd years since 1805 in picking up these masterpieces everywhere, but -more especially in Italy--” - -“And what was his name?” inquired the English lord. - -“Pons,” said President Camusot. - -“A charming man he was,” piped the Presidente in her thin, flute tones, -“very clever, very eccentric, and yet very good-hearted. This fan that -you admire once belonged to Mme. de Pompadour; he gave it to me one -morning with a pretty speech which you must permit me not to repeat,” - and she glanced at her daughter. - -“Mme. la Vicomtesse, tell us the pretty speech,” begged the Russian -prince. - -“The speech was as pretty as the fan,” returned the Vicomtesse, who -brought out the stereotyped remark on all occasions. “He told my mother -that it was quite time that it should pass from the hands of vice into -those of virtue.” - -The English lord looked at Mme. Camusot de Marville with an air of doubt -not a little gratifying to so withered a woman. - -“He used to dine at our house two or three times a week,” she said; “he -was so fond of us! We could appreciate him, and artists like the -society of those who relish their wit. My husband was, besides, his one -surviving relative. So when, quite unexpectedly, M. de Marville -came into the property, M. le Comte preferred to take over the whole -collection to save it from a sale by auction; and we ourselves much -preferred to dispose of it in that way, for it would have been so -painful to us to see the beautiful things, in which our dear cousin was -so much interested, all scattered abroad. Elie Magus valued them, and in -that way I became possessed of the cottage that your uncle built, and I -hope you will do us the honor of coming to see us there.” - - -Gaudissart’s theatre passed into other hands a year ago, but M. Topinard -is still the cashier. M. Topinard, however, has grown gloomy and -misanthropic; he says little. People think that he has something on his -conscience. Wags at the theatre suggest that his gloom dates from -his marriage with Lolotte. Honest Topinard starts whenever he hears -Fraisier’s name mentioned. Some people may think it strange that the one -nature worthy of Pons and Schmucke should be found on the third floor -beneath the stage of a boulevard theatre. - -Mme. Remonencq, much impressed with Mme. Fontaine’s prediction, declines -to retire to the country. She is still living in her splendid shop on -the Boulevard de la Madeleine, but she is a widow now for the second -time. Remonencq, in fact, by the terms of the marriage contract, settled -the property upon the survivor, and left a little glass of vitriol -about for his wife to drink by mistake; but his wife, with the very best -intentions, put the glass elsewhere, and Remonencq swallowed the draught -himself. The rascal’s appropriate end vindicates Providence, as well as -the chronicler of manners, who is sometimes accused of neglect on this -head, perhaps because Providence has been so overworked by playwrights -of late. - - - - -ADDENDUM - -The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. - - Baudoyer, Isidore - The Government Clerks - The Middle Classes - - Berthier (Parisian notary) - Cousin Betty - - Berthier, Madame - The Muse of the Department - - Bixiou, Jean-Jacques - The Purse - A Bachelor’s Establishment - The Government Clerks - Modeste Mignon - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - The Firm of Nucingen - The Muse of the Department - Cousin Betty - The Member for Arcis - Beatrix - A Man of Business - Gaudissart II. - The Unconscious Humorists - - Braulard - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - Cousin Betty - - Brisetout, Heloise - Cousin Betty - The Middle Classes - - Camusot - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - A Bachelor’s Establishment - The Muse of the Department - Cesar Birotteau - At the Sign of the Cat and Racket - - Camusot de Marville - Jealousies of a Country Town - The Commission in Lunacy - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - - Camusot de Marville, Madame - The Vendetta - Cesar Birotteau - Jealousies of a Country Town - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - - Cardot (Parisian notary) - The Muse of the Department - A Man of Business - Jealousies of a Country Town - Pierre Grassou - The Middle Classes - - Chanor - Cousin Betty - - Crevel, Celestin - Cesar Birotteau - Cousin Betty - - Crottat, Alexandre - Cesar Birotteau - Colonel Chabert - A Start in Life - A Woman of Thirty - - Desplein - The Atheist’s Mass - Lost Illusions - The Thirteen - The Government Clerks - Pierrette - A Bachelor’s Establishment - The Seamy Side of History - Modeste Mignon - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - Honorine - - Florent - Cousin Betty - - Fontaine, Madame - The Unconscious Humorists - - Gaudissart, Felix - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - Cesar Birotteau - Honorine - Gaudissart the Great - - Godeschal, Francois-Claude-Marie - Colonel Chabert - A Bachelor’s Establishment - A Start in Life - The Commission in Lunacy - The Middle Classes - - Godeschal, Marie - A Bachelor’s Establishment - A Start in Life - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - - Gouraud, General, Baron - Pierrette - - Graff, Wolfgang - Cousin Betty - - Granville, Vicomte de (later Comte) - The Gondreville Mystery - Honorine - A Second Home - Farewell (Adieu) - Cesar Birotteau - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - A Daughter of Eve - - Grassou, Pierre - Pierre Grassou - A Bachelor’s Establishment - Cousin Betty - The Middle Classes - - Hannequin, Leopold - Albert Savarus - Beatrix - Cousin Betty - - Haudry (doctor) - Cesar Birotteau - The Thirteen - A Bachelor’s Establishment - The Seamy Side of History - - Lebrun (physician) - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - - Louchard - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - - Madeleine - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - - Magus, Elie - The Vendetta - A Marriage Settlement - A Bachelor’s Establishment - Pierre Grassou - - Matifat (wealthy druggist) - Cesar Birotteau - A Bachelor’s Establishment - Lost Illusions - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - The Firm of Nucingen - - Minard, Prudence - The Middle Classes - - Pillerault, Claude-Joseph - Cesar Birotteau - - Popinot, Anselme - Cesar Birotteau - Gaudissart the Great - Cousin Betty - - Popinot, Madame Anselme - Cesar Birotteau - A Prince of Bohemia - Cousin Betty - - Popinot, Vicomte - Cousin Betty - - Rivet, Achille - Cousin Betty - - Schmucke, Wilhelm - A Daughter of Eve - Ursule Mirouet - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - - Stevens, Dinah - A Marriage Settlement - - Stidmann - Modeste Mignon - Beatrix - The Member for Arcis - Cousin Betty - The Unconscious Humorists - - Thouvenin - Cesar Birotteau - - Vinet - Pierrette - The Member for Arcis - The Middle Classes - - Vinet, Olivier - The Member for Arcis - The Middle Classes - - Vivet, Madeleine - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Cousin Pons, by Honore de Balzac - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COUSIN PONS *** - -***** This file should be named 1856-0.txt or 1856-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/5/1856/ - -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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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: Cousin Pons - -Author: Honore de Balzac - -Translator: Ellen Marriage - -Release Date: March 3, 2010 [EBook #1856] -Last Updated: November 23, 2016 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COUSIN PONS *** - - - - -Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny, and David Widger - - - - - - -</pre> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <h1> - COUSIN PONS - </h1> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <h2> - By Honore De Balzac - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <h3> - Translated by Ellen Marriage - </h3> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <h3> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>COUSIN PONS</b> </a><br /><br /> <a - href="#link2H_4_0002"> ADDENDUM </a> - </h3> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <h1> - COUSIN PONS - </h1> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Towards three o’clock in the afternoon of one October day in the year - 1844, a man of sixty or thereabouts, whom anybody might have credited with - more than his actual age, was walking along the Boulevard des Italiens - with his head bent down, as if he were tracking some one. There was a smug - expression about the mouth—he looked like a merchant who has just - done a good stroke of business, or a bachelor emerging from a boudoir in - the best of humors with himself; and in Paris this is the highest degree - of self-satisfaction ever registered by a human countenance. - </p> - <p> - As soon as the elderly person appeared in the distance, a smile broke out - over the faces of the frequenters of the boulevard, who daily, from their - chairs, watch the passers-by, and indulge in the agreeable pastime of - analyzing them. That smile is peculiar to Parisians; it says so many - things—ironical, quizzical, pitying; but nothing save the rarest of - human curiosities can summon that look of interest to the faces of - Parisians, sated as they are with every possible sight. - </p> - <p> - A saying recorded of Hyacinthe, an actor celebrated for his repartees, - will explain the archaeological value of the old gentleman, and the smile - repeated like an echo by all eyes. Somebody once asked Hyacinthe where the - hats were made that set the house in a roar as soon as he appeared. “I - don’t have them made,” he said; “I keep them!” So also among the million - actors who make up the great troupe of Paris, there are unconscious - Hyacinthes who “keep” all the absurd freaks of vanished fashions upon - their backs; and the apparition of some bygone decade will startle you - into laughter as you walk the streets in bitterness of soul over the - treason of one who was your friend in the past. - </p> - <p> - In some respects the passer-by adhered so faithfully to the fashions of - the year 1806, that he was not so much a burlesque caricature as a - reproduction of the Empire period. To an observer, accuracy of detail in a - revival of this sort is extremely valuable, but accuracy of detail, to be - properly appreciated, demands the critical attention of an expert <i>flaneur</i>; - while the man in the street who raises a laugh as soon as he comes in - sight is bound to be one of those outrageous exhibitions which stare you - in the face, as the saying goes, and produce the kind of effect which an - actor tries to secure for the success of his entry. The elderly person, a - thin, spare man, wore a nut-brown spencer over a coat of uncertain green, - with white metal buttons. A man in a spencer in the year 1844! it was as - if Napoleon himself had vouchsafed to come to life again for a couple of - hours. - </p> - <p> - The spencer, as its name indicates, was the invention of an English lord, - vain, doubtless, of his handsome shape. Some time before the Peace of - Amiens, this nobleman solved the problem of covering the bust without - destroying the outlines of the figure and encumbering the person with the - hideous boxcoat, now finishing its career on the backs of aged hackney - cabmen; but, elegant figures being in the minority, the success of the - spencer was short-lived in France, English though it was. - </p> - <p> - At the sight of the spencer, men of forty or fifty mentally invested the - wearer with top-boots, pistachio-colored kerseymere small clothes adorned - with a knot of ribbon; and beheld themselves in the costumes of their - youth. Elderly ladies thought of former conquests; but the younger men - were asking each other why the aged Alcibiades had cut off the skirts of - his overcoat. The rest of the costume was so much in keeping with the - spencer, that you would not have hesitated to call the wearer “an Empire - man,” just as you call a certain kind of furniture “Empire furniture;” yet - the newcomer only symbolized the Empire for those who had known that great - and magnificent epoch at any rate <i>de visu</i>, for a certain accuracy - of memory was needed for the full appreciation of the costume, and even - now the Empire is so far away that not every one of us can picture it in - its Gallo-Grecian reality. - </p> - <p> - The stranger’s hat, for instance, tipped to the back of his head so as to - leave almost the whole forehead bare, recalled a certain jaunty air, with - which civilians and officials attempted to swagger it with military men; - but the hat itself was a shocking specimen of the fifteen-franc variety. - Constant friction with a pair of enormous ears had left their marks which - no brush could efface from the underside of the brim; the silk tissue (as - usual) fitted badly over the cardboard foundation, and hung in wrinkles - here and there; and some skin-disease (apparently) had attacked the nap in - spite of the hand which rubbed it down of a morning. - </p> - <p> - Beneath the hat, which seemed ready to drop off at any moment, lay an - expanse of countenance grotesque and droll, as the faces which the Chinese - alone of all people can imagine for their quaint curiosities. The broad - visage was as full of holes as a colander, honeycombed with the shadows of - the dints, hollowed out like a Roman mask. It set all the laws of anatomy - at defiance. Close inspection failed to detect the substructure. Where you - expected to find a bone, you discovered a layer of cartilaginous tissue, - and the hollows of an ordinary human face were here filled out with flabby - bosses. A pair of gray eyes, red-rimmed and lashless, looked forlornly out - of a countenance which was flattened something after the fashion of a - pumpkin, and surmounted by a Don Quixote nose that rose out of it like a - monolith above a plain. It was the kind of nose, as Cervantes must surely - have explained somewhere, which denotes an inborn enthusiasm for all - things great, a tendency which is apt to degenerate into credulity. - </p> - <p> - And yet, though the man’s ugliness was something almost ludicrous, it - aroused not the slightest inclination to laugh. The exceeding melancholy - which found an outlet in the poor man’s faded eyes reached the mocker - himself and froze the gibes on his lips; for all at once the thought arose - that this was a human creature to whom Nature had forbidden any expression - of love or tenderness, since such expression could only be painful or - ridiculous to the woman he loved. In the presence of such misfortune a - Frenchman is silent; to him it seems the most cruel of all afflictions—to - be unable to please! - </p> - <p> - The man so ill-favored was dressed after the fashion of shabby gentility, - a fashion which the rich not seldom try to copy. He wore low shoes beneath - gaiters of the pattern worn by the Imperial Guard, doubtless for the sake - of economy, because they kept the socks clean. The rusty tinge of his - black breeches, like the cut and the white or shiny line of the creases, - assigned the date of the purchase some three years back. The roomy - garments failed to disguise the lean proportions of the wearer, due - apparently rather to constitution than to a Pythagorean regimen, for the - worthy man was endowed with thick lips and a sensual mouth; and when he - smiled, displayed a set of white teeth which would have done credit to a - shark. - </p> - <p> - A shawl-waistcoat, likewise of black cloth, was supplemented by a white - under-waistcoat, and yet again beneath this gleamed the edge of a red - knitted under-jacket, to put you in mind of Garat’s five waistcoats. A - huge white muslin stock with a conspicuous bow, invented by some exquisite - to charm “the charming sex” in 1809, projected so far above the wearer’s - chin that the lower part of his face was lost, as it were, in a muslin - abyss. A silk watch-guard, plaited to resemble the keepsakes made of hair, - meandered down the shirt front and secured his watch from the improbable - theft. The greenish coat, though older by some three years than the - breeches, was remarkably neat; the black velvet collar and shining metal - buttons, recently renewed, told of carefulness which descended even to - trifles. - </p> - <p> - The particular manner of fixing the hat on the occiput, the triple - waistcoat, the vast cravat engulfing the chin, the gaiters, the metal - buttons on the greenish coat,—all these reminiscences of Imperial - fashions were blended with a sort of afterwaft and lingering perfume of - the coquetry of the Incroyable—with an indescribable finical - something in the folds of the garments, a certain air of stiffness and - correctness in the demeanor that smacked of the school of David, that - recalled Jacob’s spindle-legged furniture. - </p> - <p> - At first sight, moreover, you set him down either for the gentleman by - birth fallen a victim to some degrading habit, or for the man of small - independent means whose expenses are calculated to such a nicety that the - breakage of a windowpane, a rent in a coat, or a visit from the - philanthropic pest who asks you for subscriptions to a charity, absorbs - the whole of a month’s little surplus of pocket-money. If you had seen him - that afternoon, you would have wondered how that grotesque face came to be - lighted up with a smile; usually, surely, it must have worn the - dispirited, passive look of the obscure toiler condemned to labor without - ceasing for the barest necessaries of life. Yet when you noticed that the - odd-looking old man was carrying some object (evidently precious) in his - right hand with a mother’s care; concealing it under the skirts of his - coat to keep it from collisions in the crowd, and still more, when you - remarked that important air always assumed by an idler when intrusted with - a commission, you would have suspected him of recovering some piece of - lost property, some modern equivalent of the marquise’s poodle; you would - have recognized the assiduous gallantry of the “man of the Empire” - returning in triumph from his mission to some charming woman of sixty, - reluctant as yet to dispense with the daily visit of her elderly <i>attentif</i>. - </p> - <p> - In Paris only among great cities will you see such spectacles as this; for - of her boulevards Paris makes a stage where a never-ending drama is played - gratuitously by the French nation in the interests of Art. - </p> - <p> - In spite of the rashly assumed spencer, you would scarcely have thought, - after a glance at the contours of the man’s bony frame, that this was an - artist—that conventional type which is privileged, in something of - the same way as a Paris gamin, to represent riotous living to the - bourgeois and philistine mind, the most <i>mirific</i> joviality, in short - (to use the old Rabelaisian word newly taken into use). Yet this elderly - person had once taken the medal and the traveling scholarship; he had - composed the first cantata crowned by the Institut at the time of the - re-establishment of the Academie de Rome; he was M. Sylvain Pons, in fact—M. - Sylvain Pons, whose name appears on the covers of well-known sentimental - songs trilled by our mothers, to say nothing of a couple of operas, played - in 1815 and 1816, and divers unpublished scores. The worthy soul was now - ending his days as the conductor of an orchestra in a boulevard theatre, - and a music master in several young ladies’ boarding-schools, a post for - which his face particularly recommended him. He was entirely dependent - upon his earnings. Running about to give private lessons at his age!—Think - of it. How many a mystery lies in that unromantic situation! - </p> - <p> - But the last man to wear the spencer carried something about him besides - his Empire Associations; a warning and a lesson was written large over - that triple waistcoat. Wherever he went, he exhibited, without fee or - charge, one of the many victims of the fatal system of competition which - still prevails in France in spite of a century of trial without result; - for Poisson de Marigny, brother of the Pompadour and Director of Fine - Arts, somewhere about 1746 invented this method of applying pressure to - the brain. That was a hundred years ago. Try if you can count upon your - fingers the men of genius among the prizemen of those hundred years. - </p> - <p> - In the first place, no deliberate effort of schoolmaster or administrator - can replace the miracles of chance which produce great men: of all the - mysteries of generation, this most defies the ambitious modern scientific - investigator. In the second—the ancient Egyptians (we are told) - invented incubator-stoves for hatching eggs; what would be thought of - Egyptians who should neglect to fill the beaks of the callow fledglings? - Yet this is precisely what France is doing. She does her utmost to produce - artists by the artificial heat of competitive examination; but, the - sculptor, painter, engraver, or musician once turned out by this - mechanical process, she no more troubles herself about them and their fate - than the dandy cares for yesterday’s flower in his buttonhole. And so it - happens that the really great man is a Greuze, a Watteau, a Felicien - David, a Pagnesi, a Gericault, a Decamps, an Auber, a David d’Angers, an - Eugene Delacroix, or a Meissonier—artists who take but little heed - of <i>grande prix</i>, and spring up in the open field under the rays of - that invisible sun called Vocation. - </p> - <p> - To resume. The Government sent Sylvain Pons to Rome to make a great - musician of himself; and in Rome Sylvain Pons acquired a taste for the - antique and works of art. He became an admirable judge of those - masterpieces of the brain and hand which are summed up by the useful - neologism “bric-a-brac;” and when the child of Euterpe returned to Paris - somewhere about the year 1810, it was in the character of a rabid - collector, loaded with pictures, statuettes, frames, wood-carving, - ivories, enamels, porcelains, and the like. He had sunk the greater part - of his patrimony, not so much in the purchases themselves as on the - expenses of transit; and every penny inherited from his mother had been - spent in the course of a three-years’ travel in Italy after the residence - in Rome came to an end. He had seen Venice, Milan, Florence, Bologna, and - Naples leisurely, as he wished to see them, as a dreamer of dreams, and a - philosopher; careless of the future, for an artist looks to his talent for - support as the <i>fille de joie</i> counts upon her beauty. - </p> - <p> - All through those splendid years of travel Pons was as happy as was - possible to a man with a great soul, a sensitive nature, and a face so - ugly that any “success with the fair” (to use the stereotyped formula of - 1809) was out of the question; the realities of life always fell short of - the ideals which Pons created for himself; the world without was not in - tune with the soul within, but Pons had made up his mind to the - dissonance. Doubtless the sense of beauty that he had kept pure and living - in his inmost soul was the spring from which the delicate, graceful, and - ingenious music flowed and won him reputation between 1810 and 1814. - </p> - <p> - Every reputation founded upon the fashion or the fancy of the hour, or - upon the short-lived follies of Paris, produces its Pons. No place in the - world is so inexorable in great things; no city of the globe so - disdainfully indulgent in small. Pons’ notes were drowned before long in - floods of German harmony and the music of Rossini; and if in 1824 he was - known as an agreeable musician, a composer of various drawing-room - melodies, judge if he was likely to be famous in 183l! In 1844, the year - in which the single drama of this obscure life began, Sylvain Pons was of - no more value than an antediluvian semiquaver; dealers in music had never - heard of his name, though he was still composing, on scanty pay, for his - own orchestra or for neighboring theatres. - </p> - <p> - And yet, the worthy man did justice to the great masters of our day; a - masterpiece finely rendered brought tears to his eyes; but his religion - never bordered on mania, as in the case of Hoffmann’s Kreislers; he kept - his enthusiasm to himself; his delight, like the paradise reached by opium - or hashish, lay within his own soul. - </p> - <p> - The gift of admiration, of comprehension, the single faculty by which the - ordinary man becomes the brother of the poet, is rare in the city of - Paris, that inn whither all ideas, like travelers, come to stay for - awhile; so rare is it, that Pons surely deserves our respectful esteem. - His personal failure may seem anomalous, but he frankly admitted that he - was weak in harmony. He had neglected the study of counterpoint; there was - a time when he might have begun his studies afresh and held his own among - modern composers, when he might have been, not certainly a Rossini, but a - Herold. But he was alarmed by the intricacies of modern orchestration; and - at length, in the pleasures of collecting, he found such ever-renewed - compensation for his failure, that if he had been made to choose between - his curiosities and the fame of Rossini—will it be believed?—Pons - would have pronounced for his beloved collection. - </p> - <p> - Pons was of the opinion of Chenavard, the print-collector, who laid it - down as an axiom—that you only fully enjoy the pleasure of looking - at your Ruysdael, Hobbema, Holbein, Raphael, Murillo, Greuze, Sebastian - del Piombo, Giorgione, Albrecht Durer, or what not, when you have paid - less than sixty francs for your picture. Pons never gave more than a - hundred francs for any purchase. If he laid out as much as fifty francs, - he was careful to assure himself beforehand that the object was worth - three thousand. The most beautiful thing in the world, if it cost three - hundred francs, did not exist for Pons. Rare had been his bargains; but he - possessed the three qualifications for success—a stag’s legs, an - idler’s disregard of time, and the patience of a Jew. - </p> - <p> - This system, carried out for forty years, in Rome or Paris alike, had - borne its fruits. Since Pons returned from Italy, he had regularly spent - about two thousand francs a year upon a collection of masterpieces of - every sort and description, a collection hidden away from all eyes but his - own; and now his catalogue had reached the incredible number of 1907. - Wandering about Paris between 1811 and 1816, he had picked up many a - treasure for ten francs, which would fetch a thousand or twelve hundred - to-day. Some forty-five thousand canvases change hands annually in Paris - picture sales, and these Pons had sifted through year by year. Pons had - Sevres porcelain, <i>pate tendre</i>, bought of Auvergnats, those - satellites of the Black Band who sacked chateaux and carried off the - marvels of Pompadour France in their tumbril carts; he had, in fact, - collected the drifted wreck of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; - he recognized the genius of the French school, and discerned the merit of - the Lepautres and Lavallee-Poussins and the rest of the great obscure - creators of the Genre Louis Quinze and the Genre Louis Seize. Our modern - craftsmen now draw without acknowledgment from them, pore incessantly over - the treasures of the Cabinet des Estampes, borrow adroitly, and give out - their <i>pastiches</i> for new inventions. Pons had obtained many a piece - by exchange, and therein lies the ineffable joy of the collector. The joy - of buying bric-a-brac is a secondary delight; in the give-and-take of - barter lies the joy of joys. Pons had begun by collecting snuff-boxes and - miniatures; his name was unknown in bric-a-bracology, for he seldom showed - himself in salesrooms or in the shops of well-known dealers; Pons was not - aware that his treasures had any commercial value. - </p> - <p> - The late lamented Dusommerard tried his best to gain Pons’ confidence, but - the prince of bric-a-brac died before he could gain an entrance to the - Pons museum, the one private collection which could compare with the - famous Sauvageot museum. Pons and M. Sauvageot indeed resembled each other - in more ways than one. M. Sauvageot, like Pons, was a musician; he was - likewise a comparatively poor man, and he had collected his bric-a-brac in - much the same way, with the same love of art, the same hatred of rich - capitalists with well-known names who collect for the sake of running up - prices as cleverly as possible. There was yet another point of resemblance - between the pair; Pons, like his rival competitor and antagonist, felt in - his heart an insatiable craving after specimens of the craftsman’s skill - and miracles of workmanship; he loved them as a man might love a fair - mistress; an auction in the salerooms in the Rue des Jeuneurs, with its - accompaniments of hammer strokes and brokers’ men, was a crime of <i>lese-bric-a-brac</i> - in Pons’ eyes. Pons’ museum was for his own delight at every hour; for the - soul created to know and feel all the beauty of a masterpiece has this in - common with the lover—to-day’s joy is as great as the joy of - yesterday; possession never palls; and a masterpiece, happily, never grows - old. So the object that he held in his hand with such fatherly care could - only be a “find,” carried off with what affection amateurs alone know! - </p> - <p> - After the first outlines of this biographical sketch, every one will cry - at once, “Why! this is the happiest man on earth, in spite of his - ugliness!” And, in truth, no spleen, no dullness can resist the - counter-irritant supplied by a “craze,” the intellectual moxa of a hobby. - You who can no longer drink of “the cup of pleasure,” as it has been - called through all ages, try to collect something, no matter what (people - have been known to collect placards), so shall you receive the small - change for the gold ingot of happiness. Have you a hobby? You have - transferred pleasure to the plane of ideas. And yet, you need not envy the - worthy Pons; such envy, like all kindred sentiments, would be founded upon - a misapprehension. - </p> - <p> - With a nature so sensitive, with a soul that lived by tireless admiration - of the magnificent achievements of art, of the high rivalry between human - toil and the work of Nature—Pons was a slave to that one of the - Seven Deadly Sins with which God surely will deal least hardly; Pons was a - glutton. A narrow income, combined with a passion for bric-a-brac, - condemned him to a regimen so abhorrent to a discriminating palate, that, - bachelor as he was, he had cut the knot of the problem by dining out every - day. - </p> - <p> - Now, in the time of the Empire, celebrities were more sought after than at - present, perhaps because there were so few of them, perhaps because they - made little or no political pretension. In those days, besides, you could - set up for a poet, a musician, or a painter, with so little expense. Pons, - being regarded as the probable rival of Nicolo, Paer, and Berton, used to - receive so many invitations, that he was forced to keep a list of - engagements, much as barristers note down the cases for which they are - retained. And Pons behaved like an artist. He presented his amphitryons - with copies of his songs, he “obliged” at the pianoforte, he brought them - orders for boxes at the Feydeau, his own theatre, he organized concerts, - he was not above taking the fiddle himself sometimes in a relation’s - house, and getting up a little impromptu dance. In those days, all the - handsome men in France were away at the wars exchanging sabre-cuts with - the handsome men of the Coalition. Pons was said to be, not ugly, but - “peculiar-looking,” after the grand rule laid down by Moliere in Eliante’s - famous couplets; but if he sometimes heard himself described as a - “charming man” (after he had done some fair lady a service), his good - fortune went no further than words. - </p> - <p> - It was between the years 1810 and 1816 that Pons contracted the unlucky - habit of dining out; he grew accustomed to see his hosts taking pains over - the dinner, procuring the first and best of everything, bringing out their - choicest vintages, seeing carefully to the dessert, the coffee, the - liqueurs, giving him of their best, in short; the best, moreover, of those - times of the Empire when Paris was glutted with kings and queens and - princes, and many a private house emulated royal splendours. - </p> - <p> - People used to play at Royalty then as they play nowadays at parliament, - creating a whole host of societies with presidents, vice-presidents, - secretaries and what not—agricultural societies, industrial - societies, societies for the promotion of sericulture, viticulture, the - growth of flax, and so forth. Some have even gone so far as to look about - them for social evils in order to start a society to cure them. - </p> - <p> - But to return to Pons. A stomach thus educated is sure to react upon the - owner’s moral fibre; the demoralization of the man varies directly with - his progress in culinary sapience. Voluptuousness, lurking in every secret - recess of the heart, lays down the law therein. Honor and resolution are - battered in breach. The tyranny of the palate has never been described; as - a necessity of life it escapes the criticism of literature; yet no one - imagines how many have been ruined by the table. The luxury of the table - is indeed, in this sense, the courtesan’s one competitor in Paris, besides - representing in a manner the credit side in another account, where she - figures as the expenditure. - </p> - <p> - With Pons’ decline and fall as an artist came his simultaneous - transformation from invited guest to parasite and hanger-on; he could not - bring himself to quit dinners so excellently served for the Spartan broth - of a two-franc ordinary. Alas! alas! a shudder ran through him at the mere - thought of the great sacrifices which independence required him to make. - He felt that he was capable of sinking to even lower depths for the sake - of good living, if there were no other way of enjoying the first and best - of everything, of guzzling (vulgar but expressive word) nice little dishes - carefully prepared. Pons lived like a bird, pilfering his meal, flying - away when he had taken his fill, singing a few notes by way of return; he - took a certain pleasure in the thought that he lived at the expense of - society, which asked of him—what but the trifling toll of grimaces? - Like all confirmed bachelors, who hold their lodgings in horror, and live - as much as possible in other people’s houses, Pons was accustomed to the - formulas and facial contortions which do duty for feeling in the world; he - used compliments as small change; and as far as others were concerned, he - was satisfied with the labels they bore, and never plunged a too-curious - hand into the sack. - </p> - <p> - This not intolerable phase lasted for another ten years. Such years! Pons’ - life was closing with a rainy autumn. All through those years he contrived - to dine without expense by making himself necessary in the houses which he - frequented. He took the first step in the downward path by undertaking a - host of small commissions; many and many a time Pons ran on errands - instead of the porter or the servant; many a purchase he made for his - entertainers. He became a kind of harmless, well-meaning spy, sent by one - family into another; but he gained no credit with those for whom he - trudged about, and so often sacrificed self-respect. - </p> - <p> - “Pons is a bachelor,” said they; “he is at a loss to know what to do with - his time; he is only too glad to trot about for us.—What else would - he do?” - </p> - <p> - Very soon the cold which old age spreads about itself began to set in; the - communicable cold which sensibly lowers the social temperature, especially - if the old man is ugly and poor. Old and ugly and poor—is not this - to be thrice old? Pons’ winter had begun, the winter which brings the - reddened nose, and frost-nipped cheeks, and the numbed fingers, numb in - how many ways! - </p> - <p> - Invitations very seldom came for Pons now. So far from seeking the society - of the parasite, every family accepted him much as they accepted the - taxes; they valued nothing that Pons could do for them; real services from - Pons counted for nought. The family circles in which the worthy artist - revolved had no respect for art or letters; they went down on their knees - to practical results; they valued nothing but the fortune or social - position acquired since the year 1830. The bourgeoisie is afraid of - intellect and genius, but Pons’ spirit and manner were not haughty enough - to overawe his relations, and naturally he had come at last to be - accounted less than nothing with them, though he was not altogether - despised. - </p> - <p> - He had suffered acutely among them, but, like all timid creatures, he kept - silence as to his pain; and so by degrees schooled himself to hide his - feelings, and learned to take sanctuary in his inmost self. Many - superficial persons interpret this conduct by the short word - “selfishness;” and, indeed, the resemblance between the egoist and the - solitary human creature is strong enough to seem to justify the harsher - verdict; and this is especially true in Paris, where nobody observes - others closely, where all things pass swift as waves, and last as little - as a Ministry. - </p> - <p> - So Cousin Pons was accused of selfishness (behind his back); and if the - world accuses any one, it usually finds him guilty and condemns him into - the bargain. Pons bowed to the decision. Do any of us know how such a - timid creature is cast down by an unjust judgment? Who will ever paint all - that the timid suffer? This state of things, now growing daily worse, - explains the sad expression on the poor old musician’s face; he lived by - capitulations of which he was ashamed. Every time we sin against - self-respect at the bidding of the ruling passion, we rivet its hold upon - us; the more that passion requires of us, the stronger it grows, every - sacrifice increasing, as it were, the value of a satisfaction for which so - much has been given up, till the negative sum-total of renouncements looms - very large in a man’s imagination. Pons, for instance, after enduring the - insolently patronizing looks of some bourgeois, incased in buckram of - stupidity, sipped his glass of port or finished his quail with - breadcrumbs, and relished something of the savor of revenge, besides. “It - is not too dear at the price!” he said to himself. - </p> - <p> - After all, in the eyes of the moralist, there were extenuating - circumstances in Pons’ case. Man only lives, in fact, by some personal - satisfaction. The passionless, perfectly righteous man is not human; he is - a monster, an angel wanting wings. The angel of Christian mythology has - nothing but a head. On earth, the righteous person is the sufficiently - tiresome Grandison, for whom the very Venus of the Crosswords is sexless. - </p> - <p> - Setting aside one or two commonplace adventures in Italy, in which - probably the climate accounted for his success, no woman had ever smiled - upon Pons. Plenty of men are doomed to this fate. Pons was an abnormal - birth; the child of parents well stricken in years, he bore the stigma of - his untimely genesis; his cadaverous complexion might have been contracted - in the flask of spirit-of-wine in which science preserves some - extraordinary foetus. Artist though he was, with his tender, dreamy, - sensitive soul, he was forced to accept the character which belonged to - his face; it was hopeless to think of love, and he remained a bachelor, - not so much of choice as of necessity. Then Gluttony, the sin of the - continent monk, beckoned to Pons; he rushed upon temptation, as he had - thrown his whole soul into the adoration of art and the cult of music. - Good cheer and bric-a-brac gave him the small change for the love which - could spend itself in no other way. As for music, it was his profession, - and where will you find the man who is in love with his means of earning a - livelihood? For it is with a profession as with marriage: in the long - length you are sensible of nothing but the drawbacks. - </p> - <p> - Brillat-Savarin has deliberately set himself to justify the gastronome, - but perhaps even he has not dwelt sufficiently on the reality of the - pleasures of the table. The demands of digestion upon the human economy - produce an internal wrestling-bout of human forces which rivals the - highest degree of amorous pleasure. The gastronome is conscious of an - expenditure of vital power, an expenditure so vast that the brain is - atrophied (as it were), that a second brain, located in the diaphragm, may - come into play, and the suspension of all the faculties is in itself a - kind of intoxication. A boa constrictor gorged with an ox is so stupid - with excess that the creature is easily killed. What man, on the wrong - side of forty, is rash enough to work after dinner? And remark in the same - connection, that all great men have been moderate eaters. The exhilarating - effect of the wing of a chicken upon invalids recovering from serious - illness, and long confined to a stinted and carefully chosen diet, has - been frequently remarked. The sober Pons, whose whole enjoyment was - concentrated in the exercise of his digestive organs, was in the position - of chronic convalescence; he looked to his dinner to give him the utmost - degree of pleasurable sensation, and hitherto he had procured such - sensations daily. Who dares to bid farewell to old habit? Many a man on - the brink of suicide has been plucked back on the threshold of death by - the thought of the cafe where he plays his nightly game of dominoes. - </p> - <p> - In the year 1835, chance avenged Pons for the indifference of womankind by - finding him a prop for his declining years, as the saying goes; and he, - who had been old from his cradle, found a support in friendship. Pons took - to himself the only life-partner permitted to him among his kind—an - old man and a fellow-musician. - </p> - <p> - But for La Fontaine’s fable, <i>Les Deux Amis</i>, this sketch should have - borne the title of <i>The Two Friends</i>; but to take the name of this - divine story would surely be a deed of violence, a profanation from which - every true man of letters would shrink. The title ought to be borne alone - and for ever by the fabulist’s masterpiece, the revelation of his soul, - and the record of his dreams; those three words were set once and for ever - by the poet at the head of a page which is his by a sacred right of - ownership; for it is a shrine before which all generations, all over the - world, will kneel so long as the art of printing shall endure. - </p> - <p> - Pons’ friend gave lessons on the pianoforte. They met and struck up an - acquaintance in 1834, one prize day at a boarding-school; and so congenial - were their ways of thinking and living, that Pons used to say that he had - found his friend too late for his happiness. Never, perhaps, did two - souls, so much alike, find each other in the great ocean of humanity which - flowed forth, in disobedience to the will of God, from its source in the - Garden of Eden. Before very long the two musicians could not live without - each other. Confidences were exchanged, and in a week’s time they were - like brothers. Schmucke (for that was his name) had not believed that such - a man as Pons existed, nor had Pons imagined that a Schmucke was possible. - Here already you have a sufficient description of the good couple; but it - is not every mind that takes kindly to the concise synthetic method, and a - certain amount of demonstration is necessary if the credulous are to - accept the conclusion. - </p> - <p> - This pianist, like all other pianists, was a German. A German, like the - eminent Liszt and the great Mendelssohn, and Steibelt, and Dussek, and - Meyer, and Mozart, and Doelher, and Thalberg, and Dreschok, and Hiller, - and Leopold Hertz, Woertz, Karr, Wolff, Pixis, and Clara Wieck—and - all Germans, generally speaking. Schmucke was a great musical composer - doomed to remain a music master, so utterly did his character lack the - audacity which a musical genius needs if he is to push his way to the - front. A German’s naivete does not invariably last him through his life; - in some cases it fails after a certain age; and even as a cultivator of - the soil brings water from afar by means of irrigation channels, so, from - the springs of his youth, does the Teuton draw the simplicity which - disarms suspicion—the perennial supplies with which he fertilizes - his labors in every field of science, art, or commerce. A crafty Frenchman - here and there will turn a Parisian tradesman’s stupidity to good account - in the same way. But Schmucke had kept his child’s simplicity much as Pons - continued to wear his relics of the Empire—all unsuspectingly. The - true and noble-hearted German was at once the theatre and the audience, - making music within himself for himself alone. In this city of Paris he - lived as a nightingale lives among the thickets; and for twenty years he - sang on, mateless, till he met with a second self in Pons. [See <i>Une - Fille d’Eve</i>.] - </p> - <p> - Both Pons and Schmucke were abundantly given, both by heart and - disposition, to the peculiarly German sentimentality which shows itself - alike in childlike ways—in a passion for flowers, in that form of - nature-worship which prompts a German to plant his garden-beds with big - glass globes for the sake of seeing miniature pictures of the view which - he can behold about him of a natural size; in the inquiring turn of mind - that sets a learned Teuton trudging three hundred miles in his gaiters in - search of a fact which smiles up in his face from a wayside spring, or - lurks laughing under the jessamine leaves in the back-yard; or (to take a - final instance) in the German craving to endow every least detail in - creation with a spiritual significance, a craving which produces sometimes - Hoffmann’s tipsiness in type, sometimes the folios with which Germany - hedges the simplest questions round about, lest haply any fool should fall - into her intellectual excavations; and, indeed, if you fathom these - abysses, you find nothing but a German at the bottom. - </p> - <p> - Both friends were Catholics. They went to Mass and performed the duties of - religion together; and, like children, found nothing to tell their - confessors. It was their firm belief that music is to feeling and thought - as thought and feeling are to speech; and of their converse on this system - there was no end. Each made response to the other in orgies of sound, - demonstrating their convictions, each for each, like lovers. - </p> - <p> - Schmucke was as absent-minded as Pons was wide-awake. Pons was a - collector, Schmucke a dreamer of dreams; Schmucke was a student of beauty - seen by the soul, Pons a preserver of material beauty. Pons would catch - sight of a china cup and buy it in the time that Schmucke took to blow his - nose, wondering the while within himself whether the musical phrase that - was ringing in his brain—the <i>motif</i> from Rossini or Bellini or - Beethoven or Mozart—had its origin or its counterpart in the world - of human thought and emotion. Schmucke’s economies were controlled by an - absent mind, Pons was a spendthrift through passion, and for both the - result was the same—they had not a penny on Saint Sylvester’s day. - </p> - <p> - Perhaps Pons would have given way under his troubles if it had not been - for this friendship; but life became bearable when he found some one to - whom he could pour out his heart. The first time that he breathed a word - of his difficulties, the good German had advised him to live as he himself - did, and eat bread and cheese at home sooner than dine abroad at such a - cost. Alas! Pons did not dare to confess that heart and stomach were at - war within him, that he could digest affronts which pained his heart, and, - cost what it might, a good dinner that satisfied his palate was a - necessity to him, even as your gay Lothario must have a mistress to tease. - </p> - <p> - In time Schmucke understood; not just at once, for he was too much of a - Teuton to possess that gift of swift perception in which the French - rejoice; Schmucke understood and loved poor Pons the better. Nothing so - fortifies a friendship as a belief on the part of one friend that he is - superior to the other. An angel could not have found a word to say to - Schmucke rubbing his hands over the discovery of the hold that gluttony - had gained over Pons. Indeed, the good German adorned their - breakfast-table next morning with delicacies of which he went in search - himself; and every day he was careful to provide something new for his - friend, for they always breakfasted together at home. - </p> - <p> - If any one imagines that the pair could not escape ridicule in Paris, - where nothing is respected, he cannot know that city. When Schmucke and - Pons united their riches and poverty, they hit upon the economical - expedient of lodging together, each paying half the rent of the very - unequally divided second-floor of a house in the Rue de Normandie in the - Marais. And as it often happened that they left home together and walked - side by side along their beat of boulevard, the idlers of the quarter - dubbed them “the pair of nutcrackers,” a nickname which makes any portrait - of Schmucke quite superfluous, for he was to Pons as the famous statue of - the Nurse of Niobe in the Vatican is to the Tribune Venus. - </p> - <p> - Mme. Cibot, portress of the house in the Rue de Normandie, was the pivot - on which the domestic life of the nutcrackers turned; but Mme. Cibot plays - so large a part in the drama which grew out of their double existence, - that it will be more appropriate to give her portrait on her first - appearance in this Scene of Parisian Life. - </p> - <p> - One thing remains to be said of the characters of the pair of friends; but - this one thing is precisely the hardest to make clear to ninety-nine - readers out of a hundred in this forty-seventh year of the nineteenth - century, perhaps by reason of the prodigious financial development brought - about by the railway system. It is a little thing, and yet it is so much. - It is a question, in fact, of giving an idea of the extreme sensitiveness - of their natures. Let us borrow an illustration from the railways, if only - by way of retaliation, as it were, for the loans which they levy upon us. - The railway train of to-day, tearing over the metals, grinds away fine - particles of dust, grains so minute that a traveler cannot detect them - with the eye; but let a single one of those invisible motes find its way - into the kidneys, it will bring about that most excruciating, and - sometimes fatal, disease known as gravel. And our society, rushing like a - locomotive along its metaled track, is heedless of the all but - imperceptible dust made by the grinding of the wheels; but it was - otherwise with the two musicians; the invisible grains of sand sank - perpetually into the very fibres of their being, causing them intolerable - anguish of heart. Tender exceedingly to the pain of others, they wept for - their own powerlessness to help; and their own susceptibilities were - almost morbidly acute. Neither age nor the continual spectacle of the - drama of Paris life had hardened two souls still young and childlike and - pure; the longer they lived, indeed, the more keenly they felt their - inward suffering; for so it is, alas! with natures unsullied by the world, - with the quiet thinker, and with such poets among the poets as have never - fallen into any excess. - </p> - <p> - Since the old men began housekeeping together, the day’s routine was very - nearly the same for them both. They worked together in harness in the - fraternal fashion of the Paris cab-horse; rising every morning, summer and - winter, at seven o’clock, and setting out after breakfast to give music - lessons in the boarding-schools, in which, upon occasion, they would take - lessons for each other. Towards noon Pons repaired to his theatre, if - there was a rehearsal on hand; but all his spare moments were spent in - sauntering on the boulevards. Night found both of them in the orchestra at - the theatre, for Pons had found a place for Schmucke, and upon this wise. - </p> - <p> - At the time of their first meeting, Pons had just received that marshal’s - baton of the unknown musical composer—an appointment as conductor of - an orchestra. It had come to him unasked, by a favor of Count Popinot, a - bourgeois hero of July, at that time a member of the Government. Count - Popinot had the license of a theatre in his gift, and Count Popinot had - also an old acquaintance of the kind that the successful man blushes to - meet. As he rolls through the streets of Paris in his carriage, it is not - pleasant to see his boyhood’s chum down at heel, with a coat of many - improbable colors and trousers innocent of straps, and a head full of - soaring speculations on too grand a scale to tempt shy, easily scared - capital. Moreover, this friend of his youth, Gaudissart by name, had done - not a little in the past towards founding the fortunes of the great house - of Popinot. Popinot, now a Count and a peer of France, after twice holding - a portfolio had no wish to shake off “the Illustrious Gaudissart.” Quite - otherwise. The pomps and vanities of the Court of the Citizen-King had not - spoiled the sometime druggist’s kind heart; he wished to put his - ex-commercial traveler in the way of renewing his wardrobe and - replenishing his purse. So when Gaudissart, always an enthusiastic admirer - of the fair sex, applied for the license of a bankrupt theatre, Popinot - granted it on condition that Pons (a parasite of the Hotel Popinot) should - be engaged as conductor of the orchestra; and at the same time, the Count - was careful to send certain elderly amateurs of beauty to the theatre, so - that the new manager might be strongly supported financially by wealthy - admirers of feminine charms revealed by the costume of the ballet. - </p> - <p> - Gaudissart and Company, who, be it said, made their fortune, hit upon the - grand idea of operas for the people, and carried it out in a boulevard - theatre in 1834. A tolerable conductor, who could adapt or even compose a - little music upon occasion, was a necessity for ballets and pantomimes; - but the last management had so long been bankrupt, that they could not - afford to keep a transposer and copyist. Pons therefore introduced - Schmucke to the company as copier of music, a humble calling which - requires no small musical knowledge; and Schmucke, acting on Pons’ advice, - came to an understanding with the <i>chef-de-service</i> at the - Opera-Comique, so saving himself the clerical drudgery. - </p> - <p> - The partnership between Pons and Schmucke produced one brilliant result. - Schmucke being a German, harmony was his strong point; he looked over the - instrumentation of Pons’ compositions, and Pons provided the airs. Here - and there an amateur among the audience admired the new pieces of music - which served as accompaniment to two or three great successes, but they - attributed the improvement vaguely to “progress.” No one cared to know the - composer’s name; like occupants of the <i>baignoires</i>, lost to view of - the house, to gain a view of the stage, Pons and Schmucke eclipsed - themselves by their success. In Paris (especially since the Revolution of - July) no one can hope to succeed unless he will push his way <i>quibuscumque - viis</i> and with all his might through a formidable host of competitors; - but for this feat a man needs thews and sinews, and our two friends, be it - remembered, had that affection of the heart which cripples all ambitious - effort. - </p> - <p> - Pons, as a rule, only went to his theatre towards eight o’clock, when the - piece in favor came on, and overtures and accompaniments needed the strict - ruling of the baton; most minor theatres are lax in such matters, and Pons - felt the more at ease because he himself had been by no means grasping in - all his dealings with the management; and Schmucke, if need be, could take - his place. Time went by, and Schmucke became an institution in the - orchestra; the Illustrious Gaudissart said nothing, but he was well aware - of the value of Pons’ collaborator. He was obliged to include a pianoforte - in the orchestra (following the example of the leading theatres); the - instrument was placed beside the conductor’s chair, and Schmucke played - without increase of salary—a volunteer supernumerary. As Schmucke’s - character, his utter lack of ambition or pretence became known, the - orchestra recognized him as one of themselves; and as time went on, he was - intrusted with the often needed miscellaneous musical instruments which - form no part of the regular band of a boulevard theatre. For a very small - addition to his stipend, Schmucke played the viola d’amore, hautboy, - violoncello, and harp, as well as the piano, the castanets for the <i>cachucha</i>, - the bells, saxhorn, and the like. If the Germans cannot draw harmony from - the mighty instruments of Liberty, yet to play all instruments of music - comes to them by nature. - </p> - <p> - The two old artists were exceedingly popular at the theatre, and took its - ways philosophically. They had put, as it were, scales over their eyes, - lest they should see the offences that needs must come when a <i>corps de - ballet</i> is blended with actors and actresses, one of the most trying - combinations ever created by the laws of supply and demand for the torment - of managers, authors, and composers alike. - </p> - <p> - Every one esteemed Pons with his kindness and his modesty, his great - self-respect and respect for others; for a pure and limpid life wins - something like admiration from the worst nature in every social sphere, - and in Paris a fair virtue meets with something of the success of a large - diamond, so great a rarity it is. No actor, no dancer however brazen, - would have indulged in the mildest practical joke at the expense of either - Pons or Schmucke. - </p> - <p> - Pons very occasionally put in an appearance in the <i>foyer</i>; but all - that Schmucke knew of the theatre was the underground passage from the - street door to the orchestra. Sometimes, however, during an interval, the - good German would venture to make a survey of the house and ask a few - questions of the first flute, a young fellow from Strasbourg, who came of - a German family at Kehl. Gradually under the flute’s tuition Schmucke’s - childlike imagination acquired a certain amount of knowledge of the world; - he could believe in the existence of that fabulous creature the <i>lorette</i>, - the possibility of “marriages at the Thirteenth Arrondissement,” the - vagaries of the leading lady, and the contraband traffic carried on by - box-openers. In his eyes the more harmless forms of vice were the lowest - depths of Babylonish iniquity; he did not believe the stories, he smiled - at them for grotesque inventions. The ingenious reader can see that Pons - and Schmucke were exploited, to use a word much in fashion; but what they - lost in money they gained in consideration and kindly treatment. - </p> - <p> - It was after the success of the ballet with which a run of success began - for the Gaudissart Company that the management presented Pons with a piece - of plate—a group of figures attributed to Benvenuto Cellini. The - alarming costliness of the gift caused talk in the green-room. It was a - matter of twelve hundred francs! Pons, poor honest soul, was for returning - the present, and Gaudissart had a world of trouble to persuade him to keep - it. - </p> - <p> - “Ah!” said the manager afterwards, when he told his partner of the - interview, “if we could only find actors up to that sample.” - </p> - <p> - In their joint life, outwardly so quiet, there was the one disturbing - element—the weakness to which Pons sacrificed, the insatiable - craving to dine out. Whenever Schmucke happened to be at home while Pons - was dressing for the evening, the good German would bewail this deplorable - habit. - </p> - <p> - “Gif only he vas ony fatter vor it!” he many a time cried. - </p> - <p> - And Schmucke would dream of curing his friend of his degrading vice, for a - true friend’s instinct in all that belongs to the inner life is unerring - as a dog’s sense of smell; a friend knows by intuition the trouble in his - friend’s soul, and guesses at the cause and ponders it in his heart. - </p> - <p> - Pons, who always wore a diamond ring on the little finger of his right - hand, an ornament permitted in the time of the Empire, but ridiculous - to-day—Pons, who belonged to the “troubadour time,” the sentimental - periods of the first Empire, was too much a child of his age, too much of - a Frenchman to wear the expression of divine serenity which softened - Schmucke’s hideous ugliness. From Pons’ melancholy looks Schmucke knew - that the profession of parasite was growing daily more difficult and - painful. And, in fact, in that month of October 1844, the number of houses - at which Pons dined was naturally much restricted; reduced to move round - and round the family circle, he had used the word family in far too wide a - sense, as will shortly be seen. - </p> - <p> - M. Camusot, the rich silk mercer of the Rue des Bourdonnais, had married - Pons’ first cousin, Mlle. Pons, only child and heiress of one of the - well-known firm of Pons Brothers, court embroiderers. Pons’ own father and - mother retired from a firm founded before the Revolution of 1789, leaving - their capital in the business until Mlle. Pons’ father sold it in 1815 to - M. Rivet. M. Camusot had since lost his wife and married again, and - retired from business some ten years, and now in 1844 he was a member of - the Board of Trade, a deputy, and what not. But the Camusot clan were - friendly; and Pons, good man, still considered that he was some kind of - cousin to the children of the second marriage, who were not relations, or - even connected with him in any way. - </p> - <p> - The second Mme. Camusot being a Mlle. Cardot, Pons introduced himself as a - relative into the tolerably numerous Cardot family, a second bourgeois - tribe which, taken with its connections, formed quite as strong a clan as - the Camusots; for Cardot the notary (brother of the second Mme. Camusot) - had married a Mlle. Chiffreville; and the well-known family of - Chiffreville, the leading firm of manufacturing chemists, was closely - connected with the whole drug trade, of which M. Anselme Popinot was for - many years the undisputed head, until the Revolution of July plunged him - into the very centre of the dynastic movement, as everybody knows. So - Pons, in the wake of the Camusots and Cardots, reached the Chiffrevilles, - and thence the Popinots, always in the character of a cousin’s cousin. - </p> - <p> - The above concise statement of Pons’ relations with his entertainers - explains how it came to pass that an old musician was received in 1844 as - one of the family in the houses of four distinguished persons—to - wit, M. le Comte Popinot, peer of France, and twice in office; M. Cardot, - retired notary, mayor and deputy of an arrondissement in Paris; M. Camusot - senior, a member of the Board of Trade and the Municipal Chamber and a - peerage; and lastly, M. Camusot de Marville, Camusot’s son by his first - marriage, and Pons’ one genuine relation, albeit even he was a first - cousin once removed. - </p> - <p> - This Camusot, President of a Chamber of the Court of Appeal in Paris, had - taken the name of his estate at Marville to distinguish himself from his - father and a younger half brother. - </p> - <p> - Cardot the retired notary had married his daughter to his successor, whose - name was Berthier; and Pons, transferred as part of the connection, - acquired a right to dine with the Berthiers “in the presence of a notary,” - as he put it. - </p> - <p> - This was the bourgeois empyrean which Pons called his “family,” that upper - world in which he so painfully reserved his right to a knife and fork. - </p> - <p> - Of all these houses, some ten in all, the one in which Pons ought to have - met with the kindest reception should by rights have been his own - cousin’s; and, indeed, he paid most attention to President Camusot’s - family. But, alas! Mme. Camusot de Marville, daughter of the Sieur - Thirion, usher of the cabinet to Louis XVIII. and Charles X., had never - taken very kindly to her husband’s first cousin, once removed. Pons had - tried to soften this formidable relative; he wasted his time; for in spite - of the pianoforte lessons which he gave gratuitously to Mlle. Camusot, a - young woman with hair somewhat inclined to red, it was impossible to make - a musician of her. - </p> - <p> - And now, at this very moment, as he walked with that precious object in - his hand, Pons was bound for the President’s house, where he always felt - as if he were at the Tuileries itself, so heavily did the solemn green - curtains, the carmelite-brown hangings, thick piled carpets, heavy - furniture, and general atmosphere of magisterial severity oppress his - soul. Strange as it may seem, he felt more at home in the Hotel Popinot, - Rue Basse-du-Rempart, probably because it was full of works of art; for - the master of the house, since he entered public life, had acquired a - mania for collecting beautiful things, by way of contrast no doubt, for a - politician is obliged to pay for secret services of the ugliest kind. - </p> - <p> - President de Marville lived in the Rue de Hanovre, in a house which his - wife had bought ten years previously, on the death of her parents, for the - Sieur and Dame Thirion left their daughter about a hundred and fifty - thousand francs, the savings of a lifetime. With its north aspect, the - house looks gloomy enough seen from the street, but the back looks towards - the south over the courtyard, with a rather pretty garden beyond it. As - the President occupied the whole of the first floor, once the abode of a - great financier of the time of Louis XIV., and the second was let to a - wealthy old lady, the house wore a look of dignified repose befitting a - magistrate’s residence. President Camusot had invested all that he - inherited from his mother, together with the savings of twenty years, in - the purchase of the splendid Marville estate; a chateau (as fine a relic - of the past as you will find to-day in Normandy) standing in a hundred - acres of park land, and a fine dependent farm, nominally bringing in - twelve thousand francs per annum, though, as it cost the President at - least a thousand crowns to keep up a state almost princely in our days, - his yearly revenue, “all told,” as the saying is, was a bare nine thousand - francs. With this and his salary, the President’s income amounted to about - twenty thousand francs; but though to all appearance a wealthy man, - especially as one-half of his father’s property would one day revert to - him as the only child of the first marriage, he was obliged to live in - Paris as befitted his official position, and M. and Mme. de Marville spent - almost the whole of their incomes. Indeed, before the year 1834 they felt - pinched. - </p> - <p> - This family schedule sufficiently explains why Mlle. de Marville, aged - three-and-twenty, was still unwed, in spite of a hundred thousand francs - of dowry and tempting prospects, frequently, skilfully, but so far vainly, - held out. For the past five years Pons had listened to Mme. la - Presidente’s lamentations as she beheld one young lawyer after another led - to the altar, while all the newly appointed judges at the Tribunal were - fathers of families already; and she, all this time, had displayed Mlle. - de Marville’s brilliant expectations before the undazzled eyes of young - Vicomte Popinot, eldest son of the great man of the drug trade, he of whom - it was said by the envious tongues of the neighborhood of the Rue des - Lombards, that the Revolution of July had been brought about at least as - much for his particular benefit as for the sake of the Orleans branch. - </p> - <p> - Arrived at the corner of the Rue de Choiseul and the Rue de Hanovre, Pons - suffered from the inexplicable emotions which torment clear consciences; - for a panic terror such as the worst of scoundrels might feel at sight of - a policeman, an agony caused solely by a doubt as to Mme. de Marville’s - probable reception of him. That grain of sand, grating continually on the - fibres of his heart, so far from losing its angles, grew more and more - jagged, and the family in the Rue de Hanovre always sharpened the edges. - Indeed, their unceremonious treatment and Pons’ depreciation in value - among them had affected the servants; and while they did not exactly fail - in respect, they looked on the poor relation as a kind of beggar. - </p> - <p> - Pons’ arch-enemy in the house was the ladies’-maid, a thin and wizened - spinster, Madeleine Vivet by name. This Madeleine, in spite of, nay, - perhaps on the strength of, a pimpled complexion and a viper-like length - of spine, had made up her mind that some day she would be Mme. Pons. But - in vain she dangled twenty thousand francs of savings before the old - bachelor’s eyes; Pons had declined happiness accompanied by so many - pimples. From that time forth the Dido of the ante-chamber, who fain had - called her master and mistress “cousin,” wreaked her spite in petty ways - upon the poor musician. She heard him on the stairs, and cried audibly, - “Oh! here comes the sponger!” She stinted him of wine when she waited at - dinner in the footman’s absence; she filled the water-glass to the brim, - to give him the difficult task of lifting it without spilling a drop; or - she would pass the old man over altogether, till the mistress of the house - would remind her (and in what a tone!—it brought the color to the - poor cousin’s face); or she would spill the gravy over his clothes. In - short, she waged petty war after the manner of a petty nature, knowing - that she could annoy an unfortunate superior with impunity. - </p> - <p> - Madeleine Vivet was Mme. de Marville’s maid and housekeeper. She had lived - with M. and Mme. Camusot de Marville since their marriage; she had shared - the early struggles in the provinces when M. Camusot was a judge at - Alencon; she had helped them to exist when M. Camusot, President of the - Tribunal of Mantes, came to Paris, in 1828, to be an examining magistrate. - She was, therefore, too much one of the family not to wish, for reasons of - her own, to revenge herself upon them. Beneath her desire to pay a trick - upon her haughty and ambitious mistress, and to call her master her - cousin, there surely lurked a long-stifled hatred, built up like an - avalanche, upon the pebble of some past grievance. - </p> - <p> - “Here comes your M. Pons, madame, still wearing that spencer of his!” - Madeleine came to tell the Presidente. “He really might tell me how he - manages to make it look the same for five-and-twenty years together.” - </p> - <p> - Mme. Camusot de Marville, hearing a man’s footstep in the little - drawing-room between the large drawing-room and her bedroom, looked at her - daughter and shrugged her shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “You always make these announcements so cleverly that you leave me no time - to think, Madeleine.” - </p> - <p> - “Jean is out, madame, I was all alone; M. Pons rang the bell, I opened the - door; and as he is almost one of the family, I could not prevent him from - coming after me. There he is, taking off his spencer.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor little puss!” said the Presidente, addressing her daughter, “we are - caught. We shall have to dine at home now.—Let us see,” she added, - seeing that the “dear puss” wore a piteous face; “must we get rid of him - for good?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! poor man!” cried Mlle. Camusot, “deprive him of one of his dinners?” - </p> - <p> - Somebody coughed significantly in the next room by way of warning that he - could hear. - </p> - <p> - “Very well, let him come in!” said Mme. Camusot, looking at Madeleine with - another shrug. - </p> - <p> - “You are here so early, cousin, that you have come in upon us just as - mother was about to dress,” said Cecile Camusot in a coaxing tone. But - Cousin Pons had caught sight of the Presidente’s shrug, and felt so - cruelly hurt that he could not find a compliment, and contented himself - with the profound remark, “You are always charming, my little cousin.” - </p> - <p> - Then, turning to the mother, he continued with a bow: - </p> - <p> - “You will not take it amiss, I think, if I have come a little earlier than - usual, dear cousin; I have brought something for you; you once did me the - pleasure of asking me for it.” - </p> - <p> - Poor Pons! Every time he addressed the President, the President’s wife, or - Cecile as “cousin,” he gave them excruciating annoyance. As he spoke, he - draw a long, narrow cherry-wood box, marvelously carved, from his - coat-pocket. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, did I?—I had forgotten,” the lady answered drily. - </p> - <p> - It was a heartless speech, was it not? Did not those few words deny all - merit to the pains taken for her by the cousin whose one offence lay in - the fact that he was a poor relation? - </p> - <p> - “But it is very kind of you, cousin,” she added. “How much to I owe you - for this little trifle?” - </p> - <p> - Pons quivered inwardly at the question. He had meant the trinket as a - return for his dinners. - </p> - <p> - “I thought that you would permit me to offer it you——” he - faltered out. - </p> - <p> - “What?” said Mme. Camusot. “Oh! but there need be no ceremony between us; - we know each other well enough to wash our linen among ourselves. I know - very well that you are not rich enough to give more than you get. And to - go no further, it is quite enough that you should have spent a good deal - of time in running among the dealers—” - </p> - <p> - “If you were asked to pay the full price of the fan, my dear cousin, you - would not care to have it,” answered poor Pons, hurt and insulted; “it is - one of Watteau’s masterpieces, painted on both sides; but you may be quite - easy, cousin, I did not give one-hundredth part of its value as a work of - art.” - </p> - <p> - To tell a rich man that he is poor! you might as well tell the Archbishop - of Granada that his homilies show signs of senility. Mme. la Presidente, - proud of her husband’s position, of the estate of Marville, and her - invitations to court balls, was keenly susceptible on this point; and what - was worse, the remark came from a poverty-stricken musician to whom she - had been charitable. - </p> - <p> - “Then the people of whom you buy things of this kind are very stupid, are - they?” she asked quickly. - </p> - <p> - “Stupid dealers are unknown in Paris,” Pons answered almost drily. - </p> - <p> - “Then you must be very clever,” put in Cecile by way of calming the - dispute. - </p> - <p> - “Clever enough to know a Lancret, a Watteau, a Pater, or Greuze when I see - it, little cousin; but anxious, most of all, to please your dear mamma.” - </p> - <p> - Mme. de Marville, ignorant and vain, was unwilling to appear to receive - the slightest trifle from the parasite; and here her ignorance served her - admirably, she did not even know the name of Watteau. And, on the other - hand, if anything can measure the extent of the collector’s passion, - which, in truth, is one of the most deeply seated of all passions, - rivaling the very vanity of the author—if anything can give an idea - of the lengths to which a collector will go, it is the audacity which Pons - displayed on this occasion, as he held his own against his lady cousin for - the first time in twenty years. He was amazed at his own boldness. He made - Cecile see the beauties of the delicate carving on the sticks of this - wonder, and as he talked to her his face grew serene and gentle again. But - without some sketch of the Presidente, it is impossible fully to - understand the perturbation of heart from which Pons suffered. - </p> - <p> - Mme. de Marville had been short and fair, plump and fresh; at forty-six - she was as short as ever, but she looked dried up. An arched forehead and - thin lips, that had been softly colored once, lent a soured look to a face - naturally disdainful, and now grown hard and unpleasant with a long course - of absolute domestic rule. Time had deepened her fair hair to a harsh - chestnut hue; the pride of office, intensified by suppressed envy, looked - out of eyes that had lost none of their brightness nor their satirical - expression. As a matter of fact, Mme. Camusot de Marville felt almost poor - in the society of self-made wealthy bourgeois with whom Pons dined. She - could not forgive the rich retail druggist, ex-president of the Commercial - Court, for his successive elevations as deputy, member of the Government, - count and peer of France. She could not forgive her father-in-law for - putting himself forward instead of his eldest son as deputy of his - arrondissement after Popinot’s promotion to the peerage. After eighteen - years of services in Paris, she was still waiting for the post of - Councillor of the Court of Cassation for her husband. It was Camusot’s own - incompetence, well known at the Law Courts, which excluded him from the - Council. The Home Secretary of 1844 even regretted Camusot’s nomination to - the presidency of the Court of Indictments in 1834, though, thanks to his - past experience as an examining magistrate, he made himself useful in - drafting decrees. - </p> - <p> - These disappointments had told upon Mme. de Marville, who, moreover, had - formed a tolerably correct estimate of her husband. A temper naturally - shrewish was soured till she grew positively terrible. She was not old, - but she had aged; she deliberately set herself to extort by fear all that - the world was inclined to refuse her, and was harsh and rasping as a file. - Caustic to excess she had few friends among women; she surrounded herself - with prim, elderly matrons of her own stamp, who lent each other mutual - support, and people stood in awe of her. As for poor Pons, his relations - with this fiend in petticoats were very much those of a schoolboy with the - master whose one idea of communication is the ferule. - </p> - <p> - The Presidente had no idea of the value of the gift. She was puzzled by - her cousin’s sudden access of audacity. - </p> - <p> - “Then, where did you find this?” inquired Cecile, as she looked closely at - the trinket. - </p> - <p> - “In the Rue de Lappe. A dealer in second-hand furniture there had just - brought it back with him from a chateau that is being pulled down near - Dreux, Aulnay. Mme. de Pompadour used to spend part of her time there - before she built Menars. Some of the most splendid wood-carving ever known - has been saved from destruction; Lienard (our most famous living - wood-carver) had kept a couple of oval frames for models, as the <i>ne - plus ultra</i> of the art, so fine it is.—There were treasures in - that place. My man found the fan in the drawer of an inlaid what-not, - which I should certainly have bought if I were collecting things of the - kind, but it is quite out of the question—a single piece of - Riesener’s furniture is worth three or four thousand francs! People here - in Paris are just beginning to find out that the famous French and German - marquetry workers of the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries - composed perfect pictures in wood. It is a collector’s business to be - ahead of the fashion. Why, in five years’ time, the Frankenthal ware, - which I have been collecting these twenty years, will fetch twice the - price of Sevres <i>pata tendre</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “What is Frankenthal ware?” asked Cecile. - </p> - <p> - “That is the name of the porcelain made by the Elector of the Palatinate; - it dates further back than our manufactory at Sevres; just as the famous - gardens at Heidelberg, laid waste by Turenne, had the bad luck to exist - before the garden of Versailles. Sevres copied Frankenthal to a large - extent.—In justice to the Germans, it must be said that they have - done admirable work in Saxony and in the Palatinate.” - </p> - <p> - Mother and daughter looked at one another as if Pons were speaking - Chinese. No one can imagine how ignorant and exclusive Parisians are; they - only learn what they are taught, and that only when they choose. - </p> - <p> - “And how do you know the Frankenthal ware when you see it?” - </p> - <p> - “Eh! by the mark!” cried Pons with enthusiasm. “There is a mark on every - one of those exquisite masterpieces. Frankenthal ware is marked with a C - and T (for Charles Theodore) interlaced and crowned. On old Dresden china - there are two crossed swords and the number of the order in gilt figures. - Vincennes bears a hunting-horn; Vienna, a V closed and barred. You can - tell Berlin by the two bars, Mayence by the wheel, and Sevres by the two - crossed L’s. The queen’s porcelain is marked A for Antoinette, with a - royal crown above it. In the eighteenth century, all the crowned heads of - Europe had rival porcelain factories, and workmen were kidnaped. Watteau - designed services for the Dresden factory; they fetch frantic prices at - the present day. One has to know what one is about with them too, for they - are turning out imitations now at Dresden. Wonderful things they used to - make; they will never make the like again—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! pshaw!” - </p> - <p> - “No, cousin. Some inlaid work and some kinds of porcelain will never be - made again, just as there will never be another Raphael, nor Titian, nor - Rembrandt, nor Van Eyck, nor Cranach.... Well, now! there are the Chinese; - they are very ingenious, very clever; they make modern copies of their - ‘grand mandarin’ porcelain, as it is called. But a pair of vases of - genuine ‘grand mandarin’ vases of the largest size, are worth, six, eight, - and ten thousand francs, while you can buy the modern replicas for a - couple of hundred!” - </p> - <p> - “You are joking.” - </p> - <p> - “You are astonished at the prices, but that is nothing, cousin. A dinner - service of Sevres <i>pate tendre</i> (and <i>pate tendre</i> is not - porcelain)—a complete dinner service of Sevres <i>pate tendre</i> - for twelve persons is not merely worth a hundred thousand francs, but that - is the price charged on the invoice. Such a dinner-service cost fifteen - thousand francs at Sevres in 1750; I have seen the original invoices.” - </p> - <p> - “But let us go back to this fan,” said Cecile. Evidently in her opinion - the trinket was an old-fashioned thing. - </p> - <p> - “You can understand that as soon as your dear mamma did me the honor of - asking for a fan, I went round of all the curiosity shops in Paris, but I - found nothing fine enough. I wanted nothing less than a masterpiece for - the dear Presidente, and thought of giving her one that once belonged to - Marie Antoinette, the most beautiful of all celebrated fans. But yesterday - I was dazzled by this divine <i>chef-d’oeuvre</i>, which certainly must - have been ordered by Louis XV. himself. Do you ask how I came to look for - fans in the Rue de Lappe, among an Auvergnat’s stock of brass and iron and - ormolu furniture? Well, I myself believe that there is an intelligence in - works of art; they know art-lovers, they call to them—‘Cht-tt!’” - </p> - <p> - Mme. de Marville shrugged her shoulders and looked at her daughter; Pons - did not notice the rapid pantomime. - </p> - <p> - “I know all those sharpers,” continued Pons, “so I asked him, ‘Anything - fresh to-day, Daddy Monistrol?’—(for he always lets me look over his - lots before the big buyers come)—and at that he began to tell me how - Lienard, that did such beautiful work for the Government in the Chapelle - de Dreux, had been at the Aulnay sale and rescued the carved panels out of - the clutches of the Paris dealers, while their heads were running on china - and inlaid furniture.—‘I did not do much myself,’ he went on, ‘but I - may make my traveling expenses out of <i>this</i>,’ and he showed me a - what-not; a marvel! Boucher’s designs executed in marquetry, and with such - art!—One could have gone down on one’s knees before it.—‘Look, - sir,’ he said, ‘I have just found this fan in a little drawer; it was - locked, I had to force it open. You might tell me where I can sell it’—and - with that he brings out this little carved cherry-wood box.—‘See,’ - says he, ‘it is the kind of Pompadour that looks like decorated Gothic.’—‘Yes,’ - I told him, ‘the box is pretty; the box might suit me; but as for the fan, - Monistrol, I have no Mme. Pons to give the old trinket to, and they make - very pretty new ones nowadays; you can buy miracles of painting on vellum - cheaply enough. There are two thousand painters in Paris, you know.’—And - I opened out the fan carelessly, keeping down my admiration, looked - indifferently at those two exquisite little pictures, touched off with an - ease fit to send you into raptures. I held Mme. de Pompadour’s fan in my - hand! Watteau had done his utmost for this.—‘What do you want for - the what-not?’—‘Oh! a thousand francs; I have had a bid already.’—I - offered him a price for the fan corresponding with the probable expenses - of the journey. We looked each other in the eyes, and I saw that I had my - man. I put the fan back into the box lest my Auvergnat should begin to - look at it, and went into ecstasies over the box; indeed, it is a jewel.—‘If - I take it,’ said I, ‘it is for the sake of the box; the box tempts me. As - for the what-not, you will get more than a thousand francs for that. Just - see how the brass is wrought; it is a model. There is business in it.... - It has never been copied; it is a unique specimen, made solely for Mme. de - Pompadour’—and so on, till my man, all on fire for his what-not, - forgets the fan, and lets me have it for a mere trifle, because I have - pointed out the beauties of his piece of Riesener’s furniture. So here it - is; but it needs a great deal of experience to make such a bargain as - that. It is a duel, eye to eye; and who has such eyes as a Jew or an - Auvergnat?” - </p> - <p> - The old artist’s wonderful pantomime, his vivid, eager way of telling the - story of the triumph of his shrewdness over the dealer’s ignorance, would - have made a subject for a Dutch painter; but it was all thrown away upon - the audience. Mother and daughter exchanged cold, contemptuous glances.—“What - an oddity!” they seemed to say. - </p> - <p> - “So it amuses you?” remarked Mme. de Marville. The question sent a cold - chill through Pons; he felt a strong desire to slap the Presidente. - </p> - <p> - “Why, my dear cousin, that is the way to hunt down a work of art. You are - face to face with antagonists that dispute the game with you. It is craft - against craft! A work of art in the hands of a Norman, an Auvergnat, or a - Jew, is like a princess guarded by magicians in a fairy tale.” - </p> - <p> - “And how can you tell that this is by Wat—what do you call him?” - </p> - <p> - “Watteau, cousin. One of the greatest eighteenth century painters in - France. Look! do you not see that it is his work?” (pointing to a pastoral - scene, court-shepherd swains and shepherdesses dancing in a ring). “The - movement! the life in it! the coloring! There it is—see!—painted - with a stroke of the brush, as a writing-master makes a flourish with a - pen. Not a trace of effort here! And, turn it over, look!—a ball in - a drawing-room. Summer and Winter! And what ornaments! and how well - preserved it is! The hinge-pin is gold, you see, and on cleaning it, I - found a tiny ruby at either side.” - </p> - <p> - “If it is so, cousin, I could not think of accepting such a valuable - present from you. It would be better to lay up the money for yourself,” - said Mme. de Marville; but all the same, she asked no better than to keep - the splendid fan. - </p> - <p> - “It is time that it should pass from the service of Vice into the hands of - Virtue,” said the good soul, recovering his assurance. “It has taken a - century to work the miracle. No princess at Court, you may be sure, will - have anything to compare with it; for, unfortunately, men will do more for - a Pompadour than for a virtuous queen, such is human nature.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well,” Mme. de Marville said, laughing, “I will accept your present.—Cecile, - my angel, go to Madeleine and see that dinner is worthy of your cousin.” - </p> - <p> - Mme. de Marville wished to make matters even. Her request, made aloud, in - defiance of all rules of good taste, sounded so much like an attempt to - repay at once the balance due to the poor cousin, that Pons flushed red, - like a girl found out in fault. The grain of sand was a little too large; - for some moments he could only let it work in his heart. Cecile, a - red-haired young woman, with a touch of pedantic affectation, combined her - father’s ponderous manner with a trace of her mother’s hardness. She went - and left poor Pons face to face with the terrible Presidente. - </p> - <p> - “How nice she is, my little Lili!” said the mother. She still called her - Cecile by this baby name. - </p> - <p> - “Charming!” said Pons, twirling his thumbs. - </p> - <p> - “I <i>cannot</i> understand these times in which we live,” broke out the - Presidente. “What is the good of having a President of the Court of Appeal - in Paris and a Commander of the Legion of Honor for your father, and for a - grandfather the richest wholesale silk merchant in Paris, a deputy, and a - millionaire that will be a peer of France some of these days?” - </p> - <p> - The President’s zeal for the new Government had, in fact, recently been - rewarded with a commander’s ribbon—thanks to his friendship with - Popinot, said the envious. Popinot himself, modest though he was, had, as - has been seen, accepted the title of count, “for his son’s sake,” he told - his numerous friends. - </p> - <p> - “Men look for nothing but money nowadays,” said Cousin Pons. “No one - thinks anything of you unless you are rich, and—” - </p> - <p> - “What would it have been if Heaven had spared my poor little Charles!—” - cried the lady. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, with two children you would be poor,” returned the cousin. “It - practically means the division of the property. But you need not trouble - yourself, cousin; Cecile is sure to marry sooner or later. She is the most - accomplished girl I know.” - </p> - <p> - To such depths had Pons fallen by adapting himself to the company of his - entertainers! In their houses he echoed their ideas, and said the obvious - thing, after the manner of a chorus in a Greek play. He did not dare to - give free play to the artist’s originality, which had overflowed in bright - repartee when he was young; he had effaced himself, till he had almost - lost his individuality; and if the real Pons appeared, as he had done a - moment ago, he was immediately repressed. - </p> - <p> - “But I myself was married with only twenty thousand francs for my portion—” - </p> - <p> - “In 1819, cousin. And it was <i>you</i>, a woman with a head on your - shoulders, and the royal protection of Louis XVIII.” - </p> - <p> - “Be still, my child is a perfect angel. She is clever, she has a warm - heart, she will have a hundred thousand francs on her wedding day, to say - nothing of the most brilliant expectations; and yet she stays on our - hands,” and so on and so on. For twenty minutes, Mme. de Marville talked - on about herself and her Cecile, pitying herself after the manner of - mothers in bondage to marriageable daughters. - </p> - <p> - Pons had dined at the house every week for twenty years, and Camusot de - Marville was the only cousin he had in the world; but he had yet to hear - the first word spoken as to his own affairs—nobody cared to know how - he lived. Here and elsewhere the poor cousin was a kind of sink down which - his relatives poured domestic confidences. His discretion was well known; - indeed, was he not bound over to silence when a single imprudent word - would have shut the door of ten houses upon him? And he must combine his - role of listener with a second part; he must applaud continually, smile on - every one, accuse nobody, defend nobody; from his point of view, every one - must be in the right. And so, in the house of his kinsman, Pons no longer - counted as a man; he was a digestive apparatus. - </p> - <p> - In the course of a long tirade, Mme. Camusot de Marville avowed with due - circumspection that she was prepared to take almost any son-in-law with - her eyes shut. She was even disposed to think that at eight-and-forty or - so a man with twenty thousand francs a year was a good match. - </p> - <p> - “Cecile is in her twenty-third year. If it should fall out so - unfortunately that she is not married before she is five or - six-and-twenty, it will be extremely hard to marry her at all. When a girl - reaches that age, people want to know why she has been so long on hand. We - are a good deal talked about in our set. We have come to the end of all - the ordinary excuses—‘She is so young.—She is so fond of her - father and mother that she doesn’t like to leave them.—She is so - happy at home.—She is hard to please, she would like a good name—’ - We are beginning to look silly; I feel that distinctly. And besides, - Cecile is tired of waiting, poor child, she suffers—” - </p> - <p> - “In what way?” Pons was noodle enough to ask. - </p> - <p> - “Why, because it is humiliating to her to see all her girl friends married - before her,” replied the mother, with a duenna’s air. - </p> - <p> - “But, cousin, has anything happened since the last time that I had the - pleasure of dining here? Why do you think of men of eight-and-forty?” Pons - inquired humbly. - </p> - <p> - “This has happened,” returned the Presidente. “We were to have had an - interview with a Court Councillor; his son is thirty years old and very - well-to-do, and M. de Marville would have obtained a post in the - audit-office for him and paid the money. The young man is a supernumerary - there at present. And now they tell us that he has taken it into his head - to rush off to Italy in the train of a duchess from the Bal Mabille.... It - is nothing but a refusal in disguise. The fact is, the young man’s mother - is dead; he has an income of thirty thousand francs, and more to come at - his father’s death, and they don’t care about the match for him. You have - just come in in the middle of all this, dear cousin, so you must excuse - our bad temper.” - </p> - <p> - While Pons was casting about for the complimentary answer which invariably - occurred to him too late when he was afraid of his host, Madeleine came - in, handed a folded note to the Presidente, and waited for an answer. The - note ran as follows: - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “DEAR MAMMA,—If we pretend that this note comes to you from papa - at the Palais, and that he wants us both to dine with his friend - because proposals have been renewed—then the cousin will go, and - we can carry out our plan of going to the Popinots.” - </pre> - <p> - “Who brought the master’s note?” the Presidente asked quickly. - </p> - <p> - “A lad from the Salle du Palais,” the withered waiting woman unblushingly - answered, and her mistress knew at once that Madeleine had woven the plot - with Cecile, now at the end of her patience. - </p> - <p> - “Tell him that we will both be there at half-past five.” - </p> - <p> - Madeleine had no sooner left the room than the Presidente turned to Cousin - Pons with that insincere friendliness which is about as grateful to a - sensitive soul as a mixture of milk and vinegar to the palate of an - epicure. - </p> - <p> - “Dinner is ordered, dear cousin; you must dine without us; my husband has - just sent word from the court that the question of the marriage has been - reopened, and we are to dine with the Councillor. We need not stand on - ceremony at all. Do just as if you were at home. I have no secrets from - you; I am perfectly open with you, as you see. I am sure you would not - wish to break off the little darling’s marriage.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>I</i>, cousin? On the contrary, I should like to find some one for - her; but in my circle—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, that is not at all likely,” said the Presidente, cutting him short - insolently. “Then you will stay, will you not? Cecile will keep you - company while I dress. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! I can dine somewhere else, cousin.” - </p> - <p> - Cruelly hurt though he was by her way of casting up his poverty to him, - the prospect of being left alone with the servants was even more alarming. - </p> - <p> - “But why should you? Dinner is ready; you may just as well have it; if you - do not, the servants will eat it.” - </p> - <p> - At that atrocious speech Pons started up as if he had received a shock - from a galvanic battery, bowed stiffly to the lady, and went to find his - spencer. Now, it so happened that the door of Cecile’s bedroom, beyond the - little drawing-room, stood open, and looking into the mirror, he caught - sight of the girl shaking with laughter as she gesticulated and made signs - to her mother. The old artist understood beyond a doubt that he had been - the victim of some cowardly hoax. Pons went slowly down the stairs; he - could not keep back the tears. He understood that he had been turned out - of the house, but why and wherefore he did not know. - </p> - <p> - “I am growing too old,” he told himself. “The world has a horror of old - age and poverty—two ugly things. After this I will not go anywhere - unless I am asked.” - </p> - <p> - Heroic resolve! - </p> - <p> - Downstairs the great gate was shut, as it usually is in houses occupied by - the proprietor; the kitchen stood exactly opposite the porter’s lodge, and - the door was open. Pons was obliged to listen while Madeleine told the - servants the whole story amid the laughter of the servants. She had not - expected him to leave so soon. The footman loudly applauded a joke at the - expense of a visitor who was always coming to the house and never gave you - more than three francs at the year’s end. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” put in the cook; “but if he cuts up rough and does not come back, - there will be three francs the less for some of us on New Year’s day.” - </p> - <p> - “Eh! How is he to know?” retorted the footman. - </p> - <p> - “Pooh!” said Madeleine, “a little sooner or a little later—what - difference does it make? The people at the other houses where he dines are - so tired of him that they are going to turn him out.” - </p> - <p> - “The gate, if you please!” - </p> - <p> - Madeleine had scarcely uttered the words when they heard the old - musician’s call to the porter. It sounded like a cry of pain. There was a - sudden silence in the kitchen. - </p> - <p> - “He heard!” the footman said. - </p> - <p> - “Well, and if he did, so much the worser, or rather so much the better,” - retorted Madeleine. “He is an arrant skinflint.” - </p> - <p> - Poor Pons had lost none of the talk in the kitchen; he heard it all, even - to the last word. He made his way home along the boulevards, in the same - state, physical and mental, as an old woman after a desperate struggle - with burglars. As he went he talked to himself in quick spasmodic jerks; - his honor had been wounded, and the pain of it drove him on as a gust of - wind whirls away a straw. He found himself at last in the Boulevard du - Temple; how he had come thither he could not tell. It was five o’clock, - and, strange to say, he had completely lost his appetite. - </p> - <p> - But if the reader is to understand the revolution which Pons’ unexpected - return at that hour was to work in the Rue de Normandie, the promised - biography of Mme. Cibot must be given in this place. - </p> - <p> - Any one passing along the Rue de Normandie might be pardoned for thinking - that he was in some small provincial town. Grass runs to seed in the - street, everybody knows everybody else, and the sight of a stranger is an - event. The houses date back to the reign of Henry IV., when there was a - scheme afoot for a quarter in which every street was to be named after a - French province, and all should converge in a handsome square to which La - France should stand godmother. The Quartier de l’Europe was a revival of - the same idea; history repeats itself everywhere in the world, and even in - the world of speculation. - </p> - <p> - The house in which the two musicians used to live is an old mansion with a - courtyard in front and a garden at the back; but the front part of the - house which gives upon the street is comparatively modern, built during - the eighteenth century when the Marais was a fashionable quarter. The - friends lived at the back, on the second floor of the old part of the - house. The whole building belongs to M. Pillerault, an old man of eighty, - who left matters very much in the hands of M. and Mme. Cibot, his porters - for the past twenty-six years. - </p> - <p> - Now, as a porter cannot live by his lodge alone, the aforesaid Cibot had - other means of gaining a livelihood; and supplemented his five per cent on - the rental and his faggot from every cartload of wood by his own earnings - as a tailor. In time Cibot ceased to work for the master tailors; he made - a connection among the little trades-people of the quarter, and enjoyed a - monopoly of the repairs, renovations, and fine drawing of all the coats - and trousers in three adjacent streets. The lodge was spacious and - wholesome, and boasted a second room; wherefore the Cibot couple were - looked upon as among the luckiest porters in the arrondissement. - </p> - <p> - Cibot, small and stunted, with a complexion almost olive-colored by reason - of sitting day in day out in Turk-fashion on a table level with the barred - window, made about twelve or fourteen francs a week. He worked still, - though he was fifty-eight years old, but fifty-eight is the porter’s - golden age; he is used to his lodge, he and his room fit each other like - the shell and the oyster, and “he is known in the neighborhood.” - </p> - <p> - Mme. Cibot, sometime opener of oysters at the <i>Cadran Bleu</i>, after - all the adventures which come unsought to the belle of an oyster-bar, left - her post for love of Cibot at the age of twenty-eight. The beauty of a - woman of the people is short-lived, especially if she is planted espalier - fashion at a restaurant door. Her features are hardened by puffs of hot - air from the kitchen; the color of the heeltaps of customers’ bottles, - finished in the company of the waiters, gradually filters into her - complexion—no beauty is full blown so soon as the beauty of an - oyster-opener. Luckily for Mme. Cibot, lawful wedlock and a portress’ life - were offered to her just in time; while she still preserved a comeliness - of a masculine order slandered by rivals of the Rue de Normandie, who - called her “a great blowsy thing,” Mme. Cibot might have sat as a model to - Rubens. Those flesh tints reminded you of the appetizing sheen on a pat of - Isigny butter; but plump as she was, no woman went about her work with - more agility. Mme. Cibot had attained the time of life when women of her - stamp are obliged to shave—which is as much as to say that she had - reached the age of forty-eight. A porter’s wife with a moustache is one of - the best possible guarantees of respectability and security that a - landlord can have. If Delacroix could have seen Mme. Cibot leaning proudly - on her broom handle, he would assuredly have painted her as Bellona. - </p> - <p> - Strange as it may seem, the circumstances of the Cibots, man and wife (in - the style of an indictment), were one day to affect the lives of the two - friends; wherefore the chronicler, as in duty bound, must give some - particulars as to the Cibots’ lodge. - </p> - <p> - The house brought in about eight thousand francs for there were three - complete sets of apartments—back and front, on the side nearest the - Rue de Normandie, as well as the three floors in the older mansion between - the courtyard and the garden, and a shop kept by a marine store-dealer - named Remonencq, which fronted on the street. During the past few months - this Remonencq had begun to deal in old curiosities, and knew the value of - Pons’ collection so well that he took off his hat whenever the musician - came in or went out. - </p> - <p> - A sou in the livre on eight thousand francs therefore brought in about - four hundred francs to the Cibots. They had no rent to pay and no expenses - for firing; Cibot’s earnings amounted on an average to seven or eight - hundred francs, add tips at New Year, and the pair had altogether in - income of sixteen hundred francs, every penny of which they spent, for the - Cibots lived and fared better than working people usually do. “One can - only live once,” La Cibot used to say. She was born during the Revolution, - you see, and had never learned her Catechism. - </p> - <p> - The husband of this portress with the unblenching tawny eyes was an object - of envy to the whole fraternity, for La Cibot had not forgotten the - knowledge of cookery picked up at the <i>Cadran Bleu</i>. So it had come - to pass that the Cibots had passed the prime of life, and saw themselves - on the threshold of old age without a hundred francs put by for the - future. Well clad and well fed, they enjoyed among the neighbors, it is - true, the respect due to twenty-six years of strict honesty; for if they - had nothing of their own, they “hadn’t nothing belonging to nobody else,” - according to La Cibot, who was a prodigal of negatives. “There wasn’t - never such a love of a man,” she would say to her husband. Do you ask why? - You might as well ask the reason of her indifference in matters of - religion. - </p> - <p> - Both of them were proud of a life lived in open day, of the esteem in - which they were held for six or seven streets round about, and of the - autocratic rule permitted to them by the proprietor (“perprietor,” they - called him); but in private they groaned because they had no money lying - at interest. Cibot complained of pains in his hands and legs, and his wife - would lament that her poor, dear Cibot should be forced to work at his - age; and, indeed, the day is not far distant when a porter after thirty - years of such a life will cry shame upon the injustice of the Government - and clamor for the ribbon of the Legion of Honor. Every time that the - gossip of the quarter brought news of such and such a servant-maid, left - an annuity of three or four hundred francs after eight or ten years of - service, the porters’ lodges would resound with complaints, which may give - some idea of the consuming jealousies in the lowest walks of life in - Paris. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, indeed! It will never happen to the like of us to have our names - mentioned in a will! We have no luck, but we do more than servants, for - all that. We fill a place of trust; we give receipts, we are on the - lookout for squalls, and yet we are treated like dogs, neither more nor - less, and that’s the truth!” - </p> - <p> - “Some find fortune and some miss fortune,” said Cibot, coming in with a - coat. - </p> - <p> - “If I had left Cibot here in his lodge and taken a place as cook, we - should have our thirty thousand francs out at interest,” cried Mme. Cibot, - standing chatting with a neighbor, her hands on her prominent hips. “But I - didn’t understand how to get on in life; housed inside of a snug lodge and - firing found and want for nothing, but that is all.” - </p> - <p> - In 1836, when the friends took up their abode on the second floor, they - brought about a sort of revolution in the Cibot household. It befell on - this wise. Schmucke, like his friend Pons, usually arranged that the - porter or the porter’s wife should undertake the cares of housekeeping; - and being both of one mind on this point when they came to live in the Rue - de Normandie, Mme. Cibot became their housekeeper at the rate of - twenty-five francs per month—twelve francs fifty centimes for each - of them. Before the year was out, the emeritus portress reigned in the - establishment of the two old bachelors, as she reigned everywhere in the - house belonging to M. Pillerault, great uncle of Mme. le Comtesse Popinot. - Their business was her business; she called them “my gentlemen.” And at - last, finding the pair of nutcrackers as mild as lambs, easy to live with, - and by no means suspicious—perfect children, in fact—her - heart, the heart of a woman of the people, prompted her to protect, adore, - and serve them with such thorough devotion, that she read them a lecture - now and again, and saved them from the impositions which swell the cost of - living in Paris. For twenty-five francs a month, the two old bachelors - inadvertently acquired a mother. - </p> - <p> - As they became aware of Mme. Cibot’s full value, they gave her outspoken - praises, and thanks, and little presents which strengthened the bonds of - the domestic alliance. Mme. Cibot a thousand times preferred appreciation - to money payments; it is a well-known fact that the sense that one is - appreciated makes up for a deficiency in wages. And Cibot did all that he - could for his wife’s two gentlemen, and ran errands and did repairs at - half-price for them. - </p> - <p> - The second year brought a new element into the friendship between the - lodge and the second floor, and Schmucke concluded a bargain which - satisfied his indolence and desire for a life without cares. For thirty - sous per day, or forty-five francs per month, Mme. Cibot undertook to - provide Schmucke with breakfast and dinner; and Pons, finding his friend’s - breakfast very much to his mind, concluded a separate treaty for that meal - only at the rate of eighteen francs. This arrangement, which added nearly - ninety francs every month to the takings of the porter and his wife, made - two inviolable beings of the lodgers; they became angels, cherubs, - divinities. It is very doubtful whether the King of the French, who is - supposed to understand economy, is as well served as the pair of - nutcrackers used to be in those days. - </p> - <p> - For them the milk issued pure from the can; they enjoyed a free perusal of - all the morning papers taken by other lodgers, later risers, who were - told, if need be, that the newspapers had not come yet. Mme. Cibot, - moreover, kept their clothes, their rooms, and the landing as clean as a - Flemish interior. As for Schmucke, he enjoyed unhoped-for happiness; Mme. - Cibot had made life easy for him; he paid her about six francs a month, - and she took charge of his linen, washing, and mending. Altogether, his - expenses amounted to sixty-six francs per month (for he spent fifteen - francs on tobacco), and sixty-six francs multiplied by twelve produces the - sum total of seven hundred and ninety-two francs. Add two hundred and - twenty francs for rent, rates, and taxes, and you have a thousand and - twelve francs. Cibot was Schmucke’s tailor; his clothes cost him on - average a hundred and fifty francs, which further swells the total to the - sum of twelve hundred. On twelve hundred francs per annum this profound - philosopher lived. How many people in Europe, whose one thought it is to - come to Paris and live there, will be agreeably surprised to learn that - you may exist in comfort upon an income of twelve hundred francs in the - Rue de Normandie in the Marais, under the wing of a Mme. Cibot. - </p> - <p> - Mme. Cibot, to resume the story, was amazed beyond expression to see Pons, - good man, return at five o’clock in the evening. Such a thing had never - happened before; and not only so, but “her gentleman” had given her no - greeting—had not so much as seen her! - </p> - <p> - “Well, well, Cibot,” said she to her spouse, “M. Pons has come in for a - million, or gone out of his mind!” - </p> - <p> - “That is how it looks to me,” said Cibot, dropping the coat-sleeve in - which he was making a “dart,” in tailor’s language. - </p> - <p> - The savory odor of a stew pervaded the whole courtyard, as Pons returned - mechanically home. Mme. Cibot was dishing up Schmucke’s dinner, which - consisted of scraps of boiled beef from a little cook-shop not above doing - a little trade of this kind. These morsels were fricasseed in brown - butter, with thin slices of onion, until the meat and vegetables had - absorbed the gravy and this true porter’s dish was browned to the right - degree. With that fricassee, prepared with loving care for Cibot and - Schmucke, and accompanied by a bottle of beer and a piece of cheese, the - old German music-master was quite content. Not King Solomon in all his - glory, be sure, could dine better than Schmucke. A dish of boiled beef - fricasseed with onions, scraps of <i>saute</i> chicken, or beef and - parsley, or venison, or fish served with a sauce of La Cibot’s own - invention (a sauce with which a mother might unsuspectingly eat her - child),—such was Schmucke’s ordinary, varying with the quantity and - quality of the remnants of food supplied by boulevard restaurants to the - cook-shop in the Rue Boucherat. Schmucke took everything that “goot - Montame Zipod” gave him, and was content, and so from day to day “goot - Montame Zipod” cut down the cost of his dinner, until it could be served - for twenty sous. - </p> - <p> - “It won’t be long afore I find out what is the matter with him, poor - dear,” said Mme. Cibot to her husband, “for here is M. Schmucke’s dinner - all ready for him.” - </p> - <p> - As she spoke she covered the deep earthenware dish with a plate; and, - notwithstanding her age, she climbed the stair and reached the door before - Schmucke opened it to Pons. - </p> - <p> - “Vat is de matter mit you, mein goot friend?” asked the German, scared by - the expression of Pons’ face. - </p> - <p> - “I will tell you all about it; but I have come home to have dinner with - you—” - </p> - <p> - “Tinner! tinner!” cried Schmucke in ecstasy; “but it is impossible!” the - old German added, as he thought of his friend’s gastronomical tastes; and - at that very moment he caught sight of Mme. Cibot listening to the - conversation, as she had a right to do as his lawful housewife. Struck - with one of those happy inspirations which only enlighten a friend’s - heart, he marched up to the portress and drew her out to the stairhead. - </p> - <p> - “Montame Zipod,” he said, “der goot Pons is fond of goot dings; shoost go - rount to der <i>Catran Pleu</i> und order a dainty liddle tinner, mit - anjovies und maggaroni. Ein tinner for Lugullus, in vact.” - </p> - <p> - “What is that?” inquired La Cibot. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! ah!” returned Schmucke, “it is veal <i>a la pourcheoise</i>” (<i>bourgeoise</i>, - he meant), “a nice fisch, ein pottle off Porteaux, und nice dings, der - fery best dey haf, like groquettes of rice und shmoked pacon! Bay for it, - und say nodings; I vill gif you back de monny to-morrow morning.” - </p> - <p> - Back went Schmucke, radiant and rubbing his hands; but his expression - slowly changed to a look of bewildered astonishment as he heard Pons’ - story of the troubles that had but just now overwhelmed him in a moment. - He tried to comfort Pons by giving him a sketch of the world from his own - point of view. Paris, in his opinion, was a perpetual hurly-burly, the men - and women in it were whirled away by a tempestuous waltz; it was no use - expecting anything of the world, which only looked at the outsides of - things, “und not at der inderior.” For the hundredth time he related how - that the only three pupils for whom he had really cared, for whom he was - ready to die, the three who had been fond of him, and even allowed him a - little pension of nine hundred francs, each contributing three hundred to - the amount—his favorite pupils had quite forgotten to come to see - him; and so swift was the current of Parisian life which swept them away, - that if he called at their houses, he had not succeeded in seeing them - once in three years—(it is a fact, however, that Schmucke had always - thought fit to call on these great ladies at ten o’clock in the morning!)—still, - his pension was paid quarterly through the medium of solicitors. - </p> - <p> - “Und yet, dey are hearts of gold,” he concluded. “Dey are my liddle Saint - Cecilias, sharming vimmen, Montame de Bordentuere, Montame de Fantenesse, - und Montame du Dilet. Gif I see dem at all, it is at die Jambs Elusees, - und dey do not see me... yet dey are ver’ fond of me, und I might go to - dine mit dem, und dey vould be ver’ bleased to see me; und I might go to - deir country-houses, but I vould much rader be mit mine friend Bons, - because I kann see him venefer I like, und efery tay.” - </p> - <p> - Pons took Schmucke’s hand and grasped it between his own. All that was - passing in his inmost soul was communicated in that tight pressure. And so - for awhile the friends sat like two lovers, meeting at last after a long - absence. - </p> - <p> - “Tine here, efery tay!” broke out Schmucke, inwardly blessing Mme. de - Marville for her hardness of heart. “Look here! Ve shall go a - prick-a-pracking togeders, und der teufel shall nefer show his tail here.” - </p> - <p> - “Ve shall go prick-a-pracking togeders!” for the full comprehension of - those truly heroic words, it must be confessed that Schmucke’s ignorance - of bric-a-brac was something of the densest. It required all the strength - of his friendship to keep him from doing heedless damage in the - sitting-room and study which did duty as a museum for Pons. Schmucke, - wholly absorbed in music, a composer for love of his art, took about as - much interest in his friend’s little trifles as a fish might take in a - flower-show at the Luxembourg, supposing that it had received a ticket of - admission. A certain awe which he certainly felt for the marvels was - simply a reflection of the respect which Pons showed his treasures when he - dusted them. To Pons’ exclamations of admiration, he was wont to reply - with a “Yes, it is ver’ bretty,” as a mother answers baby-gestures with - meaningless baby-talk. Seven times since the friends had lived together, - Pons had exchanged a good clock for a better one, till at last he - possessed a timepiece in Boule’s first and best manner, for Boule had two - manners, as Raphael had three. In the first he combined ebony and copper; - in the second—contrary to his convictions—he sacrificed to - tortoise-shell inlaid work. In spite of Pons’ learned dissertations, - Schmucke never could see the slightest difference between the magnificent - clock in Boule’s first manner and its six predecessors; but, for Pons’ - sake, Schmucke was even more careful among the “chimcracks” than Pons - himself. So it should not be surprising that Schmucke’s sublime words - comforted Pons in his despair; for “Ve shall go prick-a-pracking - togeders,” meant, being interpreted, “I will put money into bric-a-brac, - if you will only dine here.” - </p> - <p> - “Dinner is ready,” Mme. Cibot announced, with astonishing self-possession. - </p> - <p> - It is not difficult to imagine Pons’ surprise when he saw and relished the - dinner due to Schmucke’s friendship. Sensations of this kind, that came so - rarely in a lifetime, are never the outcome of the constant, close - relationship by which friend daily says to friend, “You are a second self - to me”; for this, too, becomes a matter of use and wont. It is only by - contact with the barbarism of the world without that the happiness of that - intimate life is revealed to us as a sudden glad surprise. It is the outer - world which renews the bond between friend and friend, lover and lover, - all their lives long, wherever two great souls are knit together by - friendship or by love. - </p> - <p> - Pons brushed away two big tears, Schmucke himself wiped his eyes; and - though nothing was said, the two were closer friends than before. Little - friendly nods and glances exchanged across the table were like balm to - Pons, soothing the pain caused by the sand dropped in his heart by the - President’s wife. As for Schmucke, he rubbed his hands till they were - sore; for a new idea had occurred to him, one of those great discoveries - which cause a German no surprise, unless they sprout up suddenly in a - Teuton brain frost-bound by the awe and reverence due to sovereign - princes. - </p> - <p> - “Mine goot Bons?” began Schmucke. - </p> - <p> - “I can guess what you mean; you would like us both to dine together here, - every day—” - </p> - <p> - “Gif only I vas rich enof to lif like dis efery tay—” began the good - German in a melancholy voice. But here Mme. Cibot appeared upon the scene. - Pons had given her an order for the theatre from time to time, and stood - in consequence almost as high in her esteem and affection as her boarder - Schmucke. - </p> - <p> - “Lord love you,” said she, “for three francs and wine extra I can give you - both such a dinner every day that you will be ready to lick the plates as - clean as if they were washed.” - </p> - <p> - “It is a fact,” Schmucke remarked, “dat die dinners dat Montame Zipod - cooks for me are better as de messes dey eat at der royal dable!” In his - eagerness, Schmucke, usually so full of respect for the powers that be, so - far forgot himself as to imitate the irreverent newspapers which scoffed - at the “fixed-price” dinners of Royalty. - </p> - <p> - “Really?” said Pons. “Very well, I will try to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - And at that promise Schmucke sprang from one end of the table to the - other, sweeping off tablecloth, bottles, and dishes as he went, and hugged - Pons to his heart. So might gas rush to combine with gas. - </p> - <p> - “Vat happiness!” cried he. - </p> - <p> - Mme. Cibot was quite touched. “Monsieur is going to dine here every day!” - she cried proudly. - </p> - <p> - That excellent woman departed downstairs again in ignorance of the event - which had brought about this result, entered her room like Josepha in <i>William - Tell</i>, set down the plates and dishes on the table with a bang, and - called aloud to her husband: - </p> - <p> - “Cibot! run to the <i>Cafe Turc</i> for two small cups of coffee, and tell - the man at the stove that it is for me.” - </p> - <p> - Then she sat down and rested her hands on her massive knees, and gazed out - of the window at the opposite wall. - </p> - <p> - “I will go to-night and see what Ma’am Fontaine says,” she thought. - (Madame Fontaine told fortunes on the cards for all the servants in the - quarter of the Marais.) “Since these two gentlemen came here, we have put - two thousand francs in the savings bank. Two thousand francs in eight - years! What luck! Would it be better to make no profit out of M. Pons’ - dinner and keep him here at home? Ma’am Fontaine’s hen will tell me that.” - </p> - <p> - Three years ago Mme. Cibot had begun to cherish a hope that her name might - be mentioned in “her gentlemen’s” wills; she had redoubled her zeal since - that covetous thought tardily sprouted up in the midst of that so honest - moustache. Pons hitherto had dined abroad, eluding her desire to have both - of “her gentlemen” entirely under her management; his “troubadour” - collector’s life had scared away certain vague ideas which hovered in La - Cibot’s brain; but now her shadowy projects assumed the formidable shape - of a definite plan, dating from that memorable dinner. Fifteen minutes - later she reappeared in the dining-room with two cups of excellent coffee, - flanked by a couple of tiny glasses of <i>kirschwasser</i>. - </p> - <p> - “Long lif Montame Zipod!” cried Schmucke; “she haf guessed right!” - </p> - <p> - The diner-out bemoaned himself a little, while Schmucke met his - lamentations with coaxing fondness, like a home pigeon welcoming back a - wandering bird. Then the pair set out for the theatre. - </p> - <p> - Schmucke could not leave his friend in the condition to which he had been - brought by the Camusots—mistresses and servants. He knew Pons so - well; he feared lest some cruel, sad thought should seize on him at his - conductor’s desk, and undo all the good done by his welcome home to the - nest. - </p> - <p> - And Schmucke brought his friend back on his arm through the streets at - midnight. A lover could not be more careful of his lady. He pointed out - the edges of the curbstones, he was on the lookout whenever they stepped - on or off the pavement, ready with a warning if there was a gutter to - cross. Schmucke could have wished that the streets were paved with - cotton-down; he would have had a blue sky overhead, and Pons should hear - the music which all the angels in heaven were making for him. He had won - the lost province in his friend’s heart! - </p> - <p> - For nearly three months Pons and Schmucke dined together every day. Pons - was obliged to retrench at once; for dinner at forty-five francs a month - and wine at thirty-five meant precisely eighty francs less to spend on - bric-a-brac. And very soon, in spite of all that Schmucke could do, in - spite of his little German jokes, Pons fell to regretting the delicate - dishes, the liqueurs, the good coffee, the table talk, the insincere - politeness, the guests, and the gossip, and the houses where he used to - dine. On the wrong side of sixty a man cannot break himself of a habit of - thirty-six years’ growth. Wine at a hundred and thirty francs per hogshead - is scarcely a generous liquid in a <i>gourmet’s</i> glass; every time that - Pons raised it to his lips he thought, with infinite regret, of the - exquisite wines in his entertainers’ cellars. - </p> - <p> - In short, at the end of three months, the cruel pangs which had gone near - to break Pons’ sensitive heart had died away; he forgot everything but the - charms of society; and languished for them like some elderly slave of a - petticoat compelled to leave the mistress who too repeatedly deceives him. - In vain he tried to hide his profound and consuming melancholy; it was too - plain that he was suffering from one of the mysterious complaints which - the mind brings upon the body. - </p> - <p> - A single symptom will throw light upon this case of nostalgia (as it were) - produced by breaking away from an old habit; in itself it is trifling, one - of the myriad nothings which are as rings in a coat of chain-mail - enveloping the soul in a network of iron. One of the keenest pleasures of - Pons’ old life, one of the joys of the dinner-table parasite at all times, - was the “surprise,” the thrill produced by the extra dainty dish added - triumphantly to the bill of fare by the mistress of a bourgeois house, to - give a festal air to the dinner. Pons’ stomach hankered after that - gastronomical satisfaction. Mme. Cibot, in the pride of her heart, - enumerated every dish beforehand; a salt and savor once periodically - recurrent, had vanished utterly from daily life. Dinner proceeded without - <i>le plat couvert</i>, as our grandsires called it. This lay beyond the - bounds of Schmucke’s powers of comprehension. - </p> - <p> - Pons had too much delicacy to grumble; but if the case of unappreciated - genius is hard, it goes harder still with the stomach whose claims are - ignored. Slighted affection, a subject of which too much has been made, is - founded upon an illusory longing; for if the creature fails, love can turn - to the Creator who has treasures to bestow. But the stomach!... Nothing - can be compared to its sufferings; for, in the first place, one must live. - </p> - <p> - Pons thought wistfully of certain creams—surely the poetry of - cookery!—of certain white sauces, masterpieces of the art; of - truffled chickens, fit to melt your heart; and above these, and more than - all these, of the famous Rhine carp, only known at Paris, served with what - condiments! There were days when Pons, thinking upon Count Popinot’s cook, - would sigh aloud, “Ah, Sophie!” Any passer-by hearing the exclamation - might have thought that the old man referred to a lost mistress; but his - fancy dwelt upon something rarer, on a fat Rhine carp with a sauce, thin - in the sauce-boat, creamy upon the palate, a sauce that deserved the - Montyon prize! The conductor of the orchestra, living on memories of past - dinners, grew visibly leaner; he was pining away, a victim to gastric - nostalgia. - </p> - <p> - By the beginning of the fourth month (towards the end of January, 1845), - Pons’ condition attracted attention at the theatre. The flute, a young man - named Wilhelm, like almost all Germans; and Schwab, to distinguish him - from all other Wilhelms, if not from all other Schwabs, judged it - expedient to open Schmucke’s eyes to his friend’s state of health. It was - a first performance of a piece in which Schmucke’s instruments were all - required. - </p> - <p> - “The old gentleman is failing,” said the flute; “there is something wrong - somewhere; his eyes are heavy, and he doesn’t beat time as he used to do,” - added Wilhelm Schwab, indicating Pons as he gloomily took his place. - </p> - <p> - “Dat is alvays de vay, gif a man is sixty years old,” answered Schmucke. - </p> - <p> - The Highland widow, in <i>The Chronicles of the Canongate</i>, sent her - son to his death to have him beside her for twenty-four hours; and - Schmucke could have sacrificed Pons for the sake of seeing his face every - day across the dinner-table. - </p> - <p> - “Everybody in the theatre is anxious about him,” continued the flute; - “and, as the <i>premiere danseuse</i>, Mlle. Brisetout, says, ‘he makes - hardly any noise now when he blows his nose.’” - </p> - <p> - And, indeed, a peal like a blast of a horn used to resound through the old - musician’s bandana handkerchief whenever he raised it to that lengthy and - cavernous feature. The President’s wife had more frequently found fault - with him on that score than on any other. - </p> - <p> - “I vould gif a goot teal to amuse him,” said Schmucke, “he gets so dull.” - </p> - <p> - “M. Pons always seems so much above the like of us poor devils, that, upon - my word, I didn’t dare to ask him to my wedding,” said Wilhelm Schwab. “I - am going to be married—” - </p> - <p> - “How?” demanded Schmucke. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! quite properly,” returned Wilhelm Schwab, taking Schmucke’s quaint - inquiry for a gibe, of which that perfect Christian was quite incapable. - </p> - <p> - “Come, gentlemen, take your places!” called Pons, looking round at his - little army, as the stage manager’s bell rang for the overture. - </p> - <p> - The piece was a dramatized fairy tale, a pantomime called <i>The Devil’s - Betrothed</i>, which ran for two hundred nights. In the interval, after - the first act, Wilhelm Schwab and Schmucke were left alone in the - orchestra, with a house at a temperature of thirty-two degrees Reaumur. - </p> - <p> - “Tell me your hishdory,” said Schmucke. - </p> - <p> - “Look there! Do you see that young man in the box yonder?... Do you - recognize him?” - </p> - <p> - “Nefer a pit—” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! That is because he is wearing yellow gloves and shines with all the - radiance of riches, but that is my friend Fritz Brunner out of - Frankfort-on-the-Main.” - </p> - <p> - “Dat used to komm to see du blav und sit peside you in der orghestra?” - </p> - <p> - “The same. You would not believe he could look so different, would you?” - </p> - <p> - The hero of the promised story was a German of that particular type in - which the sombre irony of Goethe’s Mephistopheles is blended with a homely - cheerfulness found in the romances of August Lafontaine of pacific memory; - but the predominating element in the compound of artlessness and guile, of - shopkeeper’s shrewdness, and the studied carelessness of a member of the - Jockey Club, was that form of disgust which set a pistol in the hands of a - young Werther, bored to death less by Charlotte than by German princes. It - was a thoroughly German face, full of cunning, full of simplicity, - stupidity, and courage; the knowledge which brings weariness, the worldly - wisdom which the veriest child’s trick leaves at fault, the abuse of beer - and tobacco,—all these were there to be seen in it, and to heighten - the contrast of opposed qualities, there was a wild diabolical gleam in - the fine blue eyes with the jaded expression. - </p> - <p> - Dressed with all the elegance of a city man, Fritz Brunner sat in full - view of the house displaying a bald crown of the tint beloved by Titian, - and a few stray fiery red hairs on either side of it; a remnant spared by - debauchery and want, that the prodigal might have a right to spend money - with the hairdresser when he should come into his fortune. A face, once - fair and fresh as the traditional portrait of Jesus Christ, had grown - harder since the advent of a red moustache; a tawny beard lent it an - almost sinister look. The bright blue eyes had lost something of their - clearness in the struggle with distress. The countless courses by which a - man sells himself and his honor in Paris had left their traces upon his - eyelids and carved lines about the eyes, into which a mother once looked - with a mother’s rapture to find a copy of her own fashioned by God’s hand. - </p> - <p> - This precocious philosopher, this wizened youth was the work of a - stepmother. - </p> - <p> - Herewith begins the curious history of a prodigal son of - Frankfort-on-the-Main—the most extraordinary and astounding portent - ever beheld by that well-conducted, if central, city. - </p> - <p> - Gideon Brunner, father of the aforesaid Fritz, was one of the famous - innkeepers of Frankfort, a tribe who make law-authorized incisions in - travelers’ purses with the connivance of the local bankers. An innkeeper - and an honest Calvinist to boot, he had married a converted Jewess and - laid the foundations of his prosperity with the money she brought him. - </p> - <p> - When the Jewess died, leaving a son Fritz, twelve years of age, under the - joint guardianship of his father and maternal uncle, a furrier at Leipsic, - head of the firm of Virlaz and Company, Brunner senior was compelled by - his brother-in-law (who was by no means as soft as his peltry) to invest - little Fritz’s money, a goodly quantity of current coin of the realm, with - the house of Al-Sartchild. Not a penny of it was he allowed to touch. So, - by way of revenge for the Israelite’s pertinacity, Brunner senior married - again. It was impossible, he said, to keep his huge hotel single-handed; - it needed a woman’s eye and hand. Gideon Brunner’s second wife was an - innkeeper’s daughter, a very pearl, as he thought; but he had had no - experience of only daughters spoiled by father and mother. - </p> - <p> - The second Mme. Brunner behaved as German girls may be expected to behave - when they are frivolous and wayward. She squandered her fortune, she - avenged the first Mme. Brunner by making her husband as miserable a man as - you could find in the compass of the free city of Frankfort-on-the-Main, - where the millionaires, it is said, are about to pass a law compelling - womankind to cherish and obey them alone. She was partial to all the - varieties of vinegar commonly called Rhine wine in Germany; she was fond - of <i>articles Paris</i>, of horses and dress; indeed, the one expensive - taste which she had not was a liking for women. She took a dislike to - little Fritz, and would perhaps have driven him mad if that young - offspring of Calvinism and Judaism had not had Frankfort for his cradle - and the firm of Virlaz at Leipsic for his guardian. Uncle Virlaz, however, - deep in his furs, confined his guardianship to the safe-keeping of Fritz’s - silver marks, and left the boy to the tender mercies of this stepmother. - </p> - <p> - That hyena in woman’s form was the more exasperated against the pretty - child, the lovely Jewess’ son, because she herself could have no children - in spite of efforts worthy of a locomotive engine. A diabolical impulse - prompted her to plunge her young stepson, at twenty-one years of age, into - dissipations contrary to all German habits. The wicked German hoped that - English horses, Rhine vinegar, and Goethe’s Marguerites would ruin the - Jewess’ child and shorten his days; for when Fritz came of age, Uncle - Virlaz had handed over a very pretty fortune to his nephew. But while - roulette at Baden and elsewhere, and boon companions (Wilhelm Schwab among - them) devoured the substance accumulated by Uncle Virlaz, the prodigal son - himself remained by the will of Providence to point a moral to younger - brothers in the free city of Frankfort; parents held him up as a warning - and an awful example to their offspring to scare them into steady - attendance in their cast-iron counting houses, lined with silver marks. - </p> - <p> - But so far from perishing in the flower of his age, Fritz Brunner had the - pleasure of laying his stepmother in one of those charming little German - cemeteries, in which the Teuton indulges his unbridled passion for - horticulture under the specious pretext of honoring his dead. And as the - second Mme. Brunner expired while the authors of her being were yet alive, - Brunner senior was obliged to bear the loss of the sums of which his wife - had drained his coffers, to say nothing of other ills, which had told upon - a Herculean constitution, till at the age of sixty-seven the innkeeper had - wizened and shrunk as if the famous Borgia’s poison had undermined his - system. For ten whole years he had supported his wife, and now he - inherited nothing! The innkeeper was a second ruin of Heidelberg, repaired - continually, it is true, by travelers’ hotel bills, much as the remains of - the castle of Heidelberg itself are repaired to sustain the enthusiasm of - the tourists who flock to see so fine and well-preserved a relic of - antiquity. - </p> - <p> - At Frankfort the disappointment caused as much talk as a failure. People - pointed out Brunner, saying, “See what a man may come to with a bad wife - that leaves him nothing and a son brought up in the French fashion.” - </p> - <p> - In Italy and Germany the French nation is the root of all evil, the target - for all bullets. “But the god pursuing his way——” (For the - rest, see Lefranc de Pompignan’s Ode.) - </p> - <p> - The wrath of the proprietor of the Grand Hotel de Hollande fell on others - besides the travelers, whose bills were swelled with his resentment. When - his son was utterly ruined, Gideon, regarding him as the indirect cause of - all his misfortunes, refused him bread and salt, fire, lodging, and - tobacco—the force of the paternal malediction in a German and an - innkeeper could no farther go. Whereupon the local authorities, making no - allowance for the father’s misdeeds, regarded him as one of the most - ill-used persons in Frankfort-on-the-Main, came to his assistance, - fastened a quarrel on Fritz (<i>une querelle d’Allemand</i>), and expelled - him from the territory of the free city. Justice in Frankfort is no whit - wiser nor more humane than elsewhere, albeit the city is the seat of the - German Diet. It is not often that a magistrate traces back the stream of - wrongdoing and misfortune to the holder of the urn from which the first - beginnings trickled forth. If Brunner forgot his son, his son’s friends - speedily followed the old innkeeper’s example. - </p> - <p> - Ah! if the journalists, the dandies, and some few fair Parisians among the - audience wondered how that German with the tragical countenance had - cropped up on a first night to occupy a side box all to himself when - fashionable Paris filled the house,—if these could have seen the - history played out upon the stage before the prompter’s box, they would - have found it far more interesting than the transformation scenes of <i>The - Devil’s Betrothed</i>, though indeed it was the two hundred thousandth - representation of a sublime allegory performed aforetime in Mesopotamia - three thousand years before Christ was born. - </p> - <p> - Fritz betook himself on foot to Strasbourg, and there found what the - prodigal son of the Bible failed to find—to wit, a friend. And - herein is revealed the superiority of Alsace, where so many generous - hearts beat to show Germany the beauty of a combination of Gallic wit and - Teutonic solidity. Wilhelm Schwab, but lately left in possession of a - hundred thousand francs by the death of both parents, opened his arms, his - heart, his house, his purse to Fritz. As for describing Fritz’s feelings, - when dusty, down on his luck, and almost like a leper, he crossed the - Rhine and found a real twenty-franc piece held out by the hand of a real - friend,—that moment transcends the powers of the prose writer; - Pindar alone could give it forth to humanity in Greek that should rekindle - the dying warmth of friendship in the world. - </p> - <p> - Put the names of Fritz and Wilheim beside those of Damon and Pythias, - Castor and Pollux, Orestes and Pylades, Dubreuil and Pmejah, Schmucke and - Pons, and all the names that we imagine for the two friends of Monomotapa, - for La Fontaine (man of genius though he was) has made of them two - disembodied spirits—they lack reality. The two new names may join - the illustrious company, and with so much the more reason, since that - Wilhelm who had helped to drink Fritz’s inheritance now proceeded, with - Fritz’s assistance, to devour his own substance; smoking, needless to say, - every known variety of tobacco. - </p> - <p> - The pair, strange to relate, squandered the property in the dullest, - stupidest, most commonplace fashion, in Strasbourg <i>brasseries</i>, in - the company of ballet-girls of the Strasbourg theatres, and little - Alsaciennes who had not a rag of a tattered reputation left. - </p> - <p> - Every morning they would say, “We really must stop this, and make up our - minds and do something or other with the money that is left.” - </p> - <p> - “Pooh!” Fritz would retort, “just one more day, and to-morrow”... ah! - to-morrow. - </p> - <p> - In the lives of Prodigal Sons, <i>To-day</i> is a prodigious coxcomb, but - <i>To-morrow</i> is a very poltroon, taking fright at the big words of his - predecessor. <i>To-day</i> is the truculent captain of old world comedy, - <i>To-morrow</i> the clown of modern pantomime. - </p> - <p> - When the two friends had reached their last thousand-franc note, they took - places in the mail-coach, styled Royal, and departed for Paris, where they - installed themselves in the attics of the Hotel du Rhin, in the Rue du - Mail, the property of one Graff, formerly Gideon Brunner’s head-waiter. - Fritz found a situation as clerk in the Kellers’ bank (on Graff’s - recommendation), with a salary of six hundred francs. And a place as - book-keeper was likewise found for Wilhelm, in the business of Graff the - fashionable tailor, brother of Graff of the Hotel du Rhin, who found the - scantily-paid employment for the pair of prodigals, for the sake of old - times, and his apprenticeship at the Hotel de Hollande. These two - incidents—the recognition of a ruined man by a well-to-do friend, - and a German innkeeper interesting himself in two penniless - fellow-countrymen—give, no doubt, an air of improbability to the - story, but truth is so much the more like fiction, since modern writers of - fiction have been at such untold pains to imitate truth. - </p> - <p> - It was not long before Fritz, a clerk with six hundred francs, and - Wilhelm, a book-keeper with precisely the same salary, discovered the - difficulties of existence in a city so full of temptations. In 1837, the - second year of their abode, Wilhelm, who possessed a pretty talent for the - flute, entered Pons’ orchestra, to earn a little occasional butter to put - on his dry bread. As to Fritz, his only way to an increase of income lay - through the display of the capacity for business inherited by a descendant - of the Virlaz family. Yet, in spite of his assiduity, in spite of - abilities which possibly may have stood in his way, his salary only - reached the sum of two thousand francs in 1843. Penury, that divine - stepmother, did for the two men all that their mothers had not been able - to do for them; Poverty taught them thrift and worldly wisdom; Poverty - gave them her grand rough education, the lessons which she drives with - hard knocks into the heads of great men, who seldom know a happy - childhood. Fritz and Wilhelm, being but ordinary men, learned as little as - they possibly could in her school; they dodged the blows, shrank from her - hard breast and bony arms, and never discovered the good fairy lurking - within, ready to yield to the caresses of genius. One thing, however, they - learned thoroughly—they discovered the value of money, and vowed to - clip the wings of riches if ever a second fortune should come to their - door. - </p> - <p> - This was the history which Wilhelm Schwab related in German, at much - greater length, to his friend the pianist, ending with; - </p> - <p> - “Well, Papa Schmucke, the rest is soon explained. Old Brunner is dead. He - left four millions! He made an immense amount of money out of Baden - railways, though neither his son nor M. Graff, with whom we lodge, had any - idea that the old man was one of the original shareholders. I am playing - the flute here for the last time this evening; I would have left some days - ago, but this was a first performance, and I did not want to spoil my - part.” - </p> - <p> - “Goot, mine friend,” said Schmucke. “But who is die prite?” - </p> - <p> - “She is Mlle. Graff, the daughter of our host, the landlord of the Hotel - du Rhin. I have loved Mlle. Emilie these seven years; she has read so many - immoral novels, that she refused all offers for me, without knowing what - might come of it. She will be a very wealthy young lady; her uncles, the - tailors in the Rue de Richelieu, will leave her all their money. Fritz is - giving me the money we squandered at Strasbourg five times over! He is - putting a million francs in a banking house, M. Graff the tailor is adding - another five hundred thousand francs, and Mlle. Emilie’s father not only - allows me to incorporate her portion—two hundred and fifty thousand - francs—with the capital, but he himself will be a shareholder with - as much again. So the firm of Brunner, Schwab and Company will start with - two millions five hundred thousand francs. Fritz has just bought fifteen - hundred thousand francs’ worth of shares in the Bank of France to - guarantee our account with them. That is not all Fritz’s fortune. He has - his father’s house property, supposed to be worth another million, and he - has let the Grand Hotel de Hollande already to a cousin of the Graffs.” - </p> - <p> - “You look sad ven you look at your friend,” remarked Schmucke, who had - listened with great interest. “Kann you pe chealous of him?” - </p> - <p> - “I am jealous for Fritz’s happiness,” said Wilhelm. “Does that face look - as if it belonged to a happy man? I am afraid of Paris; I should like to - see him do as I am doing. The old tempter may awake again. Of our two - heads, his carries the less ballast. His dress, and the opera-glass and - the rest of it make me anxious. He keeps looking at the lorettes in the - house. Oh! if you only knew how hard it is to marry Fritz. He has a horror - of ‘going a-courting,’ as you say; you would have to give him a drop into - a family, just as in England they give a man a drop into the next world.” - </p> - <p> - During the uproar that usually marks the end of a first night, the flute - delivered his invitation to the conductor. Pons accepted gleefully; and, - for the first time in three months, Schmucke saw a smile on his friend’s - face. They went back to the Rue de Normandie in perfect silence; that - sudden flash of joy had thrown a light on the extent of the disease which - was consuming Pons. Oh, that a man so truly noble, so disinterested, so - great in feeling, should have such a weakness!... This was the thought - that struck the stoic Schmucke dumb with amazement. He grew woefully sad, - for he began to see that there was no help for it; he must even renounce - the pleasure of seeing “his goot Bons” opposite him at the dinner-table, - for the sake of Pons’ welfare; and he did not know whether he could give - him up; the mere thought of it drove him distracted. - </p> - <p> - Meantime, Pons’ proud silence and withdrawal to the Mons Aventinus of the - Rue de Normandie had, as might be expected, impressed the Presidente, not - that she troubled herself much about her parasite, now that she was freed - from him. She thought, with her charming daughter, that Cousin Pons had - seen through her little “Lili’s” joke. But it was otherwise with her - husband the President. - </p> - <p> - Camusot de Marville, a short and stout man, grown solemn since his - promotion at the Court, admired Cicero, preferred the Opera-Comique to the - Italiens, compared the actors one with another, and followed the multitude - step by step. He used to recite all the articles in the Ministerialist - journals, as if he were saying something original, and in giving his - opinion at the Council Board he paraphrased the remarks of the previous - speaker. His leading characteristics were sufficiently well known; his - position compelled him to take everything seriously; and he was - particularly tenacious of family ties. - </p> - <p> - Like most men who are ruled by their wives, the President asserted his - independence in trifles, in which his wife was very careful not to thwart - him. For a month he was satisfied with the Presidente’s commonplace - explanations of Pons’ disappearance; but at last it struck him as singular - that the old musician, a friend of forty years’ standing, should first - make them so valuable a present as a fan that belonged to Mme. de - Pompadour, and then immediately discontinue his visits. Count Popinot had - pronounced the trinket a masterpiece; when its owner went to Court, the - fan had been passed from hand to hand, and her vanity was not a little - gratified by the compliments it received; others had dwelt on the beauties - of the ten ivory sticks, each one covered with delicate carving, the like - of which had never been seen. A Russian lady (Russian ladies are apt to - forget that they are not in Russia) had offered her six thousand francs - for the marvel one day at Count Popinot’s house, and smiled to see it in - such hands. Truth to tell, it was a fan for a Duchess. - </p> - <p> - “It cannot be denied that poor Cousin Pons understands rubbish of that - sort—” said Cecile, the day after the bid. - </p> - <p> - “Rubbish!” cried her parent. “Why, Government is just about to buy the - late M. le Conseiller Dusommerard’s collection for three hundred thousand - francs; and the State and the Municipality of Paris between them are - spending nearly a million francs over the purchase and repair of the Hotel - de Cluny to house the ‘rubbish,’ as you call it.—Such ‘rubbish,’ - dear child,” he resumed, “is frequently all that remains of vanished - civilizations. An Etruscan jar, and a necklace, which sometimes fetch - forty and fifty thousand francs, is ‘rubbish’ which reveals the perfection - of art at the time of the siege of Troy, proving that the Etruscans were - Trojan refugees in Italy.” - </p> - <p> - This was the President’s cumbrous way of joking; the short, fat man was - heavily ironical with his wife and daughter. - </p> - <p> - “The combination of various kinds of knowledge required to understand such - ‘rubbish,’ Cecile,” he resumed, “is a science in itself, called - archaeology. Archaeology comprehends architecture, sculpture, painting, - goldsmiths’ work, ceramics, cabinetmaking (a purely modern art), lace, - tapestry—in short, human handiwork of every sort and description.” - </p> - <p> - “Then Cousin Pons is learned?” said Cecile. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! by the by, why is he never to be seen nowadays?” asked the President. - He spoke with the air of a man in whom thousands of forgotten and dormant - impressions have suddenly begun to stir, and shaping themselves into one - idea, reach consciousness with a ricochet, as sportsmen say. - </p> - <p> - “He must have taken offence at nothing at all,” answered his wife. “I dare - say I was not as fully sensible as I might have been of the value of the - fan that he gave me. I am ignorant enough, as you know, of—” - </p> - <p> - “<i>You!</i> One of Servin’s best pupils, and you don’t know Watteau?” - cried the President. - </p> - <p> - “I know Gerard and David and Gros and Griodet, and M. de Forbin and M. - Turpin de Crisse—” - </p> - <p> - “You ought—” - </p> - <p> - “Ought what, sir?” demanded the lady, gazing at her husband with the air - of a Queen of Sheba. - </p> - <p> - “To know a Watteau when you see it, my dear. Watteau is very much in - fashion,” answered the President with meekness, that told plainly how much - he owed to his wife. - </p> - <p> - This conversation took place a few days before that night of first - performance of <i>The Devil’s Betrothed</i>, when the whole orchestra - noticed how ill Pons was looking. But by that time all the circle of - dinner-givers who were used to seeing Pons’ face at their tables, and to - send him on errands, had begun to ask each other for news of him, and - uneasiness increased when it was reported by some who had seen him that he - was always in his place at the theatre. Pons had been very careful to - avoid his old acquaintances whenever he met them in the streets; but one - day it so fell out that he met Count Popinot, the ex-cabinet minister, - face to face in the bric-a-brac dealer’s shop in the new Boulevard - Beaumarchais. The dealer was none other than that Monistrol of whom Pons - had spoken to the Presidente, one of the famous and audacious vendors - whose cunning enthusiasm leads them to set more and more value daily on - their wares; for curiosities, they tell you, are growing so scarce that - they are hardly to be found at all nowadays. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, my dear Pons, how comes it that we never see you now? We miss you - very much, and Mme. Popinot does not know what to think of your - desertion.” - </p> - <p> - “M. le Comte,” said the good man, “I was made to feel in the house of a - relative that at my age one is not wanted in the world. I have never had - much consideration shown me, but at any rate I had not been insulted. I - have never asked anything of any man,” he broke out with an artist’s - pride. “I have often made myself useful in return for hospitality. But I - have made a mistake, it seems; I am indefinitely beholden to those who - honor me by allowing me to sit at table with them; my friends, and my - relatives.... Well and good; I have sent in my resignation as smellfeast. - At home I find daily something which no other house has offered me—a - real friend.” - </p> - <p> - The old artist’s power had not failed him; with tone and gesture he put - such bitterness into the words, that the peer of France was struck by - them. He drew Pons aside. - </p> - <p> - “Come, now, my old friend, what is it? What has hurt you? Could you not - tell me in confidence? You will permit me to say that at my house surely - you have always met with consideration—” - </p> - <p> - “You are the one exception,” said the artist. “And besides, you are a - great lord and a statesman, you have so many things to think about. That - would excuse anything, if there were need for it.” - </p> - <p> - The diplomatic skill that Popinot had acquired in the management of men - and affairs was brought to bear upon Pons, till at length the story of his - misfortunes in the President’s house was drawn from him. - </p> - <p> - Popinot took up the victim’s cause so warmly that he told the story to - Mme. Popinot as soon as he went home, and that excellent and noble-natured - woman spoke to the Presidente on the subject at the first opportunity. As - Popinot himself likewise said a word or two to the President, there was a - general explanation in the family of Camusot de Marville. - </p> - <p> - Camusot was not exactly master in his own house; but this time his - remonstrance was so well founded in law and in fact, that his wife and - daughter were forced to acknowledge the truth. They both humbled - themselves and threw the blame on the servants. The servants, first - bidden, and then chidden, only obtained pardon by a full confession, which - made it clear to the President’s mind that Pons had done rightly to stop - away. The President displayed himself before the servants in all his - masculine and magisterial dignity, after the manner of men who are ruled - by their wives. He informed his household that they should be dismissed - forthwith, and forfeit any advantages which their long term of service in - his house might have brought them, unless from that time forward his - cousin and all those who did him the honor of coming to his house were - treated as he himself was. At which speech Madeleine was moved to smile. - </p> - <p> - “You have only one chance of salvation as it is,” continued the President. - “Go to my cousin, make your excuses to him, and tell him that you will - lose your situations unless he forgives you, for I shall turn you all away - if he does not.” - </p> - <p> - Next morning the President went out fairly early to pay a call on his - cousin before going down to the court. The apparition of M. le President - de Marville, announced by Mme. Cibot, was an event in the house. Pons, - thus honored for the first time in his life saw reparation ahead. - </p> - <p> - “At last, my dear cousin,” said the President after the ordinary - greetings; “at last I have discovered the cause of your retreat. Your - behavior increases, if that were possible, my esteem for you. I have but - one word to say in that connection. My servants have all been dismissed. - My wife and daughter are in despair; they want to see you to have an - explanation. In all this, my cousin, there is one innocent person, and he - is an old judge; you will not punish me, will you, for the escapade of a - thoughtless child who wished to dine with the Popinots? especially when I - come to beg for peace, admitting that all the wrong has been on our - side?... An old friendship of thirty-six years, even suppose that there - had been a misunderstanding, has still some claims. Come, sign a treaty of - peace by dining with us to-night—” - </p> - <p> - Pons involved himself in a diffuse reply, and ended by informing his - cousin that he was to sign a marriage contract that evening; how that one - of the orchestra was not only going to be married, but also about to fling - his flute to the winds to become a banker. - </p> - <p> - “Very well. To-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - “Mme. la Comtesse Popinot has done me the honor of asking me, cousin. She - was so kind as to write—” - </p> - <p> - “The day after to-morrow then.” - </p> - <p> - “M. Brunner, a German, my first flute’s future partner, returns the - compliment paid him to-day by the young couple—” - </p> - <p> - “You are such pleasant company that it is not surprising that people - dispute for the honor of seeing you. Very well, next Sunday? Within a - week, as we say at the courts?” - </p> - <p> - “On Sunday we are to dine with M. Graff, the flute’s father-in-law.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well, on Saturday. Between now and then you will have time to - reassure a little girl who has shed tears already over her fault. God asks - no more than repentance; you will not be more severe than the Eternal - father with poor little Cecile?—” - </p> - <p> - Pons, thus reached on his weak side, again plunged into formulas more than - polite, and went as far as the stairhead with the President. - </p> - <p> - An hour later the President’s servants arrived in a troop on poor Pons’ - second floor. They behaved after the manner of their kind; they cringed - and fawned; they wept. Madeleine took M. Pons aside and flung herself - resolutely at his feet. - </p> - <p> - “It is all my fault; and monsieur knows quite well that I love him,” here - she burst into tears. “It was vengeance boiling in my veins; monsieur - ought to throw all the blame of the unhappy affair on that. We are all to - lose our pensions.... Monsieur, I was mad, and I would not have the rest - suffer for my fault.... I can see now well enough that fate did not make - me for monsieur. I have come to my senses, I aimed too high, but I love - you still, monsieur. These ten years I have thought of nothing but the - happiness of making you happy and looking after things here. What a - lot!... Oh! if monsieur but knew how much I love him! But monsieur must - have seen it through all my mischief-making. If I were to die to-morrow, - what would they find?—A will in your favor, monsieur.... Yes, - monsieur, in my trunk under my best things.” - </p> - <p> - Madeleine had set a responsive chord vibrating; the passion inspired in - another may be unwelcome, but it will always be gratifying to self-love; - this was the case with the old bachelor. After generously pardoning - Madeleine, he extended his forgiveness to the other servants, promising to - use his influence with his cousin the Presidente on their behalf. - </p> - <p> - It was unspeakably pleasant to Pons to find all his old enjoyments - restored to him without any loss of self-respect. The world had come to - Pons, he had risen in the esteem of his circle; but Schmucke looked so - downcast and dubious when he heard the story of the triumph, that Pons - felt hurt. When, however, the kind-hearted German saw the sudden change - wrought in Pons’ face, he ended by rejoicing with his friend, and made a - sacrifice of the happiness that he had known during those four months that - he had had Pons all to himself. Mental suffering has this immense - advantage over physical ills—when the cause is removed it ceases at - once. Pons was not like the same man that morning. The old man, depressed - and visibly failing, had given place to the serenely contented Pons, who - entered the Presidente’s house that October afternoon with the Marquise de - Pompadour’s fan in his pocket. Schmucke, on the other hand, pondered - deeply over this phenomenon, and could not understand it; your true stoic - never can understand the courtier that dwells in a Frenchman. Pons was a - born Frenchman of the Empire; a mixture of eighteenth century gallantry - and that devotion to womankind so often celebrated in songs of the type of - <i>Partant pour la Syrie</i>. - </p> - <p> - So Schmucke was fain to bury his chagrin beneath the flowers of his German - philosophy; but a week later he grew so yellow that Mme. Cibot exerted her - ingenuity to call in the parish doctor. The leech had fears of icterus, - and left Mme. Cibot frightened half out of her wits by the Latin word for - an attack of the jaundice. - </p> - <p> - Meantime the two friends went out to dinner together, perhaps for the - first time in their lives. For Schmucke it was a return to the Fatherland; - for Johann Graff of the Hotel du Rhin and his daughter Emilie, Wolfgang - Graff the tailor and his wife, Fritz Brunner and Wilhelm Schwab, were - Germans, and Pons and the notary were the only Frenchmen present at the - banquet. The Graffs of the tailor’s business owned a splendid house in the - Rue de Richelieu, between the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs and the Rue - Villedo; they had brought up their niece, for Emilie’s father, not without - reason, had feared contact with the very mixed society of an inn for his - daughter. The good tailor Graffs, who loved Emilie as if she had been - their own daughter, were giving up the ground floor of their great house - to the young couple, and here the bank of Brunner, Schwab and Company was - to be established. The arrangements for the marriage had been made about a - month ago; some time must elapse before Fritz Brunner, author of all this - felicity, could settle his deceased father’s affairs, and the famous firm - of tailors had taken advantage of the delay to redecorate the first floor - and to furnish it very handsomely for the bride and bridegroom. The - offices of the bank had been fitted into the wing which united a handsome - business house with the hotel at the back, between courtyard and garden. - </p> - <p> - On the way from the Rue de Normandie to the Rue de Richelieu, Pons drew - from the abstracted Schmucke the details of the story of the modern - prodigal son, for whom Death had killed the fatted innkeeper. Pons, but - newly reconciled with his nearest relatives, was immediately smitten with - a desire to make a match between Fritz Brunner and Cecile de Marville. - Chance ordained that the notary was none other than Berthier, old Cardot’s - son-in-law and successor, the sometime second clerk with whom Pons had - been wont to dine. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! M. Berthier, you here!” he said, holding out a hand to his host of - former days. - </p> - <p> - “We have not had the pleasure of seeing you at dinner lately; how is it?” - returned the notary. “My wife has been anxious about you. We saw you at - the first performance of <i>The Devil’s Betrothed</i>, and our anxiety - became curiosity?” - </p> - <p> - “Old folk are sensitive,” replied the worthy musician; “they make the - mistake of being a century behind the times, but how can it be helped? It - is quite enough to represent one century—they cannot entirely belong - to the century which sees them die.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah!” said the notary, with a shrewd look, “one cannot run two centuries - at once.” - </p> - <p> - “By the by,” continued Pons, drawing the young lawyer into a corner, “why - do you not find some one for my cousin Cecile de Marville—” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! why—?” answered Berthier. “In this century, when luxury has - filtered down to our very porters’ lodges, a young fellow hesitates before - uniting his lot with the daughter of a President of the Court of Appeal in - Paris if she brings him only a hundred thousand francs. In the rank of - life in which Mlle. de Marville’s husband would take, the wife was never - yet known that did not cost her husband three thousand francs a year; the - interest on a hundred thousand francs would scarcely find her in - pin-money. A bachelor with an income of fifteen or twenty thousand francs - can live on an entre-sol; he is not expected to cut any figure; he need - not keep more than one servant, and all his surplus income he can spend on - his amusements; he puts himself in the hands of a good tailor, and need - not trouble any further about keeping up appearances. Far-sighted mothers - make much of him; he is one of the kings of fashion in Paris. - </p> - <p> - “But a wife changes everything. A wife means a properly furnished house,” - continued the lawyer; “she wants the carriage for herself; if she goes to - the play, she wants a box, while the bachelor has only a stall to pay for; - in short, a wife represents the whole of the income which the bachelor - used to spend on himself. Suppose that husband and wife have thirty - thousand francs a year between them—practically, the sometime - bachelor is a poor devil who thinks twice before he drives out to - Chantilly. Bring children on the scene—he is pinched for money at - once. - </p> - <p> - “Now, as M. and Mme. de Marville are scarcely turned fifty, Cecile’s - expectations are bills that will not fall due for fifteen or twenty years - to come; and no young fellow cares to keep them so long in his portfolio. - The young featherheads who are dancing the polka with lorettes at the - Jardin Mabille, are so cankered with self-interest, that they don’t stand - in need of us to explain both sides of the problem to them. Between - ourselves, I may say that Mlle. de Marville scarcely sets hearts throbbing - so fast but that their owners can perfectly keep their heads, and they are - full of these anti-matrimonial reflections. If any eligible young man, in - full possession of his senses and an income of twenty thousand francs, - happens to be sketching out a programme of marriage that will satisfy his - ambitions, Mlle. de Marville does not altogether answer the description—” - </p> - <p> - “And why not?” asked the bewildered musician. - </p> - <p> - “Oh!—” said the notary, “well—a young man nowadays may be as - ugly as you and I, my dear Pons, but he is almost sure to have the - impertinence to want six hundred thousand francs, a girl of good family, - with wit and good looks and good breeding—flawless perfection in - short.” - </p> - <p> - “Then it will not be easy to marry her?” - </p> - <p> - “She will not be married so long as M. and Mme. de Marville cannot make up - their minds to settle Marville on her when she marries; if they had - chosen, she might have been the Vicomtesse Popinot by now. But here comes - M. Brunner.—We are about to read the deed of partnership and the - marriage contract.” - </p> - <p> - Greetings and introductions over, the relations made Pons promise to sign - the contract. He listened to the reading of the documents, and towards - half-past five the party went into the dining-room. The dinner was - magnificent, as a city merchant’s dinner can be, when he allows himself a - respite from money-making. Graff of the Hotel du Rhin was acquainted with - the first provision dealers in Paris; never had Pons nor Schmucke fared so - sumptuously. The dishes were a rapture to think of! Italian paste, - delicate of flavor, unknown to the public; smelts fried as never smelts - were fried before; fish from Lake Leman, with a real Genevese sauce, and a - cream for plum-pudding which would have astonished the London doctor who - is said to have invented it. It was nearly ten o’clock before they rose - from table. The amount of wine, German and French, consumed at that dinner - would amaze the contemporary dandy; nobody knows the amount of liquor that - a German can imbibe and yet keep calm and quiet; to have even an idea of - the quantity, you must dine in Germany and watch bottle succeed to bottle, - like wave rippling after wave along the sunny shores of the Mediterranean, - and disappear as if the Teuton possessed the absorbing power of sponges or - sea sand. Perfect harmony prevails meanwhile; there is none of the racket - that there would be over the liquor in France; the talk is as sober as a - money-lender’s extempore speech; countenances flush, like the faces of the - brides in frescoes by Cornelius or Schnorr (imperceptibly, that is to - say), and reminiscences are poured out slowly while the smoke puffs from - the pipes. - </p> - <p> - About half-past ten that evening Pons and Schmucke found themselves - sitting on a bench out in the garden, with the ex-flute between them; they - were explaining their characters, opinions, and misfortunes, with no very - clear idea as to why or how they had come to this point. In the thick of a - potpourri of confidences, Wilhelm spoke of his strong desire to see Fritz - married, expressing himself with vehement and vinous eloquence. - </p> - <p> - “What do you say to this programme for your friend Brunner?” cried Pons in - confidential tones. “A charming and sensible young lady of twenty-four, - belonging to a family of the highest distinction. The father holds a very - high position as a judge; there will be a hundred thousand francs paid - down and a million to come.” - </p> - <p> - “Wait!” answered Schwab; “I will speak to Fritz this instant.” - </p> - <p> - The pair watched Brunner and his friend as they walked round and round the - garden; again and again they passed the bench, sometimes one spoke, - sometimes the other. - </p> - <p> - Pons was not exactly intoxicated; his head was a little heavy, but his - thoughts, on the contrary, seemed all the lighter; he watched Fritz - Brunner’s face through the rainbow mist of fumes of wine, and tried to - read auguries favorable to his family. Before very long Schwab introduced - his friend and partner to M. Pons; Fritz Brunner expressed his thanks for - the trouble which Pons had been so good as to take. - </p> - <p> - In the conversation which followed, the two old bachelors Schmucke and - Pons extolled the estate of matrimony, going so far as to say, without any - malicious intent, “that marriage was the end of man.” Tea and ices, - punches and cakes, were served in the future home of the betrothed couple. - The wine had begun to tell upon the honest merchants, and the general - hilarity reached its height when it was announced that Schwab’s partner - thought of following his example. - </p> - <p> - At two o’clock that morning, Schmucke and Pons walked home along the - boulevards, philosophizing <i>a perte de raison</i> as they went on the - harmony pervading the arrangements of this our world below. - </p> - <p> - On the morrow of the banquet, Cousin Pons betook himself to his fair - cousin the Presidente, overjoyed—poor dear noble soul!—to - return good for evil. Surely he had attained to a sublime height, as every - one will allow, for we live in an age when the Montyon prize is given to - those who do their duty by carrying out the precepts of the Gospel. - </p> - <p> - “Ah!” said Pons to himself, as he turned the corner of the Rue de - Choiseul, “they will lie under immense obligations to their parasite.” - </p> - <p> - Any man less absorbed in his contentment, any man of the world, any - distrustful nature would have watched the President’s wife and daughter - very narrowly on this first return to the house. But the poor musician was - a child, he had all the simplicity of an artist, believing in goodness as - he believed in beauty; so he was delighted when Cecile and her mother made - much of him. After all the vaudevilles, tragedies, and comedies which had - been played under the worthy man’s eyes for twelve long years, he could - not detect the insincerity and grimaces of social comedy, no doubt because - he had seen too much of it. Any one who goes into society in Paris, and - knows the type of woman, dried up, body and soul, by a burning thirst for - social position, and a fierce desire to be thought virtuous, any one - familiar with the sham piety and the domineering character of a woman - whose word is law in her own house, may imagine the lurking hatred she - bore this husband’s cousin whom she had wronged. - </p> - <p> - All the demonstrative friendliness of mother and daughter was lined with a - formidable longing for revenge, evidently postponed. For the first time in - Amelie de Marville’s life she had been put in the wrong, and that in the - sight of the husband over whom she tyrannized; and not only so—she - was obliged to be amiable to the author of her defeat! You can scarcely - find a match for this position save in the hypocritical dramas which are - sometimes kept up for years in the sacred college of cardinals, or in - chapters of certain religious orders. - </p> - <p> - At three o’clock, when the President came back from the law-courts, Pons - had scarcely made an end of the marvelous history of his acquaintance, M. - Frederic Brunner. Cecile had gone straight to the point. She wanted to - know how Frederic Brunner was dressed, how he looked, his height and - figure, the color of his hair and eyes; and when she had conjectured a - distinguished air for Frederic, she admired his generosity of character. - </p> - <p> - “Think of his giving five hundred thousand francs to his companion in - misfortune! Oh! mamma, I shall have a carriage and a box at the Italiens——” - Cecile grew almost pretty as she thought that all her mother’s ambitions - for her were about to be realized, that the hopes which had almost left - her were to come to something after all. - </p> - <p> - As for the Presidente, all that she said was, “My dear little girl, you - may perhaps be married within the fortnight.” - </p> - <p> - All mothers with daughters of three-and-twenty address them as “little - girl.” - </p> - <p> - “Still,” added the President, “in any case, we must have time to make - inquiries; never will I give my daughter to just anybody—” - </p> - <p> - “As to inquiries,” said Pons, “Berthier is drawing up the deeds. As to the - young man himself, my dear cousin, you remember what you told me? Well, he - is quite forty years old; he is bald. He wishes to find in family life a - haven after a storm; I did not dissuade him; every man has his tastes—” - </p> - <p> - “One reason the more for a personal interview,” returned the President. “I - am not going to give my daughter to a valetudinarian.” - </p> - <p> - “Very good, cousin, you shall see my suitor in five days if you like; for, - with your views, a single interview would be enough”—(Cecile and her - mother signified their rapture)—“Frederic is decidedly a - distinguished amateur; he begged me to allow him to see my little - collection at his leisure. You have never seen my pictures and - curiosities; come and see them,” he continued, looking at his relatives. - “You can come simply as two ladies, brought by my friend Schmucke, and - make M. Brunner’s acquaintance without betraying yourselves. Frederic need - not in the least know who you are.” - </p> - <p> - “Admirable!” cried the President. - </p> - <p> - The attention they paid to the once scorned parasite may be left to the - imagination! Poor Pons that day became the Presidente’s cousin. The happy - mother drowned her dislike in floods of joy; her looks, her smiles, her - words sent the old man into ecstasies over the good that he had done, over - the future that he saw by glimpses. Was he not sure to find dinners such - as yesterday’s banquet over the signing of the contract, multiplied - indefinitely by three, in the houses of Brunner, Schwab, and Graff? He saw - before him a land of plenty—a <i>vie de cocagne</i>, a miraculous - succession of <i>plats couverts</i>, of delicate surprise dishes, of - exquisite wines. - </p> - <p> - “If Cousin Pons brings this through,” said the President, addressing his - wife after Pons had departed, “we ought to settle an income upon him equal - to his salary at the theatre.” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly,” said the lady; and Cecile was informed that if the proposed - suitor found favor in her eyes, she must undertake to induce the old - musician to accept a munificence in such bad taste. - </p> - <p> - Next day the President went to Berthier. He was anxious to make sure of M. - Frederic Brunner’s financial position. Berthier, forewarned by Mme. de - Marville, had asked his new client Schwab to come. Schwab the banker was - dazzled by the prospect of such a match for his friend (everybody knows - how deeply a German venerates social distinctions, so much so, that in - Germany a wife takes her husband’s (official) title, and is the Frau - General, the Frau Rath, and so forth)—Schwab therefore was as - accommodating as a collector who imagines that he is cheating a dealer. - </p> - <p> - “In the first place,” said Cecile’s father, “as I shall make over my - estate of Marville to my daughter, I should wish the contract to be drawn - up on the dotal system. In that case, M. Brunner would invest a million - francs in land to increase the estate, and by settling the land on his - wife he would secure her and his children from any share in the - liabilities of the bank.” - </p> - <p> - Berthier stroked his chin. “He is coming on well, is M. le President,” - thought he. - </p> - <p> - When the dotal system had been explained to Schwab, he seemed much - inclined that way for his friend. He had heard Fritz say that he wished to - find some way of insuring himself against another lapse into poverty. - </p> - <p> - “There is a farm and pasture land worth twelve hundred thousand francs in - the market at this moment,” remarked the President. - </p> - <p> - “If we take up shares in the Bank of France to the amount of a million - francs, that will be quite enough to guarantee our account,” said Schwab. - “Fritz does not want to invest more than two million francs in business; - he will do as you wish, I am sure, M. le President.” - </p> - <p> - The President’s wife and daughter were almost wild with joy when he - brought home this news. Never, surely, did so rich a capture swim so - complacently into the nets of matrimony. - </p> - <p> - “You will be Mme. Brunner de Marville,” said the parent, addressing his - child; “I will obtain permission for your husband to add the name to his, - and afterwards he can take out letters of naturalization. If I should be a - peer of France some day, he will succeed me!” - </p> - <p> - The five days were spent by Mme. de Marville in preparations. On the great - day she dressed Cecile herself, taking as much pains as the admiral of the - British fleet takes over the dressing of the pleasure yacht for Her - Majesty of England when she takes a trip to Germany. - </p> - <p> - Pons and Schmucke, on their side, cleaned, swept, and dusted Pons’ museum - rooms and furniture with the agility of sailors cleaning down a - man-of-war. There was not a speck of dust on the carved wood; not an inch - of brass but it glistened. The glasses over the pastels obscured nothing - of the work of Latour, Greuze, and Liotard (illustrious painter of <i>The - Chocolate Girl</i>), miracles of an art, alas! so fugitive. The inimitable - lustre of Florentine bronze took all the varying hues of the light; the - painted glass glowed with color. Every line shone out brilliantly, every - object threw in its phrase in a harmony of masterpieces arranged by two - musicians—both of whom alike had attained to be poets. - </p> - <p> - With a tact which avoided the difficulties of a late appearance on the - scene of action, the women were the first to arrive; they wished to be on - their own ground. Pons introduced his friend Schmucke, who seemed to his - fair visitors to be an idiot; their heads were so full of the eligible - gentleman with the four millions of francs, that they paid but little - attention to the worthy Pons’ dissertations upon matters of which they - were completely ignorant. - </p> - <p> - They looked with indifferent eyes at Petitot’s enamels, spaced over - crimson velvet, set in three frames of marvelous workmanship. Flowers by - Van Huysum, David, and Heim; butterflies painted by Abraham Mignon; Van - Eycks, undoubted Cranachs and Albrecht Durers; the Giorgione, the - Sebastian del Piombo; Backhuijzen, Hobbema, Gericault, the rarities of - painting—none of these things so much as aroused their curiosity; - they were waiting for the sun to arise and shine upon these treasures. - Still, they were surprised by the beauty of some of the Etruscan trinkets - and the solid value of the snuff-boxes, and out of politeness they went - into ecstasies over some Florentine bronzes which they held in their hands - when Mme. Cibot announced M. Brunner! They did not turn; they took - advantage of a superb Venetian mirror framed in huge masses of carved - ebony to scan this phoenix of eligible young men. - </p> - <p> - Frederic, forewarned by Wilhelm, had made the most of the little hair that - remained to him. He wore a neat pair of trousers, a soft shade of some - dark color, a silk waistcoat of superlative elegance and the very newest - cut, a shirt with open-work, its linen hand-woven by a Friesland woman, - and a blue-and-white cravat. His watch chain, like the head of his cane, - came from Messrs. Florent and Chanor; and the coat, cut by old Graff - himself, was of the very finest cloth. The Suede gloves proclaimed the man - who had run through his mother’s fortune. You could have seen the banker’s - neat little brougham and pair of horses mirrored in the surface of his - speckless varnished boots, even if two pairs of sharp ears had not already - caught the sound of wheels outside in the Rue de Normandie. - </p> - <p> - When the prodigal of twenty years is a kind of chrysalis from which a - banker emerges at the age of forty, the said banker is usually an observer - of human nature; and so much the more shrewd if, as in Brunner’s case, he - understands how to turn his German simplicity to good account. He had - assumed for the occasion the abstracted air of a man who is hesitating - between family life and the dissipations of bachelorhood. This expression - in a Frenchified German seemed to Cecile to be in the highest degree - romantic; the descendant of the Virlaz was a second Werther in her eyes—where - is the girl who will not allow herself to weave a little novel about her - marriage? Cecile thought herself the happiest of women when Brunner, - looking round at the magnificent works of art so patiently collected - during forty years, waxed enthusiastic, and Pons, to his no small - satisfaction, found an appreciative admirer of his treasures for the first - time in his life. - </p> - <p> - “He is poetical,” the young lady said to herself; “he sees millions in the - things. A poet is a man that cannot count and leaves his wife to look - after his money—an easy man to manage and amuse with trifles.” - </p> - <p> - Every pane in the two windows was a square of Swiss painted glass; the - least of them was worth a thousand francs; and Pons possessed sixteen of - these unrivaled works of art for which amateurs seek so eagerly nowadays. - In 1815 the panes could be bought for six or ten francs apiece. The value - of the glorious collection of pictures, flawless great works, authentic, - untouched since they left the master’s hands, could only be proved in the - fiery furnace of a saleroom. Not a picture but was set in a costly frame; - there were frames of every kind—Venetians, carved with heavy - ornaments, like English plate of the present day; Romans, distinguishable - among the others for a certain dash that artists call <i>flafla</i>; - Spanish wreaths in bold relief; Flemings and Germans with quaint figures, - tortoise-shell frames inlaid with copper and brass and mother-of-pearl and - ivory; frames of ebony and boxwood in the styles of Louis Treize, Louis - Quatorze, Louis Quinze, and Louis Seize—in short, it was a unique - collection of the finest models. Pons, luckier than the art museums of - Dresden and Vienna, possessed a frame by the famous Brustoloni—the - Michael Angelo of wood-carvers. - </p> - <p> - Mlle. de Marville naturally asked for explanations of each new curiosity, - and was initiated into the mysteries of art by Brunner. Her exclamations - were so childish, she seemed so pleased to have the value and beauty of - the paintings, carvings, or bronzes pointed out to her, that the German - gradually thawed and looked quite young again, and both were led on - further than they intended at this (purely accidental) first meeting. - </p> - <p> - The private view lasted for three hours. Brunner offered his arm when - Cecile went downstairs. As they descended slowly and discreetly, Cecile, - still talking fine art, wondered that M. Brunner should admire her - cousin’s gimcracks so much. - </p> - <p> - “Do you really think that these things that we have just seen are worth a - great deal of money?” - </p> - <p> - “Mademoiselle, if your cousin would sell his collection, I would give - eight hundred thousand francs for it this evening, and I should not make a - bad bargain. The pictures alone would fetch more than that at a public - sale.” - </p> - <p> - “Since you say so, I believe it,” returned she; “the things took up so - much of your attention that it must be so.” - </p> - <p> - “On! mademoiselle!” protested Brunner. “For all answer to your reproach, I - will ask your mother’s permission to call, so that I may have the pleasure - of seeing you again.” - </p> - <p> - “How clever she is, that ‘little girl’ of mine!” thought the Presidente, - following closely upon her daughter’s heels. Aloud she said, “With the - greatest pleasure, monsieur. I hope that you will come at dinner-time with - our Cousin Pons. The President will be delighted to make your - acquaintance.—Thank you, cousin.” - </p> - <p> - The lady squeezed Pons’ arm with deep meaning; she could not have said - more if she had used the consecrated formula, “Let us swear an eternal - friendship.” The glance which accompanied that “Thank you, cousin,” was a - caress. - </p> - <p> - When the young lady had been put into the carriage, and the jobbed - brougham had disappeared down the Rue Charlot, Brunner talked bric-a-brac - to Pons, and Pons talked marriage. - </p> - <p> - “Then you see no obstacle?” said Pons. - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” said Brunner, “she is an insignificant little thing, and the mother - is a trifle prim.—We shall see.” - </p> - <p> - “A handsome fortune one of these days.... More than a million—” - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye till Monday!” interrupted the millionaire. “If you should care - to sell your collection of pictures, I would give you five or six hundred - thousand francs—” - </p> - <p> - “Ah!” said Pons; he had no idea that he was so rich. “But they are my - great pleasure in life, and I could not bring myself to part with them. I - could only sell my collection to be delivered after my death.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well. We shall see.” - </p> - <p> - “Here we have two affairs afoot!” said Pons; he was thinking only of the - marriage. - </p> - <p> - Brunner shook hands and drove away in his splendid carriage. Pons watched - it out of sight. He did not notice that Remonencq was smoking his pipe in - the doorway. - </p> - <p> - That evening Mme. de Marville went to ask advice of her father-in-law, and - found the whole Popinot family at the Camusots’ house. It was only natural - that a mother who had failed to capture an eldest son should be tempted to - take her little revenge; so Mme. de Marville threw out hints of the - splendid marriage that her Cecile was about to make.—“Whom can - Cecile be going to marry?” was the question upon all lips. And Cecile’s - mother, without suspecting that she was betraying her secret, let fall - words and whispered confidences, afterwards supplemented by Mme. Berthier, - till gossip circulating in the bourgeois empyrean where Pons accomplished - his gastronomical evolutions took something like the following form: - </p> - <p> - “Cecile de Marville is engaged to be married to a young German, a banker - from philanthropic motives, for he has four millions; he is like a hero in - a novel, a perfect Werther, charming and kind-hearted. He has sown his - wild oats, and he is distractedly in love with Cecile; it is a case of - love at first sight; and so much the more certain, since Cecile had all - Pons’ paintings of Madonnas for rivals,” and so forth and so forth. - </p> - <p> - Two or three of the set came to call on the Presidente, ostensibly to - congratulate, but really to find out whether or not the marvelous tale - were true. For their benefit Mme. de Marville executed the following - admirable variations on the theme of son-in-law which mothers may consult, - as people used to refer to the <i>Complete Letter Writer</i>. - </p> - <p> - “A marriage is not an accomplished fact,” she told Mme. Chiffreville, - “until you have been in the mayor’s office and the church. We have only - come as far as a personal interview; so I count upon your friendship to - say nothing of our hopes.” - </p> - <p> - “You are very fortunate, madame; marriages are so difficult to arrange in - these days.” - </p> - <p> - “What can one do? It was chance; but marriages are often made in that - way.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! well. So you are going to marry Cecile?” said Mme. Cardot. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Cecile’s mother, fully understanding the meaning of the “so.” - “We were very particular, or Cecile would have been established before - this. But now we have found everything we wish: money, good temper, good - character, and good looks; and my sweet little girl certainly deserves - nothing less. M. Brunner is a charming young man, most distinguished; he - is fond of luxury, he knows life; he is wild about Cecile, he loves her - sincerely; and in spite of his three or four millions, Cecile is going to - accept him.—We had not looked so high for her; still, store is no - sore.” - </p> - <p> - “It was not so much the fortune as the affection inspired by my daughter - which decided us,” the Presidente told Mme. Lebas. “M. Brunner is in such - a hurry that he wants the marriage to take place with the least possible - delay.” - </p> - <p> - “Is he a foreigner?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, madame; but I am very fortunate, I confess. No, I shall not have a - son-in-law, but a son. M. Brunner’s delicacy has quite won our hearts. No - one would imagine how anxious he was to marry under the dotal system. It - is a great security for families. He is going to invest twelve hundred - thousand francs in grazing land, which will be added to Marville some - day.” - </p> - <p> - More variations followed on the morrow. For instance—M. Brunner was - a great lord, doing everything in lordly fashion; he did not haggle. If M. - de Marville could obtain letters of naturalization, qualifying M. Brunner - for an office under Government (and the Home Secretary surely could strain - a point for M. de Marville), his son-in-law would be a peer of France. - Nobody knew how much money M. Brunner possessed; “he had the finest horses - and the smartest carriages in Paris!” and so on and so on. - </p> - <p> - From the pleasure with which the Camusots published their hopes, it was - pretty clear that this triumph was unexpected. - </p> - <p> - Immediately after the interview in Pons’ museum, M. de Marville, at his - wife’s instance, begged the Home Secretary, his chief, and the attorney - for the crown to dine with him on the occasion of the introduction of this - phoenix of a son-in-law. - </p> - <p> - The three great personages accepted the invitation, albeit it was given on - short notice; they all saw the part that they were to play in the family - politics, and readily came to the father’s support. In France we are - usually pretty ready to assist the mother of marriageable daughters to - hook an eligible son-in-law. The Count and Countess Popinot likewise lent - their presence to complete the splendor of the occasion, although they - thought the invitation in questionable taste. - </p> - <p> - There were eleven in all. Cecile’s grandfather, old Camusot, came, of - course, with his wife to a family reunion purposely arranged to elicit a - proposal from M. Brunner. - </p> - <p> - The Camusot de Marvilles had given out that the guest of the evening was - one of the richest capitalists in Germany, a man of taste (he was in love - with “the little girl”), a future rival of the Nucingens, Kellers, du - Tillets, and their like. - </p> - <p> - “It is our day,” said the Presidente with elaborate simplicity, when she - had named her guests one by one for the German whom she already regarded - as her son-in-law. “We have only a few intimate friends—first, my - husband’s father, who, as you know, is sure to be raised to the peerage; - M. le Comte and Mme. la Comtesse Popinot, whose son was not thought rich - enough for Cecile; the Home Secretary; our First President; our attorney - for the crown; our personal friends, in short.—We shall be obliged - to dine rather late to-night, because the Chamber is sitting, and people - cannot get away before six.” - </p> - <p> - Brunner looked significantly at Pons, and Pons rubbed his hands as if to - say, “Our friends, you see! <i>My</i> friends!” - </p> - <p> - Mme. de Marville, as a clever tactician, had something very particular to - say to her cousin, that Cecile and her Werther might be left together for - a moment. Cecile chattered away volubly, and contrived that Frederic - should catch sight of a German dictionary, a German grammar, and a volume - of Goethe hidden away in a place where he was likely to find them. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! are you learning German?” asked Brunner, flushing red. - </p> - <p> - (For laying traps of this kind the Frenchwoman has not her match!) - </p> - <p> - “Oh! how naughty you are!” she cried; “it is too bad of you, monsieur, to - explore my hiding-places like this. I want to read Goethe in the - original,” she added; “I have been learning German for two years.” - </p> - <p> - “Then the grammar must be very difficult to learn, for scarcely ten pages - have been cut—” Brunner remarked with much candor. - </p> - <p> - Cecile, abashed, turned away to hide her blushes. A German cannot resist a - display of this kind; Brunner caught Cecile’s hand, made her turn, and - watched her confusion under his gaze, after the manner of the heroes of - the novels of Auguste Lafontaine of chaste memory. - </p> - <p> - “You are adorable,” said he. - </p> - <p> - Cecile’s petulant gesture replied, “So are you—who could help liking - you?” - </p> - <p> - “It is all right, mamma,” she whispered to her parent, who came up at that - moment with Pons. - </p> - <p> - The sight of a family party on these occasions is not to be described. - Everybody was well satisfied to see a mother put her hand on an eligible - son-in-law. Compliments, double-barreled and double-charged, were paid to - Brunner (who pretended to understand nothing); to Cecile, on whom nothing - was lost; and to the Presidente, who fished for them. Pons heard the blood - singing in his ears, the light of all the blazing gas-jets of the theatre - footlights seemed to be dazzling his eyes, when Cecile, in a low voice and - with the most ingenious circumspection, spoke of her father’s plan of the - annuity of twelve hundred francs. The old artist positively declined the - offer, bringing forward the value of his fortune in furniture, only now - made known to him by Brunner. - </p> - <p> - The Home Secretary, the First President, the attorney for the crown, the - Popinots, and those who had other engagements, all went; and before long - no one was left except M. Camusot senior, and Cardot the old notary, and - his assistant and son-in-law Berthier. Pons, worthy soul, looking round - and seeing no one but the family, blundered out a speech of thanks to the - President and his wife for the proposal which Cecile had just made to him. - So it is with those who are guided by their feelings; they act upon - impulse. Brunner, hearing of an annuity offered in this way, thought that - it had very much the look of a commission paid to Pons; he made an - Israelite’s return upon himself, his attitude told of more than cool - calculation. - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile Pons was saying to his astonished relations, “My collection or - its value will, in any case, go to your family, whether I come to terms - with our friend Brunner or keep it.” The Camusots were amazed to hear that - Pons was so rich. - </p> - <p> - Brunner, watching, saw how all these ignorant people looked favorably upon - a man once believed to be poor so soon as they knew that he had great - possessions. He had seen, too, already that Cecile was spoiled by her - father and mother; he amused himself, therefore, by astonishing the good - bourgeois. - </p> - <p> - “I was telling mademoiselle,” said he, “that M. Pons’ pictures were worth - that sum to <i>me</i>; but the prices of works of art have risen so much - of late, that no one can tell how much the collection might sell for at - public auction. The sixty pictures might fetch a million francs; several - that I saw the other day were worth fifty thousand apiece.” - </p> - <p> - “It is a fine thing to be your heir!” remarked old Cardot, looking at - Pons. - </p> - <p> - “My heir is my Cousin Cecile here,” answered Pons, insisting on the - relationship. There was a flutter of admiration at this. - </p> - <p> - “She will be a very rich heiress,” laughed old Cardot, as he took his - departure. - </p> - <p> - Camusot senior, the President and his wife, Cecile, Brunner, Berthier, and - Pons were now left together; for it was assumed that the formal demand for - Cecile’s hand was about to be made. No sooner was Cardot gone, indeed, - than Brunner began with an inquiry which augured well. - </p> - <p> - “I think I understood,” he said, turning to Mme. de Marville, “that - mademoiselle is your only daughter.” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly,” the lady said proudly. - </p> - <p> - “Nobody will make any difficulties,” Pons, good soul, put in by way of - encouraging Brunner to bring out his proposal. - </p> - <p> - But Brunner grew thoughtful, and an ominous silence brought on a coolness - of the strangest kind. The Presidente might have admitted that her “little - girl” was subject to epileptic fits. The President, thinking that Cecile - ought not to be present, signed to her to go. She went. Still Brunner said - nothing. They all began to look at one another. The situation was growing - awkward. - </p> - <p> - Camusot senior, a man of experience, took the German to Mme. de Marville’s - room, ostensibly to show him Pons’ fan. He saw that some difficulty had - arisen, and signed to the rest to leave him alone with Cecile’s - suitor-designate. - </p> - <p> - “Here is the masterpiece,” said Camusot, opening out the fan. - </p> - <p> - Brunner took it in his hand and looked at it. “It is worth five thousand - francs,” he said after a moment. - </p> - <p> - “Did you not come here, sir, to ask for my granddaughter?” inquired the - future peer of France. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” said Brunner; “and I beg you to believe that no possible - marriage could be more flattering to my vanity. I shall never find any one - more charming nor more amiable, nor a young lady who answers to my ideas - like Mlle. Cecile; but—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no <i>buts</i>!” old Camusot broke in; “or let us have the - translation of your ‘buts’ at once, my dear sir.” - </p> - <p> - “I am very glad, sir, that the matter has gone no further on either side,” - Brunner answered gravely. “I had no idea that Mlle. Cecile was an only - daughter. Anybody else would consider this an advantage; but to me, - believe me, it is an insurmountable obstacle to—” - </p> - <p> - “What, sir!” cried Camusot, amazed beyond measure. “Do you find a positive - drawback in an immense advantage? Your conduct is really extraordinary; I - should very much like to hear the explanation of it.” - </p> - <p> - “I came here this evening, sir,” returned the German phlegmatically, - “intending to ask M. le President for his daughter’s hand. It was my - desire to give Mlle. Cecile a brilliant future by offering her so much of - my fortune as she would consent to accept. But an only daughter is a child - whose will is law to indulgent parents, who has never been contradicted. I - have had the opportunity of observing this in many families, where parents - worship divinities of this kind. And your granddaughter is not only the - idol of the house, but Mme. la Presidente... you know what I mean. I have - seen my father’s house turned into a hell, sir, from this very cause. My - stepmother, the source of all my misfortunes, an only daughter, idolized - by her parents, the most charming betrothed imaginable, after marriage - became a fiend incarnate. I do not doubt that Mlle. Cecile is an exception - to the rule; but I am not a young man, I am forty years old, and the - difference between our ages entails difficulties which would put it out of - my power to make the young lady happy, when Mme. la Presidente always - carried out her daughter’s every wish and listened to her as if - Mademoiselle was an oracle. What right have I to expect Mlle. Cecile to - change her habits and ideas? Instead of a father and mother who indulge - her every whim, she would find an egotistic man of forty; if she should - resist, the man of forty would have the worst of it. So, as an honest man—I - withdraw. If there should be any need to explain my visit here, I desire - to be entirely sacrificed—” - </p> - <p> - “If these are your motives, sir,” said the future peer of France, “however - singular they may be, they are plausible—” - </p> - <p> - “Do not call my sincerity in question, sir,” Brunner interrupted quickly. - “If you know of a penniless girl, one of a large family, well brought up - but without fortune, as happens very often in France; and if her character - offers me security, I will marry her.” - </p> - <p> - A pause followed; Frederic Brunner left Cecile’s grandfather and politely - took leave of his host and hostess. When he was gone, Cecile appeared, a - living commentary upon her Werther’s leave-taking; she was ghastly pale. - She had hidden in her mother’s wardrobe and overheard the whole - conversation. - </p> - <p> - “Refused!...” she said in a low voice for her mother’s ear. - </p> - <p> - “And why?” asked the Presidente, fixing her eyes upon her embarrassed - father-in-law. - </p> - <p> - “Upon the fine pretext that an only daughter is a spoilt child,” replied - that gentleman. “And he is not altogether wrong there,” he added, seizing - an opportunity of putting the blame on the daughter-in-law, who had - worried him not a little for twenty years. - </p> - <p> - “It will kill my child!” cried the Presidente, “and it is your doing!” she - exclaimed, addressing Pons, as she supported her fainting daughter, for - Cecile thought well to make good her mother’s words by sinking into her - arms. The President and his wife carried Cecile to an easy-chair, where - she swooned outright. The grandfather rang for the servants. - </p> - <p> - “It is a plot of his weaving; I see it all now,” said the infuriated - mother. - </p> - <p> - Pons sprang up as if the trump of doom were sounding in his ears. - </p> - <p> - “Yes!” said the lady, her eyes like two springs of green bile, “this - gentleman wished to repay a harmless joke by an insult. Who will believe - that that German was right in his mind? He is either an accomplice in a - wicked scheme of revenge, or he is crazy. I hope, M. Pons, that in future - you will spare us the annoyance of seeing you in the house where you have - tried to bring shame and dishonor.” - </p> - <p> - Pons stood like a statue, with his eyes fixed on the pattern of the - carpet. - </p> - <p> - “Well! Are you still here, monster of ingratitude?” cried she, turning - round on Pons, who was twirling his thumbs.—“Your master and I are - never at home, remember, if this gentleman calls,” she continued, turning - to the servants.—“Jean, go for the doctor; and bring hartshorn, - Madeleine.” - </p> - <p> - In the Presidente’s eyes, the reason given by Brunner was simply an - excuse, there was something else behind; but, at the same time, the fact - that the marriage was broken off was only the more certain. A woman’s mind - works swiftly in great crises, and Mme. de Marville had hit at once upon - the one method of repairing the check. She chose to look upon it as a - scheme of revenge. This notion of ascribing a fiendish scheme to Pons - satisfied family honor. Faithful to her dislike of the cousin, she treated - a feminine suspicion as a fact. Women, generally speaking, hold a creed - peculiar to themselves, a code of their own; to them anything which serves - their interests or their passions is true. The Presidente went a good deal - further. In the course of the evening she talked the President into her - belief, and next morning found the magistrate convinced of his cousin’s - culpability. - </p> - <p> - Every one, no doubt, will condemn the lady’s horrible conduct; but what - mother in Mme. Camusot’s position will not do the same? Put the choice - between her own daughter and an alien, she will prefer to sacrifice the - honor of the latter. There are many ways of doing this, but the end in - view is the same. - </p> - <p> - The old musician fled down the staircase in haste; but he went slowly - along the boulevards to his theatre, he turned in mechanically at the - door, and mechanically he took his place and conducted the orchestra. In - the interval he gave such random answers to Schmucke’s questions, that his - old friend dissembled his fear that Pons’ mind had given way. To so - childlike a nature, the recent scene took the proportions of a - catastrophe. He had meant to make every one happy, and he had aroused a - terrible slumbering feeling of hate; everything had been turned - topsy-turvy. He had at last seen mortal hate in the Presidente’s eyes, - tones, and gesture. - </p> - <p> - On the morrow, Mme. Camusot de Marville made a great resolution; the - President likewise sanctioned the step now forced upon them by - circumstances. It was determined that the estate of Marville should be - settled upon Cecile at the time of her marriage, as well as the house in - the Rue de Hanovre and a hundred thousand francs. In the course of the - morning, the Presidente went to call upon the Comtesse Popinot; for she - saw plainly that nothing but a settled marriage could enable them to - recover after such a check. To the Comtesse Popinot she told the shocking - story of Pons’ revenge, Pons’ hideous hoax. It all seemed probable enough - when it came out that the marriage had been broken off simply on the - pretext that Cecile was an only daughter. The Presidente next dwelt - artfully upon the advantage of adding “de Marville” to the name of - Popinot; and the immense dowry. At the present price fetched by land in - Normandy, at two per cent, the property represented nine hundred thousand - francs, and the house in the Rue de Hanovre about two hundred and fifty - thousand. No reasonable family could refuse such an alliance. The Comte - and Comtesse Popinot accepted; and as they were now touched by the honor - of the family which they were about to enter, they promised to help - explain away yesterday evening’s mishap. - </p> - <p> - And now in the house of the elder Camusot, before the very persons who had - heard Mme. de Marville singing Frederic Brunner’s praises but a few days - ago, that lady, to whom nobody ventured to speak on the topic, plunged - courageously into explanations. - </p> - <p> - “Really, nowadays” (she said), “one could not be too careful if a marriage - was in question, especially if one had to do with foreigners.” - </p> - <p> - “And why, madame?” - </p> - <p> - “What has happened to you?” asked Mme. Chiffreville. - </p> - <p> - “Do you not know about our adventure with that Brunner, who had the - audacity to aspire to marry Cecile? His father was a German that kept a - wine-shop, and his uncle is a dealer in rabbit-skins!” - </p> - <p> - “Is it possible? So clear-sighted as you are!...” murmured a lady. - </p> - <p> - “These adventurers are so cunning. But we found out everything through - Berthier. His friend is a beggar that plays the flute. He is friendly with - a person who lets furnished lodgings in the Rue du Mail and some tailor or - other.... We found out that he had led a most disreputable life, and no - amount of fortune would be enough for a scamp that has run through his - mother’s property.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, Mlle. de Marville would have been wretched!” said Mme. Berthier. - </p> - <p> - “How did he come to your house?” asked old Mme. Lebas. - </p> - <p> - “It was M. Pons. Out of revenge, he introduced this fine gentleman to us, - to make us ridiculous.... This Brunner (it is the same name as Fontaine in - French)—this Brunner, that was made out to be such a grandee, has - poor enough health, he is bald, and his teeth are bad. The first sight of - him was enough for me; I distrusted him from the first.” - </p> - <p> - “But how about the great fortune that you spoke of?” a young married woman - asked shyly. - </p> - <p> - “The fortune was not nearly so large as they said. These tailors and the - landlord and he all scraped the money together among them, and put all - their savings into this bank that they are starting. What is a bank for - those that begin in these days? Simply a license to ruin themselves. A - banker’s wife may lie down at night a millionaire and wake up in the - morning with nothing but her settlement. At first word, at the very first - sight of him, we made up our minds about this gentleman—he is not - one of us. You can tell by his gloves, by his waistcoat, that he is a - working man, the son of a man that kept a pot-house somewhere in Germany; - he has not the instincts of a gentleman; he drinks beer, and he smokes—smokes? - ah! madame, <i>twenty-five pipes a day!</i>... What would have become of - poor Lili? ... It makes me shudder even now to think of it. God has indeed - preserved us! And besides, Cecile never liked him.... Who would have - expected such a trick from a relative, an old friend of the house that had - dined with us twice a week for twenty years? We have loaded him with - benefits, and he played his game so well, that he said Cecile was his heir - before the Keeper of the Seals and the Attorney General and the Home - Secretary!... That Brunner and M. Pons had their story ready, and each of - them said that the other was worth millions!... No, I do assure you, all - of you would have been taken in by an artist’s hoax like that.” - </p> - <p> - In a few weeks’ time, the united forces of the Camusot and Popinot - families gained an easy victory in the world, for nobody undertook to - defend the unfortunate Pons, that parasite, that curmudgeon, that - skinflint, that smooth-faced humbug, on whom everybody heaped scorn; he - was a viper cherished in the bosom of the family, he had not his match for - spite, he was a dangerous mountebank whom nobody ought to mention. - </p> - <p> - About a month after the perfidious Werther’s withdrawal, poor Pons left - his bed for the first time after an attack of nervous fever, and walked - along the sunny side of the street leaning on Schmucke’s arm. Nobody in - the Boulevard du Temple laughed at the “pair of nutcrackers,” for one of - the old men looked so shattered, and the other so touchingly careful of - his invalid friend. By the time that they reached the Boulevard - Poissonniere, a little color came back to Pons’ face; he was breathing the - air of the boulevards, he felt the vitalizing power of the atmosphere of - the crowded street, the life-giving property of the air that is noticeable - in quarters where human life abounds; in the filthy Roman Ghetto, for - instance, with its swarming Jewish population, where malaria is unknown. - Perhaps, too, the sight of the streets, the great spectacle of Paris, the - daily pleasure of his life, did the invalid good. They walked on side by - side, though Pons now and again left his friend to look at the shop - windows. Opposite the Theatre des Varietes he saw Count Popinot, and went - up to him very respectfully, for of all men Pons esteemed and venerated - the ex-Minister. - </p> - <p> - The peer of France answered him severely: - </p> - <p> - “I am at a loss to understand, sir, how you can have no more tact than to - speak to a near connection of a family whom you tried to brand with shame - and ridicule by a trick which no one but an artist could devise. - Understand this, sir, that from to-day we must be complete strangers to - each other. Mme. la Comtesse Popinot, like every one else, feels indignant - at your behavior to the Marvilles.” - </p> - <p> - And Count Popinot passed on, leaving Pons thunderstruck. Passion, justice, - policy, and great social forces never take into account the condition of - the human creature whom they strike down. The statesman, driven by family - considerations to crush Pons, did not so much as see the physical weakness - of his redoubtable enemy. - </p> - <p> - “Vat is it, mine boor friend?” exclaimed Schmucke, seeing how white Pons - had grown. - </p> - <p> - “It is a fresh stab in the heart,” Pons replied, leaning heavily on - Schmucke’s arm. “I think that no one, save God in heaven, can have any - right to do good, and that is why all those who meddle in His work are so - cruelly punished.” - </p> - <p> - The old artist’s sarcasm was uttered with a supreme effort; he was trying, - excellent creature, to quiet the dismay visible in Schmucke’s face. - </p> - <p> - “So I dink,” Schmucke replied simply. - </p> - <p> - Pons could not understand it. Neither the Camusots nor the Popinots had - sent him notice of Cecile’s wedding. - </p> - <p> - On the Boulevard des Italiens Pons saw M. Cardot coming towards them. - Warned by Count Popinot’s allocution, Pons was very careful not to accost - the old acquaintance with whom he had dined once a fortnight for the last - year; he lifted his hat, but the other, mayor and deputy of Paris, threw - him an indignant glance and went by. Pons turned to Schmucke. - </p> - <p> - “Do go and ask him what it is that they all have against me,” he said to - the friend who knew all the details of the catastrophe that Pons could - tell him. - </p> - <p> - “Mennseir,” Schmucke began diplomatically, “mine friend Bons is chust - recofering from an illness; you haf no doubt fail to rekognize him?” - </p> - <p> - “Not in the least.” - </p> - <p> - “But mit vat kann you rebroach him?” - </p> - <p> - “You have a monster of ingratitude for a friend, sir; if he is still - alive, it is because nothing kills ill weeds. People do well to mistrust - artists; they are as mischievous and spiteful as monkeys. This friend of - yours tried to dishonor his own family, and to blight a young girl’s - character, in revenge for a harmless joke. I wish to have nothing to do - with him; I shall do my best to forget that I have known him, or that such - a man exists. All the members of his family and my own share the wish, - sir, so do all the persons who once did the said Pons the honor of - receiving him.” - </p> - <p> - “Boot, mennseir, you are a reasonaple mann; gif you vill bermit me, I - shall exblain die affair—” - </p> - <p> - “You are quite at liberty to remain his friend, sir, if you are minded - that way,” returned Cardot, “but you need go no further; for I must give - you warning that in my opinion those who try to excuse or defend his - conduct are just as much to blame.” - </p> - <p> - “To chustify it?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, for his conduct can neither be justified nor qualified.” And with - that word, the deputy for the Seine went his way; he would not hear - another syllable. - </p> - <p> - “I have two powers in the State against me,” smiled poor Pons, when - Schmucke had repeated these savage speeches. - </p> - <p> - “Eferpody is against us,” Schmucke answered dolorously. “Let us go avay - pefore we shall meed oder fools.” - </p> - <p> - Never before in the course of a truly ovine life had Schmucke uttered such - words as these. Never before had his almost divine meekness been ruffled. - He had smiled childlike on all the mischances that befell him, but he - could not look and see his sublime Pons maltreated; his Pons, his unknown - Aristides, the genius resigned to his lot, the nature that knew no - bitterness, the treasury of kindness, the heart of gold!... Alceste’s - indignation filled Schmucke’s soul—he was moved to call Pons’ - amphitryons “fools.” For his pacific nature that impulse equaled the wrath - of Roland. - </p> - <p> - With wise foresight, Schmucke turned to go home by the way of the - Boulevard du Temple, Pons passively submitting like a fallen fighter, - heedless of blows; but chance ordered that he should know that all his - world was against him. The House of Peers, the Chamber of Deputies, - strangers and the family, the strong, the weak, and the innocent, all - combined to send down the avalanche. - </p> - <p> - In the Boulevard Poissonniere, Pons caught sight of that very M. Cardot’s - daughter, who, young as she was, had learned to be charitable to others - through trouble of her own. Her husband knew a secret by which he kept her - in bondage. She was the only one among Pons’ hostesses whom he called by - her Christian name; he addressed Mme. Berthier as “Felicie,” and he - thought that she understood him. The gentle creature seemed to be - distressed by the sight of Cousin Pons, as he was called (though he was in - no way related to the family of the second wife of a cousin by marriage). - There was no help for it, however; Felicie Berthier stopped to speak to - the invalid. - </p> - <p> - “I did not think you were cruel, cousin,” she said; “but if even a quarter - of all that I hear of you is true, you are very false.... Oh! do not - justify yourself,” she added quickly, seeing Pons’ significant gesture, - “it is useless, for two reasons. In the first place, I have no right to - accuse or judge or condemn anybody, for I myself know so well how much may - be said for those who seem to be most guilty; secondly, your explanation - would do no good. M. Berthier drew up the marriage contract for Mlle. de - Marville and the Vicomte Popinot; he is so exasperated, that if he knew - that I had so much as spoken one word to you, one word for the last time, - he would scold me. Everybody is against you.” - </p> - <p> - “So it seems indeed, madame,” Pons said, his voice shaking as he lifted - his hat respectfully. - </p> - <p> - Painfully he made his way back to the Rue de Normandie. The old German - knew from the heavy weight on his arm that his friend was struggling - bravely against failing physical strength. That third encounter was like - the verdict of the Lamb at the foot of the throne of God; and the anger of - the Angel of the Poor, the symbol of the Peoples, is the last word of - Heaven. They reached home without another word. - </p> - <p> - There are moments in our lives when the sense that our friend is near is - all that we can bear. Our wounds smart under the consoling words that only - reveal the depths of pain. The old pianist, you see, possessed a genius - for friendship, the tact of those who, having suffered much, knew the - customs of suffering. - </p> - <p> - Pons was never to take a walk again. From one illness he fell into - another. He was of a sanguine-bilious temperament, the bile passed into - his blood, and a violent liver attack was the result. He had never known a - day’s illness in his life till a month ago; he had never consulted a - doctor; so La Cibot, with almost motherly care and intentions at first of - the very best, called in “the doctor of the quarter.” - </p> - <p> - In every quarter of Paris there is a doctor whose name and address are - only known to the working classes, to the little tradespeople and the - porters, and in consequence he is called “the doctor of the quarter.” He - undertakes confinement cases, he lets blood, he is in the medical - profession pretty much what the “general servant” of the advertising - column is in the scale of domestic service. He must perforce be kind to - the poor, and tolerably expert by reason of much practice, and he is - generally popular. Dr. Poulain, called in by Mme. Cibot, gave an - inattentive ear to the old musician’s complainings. Pons groaned out that - his skin itched; he had scratched himself all night long, till he could - scarcely feel. The look of his eyes, with the yellow circles about them, - corroborated the symptoms. - </p> - <p> - “Had you some violent shock a couple of days ago?” the doctor asked the - patient. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, alas!” - </p> - <p> - “You have the same complaint that this gentleman was threatened with,” - said Dr. Poulain, looking at Schmucke as he spoke; “it is an attack of - jaundice, but you will soon get over it,” he added, as he wrote a - prescription. - </p> - <p> - But in spite of that comfortable phrase, the doctor’s eyes had told - another tale as he looked professionally at the patient; and the - death-sentence, though hidden under stereotyped compassion, can always be - read by those who wish to know the truth. Mme. Cibot gave a spy’s glance - at the doctor, and read his thought; his bedside manner did not deceive - her; she followed him out of the room. - </p> - <p> - “Do you think he will get over it?” asked Mme. Cibot, at the stairhead. - </p> - <p> - “My dear Mme. Cibot, your lodger is a dead man; not because of the bile in - the system, but because his vitality is low. Still, with great care, your - patient may pull through. Somebody ought to take him away for a change—” - </p> - <p> - “How is he to go?” asked Mme. Cibot. “He has nothing to live upon but his - salary; his friend has just a little money from some great ladies, very - charitable ladies, in return for his services, it seems. They are two - children. I have looked after them for nine years.” - </p> - <p> - “I spend my life watching people die, not of their disease, but of another - bad and incurable complaint—the want of money,” said the doctor. - “How often it happens that so far from taking a fee, I am obliged to leave - a five-franc piece on the mantel-shelf when I go—” - </p> - <p> - “Poor, dear M. Poulain!” cried Mme. Cibot. “Ah, if you hadn’t only the - hundred thousand livres a year, what some stingy folks has in the quarter - (regular devils from hell they are), you would be like Providence on - earth.” - </p> - <p> - Dr. Poulain had made the little practice, by which he made a bare - subsistence, chiefly by winning the esteem of the porters’ lodges in his - district. So he raised his eyes to heaven and thanked Mme. Cibot with a - solemn face worthy of Tartuffe. - </p> - <p> - “Then you think that with careful nursing our dear patient will get - better, my dear M. Poulain?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, if this shock has not been too much for him.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor man! who can have vexed him? There isn’t nobody like him on earth - except his friend M. Schmucke. I will find out what is the matter, and I - will undertake to give them that upset my gentleman a hauling over the - coals—” - </p> - <p> - “Look here, my dear Mme. Cibot,” said the doctor as they stood in the - gateway, “one of the principal symptoms of his complaint is great - irritability; and as it is hardly to be supposed that he can afford a - nurse, the task of nursing him will fall to you. So—” - </p> - <p> - “Are you talking of Mouchieu Ponsh?” asked the marine store-dealer. He was - sitting smoking on the curb-post in the gateway, and now he rose to join - in the conversation. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Daddy Remonencq.” - </p> - <p> - “All right,” said Remonencq, “ash to moneysh, he ish better off than - Mouchieu Monishtrol and the big men in the curioshity line. I know enough - in the art line to tell you thish—the dear man has treasursh!” he - spoke with a broad Auvergne dialect. - </p> - <p> - “Look here, I thought you were laughing at me the other day when my - gentlemen were out and I showed you the old rubbish upstairs,” said Mme. - Cibot. - </p> - <p> - In Paris, where walls have ears, where doors have tongues, and window bars - have eyes, there are few things more dangerous than the practice of - standing to chat in a gateway. Partings are like postscripts to a letter—indiscreet - utterances that do as much mischief to the speaker as to those who - overhear them. A single instance will be sufficient as a parallel to an - event in this history. - </p> - <p> - In the time of the Empire, when men paid considerable attention to their - hair, one of the first coiffeurs of the day came out of a house where he - had just been dressing a pretty woman’s head. This artist in question - enjoyed the custom of all the lower floor inmates of the house; and among - these, there flourished an elderly bachelor guarded by a housekeeper who - detested her master’s next-of-kin. The <i>ci-devant</i> young man, falling - seriously ill, the most famous of doctors of the day (they were not as yet - styled the “princes of science”) had been called in to consult upon his - case; and it so chanced that the learned gentlemen were taking leave of - one another in the gateway just as the hairdresser came out. They were - talking as doctors usually talk among themselves when the farce of a - consultation is over. “He is a dead man,” quoth Dr. Haudry.—“He had - not a month to live,” added Desplein, “unless a miracle takes place.”—These - were the words overheard by the hairdresser. - </p> - <p> - Like all hairdressers, he kept up a good understanding with his customers’ - servants. Prodigious greed sent the man upstairs again; he mounted to the - <i>ci-devant</i> young man’s apartment, and promised the servant-mistress - a tolerably handsome commission to persuade her master to sink a large - portion of his money in an annuity. The dying bachelor, fifty-six by count - of years, and twice as old as his age by reason of amorous campaigns, - owned, among other property, a splendid house in the Rue de Richelieu, - worth at that time about two hundred and fifty thousand francs. It was - this house that the hairdresser coveted; and on agreement to pay an - annuity of thirty thousand francs so long as the bachelor lived, it passed - into his hands. This happened in 1806. And in this year 1846 the - hairdresser is still paying that annuity. He has retired from business, he - is seventy years old; the <i>ci-devant</i> young man is in his dotage; and - as he has married his Mme. Evrard, he may last for a long while yet. As - the hairdresser gave the woman thirty thousand francs, his bit of real - estate has cost him, first and last, more than a million, and the house at - this day is worth eight or nine hundred thousand francs. - </p> - <p> - Like the hairdresser, Remonencq the Auvergnat had overheard Brunner’s - parting remark in the gateway on the day of Cecile’s first interview with - that phoenix of eligible men. Remonencq at once longed to gain a sight of - Pons’ museum; and as he lived on good terms with his neighbors the Cibots, - it was not very long before the opportunity came one day when the friends - were out. The sight of such treasures dazzled him; he saw a “good haul,” - in dealers’ phrase, which being interpreted means a chance to steal a - fortune. He had been meditating this for five or six days. - </p> - <p> - “I am sho far from joking,” he said, in reply to Mme. Cibot’s remark, - “that we will talk the thing over; and if the good shentleman will take an - annuity, of fifty thousand francsh, I will shtand a hamper of wine, if—” - </p> - <p> - “Fifty thousand francs!” interrupted the doctor; “what are you thinking - about? Why, if the good man is so well off as that, with me in attendance, - and Mme. Cibot to nurse him, he may get better—for liver complaint - is a disease that attacks strong constitutions.” - </p> - <p> - “Fifty, did I shay? Why, a shentleman here, on your very doorshtep, - offered him sheven hundred thoushand francsh, shimply for the pictursh, <i>fouchtra</i>!” - </p> - <p> - While Remonencq made this announcement, Mme. Cibot was looking at Dr. - Poulain. There was a strange expression in her eyes; the devil might have - kindled that sinister glitter in their tawny depths. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, come! we must not pay any attention to such idle tales,” said the - doctor, well pleased, however, to find that his patient could afford to - pay for his visits. - </p> - <p> - “If my dear Mme. Cibot, here, would let me come and bring an ekshpert - (shinsh the shentleman upshtairs ish in bed), I will shertainly find the - money in a couple of hoursh, even if sheven hundred thousand francsh ish - in queshtion—” - </p> - <p> - “All right, my friend,” said the doctor. “Now, Mme. Cibot, be careful - never to contradict the invalid. You must be prepared to be very patient - with him, for he will find everything irritating and wearisome, even your - services; nothing will please him; you must expect grumbling—” - </p> - <p> - “He will be uncommonly hard to please,” said La Cibot. - </p> - <p> - “Look here, mind what I tell you,” the doctor said in a tone of authority, - “M. Pons’ life is in the hands of those that nurse him; I shall come - perhaps twice a day. I shall take him first on my round.” - </p> - <p> - The doctor’s profound indifference to the fate of a poor patient had - suddenly given place to a most tender solicitude when he saw that the - speculator was serious, and that there was a possible fortune in question. - </p> - <p> - “He will be nursed like a king,” said Madame Cibot, forcing up enthusiasm. - She waited till the doctor turned the corner into the Rue Charlot; then - she fell to talking again with the dealer in old iron. Remonencq had - finished smoking his pipe, and stood in the doorway of his shop, leaning - against the frame; he had purposely taken this position; he meant the - portress to come to him. - </p> - <p> - The shop had once been a cafe. Nothing had been changed there since the - Auvergnat discovered it and took over the lease; you could still read - “Cafe de Normandie” on the strip left above the windows in all modern - shops. Remonencq had found somebody, probably a housepainter’s apprentice, - who did the work for nothing, to paint another inscription in the - remaining space below—“REMONENCQ,” it ran, “DEALER IN MARINE STORES, - FURNITURE BOUGHT”—painted in small black letters. All the mirrors, - tables, seats, shelves, and fittings of the Cafe de Normandie had been - sold, as might have been expected, before Remonencq took possession of the - shop as it stood, paying a yearly rent of six hundred francs for the - place, with a back shop, a kitchen, and a single room above, where the - head-waiter used to sleep, for the house belonging to the Cafe de - Normandie was let separately. Of the former splendor of the cafe, nothing - now remained save the plain light green paper on the walls, and the strong - iron bolts and bars of the shop-front. - </p> - <p> - When Remonencq came hither in 1831, after the Revolution of July, he began - by displaying a selection of broken doorbells, cracked plates, old iron, - and the obsolete scales and weights abolished by a Government which alone - fails to carry out its own regulations, for pence and half pence of the - time of Louis XVI. are still in circulation. After a time this Auvergnat, - a match for five ordinary Auvergnats, bought up old saucepans and kettles, - old picture-frames, old copper, and chipped china. Gradually, as the shop - was emptied and filled, the quality of the stock-in-trade improved, like - Nicolet’s farces. Remonencq persisted in an unfailing and prodigiously - profitable martingale, a “system” which any philosophical idler may study - as he watches the increasing value of the stock kept by this intelligent - class of trader. Picture-frames and copper succeed to tin-ware, argand - lamps, and damaged crockery; china marks the next transition; and after no - long tarriance in the “omnium gatherum” stage, the shop becomes a museum. - Some day or other the dusty windows are cleaned, the interior is restored, - the Auvergnat relinquishes velveteen and jackets for a great-coat, and - there he sits like a dragon guarding his treasure, surrounded by - masterpieces! He is a cunning connoisseur by this time; he has increased - his capital tenfold; he is not to be cheated; he knows the tricks of the - trade. The monster among his treasures looks like some old hag among a - score of young girls that she offers to the public. Beauty and miracles of - art are alike indifferent to him; subtle and dense as he is, he has a keen - eye to profits, he talks roughly to those who know less than he does; he - has learned to act a part, he pretends to love his pictures, or again he - lets you know the price he himself gave for the things, he offers to let - you see the memoranda of the sale. He is a Proteus; in one hour he can be - Jocrisse, Janot, <i>Queue-rouge</i>, Mondor, Hapagon, or Nicodeme. - </p> - <p> - The third year found armor, and old pictures, and some tolerably fine - clocks in Remonencq’s shop. He sent for his sister, and La Remonencq came - on foot all the way from Auvergne to take charge of the shop while her - brother was away. A big and very ugly woman, dressed like a Japanese idol, - a half-idiotic creature with a vague, staring gaze she would not bate a - centime of the prices fixed by her brother. In the intervals of business - she did the work of the house, and solved the apparently insoluble problem—how - to live on “the mists of the Seine.” The Remonencqs’ diet consisted of - bread and herrings, with the outside leaves of lettuce or vegetable refuse - selected from the heaps deposited in the kennel before the doors of - eating-houses. The two between them did not spend more than fivepence a - day on food (bread included), and La Remonencq earned the money by sewing - or spinning. - </p> - <p> - Remonencq came to Paris in the first instance to work as an errand-boy. - Between the years 1825 and 1831 he ran errands for dealers in curiosities - in the Boulevard Beaumarchais or coppersmiths in the Rue de Lappe. It is - the usual start in life in his line of business. Jews, Normans, - Auvergnats, and Savoyards, those four different races of men all have the - same instincts, and make their fortunes in the same way; they spend - nothing, make small profits, and let them accumulate at compound interest. - Such is their trading charter, and <i>that</i> charter is no delusion. - </p> - <p> - Remonencq at this moment had made it up with his old master Monistrol; he - did business with wholesale dealers, he was a <i>chineur</i> (the - technical word), plying his trade in the <i>banlieue</i>, which, as - everybody knows, extends for some forty leagues round Paris. - </p> - <p> - After fourteen years of business, he had sixty thousand francs in hand and - a well-stocked shop. He lived in the Rue de Normandie because the rent was - low, but casual customers were scarce, most of his goods were sold to - other dealers, and he was content with moderate gains. All his business - transactions were carried on in the Auvergue dialect or <i>charabia</i>, - as people call it. - </p> - <p> - Remonencq cherished a dream! He wished to establish himself on a - boulevard, to be a rich dealer in curiosities, and do a direct trade with - amateurs some day. And, indeed, within him there was a formidable man of - business. His countenance was the more inscrutable because it was glazed - over by a deposit of dust and particles of metal glued together by the - sweat of his brow; for he did everything himself, and the use and wont of - bodily labor had given him something of the stoical impassibility of the - old soldiers of 1799. - </p> - <p> - In personal appearance Remonencq was short and thin; his little eyes were - set in his head in porcine fashion; a Jew’s slyness and concentrated greed - looked out of those dull blue circles, though in his case the false - humility that masks the Hebrew’s unfathomed contempt for the Gentile was - lacking. - </p> - <p> - The relations between the Cibots and the Remonencqs were those of - benefactors and recipients. Mme. Cibot, convinced that the Auvergnats were - wretchedly poor, used to let them have the remainder of “her gentlemen’s” - dinners at ridiculous prices. The Remonencqs would buy a pound of broken - bread, crusts and crumbs, for a farthing, a porringer-full of cold - potatoes for something less, and other scraps in proportion. Remonencq - shrewdly allowed them to believe that he was not in business on his own - account, he worked for Monistrol, the rich shopkeepers preyed upon him, he - said, and the Cibots felt sincerely sorry for Remonencq. The velveteen - jacket, waistcoat, and trousers, particularly affected by Auvergnats, were - covered with patches of Cibot’s making, and not a penny had the little - tailor charged for repairs which kept the three garments together after - eleven years of wear. - </p> - <p> - Thus we see that all Jews are not in Israel. - </p> - <p> - “You are not laughing at me, Remonencq, are you?” asked the portress. “Is - it possible that M. Pons has such a fortune, living as he does? There is - not a hundred francs in the place—” - </p> - <p> - “Amateursh are all like that,” Remonencq remarked sententiously. - </p> - <p> - “Then do you think that my gentleman has worth of seven hundred thousand - francs, eh?—” - </p> - <p> - “In pictures alone,” continued Remonencq (it is needless, for the sake of - clearness in the story, to give any further specimens of his frightful - dialect). “If he would take fifty thousand francs for one up there that I - know of, I would find the money if I had to hang myself. Do you remember - those little frames full of enameled copper on crimson velvet, hanging - among the portraits?... Well, those are Petitot’s enamels; and there is a - cabinet minister as used to be a druggist that will give three thousand - francs apiece for them.” - </p> - <p> - La Cibot’s eyes opened wide. “There are thirty of them in the pair of - frames!” she said. - </p> - <p> - “Very well, you can judge for yourself how much he is worth.” - </p> - <p> - Mme. Cibot’s head was swimming; she wheeled round. In a moment came the - thought that she would have a legacy, <i>she</i> would sleep sound on old - Pons’ will, like the other servant-mistresses whose annuities had aroused - such envy in the Marais. Her thoughts flew to some commune in the - neighborhood of Paris; she saw herself strutting proudly about her house - in the country, looking after her garden and poultry yard, ending her - days, served like a queen, along with her poor dear Cibot, who deserved - such good fortune, like all angelic creatures whom nobody knows nor - appreciates. - </p> - <p> - Her abrupt, unthinking movement told Remonencq that success was sure. In - the <i>chineur’s</i> way of business—the <i>chineur</i>, be it - explained, goes about the country picking up bargains at the expense of - the ignorant—in the <i>chineur’s</i> way of business, the one real - difficulty is the problem of gaining an entrance to a house. No one can - imagine the Scapin’s roguery, the tricks of a Sganarelle, the wiles of a - Dorine by which the <i>chineur</i> contrives to make a footing for - himself. These comedies are as good as a play, and founded indeed on the - old stock theme of the dishonesty of servants. For thirty francs in money - or goods, servants, and especially country servants, will sometimes - conclude a bargain on which the <i>chineur</i> makes a profit of a - thousand or two thousand francs. If we could but know the history of such - and such a service of Sevres porcelain, <i>pate tendre</i>, we should find - that all the intellect, all the diplomatic subtlety displayed at Munster, - Nimeguen, Utrecht, Ryswick, and Vienna was surpassed by the <i>chineur</i>. - His is the more frank comedy; his methods of action fathom depths of - personal interest quite as profound as any that plenipotentiaries can - explore in their difficult search for any means of breaking up the best - cemented alliances. - </p> - <p> - “I have set La Cibot nicely on fire,” Remonencq told his sister, when she - came to take up her position again on the ramshackle chair. “And now,” he - continued, “I shall go to consult the only man that knows, our Jew, a good - sort of Jew that did not ask more than fifteen per cent of us for his - money.” - </p> - <p> - Remonencq had read La Cibot’s heart. To will is to act with women of her - stamp. Let them see the end in view; they will stick at nothing to gain - it, and pass from scrupulous honesty to the last degree of scoundrelism in - the twinkling of an eye. Honesty, like most dispositions of mind, is - divided into two classes—negative and positive. La Cibot’s honesty - was of the negative order; she and her like are honest until they see - their way clear to gain money belonging to somebody else. Positive - honesty, the honesty of the bank collector, can wade knee-deep through - temptations. - </p> - <p> - A torrent of evil thoughts invaded La Cibot’s heart and brain so soon as - Remonencq’s diabolical suggestion opened the flood-gates of self-interest. - La Cibot climbed, or, to be more accurate, fled up the stairs, opened the - door on the landing, and showed a face disguised in false solicitude in - the doorway of the room where Pons and Schmucke were bemoaning themselves. - As soon as she came in, Schmucke made her a warning sign; for, true friend - and sublime German that he was, he too had read the doctor’s eyes, and he - was afraid that Mme. Cibot might repeat the verdict. Mme. Cibot answered - by a shake of the head indicative of deep woe. - </p> - <p> - “Well, my dear monsieur,” asked she, “how are you feeling?” She sat down - on the foot of the bed, hands on hips, and fixed her eyes lovingly upon - the patient; but what a glitter of metal there was in them, a terrible, - tiger-like gleam if any one had watched her. - </p> - <p> - “I feel very ill,” answered poor Pons. “I have not the slightest appetite - left.—Oh! the world, the world!” he groaned, squeezing Schmucke’s - hand. Schmucke was sitting by his bedside, and doubtless the sick man was - talking of the causes of his illness.—“I should have done far better - to follow your advice, my good Schmucke, and dined here every day, and - given up going into this society, that has fallen on me with all its - weight, like a tumbril cart crushing an egg! And why?” - </p> - <p> - “Come, come, don’t complain, M. Pons,” said La Cibot; “the doctor told me - just how it is—” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke tugged at her gown.—“And you will pull through,” she - continued, “only we must take great care of you. Be easy, you have a good - friend beside you, and without boasting, a woman as will nurse you like a - mother nurses her first child. I nursed Cibot round once when Dr. Poulain - had given him over; he had the shroud up to his eyes, as the saying is, - and they gave him up for dead. Well, well, you have not come to that yet, - God be thanked, ill though you may be. Count on me; I would pull you - through all by myself, I would! Keep still, don’t you fidget like that.” - </p> - <p> - She pulled the coverlet over the patient’s hands as she spoke. - </p> - <p> - “There, sonny! M. Schmucke and I will sit up with you of nights. A prince - won’t be no better nursed... and besides, you needn’t refuse yourself - nothing that’s necessary, you can afford it.—I have just been - talking things over with Cibot, for what would he do without me, poor - dear?—Well, and I talked him round; we are both so fond of you, that - he will let me stop up with you of a night. And that is a good deal to ask - of a man like him, for he is as fond of me as ever he was the day we were - married. I don’t know how it is. It is the lodge, you see; we are always - there together! Don’t you throw off the things like that!” she cried, - making a dash for the bedhead to draw the coverlet over Pons’ chest. “If - you are not good, and don’t do just as Dr. Poulain says—and Dr. - Poulain is the image of Providence on earth—I will have no more to - do with you. You must do as I tell you—” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Montame Zipod, he vill do vat you dell him,” put in Schmucke; “he - vants to lif for his boor friend Schmucke’s sake, I’ll pe pound.” - </p> - <p> - “And of all things, don’t fidget yourself,” continued La Cibot, “for your - illness makes you quite bad enough without your making it worse for want - of patience. God sends us our troubles, my dear good gentlemen; He - punishes us for our sins. Haven’t you nothing to reproach yourself with? - some poor little bit of a fault or other?” - </p> - <p> - The invalid shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! go on! You were young once, you had your fling, there is some - love-child of yours somewhere—cold, and starving, and homeless.... - What monsters men are! Their love doesn’t last only for a day, and then in - a jiffy they forget, they don’t so much as think of the child at the - breast for months.... Poor women!” - </p> - <p> - “But no one has ever loved me except Schmucke and my mother,” poor Pons - broke in sadly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! come, you aren’t no saint! You were young in your time, and a - fine-looking young fellow you must have been at twenty. I should have - fallen in love with you myself, so nice as you are—” - </p> - <p> - “I always was as ugly as a toad,” Pons put in desperately. - </p> - <p> - “You say that because you are modest; nobody can’t say that you aren’t - modest.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear Mme. Cibot, <i>no</i>, I tell you. I always was ugly, and I never - was loved in my life.” - </p> - <p> - “You, indeed!” cried the portress. “You want to make me believe at this - time of day that you are as innocent as a young maid at your time of life. - Tell that to your granny! A musician at a theatre too! Why, if a woman - told me that, I wouldn’t believe her.” - </p> - <p> - “Montame Zipod, you irritate him!” cried Schmucke, seeing that Pons was - writhing under the bedclothes. - </p> - <p> - “You hold your tongue too! You are a pair of old libertines. If you were - ugly, it don’t make no difference; there was never so ugly a saucepan-lid - but it found a pot to match, as the saying is. There is Cibot, he got one - of the handsomest oyster-women in Paris to fall in love with him, and you - are infinitely better looking than him! You are a nice pair, you are! - Come, now, you have sown your wild oats, and God will punish you for - deserting your children, like Abraham—” - </p> - <p> - Exhausted though he was, the invalid gathered up all his strength to make - a vehement gesture of denial. - </p> - <p> - “Do lie quiet; if you have, it won’t prevent you from living as long as - Methuselah.” - </p> - <p> - “Then, pray let me be quiet!” groaned Pons. “I have never known what it is - to be loved. I have had no child; I am alone in the world.” - </p> - <p> - “Really, eh?” returned the portress. “You are so kind, and that is what - women like, you see—it draws them—and it looked to me - impossible that when you were in your prime—” - </p> - <p> - “Take her away,” Pons whispered to Schmucke; “she sets my nerves on edge.” - </p> - <p> - “Then there’s M. Schmucke, he has children. You old bachelors are not all - like that—” - </p> - <p> - “<i>I!</i>” cried Schmucke, springing to his feet, “vy!—” - </p> - <p> - “Come, then, you have none to come after you either, eh? You both sprung - up out of the earth like mushrooms—” - </p> - <p> - “Look here, komm mit me,” said Schmucke. The good German manfully took - Mme. Cibot by the waist and carried her off into the next room, in spite - of her exclamations. - </p> - <p> - “At your age, you would not take advantage of a defenceless woman!” cried - La Cibot, struggling in his arms. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t make a noise!” - </p> - <p> - “You too, the better one of the two!” returned La Cibot. “Ah! it is my - fault for talking about love to two old men who have never had nothing to - do with women. I have roused your passions,” cried she, as Schmucke’s eyes - glittered with wrath. “Help! help! police!” - </p> - <p> - “You are a stoopid!” said the German. “Look here, vat tid de toctor say?” - </p> - <p> - “You are a ruffian to treat me so,” wept La Cibot, now released,—“me - that would go through fire and water for you both! Ah! well, well, they - say that that is the way with men—and true it is! There is my poor - Cibot, <i>he</i> would not be rough with me like this.... And I treated - you like my children, for I have none of my own; and yesterday, yes, only - yesterday I said to Cibot, ‘God knew well what He was doing, dear,’ I - said, ‘when He refused us children, for I have two children there - upstairs.’ By the holy crucifix and the soul of my mother, that was what I - said to him—” - </p> - <p> - “Eh! but vat did der doctor say?” Schmucke demanded furiously, stamping on - the floor for the first time in his life. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Mme. Cibot, drawing Schmucke into the dining-room, “he just - said this—that our dear, darling love lying ill there would die if - he wasn’t carefully nursed; but I am here, in spite of all your brutality, - for brutal you were, you that I thought so gentle. And you are one of that - sort! Ah! now, you would not abuse a woman at your age, great blackguard—” - </p> - <p> - “Placard? I? Vill you not oonderstand that I lof nopody but Bons?” - </p> - <p> - “Well and good, you will let me alone, won’t you?” said she, smiling at - Schmucke. “You had better; for if Cibot knew that anybody had attempted - his honor, he would break every bone in his skin.” - </p> - <p> - “Take crate care of him, dear Montame Zipod,” answered Schmucke, and he - tried to take the portress’ hand. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! look here now, <i>again</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “Chust listen to me. You shall haf all dot I haf, gif ve safe him.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well; I will go round to the chemist’s to get the things that are - wanted; this illness is going to cost a lot, you see, sir, and what will - you do?” - </p> - <p> - “I shall vork; Bons shall be nursed like ein brince.” - </p> - <p> - “So he shall, M. Schmucke; and look here, don’t you trouble about nothing. - Cibot and I, between us, have saved a couple of thousand francs; they are - yours; I have been spending money on you this long time, I have.” - </p> - <p> - “Goot voman!” cried Schmucke, brushing the tears from his eyes. “Vat ein - heart!” - </p> - <p> - “Wipe your tears; they do me honor; this is my reward,” said La Cibot, - melodramatically. “There isn’t no more disinterested creature on earth - than me; but don’t you go into the room with tears in your eyes, or M. - Pons will be thinking himself worse than he is.” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke was touched by this delicate feeling. He took La Cibot’s hand and - gave it a final squeeze. - </p> - <p> - “Spare me!” cried the ex-oysterseller, leering at Schmucke. - </p> - <p> - “Bons,” the good German said when he returned “Montame Zipod is an anchel; - ‘tis an anchel dat brattles, but an anchel all der same.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you think so? I have grown suspicious in the past month,” said the - invalid, shaking his head. “After all I have been through, one comes to - believe in nothing but God and my friend—” - </p> - <p> - “Get bedder, and ve vill lif like kings, all tree of us,” exclaimed - Schmucke. - </p> - <p> - “Cibot!” panted the portress as she entered the lodge. “Oh, my dear, our - fortune is made. My two gentlemen haven’t nobody to come after them, no - natural children, no nothing, in short! Oh, I shall go round to Ma’am - Fontaine’s and get her to tell my fortune on the cards, then we shall know - how much we are going to have—” - </p> - <p> - “Wife,” said the little tailor, “it’s ill counting on dead men’s shoes.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I say, are <i>you</i> going to worry me?” asked she, giving her - spouse a playful tap. “I know what I know! Dr. Poulain has given up M. - Pons. And we are going to be rich! My name will be down in the will.... - I’ll see to that. Draw your needle in and out, and look after the lodge; - you will not do it for long now. We will retire, and go into the country, - out at Batignolles. A nice house and a fine garden; you will amuse - yourself with gardening, and I shall keep a servant!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, neighbor, and how are things going on upstairs?” The words were - spoken with the thick Auvergnat accent, and Remonencq put his head in at - the door. “Do you know what the collection is worth?” - </p> - <p> - “No, no, not yet. One can’t go at that rate, my good man. I have begun, - myself, by finding out more important things—” - </p> - <p> - “More important!” exclaimed Remonencq; “why, what things can be more - important?” - </p> - <p> - “Come, let me do the steering, ragamuffin,” said La Cibot authoritatively. - </p> - <p> - “But thirty per cent on seven hundred thousand francs,” persisted the - dealer in old iron; “you could be your own mistress for the rest of your - days on that.” - </p> - <p> - “Be easy, Daddy Remonencq; when we want to know the value of the things - that the old man has got together, then we will see.” - </p> - <p> - La Cibot went for the medicine ordered by Dr. Poulain, and put off her - consultation with Mme. Fontaine until the morrow; the oracle’s faculties - would be fresher and clearer in the morning, she thought; and she would go - early, before everybody else came, for there was often a crowd at Mme. - Fontaine’s. - </p> - <p> - Mme. Fontaine was at this time the oracle of the Marais; she had survived - the rival of forty years, the celebrated Mlle. Lenormand. No one imagines - the part that fortune-tellers play among Parisians of the lower classes, - nor the immense influence which they exert over the uneducated; general - servants, portresses, kept women, workmen, all the many in Paris who live - on hope, consult the privileged beings who possess the mysterious power of - reading the future. - </p> - <p> - The belief of the occult science is far more widely spread than scholars, - lawyers, doctors, magistrates, and philosophers imagine. The instincts of - the people are ineradicable. One among those instincts, so foolishly - styled “superstition,” runs in the blood of the populace, and tinges no - less the intellects of better educated folk. More than one French - statesman has been known to consult the fortune-teller’s cards. For - sceptical minds, astrology, in French, so oddly termed <i>astrologie - judiciare</i>, is nothing more than a cunning device for making a profit - out of one of the strongest of all the instincts of human nature—to - wit, curiosity. The sceptical mind consequently denies that there is any - connection between human destiny and the prognostications obtained by the - seven or eight principal methods known to astrology; and the occult - sciences, like many natural phenomena, are passed over by the freethinker - or the materialist philosopher, <i>id est</i>, by those who believe in - nothing but visible and tangible facts, in the results given by the - chemist’s retort and the scales of modern physical science. The occult - sciences still exist; they are at work, but they make no progress, for the - greatest intellects of two centuries have abandoned the field. - </p> - <p> - If you only look at the practical side of divination, it seems absurd to - imagine that events in a man’s past life and secrets known only to himself - can be represented on the spur of the moment by a pack of cards which he - shuffles and cuts for the fortune-teller to lay out in piles according to - certain mysterious rules; but then the steam-engine was condemned as - absurd, aerial navigation is still said to be absurd, so in their time - were the inventions of gunpowder, printing, spectacles, engraving, and - that latest discovery of all—the daguerreotype. If any man had come - to Napoleon to tell him that a building or a figure is at all times and in - all places represented by an image in the atmosphere, that every existing - object has a spectral intangible double which may become visible, the - Emperor would have sent his informant to Charenton for a lunatic, just as - Richelieu before his day sent that Norman martyr, Salomon de Caux, to the - Bicetre for announcing his immense triumph, the idea of navigation by - steam. Yet Daguerre’s discovery amounts to nothing more nor less than - this. - </p> - <p> - And if for some clairvoyant eyes God has written each man’s destiny over - his whole outward and visible form, if a man’s body is the record of his - fate, why should not the hand in a manner epitomize the body?—since - the hand represents the deed of man, and by his deeds he is known. - </p> - <p> - Herein lies the theory of palmistry. Does not Society imitate God? At the - sight of a soldier we can predict that he will fight; of a lawyer, that he - will talk; of a shoemaker, that he shall make shoes or boots; of a worker - of the soil, that he shall dig the ground and dung it; and is it a more - wonderful thing that such an one with the “seer’s” gift should foretell - the events of a man’s life from his hand? - </p> - <p> - To take a striking example. Genius is so visible in a man that a great - artist cannot walk about the streets of Paris but the most ignorant people - are conscious of his passing. He is a sun, as it were, in the mental - world, shedding light that colors everything in its path. And who does not - know an idiot at once by an impression the exact opposite of the sensation - of the presence of genius? Most observers of human nature in general, and - Parisian nature in particular, can guess the profession or calling of the - man in the street. - </p> - <p> - The mysteries of the witches’ Sabbath, so wonderfully painted in the - sixteenth century, are no mysteries for us. The Egyptian ancestors of that - mysterious people of Indian origin, the gypsies of the present day, simply - used to drug their clients with hashish, a practice that fully accounts - for broomstick rides and flights up the chimney, the real-seeming visions, - so to speak, of old crones transformed into young damsels, the frantic - dances, the exquisite music, and all the fantastic tales of devil-worship. - </p> - <p> - So many proven facts have been first discovered by occult science, that - some day we shall have professors of occult science, as we already have - professors of chemistry and astronomy. It is even singular that here in - Paris, where we are founding chairs of Mantchu and Slave and literatures - so little professable (to coin a word) as the literatures of the North - (which, so far from providing lessons, stand very badly in need of them); - when the curriculum is full of the everlasting lectures on Shakespeare and - the sixteenth century,—it is strange that some one has not restored - the teaching of the occult philosophies, once the glory of the University - of Paris, under the title of anthropology. Germany, so childlike and so - great, has outstripped France in this particular; in Germany they have - professors of a science of far more use than a knowledge of the - heterogeneous philosophies, which all come to the same thing at bottom. - </p> - <p> - Once admit that certain beings have the power of discerning the future in - its germ-form of the Cause, as the great inventor sees a glimpse of the - industry latent in his invention, or a science in something that happens - every day unnoticed by ordinary eyes—once allow this, and there is - nothing to cause an outcry in such phenomena, no violent exception to - nature’s laws, but the operation of a recognized faculty; possibly a kind - of mental somnambulism, as it were. If, therefore, the hypothesis upon - which the various ways of divining the future are based seem absurd, the - facts remain. Remark that it is not really more wonderful that the seer - should foretell the chief events of the future than that he should read - the past. Past and future, on the sceptic’s system, equally lie beyond the - limits of knowledge. If the past has left traces behind it, it is not - improbable that future events have, as it were, their roots in the - present. - </p> - <p> - If a fortune-teller gives you minute details of past facts known only to - yourself, why should he not foresee the events to be produced by existing - causes? The world of ideas is cut out, so to speak, on the pattern of the - physical world; the same phenomena should be discernible in both, allowing - for the difference of the medium. As, for instance, a corporeal body - actually projects an image upon the atmosphere—a spectral double - detected and recorded by the daguerreotype; so also ideas, having a real - and effective existence, leave an impression, as it were, upon the - atmosphere of the spiritual world; they likewise produce effects, and - exist spectrally (to coin a word to express phenomena for which no words - exist), and certain human beings are endowed with the faculty of - discerning these “forms” or traces of ideas. - </p> - <p> - As for the material means employed to assist the seer—the objects - arranged by the hands of the consultant that the accidents of his life may - be revealed to him,—this is the least inexplicable part of the - process. Everything in the material world is part of a series of causes - and effects. Nothing happens without a cause, every cause is a part of a - whole, and consequently the whole leaves its impression on the slightest - accident. Rabelais, the greatest mind among moderns, resuming Pythagoras, - Hippocrates, Aristophanes, and Dante, pronounced three centuries ago that - “man is a microcosm”—a little world. Three hundred years later, the - great seer Swedenborg declared that “the world was a man.” The prophet and - the precursor of incredulity meet thus in the greatest of all formulas. - </p> - <p> - Everything in human life is predestined, so it is also with the existence - of the planet. The least event, the most futile phenomena, are all - subordinate parts of a scheme. Great things, therefore, great designs, and - great thoughts are of necessity reflected in the smallest actions, and - that so faithfully, that should a conspirator shuffle and cut a pack of - playing-cards, he will write the history of his plot for the eyes of the - seer styled gypsy, fortune-teller, charlatan, or what not. If you once - admit fate, which is to say, the chain of links of cause and effect, - astrology has a <i>locus standi</i>, and becomes what it was of yore, a - boundless science, requiring the same faculty of deduction by which Cuvier - became so great, a faculty to be exercised spontaneously, however, and not - merely in nights of study in the closet. - </p> - <p> - For seven centuries astrology and divination have exercised an influence - not only (as at present) over the uneducated, but over the greatest minds, - over kings and queens and wealthy people. Animal magnetism, one of the - great sciences of antiquity, had its origin in occult philosophy; - chemistry is the outcome of alchemy; phrenology and neurology are no less - the fruit of similar studies. The first illustrious workers in these, to - all appearance, untouched fields, made one mistake, the mistake of all - inventors; that is to say, they erected an absolute system on a basis of - isolated facts for which modern analysis as yet cannot account. The - Catholic Church, the law of the land, and modern philosophy, in agreement - for once, combined to prescribe, persecute, and ridicule the mysteries of - the Cabala as well as the adepts; the result is a lamentable interregnum - of a century in occult philosophy. But the uneducated classes, and not a - few cultivated people (women especially), continue to pay a tribute to the - mysterious power of those who can raise the veil of the future; they go to - buy hope, strength, and courage of the fortune-teller; in other words, to - ask of him all that religion alone can give. So the art is still practised - in spite of a certain amount of risk. The eighteenth century - encyclopaedists procured tolerance for the sorcerer; he is no longer - amenable to a court of law, unless, indeed, he lends himself to fraudulent - practices, and frightens his “clients” to extort money from them, in which - case he may be prosecuted on a charge of obtaining money under false - pretences. Unluckily, the exercise of the sublime art is only too often - used as a method of obtaining money under false pretences, and for the - following reasons. - </p> - <p> - The seer’s wonderful gifts are usually bestowed upon those who are - described by the epithets rough and uneducated. The rough and uneducated - are the chosen vessels into which God pours the elixirs at which we - marvel. From among the rough and uneducated, prophets arise—an - Apostle Peter, or St. Peter the Hermit. Wherever mental power is - imprisoned, and remains intact and entire for want of an outlet in - conversation, in politics, in literature, in the imaginings of the - scholar, in the efforts of the statesman, in the conceptions of the - inventor, or the soldier’s toils of war; the fire within is apt to flash - out in gleams of marvelously vivid light, like the sparks hidden in an - unpolished diamond. Let the occasion come, and the spirit within kindles - and glows, finds wings to traverse space, and the god-like power of - beholding all things. The coal of yesterday under the play of some - mysterious influence becomes a radiant diamond. Better educated people, - many-sided and highly polished, continually giving out all that is in - them, can never exhibit this supreme power, save by one of the miracles - which God sometimes vouchsafes to work. For this reason the soothsayer is - almost always a beggar, whose mind is virgin soil, a creature coarse to - all appearance, a pebble borne along the torrent of misery and left in the - ruts of life, where it spends nothing of itself save in mere physical - suffering. - </p> - <p> - The prophet, the seer, in short, is some <i>Martin le Laboureur</i> making - a Louis XVIII. tremble by telling him a secret known only to the king - himself; or it is a Mlle. Lenormand, or a domestic servant like Mme. - Fontaine, or again, perhaps it is some half-idiotic negress, some herdsman - living among his cattle, who receives the gift of vision; some Hindoo - fakir, seated by a pagoda, mortifying the flesh till the spirit gains the - mysterious power of the somnambulist. - </p> - <p> - Asia, indeed, through all time, has been the home of the heroes of occult - science. Persons of this kind, recovering their normal state, are usually - just as they were before. They fulfil, in some sort, the chemical and - physical functions of bodies which conduct electricity; at times inert - metal, at other times a channel filled with a mysterious current. In their - normal condition they are given to practices which bring them before the - magistrate, yea, verily, like the notorious Balthazar, even unto the - criminal court, and so to the hulks. You could hardly find a better proof - of the immense influence of fortune-telling upon the working classes than - the fact that poor Pons’ life and death hung upon the prediction that Mme. - Fontaine was to make from the cards. - </p> - <p> - Although a certain amount of repetition is inevitable in a canvas so - considerable and so full of detail as a complete picture of French society - in the nineteenth century, it is needless to repeat the description of - Mme. Fontaine’s den, already given in <i>Les Comediens sans le savoir</i>; - suffice it to say that Mme. Cibot used to go to Mme. Fontaine’s house in - the Rue Vieille-du-Temple as regularly as frequenters of the Cafe Anglais - drop in at that restaurant for lunch. Mme. Cibot, being a very old - customer, often introduced young persons and old gossips consumed with - curiosity to the wise woman. - </p> - <p> - The old servant who acted as provost marshal flung open the door of the - sanctuary with no further ceremony than the remark, “It’s Mme. Cibot.—Come - in, there’s nobody here.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, child, what can bring you here so early of a morning?” asked the - sorceress, as Mme. Fontaine might well be called, for she was - seventy-eight years old, and looked like one of the Parcae. - </p> - <p> - “Something has given me a turn,” said La Cibot; “I want the <i>grand jeu</i>; - it is a question of my fortune.” Therewith she explained her position, and - wished to know if her sordid hopes were likely to be realized. - </p> - <p> - “Do you know what the <i>grand jeu</i> means?” asked Mme. Fontaine, with - much solemnity. - </p> - <p> - “No, I haven’t never seen the trick, I am not rich enough.—A hundred - francs! It’s not as if it cost so much! Where was the money to come from? - But now I can’t help myself, I must have it.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t do it often, child,” returned Mme. Fontaine; “I only do it for - rich people on great occasions, and they pay me twenty-five louis for - doing it; it tires me, you see, it wears me out. The ‘Spirit’ rives my - inside, here. It is like going to the ‘Sabbath,’ as they used to say.” - </p> - <p> - “But when I tell you that it means my whole future, my dear good Ma’am - Fontaine—” - </p> - <p> - “Well, as it is you that have come to consult me so often, I will submit - myself to the Spirit!” replied Mme. Fontaine, with a look of genuine - terror on her face. - </p> - <p> - She rose from her filthy old chair by the fireside, and went to a table - covered with a green cloth so worn that you could count the threads. A - huge toad sat dozing there beside a cage inhabited by a black - disheveled-looking fowl. - </p> - <p> - “Astaroth! here, my son!” she said, and the creature looked up - intelligently at her as she rapped him on the back with a long - knitting-needle.—“And you, Mademoiselle Cleopatre!—attention!” - she continued, tapping the ancient fowl on the beak. - </p> - <p> - Then Mme. Fontaine began to think; for several seconds she did not move; - she looked like a corpse, her eyes rolled in their sockets and grew white; - then she rose stiff and erect, and a cavernous voice cried: - </p> - <p> - “Here I am!” - </p> - <p> - Automatically she scattered millet for Cleopatre, took up the pack of - cards, shuffled them convulsively, and held them out to Mme. Cibot to cut, - sighing heavily all the time. At the sight of that image of Death in the - filthy turban and uncanny-looking bed-jacket, watching the black fowl as - it pecked at the millet-grains, calling to the toad Astaroth to walk over - the cards that lay out on the table, a cold thrill ran through Mme. Cibot; - she shuddered. Nothing but strong belief can give strong emotions. An - assured income, to be or not to be, that was the question. - </p> - <p> - The sorceress opened a magical work and muttered some unintelligible words - in a sepulchral voice, looked at the remaining millet-seeds, and watched - the way in which the toad retired. Then after seven or eight minutes, she - turned her white eyes on the cards and expounded them. - </p> - <p> - “You will succeed, although nothing in the affair will fall out as you - expect. You will have many steps to take, but you will reap the fruits of - your labors. You will behave very badly; it will be with you as it is with - all those who sit by a sick-bed and covet part of the inheritance. Great - people will help you in this work of wrongdoing. Afterwards in the death - agony you will repent. Two escaped convicts, a short man with red hair and - an old man with a bald head, will murder you for the sake of the money you - will be supposed to have in the village whither you will retire with your - second husband. Now, my daughter, it is still open to you to choose your - course.” - </p> - <p> - The excitement which seemed to glow within, lighting up the bony hollows - about the eyes, was suddenly extinguished. As soon as the horoscope was - pronounced, Mme. Fontaine’s face wore a dazed expression; she looked - exactly like a sleep-walker aroused from sleep, gazed about her with an - astonished air, recognized Mme. Cibot, and seemed surprised by her - terrified face. - </p> - <p> - “Well, child,” she said, in a totally different voice, “are you - satisfied?” - </p> - <p> - Mme. Cibot stared stupidly at the sorceress, and could not answer. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! you would have the <i>grand jeu</i>; I have treated you as an old - acquaintance. I only want a hundred francs—” - </p> - <p> - “Cibot,—going to die?” gasped the portress. - </p> - <p> - “So I have been telling you very dreadful things, have I?” asked Mme. - Fontaine, with an extremely ingenuous air. - </p> - <p> - “Why, yes!” said La Cibot, taking a hundred francs from her pocket and - laying them down on the edge of the table. “Going to be murdered, think of - it—” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! there it is! You would have the <i>grand jeu</i>; but don’t take on - so, all the folk that are murdered on the cards don’t die.” - </p> - <p> - “But is it possible, Ma’am Fontaine?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, <i>I</i> know nothing about it, my pretty dear! You would rap at the - door of the future; I pull the cord, and it came.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>It</i>, what?” asked Mme. Cibot. - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, the Spirit!” cried the sorceress impatiently. - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye, Ma’am Fontaine,” exclaimed the portress. “I did not know what - the <i>grand jeu</i> was like. You have given me a good fright, that you - have.” - </p> - <p> - “The mistress will not put herself in that state twice in a month,” said - the servant, as she went with La Cibot to the landing. “She would do - herself to death if she did, it tires her so. She will eat cutlets now and - sleep for three hours afterwards.” - </p> - <p> - Out in the street La Cibot took counsel of herself as she went along, and, - after the manner of all who ask for advice of any sort or description, she - took the favorable part of the prediction and rejected the rest. The next - day found her confirmed in her resolutions—she would set all in - train to become rich by securing a part of Pons’ collection. Nor for some - time had she any other thought than the combination of various plans to - this end. The faculty of self-concentration seen in rough, uneducated - persons, explained on a previous page, the reserve power accumulated in - those whose mental energies are unworn by the daily wear and tear of - social life, and brought into action so soon as that terrible weapon the - “fixed idea” is brought into play,—all this was pre-eminently - manifested in La Cibot. Even as the “fixed idea” works miracles of - evasion, and brings forth prodigies of sentiment, so greed transformed the - portress till she became as formidable as a Nucingen at bay, as subtle - beneath her seeming stupidity as the irresistible La Palferine. - </p> - <p> - About seven o’clock one morning, a few days afterwards, she saw Remonencq - taking down his shutters. She went across to him. - </p> - <p> - “How could one find out how much the things yonder in my gentlemen’s rooms - are worth?” she asked in a wheedling tone. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! that is quite easy,” replied the owner of the old curiosity shop. “If - you will play fair and above board with me, I will tell you of somebody, a - very honest man, who will know the value of the pictures to a farthing—” - </p> - <p> - “Who?” - </p> - <p> - “M. Magus, a Jew. He only does business to amuse himself now.” - </p> - <p> - Elie Magus has appeared so often in the <i>Comedie Humaine</i>, that it is - needless to say more of him here. Suffice it to add that he had retired - from business, and as a dealer was following the example set by Pons the - amateur. Well-known valuers like Henry, Messrs. Pigeot and Moret, Theret, - Georges, and Roehn, the experts of the Musee, in fact, were but children - compared with Elie Magus. He could see a masterpiece beneath the - accumulated grime of a century; he knew all schools, and the handwriting - of all painters. - </p> - <p> - He had come to Paris from Bordeaux, and so long ago as 1835 he had retired - from business without making any change for the better in his dress, so - faithful is the race to old tradition. The persecutions of the Middle Ages - compelled them to wear rags, to snuffle and whine and groan over their - poverty in self-defence, till the habits induced by the necessities of - other times have come to be, as usual, instinctive, a racial defect. - </p> - <p> - Elie Magus had amassed a vast fortune by buying and selling diamonds, - pictures, lace, enamels, delicate carvings, old jewelry, and rarities of - all kinds, a kind of commerce which has developed enormously of late, so - much so indeed that the number of dealers has increased tenfold during the - last twenty years in this city of Paris, whither all the curiosities in - the world come to rub against one another. And for pictures there are but - three marts in the world—Rome, London, and Paris. - </p> - <p> - Elie Magus lived in the Chausee des Minimes, a short, broad street leading - to the Place Royale. He had bought the house, an old-fashioned mansion, - for a song, as the saying is, in 1831. Yet there were sumptuous apartments - within it, decorated in the time of Louis XV.; for it had once been the - Hotel Maulaincourt, built by the great President of the Cour des Aides, - and its remote position had saved it at the time of the Revolution. - </p> - <p> - You may be quite sure that the old Jew had sound reasons for buying house - property, contrary to the Hebrew law and custom. He had ended, as most of - us end, with a hobby that bordered on a craze. He was as miserly as his - friend, the late lamented Gobseck; but he had been caught by the snare of - the eyes, by the beauty of the pictures in which he dealt. As his taste - grew more and more fastidious, it became one of the passions which princes - alone can indulge when they are wealthy and art-lovers. As the second King - of Prussia found nothing that so kindled enthusiasm as the spectacle of a - grenadier over six feet high, and gave extravagant sums for a new specimen - to add to his living museum of a regiment, so the retired picture-dealer - was roused to passion-pitch only by some canvas in perfect preservation, - untouched since the master laid down the brush; and what was more, it must - be a picture of the painter’s best time. No great sales, therefore, took - place but Elie Magus was there; every mart knew him; he traveled all over - Europe. The ice-cold, money-worshiping soul in him kindled at the sight of - a perfect work of art, precisely as a libertine, weary of fair women, is - roused from apathy by the sight of a beautiful girl, and sets out afresh - upon the quest of flawless loveliness. A Don Juan among fair works of art, - a worshiper of the Ideal, Elie Magus had discovered joys that transcend - the pleasure of a miser gloating over his gold—he lived in a - seraglio of great paintings. - </p> - <p> - His masterpieces were housed as became the children of princes; the whole - first floor of the great old mansion was given up to them. The rooms had - been restored under Elie Magus’ orders, and with what magnificence! - </p> - <p> - The windows were hung with the richest Venetian brocade; the most splendid - carpets from the Savonnerie covered the parquetry flooring. The frames of - the pictures, nearly a hundred in number, were magnificent specimens, - regilded cunningly by Servais, the one gilder in Paris whom Elie Magus - thought sufficiently painstaking; the old Jew himself had taught him to - use the English leaf, which is infinitely superior to that produced by - French gold-beaters. Servais is among gilders as Thouvenin among - bookbinders—an artist among craftsmen, making his work a labor of - love. Every window in that gallery was protected by iron-barred shutters. - Elie Magus himself lived in a couple of attics on the floor above; the - furniture was wretched, the rooms were full of rags, and the whole place - smacked of the Ghetto; Elie Magus was finishing his days without any - change in his life. - </p> - <p> - The whole of the ground floor was given up to the picture trade (for the - Jew still dealt in works of art). Here he stored his canvases, here also - packing-cases were stowed on their arrival from other countries; and still - there was room for a vast studio, where Moret, most skilful of restorers - of pictures, a craftsman whom the Musee ought to employ, was almost always - at work for Magus. The rest of the rooms on the ground floor were given up - to Magus’ daughter, the child of his old age, a Jewess as beautiful as a - Jewess can be when the Semitic type reappears in its purity and nobility - in a daughter of Israel. Noemi was guarded by two servants, fanatical - Jewesses, to say nothing of an advanced-guard, a Polish Jew, Abramko by - name, once involved in a fabulous manner in political troubles, from which - Elie Magus saved him as a business speculation. Abramko, porter of the - silent, grim, deserted mansion, divided his office and his lodge with - three remarkably ferocious animals—an English bull-dog, a - Newfoundland dog, and another of the Pyrenean breed. - </p> - <p> - Behold the profound observations of human nature upon which Elie Magus - based his feeling of security, for secure he felt; he left home without - misgivings, slept with both ears shut, and feared no attempt upon his - daughter (his chief treasure), his pictures, or his money. In the first - place, Abramko’s salary was increased every year by two hundred francs so - long as his master should live; and Magus, moreover, was training Abramko - as a money-lender in a small way. Abramko never admitted anybody until he - had surveyed them through a formidable grated opening. He was a Hercules - for strength, he worshiped Elie Magus, as Sancho Panza worshiped Don - Quixote. All day long the dogs were shut up without food; at nightfall - Abramko let them loose; and by a cunning device the old Jew kept each - animal at his post in the courtyard or the garden by hanging a piece of - meat just out of reach on the top of a pole. The animals guarded the - house, and sheer hunger guarded the dogs. No odor that reached their - nostrils could tempt them from the neighborhood of that piece of meat; - they would not have left their places at the foot of the poles for the - most engaging female of the canine species. If a stranger by any chance - intruded, the dogs suspected him of ulterior designs upon their rations, - which were only taken down in the morning by Abramko himself when he - awoke. The advantages of this fiendish scheme are patent. The animals - never barked, Magus’ ingenuity had made savages of them; they were - treacherous as Mohicans. And now for the result. - </p> - <p> - One night burglars, emboldened by the silence, decided too hastily that it - would be easy enough to “clean out” the old Jew’s strong box. One of their - number told off to advance to the assault scrambled up the garden wall and - prepared to descend. This the bull-dog allowed him to do. The animal, - knowing perfectly well what was coming, waited for the burglar to reach - the ground; but when that gentleman directed a kick at him, the bull-dog - flew at the visitor’s shins, and, making but one bite of it, snapped the - ankle-bone clean in two. The thief had the courage to tear him away, and - returned, walking upon the bare bone of the mutilated stump till he - reached the rest of the gang, when he fell fainting, and they carried him - off. The <i>Police News</i>, of course, did not fail to report this - delightful night incident, but no one believed in it. - </p> - <p> - Magus at this time was seventy-five years old, and there was no reason why - he should not live to a hundred. Rich man though he was, he lived like the - Remonencqs. His necessary expenses, including the money he lavished on his - daughter, did not exceed three thousand francs. No life could be more - regular; the old man rose as soon as it was light, breakfasted on bread - rubbed with a clove of garlic, and ate no more food until dinner-time. - Dinner, a meal frugal enough for a convent, he took at home. All the - forenoons he spent among his treasures, walking up and down the gallery - where they hung in their glory. He would dust everything himself, - furniture and pictures; he never wearied of admiring. Then he would go - downstairs to his daughter, drink deep of a father’s happiness, and start - out upon his walks through Paris, to attend sales or visit exhibitions and - the like. - </p> - <p> - If Elie Magus found a great work of art under the right conditions, the - discovery put new life into the man; here was a bit of sharp practice, a - bargain to make, a battle of Marengo to win. He would pile ruse on ruse to - buy the new sultana as cheaply as possible. Magus had a map of Europe on - which all great pictures were marked; his co-religionists in every city - spied out business for him, and received a commission on the purchase. And - then, what rewards for all his pains! The two lost Raphaels so earnestly - sought after by Raphael lovers are both in his collection. Elie Magus owns - the original portrait of <i>Giorgione’s Mistress</i>, the woman for whom - the painter died; the so-called originals are merely copies of the famous - picture, which is worth five hundred thousand francs, according to its - owner’s estimation. This Jew possesses Titian’s masterpiece, an <i>Entombment</i> - painted for Charles V., sent by the great man to the great Emperor with a - holograph letter, now fastened down upon the lower part of the canvas. And - Magus has yet another Titian, the original sketch from which all the - portraits of Philip II. were painted. His remaining ninety-seven pictures - are all of the same rank and distinction. Wherefore Magus laughs at our - national collection, raked by the sunlight which destroys the fairest - paintings, pouring in through panes of glass that act as lenses. Picture - galleries can only be lighted from above; Magus opens and closes his - shutters himself; he is as careful of his pictures as of his daughter, his - second idol. And well the old picture-fancier knows the laws of the lives - of pictures. To hear him talk, a great picture has a life of its own; it - is changeable, it takes its beauty from the color of the light. Magus - talks of his paintings as Dutch fanciers used to talk of their tulips; he - will come home on purpose to see some one picture in the hour of its - glory, when the light is bright and clean. - </p> - <p> - And Magus himself was a living picture among the motionless figures on the - wall—a little old man, dressed in a shabby overcoat, a silk - waistcoat, renewed twice in a score of years, and a very dirty pair of - trousers, with a bald head, a face full of deep hollows, a wrinkled, - callous skin, a beard that had a trick of twitching its long white - bristles, a menacing pointed chin, a toothless mouth, eyes bright as the - eyes of his dogs in the yard, and a nose like an obelisk—there he - stood in his gallery smiling at the beauty called into being by genius. A - Jew surrounded by his millions will always be one of the finest spectacles - which humanity can give. Robert Medal, our great actor, cannot rise to - this height of poetry, sublime though he is. - </p> - <p> - Paris of all the cities of the world holds most of such men as Magus, - strange beings with a strange religion in their heart of hearts. The - London “eccentric” always finds that worship, like life, brings weariness - and satiety in the end; the Parisian monomaniac lives cheerfully in - concubinage with his crotchet to the last. - </p> - <p> - Often shall you meet in Paris some Pons, some Elie Magus, dressed badly - enough, with his face turned from the rising sun (like the countenance of - the perpetual secretary of the Academie), apparently heeding nothing, - conscious of nothing, paying no attention to shop-windows nor to fair - passers-by, walking at random, so to speak, with nothing in his pockets, - and to all appearance an equally empty head. Do you ask to what Parisian - tribe this manner of man belongs? He is a collector, a millionaire, one of - the most impassioned souls upon earth; he and his like are capable of - treading the miry ways that lead to the police-court if so they may gain - possession of a cup, a picture, or some such rare unpublished piece as - Elie Magus once picked up one memorable day in Germany. - </p> - <p> - This was the expert to whom Remonencq with much mystery conducted La - Cibot. Remonencq always asked advice of Elie Magus when he met him in the - streets; and more than once Magus had lent him money through Abramko, - knowing Remonencq’s honesty. The Chaussee des Minimes is close to the Rue - de Normandie, and the two fellow-conspirators reached the house in ten - minutes. - </p> - <p> - “You will see the richest dealer in curiosities, the greatest connoisseur - in Paris,” Remonencq had said. And Mme. Cibot, therefore, was struck dumb - with amazement to be confronted with a little old man in a great-coat too - shabby for Cibot to mend, standing watching a painter at work upon an old - picture in the chilly room on the vast ground floor. The old man’s eyes, - full of cold feline malignance, were turned upon her, and La Cibot - shivered. - </p> - <p> - “What do you want, Remonencq?” asked this person. - </p> - <p> - “It is a question of valuing some pictures; there is nobody but you in - Paris who can tell a poor tinker-fellow like me how much he may give when - he has not thousands to spend, like you.” - </p> - <p> - “Where is it?” - </p> - <p> - “Here is the portress of the house where the gentleman lives; she does for - him, and I have arranged with her—” - </p> - <p> - “Who is the owner?” - </p> - <p> - “M. Pons!” put in La Cibot. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t know the name,” said Magus, with an innocent air, bringing down his - foot very gently upon his artist’s toes. - </p> - <p> - Moret the painter, knowing the value of Pons’ collection, had looked up - suddenly at the name. It was a move too hazardous to try with any one but - Remonencq and La Cibot, but the Jew had taken the woman’s measure at - sight, and his eye was as accurate as a jeweler’s scales. It was - impossible that either of the couple should know how often Magus and old - Pons had matched their claws. And, in truth, both rabid amateurs were - jealous of each other. The old Jew had never hoped for a sight of a - seraglio so carefully guarded; it seemed to him that his head was - swimming. Pons’ collection was the one private collection in Paris which - could vie with his own. Pons’ idea had occurred to Magus twenty years - later; but as a dealer-amateur the door of Pons’ museum had been closed to - him, as for Dusommerard. Pons and Magus had at heart the same jealousy. - Neither of them cared about the kind of celebrity dear to the ordinary - collector. And now for Elie Magus came his chance to see the poor - musician’s treasures! An amateur of beauty hiding in a boudoir or a stolen - glance at a mistress concealed from him by his friend might feel as Elie - Magus felt at that moment. - </p> - <p> - La Cibot was impressed by Remonencq’s respect for this singular person; - real power, moreover, even when it cannot be explained, is always felt; - the portress was supple and obedient, she dropped the autocratic tone - which she was wont to use in her lodge and with the tenants, accepted - Magus’ conditions, and agreed to admit him into Pons’ museum that very - day. - </p> - <p> - So the enemy was to be brought into the citadel, and a stab dealt to Pons’ - very heart. For ten years Pons had carried his keys about with him; he had - forbidden La Cibot to allow any one, no matter whom, to cross his - threshold; and La Cibot had so far shared Schmucke’s opinions of <i>bric-a-brac</i>, - that she had obeyed him. The good Schmucke, by speaking of the splendors - as “chimcracks,” and deploring his friend’s mania, had taught La Cibot to - despise the old rubbish, and so secured Pons’ museum from invasion for - many a long year. - </p> - <p> - When Pons took to his bed, Schmucke filled his place at the theatre and - gave lessons for him at his boarding-schools. He did his utmost to do the - work of two; but Pons’ sorrows weighing heavily upon his mind, the task - took all his strength. He only saw his friend in the morning, and again at - dinnertime. His pupils and the people at the theatre, seeing the poor - German look so unhappy, used to ask for news of Pons; and so great was his - grief, that the indifferent would make the grimaces of sensibility which - Parisians are wont to reserve for the greatest calamities. The very - springs of life had been attacked, the good German was suffering from - Pons’ pain as well as from his own. When he gave a music lesson, he spent - half the time in talking of Pons, interrupting himself to wonder whether - his friend felt better to-day, and the little school-girls listening heard - lengthy explanations of Pons’ symptoms. He would rush over to the Rue de - Normandie in the interval between two lessons for the sake of a quarter of - an hour with Pons. - </p> - <p> - When at last he saw that their common stock was almost exhausted, when - Mme. Cibot (who had done her best to swell the expenses of the illness) - came to him and frightened him; then the old music-master felt that he had - courage of which he never thought himself capable—courage that rose - above his anguish. For the first time in his life he set himself to earn - money; money was needed at home. One of the school-girl pupils, really - touched by their troubles, asked Schmucke how he could leave his friend - alone. “Montemoiselle,” he answered, with the sublime smile of those who - think no evil, “ve haf Montame Zipod, ein dreasure, montemoiselle, ein - bearl! Bons is nursed like ein brince.” - </p> - <p> - So while Schmucke trotted about the streets, La Cibot was mistress of the - house and ruled the invalid. How should Pons superintend his - self-appointed guardian angel, when he had taken no solid food for a - fortnight, and lay there so weak and helpless that La Cibot was obliged to - lift him up and carry him to the sofa while she made the bed? - </p> - <p> - La Cibot’s visit to Elie Magus was paid (as might be expected) while - Schmucke breakfasted. She came in again just as the German was bidding his - friend good-bye; for since she learned that Pons possessed a fortune, she - never left the old bachelor; she brooded over him and his treasures like a - hen. From the depths of a comfortable easy-chair at the foot of the bed - she poured forth for Pons’ delectation the gossip in which women of her - class excel. With Machiavelian skill, she had contrived to make Pons think - that she was indispensable to him; she coaxed and she wheedled, always - uneasy, always on the alert. Mme. Fontaine’s prophecy had frightened La - Cibot; she vowed to herself that she would gain her ends by kindness. She - would sleep secure on M. Pons’ legacy, but her rascality should keep - within the limits of the law. For ten years she had not suspected the - value of Pons’ collection; she had a clear record behind her of ten years - of devotion, honesty, and disinterestedness; it was a magnificent - investment, and now she proposed to realize. In one day, Remonencq’s hint - of money had hatched the serpent’s egg, the craving for riches that had - lain dormant within her for twenty years. Since she had cherished that - craving, it had grown in force with the ferment of all the evil that lurks - in the corners of the heart. How she acted upon the counsels whispered by - the serpent will presently be seen. - </p> - <p> - “Well?” she asked of Schmucke, “has this cherub of ours had plenty to - drink? Is he better?” - </p> - <p> - “He is not doing fery vell, tear Montame Zipod, not fery vell,” said poor - Schmucke, brushing away the tears from his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Pooh! you make too much of it, my dear M. Schmucke; we must take things - as we find them; Cibot might be at death’s door, and I should not take it - to heart as you do. Come! the cherub has a good constitution. And he has - been steady, it seems, you see; you have no idea what an age sober people - live. He is very ill, it is true, but with all the care I take of him, I - shall bring him round. Be easy, look after your affairs, I will keep him - company and see that he drinks his pints of barley water.” - </p> - <p> - “Gif you vere not here, I should die of anxiety—” said Schmucke, - squeezing his kind housekeeper’s hand in both his own to express his - confidence in her. - </p> - <p> - La Cibot wiped her eyes as she went back to the invalid’s room. - </p> - <p> - “What is the matter, Mme. Cibot?” asked Pons. - </p> - <p> - “It is M. Schmucke that has upset me; he is crying as if you were dead,” - said she. “If you are not well, you are not so bad yet that nobody need - cry over you; but it has given me such a turn! Oh dear! oh dear! how silly - it is of me to get so fond of people, and to think more of you than of - Cibot! For, after all, you aren’t nothing to me, you are only my brother - by Adam’s side; and yet, whenever you are in the question, it puts me in - such a taking, upon my word it does! I would cut off my hand—my left - hand, of course—to see you coming and going, eating your meals, and - screwing bargains out of dealers as usual. If I had had a child of my own, - I think I should have loved it as I love you, eh! There, take a drink, - dearie; come now, empty the glass. Drink it off, monsieur, I tell you! The - first thing Dr. Poulain said was, ‘If M. Pons has no mind to go to Pere - Lachaise, he ought to drink as many buckets full of water in a day as an - Auvergnat will sell.’ So, come now, drink—” - </p> - <p> - “But I do drink, Cibot, my good woman; I drink and drink till I am deluged—” - </p> - <p> - “That is right,” said the portress, as she took away the empty glass. - “That is the way to get better. Dr. Poulain had another patient ill of - your complaint; but he had nobody to look after him, his children left him - to himself, and he died because he didn’t drink enough—so you must - drink, honey, you see—he died and they buried him two months ago. - And if you were to die, you know, you would drag down old M. Schmucke with - you, sir. He is like a child. Ah! he loves you, he does, the dear lamb of - a man; no woman never loved a man like that! He doesn’t care for meat nor - drink; he has grown as thin as you are in the last fortnight, and you are - nothing but skin and bones.—It makes me jealous to see it, for I am - very fond of you; but not to that degree; I haven’t lost my appetite, - quite the other way; always going up and down stairs, till my legs are so - tired that I drop down of an evening like a lump of lead. Here am I - neglecting my poor Cibot for you; Mlle. Remonencq cooks his victuals for - him, and he goes on about it and says that nothing is right! At that I - tell him that one ought to put up with something for the sake of other - people, and that you are so ill that I cannot leave you. In the first - place, you can’t afford a nurse. And before I would have a nurse here!—I - have done for you these ten years; they want wine and sugar, and - foot-warmers, and all sorts of comforts. And they rob their patients - unless the patients leave them something in their wills. Have a nurse in - here to-day, and to-morrow we should find a picture or something or other - gone—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! Mme. Cibot!” cried Pons, quite beside himself, “do not leave me! No - one must touch anything—” - </p> - <p> - “I am here,” said La Cibot; “so long as I have the strength I shall be - here.—Be easy. There was Dr. Poulain wanting to get a nurse for you; - perhaps he has his eye on your treasures. I just snubbed him, I did. ‘The - gentleman won’t have any one but me,’ I told him. ‘He is used to me, and I - am used to him.’ So he said no more. A nurse, indeed! They are all - thieves; I hate that sort of woman, I do. Here is a tale that will show - you how sly they are. There was once an old gentleman—it was Dr. - Poulain himself, mind you, who told me this—well, a Mme. Sabatier, a - woman of thirty-six that used to sell slippers at the Palais Royal—you - remember the Galerie at the Palais that they pulled down?” - </p> - <p> - Pons nodded. - </p> - <p> - “Well, at that time she had not done very well; her husband used to drink, - and died of spontaneous imbustion; but she had been a fine woman in her - time, truth to tell, not that it did her any good, though she had friends - among the lawyers. So, being hard up, she became a monthly nurse, and - lived in the Rue Barre-du-Bec. Well, she went out to nurse an old - gentleman that had a disease of the lurinary guts (saving your presence); - they used to tap him like an artesian well, and he needed such care that - she used to sleep on a truckle-bed in the same room with him. You would - hardly believe such a thing!—‘Men respect nothing,’ you’ll tell me, - ‘so selfish as they are.’ Well, she used to talk with him, you understand; - she never left him, she amused him, she told him stories, she drew him on - to talk (just as we are chatting away together now, you and I, eh?), and - she found out that his nephews—the old gentleman had nephews—that - his nephews were wretches; they had worried him, and final end of it, they - had brought on this illness. Well, my dear sir, she saved his life, he - married her, and they have a fine child; Ma’am Bordevin, the butcher’s - wife in the Rue Charlot, a relative of hers, stood godmother. There is - luck for you! - </p> - <p> - “As for me, I am married; and if I have no children, I don’t mind saying - that it is Cibot’s fault; he is too fond of me, but if I cared—never - mind. What would have become of me and my Cibot if we had had a family, - when we have not a penny to bless ourselves with after thirty years’ of - faithful service? I have not a farthing belonging to nobody else, that is - what comforts me. I have never wronged nobody.—Look here, suppose - now (there is no harm in supposing when you will be out and about again in - six weeks’ time, and sauntering along the boulevard); well, suppose that - you had put me down in your will; very good, I shouldn’t never rest till I - had found your heirs and given the money back. Such is my horror of - anything that is not earned by the sweat of my brow. - </p> - <p> - “You will say to me, ‘Why, Mme. Cibot, why should you worry yourself like - that? You have fairly earned the money; you looked after your two - gentlemen as if they had been your children; you saved them a thousand - francs a year—’ (for there are plenty, sir, you know, that would - have had their ten thousand francs put out to interest by now if they had - been in my place)—‘so if the worthy gentleman leaves you a trifle of - an annuity, it is only right.’—Suppose they told me that. Well, now; - I am not thinking of myself.—I cannot think how some women can do a - kindness thinking of themselves all the time. It is not doing good, sir, - is it? I do not go to church myself, I haven’t the time; but my conscience - tells me what is right.... Don’t you fidget like that, my lamb!—Don’t - scratch yourself!... Dear me, how yellow you grow! So yellow you are—quite - brown. How funny it is that one can come to look like a lemon in three - weeks!... Honesty is all that poor folk have, and one must surely have - something! Suppose that you were just at death’s door, I should be the - first to tell you that you ought to leave all that you have to M. - Schmucke. It is your duty, for he is all the family you have. He loves - you, he does, as a dog loves his master.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! yes,” said Pons; “nobody else has ever loved me all my life long—” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! that is not kind of you, sir,” said Mme. Cibot; “then I do not love - you, I suppose?” - </p> - <p> - “I do not say so, my dear Mme. Cibot.” - </p> - <p> - “Good. You take me for a servant, do you, a common servant, as if I hadn’t - no heart! Goodness me! for eleven years you do for two old bachelors, you - think of nothing but their comfort. I have turned half a score of - greengrocers’ shops upside down for you, I have talked people round to get - you good Brie cheese; I have gone down as far as the market for fresh - butter for you; I have taken such care of things that nothing of yours - hasn’t been chipped nor broken in all these ten years; I have just treated - you like my own children; and then to hear a ‘My dear Mme. Cibot,’ that - shows that there is not a bit of feeling for you in the heart of an old - gentleman that you have cared for like a king’s son! for the little King - of Rome was not so well looked after. He died in his prime; there is proof - for you.... Come, sir, you are unjust! You are ungrateful! It is because I - am only a poor portress. Goodness me! are <i>you</i> one of those that - think we are dogs?—” - </p> - <p> - “But, my dear Mme. Cibot—” - </p> - <p> - “Indeed, you that know so much, tell me why we porters are treated like - this, and are supposed to have no feelings; people look down on us in - these days when they talk of Equality!—As for me, am I not as good - as another woman, I that was one of the finest women in Paris, and was - called <i>La belle Ecaillere</i>, and received declarations seven or eight - times a day? And even now if I liked—Look here, sir, you know that - little scrubby marine store-dealer downstairs? Very well, he would marry - me any day, if I were a widow that is, with his eyes shut; he has had them - looking wide open in my direction so often; he is always saying, ‘Oh! what - fine arms you have, Ma’am Cibot!—I dreamed last night that it was - bread and I was butter, and I was spread on the top.’ Look, sir, there is - an arm!” - </p> - <p> - She rolled up her sleeve and displayed the shapeliest arm imaginable, as - white and fresh as her hand was red and rough; a plump, round, dimpled - arm, drawn from its merino sheath like a blade from the scabbard to dazzle - Pons, who looked away. - </p> - <p> - “For every oyster the knife opened, the arm has opened a heart! Well, it - belongs to Cibot, and I did wrong when I neglected him, poor dear, HE - would throw himself over a precipice at a word from me; while you, sir, - that call me ‘My dear Mme. Cibot’ when I do impossible things for you—” - </p> - <p> - “Do just listen to me,” broke in the patient; “I cannot call you my - mother, nor my wife—” - </p> - <p> - “No, never in all my born days will I take again to anybody—” - </p> - <p> - “Do let me speak!” continued Pons. “Let me see; I put M. Schmucke first—” - </p> - <p> - “M. Schmucke! there is a heart for you,” cried La Cibot. “Ah! he loves me, - but then he is poor. It is money that deadens the heart; and you are rich! - Oh, well, take a nurse, you will see what a life she will lead you; she - will torment you, you will be like a cockchafer on a string. The doctor - will say that you must have plenty to drink, and she will do nothing but - feed you. She will bring you to your grave and rob you. You do not deserve - to have a Mme. Cibot!—there! When Dr. Poulain comes, ask him for a - nurse.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh fiddlestickend!” the patient cried angrily. “<i>Will</i> you listen to - me? When I spoke of my friend Schmucke, I was not thinking of women. I - know quite well that no one cares for me so sincerely as you do, you and - Schmucke—” - </p> - <p> - “Have the goodness not to irritate yourself in this way!” exclaimed La - Cibot, plunging down upon Pons and covering him by force with the - bedclothes. - </p> - <p> - “How should I not love you?” said poor Pons. - </p> - <p> - “You love me, really?... There, there, forgive me, sir!” she said, crying - and wiping her eyes. “Ah, yes, of course, you love me, as you love a - servant, that is the way!—a servant to whom you throw an annuity of - six hundred francs like a crust you fling into a dog’s kennel—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! Mme. Cibot,” cried Pons, “for what do you take me? You do not know - me.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! you will care even more than that for me,” she said, meeting Pons’ - eyes. “You will love your kind old Cibot like a mother, will you not? A - mother, that is it! I am your mother; you are both of you my children.... - Ah, if I only knew them that caused you this sorrow, I would do that which - would bring me into the police-courts, and even to prison; I would tear - their eyes out! Such people deserve to die at the Barriere Saint-Jacques, - and that is too good for such scoundrels. ... So kind, so good as you are - (for you have a heart of gold), you were sent into the world to make some - woman happy!... Yes, you would have her happy, as anybody can see; you - were cut out for that. In the very beginning, when I saw how you were with - M. Schmucke, I said to myself, ‘M. Pons has missed the life he was meant - for; he was made to be a good husband.’ Come, now, you like women.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, yes,” said Pons, “and no woman has been mine.” - </p> - <p> - “Really?” exclaimed La Cibot, with a provocative air as she came nearer - and took Pons’ hand in hers. “Do you not know what it is to love a woman - that will do anything for her lover? Is it possible? If I were in your - place, I should not wish to leave this world for another until I had known - the greatest happiness on earth!... Poor dear! If I was now what I was - once, I would leave Cibot for you! upon my word, I would! Why, with a nose - shaped like that—for you have a fine nose—how did you manage - it, poor cherub?... You will tell me that ‘not every woman knows a man - when she sees him’; and a pity it is that they marry so at random as they - do, it makes you sorry to see it.—Now, for my own part, I should - have thought that you had had mistresses by the dozen—dancers, - actresses, and duchesses, for you went out so much. ... When you went out, - I used to say to Cibot, ‘Look! there is M. Pons going a-gallivanting,’ on - my word, I did, I was so sure that women ran after you. Heaven made you - for love.... Why, my dear sir, I found that out the first day that you - dined at home, and you were so touched with M. Schmucke’s pleasure. And - next day M. Schmucke kept saying to me, ‘Montame Zipod, he haf tined - hier,’ with the tears in his eyes, till I cried along with him like a - fool, as I am. And how sad he looked when you took to gadding abroad again - and dining out! Poor man, you never saw any one so disconsolate! Ah! you - are quite right to leave everything to him. Dear worthy man, why he is as - good as a family to you, he is! Do not forget him; for if you do, God will - not receive you into his Paradise, for those that have been ungrateful to - their friends and left them no <i>rentes</i> will not go to heaven.” - </p> - <p> - In vain Pons tried to put in a word; La Cibot talked as the wind blows. - Means of arresting steam-engines have been invented, but it would tax a - mechanician’s genius to discover any plan for stopping a portress’ tongue. - </p> - <p> - “I know what you mean,” continued she. “But it does not kill you, my dear - gentleman, to make a will when you are out of health; and in your place I - might not leave that poor dear alone, for fear that something might - happen; he is like God Almighty’s lamb, he knows nothing about nothing, - and I should not like him to be at the mercy of those sharks of lawyers - and a wretched pack of relations. Let us see now, has one of them come - here to see you in twenty years? And would you leave your property to <i>them</i>? - Do you know, they say that all these things here are worth something.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, yes,” said Pons. - </p> - <p> - “Remonencq, who deals in pictures, and knows that you are an amateur, says - that he would be quite ready to pay you an annuity of thirty thousand - francs so long as you live, to have the pictures afterwards. ... There is - a change! If I were you, I should take it. Why, I thought he said it for a - joke when he told me that. You ought to let M. Schmucke know the value of - all those things, for he is a man that could be cheated like a child. He - has not the slightest idea of the value of these fine things that you - have! He so little suspects it, that he would give them away for a morsel - of bread if he did not keep them all his life for love of you, always - supposing that he lives after you, for he will die of your death. But <i>I</i> - am here; I will take his part against anybody and everybody!... I and - Cibot will defend him.” - </p> - <p> - “Dear Mme. Cibot!” said Pons, “what would have become of me if it had not - been for you and Schmucke?” He felt touched by this horrible prattle; the - feeling in it seemed to be ingenuous, as it usually is in the speech of - the people. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! we really are your only friends on earth, that is very true, that is. - But two good hearts are worth all the families in the world.—Don’t - talk of families to me! A family, as the old actor said of the tongue, is - the best and the worst of all things.... Where are those relations of - yours now? Have you any? I have never seen them—” - </p> - <p> - “They have brought me to lie here,” said Pons, with intense bitterness. - </p> - <p> - “So you have relations!...” cried La Cibot, springing up as if her - easy-chair had been heated red-hot. “Oh, well, they are a nice lot, are - your relations! What! these three weeks—for this is the twentieth - day, to-day, that you have been ill and like to die—in these three - weeks they have not come once to ask for news of you? That’s a trifle too - strong, that is!... Why, in your place, I would leave all I had to the - Foundling Hospital sooner than give them one farthing!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, my dear Mme. Cibot, I meant to leave all that I had to a cousin - once removed, the daughter of my first cousin, President Camusot, you - know, who came here one morning nearly two months ago.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! a little stout man who sent his servants to beg your pardon—for - his wife’s blunder?—The housemaid came asking me questions about - you, an affected old creature she is, my fingers itched to give her velvet - tippet a dusting with my broom handle! A servant wearing a velvet tippet! - did anybody ever see the like? No, upon my word, the world is turned - upside down; what is the use of making a Revolution? Dine twice a day if - you can afford it, you scamps of rich folk! But laws are no good, I tell - you, and nothing will be safe if Louis-Philippe does not keep people in - their places; for, after all, if we are all equal, eh, sir? a housemaid - didn’t ought to have a velvet tippet, while I, Mme. Cibot, haven’t one, - after thirty years of honest work.—There is a pretty thing for you! - People ought to be able to tell who you are. A housemaid is a housemaid, - just as I myself am a portress. Why do they have silk epaulettes in the - army? Let everybody keep their place. Look here, do you want me to tell - you what all this comes to? Very well, France is going to the dogs.... If - the Emperor had been here, things would have been very different, wouldn’t - they, sir?... So I said to Cibot, I said, ‘See here, Cibot, a house where - the servants wear velvet tippets belongs to people that have no heart in - them—‘” - </p> - <p> - “No heart in them, that is just it,” repeated Pons. And with that he began - to tell Mme. Cibot about his troubles and mortifications, she pouring out - abuse of the relations the while and showing exceeding tenderness on every - fresh sentence in the sad history. She fairly wept at last. - </p> - <p> - To understand the sudden intimacy between the old musician and Mme. Cibot, - you have only to imagine the position of an old bachelor lying on his bed - of pain, seriously ill for the first time in his life. Pons felt that he - was alone in the world; the days that he spent by himself were all the - longer because he was struggling with the indefinable nausea of a liver - complaint which blackens the brightest life. Cut off from all his many - interests, the sufferer falls a victim to a kind of nostalgia; he regrets - the many sights to be seen for nothing in Paris. The isolation, the - darkened days, the suffering that affects the mind and spirits even more - than the body, the emptiness of the life,—all these things tend to - induce him to cling to the human being who waits on him as a drowned man - clings to a plank; and this especially if the bachelor patient’s character - is as weak as his nature is sensitive and incredulous. - </p> - <p> - Pons was charmed to hear La Cibot’s tittle-tattle. Schmucke, Mme. Cibot, - and Dr. Poulain meant all humanity to him now, when his sickroom became - the universe. If invalid’s thoughts, as a rule, never travel beyond in the - little space over which his eyes can wander; if their selfishness, in its - narrow sphere, subordinates all creatures and all things to itself, you - can imagine the lengths to which an old bachelor may go. Before three - weeks were out he had even gone so far as to regret, once and again, that - he had not married Madeleine Vivet! Mme. Cibot, too, had made immense - progress in his esteem in those three weeks; without her he felt that he - should have been utterly lost; for as for Schmucke, the poor invalid - looked upon him as a second Pons. La Cibot’s prodigious art consisted in - expressing Pons’ own ideas, and this she did quite unconsciously. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! here comes the doctor!” she exclaimed, as the bell rang, and away she - went, knowing very well that Remonencq had come with the Jew. - </p> - <p> - “Make no noise, gentlemen,” said she, “he must not know anything. He is - all on the fidget when his precious treasures are concerned.” - </p> - <p> - “A walk round will be enough,” said the Hebrew, armed with a - magnifying-glass and a lorgnette. - </p> - <p> - The greater part of Pons’ collection was installed in a great - old-fashioned salon such as French architects used to build for the old <i>noblesse</i>; - a room twenty-five feet broad, some thirty feet in length, and thirteen in - height. Pons’ pictures to the number of sixty-seven hung upon the - white-and-gold paneled walls; time, however, had reddened the gold and - softened the white to an ivory tint, so that the whole was toned down, and - the general effect subordinated to the effect of the pictures. Fourteen - statues stood on pedestals set in the corners of the room, or among the - pictures, or on brackets inlaid by Boule; sideboards of carved ebony, - royally rich, surrounded the walls to elbow height, all the shelves filled - with curiosities; in the middle of the room stood a row of carved - credence-tables, covered with rare miracles of handicraft—with - ivories and bronzes, wood-carvings and enamels, jewelry and porcelain. - </p> - <p> - As soon as Elie Magus entered the sanctuary, he went straight to the four - masterpieces; he saw at a glance that these were the gems of Pons’ - collection, and masters lacking in his own. For Elie Magus these were the - naturalist’s <i>desiderata</i> for which men undertake long voyages from - east to west, through deserts and tropical countries, across southern - savannahs, through virgin forests. - </p> - <p> - The first was a painting by Sebastian del Piombo, the second a Fra - Bartolommeo della Porta, the third a Hobbema landscape, and the fourth and - last a Durer—a portrait of a woman. Four diamonds indeed! In the - history of art, Sebastian del Piombo is like a shining point in which - three schools meet, each bringing its pre-eminent qualities. A Venetian - painter, he came to Rome to learn the manner of Raphael under the - direction of Michael Angelo, who would fain oppose Raphael on his own - ground by pitting one of his own lieutenants against the reigning king of - art. And so it came to pass that in Del Piombo’s indolent genius Venetian - color was blended with Florentine composition and a something of Raphael’s - manner in the few pictures which he deigned to paint, and the sketches - were made for him, it is said, by Michael Angelo himself. - </p> - <p> - If you would see the perfection to which the painter attained (armed as he - was with triple power), go to the Louvre and look at the Baccio Bandinelli - portrait; you might place it beside Titian’s <i>Man with a Glove</i>, or - by that other <i>Portrait of an Old Man</i> in which Raphael’s consummate - skill blends with Correggio’s art; or, again, compare it with Leonardo da - Vinci’s <i>Charles VIII.</i>, and the picture would scarcely lose. The - four pearls are equal; there is the same lustre and sheen, the same - rounded completeness, the same brilliancy. Art can go no further than - this. Art has risen above Nature, since Nature only gives her creatures a - few brief years of life. - </p> - <p> - Pons possessed one example of this immortal great genius and incurably - indolent painter; it was a <i>Knight of Malta</i>, a Templar kneeling in - prayer. The picture was painted on slate, and in its unfaded color and its - finish was immeasurably finer than the <i>Baccio Bandinelli</i>. - </p> - <p> - Fra Bartolommeo was represented by a <i>Holy Family</i>, which many - connoisseurs might have taken for a Raphael. The Hobbema would have - fetched sixty thousand francs at a public sale; and as for the Durer, it - was equal to the famous <i>Holzschuer</i> portrait at Nuremberg for which - the kings of Bavaria, Holland, and Prussia have vainly offered two hundred - thousand francs again and again. Was it the portrait of the wife or the - daughter of Holzschuer, Albrecht Durer’s personal friend?—The - hypothesis seems to be a certainty, for the attitude of the figure in - Pons’ picture suggests that it is meant for a pendant, the position of the - coat-of-arms is the same as in the Nuremberg portrait; and, finally, the - <i>oetatis suoe XLI.</i> accords perfectly with the age inscribed on the - picture religiously kept by the Holzschuers of Nuremberg, and but recently - engraved. - </p> - <p> - The tears stood in Elie Magus’ eyes as he looked from one masterpiece to - another. He turned round to La Cibot, “I will give you a commission of two - thousand francs on each of the pictures if you can arrange that I shall - have them for forty thousand francs,” he said. La Cibot was amazed at this - good fortune dropped from the sky. Admiration, or, to be more accurate, - delirious joy, had wrought such havoc in the Jew’s brain, that it had - actually unsettled his habitual greed, and he fell headlong into - enthusiasm, as you see. - </p> - <p> - “And I?——” put in Remonencq, who knew nothing about pictures. - </p> - <p> - “Everything here is equally good,” the Jew said cunningly, lowering his - voice for Remonencq’s ears; “take ten pictures just as they come and on - the same conditions. Your fortune will be made.” - </p> - <p> - Again the three thieves looked each other in the face, each one of them - overcome with the keenest of all joys—sated greed. All of a sudden - the sick man’s voice rang through the room; the tones vibrated like the - strokes of a bell: - </p> - <p> - “Who is there?” called Pons. - </p> - <p> - “Monsieur! just go back to bed!” exclaimed La Cibot, springing upon Pons - and dragging him by main force. “What next! Have you a mind to kill - yourself?—Very well, then, it is not Dr. Poulain, it is Remonencq, - good soul, so anxious that he has come to ask after you!—Everybody - is so fond of you that the whole house is in a flutter. So what is there - to fear?” - </p> - <p> - “It seems to me that there are several of you,” said Pons. - </p> - <p> - “Several? that is good! What next! Are you dreaming!—You will go off - your head before you have done, upon my word!—Here, look!”—and - La Cibot flung open the door, signed to Magus to go, and beckoned to - Remonencq. - </p> - <p> - “Well, my dear sir,” said the Auvergnat, now supplied with something to - say, “I just came to ask after you, for the whole house is alarmed about - you.—Nobody likes Death to set foot in a house!—And lastly, - Daddy Monistrol, whom you know very well, told me to tell you that if you - wanted money he was at your service——” - </p> - <p> - “He sent you here to take a look round at my knick-knacks!” returned the - old collector from his bed; and the sour tones of his voice were full of - suspicion. - </p> - <p> - A sufferer from liver complaint nearly always takes momentary and special - dislikes to some person or thing, and concentrates all his ill-humor upon - the object. Pons imagined that some one had designs upon his precious - collection; the thought of guarding it became a fixed idea with him; - Schmucke was continually sent to see if any one had stolen into the - sanctuary. - </p> - <p> - “Your collection is fine enough to attract the attention of <i>chineurs</i>,” - Remonencq answered astutely. “I am not much in the art line myself; but - you are supposed to be such a great connoisseur, sir, that with my eyes - shut—supposing, for instance, that you should need money some time - or other, for nothing costs so much as these confounded illnesses; there - was my sister now, when she would have got better again just as well - without. Doctors are rascals that take advantage of your condition to—” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, good-day, good-day,” broke in Pons, eying the marine - store-dealer uneasily. - </p> - <p> - “I will go to the door with him, for fear he should touch something,” La - Cibot whispered to her patient. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes,” answered the invalid, thanking her by a glance. - </p> - <p> - La Cibot shut the bedroom door behind her, and Pons’ suspicions awoke - again at once. - </p> - <p> - She found Magus standing motionless before the four pictures. His - immobility, his admiration, can only be understood by other souls open to - ideal beauty, to the ineffable joy of beholding art made perfect; such as - these can stand for whole hours before the <i>Antiope</i>—Correggio’s - masterpiece—before Leonardo’s <i>Gioconda</i>, Titian’s <i>Mistress</i>, - Andrea del Sarto’s <i>Holy Family</i>, Domenichino’s <i>Children Among the - Flowers</i>, Raphael’s little cameo, or his <i>Portrait of an Old Man</i>—Art’s - greatest masterpieces. - </p> - <p> - “Be quick and go, and make no noise,” said La Cibot. - </p> - <p> - The Jew walked slowly backwards, giving the pictures such a farewell gaze - as a lover gives his love. Outside on the landing, La Cibot tapped his - bony arm. His rapt contemplations had put an idea into her head. - </p> - <p> - “Make it <i>four</i> thousand francs for each picture,” said she, “or I do - nothing.” - </p> - <p> - “I am so poor!...” began Magus. “I want the pictures simply for their own - sake, simply and solely for the love of art, my dear lady.” - </p> - <p> - “I can understand that love, sonny, you are so dried up. But if you do not - promise me sixteen thousand francs now, before Remonencq here, I shall - want twenty to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - “Sixteen; I promise,” returned the Jew, frightened by the woman’s - rapacity. - </p> - <p> - La Cibot turned to Remonencq. - </p> - <p> - “What oath can a Jew swear?” she inquired. - </p> - <p> - “You may trust him,” replied the marine store-dealer. “He is as honest as - I am.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well; and you?” asked she, “if I get him to sell them to you, what - will you give me?” - </p> - <p> - “Half-share of profits,” Remonencq answered briskly. - </p> - <p> - “I would rather have a lump sum,” returned La Cibot; “I am not in business - myself.” - </p> - <p> - “You understand business uncommonly well!” put in Elie Magus, smiling; “a - famous saleswoman you would make!” - </p> - <p> - “I want her to take me into partnership, me and my goods,” said the - Auvergnat, as he took La Cibot’s plump arm and gave it playful taps like - hammer-strokes. “I don’t ask her to bring anything into the firm but her - good looks! You are making a mistake when your stick to your Turk of a - Cibot and his needle. Is a little bit of a porter the man to make a woman - rich—a fine woman like you? Ah, what a figure you would make in a - shop on the boulevard, all among the curiosities, gossiping with amateurs - and twisting them round your fingers! Just you leave your lodge as soon as - you have lined your purse here, and you shall see what will become of us - both.” - </p> - <p> - “Lined my purse!” cried Cibot. “I am incapable of taking the worth of a - single pin; you mind that, Remonencq! I am known in the neighborhood for - an honest woman, I am.” - </p> - <p> - La Cibot’s eyes flashed fire. - </p> - <p> - “There, never mind,” said Elie Magus; “this Auvergnat seems to be too fond - of you to mean to insult you.” - </p> - <p> - “How she would draw on the customers!” cried the Auvergnat. - </p> - <p> - Mme. Cibot softened at this. - </p> - <p> - “Be fair, sonnies,” quoth she, “and judge for yourselves how I am placed. - These ten years past I have been wearing my life out for these two old - bachelors yonder, and neither or them has given me anything but words. - Remonencq will tell you that I feed them by contract, and lose twenty or - thirty sous a day; all my savings have gone that way, by the soul of my - mother (the only author of my days that I ever knew), this is as true as - that I live, and that this is the light of day, and may my coffee poison - me if I lie about a farthing. Well, there is one up there that will die - soon, eh? and he the richer of the two that I have treated like my own - children. Would you believe it, my dear sir, I have told him over and over - again for days past that he is at death’s door (for Dr. Poulain has given - him up), he could not say less about putting my name down in his will. We - shall only get our due by taking it, upon my word, as an honest woman, for - as for trusting to the next-of-kin!—No fear! There! look you here, - words don’t stink; it is a bad world!” - </p> - <p> - “That is true,” Elie Magus answered cunningly, “that is true; and it is - just the like of us that are among the best,” he added, looking at - Remonencq. - </p> - <p> - “Just let me be,” returned La Cibot; “I am not speaking of you. ‘Pressing - company is always accepted,’ as the old actor said. I swear to you that - the two gentlemen already owe me nearly three thousand francs; the little - I have is gone by now in medicine and things on their account; and now - suppose they refuse to recognize my advances? I am so stupidly honest that - I did not dare to say nothing to them about it. Now, you that are in - business, my dear sir, do you advise me to got to a lawyer?” - </p> - <p> - “A lawyer?” cried Remonencq; “you know more about it than all the lawyers - put together—” - </p> - <p> - Just at that moment a sound echoed in the great staircase, a sound as if - some heavy body had fallen in the dining-room. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, goodness me!” exclaimed La Cibot; “it seems to me that monsieur has - just taken a ticket for the ground floor.” - </p> - <p> - She pushed her fellow-conspirators out at the door, and while the pair - descended the stairs with remarkable agility, she ran to the dining-room, - and there beheld Pons, in his shirt, stretched out upon the tiles. He had - fainted. She lifted him as if he had been a feather, carried him back to - his room, laid him in bed, burned feathers under his nose, bathed his - temples with eau-de-cologne, and at last brought him to consciousness. - When she saw his eyes unclose and life return, she stood over him, hands - on hips. - </p> - <p> - “No slippers! In your shirt! That is the way to kill yourself! Why do you - suspect me?—If this is to be the way of it, I wish you good-day, - sir. Here have I served you these ten years, I have spent money on you - till my savings are all gone, to spare trouble to that poor M. Schmucke, - crying like a child on the stairs—and <i>this</i> is my reward! You - have been spying on me. God has punished you! It serves you right! Here I - am straining myself to carry you, running the risk of doing myself a - mischief that I shall feel all my days. Oh dear, oh dear! and the door - left open too—” - </p> - <p> - “You were talking with some one. Who was it?” - </p> - <p> - “Here are notions!” cried La Cibot. “What next! Am I your bond-slave? Am I - to give account of myself to you? Do you know that if you bother me like - this, I shall clear out! You shall take a nurse.” - </p> - <p> - Frightened by this threat, Pons unwittingly allowed La Cibot to see the - extent of the power of her sword of Damocles. - </p> - <p> - “It is my illness!” he pleaded piteously. - </p> - <p> - “It is as you please,” La Cibot answered roughly. - </p> - <p> - She went. Pons, confused, remorseful, admiring his nurse’s scalding - devotion, reproached himself for his behavior. The fall on the paved floor - of the dining-room had shaken and bruised him, and aggravated his illness, - but Pons was scarcely conscious of his physical sufferings. - </p> - <p> - La Cibot met Schmucke on the staircase. - </p> - <p> - “Come here, sir,” she said. “There is bad news, that there is! M. Pons is - going off his head! Just think of it! he got up with nothing on, he came - after me—and down he came full-length. Ask him why—he knows - nothing about it. He is in a bad way. I did nothing to provoke such - violence, unless, perhaps, I waked up ideas by talking to him of his early - amours. Who knows men? Old libertines that they are. I ought not to have - shown him my arms when his eyes were glittering like <i>carbuckles</i>.” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke listened. Mme. Cibot might have been talking Hebrew for anything - that he understood. - </p> - <p> - “I have given myself a wrench that I shall feel all my days,” added she, - making as though she were in great pain. (Her arms did, as a matter of - fact, ache a little, and the muscular fatigue suggested an idea, which she - proceeded to turn to profit.) “So stupid I am. When I saw him lying there - on the floor, I just took him up in my arms as if he had been a child, and - carried him back to bed, I did. And I strained myself, I can feel it now. - Ah! how it hurts!—I am going downstairs. Look after our patient. I - will send Cibot for Dr. Poulain. I had rather die outright than be - crippled.” - </p> - <p> - La Cibot crawled downstairs, clinging to the banisters, and writhing and - groaning so piteously that the tenants, in alarm, came out upon their - landings. Schmucke supported the suffering creature, and told the story of - La Cibot’s devotion, the tears running down his cheeks as he spoke. Before - very long the whole house, the whole neighborhood indeed, had heard of - Mme. Cibot’s heroism; she had given herself a dangerous strain, it was - said, with lifting one of the “nutcrackers.” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke meanwhile went to Pons’ bedside with the tale. Their factotum was - in a frightful state. “What shall we do without her?” they said, as they - looked at each other; but Pons was so plainly the worse for his escapade, - that Schmucke did not dare to scold him. - </p> - <p> - “Gonfounded pric-a-prac! I would sooner purn dem dan loose mein friend!” - he cried, when Pons told him of the cause of the accident. “To suspect - Montame Zipod, dot lend us her safings! It is not goot; but it is der - illness—” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! what an illness! I am not the same man, I can feel it,” said Pons. - “My dear Schmucke, if only you did not suffer through me!” - </p> - <p> - “Scold me,” Schmucke answered, “und leaf Montame Zipod in beace.” - </p> - <p> - As for Mme. Cibot, she soon recovered in Dr. Poulain’s hands; and her - restoration, bordering on the miraculous, shed additional lustre on her - name and fame in the Marais. Pons attributed the success to the excellent - constitution of the patient, who resumed her ministrations seven days - later to the great satisfaction of her two gentlemen. Her influence in - their household and her tyranny was increased a hundred-fold by the - accident. In the course of a week, the two nutcrackers ran into debt; Mme. - Cibot paid the outstanding amounts, and took the opportunity to obtain - from Schmucke (how easily!) a receipt for two thousand francs, which she - had lent, she said, to the friends. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, what a doctor M. Poulain is!” cried La Cibot, for Pons’ benefit. “He - will bring you through, my dear sir, for he pulled me out of my coffin! - Cibot, poor man, thought I was dead.... Well, Dr. Poulain will have told - you that while I was in bed I thought of nothing but you. ‘God above,’ - said I, ‘take me, and let my dear Mr. Pons live—‘” - </p> - <p> - “Poor dear Mme. Cibot, you all but crippled yourself for me.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! but for Dr. Poulain I should have been put to bed with a shovel by - now, as we shall all be one day. Well, what must be, must, as the old - actor said. One must take things philosophically. How did you get on - without me?” - </p> - <p> - “Schmucke nursed me,” said the invalid; “but our poor money-box and our - lessons have suffered. I do not know how he managed.” - </p> - <p> - “Calm yourself, Bons,” exclaimed Schmucke; “ve haf in Zipod ein panker—” - </p> - <p> - “Do not speak of it, my lamb. You are our children, both of you,” cried La - Cibot. “Our savings will be well invested; you are safer than the Bank. So - long as we have a morsel of bread, half of it is yours. It is not worth - mentioning—” - </p> - <p> - “Boor Montame Zipod!” said Schmucke, and he went. - </p> - <p> - Pons said nothing. - </p> - <p> - “Would you believe it, my cherub?” said La Cibot, as the sick man tossed - uneasily, “in my agony—for it was a near squeak for me—the - thing that worried me most was the thought that I must leave you alone, - with no one to look after you, and my poor Cibot without a farthing.... My - savings are such a trifle, that I only mention them in connection with my - death and Cibot, an angel that he is! No. He nursed me as if I had been a - queen, he did, and cried like a calf over me!... But I counted on you, - upon my word. I said to him, ‘There, Cibot! my gentlemen will not let you - starve—‘” - </p> - <p> - Pons made no reply to this thrust <i>ad testamentum</i>; but as the - portress waited for him to say something—“I shall recommend you to - M. Schmucke,” he said at last. - </p> - <p> - “Ah!” cried La Cibot, “whatever you do will be right; I trust in you and - your heart. Let us never talk of this again; you make me feel ashamed, my - cherub. Think of getting better, you will outlive us all yet.” - </p> - <p> - Profound uneasiness filled Mme. Cibot’s mind. She cast about for some way - of making the sick man understand that she expected a legacy. That - evening, when Schmucke was eating his dinner as usual by Pons’ bedside, - she went out, hoping to find Dr. Poulain at home. - </p> - <p> - Dr. Poulain lived in the Rue d’Orleans in a small ground floor - establishment, consisting of a lobby, a sitting-room, and two bedrooms. A - closet, opening into the lobby and the bedroom, had been turned into a - study for the doctor. The kitchen, the servant’s bedroom, and a small - cellar were situated in a wing of the house, a huge pile built in the time - of the Empire, on the site of an old mansion of which the garden still - remained, though it had been divided among the three ground floor tenants. - </p> - <p> - Nothing had been changed in the doctor’s house since it was built. Paint - and paper and ceilings were all redolent of the Empire. The grimy deposits - of forty years lay thick on walls and ceilings, on paper and paint and - mirrors and gilding. And yet, this little establishment, in the depths of - the Marais, paid a rent of a thousand francs. - </p> - <p> - Mme. Poulain, the doctor’s mother, aged sixty-seven, was ending her days - in the second bedroom. She worked for a breeches-maker, stitching men’s - leggings, breeches, belts, and braces, anything, in fact, that is made in - a way of business which has somewhat fallen off of late years. Her whole - time was spent in keeping her son’s house and superintending the one - servant; she never went abroad, and took the air in the little garden - entered through the glass door of the sitting-room. Twenty years - previously, when her husband died, she sold his business to his best - workman, who gave his master’s widow work enough to earn a daily wage of - thirty sous. She had made every sacrifice to educate her son. At all - costs, he should occupy a higher station than his father before him; and - now she was proud of her Aesculapius, she believed in him, and sacrificed - everything to him as before. She was happy to take care of him, to work - and put by a little money, and dream of nothing but his welfare, and love - him with an intelligent love of which every mother is not capable. For - instance, Mme. Poulain remembered that she had been a working girl. She - would not injure her son’s prospects; he should not be ashamed by his - mother (for the good woman’s grammar was something of the same kind as - Mme. Cibot’s); and for this reason she kept in the background, and went to - her room of her own accord if any distinguished patient came to consult - the doctor, or if some old schoolfellow or fellow-student chanced to call. - Dr. Poulain had never had occasion to blush for the mother whom he - revered; and this sublime love of hers more than atoned for a defective - education. - </p> - <p> - The breeches-maker’s business sold for about twenty thousand francs, and - the widow invested the money in the Funds in 1820. The income of eleven - hundred francs per annum derived from this source was, at one time, her - whole fortune. For many a year the neighbors used to see the doctor’s - linen hanging out to dry upon a clothes-line in the garden, and the - servant and Mme. Poulain thriftily washed everything at home; a piece of - domestic economy which did not a little to injure the doctor’s practice, - for it was thought that if he was so poor, it must be through his own - fault. Her eleven hundred francs scarcely did more than pay the rent. - During those early days, Mme. Poulain, good, stout, little old woman, was - the breadwinner, and the poor household lived upon her earnings. After - twelve years of perseverance upon a rough and stony road, Dr. Poulain at - last was making an income of three thousand francs, and Mme. Poulain had - an income of about five thousand francs at her disposal. Five thousand - francs for those who know Paris means a bare subsistence. - </p> - <p> - The sitting-room, where patients waited for an interview, was shabbily - furnished. There was the inevitable mahogany sofa covered with - yellow-flowered Utrecht velvet, four easy-chairs, a tea-table, a console, - and half-a-dozen chairs, all the property of the deceased breeches-maker, - and chosen by him. A lyre-shaped clock between two Egyptian candlesticks - still preserved its glass shade intact. You asked yourself how the yellow - chintz window-curtains, covered with red flowers, had contrived to hang - together for so long; for evidently they had come from the Jouy factory, - and Oberkampf received the Emperor’s congratulations upon similar hideous - productions of the cotton industry in 1809. - </p> - <p> - The doctor’s consulting-room was fitted up in the same style, with - household stuff from the paternal chamber. It looked stiff, - poverty-stricken, and bare. What patient could put faith in the skill of - any unknown doctor who could not even furnish his house? And this in a - time when advertising is all-powerful; when we gild the gas-lamps in the - Place de la Concorde to console the poor man for his poverty by reminding - him that he is rich as a citizen. - </p> - <p> - The ante-chamber did duty as a dining-room. The servant sat at her sewing - there whenever she was not busy in the kitchen or keeping the doctor’s - mother company. From the dingy short curtains in the windows you would - have guessed at the shabby thrift behind them without setting foot in the - dreary place. What could those wall-cupboards contain but stale scraps of - food, chipped earthenware, corks used over and over again indefinitely, - soiled table-linen, odds and ends that could descend but one step lower - into the dust-heap, and all the squalid necessities of a pinched household - in Paris? - </p> - <p> - In these days, when the five-franc piece is always lurking in our thoughts - and intruding itself into our speech, Dr. Poulain, aged thirty-three, was - still a bachelor. Heaven had bestowed on him a mother with no connections. - In ten years he had not met with the faintest pretext for a romance in his - professional career; his practice lay among clerks and small - manufacturers, people in his own sphere of life, with homes very much like - his own. His richer patients were butchers, bakers, and the more - substantial tradespeople of the neighborhood. These, for the most part, - attributed their recovery to Nature, as an excuse for paying for the - services of a medical man, who came on foot, at the rate of two francs per - visit. In his profession, a carriage is more necessary than medical skill. - </p> - <p> - A humdrum monotonous life tells in the end upon the most adventurous - spirit. A man fashions himself to his lot, he accepts a commonplace - existence; and Dr. Poulain, after ten years of his practice, continued his - labors of Sisyphus without the despair that made early days so bitter. And - yet—like every soul in Paris—he cherished a dream. Remonencq - was happy in his dream; La Cibot had a dream of her own; and Dr. Poulain, - too, dreamed. Some day he would be called in to attend a rich and - influential patient, would effect a positive cure, and the patient would - procure a post for him; he would be head surgeon to a hospital, medical - officer of a prison or police-court, or doctor to the boulevard theatres. - He had come by his present appointment as doctor to the Mairie in this - very way. La Cibot had called him in when the landlord of the house in the - Rue de Normandie fell ill; he had treated the case with complete success; - M. Pillerault, the patient, took an interest in the young doctor, called - to thank him, and saw his carefully-hidden poverty. Count Popinot, the - cabinet minister, had married M. Pillerault’s grand-niece, and greatly - respected her uncle; of him, therefore, M. Pillerault had asked for the - post, which Poulain had now held for two years. That appointment and its - meagre salary came just in time to prevent a desperate step; Poulain was - thinking of emigration; and for a Frenchman, it is a kind of death to - leave France. - </p> - <p> - Dr. Poulain went, you may be sure, to thank Count Popinot; but as Count - Popinot’s family physician was the celebrated Horace Bianchon, it was - pretty clear that his chances of gaining a footing in that house were - something of the slenderest. The poor doctor had fondly hoped for the - patronage of a powerful cabinet minister, one of the twelve or fifteen - cards which a cunning hand has been shuffling for sixteen years on the - green baize of the council table, and now he dropped back again into his - Marais, his old groping life among the poor and the small tradespeople, - with the privilege of issuing certificates of death for a yearly stipend - of twelve hundred francs. - </p> - <p> - Dr. Poulain had distinguished himself to some extent as a house-student; - he was a prudent practitioner, and not without experience. His deaths - caused no scandal; he had plenty of opportunities of studying all kinds of - complaints <i>in anima vili</i>. Judge, therefore, of the spleen that he - nourished! The expression of his countenance, lengthy and not too cheerful - to begin with, at times was positively appalling. Set a Tartuffe’s - all-devouring eyes, and the sour humor of an Alceste in a sallow-parchment - visage, and try to imagine for yourself the gait, bearing, and expression - of a man who thought himself as good a doctor as the illustrious Bianchon, - and felt that he was held down in his narrow lot by an iron hand. He could - not help comparing his receipts (ten francs a day if he was fortunate) - with Bianchon’s five or six hundred. - </p> - <p> - Are the hatreds and jealousies of democracy incomprehensible after this? - Ambitious and continually thwarted, he could not reproach himself. He had - once already tried his fortune by inventing a purgative pill, something - like Morrison’s, and intrusted the business operations to an old hospital - chum, a house-student who afterwards took a retail drug business; but, - unluckily, the druggist, smitten with the charms of a ballet-dancer of the - Ambigu-Comique, found himself at length in the bankruptcy court; and as - the patent had been taken out in his name, his partner was literally - without a remedy, and the important discovery enriched the purchaser of - the business. The sometime house-student set sail for Mexico, that land of - gold, taking poor Poulain’s little savings with him; and, to add insult to - injury, the opera-dancer treated him as an extortioner when he applied to - her for his money. - </p> - <p> - Not a single rich patient had come to him since he had the luck to cure - old M. Pillerault. Poulain made his rounds on foot, scouring the Marais - like a lean cat, and obtained from two to forty sous out of a score of - visits. The paying patient was a phenomenon about as rare as that - anomalous fowl known as a “white blackbird” in all sublunary regions. - </p> - <p> - The briefless barrister, the doctor without a patient, are pre-eminently - the two types of a decorous despair peculiar to this city of Paris; it is - mute, dull despair in human form, dressed in a black coat and trousers - with shining seams that recall the zinc on an attic roof, a glistening - satin waistcoat, a hat preserved like a relic, a pair of old gloves, and a - cotton shirt. The man is the incarnation of a melancholy poem, sombre as - the secrets of the Conciergerie. Other kinds of poverty, the poverty of - the artist—actor, painter, musician, or poet—are relieved and - lightened by the artist’s joviality, the reckless gaiety of the Bohemian - border country—the first stage of the journey to the Thebaid of - genius. But these two black-coated professions that go afoot through the - street are brought continually in contact with disease and dishonor; they - see nothing of human nature but its sores; in the forlorn first stages and - beginnings of their career they eye competitors suspiciously and - defiantly; concentrated dislike and ambition flashes out in glances like - the breaking forth of hidden flames. Let two schoolfellows meet after - twenty years, the rich man will avoid the poor; he does not recognize him, - he is afraid even to glance into the gulf which Fate has set between him - and the friend of other years. The one has been borne through life on the - mettlesome steed called Fortune, or wafted on the golden clouds of - success; the other has been making his way in underground Paris through - the sewers, and bears the marks of his career upon him. How many a chum of - old days turned aside at the sight of the doctor’s greatcoat and - waistcoat! - </p> - <p> - With this explanation, it should be easy to understand how Dr. Poulain - came to lend himself so readily to the farce of La Cibot’s illness and - recovery. Greed of every kind, ambition of every nature, is not easy to - hide. The doctor examined his patient, found that every organ was sound - and healthy, admired the regularity of her pulse and the perfect ease of - her movements; and as she continued to moan aloud, he saw that for some - reason she found it convenient to lie at Death’s door. The speedy cure of - a serious imaginary disease was sure to cause a sensation in the - neighborhood; the doctor would be talked about. He made up his mind at - once. He talked of rupture, and of taking it in time, and thought even - worse of the case than La Cibot herself. The portress was plied with - various remedies, and finally underwent a sham operation, crowned with - complete success. Poulain repaired to the Arsenal Library, looked out a - grotesque case in some of Desplein’s records of extraordinary cures, and - fitted the details to Mme. Cibot, modestly attributing the success of the - treatment to the great surgeon, in whose steps (he said) he walked. Such - is the impudence of beginners in Paris. Everything is made to serve as a - ladder by which to climb upon the scene; and as everything, even the rungs - of a ladder, will wear out in time, the new members of every profession - are at a loss to find the right sort of wood of which to make steps for - themselves. - </p> - <p> - There are moments when the Parisian is not propitious. He grows tired of - raising pedestals, pouts like a spoiled child, and will have no more - idols; or, to state it more accurately, Paris cannot always find a proper - object for infatuation. Now and then the vein of genius gives out, and at - such times the Parisian may turn supercilious; he is not always willing to - bow down and gild mediocrity. - </p> - <p> - Mme. Cibot, entering in her usual unceremonious fashion, found the doctor - and his mother at table, before a bowl of lamb’s lettuce, the cheapest of - all salad-stuffs. The dessert consisted of a thin wedge of Brie cheese - flanked by a plate of specked foreign apples and a dish of mixed dry - fruits, known as <i>quatre-mendiants</i>, in which the raisin stalks were - abundantly conspicuous. - </p> - <p> - “You can stay, mother,” said the doctor, laying a hand on Mme. Poulain’s - arm; “this is Mme. Cibot, of whom I have told you.” - </p> - <p> - “My respects to you, madame, and my duty to you, sir,” said La Cibot, - taking the chair which the doctor offered. “Ah! is this your mother, sir? - She is very happy to have a son who has such talent; he saved my life, - madame, brought me back from the depths.” - </p> - <p> - The widow, hearing Mme. Cibot praise her son in this way, thought her a - delightful woman. - </p> - <p> - “I have just come to tell you, that, between ourselves, poor M. Pons is - doing very badly, sir, and I have something to say to you about him—” - </p> - <p> - “Let us go into the sitting-room,” interrupted the doctor, and with a - significant gesture he indicated the servant. - </p> - <p> - In the sitting-room La Cibot explained her position with regard to the - pair of nutcrackers at very considerable length. She repeated the history - of her loan with added embellishments, and gave a full account of the - immense services rendered during the past ten years to MM. Pons and - Schmucke. The two old men, to all appearance, could not exist without her - motherly care. She posed as an angel; she told so many lies, one after - another, watering them with her tears, that old Mme. Poulain was quite - touched. - </p> - <p> - “You understand, my dear sir,” she concluded, “that I really ought to know - how far I can depend on M. Pons’ intentions, supposing that he should not - die; not that I want him to die, for looking after those two innocents is - my life, madame, you see; still, when one of them is gone I shall look - after the other. For my own part, I was built by Nature to rival mothers. - Without nobody to care for, nobody to take for a child, I don’t know what - I should do.... So if M. Poulain only would, he might do me a service for - which I should be very grateful; and that is, to say a word to M. Pons for - me. Goodness me! an annuity of a thousand francs, is that too much, I ask - you?... To. M. Schmucke it would be so much gained.—Our dear patient - said that he should recommend me to the German, poor man; it is his idea, - no doubt, that M. Schmucke should be his heir. But what is a man that - cannot put two ideas together in French? And besides, he would be quite - capable of going back to Germany, he will be in such despair over his - friend’s death—” - </p> - <p> - The doctor grew grave. “My dear Mme. Cibot,” he said, “this sort of thing - does not in the least concern a doctor. I should not be allowed to - exercise my profession if it was known that I interfered in the matter of - my patients’ testamentary dispositions. The law forbids a doctor to - receive a legacy from a patient—” - </p> - <p> - “A stupid law! What is to hinder me from dividing my legacy with you?” La - Cibot said immediately. - </p> - <p> - “I will go further,” said the doctor; “my professional conscience will not - permit me to speak to M. Pons of his death. In the first place, he is not - so dangerously ill that there is any need to speak of it, and in the - second, such talk coming from me might give a shock to the system that - would do him real harm, and then his illness might terminate fatally—” - </p> - <p> - “<i>I</i> don’t put on gloves to tell him to get his affairs in order,” - cried Mme. Cibot, “and he is none the worse for that. He is used to it. - There is nothing to fear.” - </p> - <p> - “Not a word more about it, my dear Mme. Cibot! These things are not within - a doctor’s province; it is a notary’s business—” - </p> - <p> - “But, my dear M. Poulain, suppose that M. Pons of his own accord should - ask you how he is, and whether he had better make his arrangements; then, - would you refuse to tell him that if you want to get better it is an - excellent plan to set everything in order? Then you might just slip in a - little word for me—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, if <i>he</i> talks of making his will, I certainly shall not dissuade - him,” said the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “Very well, that is settled. I came to thank you for your care of me,” she - added, as she slipped a folded paper containing three gold coins into the - doctor’s hands. “It is all I can do at the moment. Ah! my dear M. Poulain, - if I were rich, you should be rich, you that are the image of Providence - on earth.—Madame, you have an angel for a son.” - </p> - <p> - La Cibot rose to her feet, Mme. Poulain bowed amiably, and the doctor went - to the door with the visitor. Just then a sudden, lurid gleam of light - flashed across the mind of this Lady Macbeth of the streets. She saw - clearly that the doctor was her accomplice—he had taken the fee for - the sham illness. - </p> - <p> - “M. Poulain,” she began, “how can you refuse to say a word or two to save - me from want, when you helped me in the affair of my accident?” - </p> - <p> - The doctor felt that the devil had him by the hair, as the saying is; he - felt, too, that the hair was being twisted round the pitiless red claw. - Startled and afraid lest he should sell his honesty for such a trifle, he - answered the diabolical suggestion by another no less diabolical. - </p> - <p> - “Listen, my dear Mme. Cibot,” he said, as he drew her into his - consulting-room. “I will now pay a debt of gratitude that I owe you for my - appointment to the mairie—” - </p> - <p> - “We go shares?” she asked briskly. - </p> - <p> - “In what?” - </p> - <p> - “In the legacy.” - </p> - <p> - “You do not know me,” said Dr. Poulain, drawing himself up like Valerius - Publicola. “Let us have no more of that. I have a friend, an old - schoolfellow of mine, a very intelligent young fellow; and we are so much - the more intimate, because, our lives have fallen out very much in the - same way. He was studying law while I was a house-student, he was - engrossing deeds in Maitre Couture’s office. His father was a shoemaker, - and mine was a breeches-maker; he has not found anyone to take much - interest in his career, nor has he any capital; for, after all, capital is - only to be had from sympathizers. He could only afford to buy a provincial - connection—at Mantes—and so little do provincials understand - the Parisian intellect, that they set all sorts of intrigues on foot - against him.” - </p> - <p> - “The wretches!” cried La Cibot. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said the doctor. “They combined against him to such purpose, that - they forced him to sell his connection by misrepresenting something that - he had done; the attorney for the crown interfered, he belonged to the - place, and sided with his fellow-townsmen. My friend’s name is Fraisier. - He is lodged as I am, and he is even leaner and more threadbare. He took - refuge in our arrondissement, and is reduced to appear for clients in the - police-court or before the magistrate. He lives in the Rue de la Perle - close by. Go to No. 9, third floor, and you will see his name on the door - on the landing, painted in gilt letters on a small square of red leather. - Fraisier makes a special point of disputes among the porters, workmen, and - poor folk in the arrondissement, and his charges are low. He is an honest - man; for I need not tell you that if he had been a scamp, he would be - keeping his carriage by now. I will call and see my friend Fraisier this - evening. Go to him early to-morrow; he knows M. Louchard, the bailiff; M. - Tabareau, the clerk of the court; and the justice of the peace, M. Vitel; - and M. Trognon, the notary. He is even now looked upon as one of the best - men of business in the Quarter. If he takes charge of your interests, if - you can secure him as M. Pons’ adviser, you will have a second self in - him, you see. But do not make dishonorable proposals to him, as you did - just now to me; he has a head on his shoulders, you will understand each - other. And as for acknowledging his services, I will be your intermediary—” - </p> - <p> - Mme. Cibot looked askance at the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “Is that the lawyer who helped Mme. Florimond the haberdasher in the Rue - Vieille-du-Temple out of a fix in that matter of her friend’s legacy?” - </p> - <p> - “The very same.” - </p> - <p> - “Wasn’t it a shame that she did not marry him after he had gained two - thousand francs a year for her?” exclaimed La Cibot. “And she thought to - clear off scores by making him a present of a dozen shirts and a couple of - dozen pocket-handkerchiefs; an outfit, in short.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear Mme. Cibot, that outfit cost a thousand francs, and Fraisier was - just setting up for himself in the Quarter, and wanted the things very - badly. And what was more, she paid the bill without asking any questions. - That affair brought him clients, and now he is very busy; but in my line a - practice brings—” - </p> - <p> - “It is only the righteous that suffer here below,” said La Cibot. “Well, - M. Poulain, good-day and thank you.” - </p> - <p> - And herewith begins the tragedy, or, if you like to have it so, a terrible - comedy—the death of an old bachelor delivered over by circumstances - too strong for him to the rapacity and greed that gathered about his bed. - And other forces came to the support of rapacity and greed; there was the - picture collector’s mania, that most intense of all passions; there was - the cupidity of the Sieur Fraisier, whom you shall presently behold in his - den, a sight to make you shudder; and lastly, there was the Auvergnat - thirsting for money, ready for anything—even for a crime—that - should bring him the capital he wanted. The first part of the story serves - in some sort as a prelude to this comedy in which all the actors who have - hitherto occupied the stage will reappear. - </p> - <p> - The degradation of a word is one of those curious freaks of manners upon - which whole volumes of explanation might be written. Write to an attorney - and address him as “Lawyer So-and-so,” and you insult him as surely as you - would insult a wholesale colonial produce merchant by addressing your - letter to “Mr. So-and-so, Grocer.” There are plenty of men of the world - who ought to be aware, since the knowledge of such subtle distinctions is - their province, that you cannot insult a French writer more cruelly than - by calling him <i>un homme de lettres</i>—a literary man. The word - <i>monsieur</i> is a capital example of the life and death of words. - Abbreviated from monseigneur, once so considerable a title, and even now, - in the form of <i>sire</i>, reserved for emperors and kings, it is - bestowed indifferently upon all and sundry; while the twin-word <i>messire</i>, - which is nothing but its double and equivalent, if by any chance it slips - into a certificate of burial, produces an outcry in the Republican papers. - </p> - <p> - Magistrates, councillors, jurisconsults, judges, barristers, officers for - the crown, bailiffs, attorneys, clerks of the court, procurators, - solicitors, and agents of various kinds, represent or misrepresent - Justice. The “lawyer” and the bailiff’s men (commonly called “the - brokers”) are the two lowest rungs of the ladder. Now, the bailiff’s man - is an outsider, an adventitious minister of justice, appearing to see that - judgment is executed; he is, in fact, a kind of inferior executioner - employed by the county court. But the word “lawyer” (homme de loi) is a - depreciatory term applied to the legal profession. Consuming professional - jealousy finds similar disparaging epithets for fellow-travelers in every - walk of life, and every calling has its special insult. The scorn flung - into the words <i>homme de loi, homme de lettres</i>, is wanting in the - plural form, which may be used without offence; but in Paris every - profession, learned or unlearned, has its <i>omega</i>, the individual who - brings it down to the level of the lowest class; and the written law has - its connecting link with the custom right of the streets. There are - districts where the pettifogging man of business, known as Lawyer - So-and-So, is still to be found. M. Fraisier was to the member of the - Incorporated Law Society as the money-lender of the Halles, offering small - loans for a short period at an exorbitant interest, is to the great - capitalist. - </p> - <p> - Working people, strange to say are as shy of officials as of fashionable - restaurants, they take advice from irregular sources as they turn into a - little wineshop to drink. Each rank in life finds its own level, and there - abides. None but a chosen few care to climb the heights, few can feel at - ease in the presence of their betters, or take their place among them, - like a Beaumarchais letting fall the watch of the great lord who tried to - humiliate him. And if there are few who can even rise to a higher social - level, those among them who can throw off their swaddling-clothes are rare - and great exceptions. - </p> - <p> - At six o’clock the next morning Mme. Cibot stood in the Rue de la Perle; - she was making a survey of the abode of her future adviser, Lawyer - Fraisier. The house was one of the old-fashioned kind formerly inhabited - by small tradespeople and citizens with small means. A cabinetmaker’s shop - occupied almost the whole of the ground floor, as well as the little yard - behind, which was covered with his workshops and warehouses; the small - remaining space being taken up by the porter’s lodge and the passage entry - in the middle. The staircase walls were half rotten with damp and covered - with saltpetre to such a degree that the house seemed to be stricken with - leprosy. - </p> - <p> - Mme. Cibot went straight to the porter’s lodge, and there encountered one - of the fraternity, a shoemaker, his wife, and two small children, all - housed in a room ten feet square, lighted from the yard at the back. La - Cibot mentioned her profession, named herself, and spoke of her house in - the Rue de Normandie, and the two women were on cordial terms at once. - After a quarter of an hour spent in gossip while the shoemaker’s wife made - breakfast ready for her husband and the children, Mme. Cibot turned the - conversation to the subject of the lodgers, and spoke of the lawyer. - </p> - <p> - “I have come to see him on business,” she said. “One of his friends, Dr. - Poulain, recommended me to him. Do you know Dr. Poulain?” - </p> - <p> - “I should think I do,” said the lady of the Rue de la Perle. “He saved my - little girl’s life when she had the croup.” - </p> - <p> - “He saved my life, too, madame. What sort of a man is this M. Fraisier?” - </p> - <p> - “He is the sort of man, my dear lady, out of whom it is very difficult to - get the postage-money at the end of the month.” - </p> - <p> - To a person of La Cibot’s intelligence this was enough. - </p> - <p> - “One may be poor and honest,” observed she. - </p> - <p> - “I am sure I hope so,” returned Fraisier’s portress. “We are not rolling - in coppers, let alone gold or silver; but we have not a farthing belonging - to anybody else.” - </p> - <p> - This sort of talk sounded familiar to La Cibot. - </p> - <p> - “In short, one can trust him, child, eh?” - </p> - <p> - “Lord! when M. Fraisier means well by any one, there is not his like, so I - have heard Mme. Florimond say.” - </p> - <p> - “And why didn’t she marry him when she owed her fortune to him?” La Cibot - asked quickly. “It is something for a little haberdasher, kept by an old - man, to be a barrister’s wife—” - </p> - <p> - “Why?—” asked the portress, bringing Mme. Cibot out into the - passage. “Why?—You are going to see him, are you not, madame?—Very - well, when you are in his office you will know why.” - </p> - <p> - From the state of the staircase, lighted by sash-windows on the side of - the yard, it was pretty evident that the inmates of the house, with the - exception of the landlord and M. Fraisier himself, were all workmen. There - were traces of various crafts in the deposit of mud upon the steps—brass-filings, - broken buttons, scraps of gauze, and esparto grass lay scattered about. - The walls of the upper stories were covered with apprentices’ ribald - scrawls and caricatures. The portress’ last remark had roused La Cibot’s - curiosity; she decided, not unnaturally, that she would consult Dr. - Poulain’s friend; but as for employing him, that must depend upon her - impressions. - </p> - <p> - “I sometimes wonder how Mme. Sauvage can stop in his service,” said the - portress, by way of comment; she was following in Mme. Cibot’s wake. “I - will come up with you, madame” she added; “I am taking the milk and the - newspaper up to my landlord.” - </p> - <p> - Arrived on the second floor above the entresol, La Cibot beheld a door of - the most villainous description. The doubtful red paint was coated for - seven or eight inches round the keyhole with a filthy glaze, a grimy - deposit from which the modern house-decorator endeavors to protect the - doors of more elegant apartments by glass “finger-plates.” A grating, - almost stopped up with some compound similar to the deposit with which a - restaurant-keeper gives an air of cellar-bound antiquity to a merely - middle-aged bottle, only served to heighten the general resemblance to a - prison door; a resemblance further heightened by the trefoil-shaped - iron-work, the formidable hinges, the clumsy nail-heads. A miser, or a - pamphleteer at strife with the world at large, must surely have invented - these fortifications. A leaden sink, which received the waste water of the - household, contributed its quota to the fetid atmosphere of the staircase, - and the ceiling was covered with fantastic arabesques traced by - candle-smoke—such arabesques! On pulling a greasy acorn tassel - attached to the bell-rope, a little bell jangled feebly somewhere within, - complaining of the fissure in its metal sides. - </p> - <p> - Every detail was in keeping with the general dismal effect. La Cibot heard - a heavy footstep, and the asthmatic wheezing of a virago within, and Mme. - Sauvage presently showed herself. Adrien Brauwer might have painted just - such a hag for his picture of <i>Witches starting for the Sabbath</i>; a - stout, unwholesome slattern, five feet six inches in height, with a - grenadier countenance and a beard which far surpassed La Cibot’s own; she - wore a cheap, hideously ugly cotton gown, a bandana handkerchief knotted - over hair which she still continued to put in curl papers (using for that - purpose the printed circulars which her master received), and a huge pair - of gold earrings like cart-wheels in her ears. This female Cerberus - carried a battered skillet in one hand, and opening the door, set free an - imprisoned odor of scorched milk—a nauseous and penetrating smell, - that lost itself at once, however, among the fumes outside. - </p> - <p> - “What can I do for you, missus?” demanded Mme. Sauvage, and with a - truculent air she looked La Cibot over; evidently she was of the opinion - that the visitor was too well dressed, and her eyes looked the more - murderous because they were naturally bloodshot. - </p> - <p> - “I have come to see M. Fraisier; his friend, Dr. Poulain, sent me.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! come in, missus,” said La Sauvage, grown very amiable of a sudden, - which proves that she was prepared for this morning visit. - </p> - <p> - With a sweeping courtesy, the stalwart woman flung open the door of a - private office, which looked upon the street, and discovered the - ex-attorney of Mantes. - </p> - <p> - The room was a complete picture of a third-rate solicitor’s office; with - the stained wooden cases, the letter-files so old that they had grown - beards (in ecclesiastical language), the red tape dangling limp and - dejected, the pasteboard boxes covered with traces of the gambols of mice, - the dirty floor, the ceiling tawny with smoke. A frugal allowance of wood - was smouldering on a couple of fire-dogs on the hearth. And on the - chimney-piece above stood a foggy mirror and a modern clock with an inlaid - wooden case; Fraisier had picked it up at an execution sale, together with - the tawdry imitation rococo candlesticks, with the zinc beneath showing - through the lacquer in several places. - </p> - <p> - M. Fraisier was small, thin, and unwholesome looking; his red face, - covered with an eruption, told of tainted blood; and he had, moreover, a - trick of continually scratching his right arm. A wig pushed to the back of - his head displayed a brick-colored cranium of ominous conformation. This - person rose from a cane-seated armchair, in which he sat on a green - leather cushion, assumed an agreeable expression, and brought forward a - chair. - </p> - <p> - “Mme. Cibot, I believe?” queried he, in dulcet tones. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” answered the portress. She had lost her habitual assurance. - </p> - <p> - Something in the tones of a voice which strongly resembled the sounds of - the little door-bell, something in a glance even sharper than the sharp - green eyes of her future legal adviser, scared Mme. Cibot. Fraisier’s - presence so pervaded the room, that any one might have thought there was - pestilence in the air; and in a flash Mme. Cibot understood why Mme. - Florimond had not become Mme. Fraisier. - </p> - <p> - “Poulain told me about you, my dear madame,” said the lawyer, in the - unnatural fashion commonly described by the words “mincing tones”; tones - sharp, thin, and grating as verjuice, in spite of all his efforts. - </p> - <p> - Arrived at this point, he tried to draw the skirts of his dressing-gown - over a pair of angular knees encased in threadbare felt. The robe was an - ancient printed cotton garment, lined with wadding which took the liberty - of protruding itself through various slits in it here and there; the - weight of this lining had pulled the skirts aside, disclosing a dingy-hued - flannel waistcoat beneath. With something of a coxcomb’s manner, Fraisier - fastened this refractory article of dress, tightening the girdle to define - his reedy figure; then with a blow of the tongs, he effected a - reconciliation between two burning brands that had long avoided one - another, like brothers after a family quarrel. A sudden bright idea struck - him, and he rose from his chair. - </p> - <p> - “Mme. Sauvage!” called he. - </p> - <p> - “Well?” - </p> - <p> - “I am not at home to anybody!” - </p> - <p> - “Eh! bless your life, there’s no need to say that!” - </p> - <p> - “She is my old nurse,” the lawyer said in some confusion. - </p> - <p> - “And she has not recovered her figure yet,” remarked the heroine of the - Halles. - </p> - <p> - Fraisier laughed, and drew the bolt lest his housekeeper should interrupt - Mme. Cibot’s confidences. - </p> - <p> - “Well, madame, explain your business,” said he, making another effort to - drape himself in the dressing-gown. “Any one recommended to me by the only - friend I have in the world may count upon me—I may say—absolutely.” - </p> - <p> - For half an hour Mme. Cibot talked, and the man of law made no - interruption of any sort; his face wore the expression of curious interest - with which a young soldier listens to a pensioner of “The Old Guard.” - Fraisier’s silence and acquiescence, the rapt attention with which he - appeared to listen to a torrent of gossip similar to the samples - previously given, dispelled some of the prejudices inspired in La Cibot’s - mind by his squalid surroundings. The little lawyer with the - black-speckled green eyes was in reality making a study of his client. - When at length she came to a stand and looked to him to speak, he was - seized with a fit of the complaint known as a “churchyard cough,” and had - recourse to an earthenware basin half full of herb tea, which he drained. - </p> - <p> - “But for Poulain, my dear madame, I should have been dead before this,” - said Fraisier, by way of answer to the portress’ look of motherly - compassion; “but he will bring me round, he says—” - </p> - <p> - As all the client’s confidences appeared to have slipped from the memory - of her legal adviser, she began to cast about for a way of taking leave of - a man so apparently near death. - </p> - <p> - “In an affair of this kind, madame,” continued the attorney from Mantes, - suddenly returning to business, “there are two things which it is most - important to know. In the first place, whether the property is sufficient - to be worth troubling about; and in the second, who the next-of-kin may - be; for if the property is the booty, the next-of-kin is the enemy.” - </p> - <p> - La Cibot immediately began to talk of Remonencq and Elie Magus, and said - that the shrewd couple valued the pictures at six hundred thousand francs. - </p> - <p> - “Would they take them themselves at that price?” inquired the lawyer. “You - see, madame, that men of business are shy of pictures. A picture may mean - a piece of canvas worth a couple of francs or a painting worth two hundred - thousand. Now, paintings worth two hundred thousand francs are usually - well known; and what errors in judgment people make in estimating even the - most famous pictures of all! There was once a great capitalist whose - collection was admired, visited, and engraved—actually engraved! He - was supposed to have spent millions of francs on it. He died, as men must, - and—well, his <i>genuine</i> pictures did not fetch more than two - hundred thousand francs! You must let me see these gentlemen.—Now - for the next-of-kin,” and Fraisier again relapsed into his attitude of - listener. - </p> - <p> - When President Camusot’s name came up, he nodded with a grimace which - riveted Mme. Cibot’s attention. She tried to read the forehead and the - villainous face, and found what is called in business a “wooden head.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, my dear sir,” repeated La Cibot. “Yes, my M. Pons is own cousin to - President Camusot de Marville; he tells me that ten times a day. M. - Camusot the silk mercer was married twice—” - </p> - <p> - “He that has just been nominated for a peer of France?—” - </p> - <p> - “And his first wife was a Mlle. Pons, M. Pons’ first cousin.” - </p> - <p> - “Then they are first cousins once removed—” - </p> - <p> - “They are ‘not cousins.’ They have quarreled.” - </p> - <p> - It may be remembered that before M. Camusot de Marville came to Paris, he - was President of the Tribunal of Mantes for five years; and not only was - his name still remembered there, but he had kept up a correspondence with - Mantes. Camusot’s immediate successor, the judge with whom he had been - most intimate during his term of office, was still President of the - Tribunal, and consequently knew all about Fraisier. - </p> - <p> - “Do you know, madame,” Fraisier said, when at last the red sluices of La - Cibot’s torrent tongue were closed, “do you know that your principal enemy - will be a man who can send you to the scaffold?” - </p> - <p> - The portress started on her chair, making a sudden spring like a - jack-in-the-box. - </p> - <p> - “Calm yourself, dear madame,” continued Fraisier. “You may not have known - the name of the President of the Chamber of Indictments at the Court of - Appeal in Paris; but you ought to have known that M. Pons must have an - heir-at-law. M. le President de Marville is your invalid’s sole heir; but - as he is a collateral in the third degree, M. Pons is entitled by law to - leave his fortune as he pleases. You are not aware either that, six weeks - ago at least, M. le President’s daughter married the eldest son of M. le - Comte Popinot, peer of France, once Minister of Agriculture, and President - of the Board of Trade, one of the most influential politicians of the day. - President de Marville is even more formidable through this marriage than - in his own quality of head of the Court of Assize.” - </p> - <p> - At that word La Cibot shuddered. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, and it is he who sends you there,” continued Fraisier. “Ah! my dear - madame, you little know what a red robe means! It is bad enough to have a - plain black gown against you! You see me here, ruined, bald, broken in - health—all because, unwittingly, I crossed a mere attorney for the - crown in the provinces. I was forced to sell my connection at a loss, and - very lucky I was to come off with the loss of my money. If I had tried to - stand out, my professional position would have gone as well. - </p> - <p> - “One thing more you do not know,” he continued, “and this it is. If you - had only to do with President Camusot himself, it would be nothing; but he - has a wife, mind you!—and if you ever find yourself face to face - with that wife, you will shake in your shoes as if you were on the first - step of the scaffold, your hair will stand on end. The Presidente is so - vindictive that she would spend ten years over setting a trap to kill you. - She sets that husband of hers spinning like a top. Through her a charming - young fellow committed suicide at the Conciergerie. A count was accused of - forgery—she made his character as white as snow. She all but drove a - person of the highest quality from the Court of Charles X. Finally, she - displaced the Attorney-General, M. de Granville—” - </p> - <p> - “That lived in the Rue Vieille-du-Temple, at the corner of the Rue - Saint-Francois?” - </p> - <p> - “The very same. They say that she means to make her husband Home - Secretary, and I do not know that she will not gain her end.—If she - were to take it into her head to send us both to the Criminal Court first - and the hulks afterwards—I should apply for a passport and set sail - for America, though I am as innocent as a new-born babe. So well I know - what justice means. Now, see here, my dear Mme. Cibot; to marry her only - daughter to young Vicomte Popinot (heir to M. Pillerault, your landlord, - it is said)—to make that match, she stripped herself of her whole - fortune, so much so that the President and his wife have nothing at this - moment except his official salary. Can you suppose, my dear madame, that - under the circumstances Mme. la Presidente will let M. Pons’ property go - out of the family without a word?—Why, I would sooner face guns - loaded with grape-shot than have such a woman for my enemy—” - </p> - <p> - “But they have quarreled,” put in La Cibot. - </p> - <p> - “What has that got to do with it?” asked Fraisier. “It is one reason the - more for fearing her. To kill a relative of whom you are tired, is - something; but to inherit his property afterwards—that is a real - pleasure!” - </p> - <p> - “But the old gentleman has a horror of his relatives. He says over and - over again that these people—M. Cardot, M. Berthier, and the rest of - them (I can’t remember their names)—have crushed him as a tumbril - cart crushes an egg—” - </p> - <p> - “Have you a mind to be crushed too?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh dear! oh dear!” cried La Cibot. “Ah! Ma’am Fontaine was right when she - said that I should meet with difficulties: still, she said that I should - succeed—” - </p> - <p> - “Listen, my dear Mme. Cibot.—As for making some thirty thousand - francs out of this business—that is possible; but for the whole of - the property, it is useless to think of it. We talked over your case - yesterday evening, Dr. Poulain and I—” - </p> - <p> - La Cibot started again. - </p> - <p> - “Well, what is the matter?” - </p> - <p> - “But if you knew about the affair, why did you let me chatter away like a - magpie?” - </p> - <p> - “Mme. Cibot, I knew all about your business, but I knew nothing of Mme. - Cibot. So many clients, so many characters—” - </p> - <p> - Mme. Cibot gave her legal adviser a queer look at this; all her suspicions - gleamed in her eyes. Fraisier saw this. - </p> - <p> - “I resume,” he continued. “So, our friend Poulain was once called in by - you to attend old M. Pillerault, the Countess Popinot’s great-uncle; that - is one of your claims to my devotion. Poulain goes to see your landlord - (mark this!) once a fortnight; he learned all these particulars from him. - M. Pillerault was present at his grand-nephew’s wedding—for he is an - uncle with money to leave; he has an income of fifteen thousand francs, - though he has lived like a hermit for the last five-and-twenty years, and - scarcely spends a thousand crowns—well, <i>he</i> told Poulain all - about this marriage. It seems that your old musician was precisely the - cause of the row; he tried to disgrace his own family by way of revenge.—If - you only hear one bell, you only hear one sound.—Your invalid says - that he meant no harm, but everybody thinks him a monster of—” - </p> - <p> - “And it would not astonish me if he was!” cried La Cibot. “Just imagine - it!—For these ten years past I have been money out of pocket for - him, spending my savings on him, and he knows it, and yet he will not let - me lie down to sleep on a legacy!—No, sir! he will <i>not</i>. He is - obstinate, a regular mule he is.—I have talked to him these ten - days, and the cross-grained cur won’t stir no more than a sign-post. He - shuts his teeth and looks at me like—The most that he would say was - that he would recommend me to M. Schmucke.” - </p> - <p> - “Then he means to make his will in favor of this Schmucke?” - </p> - <p> - “Everything will go to him—” - </p> - <p> - “Listen, my dear Mme. Cibot, if I am to arrive at any definite conclusions - and think of a plan, I must know M. Schmucke. I must see the property and - have some talk with this Jew of whom you speak; and then, let me direct - you—” - </p> - <p> - “We shall see, M. Fraisier.” - </p> - <p> - “What is this? ‘We shall see?’” repeated Fraisier, speaking in the voice - natural to him, as he gave La Cibot a viperous glance. “Am I your legal - adviser or am I not, I say? Let us know exactly where we stand.” - </p> - <p> - La Cibot felt that he read her thoughts. A cold chill ran down her back. - </p> - <p> - “I have told you all I know,” she said. She saw that she was at the - tiger’s mercy. - </p> - <p> - “We attorneys are accustomed to treachery. Just think carefully over your - position; it is superb.—If you follow my advice point by point, you - will have thirty or forty thousand francs. But there is a reverse side to - this beautiful medal. How if the Presidente comes to hear that M. Pons’ - property is worth a million of francs, and that you mean to have a bit out - of it?—for there is always somebody ready to take that kind of - errand—” he added parenthetically. - </p> - <p> - This remark, and the little pause that came before and after it, sent - another shudder through La Cibot. She thought at once that Fraisier - himself would probably undertake that office. - </p> - <p> - “And then, my dear client, in ten minutes old Pillerault is asked to - dismiss you, and then on a couple of hours’ notice—” - </p> - <p> - “What does that matter to me?” said La Cibot, rising to her feet like a - Bellona; “I shall stay with the gentlemen as their housekeeper.” - </p> - <p> - “And then, a trap will be set for you, and some fine morning you and your - husband will wake up in a prison cell, to be tried for your lives—” - </p> - <p> - “<i>I?</i>” cried La Cibot, “I that have not a farthing that doesn’t - belong to me?... <i>I!</i>... <i>I!</i>” - </p> - <p> - For five minutes she held forth, and Fraisier watched the great artist - before him as she executed a concerto of self-praise. He was quite - untouched, and even amused by the performance. His keen glances pricked La - Cibot like stilettos; he chuckled inwardly, till his shrunken wig was - shaking with laughter. He was a Robespierre at an age when the Sylla of - France was make couplets. - </p> - <p> - “And how? and why? And on what pretext?” demanded she, when she had come - to an end. - </p> - <p> - “You wish to know how you may come to the guillotine?” - </p> - <p> - La Cibot turned pale as death at the words; the words fell like a knife - upon her neck. She stared wildly at Fraisier. - </p> - <p> - “Listen to me, my dear child,” began Fraisier, suppressing his inward - satisfaction at his client’s discomfiture. - </p> - <p> - “I would sooner leave things as they are—” murmured La Cibot, and - she rose to go. - </p> - <p> - “Stay,” Fraisier said imperiously. “You ought to know the risks that you - are running; I am bound to give you the benefit of my lights.—You - are dismissed by M. Pillerault, we will say; there is no doubt about that, - is there? You enter the service of these two gentlemen. Very good! That is - a declaration of war against the Presidente. You mean to do everything you - can to gain possession of the property, and to get a slice of it at any - rate— - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I am not blaming you,” Fraisier continued, in answer to a gesture - from his client. “It is not my place to do so. This is a battle, and you - will be led on further than you think for. One grows full of one’s ideas, - one hits hard—” - </p> - <p> - Another gesture of denial. This time La Cibot tossed her head. - </p> - <p> - “There, there, old lady,” said Fraisier, with odious familiarity, “you - will go a very long way!—” - </p> - <p> - “You take me for a thief, I suppose?” - </p> - <p> - “Come, now, mamma, you hold a receipt in M. Schmucke’s hand which did not - cost you much.—Ah! you are in the confessional, my lady! Don’t - deceive your confessor, especially when the confessor has the power of - reading your thoughts.” - </p> - <p> - La Cibot was dismayed by the man’s perspicacity; now she knew why he had - listened to her so intently. - </p> - <p> - “Very good,” continued he, “you can admit at once that the Presidente will - not allow you to pass her in the race for the property.—You will be - watched and spied upon.—You get your name into M. Pons’ will; - nothing could be better. But some fine day the law steps in, arsenic is - found in a glass, and you and your husband are arrested, tried, and - condemned for attempting the life of the Sieur Pons, so as to come by your - legacy. I once defended a poor woman at Versailles; she was in reality as - innocent as you would be in such a case. Things were as I have told you, - and all that I could do was to save her life. The unhappy creature was - sentenced to twenty years’ penal servitude. She is working out her time - now at St. Lazare.” - </p> - <p> - Mme. Cibot’s terror grew to the highest pitch. She grew paler and paler, - staring at the little, thin man with the green eyes, as some wretched - Moor, accused of adhering to her own religion, might gaze at the - inquisitor who doomed her to the stake. - </p> - <p> - “Then, do you tell me, that if I leave you to act, and put my interests in - your hands, I shall get something without fear?” - </p> - <p> - “I guarantee you thirty thousand francs,” said Fraisier, speaking like a - man sure of the fact. - </p> - <p> - “After all, you know how fond I am of dear Dr. Poulain,” she began again - in her most coaxing tones; “he told me to come to you, worthy man, and he - did not send me here to be told that I shall be guillotined for poisoning - some one.” - </p> - <p> - The thought of the guillotine so moved her that she burst into tears, her - nerves were shaken, terror clutched at her heart, she lost her head. - Fraisier gloated over his triumph. When he saw his client hesitate, he - thought that he had lost his chance; he had set himself to frighten and - quell La Cibot till she was completely in his power, bound hand and foot. - She had walked into his study as a fly walks into a spider’s web; there - she was doomed to remain, entangled in the toils of the little lawyer who - meant to feed upon her. Out of this bit of business, indeed, Fraisier - meant to gain the living of old days; comfort, competence, and - consideration. He and his friend Dr. Poulain had spent the whole previous - evening in a microscopic examination of the case; they had made mature - deliberations. The doctor described Schmucke for his friend’s benefit, and - the alert pair had plumbed all hypotheses and scrutinized all risks and - resources, till Fraisier, exultant, cried aloud, “Both our fortunes lie in - this!” He had gone so far as to promise Poulain a hospital, and as for - himself, he meant to be justice of the peace of an arrondissement. - </p> - <p> - To be a justice of the peace! For this man with his abundant capacity, for - this doctor of law without a pair of socks to his name, the dream was a - hippogriff so restive, that he thought of it as a deputy-advocate thinks - of the silk gown, as an Italian priest thinks of the tiara. It was indeed - a wild dream! - </p> - <p> - M. Vitel, the justice of the peace before whom Fraisier pleaded, was a man - of sixty-nine, in failing health; he talked of retiring on a pension; and - Fraisier used to talk with Poulain of succeeding him, much as Poulain - talked of saving the life of some rich heiress and marrying her - afterwards. No one knows how greedily every post in the gift of authority - is sought after in Paris. Every one wants to live in Paris. If a stamp or - tobacco license falls in, a hundred women rise up as one and stir all - their friends to obtain it. Any vacancy in the ranks of the twenty-four - collectors of taxes sends a flood of ambitious folk surging in upon the - Chamber of Deputies. Decisions are made in committee, all appointments are - made by the Government. Now the salary of a justice of the peace, the - lowest stipendiary magistrate in Paris, is about six thousand francs. The - post of registrar to the court is worth a hundred thousand francs. Few - places are more coveted in the administration. Fraisier, as a justice of - the peace, with the head physician of a hospital for his friend, would - make a rich marriage himself and a good match for Dr. Poulain. Each would - lend a hand to each. - </p> - <p> - Night set its leaden seal upon the plans made by the sometime attorney of - Mantes, and a formidable scheme sprouted up, a flourishing scheme, fertile - in harvests of gain and intrigue. La Cibot was the hinge upon which the - whole matter turned; and for this reason, any rebellion on the part of the - instrument must be at once put down; such action on her part was quite - unexpected; but Fraisier had put forth all the strength of his rancorous - nature, and the audacious portress lay trampled under his feet. - </p> - <p> - “Come, reassure yourself, my dear madame,” he remarked, holding out his - hand. The touch of the cold, serpent-like skin made a terrible impression - upon the portress. It brought about something like a physical reaction, - which checked her emotion; Mme. Fontaine’s toad, Astaroth, seemed to her - to be less deadly than this poison-sac that wore a sandy wig and spoke in - tones like the creaking of a hinge. - </p> - <p> - “Do not imagine that I am frightening you to no purpose,” Fraisier - continued. (La Cibot’s feeling of repulsion had not escaped him.) “The - affairs which made Mme. la Presidente’s dreadful reputation are so well - known at the law-courts, that you can make inquiries there if you like. - The great person who was all but sent into a lunatic asylum was the - Marquis d’Espard. The Marquis d’Esgrignon was saved from the hulks. The - handsome young man with wealth and a great future before him, who was to - have married a daughter of one of the first families of France, and hanged - himself in a cell of the Conciergerie, was the celebrated Lucien de - Rubempre; the affair made a great deal of noise in Paris at the time. That - was a question of a will. His mistress, the notorious Esther, died and - left him several millions, and they accused the young fellow of poisoning - her. He was not even in Paris at the time of her death, nor did he so much - as know the woman had left the money to him!—One cannot well be more - innocent than that! Well, after M. Camusot examined him, he hanged himself - in his cell. Law, like medicine, has its victims. In the first case, one - man suffers for the many, and in the second, he dies for science,” he - added, and an ugly smile stole over his lips. “Well, I know the risks - myself, you see; poor and obscure little attorney as I am, the law has - been the ruin of me. My experience was dearly bought—it is all at - your service.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, no,” said La Cibot; “I will have nothing to do with it, upon - my word!... I shall have nourished ingratitude, that is all! I want - nothing but my due; I have thirty years of honesty behind me, sir. M. Pons - says that he will recommend me to his friend Schmucke; well and good, I - shall end my days in peace with the German, good man.” - </p> - <p> - Fraisier had overshot his mark. He had discouraged La Cibot. Now he was - obliged to remove these unpleasant impressions. - </p> - <p> - “Do not let us give up,” he said; “just go away quietly home. Come, now, - we will steer the affair to a good end.” - </p> - <p> - “But what about my <i>rentes</i>, what am I to do to get them, and—” - </p> - <p> - “And feel no remorse?” he interrupted quickly. “Eh! it is precisely for - that that men of business were invented; unless you keep within the law, - you get nothing. You know nothing of law; I know a good deal. I will see - that you keep on the right side of it, and you can hold your own in all - men’s sight. As for your conscience, that is your own affair.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well, tell me how to do it,” returned La Cibot, curious and - delighted. - </p> - <p> - “I do not know how yet. I have not looked at the strong points of the case - yet; I have been busy with the obstacles. But the first thing to be done - is to urge him to make a will; you cannot go wrong over that; and find - out, first of all, how Pons means to leave his fortune; for if you were - his heir—” - </p> - <p> - “No, no; he does not like me. Ah! if I had but known the value of his - gimcracks, and if I had known what I know now about his amours, I should - be easy in my mind this day—” - </p> - <p> - “Keep on, in fact,” broke in Fraisier. “Dying folk have queer fancies, my - dear madame; they disappoint hopes many a time. Let him make his will, and - then we shall see. And of all things, the property must be valued. So I - must see this Remonencq and the Jew; they will be very useful to us. Put - entire confidence in me, I am at your disposal. When a client is a friend - to me, I am his friend through thick and thin. Friend or enemy, that is my - character.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well,” said La Cibot, “I am yours entirely; and as for fees, M. - Poulain—” - </p> - <p> - “Let us say nothing about that,” said Fraisier. “Think how you can keep - Poulain at the bedside; he is one of the most upright and conscientious - men I know; and, you see, we want some one there whom we can trust. - Poulain would do better than I; I have lost my character.” - </p> - <p> - “You look as if you had,” said La Cibot; “but, for my own part, I should - trust you.” - </p> - <p> - “And you would do well. Come to see me whenever anything happens, and—there!—you - are an intelligent woman; all will go well.” - </p> - <p> - “Good-day, M. Fraisier. I hope you will recover your health. Your servant, - sir.” - </p> - <p> - Fraisier went to the door with his client. But this time it was he, and - not La Cibot, who was struck with an idea on the threshold. - </p> - <p> - “If you could persuade M. Pons to call me in, it would be a great step.” - </p> - <p> - “I will try,” said La Cibot. - </p> - <p> - Fraisier drew her back into his sanctum. “Look here, old lady, I know M. - Trognon, the notary of the quarter, very well. If M. Pons has not a - notary, mention M. Trognon to him. Make him take M. Trognon—” - </p> - <p> - “Right,” returned La Cibot. - </p> - <p> - And as she came out again she heard the rustle of a dress and the sound of - a stealthy, heavy footstep. - </p> - <p> - Out in the street and by herself, Mme. Cibot to some extent recovered her - liberty of mind as she walked. Though the influence of the conversation - was still upon her, and she had always stood in dread of scaffolds, - justice, and judges, she took a very natural resolution which was to bring - about a conflict of strategy between her and her formidable legal adviser. - </p> - <p> - “What do I want with other folk?” said she to herself. “Let us make a - round sum, and afterwards I will take all that they offer me to push their - interests;” and this thought, as will shortly be seen, hastened the poor - old musician’s end. - </p> - <p> - “Well, dear M. Schmucke, and how is our dear, adored patient?” asked La - Cibot, as she came into the room. - </p> - <p> - “Fery pad; Bons haf peen vandering all der night.” - </p> - <p> - “Then, what did he say?” - </p> - <p> - “Chust nonsense. He vould dot I haf all his fortune, on kondition dot I - sell nodings.—Den he cried! Boor mann! It made me ver’ sad.” - </p> - <p> - “Never mind, honey,” returned the portress. “I have kept you waiting for - your breakfast; it is nine o’clock and past; but don’t scold me. I have - business on hand, you see, business of yours. Here are we without any - money, and I have been out to get some.” - </p> - <p> - “Vere?” asked Schmucke. - </p> - <p> - “Of my uncle.” - </p> - <p> - “Onkel?” - </p> - <p> - “Up the spout.” - </p> - <p> - “Shpout?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! the dear man! how simple he is? No, you are a saint, a love, an - archbishop of innocence, a man that ought to be stuffed, as the old actor - said. What! you have lived in Paris for twenty-nine years; you saw the - Revolution of July, you did, and you have never so much as heard tell of a - pawnbroker—a man that lends you money on your things?—I have - been pawning our silver spoons and forks, eight of them, thread pattern. - Pooh, Cibot can eat his victuals with German silver; it is quite the - fashion now, they say. It is not worth while to say anything to our angel - there; it would upset him and make him yellower than before, and he is - quite cross enough as it is. Let us get him round again first, and - afterwards we shall see. What must be must; and we must take things as we - find them, eh?” - </p> - <p> - “Goot voman! nople heart!” cried poor Schmucke, with a great tenderness in - his face. He took La Cibot’s hand and clasped it to his breast. When he - looked up, there were tears in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “There, that will do, Papa Schmucke; how funny you are! This is too bad. I - am an old daughter of the people—my heart is in my hand. I have - something <i>here</i>, you see, like you have, hearts of gold that you - are,” she added, slapping her chest. - </p> - <p> - “Baba Schmucke!” continued the musician. “No. To know de tepths of sorrow, - to cry mit tears of blood, to mount up in der hefn—dat is mein lot! - I shall not lif after Bons—” - </p> - <p> - “Gracious! I am sure you won’t, you are killing yourself.—Listen, - pet!” - </p> - <p> - “Bet?” - </p> - <p> - “Very well, my sonny—” - </p> - <p> - “Zonny?” - </p> - <p> - “My lamb, then, if you like it better.” - </p> - <p> - “It is not more clear.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, well, let <i>me</i> take care of you and tell you what to do; for if - you go on like this, I shall have both of you laid up on my hands, you - see. To my little way of thinking, we must do the work between us. You - cannot go about Paris to give lessons for it tires you, and then you are - not fit to do anything afterwards, and somebody must sit up of a night - with M. Pons, now that he is getting worse and worse. I will run round - to-day to all your pupils and tell them that you are ill; is it not so? - And then you can spend the nights with our lamb, and sleep of a morning - from five o’clock till, let us say, two in the afternoon. I myself will - take the day, the most tiring part, for there is your breakfast and dinner - to get ready, and the bed to make, and the things to change, and the doses - of medicine to give. I could not hold out for another ten days at this - rate. What would become of you if I were to fall ill? And you yourself, it - makes one shudder to see you; just look at yourself, after sitting up with - him last night!” - </p> - <p> - She drew Schmucke to the glass, and Schmucke thought that there was a - great change. - </p> - <p> - “So, if you are of my mind, I’ll have your breakfast ready in a jiffy. - Then you will look after our poor dear again till two o’clock. Let me have - a list of your people, and I will soon arrange it. You will be free for a - fortnight. You can go to bed when I come in, and sleep till night.” - </p> - <p> - So prudent did the proposition seem, that Schmucke then and there agreed - to it. - </p> - <p> - “Not a word to M. Pons; he would think it was all over with him, you know, - if we were to tell him in this way that his engagement at the theatre and - his lessons are put off. He would be thinking that he should not find his - pupils again, poor gentleman—stuff and nonsense! M. Poulain says - that we shall save our Benjamin if we keep him as quiet as possible.” - </p> - <p> - “Ach! fery goot! Pring up der preakfast; I shall make der bett, and gif - you die attresses!—You are right; it vould pe too much for me.” - </p> - <p> - An hour later La Cibot, in her Sunday clothes, departed in great state, to - the no small astonishment of the Remonencqs; she promised herself that she - would support the character of confidential servant of the pair of - nutcrackers, in the boarding-schools and private families in which they - gave music-lessons. - </p> - <p> - It is needless to repeat all the gossip in which La Cibot indulged on her - round. The members of every family, the head-mistress of every - boarding-school, were treated to a variation upon the theme of Pons’ - illness. A single scene, which took place in the Illustrious Gaudissart’s - private room, will give a sufficient idea of the rest. La Cibot met with - unheard-of difficulties, but she succeeded in penetrating at last to the - presence. Kings and cabinet ministers are less difficult of access than - the manager of a theatre in Paris; nor is it hard to understand why such - prodigious barriers are raised between them and ordinary mortals: a king - has only to defend himself from ambition; the manager of a theatre has - reason to dread the wounded vanity of actors and authors. - </p> - <p> - La Cibot, however, struck up an acquaintance with the portress, and - traversed all distances in a brief space. There is a sort of freemasonry - among the porter tribe, and, indeed, among the members of every - profession; for each calling has its shibboleth, as well as its insulting - epithet and the mark with which it brands its followers. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! madame, you are the portress here,” began La Cibot. “I myself am a - portress, in a small way, in a house in the Rue de Normandie. M. Pons, - your conductor, lodges with us. Oh, how glad I should be to have your - place, and see the actors and dancers and authors go past. It is the - marshal’s baton in our profession, as the old actor said.” - </p> - <p> - “And how is M. Pons going on, good man?” inquired the portress. - </p> - <p> - “He is not going on at all; he has not left his bed these two months. He - will only leave the house feet foremost, that is certain.” - </p> - <p> - “He will be missed.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. I have come with a message to the manager from him. Just try to get - me a word with him, dear.” - </p> - <p> - “A lady from M. Pons to see you, sir!” After this fashion did the youth - attached to the service of the manager’s office announce La Cibot, whom - the portress below had particularly recommended to his care. - </p> - <p> - Gaudissart had just come in for a rehearsal. Chance so ordered it that no - one wished to speak with him; actors and authors were alike late. - Delighted to have news of his conductor, he made a Napoleonic gesture, and - La Cibot was admitted. - </p> - <p> - The sometime commercial traveler, now the head of a popular theatre, - regarded his sleeping partners in the light of a legitimate wife; they - were not informed of all his doings. The flourishing state of his finances - had reacted upon his person. Grown big and stout and high-colored with - good cheer and prosperity, Gaudissart made no disguise of his - transformation into a Mondor. - </p> - <p> - “We are turning into a city-father,” he once said, trying to be the first - to laugh. - </p> - <p> - “You are only in the Turcaret stage yet, though,” retorted Bixiou, who - often replaced Gaudissart in the company of the leading lady of the - ballet, the celebrated Heloise Brisetout. - </p> - <p> - The former Illustrious Gaudissart, in fact, was exploiting the theatre - simply and solely for his own particular benefit, and with brutal - disregard of other interests. He first insinuated himself as a - collaborator in various ballets, plays, and vaudevilles; then he waited - till the author wanted money and bought up the other half of the - copyright. These after-pieces and vaudevilles, always added to successful - plays, brought him in a daily harvest of gold coins. He trafficked by - proxy in tickets, allotting a certain number to himself, as the manager’s - share, till he took in this way a tithe of the receipts. And Gaudissart - had other methods of making money besides these official contributions. He - sold boxes, he took presents from indifferent actresses burning to go upon - the stage to fill small speaking parts, or simply to appear as queens, or - pages, and the like; he swelled his nominal third share of the profits to - such purpose that the sleeping partners scarcely received one-tenth - instead of the remaining two-thirds of the net receipts. Even so, however, - the tenth paid them a dividend of fifteen per cent on their capital. On - the strength of that fifteen per cent Gaudissart talked of his - intelligence, honesty, and zeal, and the good fortune of his partners. - When Count Popinot, showing an interest in the concern, asked Matifat, or - General Gouraud (Matifat’s son-in-law), or Crevel, whether they were - satisfied with Gaudissart, Gouraud, now a peer of France, answered, “They - say he robs us; but he is such a clever, good-natured fellow, that we are - quite satisfied.” - </p> - <p> - “This is like La Fontaine’s fable,” smiled the ex-cabinet minister. - </p> - <p> - Gaudissart found investments for his capital in other ventures. He thought - well of Schwab, Brunner, and the Graffs; that firm was promoting railways, - he became a shareholder in the lines. His shrewdness was carefully hidden - beneath the frank carelessness of a man of pleasure; he seemed to be - interested in nothing but amusements and dress, yet he thought everything - over, and his wide experience of business gained as a commercial traveler - stood him in good stead. - </p> - <p> - A self-made man, he did not take himself seriously. He gave suppers and - banquets to celebrities in rooms sumptuously furnished by the house - decorator. Showy by nature, with a taste for doing things handsomely, he - affected an easy-going air, and seemed so much the less formidable because - he had kept the slang of “the road” (to use his own expression), with a - few green-room phrases superadded. Now, artists in the theatrical - profession are wont to express themselves with some vigor; Gaudissart - borrowed sufficient racy green-room talk to blend with his commercial - traveler’s lively jocularity, and passed for a wit. He was thinking at - that moment of selling his license and “going into another line,” as he - said. He thought of being chairman of a railway company, of becoming a - responsible person and an administrator, and finally of marrying Mlle. - Minard, daughter of the richest mayor in Paris. He might hope to get into - the Chamber through “his line,” and, with Popinot’s influence, to take - office under the Government. - </p> - <p> - “Whom have I the honor of addressing?” inquired Gaudissart, looking - magisterially at La Cibot. - </p> - <p> - “I am M. Pons’ confidential servant, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, and how is the dear fellow?” - </p> - <p> - “Ill, sir—very ill.” - </p> - <p> - “The devil he is! I am sorry to hear it—I must come and see him; he - is such a man as you don’t often find.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah yes! sir, he is a cherub, he is. I have always wondered how he came to - be in a theatre.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, madame, the theatre is a house of correction for morals,” said - Gaudissart. “Poor Pons!—Upon my word, one ought to cultivate the - species to keep up the stock. ‘Tis a pattern man, and has talent too. When - will he be able to take his orchestra again, do you think? A theatre, - unfortunately, is like a stage coach: empty or full, it starts at the same - time. Here at six o’clock every evening, up goes the curtain; and if we - are never sorry for ourselves, it won’t make good music. Let us see now—how - is he?” - </p> - <p> - La Cibot pulled out her pocket-handkerchief and held it to her eyes. - </p> - <p> - “It is a terrible thing to say, my dear sir,” said she; “but I am afraid - we shall lose him, though we are as careful of him as of the apple of our - eyes. And, at the same time, I came to say that you must not count on M. - Schmucke, worthy man, for he is going to sit up with him at night. One - cannot help doing as if there was hope still left, and trying one’s best - to snatch the dear, good soul from death. But the doctor has given him up——” - </p> - <p> - “What is the matter with him?” - </p> - <p> - “He is dying of grief, jaundice, and liver complaint, with a lot of family - affairs to complicate matters.” - </p> - <p> - “And a doctor as well,” said Gaudissart. “He ought to have had Lebrun, our - doctor; it would have cost him nothing.” - </p> - <p> - “M. Pons’ doctor is a Providence on earth. But what can a doctor do, no - matter how clever he is, with such complications?” - </p> - <p> - “I wanted the good pair of nutcrackers badly for the accompaniment of my - new fairy piece.” - </p> - <p> - “Is there anything that I can do for them?” asked La Cibot, and her - expression would have done credit to a Jocrisse. - </p> - <p> - Gaudissart burst out laughing. - </p> - <p> - “I am their housekeeper, sir, and do many things for my gentlemen—” - She did not finish her speech, for in the middle of Gaudissart’s roar of - laughter a woman’s voice exclaimed, “If you are laughing, old man, one may - come in,” and the leading lady of the ballet rushed into the room and - flung herself upon the only sofa. The newcomer was Heloise Brisetout, with - a splendid <i>algerienne</i>, such as scarves used to be called, about her - shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “Who is amusing you? Is it this lady? What post does she want?” asked this - nymph, giving the manager such a glance as artist gives artist, a glance - that would make a subject for a picture. - </p> - <p> - Heloise, a young woman of exceedingly literary tastes, was on intimate - terms with great and famous artists in Bohemia. Elegant, accomplished, and - graceful, she was more intelligent than dancers usually are. As she put - her question, she sniffed at a scent-bottle full of some aromatic perfume. - </p> - <p> - “One fine woman is as good as another, madame; and if I don’t sniff the - pestilence out of a scent-bottle, nor daub brickdust on my cheeks—” - </p> - <p> - “That would be a sinful waste, child, when Nature put it on for you to - begin with,” said Heloise, with a side glance at her manager. - </p> - <p> - “I am an honest woman—” - </p> - <p> - “So much the worse for you. It is not every one by a long chalk that can - find some one to keep them, and kept I am, and in slap-up style, madame.” - </p> - <p> - “So much the worse! What do you mean? Oh, you may toss your head and go - about in scarves, you will never have as many declarations as I have had, - missus. You will never match the <i>Belle Ecaillere of the Cadran Bleu</i>.” - </p> - <p> - Heloise Brisetout rose at once to her feet, stood at attention, and made a - military salute, like a soldier who meets his general. - </p> - <p> - “What?” asked Gaudissart, “are you really <i>La Belle Ecaillere</i> of - whom my father used to talk?” - </p> - <p> - “In that case the cachucha and the polka were after your time; and madame - has passed her fiftieth year,” remarked Heloise, and striking an attitude, - she declaimed, “‘Cinna, let us be friends.’” - </p> - <p> - “Come, Heloise, the lady is not up to this; let her alone.” - </p> - <p> - “Madame is perhaps the New Heloise,” suggested La Cibot, with sly - innocence. - </p> - <p> - “Not bad, old lady!” cried Gaudissart. - </p> - <p> - “It is a venerable joke,” said the dancer, “a grizzled pun; find us - another old lady—or take a cigarette.” - </p> - <p> - “I beg your pardon, madame, I feel too unhappy to answer you; my two - gentlemen are very ill; and to buy nourishment for them and to spare them - trouble, I have pawned everything down to my husband’s clothes that I - pledged this morning. Here is the ticket!” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! here, the affair is becoming tragic,” cried the fair Heloise. “What - is it all about?” - </p> - <p> - “Madame drops down upon us like—” - </p> - <p> - “Like a dancer,” said Heloise; “let me prompt you,—missus!” - </p> - <p> - “Come, I am busy,” said Gaudissart. “The joke has gone far enough. - Heloise, this is M. Pons’ confidential servant; she had come to tell me - that I must not count upon him; our poor conductor is not expected to - live. I don’t know what to do.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! poor man; why, he must have a benefit.” - </p> - <p> - “It would ruin him,” said Gaudissart. “He might find next day that he owed - five hundred francs to charitable institutions, and they refuse to admit - that there are any sufferers in Paris except their own. No, look here, my - good woman, since you are going in for the Montyon prize——” - </p> - <p> - He broke off, rang the bell, and the youth before mentioned suddenly - appeared. - </p> - <p> - “Tell the cashier to send me up a thousand-franc note.—Sit down, - madame.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! poor woman, look, she is crying!” exclaimed Heloise. “How stupid! - There, there, mother, we will go to see him; don’t cry.—I say, now,” - she continued, taking the manager into a corner, “you want to make me take - the leading part in the ballet in <i>Ariane</i>, you Turk. You are going - to be married, and you know how I can make you miserable—” - </p> - <p> - “Heloise, my heart is copper-bottomed like a man-of-war.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall bring your children on the scene! I will borrow some somewhere.” - </p> - <p> - “I have owned up about the attachment.” - </p> - <p> - “Do be nice, and give Pons’ post to Garangeot; he has talent, poor fellow, - and he has not a penny; and I promise peace.” - </p> - <p> - “But wait till Pons is dead, in case the good man may come back again.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, as to that, no, sir,” said La Cibot. “He began to wander in his mind - last night, and now he is delirious. It will soon be over, unfortunately.” - </p> - <p> - “At any rate, take Garangeot as a stop-gap!” pleaded Heloise. “He has the - whole press on his side—” - </p> - <p> - Just at that moment the cashier came in with a note for a thousand francs - in his hand. - </p> - <p> - “Give it to madame here,” said Gaudissart. “Good-day, my good woman; take - good care of the dear man, and tell him that I am coming to see him - to-morrow, or sometime—as soon as I can, in short.” - </p> - <p> - “A drowning man,” said Heloise. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, sir, hearts like yours are only found in a theatre. May God bless - you!” - </p> - <p> - “To what account shall I post this item?” asked the cashier. - </p> - <p> - “I will countersign the order. Post it to the bonus account.” - </p> - <p> - Before La Cibot went out, she made Mlle. Brisetout a fine courtesy, and - heard Gaudissart remark to his mistress: - </p> - <p> - “Can Garangeot do the dance-music for the <i>Mohicans</i> in twelve days? - If he helps me out of my predicament, he shall have Pons’ place.” - </p> - <p> - La Cibot had cut off the incomes of the two friends, she had left them - without means of subsistence if Pons should chance to recover, and was - better rewarded for all this mischief than for any good that she had done. - In a few days’ time her treacherous trick would bring about the desired - result—Elie Magus would have his coveted pictures. But if this first - spoliation was to be effected, La Cibot must throw dust in Fraisier’s - eyes, and lull the suspicions of that terrible fellow-conspirator of her - own seeking; and Elie Magus and Remonencq must be bound over to secrecy. - </p> - <p> - As for Remonencq, he had gradually come to feel such a passion as - uneducated people can conceive when they come to Paris from the depths of - the country, bringing with them all the fixed ideas bred of the solitary - country life; all the ignorance of a primitive nature, all the brute - appetites that become so many fixed ideas. Mme. Cibot’s masculine beauty, - her vivacity, her market-woman’s wit, had all been remarked by the marine - store-dealer. He thought at first of taking La Cibot from her husband, - bigamy among the lower classes in Paris being much more common than is - generally supposed; but greed was like a slip-knot drawn more and more - tightly about his heart, till reason at length was stifled. When Remonencq - computed that the commission paid by himself and Elie Magus amounted to - about forty thousand francs, he determined to have La Cibot for his - legitimate spouse, and his thoughts turned from a misdemeanor to a crime. - A romantic purely speculative dream, persistently followed through a - tobacco-smoker’s long musings as he lounged in the doorway, had brought - him to the point of wishing that the little tailor were dead. At a stroke - he beheld his capital trebled; and then he thought of La Cibot. What a - good saleswoman she would be! What a handsome figure she would make in a - magnificent shop on the boulevards! The twofold covetousness turned - Remonencq’s head. In fancy he took a shop that he knew of on the Boulevard - de la Madeleine, he stocked it with Pons’ treasures, and then—after - dreaming his dream in sheets of gold, after seeing millions in the blue - spiral wreaths that rose from his pipe, he awoke to find himself face to - face with the little tailor. Cibot was sweeping the yard, the doorstep, - and the pavement just as his neighbor was taking down the shutters and - displaying his wares; for since Pons fell ill, La Cibot’s work had fallen - to her husband. - </p> - <p> - The Auvergnat began to look upon the little, swarthy, stunted, - copper-colored tailor as the one obstacle in his way, and pondered how to - be rid of him. Meanwhile this growing passion made La Cibot very proud, - for she had reached an age when a woman begins to understand that she may - grow old. - </p> - <p> - So early one morning, she meditatively watched Remonencq as he arranged - his odds and ends for sale. She wondered how far his love could go. He - came across to her. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” he said, “are things going as you wish?” - </p> - <p> - “It is you who makes me uneasy,” said La Cibot. “I shall be talked about; - the neighbors will see you making sheep’s eyes at me.” - </p> - <p> - She left the doorway and dived into the Auvergnat’s back shop. - </p> - <p> - “What a notion!” said Remonencq. - </p> - <p> - “Come here, I have something to say to you,” said La Cibot. “M. Pons’ - heirs are about to make a stir; they are capable of giving us a lot of - trouble. God knows what might come of it if they send the lawyers here to - poke their noses into the affair like hunting-dogs. I cannot get M. - Schmucke to sell a few pictures unless you like me well enough to keep the - secret—such a secret!—With your head on the block, you must - not say where the pictures come from, nor who it was that sold them. When - M. Pons is once dead and buried, you understand, nobody will know how many - pictures there ought to be; if there are fifty-three pictures instead of - sixty-seven, nobody will be any the wiser. Besides, if M. Pons sold them - himself while he was alive, nobody can find fault.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” agreed Remonencq, “it is all one to me, but M. Elie Magus will want - receipts in due form.” - </p> - <p> - “And you shall have your receipt too, bless your life! Do you suppose that - <i>I</i> should write them?—No, M. Schmucke will do that. But tell - your Jew that he must keep the secret as closely as you do,” she - continued. - </p> - <p> - “We will be as mute as fishes. That is our business. I myself can read, - but I cannot write, and that is why I want a capable wife that has had - education like you. I have thought of nothing but earning my bread all my - days, and now I wish I had some little Remonencqs. Do leave that Cibot of - yours.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, here comes your Jew,” said the portress; “we can arrange the whole - business.” - </p> - <p> - Elie Magus came every third day very early in the morning to know when he - could buy his pictures. “Well, my dear lady,” said he, “how are we getting - on?” - </p> - <p> - “Has nobody been to speak to you about M. Pons and his gimcracks?” asked - La Cibot. - </p> - <p> - “I received a letter from a lawyer,” said Elie Magus, “a rascal that seems - to me to be trying to work for himself; I don’t like people of that sort, - so I took no notice of his letter. Three days afterwards he came to see - me, and left his card. I told my porter that I am never at home when he - calls.” - </p> - <p> - “You are a love of a Jew,” said La Cibot. Little did she know Elie Magus’ - prudence. “Well, sonnies, in a few days’ time I will bring M. Schmucke to - the point of selling you seven or eight pictures, ten at most. But on two - conditions.—Absolute secrecy in the first place. M. Schmucke will - send for you, sir, is not that so? And M. Remonencq suggested that you - might be a purchaser, eh?—And, come what may, I will not meddle in - it for nothing. You are giving forty-six thousand francs for four - pictures, are you not?” - </p> - <p> - “So be it,” groaned the Jew. - </p> - <p> - “Very good. This is the second condition. You will give me <i>forty-three</i> - thousand francs, and pay three thousand only to M. Schmucke; Remonencq - will buy four for two thousand francs, and hand over the surplus to me.—But - at the same time, you see my dear M. Magus, I am going to help you and - Remonencq to a splendid bit of business—on condition that the - profits are shared among the three of us. I will introduce you to that - lawyer, as he, no doubt, will come here. You shall make a valuation of M. - Pons’ things at the prices which you can give for them, so that M. - Fraisier may know how much the property is worth. But—not until - after our sale, you understand!” - </p> - <p> - “I understand,” said the Jew, “but it takes time to look at the things and - value them.” - </p> - <p> - “You shall have half a day. But, there, that is my affair. Talk it over - between yourselves, my boys, and for that matter the business will be - settled by the day after to-morrow. I will go round to speak to this - Fraisier; for Dr. Poulain tells him everything that goes on in the house, - and it is a great bother to keep that scarecrow quiet.” - </p> - <p> - La Cibot met Fraisier halfway between the Rue de la Perle and the Rue de - Normandie; so impatient was he to know the “elements of the case” (to use - his own expression), that he was coming to see her. - </p> - <p> - “I say! I was going to you,” said she. - </p> - <p> - Fraisier grumbled because Elie Magus had refused to see him. But La Cibot - extinguished the spark of distrust that gleamed in the lawyer’s eyes by - informing him that Elie Magus had returned from a journey, and that she - would arrange for an interview in Pons’ rooms and for the valuation of the - property; for the day after to-morrow at latest. - </p> - <p> - “Deal frankly with me,” returned Fraisier. “It is more than probable that - I shall act for M. Pons’ next-of-kin. In that case, I shall be even better - able to serve you.” - </p> - <p> - The words were spoken so drily that La Cibot quaked. This starving limb of - the law was sure to manoeuvre on his side as she herself was doing. She - resolved forthwith to hurry on the sale of the pictures. - </p> - <p> - La Cibot was right. The doctor and lawyer had clubbed together to buy a - new suit of clothes in which Fraisier could decently present himself - before Mme. la Presidente Camusot de Marville. Indeed, if the clothes had - been ready, the interview would have taken place sooner, for the fate of - the couple hung upon its issues. Fraisier left Mme. Cibot, and went to try - on his new clothes. He found them waiting for him, went home, adjusted his - new wig, and towards ten o’clock that morning set out in a carriage from a - livery stable for the Rue de Hanovre, hoping for an audience. In his white - tie, yellow gloves, and new wig, redolent of <i>eau de Portugal</i>, he - looked something like a poisonous essence kept in a cut-glass bottle, - seeming but the more deadly because everything about it is daintily neat, - from the stopper covered with white kid to the label and the thread. His - peremptory manner, the eruption on his blotched countenance, the green - eyes, and a malignant something about him,—all these things struck - the beholder with the same sense of surprise as storm-clouds in a blue - sky. If in his private office, as he showed himself to La Cibot, he was - the common knife that a murderer catches up for his crime,—now, at - the Presidente’s door, he was the daintily-wrought dagger which a woman - sets among the ornaments on her what-not. - </p> - <p> - A great change had taken place in the Rue de Hanovre. The Count and - Countess Popinot and the young people would not allow the President and - his wife to leave the house that they had settled upon their daughter to - pay rent elsewhere. M. and Mme. la Presidente, therefore, were installed - on the second floor, now left at liberty, for the elderly lady had made up - her mind to end her days in the country. - </p> - <p> - Mme. Camusot took Madeleine Vivet, with her cook and her man-servant, to - the second floor, and would have been as much pinched for money as in the - early days, if the house had not been rent free, and the President’s - salary increased to ten thousand francs. This <i>aurea mediocritas</i> was - but little satisfactory to Mme. de Marville. Even now she wished for means - more in accordance with her ambitions; for when she handed over their - fortune to their daughter, she spoiled her husband’s prospects. Now Amelie - had set her heart upon seeing her husband in the Chamber of Deputies; she - was not one of those women who find it easy to give up their way; and she - by no means despaired of returning her husband for the arrondissement in - which Marville is situated. So for the past two months she had teased her - father-in-law, M. le Baron Camusot (for the new peer of France had been - advanced to that rank), and done her utmost to extort an advance of a - hundred thousand francs of the inheritance which one day would be theirs. - She wanted, she said, to buy a small estate worth about two thousand - francs per annum set like a wedge within the Marville lands. There she and - her husband would be near their children and in their own house, while the - addition would round out the Marville property. With that the Presidente - laid stress upon the recent sacrifices which she and her husband had been - compelled to make in order to marry Cecile to Viscount Popinot, and asked - the old man how he could bar his eldest son’s way to the highest honors of - the magistracy, when such honors were only to be had by those who made - themselves a strong position in parliament. Her husband would know how to - take up such a position, he would make himself feared by those in office, - and so on and so on. - </p> - <p> - “They do nothing for you unless you tighten a halter round their necks to - loosen their tongues,” said she. “They are ungrateful. What do they not - owe to Camusot! Camusot brought the House of Orleans to the throne by - enforcing the ordinances of July.” - </p> - <p> - M. Camusot senior answered that he had gone out of his depth in railway - speculations. He quite admitted that it was necessary to come to the - rescue, but put off the day until shares should rise, as they were - expected to do. - </p> - <p> - This half-promise, extracted some few days before Fraisier’s visit, had - plunged the Presidente into depths of affliction. It was doubtful whether - the ex-proprietor of Marville was eligible for re-election without the - land qualification. - </p> - <p> - Fraisier found no difficulty in obtaining speech of Madeleine Vivet; such - viper natures own their kinship at once. - </p> - <p> - “I should like to see Mme. la Presidente for a few moments, mademoiselle,” - Fraisier said in bland accents; “I have come on a matter of business which - touches her fortune; it is a question of a legacy, be sure to mention - that. I have not the honor of being known to Mme. la Presidente, so my - name is of no consequence. I am not in the habit of leaving my chambers, - but I know the respect that is due to a President’s wife, and I took the - trouble of coming myself to save all possible delay.” - </p> - <p> - The matter thus broached, when repeated and amplified by the waiting-maid, - naturally brought a favorable answer. It was a decisive moment for the - double ambition hidden in Fraisier’s mind. Bold as a petty provincial - attorney, sharp, rough-spoken, and curt as he was, he felt as captains - feel before the decisive battle of a campaign. As he went into the little - drawing-room where Amelie was waiting for him, he felt a slight - perspiration breaking out upon his forehead and down his back. Every - sudorific hitherto employed had failed to produce this result upon a skin - which horrible diseases had left impervious. “Even if I fail to make my - fortune,” said he to himself, “I shall recover. Poulain said that if I - could only perspire I should recover.” - </p> - <p> - The Presidente came forward in her morning gown. - </p> - <p> - “Madame—” said Fraisier, stopping short to bow with the humility by - which officials recognize the superior rank of the person whom they - address. - </p> - <p> - “Take a seat, monsieur,” said the Presidente. She saw at a glance that - this was a man of law. - </p> - <p> - “Mme. la Presidente, if I take the liberty of calling your attention to a - matter which concerns M. le President, it is because I am sure that M. de - Marville, occupying, as he does, a high position, would leave matters to - take their natural course, and so lose seven or eight hundred thousand - francs, a sum which ladies (who, in my opinion, have a far better - understanding of private business than the best of magistrates)—a - sum which ladies, I repeat, would by no means despise—” - </p> - <p> - “You spoke of a legacy,” interrupted the lady, dazzled by the wealth, and - anxious to hide her surprise. Amelie de Marville, like an impatient - novel-reader, wanted the end of the story. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, madame, a legacy that you are like to lose; yes, to lose altogether; - but I can, that is, I <i>could</i>, recover it for you, if—” - </p> - <p> - “Speak out, monsieur.” Mme. de Marville spoke frigidly, scanning Fraisier - as she spoke with a sagacious eye. - </p> - <p> - “Madame, your eminent capacity is known to me; I was once at Mantes. M. - Leboeuf, President of the Tribunal, is acquainted with M. de Marville, and - can answer inquiries about me—” - </p> - <p> - The Presidente’s shrug was so ruthlessly significant, that Fraisier was - compelled to make short work of his parenthetic discourse. - </p> - <p> - “So distinguished a woman will at once understand why I speak of myself in - the first place. It is the shortest way to the property.” - </p> - <p> - To this acute observation the lady replied by a gesture. Fraisier took the - sign for a permission to continue. - </p> - <p> - “I was an attorney, madame, at Mantes. My connection was all the fortune - that I was likely to have. I took over M. Levroux’s practice. You knew - him, no doubt?” - </p> - <p> - The Presidente inclined her head. - </p> - <p> - “With borrowed capital and some ten thousand francs of my own, I went to - Mantes. I had been with Desroches, one of the cleverest attorneys in - Paris, I had been his head-clerk for six years. I was so unlucky as to - make an enemy of the attorney for the crown at Mantes, Monsieur—” - </p> - <p> - “Olivier Vinet.” - </p> - <p> - “Son of the Attorney-General, yes, madame. He was paying his court to a - little person—” - </p> - <p> - “Whom?” - </p> - <p> - “Mme. Vatinelle.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! Mme. Vatinelle. She was very pretty and very—er—when I - was there—” - </p> - <p> - “She was not unkind to me: <i>inde iroe</i>,” Fraisier continued. “I was - industrious; I wanted to repay my friends and to marry; I wanted work; I - went in search of it; and before long I had more on my hands than anybody - else. Bah! I had every soul in Mantes against me—attorneys, - notaries, and even the bailiffs. They tried to fasten a quarrel on me. In - our ruthless profession, as you know, madame, if you wish to ruin a man, - it is soon done. I was concerned for both parties in a case, and they - found it out. It was a trifle irregular; but it is sometimes done in - Paris, attorneys in certain cases hand the rhubarb and take the senna. - They do things differently at Mantes. I had done M. Bouyonnet this little - service before; but, egged on by his colleagues and the attorney for the - crown, he betrayed me.—I am keeping back nothing, you see.—There - was a great hue and cry about it. I was a scoundrel; they made me out - blacker than Marat; forced me to sell out; ruined me. And I am in Paris - now. I have tried to get together a practice; but my health is so bad, - that I have only two quiet hours out of the twenty-four. - </p> - <p> - “At this moment I have but one ambition, and a very small one. Some day,” - he continued, “you will be the wife of the Keeper of the Seals, or of the - Home Secretary, it may be; but I, poor and sickly as I am, desire nothing - but a post in which I can live in peace for the rest of my life, a place - without any opening in which to vegetate. I should like to be a justice of - the peace in Paris. It would be a mere trifle for you and M. le President - to gain the appointment for me; for the present Keeper of the Seals must - be anxious to keep on good terms with you... - </p> - <p> - “And that is not all, madame,” added Fraisier. Seeing that Mme. de - Marville was about to speak, he cut her short with a gesture. “I have a - friend, the doctor in attendance on the old man who ought to leave his - property to M. le President. (We are coming to the point, you see.) The - doctor’s co-operation is indispensable, and the doctor is precisely in my - position: he has abilities, he is unlucky. I learned through him how far - your interests were imperiled; for even as I speak, all may be over, and - the will disinheriting M. le President may have been made. This doctor - wishes to be head-surgeon of a hospital or of a Government school. He must - have a position in Paris equal to mine.... Pardon me if I have enlarged on - a matter so delicate; but we must have no misunderstandings in this - business. The doctor is, besides, much respected and learned; he saved the - life of the Comtesse Popinot’s great-uncle, M. Pillerault. - </p> - <p> - “Now, if you are so good as to promise these two posts—the - appointment of justice of the peace and the sinecure for my friend—I - will undertake to bring you the property, <i>almost</i> intact.—Almost - intact, I say, for the co-operation of the legatee and several other - persons is absolutely indispensable, and some obligations will be - incurred. You will not redeem your promises until I have fulfilled mine.” - </p> - <p> - The Presidente had folded her arms, and for the last minute or two sat - like a person compelled to listen to a sermon. Now she unfolded her arms, - and looked at Fraisier as she said, “Monsieur, all that you say concerning - your interests has the merit of clearness; but my own interests in the - matter are by no means so clear—” - </p> - <p> - “A word or two will explain everything, madame. M. le President is M. - Pons’ first cousin once removed, and his sole heir. M. Pons is very ill; - he is about to make his will, if it is not already made, in favor of a - German, a friend of his named Schmucke; and he has more than seven hundred - thousand francs to leave. I hope to have an accurate valuation made in two - or three days—” - </p> - <p> - “If this is so,” said the Presidente, “I made a great mistake in - quarreling with him and throwing the blame——” she thought - aloud, amazed by the possibility of such a sum. - </p> - <p> - “No, madame. If there had been no rupture, he would be as blithe as a lark - at this moment, and might outlive you and M. le President and me. ... The - ways of Providence are mysterious, let us not seek to fathom them,” he - added to palliate to some extent the hideous idea. “It cannot be helped. - We men of business look at the practical aspects of things. Now you see - clearly, madame, that M. de Marville in his public position would do - nothing, and could do nothing, as things are. He has broken off all - relations with his cousin. You see nothing now of Pons; you have forbidden - him the house; you had excellent reasons, no doubt, for doing as you did, - but the old man is ill, and he is leaving his property to the only friend - left to him. A President of the Court of Appeal in Paris could say nothing - under such circumstances if the will was made out in due form. But between - ourselves, madame, when one has a right to expect seven or eight hundred - thousand francs—or a million, it may be (how should I know?)—it - is very unpleasant to have it slip through one’s fingers, especially if - one happens to be the heir-at-law.... But, on the other hand, to prevent - this, one is obliged to stoop to dirty work; work so difficult, so - ticklish, bringing you cheek by jowl with such low people, servants and - subordinates; and into such close contact with them too, that no - barrister, no attorney in Paris could take up such a case. - </p> - <p> - “What you want is a briefless barrister like me,” said he, “a man who - should have real and solid ability, who has learned to be devoted, and - yet, being in a precarious position, is brought temporarily to a level - with such people. In my arrondissement I undertake business for small - tradespeople and working folk. Yes, madame, you see the straits to which I - have been brought by the enmity of an attorney for the crown, now a - deputy-public prosecutor in Paris, who could not forgive me my - superiority.—I know you, madame, I know that your influence means a - solid certainty; and in such a service rendered to you, I saw the end of - my troubles and success for my friend Dr. Poulain.” - </p> - <p> - The lady sat pensive during a moment of unspeakable torture for Fraisier. - Vinet, an orator of the Centre, attorney-general (<i>procureur-general</i>) - for the past sixteen years, nominated half-a-score of times for the - chancellorship, the father, moreover, of the attorney for the crown at - Mantes who had been appointed to a post in Paris within the last year—Vinet - was an enemy and a rival for the malignant Presidente. The haughty - attorney-general did not hide his contempt for President Camusot. This - fact Fraisier did not know, and could not know. - </p> - <p> - “Have you nothing on your conscience but the fact that you were concerned - for both parties?” asked she, looking steadily at Fraisier. - </p> - <p> - “Mme. la Presidente can see M. Leboeuf; M. Leboeuf was favorable to me.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you feel sure that M. Leboeuf will give M. de Marville and M. le Comte - Popinot a good account of you?” - </p> - <p> - “I will answer for it, especially now that M. Olivier Vinet has left - Mantes; for between ourselves, good M. Leboeuf was afraid of that crabbed - little official. If you will permit me, Madame La Presidente, I will go to - Mantes and see M. Leboeuf. No time will be lost, for I cannot be certain - of the precise value of the property for two or three days. I do not wish - that you should know all the ins and outs of this affair; you ought not to - know them, Mme. la Presidente, but is not the reward that I expect for my - complete devotion a pledge of my success?” - </p> - <p> - “Very well. If M. Leboeuf will speak in your favor, and if the property is - worth as much as you think (I doubt it myself), you shall have both - appointments, <i>if</i> you succeed, mind you—” - </p> - <p> - “I will answer for it, madame. Only, you must be so good as to have your - notary and your attorney here when I shall need them; you must give me a - power of attorney to act for M. le President, and tell those gentlemen to - follow my instructions, and to do nothing on their own responsibility.” - </p> - <p> - “The responsibility rests with you,” the Presidente answered solemnly, “so - you ought to have full powers.—But is M. Pons very ill?” she asked, - smiling. - </p> - <p> - “Upon my word, madame, he might pull through, especially with so - conscientious a doctor as Poulain in attendance; for this friend of mine, - madame, is simply an unconscious spy directed by me in your interests. - Left to himself, he would save the old man’s life; but there is some one - else by the sickbed, a portress, who would push him into the grave for - thirty thousand francs. Not that she would kill him outright; she will not - give him arsenic, she is not so merciful; she will do worse, she will kill - him by inches; she will worry him to death day by day. If the poor old man - were kept quiet and left in peace; if he were taken into the country and - cared for and made much of by friends, he would get well again; but he is - harassed by a sort of Mme. Evrard. When the woman was young she was one of - thirty <i>Belles Ecailleres</i>, famous in Paris, she is a rough, greedy, - gossiping woman; she torments him to make a will and to leave her - something handsome, and the end of it will be induration of the liver, - calculi are possibly forming at this moment, and he has not enough - strength to bear an operation. The doctor, noble soul, is in a horrible - predicament. He really ought to send the woman away—” - </p> - <p> - “Why, then, this vixen is a monster!” cried the lady in thin flute-like - tones. - </p> - <p> - Fraisier smiled inwardly at the likeness between himself and the terrible - Presidente; he knew all about those suave modulations of a naturally sharp - voice. He thought of another president, the hero of an anecdote related by - Louis XI., stamped by that monarch’s final praise. Blessed with a wife - after the pattern of Socrates’ spouse, and ungifted with the sage’s - philosophy, he mingled salt with the corn in the mangers and forbad the - grooms to give water to the horses. As his wife rode along the Seine - towards their country-house, the animals bolted into the river with the - lady, and the magistrate returned thanks to Providence for ridding him of - his wife “in so natural a manner.” At this present moment Mme. de Marville - thanked Heaven for placing at Pons’ bedside a woman so likely to get him - “decently” out of the way. - </p> - <p> - Aloud she said, “I would not take a million at the price of a single - scruple.—Your friend ought to speak to M. Pons and have the woman - sent away.” - </p> - <p> - “In the first place, madame, Messrs. Schmucke and Pons think the woman an - angel; they would send my friend away. And secondly, the doctor lies under - an obligation to this horrid oyster-woman; she called him in to attend M. - Pillerault. When he tells her to be as gentle as possible with the - patient, he simply shows the creature how to make matters worse.” - </p> - <p> - “What does your friend think of <i>my</i> cousin’s condition?” - </p> - <p> - This man’s clear, business-like way of putting the facts of the case - frightened Mme. de Marville; she felt that his keen gaze read the thoughts - of a heart as greedy as La Cibot’s own. - </p> - <p> - “In six weeks the property will change hands.” - </p> - <p> - The Presidente dropped her eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Poor man!” she sighed, vainly striving after a dolorous expression. - </p> - <p> - “Have you any message, madame, for M. Leboeuf? I am taking the train to - Mantes.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. Wait a moment, and I will write to ask him to dine with us - to-morrow. I want to see him, so that he may act in concert to repair the - injustice to which you have fallen a victim.” - </p> - <p> - The Presidente left the room. Fraisier saw himself a justice of the peace. - He felt transformed at the thought; he grew stouter; his lungs were filled - with the breath of success, the breeze of prosperity. He dipped into the - mysterious reservoirs of volition for fresh and strong doses of the divine - essence. To reach success, he felt, as Remonencq half felt, that he was - ready for anything, for crime itself, provided that no proofs of it - remained. He had faced the Presidente boldly; he had transmuted conjecture - into reality; he had made assertions right and left, all to the end that - she might authorize him to protect her interests and win her influence. As - he stood there, he represented the infinite misery of two lives, and the - no less boundless desires of two men. He spurned the squalid horrors of - the Rue de la Perle. He saw the glitter of a thousand crowns in fees from - La Cibot, and five thousand francs from the Presidente. This meant an - abode such as befitted his future prospects. Finally, he was repaying Dr. - Poulain. - </p> - <p> - There are hard, ill-natured beings, goaded by distress or disease into - active malignity, that yet entertain diametrically opposed sentiments with - a like degree of vehemence. If Richelieu was a good hater, he was no less - a good friend. Fraisier, in his gratitude, would have let himself be cut - in two for Poulain. - </p> - <p> - So absorbed was he in these visions of a comfortable and prosperous life, - that he did not see the Presidente come in with the letter in her hand, - and she, looking at him, thought him less ugly now than at first. He was - about to be useful to her, and as soon as a tool belongs to us we look - upon it with other eyes. - </p> - <p> - “M. Fraisier,” said she, “you have convinced me of your intelligence, and - I think that you can speak frankly.” - </p> - <p> - Fraisier replied by an eloquent gesture. - </p> - <p> - “Very well,” continued the lady, “I must ask you to give a candid reply to - this question: Are we, either of us, M. de Marville or I, likely to be - compromised, directly or indirectly, by your action in this matter?” - </p> - <p> - “I would not have come to you, madame, if I thought that some day I should - have to reproach myself for bringing so much as a splash of mud upon you, - for in your position a speck the size of a pin’s head is seen by all the - world. You forget, madame, that I must satisfy you if I am to be a justice - of the peace in Paris. I have received one lesson at the outset of my - life; it was so sharp that I do not care to lay myself open to a second - thrashing. To sum it up in a last word, madame, I will not take a step in - which you are indirectly involved without previously consulting you—” - </p> - <p> - “Very good. Here is the letter. And now I shall expect to be informed of - the exact value of the estate.” - </p> - <p> - “There is the whole matter,” said Fraisier shrewdly, making his bow to the - Presidente with as much graciousness as his countenance could exhibit. - </p> - <p> - “What a providence!” thought Mme. Camusot de Marville. “So I am to be - rich! Camusot will be sure of his election if we let loose this Fraisier - upon the Bolbec constituency. What a tool!” - </p> - <p> - “What a providence!” Fraisier said to himself as he descended the - staircase; “and what a sharp woman Mme. Camusot is! I should want a woman - in these circumstances. Now to work!” - </p> - <p> - And he departed for Mantes to gain the good graces of a man he scarcely - knew; but he counted upon Mme. Vatinelle, to whom, unfortunately, he owed - all his troubles—and some troubles are of a kind that resemble a - protested bill while the defaulter is yet solvent, in that they bear - interest. - </p> - <p> - Three days afterwards, while Schmucke slept (for in accordance with the - compact he now sat up at night with the patient), La Cibot had a “tiff,” - as she was pleased to call it, with Pons. It will not be out of place to - call attention to one particularly distressing symptom of liver complaint. - The sufferer is always more or less inclined to impatience and fits of - anger; an outburst of this kind seems to give relief at the time, much as - a patient while the fever fit is upon him feels that he has boundless - strength; but collapse sets in so soon as the excitement passes off, and - the full extent of mischief sustained by the system is discernible. This - is especially the case when the disease has been induced by some great - shock; and the prostration is so much the more dangerous because the - patient is kept upon a restricted diet. It is a kind of fever affecting - neither the blood nor the brain, but the humoristic mechanism, fretting - the whole system, producing melancholy, in which the patient hates - himself; in such a crisis anything may cause dangerous irritation. - </p> - <p> - In spite of all that the doctor could say, La Cibot had no belief in this - wear and tear of the nervous system by the humoristic. She was a woman of - the people, without experience or education; Dr. Poulain’s explanations - for her were simply “doctor’s notions.” Like most of her class, she - thought that sick people must be fed, and nothing short of Dr. Poulain’s - direct order prevented her from administering ham, a nice omelette, or - vanilla chocolate upon the sly. - </p> - <p> - The infatuation of the working classes on this point is very strong. The - reason of their reluctance to enter a hospital is the idea that they will - be starved there. The mortality caused by the food smuggled in by the - wives of patients on visiting-days was at one time so great that the - doctors were obliged to institute a very strict search for contraband - provisions. - </p> - <p> - If La Cibot was to realize her profits at once, a momentary quarrel must - be worked up in some way. She began by telling Pons about her visit to the - theatre, not omitting her passage at arms with Mlle. Heloise the dancer. - </p> - <p> - “But why did you go?” the invalid asked for the third time. La Cibot once - launched on a stream of words, he was powerless to stop her. - </p> - <p> - “So, then, when I had given her a piece of my mind, Mademoiselle Heloise - saw who I was and knuckled under, and we were the best of friends.—And - now do you ask me why I went?” she added, repeating Pons’ question. - </p> - <p> - There are certain babblers, babblers of genius are they, who sweep up - interruptions, objections, and observations in this way as they go along, - by way of provision to swell the matter of their conversation, as if that - source were ever in any danger of running dry. - </p> - <p> - “Why I went?” repeated she. “I went to get your M. Gaudissart out of a - fix. He wants some music for a ballet, and you are hardly fit to scribble - on sheets of paper and do your work, dearie.—So I understood, things - being so, that a M. Garangeot was to be asked to set the <i>Mohicans</i> - to music—” - </p> - <p> - “Garangeot!” roared Pons in fury. “<i>Garangeot!</i> a man with no talent; - I would not have him for first violin! He is very clever, he is very good - at musical criticism, but as to composing—I doubt it! And what the - devil put the notion of going to the theatre into your head?” - </p> - <p> - “How confoundedly contrairy the man is! Look here, dearie, we mustn’t boil - over like milk on the fire! How are you to write music in the state that - you are in? Why, you can’t have looked at yourself in the glass! Will you - have the glass and see? You are nothing but skin and bone—you are as - weak as a sparrow, and do you think that you are fit to make your notes! - why, you would not so much as make out mine.... And that reminds me that I - ought to go up to the third floor lodger’s that owes us seventeen francs, - for when the chemist has been paid we shall not have twenty left.—So - I had to tell M. Gaudissart (I like that name), a good sort he seems to - be,—a regular Roger Bontemps that would just suit me.—<i>He</i> - will never have liver complaint!—Well, so I had to tell him how you - were.—Lord! you are not well, and he has put some one else in your - place for a bit—” - </p> - <p> - “Some one else in my place!” cried Pons in a terrible voice, as he sat - right up in bed. Sick people, generally speaking, and those most - particularly who lie within the sweep of the scythe of Death, cling to - their places with the same passionate energy that the beginner displays to - gain a start in life. To hear that someone had taken his place was like a - foretaste of death to the dying man. - </p> - <p> - “Why, the doctor told me that I was going on as well as possible,” - continued he; “he said that I should soon be about again as usual. You - have killed me, ruined me, murdered me!” - </p> - <p> - “Tut, tut, tut!” cried La Cibot, “there you go! I am killing you, am I? - Mercy on us! these are the pretty things that you are always telling M. - Schmucke when my back is turned. I hear all that you say, that I do! You - are a monster of ingratitude.” - </p> - <p> - “But you do not know that if I am only away for another fortnight, they - will tell me that I have had my day, that I am old-fashioned, out of date, - Empire, rococo, when I go back. Garangeot will have made friends all over - the theatre, high and low. He will lower the pitch to suit some actress - that cannot sing, he will lick M. Gaudissart’s boots!” cried the sick man, - who clung to life. “He has friends that will praise him in all the - newspapers; and when things are like that in such a shop, Mme. Cibot, they - can find holes in anybody’s coat. ... What fiend drove you to do it?” - </p> - <p> - “Why! plague take it, M. Schmucke talked it over with me for a week. What - would you have? You see nothing but yourself! You are so selfish that - other people may die if you can only get better.—Why poor M. - Schmucke has been tired out this month past! he is tied by the leg, he can - go nowhere, he cannot give lessons nor take his place at the theatre. Do - you really see nothing? He sits up with you at night, and I take the - nursing in the day. If I were to sit up at night with you, as I tried to - do at first when I thought you were so poor, I should have to sleep all - day. And who would see to the house and look out for squalls! Illness is - illness, it cannot be helped, and here are you—” - </p> - <p> - “This was not Schmucke’s idea, it is quite impossible—” - </p> - <p> - “That means that it was <i>I</i> who took it into my head to do it, does - it? Do you think that we are made of iron? Why, if M. Schmucke had given - seven or eight lessons every day and conducted the orchestra every evening - at the theatre from six o’clock till half-past eleven at night, he would - have died in ten days’ time. Poor man, he would give his life for you, and - do you want to be the death of him? By the authors of my days, I have - never seen a sick man to match you! Where are your senses? have you put - them in pawn? We are all slaving our lives out for you; we do all for the - best, and you are not satisfied! Do you want to drive us raging mad? I - myself, to begin with, am tired out as it is——” - </p> - <p> - La Cibot rattled on at her ease; Pons was too angry to say a word. He - writhed on his bed, painfully uttering inarticulate sounds; the blow was - killing him. And at this point, as usual, the scolding turned suddenly to - tenderness. The nurse dashed at her patient, grasped him by the head, made - him lie down by main force, and dragged the blankets over him. - </p> - <p> - “How any one can get into such a state!” exclaimed she. “After all, it is - your illness, dearie. That is what good M. Poulain says. See now, keep - quiet and be good, my dear little sonny. Everybody that comes near you - worships you, and the doctor himself comes to see you twice a day. What - would he say if he found you in such a way? You put me out of all - patience; you ought not to behave like this. If you have Ma’am Cibot to - nurse you, you should treat her better. You shout and you talk!—you - ought not to do it, you know that. Talking irritates you. And why do you - fly into a passion? The wrong is all on your side; you are always - bothering me. Look here, let us have it out! If M. Schmucke and I, who - love you like our life, thought that we were doing right—well, my - cherub, it was right, you may be sure.” - </p> - <p> - “Schmucke never could have told you to go to the theatre without speaking - to me about it—” - </p> - <p> - “And must I wake him, poor dear, when he is sleeping like one of the - blest, and call him in as a witness?” - </p> - <p> - “No, no!” cried Pons. “If my kind and loving Schmucke made the resolution, - perhaps I am worse than I thought.” His eyes wandered round the room, - dwelling on the beautiful things in it with a melancholy look painful to - see. - </p> - <p> - “So I must say good-bye to my dear pictures, to all the things that have - come to be like so many friends to me... and to my divine friend - Schmucke?... Oh! can it be true?” - </p> - <p> - La Cibot, acting her heartless comedy, held her handkerchief to her eyes; - and at that mute response the sufferer fell to dark musing—so sorely - stricken was he by the double stab dealt to health and his interests by - the loss of his post and the near prospect of death, that he had no - strength left for anger. He lay, ghastly and wan, like a consumptive - patient after a wrestling bout with the Destroyer. - </p> - <p> - “In M. Schmucke’s interests, you see, you would do well to send for M. - Trognon; he is the notary of the quarter and a very good man,” said La - Cibot, seeing that her victim was completely exhausted. - </p> - <p> - “You are always talking about this Trognon—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! he or another, it is all one to me, for anything you will leave me.” - </p> - <p> - She tossed her head to signify that she despised riches. There was silence - in the room. - </p> - <p> - A moment later Schmucke came in. He had slept for six hours, hunger - awakened him, and now he stood at Pons’ bedside watching his friend - without saying a word, for Mme. Cibot had laid a finger on her lips. - </p> - <p> - “Hush!” she whispered. Then she rose and went up to add under her breath, - “He is going off to sleep at last, thank Heaven! He is as cross as a red - donkey!—What can you expect, he is struggling with his illness——” - </p> - <p> - “No, on the contrary, I am very patient,” said the victim in a weary voice - that told of a dreadful exhaustion; “but, oh! Schmucke, my dear friend, - she has been to the theatre to turn me out of my place.” - </p> - <p> - There was a pause. Pons was too weak to say more. La Cibot took the - opportunity and tapped her head significantly. “Do not contradict him,” - she said to Schmucke; “it would kill him.” - </p> - <p> - Pons gazed into Schmucke’s honest face. “And she says that you sent her—” - he continued. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” Schmucke affirmed heroically. “It had to pe. Hush!—let us - safe your life. It is absurd to vork and train your sdrength gif you haf a - dreasure. Get better; ve vill sell some prick-a-prack und end our tays - kvietly in a corner somveres, mit kind Montame Zipod.” - </p> - <p> - “She has perverted you,” moaned Pons. - </p> - <p> - Mme. Cibot had taken up her station behind the bed to make signals - unobserved. Pons thought that she had left the room. “She is murdering - me,” he added. - </p> - <p> - “What is that? I am murdering you, am I?” cried La Cibot, suddenly - appearing, hand on hips and eyes aflame. “I am as faithful as a dog, and - this is all I get! God Almighty!—” - </p> - <p> - She burst into tears and dropped down into the great chair, a tragical - movement which wrought a most disastrous revulsion in Pons. - </p> - <p> - “Very good,” she said, rising to her feet. The woman’s malignant eyes - looked poison and bullets at the two friends. “Very good. Nothing that I - can do is right here, and I am tired of slaving my life out. You shall - take a nurse.” - </p> - <p> - Pons and Schmucke exchanged glances in dismay. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! you may look at each other like actors. I mean it. I shall ask Dr. - Poulain to find a nurse for you. And now we will settle accounts. You - shall pay me back the money that I have spent on you, and that I would - never have asked you for, I that have gone to M. Pillerault to borrow - another five hundred francs of him—” - </p> - <p> - “It ees his illness!” cried Schmucke—he sprang to Mme. Cibot and put - an arm round her waist—“haf batience.” - </p> - <p> - “As for you, you are an angel, I could kiss the ground you tread upon,” - said she. “But M. Pons never liked me, he always hated me. Besides, he - thinks perhaps that I want to be mentioned in his will—” - </p> - <p> - “Hush! you vill kill him!” cried Schmucke. - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye, sir,” said La Cibot, with a withering look at Pons. “You may - keep well for all the harm I wish you. When you can speak to me - pleasantly, when you can believe that what I do is done for the best, I - will come back again. Till then I shall stay in my own room. You were like - my own child to me; did anybody ever see a child revolt against its - mother?... No, no, M. Schmucke, I do not want to hear more. I will bring - you <i>your</i> dinner and wait upon <i>you</i>, but you must take a - nurse. Ask M. Poulain about it.” - </p> - <p> - And she went out, slamming the door after her so violently that the - precious, fragile objects in the room trembled. To Pons in his torture, - the rattle of china was like the final blow dealt by the executioner to a - victim broken on the wheel. - </p> - <p> - An hour later La Cibot called to Schmucke through the door, telling him - that his dinner was waiting for him in the dining-room. She would not - cross the threshold. Poor Schmucke went out to her with a haggard, - tear-stained face. - </p> - <p> - “Mein boor Bons in vandering,” said he; “he says dat you are ein pad - voman. It ees his illness,” he added hastily, to soften La Cibot and - excuse his friend. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I have had enough of his illness! Look here, he is neither father, - nor husband, nor brother, nor child of mine. He has taken a dislike to me; - well and good, that is enough! As for you, you see, I would follow <i>you</i> - to the end of the world; but when a woman gives her life, her heart, and - all her savings, and neglects her husband (for here has Cibot fallen ill), - and then hears that she is a bad woman—it is coming it rather too - strong, it is.” - </p> - <p> - “Too shtrong?” - </p> - <p> - “Too strong, yes. Never mind idle words. Let us come to the facts. As to - that, you owe me for three months at a hundred and ninety francs—that - is five hundred seventy francs; then there is the rent that I have paid - twice (here are the receipts), six hundred more, including rates and the - sou in the franc for the porter—something under twelve hundred - francs altogether, and with the two thousand francs besides—without - interest, mind you—the total amounts to three thousand one hundred - and ninety-two francs. And remember that you will want at least two - thousand francs before long for the doctor, and the nurse, and the - medicine, and the nurse’s board. That was why I borrowed a thousand francs - of M. Pillerault,” and with that she held up Gaudissart’s bank-note. - </p> - <p> - It may readily be conceived that Schmucke listened to this reckoning with - amazement, for he knew about as much of business as a cat knows of music. - </p> - <p> - “Montame Zipod,” he expostulated, “Bons haf lost his head. Bardon him, and - nurse him as before, und pe our profidence; I peg it of you on mine - knees,” and he knelt before La Cibot and kissed the tormentor’s hands. - </p> - <p> - La Cibot raised Schmucke and kissed him on the forehead. “Listen, my - lamb,” said she, “here is Cibot ill in bed; I have just sent for Dr. - Poulain. So I ought to set my affairs in order. And what is more, Cibot - saw me crying, and flew into such a passion that he will not have me set - foot in here again. It is <i>he</i> who wants the money; it is his, you - see. We women can do nothing when it comes to that. But if you let him - have his money back again—the three thousand two hundred francs—he - will be quiet perhaps. Poor man, it is his all, earned by the sweat of his - brow, the savings of twenty-six years of life together. He must have his - money to-morrow; there is no getting round him.—You do not know - Cibot; when he is angry he would kill a man. Well, I might perhaps get - leave of him to look after you both as before. Be easy. I will just let - him say anything that comes into his head. I will bear it all for love of - you, an angel as you are.” - </p> - <p> - “No, I am ein boor man, dot lof his friend and vould gif his life to save - him—” - </p> - <p> - “But the money?” broke in La Cibot. “My good M. Schmucke, let us suppose - that you pay me nothing; you will want three thousand francs, and where - are they to come from? Upon my word, do you know what I should do in your - place? I should not think twice, I should just sell seven or eight - good-for-nothing pictures and put up some of those instead that are - standing in your closet with their faces to the wall for want of room. One - picture or another, what difference does it make?” - </p> - <p> - “Und vy?” - </p> - <p> - “He is so cunning. It is his illness, for he is a lamb when he is well. He - is capable of getting up and prying about; and if by any chance he went - into the salon, he is so weak that he could not go beyond the door; he - would see that they are all still there.” - </p> - <p> - “Drue!” - </p> - <p> - “And when he is quite well, we will tell him about the sale. And if you - wish to confess, throw it all upon me, say that you were obliged to pay - me. Come! I have a broad back—” - </p> - <p> - “I cannot tispose of dings dot are not mine,” the good German answered - simply. - </p> - <p> - “Very well. I will summons you, you and M. Pons.” - </p> - <p> - “It vould kill him—” - </p> - <p> - “Take your choice! Dear me, sell the pictures and tell him about it - afterwards... you can show him the summons—” - </p> - <p> - “Ver’ goot. Summons us. Dot shall pe mine egscuse. I shall show him der - chudgment.” - </p> - <p> - Mme. Cibot went down to the court, and that very day at seven o’clock she - called to Schmucke. Schmucke found himself confronted with M. Tabareau the - bailiff, who called upon him to pay. Schmucke made answer, trembling from - head to foot, and was forthwith summoned together with Pons, to appear in - the county court to hear judgment against him. The sight of the bailiff - and a bit of stamped paper covered with scrawls produced such an effect - upon Schmucke, that he held out no longer. - </p> - <p> - “Sell die bictures,” he said, with tears in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - Next morning, at six o’clock, Elie Magus and Remonencq took down the - paintings of their choice. Two receipts for two thousand five hundred - francs were made out in correct form:— - </p> - <p> - “I, the undersigned, representing M. Pons, acknowledge the receipt of two - thousand five hundred francs from M. Elie Magus for the four pictures sold - to him, the said sum being appropriated to the use of M. Pons. The first - picture, attributed to Durer, is a portrait of a woman; the second, - likewise a portrait, is of the Italian School; the third, a Dutch - landscape by Breughel; and the fourth, a <i>Holy Family</i> by an unknown - master of the Florentine School.” - </p> - <p> - Remonencq’s receipt was worded in precisely the same way; a Greuze, a - Claude Lorraine, a Rubens, and a Van Dyck being disguised as pictures of - the French and Flemish schools. - </p> - <p> - “Der monny makes me beleef dot the chimcracks haf som value,” said - Schmucke when the five thousand francs were paid over. - </p> - <p> - “They are worth something,” said Remonencq. “I would willingly give you a - hundred thousand francs for the lot.” - </p> - <p> - Remonencq, asked to do a trifling service, hung eight pictures of the - proper size in the same frames, taking them from among the less valuable - pictures in Schmucke’s bedroom. - </p> - <p> - No sooner was Elie Magus in possession of the four great pictures than he - went, taking La Cibot with him, under pretence of settling accounts. But - he pleaded poverty, he found fault with the pictures, they needed - rebacking, he offered La Cibot thirty thousand francs by way of - commission, and finally dazzled her with the sheets of paper on which the - Bank of France engraves the words “One thousand francs” in capital - letters. Magus thereupon condemned Remonencq to pay the like sum to La - Cibot, by lending him the money on the security of his four pictures, - which he took with him as a guarantee. So glorious were they, that Magus - could not bring himself to part with them, and next day he bought them of - Remonencq for six thousand francs over and above the original price, and - an invoice was duly made out for the four. Mme. Cibot, the richer by - sixty-eight thousand francs, once more swore her two accomplices to - absolute secrecy. Then she asked the Jew’s advice. She wanted to invest - the money in such a way that no one should know of it. - </p> - <p> - “Buy shares in the Orleans Railway,” said he; “they are thirty francs - below par, you will double your capital in three years. They will give you - scraps of paper, which you keep safe in a portfolio.” - </p> - <p> - “Stay here, M. Magus. I will go and fetch the man of business who acts for - M. Pons’ family. He wants to know how much you will give him for the whole - bag of tricks upstairs. I will go for him now.” - </p> - <p> - “If only she were a widow!” said Remonencq when she was gone. “She would - just suit me; she will have plenty of money now—” - </p> - <p> - “Especially if she puts her money into the Orleans Railway; she will - double her capital in two years’ time. I have put all my poor little - savings into it,” added the Jew, “for my daughter’s portion.—Come, - let us take a turn on the boulevard until this lawyer arrives.” - </p> - <p> - “Cibot is very bad as it is,” continued Remonencq; “if it should please - God to take him to Himself, I should have a famous wife to keep a shop; I - could set up on a large scale—” - </p> - <p> - “Good-day, M. Fraisier,” La Cibot began in an ingratiating tone as she - entered her legal adviser’s office. “Why, what is this that your porter - has been telling me? are you going to move?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, my dear Mme. Cibot. I am taking the first floor above Dr. Poulain, - and trying to borrow two or three thousand francs so as to furnish the - place properly; it is very nice, upon my word, the landlord has just - papered and painted it. I am acting, as I told you, in President de - Marville’s interests and yours.... I am not a solicitor now; I mean to - have my name entered on the roll of barristers, and I must be well lodged. - A barrister in Paris cannot have his name on the rolls unless he has - decent furniture and books and the like. I am a doctor of law, I have kept - my terms, and have powerful interest already.... Well, how are we getting - on?” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps you would accept my savings,” said La Cibot. “I have put them in - a savings bank. I have not much, only three thousand francs, the fruits of - twenty-five years of stinting and scraping. You might give me a bill of - exchange, as Remonencq says; for I am ignorant myself, I only know what - they tell me.” - </p> - <p> - “No. It is against the rules of the guild for a barrister (<i>avocat</i>) - to put his name to a bill. I will give you a receipt, bearing interest at - five per cent per annum, on the understanding that if I make an income of - twelve hundred francs for you out of old Pons’ estate you will cancel it.” - </p> - <p> - La Cibot, caught in the trap, uttered not a word. - </p> - <p> - “Silence gives consent,” Fraisier continued. “Let me have it to-morrow - morning.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! I am quite willing to pay fees in advance,” said La Cibot; “it is one - way of making sure of my money.” - </p> - <p> - Fraisier nodded. “How are you getting on?” he repeated. “I saw Poulain - yesterday; you are hurrying your invalid along, it seems.... One more - scene such as yesterday’s, and gall-stones will form. Be gentle with him, - my dear Mme. Cibot, do not lay up remorse for yourself. Life is not too - long.” - </p> - <p> - “Just let me alone with your remorse! Are you going to talk about the - guillotine again? M. Pons is a contrairy old thing. You don’t know him. It - is he that bothers me. There is not a more cross-grained man alive; his - relations are in the right of it, he is sly, revengeful, and contrairy.... - M. Magus has come, as I told you, and is waiting to see you.” - </p> - <p> - “Right! I will be there as soon as you. Your income depends upon the price - the collection will fetch. If it brings in eight hundred thousand francs, - you shall have fifteen hundred francs a year. It is a fortune.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well. I will tell them to value the things on their consciences.” - </p> - <p> - An hour later, Pons was fast asleep. The doctor had ordered a soothing - draught, which Schmucke administered, all unconscious that La Cibot had - doubled the dose. Fraisier, Remonencq, and Magus, three gallows-birds, - were examining the seventeen hundred different objects which formed the - old musician’s collection one by one. - </p> - <p> - Schmucke had gone to bed. The three kites, drawn by the scent of a corpse, - were masters of the field. - </p> - <p> - “Make no noise,” said La Cibot whenever Magus went into ecstasies or - explained the value of some work of art to Remonencq. The dying man slept - on in the neighboring room, while greed in four different forms appraised - the treasures that he must leave behind, and waited impatiently for him to - die—a sight to wring the heart. - </p> - <p> - Three hours went by before they had finished the salon. - </p> - <p> - “On an average,” said the grimy old Jew, “everything here is worth a - thousand francs.” - </p> - <p> - “Seventeen hundred thousand francs!” exclaimed Fraisier in bewilderment. - </p> - <p> - “Not to me,” Magus answered promptly, and his eyes grew dull. “I would not - give more than a hundred thousand francs myself for the collection. You - cannot tell how long you may keep a thing on hand. ... There are - masterpieces that wait ten years for a buyer, and meanwhile the purchase - money is doubled by compound interest. Still, I should pay cash.” - </p> - <p> - “There is stained glass in the other room, as well as enamels and - miniatures and gold and silver snuff-boxes,” put in Remonencq. - </p> - <p> - “Can they be seen?” inquired Fraisier. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll see if he is sound asleep,” replied La Cibot. She made a sign, and - the three birds of prey came in. - </p> - <p> - “There are masterpieces yonder!” said Magus, indicating the salon, every - bristle of his white beard twitching as he spoke. “But the riches are - here! And what riches! Kings have nothing more glorious in royal - treasuries.” - </p> - <p> - Remonencq’s eyes lighted up till they glowed like carbuncles, at the sight - of the gold snuff-boxes. Fraisier, cool and calm as a serpent, or some - snake-creature with the power of rising erect, stood with his viper head - stretched out, in such an attitude as a painter would choose for - Mephistopheles. The three covetous beings, thirsting for gold as devils - thirst for the dew of heaven, looked simultaneously, as it chanced, at the - owner of all this wealth. Some nightmare troubled Pons; he stirred, and - suddenly, under the influence of those diabolical glances, he opened his - eyes with a shrill cry. - </p> - <p> - “Thieves!... There they are!... Help! Murder! Help!” - </p> - <p> - The nightmare was evidently still upon him, for he sat up in bed, staring - before him with blank, wide-open eyes, and had not the power to move. - </p> - <p> - Elie Magus and Remonencq made for the door, but a word glued them to the - spot. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Magus</i> here!... I am betrayed!” - </p> - <p> - Instinctively the sick man had known that his beloved pictures were in - danger, a thought that touched him at least as closely as any dread for - himself, and he awoke. Fraisier meanwhile did not stir. - </p> - <p> - “Mme. Cibot! who is that gentleman?” cried Pons, shivering at the sight. - </p> - <p> - “Goodness me! how could I put him out of the door?” she inquired, with a - wink and gesture for Fraisier’s benefit. “This gentleman came just a - minute ago, from your family.” - </p> - <p> - Fraisier could not conceal his admiration for La Cibot. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” he said, “I have come on behalf of Mme. la Presidente de - Marville, her husband, and her daughter, to express their regret. They - learned quite by accident that you are ill, and they would like to nurse - you themselves. They want you to go to Marville and get well there. Mme. - la Vicomtesse Popinot, the little Cecile that you love so much, will be - your nurse. She took your part with her mother. She convinced Mme. de - Marville that she had made a mistake.” - </p> - <p> - “So my next-of-kin have sent you to me, have they?” Pons exclaimed - indignantly, “and sent the best judge and expert in all Paris with you to - show you the way? Oh! a nice commission!” he cried, bursting into wild - laughter. “You have come to value my pictures and curiosities, my - snuff-boxes and miniatures!... Make your valuation. You have a man there - who understands everything, and more—he can buy everything, for he - is a millionaire ten times over.... My dear relatives will not have long - to wait,” he added, with bitter irony, “they have choked the last breath - out of me.... Ah! Mme. Cibot, you said you were a mother to me, and you - bring dealers into the house, and my competitor and the Camusots, while I - am asleep!... Get out, all of you!—” - </p> - <p> - The unhappy man was beside himself with anger and fear; he rose from the - bed and stood upright, a gaunt, wasted figure. - </p> - <p> - “Take my arm, sir,” said La Cibot, rushing to the rescue, lest Pons should - fall. “Pray calm yourself, the gentlemen are gone.” - </p> - <p> - “I want to see the salon....” said the death-stricken man. La Cibot made a - sign to the three ravens to take flight. Then she caught up Pons as if he - had been a feather, and put him in bed again, in spite of his cries. When - she saw that he was quite helpless and exhausted, she went to shut the - door on the staircase. The three who had done Pons to death were still on - the landing; La Cibot told them to wait. She heard Fraisier say to Magus: - </p> - <p> - “Let me have it in writing, and sign it, both of you. Undertake to pay - nine hundred thousand francs in cash for M. Pons’ collection, and we will - see about putting you in the way of making a handsome profit.” - </p> - <p> - With that he said something to La Cibot in a voice so low that the others - could not catch it, and went down after the two dealers to the porter’s - room. - </p> - <p> - “Have they gone, Mme. Cibot?” asked the unhappy Pons, when she came back - again. - </p> - <p> - “Gone?... who?” asked she. - </p> - <p> - “Those men.” - </p> - <p> - “What men? There, now, you have seen men,” said she. “You have just had a - raving fit; if it hadn’t been for me you would have gone out the window, - and now you are still talking of men in the room. Is it always to be like - this?” - </p> - <p> - “What! was there not a gentleman here just now, saying that my relatives - had sent him?” - </p> - <p> - “Will you still stand me out?” said she. “Upon my word, do you know where - you ought to be sent?—To the asylum at Charenton. You see men—” - </p> - <p> - “Elie Magus, Remonencq, and—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! as for Remonencq, you may have seen <i>him</i>, for he came up to - tell me that my poor Cibot is so bad that I must clear out of this and - come down. My Cibot comes first, you see. When my husband is ill, I can - think of nobody else. Try to keep quiet and sleep for a couple of hours; I - have sent for Dr. Poulain, and I will come up with him.... Take a drink - and be good—” - </p> - <p> - “Then was there no one in the room just now, when I waked?...” - </p> - <p> - “No one,” said she. “You must have seen M. Remonencq in one of your - looking-glasses.” - </p> - <p> - “You are right, Mme. Cibot,” said Pons, meek as a lamb. - </p> - <p> - “Well, now you are sensible again.... Good-bye, my cherub; keep quiet, I - shall be back again in a minute.” - </p> - <p> - When Pons heard the outer door close upon her, he summoned up all his - remaining strength to rise. - </p> - <p> - “They are cheating me,” he muttered to himself, “they are robbing me! - Schmucke is a child that would let them tie him up in a sack.” - </p> - <p> - The terrible scene had seemed so real, it could not be a dream, he - thought; a desire to throw light upon the puzzle excited him; he managed - to reach the door, opened it after many efforts, and stood on the - threshold of his salon. There they were—his dear pictures, his - statues, his Florentine bronzes, his porcelain; the sight of them revived - him. The old collector walked in his dressing-gown along the narrow spaces - between the credence-tables and the sideboards that lined the wall; his - feet bare, his head on fire. His first glance of ownership told him that - everything was there; he turned to go back to bed again, when he noticed - that a Greuze portrait looked out of the frame that had held Sebastian del - Piombo’s <i>Templar</i>. Suspicion flashed across his brain, making his - dark thoughts apparent to him, as a flash of lightning marks the outlines - of the cloud-bars on a stormy sky. He looked round for the eight capital - pictures of the collection; each one of them was replaced by another. A - dark film suddenly overspread his eyes; his strength failed him; he fell - fainting upon the polished floor. - </p> - <p> - So heavy was the swoon, that for two hours he lay as he fell, till - Schmucke awoke and went to see his friend, and found him lying unconscious - in the salon. With endless pains Schmucke raised the half-dead body and - laid it on the bed; but when he came to question the death-stricken man, - and saw the look in the dull eyes and heard the vague, inarticulate words, - the good German, so far from losing his head, rose to the very heroism of - friendship. Man and child as he was, with the pressure of despair came the - inspiration of a mother’s tenderness, a woman’s love. He warmed towels (he - found towels!), he wrapped them about Pons’ hands, he laid them over the - pit of the stomach; he took the cold, moist forehead in his hands, he - summoned back life with a might of will worthy of Apollonius of Tyana, - laying kisses on his friend’s eyelids like some Mary bending over the dead - Christ, in a <i>pieta</i> carved in bas-relief by some great Italian - sculptor. The divine effort, the outpouring of one life into another, the - work of mother and of lover, was crowned with success. In half an hour the - warmth revived Pons; he became himself again, the hues of life returned to - his eyes, suspended faculties gradually resumed their play under the - influence of artificial heat; Schmucke gave him balm-water with a little - wine in it; the spirit of life spread through the body; intelligence - lighted up the forehead so short a while ago insensible as a stone; and - Pons knew that he had been brought back to life, by what sacred devotion, - what might of friendship! - </p> - <p> - “But for you, I should die,” he said, and as he spoke he felt the good - German’s tears falling on his face. Schmucke was laughing and crying at - once. - </p> - <p> - Poor Schmucke! he had waited for those words with a frenzy of hope as - costly as the frenzy of despair; and now his strength utterly failed him, - he collapsed like a rent balloon. It was his turn to fall; he sank into - the easy-chair, clasped his hands, and thanked God in fervent prayer. For - him a miracle had just been wrought. He put no belief in the efficacy of - the prayer of his deeds; the miracle had been wrought by God in direct - answer to his cry. And yet that miracle was a natural effect, such as - medical science often records. - </p> - <p> - A sick man, surrounded by those who love him, nursed by those who wish - earnestly that he should live, will recover (other things being equal), - when another patient tended by hirelings will die. Doctors decline to see - unconscious magnetism in this phenomenon; for them it is the result of - intelligent nursing, of exact obedience to their orders; but many a mother - knows the virtue of such ardent projection of strong, unceasing prayer. - </p> - <p> - “My good Schmucke—” - </p> - <p> - “Say nodings; I shall hear you mit mein heart... rest, rest!” said - Schmucke, smiling at him. - </p> - <p> - “Poor friend, noble creature, child of God, living in God!... The one - being that has loved me....” The words came out with pauses between them; - there was a new note, a something never heard before, in Pons’ voice. All - the soul, so soon to take flight, found utterance in the words that filled - Schmucke with happiness almost like a lover’s rapture. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes. I shall be shtrong as a lion. I shall vork for two!” - </p> - <p> - “Listen, my good, my faithful, adorable friend. Let me speak, I have not - much time left. I am a dead man. I cannot recover from these repeated - shocks.” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke was crying like a child. - </p> - <p> - “Just listen,” continued Pons, “and cry afterwards. As a Christian, you - must submit. I have been robbed. It is La Cibot’s doing.... I ought to - open your eyes before I go; you know nothing of life.... Somebody has - taken away eight of the pictures, and they were worth a great deal of - money.” - </p> - <p> - “Vorgif me—I sold dem.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>You</i> sold them?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I,” said poor Schmucke. “Dey summoned us to der court—” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Summoned?</i>.... Who summoned us?” - </p> - <p> - “Wait,” said Schmucke. He went for the bit of stamped-paper left by the - bailiff, and gave it to Pons. Pons read the scrawl through with close - attention, then he let the paper drop and lay quite silent for a while. A - close observer of the work of men’s hands, unheedful so far of the - workings of the brain, Pons finally counted out the threads of the plot - woven about him by La Cibot. The artist’s fire, the intellect that won the - Roman scholarship—all his youth came back to him for a little. - </p> - <p> - “My good Schmucke,” he said at last, “you must do as I tell you, and obey - like a soldier. Listen! go downstairs into the lodge and tell that - abominable woman that I should like to see the person sent to me by my - cousin the President; and that unless he comes, I shall leave my - collection to the Musee. Say that a will is in question.” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke went on his errand; but at the first word, La Cibot answered by a - smile. - </p> - <p> - “My good M. Schmucke, our dear invalid has had a delirious fit; he thought - that there were men in the room. On my word, as an honest woman, no one - has come from the family.” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke went back with his answer, which he repeated word for word. - </p> - <p> - “She is cleverer, more astute and cunning and wily, than I thought,” said - Pons with a smile. “She lies even in her room. Imagine it! This morning - she brought a Jew here, Elie Magus by name, and Remonencq, and a third - whom I do not know, more terrific than the other two put together. She - meant to make a valuation while I was asleep; I happened to wake, and saw - them all three, estimating the worth of my snuff-boxes. The stranger said, - indeed, that the Camusots had sent him here; I spoke to him.... That - shameless woman stood me out that I was dreaming!... My good Schmucke, it - was not a dream. I heard the man perfectly plainly; he spoke to me.... The - two dealers took fright and made for the door.... I thought that La Cibot - would contradict herself—the experiment failed.... I will lay - another snare, and trap the wretched woman.... Poor Schmucke, you think - that La Cibot is an angel; and for this month past she has been killing me - by inches to gain her covetous ends. I would not believe that a woman who - served us faithfully for years could be so wicked. That doubt has been my - ruin.... How much did the eight pictures fetch?” - </p> - <p> - “Vife tausend vrancs.” - </p> - <p> - “Good heavens! they were worth twenty times as much!” cried Pons; “the - gems of the collection! I have not time now to institute proceedings; and - if I did, you would figure in court as the dupe of those rascals. ... A - lawsuit would be the death of you. You do not know what justice means—a - court of justice is a sink of iniquity.... At the sight of such horrors, a - soul like yours would give way. And besides, you will have enough. The - pictures cost me forty thousand francs. I have had them for thirty-six - years.... Oh, we have been robbed with surprising dexterity. I am on the - brink of the grave, I care for nothing now but thee—for thee, the - best soul under the sun.... - </p> - <p> - “I will not have you plundered; all that I have is yours. So you must - trust nobody, Schmucke, you that have never suspected any one in your - life. I know God watches over you, but He may forget for one moment, and - you will be seized like a vessel among pirates.... La Cibot is a monster! - She is killing me; and you think her an angel! You shall see what she is. - Go and ask her to give you the name of a notary, and I will show you her - with her hand in the bag.” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke listened as if Pons proclaimed an apocalypse. Could so depraved a - creature as La Cibot exist? If Pons was right, it seemed to imply that - there was no God in the world. He went right down again to Mme. Cibot. - </p> - <p> - “Mein boor vriend Bons feel so ill,” he said, “dat he vish to make his - vill. Go und pring ein nodary.” - </p> - <p> - This was said in the hearing of several persons, for Cibot’s life was - despaired of. Remonencq and his sister, two women from neighboring - porters’ lodges, two or three servants, and the lodger from the first - floor on the side next the street, were all standing outside in the - gateway. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! you can just fetch a notary yourself, and have your will made as you - please,” cried La Cibot, with tears in her eyes. “My poor Cibot is dying, - and it is no time to leave him. I would give all the Ponses in the world - to save Cibot, that has never given me an ounce of unhappiness in these - thirty years since we were married.” - </p> - <p> - And in she went, leaving Schmucke in confusion. - </p> - <p> - “Is M. Pons really seriously ill, sir?” asked the first-floor lodger, one - Jolivard, a clerk in the registrar’s office at the Palais de Justice. - </p> - <p> - “He nearly died chust now,” said Schmucke, with deep sorrow in his voice. - </p> - <p> - “M. Trognon lives near by in the Rue Saint-Louis,” said M. Jolivard, “he - is the notary of the quarter.” - </p> - <p> - “Would you like me to go for him?” asked Remonencq. - </p> - <p> - “I should pe fery glad,” said Schmucke; “for gif Montame Zipod cannot pe - mit mine vriend, I shall not vish to leaf him in der shtate he is in—” - </p> - <p> - “Mme. Cibot told us that he was going out of his mind,” resumed Jolivard. - </p> - <p> - “Bons! out off his mind!” cried Schmucke, terror-stricken by the idea. - “Nefer vas he so clear in der head... dat is chust der reason vy I am - anxious for him.” - </p> - <p> - The little group of persons listened to the conversation with a very - natural curiosity, which stamped the scene upon their memories. Schmucke - did not know Fraisier, and could not note his satanic countenance and - glittering eyes. But two words whispered by Fraisier in La Cibot’s ear had - prompted a daring piece of acting, somewhat beyond La Cibot’s range, it - may be, though she played her part throughout in a masterly style. To make - others believe that the dying man was out of his mind—it was the - very corner-stone of the edifice reared by the petty lawyer. The morning’s - incident had done Fraisier good service; but for him, La Cibot in her - trouble might have fallen into the snare innocently spread by Schmucke, - when he asked her to send back the person sent by the family. - </p> - <p> - Remonencq saw Dr. Poulain coming towards them, and asked no better than to - vanish. The fact was that for the last ten days the Auvergnat had been - playing Providence in a manner singularly displeasing to Justice, which - claims the monopoly of that part. He had made up his mind to rid himself - at all costs of the one obstacle in his way to happiness, and happiness - for him meant capital trebled and marriage with the irresistibly charming - portress. He had watched the little tailor drinking his herb-tea, and a - thought struck him. He would convert the ailment into mortal sickness; his - stock of old metals supplied him with the means. - </p> - <p> - One morning as he leaned against the door-post, smoking his pipe and - dreaming of that fine shop on the Boulevard de la Madeleine where Mme. - Cibot, gorgeously arrayed, should some day sit enthroned, his eyes fell - upon a copper disc, about the size of a five-franc piece, covered thickly - with verdigris. The economical idea of using Cibot’s medicine to clean the - disc immediately occurred to him. He fastened the thing in a bit of twine, - and came over every morning to inquire for tidings of his friend the - tailor, timing his visit during La Cibot’s visit to her gentlemen - upstairs. He dropped the disc into the tumbler, allowed it to steep there - while he talked, and drew it out again by the string when he went away. - </p> - <p> - The trace of tarnished copper, commonly called verdigris, poisoned the - wholesome draught; a minute dose administered by stealth did incalculable - mischief. Behold the results of this criminal homoeopathy! On the third - day poor Cibot’s hair came out, his teeth were loosened in their sockets, - his whole system was deranged by a scarcely perceptible trace of poison. - Dr. Poulain racked his brains. He was enough of a man of science to see - that some destructive agent was at work. He privately carried off the - decoction, analyzed it himself, but found nothing. It so chanced that - Remonencq had taken fright and omitted to dip the disc in the tumbler that - day. - </p> - <p> - Then Dr. Poulain fell back on himself and science and got out of the - difficulty with a theory. A sedentary life in a damp room; a cramped - position before the barred window—these conditions had vitiated the - blood in the absence of proper exercise, especially as the patient - continually breathed an atmosphere saturated with the fetid exhalations of - the gutter. The Rue de Normandie is one of the old-fashioned streets that - slope towards the middle; the municipal authorities of Paris as yet have - laid on no water supply to flush the central kennel which drains the - houses on either side, and as a result a stream of filthy ooze meanders - among the cobblestones, filters into the soil, and produces the mud - peculiar to the city. La Cibot came and went; but her husband, a - hard-working man, sat day in day out like a fakir on the table in the - window, till his knee-joints were stiffened, the blood stagnated in his - body, and his legs grew so thin and crooked that he almost lost the use of - them. The deep copper tint of the man’s complexion naturally suggested - that he had been out of health for a very long time. The wife’s good - health and the husband’s illness seemed to the doctor to be satisfactorily - accounted for by this theory. - </p> - <p> - “Then what is the matter with my poor Cibot?” asked the portress. - </p> - <p> - “My dear Mme. Cibot, he is dying of the porter’s disease,” said the - doctor. “Incurable vitiation of the blood is evident from the general - anaemic condition.” - </p> - <p> - No one had anything to gain by a crime so objectless. Dr. Poulain’s first - suspicions were effaced by this thought. Who could have any possible - interest in Cibot’s death? His wife?—the doctor saw her taste the - herb-tea as she sweetened it. Crimes which escape social vengeance are - many enough, and as a rule they are of this order—to wit, murders - committed without any startling sign of violence, without bloodshed, - bruises, marks of strangling, without any bungling of the business, in - short; if there seems to be no motive for the crime, it most likely goes - unpunished, especially if the death occurs among the poorer classes. - Murder is almost always denounced by its advanced guards, by hatred or - greed well known to those under whose eyes the whole matter has passed. - But in the case of the Cibots, no one save the doctor had any interest in - discovering the actual cause of death. The little copper-faced tailor’s - wife adored her husband; he had no money and no enemies; La Cibot’s - fortune and the marine-store dealer’s motives were alike hidden in the - shade. Poulain knew the portress and her way of thinking perfectly well; - he thought her capable of tormenting Pons, but he saw that she had neither - motive enough nor wit enough for murder; and besides—every time the - doctor came and she gave her husband a draught, she took a spoonful - herself. Poulain himself, the only person who might have thrown light on - the matter, inclined to believe that this was one of the unaccountable - freaks of disease, one of the astonishing exceptions which make medicine - so perilous a profession. And in truth, the little tailor’s unwholesome - life and unsanitary surroundings had unfortunately brought him to such a - pass that the trace of copper-poisoning was like the last straw. Gossips - and neighbors took it upon themselves to explain the sudden death, and no - suspicion of blame lighted upon Remonencq. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! this long time past I have said that M. Cibot was not well,” cried - one. - </p> - <p> - “He worked too hard, he did,” said another; “he heated his blood.” - </p> - <p> - “He would not listen to me,” put in a neighbor; “I advised him to walk out - of a Sunday and keep Saint Monday; two days in the week is not too much - for amusement.” - </p> - <p> - In short, the gossip of the quarter, the tell-tale voice to which Justice, - in the person of the commissary of police, the king of the poorer classes, - lends an attentive ear—gossip explained the little tailor’s demise - in a perfectly satisfactory manner. Yet M. Poulain’s pensive air and - uneasy eyes embarrassed Remonencq not a little, and at sight of the doctor - he offered eagerly to go in search of M. Trognon, Fraisier’s acquaintance. - Fraisier turned to La Cibot to say in a low voice, “I shall come back - again as soon as the will is made. In spite of your sorrow, you must look - for squalls.” Then he slipped away like a shadow and met his friend the - doctor. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, Poulain!” he exclaimed, “it is all right. We are safe! I will tell - you about it to-night. Look out a post that will suit you, you shall have - it! For my own part, I am a justice of the peace. Tabareau will not refuse - me now for a son-in-law. And as for you, I will undertake that you shall - marry Mlle. Vitel, granddaughter of our justice of the peace.” - </p> - <p> - Fraisier left Poulain reduced to dumb bewilderment by these wild words; - bounced like a ball into the boulevard, hailed an omnibus, and was set - down ten minutes later by the modern coach at the corner of the Rue de - Choiseul. By this time it was nearly four o’clock. Fraisier felt quite - sure of a word in private with the Presidente, for officials seldom leave - the Palais de Justice before five o’clock. - </p> - <p> - Mme. de Marville’s reception of him assured Fraisier that M. Leboeuf had - kept his promise made to Mme. Vatinelle and spoken favorably of the - sometime attorney at Mantes. Amelie’s manner was almost caressing. So - might the Duchesse de Montpensier have treated Jacques Clement. The petty - attorney was a knife to her hand. But when Fraisier produced the - joint-letter signed by Elie Magus and Remonencq offering the sum of nine - hundred thousand francs in cash for Pons’ collection, then the Presidente - looked at her man of business and the gleam of the money flashed from her - eyes. That ripple of greed reached the attorney. - </p> - <p> - “M. le President left a message with me,” she said; “he hopes that you - will dine with us to-morrow. It will be a family party. M. Godeschal, - Desroches’ successor and my attorney, will come to meet you, and Berthier, - our notary, and my daughter and son-in-law. After dinner, you and I and - the notary and attorney will have the little consultation for which you - ask, and I will give you full powers. The two gentlemen will do as you - require and act upon your inspiration; and see that <i>everything</i> goes - well. You shall have a power of attorney from M. de Marville as soon as - you want it.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall want it on the day of the decease.” - </p> - <p> - “It shall be in readiness.” - </p> - <p> - “Mme. la Presidente, if I ask for a power of attorney, and would prefer - that your attorney’s name should not appear I wish it less in my own - interest than in yours.... When I give myself, it is without reserve. And - in return, madame, I ask the same fidelity; I ask my patrons (I do not - venture to call you my clients) to put the same confidence in me. You may - think that in acting thus I am trying to fasten upon this affair—no, - no, madame; there may be reprehensible things done; with an inheritance in - view one is dragged on... especially with nine hundred thousand francs in - the balance. Well, now, you could not disavow a man like Maitre Godeschal, - honesty itself, but you can throw all the blame on the back of a miserable - pettifogging lawyer—” - </p> - <p> - Mme. Camusot de Marville looked admiringly at Fraisier. - </p> - <p> - “You ought to go very high,” said she, “or sink very low. In your place, - instead of asking to hide myself away as a justice of the peace, I would - aim at the crown attorney’s appointment—at, say, Mantes!—and - make a great career for myself.” - </p> - <p> - “Let me have my way, madame. The post of justice of the peace is an - ambling pad for M. Vitel; for me it shall be a war-horse.” - </p> - <p> - And in this way the Presidente proceeded to a final confidence. - </p> - <p> - “You seem to be so completely devoted to our interests,” she began, “that - I will tell you about the difficulties of our position and our hopes. The - President’s great desire, ever since a match was projected between his - daughter and an adventurer who recently started a bank,—the - President’s wish, I say, has been to round out the Marville estate with - some grazing land, at that time in the market. We dispossessed ourselves - of fine property, as you know, to settle it upon our daughter; but I wish - very much, my daughter being an only child, to buy all that remains of the - grass land. Part has been sold already. The estate belongs to an - Englishman who is returning to England after a twenty years’ residence in - France. He built the most charming cottage in a delightful situation, - between Marville Park and the meadows which once were part of the Marville - lands; he bought up covers, copse, and gardens at fancy prices to make the - grounds about the cottage. The house and its surroundings make a feature - of the landscape, and it lies close to my daughter’s park palings. The - whole, land and house, should be bought for seven hundred thousand francs, - for the net revenue is about twenty thousand francs.... But if Mr. Wadman - finds out that <i>we</i> think of buying it, he is sure to add another two - or three hundred thousand francs to the price; for he will lose money if - the house counts for nothing, as it usually does when you buy land in the - country—” - </p> - <p> - “Why, madame,” Fraisier broke in, “in my opinion you can be so sure that - the inheritance is yours that I will offer to act the part of purchaser - for you. I will undertake that you shall have the land at the best - possible price, and have a written engagement made out under private seal, - like a contract to deliver goods.... I will go to the Englishman in the - character of buyer. I understand that sort of thing; it was my specialty - at Mantes. Vatinelle doubled the value of his practice, while I worked in - his name.” - </p> - <p> - “Hence your connection with little Madame Vatinelle. He must be very well - off—” - </p> - <p> - “But Mme. Vatinelle has expensive tastes.... So be easy, madame—I - will serve you up the Englishman done to a turn—” - </p> - <p> - “If you can manage that you will have eternal claims to my gratitude. - Good-day, my dear M. Fraisier. Till to-morrow—” - </p> - <p> - Fraisier went. His parting bow was a degree less cringing than on the - first occasion. - </p> - <p> - “I am to dine to-morrow with President de Marville!” he said to himself. - “Come now, I have these folk in my power. Only, to be absolute master, I - ought to be the German’s legal adviser in the person of Tabareau, the - justice’s clerk. Tabareau will not have me now for his daughter, his only - daughter, but he will give her to me when I am a justice of the peace. I - shall be eligible. Mlle. Tabareau, that tall, consumptive girl with the - red hair, has a house in the Place Royale in right of her mother. At her - father’s death she is sure to come in for six thousand francs, you must - not look too hard at the plank.” - </p> - <p> - As he went back to the Rue de Normandie by way of the boulevards, he - dreamed out his golden dream, he gave himself up to the happiness of the - thought that he should never know want again. He would marry his friend - Poulain to Mlle. Vitel, the daughter of the justice of the peace; - together, he and his friend the doctor would reign like kings in the - quarter; he would carry all the elections—municipal, military, or - political. The boulevards seem short if, while you pace afoot, you mount - your ambition on the steed of fancy in this way. - </p> - <p> - Schmucke meanwhile went back to his friend Pons with the news that Cibot - was dying, and Remonencq gone in search of M. Trognon, the notary. Pons - was struck by the name. It had come up again and again in La Cibot’s - interminable talk, and La Cibot always recommended him as honesty - incarnate. And with that a luminous idea occurred to Pons, in whom - mistrust had grown paramount since the morning, an idea which completed - his plan for outwitting La Cibot and unmasking her completely for the - too-credulous Schmucke. - </p> - <p> - So many unexpected things had happened that day that poor Schmucke was - quite bewildered. Pons took his friend’s hand. - </p> - <p> - “There must be a good deal of confusion in the house, Schmucke; if the - porter is at death’s door, we are almost free for a minute or two; that is - to say, there will be no spies—for we are watched, you may be sure - of that. Go out, take a cab, go to the theatre, and tell Mlle. Heloise - Brisetout that I should like to see her before I die. Ask her to come here - to-night when she leaves the theatre. Then go to your friends Brunner and - Schwab and beg them to come to-morrow morning at nine o’clock to inquire - after me; let them come up as if they were just passing by and called in - to see me.” - </p> - <p> - The old artist felt that he was dying, and this was the scheme that he - forged. He meant Schmucke to be his universal legatee. To protect Schmucke - from any possible legal quibbles, he proposed to dictate his will to a - notary in the presence of witnesses, lest his sanity should be called in - question and the Camusots should attempt upon that pretext to dispute the - will. At the name of Trognon he caught a glimpse of machinations of some - kind; perhaps a flaw purposely inserted, or premeditated treachery on La - Cibot’s part. He would prevent this. Trognon should dictate a holograph - will which should be signed and deposited in a sealed envelope in a - drawer. Then Schmucke, hidden in one of the cabinets in his alcove, should - see La Cibot search for the will, find it, open the envelope, read it - through, and seal it again. Next morning, at nine o’clock, he would cancel - the will and make a new one in the presence of two notaries, everything in - due form and order. La Cibot had treated him as a madman and a visionary; - he saw what this meant—he saw the Presidente’s hate and greed, her - revenge in La Cibot’s behavior. In the sleepless hours and lonely days of - the last two months, the poor man had sifted the events of his past life. - </p> - <p> - It has been the wont of sculptors, ancient and modern, to set a tutelary - genius with a lighted torch upon either side of a tomb. Those torches that - light up the paths of death throw light for dying eyes upon the spectacle - of a life’s mistakes and sins; the carved stone figures express great - ideas, they are symbols of a fact in human experience. The agony of death - has its own wisdom. Not seldom a simple girl, scarcely more than a child, - will grow wise with the experience of a hundred years, will gain prophetic - vision, judge her family, and see clearly through all pretences, at the - near approach of Death. Herein lies Death’s poetry. But, strange and - worthy of remark it is, there are two manners of death. - </p> - <p> - The poetry of prophecy, the gift of seeing clearly into the future or the - past, only belongs to those whose bodies are stricken, to those who die by - the destruction of the organs of physical life. Consumptive patients, for - instance, or those who die of gangrene like Louis XIV., of fever like - Pons, of a stomach complaint like Mme. de Mortsauf, or of wounds received - in the full tide of life like soldiers on the battlefield—all these - may possess this supreme lucidity to the full; their deaths fill us with - surprise and wonder. But many, on the other hand, die of <i>intelligential</i> - diseases, as they may be called; of maladies seated in the brain or in - that nervous system which acts as a kind of purveyor of thought fuel—and - these die wholly, body and spirit are darkened together. The former are - spirits deserted by the body, realizing for us our ideas of the spirits of - Scripture; the latter are bodies untenanted by a spirit. - </p> - <p> - Too late the virgin nature, the epicure-Cato, the righteous man almost - without sin, was discovering the Presidente’s real character—the sac - of gall that did duty for her heart. He knew the world now that he was - about to leave it, and for the past few hours he had risen gaily to his - part, like a joyous artist finding a pretext for caricature and laughter - in everything. The last links that bound him to life, the chains of - admiration, the strong ties that bind the art lover to Art’s masterpieces, - had been snapped that morning. When Pons knew that La Cibot had robbed - him, he bade farewell, like a Christian, to the pomps and vanities of Art, - to his collection, to all his old friendships with the makers of so many - fair things. Our forefathers counted the day of death as a Christian - festival, and in something of the same spirit Pons’ thoughts turned to the - coming end. In his tender love he tried to protect Schmucke when he should - be low in the grave. It was this father’s thought that led him to fix his - choice upon the leading lady of the ballet. Mlle. Brisetout should help - him to baffle surrounding treachery, and those who in all probability - would never forgive his innocent universal legatee. - </p> - <p> - Heloise Brisetout was one of the few natures that remain true in a false - position. She was an opera-girl of the school of Josepha and Jenny Cadine, - capable of playing any trick on a paying adorer; yet she was a good - comrade, dreading no power on earth, accustomed as she was to see the weak - side of the strong and to hold her own with the police at the scarcely - idyllic Bal de Mabille and the carnival. - </p> - <p> - “If she asked for my place for Garangeot, she will think that she owes me - a good turn by so much the more,” said Pons to himself. - </p> - <p> - Thanks to the prevailing confusion in the porter’s lodge, Schmucke - succeeded in getting out of the house. He returned with the utmost speed, - fearing to leave Pons too long alone. M. Trognon reached the house just as - Schmucke came in. Albeit Cibot was dying, his wife came upstairs with the - notary, brought him into the bedroom, and withdrew, leaving Schmucke and - Pons with M. Trognon; but she left the door ajar, and went no further than - the next room. Providing herself with a little hand-glass of curious - workmanship, she took up her station in the doorway, so that she could not - only hear but see all that passed at the supreme moment. - </p> - <p> - “Sir,” said Pons, “I am in the full possession of my faculties, - unfortunately for me, for I feel that I am about to die; and doubtless, by - the will of God, I shall be spared nothing of the agony of death. This is - M. Schmucke”—(the notary bowed to M. Schmucke)—“my one friend - on earth,” continued Pons. “I wish to make him my universal legatee. Now, - tell me how to word the will, so that my friend, who is a German and knows - nothing of French law, may succeed to my possessions without any dispute.” - </p> - <p> - “Anything is liable to be disputed, sir,” said the notary; “that is the - drawback of human justice. But in the matter of wills, there are wills so - drafted that they cannot be upset—” - </p> - <p> - “In what way?” queried Pons. - </p> - <p> - “If a will is made in the presence of a notary, and before witnesses who - can swear that the testator was in the full possession of his faculties; - and if the testator has neither wife nor children, nor father nor mother—” - </p> - <p> - “I have none of these; all my affection is centred upon my dear friend - Schmucke here.” - </p> - <p> - The tears overflowed Schmucke’s eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Then, if you have none but distant relatives, the law leaves you free to - dispose of both personalty and real estate as you please, so long as you - bequeath them for no unlawful purpose; for you must have come across cases - of wills disputed on account of the testator’s eccentricities. A will made - in the presence of a notary is considered to be authentic; for the - person’s identity is established, the notary certifies that the testator - was sane at the time, and there can be no possible dispute over the - signature.—Still, a holograph will, properly and clearly worded, is - quite as safe.” - </p> - <p> - “I have decided, for reasons of my own, to make a holograph will at your - dictation, and to deposit it with my friend here. Is this possible?” - </p> - <p> - “Quite possible,” said the notary. “Will you write? I will begin to - dictate—” - </p> - <p> - “Schmucke, bring me my little Boule writing-desk.—Speak low, sir,” - he added; “we may be overheard.” - </p> - <p> - “Just tell me, first of all, what you intend,” demanded the notary. - </p> - <p> - Ten minutes later La Cibot saw the notary look over the will, while - Schmucke lighted a taper (Pons watching her reflection all the while in a - mirror). She saw the envelope sealed, saw Pons give it to Schmucke, and - heard him say that it must be put away in a secret drawer in his bureau. - Then the testator asked for the key, tied it to the corner of his - handkerchief, and slipped it under his pillow. - </p> - <p> - The notary himself, by courtesy, was appointed executor. To him Pons left - a picture of price, such a thing as the law permits a notary to receive. - Trognon went out and came upon Mme. Cibot in the salon. - </p> - <p> - “Well, sir, did M. Pons remember me?” - </p> - <p> - “You do not expect a notary to betray secrets confided to him, my dear,” - returned M. Trognon. “I can only tell you this—there will be many - disappointments, and some that are anxious after the money will be foiled. - M. Pons has made a good and very sensible will, a patriotic will, which I - highly approve.” - </p> - <p> - La Cibot’s curiosity, kindled by such words, reached an unimaginable - pitch. She went downstairs and spent the night at Cibot’s bedside, - inwardly resolving that Mlle. Remonencq should take her place towards two - or three in the morning, when she would go up and have a look at the - document. - </p> - <p> - Mlle. Brisetout’s visit towards half-past ten that night seemed natural - enough to La Cibot; but in her terror lest the ballet-girl should mention - Gaudissart’s gift of a thousand francs, she went upstairs with her, - lavishing polite speeches and flattery as if Mlle. Heloise had been a - queen. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! my dear, you are much nicer here on your own ground than at the - theatre,” Heloise remarked. “I advise you to keep to your employment.” - </p> - <p> - Heloise was splendidly dressed. Bixiou, her lover, had brought her in his - carriage on the way to an evening party at Mariette’s. It so fell out that - the first-floor lodger, M. Chapoulot, a retired braid manufacturer from - the Rue Saint-Denis, returning from the Ambigu-Comique with his wife and - daughter, was dazzled by a vision of such a costume and such a charming - woman upon their staircase. - </p> - <p> - “Who is that, Mme. Cibot?” asked Mme. Chapoulot. - </p> - <p> - “A no-better-than-she-should-be, a light-skirts that you may see - half-naked any evening for a couple of francs,” La Cibot answered in an - undertone for Mme. Chapoulot’s ear. - </p> - <p> - “Victorine!” called the braid manufacturer’s wife, “let the lady pass, - child.” - </p> - <p> - The matron’s alarm signal was not lost upon Heloise. - </p> - <p> - “Your daughter must be more inflammable than tinder, madame, if you are - afraid that she will catch fire by touching me,” she said. - </p> - <p> - M. Chapoulot waited on the landing. “She is uncommonly handsome off the - stage,” he remarked. Whereupon Mme. Chapoulot pinched him sharply and - drove him indoors. - </p> - <p> - “Here is a second-floor lodger that has a mind to set up for being on the - fourth floor,” said Heloise as she continued to climb. - </p> - <p> - “But mademoiselle is accustomed to going higher and higher.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, old boy,” said Heloise, entering the bedroom and catching sight of - the old musician’s white, wasted face. “Well, old boy, so we are not very - well? Everybody at the theatre is asking after you; but though one’s heart - may be in the right place, every one has his own affairs, you know, and - cannot find time to go to see friends. Gaudissart talks of coming round - every day, and every morning the tiresome management gets hold of him. - Still, we are all of us fond of you—” - </p> - <p> - “Mme. Cibot,” said the patient, “be so kind as to leave us; we want to - talk about the theatre and my post as conductor, with this lady. Schmucke, - will you go to the door with Mme. Cibot?” - </p> - <p> - At a sign from Pons, Schmucke saw Mme. Cibot out at the door, and drew the - bolts. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, that blackguard of a German! Is he spoiled, too?” La Cibot said to - herself as she heard the significant sounds. “That is M. Pons’ doing; he - taught him those disgusting tricks.... But you shall pay for this, my - dears,” she thought as she went down stairs. “Pooh! if that tight-rope - dancer tells him about the thousand francs, I shall say that it is a - farce.” - </p> - <p> - She seated herself by Cibot’s pillow. Cibot complained of a burning - sensation in the stomach. Remonencq had called in and given him a draught - while his wife was upstairs. - </p> - <p> - As soon as Schmucke had dismissed La Cibot, Pons turned to the - ballet-girl. - </p> - <p> - “Dear child, I can trust no one else to find me a notary, an honest man, - and send him here to make my will to-morrow morning at half-past nine - precisely. I want to leave all that I have to Schmucke. If he is - persecuted, poor German that he is, I shall reckon upon the notary; the - notary must defend him. And for that reason I must have a wealthy notary, - highly thought of, a man above the temptations to which pettifogging - lawyers yield. He must succor my poor friend. I cannot trust Berthier, - Cardot’s successor. And you know so many people—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! I have the very man for you,” Heloise broke in; “there is the notary - that acts for Florine and the Comtesse du Bruel, Leopold Hannequin, a - virtuous man that does not know what a <i>lorette</i> is! He is a sort of - chance-come father—a good soul that will not let you play ducks and - drakes with your earnings; I call him <i>Le Pere aux Rats</i>, because he - instils economical notions into the minds of all my friends. In the first - place, my dear fellow, he has a private income of sixty thousand francs; - and he is a notary of the real old sort, a notary while he walks or - sleeps; his children must be little notaries and notaresses. He is a - heavy, pedantic creature, and that’s the truth; but on his own ground, he - is not the man to flinch before any power in creation.... No woman ever - got money out of him; he is a fossil pater-familias, his wife worships - him, and does not deceive him, although she is a notary’s wife.—What - more do you want? as a notary he has not his match in Paris. He is in the - patriarchal style; not queer and amusing, as Cardot used to be with - Malaga; but he will never decamp like little What’s-his-name that lived - with Antonia. So I will send round my man to-morrow morning at eight - o’clock.... You may sleep in peace. And I hope, in the first place, that - you will get better, and make charming music for us again; and yet, after - all, you see, life is very dreary—managers chisel you, and kings - mizzle and ministers fizzle and rich fold economizzle.—Artists have - nothing left <i>here</i>” (tapping her breast)—“it is a time to die - in. Good-bye, old boy.” - </p> - <p> - “Heloise, of all things, I ask you to keep my counsel.” - </p> - <p> - “It is not a theatre affair,” she said; “it is sacred for an artist.” - </p> - <p> - “Who is your gentleman, child?” - </p> - <p> - “M. Baudoyer, the mayor of your arrondissement, a man as stupid as the - late Crevel; Crevel once financed Gaudissart, you know, and a few days ago - he died and left me nothing, not so much as a pot of pomatum. That made me - say just now that this age of ours is something sickening.” - </p> - <p> - “What did he die of?” - </p> - <p> - “Of his wife. If he had stayed with me, he would be living now. Good-bye, - dear old boy, I am talking of going off, because I can see that you will - be walking about the boulevards in a week or two, hunting up pretty little - curiosities again. You are not ill; I never saw your eyes look so bright.” - And she went, fully convinced that her protege Garangeot would conduct the - orchestra for good. - </p> - <p> - Every door stood ajar as she went downstairs. Every lodger, on tip-toe, - watched the lady of the ballet pass on her way out. It was quite an event - in the house. - </p> - <p> - Fraisier, like the bulldog that sets his teeth and never lets go, was on - the spot. He stood beside La Cibot when Mlle. Brisetout passed under the - gateway and asked for the door to be opened. Knowing that a will had been - made, he had come to see how the land lay, for Maitre Trognon, notary, had - refused to say a syllable—Fraisier’s questions were as fruitless as - Mme. Cibot’s. Naturally the ballet-girl’s visit <i>in extremis</i> was not - lost upon Fraisier; he vowed to himself that he would turn it to good - account. - </p> - <p> - “My dear Mme. Cibot,” he began, “now is the critical moment for you.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, yes... my poor Cibot!” said she. “When I think that he will not live - to enjoy anything I may get—” - </p> - <p> - “It is a question of finding out whether M. Pons has left you anything at - all; whether your name is mentioned or left out, in fact,” he interrupted. - “I represent the next-of-kin, and to them you must look in any case. It is - a holograph will, and consequently very easy to upset.—Do you know - where our man has put it?” - </p> - <p> - “In a secret drawer in his bureau, and he has the key of it. He tied it to - a corner of his handkerchief, and put it under his pillow. I saw it all.” - </p> - <p> - “Is the will sealed?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, alas!” - </p> - <p> - “It is a criminal offence if you carry off a will and suppress it, but it - is only a misdemeanor to look at it; and anyhow, what does it amount to? A - peccadillo, and nobody will see you. Is your man a heavy sleeper?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. But when you tried to see all the things and value them, he ought to - have slept like a top, and yet he woke up. Still, I will see about it. I - will take M. Schmucke’s place about four o’clock this morning; and if you - care to come, you shall have the will in your hands for ten minutes.” - </p> - <p> - “Good. I will come up about four o’clock, and I will knock very softly—” - </p> - <p> - “Mlle Remonencq will take my place with Cibot. She will know, and open the - door; but tap on the window, so as to rouse nobody in the house.” - </p> - <p> - “Right,” said Fraisier. “You will have a light, will you not. A candle - will do.” - </p> - <p> - At midnight poor Schmucke sat in his easy-chair, watching with a breaking - heart that shrinking of the features that comes with death; Pons looked so - worn out with the day’s exertions, that death seemed very near. - </p> - <p> - Presently Pons spoke. “I have just enough strength, I think, to last till - to-morrow night,” he said philosophically. “To-morrow night the death - agony will begin; poor Schmucke! As soon as the notary and your two - friends are gone, go for our good Abbe Duplanty, the curate of - Saint-Francois. Good man, he does not know that I am ill, and I wish to - take the holy sacrament to-morrow at noon.” - </p> - <p> - There was a long pause. - </p> - <p> - “God so willed it that life has not been as I dreamed,” Pons resumed. “I - should so have loved wife and children and home.... To be loved by a very - few in some corner—that was my whole ambition! Life is hard for - every one; I have seen people who had all that I wanted so much and could - not have, and yet they were not happy.... Then at the end of my life, God - put untold comfort in my way, when He gave me such a friend.... And one - thing I have not to reproach myself with—that I have not known your - worth nor appreciated you, my good Schmucke.... I have loved you with my - whole heart, with all the strength of love that is in me.... Do not cry, - Schmucke; I shall say no more if you cry and it is so sweet to me to talk - of ourselves to you.... If I had listened to you, I should not be dying. I - should have left the world and broken off my habits, and then I should not - have been wounded to death. And now, I want to think of no one but you at - the last—” - </p> - <p> - “You are missdaken—” - </p> - <p> - “Do not contradict me—listen, dear friend.... You are as guileless - and simple as a six-year-old child that has never left its mother; one - honors you for it—it seems to me that God Himself must watch over - such as you. But men are so wicked, that I ought to warn you beforehand... - and then you will lose your generous trust, your saint-like belief in - others, the bloom of a purity of soul that only belongs to genius or to - hearts like yours.... In a little while you will see Mme. Cibot, who left - the door ajar and watched us closely while M. Trognon was here—in a - little while you will see her come for the will, as she believes it to - be.... I expect the worthless creature will do her business this morning - when she thinks you are asleep. Now, mind what I say, and carry out my - instructions to the letter.... Are you listening?” asked the dying man. - </p> - <p> - But Schmucke was overcome with grief, his heart was throbbing painfully, - his head fell back on the chair, he seemed to have lost consciousness. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he answered, “I can hear, but it is as if you vere doo huntert - baces afay from me.... It seem to me dat I am going town into der grafe - mit you,” said Schmucke, crushed with pain. - </p> - <p> - He went over to the bed, took one of Pons’ hands in both his own, and - within himself put up a fervent prayer. - </p> - <p> - “What is that that you are mumbling in German?” - </p> - <p> - “I asked Gott dat He vould take us poth togedders to Himself!” Schmucke - answered simply when he had finished his prayer. - </p> - <p> - Pons bent over—it was a great effort, for he was suffering - intolerable pain; but he managed to reach Schmucke, and kissed him on the - forehead, pouring out his soul, as it were, in benediction upon a nature - that recalled the lamb that lies at the foot of the Throne of God. - </p> - <p> - “See here, listen, my good Schmucke, you must do as dying people tell you—” - </p> - <p> - “I am lisdening.” - </p> - <p> - “The little door in the recess in your bedroom opens into that closet.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, but it is blocked up mit bictures.” - </p> - <p> - “Clear them away at once, without making too much noise.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Clear a passage on both sides, so that you can pass from your room into - mine.—Now, leave the door ajar.—When La Cibot comes to take - your place (and she is capable of coming an hour earlier than usual), you - can go away to bed as if nothing had happened, and look very tired. Try to - look sleepy. As soon as she settles down into the armchair, go into the - closet, draw aside the muslin curtains over the glass door, and watch - her.... Do you understand?” - </p> - <p> - “I oondershtand; you belief dat die pad voman is going to purn der vill.” - </p> - <p> - “I do not know what she will do; but I am sure of this—that you will - not take her for an angel afterwards.—And now play for me; improvise - and make me happy. It will divert your thoughts; your gloomy ideas will - vanish, and for me the dark hours will be filled with your dreams....” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke sat down at the piano. Here he was in his element; and in a few - moments, musical inspiration, quickened by the pain with which he was - quivering and the consequent irritation that followed came upon the kindly - German, and, after his wont, he was caught up and borne above the world. - On one sublime theme after another he executed variations, putting into - them sometimes Chopin’s sorrow, Chopin’s Raphael-like perfection; - sometimes the stormy Dante’s grandeur of Liszt—the two musicians who - most nearly approach Paganini’s temperament. When execution reaches this - supreme degree, the executant stands beside the poet, as it were; he is to - the composer as the actor is to the writer of plays, a divinely inspired - interpreter of things divine. But that night, when Schmucke gave Pons an - earnest of diviner symphonies, of that heavenly music for which Saint - Cecile let fall her instruments, he was at once Beethoven and Paganini, - creator and interpreter. It was an outpouring of music inexhaustible as - the nightingale’s song—varied and full of delicate undergrowth as - the forest flooded with her trills; sublime as the sky overhead. Schmucke - played as he had never played before, and the soul of the old musician - listening to him rose to ecstasy such as Raphael once painted in a picture - which you may see at Bologna. - </p> - <p> - A terrific ringing of the door-bell put an end to these visions. The - first-floor lodgers sent up a servant with a message. Would Schmucke - please stop the racket overhead. Madame, Monsieur, and Mademoiselle - Chapoulot had been wakened, and could not sleep for the noise; they called - his attention to the fact that the day was quite long enough for - rehearsals of theatrical music, and added that people ought not to “strum” - all night in a house in the Marais.—It was then three o’clock in the - morning. At half-past three, La Cibot appeared, just as Pons had - predicted. He might have actually heard the conference between Fraisier - and the portress: “Did I not guess exactly how it would be?” his eyes - seemed to say as he glanced at Schmucke, and, turning a little, he seemed - to be fast asleep. - </p> - <p> - Schmucke’s guileless simplicity was an article of belief with La Cibot - (and be it noted that this faith in simplicity is the great source and - secret of the success of all infantine strategy); La Cibot, therefore, - could not suspect Schmucke of deceit when he came to say to her, with a - face half of distress, half of glad relief: - </p> - <p> - “I haf had a derrible night! a derrible dime of it! I vas opliged to play - to keep him kviet, and the virst-floor lodgers vas komm up to tell <i>me</i> - to be kviet!... It was frightful, for der life of mein friend vas at - shtake. I am so tired mit der blaying all night, dat dis morning I am all - knocked up.” - </p> - <p> - “My poor Cibot is very bad, too; one more day like yesterday, and he will - have no strength left.... One can’t help it; it is God’s will.” - </p> - <p> - “You haf a heart so honest, a soul so peautiful, dot gif der Zipod die, ve - shall lif togedder,” said the cunning Schmucke. - </p> - <p> - The craft of simple, straightforward folk is formidable indeed; they are - exactly like children, setting their unsuspected snares with the perfect - craft of the savage. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, well go and sleep, sonny!” returned La Cibot. “Your eyes look tired, - they are as big as my fist. But there! if anything could comfort me for - losing Cibot, it would be the thought of ending my days with a good man - like you. Be easy. I will give Mme. Chapoulot a dressing down.... To think - of a retired haberdasher’s wife giving herself such airs!” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke went to his room and took up his post in the closet. - </p> - <p> - La Cibot had left the door ajar on the landing; Fraisier came in and - closed it noiselessly as soon as he heard Schmucke shut his bedroom door. - He had brought with him a lighted taper and a bit of very fine wire to - open the seal of the will. La Cibot, meanwhile, looking under the pillow, - found the handkerchief with the key of the bureau knotted to one corner; - and this so much the more easily because Pons purposely left the end - hanging over the bolster, and lay with his face to the wall. - </p> - <p> - La Cibot went straight to the bureau, opened it cautiously so as to make - as little noise as possible, found the spring of the secret drawer, and - hurried into the salon with the will in her hand. Her flight roused Pons’ - curiosity to the highest pitch; and as for Schmucke, he trembled as if he - were the guilty person. - </p> - <p> - “Go back,” said Fraisier, when she handed over the will. “He may wake, and - he must find you there.” - </p> - <p> - Fraisier opened the seal with a dexterity which proved that his was no - ‘prentice hand, and read the following curious document, headed “My Will,” - with ever-deepening astonishment: - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “On this fifteenth day of April, eighteen hundred and forty-five, - I, being in my sound mind (as this my Will, drawn up in concert - with M. Trognon, will testify), and feeling that I must shortly - die of the malady from which I have suffered since the beginning - of February last, am anxious to dispose of my property, and have - herein recorded my last wishes:— - - “I have always been impressed by the untoward circumstances that - injure great pictures, and not unfrequently bring about total - destruction. I have felt sorry for the beautiful paintings - condemned to travel from land to land, never finding some fixed - abode whither admirers of great masterpieces may travel to see - them. And I have always thought that the truly deathless work of a - great master ought to be national property; put where every one of - every nation may see it, even as the light, God’s masterpiece, - shines for all His children. - - “And as I have spent my life in collecting together and choosing a - few pictures, some of the greatest masters’ most glorious work, - and as these pictures are as the master left them—genuine - examples, neither repainted nor retouched,—it has been a painful - thought to me that the paintings which have been the joy of my - life, may be sold by public auction, and go, some to England, some - to Russia, till they are all scattered abroad again as if they had - never been gathered together. From this wretched fate I have - determined to save both them and the frames in which they are set, - all of them the work of skilled craftsmen. - - “On these grounds, therefore, I give and bequeath the pictures - which compose my collection to the King, for the gallery in the - Louvre, subject to the charge (if the legacy is accepted) of a - life-annuity of two thousand four hundred francs to my friend - Wilhelm Schmucke. - - “If the King, as usufructuary of the Louvre collection, should - refuse the legacy with the charge upon it, the said pictures shall - form a part of the estate which I leave to my friend, Schmucke, on - condition that he shall deliver the <i>Monkey’s Head</i>, by Goya, to - my cousin, President Camusot; a <i>Flower-piece</i>, the tulips, by - Abraham Mignon, to M. Trognon, notary (whom I appoint as my - executor): and allow Mme. Cibot, who has acted as my housekeeper - for ten years, the sum of two hundred francs per annum. - - “Finally, my friend Schmucke is to give the <i>Descent from the - Cross</i>, Ruben’s sketch for his great picture at Antwerp, to adorn - a chapel in the parish church, in grateful acknowledgment of M. - Duplanty’s kindness to me; for to him I owe it that I can die as a - Christian and a Catholic.”—So ran the will. -</pre> - <p> - “This is ruin!” mused Fraisier, “the ruin of all my hopes. Ha! I begin to - believe all that the Presidente told me about this old artist and his - cunning.” - </p> - <p> - “Well?” La Cibot came back to say. - </p> - <p> - “Your gentleman is a monster. He is leaving everything to the Crown. Now, - you cannot plead against the Crown.... The will cannot be disputed.... We - are robbed, ruined, spoiled, and murdered!” - </p> - <p> - “What has he left to me?” - </p> - <p> - “Two hundred francs a year.” - </p> - <p> - “A pretty come-down!... Why, he is a finished scoundrel.” - </p> - <p> - “Go and see,” said Fraisier, “and I will put your scoundrel’s will back - again in the envelope.” - </p> - <p> - While Mme. Cibot’s back was turned, Fraisier nimbly slipped a sheet of - blank paper into the envelope; the will he put in his pocket. He next - proceeded to seal the envelope again so cleverly that he showed the seal - to Mme. Cibot when she returned, and asked her if she could see the - slightest trace of the operation. La Cibot took up the envelope, felt it - over, assured herself that it was not empty, and heaved a deep sigh. She - had entertained hopes that Fraisier himself would have burned the unlucky - document while she was out of the room. - </p> - <p> - “Well, my dear M. Fraisier, what is to be done?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! that is your affair! I am not one of the next-of-kin, myself; but if - I had the slightest claim to any of <i>that</i>” (indicating the - collection), “I know very well what I should do.” - </p> - <p> - “That is just what I want to know,” La Cibot answered, with sufficient - simplicity. - </p> - <p> - “There is a fire in the grate——” he said. Then he rose to go. - </p> - <p> - “After all, no one will know about it, but you and me——” began - La Cibot. - </p> - <p> - “It can never be proved that a will existed,” asserted the man of law. - </p> - <p> - “And you?” - </p> - <p> - “I?... If M. Pons dies intestate, you shall have a hundred thousand - francs.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes, no doubt,” returned she. “People promise you heaps of money, and - when they come by their own, and there is talk of paying they swindle you - like—” “Like Elie Magus,” she was going to say, but she stopped - herself just in time. - </p> - <p> - “I am going,” said Fraisier; “it is not to your interest that I should be - found here; but I shall see you again downstairs.” - </p> - <p> - La Cibot shut the door and returned with the sealed packet in her hand. - She had quite made up her mind to burn it; but as she went towards the - bedroom fireplace, she felt the grasp of a hand on each arm, and saw—Schmucke - on one hand, and Pons himself on the other, leaning against the partition - wall on either side of the door. - </p> - <p> - La Cibot cried out, and fell face downwards in a fit; real or feigned, no - one ever knew the truth. This sight produced such an impression on Pons - that a deadly faintness came upon him, and Schmucke left the woman on the - floor to help Pons back to bed. The friends trembled in every limb; they - had set themselves a hard task, it was done, but it had been too much for - their strength. When Pons lay in bed again, and Schmucke had regained - strength to some extent, he heard a sound of sobbing. La Cibot, on her - knees, bursting into tears, held out supplicating hands to them in very - expressive pantomime. - </p> - <p> - “It was pure curiosity!” she sobbed, when she saw that Pons and Schmucke - were paying attention to her proceedings. “Pure curiosity; a woman’s - fault, you know. But I did not know how else to get a sight of your will, - and I brought it back again—” - </p> - <p> - “Go!” said Schmucke, standing erect, his tall figure gaining in height by - the full height of his indignation. “You are a monster! You dried to kill - mein goot Bons! He is right. You are worse than a monster, you are a lost - soul!” - </p> - <p> - La Cibot saw the look of abhorrence in the frank German’s face; she rose, - proud as Tartuffe, gave Schmucke a glance which made him quake, and went - out, carrying off under her dress an exquisite little picture of Metzu’s - pointed out by Elie Magus. “A diamond,” he had called it. Fraisier - downstairs in the porter’s lodge was waiting to hear that La Cibot had - burned the envelope and the sheet of blank paper inside it. Great was his - astonishment when he beheld his fair client’s agitation and dismay. - </p> - <p> - “What has happened?” - </p> - <p> - “<i>This</i> has happened, my dear M. Fraisier. Under pretence of giving - me good advice and telling me what to do, you have lost me my annuity and - the gentlemen’s confidence....” - </p> - <p> - One of the word-tornadoes in which she excelled was in full progress, but - Fraisier cut her short. - </p> - <p> - “This is idle talk. The facts, the facts! and be quick about it.” - </p> - <p> - “Well; it came about in this way,”—and she told him of the scene - which she had just come through. - </p> - <p> - “You have lost nothing through me,” was Fraisier’s comment. “The gentlemen - had their doubts, or they would not have set this trap for you. They were - lying in wait and spying upon you.... You have not told me everything,” he - added, with a tiger’s glance at the woman before him. - </p> - <p> - “<i>I</i> hide anything from you!” cried she—“after all that we have - done together!” she added with a shudder. - </p> - <p> - “My dear madame, <i>I</i> have done nothing blameworthy,” returned - Fraisier. Evidently he meant to deny his nocturnal visit to Pons’ rooms. - </p> - <p> - Every hair on La Cibot’s head seemed to scorch her, while a sense of icy - cold swept over her from head to foot. - </p> - <p> - “<i>What?</i>”... she faltered in bewilderment. - </p> - <p> - “Here is a criminal charge on the face of it.... You may be accused of - suppressing the will,” Fraisier made answer drily. - </p> - <p> - La Cibot started. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t be alarmed; I am your legal adviser. I only wished to show you how - easy it is, in one way or another, to do as I once explained to you. Let - us see, now; what have you done that this simple German should be hiding - in the room?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing at all, unless it was that scene the other day when I stood M. - Pons out that his eyes dazzled. And ever since, the two gentlemen have - been as different as can be. So you have brought all my troubles upon me; - I might have lost my influence with M. Pons, but I was sure of the German; - just now he was talking of marrying me or of taking me with him—it - is all one.” - </p> - <p> - The excuse was so plausible that Fraisier was fain to be satisfied with - it. “You need fear nothing,” he resumed. “I gave you my word that you - shall have your money, and I shall keep my word. The whole matter, so far, - was up in the air, but now it is as good as bank-notes.... You shall have - at least twelve hundred francs per annum.... But, my good lady, you must - act intelligently under my orders.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, my dear M. Fraisier,” said La Cibot with cringing servility. She was - completely subdued. - </p> - <p> - “Very good. Good-bye,” and Fraisier went, taking the dangerous document - with him. He reached home in great spirits. The will was a terrible - weapon. - </p> - <p> - “Now,” thought he, “I have a hold on Mme. la Presidente de Marville; she - must keep her word with me. If she did not, she would lose the property.” - </p> - <p> - At daybreak, when Remonencq had taken down his shutters and left his - sister in charge of the shop, he came, after his wont of late, to inquire - for his good friend Cibot. The portress was contemplating the Metzu, - privately wondering how a little bit of painted wood could be worth such a - lot of money. - </p> - <p> - “Aha!” said he, looking over her shoulder, “that is the one picture which - M. Elie Magus regretted; with that little bit of a thing, he says, his - happiness would be complete.” - </p> - <p> - “What would he give for it?” asked La Cibot. - </p> - <p> - “Why, if you will promise to marry me within a year of widowhood, I will - undertake to get twenty thousand francs for it from Elie Magus; and unless - you marry me you will never get a thousand francs for the picture.” - </p> - <p> - “Why not?” - </p> - <p> - “Because you would be obliged to give a receipt for the money, and then - you might have a lawsuit with the heirs-at-law. If you were my wife, I - myself should sell the thing to M. Magus, and in the way of business it is - enough to make an entry in the day-book, and I should note that M. - Schmucke sold it to me. There, leave the panel with me. ... If your - husband were to die you might have a lot of bother over it, but no one - would think it odd that I should have a picture in the shop.... You know - me quite well. Besides, I will give you a receipt if you like.” - </p> - <p> - The covetous portress felt that she had been caught; she agreed to a - proposal which was to bind her for the rest of her life to the - marine-store dealer. - </p> - <p> - “You are right,” said she, as she locked the picture away in a chest; - “bring me the bit of writing.” - </p> - <p> - Remonencq beckoned her to the door. - </p> - <p> - “I can see, neighbor, that we shall not save our poor dear Cibot,” he said - lowering his voice. “Dr. Poulain gave him up yesterday evening, and said - that he could not last out the day.... It is a great misfortune. But after - all, this was not the place for you.... You ought to be in a fine - curiosity shop on the Boulevard des Capucines. Do you know that I have - made nearly a hundred thousand francs in ten years? And if you will have - as much some day, I will undertake to make a handsome fortune for you—as - my wife. You would be the mistress—my sister should wait on you and - do the work of the house, and—” - </p> - <p> - A heartrending moan from the little tailor cut the tempter short; the - death agony had begun. - </p> - <p> - “Go away,” said La Cibot. “You are a monster to talk of such things and my - poor man dying like this—” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! it is because I love you,” said Remonencq; “I could let everything - else go to have you—” - </p> - <p> - “If you loved me, you would say nothing to me just now,” returned she. And - Remonencq departed to his shop, sure of marrying La Cibot. - </p> - <p> - Towards ten o’clock there was a sort of commotion in the street; M. Cibot - was taking the Sacrament. All the friends of the pair, all the porters and - porters’ wives in the Rue de Normandie and neighboring streets, had - crowded into the lodge, under the archway, and stood on the pavement - outside. Nobody so much as noticed the arrival of M. Leopold Hannequin and - a brother lawyer. Schwab and Brunner reached Pons’ rooms unseen by Mme. - Cibot. The notary, inquiring for Pons, was shown upstairs by the portress - of a neighboring house. Brunner remembered his previous visit to the - museum, and went straight in with his friend Schwab. - </p> - <p> - Pons formally revoked his previous will and constituted Schmucke his - universal legatee. This accomplished, he thanked Schwab and Brunner, and - earnestly begged M. Leopold Hannequin to protect Schmucke’s interests. The - demands made upon him by last night’s scene with La Cibot, and this final - settlement of his worldly affairs, left him so faint and exhausted that - Schmucke begged Schwab to go for the Abbe Duplanty; it was Pons’ great - desire to take the Sacrament, and Schmucke could not bring himself to - leave his friend. - </p> - <p> - La Cibot, sitting at the foot of her husband’s bed, gave not so much as a - thought to Schmucke’s breakfast—for that matter had been forbidden - to return; but the morning’s events, the sight of Pons’ heroic resignation - in the death agony, so oppressed Schmucke’s heart that he was not - conscious of hunger. Towards two o’clock, however, as nothing had been - seen of the old German, La Cibot sent Remonencq’s sister to see whether - Schmucke wanted anything; prompted not so much by interest as by - curiosity. The Abbe Duplanty had just heard the old musician’s dying - confession, and the administration of the sacrament of extreme unction was - disturbed by repeated ringing of the door-bell. Pons, in his terror of - robbery, had made Schmucke promise solemnly to admit no one into the - house; so Schmucke did not stir. Again and again Mlle. Remonencq pulled - the cord, and finally went downstairs in alarm to tell La Cibot that - Schmucke would not open the door; Fraisier made a note of this. Schmucke - had never seen any one die in his life; before long he would be perplexed - by the many difficulties which beset those who are left with a dead body - in Paris, this more especially if they are lonely and helpless and have no - one to act for them. Fraisier knew, moreover, that in real affliction - people lose their heads, and therefore immediately after breakfast he took - up his position in the porter’s lodge, and sitting there in perpetual - committee with Dr. Poulain, conceived the idea of directing all Schmucke’s - actions himself. - </p> - <p> - To obtain the important result, the doctor and the lawyer took their - measures on this wise:— - </p> - <p> - The beadle of Saint-Francois, Cantinet by name, at one time a retail - dealer in glassware, lived in the Rue d’Orleans, next door to Dr. Poulain - and under the same roof. Mme. Cantinet, who saw to the letting of the - chairs at Saint-Francois, once had fallen ill and Dr. Poulain had attended - her gratuitously; she was, as might be expected, grateful, and often - confided her troubles to him. The “nutcrackers,” punctual in their - attendance at Saint-Francois on Sundays and saints’-days, were on friendly - terms with the beadle and the lowest ecclesiastical rank and file, - commonly called in Paris <i>le bas clerge</i>, to whom the devout usually - give little presents from time to time. Mme. Cantinet therefore knew - Schmucke almost as well as Schmucke knew her. And Mme. Cantinet was - afflicted with two sore troubles which enabled the lawyer to use her as a - blind and involuntary agent. Cantinet junior, a stage-struck youth, had - deserted the paths of the Church and turned his back on the prospect of - one day becoming a beadle, to make his <i>debut</i> among the - supernumeraries of the Cirque-Olympique; he was leading a wild life, - breaking his mother’s heart and draining her purse by frequent forced - loans. Cantinet senior, much addicted to spirituous liquors and idleness, - had, in fact, been driven to retire from business by those two failings. - So far from reforming, the incorrigible offender had found scope in his - new occupation for the indulgence of both cravings; he did nothing, and he - drank with drivers of wedding-coaches, with the undertaker’s men at - funerals, with poor folk relieved by the vicar, till his morning’s - occupation was set forth in rubric on his countenance by noon. - </p> - <p> - Mme. Cantinet saw no prospect but want in her old age, and yet she had - brought her husband twelve thousand francs, she said. The tale of her woes - related for the hundredth time suggested an idea to Dr. Poulain. Once - introduce her into the old bachelor’s quarters, and it would be easy by - her means to establish Mme. Sauvage there as working housekeeper. It was - quite impossible to present Mme. Sauvage herself, for the “nutcrackers” - had grown suspicious of every one. Schmucke’s refusal to admit Mlle. - Remonencq had sufficiently opened Fraisier’s eyes. Still, it seemed - evident that Pons and Schmucke, being pious souls, would take any one - recommended by the Abbe, with blind confidence. Mme. Cantinet should bring - Mme. Sauvage with her, and to put in Fraisier’s servant was almost - tantamount to installing Fraisier himself. - </p> - <p> - The Abbe Duplanty, coming downstairs, found the gateway blocked by the - Cibots’ friends, all of them bent upon showing their interest in one of - the oldest and most respectable porters in the Marais. - </p> - <p> - Dr. Poulain raised his hat, and took the Abbe aside. - </p> - <p> - “I am just about to go to poor M. Pons,” he said. “There is still a chance - of recovery; but it is a question of inducing him to undergo an operation. - The calculi are perceptible to the touch, they are setting up an - inflammatory condition which will end fatally, but perhaps it is not too - late to remove them. You should really use your influence to persuade the - patient to submit to surgical treatment; I will answer for his life, - provided that no untoward circumstance occurs during the operation.” - </p> - <p> - “I will return as soon as I have taken the sacred ciborium back to the - church,” said the Abbe Duplanty, “for M. Schmucke’s condition claims the - support of religion.” - </p> - <p> - “I have just heard that he is alone,” said Dr. Poulain. “The German, good - soul, had a little altercation this morning with Mme. Cibot, who has acted - as housekeeper to them both for the past ten years. They have quarreled - (for the moment only, no doubt), but under the circumstances they must - have some one in to help upstairs. It would be a charity to look after - him.—I say, Cantinet,” continued the doctor, beckoning to the - beadle, “just go and ask your wife if she will nurse M. Pons, and look - after M. Schmucke, and take Mme. Cibot’s place for a day or two.... Even - without the quarrel, Mme. Cibot would still require a substitute. Mme. - Cantinet is honest,” added the doctor, turning to M. Duplanty. - </p> - <p> - “You could not make a better choice,” said the good priest; “she is - intrusted with the letting of chairs in the church.” - </p> - <p> - A few minutes later, Dr. Poulain stood by Pons’ pillow watching the - progress made by death, and Schmucke’s vain efforts to persuade his friend - to consent to the operation. To all the poor German’s despairing - entreaties Pons only replied by a shake of the head and occasional - impatient movements; till, after awhile, he summoned up all his - fast-failing strength to say, with a heartrending look: - </p> - <p> - “Do let me die in peace!” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke almost died of sorrow, but he took Pons’ hand and softly kissed - it, and held it between his own, as if trying a second time to give his - own vitality to his friend. - </p> - <p> - Just at this moment the bell rang, and Dr. Poulain, going to the door, - admitted the Abbe Duplanty. - </p> - <p> - “Our poor patient is struggling in the grasp of death,” he said. “All will - be over in a few hours. You will send a priest, no doubt, to watch - to-night. But it is time that Mme. Cantinet came, as well as a woman to do - the work, for M. Schmucke is quite unfit to think of anything: I am afraid - for his reason; and there are valuables here which ought to be in the - custody of honest persons.” - </p> - <p> - The Abbe Duplanty, a kindly, upright priest, guileless and unsuspicious, - was struck with the truth of Dr. Poulain’s remarks. He had, moreover, a - certain belief in the doctor of the quarter. So on the threshold of the - death-chamber he stopped and beckoned to Schmucke, but Schmucke could not - bring himself to loosen the grasp of the hand that grew tighter and - tighter. Pons seemed to think that he was slipping over the edge of a - precipice and must catch at something to save himself. But, as many know, - the dying are haunted by an hallucination that leads them to snatch at - things about them, like men eager to save their most precious possessions - from a fire. Presently Pons released Schmucke to clutch at the - bed-clothes, dragging them and huddling them about himself with a hasty, - covetous movement significant and painful to see. - </p> - <p> - “What will you do, left alone with your dead friend?” asked M. l’Abbe - Duplanty when Schmucke came to the door. “You have not Mme. Cibot now—” - </p> - <p> - “Ein monster dat haf killed Bons!” - </p> - <p> - “But you must have somebody with you,” began Dr. Poulain. “Some one must - sit up with the body to-night.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall sit up; I shall say die prayers to Gott,” the innocent German - answered. - </p> - <p> - “But you must eat—and who is to cook for you now?” asked the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “Grief haf taken afay mein abbetite,” Schmucke said, simply. - </p> - <p> - “And some one must give notice to the registrar,” said Poulain, “and lay - out the body, and order the funeral; and the person who sits up with the - body and the priest will want meals. Can you do all this by yourself? A - man cannot die like a dog in the capital of the civilized world.” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke opened wide eyes of dismay. A brief fit of madness seized him. - </p> - <p> - “But Bons shall not tie!...” he cried aloud. “I shall safe him!” - </p> - <p> - “You cannot go without sleep much longer, and who will take your place? - Some one must look after M. Pons, and give him drink, and nurse him—” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! dat is drue.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well,” said the Abbe, “I am thinking of sending your Mme. Cantinet, - a good and honest creature—” - </p> - <p> - The practical details of the care of the dead bewildered Schmucke, till he - was fain to die with his friend. - </p> - <p> - “He is a child,” said the doctor, turning to the Abbe Duplanty. - </p> - <p> - “Ein child,” Schmucke repeated mechanically. - </p> - <p> - “There, then,” said the curate; “I will speak to Mme. Cantinet, and send - her to you.” - </p> - <p> - “Do not trouble yourself,” said the doctor; “I am going home, and she - lives in the next house.” - </p> - <p> - The dying seem to struggle with Death as with an invisible assassin; in - the agony at the last, as the final thrust is made, the act of dying seems - to be a conflict, a hand-to-hand fight for life. Pons had reached the - supreme moment. At the sound of his groans and cries, the three standing - in the doorway hurried to the bedside. Then came the last blow, smiting - asunder the bonds between soul and body, striking down to life’s sources; - and suddenly Pons regained for a few brief moments the perfect calm that - follows the struggle. He came to himself, and with the serenity of death - in his face he looked round almost smilingly at them. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, doctor, I have had a hard time of it; but you were right, I am doing - better. Thank you, my good Abbe; I was wondering what had become of - Schmucke—” - </p> - <p> - “Schmucke has had nothing to eat since yesterday evening, and now it is - four o’clock! You have no one with you now and it would be wise to send - for Mme. Cibot.” - </p> - <p> - “She is capable of anything!” said Pons, without attempting to conceal all - his abhorrence at the sound of her name. “It is true, Schmucke ought to - have some trustworthy person.” - </p> - <p> - “M. Duplanty and I have been thinking about you both—” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! thank you, I had not thought of that.” - </p> - <p> - “—And M. Duplanty suggests that you should have Mme. Cantinet—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! Mme. Cantinet who lets the chairs!” exclaimed Pons. “Yes, she is an - excellent creature.” - </p> - <p> - “She has no liking for Mme. Cibot,” continued the doctor, “and she would - take good care of M. Schmucke—” - </p> - <p> - “Send her to me, M. Duplanty... send her and her husband too. I shall be - easy. Nothing will be stolen here.” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke had taken Pons’ hand again, and held it joyously in his own. Pons - was almost well again, he thought. - </p> - <p> - “Let us go, Monsieur l’Abbe,” said the doctor. “I will send Mme. Cantinet - round at once. I see how it is. She perhaps may not find M. Pons alive.” - </p> - <p> - While the Abbe Duplanty was persuading Pons to engage Mme. Cantinet as his - nurse, Fraisier had sent for her. He had plied the beadle’s wife with - sophistical reasoning and subtlety. It was difficult to resist his - corrupting influence. And as for Mme. Cantinet—a lean, sallow woman, - with large teeth and thin lips—her intelligence, as so often happens - with women of the people, had been blunted by a hard life, till she had - come to look upon the slenderest daily wage as prosperity. She soon - consented to take Mme. Sauvage with her as general servant. - </p> - <p> - Mme. Sauvage had had her instructions already. She had undertaken to weave - a web of iron wire about the two musicians, and to watch them as a spider - watches a fly caught in the toils; and her reward was to be a - tobacconist’s license. Fraisier had found a convenient opportunity of - getting rid of his so-called foster-mother, while he posted her as a - detective and policeman to supervise Mme. Cantinet. As there was a - servant’s bedroom and a little kitchen included in the apartment, La - Sauvage could sleep on a truckle-bed and cook for the German. Dr. Poulain - came with the two women just as Pons drew his last breath. Schmucke was - sitting beside his friend, all unconscious of the crisis, holding the hand - that slowly grew colder in his grasp. He signed to Mme. Cantinet to be - silent; but Mme. Sauvage’s soldierly figure surprised him so much that he - started in spite of himself, a kind of homage to which the virago was - quite accustomed. - </p> - <p> - “M. Duplanty answers for this lady,” whispered Mme. Cantinet by way of - introduction. “She once was cook to a bishop; she is honesty itself; she - will do the cooking.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! you may talk out loud,” wheezed the stalwart dame. “The poor - gentleman is dead.... He has just gone.” - </p> - <p> - A shrill cry broke from Schmucke. He felt Pons’ cold hand stiffening in - his, and sat staring into his friend’s eyes; the look in them would have - driven him mad, if Mme. Sauvage, doubtless accustomed to scenes of this - sort, had not come to the bedside with a mirror which she held over the - lips of the dead. When she saw that there was no mist upon the surface, - she briskly snatched Schmucke’s hand away. - </p> - <p> - “Just take away your hand, sir; you may not be able to do it in a little - while. You do not know how the bones harden. A corpse grows cold very - quickly. If you do not lay out a body while it is warm, you have to break - the joints later on....” - </p> - <p> - And so it was this terrible woman who closed the poor dead musician’s - eyes. - </p> - <p> - With a business-like dexterity acquired in ten years of experience, she - stripped and straightened the body, laid the arms by the sides, and - covered the face with the bedclothes, exactly as a shopman wraps a parcel. - </p> - <p> - “A sheet will be wanted to lay him out.—Where is there a sheet?” she - demanded, turning on the terror-stricken Schmucke. - </p> - <p> - He had watched the religious ritual with its deep reverence for the - creature made for such high destinies in heaven; and now he saw his dead - friend treated simply as a thing in this packing process—saw with - the sharp pain that dissolves the very elements of thought. - </p> - <p> - “Do as you vill——” he answered mechanically. The innocent - creature for the first time in his life had seen a man die, and that man - was Pons, his only friend, the one human being who understood him and - loved him. - </p> - <p> - “I will go and ask Mme. Cibot where the sheets are kept,” said La Sauvage. - </p> - <p> - “A truckle-bed will be wanted for the person to sleep upon,” Mme. Cantinet - came to tell Schmucke. - </p> - <p> - Schmucke nodded and broke out into weeping. Mme. Cantinet left the unhappy - man in peace; but an hour later she came back to say: - </p> - <p> - “Have you any money, sir, to pay for the things?” - </p> - <p> - The look that Schmucke gave Mme. Cantinet would have disarmed the fiercest - hate; it was the white, blank, peaked face of death that he turned upon - her, as an explanation that met everything. - </p> - <p> - “Dake it all and leaf me to mein prayers and tears,” he said, and knelt. - </p> - <p> - Mme. Sauvage went to Fraisier with the news of Pons’ death. Fraisier took - a cab and went to the Presidente. To-morrow she must give him the power of - attorney to enable him to act for the heirs. - </p> - <p> - Another hour went by, and Mme. Cantinet came again to Schmucke. - </p> - <p> - “I have been to Mme. Cibot, sir, who knows all about things here,” she - said. “I asked her to tell me where everything is kept. But she almost - jawed me to death with her abuse.... Sir, do listen to me....” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke looked up at the woman, and she went on, innocent of any - barbarous intention, for women of her class are accustomed to take the - worst of moral suffering passively, as a matter of course. - </p> - <p> - “We must have linen for the shroud, sir, we must have money to buy a - truckle-bed for the person to sleep upon, and some things for the kitchen—plates, - and dishes, and glasses, for a priest will be coming to pass the night - here, and the person says that there is absolutely nothing in the - kitchen.” - </p> - <p> - “And what is more, sir, I must have coal and firing if I am to get the - dinner ready,” echoed La Sauvage, “and not a thing can I find. Not that - there is anything so very surprising in that, as La Cibot used to do - everything for you—” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke lay at the feet of the dead; he heard nothing, knew nothing, saw - nothing. Mme. Cantinet pointed to him. “My dear woman, you would not - believe me,” she said. “Whatever you say, he does not answer.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well, child,” said La Sauvage; “now I will show you what to do in a - case of this kind.” - </p> - <p> - She looked round the room as a thief looks in search of possible - hiding-places for money; then she went straight to Pons’ chest, opened the - first drawer, saw the bag in which Schmucke had put the rest of the money - after the sale of the pictures, and held it up before him. He nodded - mechanically. - </p> - <p> - “Here is money, child,” said La Sauvage, turning to Mme. Cantinet. “I will - count it first and take enough to buy everything we want—wine, - provisions, wax-candles, all sorts of things, in fact, for there is - nothing in the house.... Just look in the drawers for a sheet to bury him - in. I certainly was told that the poor gentleman was simple, but I don’t - know what he is; he is worse. He is like a new-born child; we shall have - to feed him with a funnel.” - </p> - <p> - The women went about their work, and Schmucke looked on precisely as an - idiot might have done. Broken down with sorrow, wholly absorbed, in a - half-cataleptic state, he could not take his eyes from the face that - seemed to fascinate him, Pons’ face refined by the absolute repose of - Death. Schmucke hoped to die; everything was alike indifferent. If the - room had been on fire he would not have stirred. - </p> - <p> - “There are twelve hundred and fifty francs here,” La Sauvage told him. - </p> - <p> - Schmucke shrugged his shoulders. - </p> - <p> - But when La Sauvage came near to measure the body by laying the sheet over - it, before cutting out the shroud, a horrible struggle ensued between her - and the poor German. Schmucke was furious. He behaved like a dog that - watches by his dead master’s body, and shows his teeth at all who try to - touch it. La Sauvage grew impatient. She grasped him, set him in the - armchair, and held him down with herculean strength. - </p> - <p> - “Go on, child; sew him in his shroud,” she said, turning to Mme. Cantinet. - </p> - <p> - As soon as this operation was completed, La Sauvage set Schmucke back in - his place at the foot of the bed. - </p> - <p> - “Do you understand?” said she. “The poor dead man lying there must be done - up, there is no help for it.” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke began to cry. The women left him and took possession of the - kitchen, whither they brought all the necessaries in a very short time. La - Sauvage made out a preliminary statement accounting for three hundred and - sixty francs, and then proceeded to prepare a dinner for four persons. And - what a dinner! A fat goose (the cobbler’s pheasant) by way of a - substantial roast, an omelette with preserves, a salad, and the inevitable - broth—the quantities of the ingredients for this last being so - excessive that the soup was more like a strong meat-jelly. - </p> - <p> - At nine o’clock the priest, sent by the curate to watch by the dead, came - in with Cantinet, who brought four tall wax candles and some tapers. In - the death-chamber Schmucke was lying with his arms about the body of his - friend, holding him in a tight clasp; nothing but the authority of - religion availed to separate him from his dead. Then the priest settled - himself comfortably in the easy-chair and read his prayers while Schmucke, - kneeling beside the couch, besought God to work a miracle and unite him to - Pons, so that they might be buried in the same grave; and Mme. Cantinet - went on her way to the Temple to buy a pallet and complete bedding for - Mme. Sauvage. The twelve hundred and fifty francs were regarded as - plunder. At eleven o’clock Mme. Cantinet came in to ask if Schmucke would - not eat a morsel, but with a gesture he signified that he wished to be - left in peace. - </p> - <p> - “Your supper is ready, M. Pastelot,” she said, addressing the priest, and - they went. - </p> - <p> - Schmucke, left alone in the room, smiled to himself like a madman free at - last to gratify a desire like the longing of pregnancy. He flung himself - down beside Pons, and yet again he held his friend in a long, close - embrace. At midnight the priest came back and scolded him, and Schmucke - returned to his prayers. At daybreak the priest went, and at seven o’clock - in the morning the doctor came to see Schmucke, and spoke kindly and tried - hard to persuade him to eat, but the German refused. - </p> - <p> - “If you do not eat now you will feel very hungry when you come back,” the - doctor told him, “for you must go to the mayor’s office and take a witness - with you, so that the registrar may issue a certificate of death.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>I</i> must go!” cried Schmucke in frightened tones. - </p> - <p> - “Who else?... You must go, for you were the one person who saw him die.” - </p> - <p> - “Mein legs vill nicht carry me,” pleaded Schmucke, imploring the doctor to - come to the rescue. - </p> - <p> - “Take a cab,” the hypocritical doctor blandly suggested. “I have given - notice already. Ask some one in the house to go with you. The two women - will look after the place while you are away.” - </p> - <p> - No one imagines how the requirements of the law jar upon a heartfelt - sorrow. The thought of it is enough to make one turn from civilization and - choose rather the customs of the savage. At nine o’clock that morning Mme. - Sauvage half-carried Schmucke downstairs, and from the cab he was obliged - to beg Remonencq to come with him to the registrar as a second witness. - Here in Paris, in this land of ours besotted with Equality, the inequality - of conditions is glaringly apparent everywhere and in everything. The - immutable tendency of things peeps out even in the practical aspects of - Death. In well-to-do families, a relative, a friend, or a man of business - spares the mourners these painful details; but in this, as in the matter - of taxation, the whole burden falls heaviest upon the shoulders of the - poor. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! you have good reason to regret him,” said Remonencq in answer to the - poor martyr’s moan; “he was a very good, a very honest man, and he has - left a fine collection behind him. But being a foreigner, sir, do you know - that you are like to find yourself in a great predicament—for - everybody says that M. Pons left everything to you?” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke was not listening. He was sounding the dark depths of sorrow that - border upon madness. There is such a thing as tetanus of the soul. - </p> - <p> - “And you would do well to find some one—some man of business—to - advise you and act for you,” pursued Remonencq. - </p> - <p> - “Ein mann of pizness!” echoed Schmucke. - </p> - <p> - “You will find that you will want some one to act for you. If I were you, - I should take an experienced man, somebody well known to you in the - quarter, a man you can trust.... I always go to Tabareau myself for my - bits of affairs—he is the bailiff. If you give his clerk power to - act for you, you need not trouble yourself any further.” - </p> - <p> - Remonencq and La Cibot, prompted by Fraisier, had agreed beforehand to - make a suggestion which stuck in Schmucke’s memory; for there are times in - our lives when grief, as it were, congeals the mind by arresting all its - functions, and any chance impression made at such moments is retained by a - frost-bound memory. Schmucke heard his companion with such a fixed, - mindless stare, that Remonencq said no more. - </p> - <p> - “If he is always to be idiotic like this,” thought Remonencq, “I might - easily buy the whole bag of tricks up yonder for a hundred thousand - francs; if it is really his.... Here we are at the mayor’s office, sir.” - </p> - <p> - Remonencq was obliged to take Schmucke out of the cab and to half-carry - him to the registrar’s department, where a wedding-party was assembled. - Here they had to wait for their turn, for, by no very uncommon chance, the - clerk had five or six certificates to make out that morning; and here it - was appointed that poor Schmucke should suffer excruciating anguish. - </p> - <p> - “Monsieur is M. Schmucke?” remarked a person in a suit of black, reducing - Schmucke to stupefaction by the mention of his name. He looked up with the - same blank, unseeing eyes that he had turned upon Remonencq, who now - interposed. - </p> - <p> - “What do you want with him?” he said. “Just leave him in peace; you can - plainly see that he is in trouble.” - </p> - <p> - “The gentleman has just lost his friend, and proposes, no doubt, to do - honor to his memory, being, as he is, the sole heir. The gentleman, no - doubt, will not haggle over it, he will buy a piece of ground outright for - a grave. And as M. Pons was such a lover of the arts, it would be a great - pity not to put Music, Painting, and Sculpture on his tomb—three - handsome full-length figures, weeping—” - </p> - <p> - Remonencq waved the speaker away, in Auvergnat fashion, but the man - replied with another gesture, which being interpreted means “Don’t spoil - sport”; a piece of commercial free-masonry, as it were, which the dealer - understood. - </p> - <p> - “I represent the firm of Sonet and Company, monumental stone-masons; Sir - Walter Scott would have dubbed me <i>Young Mortality</i>,” continued this - person. “If you, sir, should decide to intrust your orders to us, we would - spare you the trouble of the journey to purchase the ground necessary for - the interment of a friend lost to the arts—” - </p> - <p> - At this Remonencq nodded assent, and jogged Schmucke’s elbow. - </p> - <p> - “Every day we receive orders from families to arrange all formalities,” - continued he of the black coat, thus encouraged by Remonencq. “In the - first moment of bereavement, the heir-at-law finds it very difficult to - attend to such matters, and we are accustomed to perform these little - services for our clients. Our charges, sir, are on a fixed scale, so much - per foot, freestone or marble. Family vaults a specialty.—We - undertake everything at the most moderate prices. Our firm executed the - magnificent monument erected to the fair Esther Gobseck and Lucien de - Rubempre, one of the finest ornaments of Pere-Lachaise. We only employ the - best workmen, and I must warn you, sir, against small contractors—who - turn out nothing but trash,” he added, seeing that another person in a - black suit was coming up to say a word for another firm of marble-workers. - </p> - <p> - It is often said that “death is the end of a journey,” but the aptness of - the simile is realized most fully in Paris. Any arrival, especially of a - person of condition, upon the “dark brink,” is hailed in much the same way - as the traveler recently landed is hailed by hotel touts and pestered with - their recommendations. With the exception of a few philosophically-minded - persons, or here and there a family secure of handing down a name to - posterity, nobody thinks beforehand of the practical aspects of death. - Death always comes before he is expected; and, from a sentiment easy to - understand, the heirs usually act as if the event were impossible. For - which reason, almost every one that loses father or mother, wife or child, - is immediately beset by scouts that profit by the confusion caused by - grief to snare others. In former days, agents for monuments used to live - round about the famous cemetery of Pere-Lachaise, and were gathered - together in a single thoroughfare, which should by rights have been called - the Street of Tombs; issuing thence, they fell upon the relatives of the - dead as they came from the cemetery, or even at the grave-side. But - competition and the spirit of speculation induced them to spread - themselves further and further afield, till descending into Paris itself - they reached the very precincts of the mayor’s office. Indeed, the - stone-mason’s agent has often been known to invade the house of mourning - with a design for the sepulchre in his hand. - </p> - <p> - “I am in treaty with this gentleman,” said the representative of the firm - of Sonet to another agent who came up. - </p> - <p> - “Pons deceased!...” called the clerk at this moment. “Where are the - witnesses?” - </p> - <p> - “This way, sir,” said the stone-mason’s agent, this time addressing - Remonencq. - </p> - <p> - Schmucke stayed where he had been placed on the bench, an inert mass. - Remonencq begged the agent to help him, and together they pulled Schmucke - towards the balustrade, behind which the registrar shelters himself from - the mourning public. Remonencq, Schmucke’s Providence, was assisted by Dr. - Poulain, who filled in the necessary information as to Pons’ age and - birthplace; the German knew but one thing—that Pons was his friend. - So soon as the signatures were affixed, Remonencq and the doctor (followed - by the stone-mason’s man), put Schmucke into a cab, the desperate agent - whisking in afterwards, bent upon taking a definite order. - </p> - <p> - La Sauvage, on the lookout in the gateway, half-carried Schmucke’s almost - unconscious form upstairs. Remonencq and the agent went up with her. - </p> - <p> - “He will be ill!” exclaimed the agent, anxious to make an end of the piece - of business which, according to him, was in progress. - </p> - <p> - “I should think he will!” returned Mme. Sauvage. “He has been crying for - twenty-four hours on end, and he would not take anything. There is nothing - like grief for giving one a sinking in the stomach.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear client,” urged the representative of the firm of Sonet, “do take - some broth. You have so much to do; some one must go to the Hotel de Ville - to buy the ground in the cemetery on which you mean to erect a monument to - perpetuate the memory of the friend of the arts, and bear record to your - gratitude.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, there is no sense in this!” added Mme. Cantinet, coming in with - broth and bread. - </p> - <p> - “If you are as weak as this, you ought to think of finding some one to act - for you,” added Remonencq, “for you have a good deal on your hands, my - dear sir. There is the funeral to order. You would not have your friend - buried like a pauper!” - </p> - <p> - “Come, come, my dear sir,” put in La Sauvage, seizing a moment when - Schmucke laid his head back in the great chair to pour a spoonful of soup - into his mouth. She fed him as if he had been a child, and almost in spite - of himself. - </p> - <p> - “Now, if you were wise, sir, since you are inclined to give yourself up - quietly to grief, you would find some one to act for you—” - </p> - <p> - “As you are thinking of raising a magnificent monument to the memory of - your friend, sir, you have only to leave it all to me; I will undertake—” - </p> - <p> - “What is all this? What is all this?” asked La Sauvage. “Has M. Schmucke - ordered something? Who may you be?” - </p> - <p> - “I represent the firm of Sonet, my dear madame, the biggest monumental - stone-masons in Paris,” said the person in black, handing a business-card - to the stalwart Sauvage. - </p> - <p> - “Very well, that will do. Some one will go with you when the time comes; - but you must not take advantage of the gentleman’s condition now. You can - quite see that he is not himself——” - </p> - <p> - The agent led her out upon the landing. - </p> - <p> - “If you will undertake to get the order for us,” he said confidentially, - “I am empowered to offer you forty francs.” - </p> - <p> - Mme. Sauvage grew placable. “Very well, let me have your address,” said - she. - </p> - <p> - Schmucke meantime being left to himself, and feeling the stronger for the - soup and bread that he had been forced to swallow, returned at once to - Pons’ rooms, and to his prayers. He had lost himself in the fathomless - depths of sorrow, when a voice sounding in his ears drew him back from the - abyss of grief, and a young man in a suit of black returned for the - eleventh time to the charge, pulling the poor, tortured victim’s - coatsleeve until he listened. - </p> - <p> - “Sir!” said he. - </p> - <p> - “Vat ees it now?” - </p> - <p> - “Sir! we owe a supreme discovery to Dr. Gannal; we do not dispute his - fame; he has worked miracles of Egypt afresh; but there have been - improvements made upon his system. We have obtained surprising results. - So, if you would like to see your friend again, as he was when he was - alive—” - </p> - <p> - “See him again!” cried Schmucke. “Shall he speak to me?” - </p> - <p> - “Not exactly. Speech is the only thing wanting,” continued the embalmer’s - agent. “But he will remain as he is after embalming for all eternity. The - operation is over in a few seconds. Just an incision in the carotid artery - and an injection.—But it is high time; if you wait one single - quarter of an hour, sir, you will not have the sweet satisfaction of - preserving the body....” - </p> - <p> - “Go to der teufel!... Bons is ein spirit—und dat spirit is in hefn.” - </p> - <p> - “That man has no gratitude in his composition,” remarked the youthful - agent of one of the famous Gannal’s rivals; “he will not embalm his - friend.” - </p> - <p> - The words were spoken under the archway, and addressed to La Cibot, who - had just submitted her beloved to the process. - </p> - <p> - “What would you have, sir!” she said. “He is the heir, the universal - legatee. As soon as they get what they want, the dead are nothing to - them.” - </p> - <p> - An hour later, Schmucke saw Mme. Sauvage come into the room, followed by - another man in a suit of black, a workman, to all appearance. - </p> - <p> - “Cantinet has been so obliging as to send this gentleman, sir,” she said; - “he is coffin-maker to the parish.” - </p> - <p> - The coffin-maker made his bow with a sympathetic and compassionate air, - but none the less he had a business-like look, and seemed to know that he - was indispensable. He turned an expert’s eye upon the dead. - </p> - <p> - “How does the gentleman wish ‘it’ to be made? Deal, plain oak, or oak - lead-lined? Oak with a lead lining is the best style. The body is a stock - size,”—he felt for the feet, and proceeded to take the measure—“one - metre seventy!” he added. “You will be thinking of ordering the funeral - service at the church, sir, no doubt?” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke looked at him as a dangerous madman might look before striking a - blow. La Sauvage put in a word. - </p> - <p> - “You ought to find somebody to look after all these things,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “Yes——” the victim murmured at length. - </p> - <p> - “Shall I fetch M. Tabareau?—for you will have a good deal on your - hands before long. M. Tabareau is the most honest man in the quarter, you - see.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. Mennesir Dapareau! Somepody vas speaking of him chust now—” - said Schmucke, completely beaten. - </p> - <p> - “Very well. You can be quiet, sir, and give yourself up to grief, when you - have seen your deputy.” - </p> - <p> - It was nearly two o’clock when M. Tabareau’s head-clerk, a young man who - aimed at a bailiff’s career, modestly presented himself. Youth has - wonderful privileges; no one is alarmed by youth. This young man Villemot - by name, sat down by Schmucke’s side and waited his opportunity to speak. - His diffidence touched Schmucke very much. - </p> - <p> - “I am M. Tabareau’s head-clerk, sir,” he said; “he sent me here to take - charge of your interests, and to superintend the funeral arrangements. Is - this your wish?” - </p> - <p> - “You cannot safe my life, I haf not long to lif; but you vill leaf me in - beace!” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! you shall not be disturbed,” said Villemot. - </p> - <p> - “Ver’ goot. Vat must I do for dat?” - </p> - <p> - “Sign this paper appointing M. Tabareau to act for you in all matters - relating to the settlement of the affairs of the deceased.” - </p> - <p> - “Goot! gif it to me,” said Schmucke, anxious only to sign it at once. - </p> - <p> - “No, I must read it over to you first.” - </p> - <p> - “Read it ofer.” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke paid not the slightest attention to the reading of the power of - attorney, but he set his name to it. The young clerk took Schmucke’s - orders for the funeral, the interment, and the burial service; undertaking - that he should not be troubled again in any way, nor asked for money. - </p> - <p> - “I vould gif all dat I haf to be left in beace,” said the unhappy man. And - once more he knelt beside the dead body of his friend. - </p> - <p> - Fraisier had triumphed. Villemot and La Sauvage completed the circle which - he had traced about Pons’ heir. - </p> - <p> - There is no sorrow that sleep cannot overcome. Towards the end of the day - La Sauvage, coming in, found Schmucke stretched asleep at the bed-foot. - She carried him off, put him to bed, tucked him in maternally, and till - the morning Schmucke slept. - </p> - <p> - When he awoke, or rather when the truce was over and he again became - conscious of his sorrows, Pons’ coffin lay under the gateway in such a - state as a third-class funeral may claim, and Schmucke, seeking vainly for - his friend, wandered from room to room, across vast spaces, as it seemed - to him, empty of everything save hideous memories. La Sauvage took him in - hand, much as a nurse manages a child; she made him take his breakfast - before starting for the church; and while the poor sufferer forced himself - to eat, she discovered, with lamentations worthy of Jeremiah, that he had - not a black coat in his possession. La Cibot took entire charge of his - wardrobe; since Pons fell ill, his apparel, like his dinner, had been - reduced to the lowest terms—to a couple of coats and two pairs of - trousers. - </p> - <p> - “And you are going just as you are to M. Pons’ funeral? It is an - unheard-of thing; the whole quarter will cry shame upon us!” - </p> - <p> - “Und how vill you dat I go?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, in mourning—” - </p> - <p> - “Mourning!” - </p> - <p> - “It is the proper thing.” - </p> - <p> - “Der bropper ding!... Confound all dis stupid nonsense!” cried poor - Schmucke, driven to the last degree of exasperation which a childlike soul - can reach under stress of sorrow. - </p> - <p> - “Why, the man is a monster of ingratitude!” said La Sauvage, turning to a - personage who just then appeared. At the sight of this functionary - Schmucke shuddered. The newcomer wore a splendid suit of black, black - knee-breeches, black silk stockings, a pair of white cuffs, an extremely - correct white muslin tie, and white gloves. A silver chain with a coin - attached ornamented his person. A typical official, stamped with the - official expression of decorous gloom, an ebony wand in his hand by way of - insignia of office, he stood waiting with a three-cornered hat adorned - with the tricolor cockade under his arm. - </p> - <p> - “I am the master of the ceremonies,” this person remarked in a subdued - voice. - </p> - <p> - Accustomed daily to superintend funerals, to move among families plunged - in one and the same kind of tribulation, real or feigned, this man, like - the rest of his fraternity, spoke in hushed and soothing tones; he was - decorous, polished, and formal, like an allegorical stone figure of Death. - </p> - <p> - Schmucke quivered through every nerve as if he were confronting his - executioner. - </p> - <p> - “Is this gentleman the son, brother, or father of the deceased?” inquired - the official. - </p> - <p> - “I am all dat and more pesides—I am his friend,” said Schmucke - through a torrent of weeping. - </p> - <p> - “Are you his heir?” - </p> - <p> - “Heir?...” repeated Schmucke. “Noding matters to me more in dis vorld,” - returning to his attitude of hopeless sorrow. - </p> - <p> - “Where are the relatives, the friends?” asked the master of the - ceremonies. - </p> - <p> - “All here!” exclaimed the German, indicating the pictures and rarities. - “Not von of dem haf efer gifn bain to mein boor Bons.... Here ees - everydings dot he lofed, after me.” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke had taken his seat again, and looked as vacant as before; he - dried his eyes mechanically. Villemot came up at that moment; he had - ordered the funeral, and the master of the ceremonies, recognizing him, - made an appeal to the newcomer. - </p> - <p> - “Well, sir, it is time to start. The hearse is here; but I have not often - seen such a funeral as this. Where are the relatives and friends?” - </p> - <p> - “We have been pressed for time,” replied Villemot. “This gentleman was in - such deep grief that he could think of nothing. And there is only one - relative.” - </p> - <p> - The master of the ceremonies looked compassionately at Schmucke; this - expert in sorrow knew real grief when he saw it. He went across to him. - </p> - <p> - “Come, take heart, my dear sir. Think of paying honor to your friend’s - memory.” - </p> - <p> - “We forgot to send out cards; but I took care to send a special message to - M. le Presidente de Marville, the one relative that I mentioned to you.—There - are no friends.—M. Pons was conductor of an orchestra at a theatre, - but I do not think that any one will come.—This gentleman is the - universal legatee, I believe.” - </p> - <p> - “Then he ought to be chief mourner,” said the master of the ceremonies.—“Have - you a black coat?” he continued, noticing Schmucke’s costume. - </p> - <p> - “I am all in plack insite!” poor Schmucke replied in heartrending tones; - “so plack it is dot I feel death in me.... Gott in hefn is going to haf - pity upon me; He vill send me to mein friend in der grafe, und I dank Him - for it—” - </p> - <p> - He clasped his hands. - </p> - <p> - “I have told our management before now that we ought to have a wardrobe - department and lend the proper mourning costumes on hire,” said the master - of the ceremonies, addressing Villemot; “it is a want that is more and - more felt every day, and we have even now introduced improvements. But as - this gentleman is chief mourner, he ought to wear a cloak, and this one - that I have brought with me will cover him from head to foot; no one need - know that he is not in proper mourning costume.—Will you be so kind - as to rise?” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke rose, but he tottered on his feet. - </p> - <p> - “Support him,” said the master of the ceremonies, turning to Villemot; - “you are his legal representative.” - </p> - <p> - Villemot held Schmucke’s arm while the master of the ceremonies invested - Schmucke with the ample, dismal-looking garment worn by heirs-at-law in - the procession to and from the house and the church. He tied the black - silken cords under the chin, and Schmucke as heir was in “full dress.” - </p> - <p> - “And now comes a great difficulty,” continued the master of the - ceremonies; “we want four bearers for the pall.... If nobody comes to the - funeral, who is to fill the corners? It is half-past ten already,” he - added, looking at his watch; “they are waiting for us at the church.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! here comes Fraisier!” Villemot exclaimed, very imprudently; but there - was no one to hear the tacit confession of complicity. - </p> - <p> - “Who is this gentleman?” inquired the master of the ceremonies. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! he comes on behalf of the family.” - </p> - <p> - “Whose family?” - </p> - <p> - “The disinherited family. He is M. Camusot de Marville’s representative.” - </p> - <p> - “Good,” said the master of the ceremonies, with a satisfied air. “We shall - have two pall-bearers at any rate—you and he.” - </p> - <p> - And, happy to find two of the places filled up, he took out some wonderful - white buckskin gloves, and politely presented Fraisier and Villemot with a - pair apiece. - </p> - <p> - “If you gentlemen will be so good as to act as pall-bearers—” said - he. - </p> - <p> - Fraisier, in black from head to foot, pretentiously dressed, with his - white tie and official air, was a sight to shudder at; he embodied a - hundred briefs. - </p> - <p> - “Willingly, sir,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “If only two more persons will come, the four corners will be filled up,” - said the master of the ceremonies. - </p> - <p> - At that very moment the indefatigable representative of the firm of Sonet - came up, and, closely following him, the man who remembered Pons and - thought of paying him a last tribute of respect. This was a supernumerary - at the theatre, the man who put out the scores on the music-stands for the - orchestra. Pons had been wont to give him a five-franc piece once a month, - knowing that he had a wife and family. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Dobinard (Topinard)!” Schmucke cried out at the sight of him, “<i>you</i> - love Bons!” - </p> - <p> - “Why, I have come to ask news of M. Pons every morning, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Efery morning! boor Dobinard!” and Schmucke squeezed the man’s hand. - </p> - <p> - “But they took me for a relation, no doubt, and did not like my visits at - all. I told them that I belonged to the theatre and came to inquire after - M. Pons; but it was no good. They saw through that dodge, they said. I - asked to see the poor dear man, but they never would let me come - upstairs.” - </p> - <p> - “Dat apominable Zipod!” said Schmucke, squeezing Topinard’s horny hand to - his heart. - </p> - <p> - “He was the best of men, that good M. Pons. Every month he use to give me - five francs.... He knew that I had three children and a wife. My wife has - gone to the church.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall difide mein pread mit you,” cried Schmucke, in his joy at finding - at his side some one who loved Pons. - </p> - <p> - “If this gentleman will take a corner of the pall, we shall have all four - filled up,” said the master of the ceremonies. - </p> - <p> - There had been no difficulty over persuading the agent for monuments. He - took a corner the more readily when he was shown the handsome pair of - gloves which, according to custom, was to be his property. - </p> - <p> - “A quarter to eleven! We absolutely must go down. They are waiting for us - at the church.” - </p> - <p> - The six persons thus assembled went down the staircase. - </p> - <p> - The cold-blooded lawyer remained a moment to speak to the two women on the - landing. “Stop here, and let nobody come in,” he said, “especially if you - wish to remain in charge, Mme. Cantinet. Aha! two francs a day, you know!” - </p> - <p> - By a coincidence in nowise extraordinary in Paris, two hearses were - waiting at the door, and two coffins standing under the archway; Cibot’s - funeral and the solitary state in which Pons was lying was made even more - striking in the street. Schmucke was the only mourner that followed Pons’ - coffin; Schmucke, supported by one of the undertaker’s men, for he - tottered at every step. From the Rue de Normandie to the Rue d’Orleans and - the Church of Saint-Francois the two funerals went between a double row of - curious onlookers for everything (as was said before) makes a sensation in - the quarter. Every one remarked the splendor of the white funeral car, - with a big embroidered P suspended on a hatchment, and the one solitary - mourner behind it; while the cheap bier that came after it was followed by - an immense crowd. Happily, Schmucke was so bewildered by the throng of - idlers and the rows of heads in the windows, that he heard no remarks and - only saw the faces through a mist of tears. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it is the nutcracker!” said one, “the musician, you know—” - </p> - <p> - “Who can the pall-bearers be?” - </p> - <p> - “Pooh! play-actors.” - </p> - <p> - “I say, just look at poor old Cibot’s funeral. There is one worker the - less. What a man! he could never get enough of work!” - </p> - <p> - “He never went out.” - </p> - <p> - “He never kept Saint Monday.” - </p> - <p> - “How fond he was of his wife!” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! There is an unhappy woman!” - </p> - <p> - Remonencq walked behind his victim’s coffin. People condoled with him on - the loss of his neighbor. - </p> - <p> - The two funerals reached the church. Cantinet and the doorkeeper saw that - no beggars troubled Schmucke. Villemot had given his word that Pons’ heir - should be left in peace; he watched over his client, and gave the - requisite sums; and Cibot’s humble bier, escorted by sixty or eighty - persons, drew all the crowd after it to the cemetery. At the church door - Pons’ funeral possession mustered four mourning-coaches, one for the - priest and three for the relations; but one only was required, for the - representative of the firm of Sonet departed during mass to give notice to - his principal that the funeral was on the way, so that the design for the - monument might be ready for the survivor at the gates of the cemetery. A - single coach sufficed for Fraisier, Villemot, Schmucke, and Topinard; but - the remaining two, instead of returning to the undertaker, followed in the - procession to Pere-Lachaise—a useless procession, not unfrequently - seen; there are always too many coaches when the dead are unknown beyond - their own circle and there is no crowd at the funeral. Dear, indeed, the - dead must have been in their lifetime if relative or friend will go with - them so far as the cemetery in this Paris, where every one would fain have - twenty-five hours in the day. But with the coachmen it is different; they - lose their tips if they do not make the journey; so, empty or full, the - mourning coaches go to the church and cemetery and return to the house for - gratuities. A death is a sort of drinking-fountain for an unimagined crowd - of thirsty mortals. The attendants at the church, the poor, the - undertaker’s men, the drivers and sextons, are creatures like sponges that - dip into a hearse and come out again saturated. - </p> - <p> - From the church door, where he was beset with a swarm of beggars (promptly - dispersed by the beadle), to Pere-Lachaise, poor Schmucke went as - criminals went in old times from the Palais de Justice to the Place de - Greve. It was his own funeral that he followed, clinging to Topinard’s - hand, to the one living creature besides himself who felt a pang of real - regret for Pons’ death. - </p> - <p> - As for Topinard, greatly touched by the honor of the request to act as - pall-bearer, content to drive in a carriage, the possessor of a new pair - of gloves,—it began to dawn upon him that this was to be one of the - great days of his life. Schmucke was driven passively along the road, as - some unlucky calf is driven in a butcher’s cart to the slaughter-house. - Fraisier and Villemot sat with their backs to the horses. Now, as those - know whose sad fortune it has been to accompany many of their friends to - their last resting-place, all hypocrisy breaks down in the coach during - the journey (often a very long one) from the church to the eastern - cemetery, to that one of the burying-grounds of Paris in which all - vanities, all kinds of display, are met, so rich is it in sumptuous - monuments. On these occasions those who feel least begin to talk soonest, - and in the end the saddest listen, and their thoughts are diverted. - </p> - <p> - “M. le President had already started for the Court.” Fraisier told - Villemot, “and I did not think it necessary to tear him away from - business; he would have come too late, in any case. He is the next-of-kin; - but as he has been disinherited, and M. Schmucke gets everything, I - thought that if his legal representative were present it would be enough.” - </p> - <p> - Topinard lent an ear to this. - </p> - <p> - “Who was the queer customer that took the fourth corner?” continued - Fraisier. - </p> - <p> - “He is an agent for a firm of monumental stone-masons. He would like an - order for a tomb, on which he proposes to put three sculptured marble - figures—Music, Painting, and Sculpture shedding tears over the - deceased.” - </p> - <p> - “It is an idea,” said Fraisier; “the old gentleman certainly deserved that - much; but the monument would cost seven or eight hundred francs.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! quite that!” - </p> - <p> - “If M. Schmucke gives the order, it cannot affect the estate. You might - eat up a whole property with such expenses.” - </p> - <p> - “There would be a lawsuit, but you would gain it—” - </p> - <p> - “Very well,” said Fraisier, “then it will be his affair.—It would be - a nice practical joke to play upon the monument-makers,” Fraisier added in - Villemot’s ear; “for if the will is upset (and I can answer for that), or - if there is no will at all, who would pay them?” - </p> - <p> - Villemot grinned like a monkey, and the pair began to talk confidentially, - lowering their voices; but the man from the theatre, with his wits and - senses sharpened in the world behind the scenes, could guess at the nature - of their discourse; in spite of the rumbling of the carriage and other - hindrances, he began to understand that these representatives of justice - were scheming to plunge poor Schmucke into difficulties; and when at last - he heard the ominous word “Clichy,” the honest and loyal servitor of the - stage made up his mind to watch over Pons’ friend. - </p> - <p> - At the cemetery, where three square yards of ground had been purchased - through the good offices of the firm of Sonet (Villemot having announced - Schmucke’s intention of erecting a magnificent monument), the master of - ceremonies led Schmucke through a curious crowd to the grave into which - Pons’ coffin was about to be lowered; but here, at the sight of the square - hole, the four men waiting with ropes to lower the bier, and the clergy - saying the last prayer for the dead at the grave-side, something clutched - tightly at the German’s heart. He fainted away. - </p> - <p> - Sonet’s agent and M. Sonet himself came to help Topinard to carry poor - Schmucke into the marble-works hard by, where Mme. Sonet and Mme. Vitelot - (Sonet’s partner’s wife) were eagerly prodigal of efforts to revive him. - Topinard stayed. He had seen Fraisier in conversation with Sonet’s agent, - and Fraisier, in his opinion, had gallows-bird written on his face. - </p> - <p> - An hour later, towards half-past two o’clock, the poor, innocent German - came to himself. Schmucke thought that he had been dreaming for the past - two days; if he could only wake, he should find Pons still alive. So many - wet towels had been laid on his forehead, he had been made to inhale salts - and vinegar to such an extent, that he opened his eyes at last. Mme. Sonet - make him take some meat-soup, for they had put the pot on the fire at the - marble-works. - </p> - <p> - “Our clients do not often take things to heart like this; still, it - happens once in a year or two—” - </p> - <p> - At last Schmucke talked of returning to the Rue de Normandie, and at this - Sonet began at once. - </p> - <p> - “Here is the design, sir,” he said; “Vitelot drew it expressly for you, - and sat up last night to do it.... And he has been happily inspired, it - will look fine—” - </p> - <p> - “One of the finest in Pere-Lachaise!” said the little Mme. Sonet. “But you - really ought to honor the memory of a friend who left you all his - fortune.” - </p> - <p> - The design, supposed to have been drawn on purpose, had, as a matter of - fact, been prepared for de Marsay, the famous cabinet minister. His widow, - however, had given the commission to Stidmann; people were disgusted with - the tawdriness of the project, and it was refused. The three figures at - that period represented the three days of July which brought the eminent - minister to power. Subsequently, Sonet and Vitelot had turned the Three - Glorious Days—“<i>les trois glorieuses</i>”—into the Army, - Finance, and the Family, and sent in the design for the sepulchre of the - late lamented Charles Keller; and here again Stidmann took the commission. - In the eleven years that followed, the sketch had been modified to suit - all kinds of requirements, and now in Vitelot’s fresh tracing they - reappeared as Music, Sculpture, and Painting. - </p> - <p> - “It is a mere trifle when you think of the details and cost of setting it - up; for it will take six months,” said Vitelot. “Here is the estimate and - the order-form—seven thousand francs, sketch in plaster not - included.” - </p> - <p> - “If M. Schmucke would like marble,” put in Sonet (marble being his special - department), “it would cost twelve thousand francs, and monsieur would - immortalize himself as well as his friend.” - </p> - <p> - Topinard turned to Vitelot. - </p> - <p> - “I have just heard that they are going to dispute the will,” he whispered, - “and the relatives are likely to come by their property. Go and speak to - M. Camusot, for this poor, harmless creature has not a farthing.” - </p> - <p> - “This is the kind of customer that you always bring us,” said Mme. - Vitelot, beginning a quarrel with the agent. - </p> - <p> - Topinard led Schmucke away, and they returned home on foot to the Rue de - Normandie, for the mourning-coaches had been sent back. - </p> - <p> - “Do not leaf me,” Schmucke said, when Topinard had seen him safe into Mme. - Sauvage’s hands, and wanted to go. - </p> - <p> - “It is four o’clock, dear M. Schmucke. I must go home to dinner. My wife - is a box-opener—she will not know what has become of me. The theatre - opens at a quarter to six, you know.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I know... but remember dat I am alone in die earth, dat I haf no - friend. You dat haf shed a tear for Bons enliden me; I am in teep - tarkness, und Bons said dat I vas in der midst of shcoundrels.” - </p> - <p> - “I have seen that plainly already; I have just prevented them from sending - you to Clichy.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Gligy!</i>” repeated Schmucke; “I do not understand.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor man! Well, never mind, I will come to you. Good-bye.” - </p> - <p> - “Goot-bye; komm again soon,” said Schmucke, dropping half-dead with - weariness. - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye, mosieu,” said Mme. Sauvage, and there was something in her tone - that struck Topinard. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, come, what is the matter now?” he asked, banteringly. “You are - attitudinizing like a traitor in a melodrama.” - </p> - <p> - “Traitor yourself! Why have you come meddling here? Do you want to have a - hand in the master’s affairs, and swindle him, eh?” - </p> - <p> - “Swindle him!... Your very humble servant!” Topinard answered with superb - disdain. “I am only a poor super at a theatre, but I am something of an - artist, and you may as well know that I never asked anything of anybody - yet! Who asked anything of you? Who owes you anything? eh, old lady!” - </p> - <p> - “You are employed at a theatre, and your name is—?” - </p> - <p> - “Topinard, at your service.” - </p> - <p> - “Kind regards to all at home,” said La Sauvage, “and my compliments to - your missus, if you are married, mister.... That was all I wanted to - know.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, what is the matter, dear?” asked Mme. Cantinet, coming out. - </p> - <p> - “This, child—stop here and look after the dinner while I run round - to speak to monsieur.” - </p> - <p> - “He is down below, talking with poor Mme. Cibot, that is crying her eyes - out,” said Mme. Cantinet. - </p> - <p> - La Sauvage dashed down in such headlong haste that the stairs trembled - beneath her tread. - </p> - <p> - “Monsieur!” she called, and drew him aside a few paces to point out - Topinard. - </p> - <p> - Topinard was just going away, proud at heart to have made some return - already to the man who had done him so many kindnesses. He had saved Pons’ - friend from a trap, by a stratagem from that world behind the scenes in - which every one has more or less ready wit. And within himself he vowed to - protect a musician in his orchestra from future snares set for his simple - sincerity. - </p> - <p> - “Do you see that little wretch?” said La Sauvage. “He is a kind of honest - man that has a mind to poke his nose into M. Schmucke’s affairs.” - </p> - <p> - “Who is he?” asked Fraisier. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! he is a nobody.” - </p> - <p> - “In business there is no such thing as a nobody.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, he is employed at the theatre,” said she; “his name is Topinard.” - </p> - <p> - “Good, Mme. Sauvage! Go on like this, and you shall have your - tobacconist’s shop.” - </p> - <p> - And Fraisier resumed his conversation with Mme. Cibot. - </p> - <p> - “So I say, my dear client, that you have not played openly and above-board - with me, and that one is not bound in any way to a partner who cheats.” - </p> - <p> - “And how have I cheated you?” asked La Cibot, hands on hips. “Do you think - that you will frighten me with your sour looks and your frosty airs? You - look about for bad reasons for breaking your promises, and you call - yourself an honest man! Do you know what you are? You are a blackguard! - Yes! yes! scratch your arm; but just pocket that—” - </p> - <p> - “No words, and keep your temper, dearie. Listen to me. You have been - feathering your nest.... I found this catalogue this morning while we were - getting ready for the funeral; it is all in M. Pons’ handwriting, and made - out in duplicate. And as it chanced, my eyes fell on this—” - </p> - <p> - And opening the catalogue, he read: - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “No. 7. <i>Magnificent portrait painted on marble, by Sebastian del - Piombo, in 1546. Sold by a family who had it removed from Terni - Cathedral. The picture, which represents a Knight-Templar kneeling - in prayer, used to hang above a tomb of the Rossi family with a - companion portrait of a Bishop, afterwards purchased by an - Englishman. The portrait might be attributed to Raphael, but for - the date. This example is, to my mind, superior to the portrait of - Baccio Bandinelli in the Musee; the latter is a little hard, while - the Templar, being painted upon ‘lavagna,’ or slate, has preserved - its freshness of coloring.</i>” - </pre> - <p> - “When I come to look for No. 7,” continued Fraisier, “I find a portrait of - a lady, signed ‘Chardin,’ without a number on it! I went through the - pictures with the catalogue while the master of ceremonies was making up - the number of pall-bearers, and found that eight of those indicated as - works of capital importance by M. Pons had disappeared, and eight - paintings of no special merit, and without numbers, were there instead.... - And finally, one was missing altogether, a little panel-painting by Metzu, - described in the catalogue as a masterpiece.” - </p> - <p> - “And was <i>I</i> in charge of the pictures?” demanded La Cibot. - </p> - <p> - “No; but you were in a position of trust. You were M. Pons’ housekeeper, - you looked after his affairs, and he has been robbed—” - </p> - <p> - “Robbed! Let me tell you this, sir: M. Schmucke sold the pictures, by M. - Pons’ orders, to meet expenses.” - </p> - <p> - “And to whom?” - </p> - <p> - “To Messrs. Elie Magus and Remonencq.” - </p> - <p> - “For how much?” - </p> - <p> - “I am sure I do not remember.” - </p> - <p> - “Look here, my dear madame; you have been feathering your nest, and very - snugly. I shall keep an eye upon you; I have you safe. Help me, I will say - nothing! In any case, you know that since you deemed it expedient to - plunder M. le President Camusot, you ought not to expect anything from <i>him</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “I was sure that this would all end in smoke, for me,” said La Cibot, - mollified by the words “I will say nothing.” - </p> - <p> - Remonencq chimed in at this point. - </p> - <p> - “Here are you finding fault with Mme. Cibot; that is not right!” he said. - “The pictures were sold by private treaty between M. Pons, M. Magus, and - me. We waited for three days before we came to terms with the deceased; he - slept on his pictures. We took receipts in proper form; and if we gave - Madame Cibot a few forty-franc pieces, it is the custom of the trade—we - always do so in private houses when we conclude a bargain. Ah! my dear - sir, if you think to cheat a defenceless woman, you will not make a good - bargain! Do you understand, master lawyer?—M. Magus rules the - market, and if you do not come down off the high horse, if you do not keep - your word to Mme. Cibot, I shall wait till the collection is sold, and you - shall see what you will lose if you have M. Magus and me against you; we - can get the dealers in a ring. Instead of realizing seven or eight hundred - thousand francs, you will not so much as make two hundred thousand.” - </p> - <p> - “Good, good, we shall see. We are not going to sell; or if we do, it will - be in London.” - </p> - <p> - “We know London,” said Remonencq. “M. Magus is as powerful there as at - Paris.” - </p> - <p> - “Good-day, madame; I shall sift these matters to the bottom,” said - Fraisier—“unless you continue to do as I tell you” he added. - </p> - <p> - “You little pickpocket!—” - </p> - <p> - “Take care! I shall be a justice of the peace before long.” And with - threats understood to the full upon either side, they separated. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, Remonencq!” said La Cibot; “it is very pleasant to a poor - widow to find a champion.” - </p> - <p> - Towards ten o’clock that evening, Gaudissart sent for Topinard. The - manager was standing with his back to the fire, in a Napoleonic attitude—a - trick which he had learned since be began to command his army of actors, - dancers, <i>figurants</i>, musicians, and stage carpenters. He grasped his - left-hand brace with his right hand, always thrust into his waistcoat; the - head was flung far back, his eyes gazed out into space. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! I say, Topinard, have you independent means?” - </p> - <p> - “No, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Are you on the lookout to better yourself somewhere else?” - </p> - <p> - “No, sir—” said Topinard, with a ghastly countenance. - </p> - <p> - “Why, hang it all, your wife takes the first row of boxes out of respect - to my predecessor, who came to grief; I gave you the job of cleaning the - lamps in the wings in the daytime, and you put out the scores. And that is - not all, either. You get twenty sous for acting monsters and managing - devils when a hell is required. There is not a super that does not covet - your post, and there are those that are jealous of you, my friend; you - have enemies in the theatre.” - </p> - <p> - “Enemies!” repeated Topinard. - </p> - <p> - “And you have three children; the oldest takes children’s parts at fifty - centimes—” - </p> - <p> - “Sir!—” - </p> - <p> - “You want to meddle in other people’s business, and put your finger into a - will case.—Why, you wretched man, you would be crushed like an - egg-shell! My patron is His Excellency, Monseigneur le Comte Popinot, a - clever man and a man of high character, whom the King in his wisdom has - summoned back to the privy council. This statesman, this great politician, - has married his eldest son to a daughter of M. le President de Marville, - one of the foremost men among the high courts of justice; one of the - leading lights of the law-courts. Do you know the law-courts? Very good. - Well, he is cousin and heir to M. Pons, to our old conductor whose funeral - you attended this morning. I do not blame you for going to pay the last - respects to him, poor man.... But if you meddle in M. Schmucke’s affairs, - you will lose your place. I wish very well to M. Schmucke, but he is in a - delicate position with regard to the heirs—and as the German is - almost nothing to me, and the President and Count Popinot are a great - deal, I recommend you to leave the worthy German to get out of his - difficulties by himself. There is a special Providence that watches over - Germans, and the part of deputy guardian-angel would not suit you at all. - Do you see? Stay as you are—you cannot do better.” - </p> - <p> - “Very good, monsieur le directeur,” said Topinard, much distressed. And in - this way Schmucke lost the protector sent to him by fate, the one creature - that shed a tear for Pons, the poor super for whose return he looked on - the morrow. - </p> - <p> - Next morning poor Schmucke awoke to a sense of his great and heavy loss. - He looked round the empty rooms. Yesterday and the day before yesterday - the preparations for the funeral had made a stir and bustle which - distracted his eyes; but the silence which follows the day, when the - friend, father, son, or loved wife has been laid in the grave—the - dull, cold silence of the morrow is terrible, is glacial. Some - irresistible force drew him to Pons’ chamber, but the sight of it was more - than the poor man could bear; he shrank away and sat down in the - dining-room, where Mme. Sauvage was busy making breakfast ready. - </p> - <p> - Schmucke drew his chair to the table, but he could eat nothing. A sudden, - somewhat sharp ringing of the door-bell rang through the house, and Mme. - Cantinet and Mme. Sauvage allowed three black-coated personages to pass. - First came Vitel, the justice of the peace, with his highly respectable - clerk; third was Fraisier, neither sweeter nor milder for the - disappointing discovery of a valid will canceling the formidable - instrument so audaciously stolen by him. - </p> - <p> - “We have come to affix seals on the property,” the justice of the peace - said gently, addressing Schmucke. But the remark was Greek to Schmucke; he - gazed in dismay at his three visitors. - </p> - <p> - “We have come at the request of M. Fraisier, legal representative of M. - Camusot de Marville, heir of the late Pons—” added the clerk. - </p> - <p> - “The collection is here in this great room, and in the bedroom of the - deceased,” remarked Fraisier. - </p> - <p> - “Very well, let us go into the next room.—Pardon us, sir; do not let - us interrupt with your breakfast.” - </p> - <p> - The invasion struck an icy chill of terror into poor Schmucke. Fraisier’s - venomous glances seemed to possess some magnetic influence over his - victims, like the power of a spider over a fly. - </p> - <p> - “M. Schmucke understood how to turn a will, made in the presence of a - notary, to his own advantage,” he said, “and he surely must have expected - some opposition from the family. A family does not allow itself to be - plundered by a stranger without some protest; and we shall see, sir, which - carries the day—fraud and corruption or the rightful heirs.... We - have a right as next of kin to affix seals, and seals shall be affixed. I - mean to see that the precaution is taken with the utmost strictness.” - </p> - <p> - “Ach, mein Gott! how haf I offended against Hefn?” cried the innocent - Schmucke. - </p> - <p> - “There is a good deal of talk about you in the house,” said La Sauvage. - “While you were asleep, a little whipper-snapper in a black suit came - here, a puppy that said he was M. Hannequin’s head-clerk, and must see you - at all costs; but as you were asleep and tired out with the funeral - yesterday, I told him that M. Villemot, Tabareau’s head-clerk, was acting - for you, and if it was a matter of business, I said, he might speak to M. - Villemot. ‘Ah, so much the better!’ the youngster said. ‘I shall come to - an understanding with him. We will deposit the will at the Tribunal, after - showing it to the President.’ So at that, I told him to ask M. Villemot to - come here as soon as he could.—Be easy, my dear sir, there are those - that will take care of you. They shall not shear the fleece off your back. - You will have some one that has beak and claws. M. Villemot will give them - a piece of his mind. I have put myself in a passion once already with that - abominable hussy, La Cibot, a porter’s wife that sets up to judge her - lodgers, forsooth, and insists that you have filched the money from the - heirs; you locked M. Pons up, she says, and worked upon him till he was - stark, staring mad. She got as good as she gave, though, the wretched - woman. ‘You are a thief and a bad lot,’ I told her; ‘you will get into the - police-courts for all the things that you have stolen from the gentlemen,’ - and she shut up.” - </p> - <p> - The clerk came out to speak to Schmucke. - </p> - <p> - “Would you wish to be present, sir, when the seals are affixed in the next - room?” - </p> - <p> - “Go on, go on,” said Schmucke; “I shall pe allowed to die in beace, I - bresume?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, under any circumstances a man has a right to die,” the clerk - answered, laughing; “most of our business relates to wills. But, in my - experience, the universal legatee very seldom follows the testator to the - tomb.” - </p> - <p> - “I am going,” said Schmucke. Blow after blow had given him an intolerable - pain at the heart. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! here comes M. Villemot!” exclaimed La Sauvage. - </p> - <p> - “Mennesir Fillemod,” said poor Schmucke, “rebresent me.” - </p> - <p> - “I hurried here at once,” said Villemot. “I have come to tell you that the - will is completely in order; it will certainly be confirmed by the court, - and you will be put in possession. You will have a fine fortune.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>I?</i> Ein fein vordune?” cried Schmucke, despairingly. That he of all - men should be suspected of caring for the money! - </p> - <p> - “And meantime what is the justice of the peace doing here with his wax - candles and his bits of tape?” asked La Sauvage. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, he is affixing seals.... Come, M. Schmucke, you have a right to be - present.” - </p> - <p> - “No—go in yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “But where is the use of the seals if M. Schmucke is in his own house and - everything belongs to him?” asked La Sauvage, doing justice in feminine - fashion, and interpreting the Code according to their fancy, like one and - all of her sex. - </p> - <p> - “M. Schmucke is not in possession, madame; he is in M. Pons’ house. - Everything will be his, no doubt; but the legatee cannot take possession - without an authorization—an order from the Tribunal. And if the - next-of-kin set aside by the testator should dispute the order, a lawsuit - is the result. And as nobody knows what may happen, everything is sealed - up, and the notaries representing either side proceed to draw up an - inventory during the delay prescribed by the law.... And there you are!” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke, hearing such talk for the first time in his life, was completely - bewildered by it; his head sank down upon the back of his chair—he - could not support it, it had grown so heavy. - </p> - <p> - Villemot meanwhile went off to chat with the justice of the peace and his - clerk, assisting with professional coolness to affix the seals—a - ceremony which always involves some buffoonery and plentiful comments on - the objects thus secured, unless, indeed, one of the family happens to be - present. At length the party sealed up the chamber and returned to the - dining-room, whither the clerk betook himself. Schmucke watched the - mechanical operation which consists in setting the justice’s seal at - either end of a bit of tape stretched across the opening of a - folding-door; or, in the case of a cupboard or ordinary door, from edge to - edge above the door-handle. - </p> - <p> - “Now for this room,” said Fraisier, pointing to Schmucke’s bedroom, which - opened into the dining-room. - </p> - <p> - “But that is M. Schmucke’s own room,” remonstrated La Sauvage, springing - in front of the door. - </p> - <p> - “We found the lease among the papers,” Fraisier said ruthlessly; “there - was no mention of M. Schmucke in it; it is taken out in M. Pons’ name - only. The whole place, and every room in it, is a part of the estate. And - besides”—flinging open the door—“look here, monsieur le juge - de la paix, it is full of pictures.” - </p> - <p> - “So it is,” answered the justice of the peace, and Fraisier thereupon - gained his point. - </p> - <p> - “Wait a bit, gentlemen,” said Villemot. “Do you know that you are turning - the universal legatee out of doors, and as yet his right has not been - called in question?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it has,” said Fraisier; “we are opposing the transfer of the - property.” - </p> - <p> - “And upon what grounds?” - </p> - <p> - “You shall know that by and by, my boy,” Fraisier replied, banteringly. - “At this moment, if the legatee withdraws everything that he declares to - be his, we shall raise no objections, but the room itself will be sealed. - And M. Schmucke may lodge where he pleases.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Villemot; “M. Schmucke is going to stay in his room.” - </p> - <p> - “And how?” - </p> - <p> - “I shall demand an immediate special inquiry,” continued Villemot, “and - prove that we pay half the rent. You shall not turn us out. Take away the - pictures, decide on the ownership of the various articles, but here my - client stops—‘my boy.’” - </p> - <p> - “I shall go out!” the old musician suddenly said. He had recovered energy - during the odious dispute. - </p> - <p> - “You had better,” said Fraisier. “Your course will save expense to you, - for your contention would not be made good. The lease is evidence—” - </p> - <p> - “The lease! the lease!” cried Villemot, “it is a question of good faith—” - </p> - <p> - “That could only be proved in a criminal case, by calling witnesses.—Do - you mean to plunge into experts’ fees and verifications, and orders to - show cause why judgment should not be given, and law proceedings - generally?” - </p> - <p> - “No, no!” cried Schmucke in dismay. “I shall turn out; I am used to it—” - </p> - <p> - In practice Schmucke was a philosopher, an unconscious cynic, so greatly - had he simplified his life. Two pairs of shoes, a pair of boots, a couple - of suits of clothes, a dozen shirts, a dozen bandana handkerchiefs, four - waistcoats, a superb pipe given to him by Pons, with an embroidered - tobacco-pouch—these were all his belongings. Overwrought by a fever - of indignation, he went into his room and piled his clothes upon a chair. - </p> - <p> - “All dese are mine,” he said, with simplicity worthy of Cincinnatus. “Der - biano is also mine.” - </p> - <p> - Fraisier turned to La Sauvage. “Madame, get help,” he said; “take that - piano out and put it on the landing.” - </p> - <p> - “You are too rough into the bargain,” said Villemot, addressing Fraisier. - “The justice of the peace gives orders here; he is supreme.” - </p> - <p> - “There are valuables in the room,” put in the clerk. - </p> - <p> - “And besides,” added the justice of the peace, “M. Schmucke is going out - of his own free will.” - </p> - <p> - “Did any one ever see such a client!” Villemot cried indignantly, turning - upon Schmucke. “You are as limp as a rag—” - </p> - <p> - “Vat dos it matter vere von dies?” Schmucke said as he went out. “Dese men - haf tiger faces.... I shall send somebody to vetch mein bits of dings.” - </p> - <p> - “Where are you going, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “Vere it shall blease Gott,” returned Pons’ universal legatee with supreme - indifference. - </p> - <p> - “Send me word,” said Villemot. - </p> - <p> - Fraisier turned to the head-clerk. “Go after him,” he whispered. - </p> - <p> - Mme. Cantinet was left in charge, with a provision of fifty francs paid - out of the money that they found. The justice of the peace looked out; - there Schmucke stood in the courtyard looking up at the windows for the - last time. - </p> - <p> - “You have found a man of butter,” remarked the justice. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Fraisier, “yes. The thing is as good as done. You need not - hesitate to marry your granddaughter to Poulain; he will be head-surgeon - at the Quinze-Vingts.” (The Asylum founded by St. Louis for three hundred - blind people.) - </p> - <p> - “We shall see.—Good-day, M. Fraisier,” said the justice of the peace - with a friendly air. - </p> - <p> - “There is a man with a head on his shoulders,” remarked the justice’s - clerk. “The dog will go a long way.” - </p> - <p> - By this time it was eleven o’clock. The old German went like an automaton - down the road along which Pons and he had so often walked together. - Wherever he went he saw Pons, he almost thought that Pons was by his side; - and so he reached the theatre just as his friend Topinard was coming out - of it after a morning spent in cleaning the lamps and meditating on the - manager’s tyranny. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, shoost der ding for me!” cried Schmucke, stopping his acquaintance. - “Dopinart! you haf a lodging someveres, eh?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “A home off your own?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Are you villing to take me for ein poarder? Oh! I shall pay ver’ vell; I - haf nine hundert vrancs of inkomm, und—I haf not ver’ long ter - lif.... I shall gif no drouble vatefer.... I can eat onydings—I only - vant to shmoke mein bipe. Und—you are der only von dat haf shed a - tear for Bons, mit me; und so, I lof you.” - </p> - <p> - “I should be very glad, sir; but, to begin with, M. Gaudissart has given - me a proper wigging—” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Vigging?</i>” - </p> - <p> - “That is one way of saying that he combed my hair for me.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Combed your hair?</i>” - </p> - <p> - “He gave me a scolding for meddling in your affairs.... So we must be very - careful if you come to me. But I doubt whether you will stay when you have - seen the place; you do not know how we poor devils live.” - </p> - <p> - “I should rader der boor home of a goot-hearted mann dot haf mourned Bons, - dan der Duileries mit men dot haf ein tiger face.... I haf chust left - tigers in Bons’ house; dey vill eat up everydings—” - </p> - <p> - “Come with me, sir, and you shall see. But—well, anyhow, there is a - garret. Let us see what Mme. Topinard says.” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke followed like a sheep, while Topinard led the way into one of the - squalid districts which might be called the cancers of Paris—a spot - known as the Cite Bordin. It is a slum out of the Rue de Bondy, a double - row of houses run up by the speculative builder, under the shadow of the - huge mass of the Porte Saint-Martin theatre. The pavement at the higher - end lies below the level of the Rue de Bondy; at the lower it falls away - towards the Rue des Mathurins du Temple. Follow its course and you find - that it terminates in another slum running at right angles to the first—the - Cite Bordin is, in fact, a T-shaped blind alley. Its two streets thus - arranged contain some thirty houses, six or seven stories high; and every - story, and every room in every story, is a workshop and a warehouse for - goods of every sort and description, for this wart upon the face of Paris - is a miniature Faubourg Saint-Antoine. Cabinet-work and brasswork, - theatrical costumes, blown glass, painted porcelain—all the various - fancy goods known as <i>l’article Paris</i> are made here. Dirty and - productive like commerce, always full of traffic—foot-passengers, - vans, and drays—the Cite Bourdin is an unsavory-looking - neighborhood, with a seething population in keeping with the squalid - surroundings. It is a not unintelligent artisan population, though the - whole power of the intellect is absorbed by the day’s manual labor. - Topinard, like every other inhabitant of the Cite Bourdin, lived in it for - the sake of comparatively low rent, the cause of its existence and - prosperity. His sixth floor lodging, in the second house to the left, - looked out upon the belt of green garden, still in existence, at the back - of three or four large mansions in the Rue de Bondy. - </p> - <p> - Topinard’s apartment consisted of a kitchen and two bedrooms. The first - was a nursery with two little deal bedsteads and a cradle in it, the - second was the bedroom, and the kitchen did duty as a dining-room. Above, - reached by a short ladder, known among builders as a “trap-ladder,” there - was a kind of garret, six feet high, with a sash-window let into the roof. - This room, given as a servants’ bedroom, raised the Topinards’ - establishment from mere “rooms” to the dignity of a tenement, and the rent - to a corresponding sum of four hundred francs. An arched lobby, lighted - from the kitchen by a small round window, did duty as an ante-chamber, and - filled the space between the bedroom, the kitchen, and house doors—three - doors in all. The rooms were paved with bricks, and hung with a hideous - wall-paper at threepence apiece; the chimneypieces that adorned them were - of the kind called <i>capucines</i>—a shelf set on a couple of - brackets painted to resemble wood. Here in these three rooms dwelt five - human beings, three of them children. Any one, therefore, can imagine how - the walls were covered with scores and scratches so far as an infant arm - can reach. - </p> - <p> - Rich people can scarcely realize the extreme simplicity of a poor man’s - kitchen. A Dutch oven, a kettle, a gridiron, a saucepan, two or three - dumpy cooking-pots, and a frying-pan—that was all. All the crockery - in the place, white and brown earthenware together, was not worth more - than twelve francs. Dinner was served on the kitchen table, which, with a - couple of chairs and a couple of stools, completed the furniture. The - stock of fuel was kept under the stove with a funnel-shaped chimney, and - in a corner stood the wash-tub in which the family linen lay, often - steeping over-night in soapsuds. The nursery ceiling was covered with - clothes-lines, the walls were variegated with theatrical placards and - wood-cuts from newspapers or advertisements. Evidently the eldest boy, the - owner of the school-books stacked in a corner, was left in charge while - his parents were absent at the theatre. In many a French workingman’s - family, so soon as a child reaches the age of six or seven, it plays the - part of mother to younger sisters and brothers. - </p> - <p> - From this bare outline, it may be imagined that the Topinards, to use the - hackneyed formula, were “poor but honest.” Topinard himself was verging on - forty; Mme. Topinard, once leader of a chorus—mistress, too, it was - said, of Gaudissart’s predecessor, was certainly thirty years old. Lolotte - had been a fine woman in her day; but the misfortunes of the previous - management had told upon her to such an extent, that it had seemed to her - to be both advisable and necessary to contract a stage-marriage with - Topinard. She did not doubt but that, as soon as they could muster the sum - of a hundred and fifty francs, her Topinard would perform his vows - agreeably to the civil law, were it only to legitimize the three children, - whom he worshiped. Meantime, Mme. Topinard sewed for the theatre wardrobe - in the morning; and with prodigious effort, the brave couple made nine - hundred francs per annum between them. - </p> - <p> - “One more flight!” Topinard had twice repeated since they reached the - third floor. Schmucke, engulfed in his sorrow, did not so much as know - whether he was going up or coming down. - </p> - <p> - In another minute Topinard had opened the door; but before he appeared in - his white workman’s blouse Mme. Topinard’s voice rang from the kitchen: - </p> - <p> - “There, there! children, be quiet! here comes papa!” - </p> - <p> - But the children, no doubt, did as they pleased with papa, for the oldest - member of the family, sitting astride a broomstick, continued to command a - charge of cavalry (a reminiscence of the Cirque-Olympique), the second - blew a tin trumpet, while the third did its best to keep up with the main - body of the army. Their mother was at work on a theatrical costume. - </p> - <p> - “Be quiet! or I shall slap you!” shouted Topinard in a formidable voice; - then in an aside for Schmucke’s benefit—“Always have to say that!—Here, - little one,” he continued, addressing his Lolotte, “this is M. Schmucke, - poor M. Pons’ friend. He does not know where to go, and he would like to - live with us. I told him that we were not very spick-and-span up here, - that we lived on the sixth floor, and had only the garret to offer him; - but it was no use, he would come—” - </p> - <p> - Schmucke had taken the chair which the woman brought him, and the - children, stricken with sudden shyness, had gathered together to give the - stranger that mute, earnest, so soon-finished scrutiny characteristic of - childhood. For a child, like a dog, is wont to judge by instinct rather - than reason. Schmucke looked up; his eyes rested on that charming little - picture; he saw the performer on the tin trumpet, a little five-year-old - maiden with wonderful golden hair. - </p> - <p> - “She looks like ein liddle German girl,” said Schmucke, holding out his - arms to the child. - </p> - <p> - “Monsieur will not be very comfortable here,” said Mme. Topinard. “I would - propose that he should have our room at once, but I am obliged to have the - children near me.” - </p> - <p> - She opened the door as she spoke, and bade Schmucke come in. Such splendor - as their abode possessed was all concentrated here. Blue cotton curtains - with a white fringe hung from the mahogany bedstead, and adorned the - window; the chest of drawers, bureau, and chairs, though all made of - mahogany, were neatly kept. The clock and candlesticks on the chimneypiece - were evidently the gift of the bankrupt manager, whose portrait, a truly - frightful performance of Pierre Grassou’s, looked down upon the chest of - drawers. The children tried to peep in at the forbidden glories. - </p> - <p> - “Monsieur might be comfortable in here,” said their mother. - </p> - <p> - “No, no,” Schmucke replied. “Eh! I haf not ver’ long to lif, I only vant a - corner to die in.” - </p> - <p> - The door was closed, and the three went up to the garret. “Dis is der ding - for me,” Schmucke cried at once. “Pefore I lifd mid Bons, I vas nefer - better lodged.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well. A truckle-bed, a couple of mattresses, a bolster, a pillow, a - couple of chairs, and a table—that is all that you need to buy. That - will not ruin you—it may cost a hundred and fifty francs, with the - crockeryware and strip of carpet for the bedside.” - </p> - <p> - Everything was settled—save the money, which was not forthcoming. - Schmucke saw that his new friends were very poor, and recollecting that - the theatre was only a few steps away, it naturally occurred to him to - apply to the manager for his salary. He went at once, and found Gaudissart - in his office. Gaudissart received him in the somewhat stiffly polite - manner which he reserved for professionals. Schmucke’s demand for a - month’s salary took him by surprise, but on inquiry he found that it was - due. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, confound it, my good man, a German can always count, even if he has - tears in his eyes.... I thought that you would have taken the thousand - francs that I sent you into account, as a final year’s salary, and that we - were quits.” - </p> - <p> - “We haf receifed nodings,” said Schmucke; “und gif I komm to you, it ees - because I am in der shtreet, und haf not ein benny. How did you send us - der bonus?” - </p> - <p> - “By your portress.” - </p> - <p> - “By Montame Zipod!” exclaimed Schmucke. “She killed Bons, she robbed him, - she sold him—she tried to purn his vill—she is a pad creature, - a monster!” - </p> - <p> - “But, my good man, how come you to be out in the street without a roof - over your head or a penny in your pocket, when you are the sole heir? That - does not necessarily follow, as the saying is.” - </p> - <p> - “They haf put me out at der door. I am a voreigner, I know nodings of die - laws.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor man!” thought Gaudissart, foreseeing the probable end of the unequal - contest.—“Listen,” he began, “do you know what you ought to do in - this business?” - </p> - <p> - “I haf ein mann of pizness!” - </p> - <p> - “Very good, come to terms at once with the next-of-kin; make them pay you - a lump sum of money down and an annuity, and you can live in peace—” - </p> - <p> - “I ask noding more.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well. Let me arrange it for you,” said Gaudissart. Fraisier had told - him the whole story only yesterday, and he thought that he saw his way to - making interest out of the case with the young Vicomtesse Popinot and her - mother. He would finish a dirty piece of work, and some day he would be a - privy councillor, at least; or so he told himself. - </p> - <p> - “I gif you full powers.” - </p> - <p> - “Well. Let me see. Now, to begin with,” said Gaudissart, Napoleon of the - boulevard theatres, “to begin with, here are a hundred crowns—” (he - took fifteen louis from his purse and handed them to Schmucke). - </p> - <p> - “That is yours, on account of six months’ salary. If you leave the - theatre, you can repay me the money. Now for your budget. What are your - yearly expenses? How much do you want to be comfortable? Come, now, scheme - out a life for a Sardanapalus—” - </p> - <p> - “I only need two suits of clothes, von for der vinter, von for der - sommer.” - </p> - <p> - “Three hundred francs,” said Gaudissart. - </p> - <p> - “Shoes. Vour bairs.” - </p> - <p> - “Sixty francs.” - </p> - <p> - “Shtockings—” - </p> - <p> - “A dozen pairs—thirty-six francs.” - </p> - <p> - “Half a tozzen shirts.” - </p> - <p> - “Six calico shirts, twenty-four francs; as many linen shirts, forty-eight - francs; let us say seventy-two. That makes four hundred and sixty-eight - francs altogether.—Say five hundred, including cravats and - pocket-handkerchiefs; a hundred francs for the laundress—six - hundred. And now, how much for your board—three francs a day?” - </p> - <p> - “No, it ees too much.” - </p> - <p> - “After all, you want hats; that brings it to fifteen hundred. Five hundred - more for rent; that makes two thousand. If I can get two thousand francs - per annum for you, are you willing?... Good securities.” - </p> - <p> - “Und mein tobacco.” - </p> - <p> - “Two thousand four hundred, then.... Oh! Papa Schmucke, do you call that - tobacco? Very well, the tobacco shall be given in.—So that is two - thousand four hundred francs per annum.” - </p> - <p> - “Dat ees not all! I should like som monny.” - </p> - <p> - “Pin-money!—Just so. Oh, these Germans! And calls himself an - innocent, the old Robert Macaire!” thought Gaudissart. Aloud he said, “How - much do you want? But this must be the last.” - </p> - <p> - “It ees to bay a zacred debt.” - </p> - <p> - “A debt!” said Gaudissart to himself. What a shark it is! He is worse than - an eldest son. He will invent a bill or two next! We must cut this short. - This Fraisier cannot take large views.—What debt is this, my good - man? Speak out.” - </p> - <p> - “Dere vas but von mann dot haf mourned Bons mit me.... He haf a tear - liddle girl mit wunderschones haar; it vas as if I saw mein boor - Deutschland dot I should nefer haf left.... Baris is no blace for die - Germans; dey laugh at dem” (with a little nod as he spoke, and the air of - a man who knows something of life in this world below). - </p> - <p> - “He is off his head,” Gaudissart said to himself. And a sudden pang of - pity for this poor innocent before him brought a tear to the manager’s - eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! you understand, mennesir le directeur! Ver’ goot. Dat mann mit die - liddle taughter is Dobinard, vat tidies der orchestra and lights die - lamps. Bons vas fery fond of him, und helped him. He vas der only von dat - accombanied mein only friend to die church und to die grafe.... I vant - dree tausend vrancs for him, und dree tausend for die liddle von—” - </p> - <p> - “Poor fellow!” said Gaudissart to himself. - </p> - <p> - Rough, self-made man though he was, he felt touched by this nobleness of - nature, by a gratitude for a mere trifle, as the world views it; though - for the eyes of this divine innocence the trifle, like Bossuet’s cup of - water, was worth more than the victories of great captains. Beneath all - Gaudissart’s vanity, beneath the fierce desire to succeed in life at all - costs, to rise to the social level of his old friend Popinot, there lay a - warm heart and a kindly nature. Wherefore he canceled his too hasty - judgments and went over to Schmucke’s side. - </p> - <p> - “You shall have it all! But I will do better still, my dear Schmucke. - Topinard is a good sort—” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. I haf chust peen to see him in his boor home, vere he ees happy mit - his children—” - </p> - <p> - “I will give him the cashier’s place. Old Baudrand is going to leave.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! Gott pless you!” cried Schmucke. - </p> - <p> - “Very well, my good, kind fellow, meet me at Berthier’s office about four - o’clock this afternoon. Everything shall be ready, and you shall be - secured from want for the rest of your days. You shall draw your six - thousand francs, and you shall have the same salary with Garangeot that - you used to have with Pons.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” Schmucke answered. “I shall not lif.... I haf no heart for anydings; - I feel that I am attacked—” - </p> - <p> - “Poor lamb!” Gaudissart muttered to himself as the German took his leave. - “But, after all, one lives on mutton; and, as the sublime Beranger says, - ‘Poor sheep! you were made to be shorn,’” and he hummed the political - squib by way of giving vent to his feelings. Then he rang for the - office-boy. - </p> - <p> - “Call my carriage,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Rue de Hanovre,” he told the coachman. - </p> - <p> - The man of ambitions by this time had reappeared; he saw the way to the - Council of State lying straight before him. - </p> - <p> - And Schmucke? He was busy buying flowers and cakes for Topinard’s - children, and went home almost joyously. - </p> - <p> - “I am gifing die bresents...” he said, and he smiled. It was the first - smile for three months, but any one who had seen Schmucke’s face would - have shuddered to see it there. - </p> - <p> - “But dere is ein condition—” - </p> - <p> - “It is too kind of you, sir,” said the mother. - </p> - <p> - “De liddle girl shall gif me a kiss and put die flowers in her hair, like - die liddle German maidens—” - </p> - <p> - “Olga, child, do just as the gentleman wishes,” said the mother, assuming - an air of discipline. - </p> - <p> - “Do not scold mein liddle German girl,” implored Schmucke. It seemed to - him that the little one was his dear Germany. Topinard came in. - </p> - <p> - “Three porters are bringing up the whole bag of tricks,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! Here are two hundred vrancs to bay for eferydings...” said Schmucke. - “But, mein friend, your Montame Dobinard is ver’ nice; you shall marry - her, is it not so? I shall gif you tausend crowns, and die liddle vone - shall haf tausend crowns for her toury, and you shall infest it in her - name.... Und you are not to pe ein zuper any more—you are to pe de - cashier at de teatre—” - </p> - <p> - “<i>I</i>?—instead of old Baudrand?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Who told you so?” - </p> - <p> - “Mennesir Gautissart!” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! it is enough to send one wild with joy!... Eh! I say, Rosalie, what a - rumpus there will be at the theatre! But it is not possible—” - </p> - <p> - “Our benefactor must not live in a garret—” - </p> - <p> - “Pshaw! for die few tays dat I haf to lif it ees fery komfortable,” said - Schmucke. “Goot-pye; I am going to der zemetery, to see vat dey haf don - mit Bons, und to order som flowers for his grafe.” - </p> - <p> - Mme. Camusot de Marville was consumed by the liveliest apprehensions. At a - council held with Fraisier, Berthier, and Godeschal, the two last-named - authorities gave it as their opinion that it was hopeless to dispute a - will drawn up by two notaries in the presence of two witnesses, so - precisely was the instrument worded by Leopold Hannequin. Honest Godeschal - said that even if Schmucke’s own legal adviser should succeed in deceiving - him, he would find out the truth at last, if it were only from some - officious barrister, the gentlemen of the robe being wont to perform such - acts of generosity and disinterestedness by way of self-advertisement. And - the two officials took their leave of the Presidente with a parting - caution against Fraisier, concerning whom they had naturally made - inquiries. - </p> - <p> - At that very moment Fraisier, straight from the affixing of the seals in - the Rue de Normandie, was waiting for an interview with Mme. de Marville. - Berthier and Godeschal had suggested that he should be shown into the - study; the whole affair was too dirty for the President to look into (to - use their own expression), and they wished to give Mme. de Marville their - opinion in Fraisier’s absence. - </p> - <p> - “Well, madame, where are these gentlemen?” asked Fraisier, admitted to - audience. - </p> - <p> - “They are gone. They advise me to give up,” said Mme. de Marville. - </p> - <p> - “Give up!” repeated Fraisier, suppressed fury in his voice. “Give up! ... - Listen to this, madame:— - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “‘At the request of’... and so forth (I will omit the - formalities)... ‘Whereas there has been deposited in the hands - of M. le President of the Court of First Instance, a will drawn up - by Maitres Leopold Hannequin and Alexandre Crottat, notaries of - Paris, and in the presence of two witnesses, the Sieurs Brunner - and Schwab, aliens domiciled at Paris, and by the said will the - Sieur Pons, deceased, has bequeathed his property to one Sieur - Schmucke, a German, to the prejudice of his natural heirs: - - “‘Whereas the applicant undertakes to prove that the said will - was obtained under undue influence and by unlawful means; and - persons of credit are prepared to show that it was the testator’s - intention to leave his fortune to Mlle. Cecile, daughter of the - aforesaid Sieur de Marville, and the applicant can show that the - said will was extorted from the testator’s weakness, he being - unaccountable for his actions at the time: - - “‘Whereas as the Sieur Schmucke, to obtain a will in his favor, - sequestrated the testator, and prevented the family from - approaching the deceased during his last illness; and his - subsequent notorious ingratitude was of a nature to scandalize the - house and residents in the quarter who chanced to witness it when - attending the funeral of the porter at the testator’s place of - abode: - - “‘Whereas as still more serious charges, of which applicant is - collecting proofs, will be formally made before their worships the - judges: - - “‘I, the undersigned Registrar of the Court, etc., etc., on - behalf of the aforesaid, etc., have summoned the Sieur Schmucke, - pleading, etc., to appear before their worships the judges of the - first chamber of the Tribunal, and to be present when application - is made that the will received by Maitres Hannequin and Crottat, - being evidently obtained by undue influence, shall be regarded as - null and void in law; and I, the undersigned, on behalf of the - aforesaid, etc., have likewise given notice of protest, should the - Sieur Schmucke as universal legatee make application for an order - to be put into possession of the estate, seeing that the applicant - opposes such order, and makes objection by his application bearing - date of to-day, of which a copy has been duly deposited with the - Sieur Schmucke, costs being charged to... etc., etc.’ -</pre> - <p> - “I know the man, Mme. le Presidente. He will come to terms as soon as he - reads this little love-letter. He will take our terms. Are you going to - give the thousand crowns per annum?” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly. I only wish I were paying the first installment now.” - </p> - <p> - “It will be done in three days. The summons will come down upon him while - he is stupefied with grief, for the poor soul regrets Pons and is taking - the death to heart.” - </p> - <p> - “Can the application be withdrawn?” inquired the lady. - </p> - <p> - “Certainly, madame. You can withdraw it at any time.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well, monsieur, let it be so... go on! Yes, the purchase of land - that you have arranged for me is worth the trouble; and, besides, I have - managed Vitel’s business—he is to retire, and you must pay Vitel’s - sixty thousand francs out of Pons’ property. So, you see, you must - succeed.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you Vitel’s resignation?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, monsieur. M. Vitel has put himself in M. de Marville’s hands.” - </p> - <p> - “Very good, madame. I have already saved you sixty thousand francs which I - expected to give to that vile creature Mme. Cibot. But I still require the - tobacconist’s license for the woman Sauvage, and an appointment to the - vacant place of head-physician at the Quinze-Vingts for my friend - Poulain.” - </p> - <p> - “Agreed—it is all arranged.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well. There is no more to be said. Every one is for you in this - business, even Gaudissart, the manager of the theatre. I went to look him - up yesterday, and he undertook to crush the workman who seemed likely to - give us trouble.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I know M. Gaudissart is devoted to the Popinots.” - </p> - <p> - Fraisier went out. Unluckily, he missed Gaudissart, and the fatal summons - was served forthwith. - </p> - <p> - If all covetous minds will sympathize with the Presidente, all honest folk - will turn in abhorrence from her joy when Gaudissart came twenty minutes - later to report his conversation with poor Schmucke. She gave her full - approval; she was obliged beyond all expression for the thoughtful way in - which the manager relieved her of any remaining scruples by observations - which seemed to her to be very sensible and just. - </p> - <p> - “I thought as I came, Mme. la Presidente, that the poor devil would not - know what to do with the money. ‘Tis a patriarchally simple nature. He is - a child, he is a German, he ought to be stuffed and put in a glass case - like a waxen image. Which is to say that, in my opinion, he is quite - puzzled enough already with his income of two thousand five hundred - francs, and here you are provoking him into extravagance—” - </p> - <p> - “It is very generous of him to wish to enrich the poor fellow who regrets - the loss of our cousin,” pronounced the Presidente. “For my own part, I am - sorry for the little squabble that estranged M. Pons and me. If he had - come back again, all would have been forgiven. If you only knew how my - husband misses him! M. de Marville received no notice of the death, and - was in despair; family claims are sacred for him, he would have gone to - the service and the interment, and I myself would have been at the mass—” - </p> - <p> - “Very well, fair lady,” said Gaudissart. “Be so good as to have the - documents drawn up, and at four o’clock I will bring this German to you. - Please remember me to your charming daughter the Vicomtesse, and ask her - to tell my illustrious friend the great statesman, her good and excellent - father-in-law, how deeply I am devoted to him and his, and ask him to - continue his valued favors. I owe my life to his uncle the judge, and my - success in life to him; and I should wish to be bound to both you and your - daughter by the high esteem which links us with persons of rank and - influence. I wish to leave the theatre and become a serious person.” - </p> - <p> - “As you are already, monsieur!” said the Presidente. - </p> - <p> - “Adorable!” returned Gaudissart, kissing the lady’s shriveled fingers. - </p> - <p> - At four o’clock that afternoon several people were gathered together at - Berthier’s office; Fraisier, arch-concocter of the whole scheme, Tabareau, - appearing on behalf of Schmucke, and Schmucke himself. Gaudissart had come - with him. Fraisier had been careful to spread out the money on Berthier’s - desk, and so dazzled was Schmucke by the sight of the six thousand-franc - bank-notes for which he had asked, and six hundred francs for the first - quarter’s allowance, that he paid no heed whatsoever to the reading of the - document. Poor man, he was scarcely in full possession of his faculties, - shaken as they had already been by so many shocks. Gaudissart had snatched - him up on his return from the cemetery, where he had been talking with - Pons, promising to join him soon—very soon. So Schmucke did not - listen to the preamble in which it was set forth that Maitre Tabareau, - bailiff, was acting as his proxy, and that the Presidente, in the - interests of her daughter, was taking legal proceedings against him. - Altogether, in that preamble the German played a sorry part, but he put - his name to the document, and thereby admitted the truth of Fraisier’s - abominable allegations; and so joyous was he over receiving the money for - the Topinards, so glad to bestow wealth according to his little ideas upon - the one creature who loved Pons, that he heard not a word of lawsuit nor - compromise. - </p> - <p> - But in the middle of the reading a clerk came into the private office to - speak to his employer. “There is a man here, sir, who wishes to speak to - M. Schmucke,” said he. - </p> - <p> - The notary looked at Fraisier, and, taking his cue from him, shrugged his - shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “Never disturb us when we are signing documents. Just ask his name—is - it a man or a gentleman? Is he a creditor?” - </p> - <p> - The clerk went and returned. “He insists that he must speak to M. - Schmucke.” - </p> - <p> - “His name?” - </p> - <p> - “His name is Topinard, he says.” - </p> - <p> - “I will go out to him. Sign without disturbing yourself,” said Gaudissart, - addressing Schmucke. “Make an end of it; I will find out what he wants - with us.” - </p> - <p> - Gaudissart understood Fraisier; both scented danger. - </p> - <p> - “Why are you here?” Gaudissart began. “So you have no mind to be cashier - at the theatre? Discretion is a cashier’s first recommendation.” - </p> - <p> - “Sir—” - </p> - <p> - “Just mind your own business; you will never be anything if you meddle in - other people’s affairs.” - </p> - <p> - “Sir, I cannot eat bread if every mouthful of it is to stick in my - throat.... Monsieur Schmucke!—M. Schmucke!” he shouted aloud. - </p> - <p> - Schmucke came out at the sound of Topinard’s voice. He had just signed. He - held the money in his hand. - </p> - <p> - “Thees ees for die liddle German maiden und for you,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! my dear M. Schmucke, you have given away your wealth to inhuman - wretches, to people who are trying to take away your good name. I took - this paper to a good man, an attorney who knows this Fraisier, and he says - that you ought to punish such wickedness; you ought to let them summon you - and leave them to get out of it.—Read this,” and Schmucke’s - imprudent friend held out the summons delivered in the Cite Bordin. - </p> - <p> - Standing in the notary’s gateway, Schmucke read the document, saw the - imputations made against him, and, all ignorant as he was of the amenities - of the law, the blow was deadly. The little grain of sand stopped his - heart’s beating. Topinard caught him in his arms, hailed a passing cab, - and put the poor German into it. He was suffering from congestion of the - brain; his eyes were dim, his head was throbbing, but he had enough - strength left to put the money into Topinard’s hands. - </p> - <p> - Schmucke rallied from the first attack, but he never recovered - consciousness, and refused to eat. Ten days afterwards he died without a - complaint; to the last he had not spoken a word. Mme. Topinard nursed him, - and Topinard laid him by Pons’ side. It was an obscure funeral; Topinard - was the only mourner who followed the son of Germany to his last - resting-place. - </p> - <p> - Fraisier, now a justice of the peace, is very intimate with the - President’s family, and much valued by the Presidente. She could not think - of allowing him to marry “that girl of Tabareau’s,” and promised - infinitely better things for the clever man to whom she considers she owes - not merely the pasture-land and the English cottage at Marville, but also - the President’s seat in the Chamber of Deputies, for M. le President was - returned at the general election in 1846. - </p> - <p> - Every one, no doubt, wishes to know what became of the heroine of a story - only too veracious in its details; a chronicle which, taken with its twin - sister the preceding volume, <i>La Cousine Bette</i>, proves that - Character is a great social force. You, O amateurs, connoisseurs, and - dealers, will guess at once that Pons’ collection is now in question. - Wherefore it will suffice if we are present during a conversation that - took place only a few days ago in Count Popinot’s house. He was showing - his splendid collection to some visitors. - </p> - <p> - “M. le Comte, you possess treasures indeed,” remarked a distinguished - foreigner. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! as to pictures, nobody can hope to rival an obscure collector, one - Elie Magus, a Jew, an old monomaniac, the prince of picture-lovers,” the - Count replied modestly. “And when I say nobody, I do not speak of Paris - only, but of all Europe. When the old Croesus dies, France ought to spare - seven or eight millions of francs to buy the gallery. For curiosities, my - collection is good enough to be talked about—” - </p> - <p> - “But how, busy as you are, and with a fortune so honestly earned in the - first instance in business—” - </p> - <p> - “In the drug business,” broke in Popinot; “you ask how I can continue to - interest myself in things that are a drug in the market—” - </p> - <p> - “No,” returned the foreign visitor, “no, but how do you find time to - collect? The curiosities do not come to find you.” - </p> - <p> - “My father-in-law owned the nucleus of the collection,” said the young - Vicomtess; “he loved the arts and beautiful work, but most of his - treasures came to him through me.” - </p> - <p> - “Through you, madame?—So young! and yet have you such vices as - this?” asked a Russian prince. - </p> - <p> - Russians are by nature imitative; imitative indeed to such an extent that - the diseases of civilization break out among them in epidemics. The - bric-a-brac mania had appeared in an acute form in St. Petersburg, and the - Russians caused such a rise of prices in the “art line,” as Remonencq - would say, that collection became impossible. The prince who spoke had - come to Paris solely to buy bric-a-brac. - </p> - <p> - “The treasures came to me, prince, on the death of a cousin. He was very - fond of me,” added the Vicomtesse Popinot, “and he had spent some forty - odd years since 1805 in picking up these masterpieces everywhere, but more - especially in Italy—” - </p> - <p> - “And what was his name?” inquired the English lord. - </p> - <p> - “Pons,” said President Camusot. - </p> - <p> - “A charming man he was,” piped the Presidente in her thin, flute tones, - “very clever, very eccentric, and yet very good-hearted. This fan that you - admire once belonged to Mme. de Pompadour; he gave it to me one morning - with a pretty speech which you must permit me not to repeat,” and she - glanced at her daughter. - </p> - <p> - “Mme. la Vicomtesse, tell us the pretty speech,” begged the Russian - prince. - </p> - <p> - “The speech was as pretty as the fan,” returned the Vicomtesse, who - brought out the stereotyped remark on all occasions. “He told my mother - that it was quite time that it should pass from the hands of vice into - those of virtue.” - </p> - <p> - The English lord looked at Mme. Camusot de Marville with an air of doubt - not a little gratifying to so withered a woman. - </p> - <p> - “He used to dine at our house two or three times a week,” she said; “he - was so fond of us! We could appreciate him, and artists like the society - of those who relish their wit. My husband was, besides, his one surviving - relative. So when, quite unexpectedly, M. de Marville came into the - property, M. le Comte preferred to take over the whole collection to save - it from a sale by auction; and we ourselves much preferred to dispose of - it in that way, for it would have been so painful to us to see the - beautiful things, in which our dear cousin was so much interested, all - scattered abroad. Elie Magus valued them, and in that way I became - possessed of the cottage that your uncle built, and I hope you will do us - the honor of coming to see us there.” - </p> - <p> - Gaudissart’s theatre passed into other hands a year ago, but M. Topinard - is still the cashier. M. Topinard, however, has grown gloomy and - misanthropic; he says little. People think that he has something on his - conscience. Wags at the theatre suggest that his gloom dates from his - marriage with Lolotte. Honest Topinard starts whenever he hears Fraisier’s - name mentioned. Some people may think it strange that the one nature - worthy of Pons and Schmucke should be found on the third floor beneath the - stage of a boulevard theatre. - </p> - <p> - Mme. Remonencq, much impressed with Mme. Fontaine’s prediction, declines - to retire to the country. She is still living in her splendid shop on the - Boulevard de la Madeleine, but she is a widow now for the second time. - Remonencq, in fact, by the terms of the marriage contract, settled the - property upon the survivor, and left a little glass of vitriol about for - his wife to drink by mistake; but his wife, with the very best intentions, - put the glass elsewhere, and Remonencq swallowed the draught himself. The - rascal’s appropriate end vindicates Providence, as well as the chronicler - of manners, who is sometimes accused of neglect on this head, perhaps - because Providence has been so overworked by playwrights of late. - </p> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <h2> - ADDENDUM - </h2> - <h3> - The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. - </h3> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - Baudoyer, Isidore - The Government Clerks - The Middle Classes - - Berthier (Parisian notary) - Cousin Betty - - Berthier, Madame - The Muse of the Department - - Bixiou, Jean-Jacques - The Purse - A Bachelor’s Establishment - The Government Clerks - Modeste Mignon - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - The Firm of Nucingen - The Muse of the Department - Cousin Betty - The Member for Arcis - Beatrix - A Man of Business - Gaudissart II. - The Unconscious Humorists - - Braulard - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - Cousin Betty - - Brisetout, Heloise - Cousin Betty - The Middle Classes - - Camusot - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - A Bachelor’s Establishment - The Muse of the Department - Cesar Birotteau - At the Sign of the Cat and Racket - - Camusot de Marville - Jealousies of a Country Town - The Commission in Lunacy - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - - Camusot de Marville, Madame - The Vendetta - Cesar Birotteau - Jealousies of a Country Town - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - - Cardot (Parisian notary) - The Muse of the Department - A Man of Business - Jealousies of a Country Town - Pierre Grassou - The Middle Classes - - Chanor - Cousin Betty - - Crevel, Celestin - Cesar Birotteau - Cousin Betty - - Crottat, Alexandre - Cesar Birotteau - Colonel Chabert - A Start in Life - A Woman of Thirty - - Desplein - The Atheist’s Mass - Lost Illusions - The Thirteen - The Government Clerks - Pierrette - A Bachelor’s Establishment - The Seamy Side of History - Modeste Mignon - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - Honorine - - Florent - Cousin Betty - - Fontaine, Madame - The Unconscious Humorists - - Gaudissart, Felix - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - Cesar Birotteau - Honorine - Gaudissart the Great - - Godeschal, Francois-Claude-Marie - Colonel Chabert - A Bachelor’s Establishment - A Start in Life - The Commission in Lunacy - The Middle Classes - - Godeschal, Marie - A Bachelor’s Establishment - A Start in Life - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - - Gouraud, General, Baron - Pierrette - - Graff, Wolfgang - Cousin Betty - - Granville, Vicomte de (later Comte) - The Gondreville Mystery - Honorine - A Second Home - Farewell (Adieu) - Cesar Birotteau - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - A Daughter of Eve - - Grassou, Pierre - Pierre Grassou - A Bachelor’s Establishment - Cousin Betty - The Middle Classes - - Hannequin, Leopold - Albert Savarus - Beatrix - Cousin Betty - - Haudry (doctor) - Cesar Birotteau - The Thirteen - A Bachelor’s Establishment - The Seamy Side of History - - Lebrun (physician) - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - - Louchard - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - - Madeleine - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - - Magus, Elie - The Vendetta - A Marriage Settlement - A Bachelor’s Establishment - Pierre Grassou - - Matifat (wealthy druggist) - Cesar Birotteau - A Bachelor’s Establishment - Lost Illusions - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - The Firm of Nucingen - - Minard, Prudence - The Middle Classes - - Pillerault, Claude-Joseph - Cesar Birotteau - - Popinot, Anselme - Cesar Birotteau - Gaudissart the Great - Cousin Betty - - Popinot, Madame Anselme - Cesar Birotteau - A Prince of Bohemia - Cousin Betty - - Popinot, Vicomte - Cousin Betty - - Rivet, Achille - Cousin Betty - - Schmucke, Wilhelm - A Daughter of Eve - Ursule Mirouet - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life - - Stevens, Dinah - A Marriage Settlement - - Stidmann - Modeste Mignon - Beatrix - The Member for Arcis - Cousin Betty - The Unconscious Humorists - - Thouvenin - Cesar Birotteau - - Vinet - Pierrette - The Member for Arcis - The Middle Classes - - Vinet, Olivier - The Member for Arcis - The Middle Classes - - Vivet, Madeleine - Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life -</pre> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Cousin Pons, by Honore de Balzac - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COUSIN PONS *** - -***** This file should be named 1856-h.htm or 1856-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/5/1856/ - -Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny, and David Widger - - -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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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: Cousin Pons - -Author: Honore de Balzac - -Translator: Ellen Marriage - -Release Date: August, 1999 [Etext #1856] -Posting Date: March 3, 2010 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COUSIN PONS *** - - - - -Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny - - - - - -COUSIN PONS - - -By Honore De Balzac - - - -Translated by Ellen Marriage - - - - -COUSIN PONS - - -Towards three o'clock in the afternoon of one October day in the year -1844, a man of sixty or thereabouts, whom anybody might have credited -with more than his actual age, was walking along the Boulevard des -Italiens with his head bent down, as if he were tracking some one. There -was a smug expression about the mouth--he looked like a merchant who -has just done a good stroke of business, or a bachelor emerging from -a boudoir in the best of humors with himself; and in Paris this is -the highest degree of self-satisfaction ever registered by a human -countenance. - -As soon as the elderly person appeared in the distance, a smile broke -out over the faces of the frequenters of the boulevard, who daily, from -their chairs, watch the passers-by, and indulge in the agreeable pastime -of analyzing them. That smile is peculiar to Parisians; it says so many -things--ironical, quizzical, pitying; but nothing save the rarest of -human curiosities can summon that look of interest to the faces of -Parisians, sated as they are with every possible sight. - -A saying recorded of Hyacinthe, an actor celebrated for his repartees, -will explain the archaeological value of the old gentleman, and the -smile repeated like an echo by all eyes. Somebody once asked Hyacinthe -where the hats were made that set the house in a roar as soon as he -appeared. "I don't have them made," he said; "I keep them!" So also -among the million actors who make up the great troupe of Paris, there -are unconscious Hyacinthes who "keep" all the absurd freaks of vanished -fashions upon their backs; and the apparition of some bygone decade will -startle you into laughter as you walk the streets in bitterness of soul -over the treason of one who was your friend in the past. - -In some respects the passer-by adhered so faithfully to the fashions -of the year 1806, that he was not so much a burlesque caricature as a -reproduction of the Empire period. To an observer, accuracy of detail in -a revival of this sort is extremely valuable, but accuracy of detail, -to be properly appreciated, demands the critical attention of an expert -_flaneur_; while the man in the street who raises a laugh as soon as he -comes in sight is bound to be one of those outrageous exhibitions which -stare you in the face, as the saying goes, and produce the kind of -effect which an actor tries to secure for the success of his entry. The -elderly person, a thin, spare man, wore a nut-brown spencer over a coat -of uncertain green, with white metal buttons. A man in a spencer in the -year 1844! it was as if Napoleon himself had vouchsafed to come to life -again for a couple of hours. - -The spencer, as its name indicates, was the invention of an English -lord, vain, doubtless, of his handsome shape. Some time before the Peace -of Amiens, this nobleman solved the problem of covering the bust without -destroying the outlines of the figure and encumbering the person with -the hideous boxcoat, now finishing its career on the backs of aged -hackney cabmen; but, elegant figures being in the minority, the success -of the spencer was short-lived in France, English though it was. - -At the sight of the spencer, men of forty or fifty mentally invested -the wearer with top-boots, pistachio-colored kerseymere small clothes -adorned with a knot of ribbon; and beheld themselves in the costumes of -their youth. Elderly ladies thought of former conquests; but the younger -men were asking each other why the aged Alcibiades had cut off the -skirts of his overcoat. The rest of the costume was so much in keeping -with the spencer, that you would not have hesitated to call the wearer -"an Empire man," just as you call a certain kind of furniture "Empire -furniture;" yet the newcomer only symbolized the Empire for those who -had known that great and magnificent epoch at any rate _de visu_, for a -certain accuracy of memory was needed for the full appreciation of the -costume, and even now the Empire is so far away that not every one of us -can picture it in its Gallo-Grecian reality. - -The stranger's hat, for instance, tipped to the back of his head so as -to leave almost the whole forehead bare, recalled a certain jaunty air, -with which civilians and officials attempted to swagger it with military -men; but the hat itself was a shocking specimen of the fifteen-franc -variety. Constant friction with a pair of enormous ears had left their -marks which no brush could efface from the underside of the brim; the -silk tissue (as usual) fitted badly over the cardboard foundation, and -hung in wrinkles here and there; and some skin-disease (apparently) had -attacked the nap in spite of the hand which rubbed it down of a morning. - -Beneath the hat, which seemed ready to drop off at any moment, lay -an expanse of countenance grotesque and droll, as the faces which the -Chinese alone of all people can imagine for their quaint curiosities. -The broad visage was as full of holes as a colander, honeycombed with -the shadows of the dints, hollowed out like a Roman mask. It set all -the laws of anatomy at defiance. Close inspection failed to detect the -substructure. Where you expected to find a bone, you discovered a layer -of cartilaginous tissue, and the hollows of an ordinary human face were -here filled out with flabby bosses. A pair of gray eyes, red-rimmed -and lashless, looked forlornly out of a countenance which was flattened -something after the fashion of a pumpkin, and surmounted by a Don -Quixote nose that rose out of it like a monolith above a plain. It was -the kind of nose, as Cervantes must surely have explained somewhere, -which denotes an inborn enthusiasm for all things great, a tendency -which is apt to degenerate into credulity. - -And yet, though the man's ugliness was something almost ludicrous, it -aroused not the slightest inclination to laugh. The exceeding melancholy -which found an outlet in the poor man's faded eyes reached the mocker -himself and froze the gibes on his lips; for all at once the thought -arose that this was a human creature to whom Nature had forbidden any -expression of love or tenderness, since such expression could only be -painful or ridiculous to the woman he loved. In the presence of such -misfortune a Frenchman is silent; to him it seems the most cruel of all -afflictions--to be unable to please! - -The man so ill-favored was dressed after the fashion of shabby -gentility, a fashion which the rich not seldom try to copy. He wore -low shoes beneath gaiters of the pattern worn by the Imperial Guard, -doubtless for the sake of economy, because they kept the socks clean. -The rusty tinge of his black breeches, like the cut and the white or -shiny line of the creases, assigned the date of the purchase some three -years back. The roomy garments failed to disguise the lean proportions -of the wearer, due apparently rather to constitution than to a -Pythagorean regimen, for the worthy man was endowed with thick lips -and a sensual mouth; and when he smiled, displayed a set of white teeth -which would have done credit to a shark. - -A shawl-waistcoat, likewise of black cloth, was supplemented by a white -under-waistcoat, and yet again beneath this gleamed the edge of a red -knitted under-jacket, to put you in mind of Garat's five waistcoats. -A huge white muslin stock with a conspicuous bow, invented by some -exquisite to charm "the charming sex" in 1809, projected so far above -the wearer's chin that the lower part of his face was lost, as it were, -in a muslin abyss. A silk watch-guard, plaited to resemble the keepsakes -made of hair, meandered down the shirt front and secured his watch from -the improbable theft. The greenish coat, though older by some three -years than the breeches, was remarkably neat; the black velvet collar -and shining metal buttons, recently renewed, told of carefulness which -descended even to trifles. - -The particular manner of fixing the hat on the occiput, the triple -waistcoat, the vast cravat engulfing the chin, the gaiters, the metal -buttons on the greenish coat,--all these reminiscences of Imperial -fashions were blended with a sort of afterwaft and lingering perfume of -the coquetry of the Incroyable--with an indescribable finical something -in the folds of the garments, a certain air of stiffness and correctness -in the demeanor that smacked of the school of David, that recalled -Jacob's spindle-legged furniture. - -At first sight, moreover, you set him down either for the gentleman by -birth fallen a victim to some degrading habit, or for the man of small -independent means whose expenses are calculated to such a nicety that -the breakage of a windowpane, a rent in a coat, or a visit from the -philanthropic pest who asks you for subscriptions to a charity, absorbs -the whole of a month's little surplus of pocket-money. If you had seen -him that afternoon, you would have wondered how that grotesque face came -to be lighted up with a smile; usually, surely, it must have worn -the dispirited, passive look of the obscure toiler condemned to labor -without ceasing for the barest necessaries of life. Yet when you -noticed that the odd-looking old man was carrying some object (evidently -precious) in his right hand with a mother's care; concealing it under -the skirts of his coat to keep it from collisions in the crowd, and -still more, when you remarked that important air always assumed by an -idler when intrusted with a commission, you would have suspected him of -recovering some piece of lost property, some modern equivalent of the -marquise's poodle; you would have recognized the assiduous gallantry of -the "man of the Empire" returning in triumph from his mission to some -charming woman of sixty, reluctant as yet to dispense with the daily -visit of her elderly _attentif_. - -In Paris only among great cities will you see such spectacles as this; -for of her boulevards Paris makes a stage where a never-ending drama is -played gratuitously by the French nation in the interests of Art. - -In spite of the rashly assumed spencer, you would scarcely have thought, -after a glance at the contours of the man's bony frame, that this was an -artist--that conventional type which is privileged, in something of the -same way as a Paris gamin, to represent riotous living to the bourgeois -and philistine mind, the most _mirific_ joviality, in short (to use the -old Rabelaisian word newly taken into use). Yet this elderly person had -once taken the medal and the traveling scholarship; he had composed -the first cantata crowned by the Institut at the time of the -re-establishment of the Academie de Rome; he was M. Sylvain Pons, in -fact--M. Sylvain Pons, whose name appears on the covers of well-known -sentimental songs trilled by our mothers, to say nothing of a couple -of operas, played in 1815 and 1816, and divers unpublished scores. The -worthy soul was now ending his days as the conductor of an orchestra -in a boulevard theatre, and a music master in several young ladies' -boarding-schools, a post for which his face particularly recommended -him. He was entirely dependent upon his earnings. Running about to give -private lessons at his age!--Think of it. How many a mystery lies in -that unromantic situation! - -But the last man to wear the spencer carried something about him besides -his Empire Associations; a warning and a lesson was written large over -that triple waistcoat. Wherever he went, he exhibited, without fee or -charge, one of the many victims of the fatal system of competition which -still prevails in France in spite of a century of trial without result; -for Poisson de Marigny, brother of the Pompadour and Director of Fine -Arts, somewhere about 1746 invented this method of applying pressure to -the brain. That was a hundred years ago. Try if you can count upon your -fingers the men of genius among the prizemen of those hundred years. - -In the first place, no deliberate effort of schoolmaster or -administrator can replace the miracles of chance which produce great -men: of all the mysteries of generation, this most defies the ambitious -modern scientific investigator. In the second--the ancient Egyptians -(we are told) invented incubator-stoves for hatching eggs; what would be -thought of Egyptians who should neglect to fill the beaks of the callow -fledglings? Yet this is precisely what France is doing. She does -her utmost to produce artists by the artificial heat of competitive -examination; but, the sculptor, painter, engraver, or musician once -turned out by this mechanical process, she no more troubles herself -about them and their fate than the dandy cares for yesterday's flower in -his buttonhole. And so it happens that the really great man is a Greuze, -a Watteau, a Felicien David, a Pagnesi, a Gericault, a Decamps, an -Auber, a David d'Angers, an Eugene Delacroix, or a Meissonier--artists -who take but little heed of _grande prix_, and spring up in the open -field under the rays of that invisible sun called Vocation. - -To resume. The Government sent Sylvain Pons to Rome to make a great -musician of himself; and in Rome Sylvain Pons acquired a taste for -the antique and works of art. He became an admirable judge of those -masterpieces of the brain and hand which are summed up by the useful -neologism "bric-a-brac;" and when the child of Euterpe returned to -Paris somewhere about the year 1810, it was in the character of a rabid -collector, loaded with pictures, statuettes, frames, wood-carving, -ivories, enamels, porcelains, and the like. He had sunk the greater -part of his patrimony, not so much in the purchases themselves as on the -expenses of transit; and every penny inherited from his mother had -been spent in the course of a three-years' travel in Italy after the -residence in Rome came to an end. He had seen Venice, Milan, Florence, -Bologna, and Naples leisurely, as he wished to see them, as a dreamer of -dreams, and a philosopher; careless of the future, for an artist looks -to his talent for support as the _fille de joie_ counts upon her beauty. - -All through those splendid years of travel Pons was as happy as was -possible to a man with a great soul, a sensitive nature, and a face so -ugly that any "success with the fair" (to use the stereotyped formula of -1809) was out of the question; the realities of life always fell short -of the ideals which Pons created for himself; the world without was -not in tune with the soul within, but Pons had made up his mind to the -dissonance. Doubtless the sense of beauty that he had kept pure and -living in his inmost soul was the spring from which the delicate, -graceful, and ingenious music flowed and won him reputation between 1810 -and 1814. - -Every reputation founded upon the fashion or the fancy of the hour, or -upon the short-lived follies of Paris, produces its Pons. No place in -the world is so inexorable in great things; no city of the globe so -disdainfully indulgent in small. Pons' notes were drowned before long in -floods of German harmony and the music of Rossini; and if in 1824 he -was known as an agreeable musician, a composer of various drawing-room -melodies, judge if he was likely to be famous in 183l! In 1844, the year -in which the single drama of this obscure life began, Sylvain Pons was -of no more value than an antediluvian semiquaver; dealers in music had -never heard of his name, though he was still composing, on scanty pay, -for his own orchestra or for neighboring theatres. - -And yet, the worthy man did justice to the great masters of our day; a -masterpiece finely rendered brought tears to his eyes; but his religion -never bordered on mania, as in the case of Hoffmann's Kreislers; he kept -his enthusiasm to himself; his delight, like the paradise reached by -opium or hashish, lay within his own soul. - -The gift of admiration, of comprehension, the single faculty by which -the ordinary man becomes the brother of the poet, is rare in the city -of Paris, that inn whither all ideas, like travelers, come to stay for -awhile; so rare is it, that Pons surely deserves our respectful esteem. -His personal failure may seem anomalous, but he frankly admitted that he -was weak in harmony. He had neglected the study of counterpoint; there -was a time when he might have begun his studies afresh and held his -own among modern composers, when he might have been, not certainly a -Rossini, but a Herold. But he was alarmed by the intricacies of modern -orchestration; and at length, in the pleasures of collecting, he found -such ever-renewed compensation for his failure, that if he had been made -to choose between his curiosities and the fame of Rossini--will it be -believed?--Pons would have pronounced for his beloved collection. - -Pons was of the opinion of Chenavard, the print-collector, who laid it -down as an axiom--that you only fully enjoy the pleasure of looking at -your Ruysdael, Hobbema, Holbein, Raphael, Murillo, Greuze, Sebastian del -Piombo, Giorgione, Albrecht Durer, or what not, when you have paid less -than sixty francs for your picture. Pons never gave more than a hundred -francs for any purchase. If he laid out as much as fifty francs, he was -careful to assure himself beforehand that the object was worth three -thousand. The most beautiful thing in the world, if it cost three -hundred francs, did not exist for Pons. Rare had been his bargains; but -he possessed the three qualifications for success--a stag's legs, an -idler's disregard of time, and the patience of a Jew. - -This system, carried out for forty years, in Rome or Paris alike, had -borne its fruits. Since Pons returned from Italy, he had regularly spent -about two thousand francs a year upon a collection of masterpieces of -every sort and description, a collection hidden away from all eyes but -his own; and now his catalogue had reached the incredible number of -1907. Wandering about Paris between 1811 and 1816, he had picked up -many a treasure for ten francs, which would fetch a thousand or twelve -hundred to-day. Some forty-five thousand canvases change hands annually -in Paris picture sales, and these Pons had sifted through year by year. -Pons had Sevres porcelain, _pate tendre_, bought of Auvergnats, those -satellites of the Black Band who sacked chateaux and carried off the -marvels of Pompadour France in their tumbril carts; he had, in fact, -collected the drifted wreck of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; -he recognized the genius of the French school, and discerned the merit -of the Lepautres and Lavallee-Poussins and the rest of the great obscure -creators of the Genre Louis Quinze and the Genre Louis Seize. Our modern -craftsmen now draw without acknowledgment from them, pore incessantly -over the treasures of the Cabinet des Estampes, borrow adroitly, and -give out their _pastiches_ for new inventions. Pons had obtained many a -piece by exchange, and therein lies the ineffable joy of the -collector. The joy of buying bric-a-brac is a secondary delight; in -the give-and-take of barter lies the joy of joys. Pons had begun -by collecting snuff-boxes and miniatures; his name was unknown in -bric-a-bracology, for he seldom showed himself in salesrooms or in the -shops of well-known dealers; Pons was not aware that his treasures had -any commercial value. - -The late lamented Dusommerard tried his best to gain Pons' confidence, -but the prince of bric-a-brac died before he could gain an entrance to -the Pons museum, the one private collection which could compare with -the famous Sauvageot museum. Pons and M. Sauvageot indeed resembled each -other in more ways than one. M. Sauvageot, like Pons, was a musician; -he was likewise a comparatively poor man, and he had collected his -bric-a-brac in much the same way, with the same love of art, the same -hatred of rich capitalists with well-known names who collect for the -sake of running up prices as cleverly as possible. There was yet another -point of resemblance between the pair; Pons, like his rival competitor -and antagonist, felt in his heart an insatiable craving after specimens -of the craftsman's skill and miracles of workmanship; he loved them as -a man might love a fair mistress; an auction in the salerooms in the -Rue des Jeuneurs, with its accompaniments of hammer strokes and brokers' -men, was a crime of _lese-bric-a-brac_ in Pons' eyes. Pons' museum was -for his own delight at every hour; for the soul created to know and -feel all the beauty of a masterpiece has this in common with the -lover--to-day's joy is as great as the joy of yesterday; possession -never palls; and a masterpiece, happily, never grows old. So the object -that he held in his hand with such fatherly care could only be a "find," -carried off with what affection amateurs alone know! - -After the first outlines of this biographical sketch, every one will -cry at once, "Why! this is the happiest man on earth, in spite of -his ugliness!" And, in truth, no spleen, no dullness can resist the -counter-irritant supplied by a "craze," the intellectual moxa of a -hobby. You who can no longer drink of "the cup of pleasure," as it has -been called through all ages, try to collect something, no matter what -(people have been known to collect placards), so shall you receive the -small change for the gold ingot of happiness. Have you a hobby? You have -transferred pleasure to the plane of ideas. And yet, you need not -envy the worthy Pons; such envy, like all kindred sentiments, would be -founded upon a misapprehension. - -With a nature so sensitive, with a soul that lived by tireless -admiration of the magnificent achievements of art, of the high rivalry -between human toil and the work of Nature--Pons was a slave to that one -of the Seven Deadly Sins with which God surely will deal least hardly; -Pons was a glutton. A narrow income, combined with a passion for -bric-a-brac, condemned him to a regimen so abhorrent to a discriminating -palate, that, bachelor as he was, he had cut the knot of the problem by -dining out every day. - -Now, in the time of the Empire, celebrities were more sought after than -at present, perhaps because there were so few of them, perhaps because -they made little or no political pretension. In those days, besides, -you could set up for a poet, a musician, or a painter, with so little -expense. Pons, being regarded as the probable rival of Nicolo, Paer, and -Berton, used to receive so many invitations, that he was forced to keep -a list of engagements, much as barristers note down the cases for which -they are retained. And Pons behaved like an artist. He presented his -amphitryons with copies of his songs, he "obliged" at the pianoforte, -he brought them orders for boxes at the Feydeau, his own theatre, he -organized concerts, he was not above taking the fiddle himself sometimes -in a relation's house, and getting up a little impromptu dance. In those -days, all the handsome men in France were away at the wars exchanging -sabre-cuts with the handsome men of the Coalition. Pons was said to -be, not ugly, but "peculiar-looking," after the grand rule laid down by -Moliere in Eliante's famous couplets; but if he sometimes heard himself -described as a "charming man" (after he had done some fair lady a -service), his good fortune went no further than words. - -It was between the years 1810 and 1816 that Pons contracted the unlucky -habit of dining out; he grew accustomed to see his hosts taking pains -over the dinner, procuring the first and best of everything, bringing -out their choicest vintages, seeing carefully to the dessert, the -coffee, the liqueurs, giving him of their best, in short; the best, -moreover, of those times of the Empire when Paris was glutted with -kings and queens and princes, and many a private house emulated royal -splendours. - -People used to play at Royalty then as they play nowadays at parliament, -creating a whole host of societies with presidents, vice-presidents, -secretaries and what not--agricultural societies, industrial societies, -societies for the promotion of sericulture, viticulture, the growth of -flax, and so forth. Some have even gone so far as to look about them for -social evils in order to start a society to cure them. - -But to return to Pons. A stomach thus educated is sure to react upon the -owner's moral fibre; the demoralization of the man varies directly with -his progress in culinary sapience. Voluptuousness, lurking in every -secret recess of the heart, lays down the law therein. Honor and -resolution are battered in breach. The tyranny of the palate has never -been described; as a necessity of life it escapes the criticism of -literature; yet no one imagines how many have been ruined by the table. -The luxury of the table is indeed, in this sense, the courtesan's one -competitor in Paris, besides representing in a manner the credit side in -another account, where she figures as the expenditure. - -With Pons' decline and fall as an artist came his simultaneous -transformation from invited guest to parasite and hanger-on; he could -not bring himself to quit dinners so excellently served for the Spartan -broth of a two-franc ordinary. Alas! alas! a shudder ran through him at -the mere thought of the great sacrifices which independence required him -to make. He felt that he was capable of sinking to even lower depths -for the sake of good living, if there were no other way of enjoying the -first and best of everything, of guzzling (vulgar but expressive word) -nice little dishes carefully prepared. Pons lived like a bird, pilfering -his meal, flying away when he had taken his fill, singing a few notes by -way of return; he took a certain pleasure in the thought that he lived -at the expense of society, which asked of him--what but the trifling -toll of grimaces? Like all confirmed bachelors, who hold their lodgings -in horror, and live as much as possible in other people's houses, Pons -was accustomed to the formulas and facial contortions which do duty for -feeling in the world; he used compliments as small change; and as far as -others were concerned, he was satisfied with the labels they bore, and -never plunged a too-curious hand into the sack. - -This not intolerable phase lasted for another ten years. Such years! -Pons' life was closing with a rainy autumn. All through those years he -contrived to dine without expense by making himself necessary in the -houses which he frequented. He took the first step in the downward path -by undertaking a host of small commissions; many and many a time Pons -ran on errands instead of the porter or the servant; many a purchase he -made for his entertainers. He became a kind of harmless, well-meaning -spy, sent by one family into another; but he gained no credit with those -for whom he trudged about, and so often sacrificed self-respect. - -"Pons is a bachelor," said they; "he is at a loss to know what to do -with his time; he is only too glad to trot about for us.--What else -would he do?" - -Very soon the cold which old age spreads about itself began to set in; -the communicable cold which sensibly lowers the social temperature, -especially if the old man is ugly and poor. Old and ugly and poor--is -not this to be thrice old? Pons' winter had begun, the winter which -brings the reddened nose, and frost-nipped cheeks, and the numbed -fingers, numb in how many ways! - -Invitations very seldom came for Pons now. So far from seeking the -society of the parasite, every family accepted him much as they accepted -the taxes; they valued nothing that Pons could do for them; real -services from Pons counted for nought. The family circles in which the -worthy artist revolved had no respect for art or letters; they went down -on their knees to practical results; they valued nothing but the fortune -or social position acquired since the year 1830. The bourgeoisie is -afraid of intellect and genius, but Pons' spirit and manner were not -haughty enough to overawe his relations, and naturally he had come at -last to be accounted less than nothing with them, though he was not -altogether despised. - -He had suffered acutely among them, but, like all timid creatures, he -kept silence as to his pain; and so by degrees schooled himself to hide -his feelings, and learned to take sanctuary in his inmost self. -Many superficial persons interpret this conduct by the short word -"selfishness;" and, indeed, the resemblance between the egoist and the -solitary human creature is strong enough to seem to justify the harsher -verdict; and this is especially true in Paris, where nobody observes -others closely, where all things pass swift as waves, and last as little -as a Ministry. - -So Cousin Pons was accused of selfishness (behind his back); and if the -world accuses any one, it usually finds him guilty and condemns him into -the bargain. Pons bowed to the decision. Do any of us know how such a -timid creature is cast down by an unjust judgment? Who will ever paint -all that the timid suffer? This state of things, now growing daily -worse, explains the sad expression on the poor old musician's face; -he lived by capitulations of which he was ashamed. Every time we sin -against self-respect at the bidding of the ruling passion, we rivet -its hold upon us; the more that passion requires of us, the stronger -it grows, every sacrifice increasing, as it were, the value of a -satisfaction for which so much has been given up, till the negative -sum-total of renouncements looms very large in a man's imagination. -Pons, for instance, after enduring the insolently patronizing looks of -some bourgeois, incased in buckram of stupidity, sipped his glass of -port or finished his quail with breadcrumbs, and relished something of -the savor of revenge, besides. "It is not too dear at the price!" he -said to himself. - -After all, in the eyes of the moralist, there were extenuating -circumstances in Pons' case. Man only lives, in fact, by some personal -satisfaction. The passionless, perfectly righteous man is not human; he -is a monster, an angel wanting wings. The angel of Christian mythology -has nothing but a head. On earth, the righteous person is the -sufficiently tiresome Grandison, for whom the very Venus of the -Crosswords is sexless. - -Setting aside one or two commonplace adventures in Italy, in which -probably the climate accounted for his success, no woman had ever smiled -upon Pons. Plenty of men are doomed to this fate. Pons was an abnormal -birth; the child of parents well stricken in years, he bore the stigma -of his untimely genesis; his cadaverous complexion might have been -contracted in the flask of spirit-of-wine in which science preserves -some extraordinary foetus. Artist though he was, with his tender, -dreamy, sensitive soul, he was forced to accept the character which -belonged to his face; it was hopeless to think of love, and he remained -a bachelor, not so much of choice as of necessity. Then Gluttony, the -sin of the continent monk, beckoned to Pons; he rushed upon temptation, -as he had thrown his whole soul into the adoration of art and the cult -of music. Good cheer and bric-a-brac gave him the small change for the -love which could spend itself in no other way. As for music, it was -his profession, and where will you find the man who is in love with -his means of earning a livelihood? For it is with a profession as -with marriage: in the long length you are sensible of nothing but the -drawbacks. - -Brillat-Savarin has deliberately set himself to justify the gastronome, -but perhaps even he has not dwelt sufficiently on the reality of the -pleasures of the table. The demands of digestion upon the human economy -produce an internal wrestling-bout of human forces which rivals the -highest degree of amorous pleasure. The gastronome is conscious of an -expenditure of vital power, an expenditure so vast that the brain is -atrophied (as it were), that a second brain, located in the diaphragm, -may come into play, and the suspension of all the faculties is in itself -a kind of intoxication. A boa constrictor gorged with an ox is so stupid -with excess that the creature is easily killed. What man, on the wrong -side of forty, is rash enough to work after dinner? And remark in the -same connection, that all great men have been moderate eaters. The -exhilarating effect of the wing of a chicken upon invalids recovering -from serious illness, and long confined to a stinted and carefully -chosen diet, has been frequently remarked. The sober Pons, whose whole -enjoyment was concentrated in the exercise of his digestive organs, was -in the position of chronic convalescence; he looked to his dinner to -give him the utmost degree of pleasurable sensation, and hitherto he had -procured such sensations daily. Who dares to bid farewell to old -habit? Many a man on the brink of suicide has been plucked back on the -threshold of death by the thought of the cafe where he plays his nightly -game of dominoes. - -In the year 1835, chance avenged Pons for the indifference of womankind -by finding him a prop for his declining years, as the saying goes; and -he, who had been old from his cradle, found a support in friendship. -Pons took to himself the only life-partner permitted to him among his -kind--an old man and a fellow-musician. - -But for La Fontaine's fable, _Les Deux Amis_, this sketch should have -borne the title of _The Two Friends_; but to take the name of this -divine story would surely be a deed of violence, a profanation from -which every true man of letters would shrink. The title ought to be -borne alone and for ever by the fabulist's masterpiece, the revelation -of his soul, and the record of his dreams; those three words were set -once and for ever by the poet at the head of a page which is his by -a sacred right of ownership; for it is a shrine before which all -generations, all over the world, will kneel so long as the art of -printing shall endure. - -Pons' friend gave lessons on the pianoforte. They met and struck up -an acquaintance in 1834, one prize day at a boarding-school; and so -congenial were their ways of thinking and living, that Pons used to say -that he had found his friend too late for his happiness. Never, perhaps, -did two souls, so much alike, find each other in the great ocean of -humanity which flowed forth, in disobedience to the will of God, from -its source in the Garden of Eden. Before very long the two musicians -could not live without each other. Confidences were exchanged, and in -a week's time they were like brothers. Schmucke (for that was his name) -had not believed that such a man as Pons existed, nor had Pons imagined -that a Schmucke was possible. Here already you have a sufficient -description of the good couple; but it is not every mind that takes -kindly to the concise synthetic method, and a certain amount of -demonstration is necessary if the credulous are to accept the -conclusion. - -This pianist, like all other pianists, was a German. A German, like the -eminent Liszt and the great Mendelssohn, and Steibelt, and Dussek, and -Meyer, and Mozart, and Doelher, and Thalberg, and Dreschok, and Hiller, -and Leopold Hertz, Woertz, Karr, Wolff, Pixis, and Clara Wieck--and -all Germans, generally speaking. Schmucke was a great musical composer -doomed to remain a music master, so utterly did his character lack the -audacity which a musical genius needs if he is to push his way to the -front. A German's naivete does not invariably last him through his life; -in some cases it fails after a certain age; and even as a cultivator -of the soil brings water from afar by means of irrigation channels, so, -from the springs of his youth, does the Teuton draw the simplicity which -disarms suspicion--the perennial supplies with which he fertilizes his -labors in every field of science, art, or commerce. A crafty Frenchman -here and there will turn a Parisian tradesman's stupidity to good -account in the same way. But Schmucke had kept his child's simplicity -much as Pons continued to wear his relics of the Empire--all -unsuspectingly. The true and noble-hearted German was at once the -theatre and the audience, making music within himself for himself -alone. In this city of Paris he lived as a nightingale lives among the -thickets; and for twenty years he sang on, mateless, till he met with a -second self in Pons. [See _Une Fille d'Eve_.] - -Both Pons and Schmucke were abundantly given, both by heart and -disposition, to the peculiarly German sentimentality which shows itself -alike in childlike ways--in a passion for flowers, in that form of -nature-worship which prompts a German to plant his garden-beds with big -glass globes for the sake of seeing miniature pictures of the view which -he can behold about him of a natural size; in the inquiring turn of mind -that sets a learned Teuton trudging three hundred miles in his gaiters -in search of a fact which smiles up in his face from a wayside spring, -or lurks laughing under the jessamine leaves in the back-yard; or (to -take a final instance) in the German craving to endow every least detail -in creation with a spiritual significance, a craving which produces -sometimes Hoffmann's tipsiness in type, sometimes the folios with which -Germany hedges the simplest questions round about, lest haply any fool -should fall into her intellectual excavations; and, indeed, if you -fathom these abysses, you find nothing but a German at the bottom. - -Both friends were Catholics. They went to Mass and performed the duties -of religion together; and, like children, found nothing to tell their -confessors. It was their firm belief that music is to feeling and -thought as thought and feeling are to speech; and of their converse on -this system there was no end. Each made response to the other in orgies -of sound, demonstrating their convictions, each for each, like lovers. - -Schmucke was as absent-minded as Pons was wide-awake. Pons was a -collector, Schmucke a dreamer of dreams; Schmucke was a student of -beauty seen by the soul, Pons a preserver of material beauty. Pons would -catch sight of a china cup and buy it in the time that Schmucke took to -blow his nose, wondering the while within himself whether the musical -phrase that was ringing in his brain--the _motif_ from Rossini or -Bellini or Beethoven or Mozart--had its origin or its counterpart in the -world of human thought and emotion. Schmucke's economies were controlled -by an absent mind, Pons was a spendthrift through passion, and for both -the result was the same--they had not a penny on Saint Sylvester's day. - -Perhaps Pons would have given way under his troubles if it had not been -for this friendship; but life became bearable when he found some one to -whom he could pour out his heart. The first time that he breathed a -word of his difficulties, the good German had advised him to live as he -himself did, and eat bread and cheese at home sooner than dine abroad at -such a cost. Alas! Pons did not dare to confess that heart and stomach -were at war within him, that he could digest affronts which pained his -heart, and, cost what it might, a good dinner that satisfied his palate -was a necessity to him, even as your gay Lothario must have a mistress -to tease. - -In time Schmucke understood; not just at once, for he was too much of -a Teuton to possess that gift of swift perception in which the French -rejoice; Schmucke understood and loved poor Pons the better. Nothing so -fortifies a friendship as a belief on the part of one friend that he is -superior to the other. An angel could not have found a word to say to -Schmucke rubbing his hands over the discovery of the hold that -gluttony had gained over Pons. Indeed, the good German adorned their -breakfast-table next morning with delicacies of which he went in search -himself; and every day he was careful to provide something new for his -friend, for they always breakfasted together at home. - -If any one imagines that the pair could not escape ridicule in Paris, -where nothing is respected, he cannot know that city. When Schmucke -and Pons united their riches and poverty, they hit upon the economical -expedient of lodging together, each paying half the rent of the very -unequally divided second-floor of a house in the Rue de Normandie in the -Marais. And as it often happened that they left home together and walked -side by side along their beat of boulevard, the idlers of the quarter -dubbed them "the pair of nutcrackers," a nickname which makes any -portrait of Schmucke quite superfluous, for he was to Pons as the famous -statue of the Nurse of Niobe in the Vatican is to the Tribune Venus. - -Mme. Cibot, portress of the house in the Rue de Normandie, was the pivot -on which the domestic life of the nutcrackers turned; but Mme. Cibot -plays so large a part in the drama which grew out of their double -existence, that it will be more appropriate to give her portrait on her -first appearance in this Scene of Parisian Life. - -One thing remains to be said of the characters of the pair of friends; -but this one thing is precisely the hardest to make clear to ninety-nine -readers out of a hundred in this forty-seventh year of the nineteenth -century, perhaps by reason of the prodigious financial development -brought about by the railway system. It is a little thing, and yet it -is so much. It is a question, in fact, of giving an idea of the extreme -sensitiveness of their natures. Let us borrow an illustration from the -railways, if only by way of retaliation, as it were, for the loans which -they levy upon us. The railway train of to-day, tearing over the metals, -grinds away fine particles of dust, grains so minute that a traveler -cannot detect them with the eye; but let a single one of those invisible -motes find its way into the kidneys, it will bring about that most -excruciating, and sometimes fatal, disease known as gravel. And our -society, rushing like a locomotive along its metaled track, is heedless -of the all but imperceptible dust made by the grinding of the wheels; -but it was otherwise with the two musicians; the invisible grains of -sand sank perpetually into the very fibres of their being, causing them -intolerable anguish of heart. Tender exceedingly to the pain of -others, they wept for their own powerlessness to help; and their -own susceptibilities were almost morbidly acute. Neither age nor the -continual spectacle of the drama of Paris life had hardened two souls -still young and childlike and pure; the longer they lived, indeed, the -more keenly they felt their inward suffering; for so it is, alas! with -natures unsullied by the world, with the quiet thinker, and with such -poets among the poets as have never fallen into any excess. - -Since the old men began housekeeping together, the day's routine was -very nearly the same for them both. They worked together in harness -in the fraternal fashion of the Paris cab-horse; rising every morning, -summer and winter, at seven o'clock, and setting out after breakfast -to give music lessons in the boarding-schools, in which, upon occasion, -they would take lessons for each other. Towards noon Pons repaired to -his theatre, if there was a rehearsal on hand; but all his spare moments -were spent in sauntering on the boulevards. Night found both of them in -the orchestra at the theatre, for Pons had found a place for Schmucke, -and upon this wise. - -At the time of their first meeting, Pons had just received that -marshal's baton of the unknown musical composer--an appointment as -conductor of an orchestra. It had come to him unasked, by a favor of -Count Popinot, a bourgeois hero of July, at that time a member of the -Government. Count Popinot had the license of a theatre in his gift, -and Count Popinot had also an old acquaintance of the kind that the -successful man blushes to meet. As he rolls through the streets of Paris -in his carriage, it is not pleasant to see his boyhood's chum down at -heel, with a coat of many improbable colors and trousers innocent of -straps, and a head full of soaring speculations on too grand a scale to -tempt shy, easily scared capital. Moreover, this friend of his youth, -Gaudissart by name, had done not a little in the past towards founding -the fortunes of the great house of Popinot. Popinot, now a Count and a -peer of France, after twice holding a portfolio had no wish to shake off -"the Illustrious Gaudissart." Quite otherwise. The pomps and vanities -of the Court of the Citizen-King had not spoiled the sometime druggist's -kind heart; he wished to put his ex-commercial traveler in the way of -renewing his wardrobe and replenishing his purse. So when Gaudissart, -always an enthusiastic admirer of the fair sex, applied for the license -of a bankrupt theatre, Popinot granted it on condition that Pons (a -parasite of the Hotel Popinot) should be engaged as conductor of the -orchestra; and at the same time, the Count was careful to send certain -elderly amateurs of beauty to the theatre, so that the new manager might -be strongly supported financially by wealthy admirers of feminine charms -revealed by the costume of the ballet. - -Gaudissart and Company, who, be it said, made their fortune, hit -upon the grand idea of operas for the people, and carried it out in a -boulevard theatre in 1834. A tolerable conductor, who could adapt or -even compose a little music upon occasion, was a necessity for ballets -and pantomimes; but the last management had so long been bankrupt, that -they could not afford to keep a transposer and copyist. Pons therefore -introduced Schmucke to the company as copier of music, a humble calling -which requires no small musical knowledge; and Schmucke, acting on -Pons' advice, came to an understanding with the _chef-de-service_ at the -Opera-Comique, so saving himself the clerical drudgery. - -The partnership between Pons and Schmucke produced one brilliant result. -Schmucke being a German, harmony was his strong point; he looked over -the instrumentation of Pons' compositions, and Pons provided the airs. -Here and there an amateur among the audience admired the new pieces of -music which served as accompaniment to two or three great successes, but -they attributed the improvement vaguely to "progress." No one cared to -know the composer's name; like occupants of the _baignoires_, lost -to view of the house, to gain a view of the stage, Pons and Schmucke -eclipsed themselves by their success. In Paris (especially since the -Revolution of July) no one can hope to succeed unless he will push his -way _quibuscumque viis_ and with all his might through a formidable host -of competitors; but for this feat a man needs thews and sinews, and our -two friends, be it remembered, had that affection of the heart which -cripples all ambitious effort. - -Pons, as a rule, only went to his theatre towards eight o'clock, when -the piece in favor came on, and overtures and accompaniments needed the -strict ruling of the baton; most minor theatres are lax in such matters, -and Pons felt the more at ease because he himself had been by no means -grasping in all his dealings with the management; and Schmucke, if -need be, could take his place. Time went by, and Schmucke became an -institution in the orchestra; the Illustrious Gaudissart said nothing, -but he was well aware of the value of Pons' collaborator. He was obliged -to include a pianoforte in the orchestra (following the example of the -leading theatres); the instrument was placed beside the conductor's -chair, and Schmucke played without increase of salary--a volunteer -supernumerary. As Schmucke's character, his utter lack of ambition -or pretence became known, the orchestra recognized him as one of -themselves; and as time went on, he was intrusted with the often needed -miscellaneous musical instruments which form no part of the regular -band of a boulevard theatre. For a very small addition to his stipend, -Schmucke played the viola d'amore, hautboy, violoncello, and harp, as -well as the piano, the castanets for the _cachucha_, the bells, saxhorn, -and the like. If the Germans cannot draw harmony from the mighty -instruments of Liberty, yet to play all instruments of music comes to -them by nature. - -The two old artists were exceedingly popular at the theatre, and took -its ways philosophically. They had put, as it were, scales over their -eyes, lest they should see the offences that needs must come when a -_corps de ballet_ is blended with actors and actresses, one of the most -trying combinations ever created by the laws of supply and demand for -the torment of managers, authors, and composers alike. - -Every one esteemed Pons with his kindness and his modesty, his great -self-respect and respect for others; for a pure and limpid life wins -something like admiration from the worst nature in every social sphere, -and in Paris a fair virtue meets with something of the success of a -large diamond, so great a rarity it is. No actor, no dancer however -brazen, would have indulged in the mildest practical joke at the expense -of either Pons or Schmucke. - -Pons very occasionally put in an appearance in the _foyer_; but all that -Schmucke knew of the theatre was the underground passage from the street -door to the orchestra. Sometimes, however, during an interval, the -good German would venture to make a survey of the house and ask a few -questions of the first flute, a young fellow from Strasbourg, who -came of a German family at Kehl. Gradually under the flute's tuition -Schmucke's childlike imagination acquired a certain amount of knowledge -of the world; he could believe in the existence of that fabulous -creature the _lorette_, the possibility of "marriages at the Thirteenth -Arrondissement," the vagaries of the leading lady, and the contraband -traffic carried on by box-openers. In his eyes the more harmless forms -of vice were the lowest depths of Babylonish iniquity; he did not -believe the stories, he smiled at them for grotesque inventions. The -ingenious reader can see that Pons and Schmucke were exploited, to use -a word much in fashion; but what they lost in money they gained in -consideration and kindly treatment. - -It was after the success of the ballet with which a run of success began -for the Gaudissart Company that the management presented Pons with a -piece of plate--a group of figures attributed to Benvenuto Cellini. The -alarming costliness of the gift caused talk in the green-room. It was -a matter of twelve hundred francs! Pons, poor honest soul, was for -returning the present, and Gaudissart had a world of trouble to persuade -him to keep it. - -"Ah!" said the manager afterwards, when he told his partner of the -interview, "if we could only find actors up to that sample." - -In their joint life, outwardly so quiet, there was the one disturbing -element--the weakness to which Pons sacrificed, the insatiable craving -to dine out. Whenever Schmucke happened to be at home while Pons was -dressing for the evening, the good German would bewail this deplorable -habit. - -"Gif only he vas ony fatter vor it!" he many a time cried. - -And Schmucke would dream of curing his friend of his degrading vice, -for a true friend's instinct in all that belongs to the inner life is -unerring as a dog's sense of smell; a friend knows by intuition the -trouble in his friend's soul, and guesses at the cause and ponders it in -his heart. - -Pons, who always wore a diamond ring on the little finger of his right -hand, an ornament permitted in the time of the Empire, but ridiculous -to-day--Pons, who belonged to the "troubadour time," the sentimental -periods of the first Empire, was too much a child of his age, too much -of a Frenchman to wear the expression of divine serenity which softened -Schmucke's hideous ugliness. From Pons' melancholy looks Schmucke knew -that the profession of parasite was growing daily more difficult and -painful. And, in fact, in that month of October 1844, the number of -houses at which Pons dined was naturally much restricted; reduced to -move round and round the family circle, he had used the word family in -far too wide a sense, as will shortly be seen. - -M. Camusot, the rich silk mercer of the Rue des Bourdonnais, had married -Pons' first cousin, Mlle. Pons, only child and heiress of one of the -well-known firm of Pons Brothers, court embroiderers. Pons' own father -and mother retired from a firm founded before the Revolution of 1789, -leaving their capital in the business until Mlle. Pons' father sold -it in 1815 to M. Rivet. M. Camusot had since lost his wife and married -again, and retired from business some ten years, and now in 1844 he was -a member of the Board of Trade, a deputy, and what not. But the Camusot -clan were friendly; and Pons, good man, still considered that he was -some kind of cousin to the children of the second marriage, who were not -relations, or even connected with him in any way. - -The second Mme. Camusot being a Mlle. Cardot, Pons introduced himself as -a relative into the tolerably numerous Cardot family, a second bourgeois -tribe which, taken with its connections, formed quite as strong a clan -as the Camusots; for Cardot the notary (brother of the second Mme. -Camusot) had married a Mlle. Chiffreville; and the well-known family of -Chiffreville, the leading firm of manufacturing chemists, was closely -connected with the whole drug trade, of which M. Anselme Popinot was for -many years the undisputed head, until the Revolution of July plunged him -into the very centre of the dynastic movement, as everybody knows. -So Pons, in the wake of the Camusots and Cardots, reached the -Chiffrevilles, and thence the Popinots, always in the character of a -cousin's cousin. - -The above concise statement of Pons' relations with his entertainers -explains how it came to pass that an old musician was received in 1844 -as one of the family in the houses of four distinguished persons--to -wit, M. le Comte Popinot, peer of France, and twice in office; M. -Cardot, retired notary, mayor and deputy of an arrondissement in Paris; -M. Camusot senior, a member of the Board of Trade and the Municipal -Chamber and a peerage; and lastly, M. Camusot de Marville, Camusot's son -by his first marriage, and Pons' one genuine relation, albeit even he -was a first cousin once removed. - -This Camusot, President of a Chamber of the Court of Appeal in Paris, -had taken the name of his estate at Marville to distinguish himself from -his father and a younger half brother. - -Cardot the retired notary had married his daughter to his successor, -whose name was Berthier; and Pons, transferred as part of the -connection, acquired a right to dine with the Berthiers "in the presence -of a notary," as he put it. - -This was the bourgeois empyrean which Pons called his "family," that -upper world in which he so painfully reserved his right to a knife and -fork. - -Of all these houses, some ten in all, the one in which Pons ought to -have met with the kindest reception should by rights have been his own -cousin's; and, indeed, he paid most attention to President Camusot's -family. But, alas! Mme. Camusot de Marville, daughter of the Sieur -Thirion, usher of the cabinet to Louis XVIII. and Charles X., had never -taken very kindly to her husband's first cousin, once removed. Pons had -tried to soften this formidable relative; he wasted his time; for in -spite of the pianoforte lessons which he gave gratuitously to Mlle. -Camusot, a young woman with hair somewhat inclined to red, it was -impossible to make a musician of her. - -And now, at this very moment, as he walked with that precious object in -his hand, Pons was bound for the President's house, where he always felt -as if he were at the Tuileries itself, so heavily did the solemn green -curtains, the carmelite-brown hangings, thick piled carpets, heavy -furniture, and general atmosphere of magisterial severity oppress his -soul. Strange as it may seem, he felt more at home in the Hotel Popinot, -Rue Basse-du-Rempart, probably because it was full of works of art; for -the master of the house, since he entered public life, had acquired a -mania for collecting beautiful things, by way of contrast no doubt, for -a politician is obliged to pay for secret services of the ugliest kind. - -President de Marville lived in the Rue de Hanovre, in a house which his -wife had bought ten years previously, on the death of her parents, for -the Sieur and Dame Thirion left their daughter about a hundred and fifty -thousand francs, the savings of a lifetime. With its north aspect, -the house looks gloomy enough seen from the street, but the back looks -towards the south over the courtyard, with a rather pretty garden beyond -it. As the President occupied the whole of the first floor, once the -abode of a great financier of the time of Louis XIV., and the second -was let to a wealthy old lady, the house wore a look of dignified repose -befitting a magistrate's residence. President Camusot had invested all -that he inherited from his mother, together with the savings of twenty -years, in the purchase of the splendid Marville estate; a chateau (as -fine a relic of the past as you will find to-day in Normandy) standing -in a hundred acres of park land, and a fine dependent farm, nominally -bringing in twelve thousand francs per annum, though, as it cost the -President at least a thousand crowns to keep up a state almost princely -in our days, his yearly revenue, "all told," as the saying is, was a -bare nine thousand francs. With this and his salary, the President's -income amounted to about twenty thousand francs; but though to all -appearance a wealthy man, especially as one-half of his father's -property would one day revert to him as the only child of the first -marriage, he was obliged to live in Paris as befitted his official -position, and M. and Mme. de Marville spent almost the whole of their -incomes. Indeed, before the year 1834 they felt pinched. - -This family schedule sufficiently explains why Mlle. de Marville, aged -three-and-twenty, was still unwed, in spite of a hundred thousand francs -of dowry and tempting prospects, frequently, skilfully, but so far -vainly, held out. For the past five years Pons had listened to Mme. la -Presidente's lamentations as she beheld one young lawyer after another -led to the altar, while all the newly appointed judges at the Tribunal -were fathers of families already; and she, all this time, had displayed -Mlle. de Marville's brilliant expectations before the undazzled eyes of -young Vicomte Popinot, eldest son of the great man of the drug trade, -he of whom it was said by the envious tongues of the neighborhood of the -Rue des Lombards, that the Revolution of July had been brought about at -least as much for his particular benefit as for the sake of the Orleans -branch. - -Arrived at the corner of the Rue de Choiseul and the Rue de Hanovre, -Pons suffered from the inexplicable emotions which torment clear -consciences; for a panic terror such as the worst of scoundrels might -feel at sight of a policeman, an agony caused solely by a doubt as -to Mme. de Marville's probable reception of him. That grain of sand, -grating continually on the fibres of his heart, so far from losing its -angles, grew more and more jagged, and the family in the Rue de Hanovre -always sharpened the edges. Indeed, their unceremonious treatment and -Pons' depreciation in value among them had affected the servants; and -while they did not exactly fail in respect, they looked on the poor -relation as a kind of beggar. - -Pons' arch-enemy in the house was the ladies'-maid, a thin and wizened -spinster, Madeleine Vivet by name. This Madeleine, in spite of, nay, -perhaps on the strength of, a pimpled complexion and a viper-like length -of spine, had made up her mind that some day she would be Mme. Pons. -But in vain she dangled twenty thousand francs of savings before the -old bachelor's eyes; Pons had declined happiness accompanied by so many -pimples. From that time forth the Dido of the ante-chamber, who fain had -called her master and mistress "cousin," wreaked her spite in petty ways -upon the poor musician. She heard him on the stairs, and cried audibly, -"Oh! here comes the sponger!" She stinted him of wine when she waited at -dinner in the footman's absence; she filled the water-glass to the brim, -to give him the difficult task of lifting it without spilling a drop; -or she would pass the old man over altogether, till the mistress of the -house would remind her (and in what a tone!--it brought the color to the -poor cousin's face); or she would spill the gravy over his clothes. In -short, she waged petty war after the manner of a petty nature, knowing -that she could annoy an unfortunate superior with impunity. - -Madeleine Vivet was Mme. de Marville's maid and housekeeper. She had -lived with M. and Mme. Camusot de Marville since their marriage; she had -shared the early struggles in the provinces when M. Camusot was a judge -at Alencon; she had helped them to exist when M. Camusot, President -of the Tribunal of Mantes, came to Paris, in 1828, to be an examining -magistrate. She was, therefore, too much one of the family not to wish, -for reasons of her own, to revenge herself upon them. Beneath her desire -to pay a trick upon her haughty and ambitious mistress, and to call her -master her cousin, there surely lurked a long-stifled hatred, built up -like an avalanche, upon the pebble of some past grievance. - -"Here comes your M. Pons, madame, still wearing that spencer of his!" -Madeleine came to tell the Presidente. "He really might tell me how he -manages to make it look the same for five-and-twenty years together." - -Mme. Camusot de Marville, hearing a man's footstep in the little -drawing-room between the large drawing-room and her bedroom, looked at -her daughter and shrugged her shoulders. - -"You always make these announcements so cleverly that you leave me no -time to think, Madeleine." - -"Jean is out, madame, I was all alone; M. Pons rang the bell, I opened -the door; and as he is almost one of the family, I could not prevent him -from coming after me. There he is, taking off his spencer." - -"Poor little puss!" said the Presidente, addressing her daughter, "we -are caught. We shall have to dine at home now.--Let us see," she added, -seeing that the "dear puss" wore a piteous face; "must we get rid of him -for good?" - -"Oh! poor man!" cried Mlle. Camusot, "deprive him of one of his -dinners?" - -Somebody coughed significantly in the next room by way of warning that -he could hear. - -"Very well, let him come in!" said Mme. Camusot, looking at Madeleine -with another shrug. - -"You are here so early, cousin, that you have come in upon us just as -mother was about to dress," said Cecile Camusot in a coaxing tone. But -Cousin Pons had caught sight of the Presidente's shrug, and felt so -cruelly hurt that he could not find a compliment, and contented himself -with the profound remark, "You are always charming, my little cousin." - -Then, turning to the mother, he continued with a bow: - -"You will not take it amiss, I think, if I have come a little earlier -than usual, dear cousin; I have brought something for you; you once did -me the pleasure of asking me for it." - -Poor Pons! Every time he addressed the President, the President's wife, -or Cecile as "cousin," he gave them excruciating annoyance. As he spoke, -he draw a long, narrow cherry-wood box, marvelously carved, from his -coat-pocket. - -"Oh, did I?--I had forgotten," the lady answered drily. - -It was a heartless speech, was it not? Did not those few words deny all -merit to the pains taken for her by the cousin whose one offence lay in -the fact that he was a poor relation? - -"But it is very kind of you, cousin," she added. "How much to I owe you -for this little trifle?" - -Pons quivered inwardly at the question. He had meant the trinket as a -return for his dinners. - -"I thought that you would permit me to offer it you----" he faltered -out. - -"What?" said Mme. Camusot. "Oh! but there need be no ceremony between -us; we know each other well enough to wash our linen among ourselves. I -know very well that you are not rich enough to give more than you get. -And to go no further, it is quite enough that you should have spent a -good deal of time in running among the dealers--" - -"If you were asked to pay the full price of the fan, my dear cousin, you -would not care to have it," answered poor Pons, hurt and insulted; "it -is one of Watteau's masterpieces, painted on both sides; but you may be -quite easy, cousin, I did not give one-hundredth part of its value as a -work of art." - -To tell a rich man that he is poor! you might as well tell the -Archbishop of Granada that his homilies show signs of senility. Mme. la -Presidente, proud of her husband's position, of the estate of Marville, -and her invitations to court balls, was keenly susceptible on this -point; and what was worse, the remark came from a poverty-stricken -musician to whom she had been charitable. - -"Then the people of whom you buy things of this kind are very stupid, -are they?" she asked quickly. - -"Stupid dealers are unknown in Paris," Pons answered almost drily. - -"Then you must be very clever," put in Cecile by way of calming the -dispute. - -"Clever enough to know a Lancret, a Watteau, a Pater, or Greuze when -I see it, little cousin; but anxious, most of all, to please your dear -mamma." - -Mme. de Marville, ignorant and vain, was unwilling to appear to receive -the slightest trifle from the parasite; and here her ignorance served -her admirably, she did not even know the name of Watteau. And, on -the other hand, if anything can measure the extent of the collector's -passion, which, in truth, is one of the most deeply seated of all -passions, rivaling the very vanity of the author--if anything can give -an idea of the lengths to which a collector will go, it is the audacity -which Pons displayed on this occasion, as he held his own against his -lady cousin for the first time in twenty years. He was amazed at his own -boldness. He made Cecile see the beauties of the delicate carving on the -sticks of this wonder, and as he talked to her his face grew serene -and gentle again. But without some sketch of the Presidente, it is -impossible fully to understand the perturbation of heart from which Pons -suffered. - -Mme. de Marville had been short and fair, plump and fresh; at forty-six -she was as short as ever, but she looked dried up. An arched forehead -and thin lips, that had been softly colored once, lent a soured look to -a face naturally disdainful, and now grown hard and unpleasant with a -long course of absolute domestic rule. Time had deepened her fair hair -to a harsh chestnut hue; the pride of office, intensified by suppressed -envy, looked out of eyes that had lost none of their brightness nor -their satirical expression. As a matter of fact, Mme. Camusot de -Marville felt almost poor in the society of self-made wealthy bourgeois -with whom Pons dined. She could not forgive the rich retail druggist, -ex-president of the Commercial Court, for his successive elevations as -deputy, member of the Government, count and peer of France. She could -not forgive her father-in-law for putting himself forward instead of his -eldest son as deputy of his arrondissement after Popinot's promotion to -the peerage. After eighteen years of services in Paris, she was still -waiting for the post of Councillor of the Court of Cassation for her -husband. It was Camusot's own incompetence, well known at the Law -Courts, which excluded him from the Council. The Home Secretary of 1844 -even regretted Camusot's nomination to the presidency of the Court -of Indictments in 1834, though, thanks to his past experience as an -examining magistrate, he made himself useful in drafting decrees. - -These disappointments had told upon Mme. de Marville, who, moreover, had -formed a tolerably correct estimate of her husband. A temper naturally -shrewish was soured till she grew positively terrible. She was not old, -but she had aged; she deliberately set herself to extort by fear all -that the world was inclined to refuse her, and was harsh and rasping -as a file. Caustic to excess she had few friends among women; she -surrounded herself with prim, elderly matrons of her own stamp, who lent -each other mutual support, and people stood in awe of her. As for poor -Pons, his relations with this fiend in petticoats were very much those -of a schoolboy with the master whose one idea of communication is the -ferule. - -The Presidente had no idea of the value of the gift. She was puzzled by -her cousin's sudden access of audacity. - -"Then, where did you find this?" inquired Cecile, as she looked closely -at the trinket. - -"In the Rue de Lappe. A dealer in second-hand furniture there had just -brought it back with him from a chateau that is being pulled down near -Dreux, Aulnay. Mme. de Pompadour used to spend part of her time there -before she built Menars. Some of the most splendid wood-carving ever -known has been saved from destruction; Lienard (our most famous living -wood-carver) had kept a couple of oval frames for models, as the _ne -plus ultra_ of the art, so fine it is.--There were treasures in that -place. My man found the fan in the drawer of an inlaid what-not, which -I should certainly have bought if I were collecting things of the -kind, but it is quite out of the question--a single piece of Riesener's -furniture is worth three or four thousand francs! People here in -Paris are just beginning to find out that the famous French and -German marquetry workers of the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth -centuries composed perfect pictures in wood. It is a collector's -business to be ahead of the fashion. Why, in five years' time, the -Frankenthal ware, which I have been collecting these twenty years, will -fetch twice the price of Sevres _pata tendre_." - -"What is Frankenthal ware?" asked Cecile. - -"That is the name of the porcelain made by the Elector of the -Palatinate; it dates further back than our manufactory at Sevres; just -as the famous gardens at Heidelberg, laid waste by Turenne, had the bad -luck to exist before the garden of Versailles. Sevres copied Frankenthal -to a large extent.--In justice to the Germans, it must be said that they -have done admirable work in Saxony and in the Palatinate." - -Mother and daughter looked at one another as if Pons were speaking -Chinese. No one can imagine how ignorant and exclusive Parisians are; -they only learn what they are taught, and that only when they choose. - -"And how do you know the Frankenthal ware when you see it?" - -"Eh! by the mark!" cried Pons with enthusiasm. "There is a mark on every -one of those exquisite masterpieces. Frankenthal ware is marked with a -C and T (for Charles Theodore) interlaced and crowned. On old Dresden -china there are two crossed swords and the number of the order in gilt -figures. Vincennes bears a hunting-horn; Vienna, a V closed and barred. -You can tell Berlin by the two bars, Mayence by the wheel, and Sevres by -the two crossed L's. The queen's porcelain is marked A for Antoinette, -with a royal crown above it. In the eighteenth century, all the -crowned heads of Europe had rival porcelain factories, and workmen were -kidnaped. Watteau designed services for the Dresden factory; they fetch -frantic prices at the present day. One has to know what one is about -with them too, for they are turning out imitations now at Dresden. -Wonderful things they used to make; they will never make the like -again--" - -"Oh! pshaw!" - -"No, cousin. Some inlaid work and some kinds of porcelain will never be -made again, just as there will never be another Raphael, nor Titian, -nor Rembrandt, nor Van Eyck, nor Cranach.... Well, now! there are the -Chinese; they are very ingenious, very clever; they make modern copies -of their 'grand mandarin' porcelain, as it is called. But a pair of -vases of genuine 'grand mandarin' vases of the largest size, are worth, -six, eight, and ten thousand francs, while you can buy the modern -replicas for a couple of hundred!" - -"You are joking." - -"You are astonished at the prices, but that is nothing, cousin. A dinner -service of Sevres _pate tendre_ (and _pate tendre_ is not porcelain)--a -complete dinner service of Sevres _pate tendre_ for twelve persons -is not merely worth a hundred thousand francs, but that is the price -charged on the invoice. Such a dinner-service cost fifteen thousand -francs at Sevres in 1750; I have seen the original invoices." - -"But let us go back to this fan," said Cecile. Evidently in her opinion -the trinket was an old-fashioned thing. - -"You can understand that as soon as your dear mamma did me the honor of -asking for a fan, I went round of all the curiosity shops in Paris, but -I found nothing fine enough. I wanted nothing less than a masterpiece -for the dear Presidente, and thought of giving her one that once -belonged to Marie Antoinette, the most beautiful of all celebrated -fans. But yesterday I was dazzled by this divine _chef-d'oeuvre_, which -certainly must have been ordered by Louis XV. himself. Do you ask how I -came to look for fans in the Rue de Lappe, among an Auvergnat's stock of -brass and iron and ormolu furniture? Well, I myself believe that there -is an intelligence in works of art; they know art-lovers, they call to -them--'Cht-tt!'" - -Mme. de Marville shrugged her shoulders and looked at her daughter; Pons -did not notice the rapid pantomime. - -"I know all those sharpers," continued Pons, "so I asked him, 'Anything -fresh to-day, Daddy Monistrol?'--(for he always lets me look over his -lots before the big buyers come)--and at that he began to tell me how -Lienard, that did such beautiful work for the Government in the Chapelle -de Dreux, had been at the Aulnay sale and rescued the carved panels out -of the clutches of the Paris dealers, while their heads were running -on china and inlaid furniture.--'I did not do much myself,' he went on, -'but I may make my traveling expenses out of _this_,' and he showed me -a what-not; a marvel! Boucher's designs executed in marquetry, and with -such art!--One could have gone down on one's knees before it.--'Look, -sir,' he said, 'I have just found this fan in a little drawer; it was -locked, I had to force it open. You might tell me where I can sell -it'--and with that he brings out this little carved cherry-wood -box.--'See,' says he, 'it is the kind of Pompadour that looks like -decorated Gothic.'--'Yes,' I told him, 'the box is pretty; the box might -suit me; but as for the fan, Monistrol, I have no Mme. Pons to give the -old trinket to, and they make very pretty new ones nowadays; you can buy -miracles of painting on vellum cheaply enough. There are two thousand -painters in Paris, you know.'--And I opened out the fan carelessly, -keeping down my admiration, looked indifferently at those two exquisite -little pictures, touched off with an ease fit to send you into raptures. -I held Mme. de Pompadour's fan in my hand! Watteau had done his utmost -for this.--'What do you want for the what-not?'--'Oh! a thousand -francs; I have had a bid already.'--I offered him a price for the fan -corresponding with the probable expenses of the journey. We looked each -other in the eyes, and I saw that I had my man. I put the fan back into -the box lest my Auvergnat should begin to look at it, and went into -ecstasies over the box; indeed, it is a jewel.--'If I take it,' said I, -'it is for the sake of the box; the box tempts me. As for the what-not, -you will get more than a thousand francs for that. Just see how the -brass is wrought; it is a model. There is business in it.... It has -never been copied; it is a unique specimen, made solely for Mme. de -Pompadour'--and so on, till my man, all on fire for his what-not, -forgets the fan, and lets me have it for a mere trifle, because I have -pointed out the beauties of his piece of Riesener's furniture. So here -it is; but it needs a great deal of experience to make such a bargain -as that. It is a duel, eye to eye; and who has such eyes as a Jew or an -Auvergnat?" - -The old artist's wonderful pantomime, his vivid, eager way of telling -the story of the triumph of his shrewdness over the dealer's ignorance, -would have made a subject for a Dutch painter; but it was all thrown -away upon the audience. Mother and daughter exchanged cold, contemptuous -glances.--"What an oddity!" they seemed to say. - -"So it amuses you?" remarked Mme. de Marville. The question sent a cold -chill through Pons; he felt a strong desire to slap the Presidente. - -"Why, my dear cousin, that is the way to hunt down a work of art. You -are face to face with antagonists that dispute the game with you. It -is craft against craft! A work of art in the hands of a Norman, an -Auvergnat, or a Jew, is like a princess guarded by magicians in a fairy -tale." - -"And how can you tell that this is by Wat--what do you call him?" - -"Watteau, cousin. One of the greatest eighteenth century painters -in France. Look! do you not see that it is his work?" (pointing to a -pastoral scene, court-shepherd swains and shepherdesses dancing in -a ring). "The movement! the life in it! the coloring! There it -is--see!--painted with a stroke of the brush, as a writing-master makes -a flourish with a pen. Not a trace of effort here! And, turn it over, -look!--a ball in a drawing-room. Summer and Winter! And what ornaments! -and how well preserved it is! The hinge-pin is gold, you see, and on -cleaning it, I found a tiny ruby at either side." - -"If it is so, cousin, I could not think of accepting such a valuable -present from you. It would be better to lay up the money for yourself," -said Mme. de Marville; but all the same, she asked no better than to -keep the splendid fan. - -"It is time that it should pass from the service of Vice into the hands -of Virtue," said the good soul, recovering his assurance. "It has taken -a century to work the miracle. No princess at Court, you may be sure, -will have anything to compare with it; for, unfortunately, men will do -more for a Pompadour than for a virtuous queen, such is human nature." - -"Very well," Mme. de Marville said, laughing, "I will accept your -present.--Cecile, my angel, go to Madeleine and see that dinner is -worthy of your cousin." - -Mme. de Marville wished to make matters even. Her request, made aloud, -in defiance of all rules of good taste, sounded so much like an attempt -to repay at once the balance due to the poor cousin, that Pons flushed -red, like a girl found out in fault. The grain of sand was a little too -large; for some moments he could only let it work in his heart. Cecile, -a red-haired young woman, with a touch of pedantic affectation, combined -her father's ponderous manner with a trace of her mother's hardness. She -went and left poor Pons face to face with the terrible Presidente. - -"How nice she is, my little Lili!" said the mother. She still called her -Cecile by this baby name. - -"Charming!" said Pons, twirling his thumbs. - -"I _cannot_ understand these times in which we live," broke out the -Presidente. "What is the good of having a President of the Court of -Appeal in Paris and a Commander of the Legion of Honor for your father, -and for a grandfather the richest wholesale silk merchant in Paris, a -deputy, and a millionaire that will be a peer of France some of these -days?" - -The President's zeal for the new Government had, in fact, recently -been rewarded with a commander's ribbon--thanks to his friendship with -Popinot, said the envious. Popinot himself, modest though he was, had, -as has been seen, accepted the title of count, "for his son's sake," he -told his numerous friends. - -"Men look for nothing but money nowadays," said Cousin Pons. "No one -thinks anything of you unless you are rich, and--" - -"What would it have been if Heaven had spared my poor little Charles!--" -cried the lady. - -"Oh, with two children you would be poor," returned the cousin. "It -practically means the division of the property. But you need not trouble -yourself, cousin; Cecile is sure to marry sooner or later. She is the -most accomplished girl I know." - -To such depths had Pons fallen by adapting himself to the company of -his entertainers! In their houses he echoed their ideas, and said the -obvious thing, after the manner of a chorus in a Greek play. He did not -dare to give free play to the artist's originality, which had overflowed -in bright repartee when he was young; he had effaced himself, till he -had almost lost his individuality; and if the real Pons appeared, as he -had done a moment ago, he was immediately repressed. - -"But I myself was married with only twenty thousand francs for my -portion--" - -"In 1819, cousin. And it was _you_, a woman with a head on your -shoulders, and the royal protection of Louis XVIII." - -"Be still, my child is a perfect angel. She is clever, she has a warm -heart, she will have a hundred thousand francs on her wedding day, to -say nothing of the most brilliant expectations; and yet she stays on our -hands," and so on and so on. For twenty minutes, Mme. de Marville talked -on about herself and her Cecile, pitying herself after the manner of -mothers in bondage to marriageable daughters. - -Pons had dined at the house every week for twenty years, and Camusot de -Marville was the only cousin he had in the world; but he had yet to hear -the first word spoken as to his own affairs--nobody cared to know how he -lived. Here and elsewhere the poor cousin was a kind of sink down which -his relatives poured domestic confidences. His discretion was well -known; indeed, was he not bound over to silence when a single imprudent -word would have shut the door of ten houses upon him? And he must -combine his role of listener with a second part; he must applaud -continually, smile on every one, accuse nobody, defend nobody; from his -point of view, every one must be in the right. And so, in the house -of his kinsman, Pons no longer counted as a man; he was a digestive -apparatus. - -In the course of a long tirade, Mme. Camusot de Marville avowed with due -circumspection that she was prepared to take almost any son-in-law with -her eyes shut. She was even disposed to think that at eight-and-forty or -so a man with twenty thousand francs a year was a good match. - -"Cecile is in her twenty-third year. If it should fall out so -unfortunately that she is not married before she is five or -six-and-twenty, it will be extremely hard to marry her at all. When a -girl reaches that age, people want to know why she has been so long on -hand. We are a good deal talked about in our set. We have come to the -end of all the ordinary excuses--'She is so young.--She is so fond of -her father and mother that she doesn't like to leave them.--She is so -happy at home.--She is hard to please, she would like a good name--' We -are beginning to look silly; I feel that distinctly. And besides, Cecile -is tired of waiting, poor child, she suffers--" - -"In what way?" Pons was noodle enough to ask. - -"Why, because it is humiliating to her to see all her girl friends -married before her," replied the mother, with a duenna's air. - -"But, cousin, has anything happened since the last time that I had the -pleasure of dining here? Why do you think of men of eight-and-forty?" -Pons inquired humbly. - -"This has happened," returned the Presidente. "We were to have had an -interview with a Court Councillor; his son is thirty years old and -very well-to-do, and M. de Marville would have obtained a post in -the audit-office for him and paid the money. The young man is a -supernumerary there at present. And now they tell us that he has taken -it into his head to rush off to Italy in the train of a duchess from the -Bal Mabille.... It is nothing but a refusal in disguise. The fact is, -the young man's mother is dead; he has an income of thirty thousand -francs, and more to come at his father's death, and they don't care -about the match for him. You have just come in in the middle of all -this, dear cousin, so you must excuse our bad temper." - -While Pons was casting about for the complimentary answer which -invariably occurred to him too late when he was afraid of his host, -Madeleine came in, handed a folded note to the Presidente, and waited -for an answer. The note ran as follows: - - "DEAR MAMMA,--If we pretend that this note comes to you from papa - at the Palais, and that he wants us both to dine with his friend - because proposals have been renewed--then the cousin will go, and - we can carry out our plan of going to the Popinots." - -"Who brought the master's note?" the Presidente asked quickly. - -"A lad from the Salle du Palais," the withered waiting woman -unblushingly answered, and her mistress knew at once that Madeleine had -woven the plot with Cecile, now at the end of her patience. - -"Tell him that we will both be there at half-past five." - -Madeleine had no sooner left the room than the Presidente turned to -Cousin Pons with that insincere friendliness which is about as grateful -to a sensitive soul as a mixture of milk and vinegar to the palate of an -epicure. - -"Dinner is ordered, dear cousin; you must dine without us; my husband -has just sent word from the court that the question of the marriage has -been reopened, and we are to dine with the Councillor. We need not stand -on ceremony at all. Do just as if you were at home. I have no secrets -from you; I am perfectly open with you, as you see. I am sure you would -not wish to break off the little darling's marriage." - -"_I_, cousin? On the contrary, I should like to find some one for her; -but in my circle--" - -"Oh, that is not at all likely," said the Presidente, cutting him short -insolently. "Then you will stay, will you not? Cecile will keep you -company while I dress. - -"Oh! I can dine somewhere else, cousin." - -Cruelly hurt though he was by her way of casting up his poverty to -him, the prospect of being left alone with the servants was even more -alarming. - -"But why should you? Dinner is ready; you may just as well have it; if -you do not, the servants will eat it." - -At that atrocious speech Pons started up as if he had received a shock -from a galvanic battery, bowed stiffly to the lady, and went to find his -spencer. Now, it so happened that the door of Cecile's bedroom, beyond -the little drawing-room, stood open, and looking into the mirror, he -caught sight of the girl shaking with laughter as she gesticulated and -made signs to her mother. The old artist understood beyond a doubt that -he had been the victim of some cowardly hoax. Pons went slowly down the -stairs; he could not keep back the tears. He understood that he had been -turned out of the house, but why and wherefore he did not know. - -"I am growing too old," he told himself. "The world has a horror of -old age and poverty--two ugly things. After this I will not go anywhere -unless I am asked." - -Heroic resolve! - -Downstairs the great gate was shut, as it usually is in houses occupied -by the proprietor; the kitchen stood exactly opposite the porter's -lodge, and the door was open. Pons was obliged to listen while Madeleine -told the servants the whole story amid the laughter of the servants. She -had not expected him to leave so soon. The footman loudly applauded a -joke at the expense of a visitor who was always coming to the house and -never gave you more than three francs at the year's end. - -"Yes," put in the cook; "but if he cuts up rough and does not come back, -there will be three francs the less for some of us on New Year's day." - -"Eh! How is he to know?" retorted the footman. - -"Pooh!" said Madeleine, "a little sooner or a little later--what -difference does it make? The people at the other houses where he dines -are so tired of him that they are going to turn him out." - -"The gate, if you please!" - -Madeleine had scarcely uttered the words when they heard the old -musician's call to the porter. It sounded like a cry of pain. There was -a sudden silence in the kitchen. - -"He heard!" the footman said. - -"Well, and if he did, so much the worser, or rather so much the better," -retorted Madeleine. "He is an arrant skinflint." - -Poor Pons had lost none of the talk in the kitchen; he heard it all, -even to the last word. He made his way home along the boulevards, in -the same state, physical and mental, as an old woman after a desperate -struggle with burglars. As he went he talked to himself in quick -spasmodic jerks; his honor had been wounded, and the pain of it drove -him on as a gust of wind whirls away a straw. He found himself at last -in the Boulevard du Temple; how he had come thither he could not tell. -It was five o'clock, and, strange to say, he had completely lost his -appetite. - -But if the reader is to understand the revolution which Pons' unexpected -return at that hour was to work in the Rue de Normandie, the promised -biography of Mme. Cibot must be given in this place. - -Any one passing along the Rue de Normandie might be pardoned for -thinking that he was in some small provincial town. Grass runs to -seed in the street, everybody knows everybody else, and the sight of a -stranger is an event. The houses date back to the reign of Henry IV., -when there was a scheme afoot for a quarter in which every street was to -be named after a French province, and all should converge in a handsome -square to which La France should stand godmother. The Quartier de -l'Europe was a revival of the same idea; history repeats itself -everywhere in the world, and even in the world of speculation. - -The house in which the two musicians used to live is an old mansion with -a courtyard in front and a garden at the back; but the front part of the -house which gives upon the street is comparatively modern, built during -the eighteenth century when the Marais was a fashionable quarter. The -friends lived at the back, on the second floor of the old part of -the house. The whole building belongs to M. Pillerault, an old man of -eighty, who left matters very much in the hands of M. and Mme. Cibot, -his porters for the past twenty-six years. - -Now, as a porter cannot live by his lodge alone, the aforesaid Cibot had -other means of gaining a livelihood; and supplemented his five per cent -on the rental and his faggot from every cartload of wood by his own -earnings as a tailor. In time Cibot ceased to work for the master -tailors; he made a connection among the little trades-people of the -quarter, and enjoyed a monopoly of the repairs, renovations, and fine -drawing of all the coats and trousers in three adjacent streets. The -lodge was spacious and wholesome, and boasted a second room; wherefore -the Cibot couple were looked upon as among the luckiest porters in the -arrondissement. - -Cibot, small and stunted, with a complexion almost olive-colored by -reason of sitting day in day out in Turk-fashion on a table level with -the barred window, made about twelve or fourteen francs a week. He -worked still, though he was fifty-eight years old, but fifty-eight is -the porter's golden age; he is used to his lodge, he and his room -fit each other like the shell and the oyster, and "he is known in the -neighborhood." - -Mme. Cibot, sometime opener of oysters at the _Cadran Bleu_, after all -the adventures which come unsought to the belle of an oyster-bar, left -her post for love of Cibot at the age of twenty-eight. The beauty of -a woman of the people is short-lived, especially if she is planted -espalier fashion at a restaurant door. Her features are hardened -by puffs of hot air from the kitchen; the color of the heeltaps of -customers' bottles, finished in the company of the waiters, gradually -filters into her complexion--no beauty is full blown so soon as the -beauty of an oyster-opener. Luckily for Mme. Cibot, lawful wedlock and -a portress' life were offered to her just in time; while she still -preserved a comeliness of a masculine order slandered by rivals of the -Rue de Normandie, who called her "a great blowsy thing," Mme. Cibot -might have sat as a model to Rubens. Those flesh tints reminded you of -the appetizing sheen on a pat of Isigny butter; but plump as she was, no -woman went about her work with more agility. Mme. Cibot had attained the -time of life when women of her stamp are obliged to shave--which is as -much as to say that she had reached the age of forty-eight. A porter's -wife with a moustache is one of the best possible guarantees of -respectability and security that a landlord can have. If Delacroix -could have seen Mme. Cibot leaning proudly on her broom handle, he would -assuredly have painted her as Bellona. - -Strange as it may seem, the circumstances of the Cibots, man and wife -(in the style of an indictment), were one day to affect the lives of the -two friends; wherefore the chronicler, as in duty bound, must give some -particulars as to the Cibots' lodge. - -The house brought in about eight thousand francs for there were three -complete sets of apartments--back and front, on the side nearest the Rue -de Normandie, as well as the three floors in the older mansion between -the courtyard and the garden, and a shop kept by a marine store-dealer -named Remonencq, which fronted on the street. During the past few months -this Remonencq had begun to deal in old curiosities, and knew the -value of Pons' collection so well that he took off his hat whenever the -musician came in or went out. - -A sou in the livre on eight thousand francs therefore brought in about -four hundred francs to the Cibots. They had no rent to pay and no -expenses for firing; Cibot's earnings amounted on an average to seven or -eight hundred francs, add tips at New Year, and the pair had altogether -in income of sixteen hundred francs, every penny of which they spent, -for the Cibots lived and fared better than working people usually do. -"One can only live once," La Cibot used to say. She was born during the -Revolution, you see, and had never learned her Catechism. - -The husband of this portress with the unblenching tawny eyes was an -object of envy to the whole fraternity, for La Cibot had not forgotten -the knowledge of cookery picked up at the _Cadran Bleu_. So it had come -to pass that the Cibots had passed the prime of life, and saw themselves -on the threshold of old age without a hundred francs put by for the -future. Well clad and well fed, they enjoyed among the neighbors, it is -true, the respect due to twenty-six years of strict honesty; for if -they had nothing of their own, they "hadn't nothing belonging to nobody -else," according to La Cibot, who was a prodigal of negatives. "There -wasn't never such a love of a man," she would say to her husband. Do you -ask why? You might as well ask the reason of her indifference in matters -of religion. - -Both of them were proud of a life lived in open day, of the esteem in -which they were held for six or seven streets round about, and of the -autocratic rule permitted to them by the proprietor ("perprietor," they -called him); but in private they groaned because they had no money lying -at interest. Cibot complained of pains in his hands and legs, and his -wife would lament that her poor, dear Cibot should be forced to work -at his age; and, indeed, the day is not far distant when a porter after -thirty years of such a life will cry shame upon the injustice of the -Government and clamor for the ribbon of the Legion of Honor. Every -time that the gossip of the quarter brought news of such and such a -servant-maid, left an annuity of three or four hundred francs after -eight or ten years of service, the porters' lodges would resound with -complaints, which may give some idea of the consuming jealousies in the -lowest walks of life in Paris. - -"Oh, indeed! It will never happen to the like of us to have our names -mentioned in a will! We have no luck, but we do more than servants, -for all that. We fill a place of trust; we give receipts, we are on the -lookout for squalls, and yet we are treated like dogs, neither more nor -less, and that's the truth!" - -"Some find fortune and some miss fortune," said Cibot, coming in with a -coat. - -"If I had left Cibot here in his lodge and taken a place as cook, we -should have our thirty thousand francs out at interest," cried Mme. -Cibot, standing chatting with a neighbor, her hands on her prominent -hips. "But I didn't understand how to get on in life; housed inside of a -snug lodge and firing found and want for nothing, but that is all." - -In 1836, when the friends took up their abode on the second floor, they -brought about a sort of revolution in the Cibot household. It befell -on this wise. Schmucke, like his friend Pons, usually arranged that the -porter or the porter's wife should undertake the cares of housekeeping; -and being both of one mind on this point when they came to live in the -Rue de Normandie, Mme. Cibot became their housekeeper at the rate of -twenty-five francs per month--twelve francs fifty centimes for each -of them. Before the year was out, the emeritus portress reigned in the -establishment of the two old bachelors, as she reigned everywhere in -the house belonging to M. Pillerault, great uncle of Mme. le Comtesse -Popinot. Their business was her business; she called them "my -gentlemen." And at last, finding the pair of nutcrackers as mild as -lambs, easy to live with, and by no means suspicious--perfect children, -in fact--her heart, the heart of a woman of the people, prompted her -to protect, adore, and serve them with such thorough devotion, that she -read them a lecture now and again, and saved them from the impositions -which swell the cost of living in Paris. For twenty-five francs a month, -the two old bachelors inadvertently acquired a mother. - -As they became aware of Mme. Cibot's full value, they gave her outspoken -praises, and thanks, and little presents which strengthened the bonds -of the domestic alliance. Mme. Cibot a thousand times preferred -appreciation to money payments; it is a well-known fact that the sense -that one is appreciated makes up for a deficiency in wages. And Cibot -did all that he could for his wife's two gentlemen, and ran errands and -did repairs at half-price for them. - -The second year brought a new element into the friendship between the -lodge and the second floor, and Schmucke concluded a bargain which -satisfied his indolence and desire for a life without cares. For thirty -sous per day, or forty-five francs per month, Mme. Cibot undertook -to provide Schmucke with breakfast and dinner; and Pons, finding his -friend's breakfast very much to his mind, concluded a separate treaty -for that meal only at the rate of eighteen francs. This arrangement, -which added nearly ninety francs every month to the takings of the -porter and his wife, made two inviolable beings of the lodgers; they -became angels, cherubs, divinities. It is very doubtful whether the King -of the French, who is supposed to understand economy, is as well served -as the pair of nutcrackers used to be in those days. - -For them the milk issued pure from the can; they enjoyed a free perusal -of all the morning papers taken by other lodgers, later risers, who -were told, if need be, that the newspapers had not come yet. Mme. Cibot, -moreover, kept their clothes, their rooms, and the landing as clean as -a Flemish interior. As for Schmucke, he enjoyed unhoped-for happiness; -Mme. Cibot had made life easy for him; he paid her about six francs -a month, and she took charge of his linen, washing, and mending. -Altogether, his expenses amounted to sixty-six francs per month (for -he spent fifteen francs on tobacco), and sixty-six francs multiplied by -twelve produces the sum total of seven hundred and ninety-two francs. -Add two hundred and twenty francs for rent, rates, and taxes, and you -have a thousand and twelve francs. Cibot was Schmucke's tailor; his -clothes cost him on average a hundred and fifty francs, which further -swells the total to the sum of twelve hundred. On twelve hundred francs -per annum this profound philosopher lived. How many people in Europe, -whose one thought it is to come to Paris and live there, will be -agreeably surprised to learn that you may exist in comfort upon an -income of twelve hundred francs in the Rue de Normandie in the Marais, -under the wing of a Mme. Cibot. - -Mme. Cibot, to resume the story, was amazed beyond expression to see -Pons, good man, return at five o'clock in the evening. Such a thing had -never happened before; and not only so, but "her gentleman" had given -her no greeting--had not so much as seen her! - -"Well, well, Cibot," said she to her spouse, "M. Pons has come in for a -million, or gone out of his mind!" - -"That is how it looks to me," said Cibot, dropping the coat-sleeve in -which he was making a "dart," in tailor's language. - -The savory odor of a stew pervaded the whole courtyard, as Pons returned -mechanically home. Mme. Cibot was dishing up Schmucke's dinner, which -consisted of scraps of boiled beef from a little cook-shop not above -doing a little trade of this kind. These morsels were fricasseed in -brown butter, with thin slices of onion, until the meat and vegetables -had absorbed the gravy and this true porter's dish was browned to the -right degree. With that fricassee, prepared with loving care for Cibot -and Schmucke, and accompanied by a bottle of beer and a piece of cheese, -the old German music-master was quite content. Not King Solomon in all -his glory, be sure, could dine better than Schmucke. A dish of boiled -beef fricasseed with onions, scraps of _saute_ chicken, or beef and -parsley, or venison, or fish served with a sauce of La Cibot's own -invention (a sauce with which a mother might unsuspectingly eat her -child),--such was Schmucke's ordinary, varying with the quantity and -quality of the remnants of food supplied by boulevard restaurants to -the cook-shop in the Rue Boucherat. Schmucke took everything that "goot -Montame Zipod" gave him, and was content, and so from day to day "goot -Montame Zipod" cut down the cost of his dinner, until it could be served -for twenty sous. - -"It won't be long afore I find out what is the matter with him, poor -dear," said Mme. Cibot to her husband, "for here is M. Schmucke's dinner -all ready for him." - -As she spoke she covered the deep earthenware dish with a plate; and, -notwithstanding her age, she climbed the stair and reached the door -before Schmucke opened it to Pons. - -"Vat is de matter mit you, mein goot friend?" asked the German, scared -by the expression of Pons' face. - -"I will tell you all about it; but I have come home to have dinner with -you--" - -"Tinner! tinner!" cried Schmucke in ecstasy; "but it is impossible!" the -old German added, as he thought of his friend's gastronomical tastes; -and at that very moment he caught sight of Mme. Cibot listening to the -conversation, as she had a right to do as his lawful housewife. Struck -with one of those happy inspirations which only enlighten a friend's -heart, he marched up to the portress and drew her out to the stairhead. - -"Montame Zipod," he said, "der goot Pons is fond of goot dings; shoost -go rount to der _Catran Pleu_ und order a dainty liddle tinner, mit -anjovies und maggaroni. Ein tinner for Lugullus, in vact." - -"What is that?" inquired La Cibot. - -"Oh! ah!" returned Schmucke, "it is veal _a la pourcheoise_" -(_bourgeoise_, he meant), "a nice fisch, ein pottle off Porteaux, und -nice dings, der fery best dey haf, like groquettes of rice und shmoked -pacon! Bay for it, und say nodings; I vill gif you back de monny -to-morrow morning." - -Back went Schmucke, radiant and rubbing his hands; but his expression -slowly changed to a look of bewildered astonishment as he heard Pons' -story of the troubles that had but just now overwhelmed him in a moment. -He tried to comfort Pons by giving him a sketch of the world from his -own point of view. Paris, in his opinion, was a perpetual hurly-burly, -the men and women in it were whirled away by a tempestuous waltz; it -was no use expecting anything of the world, which only looked at the -outsides of things, "und not at der inderior." For the hundredth time he -related how that the only three pupils for whom he had really cared, for -whom he was ready to die, the three who had been fond of him, and even -allowed him a little pension of nine hundred francs, each contributing -three hundred to the amount--his favorite pupils had quite forgotten -to come to see him; and so swift was the current of Parisian life which -swept them away, that if he called at their houses, he had not succeeded -in seeing them once in three years--(it is a fact, however, that -Schmucke had always thought fit to call on these great ladies at ten -o'clock in the morning!)--still, his pension was paid quarterly through -the medium of solicitors. - -"Und yet, dey are hearts of gold," he concluded. "Dey are my liddle -Saint Cecilias, sharming vimmen, Montame de Bordentuere, Montame de -Fantenesse, und Montame du Dilet. Gif I see dem at all, it is at die -Jambs Elusees, und dey do not see me... yet dey are ver' fond of me, und -I might go to dine mit dem, und dey vould be ver' bleased to see me; und -I might go to deir country-houses, but I vould much rader be mit mine -friend Bons, because I kann see him venefer I like, und efery tay." - -Pons took Schmucke's hand and grasped it between his own. All that was -passing in his inmost soul was communicated in that tight pressure. And -so for awhile the friends sat like two lovers, meeting at last after a -long absence. - -"Tine here, efery tay!" broke out Schmucke, inwardly blessing Mme. -de Marville for her hardness of heart. "Look here! Ve shall go a -prick-a-pracking togeders, und der teufel shall nefer show his tail -here." - -"Ve shall go prick-a-pracking togeders!" for the full comprehension of -those truly heroic words, it must be confessed that Schmucke's ignorance -of bric-a-brac was something of the densest. It required all the -strength of his friendship to keep him from doing heedless damage in the -sitting-room and study which did duty as a museum for Pons. Schmucke, -wholly absorbed in music, a composer for love of his art, took about as -much interest in his friend's little trifles as a fish might take in a -flower-show at the Luxembourg, supposing that it had received a ticket -of admission. A certain awe which he certainly felt for the marvels was -simply a reflection of the respect which Pons showed his treasures when -he dusted them. To Pons' exclamations of admiration, he was wont to -reply with a "Yes, it is ver' bretty," as a mother answers baby-gestures -with meaningless baby-talk. Seven times since the friends had lived -together, Pons had exchanged a good clock for a better one, till at last -he possessed a timepiece in Boule's first and best manner, for Boule had -two manners, as Raphael had three. In the first he combined ebony and -copper; in the second--contrary to his convictions--he sacrificed to -tortoise-shell inlaid work. In spite of Pons' learned dissertations, -Schmucke never could see the slightest difference between the -magnificent clock in Boule's first manner and its six predecessors; but, -for Pons' sake, Schmucke was even more careful among the "chimcracks" -than Pons himself. So it should not be surprising that Schmucke's -sublime words comforted Pons in his despair; for "Ve shall go -prick-a-pracking togeders," meant, being interpreted, "I will put money -into bric-a-brac, if you will only dine here." - -"Dinner is ready," Mme. Cibot announced, with astonishing -self-possession. - -It is not difficult to imagine Pons' surprise when he saw and relished -the dinner due to Schmucke's friendship. Sensations of this kind, that -came so rarely in a lifetime, are never the outcome of the constant, -close relationship by which friend daily says to friend, "You are a -second self to me"; for this, too, becomes a matter of use and wont. -It is only by contact with the barbarism of the world without that -the happiness of that intimate life is revealed to us as a sudden glad -surprise. It is the outer world which renews the bond between friend and -friend, lover and lover, all their lives long, wherever two great souls -are knit together by friendship or by love. - -Pons brushed away two big tears, Schmucke himself wiped his eyes; and -though nothing was said, the two were closer friends than before. Little -friendly nods and glances exchanged across the table were like balm to -Pons, soothing the pain caused by the sand dropped in his heart by the -President's wife. As for Schmucke, he rubbed his hands till they were -sore; for a new idea had occurred to him, one of those great discoveries -which cause a German no surprise, unless they sprout up suddenly in -a Teuton brain frost-bound by the awe and reverence due to sovereign -princes. - -"Mine goot Bons?" began Schmucke. - -"I can guess what you mean; you would like us both to dine together -here, every day--" - -"Gif only I vas rich enof to lif like dis efery tay--" began the good -German in a melancholy voice. But here Mme. Cibot appeared upon the -scene. Pons had given her an order for the theatre from time to time, -and stood in consequence almost as high in her esteem and affection as -her boarder Schmucke. - -"Lord love you," said she, "for three francs and wine extra I can give -you both such a dinner every day that you will be ready to lick the -plates as clean as if they were washed." - -"It is a fact," Schmucke remarked, "dat die dinners dat Montame Zipod -cooks for me are better as de messes dey eat at der royal dable!" In his -eagerness, Schmucke, usually so full of respect for the powers that -be, so far forgot himself as to imitate the irreverent newspapers which -scoffed at the "fixed-price" dinners of Royalty. - -"Really?" said Pons. "Very well, I will try to-morrow." - -And at that promise Schmucke sprang from one end of the table to the -other, sweeping off tablecloth, bottles, and dishes as he went, and -hugged Pons to his heart. So might gas rush to combine with gas. - -"Vat happiness!" cried he. - -Mme. Cibot was quite touched. "Monsieur is going to dine here every -day!" she cried proudly. - -That excellent woman departed downstairs again in ignorance of the event -which had brought about this result, entered her room like Josepha in -_William Tell_, set down the plates and dishes on the table with a bang, -and called aloud to her husband: - -"Cibot! run to the _Cafe Turc_ for two small cups of coffee, and tell -the man at the stove that it is for me." - -Then she sat down and rested her hands on her massive knees, and gazed -out of the window at the opposite wall. - -"I will go to-night and see what Ma'am Fontaine says," she thought. -(Madame Fontaine told fortunes on the cards for all the servants in the -quarter of the Marais.) "Since these two gentlemen came here, we have -put two thousand francs in the savings bank. Two thousand francs in -eight years! What luck! Would it be better to make no profit out of M. -Pons' dinner and keep him here at home? Ma'am Fontaine's hen will tell -me that." - -Three years ago Mme. Cibot had begun to cherish a hope that her name -might be mentioned in "her gentlemen's" wills; she had redoubled her -zeal since that covetous thought tardily sprouted up in the midst of -that so honest moustache. Pons hitherto had dined abroad, eluding her -desire to have both of "her gentlemen" entirely under her management; -his "troubadour" collector's life had scared away certain vague ideas -which hovered in La Cibot's brain; but now her shadowy projects assumed -the formidable shape of a definite plan, dating from that memorable -dinner. Fifteen minutes later she reappeared in the dining-room with -two cups of excellent coffee, flanked by a couple of tiny glasses of -_kirschwasser_. - -"Long lif Montame Zipod!" cried Schmucke; "she haf guessed right!" - -The diner-out bemoaned himself a little, while Schmucke met his -lamentations with coaxing fondness, like a home pigeon welcoming back a -wandering bird. Then the pair set out for the theatre. - -Schmucke could not leave his friend in the condition to which he had -been brought by the Camusots--mistresses and servants. He knew Pons so -well; he feared lest some cruel, sad thought should seize on him at his -conductor's desk, and undo all the good done by his welcome home to the -nest. - -And Schmucke brought his friend back on his arm through the streets at -midnight. A lover could not be more careful of his lady. He pointed out -the edges of the curbstones, he was on the lookout whenever they stepped -on or off the pavement, ready with a warning if there was a gutter -to cross. Schmucke could have wished that the streets were paved with -cotton-down; he would have had a blue sky overhead, and Pons should hear -the music which all the angels in heaven were making for him. He had won -the lost province in his friend's heart! - -For nearly three months Pons and Schmucke dined together every day. Pons -was obliged to retrench at once; for dinner at forty-five francs a month -and wine at thirty-five meant precisely eighty francs less to spend on -bric-a-brac. And very soon, in spite of all that Schmucke could do, in -spite of his little German jokes, Pons fell to regretting the delicate -dishes, the liqueurs, the good coffee, the table talk, the insincere -politeness, the guests, and the gossip, and the houses where he used to -dine. On the wrong side of sixty a man cannot break himself of a habit -of thirty-six years' growth. Wine at a hundred and thirty francs per -hogshead is scarcely a generous liquid in a _gourmet's_ glass; every -time that Pons raised it to his lips he thought, with infinite regret, -of the exquisite wines in his entertainers' cellars. - -In short, at the end of three months, the cruel pangs which had gone -near to break Pons' sensitive heart had died away; he forgot everything -but the charms of society; and languished for them like some elderly -slave of a petticoat compelled to leave the mistress who too repeatedly -deceives him. In vain he tried to hide his profound and consuming -melancholy; it was too plain that he was suffering from one of the -mysterious complaints which the mind brings upon the body. - -A single symptom will throw light upon this case of nostalgia (as it -were) produced by breaking away from an old habit; in itself it is -trifling, one of the myriad nothings which are as rings in a coat of -chain-mail enveloping the soul in a network of iron. One of the keenest -pleasures of Pons' old life, one of the joys of the dinner-table -parasite at all times, was the "surprise," the thrill produced by the -extra dainty dish added triumphantly to the bill of fare by the mistress -of a bourgeois house, to give a festal air to the dinner. Pons' stomach -hankered after that gastronomical satisfaction. Mme. Cibot, in the pride -of her heart, enumerated every dish beforehand; a salt and savor once -periodically recurrent, had vanished utterly from daily life. Dinner -proceeded without _le plat couvert_, as our grandsires called it. This -lay beyond the bounds of Schmucke's powers of comprehension. - -Pons had too much delicacy to grumble; but if the case of unappreciated -genius is hard, it goes harder still with the stomach whose claims are -ignored. Slighted affection, a subject of which too much has been made, -is founded upon an illusory longing; for if the creature fails, love -can turn to the Creator who has treasures to bestow. But the stomach!... -Nothing can be compared to its sufferings; for, in the first place, one -must live. - -Pons thought wistfully of certain creams--surely the poetry of -cookery!--of certain white sauces, masterpieces of the art; of truffled -chickens, fit to melt your heart; and above these, and more than all -these, of the famous Rhine carp, only known at Paris, served with what -condiments! There were days when Pons, thinking upon Count Popinot's -cook, would sigh aloud, "Ah, Sophie!" Any passer-by hearing the -exclamation might have thought that the old man referred to a lost -mistress; but his fancy dwelt upon something rarer, on a fat Rhine carp -with a sauce, thin in the sauce-boat, creamy upon the palate, a sauce -that deserved the Montyon prize! The conductor of the orchestra, living -on memories of past dinners, grew visibly leaner; he was pining away, a -victim to gastric nostalgia. - -By the beginning of the fourth month (towards the end of January, 1845), -Pons' condition attracted attention at the theatre. The flute, a young -man named Wilhelm, like almost all Germans; and Schwab, to distinguish -him from all other Wilhelms, if not from all other Schwabs, judged it -expedient to open Schmucke's eyes to his friend's state of health. It -was a first performance of a piece in which Schmucke's instruments were -all required. - -"The old gentleman is failing," said the flute; "there is something -wrong somewhere; his eyes are heavy, and he doesn't beat time as he used -to do," added Wilhelm Schwab, indicating Pons as he gloomily took his -place. - -"Dat is alvays de vay, gif a man is sixty years old," answered Schmucke. - -The Highland widow, in _The Chronicles of the Canongate_, sent her son -to his death to have him beside her for twenty-four hours; and Schmucke -could have sacrificed Pons for the sake of seeing his face every day -across the dinner-table. - -"Everybody in the theatre is anxious about him," continued the flute; -"and, as the _premiere danseuse_, Mlle. Brisetout, says, 'he makes -hardly any noise now when he blows his nose.'" - -And, indeed, a peal like a blast of a horn used to resound through -the old musician's bandana handkerchief whenever he raised it to that -lengthy and cavernous feature. The President's wife had more frequently -found fault with him on that score than on any other. - -"I vould gif a goot teal to amuse him," said Schmucke, "he gets so -dull." - -"M. Pons always seems so much above the like of us poor devils, that, -upon my word, I didn't dare to ask him to my wedding," said Wilhelm -Schwab. "I am going to be married--" - -"How?" demanded Schmucke. - -"Oh! quite properly," returned Wilhelm Schwab, taking Schmucke's quaint -inquiry for a gibe, of which that perfect Christian was quite incapable. - -"Come, gentlemen, take your places!" called Pons, looking round at his -little army, as the stage manager's bell rang for the overture. - -The piece was a dramatized fairy tale, a pantomime called _The Devil's -Betrothed_, which ran for two hundred nights. In the interval, after the -first act, Wilhelm Schwab and Schmucke were left alone in the orchestra, -with a house at a temperature of thirty-two degrees Reaumur. - -"Tell me your hishdory," said Schmucke. - -"Look there! Do you see that young man in the box yonder?... Do you -recognize him?" - -"Nefer a pit--" - -"Ah! That is because he is wearing yellow gloves and shines with all -the radiance of riches, but that is my friend Fritz Brunner out of -Frankfort-on-the-Main." - -"Dat used to komm to see du blav und sit peside you in der orghestra?" - -"The same. You would not believe he could look so different, would you?" - -The hero of the promised story was a German of that particular type -in which the sombre irony of Goethe's Mephistopheles is blended with -a homely cheerfulness found in the romances of August Lafontaine -of pacific memory; but the predominating element in the compound of -artlessness and guile, of shopkeeper's shrewdness, and the studied -carelessness of a member of the Jockey Club, was that form of disgust -which set a pistol in the hands of a young Werther, bored to death less -by Charlotte than by German princes. It was a thoroughly German face, -full of cunning, full of simplicity, stupidity, and courage; the -knowledge which brings weariness, the worldly wisdom which the veriest -child's trick leaves at fault, the abuse of beer and tobacco,--all these -were there to be seen in it, and to heighten the contrast of opposed -qualities, there was a wild diabolical gleam in the fine blue eyes with -the jaded expression. - -Dressed with all the elegance of a city man, Fritz Brunner sat in full -view of the house displaying a bald crown of the tint beloved by Titian, -and a few stray fiery red hairs on either side of it; a remnant spared -by debauchery and want, that the prodigal might have a right to spend -money with the hairdresser when he should come into his fortune. A face, -once fair and fresh as the traditional portrait of Jesus Christ, had -grown harder since the advent of a red moustache; a tawny beard lent -it an almost sinister look. The bright blue eyes had lost something of -their clearness in the struggle with distress. The countless courses by -which a man sells himself and his honor in Paris had left their traces -upon his eyelids and carved lines about the eyes, into which a mother -once looked with a mother's rapture to find a copy of her own fashioned -by God's hand. - -This precocious philosopher, this wizened youth was the work of a -stepmother. - -Herewith begins the curious history of a prodigal son of -Frankfort-on-the-Main--the most extraordinary and astounding portent -ever beheld by that well-conducted, if central, city. - -Gideon Brunner, father of the aforesaid Fritz, was one of the famous -innkeepers of Frankfort, a tribe who make law-authorized incisions in -travelers' purses with the connivance of the local bankers. An innkeeper -and an honest Calvinist to boot, he had married a converted Jewess and -laid the foundations of his prosperity with the money she brought him. - -When the Jewess died, leaving a son Fritz, twelve years of age, under -the joint guardianship of his father and maternal uncle, a furrier at -Leipsic, head of the firm of Virlaz and Company, Brunner senior was -compelled by his brother-in-law (who was by no means as soft as his -peltry) to invest little Fritz's money, a goodly quantity of current -coin of the realm, with the house of Al-Sartchild. Not a penny of it -was he allowed to touch. So, by way of revenge for the Israelite's -pertinacity, Brunner senior married again. It was impossible, he said, -to keep his huge hotel single-handed; it needed a woman's eye and hand. -Gideon Brunner's second wife was an innkeeper's daughter, a very pearl, -as he thought; but he had had no experience of only daughters spoiled by -father and mother. - -The second Mme. Brunner behaved as German girls may be expected to -behave when they are frivolous and wayward. She squandered her fortune, -she avenged the first Mme. Brunner by making her husband as miserable -a man as you could find in the compass of the free city of -Frankfort-on-the-Main, where the millionaires, it is said, are about to -pass a law compelling womankind to cherish and obey them alone. She was -partial to all the varieties of vinegar commonly called Rhine wine in -Germany; she was fond of _articles Paris_, of horses and dress; indeed, -the one expensive taste which she had not was a liking for women. She -took a dislike to little Fritz, and would perhaps have driven him mad if -that young offspring of Calvinism and Judaism had not had Frankfort for -his cradle and the firm of Virlaz at Leipsic for his guardian. Uncle -Virlaz, however, deep in his furs, confined his guardianship to the -safe-keeping of Fritz's silver marks, and left the boy to the tender -mercies of this stepmother. - -That hyena in woman's form was the more exasperated against the pretty -child, the lovely Jewess' son, because she herself could have no -children in spite of efforts worthy of a locomotive engine. A diabolical -impulse prompted her to plunge her young stepson, at twenty-one years of -age, into dissipations contrary to all German habits. The wicked German -hoped that English horses, Rhine vinegar, and Goethe's Marguerites would -ruin the Jewess' child and shorten his days; for when Fritz came of age, -Uncle Virlaz had handed over a very pretty fortune to his nephew. But -while roulette at Baden and elsewhere, and boon companions (Wilhelm -Schwab among them) devoured the substance accumulated by Uncle Virlaz, -the prodigal son himself remained by the will of Providence to point a -moral to younger brothers in the free city of Frankfort; parents held -him up as a warning and an awful example to their offspring to scare -them into steady attendance in their cast-iron counting houses, lined -with silver marks. - -But so far from perishing in the flower of his age, Fritz Brunner had -the pleasure of laying his stepmother in one of those charming little -German cemeteries, in which the Teuton indulges his unbridled passion -for horticulture under the specious pretext of honoring his dead. And as -the second Mme. Brunner expired while the authors of her being were yet -alive, Brunner senior was obliged to bear the loss of the sums of which -his wife had drained his coffers, to say nothing of other ills, which -had told upon a Herculean constitution, till at the age of sixty-seven -the innkeeper had wizened and shrunk as if the famous Borgia's poison -had undermined his system. For ten whole years he had supported his -wife, and now he inherited nothing! The innkeeper was a second ruin of -Heidelberg, repaired continually, it is true, by travelers' hotel bills, -much as the remains of the castle of Heidelberg itself are repaired -to sustain the enthusiasm of the tourists who flock to see so fine and -well-preserved a relic of antiquity. - -At Frankfort the disappointment caused as much talk as a failure. People -pointed out Brunner, saying, "See what a man may come to with a bad wife -that leaves him nothing and a son brought up in the French fashion." - -In Italy and Germany the French nation is the root of all evil, the -target for all bullets. "But the god pursuing his way----" (For the -rest, see Lefranc de Pompignan's Ode.) - -The wrath of the proprietor of the Grand Hotel de Hollande fell -on others besides the travelers, whose bills were swelled with his -resentment. When his son was utterly ruined, Gideon, regarding him as -the indirect cause of all his misfortunes, refused him bread and salt, -fire, lodging, and tobacco--the force of the paternal malediction in -a German and an innkeeper could no farther go. Whereupon the local -authorities, making no allowance for the father's misdeeds, regarded him -as one of the most ill-used persons in Frankfort-on-the-Main, came to -his assistance, fastened a quarrel on Fritz (_une querelle d'Allemand_), -and expelled him from the territory of the free city. Justice in -Frankfort is no whit wiser nor more humane than elsewhere, albeit the -city is the seat of the German Diet. It is not often that a magistrate -traces back the stream of wrongdoing and misfortune to the holder of the -urn from which the first beginnings trickled forth. If Brunner forgot -his son, his son's friends speedily followed the old innkeeper's -example. - -Ah! if the journalists, the dandies, and some few fair Parisians among -the audience wondered how that German with the tragical countenance had -cropped up on a first night to occupy a side box all to himself when -fashionable Paris filled the house,--if these could have seen the -history played out upon the stage before the prompter's box, they would -have found it far more interesting than the transformation scenes of -_The Devil's Betrothed_, though indeed it was the two hundred thousandth -representation of a sublime allegory performed aforetime in Mesopotamia -three thousand years before Christ was born. - -Fritz betook himself on foot to Strasbourg, and there found what the -prodigal son of the Bible failed to find--to wit, a friend. And herein -is revealed the superiority of Alsace, where so many generous hearts -beat to show Germany the beauty of a combination of Gallic wit and -Teutonic solidity. Wilhelm Schwab, but lately left in possession of a -hundred thousand francs by the death of both parents, opened his arms, -his heart, his house, his purse to Fritz. As for describing Fritz's -feelings, when dusty, down on his luck, and almost like a leper, he -crossed the Rhine and found a real twenty-franc piece held out by the -hand of a real friend,--that moment transcends the powers of the prose -writer; Pindar alone could give it forth to humanity in Greek that -should rekindle the dying warmth of friendship in the world. - -Put the names of Fritz and Wilheim beside those of Damon and Pythias, -Castor and Pollux, Orestes and Pylades, Dubreuil and Pmejah, Schmucke -and Pons, and all the names that we imagine for the two friends of -Monomotapa, for La Fontaine (man of genius though he was) has made of -them two disembodied spirits--they lack reality. The two new names may -join the illustrious company, and with so much the more reason, since -that Wilhelm who had helped to drink Fritz's inheritance now proceeded, -with Fritz's assistance, to devour his own substance; smoking, needless -to say, every known variety of tobacco. - -The pair, strange to relate, squandered the property in the dullest, -stupidest, most commonplace fashion, in Strasbourg _brasseries_, in -the company of ballet-girls of the Strasbourg theatres, and little -Alsaciennes who had not a rag of a tattered reputation left. - -Every morning they would say, "We really must stop this, and make up our -minds and do something or other with the money that is left." - -"Pooh!" Fritz would retort, "just one more day, and to-morrow"... ah! -to-morrow. - -In the lives of Prodigal Sons, _To-day_ is a prodigious coxcomb, but -_To-morrow_ is a very poltroon, taking fright at the big words of his -predecessor. _To-day_ is the truculent captain of old world comedy, -_To-morrow_ the clown of modern pantomime. - -When the two friends had reached their last thousand-franc note, they -took places in the mail-coach, styled Royal, and departed for Paris, -where they installed themselves in the attics of the Hotel du Rhin, in -the Rue du Mail, the property of one Graff, formerly Gideon Brunner's -head-waiter. Fritz found a situation as clerk in the Kellers' bank (on -Graff's recommendation), with a salary of six hundred francs. And a -place as book-keeper was likewise found for Wilhelm, in the business of -Graff the fashionable tailor, brother of Graff of the Hotel du Rhin, who -found the scantily-paid employment for the pair of prodigals, for the -sake of old times, and his apprenticeship at the Hotel de Hollande. -These two incidents--the recognition of a ruined man by a well-to-do -friend, and a German innkeeper interesting himself in two penniless -fellow-countrymen--give, no doubt, an air of improbability to the story, -but truth is so much the more like fiction, since modern writers of -fiction have been at such untold pains to imitate truth. - -It was not long before Fritz, a clerk with six hundred francs, and -Wilhelm, a book-keeper with precisely the same salary, discovered the -difficulties of existence in a city so full of temptations. In 1837, the -second year of their abode, Wilhelm, who possessed a pretty talent for -the flute, entered Pons' orchestra, to earn a little occasional butter -to put on his dry bread. As to Fritz, his only way to an increase of -income lay through the display of the capacity for business inherited -by a descendant of the Virlaz family. Yet, in spite of his assiduity, in -spite of abilities which possibly may have stood in his way, his salary -only reached the sum of two thousand francs in 1843. Penury, that divine -stepmother, did for the two men all that their mothers had not been able -to do for them; Poverty taught them thrift and worldly wisdom; Poverty -gave them her grand rough education, the lessons which she drives -with hard knocks into the heads of great men, who seldom know a happy -childhood. Fritz and Wilhelm, being but ordinary men, learned as little -as they possibly could in her school; they dodged the blows, shrank -from her hard breast and bony arms, and never discovered the good fairy -lurking within, ready to yield to the caresses of genius. One thing, -however, they learned thoroughly--they discovered the value of money, -and vowed to clip the wings of riches if ever a second fortune should -come to their door. - -This was the history which Wilhelm Schwab related in German, at much -greater length, to his friend the pianist, ending with; - -"Well, Papa Schmucke, the rest is soon explained. Old Brunner is dead. -He left four millions! He made an immense amount of money out of Baden -railways, though neither his son nor M. Graff, with whom we lodge, had -any idea that the old man was one of the original shareholders. I am -playing the flute here for the last time this evening; I would have left -some days ago, but this was a first performance, and I did not want to -spoil my part." - -"Goot, mine friend," said Schmucke. "But who is die prite?" - -"She is Mlle. Graff, the daughter of our host, the landlord of the Hotel -du Rhin. I have loved Mlle. Emilie these seven years; she has read so -many immoral novels, that she refused all offers for me, without knowing -what might come of it. She will be a very wealthy young lady; her -uncles, the tailors in the Rue de Richelieu, will leave her all their -money. Fritz is giving me the money we squandered at Strasbourg five -times over! He is putting a million francs in a banking house, M. Graff -the tailor is adding another five hundred thousand francs, and Mlle. -Emilie's father not only allows me to incorporate her portion--two -hundred and fifty thousand francs--with the capital, but he himself will -be a shareholder with as much again. So the firm of Brunner, Schwab and -Company will start with two millions five hundred thousand francs. Fritz -has just bought fifteen hundred thousand francs' worth of shares in -the Bank of France to guarantee our account with them. That is not all -Fritz's fortune. He has his father's house property, supposed to be -worth another million, and he has let the Grand Hotel de Hollande -already to a cousin of the Graffs." - -"You look sad ven you look at your friend," remarked Schmucke, who had -listened with great interest. "Kann you pe chealous of him?" - -"I am jealous for Fritz's happiness," said Wilhelm. "Does that face look -as if it belonged to a happy man? I am afraid of Paris; I should like -to see him do as I am doing. The old tempter may awake again. Of our two -heads, his carries the less ballast. His dress, and the opera-glass and -the rest of it make me anxious. He keeps looking at the lorettes in -the house. Oh! if you only knew how hard it is to marry Fritz. He has a -horror of 'going a-courting,' as you say; you would have to give him a -drop into a family, just as in England they give a man a drop into the -next world." - -During the uproar that usually marks the end of a first night, the flute -delivered his invitation to the conductor. Pons accepted gleefully; and, -for the first time in three months, Schmucke saw a smile on his friend's -face. They went back to the Rue de Normandie in perfect silence; that -sudden flash of joy had thrown a light on the extent of the -disease which was consuming Pons. Oh, that a man so truly noble, so -disinterested, so great in feeling, should have such a weakness!... This -was the thought that struck the stoic Schmucke dumb with amazement. He -grew woefully sad, for he began to see that there was no help for it; he -must even renounce the pleasure of seeing "his goot Bons" opposite him -at the dinner-table, for the sake of Pons' welfare; and he did not -know whether he could give him up; the mere thought of it drove him -distracted. - -Meantime, Pons' proud silence and withdrawal to the Mons Aventinus -of the Rue de Normandie had, as might be expected, impressed the -Presidente, not that she troubled herself much about her parasite, now -that she was freed from him. She thought, with her charming daughter, -that Cousin Pons had seen through her little "Lili's" joke. But it was -otherwise with her husband the President. - -Camusot de Marville, a short and stout man, grown solemn since his -promotion at the Court, admired Cicero, preferred the Opera-Comique to -the Italiens, compared the actors one with another, and followed the -multitude step by step. He used to recite all the articles in the -Ministerialist journals, as if he were saying something original, and -in giving his opinion at the Council Board he paraphrased the remarks of -the previous speaker. His leading characteristics were sufficiently well -known; his position compelled him to take everything seriously; and he -was particularly tenacious of family ties. - -Like most men who are ruled by their wives, the President asserted -his independence in trifles, in which his wife was very careful not -to thwart him. For a month he was satisfied with the Presidente's -commonplace explanations of Pons' disappearance; but at last it -struck him as singular that the old musician, a friend of forty years' -standing, should first make them so valuable a present as a fan that -belonged to Mme. de Pompadour, and then immediately discontinue his -visits. Count Popinot had pronounced the trinket a masterpiece; when its -owner went to Court, the fan had been passed from hand to hand, and her -vanity was not a little gratified by the compliments it received; others -had dwelt on the beauties of the ten ivory sticks, each one covered with -delicate carving, the like of which had never been seen. A Russian -lady (Russian ladies are apt to forget that they are not in Russia) -had offered her six thousand francs for the marvel one day at Count -Popinot's house, and smiled to see it in such hands. Truth to tell, it -was a fan for a Duchess. - -"It cannot be denied that poor Cousin Pons understands rubbish of that -sort--" said Cecile, the day after the bid. - -"Rubbish!" cried her parent. "Why, Government is just about to buy -the late M. le Conseiller Dusommerard's collection for three hundred -thousand francs; and the State and the Municipality of Paris between -them are spending nearly a million francs over the purchase and repair -of the Hotel de Cluny to house the 'rubbish,' as you call it.--Such -'rubbish,' dear child," he resumed, "is frequently all that remains of -vanished civilizations. An Etruscan jar, and a necklace, which sometimes -fetch forty and fifty thousand francs, is 'rubbish' which reveals the -perfection of art at the time of the siege of Troy, proving that the -Etruscans were Trojan refugees in Italy." - -This was the President's cumbrous way of joking; the short, fat man was -heavily ironical with his wife and daughter. - -"The combination of various kinds of knowledge required to understand -such 'rubbish,' Cecile," he resumed, "is a science in itself, called -archaeology. Archaeology comprehends architecture, sculpture, painting, -goldsmiths' work, ceramics, cabinetmaking (a purely modern art), lace, -tapestry--in short, human handiwork of every sort and description." - -"Then Cousin Pons is learned?" said Cecile. - -"Ah! by the by, why is he never to be seen nowadays?" asked the -President. He spoke with the air of a man in whom thousands of forgotten -and dormant impressions have suddenly begun to stir, and shaping -themselves into one idea, reach consciousness with a ricochet, as -sportsmen say. - -"He must have taken offence at nothing at all," answered his wife. "I -dare say I was not as fully sensible as I might have been of the value -of the fan that he gave me. I am ignorant enough, as you know, of--" - -"_You!_ One of Servin's best pupils, and you don't know Watteau?" cried -the President. - -"I know Gerard and David and Gros and Griodet, and M. de Forbin and M. -Turpin de Crisse--" - -"You ought--" - -"Ought what, sir?" demanded the lady, gazing at her husband with the air -of a Queen of Sheba. - -"To know a Watteau when you see it, my dear. Watteau is very much in -fashion," answered the President with meekness, that told plainly how -much he owed to his wife. - -This conversation took place a few days before that night of first -performance of _The Devil's Betrothed_, when the whole orchestra -noticed how ill Pons was looking. But by that time all the circle of -dinner-givers who were used to seeing Pons' face at their tables, and -to send him on errands, had begun to ask each other for news of him, and -uneasiness increased when it was reported by some who had seen him that -he was always in his place at the theatre. Pons had been very careful to -avoid his old acquaintances whenever he met them in the streets; but one -day it so fell out that he met Count Popinot, the ex-cabinet minister, -face to face in the bric-a-brac dealer's shop in the new Boulevard -Beaumarchais. The dealer was none other than that Monistrol of whom Pons -had spoken to the Presidente, one of the famous and audacious vendors -whose cunning enthusiasm leads them to set more and more value daily on -their wares; for curiosities, they tell you, are growing so scarce that -they are hardly to be found at all nowadays. - -"Ah, my dear Pons, how comes it that we never see you now? We miss -you very much, and Mme. Popinot does not know what to think of your -desertion." - -"M. le Comte," said the good man, "I was made to feel in the house of a -relative that at my age one is not wanted in the world. I have never had -much consideration shown me, but at any rate I had not been insulted. -I have never asked anything of any man," he broke out with an artist's -pride. "I have often made myself useful in return for hospitality. But -I have made a mistake, it seems; I am indefinitely beholden to those who -honor me by allowing me to sit at table with them; my friends, and -my relatives.... Well and good; I have sent in my resignation as -smellfeast. At home I find daily something which no other house has -offered me--a real friend." - -The old artist's power had not failed him; with tone and gesture he put -such bitterness into the words, that the peer of France was struck by -them. He drew Pons aside. - -"Come, now, my old friend, what is it? What has hurt you? Could you not -tell me in confidence? You will permit me to say that at my house surely -you have always met with consideration--" - -"You are the one exception," said the artist. "And besides, you are a -great lord and a statesman, you have so many things to think about. That -would excuse anything, if there were need for it." - -The diplomatic skill that Popinot had acquired in the management of men -and affairs was brought to bear upon Pons, till at length the story of -his misfortunes in the President's house was drawn from him. - -Popinot took up the victim's cause so warmly that he told the story -to Mme. Popinot as soon as he went home, and that excellent and -noble-natured woman spoke to the Presidente on the subject at the first -opportunity. As Popinot himself likewise said a word or two to the -President, there was a general explanation in the family of Camusot de -Marville. - -Camusot was not exactly master in his own house; but this time his -remonstrance was so well founded in law and in fact, that his wife -and daughter were forced to acknowledge the truth. They both humbled -themselves and threw the blame on the servants. The servants, first -bidden, and then chidden, only obtained pardon by a full confession, -which made it clear to the President's mind that Pons had done rightly -to stop away. The President displayed himself before the servants in all -his masculine and magisterial dignity, after the manner of men who are -ruled by their wives. He informed his household that they should be -dismissed forthwith, and forfeit any advantages which their long term -of service in his house might have brought them, unless from that time -forward his cousin and all those who did him the honor of coming to -his house were treated as he himself was. At which speech Madeleine was -moved to smile. - -"You have only one chance of salvation as it is," continued the -President. "Go to my cousin, make your excuses to him, and tell him that -you will lose your situations unless he forgives you, for I shall turn -you all away if he does not." - -Next morning the President went out fairly early to pay a call on his -cousin before going down to the court. The apparition of M. le President -de Marville, announced by Mme. Cibot, was an event in the house. Pons, -thus honored for the first time in his life saw reparation ahead. - -"At last, my dear cousin," said the President after the ordinary -greetings; "at last I have discovered the cause of your retreat. Your -behavior increases, if that were possible, my esteem for you. I have but -one word to say in that connection. My servants have all been dismissed. -My wife and daughter are in despair; they want to see you to have an -explanation. In all this, my cousin, there is one innocent person, and -he is an old judge; you will not punish me, will you, for the escapade -of a thoughtless child who wished to dine with the Popinots? especially -when I come to beg for peace, admitting that all the wrong has been on -our side?... An old friendship of thirty-six years, even suppose that -there had been a misunderstanding, has still some claims. Come, sign a -treaty of peace by dining with us to-night--" - -Pons involved himself in a diffuse reply, and ended by informing his -cousin that he was to sign a marriage contract that evening; how that -one of the orchestra was not only going to be married, but also about to -fling his flute to the winds to become a banker. - -"Very well. To-morrow." - -"Mme. la Comtesse Popinot has done me the honor of asking me, cousin. -She was so kind as to write--" - -"The day after to-morrow then." - -"M. Brunner, a German, my first flute's future partner, returns the -compliment paid him to-day by the young couple--" - -"You are such pleasant company that it is not surprising that people -dispute for the honor of seeing you. Very well, next Sunday? Within a -week, as we say at the courts?" - -"On Sunday we are to dine with M. Graff, the flute's father-in-law." - -"Very well, on Saturday. Between now and then you will have time to -reassure a little girl who has shed tears already over her fault. God -asks no more than repentance; you will not be more severe than the -Eternal father with poor little Cecile?--" - -Pons, thus reached on his weak side, again plunged into formulas more -than polite, and went as far as the stairhead with the President. - -An hour later the President's servants arrived in a troop on poor Pons' -second floor. They behaved after the manner of their kind; they cringed -and fawned; they wept. Madeleine took M. Pons aside and flung herself -resolutely at his feet. - -"It is all my fault; and monsieur knows quite well that I love him," -here she burst into tears. "It was vengeance boiling in my veins; -monsieur ought to throw all the blame of the unhappy affair on that. We -are all to lose our pensions.... Monsieur, I was mad, and I would not -have the rest suffer for my fault.... I can see now well enough that -fate did not make me for monsieur. I have come to my senses, I aimed too -high, but I love you still, monsieur. These ten years I have thought of -nothing but the happiness of making you happy and looking after things -here. What a lot!... Oh! if monsieur but knew how much I love him! But -monsieur must have seen it through all my mischief-making. If I were to -die to-morrow, what would they find?--A will in your favor, monsieur.... -Yes, monsieur, in my trunk under my best things." - -Madeleine had set a responsive chord vibrating; the passion inspired in -another may be unwelcome, but it will always be gratifying to self-love; -this was the case with the old bachelor. After generously pardoning -Madeleine, he extended his forgiveness to the other servants, promising -to use his influence with his cousin the Presidente on their behalf. - -It was unspeakably pleasant to Pons to find all his old enjoyments -restored to him without any loss of self-respect. The world had come to -Pons, he had risen in the esteem of his circle; but Schmucke looked so -downcast and dubious when he heard the story of the triumph, that Pons -felt hurt. When, however, the kind-hearted German saw the sudden change -wrought in Pons' face, he ended by rejoicing with his friend, and made -a sacrifice of the happiness that he had known during those four months -that he had had Pons all to himself. Mental suffering has this immense -advantage over physical ills--when the cause is removed it ceases -at once. Pons was not like the same man that morning. The old man, -depressed and visibly failing, had given place to the serenely contented -Pons, who entered the Presidente's house that October afternoon with the -Marquise de Pompadour's fan in his pocket. Schmucke, on the other hand, -pondered deeply over this phenomenon, and could not understand it; your -true stoic never can understand the courtier that dwells in a Frenchman. -Pons was a born Frenchman of the Empire; a mixture of eighteenth century -gallantry and that devotion to womankind so often celebrated in songs of -the type of _Partant pour la Syrie_. - -So Schmucke was fain to bury his chagrin beneath the flowers of his -German philosophy; but a week later he grew so yellow that Mme. Cibot -exerted her ingenuity to call in the parish doctor. The leech had fears -of icterus, and left Mme. Cibot frightened half out of her wits by the -Latin word for an attack of the jaundice. - -Meantime the two friends went out to dinner together, perhaps for -the first time in their lives. For Schmucke it was a return to the -Fatherland; for Johann Graff of the Hotel du Rhin and his daughter -Emilie, Wolfgang Graff the tailor and his wife, Fritz Brunner and -Wilhelm Schwab, were Germans, and Pons and the notary were the only -Frenchmen present at the banquet. The Graffs of the tailor's business -owned a splendid house in the Rue de Richelieu, between the Rue -Neuve-des-Petits-Champs and the Rue Villedo; they had brought up their -niece, for Emilie's father, not without reason, had feared contact -with the very mixed society of an inn for his daughter. The good tailor -Graffs, who loved Emilie as if she had been their own daughter, were -giving up the ground floor of their great house to the young couple, and -here the bank of Brunner, Schwab and Company was to be established. The -arrangements for the marriage had been made about a month ago; some time -must elapse before Fritz Brunner, author of all this felicity, could -settle his deceased father's affairs, and the famous firm of tailors -had taken advantage of the delay to redecorate the first floor and to -furnish it very handsomely for the bride and bridegroom. The offices of -the bank had been fitted into the wing which united a handsome business -house with the hotel at the back, between courtyard and garden. - -On the way from the Rue de Normandie to the Rue de Richelieu, Pons drew -from the abstracted Schmucke the details of the story of the modern -prodigal son, for whom Death had killed the fatted innkeeper. Pons, but -newly reconciled with his nearest relatives, was immediately smitten -with a desire to make a match between Fritz Brunner and Cecile de -Marville. Chance ordained that the notary was none other than Berthier, -old Cardot's son-in-law and successor, the sometime second clerk with -whom Pons had been wont to dine. - -"Ah! M. Berthier, you here!" he said, holding out a hand to his host of -former days. - -"We have not had the pleasure of seeing you at dinner lately; how is -it?" returned the notary. "My wife has been anxious about you. We saw -you at the first performance of _The Devil's Betrothed_, and our anxiety -became curiosity?" - -"Old folk are sensitive," replied the worthy musician; "they make the -mistake of being a century behind the times, but how can it be helped? -It is quite enough to represent one century--they cannot entirely belong -to the century which sees them die." - -"Ah!" said the notary, with a shrewd look, "one cannot run two centuries -at once." - -"By the by," continued Pons, drawing the young lawyer into a corner, -"why do you not find some one for my cousin Cecile de Marville--" - -"Ah! why--?" answered Berthier. "In this century, when luxury has -filtered down to our very porters' lodges, a young fellow hesitates -before uniting his lot with the daughter of a President of the Court of -Appeal in Paris if she brings him only a hundred thousand francs. In the -rank of life in which Mlle. de Marville's husband would take, the wife -was never yet known that did not cost her husband three thousand francs -a year; the interest on a hundred thousand francs would scarcely -find her in pin-money. A bachelor with an income of fifteen or twenty -thousand francs can live on an entre-sol; he is not expected to cut -any figure; he need not keep more than one servant, and all his surplus -income he can spend on his amusements; he puts himself in the hands of -a good tailor, and need not trouble any further about keeping up -appearances. Far-sighted mothers make much of him; he is one of the -kings of fashion in Paris. - -"But a wife changes everything. A wife means a properly furnished -house," continued the lawyer; "she wants the carriage for herself; if -she goes to the play, she wants a box, while the bachelor has only a -stall to pay for; in short, a wife represents the whole of the income -which the bachelor used to spend on himself. Suppose that husband and -wife have thirty thousand francs a year between them--practically, the -sometime bachelor is a poor devil who thinks twice before he drives out -to Chantilly. Bring children on the scene--he is pinched for money at -once. - -"Now, as M. and Mme. de Marville are scarcely turned fifty, Cecile's -expectations are bills that will not fall due for fifteen or twenty -years to come; and no young fellow cares to keep them so long in -his portfolio. The young featherheads who are dancing the polka with -lorettes at the Jardin Mabille, are so cankered with self-interest, that -they don't stand in need of us to explain both sides of the problem to -them. Between ourselves, I may say that Mlle. de Marville scarcely sets -hearts throbbing so fast but that their owners can perfectly keep their -heads, and they are full of these anti-matrimonial reflections. If any -eligible young man, in full possession of his senses and an income -of twenty thousand francs, happens to be sketching out a programme of -marriage that will satisfy his ambitions, Mlle. de Marville does not -altogether answer the description--" - -"And why not?" asked the bewildered musician. - -"Oh!--" said the notary, "well--a young man nowadays may be as ugly as -you and I, my dear Pons, but he is almost sure to have the impertinence -to want six hundred thousand francs, a girl of good family, with wit and -good looks and good breeding--flawless perfection in short." - -"Then it will not be easy to marry her?" - -"She will not be married so long as M. and Mme. de Marville cannot make -up their minds to settle Marville on her when she marries; if they had -chosen, she might have been the Vicomtesse Popinot by now. But here -comes M. Brunner.--We are about to read the deed of partnership and the -marriage contract." - -Greetings and introductions over, the relations made Pons promise to -sign the contract. He listened to the reading of the documents, and -towards half-past five the party went into the dining-room. The dinner -was magnificent, as a city merchant's dinner can be, when he allows -himself a respite from money-making. Graff of the Hotel du Rhin was -acquainted with the first provision dealers in Paris; never had Pons nor -Schmucke fared so sumptuously. The dishes were a rapture to think of! -Italian paste, delicate of flavor, unknown to the public; smelts fried -as never smelts were fried before; fish from Lake Leman, with a real -Genevese sauce, and a cream for plum-pudding which would have astonished -the London doctor who is said to have invented it. It was nearly ten -o'clock before they rose from table. The amount of wine, German and -French, consumed at that dinner would amaze the contemporary dandy; -nobody knows the amount of liquor that a German can imbibe and yet keep -calm and quiet; to have even an idea of the quantity, you must dine in -Germany and watch bottle succeed to bottle, like wave rippling after -wave along the sunny shores of the Mediterranean, and disappear as if -the Teuton possessed the absorbing power of sponges or sea sand. Perfect -harmony prevails meanwhile; there is none of the racket that there would -be over the liquor in France; the talk is as sober as a money-lender's -extempore speech; countenances flush, like the faces of the brides in -frescoes by Cornelius or Schnorr (imperceptibly, that is to say), and -reminiscences are poured out slowly while the smoke puffs from the -pipes. - -About half-past ten that evening Pons and Schmucke found themselves -sitting on a bench out in the garden, with the ex-flute between them; -they were explaining their characters, opinions, and misfortunes, with -no very clear idea as to why or how they had come to this point. In the -thick of a potpourri of confidences, Wilhelm spoke of his strong desire -to see Fritz married, expressing himself with vehement and vinous -eloquence. - -"What do you say to this programme for your friend Brunner?" cried -Pons in confidential tones. "A charming and sensible young lady of -twenty-four, belonging to a family of the highest distinction. The -father holds a very high position as a judge; there will be a hundred -thousand francs paid down and a million to come." - -"Wait!" answered Schwab; "I will speak to Fritz this instant." - -The pair watched Brunner and his friend as they walked round and round -the garden; again and again they passed the bench, sometimes one spoke, -sometimes the other. - -Pons was not exactly intoxicated; his head was a little heavy, but his -thoughts, on the contrary, seemed all the lighter; he watched Fritz -Brunner's face through the rainbow mist of fumes of wine, and tried -to read auguries favorable to his family. Before very long Schwab -introduced his friend and partner to M. Pons; Fritz Brunner expressed -his thanks for the trouble which Pons had been so good as to take. - -In the conversation which followed, the two old bachelors Schmucke and -Pons extolled the estate of matrimony, going so far as to say, without -any malicious intent, "that marriage was the end of man." Tea and ices, -punches and cakes, were served in the future home of the betrothed -couple. The wine had begun to tell upon the honest merchants, and the -general hilarity reached its height when it was announced that Schwab's -partner thought of following his example. - -At two o'clock that morning, Schmucke and Pons walked home along the -boulevards, philosophizing _a perte de raison_ as they went on the -harmony pervading the arrangements of this our world below. - -On the morrow of the banquet, Cousin Pons betook himself to his fair -cousin the Presidente, overjoyed--poor dear noble soul!--to return good -for evil. Surely he had attained to a sublime height, as every one will -allow, for we live in an age when the Montyon prize is given to those -who do their duty by carrying out the precepts of the Gospel. - -"Ah!" said Pons to himself, as he turned the corner of the Rue de -Choiseul, "they will lie under immense obligations to their parasite." - -Any man less absorbed in his contentment, any man of the world, any -distrustful nature would have watched the President's wife and daughter -very narrowly on this first return to the house. But the poor musician -was a child, he had all the simplicity of an artist, believing in -goodness as he believed in beauty; so he was delighted when Cecile and -her mother made much of him. After all the vaudevilles, tragedies, and -comedies which had been played under the worthy man's eyes for twelve -long years, he could not detect the insincerity and grimaces of social -comedy, no doubt because he had seen too much of it. Any one who goes -into society in Paris, and knows the type of woman, dried up, body and -soul, by a burning thirst for social position, and a fierce desire to -be thought virtuous, any one familiar with the sham piety and the -domineering character of a woman whose word is law in her own house, may -imagine the lurking hatred she bore this husband's cousin whom she had -wronged. - -All the demonstrative friendliness of mother and daughter was lined with -a formidable longing for revenge, evidently postponed. For the first -time in Amelie de Marville's life she had been put in the wrong, and -that in the sight of the husband over whom she tyrannized; and not only -so--she was obliged to be amiable to the author of her defeat! You can -scarcely find a match for this position save in the hypocritical -dramas which are sometimes kept up for years in the sacred college of -cardinals, or in chapters of certain religious orders. - -At three o'clock, when the President came back from the law-courts, Pons -had scarcely made an end of the marvelous history of his acquaintance, -M. Frederic Brunner. Cecile had gone straight to the point. She wanted -to know how Frederic Brunner was dressed, how he looked, his height and -figure, the color of his hair and eyes; and when she had conjectured a -distinguished air for Frederic, she admired his generosity of character. - -"Think of his giving five hundred thousand francs to his companion -in misfortune! Oh! mamma, I shall have a carriage and a box at the -Italiens----" Cecile grew almost pretty as she thought that all her -mother's ambitions for her were about to be realized, that the hopes -which had almost left her were to come to something after all. - -As for the Presidente, all that she said was, "My dear little girl, you -may perhaps be married within the fortnight." - -All mothers with daughters of three-and-twenty address them as "little -girl." - -"Still," added the President, "in any case, we must have time to make -inquiries; never will I give my daughter to just anybody--" - -"As to inquiries," said Pons, "Berthier is drawing up the deeds. As to -the young man himself, my dear cousin, you remember what you told me? -Well, he is quite forty years old; he is bald. He wishes to find in -family life a haven after a storm; I did not dissuade him; every man has -his tastes--" - -"One reason the more for a personal interview," returned the President. -"I am not going to give my daughter to a valetudinarian." - -"Very good, cousin, you shall see my suitor in five days if you like; -for, with your views, a single interview would be enough"--(Cecile -and her mother signified their rapture)--"Frederic is decidedly a -distinguished amateur; he begged me to allow him to see my little -collection at his leisure. You have never seen my pictures and -curiosities; come and see them," he continued, looking at his relatives. -"You can come simply as two ladies, brought by my friend Schmucke, and -make M. Brunner's acquaintance without betraying yourselves. Frederic -need not in the least know who you are." - -"Admirable!" cried the President. - -The attention they paid to the once scorned parasite may be left to -the imagination! Poor Pons that day became the Presidente's cousin. -The happy mother drowned her dislike in floods of joy; her looks, her -smiles, her words sent the old man into ecstasies over the good that he -had done, over the future that he saw by glimpses. Was he not sure -to find dinners such as yesterday's banquet over the signing of the -contract, multiplied indefinitely by three, in the houses of Brunner, -Schwab, and Graff? He saw before him a land of plenty--a _vie de -cocagne_, a miraculous succession of _plats couverts_, of delicate -surprise dishes, of exquisite wines. - -"If Cousin Pons brings this through," said the President, addressing -his wife after Pons had departed, "we ought to settle an income upon him -equal to his salary at the theatre." - -"Certainly," said the lady; and Cecile was informed that if the proposed -suitor found favor in her eyes, she must undertake to induce the old -musician to accept a munificence in such bad taste. - -Next day the President went to Berthier. He was anxious to make sure of -M. Frederic Brunner's financial position. Berthier, forewarned by Mme. -de Marville, had asked his new client Schwab to come. Schwab the banker -was dazzled by the prospect of such a match for his friend (everybody -knows how deeply a German venerates social distinctions, so much so, -that in Germany a wife takes her husband's (official) title, and is -the Frau General, the Frau Rath, and so forth)--Schwab therefore was as -accommodating as a collector who imagines that he is cheating a dealer. - -"In the first place," said Cecile's father, "as I shall make over my -estate of Marville to my daughter, I should wish the contract to be -drawn up on the dotal system. In that case, M. Brunner would invest a -million francs in land to increase the estate, and by settling the land -on his wife he would secure her and his children from any share in the -liabilities of the bank." - -Berthier stroked his chin. "He is coming on well, is M. le President," -thought he. - -When the dotal system had been explained to Schwab, he seemed much -inclined that way for his friend. He had heard Fritz say that he wished -to find some way of insuring himself against another lapse into poverty. - -"There is a farm and pasture land worth twelve hundred thousand francs -in the market at this moment," remarked the President. - -"If we take up shares in the Bank of France to the amount of a million -francs, that will be quite enough to guarantee our account," said -Schwab. "Fritz does not want to invest more than two million francs in -business; he will do as you wish, I am sure, M. le President." - -The President's wife and daughter were almost wild with joy when he -brought home this news. Never, surely, did so rich a capture swim so -complacently into the nets of matrimony. - -"You will be Mme. Brunner de Marville," said the parent, addressing his -child; "I will obtain permission for your husband to add the name to -his, and afterwards he can take out letters of naturalization. If I -should be a peer of France some day, he will succeed me!" - -The five days were spent by Mme. de Marville in preparations. On the -great day she dressed Cecile herself, taking as much pains as the -admiral of the British fleet takes over the dressing of the pleasure -yacht for Her Majesty of England when she takes a trip to Germany. - -Pons and Schmucke, on their side, cleaned, swept, and dusted Pons' -museum rooms and furniture with the agility of sailors cleaning down -a man-of-war. There was not a speck of dust on the carved wood; not an -inch of brass but it glistened. The glasses over the pastels obscured -nothing of the work of Latour, Greuze, and Liotard (illustrious painter -of _The Chocolate Girl_), miracles of an art, alas! so fugitive. The -inimitable lustre of Florentine bronze took all the varying hues of -the light; the painted glass glowed with color. Every line shone -out brilliantly, every object threw in its phrase in a harmony of -masterpieces arranged by two musicians--both of whom alike had attained -to be poets. - -With a tact which avoided the difficulties of a late appearance on the -scene of action, the women were the first to arrive; they wished to be -on their own ground. Pons introduced his friend Schmucke, who seemed -to his fair visitors to be an idiot; their heads were so full of the -eligible gentleman with the four millions of francs, that they paid but -little attention to the worthy Pons' dissertations upon matters of which -they were completely ignorant. - -They looked with indifferent eyes at Petitot's enamels, spaced over -crimson velvet, set in three frames of marvelous workmanship. Flowers by -Van Huysum, David, and Heim; butterflies painted by Abraham Mignon; -Van Eycks, undoubted Cranachs and Albrecht Durers; the Giorgione, the -Sebastian del Piombo; Backhuijzen, Hobbema, Gericault, the rarities of -painting--none of these things so much as aroused their curiosity; they -were waiting for the sun to arise and shine upon these treasures. Still, -they were surprised by the beauty of some of the Etruscan trinkets and -the solid value of the snuff-boxes, and out of politeness they went into -ecstasies over some Florentine bronzes which they held in their hands -when Mme. Cibot announced M. Brunner! They did not turn; they took -advantage of a superb Venetian mirror framed in huge masses of carved -ebony to scan this phoenix of eligible young men. - -Frederic, forewarned by Wilhelm, had made the most of the little hair -that remained to him. He wore a neat pair of trousers, a soft shade of -some dark color, a silk waistcoat of superlative elegance and the very -newest cut, a shirt with open-work, its linen hand-woven by a Friesland -woman, and a blue-and-white cravat. His watch chain, like the head of -his cane, came from Messrs. Florent and Chanor; and the coat, cut by old -Graff himself, was of the very finest cloth. The Suede gloves proclaimed -the man who had run through his mother's fortune. You could have seen -the banker's neat little brougham and pair of horses mirrored in the -surface of his speckless varnished boots, even if two pairs of sharp -ears had not already caught the sound of wheels outside in the Rue de -Normandie. - -When the prodigal of twenty years is a kind of chrysalis from which -a banker emerges at the age of forty, the said banker is usually -an observer of human nature; and so much the more shrewd if, as in -Brunner's case, he understands how to turn his German simplicity to good -account. He had assumed for the occasion the abstracted air of a man who -is hesitating between family life and the dissipations of bachelorhood. -This expression in a Frenchified German seemed to Cecile to be in the -highest degree romantic; the descendant of the Virlaz was a second -Werther in her eyes--where is the girl who will not allow herself to -weave a little novel about her marriage? Cecile thought herself the -happiest of women when Brunner, looking round at the magnificent works -of art so patiently collected during forty years, waxed enthusiastic, -and Pons, to his no small satisfaction, found an appreciative admirer of -his treasures for the first time in his life. - -"He is poetical," the young lady said to herself; "he sees millions in -the things. A poet is a man that cannot count and leaves his wife to -look after his money--an easy man to manage and amuse with trifles." - -Every pane in the two windows was a square of Swiss painted glass; the -least of them was worth a thousand francs; and Pons possessed sixteen -of these unrivaled works of art for which amateurs seek so eagerly -nowadays. In 1815 the panes could be bought for six or ten francs -apiece. The value of the glorious collection of pictures, flawless great -works, authentic, untouched since they left the master's hands, could -only be proved in the fiery furnace of a saleroom. Not a picture but -was set in a costly frame; there were frames of every kind--Venetians, -carved with heavy ornaments, like English plate of the present day; -Romans, distinguishable among the others for a certain dash that artists -call _flafla_; Spanish wreaths in bold relief; Flemings and Germans with -quaint figures, tortoise-shell frames inlaid with copper and brass and -mother-of-pearl and ivory; frames of ebony and boxwood in the styles of -Louis Treize, Louis Quatorze, Louis Quinze, and Louis Seize--in short, -it was a unique collection of the finest models. Pons, luckier than -the art museums of Dresden and Vienna, possessed a frame by the famous -Brustoloni--the Michael Angelo of wood-carvers. - -Mlle. de Marville naturally asked for explanations of each new -curiosity, and was initiated into the mysteries of art by Brunner. Her -exclamations were so childish, she seemed so pleased to have the value -and beauty of the paintings, carvings, or bronzes pointed out to her, -that the German gradually thawed and looked quite young again, and both -were led on further than they intended at this (purely accidental) first -meeting. - -The private view lasted for three hours. Brunner offered his arm when -Cecile went downstairs. As they descended slowly and discreetly, Cecile, -still talking fine art, wondered that M. Brunner should admire her -cousin's gimcracks so much. - -"Do you really think that these things that we have just seen are worth -a great deal of money?" - -"Mademoiselle, if your cousin would sell his collection, I would give -eight hundred thousand francs for it this evening, and I should not make -a bad bargain. The pictures alone would fetch more than that at a public -sale." - -"Since you say so, I believe it," returned she; "the things took up so -much of your attention that it must be so." - -"On! mademoiselle!" protested Brunner. "For all answer to your reproach, -I will ask your mother's permission to call, so that I may have the -pleasure of seeing you again." - -"How clever she is, that 'little girl' of mine!" thought the Presidente, -following closely upon her daughter's heels. Aloud she said, "With the -greatest pleasure, monsieur. I hope that you will come at dinner-time -with our Cousin Pons. The President will be delighted to make your -acquaintance.--Thank you, cousin." - -The lady squeezed Pons' arm with deep meaning; she could not have said -more if she had used the consecrated formula, "Let us swear an eternal -friendship." The glance which accompanied that "Thank you, cousin," was -a caress. - -When the young lady had been put into the carriage, and the jobbed -brougham had disappeared down the Rue Charlot, Brunner talked -bric-a-brac to Pons, and Pons talked marriage. - -"Then you see no obstacle?" said Pons. - -"Oh!" said Brunner, "she is an insignificant little thing, and the -mother is a trifle prim.--We shall see." - -"A handsome fortune one of these days.... More than a million--" - -"Good-bye till Monday!" interrupted the millionaire. "If you should -care to sell your collection of pictures, I would give you five or six -hundred thousand francs--" - -"Ah!" said Pons; he had no idea that he was so rich. "But they are my -great pleasure in life, and I could not bring myself to part with them. -I could only sell my collection to be delivered after my death." - -"Very well. We shall see." - -"Here we have two affairs afoot!" said Pons; he was thinking only of the -marriage. - -Brunner shook hands and drove away in his splendid carriage. Pons -watched it out of sight. He did not notice that Remonencq was smoking -his pipe in the doorway. - -That evening Mme. de Marville went to ask advice of her father-in-law, -and found the whole Popinot family at the Camusots' house. It was only -natural that a mother who had failed to capture an eldest son should be -tempted to take her little revenge; so Mme. de Marville threw out hints -of the splendid marriage that her Cecile was about to make.--"Whom can -Cecile be going to marry?" was the question upon all lips. And Cecile's -mother, without suspecting that she was betraying her secret, let -fall words and whispered confidences, afterwards supplemented by Mme. -Berthier, till gossip circulating in the bourgeois empyrean where -Pons accomplished his gastronomical evolutions took something like the -following form: - -"Cecile de Marville is engaged to be married to a young German, a banker -from philanthropic motives, for he has four millions; he is like a hero -in a novel, a perfect Werther, charming and kind-hearted. He has sown -his wild oats, and he is distractedly in love with Cecile; it is a case -of love at first sight; and so much the more certain, since Cecile had -all Pons' paintings of Madonnas for rivals," and so forth and so forth. - -Two or three of the set came to call on the Presidente, ostensibly to -congratulate, but really to find out whether or not the marvelous tale -were true. For their benefit Mme. de Marville executed the following -admirable variations on the theme of son-in-law which mothers may -consult, as people used to refer to the _Complete Letter Writer_. - -"A marriage is not an accomplished fact," she told Mme. Chiffreville, -"until you have been in the mayor's office and the church. We have only -come as far as a personal interview; so I count upon your friendship to -say nothing of our hopes." - -"You are very fortunate, madame; marriages are so difficult to arrange -in these days." - -"What can one do? It was chance; but marriages are often made in that -way." - -"Ah! well. So you are going to marry Cecile?" said Mme. Cardot. - -"Yes," said Cecile's mother, fully understanding the meaning of the -"so." "We were very particular, or Cecile would have been established -before this. But now we have found everything we wish: money, good -temper, good character, and good looks; and my sweet little girl -certainly deserves nothing less. M. Brunner is a charming young man, -most distinguished; he is fond of luxury, he knows life; he is wild -about Cecile, he loves her sincerely; and in spite of his three or four -millions, Cecile is going to accept him.--We had not looked so high for -her; still, store is no sore." - -"It was not so much the fortune as the affection inspired by my daughter -which decided us," the Presidente told Mme. Lebas. "M. Brunner is in -such a hurry that he wants the marriage to take place with the least -possible delay." - -"Is he a foreigner?" - -"Yes, madame; but I am very fortunate, I confess. No, I shall not have -a son-in-law, but a son. M. Brunner's delicacy has quite won our hearts. -No one would imagine how anxious he was to marry under the dotal system. -It is a great security for families. He is going to invest twelve -hundred thousand francs in grazing land, which will be added to Marville -some day." - -More variations followed on the morrow. For instance--M. Brunner was a -great lord, doing everything in lordly fashion; he did not haggle. If -M. de Marville could obtain letters of naturalization, qualifying M. -Brunner for an office under Government (and the Home Secretary surely -could strain a point for M. de Marville), his son-in-law would be a peer -of France. Nobody knew how much money M. Brunner possessed; "he had the -finest horses and the smartest carriages in Paris!" and so on and so on. - -From the pleasure with which the Camusots published their hopes, it was -pretty clear that this triumph was unexpected. - -Immediately after the interview in Pons' museum, M. de Marville, at his -wife's instance, begged the Home Secretary, his chief, and the attorney -for the crown to dine with him on the occasion of the introduction of -this phoenix of a son-in-law. - -The three great personages accepted the invitation, albeit it was given -on short notice; they all saw the part that they were to play in the -family politics, and readily came to the father's support. In France we -are usually pretty ready to assist the mother of marriageable daughters -to hook an eligible son-in-law. The Count and Countess Popinot likewise -lent their presence to complete the splendor of the occasion, although -they thought the invitation in questionable taste. - -There were eleven in all. Cecile's grandfather, old Camusot, came, of -course, with his wife to a family reunion purposely arranged to elicit a -proposal from M. Brunner. - -The Camusot de Marvilles had given out that the guest of the evening -was one of the richest capitalists in Germany, a man of taste (he was in -love with "the little girl"), a future rival of the Nucingens, Kellers, -du Tillets, and their like. - -"It is our day," said the Presidente with elaborate simplicity, when she -had named her guests one by one for the German whom she already regarded -as her son-in-law. "We have only a few intimate friends--first, my -husband's father, who, as you know, is sure to be raised to the peerage; -M. le Comte and Mme. la Comtesse Popinot, whose son was not thought rich -enough for Cecile; the Home Secretary; our First President; our attorney -for the crown; our personal friends, in short.--We shall be obliged to -dine rather late to-night, because the Chamber is sitting, and people -cannot get away before six." - -Brunner looked significantly at Pons, and Pons rubbed his hands as if to -say, "Our friends, you see! _My_ friends!" - -Mme. de Marville, as a clever tactician, had something very particular -to say to her cousin, that Cecile and her Werther might be left together -for a moment. Cecile chattered away volubly, and contrived that Frederic -should catch sight of a German dictionary, a German grammar, and a -volume of Goethe hidden away in a place where he was likely to find -them. - -"Ah! are you learning German?" asked Brunner, flushing red. - -(For laying traps of this kind the Frenchwoman has not her match!) - -"Oh! how naughty you are!" she cried; "it is too bad of you, monsieur, -to explore my hiding-places like this. I want to read Goethe in the -original," she added; "I have been learning German for two years." - -"Then the grammar must be very difficult to learn, for scarcely ten -pages have been cut--" Brunner remarked with much candor. - -Cecile, abashed, turned away to hide her blushes. A German cannot resist -a display of this kind; Brunner caught Cecile's hand, made her turn, and -watched her confusion under his gaze, after the manner of the heroes of -the novels of Auguste Lafontaine of chaste memory. - -"You are adorable," said he. - -Cecile's petulant gesture replied, "So are you--who could help liking -you?" - -"It is all right, mamma," she whispered to her parent, who came up at -that moment with Pons. - -The sight of a family party on these occasions is not to be described. -Everybody was well satisfied to see a mother put her hand on an eligible -son-in-law. Compliments, double-barreled and double-charged, were paid -to Brunner (who pretended to understand nothing); to Cecile, on whom -nothing was lost; and to the Presidente, who fished for them. Pons heard -the blood singing in his ears, the light of all the blazing gas-jets of -the theatre footlights seemed to be dazzling his eyes, when Cecile, in -a low voice and with the most ingenious circumspection, spoke of her -father's plan of the annuity of twelve hundred francs. The old artist -positively declined the offer, bringing forward the value of his fortune -in furniture, only now made known to him by Brunner. - -The Home Secretary, the First President, the attorney for the crown, the -Popinots, and those who had other engagements, all went; and before long -no one was left except M. Camusot senior, and Cardot the old notary, and -his assistant and son-in-law Berthier. Pons, worthy soul, looking round -and seeing no one but the family, blundered out a speech of thanks to -the President and his wife for the proposal which Cecile had just made -to him. So it is with those who are guided by their feelings; they -act upon impulse. Brunner, hearing of an annuity offered in this way, -thought that it had very much the look of a commission paid to Pons; he -made an Israelite's return upon himself, his attitude told of more than -cool calculation. - -Meanwhile Pons was saying to his astonished relations, "My collection or -its value will, in any case, go to your family, whether I come to terms -with our friend Brunner or keep it." The Camusots were amazed to hear -that Pons was so rich. - -Brunner, watching, saw how all these ignorant people looked favorably -upon a man once believed to be poor so soon as they knew that he had -great possessions. He had seen, too, already that Cecile was spoiled by -her father and mother; he amused himself, therefore, by astonishing the -good bourgeois. - -"I was telling mademoiselle," said he, "that M. Pons' pictures were -worth that sum to _me_; but the prices of works of art have risen so -much of late, that no one can tell how much the collection might sell -for at public auction. The sixty pictures might fetch a million francs; -several that I saw the other day were worth fifty thousand apiece." - -"It is a fine thing to be your heir!" remarked old Cardot, looking at -Pons. - -"My heir is my Cousin Cecile here," answered Pons, insisting on the -relationship. There was a flutter of admiration at this. - -"She will be a very rich heiress," laughed old Cardot, as he took his -departure. - -Camusot senior, the President and his wife, Cecile, Brunner, Berthier, -and Pons were now left together; for it was assumed that the formal -demand for Cecile's hand was about to be made. No sooner was Cardot -gone, indeed, than Brunner began with an inquiry which augured well. - -"I think I understood," he said, turning to Mme. de Marville, "that -mademoiselle is your only daughter." - -"Certainly," the lady said proudly. - -"Nobody will make any difficulties," Pons, good soul, put in by way of -encouraging Brunner to bring out his proposal. - -But Brunner grew thoughtful, and an ominous silence brought on a -coolness of the strangest kind. The Presidente might have admitted that -her "little girl" was subject to epileptic fits. The President, thinking -that Cecile ought not to be present, signed to her to go. She went. -Still Brunner said nothing. They all began to look at one another. The -situation was growing awkward. - -Camusot senior, a man of experience, took the German to Mme. de -Marville's room, ostensibly to show him Pons' fan. He saw that some -difficulty had arisen, and signed to the rest to leave him alone with -Cecile's suitor-designate. - -"Here is the masterpiece," said Camusot, opening out the fan. - -Brunner took it in his hand and looked at it. "It is worth five thousand -francs," he said after a moment. - -"Did you not come here, sir, to ask for my granddaughter?" inquired the -future peer of France. - -"Yes, sir," said Brunner; "and I beg you to believe that no possible -marriage could be more flattering to my vanity. I shall never find any -one more charming nor more amiable, nor a young lady who answers to my -ideas like Mlle. Cecile; but--" - -"Oh, no _buts_!" old Camusot broke in; "or let us have the translation -of your 'buts' at once, my dear sir." - -"I am very glad, sir, that the matter has gone no further on either -side," Brunner answered gravely. "I had no idea that Mlle. Cecile was an -only daughter. Anybody else would consider this an advantage; but to me, -believe me, it is an insurmountable obstacle to--" - -"What, sir!" cried Camusot, amazed beyond measure. "Do you find a -positive drawback in an immense advantage? Your conduct is really -extraordinary; I should very much like to hear the explanation of it." - -"I came here this evening, sir," returned the German phlegmatically, -"intending to ask M. le President for his daughter's hand. It was my -desire to give Mlle. Cecile a brilliant future by offering her so much -of my fortune as she would consent to accept. But an only daughter is -a child whose will is law to indulgent parents, who has never been -contradicted. I have had the opportunity of observing this in many -families, where parents worship divinities of this kind. And -your granddaughter is not only the idol of the house, but Mme. la -Presidente... you know what I mean. I have seen my father's house turned -into a hell, sir, from this very cause. My stepmother, the source of -all my misfortunes, an only daughter, idolized by her parents, the most -charming betrothed imaginable, after marriage became a fiend incarnate. -I do not doubt that Mlle. Cecile is an exception to the rule; but I am -not a young man, I am forty years old, and the difference between our -ages entails difficulties which would put it out of my power to make -the young lady happy, when Mme. la Presidente always carried out her -daughter's every wish and listened to her as if Mademoiselle was an -oracle. What right have I to expect Mlle. Cecile to change her habits -and ideas? Instead of a father and mother who indulge her every whim, -she would find an egotistic man of forty; if she should resist, the man -of forty would have the worst of it. So, as an honest man--I withdraw. -If there should be any need to explain my visit here, I desire to be -entirely sacrificed--" - -"If these are your motives, sir," said the future peer of France, -"however singular they may be, they are plausible--" - -"Do not call my sincerity in question, sir," Brunner interrupted -quickly. "If you know of a penniless girl, one of a large family, well -brought up but without fortune, as happens very often in France; and if -her character offers me security, I will marry her." - -A pause followed; Frederic Brunner left Cecile's grandfather and -politely took leave of his host and hostess. When he was gone, Cecile -appeared, a living commentary upon her Werther's leave-taking; she was -ghastly pale. She had hidden in her mother's wardrobe and overheard the -whole conversation. - -"Refused!..." she said in a low voice for her mother's ear. - -"And why?" asked the Presidente, fixing her eyes upon her embarrassed -father-in-law. - -"Upon the fine pretext that an only daughter is a spoilt child," replied -that gentleman. "And he is not altogether wrong there," he added, -seizing an opportunity of putting the blame on the daughter-in-law, who -had worried him not a little for twenty years. - -"It will kill my child!" cried the Presidente, "and it is your doing!" -she exclaimed, addressing Pons, as she supported her fainting daughter, -for Cecile thought well to make good her mother's words by sinking into -her arms. The President and his wife carried Cecile to an easy-chair, -where she swooned outright. The grandfather rang for the servants. - -"It is a plot of his weaving; I see it all now," said the infuriated -mother. - -Pons sprang up as if the trump of doom were sounding in his ears. - -"Yes!" said the lady, her eyes like two springs of green bile, "this -gentleman wished to repay a harmless joke by an insult. Who will believe -that that German was right in his mind? He is either an accomplice in -a wicked scheme of revenge, or he is crazy. I hope, M. Pons, that in -future you will spare us the annoyance of seeing you in the house where -you have tried to bring shame and dishonor." - -Pons stood like a statue, with his eyes fixed on the pattern of the -carpet. - -"Well! Are you still here, monster of ingratitude?" cried she, turning -round on Pons, who was twirling his thumbs.--"Your master and I are -never at home, remember, if this gentleman calls," she continued, -turning to the servants.--"Jean, go for the doctor; and bring hartshorn, -Madeleine." - -In the Presidente's eyes, the reason given by Brunner was simply an -excuse, there was something else behind; but, at the same time, the fact -that the marriage was broken off was only the more certain. A woman's -mind works swiftly in great crises, and Mme. de Marville had hit at once -upon the one method of repairing the check. She chose to look upon it as -a scheme of revenge. This notion of ascribing a fiendish scheme to -Pons satisfied family honor. Faithful to her dislike of the cousin, she -treated a feminine suspicion as a fact. Women, generally speaking, hold -a creed peculiar to themselves, a code of their own; to them anything -which serves their interests or their passions is true. The Presidente -went a good deal further. In the course of the evening she talked -the President into her belief, and next morning found the magistrate -convinced of his cousin's culpability. - -Every one, no doubt, will condemn the lady's horrible conduct; but what -mother in Mme. Camusot's position will not do the same? Put the choice -between her own daughter and an alien, she will prefer to sacrifice the -honor of the latter. There are many ways of doing this, but the end in -view is the same. - -The old musician fled down the staircase in haste; but he went slowly -along the boulevards to his theatre, he turned in mechanically at the -door, and mechanically he took his place and conducted the orchestra. In -the interval he gave such random answers to Schmucke's questions, that -his old friend dissembled his fear that Pons' mind had given way. To -so childlike a nature, the recent scene took the proportions of a -catastrophe. He had meant to make every one happy, and he had aroused -a terrible slumbering feeling of hate; everything had been turned -topsy-turvy. He had at last seen mortal hate in the Presidente's eyes, -tones, and gesture. - -On the morrow, Mme. Camusot de Marville made a great resolution; -the President likewise sanctioned the step now forced upon them by -circumstances. It was determined that the estate of Marville should be -settled upon Cecile at the time of her marriage, as well as the house in -the Rue de Hanovre and a hundred thousand francs. In the course of the -morning, the Presidente went to call upon the Comtesse Popinot; for she -saw plainly that nothing but a settled marriage could enable them -to recover after such a check. To the Comtesse Popinot she told the -shocking story of Pons' revenge, Pons' hideous hoax. It all seemed -probable enough when it came out that the marriage had been broken off -simply on the pretext that Cecile was an only daughter. The Presidente -next dwelt artfully upon the advantage of adding "de Marville" to the -name of Popinot; and the immense dowry. At the present price fetched by -land in Normandy, at two per cent, the property represented nine hundred -thousand francs, and the house in the Rue de Hanovre about two hundred -and fifty thousand. No reasonable family could refuse such an alliance. -The Comte and Comtesse Popinot accepted; and as they were now touched by -the honor of the family which they were about to enter, they promised to -help explain away yesterday evening's mishap. - -And now in the house of the elder Camusot, before the very persons who -had heard Mme. de Marville singing Frederic Brunner's praises but a -few days ago, that lady, to whom nobody ventured to speak on the topic, -plunged courageously into explanations. - -"Really, nowadays" (she said), "one could not be too careful if a -marriage was in question, especially if one had to do with foreigners." - -"And why, madame?" - -"What has happened to you?" asked Mme. Chiffreville. - -"Do you not know about our adventure with that Brunner, who had the -audacity to aspire to marry Cecile? His father was a German that kept a -wine-shop, and his uncle is a dealer in rabbit-skins!" - -"Is it possible? So clear-sighted as you are!..." murmured a lady. - -"These adventurers are so cunning. But we found out everything through -Berthier. His friend is a beggar that plays the flute. He is friendly -with a person who lets furnished lodgings in the Rue du Mail and some -tailor or other.... We found out that he had led a most disreputable -life, and no amount of fortune would be enough for a scamp that has run -through his mother's property." - -"Why, Mlle. de Marville would have been wretched!" said Mme. Berthier. - -"How did he come to your house?" asked old Mme. Lebas. - -"It was M. Pons. Out of revenge, he introduced this fine gentleman -to us, to make us ridiculous.... This Brunner (it is the same name -as Fontaine in French)--this Brunner, that was made out to be such a -grandee, has poor enough health, he is bald, and his teeth are bad. The -first sight of him was enough for me; I distrusted him from the first." - -"But how about the great fortune that you spoke of?" a young married -woman asked shyly. - -"The fortune was not nearly so large as they said. These tailors and the -landlord and he all scraped the money together among them, and put all -their savings into this bank that they are starting. What is a bank for -those that begin in these days? Simply a license to ruin themselves. -A banker's wife may lie down at night a millionaire and wake up in the -morning with nothing but her settlement. At first word, at the very -first sight of him, we made up our minds about this gentleman--he is not -one of us. You can tell by his gloves, by his waistcoat, that he is -a working man, the son of a man that kept a pot-house somewhere in -Germany; he has not the instincts of a gentleman; he drinks beer, and -he smokes--smokes? ah! madame, _twenty-five pipes a day!_... What would -have become of poor Lili? ... It makes me shudder even now to think of -it. God has indeed preserved us! And besides, Cecile never liked him.... -Who would have expected such a trick from a relative, an old friend of -the house that had dined with us twice a week for twenty years? We have -loaded him with benefits, and he played his game so well, that he said -Cecile was his heir before the Keeper of the Seals and the Attorney -General and the Home Secretary!... That Brunner and M. Pons had their -story ready, and each of them said that the other was worth millions!... -No, I do assure you, all of you would have been taken in by an artist's -hoax like that." - -In a few weeks' time, the united forces of the Camusot and Popinot -families gained an easy victory in the world, for nobody undertook -to defend the unfortunate Pons, that parasite, that curmudgeon, that -skinflint, that smooth-faced humbug, on whom everybody heaped scorn; he -was a viper cherished in the bosom of the family, he had not his match -for spite, he was a dangerous mountebank whom nobody ought to mention. - - - -About a month after the perfidious Werther's withdrawal, poor Pons left -his bed for the first time after an attack of nervous fever, and walked -along the sunny side of the street leaning on Schmucke's arm. Nobody in -the Boulevard du Temple laughed at the "pair of nutcrackers," for one of -the old men looked so shattered, and the other so touchingly careful -of his invalid friend. By the time that they reached the Boulevard -Poissonniere, a little color came back to Pons' face; he was breathing -the air of the boulevards, he felt the vitalizing power of the -atmosphere of the crowded street, the life-giving property of the air -that is noticeable in quarters where human life abounds; in the filthy -Roman Ghetto, for instance, with its swarming Jewish population, where -malaria is unknown. Perhaps, too, the sight of the streets, the great -spectacle of Paris, the daily pleasure of his life, did the invalid -good. They walked on side by side, though Pons now and again left his -friend to look at the shop windows. Opposite the Theatre des Varietes he -saw Count Popinot, and went up to him very respectfully, for of all men -Pons esteemed and venerated the ex-Minister. - -The peer of France answered him severely: - -"I am at a loss to understand, sir, how you can have no more tact than -to speak to a near connection of a family whom you tried to brand with -shame and ridicule by a trick which no one but an artist could devise. -Understand this, sir, that from to-day we must be complete strangers -to each other. Mme. la Comtesse Popinot, like every one else, feels -indignant at your behavior to the Marvilles." - -And Count Popinot passed on, leaving Pons thunderstruck. Passion, -justice, policy, and great social forces never take into account the -condition of the human creature whom they strike down. The statesman, -driven by family considerations to crush Pons, did not so much as see -the physical weakness of his redoubtable enemy. - -"Vat is it, mine boor friend?" exclaimed Schmucke, seeing how white Pons -had grown. - -"It is a fresh stab in the heart," Pons replied, leaning heavily on -Schmucke's arm. "I think that no one, save God in heaven, can have any -right to do good, and that is why all those who meddle in His work are -so cruelly punished." - -The old artist's sarcasm was uttered with a supreme effort; he was -trying, excellent creature, to quiet the dismay visible in Schmucke's -face. - -"So I dink," Schmucke replied simply. - -Pons could not understand it. Neither the Camusots nor the Popinots had -sent him notice of Cecile's wedding. - -On the Boulevard des Italiens Pons saw M. Cardot coming towards them. -Warned by Count Popinot's allocution, Pons was very careful not to -accost the old acquaintance with whom he had dined once a fortnight for -the last year; he lifted his hat, but the other, mayor and deputy -of Paris, threw him an indignant glance and went by. Pons turned to -Schmucke. - -"Do go and ask him what it is that they all have against me," he said to -the friend who knew all the details of the catastrophe that Pons could -tell him. - -"Mennseir," Schmucke began diplomatically, "mine friend Bons is chust -recofering from an illness; you haf no doubt fail to rekognize him?" - -"Not in the least." - -"But mit vat kann you rebroach him?" - -"You have a monster of ingratitude for a friend, sir; if he is still -alive, it is because nothing kills ill weeds. People do well to mistrust -artists; they are as mischievous and spiteful as monkeys. This friend -of yours tried to dishonor his own family, and to blight a young girl's -character, in revenge for a harmless joke. I wish to have nothing to do -with him; I shall do my best to forget that I have known him, or that -such a man exists. All the members of his family and my own share the -wish, sir, so do all the persons who once did the said Pons the honor of -receiving him." - -"Boot, mennseir, you are a reasonaple mann; gif you vill bermit me, I -shall exblain die affair--" - -"You are quite at liberty to remain his friend, sir, if you are minded -that way," returned Cardot, "but you need go no further; for I must give -you warning that in my opinion those who try to excuse or defend his -conduct are just as much to blame." - -"To chustify it?" - -"Yes, for his conduct can neither be justified nor qualified." And with -that word, the deputy for the Seine went his way; he would not hear -another syllable. - -"I have two powers in the State against me," smiled poor Pons, when -Schmucke had repeated these savage speeches. - -"Eferpody is against us," Schmucke answered dolorously. "Let us go avay -pefore we shall meed oder fools." - -Never before in the course of a truly ovine life had Schmucke uttered -such words as these. Never before had his almost divine meekness been -ruffled. He had smiled childlike on all the mischances that befell him, -but he could not look and see his sublime Pons maltreated; his Pons, his -unknown Aristides, the genius resigned to his lot, the nature that knew -no bitterness, the treasury of kindness, the heart of gold!... -Alceste's indignation filled Schmucke's soul--he was moved to call Pons' -amphitryons "fools." For his pacific nature that impulse equaled the -wrath of Roland. - -With wise foresight, Schmucke turned to go home by the way of the -Boulevard du Temple, Pons passively submitting like a fallen fighter, -heedless of blows; but chance ordered that he should know that all his -world was against him. The House of Peers, the Chamber of Deputies, -strangers and the family, the strong, the weak, and the innocent, all -combined to send down the avalanche. - -In the Boulevard Poissonniere, Pons caught sight of that very M. -Cardot's daughter, who, young as she was, had learned to be charitable -to others through trouble of her own. Her husband knew a secret by which -he kept her in bondage. She was the only one among Pons' hostesses -whom he called by her Christian name; he addressed Mme. Berthier as -"Felicie," and he thought that she understood him. The gentle creature -seemed to be distressed by the sight of Cousin Pons, as he was called -(though he was in no way related to the family of the second wife of a -cousin by marriage). There was no help for it, however; Felicie Berthier -stopped to speak to the invalid. - -"I did not think you were cruel, cousin," she said; "but if even a -quarter of all that I hear of you is true, you are very false.... Oh! -do not justify yourself," she added quickly, seeing Pons' significant -gesture, "it is useless, for two reasons. In the first place, I have no -right to accuse or judge or condemn anybody, for I myself know so well -how much may be said for those who seem to be most guilty; secondly, -your explanation would do no good. M. Berthier drew up the marriage -contract for Mlle. de Marville and the Vicomte Popinot; he is so -exasperated, that if he knew that I had so much as spoken one word to -you, one word for the last time, he would scold me. Everybody is against -you." - -"So it seems indeed, madame," Pons said, his voice shaking as he lifted -his hat respectfully. - -Painfully he made his way back to the Rue de Normandie. The old German -knew from the heavy weight on his arm that his friend was struggling -bravely against failing physical strength. That third encounter was like -the verdict of the Lamb at the foot of the throne of God; and the anger -of the Angel of the Poor, the symbol of the Peoples, is the last word of -Heaven. They reached home without another word. - -There are moments in our lives when the sense that our friend is near -is all that we can bear. Our wounds smart under the consoling words that -only reveal the depths of pain. The old pianist, you see, possessed a -genius for friendship, the tact of those who, having suffered much, knew -the customs of suffering. - -Pons was never to take a walk again. From one illness he fell into -another. He was of a sanguine-bilious temperament, the bile passed into -his blood, and a violent liver attack was the result. He had never known -a day's illness in his life till a month ago; he had never consulted a -doctor; so La Cibot, with almost motherly care and intentions at first -of the very best, called in "the doctor of the quarter." - -In every quarter of Paris there is a doctor whose name and address are -only known to the working classes, to the little tradespeople and the -porters, and in consequence he is called "the doctor of the quarter." -He undertakes confinement cases, he lets blood, he is in the medical -profession pretty much what the "general servant" of the advertising -column is in the scale of domestic service. He must perforce be kind -to the poor, and tolerably expert by reason of much practice, and he -is generally popular. Dr. Poulain, called in by Mme. Cibot, gave an -inattentive ear to the old musician's complainings. Pons groaned out -that his skin itched; he had scratched himself all night long, till he -could scarcely feel. The look of his eyes, with the yellow circles about -them, corroborated the symptoms. - -"Had you some violent shock a couple of days ago?" the doctor asked the -patient. - -"Yes, alas!" - -"You have the same complaint that this gentleman was threatened with," -said Dr. Poulain, looking at Schmucke as he spoke; "it is an attack -of jaundice, but you will soon get over it," he added, as he wrote a -prescription. - -But in spite of that comfortable phrase, the doctor's eyes had told -another tale as he looked professionally at the patient; and the -death-sentence, though hidden under stereotyped compassion, can always -be read by those who wish to know the truth. Mme. Cibot gave a spy's -glance at the doctor, and read his thought; his bedside manner did not -deceive her; she followed him out of the room. - -"Do you think he will get over it?" asked Mme. Cibot, at the stairhead. - -"My dear Mme. Cibot, your lodger is a dead man; not because of the bile -in the system, but because his vitality is low. Still, with great care, -your patient may pull through. Somebody ought to take him away for a -change--" - -"How is he to go?" asked Mme. Cibot. "He has nothing to live upon but -his salary; his friend has just a little money from some great ladies, -very charitable ladies, in return for his services, it seems. They are -two children. I have looked after them for nine years." - -"I spend my life watching people die, not of their disease, but of -another bad and incurable complaint--the want of money," said the -doctor. "How often it happens that so far from taking a fee, I am -obliged to leave a five-franc piece on the mantel-shelf when I go--" - -"Poor, dear M. Poulain!" cried Mme. Cibot. "Ah, if you hadn't only -the hundred thousand livres a year, what some stingy folks has in -the quarter (regular devils from hell they are), you would be like -Providence on earth." - -Dr. Poulain had made the little practice, by which he made a bare -subsistence, chiefly by winning the esteem of the porters' lodges in his -district. So he raised his eyes to heaven and thanked Mme. Cibot with a -solemn face worthy of Tartuffe. - -"Then you think that with careful nursing our dear patient will get -better, my dear M. Poulain?" - -"Yes, if this shock has not been too much for him." - -"Poor man! who can have vexed him? There isn't nobody like him on earth -except his friend M. Schmucke. I will find out what is the matter, and -I will undertake to give them that upset my gentleman a hauling over the -coals--" - -"Look here, my dear Mme. Cibot," said the doctor as they stood in -the gateway, "one of the principal symptoms of his complaint is great -irritability; and as it is hardly to be supposed that he can afford a -nurse, the task of nursing him will fall to you. So--" - -"Are you talking of Mouchieu Ponsh?" asked the marine store-dealer. He -was sitting smoking on the curb-post in the gateway, and now he rose to -join in the conversation. - -"Yes, Daddy Remonencq." - -"All right," said Remonencq, "ash to moneysh, he ish better off than -Mouchieu Monishtrol and the big men in the curioshity line. I know -enough in the art line to tell you thish--the dear man has treasursh!" -he spoke with a broad Auvergne dialect. - -"Look here, I thought you were laughing at me the other day when my -gentlemen were out and I showed you the old rubbish upstairs," said Mme. -Cibot. - -In Paris, where walls have ears, where doors have tongues, and window -bars have eyes, there are few things more dangerous than the practice -of standing to chat in a gateway. Partings are like postscripts to a -letter--indiscreet utterances that do as much mischief to the speaker -as to those who overhear them. A single instance will be sufficient as a -parallel to an event in this history. - -In the time of the Empire, when men paid considerable attention to their -hair, one of the first coiffeurs of the day came out of a house where -he had just been dressing a pretty woman's head. This artist in question -enjoyed the custom of all the lower floor inmates of the house; -and among these, there flourished an elderly bachelor guarded by a -housekeeper who detested her master's next-of-kin. The _ci-devant_ young -man, falling seriously ill, the most famous of doctors of the day (they -were not as yet styled the "princes of science") had been called in to -consult upon his case; and it so chanced that the learned gentlemen were -taking leave of one another in the gateway just as the hairdresser came -out. They were talking as doctors usually talk among themselves when -the farce of a consultation is over. "He is a dead man," quoth Dr. -Haudry.--"He had not a month to live," added Desplein, "unless a miracle -takes place."--These were the words overheard by the hairdresser. - -Like all hairdressers, he kept up a good understanding with his -customers' servants. Prodigious greed sent the man upstairs again; -he mounted to the _ci-devant_ young man's apartment, and promised the -servant-mistress a tolerably handsome commission to persuade her master -to sink a large portion of his money in an annuity. The dying bachelor, -fifty-six by count of years, and twice as old as his age by reason of -amorous campaigns, owned, among other property, a splendid house in -the Rue de Richelieu, worth at that time about two hundred and fifty -thousand francs. It was this house that the hairdresser coveted; and -on agreement to pay an annuity of thirty thousand francs so long as the -bachelor lived, it passed into his hands. This happened in 1806. And -in this year 1846 the hairdresser is still paying that annuity. He has -retired from business, he is seventy years old; the _ci-devant_ young -man is in his dotage; and as he has married his Mme. Evrard, he may last -for a long while yet. As the hairdresser gave the woman thirty thousand -francs, his bit of real estate has cost him, first and last, more than -a million, and the house at this day is worth eight or nine hundred -thousand francs. - -Like the hairdresser, Remonencq the Auvergnat had overheard Brunner's -parting remark in the gateway on the day of Cecile's first interview -with that phoenix of eligible men. Remonencq at once longed to gain a -sight of Pons' museum; and as he lived on good terms with his neighbors -the Cibots, it was not very long before the opportunity came one day -when the friends were out. The sight of such treasures dazzled him; he -saw a "good haul," in dealers' phrase, which being interpreted means a -chance to steal a fortune. He had been meditating this for five or six -days. - -"I am sho far from joking," he said, in reply to Mme. Cibot's remark, -"that we will talk the thing over; and if the good shentleman will take -an annuity, of fifty thousand francsh, I will shtand a hamper of wine, -if--" - -"Fifty thousand francs!" interrupted the doctor; "what are you -thinking about? Why, if the good man is so well off as that, with me in -attendance, and Mme. Cibot to nurse him, he may get better--for liver -complaint is a disease that attacks strong constitutions." - -"Fifty, did I shay? Why, a shentleman here, on your very doorshtep, -offered him sheven hundred thoushand francsh, shimply for the pictursh, -_fouchtra_!" - -While Remonencq made this announcement, Mme. Cibot was looking at Dr. -Poulain. There was a strange expression in her eyes; the devil might -have kindled that sinister glitter in their tawny depths. - -"Oh, come! we must not pay any attention to such idle tales," said the -doctor, well pleased, however, to find that his patient could afford to -pay for his visits. - -"If my dear Mme. Cibot, here, would let me come and bring an ekshpert -(shinsh the shentleman upshtairs ish in bed), I will shertainly find the -money in a couple of hoursh, even if sheven hundred thousand francsh ish -in queshtion--" - -"All right, my friend," said the doctor. "Now, Mme. Cibot, be careful -never to contradict the invalid. You must be prepared to be very patient -with him, for he will find everything irritating and wearisome, even -your services; nothing will please him; you must expect grumbling--" - -"He will be uncommonly hard to please," said La Cibot. - -"Look here, mind what I tell you," the doctor said in a tone of -authority, "M. Pons' life is in the hands of those that nurse him; I -shall come perhaps twice a day. I shall take him first on my round." - -The doctor's profound indifference to the fate of a poor patient had -suddenly given place to a most tender solicitude when he saw that -the speculator was serious, and that there was a possible fortune in -question. - -"He will be nursed like a king," said Madame Cibot, forcing up -enthusiasm. She waited till the doctor turned the corner into the Rue -Charlot; then she fell to talking again with the dealer in old iron. -Remonencq had finished smoking his pipe, and stood in the doorway of his -shop, leaning against the frame; he had purposely taken this position; -he meant the portress to come to him. - -The shop had once been a cafe. Nothing had been changed there since the -Auvergnat discovered it and took over the lease; you could still read -"Cafe de Normandie" on the strip left above the windows in all -modern shops. Remonencq had found somebody, probably a housepainter's -apprentice, who did the work for nothing, to paint another inscription -in the remaining space below--"REMONENCQ," it ran, "DEALER IN MARINE -STORES, FURNITURE BOUGHT"--painted in small black letters. All the -mirrors, tables, seats, shelves, and fittings of the Cafe de Normandie -had been sold, as might have been expected, before Remonencq took -possession of the shop as it stood, paying a yearly rent of six hundred -francs for the place, with a back shop, a kitchen, and a single room -above, where the head-waiter used to sleep, for the house belonging to -the Cafe de Normandie was let separately. Of the former splendor of -the cafe, nothing now remained save the plain light green paper on the -walls, and the strong iron bolts and bars of the shop-front. - -When Remonencq came hither in 1831, after the Revolution of July, he -began by displaying a selection of broken doorbells, cracked plates, -old iron, and the obsolete scales and weights abolished by a Government -which alone fails to carry out its own regulations, for pence and half -pence of the time of Louis XVI. are still in circulation. After a time -this Auvergnat, a match for five ordinary Auvergnats, bought up old -saucepans and kettles, old picture-frames, old copper, and chipped -china. Gradually, as the shop was emptied and filled, the quality of the -stock-in-trade improved, like Nicolet's farces. Remonencq persisted in -an unfailing and prodigiously profitable martingale, a "system" which -any philosophical idler may study as he watches the increasing value of -the stock kept by this intelligent class of trader. Picture-frames and -copper succeed to tin-ware, argand lamps, and damaged crockery; china -marks the next transition; and after no long tarriance in the "omnium -gatherum" stage, the shop becomes a museum. Some day or other the -dusty windows are cleaned, the interior is restored, the Auvergnat -relinquishes velveteen and jackets for a great-coat, and there he sits -like a dragon guarding his treasure, surrounded by masterpieces! He is a -cunning connoisseur by this time; he has increased his capital tenfold; -he is not to be cheated; he knows the tricks of the trade. The monster -among his treasures looks like some old hag among a score of young girls -that she offers to the public. Beauty and miracles of art are alike -indifferent to him; subtle and dense as he is, he has a keen eye to -profits, he talks roughly to those who know less than he does; he has -learned to act a part, he pretends to love his pictures, or again he -lets you know the price he himself gave for the things, he offers to let -you see the memoranda of the sale. He is a Proteus; in one hour he can -be Jocrisse, Janot, _Queue-rouge_, Mondor, Hapagon, or Nicodeme. - -The third year found armor, and old pictures, and some tolerably fine -clocks in Remonencq's shop. He sent for his sister, and La Remonencq -came on foot all the way from Auvergne to take charge of the shop while -her brother was away. A big and very ugly woman, dressed like a Japanese -idol, a half-idiotic creature with a vague, staring gaze she would not -bate a centime of the prices fixed by her brother. In the intervals -of business she did the work of the house, and solved the apparently -insoluble problem--how to live on "the mists of the Seine." The -Remonencqs' diet consisted of bread and herrings, with the outside -leaves of lettuce or vegetable refuse selected from the heaps deposited -in the kennel before the doors of eating-houses. The two between them -did not spend more than fivepence a day on food (bread included), and La -Remonencq earned the money by sewing or spinning. - -Remonencq came to Paris in the first instance to work as an errand-boy. -Between the years 1825 and 1831 he ran errands for dealers in -curiosities in the Boulevard Beaumarchais or coppersmiths in the Rue -de Lappe. It is the usual start in life in his line of business. Jews, -Normans, Auvergnats, and Savoyards, those four different races of men -all have the same instincts, and make their fortunes in the same way; -they spend nothing, make small profits, and let them accumulate at -compound interest. Such is their trading charter, and _that_ charter is -no delusion. - -Remonencq at this moment had made it up with his old master Monistrol; -he did business with wholesale dealers, he was a _chineur_ (the -technical word), plying his trade in the _banlieue_, which, as everybody -knows, extends for some forty leagues round Paris. - -After fourteen years of business, he had sixty thousand francs in hand -and a well-stocked shop. He lived in the Rue de Normandie because the -rent was low, but casual customers were scarce, most of his goods were -sold to other dealers, and he was content with moderate gains. All -his business transactions were carried on in the Auvergue dialect or -_charabia_, as people call it. - -Remonencq cherished a dream! He wished to establish himself on a -boulevard, to be a rich dealer in curiosities, and do a direct trade -with amateurs some day. And, indeed, within him there was a formidable -man of business. His countenance was the more inscrutable because it was -glazed over by a deposit of dust and particles of metal glued together -by the sweat of his brow; for he did everything himself, and the use -and wont of bodily labor had given him something of the stoical -impassibility of the old soldiers of 1799. - -In personal appearance Remonencq was short and thin; his little -eyes were set in his head in porcine fashion; a Jew's slyness and -concentrated greed looked out of those dull blue circles, though in his -case the false humility that masks the Hebrew's unfathomed contempt for -the Gentile was lacking. - -The relations between the Cibots and the Remonencqs were those of -benefactors and recipients. Mme. Cibot, convinced that the Auvergnats -were wretchedly poor, used to let them have the remainder of "her -gentlemen's" dinners at ridiculous prices. The Remonencqs would buy -a pound of broken bread, crusts and crumbs, for a farthing, a -porringer-full of cold potatoes for something less, and other scraps in -proportion. Remonencq shrewdly allowed them to believe that he was -not in business on his own account, he worked for Monistrol, the rich -shopkeepers preyed upon him, he said, and the Cibots felt sincerely -sorry for Remonencq. The velveteen jacket, waistcoat, and trousers, -particularly affected by Auvergnats, were covered with patches of -Cibot's making, and not a penny had the little tailor charged for -repairs which kept the three garments together after eleven years of -wear. - -Thus we see that all Jews are not in Israel. - -"You are not laughing at me, Remonencq, are you?" asked the portress. -"Is it possible that M. Pons has such a fortune, living as he does? -There is not a hundred francs in the place--" - -"Amateursh are all like that," Remonencq remarked sententiously. - -"Then do you think that my gentleman has worth of seven hundred thousand -francs, eh?--" - -"In pictures alone," continued Remonencq (it is needless, for the -sake of clearness in the story, to give any further specimens of his -frightful dialect). "If he would take fifty thousand francs for one up -there that I know of, I would find the money if I had to hang myself. -Do you remember those little frames full of enameled copper on crimson -velvet, hanging among the portraits?... Well, those are Petitot's -enamels; and there is a cabinet minister as used to be a druggist that -will give three thousand francs apiece for them." - -La Cibot's eyes opened wide. "There are thirty of them in the pair of -frames!" she said. - -"Very well, you can judge for yourself how much he is worth." - -Mme. Cibot's head was swimming; she wheeled round. In a moment came the -thought that she would have a legacy, _she_ would sleep sound on old -Pons' will, like the other servant-mistresses whose annuities had -aroused such envy in the Marais. Her thoughts flew to some commune in -the neighborhood of Paris; she saw herself strutting proudly about her -house in the country, looking after her garden and poultry yard, ending -her days, served like a queen, along with her poor dear Cibot, who -deserved such good fortune, like all angelic creatures whom nobody knows -nor appreciates. - -Her abrupt, unthinking movement told Remonencq that success was sure. -In the _chineur's_ way of business--the _chineur_, be it explained, goes -about the country picking up bargains at the expense of the ignorant--in -the _chineur's_ way of business, the one real difficulty is the problem -of gaining an entrance to a house. No one can imagine the Scapin's -roguery, the tricks of a Sganarelle, the wiles of a Dorine by which the -_chineur_ contrives to make a footing for himself. These comedies are -as good as a play, and founded indeed on the old stock theme of the -dishonesty of servants. For thirty francs in money or goods, servants, -and especially country servants, will sometimes conclude a bargain on -which the _chineur_ makes a profit of a thousand or two thousand francs. -If we could but know the history of such and such a service of Sevres -porcelain, _pate tendre_, we should find that all the intellect, all the -diplomatic subtlety displayed at Munster, Nimeguen, Utrecht, Ryswick, -and Vienna was surpassed by the _chineur_. His is the more frank comedy; -his methods of action fathom depths of personal interest quite as -profound as any that plenipotentiaries can explore in their difficult -search for any means of breaking up the best cemented alliances. - -"I have set La Cibot nicely on fire," Remonencq told his sister, when -she came to take up her position again on the ramshackle chair. "And -now," he continued, "I shall go to consult the only man that knows, our -Jew, a good sort of Jew that did not ask more than fifteen per cent of -us for his money." - -Remonencq had read La Cibot's heart. To will is to act with women of her -stamp. Let them see the end in view; they will stick at nothing to gain -it, and pass from scrupulous honesty to the last degree of scoundrelism -in the twinkling of an eye. Honesty, like most dispositions of mind, is -divided into two classes--negative and positive. La Cibot's honesty was -of the negative order; she and her like are honest until they see their -way clear to gain money belonging to somebody else. Positive honesty, -the honesty of the bank collector, can wade knee-deep through -temptations. - -A torrent of evil thoughts invaded La Cibot's heart and brain so soon -as Remonencq's diabolical suggestion opened the flood-gates of -self-interest. La Cibot climbed, or, to be more accurate, fled up the -stairs, opened the door on the landing, and showed a face disguised in -false solicitude in the doorway of the room where Pons and Schmucke -were bemoaning themselves. As soon as she came in, Schmucke made her a -warning sign; for, true friend and sublime German that he was, he too -had read the doctor's eyes, and he was afraid that Mme. Cibot might -repeat the verdict. Mme. Cibot answered by a shake of the head -indicative of deep woe. - -"Well, my dear monsieur," asked she, "how are you feeling?" She sat down -on the foot of the bed, hands on hips, and fixed her eyes lovingly upon -the patient; but what a glitter of metal there was in them, a terrible, -tiger-like gleam if any one had watched her. - -"I feel very ill," answered poor Pons. "I have not the slightest -appetite left.--Oh! the world, the world!" he groaned, squeezing -Schmucke's hand. Schmucke was sitting by his bedside, and doubtless the -sick man was talking of the causes of his illness.--"I should have done -far better to follow your advice, my good Schmucke, and dined here every -day, and given up going into this society, that has fallen on me with -all its weight, like a tumbril cart crushing an egg! And why?" - -"Come, come, don't complain, M. Pons," said La Cibot; "the doctor told -me just how it is--" - -Schmucke tugged at her gown.--"And you will pull through," she -continued, "only we must take great care of you. Be easy, you have a -good friend beside you, and without boasting, a woman as will nurse you -like a mother nurses her first child. I nursed Cibot round once when -Dr. Poulain had given him over; he had the shroud up to his eyes, as the -saying is, and they gave him up for dead. Well, well, you have not come -to that yet, God be thanked, ill though you may be. Count on me; I would -pull you through all by myself, I would! Keep still, don't you fidget -like that." - -She pulled the coverlet over the patient's hands as she spoke. - -"There, sonny! M. Schmucke and I will sit up with you of nights. A -prince won't be no better nursed... and besides, you needn't refuse -yourself nothing that's necessary, you can afford it.--I have just been -talking things over with Cibot, for what would he do without me, poor -dear?--Well, and I talked him round; we are both so fond of you, that he -will let me stop up with you of a night. And that is a good deal to ask -of a man like him, for he is as fond of me as ever he was the day we -were married. I don't know how it is. It is the lodge, you see; we are -always there together! Don't you throw off the things like that!" she -cried, making a dash for the bedhead to draw the coverlet over Pons' -chest. "If you are not good, and don't do just as Dr. Poulain says--and -Dr. Poulain is the image of Providence on earth--I will have no more to -do with you. You must do as I tell you--" - -"Yes, Montame Zipod, he vill do vat you dell him," put in Schmucke; "he -vants to lif for his boor friend Schmucke's sake, I'll pe pound." - -"And of all things, don't fidget yourself," continued La Cibot, "for -your illness makes you quite bad enough without your making it worse for -want of patience. God sends us our troubles, my dear good gentlemen; He -punishes us for our sins. Haven't you nothing to reproach yourself with? -some poor little bit of a fault or other?" - -The invalid shook his head. - -"Oh! go on! You were young once, you had your fling, there is some -love-child of yours somewhere--cold, and starving, and homeless.... What -monsters men are! Their love doesn't last only for a day, and then in -a jiffy they forget, they don't so much as think of the child at the -breast for months.... Poor women!" - -"But no one has ever loved me except Schmucke and my mother," poor Pons -broke in sadly. - -"Oh! come, you aren't no saint! You were young in your time, and a -fine-looking young fellow you must have been at twenty. I should have -fallen in love with you myself, so nice as you are--" - -"I always was as ugly as a toad," Pons put in desperately. - -"You say that because you are modest; nobody can't say that you aren't -modest." - -"My dear Mme. Cibot, _no_, I tell you. I always was ugly, and I never -was loved in my life." - -"You, indeed!" cried the portress. "You want to make me believe at this -time of day that you are as innocent as a young maid at your time of -life. Tell that to your granny! A musician at a theatre too! Why, if a -woman told me that, I wouldn't believe her." - -"Montame Zipod, you irritate him!" cried Schmucke, seeing that Pons was -writhing under the bedclothes. - -"You hold your tongue too! You are a pair of old libertines. If you -were ugly, it don't make no difference; there was never so ugly a -saucepan-lid but it found a pot to match, as the saying is. There is -Cibot, he got one of the handsomest oyster-women in Paris to fall in -love with him, and you are infinitely better looking than him! You are -a nice pair, you are! Come, now, you have sown your wild oats, and God -will punish you for deserting your children, like Abraham--" - -Exhausted though he was, the invalid gathered up all his strength to -make a vehement gesture of denial. - -"Do lie quiet; if you have, it won't prevent you from living as long as -Methuselah." - -"Then, pray let me be quiet!" groaned Pons. "I have never known what it -is to be loved. I have had no child; I am alone in the world." - -"Really, eh?" returned the portress. "You are so kind, and that is what -women like, you see--it draws them--and it looked to me impossible that -when you were in your prime--" - -"Take her away," Pons whispered to Schmucke; "she sets my nerves on -edge." - -"Then there's M. Schmucke, he has children. You old bachelors are not -all like that--" - -"_I!_" cried Schmucke, springing to his feet, "vy!--" - -"Come, then, you have none to come after you either, eh? You both sprung -up out of the earth like mushrooms--" - -"Look here, komm mit me," said Schmucke. The good German manfully took -Mme. Cibot by the waist and carried her off into the next room, in spite -of her exclamations. - -"At your age, you would not take advantage of a defenceless woman!" -cried La Cibot, struggling in his arms. - -"Don't make a noise!" - -"You too, the better one of the two!" returned La Cibot. "Ah! it is my -fault for talking about love to two old men who have never had nothing -to do with women. I have roused your passions," cried she, as Schmucke's -eyes glittered with wrath. "Help! help! police!" - -"You are a stoopid!" said the German. "Look here, vat tid de toctor -say?" - -"You are a ruffian to treat me so," wept La Cibot, now released,--"me -that would go through fire and water for you both! Ah! well, well, they -say that that is the way with men--and true it is! There is my poor -Cibot, _he_ would not be rough with me like this.... And I treated you -like my children, for I have none of my own; and yesterday, yes, only -yesterday I said to Cibot, 'God knew well what He was doing, dear,' -I said, 'when He refused us children, for I have two children there -upstairs.' By the holy crucifix and the soul of my mother, that was what -I said to him--" - -"Eh! but vat did der doctor say?" Schmucke demanded furiously, stamping -on the floor for the first time in his life. - -"Well," said Mme. Cibot, drawing Schmucke into the dining-room, "he just -said this--that our dear, darling love lying ill there would die if he -wasn't carefully nursed; but I am here, in spite of all your brutality, -for brutal you were, you that I thought so gentle. And you are one -of that sort! Ah! now, you would not abuse a woman at your age, great -blackguard--" - -"Placard? I? Vill you not oonderstand that I lof nopody but Bons?" - -"Well and good, you will let me alone, won't you?" said she, smiling at -Schmucke. "You had better; for if Cibot knew that anybody had attempted -his honor, he would break every bone in his skin." - -"Take crate care of him, dear Montame Zipod," answered Schmucke, and he -tried to take the portress' hand. - -"Oh! look here now, _again_." - -"Chust listen to me. You shall haf all dot I haf, gif ve safe him." - -"Very well; I will go round to the chemist's to get the things that are -wanted; this illness is going to cost a lot, you see, sir, and what will -you do?" - -"I shall vork; Bons shall be nursed like ein brince." - -"So he shall, M. Schmucke; and look here, don't you trouble about -nothing. Cibot and I, between us, have saved a couple of thousand -francs; they are yours; I have been spending money on you this long -time, I have." - -"Goot voman!" cried Schmucke, brushing the tears from his eyes. "Vat ein -heart!" - -"Wipe your tears; they do me honor; this is my reward," said La Cibot, -melodramatically. "There isn't no more disinterested creature on earth -than me; but don't you go into the room with tears in your eyes, or M. -Pons will be thinking himself worse than he is." - -Schmucke was touched by this delicate feeling. He took La Cibot's hand -and gave it a final squeeze. - -"Spare me!" cried the ex-oysterseller, leering at Schmucke. - -"Bons," the good German said when he returned "Montame Zipod is an -anchel; 'tis an anchel dat brattles, but an anchel all der same." - -"Do you think so? I have grown suspicious in the past month," said the -invalid, shaking his head. "After all I have been through, one comes to -believe in nothing but God and my friend--" - -"Get bedder, and ve vill lif like kings, all tree of us," exclaimed -Schmucke. - - - -"Cibot!" panted the portress as she entered the lodge. "Oh, my dear, our -fortune is made. My two gentlemen haven't nobody to come after them, no -natural children, no nothing, in short! Oh, I shall go round to Ma'am -Fontaine's and get her to tell my fortune on the cards, then we shall -know how much we are going to have--" - -"Wife," said the little tailor, "it's ill counting on dead men's shoes." - -"Oh, I say, are _you_ going to worry me?" asked she, giving her spouse a -playful tap. "I know what I know! Dr. Poulain has given up M. Pons. And -we are going to be rich! My name will be down in the will.... I'll see -to that. Draw your needle in and out, and look after the lodge; you will -not do it for long now. We will retire, and go into the country, out -at Batignolles. A nice house and a fine garden; you will amuse yourself -with gardening, and I shall keep a servant!" - -"Well, neighbor, and how are things going on upstairs?" The words were -spoken with the thick Auvergnat accent, and Remonencq put his head in at -the door. "Do you know what the collection is worth?" - -"No, no, not yet. One can't go at that rate, my good man. I have begun, -myself, by finding out more important things--" - -"More important!" exclaimed Remonencq; "why, what things can be more -important?" - -"Come, let me do the steering, ragamuffin," said La Cibot -authoritatively. - -"But thirty per cent on seven hundred thousand francs," persisted the -dealer in old iron; "you could be your own mistress for the rest of your -days on that." - -"Be easy, Daddy Remonencq; when we want to know the value of the things -that the old man has got together, then we will see." - -La Cibot went for the medicine ordered by Dr. Poulain, and put off her -consultation with Mme. Fontaine until the morrow; the oracle's faculties -would be fresher and clearer in the morning, she thought; and she would -go early, before everybody else came, for there was often a crowd at -Mme. Fontaine's. - -Mme. Fontaine was at this time the oracle of the Marais; she had -survived the rival of forty years, the celebrated Mlle. Lenormand. No -one imagines the part that fortune-tellers play among Parisians of -the lower classes, nor the immense influence which they exert over the -uneducated; general servants, portresses, kept women, workmen, all -the many in Paris who live on hope, consult the privileged beings who -possess the mysterious power of reading the future. - -The belief of the occult science is far more widely spread than -scholars, lawyers, doctors, magistrates, and philosophers imagine. The -instincts of the people are ineradicable. One among those instincts, so -foolishly styled "superstition," runs in the blood of the populace, and -tinges no less the intellects of better educated folk. More than one -French statesman has been known to consult the fortune-teller's cards. -For sceptical minds, astrology, in French, so oddly termed _astrologie -judiciare_, is nothing more than a cunning device for making a profit -out of one of the strongest of all the instincts of human nature--to -wit, curiosity. The sceptical mind consequently denies that there is any -connection between human destiny and the prognostications obtained by -the seven or eight principal methods known to astrology; and the -occult sciences, like many natural phenomena, are passed over by the -freethinker or the materialist philosopher, _id est_, by those who -believe in nothing but visible and tangible facts, in the results given -by the chemist's retort and the scales of modern physical science. -The occult sciences still exist; they are at work, but they make no -progress, for the greatest intellects of two centuries have abandoned -the field. - -If you only look at the practical side of divination, it seems absurd -to imagine that events in a man's past life and secrets known only to -himself can be represented on the spur of the moment by a pack of cards -which he shuffles and cuts for the fortune-teller to lay out in piles -according to certain mysterious rules; but then the steam-engine was -condemned as absurd, aerial navigation is still said to be absurd, so -in their time were the inventions of gunpowder, printing, spectacles, -engraving, and that latest discovery of all--the daguerreotype. If any -man had come to Napoleon to tell him that a building or a figure is at -all times and in all places represented by an image in the atmosphere, -that every existing object has a spectral intangible double which may -become visible, the Emperor would have sent his informant to Charenton -for a lunatic, just as Richelieu before his day sent that Norman martyr, -Salomon de Caux, to the Bicetre for announcing his immense triumph, the -idea of navigation by steam. Yet Daguerre's discovery amounts to nothing -more nor less than this. - -And if for some clairvoyant eyes God has written each man's destiny over -his whole outward and visible form, if a man's body is the record of his -fate, why should not the hand in a manner epitomize the body?--since the -hand represents the deed of man, and by his deeds he is known. - -Herein lies the theory of palmistry. Does not Society imitate God? At -the sight of a soldier we can predict that he will fight; of a lawyer, -that he will talk; of a shoemaker, that he shall make shoes or boots; of -a worker of the soil, that he shall dig the ground and dung it; and is -it a more wonderful thing that such an one with the "seer's" gift should -foretell the events of a man's life from his hand? - -To take a striking example. Genius is so visible in a man that a great -artist cannot walk about the streets of Paris but the most ignorant -people are conscious of his passing. He is a sun, as it were, in the -mental world, shedding light that colors everything in its path. And who -does not know an idiot at once by an impression the exact opposite of -the sensation of the presence of genius? Most observers of human nature -in general, and Parisian nature in particular, can guess the profession -or calling of the man in the street. - -The mysteries of the witches' Sabbath, so wonderfully painted in the -sixteenth century, are no mysteries for us. The Egyptian ancestors of -that mysterious people of Indian origin, the gypsies of the present day, -simply used to drug their clients with hashish, a practice that -fully accounts for broomstick rides and flights up the chimney, the -real-seeming visions, so to speak, of old crones transformed into young -damsels, the frantic dances, the exquisite music, and all the fantastic -tales of devil-worship. - -So many proven facts have been first discovered by occult science, that -some day we shall have professors of occult science, as we already have -professors of chemistry and astronomy. It is even singular that here in -Paris, where we are founding chairs of Mantchu and Slave and literatures -so little professable (to coin a word) as the literatures of the North -(which, so far from providing lessons, stand very badly in need of -them); when the curriculum is full of the everlasting lectures on -Shakespeare and the sixteenth century,--it is strange that some one has -not restored the teaching of the occult philosophies, once the glory of -the University of Paris, under the title of anthropology. Germany, so -childlike and so great, has outstripped France in this particular; -in Germany they have professors of a science of far more use than a -knowledge of the heterogeneous philosophies, which all come to the same -thing at bottom. - -Once admit that certain beings have the power of discerning the future -in its germ-form of the Cause, as the great inventor sees a glimpse of -the industry latent in his invention, or a science in something that -happens every day unnoticed by ordinary eyes--once allow this, and there -is nothing to cause an outcry in such phenomena, no violent exception -to nature's laws, but the operation of a recognized faculty; possibly a -kind of mental somnambulism, as it were. If, therefore, the hypothesis -upon which the various ways of divining the future are based seem -absurd, the facts remain. Remark that it is not really more wonderful -that the seer should foretell the chief events of the future than that -he should read the past. Past and future, on the sceptic's system, -equally lie beyond the limits of knowledge. If the past has left traces -behind it, it is not improbable that future events have, as it were, -their roots in the present. - -If a fortune-teller gives you minute details of past facts known only -to yourself, why should he not foresee the events to be produced by -existing causes? The world of ideas is cut out, so to speak, on the -pattern of the physical world; the same phenomena should be discernible -in both, allowing for the difference of the medium. As, for instance, -a corporeal body actually projects an image upon the atmosphere--a -spectral double detected and recorded by the daguerreotype; so also -ideas, having a real and effective existence, leave an impression, as it -were, upon the atmosphere of the spiritual world; they likewise produce -effects, and exist spectrally (to coin a word to express phenomena for -which no words exist), and certain human beings are endowed with the -faculty of discerning these "forms" or traces of ideas. - -As for the material means employed to assist the seer--the objects -arranged by the hands of the consultant that the accidents of his life -may be revealed to him,--this is the least inexplicable part of the -process. Everything in the material world is part of a series of causes -and effects. Nothing happens without a cause, every cause is a part of a -whole, and consequently the whole leaves its impression on the -slightest accident. Rabelais, the greatest mind among moderns, resuming -Pythagoras, Hippocrates, Aristophanes, and Dante, pronounced three -centuries ago that "man is a microcosm"--a little world. Three hundred -years later, the great seer Swedenborg declared that "the world was -a man." The prophet and the precursor of incredulity meet thus in the -greatest of all formulas. - -Everything in human life is predestined, so it is also with the -existence of the planet. The least event, the most futile phenomena, -are all subordinate parts of a scheme. Great things, therefore, great -designs, and great thoughts are of necessity reflected in the smallest -actions, and that so faithfully, that should a conspirator shuffle and -cut a pack of playing-cards, he will write the history of his plot for -the eyes of the seer styled gypsy, fortune-teller, charlatan, or what -not. If you once admit fate, which is to say, the chain of links of -cause and effect, astrology has a _locus standi_, and becomes what -it was of yore, a boundless science, requiring the same faculty of -deduction by which Cuvier became so great, a faculty to be exercised -spontaneously, however, and not merely in nights of study in the closet. - -For seven centuries astrology and divination have exercised an influence -not only (as at present) over the uneducated, but over the greatest -minds, over kings and queens and wealthy people. Animal magnetism, one -of the great sciences of antiquity, had its origin in occult philosophy; -chemistry is the outcome of alchemy; phrenology and neurology are no -less the fruit of similar studies. The first illustrious workers in -these, to all appearance, untouched fields, made one mistake, the -mistake of all inventors; that is to say, they erected an absolute -system on a basis of isolated facts for which modern analysis as yet -cannot account. The Catholic Church, the law of the land, and modern -philosophy, in agreement for once, combined to prescribe, persecute, and -ridicule the mysteries of the Cabala as well as the adepts; the result -is a lamentable interregnum of a century in occult philosophy. But the -uneducated classes, and not a few cultivated people (women especially), -continue to pay a tribute to the mysterious power of those who can raise -the veil of the future; they go to buy hope, strength, and courage of -the fortune-teller; in other words, to ask of him all that religion -alone can give. So the art is still practised in spite of a certain -amount of risk. The eighteenth century encyclopaedists procured -tolerance for the sorcerer; he is no longer amenable to a court of law, -unless, indeed, he lends himself to fraudulent practices, and frightens -his "clients" to extort money from them, in which case he may be -prosecuted on a charge of obtaining money under false pretences. -Unluckily, the exercise of the sublime art is only too often used as a -method of obtaining money under false pretences, and for the following -reasons. - -The seer's wonderful gifts are usually bestowed upon those who are -described by the epithets rough and uneducated. The rough and uneducated -are the chosen vessels into which God pours the elixirs at which we -marvel. From among the rough and uneducated, prophets arise--an Apostle -Peter, or St. Peter the Hermit. Wherever mental power is imprisoned, -and remains intact and entire for want of an outlet in conversation, -in politics, in literature, in the imaginings of the scholar, in the -efforts of the statesman, in the conceptions of the inventor, or the -soldier's toils of war; the fire within is apt to flash out in gleams -of marvelously vivid light, like the sparks hidden in an unpolished -diamond. Let the occasion come, and the spirit within kindles and glows, -finds wings to traverse space, and the god-like power of beholding -all things. The coal of yesterday under the play of some mysterious -influence becomes a radiant diamond. Better educated people, many-sided -and highly polished, continually giving out all that is in them, can -never exhibit this supreme power, save by one of the miracles which God -sometimes vouchsafes to work. For this reason the soothsayer is almost -always a beggar, whose mind is virgin soil, a creature coarse to all -appearance, a pebble borne along the torrent of misery and left in the -ruts of life, where it spends nothing of itself save in mere physical -suffering. - -The prophet, the seer, in short, is some _Martin le Laboureur_ making -a Louis XVIII. tremble by telling him a secret known only to the king -himself; or it is a Mlle. Lenormand, or a domestic servant like Mme. -Fontaine, or again, perhaps it is some half-idiotic negress, some -herdsman living among his cattle, who receives the gift of vision; some -Hindoo fakir, seated by a pagoda, mortifying the flesh till the spirit -gains the mysterious power of the somnambulist. - -Asia, indeed, through all time, has been the home of the heroes of -occult science. Persons of this kind, recovering their normal state, -are usually just as they were before. They fulfil, in some sort, the -chemical and physical functions of bodies which conduct electricity; -at times inert metal, at other times a channel filled with a mysterious -current. In their normal condition they are given to practices which -bring them before the magistrate, yea, verily, like the notorious -Balthazar, even unto the criminal court, and so to the hulks. You could -hardly find a better proof of the immense influence of fortune-telling -upon the working classes than the fact that poor Pons' life and death -hung upon the prediction that Mme. Fontaine was to make from the cards. - -Although a certain amount of repetition is inevitable in a canvas so -considerable and so full of detail as a complete picture of French -society in the nineteenth century, it is needless to repeat the -description of Mme. Fontaine's den, already given in _Les Comediens -sans le savoir_; suffice it to say that Mme. Cibot used to go to -Mme. Fontaine's house in the Rue Vieille-du-Temple as regularly as -frequenters of the Cafe Anglais drop in at that restaurant for lunch. -Mme. Cibot, being a very old customer, often introduced young persons -and old gossips consumed with curiosity to the wise woman. - -The old servant who acted as provost marshal flung open the door of -the sanctuary with no further ceremony than the remark, "It's Mme. -Cibot.--Come in, there's nobody here." - -"Well, child, what can bring you here so early of a morning?" asked -the sorceress, as Mme. Fontaine might well be called, for she was -seventy-eight years old, and looked like one of the Parcae. - -"Something has given me a turn," said La Cibot; "I want the _grand jeu_; -it is a question of my fortune." Therewith she explained her position, -and wished to know if her sordid hopes were likely to be realized. - -"Do you know what the _grand jeu_ means?" asked Mme. Fontaine, with much -solemnity. - -"No, I haven't never seen the trick, I am not rich enough.--A hundred -francs! It's not as if it cost so much! Where was the money to come -from? But now I can't help myself, I must have it." - -"I don't do it often, child," returned Mme. Fontaine; "I only do it for -rich people on great occasions, and they pay me twenty-five louis for -doing it; it tires me, you see, it wears me out. The 'Spirit' rives my -inside, here. It is like going to the 'Sabbath,' as they used to say." - -"But when I tell you that it means my whole future, my dear good Ma'am -Fontaine--" - -"Well, as it is you that have come to consult me so often, I will submit -myself to the Spirit!" replied Mme. Fontaine, with a look of genuine -terror on her face. - -She rose from her filthy old chair by the fireside, and went to a table -covered with a green cloth so worn that you could count the threads. -A huge toad sat dozing there beside a cage inhabited by a black -disheveled-looking fowl. - -"Astaroth! here, my son!" she said, and the creature looked up -intelligently at her as she rapped him on the back with a long -knitting-needle.--"And you, Mademoiselle Cleopatre!--attention!" she -continued, tapping the ancient fowl on the beak. - -Then Mme. Fontaine began to think; for several seconds she did not move; -she looked like a corpse, her eyes rolled in their sockets and grew -white; then she rose stiff and erect, and a cavernous voice cried: - -"Here I am!" - -Automatically she scattered millet for Cleopatre, took up the pack of -cards, shuffled them convulsively, and held them out to Mme. Cibot to -cut, sighing heavily all the time. At the sight of that image of Death -in the filthy turban and uncanny-looking bed-jacket, watching the black -fowl as it pecked at the millet-grains, calling to the toad Astaroth to -walk over the cards that lay out on the table, a cold thrill ran through -Mme. Cibot; she shuddered. Nothing but strong belief can give strong -emotions. An assured income, to be or not to be, that was the question. - -The sorceress opened a magical work and muttered some unintelligible -words in a sepulchral voice, looked at the remaining millet-seeds, and -watched the way in which the toad retired. Then after seven or eight -minutes, she turned her white eyes on the cards and expounded them. - -"You will succeed, although nothing in the affair will fall out as you -expect. You will have many steps to take, but you will reap the fruits -of your labors. You will behave very badly; it will be with you as it is -with all those who sit by a sick-bed and covet part of the inheritance. -Great people will help you in this work of wrongdoing. Afterwards in the -death agony you will repent. Two escaped convicts, a short man with red -hair and an old man with a bald head, will murder you for the sake of -the money you will be supposed to have in the village whither you will -retire with your second husband. Now, my daughter, it is still open to -you to choose your course." - -The excitement which seemed to glow within, lighting up the bony hollows -about the eyes, was suddenly extinguished. As soon as the horoscope was -pronounced, Mme. Fontaine's face wore a dazed expression; she looked -exactly like a sleep-walker aroused from sleep, gazed about her with -an astonished air, recognized Mme. Cibot, and seemed surprised by her -terrified face. - -"Well, child," she said, in a totally different voice, "are you -satisfied?" - -Mme. Cibot stared stupidly at the sorceress, and could not answer. - -"Ah! you would have the _grand jeu_; I have treated you as an old -acquaintance. I only want a hundred francs--" - -"Cibot,--going to die?" gasped the portress. - -"So I have been telling you very dreadful things, have I?" asked Mme. -Fontaine, with an extremely ingenuous air. - -"Why, yes!" said La Cibot, taking a hundred francs from her pocket and -laying them down on the edge of the table. "Going to be murdered, think -of it--" - -"Ah! there it is! You would have the _grand jeu_; but don't take on so, -all the folk that are murdered on the cards don't die." - -"But is it possible, Ma'am Fontaine?" - -"Oh, _I_ know nothing about it, my pretty dear! You would rap at the -door of the future; I pull the cord, and it came." - -"_It_, what?" asked Mme. Cibot. - -"Well, then, the Spirit!" cried the sorceress impatiently. - -"Good-bye, Ma'am Fontaine," exclaimed the portress. "I did not know -what the _grand jeu_ was like. You have given me a good fright, that you -have." - -"The mistress will not put herself in that state twice in a month," said -the servant, as she went with La Cibot to the landing. "She would do -herself to death if she did, it tires her so. She will eat cutlets now -and sleep for three hours afterwards." - -Out in the street La Cibot took counsel of herself as she went -along, and, after the manner of all who ask for advice of any sort or -description, she took the favorable part of the prediction and rejected -the rest. The next day found her confirmed in her resolutions--she would -set all in train to become rich by securing a part of Pons' collection. -Nor for some time had she any other thought than the combination of -various plans to this end. The faculty of self-concentration seen in -rough, uneducated persons, explained on a previous page, the reserve -power accumulated in those whose mental energies are unworn by the daily -wear and tear of social life, and brought into action so soon as that -terrible weapon the "fixed idea" is brought into play,--all this was -pre-eminently manifested in La Cibot. Even as the "fixed idea" works -miracles of evasion, and brings forth prodigies of sentiment, so greed -transformed the portress till she became as formidable as a Nucingen -at bay, as subtle beneath her seeming stupidity as the irresistible La -Palferine. - -About seven o'clock one morning, a few days afterwards, she saw -Remonencq taking down his shutters. She went across to him. - -"How could one find out how much the things yonder in my gentlemen's -rooms are worth?" she asked in a wheedling tone. - -"Oh! that is quite easy," replied the owner of the old curiosity shop. -"If you will play fair and above board with me, I will tell you of -somebody, a very honest man, who will know the value of the pictures to -a farthing--" - -"Who?" - -"M. Magus, a Jew. He only does business to amuse himself now." - -Elie Magus has appeared so often in the _Comedie Humaine_, that it is -needless to say more of him here. Suffice it to add that he had retired -from business, and as a dealer was following the example set by Pons -the amateur. Well-known valuers like Henry, Messrs. Pigeot and Moret, -Theret, Georges, and Roehn, the experts of the Musee, in fact, were but -children compared with Elie Magus. He could see a masterpiece beneath -the accumulated grime of a century; he knew all schools, and the -handwriting of all painters. - -He had come to Paris from Bordeaux, and so long ago as 1835 he had -retired from business without making any change for the better in his -dress, so faithful is the race to old tradition. The persecutions of the -Middle Ages compelled them to wear rags, to snuffle and whine and groan -over their poverty in self-defence, till the habits induced by the -necessities of other times have come to be, as usual, instinctive, a -racial defect. - -Elie Magus had amassed a vast fortune by buying and selling diamonds, -pictures, lace, enamels, delicate carvings, old jewelry, and rarities of -all kinds, a kind of commerce which has developed enormously of late, so -much so indeed that the number of dealers has increased tenfold during -the last twenty years in this city of Paris, whither all the curiosities -in the world come to rub against one another. And for pictures there are -but three marts in the world--Rome, London, and Paris. - -Elie Magus lived in the Chausee des Minimes, a short, broad street -leading to the Place Royale. He had bought the house, an old-fashioned -mansion, for a song, as the saying is, in 1831. Yet there were sumptuous -apartments within it, decorated in the time of Louis XV.; for it had -once been the Hotel Maulaincourt, built by the great President of the -Cour des Aides, and its remote position had saved it at the time of the -Revolution. - -You may be quite sure that the old Jew had sound reasons for buying -house property, contrary to the Hebrew law and custom. He had ended, as -most of us end, with a hobby that bordered on a craze. He was as miserly -as his friend, the late lamented Gobseck; but he had been caught by the -snare of the eyes, by the beauty of the pictures in which he dealt. As -his taste grew more and more fastidious, it became one of the passions -which princes alone can indulge when they are wealthy and art-lovers. As -the second King of Prussia found nothing that so kindled enthusiasm as -the spectacle of a grenadier over six feet high, and gave extravagant -sums for a new specimen to add to his living museum of a regiment, so -the retired picture-dealer was roused to passion-pitch only by some -canvas in perfect preservation, untouched since the master laid down -the brush; and what was more, it must be a picture of the painter's best -time. No great sales, therefore, took place but Elie Magus was there; -every mart knew him; he traveled all over Europe. The ice-cold, -money-worshiping soul in him kindled at the sight of a perfect work -of art, precisely as a libertine, weary of fair women, is roused from -apathy by the sight of a beautiful girl, and sets out afresh upon the -quest of flawless loveliness. A Don Juan among fair works of art, a -worshiper of the Ideal, Elie Magus had discovered joys that transcend -the pleasure of a miser gloating over his gold--he lived in a seraglio -of great paintings. - -His masterpieces were housed as became the children of princes; the -whole first floor of the great old mansion was given up to them. -The rooms had been restored under Elie Magus' orders, and with what -magnificence! - -The windows were hung with the richest Venetian brocade; the most -splendid carpets from the Savonnerie covered the parquetry flooring. -The frames of the pictures, nearly a hundred in number, were magnificent -specimens, regilded cunningly by Servais, the one gilder in Paris whom -Elie Magus thought sufficiently painstaking; the old Jew himself had -taught him to use the English leaf, which is infinitely superior to that -produced by French gold-beaters. Servais is among gilders as Thouvenin -among bookbinders--an artist among craftsmen, making his work a labor -of love. Every window in that gallery was protected by iron-barred -shutters. Elie Magus himself lived in a couple of attics on the floor -above; the furniture was wretched, the rooms were full of rags, and the -whole place smacked of the Ghetto; Elie Magus was finishing his days -without any change in his life. - -The whole of the ground floor was given up to the picture trade (for the -Jew still dealt in works of art). Here he stored his canvases, here also -packing-cases were stowed on their arrival from other countries; and -still there was room for a vast studio, where Moret, most skilful of -restorers of pictures, a craftsman whom the Musee ought to employ, was -almost always at work for Magus. The rest of the rooms on the ground -floor were given up to Magus' daughter, the child of his old age, a -Jewess as beautiful as a Jewess can be when the Semitic type reappears -in its purity and nobility in a daughter of Israel. Noemi was guarded by -two servants, fanatical Jewesses, to say nothing of an advanced-guard, -a Polish Jew, Abramko by name, once involved in a fabulous manner -in political troubles, from which Elie Magus saved him as a business -speculation. Abramko, porter of the silent, grim, deserted mansion, -divided his office and his lodge with three remarkably ferocious -animals--an English bull-dog, a Newfoundland dog, and another of the -Pyrenean breed. - -Behold the profound observations of human nature upon which Elie Magus -based his feeling of security, for secure he felt; he left home without -misgivings, slept with both ears shut, and feared no attempt upon his -daughter (his chief treasure), his pictures, or his money. In the first -place, Abramko's salary was increased every year by two hundred francs -so long as his master should live; and Magus, moreover, was training -Abramko as a money-lender in a small way. Abramko never admitted anybody -until he had surveyed them through a formidable grated opening. He was -a Hercules for strength, he worshiped Elie Magus, as Sancho Panza -worshiped Don Quixote. All day long the dogs were shut up without food; -at nightfall Abramko let them loose; and by a cunning device the old Jew -kept each animal at his post in the courtyard or the garden by hanging -a piece of meat just out of reach on the top of a pole. The animals -guarded the house, and sheer hunger guarded the dogs. No odor that -reached their nostrils could tempt them from the neighborhood of that -piece of meat; they would not have left their places at the foot of the -poles for the most engaging female of the canine species. If a stranger -by any chance intruded, the dogs suspected him of ulterior designs upon -their rations, which were only taken down in the morning by Abramko -himself when he awoke. The advantages of this fiendish scheme are -patent. The animals never barked, Magus' ingenuity had made savages of -them; they were treacherous as Mohicans. And now for the result. - -One night burglars, emboldened by the silence, decided too hastily that -it would be easy enough to "clean out" the old Jew's strong box. One of -their number told off to advance to the assault scrambled up the garden -wall and prepared to descend. This the bull-dog allowed him to do. The -animal, knowing perfectly well what was coming, waited for the burglar -to reach the ground; but when that gentleman directed a kick at him, the -bull-dog flew at the visitor's shins, and, making but one bite of it, -snapped the ankle-bone clean in two. The thief had the courage to tear -him away, and returned, walking upon the bare bone of the mutilated -stump till he reached the rest of the gang, when he fell fainting, and -they carried him off. The _Police News_, of course, did not fail to -report this delightful night incident, but no one believed in it. - -Magus at this time was seventy-five years old, and there was no reason -why he should not live to a hundred. Rich man though he was, he lived -like the Remonencqs. His necessary expenses, including the money he -lavished on his daughter, did not exceed three thousand francs. No -life could be more regular; the old man rose as soon as it was light, -breakfasted on bread rubbed with a clove of garlic, and ate no more food -until dinner-time. Dinner, a meal frugal enough for a convent, he took -at home. All the forenoons he spent among his treasures, walking up -and down the gallery where they hung in their glory. He would dust -everything himself, furniture and pictures; he never wearied of -admiring. Then he would go downstairs to his daughter, drink deep of -a father's happiness, and start out upon his walks through Paris, to -attend sales or visit exhibitions and the like. - -If Elie Magus found a great work of art under the right conditions, the -discovery put new life into the man; here was a bit of sharp practice, a -bargain to make, a battle of Marengo to win. He would pile ruse on ruse -to buy the new sultana as cheaply as possible. Magus had a map of Europe -on which all great pictures were marked; his co-religionists in every -city spied out business for him, and received a commission on the -purchase. And then, what rewards for all his pains! The two lost -Raphaels so earnestly sought after by Raphael lovers are both in his -collection. Elie Magus owns the original portrait of _Giorgione's -Mistress_, the woman for whom the painter died; the so-called originals -are merely copies of the famous picture, which is worth five hundred -thousand francs, according to its owner's estimation. This Jew possesses -Titian's masterpiece, an _Entombment_ painted for Charles V., sent by -the great man to the great Emperor with a holograph letter, now fastened -down upon the lower part of the canvas. And Magus has yet another -Titian, the original sketch from which all the portraits of Philip II. -were painted. His remaining ninety-seven pictures are all of the same -rank and distinction. Wherefore Magus laughs at our national collection, -raked by the sunlight which destroys the fairest paintings, pouring in -through panes of glass that act as lenses. Picture galleries can only be -lighted from above; Magus opens and closes his shutters himself; he is -as careful of his pictures as of his daughter, his second idol. And well -the old picture-fancier knows the laws of the lives of pictures. To hear -him talk, a great picture has a life of its own; it is changeable, -it takes its beauty from the color of the light. Magus talks of his -paintings as Dutch fanciers used to talk of their tulips; he will come -home on purpose to see some one picture in the hour of its glory, when -the light is bright and clean. - -And Magus himself was a living picture among the motionless figures -on the wall--a little old man, dressed in a shabby overcoat, a silk -waistcoat, renewed twice in a score of years, and a very dirty pair of -trousers, with a bald head, a face full of deep hollows, a wrinkled, -callous skin, a beard that had a trick of twitching its long white -bristles, a menacing pointed chin, a toothless mouth, eyes bright as the -eyes of his dogs in the yard, and a nose like an obelisk--there he stood -in his gallery smiling at the beauty called into being by genius. A Jew -surrounded by his millions will always be one of the finest spectacles -which humanity can give. Robert Medal, our great actor, cannot rise to -this height of poetry, sublime though he is. - -Paris of all the cities of the world holds most of such men as Magus, -strange beings with a strange religion in their heart of hearts. -The London "eccentric" always finds that worship, like life, brings -weariness and satiety in the end; the Parisian monomaniac lives -cheerfully in concubinage with his crotchet to the last. - -Often shall you meet in Paris some Pons, some Elie Magus, dressed badly -enough, with his face turned from the rising sun (like the countenance -of the perpetual secretary of the Academie), apparently heeding nothing, -conscious of nothing, paying no attention to shop-windows nor to fair -passers-by, walking at random, so to speak, with nothing in his pockets, -and to all appearance an equally empty head. Do you ask to what Parisian -tribe this manner of man belongs? He is a collector, a millionaire, one -of the most impassioned souls upon earth; he and his like are capable of -treading the miry ways that lead to the police-court if so they may gain -possession of a cup, a picture, or some such rare unpublished piece as -Elie Magus once picked up one memorable day in Germany. - -This was the expert to whom Remonencq with much mystery conducted La -Cibot. Remonencq always asked advice of Elie Magus when he met him -in the streets; and more than once Magus had lent him money through -Abramko, knowing Remonencq's honesty. The Chaussee des Minimes is close -to the Rue de Normandie, and the two fellow-conspirators reached the -house in ten minutes. - -"You will see the richest dealer in curiosities, the greatest -connoisseur in Paris," Remonencq had said. And Mme. Cibot, therefore, -was struck dumb with amazement to be confronted with a little old man in -a great-coat too shabby for Cibot to mend, standing watching a painter -at work upon an old picture in the chilly room on the vast ground floor. -The old man's eyes, full of cold feline malignance, were turned upon -her, and La Cibot shivered. - -"What do you want, Remonencq?" asked this person. - -"It is a question of valuing some pictures; there is nobody but you in -Paris who can tell a poor tinker-fellow like me how much he may give -when he has not thousands to spend, like you." - -"Where is it?" - -"Here is the portress of the house where the gentleman lives; she does -for him, and I have arranged with her--" - -"Who is the owner?" - -"M. Pons!" put in La Cibot. - -"Don't know the name," said Magus, with an innocent air, bringing down -his foot very gently upon his artist's toes. - -Moret the painter, knowing the value of Pons' collection, had looked up -suddenly at the name. It was a move too hazardous to try with any one -but Remonencq and La Cibot, but the Jew had taken the woman's measure -at sight, and his eye was as accurate as a jeweler's scales. It was -impossible that either of the couple should know how often Magus and old -Pons had matched their claws. And, in truth, both rabid amateurs were -jealous of each other. The old Jew had never hoped for a sight of -a seraglio so carefully guarded; it seemed to him that his head was -swimming. Pons' collection was the one private collection in Paris which -could vie with his own. Pons' idea had occurred to Magus twenty years -later; but as a dealer-amateur the door of Pons' museum had been -closed to him, as for Dusommerard. Pons and Magus had at heart the same -jealousy. Neither of them cared about the kind of celebrity dear to the -ordinary collector. And now for Elie Magus came his chance to see the -poor musician's treasures! An amateur of beauty hiding in a boudoir or a -stolen glance at a mistress concealed from him by his friend might feel -as Elie Magus felt at that moment. - -La Cibot was impressed by Remonencq's respect for this singular person; -real power, moreover, even when it cannot be explained, is always felt; -the portress was supple and obedient, she dropped the autocratic tone -which she was wont to use in her lodge and with the tenants, accepted -Magus' conditions, and agreed to admit him into Pons' museum that very -day. - -So the enemy was to be brought into the citadel, and a stab dealt to -Pons' very heart. For ten years Pons had carried his keys about with -him; he had forbidden La Cibot to allow any one, no matter whom, to -cross his threshold; and La Cibot had so far shared Schmucke's opinions -of _bric-a-brac_, that she had obeyed him. The good Schmucke, by -speaking of the splendors as "chimcracks," and deploring his friend's -mania, had taught La Cibot to despise the old rubbish, and so secured -Pons' museum from invasion for many a long year. - -When Pons took to his bed, Schmucke filled his place at the theatre and -gave lessons for him at his boarding-schools. He did his utmost to do -the work of two; but Pons' sorrows weighing heavily upon his mind, the -task took all his strength. He only saw his friend in the morning, and -again at dinnertime. His pupils and the people at the theatre, seeing -the poor German look so unhappy, used to ask for news of Pons; and so -great was his grief, that the indifferent would make the grimaces -of sensibility which Parisians are wont to reserve for the greatest -calamities. The very springs of life had been attacked, the good German -was suffering from Pons' pain as well as from his own. When he gave a -music lesson, he spent half the time in talking of Pons, interrupting -himself to wonder whether his friend felt better to-day, and the little -school-girls listening heard lengthy explanations of Pons' symptoms. -He would rush over to the Rue de Normandie in the interval between two -lessons for the sake of a quarter of an hour with Pons. - -When at last he saw that their common stock was almost exhausted, when -Mme. Cibot (who had done her best to swell the expenses of the illness) -came to him and frightened him; then the old music-master felt that he -had courage of which he never thought himself capable--courage that rose -above his anguish. For the first time in his life he set himself to earn -money; money was needed at home. One of the school-girl pupils, really -touched by their troubles, asked Schmucke how he could leave his friend -alone. "Montemoiselle," he answered, with the sublime smile of those who -think no evil, "ve haf Montame Zipod, ein dreasure, montemoiselle, ein -bearl! Bons is nursed like ein brince." - -So while Schmucke trotted about the streets, La Cibot was mistress -of the house and ruled the invalid. How should Pons superintend his -self-appointed guardian angel, when he had taken no solid food for a -fortnight, and lay there so weak and helpless that La Cibot was obliged -to lift him up and carry him to the sofa while she made the bed? - -La Cibot's visit to Elie Magus was paid (as might be expected) while -Schmucke breakfasted. She came in again just as the German was bidding -his friend good-bye; for since she learned that Pons possessed a -fortune, she never left the old bachelor; she brooded over him and his -treasures like a hen. From the depths of a comfortable easy-chair at -the foot of the bed she poured forth for Pons' delectation the gossip -in which women of her class excel. With Machiavelian skill, she had -contrived to make Pons think that she was indispensable to him; she -coaxed and she wheedled, always uneasy, always on the alert. Mme. -Fontaine's prophecy had frightened La Cibot; she vowed to herself that -she would gain her ends by kindness. She would sleep secure on M. Pons' -legacy, but her rascality should keep within the limits of the law. For -ten years she had not suspected the value of Pons' collection; she had -a clear record behind her of ten years of devotion, honesty, and -disinterestedness; it was a magnificent investment, and now she proposed -to realize. In one day, Remonencq's hint of money had hatched the -serpent's egg, the craving for riches that had lain dormant within her -for twenty years. Since she had cherished that craving, it had grown in -force with the ferment of all the evil that lurks in the corners of the -heart. How she acted upon the counsels whispered by the serpent will -presently be seen. - -"Well?" she asked of Schmucke, "has this cherub of ours had plenty to -drink? Is he better?" - -"He is not doing fery vell, tear Montame Zipod, not fery vell," said -poor Schmucke, brushing away the tears from his eyes. - -"Pooh! you make too much of it, my dear M. Schmucke; we must take things -as we find them; Cibot might be at death's door, and I should not take -it to heart as you do. Come! the cherub has a good constitution. And he -has been steady, it seems, you see; you have no idea what an age sober -people live. He is very ill, it is true, but with all the care I take of -him, I shall bring him round. Be easy, look after your affairs, I will -keep him company and see that he drinks his pints of barley water." - -"Gif you vere not here, I should die of anxiety--" said Schmucke, -squeezing his kind housekeeper's hand in both his own to express his -confidence in her. - -La Cibot wiped her eyes as she went back to the invalid's room. - -"What is the matter, Mme. Cibot?" asked Pons. - -"It is M. Schmucke that has upset me; he is crying as if you were dead," -said she. "If you are not well, you are not so bad yet that nobody need -cry over you; but it has given me such a turn! Oh dear! oh dear! how -silly it is of me to get so fond of people, and to think more of you -than of Cibot! For, after all, you aren't nothing to me, you are only -my brother by Adam's side; and yet, whenever you are in the question, -it puts me in such a taking, upon my word it does! I would cut off my -hand--my left hand, of course--to see you coming and going, eating your -meals, and screwing bargains out of dealers as usual. If I had had -a child of my own, I think I should have loved it as I love you, eh! -There, take a drink, dearie; come now, empty the glass. Drink it off, -monsieur, I tell you! The first thing Dr. Poulain said was, 'If M. Pons -has no mind to go to Pere Lachaise, he ought to drink as many buckets -full of water in a day as an Auvergnat will sell.' So, come now, -drink--" - -"But I do drink, Cibot, my good woman; I drink and drink till I am -deluged--" - -"That is right," said the portress, as she took away the empty glass. -"That is the way to get better. Dr. Poulain had another patient ill of -your complaint; but he had nobody to look after him, his children left -him to himself, and he died because he didn't drink enough--so you must -drink, honey, you see--he died and they buried him two months ago. And -if you were to die, you know, you would drag down old M. Schmucke with -you, sir. He is like a child. Ah! he loves you, he does, the dear lamb -of a man; no woman never loved a man like that! He doesn't care for meat -nor drink; he has grown as thin as you are in the last fortnight, and -you are nothing but skin and bones.--It makes me jealous to see it, -for I am very fond of you; but not to that degree; I haven't lost my -appetite, quite the other way; always going up and down stairs, till my -legs are so tired that I drop down of an evening like a lump of lead. -Here am I neglecting my poor Cibot for you; Mlle. Remonencq cooks his -victuals for him, and he goes on about it and says that nothing is -right! At that I tell him that one ought to put up with something for -the sake of other people, and that you are so ill that I cannot leave -you. In the first place, you can't afford a nurse. And before I would -have a nurse here!--I have done for you these ten years; they want wine -and sugar, and foot-warmers, and all sorts of comforts. And they rob -their patients unless the patients leave them something in their wills. -Have a nurse in here to-day, and to-morrow we should find a picture or -something or other gone--" - -"Oh! Mme. Cibot!" cried Pons, quite beside himself, "do not leave me! No -one must touch anything--" - -"I am here," said La Cibot; "so long as I have the strength I shall be -here.--Be easy. There was Dr. Poulain wanting to get a nurse for you; -perhaps he has his eye on your treasures. I just snubbed him, I did. -'The gentleman won't have any one but me,' I told him. 'He is used to -me, and I am used to him.' So he said no more. A nurse, indeed! They are -all thieves; I hate that sort of woman, I do. Here is a tale that will -show you how sly they are. There was once an old gentleman--it was Dr. -Poulain himself, mind you, who told me this--well, a Mme. Sabatier, a -woman of thirty-six that used to sell slippers at the Palais Royal--you -remember the Galerie at the Palais that they pulled down?" - -Pons nodded. - -"Well, at that time she had not done very well; her husband used to -drink, and died of spontaneous imbustion; but she had been a fine woman -in her time, truth to tell, not that it did her any good, though she -had friends among the lawyers. So, being hard up, she became a monthly -nurse, and lived in the Rue Barre-du-Bec. Well, she went out to nurse -an old gentleman that had a disease of the lurinary guts (saving your -presence); they used to tap him like an artesian well, and he needed -such care that she used to sleep on a truckle-bed in the same room with -him. You would hardly believe such a thing!--'Men respect nothing,' -you'll tell me, 'so selfish as they are.' Well, she used to talk with -him, you understand; she never left him, she amused him, she told him -stories, she drew him on to talk (just as we are chatting away together -now, you and I, eh?), and she found out that his nephews--the old -gentleman had nephews--that his nephews were wretches; they had worried -him, and final end of it, they had brought on this illness. Well, my -dear sir, she saved his life, he married her, and they have a fine -child; Ma'am Bordevin, the butcher's wife in the Rue Charlot, a relative -of hers, stood godmother. There is luck for you! - -"As for me, I am married; and if I have no children, I don't mind saying -that it is Cibot's fault; he is too fond of me, but if I cared--never -mind. What would have become of me and my Cibot if we had had a family, -when we have not a penny to bless ourselves with after thirty years' of -faithful service? I have not a farthing belonging to nobody else, that -is what comforts me. I have never wronged nobody.--Look here, suppose -now (there is no harm in supposing when you will be out and about again -in six weeks' time, and sauntering along the boulevard); well, suppose -that you had put me down in your will; very good, I shouldn't never rest -till I had found your heirs and given the money back. Such is my horror -of anything that is not earned by the sweat of my brow. - -"You will say to me, 'Why, Mme. Cibot, why should you worry yourself -like that? You have fairly earned the money; you looked after your two -gentlemen as if they had been your children; you saved them a thousand -francs a year--' (for there are plenty, sir, you know, that would have -had their ten thousand francs put out to interest by now if they had -been in my place)--'so if the worthy gentleman leaves you a trifle of an -annuity, it is only right.'--Suppose they told me that. Well, now; I am -not thinking of myself.--I cannot think how some women can do a kindness -thinking of themselves all the time. It is not doing good, sir, is it? I -do not go to church myself, I haven't the time; but my conscience tells -me what is right.... Don't you fidget like that, my lamb!--Don't scratch -yourself!... Dear me, how yellow you grow! So yellow you are--quite -brown. How funny it is that one can come to look like a lemon in three -weeks!... Honesty is all that poor folk have, and one must surely have -something! Suppose that you were just at death's door, I should be -the first to tell you that you ought to leave all that you have to M. -Schmucke. It is your duty, for he is all the family you have. He loves -you, he does, as a dog loves his master." - -"Ah! yes," said Pons; "nobody else has ever loved me all my life long--" - -"Ah! that is not kind of you, sir," said Mme. Cibot; "then I do not love -you, I suppose?" - -"I do not say so, my dear Mme. Cibot." - -"Good. You take me for a servant, do you, a common servant, as if -I hadn't no heart! Goodness me! for eleven years you do for two old -bachelors, you think of nothing but their comfort. I have turned half a -score of greengrocers' shops upside down for you, I have talked people -round to get you good Brie cheese; I have gone down as far as the market -for fresh butter for you; I have taken such care of things that nothing -of yours hasn't been chipped nor broken in all these ten years; I have -just treated you like my own children; and then to hear a 'My dear Mme. -Cibot,' that shows that there is not a bit of feeling for you in the -heart of an old gentleman that you have cared for like a king's son! -for the little King of Rome was not so well looked after. He died in -his prime; there is proof for you.... Come, sir, you are unjust! You are -ungrateful! It is because I am only a poor portress. Goodness me! are -_you_ one of those that think we are dogs?--" - -"But, my dear Mme. Cibot--" - -"Indeed, you that know so much, tell me why we porters are treated like -this, and are supposed to have no feelings; people look down on us in -these days when they talk of Equality!--As for me, am I not as good -as another woman, I that was one of the finest women in Paris, and was -called _La belle Ecaillere_, and received declarations seven or eight -times a day? And even now if I liked--Look here, sir, you know that -little scrubby marine store-dealer downstairs? Very well, he would marry -me any day, if I were a widow that is, with his eyes shut; he has had -them looking wide open in my direction so often; he is always saying, -'Oh! what fine arms you have, Ma'am Cibot!--I dreamed last night that -it was bread and I was butter, and I was spread on the top.' Look, sir, -there is an arm!" - -She rolled up her sleeve and displayed the shapeliest arm imaginable, as -white and fresh as her hand was red and rough; a plump, round, dimpled -arm, drawn from its merino sheath like a blade from the scabbard to -dazzle Pons, who looked away. - -"For every oyster the knife opened, the arm has opened a heart! Well, -it belongs to Cibot, and I did wrong when I neglected him, poor dear, HE -would throw himself over a precipice at a word from me; while you, sir, -that call me 'My dear Mme. Cibot' when I do impossible things for you--" - -"Do just listen to me," broke in the patient; "I cannot call you my -mother, nor my wife--" - -"No, never in all my born days will I take again to anybody--" - -"Do let me speak!" continued Pons. "Let me see; I put M. Schmucke -first--" - -"M. Schmucke! there is a heart for you," cried La Cibot. "Ah! he loves -me, but then he is poor. It is money that deadens the heart; and you -are rich! Oh, well, take a nurse, you will see what a life she will lead -you; she will torment you, you will be like a cockchafer on a string. -The doctor will say that you must have plenty to drink, and she will do -nothing but feed you. She will bring you to your grave and rob you. You -do not deserve to have a Mme. Cibot!--there! When Dr. Poulain comes, ask -him for a nurse." - -"Oh fiddlestickend!" the patient cried angrily. "_Will_ you listen to -me? When I spoke of my friend Schmucke, I was not thinking of women. I -know quite well that no one cares for me so sincerely as you do, you and -Schmucke--" - -"Have the goodness not to irritate yourself in this way!" exclaimed -La Cibot, plunging down upon Pons and covering him by force with the -bedclothes. - -"How should I not love you?" said poor Pons. - -"You love me, really?... There, there, forgive me, sir!" she said, -crying and wiping her eyes. "Ah, yes, of course, you love me, as you -love a servant, that is the way!--a servant to whom you throw an annuity -of six hundred francs like a crust you fling into a dog's kennel--" - -"Oh! Mme. Cibot," cried Pons, "for what do you take me? You do not know -me." - -"Ah! you will care even more than that for me," she said, meeting Pons' -eyes. "You will love your kind old Cibot like a mother, will you not? -A mother, that is it! I am your mother; you are both of you my -children.... Ah, if I only knew them that caused you this sorrow, I -would do that which would bring me into the police-courts, and even to -prison; I would tear their eyes out! Such people deserve to die at the -Barriere Saint-Jacques, and that is too good for such scoundrels. ... So -kind, so good as you are (for you have a heart of gold), you were sent -into the world to make some woman happy!... Yes, you would have her -happy, as anybody can see; you were cut out for that. In the very -beginning, when I saw how you were with M. Schmucke, I said to myself, -'M. Pons has missed the life he was meant for; he was made to be a good -husband.' Come, now, you like women." - -"Ah, yes," said Pons, "and no woman has been mine." - -"Really?" exclaimed La Cibot, with a provocative air as she came nearer -and took Pons' hand in hers. "Do you not know what it is to love a woman -that will do anything for her lover? Is it possible? If I were in your -place, I should not wish to leave this world for another until I had -known the greatest happiness on earth!... Poor dear! If I was now what I -was once, I would leave Cibot for you! upon my word, I would! Why, with -a nose shaped like that--for you have a fine nose--how did you manage -it, poor cherub?... You will tell me that 'not every woman knows a man -when she sees him'; and a pity it is that they marry so at random as -they do, it makes you sorry to see it.--Now, for my own part, I -should have thought that you had had mistresses by the dozen--dancers, -actresses, and duchesses, for you went out so much. ... When you -went out, I used to say to Cibot, 'Look! there is M. Pons going -a-gallivanting,' on my word, I did, I was so sure that women ran after -you. Heaven made you for love.... Why, my dear sir, I found that out -the first day that you dined at home, and you were so touched with -M. Schmucke's pleasure. And next day M. Schmucke kept saying to me, -'Montame Zipod, he haf tined hier,' with the tears in his eyes, till I -cried along with him like a fool, as I am. And how sad he looked when -you took to gadding abroad again and dining out! Poor man, you never saw -any one so disconsolate! Ah! you are quite right to leave everything to -him. Dear worthy man, why he is as good as a family to you, he is! -Do not forget him; for if you do, God will not receive you into his -Paradise, for those that have been ungrateful to their friends and left -them no _rentes_ will not go to heaven." - -In vain Pons tried to put in a word; La Cibot talked as the wind blows. -Means of arresting steam-engines have been invented, but it would tax -a mechanician's genius to discover any plan for stopping a portress' -tongue. - -"I know what you mean," continued she. "But it does not kill you, my -dear gentleman, to make a will when you are out of health; and in your -place I might not leave that poor dear alone, for fear that something -might happen; he is like God Almighty's lamb, he knows nothing about -nothing, and I should not like him to be at the mercy of those sharks -of lawyers and a wretched pack of relations. Let us see now, has one -of them come here to see you in twenty years? And would you leave your -property to _them_? Do you know, they say that all these things here are -worth something." - -"Why, yes," said Pons. - -"Remonencq, who deals in pictures, and knows that you are an amateur, -says that he would be quite ready to pay you an annuity of thirty -thousand francs so long as you live, to have the pictures afterwards. -... There is a change! If I were you, I should take it. Why, I thought -he said it for a joke when he told me that. You ought to let M. Schmucke -know the value of all those things, for he is a man that could be -cheated like a child. He has not the slightest idea of the value of -these fine things that you have! He so little suspects it, that he would -give them away for a morsel of bread if he did not keep them all his -life for love of you, always supposing that he lives after you, for he -will die of your death. But _I_ am here; I will take his part against -anybody and everybody!... I and Cibot will defend him." - -"Dear Mme. Cibot!" said Pons, "what would have become of me if it -had not been for you and Schmucke?" He felt touched by this horrible -prattle; the feeling in it seemed to be ingenuous, as it usually is in -the speech of the people. - -"Ah! we really are your only friends on earth, that is very true, that -is. But two good hearts are worth all the families in the world.--Don't -talk of families to me! A family, as the old actor said of the tongue, -is the best and the worst of all things.... Where are those relations of -yours now? Have you any? I have never seen them--" - -"They have brought me to lie here," said Pons, with intense bitterness. - -"So you have relations!..." cried La Cibot, springing up as if her -easy-chair had been heated red-hot. "Oh, well, they are a nice lot, are -your relations! What! these three weeks--for this is the twentieth day, -to-day, that you have been ill and like to die--in these three weeks -they have not come once to ask for news of you? That's a trifle too -strong, that is!... Why, in your place, I would leave all I had to the -Foundling Hospital sooner than give them one farthing!" - -"Well, my dear Mme. Cibot, I meant to leave all that I had to a cousin -once removed, the daughter of my first cousin, President Camusot, you -know, who came here one morning nearly two months ago." - -"Oh! a little stout man who sent his servants to beg your pardon--for -his wife's blunder?--The housemaid came asking me questions about you, -an affected old creature she is, my fingers itched to give her velvet -tippet a dusting with my broom handle! A servant wearing a velvet -tippet! did anybody ever see the like? No, upon my word, the world is -turned upside down; what is the use of making a Revolution? Dine twice a -day if you can afford it, you scamps of rich folk! But laws are no good, -I tell you, and nothing will be safe if Louis-Philippe does not keep -people in their places; for, after all, if we are all equal, eh, sir? -a housemaid didn't ought to have a velvet tippet, while I, Mme. Cibot, -haven't one, after thirty years of honest work.--There is a pretty thing -for you! People ought to be able to tell who you are. A housemaid is -a housemaid, just as I myself am a portress. Why do they have silk -epaulettes in the army? Let everybody keep their place. Look here, do -you want me to tell you what all this comes to? Very well, France is -going to the dogs.... If the Emperor had been here, things would have -been very different, wouldn't they, sir?... So I said to Cibot, I said, -'See here, Cibot, a house where the servants wear velvet tippets belongs -to people that have no heart in them--'" - -"No heart in them, that is just it," repeated Pons. And with that he -began to tell Mme. Cibot about his troubles and mortifications, she -pouring out abuse of the relations the while and showing exceeding -tenderness on every fresh sentence in the sad history. She fairly wept -at last. - -To understand the sudden intimacy between the old musician and Mme. -Cibot, you have only to imagine the position of an old bachelor lying on -his bed of pain, seriously ill for the first time in his life. Pons felt -that he was alone in the world; the days that he spent by himself were -all the longer because he was struggling with the indefinable nausea of -a liver complaint which blackens the brightest life. Cut off from all -his many interests, the sufferer falls a victim to a kind of nostalgia; -he regrets the many sights to be seen for nothing in Paris. The -isolation, the darkened days, the suffering that affects the mind and -spirits even more than the body, the emptiness of the life,--all these -things tend to induce him to cling to the human being who waits on him -as a drowned man clings to a plank; and this especially if the -bachelor patient's character is as weak as his nature is sensitive and -incredulous. - -Pons was charmed to hear La Cibot's tittle-tattle. Schmucke, Mme. Cibot, -and Dr. Poulain meant all humanity to him now, when his sickroom became -the universe. If invalid's thoughts, as a rule, never travel beyond in -the little space over which his eyes can wander; if their selfishness, -in its narrow sphere, subordinates all creatures and all things to -itself, you can imagine the lengths to which an old bachelor may go. -Before three weeks were out he had even gone so far as to regret, once -and again, that he had not married Madeleine Vivet! Mme. Cibot, too, had -made immense progress in his esteem in those three weeks; without her -he felt that he should have been utterly lost; for as for Schmucke, the -poor invalid looked upon him as a second Pons. La Cibot's prodigious -art consisted in expressing Pons' own ideas, and this she did quite -unconsciously. - -"Ah! here comes the doctor!" she exclaimed, as the bell rang, and away -she went, knowing very well that Remonencq had come with the Jew. - -"Make no noise, gentlemen," said she, "he must not know anything. He is -all on the fidget when his precious treasures are concerned." - -"A walk round will be enough," said the Hebrew, armed with a -magnifying-glass and a lorgnette. - -The greater part of Pons' collection was installed in a great -old-fashioned salon such as French architects used to build for the old -_noblesse_; a room twenty-five feet broad, some thirty feet in length, -and thirteen in height. Pons' pictures to the number of sixty-seven hung -upon the white-and-gold paneled walls; time, however, had reddened the -gold and softened the white to an ivory tint, so that the whole was -toned down, and the general effect subordinated to the effect of the -pictures. Fourteen statues stood on pedestals set in the corners of the -room, or among the pictures, or on brackets inlaid by Boule; sideboards -of carved ebony, royally rich, surrounded the walls to elbow height, all -the shelves filled with curiosities; in the middle of the room stood -a row of carved credence-tables, covered with rare miracles of -handicraft--with ivories and bronzes, wood-carvings and enamels, jewelry -and porcelain. - -As soon as Elie Magus entered the sanctuary, he went straight to the -four masterpieces; he saw at a glance that these were the gems of Pons' -collection, and masters lacking in his own. For Elie Magus these were -the naturalist's _desiderata_ for which men undertake long voyages from -east to west, through deserts and tropical countries, across southern -savannahs, through virgin forests. - -The first was a painting by Sebastian del Piombo, the second a Fra -Bartolommeo della Porta, the third a Hobbema landscape, and the fourth -and last a Durer--a portrait of a woman. Four diamonds indeed! In the -history of art, Sebastian del Piombo is like a shining point in which -three schools meet, each bringing its pre-eminent qualities. A Venetian -painter, he came to Rome to learn the manner of Raphael under the -direction of Michael Angelo, who would fain oppose Raphael on his own -ground by pitting one of his own lieutenants against the reigning king -of art. And so it came to pass that in Del Piombo's indolent genius -Venetian color was blended with Florentine composition and a something -of Raphael's manner in the few pictures which he deigned to paint, and -the sketches were made for him, it is said, by Michael Angelo himself. - -If you would see the perfection to which the painter attained (armed -as he was with triple power), go to the Louvre and look at the Baccio -Bandinelli portrait; you might place it beside Titian's _Man with a -Glove_, or by that other _Portrait of an Old Man_ in which Raphael's -consummate skill blends with Correggio's art; or, again, compare it -with Leonardo da Vinci's _Charles VIII._, and the picture would scarcely -lose. The four pearls are equal; there is the same lustre and sheen, the -same rounded completeness, the same brilliancy. Art can go no further -than this. Art has risen above Nature, since Nature only gives her -creatures a few brief years of life. - -Pons possessed one example of this immortal great genius and incurably -indolent painter; it was a _Knight of Malta_, a Templar kneeling in -prayer. The picture was painted on slate, and in its unfaded color and -its finish was immeasurably finer than the _Baccio Bandinelli_. - -Fra Bartolommeo was represented by a _Holy Family_, which many -connoisseurs might have taken for a Raphael. The Hobbema would have -fetched sixty thousand francs at a public sale; and as for the Durer, it -was equal to the famous _Holzschuer_ portrait at Nuremberg for which the -kings of Bavaria, Holland, and Prussia have vainly offered two hundred -thousand francs again and again. Was it the portrait of the wife or -the daughter of Holzschuer, Albrecht Durer's personal friend?--The -hypothesis seems to be a certainty, for the attitude of the figure in -Pons' picture suggests that it is meant for a pendant, the position of -the coat-of-arms is the same as in the Nuremberg portrait; and, finally, -the _oetatis suoe XLI._ accords perfectly with the age inscribed on -the picture religiously kept by the Holzschuers of Nuremberg, and but -recently engraved. - -The tears stood in Elie Magus' eyes as he looked from one masterpiece to -another. He turned round to La Cibot, "I will give you a commission of -two thousand francs on each of the pictures if you can arrange that I -shall have them for forty thousand francs," he said. La Cibot was amazed -at this good fortune dropped from the sky. Admiration, or, to be more -accurate, delirious joy, had wrought such havoc in the Jew's brain, that -it had actually unsettled his habitual greed, and he fell headlong into -enthusiasm, as you see. - -"And I?----" put in Remonencq, who knew nothing about pictures. - -"Everything here is equally good," the Jew said cunningly, lowering his -voice for Remonencq's ears; "take ten pictures just as they come and on -the same conditions. Your fortune will be made." - -Again the three thieves looked each other in the face, each one of them -overcome with the keenest of all joys--sated greed. All of a sudden -the sick man's voice rang through the room; the tones vibrated like the -strokes of a bell: - -"Who is there?" called Pons. - -"Monsieur! just go back to bed!" exclaimed La Cibot, springing upon -Pons and dragging him by main force. "What next! Have you a mind to kill -yourself?--Very well, then, it is not Dr. Poulain, it is Remonencq, good -soul, so anxious that he has come to ask after you!--Everybody is so -fond of you that the whole house is in a flutter. So what is there to -fear?" - -"It seems to me that there are several of you," said Pons. - -"Several? that is good! What next! Are you dreaming!--You will go off -your head before you have done, upon my word!--Here, look!"--and La -Cibot flung open the door, signed to Magus to go, and beckoned to -Remonencq. - -"Well, my dear sir," said the Auvergnat, now supplied with something to -say, "I just came to ask after you, for the whole house is alarmed about -you.--Nobody likes Death to set foot in a house!--And lastly, Daddy -Monistrol, whom you know very well, told me to tell you that if you -wanted money he was at your service----" - -"He sent you here to take a look round at my knick-knacks!" returned the -old collector from his bed; and the sour tones of his voice were full of -suspicion. - -A sufferer from liver complaint nearly always takes momentary and -special dislikes to some person or thing, and concentrates all his -ill-humor upon the object. Pons imagined that some one had designs upon -his precious collection; the thought of guarding it became a fixed idea -with him; Schmucke was continually sent to see if any one had stolen -into the sanctuary. - -"Your collection is fine enough to attract the attention of _chineurs_," -Remonencq answered astutely. "I am not much in the art line myself; but -you are supposed to be such a great connoisseur, sir, that with my eyes -shut--supposing, for instance, that you should need money some time or -other, for nothing costs so much as these confounded illnesses; there -was my sister now, when she would have got better again just as well -without. Doctors are rascals that take advantage of your condition to--" - -"Thank you, good-day, good-day," broke in Pons, eying the marine -store-dealer uneasily. - -"I will go to the door with him, for fear he should touch something," La -Cibot whispered to her patient. - -"Yes, yes," answered the invalid, thanking her by a glance. - -La Cibot shut the bedroom door behind her, and Pons' suspicions awoke -again at once. - -She found Magus standing motionless before the four pictures. His -immobility, his admiration, can only be understood by other souls open -to ideal beauty, to the ineffable joy of beholding art made -perfect; such as these can stand for whole hours before the -_Antiope_--Correggio's masterpiece--before Leonardo's _Gioconda_, -Titian's _Mistress_, Andrea del Sarto's _Holy Family_, Domenichino's -_Children Among the Flowers_, Raphael's little cameo, or his _Portrait -of an Old Man_--Art's greatest masterpieces. - -"Be quick and go, and make no noise," said La Cibot. - -The Jew walked slowly backwards, giving the pictures such a farewell -gaze as a lover gives his love. Outside on the landing, La Cibot tapped -his bony arm. His rapt contemplations had put an idea into her head. - -"Make it _four_ thousand francs for each picture," said she, "or I do -nothing." - -"I am so poor!..." began Magus. "I want the pictures simply for their -own sake, simply and solely for the love of art, my dear lady." - -"I can understand that love, sonny, you are so dried up. But if you do -not promise me sixteen thousand francs now, before Remonencq here, I -shall want twenty to-morrow." - -"Sixteen; I promise," returned the Jew, frightened by the woman's -rapacity. - -La Cibot turned to Remonencq. - -"What oath can a Jew swear?" she inquired. - -"You may trust him," replied the marine store-dealer. "He is as honest -as I am." - -"Very well; and you?" asked she, "if I get him to sell them to you, what -will you give me?" - -"Half-share of profits," Remonencq answered briskly. - -"I would rather have a lump sum," returned La Cibot; "I am not in -business myself." - -"You understand business uncommonly well!" put in Elie Magus, smiling; -"a famous saleswoman you would make!" - -"I want her to take me into partnership, me and my goods," said the -Auvergnat, as he took La Cibot's plump arm and gave it playful taps like -hammer-strokes. "I don't ask her to bring anything into the firm but her -good looks! You are making a mistake when your stick to your Turk of -a Cibot and his needle. Is a little bit of a porter the man to make a -woman rich--a fine woman like you? Ah, what a figure you would make in -a shop on the boulevard, all among the curiosities, gossiping with -amateurs and twisting them round your fingers! Just you leave your lodge -as soon as you have lined your purse here, and you shall see what will -become of us both." - -"Lined my purse!" cried Cibot. "I am incapable of taking the worth of a -single pin; you mind that, Remonencq! I am known in the neighborhood for -an honest woman, I am." - -La Cibot's eyes flashed fire. - -"There, never mind," said Elie Magus; "this Auvergnat seems to be too -fond of you to mean to insult you." - -"How she would draw on the customers!" cried the Auvergnat. - -Mme. Cibot softened at this. - -"Be fair, sonnies," quoth she, "and judge for yourselves how I am -placed. These ten years past I have been wearing my life out for these -two old bachelors yonder, and neither or them has given me anything but -words. Remonencq will tell you that I feed them by contract, and lose -twenty or thirty sous a day; all my savings have gone that way, by the -soul of my mother (the only author of my days that I ever knew), this -is as true as that I live, and that this is the light of day, and may my -coffee poison me if I lie about a farthing. Well, there is one up there -that will die soon, eh? and he the richer of the two that I have treated -like my own children. Would you believe it, my dear sir, I have told him -over and over again for days past that he is at death's door (for Dr. -Poulain has given him up), he could not say less about putting my name -down in his will. We shall only get our due by taking it, upon my word, -as an honest woman, for as for trusting to the next-of-kin!--No fear! -There! look you here, words don't stink; it is a bad world!" - -"That is true," Elie Magus answered cunningly, "that is true; and it -is just the like of us that are among the best," he added, looking at -Remonencq. - -"Just let me be," returned La Cibot; "I am not speaking of you. -'Pressing company is always accepted,' as the old actor said. I swear to -you that the two gentlemen already owe me nearly three thousand francs; -the little I have is gone by now in medicine and things on their -account; and now suppose they refuse to recognize my advances? I am so -stupidly honest that I did not dare to say nothing to them about it. -Now, you that are in business, my dear sir, do you advise me to got to a -lawyer?" - -"A lawyer?" cried Remonencq; "you know more about it than all the -lawyers put together--" - -Just at that moment a sound echoed in the great staircase, a sound as if -some heavy body had fallen in the dining-room. - -"Oh, goodness me!" exclaimed La Cibot; "it seems to me that monsieur has -just taken a ticket for the ground floor." - -She pushed her fellow-conspirators out at the door, and while the -pair descended the stairs with remarkable agility, she ran to the -dining-room, and there beheld Pons, in his shirt, stretched out upon -the tiles. He had fainted. She lifted him as if he had been a feather, -carried him back to his room, laid him in bed, burned feathers under his -nose, bathed his temples with eau-de-cologne, and at last brought him to -consciousness. When she saw his eyes unclose and life return, she stood -over him, hands on hips. - -"No slippers! In your shirt! That is the way to kill yourself! Why do -you suspect me?--If this is to be the way of it, I wish you good-day, -sir. Here have I served you these ten years, I have spent money on you -till my savings are all gone, to spare trouble to that poor M. Schmucke, -crying like a child on the stairs--and _this_ is my reward! You have -been spying on me. God has punished you! It serves you right! Here I -am straining myself to carry you, running the risk of doing myself a -mischief that I shall feel all my days. Oh dear, oh dear! and the door -left open too--" - -"You were talking with some one. Who was it?" - -"Here are notions!" cried La Cibot. "What next! Am I your bond-slave? -Am I to give account of myself to you? Do you know that if you bother me -like this, I shall clear out! You shall take a nurse." - -Frightened by this threat, Pons unwittingly allowed La Cibot to see the -extent of the power of her sword of Damocles. - -"It is my illness!" he pleaded piteously. - -"It is as you please," La Cibot answered roughly. - -She went. Pons, confused, remorseful, admiring his nurse's scalding -devotion, reproached himself for his behavior. The fall on the paved -floor of the dining-room had shaken and bruised him, and aggravated his -illness, but Pons was scarcely conscious of his physical sufferings. - -La Cibot met Schmucke on the staircase. - -"Come here, sir," she said. "There is bad news, that there is! M. Pons -is going off his head! Just think of it! he got up with nothing on, -he came after me--and down he came full-length. Ask him why--he knows -nothing about it. He is in a bad way. I did nothing to provoke such -violence, unless, perhaps, I waked up ideas by talking to him of his -early amours. Who knows men? Old libertines that they are. I ought -not to have shown him my arms when his eyes were glittering like -_carbuckles_." - -Schmucke listened. Mme. Cibot might have been talking Hebrew for -anything that he understood. - -"I have given myself a wrench that I shall feel all my days," added she, -making as though she were in great pain. (Her arms did, as a matter of -fact, ache a little, and the muscular fatigue suggested an idea, which -she proceeded to turn to profit.) "So stupid I am. When I saw him lying -there on the floor, I just took him up in my arms as if he had been a -child, and carried him back to bed, I did. And I strained myself, I can -feel it now. Ah! how it hurts!--I am going downstairs. Look after our -patient. I will send Cibot for Dr. Poulain. I had rather die outright -than be crippled." - -La Cibot crawled downstairs, clinging to the banisters, and writhing and -groaning so piteously that the tenants, in alarm, came out upon their -landings. Schmucke supported the suffering creature, and told the story -of La Cibot's devotion, the tears running down his cheeks as he spoke. -Before very long the whole house, the whole neighborhood indeed, had -heard of Mme. Cibot's heroism; she had given herself a dangerous strain, -it was said, with lifting one of the "nutcrackers." - -Schmucke meanwhile went to Pons' bedside with the tale. Their factotum -was in a frightful state. "What shall we do without her?" they said, -as they looked at each other; but Pons was so plainly the worse for his -escapade, that Schmucke did not dare to scold him. - -"Gonfounded pric-a-prac! I would sooner purn dem dan loose mein friend!" -he cried, when Pons told him of the cause of the accident. "To suspect -Montame Zipod, dot lend us her safings! It is not goot; but it is der -illness--" - -"Ah! what an illness! I am not the same man, I can feel it," said Pons. -"My dear Schmucke, if only you did not suffer through me!" - -"Scold me," Schmucke answered, "und leaf Montame Zipod in beace." - -As for Mme. Cibot, she soon recovered in Dr. Poulain's hands; and her -restoration, bordering on the miraculous, shed additional lustre on -her name and fame in the Marais. Pons attributed the success to the -excellent constitution of the patient, who resumed her ministrations -seven days later to the great satisfaction of her two gentlemen. -Her influence in their household and her tyranny was increased -a hundred-fold by the accident. In the course of a week, the two -nutcrackers ran into debt; Mme. Cibot paid the outstanding amounts, and -took the opportunity to obtain from Schmucke (how easily!) a receipt for -two thousand francs, which she had lent, she said, to the friends. - -"Oh, what a doctor M. Poulain is!" cried La Cibot, for Pons' benefit. -"He will bring you through, my dear sir, for he pulled me out of my -coffin! Cibot, poor man, thought I was dead.... Well, Dr. Poulain will -have told you that while I was in bed I thought of nothing but you. 'God -above,' said I, 'take me, and let my dear Mr. Pons live--'" - -"Poor dear Mme. Cibot, you all but crippled yourself for me." - -"Ah! but for Dr. Poulain I should have been put to bed with a shovel by -now, as we shall all be one day. Well, what must be, must, as the old -actor said. One must take things philosophically. How did you get on -without me?" - -"Schmucke nursed me," said the invalid; "but our poor money-box and our -lessons have suffered. I do not know how he managed." - -"Calm yourself, Bons," exclaimed Schmucke; "ve haf in Zipod ein -panker--" - -"Do not speak of it, my lamb. You are our children, both of you," cried -La Cibot. "Our savings will be well invested; you are safer than the -Bank. So long as we have a morsel of bread, half of it is yours. It is -not worth mentioning--" - -"Boor Montame Zipod!" said Schmucke, and he went. - -Pons said nothing. - -"Would you believe it, my cherub?" said La Cibot, as the sick man tossed -uneasily, "in my agony--for it was a near squeak for me--the thing that -worried me most was the thought that I must leave you alone, with no one -to look after you, and my poor Cibot without a farthing.... My savings -are such a trifle, that I only mention them in connection with my death -and Cibot, an angel that he is! No. He nursed me as if I had been a -queen, he did, and cried like a calf over me!... But I counted on you, -upon my word. I said to him, 'There, Cibot! my gentlemen will not let -you starve--'" - -Pons made no reply to this thrust _ad testamentum_; but as the portress -waited for him to say something--"I shall recommend you to M. Schmucke," -he said at last. - -"Ah!" cried La Cibot, "whatever you do will be right; I trust in you and -your heart. Let us never talk of this again; you make me feel ashamed, -my cherub. Think of getting better, you will outlive us all yet." - -Profound uneasiness filled Mme. Cibot's mind. She cast about for some -way of making the sick man understand that she expected a legacy. That -evening, when Schmucke was eating his dinner as usual by Pons' bedside, -she went out, hoping to find Dr. Poulain at home. - -Dr. Poulain lived in the Rue d'Orleans in a small ground floor -establishment, consisting of a lobby, a sitting-room, and two bedrooms. -A closet, opening into the lobby and the bedroom, had been turned into -a study for the doctor. The kitchen, the servant's bedroom, and a small -cellar were situated in a wing of the house, a huge pile built in the -time of the Empire, on the site of an old mansion of which the garden -still remained, though it had been divided among the three ground floor -tenants. - -Nothing had been changed in the doctor's house since it was built. -Paint and paper and ceilings were all redolent of the Empire. The grimy -deposits of forty years lay thick on walls and ceilings, on paper and -paint and mirrors and gilding. And yet, this little establishment, in -the depths of the Marais, paid a rent of a thousand francs. - -Mme. Poulain, the doctor's mother, aged sixty-seven, was ending her days -in the second bedroom. She worked for a breeches-maker, stitching men's -leggings, breeches, belts, and braces, anything, in fact, that is made -in a way of business which has somewhat fallen off of late years. Her -whole time was spent in keeping her son's house and superintending -the one servant; she never went abroad, and took the air in the little -garden entered through the glass door of the sitting-room. Twenty years -previously, when her husband died, she sold his business to his best -workman, who gave his master's widow work enough to earn a daily wage -of thirty sous. She had made every sacrifice to educate her son. At all -costs, he should occupy a higher station than his father before him; -and now she was proud of her Aesculapius, she believed in him, and -sacrificed everything to him as before. She was happy to take care of -him, to work and put by a little money, and dream of nothing but his -welfare, and love him with an intelligent love of which every mother is -not capable. For instance, Mme. Poulain remembered that she had been a -working girl. She would not injure her son's prospects; he should not be -ashamed by his mother (for the good woman's grammar was something of -the same kind as Mme. Cibot's); and for this reason she kept in the -background, and went to her room of her own accord if any distinguished -patient came to consult the doctor, or if some old schoolfellow or -fellow-student chanced to call. Dr. Poulain had never had occasion to -blush for the mother whom he revered; and this sublime love of hers more -than atoned for a defective education. - -The breeches-maker's business sold for about twenty thousand francs, and -the widow invested the money in the Funds in 1820. The income of eleven -hundred francs per annum derived from this source was, at one time, her -whole fortune. For many a year the neighbors used to see the doctor's -linen hanging out to dry upon a clothes-line in the garden, and the -servant and Mme. Poulain thriftily washed everything at home; a piece of -domestic economy which did not a little to injure the doctor's practice, -for it was thought that if he was so poor, it must be through his own -fault. Her eleven hundred francs scarcely did more than pay the rent. -During those early days, Mme. Poulain, good, stout, little old woman, -was the breadwinner, and the poor household lived upon her earnings. -After twelve years of perseverance upon a rough and stony road, Dr. -Poulain at last was making an income of three thousand francs, and Mme. -Poulain had an income of about five thousand francs at her disposal. -Five thousand francs for those who know Paris means a bare subsistence. - -The sitting-room, where patients waited for an interview, was shabbily -furnished. There was the inevitable mahogany sofa covered with -yellow-flowered Utrecht velvet, four easy-chairs, a tea-table, a -console, and half-a-dozen chairs, all the property of the deceased -breeches-maker, and chosen by him. A lyre-shaped clock between two -Egyptian candlesticks still preserved its glass shade intact. You -asked yourself how the yellow chintz window-curtains, covered with red -flowers, had contrived to hang together for so long; for evidently they -had come from the Jouy factory, and Oberkampf received the Emperor's -congratulations upon similar hideous productions of the cotton industry -in 1809. - -The doctor's consulting-room was fitted up in the same style, -with household stuff from the paternal chamber. It looked stiff, -poverty-stricken, and bare. What patient could put faith in the skill of -any unknown doctor who could not even furnish his house? And this in a -time when advertising is all-powerful; when we gild the gas-lamps in -the Place de la Concorde to console the poor man for his poverty by -reminding him that he is rich as a citizen. - -The ante-chamber did duty as a dining-room. The servant sat at her -sewing there whenever she was not busy in the kitchen or keeping the -doctor's mother company. From the dingy short curtains in the windows -you would have guessed at the shabby thrift behind them without setting -foot in the dreary place. What could those wall-cupboards contain but -stale scraps of food, chipped earthenware, corks used over and over -again indefinitely, soiled table-linen, odds and ends that could descend -but one step lower into the dust-heap, and all the squalid necessities -of a pinched household in Paris? - -In these days, when the five-franc piece is always lurking in our -thoughts and intruding itself into our speech, Dr. Poulain, aged -thirty-three, was still a bachelor. Heaven had bestowed on him a mother -with no connections. In ten years he had not met with the faintest -pretext for a romance in his professional career; his practice lay among -clerks and small manufacturers, people in his own sphere of life, with -homes very much like his own. His richer patients were butchers, bakers, -and the more substantial tradespeople of the neighborhood. These, for -the most part, attributed their recovery to Nature, as an excuse for -paying for the services of a medical man, who came on foot, at the rate -of two francs per visit. In his profession, a carriage is more necessary -than medical skill. - -A humdrum monotonous life tells in the end upon the most adventurous -spirit. A man fashions himself to his lot, he accepts a commonplace -existence; and Dr. Poulain, after ten years of his practice, continued -his labors of Sisyphus without the despair that made early days so -bitter. And yet--like every soul in Paris--he cherished a dream. -Remonencq was happy in his dream; La Cibot had a dream of her own; and -Dr. Poulain, too, dreamed. Some day he would be called in to attend -a rich and influential patient, would effect a positive cure, and the -patient would procure a post for him; he would be head surgeon to a -hospital, medical officer of a prison or police-court, or doctor to the -boulevard theatres. He had come by his present appointment as doctor -to the Mairie in this very way. La Cibot had called him in when the -landlord of the house in the Rue de Normandie fell ill; he had treated -the case with complete success; M. Pillerault, the patient, took -an interest in the young doctor, called to thank him, and saw his -carefully-hidden poverty. Count Popinot, the cabinet minister, had -married M. Pillerault's grand-niece, and greatly respected her uncle; of -him, therefore, M. Pillerault had asked for the post, which Poulain had -now held for two years. That appointment and its meagre salary came just -in time to prevent a desperate step; Poulain was thinking of emigration; -and for a Frenchman, it is a kind of death to leave France. - -Dr. Poulain went, you may be sure, to thank Count Popinot; but as Count -Popinot's family physician was the celebrated Horace Bianchon, it was -pretty clear that his chances of gaining a footing in that house were -something of the slenderest. The poor doctor had fondly hoped for the -patronage of a powerful cabinet minister, one of the twelve or fifteen -cards which a cunning hand has been shuffling for sixteen years on the -green baize of the council table, and now he dropped back again into his -Marais, his old groping life among the poor and the small tradespeople, -with the privilege of issuing certificates of death for a yearly stipend -of twelve hundred francs. - -Dr. Poulain had distinguished himself to some extent as a house-student; -he was a prudent practitioner, and not without experience. His deaths -caused no scandal; he had plenty of opportunities of studying all kinds -of complaints _in anima vili_. Judge, therefore, of the spleen that -he nourished! The expression of his countenance, lengthy and not -too cheerful to begin with, at times was positively appalling. Set a -Tartuffe's all-devouring eyes, and the sour humor of an Alceste in -a sallow-parchment visage, and try to imagine for yourself the gait, -bearing, and expression of a man who thought himself as good a doctor as -the illustrious Bianchon, and felt that he was held down in his narrow -lot by an iron hand. He could not help comparing his receipts (ten -francs a day if he was fortunate) with Bianchon's five or six hundred. - -Are the hatreds and jealousies of democracy incomprehensible after this? -Ambitious and continually thwarted, he could not reproach himself. -He had once already tried his fortune by inventing a purgative pill, -something like Morrison's, and intrusted the business operations to an -old hospital chum, a house-student who afterwards took a retail drug -business; but, unluckily, the druggist, smitten with the charms of a -ballet-dancer of the Ambigu-Comique, found himself at length in the -bankruptcy court; and as the patent had been taken out in his name, -his partner was literally without a remedy, and the important discovery -enriched the purchaser of the business. The sometime house-student set -sail for Mexico, that land of gold, taking poor Poulain's little savings -with him; and, to add insult to injury, the opera-dancer treated him as -an extortioner when he applied to her for his money. - -Not a single rich patient had come to him since he had the luck to cure -old M. Pillerault. Poulain made his rounds on foot, scouring the Marais -like a lean cat, and obtained from two to forty sous out of a score -of visits. The paying patient was a phenomenon about as rare as that -anomalous fowl known as a "white blackbird" in all sublunary regions. - -The briefless barrister, the doctor without a patient, are pre-eminently -the two types of a decorous despair peculiar to this city of Paris; -it is mute, dull despair in human form, dressed in a black coat and -trousers with shining seams that recall the zinc on an attic roof, a -glistening satin waistcoat, a hat preserved like a relic, a pair of old -gloves, and a cotton shirt. The man is the incarnation of a melancholy -poem, sombre as the secrets of the Conciergerie. Other kinds of poverty, -the poverty of the artist--actor, painter, musician, or poet--are -relieved and lightened by the artist's joviality, the reckless gaiety -of the Bohemian border country--the first stage of the journey to the -Thebaid of genius. But these two black-coated professions that go afoot -through the street are brought continually in contact with disease and -dishonor; they see nothing of human nature but its sores; in the -forlorn first stages and beginnings of their career they eye competitors -suspiciously and defiantly; concentrated dislike and ambition flashes -out in glances like the breaking forth of hidden flames. Let two -schoolfellows meet after twenty years, the rich man will avoid the poor; -he does not recognize him, he is afraid even to glance into the gulf -which Fate has set between him and the friend of other years. The one -has been borne through life on the mettlesome steed called Fortune, or -wafted on the golden clouds of success; the other has been making his -way in underground Paris through the sewers, and bears the marks of his -career upon him. How many a chum of old days turned aside at the sight -of the doctor's greatcoat and waistcoat! - -With this explanation, it should be easy to understand how Dr. Poulain -came to lend himself so readily to the farce of La Cibot's illness and -recovery. Greed of every kind, ambition of every nature, is not easy to -hide. The doctor examined his patient, found that every organ was sound -and healthy, admired the regularity of her pulse and the perfect ease of -her movements; and as she continued to moan aloud, he saw that for some -reason she found it convenient to lie at Death's door. The speedy cure -of a serious imaginary disease was sure to cause a sensation in the -neighborhood; the doctor would be talked about. He made up his mind at -once. He talked of rupture, and of taking it in time, and thought even -worse of the case than La Cibot herself. The portress was plied with -various remedies, and finally underwent a sham operation, crowned with -complete success. Poulain repaired to the Arsenal Library, looked out a -grotesque case in some of Desplein's records of extraordinary cures, and -fitted the details to Mme. Cibot, modestly attributing the success of -the treatment to the great surgeon, in whose steps (he said) he walked. -Such is the impudence of beginners in Paris. Everything is made to serve -as a ladder by which to climb upon the scene; and as everything, even -the rungs of a ladder, will wear out in time, the new members of every -profession are at a loss to find the right sort of wood of which to make -steps for themselves. - -There are moments when the Parisian is not propitious. He grows tired -of raising pedestals, pouts like a spoiled child, and will have no -more idols; or, to state it more accurately, Paris cannot always find -a proper object for infatuation. Now and then the vein of genius gives -out, and at such times the Parisian may turn supercilious; he is not -always willing to bow down and gild mediocrity. - - - -Mme. Cibot, entering in her usual unceremonious fashion, found the -doctor and his mother at table, before a bowl of lamb's lettuce, the -cheapest of all salad-stuffs. The dessert consisted of a thin wedge of -Brie cheese flanked by a plate of specked foreign apples and a dish -of mixed dry fruits, known as _quatre-mendiants_, in which the raisin -stalks were abundantly conspicuous. - -"You can stay, mother," said the doctor, laying a hand on Mme. Poulain's -arm; "this is Mme. Cibot, of whom I have told you." - -"My respects to you, madame, and my duty to you, sir," said La Cibot, -taking the chair which the doctor offered. "Ah! is this your mother, -sir? She is very happy to have a son who has such talent; he saved my -life, madame, brought me back from the depths." - -The widow, hearing Mme. Cibot praise her son in this way, thought her a -delightful woman. - -"I have just come to tell you, that, between ourselves, poor M. Pons is -doing very badly, sir, and I have something to say to you about him--" - -"Let us go into the sitting-room," interrupted the doctor, and with a -significant gesture he indicated the servant. - -In the sitting-room La Cibot explained her position with regard to -the pair of nutcrackers at very considerable length. She repeated the -history of her loan with added embellishments, and gave a full account -of the immense services rendered during the past ten years to MM. -Pons and Schmucke. The two old men, to all appearance, could not exist -without her motherly care. She posed as an angel; she told so many lies, -one after another, watering them with her tears, that old Mme. Poulain -was quite touched. - -"You understand, my dear sir," she concluded, "that I really ought to -know how far I can depend on M. Pons' intentions, supposing that he -should not die; not that I want him to die, for looking after those two -innocents is my life, madame, you see; still, when one of them is gone -I shall look after the other. For my own part, I was built by Nature to -rival mothers. Without nobody to care for, nobody to take for a child, I -don't know what I should do.... So if M. Poulain only would, he might do -me a service for which I should be very grateful; and that is, to say a -word to M. Pons for me. Goodness me! an annuity of a thousand francs, -is that too much, I ask you?... To. M. Schmucke it would be so much -gained.--Our dear patient said that he should recommend me to the -German, poor man; it is his idea, no doubt, that M. Schmucke should -be his heir. But what is a man that cannot put two ideas together in -French? And besides, he would be quite capable of going back to Germany, -he will be in such despair over his friend's death--" - -The doctor grew grave. "My dear Mme. Cibot," he said, "this sort of -thing does not in the least concern a doctor. I should not be allowed to -exercise my profession if it was known that I interfered in the matter -of my patients' testamentary dispositions. The law forbids a doctor to -receive a legacy from a patient--" - -"A stupid law! What is to hinder me from dividing my legacy with you?" -La Cibot said immediately. - -"I will go further," said the doctor; "my professional conscience will -not permit me to speak to M. Pons of his death. In the first place, he -is not so dangerously ill that there is any need to speak of it, and in -the second, such talk coming from me might give a shock to the system -that would do him real harm, and then his illness might terminate -fatally--" - -"_I_ don't put on gloves to tell him to get his affairs in order," cried -Mme. Cibot, "and he is none the worse for that. He is used to it. There -is nothing to fear." - -"Not a word more about it, my dear Mme. Cibot! These things are not -within a doctor's province; it is a notary's business--" - -"But, my dear M. Poulain, suppose that M. Pons of his own accord should -ask you how he is, and whether he had better make his arrangements; -then, would you refuse to tell him that if you want to get better it is -an excellent plan to set everything in order? Then you might just slip -in a little word for me--" - -"Oh, if _he_ talks of making his will, I certainly shall not dissuade -him," said the doctor. - -"Very well, that is settled. I came to thank you for your care of me," -she added, as she slipped a folded paper containing three gold coins -into the doctor's hands. "It is all I can do at the moment. Ah! my dear -M. Poulain, if I were rich, you should be rich, you that are the image -of Providence on earth.--Madame, you have an angel for a son." - -La Cibot rose to her feet, Mme. Poulain bowed amiably, and the doctor -went to the door with the visitor. Just then a sudden, lurid gleam of -light flashed across the mind of this Lady Macbeth of the streets. She -saw clearly that the doctor was her accomplice--he had taken the fee for -the sham illness. - -"M. Poulain," she began, "how can you refuse to say a word or two to -save me from want, when you helped me in the affair of my accident?" - -The doctor felt that the devil had him by the hair, as the saying is; he -felt, too, that the hair was being twisted round the pitiless red claw. -Startled and afraid lest he should sell his honesty for such a trifle, -he answered the diabolical suggestion by another no less diabolical. - -"Listen, my dear Mme. Cibot," he said, as he drew her into his -consulting-room. "I will now pay a debt of gratitude that I owe you for -my appointment to the mairie--" - -"We go shares?" she asked briskly. - -"In what?" - -"In the legacy." - -"You do not know me," said Dr. Poulain, drawing himself up like Valerius -Publicola. "Let us have no more of that. I have a friend, an old -schoolfellow of mine, a very intelligent young fellow; and we are so -much the more intimate, because, our lives have fallen out very much in -the same way. He was studying law while I was a house-student, he was -engrossing deeds in Maitre Couture's office. His father was a shoemaker, -and mine was a breeches-maker; he has not found anyone to take much -interest in his career, nor has he any capital; for, after all, capital -is only to be had from sympathizers. He could only afford to buy -a provincial connection--at Mantes--and so little do provincials -understand the Parisian intellect, that they set all sorts of intrigues -on foot against him." - -"The wretches!" cried La Cibot. - -"Yes," said the doctor. "They combined against him to such purpose, that -they forced him to sell his connection by misrepresenting something that -he had done; the attorney for the crown interfered, he belonged to the -place, and sided with his fellow-townsmen. My friend's name is Fraisier. -He is lodged as I am, and he is even leaner and more threadbare. He took -refuge in our arrondissement, and is reduced to appear for clients in -the police-court or before the magistrate. He lives in the Rue de la -Perle close by. Go to No. 9, third floor, and you will see his name on -the door on the landing, painted in gilt letters on a small square -of red leather. Fraisier makes a special point of disputes among the -porters, workmen, and poor folk in the arrondissement, and his charges -are low. He is an honest man; for I need not tell you that if he had -been a scamp, he would be keeping his carriage by now. I will call and -see my friend Fraisier this evening. Go to him early to-morrow; he knows -M. Louchard, the bailiff; M. Tabareau, the clerk of the court; and the -justice of the peace, M. Vitel; and M. Trognon, the notary. He is even -now looked upon as one of the best men of business in the Quarter. If -he takes charge of your interests, if you can secure him as M. Pons' -adviser, you will have a second self in him, you see. But do not make -dishonorable proposals to him, as you did just now to me; he has a -head on his shoulders, you will understand each other. And as for -acknowledging his services, I will be your intermediary--" - -Mme. Cibot looked askance at the doctor. - -"Is that the lawyer who helped Mme. Florimond the haberdasher in the Rue -Vieille-du-Temple out of a fix in that matter of her friend's legacy?" - -"The very same." - -"Wasn't it a shame that she did not marry him after he had gained two -thousand francs a year for her?" exclaimed La Cibot. "And she thought to -clear off scores by making him a present of a dozen shirts and a couple -of dozen pocket-handkerchiefs; an outfit, in short." - -"My dear Mme. Cibot, that outfit cost a thousand francs, and Fraisier -was just setting up for himself in the Quarter, and wanted the things -very badly. And what was more, she paid the bill without asking any -questions. That affair brought him clients, and now he is very busy; but -in my line a practice brings--" - -"It is only the righteous that suffer here below," said La Cibot. "Well, -M. Poulain, good-day and thank you." - -And herewith begins the tragedy, or, if you like to have it so, -a terrible comedy--the death of an old bachelor delivered over by -circumstances too strong for him to the rapacity and greed that gathered -about his bed. And other forces came to the support of rapacity and -greed; there was the picture collector's mania, that most intense of all -passions; there was the cupidity of the Sieur Fraisier, whom you shall -presently behold in his den, a sight to make you shudder; and lastly, -there was the Auvergnat thirsting for money, ready for anything--even -for a crime--that should bring him the capital he wanted. The first part -of the story serves in some sort as a prelude to this comedy in which -all the actors who have hitherto occupied the stage will reappear. - -The degradation of a word is one of those curious freaks of manners -upon which whole volumes of explanation might be written. Write to an -attorney and address him as "Lawyer So-and-so," and you insult him as -surely as you would insult a wholesale colonial produce merchant by -addressing your letter to "Mr. So-and-so, Grocer." There are plenty -of men of the world who ought to be aware, since the knowledge of such -subtle distinctions is their province, that you cannot insult a French -writer more cruelly than by calling him _un homme de lettres_--a -literary man. The word _monsieur_ is a capital example of the life and -death of words. Abbreviated from monseigneur, once so considerable a -title, and even now, in the form of _sire_, reserved for emperors and -kings, it is bestowed indifferently upon all and sundry; while the -twin-word _messire_, which is nothing but its double and equivalent, if -by any chance it slips into a certificate of burial, produces an outcry -in the Republican papers. - -Magistrates, councillors, jurisconsults, judges, barristers, officers -for the crown, bailiffs, attorneys, clerks of the court, procurators, -solicitors, and agents of various kinds, represent or misrepresent -Justice. The "lawyer" and the bailiff's men (commonly called "the -brokers") are the two lowest rungs of the ladder. Now, the bailiff's man -is an outsider, an adventitious minister of justice, appearing to -see that judgment is executed; he is, in fact, a kind of inferior -executioner employed by the county court. But the word "lawyer" -(homme de loi) is a depreciatory term applied to the legal profession. -Consuming professional jealousy finds similar disparaging epithets -for fellow-travelers in every walk of life, and every calling has its -special insult. The scorn flung into the words _homme de loi, homme -de lettres_, is wanting in the plural form, which may be used without -offence; but in Paris every profession, learned or unlearned, has its -_omega_, the individual who brings it down to the level of the lowest -class; and the written law has its connecting link with the custom -right of the streets. There are districts where the pettifogging man of -business, known as Lawyer So-and-So, is still to be found. M. Fraisier -was to the member of the Incorporated Law Society as the money-lender -of the Halles, offering small loans for a short period at an exorbitant -interest, is to the great capitalist. - -Working people, strange to say are as shy of officials as of fashionable -restaurants, they take advice from irregular sources as they turn into -a little wineshop to drink. Each rank in life finds its own level, and -there abides. None but a chosen few care to climb the heights, few can -feel at ease in the presence of their betters, or take their place among -them, like a Beaumarchais letting fall the watch of the great lord who -tried to humiliate him. And if there are few who can even rise to -a higher social level, those among them who can throw off their -swaddling-clothes are rare and great exceptions. - - - -At six o'clock the next morning Mme. Cibot stood in the Rue de la Perle; -she was making a survey of the abode of her future adviser, Lawyer -Fraisier. The house was one of the old-fashioned kind formerly inhabited -by small tradespeople and citizens with small means. A cabinetmaker's -shop occupied almost the whole of the ground floor, as well as the -little yard behind, which was covered with his workshops and warehouses; -the small remaining space being taken up by the porter's lodge and the -passage entry in the middle. The staircase walls were half rotten with -damp and covered with saltpetre to such a degree that the house seemed -to be stricken with leprosy. - -Mme. Cibot went straight to the porter's lodge, and there encountered -one of the fraternity, a shoemaker, his wife, and two small children, -all housed in a room ten feet square, lighted from the yard at the back. -La Cibot mentioned her profession, named herself, and spoke of her house -in the Rue de Normandie, and the two women were on cordial terms at -once. After a quarter of an hour spent in gossip while the shoemaker's -wife made breakfast ready for her husband and the children, Mme. Cibot -turned the conversation to the subject of the lodgers, and spoke of the -lawyer. - -"I have come to see him on business," she said. "One of his friends, Dr. -Poulain, recommended me to him. Do you know Dr. Poulain?" - -"I should think I do," said the lady of the Rue de la Perle. "He saved -my little girl's life when she had the croup." - -"He saved my life, too, madame. What sort of a man is this M. Fraisier?" - -"He is the sort of man, my dear lady, out of whom it is very difficult -to get the postage-money at the end of the month." - -To a person of La Cibot's intelligence this was enough. - -"One may be poor and honest," observed she. - -"I am sure I hope so," returned Fraisier's portress. "We are not -rolling in coppers, let alone gold or silver; but we have not a farthing -belonging to anybody else." - -This sort of talk sounded familiar to La Cibot. - -"In short, one can trust him, child, eh?" - -"Lord! when M. Fraisier means well by any one, there is not his like, so -I have heard Mme. Florimond say." - -"And why didn't she marry him when she owed her fortune to him?" La -Cibot asked quickly. "It is something for a little haberdasher, kept by -an old man, to be a barrister's wife--" - -"Why?--" asked the portress, bringing Mme. Cibot out into the passage. -"Why?--You are going to see him, are you not, madame?--Very well, when -you are in his office you will know why." - -From the state of the staircase, lighted by sash-windows on the side of -the yard, it was pretty evident that the inmates of the house, with the -exception of the landlord and M. Fraisier himself, were all workmen. -There were traces of various crafts in the deposit of mud upon the -steps--brass-filings, broken buttons, scraps of gauze, and esparto grass -lay scattered about. The walls of the upper stories were covered with -apprentices' ribald scrawls and caricatures. The portress' last remark -had roused La Cibot's curiosity; she decided, not unnaturally, that she -would consult Dr. Poulain's friend; but as for employing him, that must -depend upon her impressions. - -"I sometimes wonder how Mme. Sauvage can stop in his service," said the -portress, by way of comment; she was following in Mme. Cibot's wake. "I -will come up with you, madame" she added; "I am taking the milk and the -newspaper up to my landlord." - -Arrived on the second floor above the entresol, La Cibot beheld a door -of the most villainous description. The doubtful red paint was coated -for seven or eight inches round the keyhole with a filthy glaze, a grimy -deposit from which the modern house-decorator endeavors to protect the -doors of more elegant apartments by glass "finger-plates." A grating, -almost stopped up with some compound similar to the deposit with which -a restaurant-keeper gives an air of cellar-bound antiquity to a merely -middle-aged bottle, only served to heighten the general resemblance to -a prison door; a resemblance further heightened by the trefoil-shaped -iron-work, the formidable hinges, the clumsy nail-heads. A miser, or a -pamphleteer at strife with the world at large, must surely have invented -these fortifications. A leaden sink, which received the waste water -of the household, contributed its quota to the fetid atmosphere of the -staircase, and the ceiling was covered with fantastic arabesques traced -by candle-smoke--such arabesques! On pulling a greasy acorn tassel -attached to the bell-rope, a little bell jangled feebly somewhere -within, complaining of the fissure in its metal sides. - -Every detail was in keeping with the general dismal effect. La Cibot -heard a heavy footstep, and the asthmatic wheezing of a virago within, -and Mme. Sauvage presently showed herself. Adrien Brauwer might have -painted just such a hag for his picture of _Witches starting for the -Sabbath_; a stout, unwholesome slattern, five feet six inches in height, -with a grenadier countenance and a beard which far surpassed La -Cibot's own; she wore a cheap, hideously ugly cotton gown, a bandana -handkerchief knotted over hair which she still continued to put in curl -papers (using for that purpose the printed circulars which her master -received), and a huge pair of gold earrings like cart-wheels in her -ears. This female Cerberus carried a battered skillet in one hand, -and opening the door, set free an imprisoned odor of scorched milk--a -nauseous and penetrating smell, that lost itself at once, however, among -the fumes outside. - -"What can I do for you, missus?" demanded Mme. Sauvage, and with a -truculent air she looked La Cibot over; evidently she was of the opinion -that the visitor was too well dressed, and her eyes looked the more -murderous because they were naturally bloodshot. - -"I have come to see M. Fraisier; his friend, Dr. Poulain, sent me." - -"Oh! come in, missus," said La Sauvage, grown very amiable of a sudden, -which proves that she was prepared for this morning visit. - -With a sweeping courtesy, the stalwart woman flung open the door of -a private office, which looked upon the street, and discovered the -ex-attorney of Mantes. - -The room was a complete picture of a third-rate solicitor's office; with -the stained wooden cases, the letter-files so old that they had grown -beards (in ecclesiastical language), the red tape dangling limp and -dejected, the pasteboard boxes covered with traces of the gambols of -mice, the dirty floor, the ceiling tawny with smoke. A frugal allowance -of wood was smouldering on a couple of fire-dogs on the hearth. And on -the chimney-piece above stood a foggy mirror and a modern clock with -an inlaid wooden case; Fraisier had picked it up at an execution sale, -together with the tawdry imitation rococo candlesticks, with the zinc -beneath showing through the lacquer in several places. - -M. Fraisier was small, thin, and unwholesome looking; his red face, -covered with an eruption, told of tainted blood; and he had, moreover, a -trick of continually scratching his right arm. A wig pushed to the back -of his head displayed a brick-colored cranium of ominous conformation. -This person rose from a cane-seated armchair, in which he sat on a green -leather cushion, assumed an agreeable expression, and brought forward a -chair. - -"Mme. Cibot, I believe?" queried he, in dulcet tones. - -"Yes, sir," answered the portress. She had lost her habitual assurance. - -Something in the tones of a voice which strongly resembled the sounds of -the little door-bell, something in a glance even sharper than the sharp -green eyes of her future legal adviser, scared Mme. Cibot. Fraisier's -presence so pervaded the room, that any one might have thought there -was pestilence in the air; and in a flash Mme. Cibot understood why Mme. -Florimond had not become Mme. Fraisier. - -"Poulain told me about you, my dear madame," said the lawyer, in the -unnatural fashion commonly described by the words "mincing tones"; tones -sharp, thin, and grating as verjuice, in spite of all his efforts. - -Arrived at this point, he tried to draw the skirts of his dressing-gown -over a pair of angular knees encased in threadbare felt. The robe was -an ancient printed cotton garment, lined with wadding which took the -liberty of protruding itself through various slits in it here and there; -the weight of this lining had pulled the skirts aside, disclosing a -dingy-hued flannel waistcoat beneath. With something of a coxcomb's -manner, Fraisier fastened this refractory article of dress, tightening -the girdle to define his reedy figure; then with a blow of the tongs, -he effected a reconciliation between two burning brands that had long -avoided one another, like brothers after a family quarrel. A sudden -bright idea struck him, and he rose from his chair. - -"Mme. Sauvage!" called he. - -"Well?" - -"I am not at home to anybody!" - -"Eh! bless your life, there's no need to say that!" - -"She is my old nurse," the lawyer said in some confusion. - -"And she has not recovered her figure yet," remarked the heroine of the -Halles. - -Fraisier laughed, and drew the bolt lest his housekeeper should -interrupt Mme. Cibot's confidences. - -"Well, madame, explain your business," said he, making another effort -to drape himself in the dressing-gown. "Any one recommended to me by -the only friend I have in the world may count upon me--I may -say--absolutely." - -For half an hour Mme. Cibot talked, and the man of law made no -interruption of any sort; his face wore the expression of curious -interest with which a young soldier listens to a pensioner of "The Old -Guard." Fraisier's silence and acquiescence, the rapt attention with -which he appeared to listen to a torrent of gossip similar to the -samples previously given, dispelled some of the prejudices inspired in -La Cibot's mind by his squalid surroundings. The little lawyer with the -black-speckled green eyes was in reality making a study of his client. -When at length she came to a stand and looked to him to speak, he was -seized with a fit of the complaint known as a "churchyard cough," and -had recourse to an earthenware basin half full of herb tea, which he -drained. - -"But for Poulain, my dear madame, I should have been dead before this," -said Fraisier, by way of answer to the portress' look of motherly -compassion; "but he will bring me round, he says--" - -As all the client's confidences appeared to have slipped from the memory -of her legal adviser, she began to cast about for a way of taking leave -of a man so apparently near death. - -"In an affair of this kind, madame," continued the attorney from Mantes, -suddenly returning to business, "there are two things which it is -most important to know. In the first place, whether the property is -sufficient to be worth troubling about; and in the second, who the -next-of-kin may be; for if the property is the booty, the next-of-kin is -the enemy." - -La Cibot immediately began to talk of Remonencq and Elie Magus, and -said that the shrewd couple valued the pictures at six hundred thousand -francs. - -"Would they take them themselves at that price?" inquired the lawyer. -"You see, madame, that men of business are shy of pictures. A picture -may mean a piece of canvas worth a couple of francs or a painting worth -two hundred thousand. Now, paintings worth two hundred thousand francs -are usually well known; and what errors in judgment people make in -estimating even the most famous pictures of all! There was once a great -capitalist whose collection was admired, visited, and engraved--actually -engraved! He was supposed to have spent millions of francs on it. He -died, as men must, and--well, his _genuine_ pictures did not fetch -more than two hundred thousand francs! You must let me see these -gentlemen.--Now for the next-of-kin," and Fraisier again relapsed into -his attitude of listener. - -When President Camusot's name came up, he nodded with a grimace which -riveted Mme. Cibot's attention. She tried to read the forehead and the -villainous face, and found what is called in business a "wooden head." - -"Yes, my dear sir," repeated La Cibot. "Yes, my M. Pons is own cousin -to President Camusot de Marville; he tells me that ten times a day. M. -Camusot the silk mercer was married twice--" - -"He that has just been nominated for a peer of France?--" - -"And his first wife was a Mlle. Pons, M. Pons' first cousin." - -"Then they are first cousins once removed--" - -"They are 'not cousins.' They have quarreled." - -It may be remembered that before M. Camusot de Marville came to Paris, -he was President of the Tribunal of Mantes for five years; and not only -was his name still remembered there, but he had kept up a correspondence -with Mantes. Camusot's immediate successor, the judge with whom he had -been most intimate during his term of office, was still President of the -Tribunal, and consequently knew all about Fraisier. - -"Do you know, madame," Fraisier said, when at last the red sluices of -La Cibot's torrent tongue were closed, "do you know that your principal -enemy will be a man who can send you to the scaffold?" - -The portress started on her chair, making a sudden spring like a -jack-in-the-box. - -"Calm yourself, dear madame," continued Fraisier. "You may not have -known the name of the President of the Chamber of Indictments at the -Court of Appeal in Paris; but you ought to have known that M. Pons must -have an heir-at-law. M. le President de Marville is your invalid's sole -heir; but as he is a collateral in the third degree, M. Pons is entitled -by law to leave his fortune as he pleases. You are not aware either -that, six weeks ago at least, M. le President's daughter married the -eldest son of M. le Comte Popinot, peer of France, once Minister of -Agriculture, and President of the Board of Trade, one of the most -influential politicians of the day. President de Marville is even more -formidable through this marriage than in his own quality of head of the -Court of Assize." - -At that word La Cibot shuddered. - -"Yes, and it is he who sends you there," continued Fraisier. "Ah! my -dear madame, you little know what a red robe means! It is bad enough -to have a plain black gown against you! You see me here, ruined, bald, -broken in health--all because, unwittingly, I crossed a mere attorney -for the crown in the provinces. I was forced to sell my connection at a -loss, and very lucky I was to come off with the loss of my money. If -I had tried to stand out, my professional position would have gone as -well. - -"One thing more you do not know," he continued, "and this it is. If you -had only to do with President Camusot himself, it would be nothing; but -he has a wife, mind you!--and if you ever find yourself face to face -with that wife, you will shake in your shoes as if you were on the first -step of the scaffold, your hair will stand on end. The Presidente is so -vindictive that she would spend ten years over setting a trap to kill -you. She sets that husband of hers spinning like a top. Through her a -charming young fellow committed suicide at the Conciergerie. A count was -accused of forgery--she made his character as white as snow. She all -but drove a person of the highest quality from the Court of Charles X. -Finally, she displaced the Attorney-General, M. de Granville--" - -"That lived in the Rue Vieille-du-Temple, at the corner of the Rue -Saint-Francois?" - -"The very same. They say that she means to make her husband Home -Secretary, and I do not know that she will not gain her end.--If she -were to take it into her head to send us both to the Criminal Court -first and the hulks afterwards--I should apply for a passport and set -sail for America, though I am as innocent as a new-born babe. So well I -know what justice means. Now, see here, my dear Mme. Cibot; to marry -her only daughter to young Vicomte Popinot (heir to M. Pillerault, your -landlord, it is said)--to make that match, she stripped herself of her -whole fortune, so much so that the President and his wife have nothing -at this moment except his official salary. Can you suppose, my dear -madame, that under the circumstances Mme. la Presidente will let M. -Pons' property go out of the family without a word?--Why, I would sooner -face guns loaded with grape-shot than have such a woman for my enemy--" - -"But they have quarreled," put in La Cibot. - -"What has that got to do with it?" asked Fraisier. "It is one reason -the more for fearing her. To kill a relative of whom you are tired, -is something; but to inherit his property afterwards--that is a real -pleasure!" - -"But the old gentleman has a horror of his relatives. He says over and -over again that these people--M. Cardot, M. Berthier, and the rest of -them (I can't remember their names)--have crushed him as a tumbril cart -crushes an egg--" - -"Have you a mind to be crushed too?" - -"Oh dear! oh dear!" cried La Cibot. "Ah! Ma'am Fontaine was right when -she said that I should meet with difficulties: still, she said that I -should succeed--" - -"Listen, my dear Mme. Cibot.--As for making some thirty thousand -francs out of this business--that is possible; but for the whole of -the property, it is useless to think of it. We talked over your case -yesterday evening, Dr. Poulain and I--" - -La Cibot started again. - -"Well, what is the matter?" - -"But if you knew about the affair, why did you let me chatter away like -a magpie?" - -"Mme. Cibot, I knew all about your business, but I knew nothing of Mme. -Cibot. So many clients, so many characters--" - -Mme. Cibot gave her legal adviser a queer look at this; all her -suspicions gleamed in her eyes. Fraisier saw this. - -"I resume," he continued. "So, our friend Poulain was once called in -by you to attend old M. Pillerault, the Countess Popinot's great-uncle; -that is one of your claims to my devotion. Poulain goes to see your -landlord (mark this!) once a fortnight; he learned all these particulars -from him. M. Pillerault was present at his grand-nephew's wedding--for -he is an uncle with money to leave; he has an income of fifteen thousand -francs, though he has lived like a hermit for the last five-and-twenty -years, and scarcely spends a thousand crowns--well, _he_ told Poulain -all about this marriage. It seems that your old musician was precisely -the cause of the row; he tried to disgrace his own family by way of -revenge.--If you only hear one bell, you only hear one sound.--Your -invalid says that he meant no harm, but everybody thinks him a monster -of--" - -"And it would not astonish me if he was!" cried La Cibot. "Just imagine -it!--For these ten years past I have been money out of pocket for him, -spending my savings on him, and he knows it, and yet he will not let me -lie down to sleep on a legacy!--No, sir! he will _not_. He is obstinate, -a regular mule he is.--I have talked to him these ten days, and the -cross-grained cur won't stir no more than a sign-post. He shuts his -teeth and looks at me like--The most that he would say was that he would -recommend me to M. Schmucke." - -"Then he means to make his will in favor of this Schmucke?" - -"Everything will go to him--" - -"Listen, my dear Mme. Cibot, if I am to arrive at any definite -conclusions and think of a plan, I must know M. Schmucke. I must see the -property and have some talk with this Jew of whom you speak; and then, -let me direct you--" - -"We shall see, M. Fraisier." - -"What is this? 'We shall see?'" repeated Fraisier, speaking in the voice -natural to him, as he gave La Cibot a viperous glance. "Am I your legal -adviser or am I not, I say? Let us know exactly where we stand." - -La Cibot felt that he read her thoughts. A cold chill ran down her back. - -"I have told you all I know," she said. She saw that she was at the -tiger's mercy. - -"We attorneys are accustomed to treachery. Just think carefully over -your position; it is superb.--If you follow my advice point by point, -you will have thirty or forty thousand francs. But there is a reverse -side to this beautiful medal. How if the Presidente comes to hear that -M. Pons' property is worth a million of francs, and that you mean to -have a bit out of it?--for there is always somebody ready to take that -kind of errand--" he added parenthetically. - -This remark, and the little pause that came before and after it, sent -another shudder through La Cibot. She thought at once that Fraisier -himself would probably undertake that office. - -"And then, my dear client, in ten minutes old Pillerault is asked to -dismiss you, and then on a couple of hours' notice--" - -"What does that matter to me?" said La Cibot, rising to her feet like a -Bellona; "I shall stay with the gentlemen as their housekeeper." - -"And then, a trap will be set for you, and some fine morning you -and your husband will wake up in a prison cell, to be tried for your -lives--" - -"_I?_" cried La Cibot, "I that have not a farthing that doesn't belong -to me?... _I!_... _I!_" - -For five minutes she held forth, and Fraisier watched the great artist -before him as she executed a concerto of self-praise. He was quite -untouched, and even amused by the performance. His keen glances pricked -La Cibot like stilettos; he chuckled inwardly, till his shrunken wig was -shaking with laughter. He was a Robespierre at an age when the Sylla of -France was make couplets. - -"And how? and why? And on what pretext?" demanded she, when she had come -to an end. - -"You wish to know how you may come to the guillotine?" - -La Cibot turned pale as death at the words; the words fell like a knife -upon her neck. She stared wildly at Fraisier. - -"Listen to me, my dear child," began Fraisier, suppressing his inward -satisfaction at his client's discomfiture. - -"I would sooner leave things as they are--" murmured La Cibot, and she -rose to go. - -"Stay," Fraisier said imperiously. "You ought to know the risks that you -are running; I am bound to give you the benefit of my lights.--You are -dismissed by M. Pillerault, we will say; there is no doubt about that, -is there? You enter the service of these two gentlemen. Very good! -That is a declaration of war against the Presidente. You mean to do -everything you can to gain possession of the property, and to get a -slice of it at any rate-- - -"Oh, I am not blaming you," Fraisier continued, in answer to a gesture -from his client. "It is not my place to do so. This is a battle, and -you will be led on further than you think for. One grows full of one's -ideas, one hits hard--" - -Another gesture of denial. This time La Cibot tossed her head. - -"There, there, old lady," said Fraisier, with odious familiarity, "you -will go a very long way!--" - -"You take me for a thief, I suppose?" - -"Come, now, mamma, you hold a receipt in M. Schmucke's hand which did -not cost you much.--Ah! you are in the confessional, my lady! Don't -deceive your confessor, especially when the confessor has the power of -reading your thoughts." - -La Cibot was dismayed by the man's perspicacity; now she knew why he had -listened to her so intently. - -"Very good," continued he, "you can admit at once that the Presidente -will not allow you to pass her in the race for the property.--You -will be watched and spied upon.--You get your name into M. Pons' will; -nothing could be better. But some fine day the law steps in, arsenic -is found in a glass, and you and your husband are arrested, tried, and -condemned for attempting the life of the Sieur Pons, so as to come by -your legacy. I once defended a poor woman at Versailles; she was in -reality as innocent as you would be in such a case. Things were as I -have told you, and all that I could do was to save her life. The unhappy -creature was sentenced to twenty years' penal servitude. She is working -out her time now at St. Lazare." - -Mme. Cibot's terror grew to the highest pitch. She grew paler and paler, -staring at the little, thin man with the green eyes, as some wretched -Moor, accused of adhering to her own religion, might gaze at the -inquisitor who doomed her to the stake. - -"Then, do you tell me, that if I leave you to act, and put my interests -in your hands, I shall get something without fear?" - -"I guarantee you thirty thousand francs," said Fraisier, speaking like a -man sure of the fact. - -"After all, you know how fond I am of dear Dr. Poulain," she began again -in her most coaxing tones; "he told me to come to you, worthy man, -and he did not send me here to be told that I shall be guillotined for -poisoning some one." - -The thought of the guillotine so moved her that she burst into tears, -her nerves were shaken, terror clutched at her heart, she lost her head. -Fraisier gloated over his triumph. When he saw his client hesitate, he -thought that he had lost his chance; he had set himself to frighten -and quell La Cibot till she was completely in his power, bound hand and -foot. She had walked into his study as a fly walks into a spider's web; -there she was doomed to remain, entangled in the toils of the little -lawyer who meant to feed upon her. Out of this bit of business, indeed, -Fraisier meant to gain the living of old days; comfort, competence, -and consideration. He and his friend Dr. Poulain had spent the whole -previous evening in a microscopic examination of the case; they had made -mature deliberations. The doctor described Schmucke for his friend's -benefit, and the alert pair had plumbed all hypotheses and scrutinized -all risks and resources, till Fraisier, exultant, cried aloud, "Both -our fortunes lie in this!" He had gone so far as to promise Poulain a -hospital, and as for himself, he meant to be justice of the peace of an -arrondissement. - -To be a justice of the peace! For this man with his abundant capacity, -for this doctor of law without a pair of socks to his name, the dream -was a hippogriff so restive, that he thought of it as a deputy-advocate -thinks of the silk gown, as an Italian priest thinks of the tiara. It -was indeed a wild dream! - -M. Vitel, the justice of the peace before whom Fraisier pleaded, was -a man of sixty-nine, in failing health; he talked of retiring on a -pension; and Fraisier used to talk with Poulain of succeeding him, much -as Poulain talked of saving the life of some rich heiress and marrying -her afterwards. No one knows how greedily every post in the gift of -authority is sought after in Paris. Every one wants to live in Paris. If -a stamp or tobacco license falls in, a hundred women rise up as one and -stir all their friends to obtain it. Any vacancy in the ranks of the -twenty-four collectors of taxes sends a flood of ambitious folk surging -in upon the Chamber of Deputies. Decisions are made in committee, all -appointments are made by the Government. Now the salary of a justice -of the peace, the lowest stipendiary magistrate in Paris, is about six -thousand francs. The post of registrar to the court is worth a hundred -thousand francs. Few places are more coveted in the administration. -Fraisier, as a justice of the peace, with the head physician of a -hospital for his friend, would make a rich marriage himself and a good -match for Dr. Poulain. Each would lend a hand to each. - -Night set its leaden seal upon the plans made by the sometime attorney -of Mantes, and a formidable scheme sprouted up, a flourishing scheme, -fertile in harvests of gain and intrigue. La Cibot was the hinge upon -which the whole matter turned; and for this reason, any rebellion on the -part of the instrument must be at once put down; such action on her part -was quite unexpected; but Fraisier had put forth all the strength of -his rancorous nature, and the audacious portress lay trampled under his -feet. - -"Come, reassure yourself, my dear madame," he remarked, holding out -his hand. The touch of the cold, serpent-like skin made a terrible -impression upon the portress. It brought about something like a physical -reaction, which checked her emotion; Mme. Fontaine's toad, Astaroth, -seemed to her to be less deadly than this poison-sac that wore a sandy -wig and spoke in tones like the creaking of a hinge. - -"Do not imagine that I am frightening you to no purpose," Fraisier -continued. (La Cibot's feeling of repulsion had not escaped him.) "The -affairs which made Mme. la Presidente's dreadful reputation are so well -known at the law-courts, that you can make inquiries there if you like. -The great person who was all but sent into a lunatic asylum was the -Marquis d'Espard. The Marquis d'Esgrignon was saved from the hulks. The -handsome young man with wealth and a great future before him, who was -to have married a daughter of one of the first families of France, and -hanged himself in a cell of the Conciergerie, was the celebrated Lucien -de Rubempre; the affair made a great deal of noise in Paris at the time. -That was a question of a will. His mistress, the notorious Esther, died -and left him several millions, and they accused the young fellow of -poisoning her. He was not even in Paris at the time of her death, nor -did he so much as know the woman had left the money to him!--One cannot -well be more innocent than that! Well, after M. Camusot examined him, he -hanged himself in his cell. Law, like medicine, has its victims. In the -first case, one man suffers for the many, and in the second, he dies for -science," he added, and an ugly smile stole over his lips. "Well, I know -the risks myself, you see; poor and obscure little attorney as I am, the -law has been the ruin of me. My experience was dearly bought--it is all -at your service." - -"Thank you, no," said La Cibot; "I will have nothing to do with it, -upon my word!... I shall have nourished ingratitude, that is all! I want -nothing but my due; I have thirty years of honesty behind me, sir. M. -Pons says that he will recommend me to his friend Schmucke; well and -good, I shall end my days in peace with the German, good man." - -Fraisier had overshot his mark. He had discouraged La Cibot. Now he was -obliged to remove these unpleasant impressions. - -"Do not let us give up," he said; "just go away quietly home. Come, now, -we will steer the affair to a good end." - -"But what about my _rentes_, what am I to do to get them, and--" - -"And feel no remorse?" he interrupted quickly. "Eh! it is precisely for -that that men of business were invented; unless you keep within the law, -you get nothing. You know nothing of law; I know a good deal. I will see -that you keep on the right side of it, and you can hold your own in all -men's sight. As for your conscience, that is your own affair." - -"Very well, tell me how to do it," returned La Cibot, curious and -delighted. - -"I do not know how yet. I have not looked at the strong points of the -case yet; I have been busy with the obstacles. But the first thing to be -done is to urge him to make a will; you cannot go wrong over that; and -find out, first of all, how Pons means to leave his fortune; for if you -were his heir--" - -"No, no; he does not like me. Ah! if I had but known the value of his -gimcracks, and if I had known what I know now about his amours, I should -be easy in my mind this day--" - -"Keep on, in fact," broke in Fraisier. "Dying folk have queer fancies, -my dear madame; they disappoint hopes many a time. Let him make his -will, and then we shall see. And of all things, the property must be -valued. So I must see this Remonencq and the Jew; they will be very -useful to us. Put entire confidence in me, I am at your disposal. When a -client is a friend to me, I am his friend through thick and thin. Friend -or enemy, that is my character." - -"Very well," said La Cibot, "I am yours entirely; and as for fees, M. -Poulain--" - -"Let us say nothing about that," said Fraisier. "Think how you can keep -Poulain at the bedside; he is one of the most upright and conscientious -men I know; and, you see, we want some one there whom we can trust. -Poulain would do better than I; I have lost my character." - -"You look as if you had," said La Cibot; "but, for my own part, I should -trust you." - -"And you would do well. Come to see me whenever anything happens, -and--there!--you are an intelligent woman; all will go well." - -"Good-day, M. Fraisier. I hope you will recover your health. Your -servant, sir." - -Fraisier went to the door with his client. But this time it was he, and -not La Cibot, who was struck with an idea on the threshold. - -"If you could persuade M. Pons to call me in, it would be a great step." - -"I will try," said La Cibot. - -Fraisier drew her back into his sanctum. "Look here, old lady, I know -M. Trognon, the notary of the quarter, very well. If M. Pons has not a -notary, mention M. Trognon to him. Make him take M. Trognon--" - -"Right," returned La Cibot. - -And as she came out again she heard the rustle of a dress and the sound -of a stealthy, heavy footstep. - -Out in the street and by herself, Mme. Cibot to some extent recovered -her liberty of mind as she walked. Though the influence of the -conversation was still upon her, and she had always stood in dread of -scaffolds, justice, and judges, she took a very natural resolution which -was to bring about a conflict of strategy between her and her formidable -legal adviser. - -"What do I want with other folk?" said she to herself. "Let us make a -round sum, and afterwards I will take all that they offer me to push -their interests;" and this thought, as will shortly be seen, hastened -the poor old musician's end. - - - -"Well, dear M. Schmucke, and how is our dear, adored patient?" asked La -Cibot, as she came into the room. - -"Fery pad; Bons haf peen vandering all der night." - -"Then, what did he say?" - -"Chust nonsense. He vould dot I haf all his fortune, on kondition dot I -sell nodings.--Den he cried! Boor mann! It made me ver' sad." - -"Never mind, honey," returned the portress. "I have kept you waiting for -your breakfast; it is nine o'clock and past; but don't scold me. I have -business on hand, you see, business of yours. Here are we without any -money, and I have been out to get some." - -"Vere?" asked Schmucke. - -"Of my uncle." - -"Onkel?" - -"Up the spout." - -"Shpout?" - -"Oh! the dear man! how simple he is? No, you are a saint, a love, an -archbishop of innocence, a man that ought to be stuffed, as the old -actor said. What! you have lived in Paris for twenty-nine years; you -saw the Revolution of July, you did, and you have never so much as heard -tell of a pawnbroker--a man that lends you money on your things?--I have -been pawning our silver spoons and forks, eight of them, thread pattern. -Pooh, Cibot can eat his victuals with German silver; it is quite the -fashion now, they say. It is not worth while to say anything to our -angel there; it would upset him and make him yellower than before, and -he is quite cross enough as it is. Let us get him round again first, and -afterwards we shall see. What must be must; and we must take things as -we find them, eh?" - -"Goot voman! nople heart!" cried poor Schmucke, with a great tenderness -in his face. He took La Cibot's hand and clasped it to his breast. When -he looked up, there were tears in his eyes. - -"There, that will do, Papa Schmucke; how funny you are! This is too -bad. I am an old daughter of the people--my heart is in my hand. I have -something _here_, you see, like you have, hearts of gold that you are," -she added, slapping her chest. - -"Baba Schmucke!" continued the musician. "No. To know de tepths of -sorrow, to cry mit tears of blood, to mount up in der hefn--dat is mein -lot! I shall not lif after Bons--" - -"Gracious! I am sure you won't, you are killing yourself.--Listen, pet!" - -"Bet?" - -"Very well, my sonny--" - -"Zonny?" - -"My lamb, then, if you like it better." - -"It is not more clear." - -"Oh, well, let _me_ take care of you and tell you what to do; for if you -go on like this, I shall have both of you laid up on my hands, you see. -To my little way of thinking, we must do the work between us. You cannot -go about Paris to give lessons for it tires you, and then you are not -fit to do anything afterwards, and somebody must sit up of a night with -M. Pons, now that he is getting worse and worse. I will run round to-day -to all your pupils and tell them that you are ill; is it not so? And -then you can spend the nights with our lamb, and sleep of a morning from -five o'clock till, let us say, two in the afternoon. I myself will take -the day, the most tiring part, for there is your breakfast and dinner to -get ready, and the bed to make, and the things to change, and the doses -of medicine to give. I could not hold out for another ten days at this -rate. What would become of you if I were to fall ill? And you yourself, -it makes one shudder to see you; just look at yourself, after sitting up -with him last night!" - -She drew Schmucke to the glass, and Schmucke thought that there was a -great change. - -"So, if you are of my mind, I'll have your breakfast ready in a jiffy. -Then you will look after our poor dear again till two o'clock. Let me -have a list of your people, and I will soon arrange it. You will be -free for a fortnight. You can go to bed when I come in, and sleep till -night." - -So prudent did the proposition seem, that Schmucke then and there agreed -to it. - -"Not a word to M. Pons; he would think it was all over with him, you -know, if we were to tell him in this way that his engagement at the -theatre and his lessons are put off. He would be thinking that he -should not find his pupils again, poor gentleman--stuff and nonsense! M. -Poulain says that we shall save our Benjamin if we keep him as quiet as -possible." - -"Ach! fery goot! Pring up der preakfast; I shall make der bett, and gif -you die attresses!--You are right; it vould pe too much for me." - -An hour later La Cibot, in her Sunday clothes, departed in great state, -to the no small astonishment of the Remonencqs; she promised herself -that she would support the character of confidential servant of the pair -of nutcrackers, in the boarding-schools and private families in which -they gave music-lessons. - -It is needless to repeat all the gossip in which La Cibot indulged -on her round. The members of every family, the head-mistress of every -boarding-school, were treated to a variation upon the theme of -Pons' illness. A single scene, which took place in the Illustrious -Gaudissart's private room, will give a sufficient idea of the rest. La -Cibot met with unheard-of difficulties, but she succeeded in penetrating -at last to the presence. Kings and cabinet ministers are less difficult -of access than the manager of a theatre in Paris; nor is it hard to -understand why such prodigious barriers are raised between them and -ordinary mortals: a king has only to defend himself from ambition; the -manager of a theatre has reason to dread the wounded vanity of actors -and authors. - -La Cibot, however, struck up an acquaintance with the portress, and -traversed all distances in a brief space. There is a sort of freemasonry -among the porter tribe, and, indeed, among the members of every -profession; for each calling has its shibboleth, as well as its -insulting epithet and the mark with which it brands its followers. - -"Ah! madame, you are the portress here," began La Cibot. "I myself am a -portress, in a small way, in a house in the Rue de Normandie. M. Pons, -your conductor, lodges with us. Oh, how glad I should be to have your -place, and see the actors and dancers and authors go past. It is the -marshal's baton in our profession, as the old actor said." - -"And how is M. Pons going on, good man?" inquired the portress. - -"He is not going on at all; he has not left his bed these two months. He -will only leave the house feet foremost, that is certain." - -"He will be missed." - -"Yes. I have come with a message to the manager from him. Just try to -get me a word with him, dear." - -"A lady from M. Pons to see you, sir!" After this fashion did the youth -attached to the service of the manager's office announce La Cibot, whom -the portress below had particularly recommended to his care. - -Gaudissart had just come in for a rehearsal. Chance so ordered it that -no one wished to speak with him; actors and authors were alike late. -Delighted to have news of his conductor, he made a Napoleonic gesture, -and La Cibot was admitted. - -The sometime commercial traveler, now the head of a popular theatre, -regarded his sleeping partners in the light of a legitimate wife; -they were not informed of all his doings. The flourishing state of -his finances had reacted upon his person. Grown big and stout and -high-colored with good cheer and prosperity, Gaudissart made no disguise -of his transformation into a Mondor. - -"We are turning into a city-father," he once said, trying to be the -first to laugh. - -"You are only in the Turcaret stage yet, though," retorted Bixiou, who -often replaced Gaudissart in the company of the leading lady of the -ballet, the celebrated Heloise Brisetout. - -The former Illustrious Gaudissart, in fact, was exploiting the theatre -simply and solely for his own particular benefit, and with brutal -disregard of other interests. He first insinuated himself as a -collaborator in various ballets, plays, and vaudevilles; then he -waited till the author wanted money and bought up the other half of -the copyright. These after-pieces and vaudevilles, always added to -successful plays, brought him in a daily harvest of gold coins. He -trafficked by proxy in tickets, allotting a certain number to himself, -as the manager's share, till he took in this way a tithe of the -receipts. And Gaudissart had other methods of making money besides these -official contributions. He sold boxes, he took presents from indifferent -actresses burning to go upon the stage to fill small speaking parts, -or simply to appear as queens, or pages, and the like; he swelled his -nominal third share of the profits to such purpose that the sleeping -partners scarcely received one-tenth instead of the remaining two-thirds -of the net receipts. Even so, however, the tenth paid them a dividend of -fifteen per cent on their capital. On the strength of that fifteen per -cent Gaudissart talked of his intelligence, honesty, and zeal, and the -good fortune of his partners. When Count Popinot, showing an interest in -the concern, asked Matifat, or General Gouraud (Matifat's son-in-law), -or Crevel, whether they were satisfied with Gaudissart, Gouraud, now a -peer of France, answered, "They say he robs us; but he is such a clever, -good-natured fellow, that we are quite satisfied." - -"This is like La Fontaine's fable," smiled the ex-cabinet minister. - -Gaudissart found investments for his capital in other ventures. He -thought well of Schwab, Brunner, and the Graffs; that firm was promoting -railways, he became a shareholder in the lines. His shrewdness was -carefully hidden beneath the frank carelessness of a man of pleasure; -he seemed to be interested in nothing but amusements and dress, yet he -thought everything over, and his wide experience of business gained as a -commercial traveler stood him in good stead. - -A self-made man, he did not take himself seriously. He gave suppers -and banquets to celebrities in rooms sumptuously furnished by the house -decorator. Showy by nature, with a taste for doing things handsomely, -he affected an easy-going air, and seemed so much the less formidable -because he had kept the slang of "the road" (to use his own expression), -with a few green-room phrases superadded. Now, artists in the theatrical -profession are wont to express themselves with some vigor; Gaudissart -borrowed sufficient racy green-room talk to blend with his commercial -traveler's lively jocularity, and passed for a wit. He was thinking at -that moment of selling his license and "going into another line," as he -said. He thought of being chairman of a railway company, of becoming a -responsible person and an administrator, and finally of marrying Mlle. -Minard, daughter of the richest mayor in Paris. He might hope to get -into the Chamber through "his line," and, with Popinot's influence, to -take office under the Government. - -"Whom have I the honor of addressing?" inquired Gaudissart, looking -magisterially at La Cibot. - -"I am M. Pons' confidential servant, sir." - -"Well, and how is the dear fellow?" - -"Ill, sir--very ill." - -"The devil he is! I am sorry to hear it--I must come and see him; he is -such a man as you don't often find." - -"Ah yes! sir, he is a cherub, he is. I have always wondered how he came -to be in a theatre." - -"Why, madame, the theatre is a house of correction for morals," said -Gaudissart. "Poor Pons!--Upon my word, one ought to cultivate the -species to keep up the stock. 'Tis a pattern man, and has talent too. -When will he be able to take his orchestra again, do you think? A -theatre, unfortunately, is like a stage coach: empty or full, it -starts at the same time. Here at six o'clock every evening, up goes the -curtain; and if we are never sorry for ourselves, it won't make good -music. Let us see now--how is he?" - -La Cibot pulled out her pocket-handkerchief and held it to her eyes. - -"It is a terrible thing to say, my dear sir," said she; "but I am afraid -we shall lose him, though we are as careful of him as of the apple of -our eyes. And, at the same time, I came to say that you must not count -on M. Schmucke, worthy man, for he is going to sit up with him at night. -One cannot help doing as if there was hope still left, and trying one's -best to snatch the dear, good soul from death. But the doctor has given -him up----" - -"What is the matter with him?" - -"He is dying of grief, jaundice, and liver complaint, with a lot of -family affairs to complicate matters." - -"And a doctor as well," said Gaudissart. "He ought to have had Lebrun, -our doctor; it would have cost him nothing." - -"M. Pons' doctor is a Providence on earth. But what can a doctor do, no -matter how clever he is, with such complications?" - -"I wanted the good pair of nutcrackers badly for the accompaniment of my -new fairy piece." - -"Is there anything that I can do for them?" asked La Cibot, and her -expression would have done credit to a Jocrisse. - -Gaudissart burst out laughing. - -"I am their housekeeper, sir, and do many things for my gentlemen--" -She did not finish her speech, for in the middle of Gaudissart's roar of -laughter a woman's voice exclaimed, "If you are laughing, old man, one -may come in," and the leading lady of the ballet rushed into the -room and flung herself upon the only sofa. The newcomer was Heloise -Brisetout, with a splendid _algerienne_, such as scarves used to be -called, about her shoulders. - -"Who is amusing you? Is it this lady? What post does she want?" asked -this nymph, giving the manager such a glance as artist gives artist, a -glance that would make a subject for a picture. - -Heloise, a young woman of exceedingly literary tastes, was on intimate -terms with great and famous artists in Bohemia. Elegant, accomplished, -and graceful, she was more intelligent than dancers usually are. As she -put her question, she sniffed at a scent-bottle full of some aromatic -perfume. - -"One fine woman is as good as another, madame; and if I don't sniff the -pestilence out of a scent-bottle, nor daub brickdust on my cheeks--" - -"That would be a sinful waste, child, when Nature put it on for you to -begin with," said Heloise, with a side glance at her manager. - -"I am an honest woman--" - -"So much the worse for you. It is not every one by a long chalk that -can find some one to keep them, and kept I am, and in slap-up style, -madame." - -"So much the worse! What do you mean? Oh, you may toss your head and -go about in scarves, you will never have as many declarations as I have -had, missus. You will never match the _Belle Ecaillere of the Cadran -Bleu_." - -Heloise Brisetout rose at once to her feet, stood at attention, and made -a military salute, like a soldier who meets his general. - -"What?" asked Gaudissart, "are you really _La Belle Ecaillere_ of whom -my father used to talk?" - -"In that case the cachucha and the polka were after your time; and -madame has passed her fiftieth year," remarked Heloise, and striking an -attitude, she declaimed, "'Cinna, let us be friends.'" - -"Come, Heloise, the lady is not up to this; let her alone." - -"Madame is perhaps the New Heloise," suggested La Cibot, with sly -innocence. - -"Not bad, old lady!" cried Gaudissart. - -"It is a venerable joke," said the dancer, "a grizzled pun; find us -another old lady--or take a cigarette." - -"I beg your pardon, madame, I feel too unhappy to answer you; my two -gentlemen are very ill; and to buy nourishment for them and to spare -them trouble, I have pawned everything down to my husband's clothes that -I pledged this morning. Here is the ticket!" - -"Oh! here, the affair is becoming tragic," cried the fair Heloise. "What -is it all about?" - -"Madame drops down upon us like--" - -"Like a dancer," said Heloise; "let me prompt you,--missus!" - -"Come, I am busy," said Gaudissart. "The joke has gone far enough. -Heloise, this is M. Pons' confidential servant; she had come to tell me -that I must not count upon him; our poor conductor is not expected to -live. I don't know what to do." - -"Oh! poor man; why, he must have a benefit." - -"It would ruin him," said Gaudissart. "He might find next day that he -owed five hundred francs to charitable institutions, and they refuse to -admit that there are any sufferers in Paris except their own. No, look -here, my good woman, since you are going in for the Montyon prize----" - -He broke off, rang the bell, and the youth before mentioned suddenly -appeared. - -"Tell the cashier to send me up a thousand-franc note.--Sit down, -madame." - -"Ah! poor woman, look, she is crying!" exclaimed Heloise. "How stupid! -There, there, mother, we will go to see him; don't cry.--I say, now," -she continued, taking the manager into a corner, "you want to make me -take the leading part in the ballet in _Ariane_, you Turk. You are going -to be married, and you know how I can make you miserable--" - -"Heloise, my heart is copper-bottomed like a man-of-war." - -"I shall bring your children on the scene! I will borrow some -somewhere." - -"I have owned up about the attachment." - -"Do be nice, and give Pons' post to Garangeot; he has talent, poor -fellow, and he has not a penny; and I promise peace." - -"But wait till Pons is dead, in case the good man may come back again." - -"Oh, as to that, no, sir," said La Cibot. "He began to wander in -his mind last night, and now he is delirious. It will soon be over, -unfortunately." - -"At any rate, take Garangeot as a stop-gap!" pleaded Heloise. "He has -the whole press on his side--" - -Just at that moment the cashier came in with a note for a thousand -francs in his hand. - -"Give it to madame here," said Gaudissart. "Good-day, my good woman; -take good care of the dear man, and tell him that I am coming to see him -to-morrow, or sometime--as soon as I can, in short." - -"A drowning man," said Heloise. - -"Ah, sir, hearts like yours are only found in a theatre. May God bless -you!" - -"To what account shall I post this item?" asked the cashier. - -"I will countersign the order. Post it to the bonus account." - -Before La Cibot went out, she made Mlle. Brisetout a fine courtesy, and -heard Gaudissart remark to his mistress: - -"Can Garangeot do the dance-music for the _Mohicans_ in twelve days? If -he helps me out of my predicament, he shall have Pons' place." - -La Cibot had cut off the incomes of the two friends, she had left them -without means of subsistence if Pons should chance to recover, and was -better rewarded for all this mischief than for any good that she had -done. In a few days' time her treacherous trick would bring about the -desired result--Elie Magus would have his coveted pictures. But if -this first spoliation was to be effected, La Cibot must throw dust -in Fraisier's eyes, and lull the suspicions of that terrible -fellow-conspirator of her own seeking; and Elie Magus and Remonencq must -be bound over to secrecy. - -As for Remonencq, he had gradually come to feel such a passion as -uneducated people can conceive when they come to Paris from the depths -of the country, bringing with them all the fixed ideas bred of the -solitary country life; all the ignorance of a primitive nature, all the -brute appetites that become so many fixed ideas. Mme. Cibot's masculine -beauty, her vivacity, her market-woman's wit, had all been remarked by -the marine store-dealer. He thought at first of taking La Cibot from her -husband, bigamy among the lower classes in Paris being much more common -than is generally supposed; but greed was like a slip-knot drawn more -and more tightly about his heart, till reason at length was stifled. -When Remonencq computed that the commission paid by himself and Elie -Magus amounted to about forty thousand francs, he determined to have -La Cibot for his legitimate spouse, and his thoughts turned from -a misdemeanor to a crime. A romantic purely speculative dream, -persistently followed through a tobacco-smoker's long musings as he -lounged in the doorway, had brought him to the point of wishing that the -little tailor were dead. At a stroke he beheld his capital trebled; and -then he thought of La Cibot. What a good saleswoman she would be! What a -handsome figure she would make in a magnificent shop on the boulevards! -The twofold covetousness turned Remonencq's head. In fancy he took a -shop that he knew of on the Boulevard de la Madeleine, he stocked it -with Pons' treasures, and then--after dreaming his dream in sheets of -gold, after seeing millions in the blue spiral wreaths that rose from -his pipe, he awoke to find himself face to face with the little tailor. -Cibot was sweeping the yard, the doorstep, and the pavement just as -his neighbor was taking down the shutters and displaying his wares; for -since Pons fell ill, La Cibot's work had fallen to her husband. - -The Auvergnat began to look upon the little, swarthy, stunted, -copper-colored tailor as the one obstacle in his way, and pondered how -to be rid of him. Meanwhile this growing passion made La Cibot very -proud, for she had reached an age when a woman begins to understand that -she may grow old. - -So early one morning, she meditatively watched Remonencq as he arranged -his odds and ends for sale. She wondered how far his love could go. He -came across to her. - -"Well," he said, "are things going as you wish?" - -"It is you who makes me uneasy," said La Cibot. "I shall be talked -about; the neighbors will see you making sheep's eyes at me." - -She left the doorway and dived into the Auvergnat's back shop. - -"What a notion!" said Remonencq. - -"Come here, I have something to say to you," said La Cibot. "M. Pons' -heirs are about to make a stir; they are capable of giving us a lot of -trouble. God knows what might come of it if they send the lawyers here -to poke their noses into the affair like hunting-dogs. I cannot get M. -Schmucke to sell a few pictures unless you like me well enough to keep -the secret--such a secret!--With your head on the block, you must not -say where the pictures come from, nor who it was that sold them. When M. -Pons is once dead and buried, you understand, nobody will know how many -pictures there ought to be; if there are fifty-three pictures instead of -sixty-seven, nobody will be any the wiser. Besides, if M. Pons sold them -himself while he was alive, nobody can find fault." - -"No," agreed Remonencq, "it is all one to me, but M. Elie Magus will -want receipts in due form." - -"And you shall have your receipt too, bless your life! Do you suppose -that _I_ should write them?--No, M. Schmucke will do that. But tell your -Jew that he must keep the secret as closely as you do," she continued. - -"We will be as mute as fishes. That is our business. I myself can read, -but I cannot write, and that is why I want a capable wife that has had -education like you. I have thought of nothing but earning my bread all -my days, and now I wish I had some little Remonencqs. Do leave that -Cibot of yours." - -"Why, here comes your Jew," said the portress; "we can arrange the whole -business." - -Elie Magus came every third day very early in the morning to know when -he could buy his pictures. "Well, my dear lady," said he, "how are we -getting on?" - -"Has nobody been to speak to you about M. Pons and his gimcracks?" asked -La Cibot. - -"I received a letter from a lawyer," said Elie Magus, "a rascal that -seems to me to be trying to work for himself; I don't like people of -that sort, so I took no notice of his letter. Three days afterwards he -came to see me, and left his card. I told my porter that I am never at -home when he calls." - -"You are a love of a Jew," said La Cibot. Little did she know Elie -Magus' prudence. "Well, sonnies, in a few days' time I will bring M. -Schmucke to the point of selling you seven or eight pictures, ten at -most. But on two conditions.--Absolute secrecy in the first place. -M. Schmucke will send for you, sir, is not that so? And M. Remonencq -suggested that you might be a purchaser, eh?--And, come what may, I will -not meddle in it for nothing. You are giving forty-six thousand francs -for four pictures, are you not?" - -"So be it," groaned the Jew. - -"Very good. This is the second condition. You will give me _forty-three_ -thousand francs, and pay three thousand only to M. Schmucke; Remonencq -will buy four for two thousand francs, and hand over the surplus to -me.--But at the same time, you see my dear M. Magus, I am going to help -you and Remonencq to a splendid bit of business--on condition that the -profits are shared among the three of us. I will introduce you to that -lawyer, as he, no doubt, will come here. You shall make a valuation of -M. Pons' things at the prices which you can give for them, so that M. -Fraisier may know how much the property is worth. But--not until after -our sale, you understand!" - -"I understand," said the Jew, "but it takes time to look at the things -and value them." - -"You shall have half a day. But, there, that is my affair. Talk it over -between yourselves, my boys, and for that matter the business will be -settled by the day after to-morrow. I will go round to speak to this -Fraisier; for Dr. Poulain tells him everything that goes on in the -house, and it is a great bother to keep that scarecrow quiet." - -La Cibot met Fraisier halfway between the Rue de la Perle and the Rue -de Normandie; so impatient was he to know the "elements of the case" (to -use his own expression), that he was coming to see her. - -"I say! I was going to you," said she. - -Fraisier grumbled because Elie Magus had refused to see him. But La -Cibot extinguished the spark of distrust that gleamed in the lawyer's -eyes by informing him that Elie Magus had returned from a journey, -and that she would arrange for an interview in Pons' rooms and for the -valuation of the property; for the day after to-morrow at latest. - -"Deal frankly with me," returned Fraisier. "It is more than probable -that I shall act for M. Pons' next-of-kin. In that case, I shall be even -better able to serve you." - -The words were spoken so drily that La Cibot quaked. This starving limb -of the law was sure to manoeuvre on his side as she herself was doing. -She resolved forthwith to hurry on the sale of the pictures. - -La Cibot was right. The doctor and lawyer had clubbed together to buy -a new suit of clothes in which Fraisier could decently present himself -before Mme. la Presidente Camusot de Marville. Indeed, if the clothes -had been ready, the interview would have taken place sooner, for the -fate of the couple hung upon its issues. Fraisier left Mme. Cibot, and -went to try on his new clothes. He found them waiting for him, went -home, adjusted his new wig, and towards ten o'clock that morning set out -in a carriage from a livery stable for the Rue de Hanovre, hoping for an -audience. In his white tie, yellow gloves, and new wig, redolent of _eau -de Portugal_, he looked something like a poisonous essence kept in a -cut-glass bottle, seeming but the more deadly because everything about -it is daintily neat, from the stopper covered with white kid to the -label and the thread. His peremptory manner, the eruption on his -blotched countenance, the green eyes, and a malignant something about -him,--all these things struck the beholder with the same sense of -surprise as storm-clouds in a blue sky. If in his private office, as -he showed himself to La Cibot, he was the common knife that a murderer -catches up for his crime,--now, at the Presidente's door, he was the -daintily-wrought dagger which a woman sets among the ornaments on her -what-not. - -A great change had taken place in the Rue de Hanovre. The Count and -Countess Popinot and the young people would not allow the President and -his wife to leave the house that they had settled upon their daughter to -pay rent elsewhere. M. and Mme. la Presidente, therefore, were installed -on the second floor, now left at liberty, for the elderly lady had made -up her mind to end her days in the country. - -Mme. Camusot took Madeleine Vivet, with her cook and her man-servant, -to the second floor, and would have been as much pinched for money as in -the early days, if the house had not been rent free, and the President's -salary increased to ten thousand francs. This _aurea mediocritas_ was -but little satisfactory to Mme. de Marville. Even now she wished for -means more in accordance with her ambitions; for when she handed over -their fortune to their daughter, she spoiled her husband's prospects. -Now Amelie had set her heart upon seeing her husband in the Chamber of -Deputies; she was not one of those women who find it easy to give up -their way; and she by no means despaired of returning her husband for -the arrondissement in which Marville is situated. So for the past two -months she had teased her father-in-law, M. le Baron Camusot (for the -new peer of France had been advanced to that rank), and done her utmost -to extort an advance of a hundred thousand francs of the inheritance -which one day would be theirs. She wanted, she said, to buy a small -estate worth about two thousand francs per annum set like a wedge -within the Marville lands. There she and her husband would be near their -children and in their own house, while the addition would round out the -Marville property. With that the Presidente laid stress upon the recent -sacrifices which she and her husband had been compelled to make in order -to marry Cecile to Viscount Popinot, and asked the old man how he could -bar his eldest son's way to the highest honors of the magistracy, when -such honors were only to be had by those who made themselves a strong -position in parliament. Her husband would know how to take up such a -position, he would make himself feared by those in office, and so on and -so on. - -"They do nothing for you unless you tighten a halter round their necks -to loosen their tongues," said she. "They are ungrateful. What do they -not owe to Camusot! Camusot brought the House of Orleans to the throne -by enforcing the ordinances of July." - -M. Camusot senior answered that he had gone out of his depth in railway -speculations. He quite admitted that it was necessary to come to the -rescue, but put off the day until shares should rise, as they were -expected to do. - -This half-promise, extracted some few days before Fraisier's visit, -had plunged the Presidente into depths of affliction. It was doubtful -whether the ex-proprietor of Marville was eligible for re-election -without the land qualification. - -Fraisier found no difficulty in obtaining speech of Madeleine Vivet; -such viper natures own their kinship at once. - -"I should like to see Mme. la Presidente for a few moments, -mademoiselle," Fraisier said in bland accents; "I have come on a matter -of business which touches her fortune; it is a question of a legacy, -be sure to mention that. I have not the honor of being known to Mme. la -Presidente, so my name is of no consequence. I am not in the habit of -leaving my chambers, but I know the respect that is due to a President's -wife, and I took the trouble of coming myself to save all possible -delay." - -The matter thus broached, when repeated and amplified by the -waiting-maid, naturally brought a favorable answer. It was a decisive -moment for the double ambition hidden in Fraisier's mind. Bold as a -petty provincial attorney, sharp, rough-spoken, and curt as he was, he -felt as captains feel before the decisive battle of a campaign. As he -went into the little drawing-room where Amelie was waiting for him, he -felt a slight perspiration breaking out upon his forehead and down -his back. Every sudorific hitherto employed had failed to produce this -result upon a skin which horrible diseases had left impervious. "Even -if I fail to make my fortune," said he to himself, "I shall recover. -Poulain said that if I could only perspire I should recover." - -The Presidente came forward in her morning gown. - -"Madame--" said Fraisier, stopping short to bow with the humility by -which officials recognize the superior rank of the person whom they -address. - -"Take a seat, monsieur," said the Presidente. She saw at a glance that -this was a man of law. - -"Mme. la Presidente, if I take the liberty of calling your attention to -a matter which concerns M. le President, it is because I am sure that M. -de Marville, occupying, as he does, a high position, would leave -matters to take their natural course, and so lose seven or eight hundred -thousand francs, a sum which ladies (who, in my opinion, have a -far better understanding of private business than the best of -magistrates)--a sum which ladies, I repeat, would by no means despise--" - -"You spoke of a legacy," interrupted the lady, dazzled by the wealth, -and anxious to hide her surprise. Amelie de Marville, like an impatient -novel-reader, wanted the end of the story. - -"Yes, madame, a legacy that you are like to lose; yes, to lose -altogether; but I can, that is, I _could_, recover it for you, if--" - -"Speak out, monsieur." Mme. de Marville spoke frigidly, scanning -Fraisier as she spoke with a sagacious eye. - -"Madame, your eminent capacity is known to me; I was once at Mantes. M. -Leboeuf, President of the Tribunal, is acquainted with M. de Marville, -and can answer inquiries about me--" - -The Presidente's shrug was so ruthlessly significant, that Fraisier was -compelled to make short work of his parenthetic discourse. - -"So distinguished a woman will at once understand why I speak of myself -in the first place. It is the shortest way to the property." - -To this acute observation the lady replied by a gesture. Fraisier took -the sign for a permission to continue. - -"I was an attorney, madame, at Mantes. My connection was all the fortune -that I was likely to have. I took over M. Levroux's practice. You knew -him, no doubt?" - -The Presidente inclined her head. - -"With borrowed capital and some ten thousand francs of my own, I went -to Mantes. I had been with Desroches, one of the cleverest attorneys in -Paris, I had been his head-clerk for six years. I was so unlucky as to -make an enemy of the attorney for the crown at Mantes, Monsieur--" - -"Olivier Vinet." - -"Son of the Attorney-General, yes, madame. He was paying his court to a -little person--" - -"Whom?" - -"Mme. Vatinelle." - -"Oh! Mme. Vatinelle. She was very pretty and very--er--when I was -there--" - -"She was not unkind to me: _inde iroe_," Fraisier continued. "I was -industrious; I wanted to repay my friends and to marry; I wanted work; -I went in search of it; and before long I had more on my hands than -anybody else. Bah! I had every soul in Mantes against me--attorneys, -notaries, and even the bailiffs. They tried to fasten a quarrel on me. -In our ruthless profession, as you know, madame, if you wish to ruin a -man, it is soon done. I was concerned for both parties in a case, and -they found it out. It was a trifle irregular; but it is sometimes done -in Paris, attorneys in certain cases hand the rhubarb and take the -senna. They do things differently at Mantes. I had done M. Bouyonnet -this little service before; but, egged on by his colleagues and the -attorney for the crown, he betrayed me.--I am keeping back nothing, you -see.--There was a great hue and cry about it. I was a scoundrel; they -made me out blacker than Marat; forced me to sell out; ruined me. And I -am in Paris now. I have tried to get together a practice; but my health -is so bad, that I have only two quiet hours out of the twenty-four. - -"At this moment I have but one ambition, and a very small one. Some -day," he continued, "you will be the wife of the Keeper of the Seals, or -of the Home Secretary, it may be; but I, poor and sickly as I am, desire -nothing but a post in which I can live in peace for the rest of my life, -a place without any opening in which to vegetate. I should like to be a -justice of the peace in Paris. It would be a mere trifle for you and M. -le President to gain the appointment for me; for the present Keeper of -the Seals must be anxious to keep on good terms with you... - -"And that is not all, madame," added Fraisier. Seeing that Mme. de -Marville was about to speak, he cut her short with a gesture. "I have a -friend, the doctor in attendance on the old man who ought to leave his -property to M. le President. (We are coming to the point, you see.) The -doctor's co-operation is indispensable, and the doctor is precisely in -my position: he has abilities, he is unlucky. I learned through him how -far your interests were imperiled; for even as I speak, all may be over, -and the will disinheriting M. le President may have been made. This -doctor wishes to be head-surgeon of a hospital or of a Government -school. He must have a position in Paris equal to mine.... Pardon me -if I have enlarged on a matter so delicate; but we must have no -misunderstandings in this business. The doctor is, besides, much -respected and learned; he saved the life of the Comtesse Popinot's -great-uncle, M. Pillerault. - -"Now, if you are so good as to promise these two posts--the appointment -of justice of the peace and the sinecure for my friend--I will undertake -to bring you the property, _almost_ intact.--Almost intact, I say, for -the co-operation of the legatee and several other persons is absolutely -indispensable, and some obligations will be incurred. You will not -redeem your promises until I have fulfilled mine." - -The Presidente had folded her arms, and for the last minute or two sat -like a person compelled to listen to a sermon. Now she unfolded her -arms, and looked at Fraisier as she said, "Monsieur, all that you -say concerning your interests has the merit of clearness; but my own -interests in the matter are by no means so clear--" - -"A word or two will explain everything, madame. M. le President is M. -Pons' first cousin once removed, and his sole heir. M. Pons is very ill; -he is about to make his will, if it is not already made, in favor of -a German, a friend of his named Schmucke; and he has more than seven -hundred thousand francs to leave. I hope to have an accurate valuation -made in two or three days--" - -"If this is so," said the Presidente, "I made a great mistake in -quarreling with him and throwing the blame----" she thought aloud, -amazed by the possibility of such a sum. - -"No, madame. If there had been no rupture, he would be as blithe as a -lark at this moment, and might outlive you and M. le President and me. -... The ways of Providence are mysterious, let us not seek to fathom -them," he added to palliate to some extent the hideous idea. "It cannot -be helped. We men of business look at the practical aspects of things. -Now you see clearly, madame, that M. de Marville in his public position -would do nothing, and could do nothing, as things are. He has broken -off all relations with his cousin. You see nothing now of Pons; you have -forbidden him the house; you had excellent reasons, no doubt, for doing -as you did, but the old man is ill, and he is leaving his property to -the only friend left to him. A President of the Court of Appeal in Paris -could say nothing under such circumstances if the will was made out in -due form. But between ourselves, madame, when one has a right to expect -seven or eight hundred thousand francs--or a million, it may be (how -should I know?)--it is very unpleasant to have it slip through one's -fingers, especially if one happens to be the heir-at-law.... But, on the -other hand, to prevent this, one is obliged to stoop to dirty work; -work so difficult, so ticklish, bringing you cheek by jowl with such low -people, servants and subordinates; and into such close contact with them -too, that no barrister, no attorney in Paris could take up such a case. - -"What you want is a briefless barrister like me," said he, "a man who -should have real and solid ability, who has learned to be devoted, and -yet, being in a precarious position, is brought temporarily to a level -with such people. In my arrondissement I undertake business for small -tradespeople and working folk. Yes, madame, you see the straits to which -I have been brought by the enmity of an attorney for the crown, now -a deputy-public prosecutor in Paris, who could not forgive me my -superiority.--I know you, madame, I know that your influence means a -solid certainty; and in such a service rendered to you, I saw the end of -my troubles and success for my friend Dr. Poulain." - -The lady sat pensive during a moment of unspeakable torture -for Fraisier. Vinet, an orator of the Centre, attorney-general -(_procureur-general_) for the past sixteen years, nominated half-a-score -of times for the chancellorship, the father, moreover, of the attorney -for the crown at Mantes who had been appointed to a post in Paris -within the last year--Vinet was an enemy and a rival for the malignant -Presidente. The haughty attorney-general did not hide his contempt for -President Camusot. This fact Fraisier did not know, and could not know. - -"Have you nothing on your conscience but the fact that you were -concerned for both parties?" asked she, looking steadily at Fraisier. - -"Mme. la Presidente can see M. Leboeuf; M. Leboeuf was favorable to me." - -"Do you feel sure that M. Leboeuf will give M. de Marville and M. le -Comte Popinot a good account of you?" - -"I will answer for it, especially now that M. Olivier Vinet has left -Mantes; for between ourselves, good M. Leboeuf was afraid of that -crabbed little official. If you will permit me, Madame La Presidente, I -will go to Mantes and see M. Leboeuf. No time will be lost, for I cannot -be certain of the precise value of the property for two or three days. -I do not wish that you should know all the ins and outs of this affair; -you ought not to know them, Mme. la Presidente, but is not the reward -that I expect for my complete devotion a pledge of my success?" - -"Very well. If M. Leboeuf will speak in your favor, and if the property -is worth as much as you think (I doubt it myself), you shall have both -appointments, _if_ you succeed, mind you--" - -"I will answer for it, madame. Only, you must be so good as to have your -notary and your attorney here when I shall need them; you must give me -a power of attorney to act for M. le President, and tell those -gentlemen to follow my instructions, and to do nothing on their own -responsibility." - -"The responsibility rests with you," the Presidente answered solemnly, -"so you ought to have full powers.--But is M. Pons very ill?" she asked, -smiling. - -"Upon my word, madame, he might pull through, especially with so -conscientious a doctor as Poulain in attendance; for this friend of -mine, madame, is simply an unconscious spy directed by me in your -interests. Left to himself, he would save the old man's life; but there -is some one else by the sickbed, a portress, who would push him into the -grave for thirty thousand francs. Not that she would kill him outright; -she will not give him arsenic, she is not so merciful; she will do -worse, she will kill him by inches; she will worry him to death day by -day. If the poor old man were kept quiet and left in peace; if he were -taken into the country and cared for and made much of by friends, he -would get well again; but he is harassed by a sort of Mme. Evrard. When -the woman was young she was one of thirty _Belles Ecailleres_, famous in -Paris, she is a rough, greedy, gossiping woman; she torments him to make -a will and to leave her something handsome, and the end of it will be -induration of the liver, calculi are possibly forming at this moment, -and he has not enough strength to bear an operation. The doctor, noble -soul, is in a horrible predicament. He really ought to send the woman -away--" - -"Why, then, this vixen is a monster!" cried the lady in thin flute-like -tones. - -Fraisier smiled inwardly at the likeness between himself and the -terrible Presidente; he knew all about those suave modulations of a -naturally sharp voice. He thought of another president, the hero of an -anecdote related by Louis XI., stamped by that monarch's final praise. -Blessed with a wife after the pattern of Socrates' spouse, and ungifted -with the sage's philosophy, he mingled salt with the corn in the mangers -and forbad the grooms to give water to the horses. As his wife rode -along the Seine towards their country-house, the animals bolted into the -river with the lady, and the magistrate returned thanks to Providence -for ridding him of his wife "in so natural a manner." At this present -moment Mme. de Marville thanked Heaven for placing at Pons' bedside a -woman so likely to get him "decently" out of the way. - -Aloud she said, "I would not take a million at the price of a single -scruple.--Your friend ought to speak to M. Pons and have the woman sent -away." - -"In the first place, madame, Messrs. Schmucke and Pons think the woman -an angel; they would send my friend away. And secondly, the doctor lies -under an obligation to this horrid oyster-woman; she called him in to -attend M. Pillerault. When he tells her to be as gentle as possible with -the patient, he simply shows the creature how to make matters worse." - -"What does your friend think of _my_ cousin's condition?" - -This man's clear, business-like way of putting the facts of the case -frightened Mme. de Marville; she felt that his keen gaze read the -thoughts of a heart as greedy as La Cibot's own. - -"In six weeks the property will change hands." - -The Presidente dropped her eyes. - -"Poor man!" she sighed, vainly striving after a dolorous expression. - -"Have you any message, madame, for M. Leboeuf? I am taking the train to -Mantes." - -"Yes. Wait a moment, and I will write to ask him to dine with us -to-morrow. I want to see him, so that he may act in concert to repair -the injustice to which you have fallen a victim." - -The Presidente left the room. Fraisier saw himself a justice of the -peace. He felt transformed at the thought; he grew stouter; his lungs -were filled with the breath of success, the breeze of prosperity. He -dipped into the mysterious reservoirs of volition for fresh and strong -doses of the divine essence. To reach success, he felt, as Remonencq -half felt, that he was ready for anything, for crime itself, provided -that no proofs of it remained. He had faced the Presidente boldly; he -had transmuted conjecture into reality; he had made assertions right -and left, all to the end that she might authorize him to protect her -interests and win her influence. As he stood there, he represented the -infinite misery of two lives, and the no less boundless desires of two -men. He spurned the squalid horrors of the Rue de la Perle. He saw the -glitter of a thousand crowns in fees from La Cibot, and five thousand -francs from the Presidente. This meant an abode such as befitted his -future prospects. Finally, he was repaying Dr. Poulain. - -There are hard, ill-natured beings, goaded by distress or disease into -active malignity, that yet entertain diametrically opposed sentiments -with a like degree of vehemence. If Richelieu was a good hater, he -was no less a good friend. Fraisier, in his gratitude, would have let -himself be cut in two for Poulain. - -So absorbed was he in these visions of a comfortable and prosperous -life, that he did not see the Presidente come in with the letter in her -hand, and she, looking at him, thought him less ugly now than at first. -He was about to be useful to her, and as soon as a tool belongs to us we -look upon it with other eyes. - -"M. Fraisier," said she, "you have convinced me of your intelligence, -and I think that you can speak frankly." - -Fraisier replied by an eloquent gesture. - -"Very well," continued the lady, "I must ask you to give a candid reply -to this question: Are we, either of us, M. de Marville or I, likely to -be compromised, directly or indirectly, by your action in this matter?" - -"I would not have come to you, madame, if I thought that some day I -should have to reproach myself for bringing so much as a splash of mud -upon you, for in your position a speck the size of a pin's head is seen -by all the world. You forget, madame, that I must satisfy you if I am -to be a justice of the peace in Paris. I have received one lesson at the -outset of my life; it was so sharp that I do not care to lay myself open -to a second thrashing. To sum it up in a last word, madame, I will not -take a step in which you are indirectly involved without previously -consulting you--" - -"Very good. Here is the letter. And now I shall expect to be informed of -the exact value of the estate." - -"There is the whole matter," said Fraisier shrewdly, making his bow -to the Presidente with as much graciousness as his countenance could -exhibit. - -"What a providence!" thought Mme. Camusot de Marville. "So I am to be -rich! Camusot will be sure of his election if we let loose this Fraisier -upon the Bolbec constituency. What a tool!" - -"What a providence!" Fraisier said to himself as he descended the -staircase; "and what a sharp woman Mme. Camusot is! I should want a -woman in these circumstances. Now to work!" - -And he departed for Mantes to gain the good graces of a man he scarcely -knew; but he counted upon Mme. Vatinelle, to whom, unfortunately, he -owed all his troubles--and some troubles are of a kind that resemble -a protested bill while the defaulter is yet solvent, in that they bear -interest. - -Three days afterwards, while Schmucke slept (for in accordance with the -compact he now sat up at night with the patient), La Cibot had a "tiff," -as she was pleased to call it, with Pons. It will not be out of place -to call attention to one particularly distressing symptom of liver -complaint. The sufferer is always more or less inclined to impatience -and fits of anger; an outburst of this kind seems to give relief at the -time, much as a patient while the fever fit is upon him feels that he -has boundless strength; but collapse sets in so soon as the excitement -passes off, and the full extent of mischief sustained by the system -is discernible. This is especially the case when the disease has been -induced by some great shock; and the prostration is so much the more -dangerous because the patient is kept upon a restricted diet. It is -a kind of fever affecting neither the blood nor the brain, but the -humoristic mechanism, fretting the whole system, producing melancholy, -in which the patient hates himself; in such a crisis anything may cause -dangerous irritation. - -In spite of all that the doctor could say, La Cibot had no belief in -this wear and tear of the nervous system by the humoristic. She was -a woman of the people, without experience or education; Dr. Poulain's -explanations for her were simply "doctor's notions." Like most of her -class, she thought that sick people must be fed, and nothing short of -Dr. Poulain's direct order prevented her from administering ham, a nice -omelette, or vanilla chocolate upon the sly. - -The infatuation of the working classes on this point is very strong. -The reason of their reluctance to enter a hospital is the idea that they -will be starved there. The mortality caused by the food smuggled in by -the wives of patients on visiting-days was at one time so great that the -doctors were obliged to institute a very strict search for contraband -provisions. - -If La Cibot was to realize her profits at once, a momentary quarrel must -be worked up in some way. She began by telling Pons about her visit to -the theatre, not omitting her passage at arms with Mlle. Heloise the -dancer. - -"But why did you go?" the invalid asked for the third time. La Cibot -once launched on a stream of words, he was powerless to stop her. - -"So, then, when I had given her a piece of my mind, Mademoiselle Heloise -saw who I was and knuckled under, and we were the best of friends.--And -now do you ask me why I went?" she added, repeating Pons' question. - -There are certain babblers, babblers of genius are they, who sweep -up interruptions, objections, and observations in this way as they go -along, by way of provision to swell the matter of their conversation, as -if that source were ever in any danger of running dry. - -"Why I went?" repeated she. "I went to get your M. Gaudissart out of -a fix. He wants some music for a ballet, and you are hardly fit to -scribble on sheets of paper and do your work, dearie.--So I understood, -things being so, that a M. Garangeot was to be asked to set the -_Mohicans_ to music--" - -"Garangeot!" roared Pons in fury. "_Garangeot!_ a man with no talent; I -would not have him for first violin! He is very clever, he is very good -at musical criticism, but as to composing--I doubt it! And what the -devil put the notion of going to the theatre into your head?" - -"How confoundedly contrairy the man is! Look here, dearie, we mustn't -boil over like milk on the fire! How are you to write music in the state -that you are in? Why, you can't have looked at yourself in the glass! -Will you have the glass and see? You are nothing but skin and bone--you -are as weak as a sparrow, and do you think that you are fit to make your -notes! why, you would not so much as make out mine.... And that reminds -me that I ought to go up to the third floor lodger's that owes us -seventeen francs, for when the chemist has been paid we shall not have -twenty left.--So I had to tell M. Gaudissart (I like that name), a good -sort he seems to be,--a regular Roger Bontemps that would just suit -me.--_He_ will never have liver complaint!--Well, so I had to tell him -how you were.--Lord! you are not well, and he has put some one else in -your place for a bit--" - -"Some one else in my place!" cried Pons in a terrible voice, as he -sat right up in bed. Sick people, generally speaking, and those most -particularly who lie within the sweep of the scythe of Death, cling to -their places with the same passionate energy that the beginner displays -to gain a start in life. To hear that someone had taken his place was -like a foretaste of death to the dying man. - -"Why, the doctor told me that I was going on as well as possible," -continued he; "he said that I should soon be about again as usual. You -have killed me, ruined me, murdered me!" - -"Tut, tut, tut!" cried La Cibot, "there you go! I am killing you, am I? -Mercy on us! these are the pretty things that you are always telling M. -Schmucke when my back is turned. I hear all that you say, that I do! You -are a monster of ingratitude." - -"But you do not know that if I am only away for another fortnight, they -will tell me that I have had my day, that I am old-fashioned, out of -date, Empire, rococo, when I go back. Garangeot will have made friends -all over the theatre, high and low. He will lower the pitch to suit some -actress that cannot sing, he will lick M. Gaudissart's boots!" cried the -sick man, who clung to life. "He has friends that will praise him in -all the newspapers; and when things are like that in such a shop, Mme. -Cibot, they can find holes in anybody's coat. ... What fiend drove you -to do it?" - -"Why! plague take it, M. Schmucke talked it over with me for a week. -What would you have? You see nothing but yourself! You are so selfish -that other people may die if you can only get better.--Why poor M. -Schmucke has been tired out this month past! he is tied by the leg, -he can go nowhere, he cannot give lessons nor take his place at the -theatre. Do you really see nothing? He sits up with you at night, and I -take the nursing in the day. If I were to sit up at night with you, as -I tried to do at first when I thought you were so poor, I should have to -sleep all day. And who would see to the house and look out for squalls! -Illness is illness, it cannot be helped, and here are you--" - -"This was not Schmucke's idea, it is quite impossible--" - -"That means that it was _I_ who took it into my head to do it, does it? -Do you think that we are made of iron? Why, if M. Schmucke had given -seven or eight lessons every day and conducted the orchestra every -evening at the theatre from six o'clock till half-past eleven at night, -he would have died in ten days' time. Poor man, he would give his life -for you, and do you want to be the death of him? By the authors of my -days, I have never seen a sick man to match you! Where are your senses? -have you put them in pawn? We are all slaving our lives out for you; we -do all for the best, and you are not satisfied! Do you want to drive us -raging mad? I myself, to begin with, am tired out as it is----" - -La Cibot rattled on at her ease; Pons was too angry to say a word. He -writhed on his bed, painfully uttering inarticulate sounds; the blow was -killing him. And at this point, as usual, the scolding turned suddenly -to tenderness. The nurse dashed at her patient, grasped him by the head, -made him lie down by main force, and dragged the blankets over him. - -"How any one can get into such a state!" exclaimed she. "After all, it -is your illness, dearie. That is what good M. Poulain says. See now, -keep quiet and be good, my dear little sonny. Everybody that comes near -you worships you, and the doctor himself comes to see you twice a day. -What would he say if he found you in such a way? You put me out of all -patience; you ought not to behave like this. If you have Ma'am Cibot -to nurse you, you should treat her better. You shout and you talk!--you -ought not to do it, you know that. Talking irritates you. And why do -you fly into a passion? The wrong is all on your side; you are always -bothering me. Look here, let us have it out! If M. Schmucke and I, -who love you like our life, thought that we were doing right--well, my -cherub, it was right, you may be sure." - -"Schmucke never could have told you to go to the theatre without -speaking to me about it--" - -"And must I wake him, poor dear, when he is sleeping like one of the -blest, and call him in as a witness?" - -"No, no!" cried Pons. "If my kind and loving Schmucke made the -resolution, perhaps I am worse than I thought." His eyes wandered round -the room, dwelling on the beautiful things in it with a melancholy look -painful to see. - -"So I must say good-bye to my dear pictures, to all the things that -have come to be like so many friends to me... and to my divine friend -Schmucke?... Oh! can it be true?" - -La Cibot, acting her heartless comedy, held her handkerchief to her -eyes; and at that mute response the sufferer fell to dark musing--so -sorely stricken was he by the double stab dealt to health and his -interests by the loss of his post and the near prospect of death, that -he had no strength left for anger. He lay, ghastly and wan, like a -consumptive patient after a wrestling bout with the Destroyer. - -"In M. Schmucke's interests, you see, you would do well to send for M. -Trognon; he is the notary of the quarter and a very good man," said La -Cibot, seeing that her victim was completely exhausted. - -"You are always talking about this Trognon--" - -"Oh! he or another, it is all one to me, for anything you will leave -me." - -She tossed her head to signify that she despised riches. There was -silence in the room. - -A moment later Schmucke came in. He had slept for six hours, hunger -awakened him, and now he stood at Pons' bedside watching his friend -without saying a word, for Mme. Cibot had laid a finger on her lips. - -"Hush!" she whispered. Then she rose and went up to add under her -breath, "He is going off to sleep at last, thank Heaven! He is as -cross as a red donkey!--What can you expect, he is struggling with his -illness----" - -"No, on the contrary, I am very patient," said the victim in a weary -voice that told of a dreadful exhaustion; "but, oh! Schmucke, my dear -friend, she has been to the theatre to turn me out of my place." - -There was a pause. Pons was too weak to say more. La Cibot took the -opportunity and tapped her head significantly. "Do not contradict him," -she said to Schmucke; "it would kill him." - -Pons gazed into Schmucke's honest face. "And she says that you sent -her--" he continued. - -"Yes," Schmucke affirmed heroically. "It had to pe. Hush!--let us safe -your life. It is absurd to vork and train your sdrength gif you haf a -dreasure. Get better; ve vill sell some prick-a-prack und end our tays -kvietly in a corner somveres, mit kind Montame Zipod." - -"She has perverted you," moaned Pons. - -Mme. Cibot had taken up her station behind the bed to make signals -unobserved. Pons thought that she had left the room. "She is murdering -me," he added. - -"What is that? I am murdering you, am I?" cried La Cibot, suddenly -appearing, hand on hips and eyes aflame. "I am as faithful as a dog, and -this is all I get! God Almighty!--" - -She burst into tears and dropped down into the great chair, a tragical -movement which wrought a most disastrous revulsion in Pons. - -"Very good," she said, rising to her feet. The woman's malignant eyes -looked poison and bullets at the two friends. "Very good. Nothing that -I can do is right here, and I am tired of slaving my life out. You shall -take a nurse." - -Pons and Schmucke exchanged glances in dismay. - -"Oh! you may look at each other like actors. I mean it. I shall ask Dr. -Poulain to find a nurse for you. And now we will settle accounts. You -shall pay me back the money that I have spent on you, and that I would -never have asked you for, I that have gone to M. Pillerault to borrow -another five hundred francs of him--" - -"It ees his illness!" cried Schmucke--he sprang to Mme. Cibot and put an -arm round her waist--"haf batience." - -"As for you, you are an angel, I could kiss the ground you tread upon," -said she. "But M. Pons never liked me, he always hated me. Besides, he -thinks perhaps that I want to be mentioned in his will--" - -"Hush! you vill kill him!" cried Schmucke. - -"Good-bye, sir," said La Cibot, with a withering look at Pons. "You -may keep well for all the harm I wish you. When you can speak to me -pleasantly, when you can believe that what I do is done for the best, -I will come back again. Till then I shall stay in my own room. You were -like my own child to me; did anybody ever see a child revolt against its -mother?... No, no, M. Schmucke, I do not want to hear more. I will bring -you _your_ dinner and wait upon _you_, but you must take a nurse. Ask M. -Poulain about it." - -And she went out, slamming the door after her so violently that the -precious, fragile objects in the room trembled. To Pons in his torture, -the rattle of china was like the final blow dealt by the executioner to -a victim broken on the wheel. - -An hour later La Cibot called to Schmucke through the door, telling him -that his dinner was waiting for him in the dining-room. She would not -cross the threshold. Poor Schmucke went out to her with a haggard, -tear-stained face. - -"Mein boor Bons in vandering," said he; "he says dat you are ein pad -voman. It ees his illness," he added hastily, to soften La Cibot and -excuse his friend. - -"Oh, I have had enough of his illness! Look here, he is neither father, -nor husband, nor brother, nor child of mine. He has taken a dislike to -me; well and good, that is enough! As for you, you see, I would follow -_you_ to the end of the world; but when a woman gives her life, her -heart, and all her savings, and neglects her husband (for here has Cibot -fallen ill), and then hears that she is a bad woman--it is coming it -rather too strong, it is." - -"Too shtrong?" - -"Too strong, yes. Never mind idle words. Let us come to the facts. As to -that, you owe me for three months at a hundred and ninety francs--that -is five hundred seventy francs; then there is the rent that I have paid -twice (here are the receipts), six hundred more, including rates and the -sou in the franc for the porter--something under twelve hundred francs -altogether, and with the two thousand francs besides--without interest, -mind you--the total amounts to three thousand one hundred and ninety-two -francs. And remember that you will want at least two thousand francs -before long for the doctor, and the nurse, and the medicine, and -the nurse's board. That was why I borrowed a thousand francs of M. -Pillerault," and with that she held up Gaudissart's bank-note. - -It may readily be conceived that Schmucke listened to this reckoning -with amazement, for he knew about as much of business as a cat knows of -music. - -"Montame Zipod," he expostulated, "Bons haf lost his head. Bardon him, -and nurse him as before, und pe our profidence; I peg it of you on mine -knees," and he knelt before La Cibot and kissed the tormentor's hands. - -La Cibot raised Schmucke and kissed him on the forehead. "Listen, my -lamb," said she, "here is Cibot ill in bed; I have just sent for Dr. -Poulain. So I ought to set my affairs in order. And what is more, Cibot -saw me crying, and flew into such a passion that he will not have me set -foot in here again. It is _he_ who wants the money; it is his, you see. -We women can do nothing when it comes to that. But if you let him have -his money back again--the three thousand two hundred francs--he will be -quiet perhaps. Poor man, it is his all, earned by the sweat of his brow, -the savings of twenty-six years of life together. He must have his money -to-morrow; there is no getting round him.--You do not know Cibot; when -he is angry he would kill a man. Well, I might perhaps get leave of -him to look after you both as before. Be easy. I will just let him say -anything that comes into his head. I will bear it all for love of you, -an angel as you are." - -"No, I am ein boor man, dot lof his friend and vould gif his life to -save him--" - -"But the money?" broke in La Cibot. "My good M. Schmucke, let us suppose -that you pay me nothing; you will want three thousand francs, and where -are they to come from? Upon my word, do you know what I should do in -your place? I should not think twice, I should just sell seven or eight -good-for-nothing pictures and put up some of those instead that are -standing in your closet with their faces to the wall for want of room. -One picture or another, what difference does it make?" - -"Und vy?" - -"He is so cunning. It is his illness, for he is a lamb when he is well. -He is capable of getting up and prying about; and if by any chance he -went into the salon, he is so weak that he could not go beyond the door; -he would see that they are all still there." - -"Drue!" - -"And when he is quite well, we will tell him about the sale. And if you -wish to confess, throw it all upon me, say that you were obliged to pay -me. Come! I have a broad back--" - -"I cannot tispose of dings dot are not mine," the good German answered -simply. - -"Very well. I will summons you, you and M. Pons." - -"It vould kill him--" - -"Take your choice! Dear me, sell the pictures and tell him about it -afterwards... you can show him the summons--" - -"Ver' goot. Summons us. Dot shall pe mine egscuse. I shall show him der -chudgment." - -Mme. Cibot went down to the court, and that very day at seven o'clock -she called to Schmucke. Schmucke found himself confronted with M. -Tabareau the bailiff, who called upon him to pay. Schmucke made answer, -trembling from head to foot, and was forthwith summoned together with -Pons, to appear in the county court to hear judgment against him. The -sight of the bailiff and a bit of stamped paper covered with scrawls -produced such an effect upon Schmucke, that he held out no longer. - -"Sell die bictures," he said, with tears in his eyes. - -Next morning, at six o'clock, Elie Magus and Remonencq took down the -paintings of their choice. Two receipts for two thousand five hundred -francs were made out in correct form:-- - -"I, the undersigned, representing M. Pons, acknowledge the receipt -of two thousand five hundred francs from M. Elie Magus for the four -pictures sold to him, the said sum being appropriated to the use of M. -Pons. The first picture, attributed to Durer, is a portrait of a woman; -the second, likewise a portrait, is of the Italian School; the third, -a Dutch landscape by Breughel; and the fourth, a _Holy Family_ by an -unknown master of the Florentine School." - -Remonencq's receipt was worded in precisely the same way; a Greuze, a -Claude Lorraine, a Rubens, and a Van Dyck being disguised as pictures of -the French and Flemish schools. - -"Der monny makes me beleef dot the chimcracks haf som value," said -Schmucke when the five thousand francs were paid over. - -"They are worth something," said Remonencq. "I would willingly give you -a hundred thousand francs for the lot." - -Remonencq, asked to do a trifling service, hung eight pictures of the -proper size in the same frames, taking them from among the less valuable -pictures in Schmucke's bedroom. - -No sooner was Elie Magus in possession of the four great pictures than -he went, taking La Cibot with him, under pretence of settling accounts. -But he pleaded poverty, he found fault with the pictures, they needed -rebacking, he offered La Cibot thirty thousand francs by way of -commission, and finally dazzled her with the sheets of paper on which -the Bank of France engraves the words "One thousand francs" in capital -letters. Magus thereupon condemned Remonencq to pay the like sum to La -Cibot, by lending him the money on the security of his four pictures, -which he took with him as a guarantee. So glorious were they, that Magus -could not bring himself to part with them, and next day he bought them -of Remonencq for six thousand francs over and above the original price, -and an invoice was duly made out for the four. Mme. Cibot, the richer -by sixty-eight thousand francs, once more swore her two accomplices to -absolute secrecy. Then she asked the Jew's advice. She wanted to invest -the money in such a way that no one should know of it. - -"Buy shares in the Orleans Railway," said he; "they are thirty francs -below par, you will double your capital in three years. They will give -you scraps of paper, which you keep safe in a portfolio." - -"Stay here, M. Magus. I will go and fetch the man of business who acts -for M. Pons' family. He wants to know how much you will give him for the -whole bag of tricks upstairs. I will go for him now." - -"If only she were a widow!" said Remonencq when she was gone. "She would -just suit me; she will have plenty of money now--" - -"Especially if she puts her money into the Orleans Railway; she will -double her capital in two years' time. I have put all my poor little -savings into it," added the Jew, "for my daughter's portion.--Come, let -us take a turn on the boulevard until this lawyer arrives." - -"Cibot is very bad as it is," continued Remonencq; "if it should please -God to take him to Himself, I should have a famous wife to keep a shop; -I could set up on a large scale--" - -"Good-day, M. Fraisier," La Cibot began in an ingratiating tone as she -entered her legal adviser's office. "Why, what is this that your porter -has been telling me? are you going to move?" - -"Yes, my dear Mme. Cibot. I am taking the first floor above Dr. Poulain, -and trying to borrow two or three thousand francs so as to furnish the -place properly; it is very nice, upon my word, the landlord has just -papered and painted it. I am acting, as I told you, in President de -Marville's interests and yours.... I am not a solicitor now; I mean -to have my name entered on the roll of barristers, and I must be well -lodged. A barrister in Paris cannot have his name on the rolls unless -he has decent furniture and books and the like. I am a doctor of law, I -have kept my terms, and have powerful interest already.... Well, how are -we getting on?" - -"Perhaps you would accept my savings," said La Cibot. "I have put them -in a savings bank. I have not much, only three thousand francs, the -fruits of twenty-five years of stinting and scraping. You might give me -a bill of exchange, as Remonencq says; for I am ignorant myself, I only -know what they tell me." - -"No. It is against the rules of the guild for a barrister (_avocat_) to -put his name to a bill. I will give you a receipt, bearing interest at -five per cent per annum, on the understanding that if I make an income -of twelve hundred francs for you out of old Pons' estate you will cancel -it." - -La Cibot, caught in the trap, uttered not a word. - -"Silence gives consent," Fraisier continued. "Let me have it to-morrow -morning." - -"Oh! I am quite willing to pay fees in advance," said La Cibot; "it is -one way of making sure of my money." - -Fraisier nodded. "How are you getting on?" he repeated. "I saw Poulain -yesterday; you are hurrying your invalid along, it seems.... One more -scene such as yesterday's, and gall-stones will form. Be gentle with -him, my dear Mme. Cibot, do not lay up remorse for yourself. Life is not -too long." - -"Just let me alone with your remorse! Are you going to talk about the -guillotine again? M. Pons is a contrairy old thing. You don't know him. -It is he that bothers me. There is not a more cross-grained man alive; -his relations are in the right of it, he is sly, revengeful, and -contrairy.... M. Magus has come, as I told you, and is waiting to see -you." - -"Right! I will be there as soon as you. Your income depends upon the -price the collection will fetch. If it brings in eight hundred thousand -francs, you shall have fifteen hundred francs a year. It is a fortune." - -"Very well. I will tell them to value the things on their consciences." - - - -An hour later, Pons was fast asleep. The doctor had ordered a soothing -draught, which Schmucke administered, all unconscious that La Cibot had -doubled the dose. Fraisier, Remonencq, and Magus, three gallows-birds, -were examining the seventeen hundred different objects which formed the -old musician's collection one by one. - -Schmucke had gone to bed. The three kites, drawn by the scent of a -corpse, were masters of the field. - -"Make no noise," said La Cibot whenever Magus went into ecstasies or -explained the value of some work of art to Remonencq. The dying man -slept on in the neighboring room, while greed in four different -forms appraised the treasures that he must leave behind, and waited -impatiently for him to die--a sight to wring the heart. - -Three hours went by before they had finished the salon. - -"On an average," said the grimy old Jew, "everything here is worth a -thousand francs." - -"Seventeen hundred thousand francs!" exclaimed Fraisier in bewilderment. - -"Not to me," Magus answered promptly, and his eyes grew dull. "I would -not give more than a hundred thousand francs myself for the collection. -You cannot tell how long you may keep a thing on hand. ... There are -masterpieces that wait ten years for a buyer, and meanwhile the purchase -money is doubled by compound interest. Still, I should pay cash." - -"There is stained glass in the other room, as well as enamels and -miniatures and gold and silver snuff-boxes," put in Remonencq. - -"Can they be seen?" inquired Fraisier. - -"I'll see if he is sound asleep," replied La Cibot. She made a sign, and -the three birds of prey came in. - -"There are masterpieces yonder!" said Magus, indicating the salon, every -bristle of his white beard twitching as he spoke. "But the riches -are here! And what riches! Kings have nothing more glorious in royal -treasuries." - -Remonencq's eyes lighted up till they glowed like carbuncles, at the -sight of the gold snuff-boxes. Fraisier, cool and calm as a serpent, or -some snake-creature with the power of rising erect, stood with his viper -head stretched out, in such an attitude as a painter would choose for -Mephistopheles. The three covetous beings, thirsting for gold as devils -thirst for the dew of heaven, looked simultaneously, as it chanced, at -the owner of all this wealth. Some nightmare troubled Pons; he stirred, -and suddenly, under the influence of those diabolical glances, he opened -his eyes with a shrill cry. - -"Thieves!... There they are!... Help! Murder! Help!" - -The nightmare was evidently still upon him, for he sat up in bed, -staring before him with blank, wide-open eyes, and had not the power to -move. - -Elie Magus and Remonencq made for the door, but a word glued them to the -spot. - -"_Magus_ here!... I am betrayed!" - -Instinctively the sick man had known that his beloved pictures were in -danger, a thought that touched him at least as closely as any dread for -himself, and he awoke. Fraisier meanwhile did not stir. - -"Mme. Cibot! who is that gentleman?" cried Pons, shivering at the sight. - -"Goodness me! how could I put him out of the door?" she inquired, with -a wink and gesture for Fraisier's benefit. "This gentleman came just a -minute ago, from your family." - -Fraisier could not conceal his admiration for La Cibot. - -"Yes, sir," he said, "I have come on behalf of Mme. la Presidente de -Marville, her husband, and her daughter, to express their regret. They -learned quite by accident that you are ill, and they would like to nurse -you themselves. They want you to go to Marville and get well there. Mme. -la Vicomtesse Popinot, the little Cecile that you love so much, will be -your nurse. She took your part with her mother. She convinced Mme. de -Marville that she had made a mistake." - -"So my next-of-kin have sent you to me, have they?" Pons exclaimed -indignantly, "and sent the best judge and expert in all Paris with you -to show you the way? Oh! a nice commission!" he cried, bursting into -wild laughter. "You have come to value my pictures and curiosities, my -snuff-boxes and miniatures!... Make your valuation. You have a man there -who understands everything, and more--he can buy everything, for he is -a millionaire ten times over.... My dear relatives will not have long -to wait," he added, with bitter irony, "they have choked the last breath -out of me.... Ah! Mme. Cibot, you said you were a mother to me, and you -bring dealers into the house, and my competitor and the Camusots, while -I am asleep!... Get out, all of you!--" - -The unhappy man was beside himself with anger and fear; he rose from the -bed and stood upright, a gaunt, wasted figure. - -"Take my arm, sir," said La Cibot, rushing to the rescue, lest Pons -should fall. "Pray calm yourself, the gentlemen are gone." - -"I want to see the salon...." said the death-stricken man. La Cibot made -a sign to the three ravens to take flight. Then she caught up Pons as if -he had been a feather, and put him in bed again, in spite of his cries. -When she saw that he was quite helpless and exhausted, she went to shut -the door on the staircase. The three who had done Pons to death were -still on the landing; La Cibot told them to wait. She heard Fraisier say -to Magus: - -"Let me have it in writing, and sign it, both of you. Undertake to pay -nine hundred thousand francs in cash for M. Pons' collection, and we -will see about putting you in the way of making a handsome profit." - -With that he said something to La Cibot in a voice so low that the -others could not catch it, and went down after the two dealers to the -porter's room. - -"Have they gone, Mme. Cibot?" asked the unhappy Pons, when she came back -again. - -"Gone?... who?" asked she. - -"Those men." - -"What men? There, now, you have seen men," said she. "You have just -had a raving fit; if it hadn't been for me you would have gone out the -window, and now you are still talking of men in the room. Is it always -to be like this?" - -"What! was there not a gentleman here just now, saying that my relatives -had sent him?" - -"Will you still stand me out?" said she. "Upon my word, do you know -where you ought to be sent?--To the asylum at Charenton. You see men--" - -"Elie Magus, Remonencq, and--" - -"Oh! as for Remonencq, you may have seen _him_, for he came up to tell -me that my poor Cibot is so bad that I must clear out of this and come -down. My Cibot comes first, you see. When my husband is ill, I can think -of nobody else. Try to keep quiet and sleep for a couple of hours; I -have sent for Dr. Poulain, and I will come up with him.... Take a drink -and be good--" - -"Then was there no one in the room just now, when I waked?..." - -"No one," said she. "You must have seen M. Remonencq in one of your -looking-glasses." - -"You are right, Mme. Cibot," said Pons, meek as a lamb. - -"Well, now you are sensible again.... Good-bye, my cherub; keep quiet, I -shall be back again in a minute." - -When Pons heard the outer door close upon her, he summoned up all his -remaining strength to rise. - -"They are cheating me," he muttered to himself, "they are robbing me! -Schmucke is a child that would let them tie him up in a sack." - -The terrible scene had seemed so real, it could not be a dream, he -thought; a desire to throw light upon the puzzle excited him; he managed -to reach the door, opened it after many efforts, and stood on the -threshold of his salon. There they were--his dear pictures, his statues, -his Florentine bronzes, his porcelain; the sight of them revived him. -The old collector walked in his dressing-gown along the narrow spaces -between the credence-tables and the sideboards that lined the wall; his -feet bare, his head on fire. His first glance of ownership told him that -everything was there; he turned to go back to bed again, when he noticed -that a Greuze portrait looked out of the frame that had held Sebastian -del Piombo's _Templar_. Suspicion flashed across his brain, making -his dark thoughts apparent to him, as a flash of lightning marks the -outlines of the cloud-bars on a stormy sky. He looked round for the -eight capital pictures of the collection; each one of them was replaced -by another. A dark film suddenly overspread his eyes; his strength -failed him; he fell fainting upon the polished floor. - -So heavy was the swoon, that for two hours he lay as he fell, till -Schmucke awoke and went to see his friend, and found him lying -unconscious in the salon. With endless pains Schmucke raised the -half-dead body and laid it on the bed; but when he came to question -the death-stricken man, and saw the look in the dull eyes and heard the -vague, inarticulate words, the good German, so far from losing his head, -rose to the very heroism of friendship. Man and child as he was, with -the pressure of despair came the inspiration of a mother's tenderness, a -woman's love. He warmed towels (he found towels!), he wrapped them about -Pons' hands, he laid them over the pit of the stomach; he took the cold, -moist forehead in his hands, he summoned back life with a might of will -worthy of Apollonius of Tyana, laying kisses on his friend's eyelids -like some Mary bending over the dead Christ, in a _pieta_ carved in -bas-relief by some great Italian sculptor. The divine effort, the -outpouring of one life into another, the work of mother and of lover, -was crowned with success. In half an hour the warmth revived Pons; he -became himself again, the hues of life returned to his eyes, suspended -faculties gradually resumed their play under the influence of artificial -heat; Schmucke gave him balm-water with a little wine in it; the spirit -of life spread through the body; intelligence lighted up the forehead so -short a while ago insensible as a stone; and Pons knew that he had been -brought back to life, by what sacred devotion, what might of friendship! - -"But for you, I should die," he said, and as he spoke he felt the good -German's tears falling on his face. Schmucke was laughing and crying at -once. - -Poor Schmucke! he had waited for those words with a frenzy of hope as -costly as the frenzy of despair; and now his strength utterly failed -him, he collapsed like a rent balloon. It was his turn to fall; he -sank into the easy-chair, clasped his hands, and thanked God in fervent -prayer. For him a miracle had just been wrought. He put no belief in the -efficacy of the prayer of his deeds; the miracle had been wrought by God -in direct answer to his cry. And yet that miracle was a natural effect, -such as medical science often records. - -A sick man, surrounded by those who love him, nursed by those who wish -earnestly that he should live, will recover (other things being equal), -when another patient tended by hirelings will die. Doctors decline to -see unconscious magnetism in this phenomenon; for them it is the result -of intelligent nursing, of exact obedience to their orders; but many a -mother knows the virtue of such ardent projection of strong, unceasing -prayer. - -"My good Schmucke--" - -"Say nodings; I shall hear you mit mein heart... rest, rest!" said -Schmucke, smiling at him. - -"Poor friend, noble creature, child of God, living in God!... The one -being that has loved me...." The words came out with pauses between -them; there was a new note, a something never heard before, in Pons' -voice. All the soul, so soon to take flight, found utterance in the -words that filled Schmucke with happiness almost like a lover's rapture. - -"Yes, yes. I shall be shtrong as a lion. I shall vork for two!" - -"Listen, my good, my faithful, adorable friend. Let me speak, I have not -much time left. I am a dead man. I cannot recover from these repeated -shocks." - -Schmucke was crying like a child. - -"Just listen," continued Pons, "and cry afterwards. As a Christian, you -must submit. I have been robbed. It is La Cibot's doing.... I ought to -open your eyes before I go; you know nothing of life.... Somebody has -taken away eight of the pictures, and they were worth a great deal of -money." - -"Vorgif me--I sold dem." - -"_You_ sold them?" - -"Yes, I," said poor Schmucke. "Dey summoned us to der court--" - -"_Summoned?_.... Who summoned us?" - -"Wait," said Schmucke. He went for the bit of stamped-paper left by the -bailiff, and gave it to Pons. Pons read the scrawl through with close -attention, then he let the paper drop and lay quite silent for a while. -A close observer of the work of men's hands, unheedful so far of the -workings of the brain, Pons finally counted out the threads of the plot -woven about him by La Cibot. The artist's fire, the intellect that won -the Roman scholarship--all his youth came back to him for a little. - -"My good Schmucke," he said at last, "you must do as I tell you, and -obey like a soldier. Listen! go downstairs into the lodge and tell that -abominable woman that I should like to see the person sent to me by -my cousin the President; and that unless he comes, I shall leave my -collection to the Musee. Say that a will is in question." - -Schmucke went on his errand; but at the first word, La Cibot answered by -a smile. - -"My good M. Schmucke, our dear invalid has had a delirious fit; he -thought that there were men in the room. On my word, as an honest woman, -no one has come from the family." - -Schmucke went back with his answer, which he repeated word for word. - -"She is cleverer, more astute and cunning and wily, than I thought," -said Pons with a smile. "She lies even in her room. Imagine it! This -morning she brought a Jew here, Elie Magus by name, and Remonencq, and a -third whom I do not know, more terrific than the other two put together. -She meant to make a valuation while I was asleep; I happened to wake, -and saw them all three, estimating the worth of my snuff-boxes. The -stranger said, indeed, that the Camusots had sent him here; I spoke to -him.... That shameless woman stood me out that I was dreaming!... My -good Schmucke, it was not a dream. I heard the man perfectly plainly; he -spoke to me.... The two dealers took fright and made for the door.... -I thought that La Cibot would contradict herself--the experiment -failed.... I will lay another snare, and trap the wretched woman.... -Poor Schmucke, you think that La Cibot is an angel; and for this month -past she has been killing me by inches to gain her covetous ends. I -would not believe that a woman who served us faithfully for years could -be so wicked. That doubt has been my ruin.... How much did the eight -pictures fetch?" - -"Vife tausend vrancs." - -"Good heavens! they were worth twenty times as much!" cried Pons; "the -gems of the collection! I have not time now to institute proceedings; -and if I did, you would figure in court as the dupe of those rascals. -... A lawsuit would be the death of you. You do not know what justice -means--a court of justice is a sink of iniquity.... At the sight of such -horrors, a soul like yours would give way. And besides, you will have -enough. The pictures cost me forty thousand francs. I have had them for -thirty-six years.... Oh, we have been robbed with surprising dexterity. -I am on the brink of the grave, I care for nothing now but thee--for -thee, the best soul under the sun.... - -"I will not have you plundered; all that I have is yours. So you must -trust nobody, Schmucke, you that have never suspected any one in your -life. I know God watches over you, but He may forget for one moment, -and you will be seized like a vessel among pirates.... La Cibot is a -monster! She is killing me; and you think her an angel! You shall see -what she is. Go and ask her to give you the name of a notary, and I will -show you her with her hand in the bag." - -Schmucke listened as if Pons proclaimed an apocalypse. Could so depraved -a creature as La Cibot exist? If Pons was right, it seemed to imply that -there was no God in the world. He went right down again to Mme. Cibot. - -"Mein boor vriend Bons feel so ill," he said, "dat he vish to make his -vill. Go und pring ein nodary." - -This was said in the hearing of several persons, for Cibot's life was -despaired of. Remonencq and his sister, two women from neighboring -porters' lodges, two or three servants, and the lodger from the first -floor on the side next the street, were all standing outside in the -gateway. - -"Oh! you can just fetch a notary yourself, and have your will made as -you please," cried La Cibot, with tears in her eyes. "My poor Cibot is -dying, and it is no time to leave him. I would give all the Ponses in -the world to save Cibot, that has never given me an ounce of unhappiness -in these thirty years since we were married." - -And in she went, leaving Schmucke in confusion. - -"Is M. Pons really seriously ill, sir?" asked the first-floor lodger, -one Jolivard, a clerk in the registrar's office at the Palais de -Justice. - -"He nearly died chust now," said Schmucke, with deep sorrow in his -voice. - -"M. Trognon lives near by in the Rue Saint-Louis," said M. Jolivard, "he -is the notary of the quarter." - -"Would you like me to go for him?" asked Remonencq. - -"I should pe fery glad," said Schmucke; "for gif Montame Zipod cannot pe -mit mine vriend, I shall not vish to leaf him in der shtate he is in--" - -"Mme. Cibot told us that he was going out of his mind," resumed -Jolivard. - -"Bons! out off his mind!" cried Schmucke, terror-stricken by the idea. -"Nefer vas he so clear in der head... dat is chust der reason vy I am -anxious for him." - -The little group of persons listened to the conversation with a very -natural curiosity, which stamped the scene upon their memories. Schmucke -did not know Fraisier, and could not note his satanic countenance and -glittering eyes. But two words whispered by Fraisier in La Cibot's ear -had prompted a daring piece of acting, somewhat beyond La Cibot's range, -it may be, though she played her part throughout in a masterly style. To -make others believe that the dying man was out of his mind--it was -the very corner-stone of the edifice reared by the petty lawyer. The -morning's incident had done Fraisier good service; but for him, La Cibot -in her trouble might have fallen into the snare innocently spread by -Schmucke, when he asked her to send back the person sent by the family. - -Remonencq saw Dr. Poulain coming towards them, and asked no better than -to vanish. The fact was that for the last ten days the Auvergnat had -been playing Providence in a manner singularly displeasing to Justice, -which claims the monopoly of that part. He had made up his mind to rid -himself at all costs of the one obstacle in his way to happiness, -and happiness for him meant capital trebled and marriage with the -irresistibly charming portress. He had watched the little tailor -drinking his herb-tea, and a thought struck him. He would convert the -ailment into mortal sickness; his stock of old metals supplied him with -the means. - -One morning as he leaned against the door-post, smoking his pipe and -dreaming of that fine shop on the Boulevard de la Madeleine where Mme. -Cibot, gorgeously arrayed, should some day sit enthroned, his eyes -fell upon a copper disc, about the size of a five-franc piece, covered -thickly with verdigris. The economical idea of using Cibot's medicine to -clean the disc immediately occurred to him. He fastened the thing in a -bit of twine, and came over every morning to inquire for tidings of -his friend the tailor, timing his visit during La Cibot's visit to her -gentlemen upstairs. He dropped the disc into the tumbler, allowed it to -steep there while he talked, and drew it out again by the string when he -went away. - -The trace of tarnished copper, commonly called verdigris, poisoned -the wholesome draught; a minute dose administered by stealth did -incalculable mischief. Behold the results of this criminal homoeopathy! -On the third day poor Cibot's hair came out, his teeth were loosened in -their sockets, his whole system was deranged by a scarcely perceptible -trace of poison. Dr. Poulain racked his brains. He was enough of a man -of science to see that some destructive agent was at work. He privately -carried off the decoction, analyzed it himself, but found nothing. It so -chanced that Remonencq had taken fright and omitted to dip the disc in -the tumbler that day. - -Then Dr. Poulain fell back on himself and science and got out of the -difficulty with a theory. A sedentary life in a damp room; a cramped -position before the barred window--these conditions had vitiated the -blood in the absence of proper exercise, especially as the patient -continually breathed an atmosphere saturated with the fetid exhalations -of the gutter. The Rue de Normandie is one of the old-fashioned streets -that slope towards the middle; the municipal authorities of Paris as yet -have laid on no water supply to flush the central kennel which drains -the houses on either side, and as a result a stream of filthy ooze -meanders among the cobblestones, filters into the soil, and produces -the mud peculiar to the city. La Cibot came and went; but her husband, -a hard-working man, sat day in day out like a fakir on the table in the -window, till his knee-joints were stiffened, the blood stagnated in his -body, and his legs grew so thin and crooked that he almost lost the -use of them. The deep copper tint of the man's complexion naturally -suggested that he had been out of health for a very long time. The -wife's good health and the husband's illness seemed to the doctor to be -satisfactorily accounted for by this theory. - -"Then what is the matter with my poor Cibot?" asked the portress. - -"My dear Mme. Cibot, he is dying of the porter's disease," said the -doctor. "Incurable vitiation of the blood is evident from the general -anaemic condition." - -No one had anything to gain by a crime so objectless. Dr. Poulain's -first suspicions were effaced by this thought. Who could have any -possible interest in Cibot's death? His wife?--the doctor saw her taste -the herb-tea as she sweetened it. Crimes which escape social vengeance -are many enough, and as a rule they are of this order--to wit, murders -committed without any startling sign of violence, without bloodshed, -bruises, marks of strangling, without any bungling of the business, in -short; if there seems to be no motive for the crime, it most likely goes -unpunished, especially if the death occurs among the poorer classes. -Murder is almost always denounced by its advanced guards, by hatred or -greed well known to those under whose eyes the whole matter has passed. -But in the case of the Cibots, no one save the doctor had any interest -in discovering the actual cause of death. The little copper-faced -tailor's wife adored her husband; he had no money and no enemies; La -Cibot's fortune and the marine-store dealer's motives were alike -hidden in the shade. Poulain knew the portress and her way of thinking -perfectly well; he thought her capable of tormenting Pons, but he -saw that she had neither motive enough nor wit enough for murder; and -besides--every time the doctor came and she gave her husband a draught, -she took a spoonful herself. Poulain himself, the only person who might -have thrown light on the matter, inclined to believe that this was -one of the unaccountable freaks of disease, one of the astonishing -exceptions which make medicine so perilous a profession. And in truth, -the little tailor's unwholesome life and unsanitary surroundings -had unfortunately brought him to such a pass that the trace of -copper-poisoning was like the last straw. Gossips and neighbors took it -upon themselves to explain the sudden death, and no suspicion of blame -lighted upon Remonencq. - -"Oh! this long time past I have said that M. Cibot was not well," cried -one. - -"He worked too hard, he did," said another; "he heated his blood." - -"He would not listen to me," put in a neighbor; "I advised him to walk -out of a Sunday and keep Saint Monday; two days in the week is not too -much for amusement." - -In short, the gossip of the quarter, the tell-tale voice to which -Justice, in the person of the commissary of police, the king of the -poorer classes, lends an attentive ear--gossip explained the little -tailor's demise in a perfectly satisfactory manner. Yet M. Poulain's -pensive air and uneasy eyes embarrassed Remonencq not a little, and at -sight of the doctor he offered eagerly to go in search of M. Trognon, -Fraisier's acquaintance. Fraisier turned to La Cibot to say in a low -voice, "I shall come back again as soon as the will is made. In spite -of your sorrow, you must look for squalls." Then he slipped away like a -shadow and met his friend the doctor. - -"Ah, Poulain!" he exclaimed, "it is all right. We are safe! I will tell -you about it to-night. Look out a post that will suit you, you shall -have it! For my own part, I am a justice of the peace. Tabareau will not -refuse me now for a son-in-law. And as for you, I will undertake that -you shall marry Mlle. Vitel, granddaughter of our justice of the peace." - -Fraisier left Poulain reduced to dumb bewilderment by these wild words; -bounced like a ball into the boulevard, hailed an omnibus, and was set -down ten minutes later by the modern coach at the corner of the Rue de -Choiseul. By this time it was nearly four o'clock. Fraisier felt quite -sure of a word in private with the Presidente, for officials seldom -leave the Palais de Justice before five o'clock. - -Mme. de Marville's reception of him assured Fraisier that M. Leboeuf -had kept his promise made to Mme. Vatinelle and spoken favorably of the -sometime attorney at Mantes. Amelie's manner was almost caressing. So -might the Duchesse de Montpensier have treated Jacques Clement. The -petty attorney was a knife to her hand. But when Fraisier produced the -joint-letter signed by Elie Magus and Remonencq offering the sum of -nine hundred thousand francs in cash for Pons' collection, then the -Presidente looked at her man of business and the gleam of the money -flashed from her eyes. That ripple of greed reached the attorney. - -"M. le President left a message with me," she said; "he hopes that you -will dine with us to-morrow. It will be a family party. M. Godeschal, -Desroches' successor and my attorney, will come to meet you, and -Berthier, our notary, and my daughter and son-in-law. After dinner, you -and I and the notary and attorney will have the little consultation for -which you ask, and I will give you full powers. The two gentlemen -will do as you require and act upon your inspiration; and see that -_everything_ goes well. You shall have a power of attorney from M. de -Marville as soon as you want it." - -"I shall want it on the day of the decease." - -"It shall be in readiness." - -"Mme. la Presidente, if I ask for a power of attorney, and would prefer -that your attorney's name should not appear I wish it less in my own -interest than in yours.... When I give myself, it is without reserve. -And in return, madame, I ask the same fidelity; I ask my patrons (I do -not venture to call you my clients) to put the same confidence in -me. You may think that in acting thus I am trying to fasten upon this -affair--no, no, madame; there may be reprehensible things done; with an -inheritance in view one is dragged on... especially with nine hundred -thousand francs in the balance. Well, now, you could not disavow a man -like Maitre Godeschal, honesty itself, but you can throw all the blame -on the back of a miserable pettifogging lawyer--" - -Mme. Camusot de Marville looked admiringly at Fraisier. - -"You ought to go very high," said she, "or sink very low. In your place, -instead of asking to hide myself away as a justice of the peace, I would -aim at the crown attorney's appointment--at, say, Mantes!--and make a -great career for myself." - -"Let me have my way, madame. The post of justice of the peace is an -ambling pad for M. Vitel; for me it shall be a war-horse." - -And in this way the Presidente proceeded to a final confidence. - -"You seem to be so completely devoted to our interests," she began, -"that I will tell you about the difficulties of our position and our -hopes. The President's great desire, ever since a match was projected -between his daughter and an adventurer who recently started a bank,--the -President's wish, I say, has been to round out the Marville estate with -some grazing land, at that time in the market. We dispossessed ourselves -of fine property, as you know, to settle it upon our daughter; but I -wish very much, my daughter being an only child, to buy all that remains -of the grass land. Part has been sold already. The estate belongs to an -Englishman who is returning to England after a twenty years' residence -in France. He built the most charming cottage in a delightful situation, -between Marville Park and the meadows which once were part of the -Marville lands; he bought up covers, copse, and gardens at fancy prices -to make the grounds about the cottage. The house and its surroundings -make a feature of the landscape, and it lies close to my daughter's park -palings. The whole, land and house, should be bought for seven hundred -thousand francs, for the net revenue is about twenty thousand francs.... -But if Mr. Wadman finds out that _we_ think of buying it, he is sure to -add another two or three hundred thousand francs to the price; for he -will lose money if the house counts for nothing, as it usually does when -you buy land in the country--" - -"Why, madame," Fraisier broke in, "in my opinion you can be so sure that -the inheritance is yours that I will offer to act the part of purchaser -for you. I will undertake that you shall have the land at the best -possible price, and have a written engagement made out under private -seal, like a contract to deliver goods.... I will go to the Englishman -in the character of buyer. I understand that sort of thing; it was my -specialty at Mantes. Vatinelle doubled the value of his practice, while -I worked in his name." - -"Hence your connection with little Madame Vatinelle. He must be very -well off--" - -"But Mme. Vatinelle has expensive tastes.... So be easy, madame--I will -serve you up the Englishman done to a turn--" - -"If you can manage that you will have eternal claims to my gratitude. -Good-day, my dear M. Fraisier. Till to-morrow--" - -Fraisier went. His parting bow was a degree less cringing than on the -first occasion. - -"I am to dine to-morrow with President de Marville!" he said to himself. -"Come now, I have these folk in my power. Only, to be absolute master, -I ought to be the German's legal adviser in the person of Tabareau, the -justice's clerk. Tabareau will not have me now for his daughter, his -only daughter, but he will give her to me when I am a justice of the -peace. I shall be eligible. Mlle. Tabareau, that tall, consumptive -girl with the red hair, has a house in the Place Royale in right of her -mother. At her father's death she is sure to come in for six thousand -francs, you must not look too hard at the plank." - -As he went back to the Rue de Normandie by way of the boulevards, he -dreamed out his golden dream, he gave himself up to the happiness of the -thought that he should never know want again. He would marry his friend -Poulain to Mlle. Vitel, the daughter of the justice of the peace; -together, he and his friend the doctor would reign like kings in the -quarter; he would carry all the elections--municipal, military, or -political. The boulevards seem short if, while you pace afoot, you mount -your ambition on the steed of fancy in this way. - -Schmucke meanwhile went back to his friend Pons with the news that Cibot -was dying, and Remonencq gone in search of M. Trognon, the notary. Pons -was struck by the name. It had come up again and again in La Cibot's -interminable talk, and La Cibot always recommended him as honesty -incarnate. And with that a luminous idea occurred to Pons, in whom -mistrust had grown paramount since the morning, an idea which completed -his plan for outwitting La Cibot and unmasking her completely for the -too-credulous Schmucke. - -So many unexpected things had happened that day that poor Schmucke was -quite bewildered. Pons took his friend's hand. - -"There must be a good deal of confusion in the house, Schmucke; if the -porter is at death's door, we are almost free for a minute or two; that -is to say, there will be no spies--for we are watched, you may be sure -of that. Go out, take a cab, go to the theatre, and tell Mlle. Heloise -Brisetout that I should like to see her before I die. Ask her to come -here to-night when she leaves the theatre. Then go to your friends -Brunner and Schwab and beg them to come to-morrow morning at nine -o'clock to inquire after me; let them come up as if they were just -passing by and called in to see me." - -The old artist felt that he was dying, and this was the scheme that -he forged. He meant Schmucke to be his universal legatee. To protect -Schmucke from any possible legal quibbles, he proposed to dictate his -will to a notary in the presence of witnesses, lest his sanity should be -called in question and the Camusots should attempt upon that pretext -to dispute the will. At the name of Trognon he caught a glimpse of -machinations of some kind; perhaps a flaw purposely inserted, or -premeditated treachery on La Cibot's part. He would prevent this. -Trognon should dictate a holograph will which should be signed and -deposited in a sealed envelope in a drawer. Then Schmucke, hidden in one -of the cabinets in his alcove, should see La Cibot search for the will, -find it, open the envelope, read it through, and seal it again. Next -morning, at nine o'clock, he would cancel the will and make a new one in -the presence of two notaries, everything in due form and order. La Cibot -had treated him as a madman and a visionary; he saw what this meant--he -saw the Presidente's hate and greed, her revenge in La Cibot's behavior. -In the sleepless hours and lonely days of the last two months, the poor -man had sifted the events of his past life. - -It has been the wont of sculptors, ancient and modern, to set a tutelary -genius with a lighted torch upon either side of a tomb. Those torches -that light up the paths of death throw light for dying eyes upon the -spectacle of a life's mistakes and sins; the carved stone figures -express great ideas, they are symbols of a fact in human experience. The -agony of death has its own wisdom. Not seldom a simple girl, scarcely -more than a child, will grow wise with the experience of a hundred -years, will gain prophetic vision, judge her family, and see clearly -through all pretences, at the near approach of Death. Herein lies -Death's poetry. But, strange and worthy of remark it is, there are two -manners of death. - -The poetry of prophecy, the gift of seeing clearly into the future or -the past, only belongs to those whose bodies are stricken, to those -who die by the destruction of the organs of physical life. Consumptive -patients, for instance, or those who die of gangrene like Louis XIV., -of fever like Pons, of a stomach complaint like Mme. de Mortsauf, or -of wounds received in the full tide of life like soldiers on the -battlefield--all these may possess this supreme lucidity to the full; -their deaths fill us with surprise and wonder. But many, on the other -hand, die of _intelligential_ diseases, as they may be called; of -maladies seated in the brain or in that nervous system which acts as a -kind of purveyor of thought fuel--and these die wholly, body and spirit -are darkened together. The former are spirits deserted by the body, -realizing for us our ideas of the spirits of Scripture; the latter are -bodies untenanted by a spirit. - -Too late the virgin nature, the epicure-Cato, the righteous man almost -without sin, was discovering the Presidente's real character--the sac -of gall that did duty for her heart. He knew the world now that he was -about to leave it, and for the past few hours he had risen gaily to his -part, like a joyous artist finding a pretext for caricature and laughter -in everything. The last links that bound him to life, the chains -of admiration, the strong ties that bind the art lover to Art's -masterpieces, had been snapped that morning. When Pons knew that La -Cibot had robbed him, he bade farewell, like a Christian, to the pomps -and vanities of Art, to his collection, to all his old friendships with -the makers of so many fair things. Our forefathers counted the day of -death as a Christian festival, and in something of the same spirit -Pons' thoughts turned to the coming end. In his tender love he tried -to protect Schmucke when he should be low in the grave. It was this -father's thought that led him to fix his choice upon the leading lady -of the ballet. Mlle. Brisetout should help him to baffle surrounding -treachery, and those who in all probability would never forgive his -innocent universal legatee. - -Heloise Brisetout was one of the few natures that remain true in a -false position. She was an opera-girl of the school of Josepha and Jenny -Cadine, capable of playing any trick on a paying adorer; yet she was a -good comrade, dreading no power on earth, accustomed as she was to see -the weak side of the strong and to hold her own with the police at the -scarcely idyllic Bal de Mabille and the carnival. - -"If she asked for my place for Garangeot, she will think that she owes -me a good turn by so much the more," said Pons to himself. - -Thanks to the prevailing confusion in the porter's lodge, Schmucke -succeeded in getting out of the house. He returned with the utmost -speed, fearing to leave Pons too long alone. M. Trognon reached the -house just as Schmucke came in. Albeit Cibot was dying, his wife came -upstairs with the notary, brought him into the bedroom, and withdrew, -leaving Schmucke and Pons with M. Trognon; but she left the door ajar, -and went no further than the next room. Providing herself with a little -hand-glass of curious workmanship, she took up her station in the -doorway, so that she could not only hear but see all that passed at the -supreme moment. - -"Sir," said Pons, "I am in the full possession of my faculties, -unfortunately for me, for I feel that I am about to die; and doubtless, -by the will of God, I shall be spared nothing of the agony of death. -This is M. Schmucke"--(the notary bowed to M. Schmucke)--"my one friend -on earth," continued Pons. "I wish to make him my universal legatee. -Now, tell me how to word the will, so that my friend, who is a German -and knows nothing of French law, may succeed to my possessions without -any dispute." - -"Anything is liable to be disputed, sir," said the notary; "that is the -drawback of human justice. But in the matter of wills, there are wills -so drafted that they cannot be upset--" - -"In what way?" queried Pons. - -"If a will is made in the presence of a notary, and before witnesses who -can swear that the testator was in the full possession of his faculties; -and if the testator has neither wife nor children, nor father nor -mother--" - -"I have none of these; all my affection is centred upon my dear friend -Schmucke here." - -The tears overflowed Schmucke's eyes. - -"Then, if you have none but distant relatives, the law leaves you free -to dispose of both personalty and real estate as you please, so long as -you bequeath them for no unlawful purpose; for you must have come across -cases of wills disputed on account of the testator's eccentricities. A -will made in the presence of a notary is considered to be authentic; -for the person's identity is established, the notary certifies that the -testator was sane at the time, and there can be no possible dispute over -the signature.--Still, a holograph will, properly and clearly worded, is -quite as safe." - -"I have decided, for reasons of my own, to make a holograph will at your -dictation, and to deposit it with my friend here. Is this possible?" - -"Quite possible," said the notary. "Will you write? I will begin to -dictate--" - -"Schmucke, bring me my little Boule writing-desk.--Speak low, sir," he -added; "we may be overheard." - -"Just tell me, first of all, what you intend," demanded the notary. - -Ten minutes later La Cibot saw the notary look over the will, while -Schmucke lighted a taper (Pons watching her reflection all the while in -a mirror). She saw the envelope sealed, saw Pons give it to Schmucke, -and heard him say that it must be put away in a secret drawer in his -bureau. Then the testator asked for the key, tied it to the corner of -his handkerchief, and slipped it under his pillow. - -The notary himself, by courtesy, was appointed executor. To him Pons -left a picture of price, such a thing as the law permits a notary to -receive. Trognon went out and came upon Mme. Cibot in the salon. - -"Well, sir, did M. Pons remember me?" - -"You do not expect a notary to betray secrets confided to him, my dear," -returned M. Trognon. "I can only tell you this--there will be many -disappointments, and some that are anxious after the money will be -foiled. M. Pons has made a good and very sensible will, a patriotic -will, which I highly approve." - -La Cibot's curiosity, kindled by such words, reached an unimaginable -pitch. She went downstairs and spent the night at Cibot's bedside, -inwardly resolving that Mlle. Remonencq should take her place towards -two or three in the morning, when she would go up and have a look at the -document. - -Mlle. Brisetout's visit towards half-past ten that night seemed natural -enough to La Cibot; but in her terror lest the ballet-girl should -mention Gaudissart's gift of a thousand francs, she went upstairs with -her, lavishing polite speeches and flattery as if Mlle. Heloise had been -a queen. - -"Ah! my dear, you are much nicer here on your own ground than at the -theatre," Heloise remarked. "I advise you to keep to your employment." - -Heloise was splendidly dressed. Bixiou, her lover, had brought her in -his carriage on the way to an evening party at Mariette's. It so -fell out that the first-floor lodger, M. Chapoulot, a retired braid -manufacturer from the Rue Saint-Denis, returning from the Ambigu-Comique -with his wife and daughter, was dazzled by a vision of such a costume -and such a charming woman upon their staircase. - -"Who is that, Mme. Cibot?" asked Mme. Chapoulot. - -"A no-better-than-she-should-be, a light-skirts that you may see -half-naked any evening for a couple of francs," La Cibot answered in an -undertone for Mme. Chapoulot's ear. - -"Victorine!" called the braid manufacturer's wife, "let the lady pass, -child." - -The matron's alarm signal was not lost upon Heloise. - -"Your daughter must be more inflammable than tinder, madame, if you are -afraid that she will catch fire by touching me," she said. - -M. Chapoulot waited on the landing. "She is uncommonly handsome off the -stage," he remarked. Whereupon Mme. Chapoulot pinched him sharply and -drove him indoors. - -"Here is a second-floor lodger that has a mind to set up for being on -the fourth floor," said Heloise as she continued to climb. - -"But mademoiselle is accustomed to going higher and higher." - -"Well, old boy," said Heloise, entering the bedroom and catching sight -of the old musician's white, wasted face. "Well, old boy, so we are -not very well? Everybody at the theatre is asking after you; but though -one's heart may be in the right place, every one has his own affairs, -you know, and cannot find time to go to see friends. Gaudissart talks of -coming round every day, and every morning the tiresome management gets -hold of him. Still, we are all of us fond of you--" - -"Mme. Cibot," said the patient, "be so kind as to leave us; we want -to talk about the theatre and my post as conductor, with this lady. -Schmucke, will you go to the door with Mme. Cibot?" - -At a sign from Pons, Schmucke saw Mme. Cibot out at the door, and drew -the bolts. - -"Ah, that blackguard of a German! Is he spoiled, too?" La Cibot said to -herself as she heard the significant sounds. "That is M. Pons' doing; -he taught him those disgusting tricks.... But you shall pay for this, my -dears," she thought as she went down stairs. "Pooh! if that tight-rope -dancer tells him about the thousand francs, I shall say that it is a -farce." - -She seated herself by Cibot's pillow. Cibot complained of a burning -sensation in the stomach. Remonencq had called in and given him a -draught while his wife was upstairs. - -As soon as Schmucke had dismissed La Cibot, Pons turned to the -ballet-girl. - -"Dear child, I can trust no one else to find me a notary, an honest man, -and send him here to make my will to-morrow morning at half-past -nine precisely. I want to leave all that I have to Schmucke. If he is -persecuted, poor German that he is, I shall reckon upon the notary; -the notary must defend him. And for that reason I must have a wealthy -notary, highly thought of, a man above the temptations to which -pettifogging lawyers yield. He must succor my poor friend. I cannot -trust Berthier, Cardot's successor. And you know so many people--" - -"Oh! I have the very man for you," Heloise broke in; "there is the -notary that acts for Florine and the Comtesse du Bruel, Leopold -Hannequin, a virtuous man that does not know what a _lorette_ is! He -is a sort of chance-come father--a good soul that will not let you play -ducks and drakes with your earnings; I call him _Le Pere aux Rats_, -because he instils economical notions into the minds of all my friends. -In the first place, my dear fellow, he has a private income of sixty -thousand francs; and he is a notary of the real old sort, a notary while -he walks or sleeps; his children must be little notaries and notaresses. -He is a heavy, pedantic creature, and that's the truth; but on his own -ground, he is not the man to flinch before any power in creation.... No -woman ever got money out of him; he is a fossil pater-familias, his -wife worships him, and does not deceive him, although she is a notary's -wife.--What more do you want? as a notary he has not his match in Paris. -He is in the patriarchal style; not queer and amusing, as Cardot used -to be with Malaga; but he will never decamp like little What's-his-name -that lived with Antonia. So I will send round my man to-morrow morning -at eight o'clock.... You may sleep in peace. And I hope, in the first -place, that you will get better, and make charming music for us again; -and yet, after all, you see, life is very dreary--managers chisel -you, and kings mizzle and ministers fizzle and rich fold -economizzle.--Artists have nothing left _here_" (tapping her -breast)--"it is a time to die in. Good-bye, old boy." - -"Heloise, of all things, I ask you to keep my counsel." - -"It is not a theatre affair," she said; "it is sacred for an artist." - -"Who is your gentleman, child?" - -"M. Baudoyer, the mayor of your arrondissement, a man as stupid as the -late Crevel; Crevel once financed Gaudissart, you know, and a few days -ago he died and left me nothing, not so much as a pot of pomatum. That -made me say just now that this age of ours is something sickening." - -"What did he die of?" - -"Of his wife. If he had stayed with me, he would be living now. -Good-bye, dear old boy, I am talking of going off, because I can see -that you will be walking about the boulevards in a week or two, hunting -up pretty little curiosities again. You are not ill; I never saw your -eyes look so bright." And she went, fully convinced that her protege -Garangeot would conduct the orchestra for good. - -Every door stood ajar as she went downstairs. Every lodger, on tip-toe, -watched the lady of the ballet pass on her way out. It was quite an -event in the house. - -Fraisier, like the bulldog that sets his teeth and never lets go, was on -the spot. He stood beside La Cibot when Mlle. Brisetout passed under -the gateway and asked for the door to be opened. Knowing that a will -had been made, he had come to see how the land lay, for Maitre Trognon, -notary, had refused to say a syllable--Fraisier's questions were -as fruitless as Mme. Cibot's. Naturally the ballet-girl's visit _in -extremis_ was not lost upon Fraisier; he vowed to himself that he would -turn it to good account. - -"My dear Mme. Cibot," he began, "now is the critical moment for you." - -"Ah, yes... my poor Cibot!" said she. "When I think that he will not -live to enjoy anything I may get--" - -"It is a question of finding out whether M. Pons has left you anything -at all; whether your name is mentioned or left out, in fact," he -interrupted. "I represent the next-of-kin, and to them you must look -in any case. It is a holograph will, and consequently very easy to -upset.--Do you know where our man has put it?" - -"In a secret drawer in his bureau, and he has the key of it. He tied it -to a corner of his handkerchief, and put it under his pillow. I saw it -all." - -"Is the will sealed?" - -"Yes, alas!" - -"It is a criminal offence if you carry off a will and suppress it, but -it is only a misdemeanor to look at it; and anyhow, what does it amount -to? A peccadillo, and nobody will see you. Is your man a heavy sleeper?" - -"Yes. But when you tried to see all the things and value them, he ought -to have slept like a top, and yet he woke up. Still, I will see about -it. I will take M. Schmucke's place about four o'clock this morning; -and if you care to come, you shall have the will in your hands for ten -minutes." - -"Good. I will come up about four o'clock, and I will knock very -softly--" - -"Mlle Remonencq will take my place with Cibot. She will know, and open -the door; but tap on the window, so as to rouse nobody in the house." - -"Right," said Fraisier. "You will have a light, will you not. A candle -will do." - - - -At midnight poor Schmucke sat in his easy-chair, watching with a -breaking heart that shrinking of the features that comes with death; -Pons looked so worn out with the day's exertions, that death seemed very -near. - -Presently Pons spoke. "I have just enough strength, I think, to last -till to-morrow night," he said philosophically. "To-morrow night the -death agony will begin; poor Schmucke! As soon as the notary and your -two friends are gone, go for our good Abbe Duplanty, the curate of -Saint-Francois. Good man, he does not know that I am ill, and I wish to -take the holy sacrament to-morrow at noon." - -There was a long pause. - -"God so willed it that life has not been as I dreamed," Pons resumed. -"I should so have loved wife and children and home.... To be loved by -a very few in some corner--that was my whole ambition! Life is hard -for every one; I have seen people who had all that I wanted so much and -could not have, and yet they were not happy.... Then at the end of -my life, God put untold comfort in my way, when He gave me such a -friend.... And one thing I have not to reproach myself with--that I have -not known your worth nor appreciated you, my good Schmucke.... I have -loved you with my whole heart, with all the strength of love that is in -me.... Do not cry, Schmucke; I shall say no more if you cry and it is so -sweet to me to talk of ourselves to you.... If I had listened to you, -I should not be dying. I should have left the world and broken off my -habits, and then I should not have been wounded to death. And now, I -want to think of no one but you at the last--" - -"You are missdaken--" - -"Do not contradict me--listen, dear friend.... You are as guileless -and simple as a six-year-old child that has never left its mother; one -honors you for it--it seems to me that God Himself must watch over such -as you. But men are so wicked, that I ought to warn you beforehand... -and then you will lose your generous trust, your saint-like belief in -others, the bloom of a purity of soul that only belongs to genius or -to hearts like yours.... In a little while you will see Mme. Cibot, who -left the door ajar and watched us closely while M. Trognon was here--in -a little while you will see her come for the will, as she believes it to -be.... I expect the worthless creature will do her business this morning -when she thinks you are asleep. Now, mind what I say, and carry out my -instructions to the letter.... Are you listening?" asked the dying man. - -But Schmucke was overcome with grief, his heart was throbbing painfully, -his head fell back on the chair, he seemed to have lost consciousness. - -"Yes," he answered, "I can hear, but it is as if you vere doo huntert -baces afay from me.... It seem to me dat I am going town into der grafe -mit you," said Schmucke, crushed with pain. - -He went over to the bed, took one of Pons' hands in both his own, and -within himself put up a fervent prayer. - -"What is that that you are mumbling in German?" - -"I asked Gott dat He vould take us poth togedders to Himself!" Schmucke -answered simply when he had finished his prayer. - -Pons bent over--it was a great effort, for he was suffering intolerable -pain; but he managed to reach Schmucke, and kissed him on the forehead, -pouring out his soul, as it were, in benediction upon a nature that -recalled the lamb that lies at the foot of the Throne of God. - -"See here, listen, my good Schmucke, you must do as dying people tell -you--" - -"I am lisdening." - -"The little door in the recess in your bedroom opens into that closet." - -"Yes, but it is blocked up mit bictures." - -"Clear them away at once, without making too much noise." - -"Yes." - -"Clear a passage on both sides, so that you can pass from your room into -mine.--Now, leave the door ajar.--When La Cibot comes to take your place -(and she is capable of coming an hour earlier than usual), you can go -away to bed as if nothing had happened, and look very tired. Try to -look sleepy. As soon as she settles down into the armchair, go into the -closet, draw aside the muslin curtains over the glass door, and watch -her.... Do you understand?" - -"I oondershtand; you belief dat die pad voman is going to purn der -vill." - -"I do not know what she will do; but I am sure of this--that you will -not take her for an angel afterwards.--And now play for me; improvise -and make me happy. It will divert your thoughts; your gloomy ideas will -vanish, and for me the dark hours will be filled with your dreams...." - -Schmucke sat down at the piano. Here he was in his element; and in a few -moments, musical inspiration, quickened by the pain with which he was -quivering and the consequent irritation that followed came upon the -kindly German, and, after his wont, he was caught up and borne above -the world. On one sublime theme after another he executed variations, -putting into them sometimes Chopin's sorrow, Chopin's Raphael-like -perfection; sometimes the stormy Dante's grandeur of Liszt--the -two musicians who most nearly approach Paganini's temperament. When -execution reaches this supreme degree, the executant stands beside the -poet, as it were; he is to the composer as the actor is to the writer of -plays, a divinely inspired interpreter of things divine. But that -night, when Schmucke gave Pons an earnest of diviner symphonies, of that -heavenly music for which Saint Cecile let fall her instruments, he -was at once Beethoven and Paganini, creator and interpreter. It was an -outpouring of music inexhaustible as the nightingale's song--varied -and full of delicate undergrowth as the forest flooded with her trills; -sublime as the sky overhead. Schmucke played as he had never played -before, and the soul of the old musician listening to him rose to -ecstasy such as Raphael once painted in a picture which you may see at -Bologna. - -A terrific ringing of the door-bell put an end to these visions. The -first-floor lodgers sent up a servant with a message. Would Schmucke -please stop the racket overhead. Madame, Monsieur, and Mademoiselle -Chapoulot had been wakened, and could not sleep for the noise; they -called his attention to the fact that the day was quite long enough -for rehearsals of theatrical music, and added that people ought not to -"strum" all night in a house in the Marais.--It was then three o'clock -in the morning. At half-past three, La Cibot appeared, just as Pons had -predicted. He might have actually heard the conference between Fraisier -and the portress: "Did I not guess exactly how it would be?" his eyes -seemed to say as he glanced at Schmucke, and, turning a little, he -seemed to be fast asleep. - -Schmucke's guileless simplicity was an article of belief with La Cibot -(and be it noted that this faith in simplicity is the great source and -secret of the success of all infantine strategy); La Cibot, therefore, -could not suspect Schmucke of deceit when he came to say to her, with a -face half of distress, half of glad relief: - -"I haf had a derrible night! a derrible dime of it! I vas opliged to -play to keep him kviet, and the virst-floor lodgers vas komm up to tell -_me_ to be kviet!... It was frightful, for der life of mein friend vas -at shtake. I am so tired mit der blaying all night, dat dis morning I am -all knocked up." - -"My poor Cibot is very bad, too; one more day like yesterday, and he -will have no strength left.... One can't help it; it is God's will." - -"You haf a heart so honest, a soul so peautiful, dot gif der Zipod die, -ve shall lif togedder," said the cunning Schmucke. - -The craft of simple, straightforward folk is formidable indeed; they are -exactly like children, setting their unsuspected snares with the perfect -craft of the savage. - -"Oh, well go and sleep, sonny!" returned La Cibot. "Your eyes look -tired, they are as big as my fist. But there! if anything could comfort -me for losing Cibot, it would be the thought of ending my days with -a good man like you. Be easy. I will give Mme. Chapoulot a dressing -down.... To think of a retired haberdasher's wife giving herself such -airs!" - -Schmucke went to his room and took up his post in the closet. - -La Cibot had left the door ajar on the landing; Fraisier came in and -closed it noiselessly as soon as he heard Schmucke shut his bedroom -door. He had brought with him a lighted taper and a bit of very fine -wire to open the seal of the will. La Cibot, meanwhile, looking under -the pillow, found the handkerchief with the key of the bureau knotted to -one corner; and this so much the more easily because Pons purposely left -the end hanging over the bolster, and lay with his face to the wall. - -La Cibot went straight to the bureau, opened it cautiously so as to make -as little noise as possible, found the spring of the secret drawer, -and hurried into the salon with the will in her hand. Her flight roused -Pons' curiosity to the highest pitch; and as for Schmucke, he trembled -as if he were the guilty person. - -"Go back," said Fraisier, when she handed over the will. "He may wake, -and he must find you there." - -Fraisier opened the seal with a dexterity which proved that his was -no 'prentice hand, and read the following curious document, headed "My -Will," with ever-deepening astonishment: - - "On this fifteenth day of April, eighteen hundred and forty-five, - I, being in my sound mind (as this my Will, drawn up in concert - with M. Trognon, will testify), and feeling that I must shortly - die of the malady from which I have suffered since the beginning - of February last, am anxious to dispose of my property, and have - herein recorded my last wishes:-- - - "I have always been impressed by the untoward circumstances that - injure great pictures, and not unfrequently bring about total - destruction. I have felt sorry for the beautiful paintings - condemned to travel from land to land, never finding some fixed - abode whither admirers of great masterpieces may travel to see - them. And I have always thought that the truly deathless work of a - great master ought to be national property; put where every one of - every nation may see it, even as the light, God's masterpiece, - shines for all His children. - - "And as I have spent my life in collecting together and choosing a - few pictures, some of the greatest masters' most glorious work, - and as these pictures are as the master left them--genuine - examples, neither repainted nor retouched,--it has been a painful - thought to me that the paintings which have been the joy of my - life, may be sold by public auction, and go, some to England, some - to Russia, till they are all scattered abroad again as if they had - never been gathered together. From this wretched fate I have - determined to save both them and the frames in which they are set, - all of them the work of skilled craftsmen. - - "On these grounds, therefore, I give and bequeath the pictures - which compose my collection to the King, for the gallery in the - Louvre, subject to the charge (if the legacy is accepted) of a - life-annuity of two thousand four hundred francs to my friend - Wilhelm Schmucke. - - "If the King, as usufructuary of the Louvre collection, should - refuse the legacy with the charge upon it, the said pictures shall - form a part of the estate which I leave to my friend, Schmucke, on - condition that he shall deliver the _Monkey's Head_, by Goya, to - my cousin, President Camusot; a _Flower-piece_, the tulips, by - Abraham Mignon, to M. Trognon, notary (whom I appoint as my - executor): and allow Mme. Cibot, who has acted as my housekeeper - for ten years, the sum of two hundred francs per annum. - - "Finally, my friend Schmucke is to give the _Descent from the - Cross_, Ruben's sketch for his great picture at Antwerp, to adorn - a chapel in the parish church, in grateful acknowledgment of M. - Duplanty's kindness to me; for to him I owe it that I can die as a - Christian and a Catholic."--So ran the will. - -"This is ruin!" mused Fraisier, "the ruin of all my hopes. Ha! I begin -to believe all that the Presidente told me about this old artist and his -cunning." - -"Well?" La Cibot came back to say. - -"Your gentleman is a monster. He is leaving everything to the Crown. -Now, you cannot plead against the Crown.... The will cannot be -disputed.... We are robbed, ruined, spoiled, and murdered!" - -"What has he left to me?" - -"Two hundred francs a year." - -"A pretty come-down!... Why, he is a finished scoundrel." - -"Go and see," said Fraisier, "and I will put your scoundrel's will back -again in the envelope." - -While Mme. Cibot's back was turned, Fraisier nimbly slipped a sheet of -blank paper into the envelope; the will he put in his pocket. He next -proceeded to seal the envelope again so cleverly that he showed the -seal to Mme. Cibot when she returned, and asked her if she could see the -slightest trace of the operation. La Cibot took up the envelope, felt it -over, assured herself that it was not empty, and heaved a deep sigh. -She had entertained hopes that Fraisier himself would have burned the -unlucky document while she was out of the room. - -"Well, my dear M. Fraisier, what is to be done?" - -"Oh! that is your affair! I am not one of the next-of-kin, myself; -but if I had the slightest claim to any of _that_" (indicating the -collection), "I know very well what I should do." - -"That is just what I want to know," La Cibot answered, with sufficient -simplicity. - -"There is a fire in the grate----" he said. Then he rose to go. - -"After all, no one will know about it, but you and me----" began La -Cibot. - -"It can never be proved that a will existed," asserted the man of law. - -"And you?" - -"I?... If M. Pons dies intestate, you shall have a hundred thousand -francs." - -"Oh yes, no doubt," returned she. "People promise you heaps of money, -and when they come by their own, and there is talk of paying they -swindle you like--" "Like Elie Magus," she was going to say, but she -stopped herself just in time. - -"I am going," said Fraisier; "it is not to your interest that I should -be found here; but I shall see you again downstairs." - -La Cibot shut the door and returned with the sealed packet in her hand. -She had quite made up her mind to burn it; but as she went towards -the bedroom fireplace, she felt the grasp of a hand on each arm, and -saw--Schmucke on one hand, and Pons himself on the other, leaning -against the partition wall on either side of the door. - -La Cibot cried out, and fell face downwards in a fit; real or feigned, -no one ever knew the truth. This sight produced such an impression on -Pons that a deadly faintness came upon him, and Schmucke left the woman -on the floor to help Pons back to bed. The friends trembled in every -limb; they had set themselves a hard task, it was done, but it had been -too much for their strength. When Pons lay in bed again, and Schmucke -had regained strength to some extent, he heard a sound of sobbing. La -Cibot, on her knees, bursting into tears, held out supplicating hands to -them in very expressive pantomime. - -"It was pure curiosity!" she sobbed, when she saw that Pons and Schmucke -were paying attention to her proceedings. "Pure curiosity; a woman's -fault, you know. But I did not know how else to get a sight of your -will, and I brought it back again--" - -"Go!" said Schmucke, standing erect, his tall figure gaining in height -by the full height of his indignation. "You are a monster! You dried to -kill mein goot Bons! He is right. You are worse than a monster, you are -a lost soul!" - -La Cibot saw the look of abhorrence in the frank German's face; she -rose, proud as Tartuffe, gave Schmucke a glance which made him quake, -and went out, carrying off under her dress an exquisite little picture -of Metzu's pointed out by Elie Magus. "A diamond," he had called it. -Fraisier downstairs in the porter's lodge was waiting to hear that La -Cibot had burned the envelope and the sheet of blank paper inside it. -Great was his astonishment when he beheld his fair client's agitation -and dismay. - -"What has happened?" - -"_This_ has happened, my dear M. Fraisier. Under pretence of giving me -good advice and telling me what to do, you have lost me my annuity and -the gentlemen's confidence...." - -One of the word-tornadoes in which she excelled was in full progress, -but Fraisier cut her short. - -"This is idle talk. The facts, the facts! and be quick about it." - -"Well; it came about in this way,"--and she told him of the scene which -she had just come through. - -"You have lost nothing through me," was Fraisier's comment. "The -gentlemen had their doubts, or they would not have set this trap for -you. They were lying in wait and spying upon you.... You have not told -me everything," he added, with a tiger's glance at the woman before him. - -"_I_ hide anything from you!" cried she--"after all that we have done -together!" she added with a shudder. - -"My dear madame, _I_ have done nothing blameworthy," returned Fraisier. -Evidently he meant to deny his nocturnal visit to Pons' rooms. - -Every hair on La Cibot's head seemed to scorch her, while a sense of icy -cold swept over her from head to foot. - -"_What?_"... she faltered in bewilderment. - -"Here is a criminal charge on the face of it.... You may be accused of -suppressing the will," Fraisier made answer drily. - -La Cibot started. - -"Don't be alarmed; I am your legal adviser. I only wished to show you -how easy it is, in one way or another, to do as I once explained to you. -Let us see, now; what have you done that this simple German should be -hiding in the room?" - -"Nothing at all, unless it was that scene the other day when I stood M. -Pons out that his eyes dazzled. And ever since, the two gentlemen have -been as different as can be. So you have brought all my troubles upon -me; I might have lost my influence with M. Pons, but I was sure of the -German; just now he was talking of marrying me or of taking me with -him--it is all one." - -The excuse was so plausible that Fraisier was fain to be satisfied with -it. "You need fear nothing," he resumed. "I gave you my word that you -shall have your money, and I shall keep my word. The whole matter, so -far, was up in the air, but now it is as good as bank-notes.... You -shall have at least twelve hundred francs per annum.... But, my good -lady, you must act intelligently under my orders." - -"Yes, my dear M. Fraisier," said La Cibot with cringing servility. She -was completely subdued. - -"Very good. Good-bye," and Fraisier went, taking the dangerous document -with him. He reached home in great spirits. The will was a terrible -weapon. - -"Now," thought he, "I have a hold on Mme. la Presidente de Marville; -she must keep her word with me. If she did not, she would lose the -property." - -At daybreak, when Remonencq had taken down his shutters and left his -sister in charge of the shop, he came, after his wont of late, to -inquire for his good friend Cibot. The portress was contemplating the -Metzu, privately wondering how a little bit of painted wood could be -worth such a lot of money. - -"Aha!" said he, looking over her shoulder, "that is the one picture -which M. Elie Magus regretted; with that little bit of a thing, he says, -his happiness would be complete." - -"What would he give for it?" asked La Cibot. - -"Why, if you will promise to marry me within a year of widowhood, I -will undertake to get twenty thousand francs for it from Elie Magus; -and unless you marry me you will never get a thousand francs for the -picture." - -"Why not?" - -"Because you would be obliged to give a receipt for the money, and then -you might have a lawsuit with the heirs-at-law. If you were my wife, I -myself should sell the thing to M. Magus, and in the way of business it -is enough to make an entry in the day-book, and I should note that M. -Schmucke sold it to me. There, leave the panel with me. ... If your -husband were to die you might have a lot of bother over it, but no one -would think it odd that I should have a picture in the shop.... You know -me quite well. Besides, I will give you a receipt if you like." - -The covetous portress felt that she had been caught; she agreed to -a proposal which was to bind her for the rest of her life to the -marine-store dealer. - -"You are right," said she, as she locked the picture away in a chest; -"bring me the bit of writing." - -Remonencq beckoned her to the door. - -"I can see, neighbor, that we shall not save our poor dear Cibot," he -said lowering his voice. "Dr. Poulain gave him up yesterday evening, and -said that he could not last out the day.... It is a great misfortune. -But after all, this was not the place for you.... You ought to be in a -fine curiosity shop on the Boulevard des Capucines. Do you know that I -have made nearly a hundred thousand francs in ten years? And if you will -have as much some day, I will undertake to make a handsome fortune for -you--as my wife. You would be the mistress--my sister should wait on you -and do the work of the house, and--" - -A heartrending moan from the little tailor cut the tempter short; the -death agony had begun. - -"Go away," said La Cibot. "You are a monster to talk of such things and -my poor man dying like this--" - -"Ah! it is because I love you," said Remonencq; "I could let everything -else go to have you--" - -"If you loved me, you would say nothing to me just now," returned she. -And Remonencq departed to his shop, sure of marrying La Cibot. - -Towards ten o'clock there was a sort of commotion in the street; M. -Cibot was taking the Sacrament. All the friends of the pair, all the -porters and porters' wives in the Rue de Normandie and neighboring -streets, had crowded into the lodge, under the archway, and stood on the -pavement outside. Nobody so much as noticed the arrival of M. Leopold -Hannequin and a brother lawyer. Schwab and Brunner reached Pons' rooms -unseen by Mme. Cibot. The notary, inquiring for Pons, was shown upstairs -by the portress of a neighboring house. Brunner remembered his previous -visit to the museum, and went straight in with his friend Schwab. - -Pons formally revoked his previous will and constituted Schmucke his -universal legatee. This accomplished, he thanked Schwab and Brunner, and -earnestly begged M. Leopold Hannequin to protect Schmucke's interests. -The demands made upon him by last night's scene with La Cibot, and this -final settlement of his worldly affairs, left him so faint and exhausted -that Schmucke begged Schwab to go for the Abbe Duplanty; it was Pons' -great desire to take the Sacrament, and Schmucke could not bring himself -to leave his friend. - -La Cibot, sitting at the foot of her husband's bed, gave not so much as -a thought to Schmucke's breakfast--for that matter had been forbidden to -return; but the morning's events, the sight of Pons' heroic resignation -in the death agony, so oppressed Schmucke's heart that he was not -conscious of hunger. Towards two o'clock, however, as nothing had been -seen of the old German, La Cibot sent Remonencq's sister to see whether -Schmucke wanted anything; prompted not so much by interest as by -curiosity. The Abbe Duplanty had just heard the old musician's dying -confession, and the administration of the sacrament of extreme unction -was disturbed by repeated ringing of the door-bell. Pons, in his terror -of robbery, had made Schmucke promise solemnly to admit no one into the -house; so Schmucke did not stir. Again and again Mlle. Remonencq pulled -the cord, and finally went downstairs in alarm to tell La Cibot that -Schmucke would not open the door; Fraisier made a note of this. -Schmucke had never seen any one die in his life; before long he would be -perplexed by the many difficulties which beset those who are left with a -dead body in Paris, this more especially if they are lonely and helpless -and have no one to act for them. Fraisier knew, moreover, that in real -affliction people lose their heads, and therefore immediately after -breakfast he took up his position in the porter's lodge, and sitting -there in perpetual committee with Dr. Poulain, conceived the idea of -directing all Schmucke's actions himself. - -To obtain the important result, the doctor and the lawyer took their -measures on this wise:-- - -The beadle of Saint-Francois, Cantinet by name, at one time a retail -dealer in glassware, lived in the Rue d'Orleans, next door to Dr. -Poulain and under the same roof. Mme. Cantinet, who saw to the letting -of the chairs at Saint-Francois, once had fallen ill and Dr. Poulain had -attended her gratuitously; she was, as might be expected, grateful, and -often confided her troubles to him. The "nutcrackers," punctual in -their attendance at Saint-Francois on Sundays and saints'-days, were on -friendly terms with the beadle and the lowest ecclesiastical rank and -file, commonly called in Paris _le bas clerge_, to whom the devout -usually give little presents from time to time. Mme. Cantinet therefore -knew Schmucke almost as well as Schmucke knew her. And Mme. Cantinet was -afflicted with two sore troubles which enabled the lawyer to use her as -a blind and involuntary agent. Cantinet junior, a stage-struck youth, -had deserted the paths of the Church and turned his back on the -prospect of one day becoming a beadle, to make his _debut_ among the -supernumeraries of the Cirque-Olympique; he was leading a wild life, -breaking his mother's heart and draining her purse by frequent forced -loans. Cantinet senior, much addicted to spirituous liquors and -idleness, had, in fact, been driven to retire from business by those -two failings. So far from reforming, the incorrigible offender had found -scope in his new occupation for the indulgence of both cravings; he -did nothing, and he drank with drivers of wedding-coaches, with the -undertaker's men at funerals, with poor folk relieved by the vicar, till -his morning's occupation was set forth in rubric on his countenance by -noon. - -Mme. Cantinet saw no prospect but want in her old age, and yet she had -brought her husband twelve thousand francs, she said. The tale of her -woes related for the hundredth time suggested an idea to Dr. Poulain. -Once introduce her into the old bachelor's quarters, and it would -be easy by her means to establish Mme. Sauvage there as working -housekeeper. It was quite impossible to present Mme. Sauvage herself, -for the "nutcrackers" had grown suspicious of every one. Schmucke's -refusal to admit Mlle. Remonencq had sufficiently opened Fraisier's -eyes. Still, it seemed evident that Pons and Schmucke, being pious -souls, would take any one recommended by the Abbe, with blind -confidence. Mme. Cantinet should bring Mme. Sauvage with her, and to -put in Fraisier's servant was almost tantamount to installing Fraisier -himself. - -The Abbe Duplanty, coming downstairs, found the gateway blocked by the -Cibots' friends, all of them bent upon showing their interest in one of -the oldest and most respectable porters in the Marais. - -Dr. Poulain raised his hat, and took the Abbe aside. - -"I am just about to go to poor M. Pons," he said. "There is still a -chance of recovery; but it is a question of inducing him to undergo an -operation. The calculi are perceptible to the touch, they are setting up -an inflammatory condition which will end fatally, but perhaps it is -not too late to remove them. You should really use your influence to -persuade the patient to submit to surgical treatment; I will answer -for his life, provided that no untoward circumstance occurs during the -operation." - -"I will return as soon as I have taken the sacred ciborium back to the -church," said the Abbe Duplanty, "for M. Schmucke's condition claims the -support of religion." - -"I have just heard that he is alone," said Dr. Poulain. "The German, -good soul, had a little altercation this morning with Mme. Cibot, who -has acted as housekeeper to them both for the past ten years. They have -quarreled (for the moment only, no doubt), but under the circumstances -they must have some one in to help upstairs. It would be a charity to -look after him.--I say, Cantinet," continued the doctor, beckoning to -the beadle, "just go and ask your wife if she will nurse M. Pons, and -look after M. Schmucke, and take Mme. Cibot's place for a day or two.... -Even without the quarrel, Mme. Cibot would still require a substitute. -Mme. Cantinet is honest," added the doctor, turning to M. Duplanty. - -"You could not make a better choice," said the good priest; "she is -intrusted with the letting of chairs in the church." - -A few minutes later, Dr. Poulain stood by Pons' pillow watching the -progress made by death, and Schmucke's vain efforts to persuade his -friend to consent to the operation. To all the poor German's despairing -entreaties Pons only replied by a shake of the head and occasional -impatient movements; till, after awhile, he summoned up all his -fast-failing strength to say, with a heartrending look: - -"Do let me die in peace!" - -Schmucke almost died of sorrow, but he took Pons' hand and softly kissed -it, and held it between his own, as if trying a second time to give his -own vitality to his friend. - -Just at this moment the bell rang, and Dr. Poulain, going to the door, -admitted the Abbe Duplanty. - -"Our poor patient is struggling in the grasp of death," he said. "All -will be over in a few hours. You will send a priest, no doubt, to watch -to-night. But it is time that Mme. Cantinet came, as well as a woman to -do the work, for M. Schmucke is quite unfit to think of anything: I am -afraid for his reason; and there are valuables here which ought to be in -the custody of honest persons." - -The Abbe Duplanty, a kindly, upright priest, guileless and unsuspicious, -was struck with the truth of Dr. Poulain's remarks. He had, moreover, a -certain belief in the doctor of the quarter. So on the threshold of the -death-chamber he stopped and beckoned to Schmucke, but Schmucke could -not bring himself to loosen the grasp of the hand that grew tighter and -tighter. Pons seemed to think that he was slipping over the edge of -a precipice and must catch at something to save himself. But, as many -know, the dying are haunted by an hallucination that leads them to -snatch at things about them, like men eager to save their most precious -possessions from a fire. Presently Pons released Schmucke to clutch at -the bed-clothes, dragging them and huddling them about himself with a -hasty, covetous movement significant and painful to see. - -"What will you do, left alone with your dead friend?" asked M. l'Abbe -Duplanty when Schmucke came to the door. "You have not Mme. Cibot now--" - -"Ein monster dat haf killed Bons!" - -"But you must have somebody with you," began Dr. Poulain. "Some one must -sit up with the body to-night." - -"I shall sit up; I shall say die prayers to Gott," the innocent German -answered. - -"But you must eat--and who is to cook for you now?" asked the doctor. - -"Grief haf taken afay mein abbetite," Schmucke said, simply. - -"And some one must give notice to the registrar," said Poulain, "and lay -out the body, and order the funeral; and the person who sits up with the -body and the priest will want meals. Can you do all this by yourself? A -man cannot die like a dog in the capital of the civilized world." - -Schmucke opened wide eyes of dismay. A brief fit of madness seized him. - -"But Bons shall not tie!..." he cried aloud. "I shall safe him!" - -"You cannot go without sleep much longer, and who will take your place? -Some one must look after M. Pons, and give him drink, and nurse him--" - -"Ah! dat is drue." - -"Very well," said the Abbe, "I am thinking of sending your Mme. -Cantinet, a good and honest creature--" - -The practical details of the care of the dead bewildered Schmucke, till -he was fain to die with his friend. - -"He is a child," said the doctor, turning to the Abbe Duplanty. - -"Ein child," Schmucke repeated mechanically. - -"There, then," said the curate; "I will speak to Mme. Cantinet, and send -her to you." - -"Do not trouble yourself," said the doctor; "I am going home, and she -lives in the next house." - -The dying seem to struggle with Death as with an invisible assassin; -in the agony at the last, as the final thrust is made, the act of dying -seems to be a conflict, a hand-to-hand fight for life. Pons had reached -the supreme moment. At the sound of his groans and cries, the three -standing in the doorway hurried to the bedside. Then came the last blow, -smiting asunder the bonds between soul and body, striking down to life's -sources; and suddenly Pons regained for a few brief moments the perfect -calm that follows the struggle. He came to himself, and with the -serenity of death in his face he looked round almost smilingly at them. - -"Ah, doctor, I have had a hard time of it; but you were right, I am -doing better. Thank you, my good Abbe; I was wondering what had become -of Schmucke--" - -"Schmucke has had nothing to eat since yesterday evening, and now it is -four o'clock! You have no one with you now and it would be wise to send -for Mme. Cibot." - -"She is capable of anything!" said Pons, without attempting to conceal -all his abhorrence at the sound of her name. "It is true, Schmucke ought -to have some trustworthy person." - -"M. Duplanty and I have been thinking about you both--" - -"Ah! thank you, I had not thought of that." - -"--And M. Duplanty suggests that you should have Mme. Cantinet--" - -"Oh! Mme. Cantinet who lets the chairs!" exclaimed Pons. "Yes, she is an -excellent creature." - -"She has no liking for Mme. Cibot," continued the doctor, "and she would -take good care of M. Schmucke--" - -"Send her to me, M. Duplanty... send her and her husband too. I shall be -easy. Nothing will be stolen here." - -Schmucke had taken Pons' hand again, and held it joyously in his own. -Pons was almost well again, he thought. - -"Let us go, Monsieur l'Abbe," said the doctor. "I will send Mme. -Cantinet round at once. I see how it is. She perhaps may not find M. -Pons alive." - - - -While the Abbe Duplanty was persuading Pons to engage Mme. Cantinet as -his nurse, Fraisier had sent for her. He had plied the beadle's wife -with sophistical reasoning and subtlety. It was difficult to resist his -corrupting influence. And as for Mme. Cantinet--a lean, sallow woman, -with large teeth and thin lips--her intelligence, as so often happens -with women of the people, had been blunted by a hard life, till she -had come to look upon the slenderest daily wage as prosperity. She soon -consented to take Mme. Sauvage with her as general servant. - -Mme. Sauvage had had her instructions already. She had undertaken to -weave a web of iron wire about the two musicians, and to watch them as -a spider watches a fly caught in the toils; and her reward was to be a -tobacconist's license. Fraisier had found a convenient opportunity of -getting rid of his so-called foster-mother, while he posted her as -a detective and policeman to supervise Mme. Cantinet. As there was a -servant's bedroom and a little kitchen included in the apartment, -La Sauvage could sleep on a truckle-bed and cook for the German. Dr. -Poulain came with the two women just as Pons drew his last breath. -Schmucke was sitting beside his friend, all unconscious of the crisis, -holding the hand that slowly grew colder in his grasp. He signed to Mme. -Cantinet to be silent; but Mme. Sauvage's soldierly figure surprised him -so much that he started in spite of himself, a kind of homage to which -the virago was quite accustomed. - -"M. Duplanty answers for this lady," whispered Mme. Cantinet by way of -introduction. "She once was cook to a bishop; she is honesty itself; she -will do the cooking." - -"Oh! you may talk out loud," wheezed the stalwart dame. "The poor -gentleman is dead.... He has just gone." - -A shrill cry broke from Schmucke. He felt Pons' cold hand stiffening in -his, and sat staring into his friend's eyes; the look in them would have -driven him mad, if Mme. Sauvage, doubtless accustomed to scenes of this -sort, had not come to the bedside with a mirror which she held over the -lips of the dead. When she saw that there was no mist upon the surface, -she briskly snatched Schmucke's hand away. - -"Just take away your hand, sir; you may not be able to do it in a little -while. You do not know how the bones harden. A corpse grows cold very -quickly. If you do not lay out a body while it is warm, you have to -break the joints later on...." - -And so it was this terrible woman who closed the poor dead musician's -eyes. - -With a business-like dexterity acquired in ten years of experience, -she stripped and straightened the body, laid the arms by the sides, -and covered the face with the bedclothes, exactly as a shopman wraps a -parcel. - -"A sheet will be wanted to lay him out.--Where is there a sheet?" she -demanded, turning on the terror-stricken Schmucke. - -He had watched the religious ritual with its deep reverence for the -creature made for such high destinies in heaven; and now he saw his dead -friend treated simply as a thing in this packing process--saw with the -sharp pain that dissolves the very elements of thought. - -"Do as you vill----" he answered mechanically. The innocent creature for -the first time in his life had seen a man die, and that man was Pons, -his only friend, the one human being who understood him and loved him. - -"I will go and ask Mme. Cibot where the sheets are kept," said La -Sauvage. - -"A truckle-bed will be wanted for the person to sleep upon," Mme. -Cantinet came to tell Schmucke. - -Schmucke nodded and broke out into weeping. Mme. Cantinet left the -unhappy man in peace; but an hour later she came back to say: - -"Have you any money, sir, to pay for the things?" - -The look that Schmucke gave Mme. Cantinet would have disarmed the -fiercest hate; it was the white, blank, peaked face of death that he -turned upon her, as an explanation that met everything. - -"Dake it all and leaf me to mein prayers and tears," he said, and knelt. - -Mme. Sauvage went to Fraisier with the news of Pons' death. Fraisier -took a cab and went to the Presidente. To-morrow she must give him the -power of attorney to enable him to act for the heirs. - -Another hour went by, and Mme. Cantinet came again to Schmucke. - -"I have been to Mme. Cibot, sir, who knows all about things here," she -said. "I asked her to tell me where everything is kept. But she almost -jawed me to death with her abuse.... Sir, do listen to me...." - -Schmucke looked up at the woman, and she went on, innocent of any -barbarous intention, for women of her class are accustomed to take the -worst of moral suffering passively, as a matter of course. - -"We must have linen for the shroud, sir, we must have money to buy -a truckle-bed for the person to sleep upon, and some things for the -kitchen--plates, and dishes, and glasses, for a priest will be coming -to pass the night here, and the person says that there is absolutely -nothing in the kitchen." - -"And what is more, sir, I must have coal and firing if I am to get the -dinner ready," echoed La Sauvage, "and not a thing can I find. Not that -there is anything so very surprising in that, as La Cibot used to do -everything for you--" - -Schmucke lay at the feet of the dead; he heard nothing, knew nothing, -saw nothing. Mme. Cantinet pointed to him. "My dear woman, you would not -believe me," she said. "Whatever you say, he does not answer." - -"Very well, child," said La Sauvage; "now I will show you what to do in -a case of this kind." - -She looked round the room as a thief looks in search of possible -hiding-places for money; then she went straight to Pons' chest, opened -the first drawer, saw the bag in which Schmucke had put the rest of -the money after the sale of the pictures, and held it up before him. He -nodded mechanically. - -"Here is money, child," said La Sauvage, turning to Mme. Cantinet. "I -will count it first and take enough to buy everything we want--wine, -provisions, wax-candles, all sorts of things, in fact, for there is -nothing in the house.... Just look in the drawers for a sheet to bury -him in. I certainly was told that the poor gentleman was simple, but -I don't know what he is; he is worse. He is like a new-born child; we -shall have to feed him with a funnel." - -The women went about their work, and Schmucke looked on precisely as an -idiot might have done. Broken down with sorrow, wholly absorbed, in a -half-cataleptic state, he could not take his eyes from the face that -seemed to fascinate him, Pons' face refined by the absolute repose of -Death. Schmucke hoped to die; everything was alike indifferent. If the -room had been on fire he would not have stirred. - -"There are twelve hundred and fifty francs here," La Sauvage told him. - -Schmucke shrugged his shoulders. - -But when La Sauvage came near to measure the body by laying the sheet -over it, before cutting out the shroud, a horrible struggle ensued -between her and the poor German. Schmucke was furious. He behaved like -a dog that watches by his dead master's body, and shows his teeth at all -who try to touch it. La Sauvage grew impatient. She grasped him, set him -in the armchair, and held him down with herculean strength. - -"Go on, child; sew him in his shroud," she said, turning to Mme. -Cantinet. - -As soon as this operation was completed, La Sauvage set Schmucke back in -his place at the foot of the bed. - -"Do you understand?" said she. "The poor dead man lying there must be -done up, there is no help for it." - -Schmucke began to cry. The women left him and took possession of the -kitchen, whither they brought all the necessaries in a very short time. -La Sauvage made out a preliminary statement accounting for three hundred -and sixty francs, and then proceeded to prepare a dinner for four -persons. And what a dinner! A fat goose (the cobbler's pheasant) by way -of a substantial roast, an omelette with preserves, a salad, and the -inevitable broth--the quantities of the ingredients for this last being -so excessive that the soup was more like a strong meat-jelly. - -At nine o'clock the priest, sent by the curate to watch by the dead, -came in with Cantinet, who brought four tall wax candles and some -tapers. In the death-chamber Schmucke was lying with his arms about -the body of his friend, holding him in a tight clasp; nothing but the -authority of religion availed to separate him from his dead. Then -the priest settled himself comfortably in the easy-chair and read his -prayers while Schmucke, kneeling beside the couch, besought God to work -a miracle and unite him to Pons, so that they might be buried in the -same grave; and Mme. Cantinet went on her way to the Temple to buy a -pallet and complete bedding for Mme. Sauvage. The twelve hundred and -fifty francs were regarded as plunder. At eleven o'clock Mme. Cantinet -came in to ask if Schmucke would not eat a morsel, but with a gesture he -signified that he wished to be left in peace. - -"Your supper is ready, M. Pastelot," she said, addressing the priest, -and they went. - -Schmucke, left alone in the room, smiled to himself like a madman free -at last to gratify a desire like the longing of pregnancy. He flung -himself down beside Pons, and yet again he held his friend in a long, -close embrace. At midnight the priest came back and scolded him, and -Schmucke returned to his prayers. At daybreak the priest went, and at -seven o'clock in the morning the doctor came to see Schmucke, and spoke -kindly and tried hard to persuade him to eat, but the German refused. - -"If you do not eat now you will feel very hungry when you come back," -the doctor told him, "for you must go to the mayor's office and take -a witness with you, so that the registrar may issue a certificate of -death." - -"_I_ must go!" cried Schmucke in frightened tones. - -"Who else?... You must go, for you were the one person who saw him die." - -"Mein legs vill nicht carry me," pleaded Schmucke, imploring the doctor -to come to the rescue. - -"Take a cab," the hypocritical doctor blandly suggested. "I have given -notice already. Ask some one in the house to go with you. The two women -will look after the place while you are away." - -No one imagines how the requirements of the law jar upon a heartfelt -sorrow. The thought of it is enough to make one turn from civilization -and choose rather the customs of the savage. At nine o'clock that -morning Mme. Sauvage half-carried Schmucke downstairs, and from the cab -he was obliged to beg Remonencq to come with him to the registrar as -a second witness. Here in Paris, in this land of ours besotted with -Equality, the inequality of conditions is glaringly apparent everywhere -and in everything. The immutable tendency of things peeps out even in -the practical aspects of Death. In well-to-do families, a relative, a -friend, or a man of business spares the mourners these painful details; -but in this, as in the matter of taxation, the whole burden falls -heaviest upon the shoulders of the poor. - -"Ah! you have good reason to regret him," said Remonencq in answer to -the poor martyr's moan; "he was a very good, a very honest man, and he -has left a fine collection behind him. But being a foreigner, sir, do -you know that you are like to find yourself in a great predicament--for -everybody says that M. Pons left everything to you?" - -Schmucke was not listening. He was sounding the dark depths of sorrow -that border upon madness. There is such a thing as tetanus of the soul. - -"And you would do well to find some one--some man of business--to advise -you and act for you," pursued Remonencq. - -"Ein mann of pizness!" echoed Schmucke. - -"You will find that you will want some one to act for you. If I were -you, I should take an experienced man, somebody well known to you in the -quarter, a man you can trust.... I always go to Tabareau myself for my -bits of affairs--he is the bailiff. If you give his clerk power to act -for you, you need not trouble yourself any further." - -Remonencq and La Cibot, prompted by Fraisier, had agreed beforehand to -make a suggestion which stuck in Schmucke's memory; for there are times -in our lives when grief, as it were, congeals the mind by arresting -all its functions, and any chance impression made at such moments is -retained by a frost-bound memory. Schmucke heard his companion with such -a fixed, mindless stare, that Remonencq said no more. - -"If he is always to be idiotic like this," thought Remonencq, "I might -easily buy the whole bag of tricks up yonder for a hundred thousand -francs; if it is really his.... Here we are at the mayor's office, sir." - -Remonencq was obliged to take Schmucke out of the cab and to half-carry -him to the registrar's department, where a wedding-party was assembled. -Here they had to wait for their turn, for, by no very uncommon chance, -the clerk had five or six certificates to make out that morning; and -here it was appointed that poor Schmucke should suffer excruciating -anguish. - -"Monsieur is M. Schmucke?" remarked a person in a suit of black, -reducing Schmucke to stupefaction by the mention of his name. He looked -up with the same blank, unseeing eyes that he had turned upon Remonencq, -who now interposed. - -"What do you want with him?" he said. "Just leave him in peace; you can -plainly see that he is in trouble." - -"The gentleman has just lost his friend, and proposes, no doubt, to do -honor to his memory, being, as he is, the sole heir. The gentleman, no -doubt, will not haggle over it, he will buy a piece of ground outright -for a grave. And as M. Pons was such a lover of the arts, it would be a -great pity not to put Music, Painting, and Sculpture on his tomb--three -handsome full-length figures, weeping--" - -Remonencq waved the speaker away, in Auvergnat fashion, but the man -replied with another gesture, which being interpreted means "Don't spoil -sport"; a piece of commercial free-masonry, as it were, which the dealer -understood. - -"I represent the firm of Sonet and Company, monumental stone-masons; -Sir Walter Scott would have dubbed me _Young Mortality_," continued this -person. "If you, sir, should decide to intrust your orders to us, -we would spare you the trouble of the journey to purchase the ground -necessary for the interment of a friend lost to the arts--" - -At this Remonencq nodded assent, and jogged Schmucke's elbow. - -"Every day we receive orders from families to arrange all formalities," -continued he of the black coat, thus encouraged by Remonencq. "In the -first moment of bereavement, the heir-at-law finds it very difficult to -attend to such matters, and we are accustomed to perform these little -services for our clients. Our charges, sir, are on a fixed scale, so -much per foot, freestone or marble. Family vaults a specialty.--We -undertake everything at the most moderate prices. Our firm executed the -magnificent monument erected to the fair Esther Gobseck and Lucien de -Rubempre, one of the finest ornaments of Pere-Lachaise. We only -employ the best workmen, and I must warn you, sir, against small -contractors--who turn out nothing but trash," he added, seeing that -another person in a black suit was coming up to say a word for another -firm of marble-workers. - -It is often said that "death is the end of a journey," but the aptness -of the simile is realized most fully in Paris. Any arrival, especially -of a person of condition, upon the "dark brink," is hailed in much the -same way as the traveler recently landed is hailed by hotel touts -and pestered with their recommendations. With the exception of a few -philosophically-minded persons, or here and there a family secure -of handing down a name to posterity, nobody thinks beforehand of the -practical aspects of death. Death always comes before he is expected; -and, from a sentiment easy to understand, the heirs usually act as if -the event were impossible. For which reason, almost every one that loses -father or mother, wife or child, is immediately beset by scouts that -profit by the confusion caused by grief to snare others. In former days, -agents for monuments used to live round about the famous cemetery of -Pere-Lachaise, and were gathered together in a single thoroughfare, -which should by rights have been called the Street of Tombs; issuing -thence, they fell upon the relatives of the dead as they came from the -cemetery, or even at the grave-side. But competition and the spirit -of speculation induced them to spread themselves further and further -afield, till descending into Paris itself they reached the very -precincts of the mayor's office. Indeed, the stone-mason's agent has -often been known to invade the house of mourning with a design for the -sepulchre in his hand. - -"I am in treaty with this gentleman," said the representative of the -firm of Sonet to another agent who came up. - -"Pons deceased!..." called the clerk at this moment. "Where are the -witnesses?" - -"This way, sir," said the stone-mason's agent, this time addressing -Remonencq. - -Schmucke stayed where he had been placed on the bench, an inert mass. -Remonencq begged the agent to help him, and together they pulled -Schmucke towards the balustrade, behind which the registrar shelters -himself from the mourning public. Remonencq, Schmucke's Providence, was -assisted by Dr. Poulain, who filled in the necessary information as to -Pons' age and birthplace; the German knew but one thing--that Pons was -his friend. So soon as the signatures were affixed, Remonencq and the -doctor (followed by the stone-mason's man), put Schmucke into a cab, -the desperate agent whisking in afterwards, bent upon taking a definite -order. - -La Sauvage, on the lookout in the gateway, half-carried Schmucke's -almost unconscious form upstairs. Remonencq and the agent went up with -her. - -"He will be ill!" exclaimed the agent, anxious to make an end of the -piece of business which, according to him, was in progress. - -"I should think he will!" returned Mme. Sauvage. "He has been crying -for twenty-four hours on end, and he would not take anything. There is -nothing like grief for giving one a sinking in the stomach." - -"My dear client," urged the representative of the firm of Sonet, "do -take some broth. You have so much to do; some one must go to the Hotel -de Ville to buy the ground in the cemetery on which you mean to erect -a monument to perpetuate the memory of the friend of the arts, and bear -record to your gratitude." - -"Why, there is no sense in this!" added Mme. Cantinet, coming in with -broth and bread. - -"If you are as weak as this, you ought to think of finding some one to -act for you," added Remonencq, "for you have a good deal on your hands, -my dear sir. There is the funeral to order. You would not have your -friend buried like a pauper!" - -"Come, come, my dear sir," put in La Sauvage, seizing a moment when -Schmucke laid his head back in the great chair to pour a spoonful of -soup into his mouth. She fed him as if he had been a child, and almost -in spite of himself. - -"Now, if you were wise, sir, since you are inclined to give yourself up -quietly to grief, you would find some one to act for you--" - -"As you are thinking of raising a magnificent monument to the memory -of your friend, sir, you have only to leave it all to me; I will -undertake--" - -"What is all this? What is all this?" asked La Sauvage. "Has M. Schmucke -ordered something? Who may you be?" - -"I represent the firm of Sonet, my dear madame, the biggest -monumental stone-masons in Paris," said the person in black, handing a -business-card to the stalwart Sauvage. - -"Very well, that will do. Some one will go with you when the time comes; -but you must not take advantage of the gentleman's condition now. You -can quite see that he is not himself----" - -The agent led her out upon the landing. - -"If you will undertake to get the order for us," he said confidentially, -"I am empowered to offer you forty francs." - -Mme. Sauvage grew placable. "Very well, let me have your address," said -she. - -Schmucke meantime being left to himself, and feeling the stronger for -the soup and bread that he had been forced to swallow, returned at -once to Pons' rooms, and to his prayers. He had lost himself in the -fathomless depths of sorrow, when a voice sounding in his ears drew -him back from the abyss of grief, and a young man in a suit of black -returned for the eleventh time to the charge, pulling the poor, tortured -victim's coatsleeve until he listened. - -"Sir!" said he. - -"Vat ees it now?" - -"Sir! we owe a supreme discovery to Dr. Gannal; we do not dispute -his fame; he has worked miracles of Egypt afresh; but there have been -improvements made upon his system. We have obtained surprising results. -So, if you would like to see your friend again, as he was when he was -alive--" - -"See him again!" cried Schmucke. "Shall he speak to me?" - -"Not exactly. Speech is the only thing wanting," continued the -embalmer's agent. "But he will remain as he is after embalming for all -eternity. The operation is over in a few seconds. Just an incision in -the carotid artery and an injection.--But it is high time; if you -wait one single quarter of an hour, sir, you will not have the sweet -satisfaction of preserving the body...." - -"Go to der teufel!... Bons is ein spirit--und dat spirit is in hefn." - -"That man has no gratitude in his composition," remarked the youthful -agent of one of the famous Gannal's rivals; "he will not embalm his -friend." - -The words were spoken under the archway, and addressed to La Cibot, who -had just submitted her beloved to the process. - -"What would you have, sir!" she said. "He is the heir, the universal -legatee. As soon as they get what they want, the dead are nothing to -them." - -An hour later, Schmucke saw Mme. Sauvage come into the room, followed by -another man in a suit of black, a workman, to all appearance. - -"Cantinet has been so obliging as to send this gentleman, sir," she -said; "he is coffin-maker to the parish." - -The coffin-maker made his bow with a sympathetic and compassionate air, -but none the less he had a business-like look, and seemed to know that -he was indispensable. He turned an expert's eye upon the dead. - -"How does the gentleman wish 'it' to be made? Deal, plain oak, or oak -lead-lined? Oak with a lead lining is the best style. The body is -a stock size,"--he felt for the feet, and proceeded to take the -measure--"one metre seventy!" he added. "You will be thinking of -ordering the funeral service at the church, sir, no doubt?" - -Schmucke looked at him as a dangerous madman might look before striking -a blow. La Sauvage put in a word. - -"You ought to find somebody to look after all these things," she said. - -"Yes----" the victim murmured at length. - -"Shall I fetch M. Tabareau?--for you will have a good deal on your hands -before long. M. Tabareau is the most honest man in the quarter, you -see." - -"Yes. Mennesir Dapareau! Somepody vas speaking of him chust now--" said -Schmucke, completely beaten. - -"Very well. You can be quiet, sir, and give yourself up to grief, when -you have seen your deputy." - -It was nearly two o'clock when M. Tabareau's head-clerk, a young man -who aimed at a bailiff's career, modestly presented himself. Youth -has wonderful privileges; no one is alarmed by youth. This young man -Villemot by name, sat down by Schmucke's side and waited his opportunity -to speak. His diffidence touched Schmucke very much. - -"I am M. Tabareau's head-clerk, sir," he said; "he sent me here to take -charge of your interests, and to superintend the funeral arrangements. -Is this your wish?" - -"You cannot safe my life, I haf not long to lif; but you vill leaf me in -beace!" - -"Oh! you shall not be disturbed," said Villemot. - -"Ver' goot. Vat must I do for dat?" - -"Sign this paper appointing M. Tabareau to act for you in all matters -relating to the settlement of the affairs of the deceased." - -"Goot! gif it to me," said Schmucke, anxious only to sign it at once. - -"No, I must read it over to you first." - -"Read it ofer." - -Schmucke paid not the slightest attention to the reading of the power -of attorney, but he set his name to it. The young clerk took Schmucke's -orders for the funeral, the interment, and the burial service; -undertaking that he should not be troubled again in any way, nor asked -for money. - -"I vould gif all dat I haf to be left in beace," said the unhappy man. -And once more he knelt beside the dead body of his friend. - -Fraisier had triumphed. Villemot and La Sauvage completed the circle -which he had traced about Pons' heir. - -There is no sorrow that sleep cannot overcome. Towards the end of -the day La Sauvage, coming in, found Schmucke stretched asleep at the -bed-foot. She carried him off, put him to bed, tucked him in maternally, -and till the morning Schmucke slept. - -When he awoke, or rather when the truce was over and he again became -conscious of his sorrows, Pons' coffin lay under the gateway in such a -state as a third-class funeral may claim, and Schmucke, seeking vainly -for his friend, wandered from room to room, across vast spaces, as it -seemed to him, empty of everything save hideous memories. La Sauvage -took him in hand, much as a nurse manages a child; she made him take his -breakfast before starting for the church; and while the poor sufferer -forced himself to eat, she discovered, with lamentations worthy of -Jeremiah, that he had not a black coat in his possession. La Cibot took -entire charge of his wardrobe; since Pons fell ill, his apparel, like -his dinner, had been reduced to the lowest terms--to a couple of coats -and two pairs of trousers. - -"And you are going just as you are to M. Pons' funeral? It is an -unheard-of thing; the whole quarter will cry shame upon us!" - -"Und how vill you dat I go?" - -"Why, in mourning--" - -"Mourning!" - -"It is the proper thing." - -"Der bropper ding!... Confound all dis stupid nonsense!" cried poor -Schmucke, driven to the last degree of exasperation which a childlike -soul can reach under stress of sorrow. - -"Why, the man is a monster of ingratitude!" said La Sauvage, turning -to a personage who just then appeared. At the sight of this functionary -Schmucke shuddered. The newcomer wore a splendid suit of black, black -knee-breeches, black silk stockings, a pair of white cuffs, an extremely -correct white muslin tie, and white gloves. A silver chain with a coin -attached ornamented his person. A typical official, stamped with the -official expression of decorous gloom, an ebony wand in his hand by -way of insignia of office, he stood waiting with a three-cornered hat -adorned with the tricolor cockade under his arm. - -"I am the master of the ceremonies," this person remarked in a subdued -voice. - -Accustomed daily to superintend funerals, to move among families plunged -in one and the same kind of tribulation, real or feigned, this man, like -the rest of his fraternity, spoke in hushed and soothing tones; he was -decorous, polished, and formal, like an allegorical stone figure of -Death. - -Schmucke quivered through every nerve as if he were confronting his -executioner. - -"Is this gentleman the son, brother, or father of the deceased?" -inquired the official. - -"I am all dat and more pesides--I am his friend," said Schmucke through -a torrent of weeping. - -"Are you his heir?" - -"Heir?..." repeated Schmucke. "Noding matters to me more in dis vorld," -returning to his attitude of hopeless sorrow. - -"Where are the relatives, the friends?" asked the master of the -ceremonies. - -"All here!" exclaimed the German, indicating the pictures and rarities. -"Not von of dem haf efer gifn bain to mein boor Bons.... Here ees -everydings dot he lofed, after me." - -Schmucke had taken his seat again, and looked as vacant as before; he -dried his eyes mechanically. Villemot came up at that moment; he had -ordered the funeral, and the master of the ceremonies, recognizing him, -made an appeal to the newcomer. - -"Well, sir, it is time to start. The hearse is here; but I have not -often seen such a funeral as this. Where are the relatives and friends?" - -"We have been pressed for time," replied Villemot. "This gentleman was -in such deep grief that he could think of nothing. And there is only one -relative." - -The master of the ceremonies looked compassionately at Schmucke; this -expert in sorrow knew real grief when he saw it. He went across to him. - -"Come, take heart, my dear sir. Think of paying honor to your friend's -memory." - -"We forgot to send out cards; but I took care to send a special message -to M. le Presidente de Marville, the one relative that I mentioned to -you.--There are no friends.--M. Pons was conductor of an orchestra at a -theatre, but I do not think that any one will come.--This gentleman is -the universal legatee, I believe." - -"Then he ought to be chief mourner," said the master of the -ceremonies.--"Have you a black coat?" he continued, noticing Schmucke's -costume. - -"I am all in plack insite!" poor Schmucke replied in heartrending tones; -"so plack it is dot I feel death in me.... Gott in hefn is going to haf -pity upon me; He vill send me to mein friend in der grafe, und I dank -Him for it--" - -He clasped his hands. - -"I have told our management before now that we ought to have a wardrobe -department and lend the proper mourning costumes on hire," said the -master of the ceremonies, addressing Villemot; "it is a want that -is more and more felt every day, and we have even now introduced -improvements. But as this gentleman is chief mourner, he ought to wear a -cloak, and this one that I have brought with me will cover him from -head to foot; no one need know that he is not in proper mourning -costume.--Will you be so kind as to rise?" - -Schmucke rose, but he tottered on his feet. - -"Support him," said the master of the ceremonies, turning to Villemot; -"you are his legal representative." - -Villemot held Schmucke's arm while the master of the ceremonies invested -Schmucke with the ample, dismal-looking garment worn by heirs-at-law in -the procession to and from the house and the church. He tied the black -silken cords under the chin, and Schmucke as heir was in "full dress." - -"And now comes a great difficulty," continued the master of the -ceremonies; "we want four bearers for the pall.... If nobody comes to -the funeral, who is to fill the corners? It is half-past ten already," -he added, looking at his watch; "they are waiting for us at the church." - -"Oh! here comes Fraisier!" Villemot exclaimed, very imprudently; but -there was no one to hear the tacit confession of complicity. - -"Who is this gentleman?" inquired the master of the ceremonies. - -"Oh! he comes on behalf of the family." - -"Whose family?" - -"The disinherited family. He is M. Camusot de Marville's -representative." - -"Good," said the master of the ceremonies, with a satisfied air. "We -shall have two pall-bearers at any rate--you and he." - -And, happy to find two of the places filled up, he took out some -wonderful white buckskin gloves, and politely presented Fraisier and -Villemot with a pair apiece. - -"If you gentlemen will be so good as to act as pall-bearers--" said he. - -Fraisier, in black from head to foot, pretentiously dressed, with his -white tie and official air, was a sight to shudder at; he embodied a -hundred briefs. - -"Willingly, sir," said he. - -"If only two more persons will come, the four corners will be filled -up," said the master of the ceremonies. - -At that very moment the indefatigable representative of the firm of -Sonet came up, and, closely following him, the man who remembered -Pons and thought of paying him a last tribute of respect. This was a -supernumerary at the theatre, the man who put out the scores on the -music-stands for the orchestra. Pons had been wont to give him a -five-franc piece once a month, knowing that he had a wife and family. - -"Oh, Dobinard (Topinard)!" Schmucke cried out at the sight of him, -"_you_ love Bons!" - -"Why, I have come to ask news of M. Pons every morning, sir." - -"Efery morning! boor Dobinard!" and Schmucke squeezed the man's hand. - -"But they took me for a relation, no doubt, and did not like my visits -at all. I told them that I belonged to the theatre and came to inquire -after M. Pons; but it was no good. They saw through that dodge, they -said. I asked to see the poor dear man, but they never would let me come -upstairs." - -"Dat apominable Zipod!" said Schmucke, squeezing Topinard's horny hand -to his heart. - -"He was the best of men, that good M. Pons. Every month he use to give -me five francs.... He knew that I had three children and a wife. My wife -has gone to the church." - -"I shall difide mein pread mit you," cried Schmucke, in his joy at -finding at his side some one who loved Pons. - -"If this gentleman will take a corner of the pall, we shall have all -four filled up," said the master of the ceremonies. - -There had been no difficulty over persuading the agent for monuments. -He took a corner the more readily when he was shown the handsome pair of -gloves which, according to custom, was to be his property. - -"A quarter to eleven! We absolutely must go down. They are waiting for -us at the church." - -The six persons thus assembled went down the staircase. - -The cold-blooded lawyer remained a moment to speak to the two women on -the landing. "Stop here, and let nobody come in," he said, "especially -if you wish to remain in charge, Mme. Cantinet. Aha! two francs a day, -you know!" - -By a coincidence in nowise extraordinary in Paris, two hearses were -waiting at the door, and two coffins standing under the archway; Cibot's -funeral and the solitary state in which Pons was lying was made even -more striking in the street. Schmucke was the only mourner that followed -Pons' coffin; Schmucke, supported by one of the undertaker's men, for he -tottered at every step. From the Rue de Normandie to the Rue d'Orleans -and the Church of Saint-Francois the two funerals went between a double -row of curious onlookers for everything (as was said before) makes a -sensation in the quarter. Every one remarked the splendor of the white -funeral car, with a big embroidered P suspended on a hatchment, and the -one solitary mourner behind it; while the cheap bier that came after it -was followed by an immense crowd. Happily, Schmucke was so bewildered by -the throng of idlers and the rows of heads in the windows, that he heard -no remarks and only saw the faces through a mist of tears. - -"Oh, it is the nutcracker!" said one, "the musician, you know--" - -"Who can the pall-bearers be?" - -"Pooh! play-actors." - -"I say, just look at poor old Cibot's funeral. There is one worker the -less. What a man! he could never get enough of work!" - -"He never went out." - -"He never kept Saint Monday." - -"How fond he was of his wife!" - -"Ah! There is an unhappy woman!" - -Remonencq walked behind his victim's coffin. People condoled with him on -the loss of his neighbor. - -The two funerals reached the church. Cantinet and the doorkeeper saw -that no beggars troubled Schmucke. Villemot had given his word that -Pons' heir should be left in peace; he watched over his client, and gave -the requisite sums; and Cibot's humble bier, escorted by sixty or eighty -persons, drew all the crowd after it to the cemetery. At the church door -Pons' funeral possession mustered four mourning-coaches, one for the -priest and three for the relations; but one only was required, for the -representative of the firm of Sonet departed during mass to give notice -to his principal that the funeral was on the way, so that the design -for the monument might be ready for the survivor at the gates of the -cemetery. A single coach sufficed for Fraisier, Villemot, Schmucke, and -Topinard; but the remaining two, instead of returning to the undertaker, -followed in the procession to Pere-Lachaise--a useless procession, not -unfrequently seen; there are always too many coaches when the dead are -unknown beyond their own circle and there is no crowd at the funeral. -Dear, indeed, the dead must have been in their lifetime if relative or -friend will go with them so far as the cemetery in this Paris, where -every one would fain have twenty-five hours in the day. But with the -coachmen it is different; they lose their tips if they do not make the -journey; so, empty or full, the mourning coaches go to the church and -cemetery and return to the house for gratuities. A death is a sort -of drinking-fountain for an unimagined crowd of thirsty mortals. The -attendants at the church, the poor, the undertaker's men, the drivers -and sextons, are creatures like sponges that dip into a hearse and come -out again saturated. - -From the church door, where he was beset with a swarm of beggars -(promptly dispersed by the beadle), to Pere-Lachaise, poor Schmucke went -as criminals went in old times from the Palais de Justice to the -Place de Greve. It was his own funeral that he followed, clinging to -Topinard's hand, to the one living creature besides himself who felt a -pang of real regret for Pons' death. - -As for Topinard, greatly touched by the honor of the request to act as -pall-bearer, content to drive in a carriage, the possessor of a new pair -of gloves,--it began to dawn upon him that this was to be one of the -great days of his life. Schmucke was driven passively along the road, as -some unlucky calf is driven in a butcher's cart to the slaughter-house. -Fraisier and Villemot sat with their backs to the horses. Now, as those -know whose sad fortune it has been to accompany many of their friends to -their last resting-place, all hypocrisy breaks down in the coach during -the journey (often a very long one) from the church to the eastern -cemetery, to that one of the burying-grounds of Paris in which all -vanities, all kinds of display, are met, so rich is it in sumptuous -monuments. On these occasions those who feel least begin to talk -soonest, and in the end the saddest listen, and their thoughts are -diverted. - -"M. le President had already started for the Court." Fraisier told -Villemot, "and I did not think it necessary to tear him away from -business; he would have come too late, in any case. He is the -next-of-kin; but as he has been disinherited, and M. Schmucke gets -everything, I thought that if his legal representative were present it -would be enough." - -Topinard lent an ear to this. - -"Who was the queer customer that took the fourth corner?" continued -Fraisier. - -"He is an agent for a firm of monumental stone-masons. He would like an -order for a tomb, on which he proposes to put three sculptured marble -figures--Music, Painting, and Sculpture shedding tears over the -deceased." - -"It is an idea," said Fraisier; "the old gentleman certainly deserved -that much; but the monument would cost seven or eight hundred francs." - -"Oh! quite that!" - -"If M. Schmucke gives the order, it cannot affect the estate. You might -eat up a whole property with such expenses." - -"There would be a lawsuit, but you would gain it--" - -"Very well," said Fraisier, "then it will be his affair.--It would be a -nice practical joke to play upon the monument-makers," Fraisier added in -Villemot's ear; "for if the will is upset (and I can answer for that), -or if there is no will at all, who would pay them?" - -Villemot grinned like a monkey, and the pair began to talk -confidentially, lowering their voices; but the man from the theatre, -with his wits and senses sharpened in the world behind the scenes, could -guess at the nature of their discourse; in spite of the rumbling of -the carriage and other hindrances, he began to understand that these -representatives of justice were scheming to plunge poor Schmucke into -difficulties; and when at last he heard the ominous word "Clichy," the -honest and loyal servitor of the stage made up his mind to watch over -Pons' friend. - -At the cemetery, where three square yards of ground had been purchased -through the good offices of the firm of Sonet (Villemot having announced -Schmucke's intention of erecting a magnificent monument), the master of -ceremonies led Schmucke through a curious crowd to the grave into which -Pons' coffin was about to be lowered; but here, at the sight of the -square hole, the four men waiting with ropes to lower the bier, and the -clergy saying the last prayer for the dead at the grave-side, something -clutched tightly at the German's heart. He fainted away. - -Sonet's agent and M. Sonet himself came to help Topinard to carry -poor Schmucke into the marble-works hard by, where Mme. Sonet and Mme. -Vitelot (Sonet's partner's wife) were eagerly prodigal of efforts to -revive him. Topinard stayed. He had seen Fraisier in conversation with -Sonet's agent, and Fraisier, in his opinion, had gallows-bird written on -his face. - -An hour later, towards half-past two o'clock, the poor, innocent German -came to himself. Schmucke thought that he had been dreaming for the past -two days; if he could only wake, he should find Pons still alive. So -many wet towels had been laid on his forehead, he had been made to -inhale salts and vinegar to such an extent, that he opened his eyes at -last. Mme. Sonet make him take some meat-soup, for they had put the pot -on the fire at the marble-works. - -"Our clients do not often take things to heart like this; still, it -happens once in a year or two--" - -At last Schmucke talked of returning to the Rue de Normandie, and at -this Sonet began at once. - -"Here is the design, sir," he said; "Vitelot drew it expressly for you, -and sat up last night to do it.... And he has been happily inspired, it -will look fine--" - -"One of the finest in Pere-Lachaise!" said the little Mme. Sonet. "But -you really ought to honor the memory of a friend who left you all his -fortune." - -The design, supposed to have been drawn on purpose, had, as a matter -of fact, been prepared for de Marsay, the famous cabinet minister. -His widow, however, had given the commission to Stidmann; people were -disgusted with the tawdriness of the project, and it was refused. The -three figures at that period represented the three days of July which -brought the eminent minister to power. Subsequently, Sonet and Vitelot -had turned the Three Glorious Days--"_les trois glorieuses_"--into the -Army, Finance, and the Family, and sent in the design for the sepulchre -of the late lamented Charles Keller; and here again Stidmann took the -commission. In the eleven years that followed, the sketch had been -modified to suit all kinds of requirements, and now in Vitelot's fresh -tracing they reappeared as Music, Sculpture, and Painting. - -"It is a mere trifle when you think of the details and cost of setting -it up; for it will take six months," said Vitelot. "Here is the estimate -and the order-form--seven thousand francs, sketch in plaster not -included." - -"If M. Schmucke would like marble," put in Sonet (marble being his -special department), "it would cost twelve thousand francs, and monsieur -would immortalize himself as well as his friend." - -Topinard turned to Vitelot. - -"I have just heard that they are going to dispute the will," he -whispered, "and the relatives are likely to come by their property. -Go and speak to M. Camusot, for this poor, harmless creature has not a -farthing." - -"This is the kind of customer that you always bring us," said Mme. -Vitelot, beginning a quarrel with the agent. - -Topinard led Schmucke away, and they returned home on foot to the Rue de -Normandie, for the mourning-coaches had been sent back. - -"Do not leaf me," Schmucke said, when Topinard had seen him safe into -Mme. Sauvage's hands, and wanted to go. - -"It is four o'clock, dear M. Schmucke. I must go home to dinner. My wife -is a box-opener--she will not know what has become of me. The theatre -opens at a quarter to six, you know." - -"Yes, I know... but remember dat I am alone in die earth, dat I haf -no friend. You dat haf shed a tear for Bons enliden me; I am in teep -tarkness, und Bons said dat I vas in der midst of shcoundrels." - -"I have seen that plainly already; I have just prevented them from -sending you to Clichy." - -"_Gligy!_" repeated Schmucke; "I do not understand." - -"Poor man! Well, never mind, I will come to you. Good-bye." - -"Goot-bye; komm again soon," said Schmucke, dropping half-dead with -weariness. - -"Good-bye, mosieu," said Mme. Sauvage, and there was something in her -tone that struck Topinard. - -"Oh, come, what is the matter now?" he asked, banteringly. "You are -attitudinizing like a traitor in a melodrama." - -"Traitor yourself! Why have you come meddling here? Do you want to have -a hand in the master's affairs, and swindle him, eh?" - -"Swindle him!... Your very humble servant!" Topinard answered with -superb disdain. "I am only a poor super at a theatre, but I am something -of an artist, and you may as well know that I never asked anything of -anybody yet! Who asked anything of you? Who owes you anything? eh, old -lady!" - -"You are employed at a theatre, and your name is--?" - -"Topinard, at your service." - -"Kind regards to all at home," said La Sauvage, "and my compliments to -your missus, if you are married, mister.... That was all I wanted to -know." - -"Why, what is the matter, dear?" asked Mme. Cantinet, coming out. - -"This, child--stop here and look after the dinner while I run round to -speak to monsieur." - -"He is down below, talking with poor Mme. Cibot, that is crying her eyes -out," said Mme. Cantinet. - -La Sauvage dashed down in such headlong haste that the stairs trembled -beneath her tread. - -"Monsieur!" she called, and drew him aside a few paces to point out -Topinard. - -Topinard was just going away, proud at heart to have made some return -already to the man who had done him so many kindnesses. He had saved -Pons' friend from a trap, by a stratagem from that world behind the -scenes in which every one has more or less ready wit. And within himself -he vowed to protect a musician in his orchestra from future snares set -for his simple sincerity. - -"Do you see that little wretch?" said La Sauvage. "He is a kind of -honest man that has a mind to poke his nose into M. Schmucke's affairs." - -"Who is he?" asked Fraisier. - -"Oh! he is a nobody." - -"In business there is no such thing as a nobody." - -"Oh, he is employed at the theatre," said she; "his name is Topinard." - -"Good, Mme. Sauvage! Go on like this, and you shall have your -tobacconist's shop." - -And Fraisier resumed his conversation with Mme. Cibot. - -"So I say, my dear client, that you have not played openly and -above-board with me, and that one is not bound in any way to a partner -who cheats." - -"And how have I cheated you?" asked La Cibot, hands on hips. "Do you -think that you will frighten me with your sour looks and your frosty -airs? You look about for bad reasons for breaking your promises, and -you call yourself an honest man! Do you know what you are? You are a -blackguard! Yes! yes! scratch your arm; but just pocket that--" - -"No words, and keep your temper, dearie. Listen to me. You have been -feathering your nest.... I found this catalogue this morning while we -were getting ready for the funeral; it is all in M. Pons' handwriting, -and made out in duplicate. And as it chanced, my eyes fell on this--" - -And opening the catalogue, he read: - - "No. 7. _Magnificent portrait painted on marble, by Sebastian del - Piombo, in 1546. Sold by a family who had it removed from Terni - Cathedral. The picture, which represents a Knight-Templar kneeling - in prayer, used to hang above a tomb of the Rossi family with a - companion portrait of a Bishop, afterwards purchased by an - Englishman. The portrait might be attributed to Raphael, but for - the date. This example is, to my mind, superior to the portrait of - Baccio Bandinelli in the Musee; the latter is a little hard, while - the Templar, being painted upon 'lavagna,' or slate, has preserved - its freshness of coloring._" - -"When I come to look for No. 7," continued Fraisier, "I find a portrait -of a lady, signed 'Chardin,' without a number on it! I went through the -pictures with the catalogue while the master of ceremonies was making up -the number of pall-bearers, and found that eight of those indicated -as works of capital importance by M. Pons had disappeared, and -eight paintings of no special merit, and without numbers, were -there instead.... And finally, one was missing altogether, a little -panel-painting by Metzu, described in the catalogue as a masterpiece." - -"And was _I_ in charge of the pictures?" demanded La Cibot. - -"No; but you were in a position of trust. You were M. Pons' housekeeper, -you looked after his affairs, and he has been robbed--" - -"Robbed! Let me tell you this, sir: M. Schmucke sold the pictures, by M. -Pons' orders, to meet expenses." - -"And to whom?" - -"To Messrs. Elie Magus and Remonencq." - -"For how much?" - -"I am sure I do not remember." - -"Look here, my dear madame; you have been feathering your nest, and very -snugly. I shall keep an eye upon you; I have you safe. Help me, I will -say nothing! In any case, you know that since you deemed it expedient to -plunder M. le President Camusot, you ought not to expect anything from -_him_." - -"I was sure that this would all end in smoke, for me," said La Cibot, -mollified by the words "I will say nothing." - -Remonencq chimed in at this point. - -"Here are you finding fault with Mme. Cibot; that is not right!" he -said. "The pictures were sold by private treaty between M. Pons, M. -Magus, and me. We waited for three days before we came to terms with the -deceased; he slept on his pictures. We took receipts in proper form; and -if we gave Madame Cibot a few forty-franc pieces, it is the custom of -the trade--we always do so in private houses when we conclude a bargain. -Ah! my dear sir, if you think to cheat a defenceless woman, you will not -make a good bargain! Do you understand, master lawyer?--M. Magus rules -the market, and if you do not come down off the high horse, if you do -not keep your word to Mme. Cibot, I shall wait till the collection is -sold, and you shall see what you will lose if you have M. Magus and -me against you; we can get the dealers in a ring. Instead of realizing -seven or eight hundred thousand francs, you will not so much as make two -hundred thousand." - -"Good, good, we shall see. We are not going to sell; or if we do, it -will be in London." - -"We know London," said Remonencq. "M. Magus is as powerful there as at -Paris." - -"Good-day, madame; I shall sift these matters to the bottom," said -Fraisier--"unless you continue to do as I tell you" he added. - -"You little pickpocket!--" - -"Take care! I shall be a justice of the peace before long." And with -threats understood to the full upon either side, they separated. - -"Thank you, Remonencq!" said La Cibot; "it is very pleasant to a poor -widow to find a champion." - - - -Towards ten o'clock that evening, Gaudissart sent for Topinard. -The manager was standing with his back to the fire, in a Napoleonic -attitude--a trick which he had learned since be began to command his -army of actors, dancers, _figurants_, musicians, and stage carpenters. -He grasped his left-hand brace with his right hand, always thrust into -his waistcoat; the head was flung far back, his eyes gazed out into -space. - -"Ah! I say, Topinard, have you independent means?" - -"No, sir." - -"Are you on the lookout to better yourself somewhere else?" - -"No, sir--" said Topinard, with a ghastly countenance. - -"Why, hang it all, your wife takes the first row of boxes out of respect -to my predecessor, who came to grief; I gave you the job of cleaning the -lamps in the wings in the daytime, and you put out the scores. And that -is not all, either. You get twenty sous for acting monsters and managing -devils when a hell is required. There is not a super that does not covet -your post, and there are those that are jealous of you, my friend; you -have enemies in the theatre." - -"Enemies!" repeated Topinard. - -"And you have three children; the oldest takes children's parts at fifty -centimes--" - -"Sir!--" - -"You want to meddle in other people's business, and put your finger -into a will case.--Why, you wretched man, you would be crushed like an -egg-shell! My patron is His Excellency, Monseigneur le Comte Popinot, a -clever man and a man of high character, whom the King in his wisdom -has summoned back to the privy council. This statesman, this great -politician, has married his eldest son to a daughter of M. le President -de Marville, one of the foremost men among the high courts of justice; -one of the leading lights of the law-courts. Do you know the law-courts? -Very good. Well, he is cousin and heir to M. Pons, to our old conductor -whose funeral you attended this morning. I do not blame you for going -to pay the last respects to him, poor man.... But if you meddle in M. -Schmucke's affairs, you will lose your place. I wish very well to M. -Schmucke, but he is in a delicate position with regard to the heirs--and -as the German is almost nothing to me, and the President and Count -Popinot are a great deal, I recommend you to leave the worthy German to -get out of his difficulties by himself. There is a special Providence -that watches over Germans, and the part of deputy guardian-angel would -not suit you at all. Do you see? Stay as you are--you cannot do better." - -"Very good, monsieur le directeur," said Topinard, much distressed. And -in this way Schmucke lost the protector sent to him by fate, the one -creature that shed a tear for Pons, the poor super for whose return he -looked on the morrow. - -Next morning poor Schmucke awoke to a sense of his great and heavy loss. -He looked round the empty rooms. Yesterday and the day before yesterday -the preparations for the funeral had made a stir and bustle which -distracted his eyes; but the silence which follows the day, when the -friend, father, son, or loved wife has been laid in the grave--the dull, -cold silence of the morrow is terrible, is glacial. Some irresistible -force drew him to Pons' chamber, but the sight of it was more than the -poor man could bear; he shrank away and sat down in the dining-room, -where Mme. Sauvage was busy making breakfast ready. - -Schmucke drew his chair to the table, but he could eat nothing. A -sudden, somewhat sharp ringing of the door-bell rang through the house, -and Mme. Cantinet and Mme. Sauvage allowed three black-coated personages -to pass. First came Vitel, the justice of the peace, with his highly -respectable clerk; third was Fraisier, neither sweeter nor milder for -the disappointing discovery of a valid will canceling the formidable -instrument so audaciously stolen by him. - -"We have come to affix seals on the property," the justice of the peace -said gently, addressing Schmucke. But the remark was Greek to Schmucke; -he gazed in dismay at his three visitors. - -"We have come at the request of M. Fraisier, legal representative of M. -Camusot de Marville, heir of the late Pons--" added the clerk. - -"The collection is here in this great room, and in the bedroom of the -deceased," remarked Fraisier. - -"Very well, let us go into the next room.--Pardon us, sir; do not let us -interrupt with your breakfast." - -The invasion struck an icy chill of terror into poor Schmucke. -Fraisier's venomous glances seemed to possess some magnetic influence -over his victims, like the power of a spider over a fly. - -"M. Schmucke understood how to turn a will, made in the presence of -a notary, to his own advantage," he said, "and he surely must have -expected some opposition from the family. A family does not allow itself -to be plundered by a stranger without some protest; and we shall -see, sir, which carries the day--fraud and corruption or the rightful -heirs.... We have a right as next of kin to affix seals, and seals shall -be affixed. I mean to see that the precaution is taken with the utmost -strictness." - -"Ach, mein Gott! how haf I offended against Hefn?" cried the innocent -Schmucke. - -"There is a good deal of talk about you in the house," said La Sauvage. -"While you were asleep, a little whipper-snapper in a black suit came -here, a puppy that said he was M. Hannequin's head-clerk, and must see -you at all costs; but as you were asleep and tired out with the funeral -yesterday, I told him that M. Villemot, Tabareau's head-clerk, was -acting for you, and if it was a matter of business, I said, he might -speak to M. Villemot. 'Ah, so much the better!' the youngster said. 'I -shall come to an understanding with him. We will deposit the will at the -Tribunal, after showing it to the President.' So at that, I told him to -ask M. Villemot to come here as soon as he could.--Be easy, my dear sir, -there are those that will take care of you. They shall not shear the -fleece off your back. You will have some one that has beak and claws. -M. Villemot will give them a piece of his mind. I have put myself in a -passion once already with that abominable hussy, La Cibot, a porter's -wife that sets up to judge her lodgers, forsooth, and insists that you -have filched the money from the heirs; you locked M. Pons up, she says, -and worked upon him till he was stark, staring mad. She got as good as -she gave, though, the wretched woman. 'You are a thief and a bad lot,' -I told her; 'you will get into the police-courts for all the things that -you have stolen from the gentlemen,' and she shut up." - -The clerk came out to speak to Schmucke. - -"Would you wish to be present, sir, when the seals are affixed in the -next room?" - -"Go on, go on," said Schmucke; "I shall pe allowed to die in beace, I -bresume?" - -"Oh, under any circumstances a man has a right to die," the clerk -answered, laughing; "most of our business relates to wills. But, in my -experience, the universal legatee very seldom follows the testator to -the tomb." - -"I am going," said Schmucke. Blow after blow had given him an -intolerable pain at the heart. - -"Oh! here comes M. Villemot!" exclaimed La Sauvage. - -"Mennesir Fillemod," said poor Schmucke, "rebresent me." - -"I hurried here at once," said Villemot. "I have come to tell you that -the will is completely in order; it will certainly be confirmed by the -court, and you will be put in possession. You will have a fine fortune." - -"_I?_ Ein fein vordune?" cried Schmucke, despairingly. That he of all -men should be suspected of caring for the money! - -"And meantime what is the justice of the peace doing here with his wax -candles and his bits of tape?" asked La Sauvage. - -"Oh, he is affixing seals.... Come, M. Schmucke, you have a right to be -present." - -"No--go in yourself." - -"But where is the use of the seals if M. Schmucke is in his own house -and everything belongs to him?" asked La Sauvage, doing justice in -feminine fashion, and interpreting the Code according to their fancy, -like one and all of her sex. - -"M. Schmucke is not in possession, madame; he is in M. Pons' house. -Everything will be his, no doubt; but the legatee cannot take possession -without an authorization--an order from the Tribunal. And if the -next-of-kin set aside by the testator should dispute the order, a -lawsuit is the result. And as nobody knows what may happen, everything -is sealed up, and the notaries representing either side proceed to draw -up an inventory during the delay prescribed by the law.... And there you -are!" - -Schmucke, hearing such talk for the first time in his life, was -completely bewildered by it; his head sank down upon the back of his -chair--he could not support it, it had grown so heavy. - -Villemot meanwhile went off to chat with the justice of the peace and -his clerk, assisting with professional coolness to affix the seals--a -ceremony which always involves some buffoonery and plentiful comments on -the objects thus secured, unless, indeed, one of the family happens to -be present. At length the party sealed up the chamber and returned to -the dining-room, whither the clerk betook himself. Schmucke watched the -mechanical operation which consists in setting the justice's seal -at either end of a bit of tape stretched across the opening of a -folding-door; or, in the case of a cupboard or ordinary door, from edge -to edge above the door-handle. - -"Now for this room," said Fraisier, pointing to Schmucke's bedroom, -which opened into the dining-room. - -"But that is M. Schmucke's own room," remonstrated La Sauvage, springing -in front of the door. - -"We found the lease among the papers," Fraisier said ruthlessly; "there -was no mention of M. Schmucke in it; it is taken out in M. Pons' name -only. The whole place, and every room in it, is a part of the estate. -And besides"--flinging open the door--"look here, monsieur le juge de la -paix, it is full of pictures." - -"So it is," answered the justice of the peace, and Fraisier thereupon -gained his point. - -"Wait a bit, gentlemen," said Villemot. "Do you know that you are -turning the universal legatee out of doors, and as yet his right has not -been called in question?" - -"Yes, it has," said Fraisier; "we are opposing the transfer of the -property." - -"And upon what grounds?" - -"You shall know that by and by, my boy," Fraisier replied, banteringly. -"At this moment, if the legatee withdraws everything that he declares -to be his, we shall raise no objections, but the room itself will be -sealed. And M. Schmucke may lodge where he pleases." - -"No," said Villemot; "M. Schmucke is going to stay in his room." - -"And how?" - -"I shall demand an immediate special inquiry," continued Villemot, "and -prove that we pay half the rent. You shall not turn us out. Take away -the pictures, decide on the ownership of the various articles, but here -my client stops--'my boy.'" - -"I shall go out!" the old musician suddenly said. He had recovered -energy during the odious dispute. - -"You had better," said Fraisier. "Your course will save expense to you, -for your contention would not be made good. The lease is evidence--" - -"The lease! the lease!" cried Villemot, "it is a question of good -faith--" - -"That could only be proved in a criminal case, by calling witnesses.--Do -you mean to plunge into experts' fees and verifications, and orders -to show cause why judgment should not be given, and law proceedings -generally?" - -"No, no!" cried Schmucke in dismay. "I shall turn out; I am used to -it--" - -In practice Schmucke was a philosopher, an unconscious cynic, so greatly -had he simplified his life. Two pairs of shoes, a pair of boots, -a couple of suits of clothes, a dozen shirts, a dozen bandana -handkerchiefs, four waistcoats, a superb pipe given to him by Pons, with -an embroidered tobacco-pouch--these were all his belongings. Overwrought -by a fever of indignation, he went into his room and piled his clothes -upon a chair. - -"All dese are mine," he said, with simplicity worthy of Cincinnatus. -"Der biano is also mine." - -Fraisier turned to La Sauvage. "Madame, get help," he said; "take that -piano out and put it on the landing." - -"You are too rough into the bargain," said Villemot, addressing -Fraisier. "The justice of the peace gives orders here; he is supreme." - -"There are valuables in the room," put in the clerk. - -"And besides," added the justice of the peace, "M. Schmucke is going out -of his own free will." - -"Did any one ever see such a client!" Villemot cried indignantly, -turning upon Schmucke. "You are as limp as a rag--" - -"Vat dos it matter vere von dies?" Schmucke said as he went out. "Dese -men haf tiger faces.... I shall send somebody to vetch mein bits of -dings." - -"Where are you going, sir?" - -"Vere it shall blease Gott," returned Pons' universal legatee with -supreme indifference. - -"Send me word," said Villemot. - -Fraisier turned to the head-clerk. "Go after him," he whispered. - -Mme. Cantinet was left in charge, with a provision of fifty francs paid -out of the money that they found. The justice of the peace looked out; -there Schmucke stood in the courtyard looking up at the windows for the -last time. - -"You have found a man of butter," remarked the justice. - -"Yes," said Fraisier, "yes. The thing is as good as done. You need not -hesitate to marry your granddaughter to Poulain; he will be head-surgeon -at the Quinze-Vingts." (The Asylum founded by St. Louis for three -hundred blind people.) - -"We shall see.--Good-day, M. Fraisier," said the justice of the peace -with a friendly air. - -"There is a man with a head on his shoulders," remarked the justice's -clerk. "The dog will go a long way." - -By this time it was eleven o'clock. The old German went like an -automaton down the road along which Pons and he had so often walked -together. Wherever he went he saw Pons, he almost thought that Pons was -by his side; and so he reached the theatre just as his friend Topinard -was coming out of it after a morning spent in cleaning the lamps and -meditating on the manager's tyranny. - -"Oh, shoost der ding for me!" cried Schmucke, stopping his acquaintance. -"Dopinart! you haf a lodging someveres, eh?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"A home off your own?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"Are you villing to take me for ein poarder? Oh! I shall pay ver' -vell; I haf nine hundert vrancs of inkomm, und--I haf not ver' long ter -lif.... I shall gif no drouble vatefer.... I can eat onydings--I only -vant to shmoke mein bipe. Und--you are der only von dat haf shed a tear -for Bons, mit me; und so, I lof you." - -"I should be very glad, sir; but, to begin with, M. Gaudissart has given -me a proper wigging--" - -"_Vigging?_" - -"That is one way of saying that he combed my hair for me." - -"_Combed your hair?_" - -"He gave me a scolding for meddling in your affairs.... So we must be -very careful if you come to me. But I doubt whether you will stay when -you have seen the place; you do not know how we poor devils live." - -"I should rader der boor home of a goot-hearted mann dot haf mourned -Bons, dan der Duileries mit men dot haf ein tiger face.... I haf chust -left tigers in Bons' house; dey vill eat up everydings--" - -"Come with me, sir, and you shall see. But--well, anyhow, there is a -garret. Let us see what Mme. Topinard says." - -Schmucke followed like a sheep, while Topinard led the way into one of -the squalid districts which might be called the cancers of Paris--a spot -known as the Cite Bordin. It is a slum out of the Rue de Bondy, a double -row of houses run up by the speculative builder, under the shadow of the -huge mass of the Porte Saint-Martin theatre. The pavement at the higher -end lies below the level of the Rue de Bondy; at the lower it falls away -towards the Rue des Mathurins du Temple. Follow its course and you -find that it terminates in another slum running at right angles to the -first--the Cite Bordin is, in fact, a T-shaped blind alley. Its two -streets thus arranged contain some thirty houses, six or seven stories -high; and every story, and every room in every story, is a workshop and -a warehouse for goods of every sort and description, for this wart upon -the face of Paris is a miniature Faubourg Saint-Antoine. Cabinet-work -and brasswork, theatrical costumes, blown glass, painted porcelain--all -the various fancy goods known as _l'article Paris_ are made here. Dirty -and productive like commerce, always full of traffic--foot-passengers, -vans, and drays--the Cite Bourdin is an unsavory-looking neighborhood, -with a seething population in keeping with the squalid surroundings. It -is a not unintelligent artisan population, though the whole power of the -intellect is absorbed by the day's manual labor. Topinard, like every -other inhabitant of the Cite Bourdin, lived in it for the sake of -comparatively low rent, the cause of its existence and prosperity. His -sixth floor lodging, in the second house to the left, looked out upon -the belt of green garden, still in existence, at the back of three or -four large mansions in the Rue de Bondy. - -Topinard's apartment consisted of a kitchen and two bedrooms. The first -was a nursery with two little deal bedsteads and a cradle in it, the -second was the bedroom, and the kitchen did duty as a dining-room. -Above, reached by a short ladder, known among builders as a -"trap-ladder," there was a kind of garret, six feet high, with a -sash-window let into the roof. This room, given as a servants' bedroom, -raised the Topinards' establishment from mere "rooms" to the dignity of -a tenement, and the rent to a corresponding sum of four hundred francs. -An arched lobby, lighted from the kitchen by a small round window, did -duty as an ante-chamber, and filled the space between the bedroom, the -kitchen, and house doors--three doors in all. The rooms were paved with -bricks, and hung with a hideous wall-paper at threepence apiece; the -chimneypieces that adorned them were of the kind called _capucines_--a -shelf set on a couple of brackets painted to resemble wood. Here in -these three rooms dwelt five human beings, three of them children. Any -one, therefore, can imagine how the walls were covered with scores and -scratches so far as an infant arm can reach. - -Rich people can scarcely realize the extreme simplicity of a poor man's -kitchen. A Dutch oven, a kettle, a gridiron, a saucepan, two or three -dumpy cooking-pots, and a frying-pan--that was all. All the crockery in -the place, white and brown earthenware together, was not worth more than -twelve francs. Dinner was served on the kitchen table, which, with a -couple of chairs and a couple of stools, completed the furniture. The -stock of fuel was kept under the stove with a funnel-shaped chimney, -and in a corner stood the wash-tub in which the family linen lay, often -steeping over-night in soapsuds. The nursery ceiling was covered with -clothes-lines, the walls were variegated with theatrical placards and -wood-cuts from newspapers or advertisements. Evidently the eldest boy, -the owner of the school-books stacked in a corner, was left in -charge while his parents were absent at the theatre. In many a French -workingman's family, so soon as a child reaches the age of six or seven, -it plays the part of mother to younger sisters and brothers. - -From this bare outline, it may be imagined that the Topinards, to use -the hackneyed formula, were "poor but honest." Topinard himself was -verging on forty; Mme. Topinard, once leader of a chorus--mistress, too, -it was said, of Gaudissart's predecessor, was certainly thirty years -old. Lolotte had been a fine woman in her day; but the misfortunes of -the previous management had told upon her to such an extent, that it -had seemed to her to be both advisable and necessary to contract a -stage-marriage with Topinard. She did not doubt but that, as soon as -they could muster the sum of a hundred and fifty francs, her Topinard -would perform his vows agreeably to the civil law, were it only to -legitimize the three children, whom he worshiped. Meantime, Mme. -Topinard sewed for the theatre wardrobe in the morning; and with -prodigious effort, the brave couple made nine hundred francs per annum -between them. - -"One more flight!" Topinard had twice repeated since they reached the -third floor. Schmucke, engulfed in his sorrow, did not so much as know -whether he was going up or coming down. - -In another minute Topinard had opened the door; but before he appeared -in his white workman's blouse Mme. Topinard's voice rang from the -kitchen: - -"There, there! children, be quiet! here comes papa!" - -But the children, no doubt, did as they pleased with papa, for the -oldest member of the family, sitting astride a broomstick, continued to -command a charge of cavalry (a reminiscence of the Cirque-Olympique), -the second blew a tin trumpet, while the third did its best to keep up -with the main body of the army. Their mother was at work on a theatrical -costume. - -"Be quiet! or I shall slap you!" shouted Topinard in a formidable -voice; then in an aside for Schmucke's benefit--"Always have to say -that!--Here, little one," he continued, addressing his Lolotte, "this is -M. Schmucke, poor M. Pons' friend. He does not know where to go, and -he would like to live with us. I told him that we were not very -spick-and-span up here, that we lived on the sixth floor, and had only -the garret to offer him; but it was no use, he would come--" - -Schmucke had taken the chair which the woman brought him, and the -children, stricken with sudden shyness, had gathered together to -give the stranger that mute, earnest, so soon-finished scrutiny -characteristic of childhood. For a child, like a dog, is wont to judge -by instinct rather than reason. Schmucke looked up; his eyes rested on -that charming little picture; he saw the performer on the tin trumpet, a -little five-year-old maiden with wonderful golden hair. - -"She looks like ein liddle German girl," said Schmucke, holding out his -arms to the child. - -"Monsieur will not be very comfortable here," said Mme. Topinard. "I -would propose that he should have our room at once, but I am obliged to -have the children near me." - -She opened the door as she spoke, and bade Schmucke come in. Such -splendor as their abode possessed was all concentrated here. Blue -cotton curtains with a white fringe hung from the mahogany bedstead, and -adorned the window; the chest of drawers, bureau, and chairs, though all -made of mahogany, were neatly kept. The clock and candlesticks on the -chimneypiece were evidently the gift of the bankrupt manager, whose -portrait, a truly frightful performance of Pierre Grassou's, looked -down upon the chest of drawers. The children tried to peep in at the -forbidden glories. - -"Monsieur might be comfortable in here," said their mother. - -"No, no," Schmucke replied. "Eh! I haf not ver' long to lif, I only vant -a corner to die in." - -The door was closed, and the three went up to the garret. "Dis is der -ding for me," Schmucke cried at once. "Pefore I lifd mid Bons, I vas -nefer better lodged." - -"Very well. A truckle-bed, a couple of mattresses, a bolster, a pillow, -a couple of chairs, and a table--that is all that you need to buy. That -will not ruin you--it may cost a hundred and fifty francs, with the -crockeryware and strip of carpet for the bedside." - -Everything was settled--save the money, which was not forthcoming. -Schmucke saw that his new friends were very poor, and recollecting that -the theatre was only a few steps away, it naturally occurred to him -to apply to the manager for his salary. He went at once, and found -Gaudissart in his office. Gaudissart received him in the somewhat -stiffly polite manner which he reserved for professionals. Schmucke's -demand for a month's salary took him by surprise, but on inquiry he -found that it was due. - -"Oh, confound it, my good man, a German can always count, even if he has -tears in his eyes.... I thought that you would have taken the thousand -francs that I sent you into account, as a final year's salary, and that -we were quits." - -"We haf receifed nodings," said Schmucke; "und gif I komm to you, it ees -because I am in der shtreet, und haf not ein benny. How did you send us -der bonus?" - -"By your portress." - -"By Montame Zipod!" exclaimed Schmucke. "She killed Bons, she robbed -him, she sold him--she tried to purn his vill--she is a pad creature, a -monster!" - -"But, my good man, how come you to be out in the street without a roof -over your head or a penny in your pocket, when you are the sole heir? -That does not necessarily follow, as the saying is." - -"They haf put me out at der door. I am a voreigner, I know nodings of -die laws." - -"Poor man!" thought Gaudissart, foreseeing the probable end of the -unequal contest.--"Listen," he began, "do you know what you ought to do -in this business?" - -"I haf ein mann of pizness!" - -"Very good, come to terms at once with the next-of-kin; make them -pay you a lump sum of money down and an annuity, and you can live in -peace--" - -"I ask noding more." - -"Very well. Let me arrange it for you," said Gaudissart. Fraisier had -told him the whole story only yesterday, and he thought that he saw his -way to making interest out of the case with the young Vicomtesse Popinot -and her mother. He would finish a dirty piece of work, and some day he -would be a privy councillor, at least; or so he told himself. - -"I gif you full powers." - -"Well. Let me see. Now, to begin with," said Gaudissart, Napoleon of -the boulevard theatres, "to begin with, here are a hundred crowns--" (he -took fifteen louis from his purse and handed them to Schmucke). - -"That is yours, on account of six months' salary. If you leave the -theatre, you can repay me the money. Now for your budget. What are your -yearly expenses? How much do you want to be comfortable? Come, now, -scheme out a life for a Sardanapalus--" - -"I only need two suits of clothes, von for der vinter, von for der -sommer." - -"Three hundred francs," said Gaudissart. - -"Shoes. Vour bairs." - -"Sixty francs." - -"Shtockings--" - -"A dozen pairs--thirty-six francs." - -"Half a tozzen shirts." - -"Six calico shirts, twenty-four francs; as many linen shirts, -forty-eight francs; let us say seventy-two. That makes four hundred and -sixty-eight francs altogether.--Say five hundred, including cravats and -pocket-handkerchiefs; a hundred francs for the laundress--six hundred. -And now, how much for your board--three francs a day?" - -"No, it ees too much." - -"After all, you want hats; that brings it to fifteen hundred. Five -hundred more for rent; that makes two thousand. If I can get two -thousand francs per annum for you, are you willing?... Good securities." - -"Und mein tobacco." - -"Two thousand four hundred, then.... Oh! Papa Schmucke, do you call -that tobacco? Very well, the tobacco shall be given in.--So that is two -thousand four hundred francs per annum." - -"Dat ees not all! I should like som monny." - -"Pin-money!--Just so. Oh, these Germans! And calls himself an innocent, -the old Robert Macaire!" thought Gaudissart. Aloud he said, "How much do -you want? But this must be the last." - -"It ees to bay a zacred debt." - -"A debt!" said Gaudissart to himself. What a shark it is! He is worse -than an eldest son. He will invent a bill or two next! We must cut this -short. This Fraisier cannot take large views.--What debt is this, my -good man? Speak out." - -"Dere vas but von mann dot haf mourned Bons mit me.... He haf a tear -liddle girl mit wunderschones haar; it vas as if I saw mein boor -Deutschland dot I should nefer haf left.... Baris is no blace for die -Germans; dey laugh at dem" (with a little nod as he spoke, and the air -of a man who knows something of life in this world below). - -"He is off his head," Gaudissart said to himself. And a sudden pang of -pity for this poor innocent before him brought a tear to the manager's -eyes. - -"Ah! you understand, mennesir le directeur! Ver' goot. Dat mann mit die -liddle taughter is Dobinard, vat tidies der orchestra and lights die -lamps. Bons vas fery fond of him, und helped him. He vas der only von -dat accombanied mein only friend to die church und to die grafe.... I -vant dree tausend vrancs for him, und dree tausend for die liddle von--" - -"Poor fellow!" said Gaudissart to himself. - -Rough, self-made man though he was, he felt touched by this nobleness of -nature, by a gratitude for a mere trifle, as the world views it; though -for the eyes of this divine innocence the trifle, like Bossuet's cup of -water, was worth more than the victories of great captains. Beneath all -Gaudissart's vanity, beneath the fierce desire to succeed in life at all -costs, to rise to the social level of his old friend Popinot, there lay -a warm heart and a kindly nature. Wherefore he canceled his too hasty -judgments and went over to Schmucke's side. - -"You shall have it all! But I will do better still, my dear Schmucke. -Topinard is a good sort--" - -"Yes. I haf chust peen to see him in his boor home, vere he ees happy -mit his children--" - -"I will give him the cashier's place. Old Baudrand is going to leave." - -"Ah! Gott pless you!" cried Schmucke. - -"Very well, my good, kind fellow, meet me at Berthier's office about -four o'clock this afternoon. Everything shall be ready, and you shall -be secured from want for the rest of your days. You shall draw your six -thousand francs, and you shall have the same salary with Garangeot that -you used to have with Pons." - -"No," Schmucke answered. "I shall not lif.... I haf no heart for -anydings; I feel that I am attacked--" - -"Poor lamb!" Gaudissart muttered to himself as the German took his -leave. "But, after all, one lives on mutton; and, as the sublime -Beranger says, 'Poor sheep! you were made to be shorn,'" and he hummed -the political squib by way of giving vent to his feelings. Then he rang -for the office-boy. - -"Call my carriage," he said. - -"Rue de Hanovre," he told the coachman. - -The man of ambitions by this time had reappeared; he saw the way to the -Council of State lying straight before him. - - - -And Schmucke? He was busy buying flowers and cakes for Topinard's -children, and went home almost joyously. - -"I am gifing die bresents..." he said, and he smiled. It was the first -smile for three months, but any one who had seen Schmucke's face would -have shuddered to see it there. - -"But dere is ein condition--" - -"It is too kind of you, sir," said the mother. - -"De liddle girl shall gif me a kiss and put die flowers in her hair, -like die liddle German maidens--" - -"Olga, child, do just as the gentleman wishes," said the mother, -assuming an air of discipline. - -"Do not scold mein liddle German girl," implored Schmucke. It seemed to -him that the little one was his dear Germany. Topinard came in. - -"Three porters are bringing up the whole bag of tricks," he said. - -"Oh! Here are two hundred vrancs to bay for eferydings..." said -Schmucke. "But, mein friend, your Montame Dobinard is ver' nice; you -shall marry her, is it not so? I shall gif you tausend crowns, and die -liddle vone shall haf tausend crowns for her toury, and you shall infest -it in her name.... Und you are not to pe ein zuper any more--you are to -pe de cashier at de teatre--" - -"_I_?--instead of old Baudrand?" - -"Yes." - -"Who told you so?" - -"Mennesir Gautissart!" - -"Oh! it is enough to send one wild with joy!... Eh! I say, Rosalie, what -a rumpus there will be at the theatre! But it is not possible--" - -"Our benefactor must not live in a garret--" - -"Pshaw! for die few tays dat I haf to lif it ees fery komfortable," said -Schmucke. "Goot-pye; I am going to der zemetery, to see vat dey haf don -mit Bons, und to order som flowers for his grafe." - - - -Mme. Camusot de Marville was consumed by the liveliest apprehensions. -At a council held with Fraisier, Berthier, and Godeschal, the two -last-named authorities gave it as their opinion that it was hopeless -to dispute a will drawn up by two notaries in the presence of two -witnesses, so precisely was the instrument worded by Leopold Hannequin. -Honest Godeschal said that even if Schmucke's own legal adviser should -succeed in deceiving him, he would find out the truth at last, if it -were only from some officious barrister, the gentlemen of the robe being -wont to perform such acts of generosity and disinterestedness by way -of self-advertisement. And the two officials took their leave of the -Presidente with a parting caution against Fraisier, concerning whom they -had naturally made inquiries. - -At that very moment Fraisier, straight from the affixing of the seals -in the Rue de Normandie, was waiting for an interview with Mme. de -Marville. Berthier and Godeschal had suggested that he should be shown -into the study; the whole affair was too dirty for the President to -look into (to use their own expression), and they wished to give Mme. de -Marville their opinion in Fraisier's absence. - -"Well, madame, where are these gentlemen?" asked Fraisier, admitted to -audience. - -"They are gone. They advise me to give up," said Mme. de Marville. - -"Give up!" repeated Fraisier, suppressed fury in his voice. "Give up! -... Listen to this, madame:-- - - "'At the request of'... and so forth (I will omit the - formalities)... 'Whereas there has been deposited in the hands - of M. le President of the Court of First Instance, a will drawn up - by Maitres Leopold Hannequin and Alexandre Crottat, notaries of - Paris, and in the presence of two witnesses, the Sieurs Brunner - and Schwab, aliens domiciled at Paris, and by the said will the - Sieur Pons, deceased, has bequeathed his property to one Sieur - Schmucke, a German, to the prejudice of his natural heirs: - - "'Whereas the applicant undertakes to prove that the said will - was obtained under undue influence and by unlawful means; and - persons of credit are prepared to show that it was the testator's - intention to leave his fortune to Mlle. Cecile, daughter of the - aforesaid Sieur de Marville, and the applicant can show that the - said will was extorted from the testator's weakness, he being - unaccountable for his actions at the time: - - "'Whereas as the Sieur Schmucke, to obtain a will in his favor, - sequestrated the testator, and prevented the family from - approaching the deceased during his last illness; and his - subsequent notorious ingratitude was of a nature to scandalize the - house and residents in the quarter who chanced to witness it when - attending the funeral of the porter at the testator's place of - abode: - - "'Whereas as still more serious charges, of which applicant is - collecting proofs, will be formally made before their worships the - judges: - - "'I, the undersigned Registrar of the Court, etc., etc., on - behalf of the aforesaid, etc., have summoned the Sieur Schmucke, - pleading, etc., to appear before their worships the judges of the - first chamber of the Tribunal, and to be present when application - is made that the will received by Maitres Hannequin and Crottat, - being evidently obtained by undue influence, shall be regarded as - null and void in law; and I, the undersigned, on behalf of the - aforesaid, etc., have likewise given notice of protest, should the - Sieur Schmucke as universal legatee make application for an order - to be put into possession of the estate, seeing that the applicant - opposes such order, and makes objection by his application bearing - date of to-day, of which a copy has been duly deposited with the - Sieur Schmucke, costs being charged to... etc., etc.' - -"I know the man, Mme. le Presidente. He will come to terms as soon as he -reads this little love-letter. He will take our terms. Are you going to -give the thousand crowns per annum?" - -"Certainly. I only wish I were paying the first installment now." - -"It will be done in three days. The summons will come down upon him -while he is stupefied with grief, for the poor soul regrets Pons and is -taking the death to heart." - -"Can the application be withdrawn?" inquired the lady. - -"Certainly, madame. You can withdraw it at any time." - -"Very well, monsieur, let it be so... go on! Yes, the purchase of land -that you have arranged for me is worth the trouble; and, besides, I -have managed Vitel's business--he is to retire, and you must pay Vitel's -sixty thousand francs out of Pons' property. So, you see, you must -succeed." - -"Have you Vitel's resignation?" - -"Yes, monsieur. M. Vitel has put himself in M. de Marville's hands." - -"Very good, madame. I have already saved you sixty thousand francs which -I expected to give to that vile creature Mme. Cibot. But I still require -the tobacconist's license for the woman Sauvage, and an appointment to -the vacant place of head-physician at the Quinze-Vingts for my friend -Poulain." - -"Agreed--it is all arranged." - -"Very well. There is no more to be said. Every one is for you in this -business, even Gaudissart, the manager of the theatre. I went to look -him up yesterday, and he undertook to crush the workman who seemed -likely to give us trouble." - -"Oh, I know M. Gaudissart is devoted to the Popinots." - -Fraisier went out. Unluckily, he missed Gaudissart, and the fatal -summons was served forthwith. - -If all covetous minds will sympathize with the Presidente, all honest -folk will turn in abhorrence from her joy when Gaudissart came twenty -minutes later to report his conversation with poor Schmucke. She -gave her full approval; she was obliged beyond all expression for -the thoughtful way in which the manager relieved her of any remaining -scruples by observations which seemed to her to be very sensible and -just. - -"I thought as I came, Mme. la Presidente, that the poor devil would not -know what to do with the money. 'Tis a patriarchally simple nature. He -is a child, he is a German, he ought to be stuffed and put in a glass -case like a waxen image. Which is to say that, in my opinion, he is -quite puzzled enough already with his income of two thousand five -hundred francs, and here you are provoking him into extravagance--" - -"It is very generous of him to wish to enrich the poor fellow who -regrets the loss of our cousin," pronounced the Presidente. "For my own -part, I am sorry for the little squabble that estranged M. Pons and me. -If he had come back again, all would have been forgiven. If you only -knew how my husband misses him! M. de Marville received no notice of the -death, and was in despair; family claims are sacred for him, he would -have gone to the service and the interment, and I myself would have been -at the mass--" - -"Very well, fair lady," said Gaudissart. "Be so good as to have the -documents drawn up, and at four o'clock I will bring this German to you. -Please remember me to your charming daughter the Vicomtesse, and ask -her to tell my illustrious friend the great statesman, her good and -excellent father-in-law, how deeply I am devoted to him and his, and ask -him to continue his valued favors. I owe my life to his uncle the judge, -and my success in life to him; and I should wish to be bound to both you -and your daughter by the high esteem which links us with persons of rank -and influence. I wish to leave the theatre and become a serious person." - -"As you are already, monsieur!" said the Presidente. - -"Adorable!" returned Gaudissart, kissing the lady's shriveled fingers. - -At four o'clock that afternoon several people were gathered together -at Berthier's office; Fraisier, arch-concocter of the whole scheme, -Tabareau, appearing on behalf of Schmucke, and Schmucke himself. -Gaudissart had come with him. Fraisier had been careful to spread out -the money on Berthier's desk, and so dazzled was Schmucke by the sight -of the six thousand-franc bank-notes for which he had asked, and six -hundred francs for the first quarter's allowance, that he paid no heed -whatsoever to the reading of the document. Poor man, he was scarcely in -full possession of his faculties, shaken as they had already been by -so many shocks. Gaudissart had snatched him up on his return from the -cemetery, where he had been talking with Pons, promising to join him -soon--very soon. So Schmucke did not listen to the preamble in which it -was set forth that Maitre Tabareau, bailiff, was acting as his proxy, -and that the Presidente, in the interests of her daughter, was taking -legal proceedings against him. Altogether, in that preamble the German -played a sorry part, but he put his name to the document, and thereby -admitted the truth of Fraisier's abominable allegations; and so joyous -was he over receiving the money for the Topinards, so glad to bestow -wealth according to his little ideas upon the one creature who loved -Pons, that he heard not a word of lawsuit nor compromise. - -But in the middle of the reading a clerk came into the private office to -speak to his employer. "There is a man here, sir, who wishes to speak to -M. Schmucke," said he. - -The notary looked at Fraisier, and, taking his cue from him, shrugged -his shoulders. - -"Never disturb us when we are signing documents. Just ask his name--is -it a man or a gentleman? Is he a creditor?" - -The clerk went and returned. "He insists that he must speak to M. -Schmucke." - -"His name?" - -"His name is Topinard, he says." - -"I will go out to him. Sign without disturbing yourself," said -Gaudissart, addressing Schmucke. "Make an end of it; I will find out -what he wants with us." - -Gaudissart understood Fraisier; both scented danger. - -"Why are you here?" Gaudissart began. "So you have no mind to be cashier -at the theatre? Discretion is a cashier's first recommendation." - -"Sir--" - -"Just mind your own business; you will never be anything if you meddle -in other people's affairs." - -"Sir, I cannot eat bread if every mouthful of it is to stick in my -throat.... Monsieur Schmucke!--M. Schmucke!" he shouted aloud. - -Schmucke came out at the sound of Topinard's voice. He had just signed. -He held the money in his hand. - -"Thees ees for die liddle German maiden und for you," he said. - -"Oh! my dear M. Schmucke, you have given away your wealth to inhuman -wretches, to people who are trying to take away your good name. I took -this paper to a good man, an attorney who knows this Fraisier, and he -says that you ought to punish such wickedness; you ought to let them -summon you and leave them to get out of it.--Read this," and Schmucke's -imprudent friend held out the summons delivered in the Cite Bordin. - -Standing in the notary's gateway, Schmucke read the document, saw -the imputations made against him, and, all ignorant as he was of the -amenities of the law, the blow was deadly. The little grain of sand -stopped his heart's beating. Topinard caught him in his arms, hailed -a passing cab, and put the poor German into it. He was suffering from -congestion of the brain; his eyes were dim, his head was throbbing, but -he had enough strength left to put the money into Topinard's hands. - -Schmucke rallied from the first attack, but he never recovered -consciousness, and refused to eat. Ten days afterwards he died without -a complaint; to the last he had not spoken a word. Mme. Topinard nursed -him, and Topinard laid him by Pons' side. It was an obscure funeral; -Topinard was the only mourner who followed the son of Germany to his -last resting-place. - - - -Fraisier, now a justice of the peace, is very intimate with the -President's family, and much valued by the Presidente. She could not -think of allowing him to marry "that girl of Tabareau's," and promised -infinitely better things for the clever man to whom she considers she -owes not merely the pasture-land and the English cottage at Marville, -but also the President's seat in the Chamber of Deputies, for M. le -President was returned at the general election in 1846. - -Every one, no doubt, wishes to know what became of the heroine of a -story only too veracious in its details; a chronicle which, taken with -its twin sister the preceding volume, _La Cousine Bette_, proves that -Character is a great social force. You, O amateurs, connoisseurs, and -dealers, will guess at once that Pons' collection is now in question. -Wherefore it will suffice if we are present during a conversation that -took place only a few days ago in Count Popinot's house. He was showing -his splendid collection to some visitors. - -"M. le Comte, you possess treasures indeed," remarked a distinguished -foreigner. - -"Oh! as to pictures, nobody can hope to rival an obscure collector, one -Elie Magus, a Jew, an old monomaniac, the prince of picture-lovers," the -Count replied modestly. "And when I say nobody, I do not speak of Paris -only, but of all Europe. When the old Croesus dies, France ought -to spare seven or eight millions of francs to buy the gallery. For -curiosities, my collection is good enough to be talked about--" - -"But how, busy as you are, and with a fortune so honestly earned in the -first instance in business--" - -"In the drug business," broke in Popinot; "you ask how I can continue to -interest myself in things that are a drug in the market--" - -"No," returned the foreign visitor, "no, but how do you find time to -collect? The curiosities do not come to find you." - -"My father-in-law owned the nucleus of the collection," said the young -Vicomtess; "he loved the arts and beautiful work, but most of his -treasures came to him through me." - -"Through you, madame?--So young! and yet have you such vices as this?" -asked a Russian prince. - -Russians are by nature imitative; imitative indeed to such an extent -that the diseases of civilization break out among them in epidemics. The -bric-a-brac mania had appeared in an acute form in St. Petersburg, -and the Russians caused such a rise of prices in the "art line," as -Remonencq would say, that collection became impossible. The prince who -spoke had come to Paris solely to buy bric-a-brac. - -"The treasures came to me, prince, on the death of a cousin. He was very -fond of me," added the Vicomtesse Popinot, "and he had spent some forty -odd years since 1805 in picking up these masterpieces everywhere, but -more especially in Italy--" - -"And what was his name?" inquired the English lord. - -"Pons," said President Camusot. - -"A charming man he was," piped the Presidente in her thin, flute tones, -"very clever, very eccentric, and yet very good-hearted. This fan that -you admire once belonged to Mme. de Pompadour; he gave it to me one -morning with a pretty speech which you must permit me not to repeat," -and she glanced at her daughter. - -"Mme. la Vicomtesse, tell us the pretty speech," begged the Russian -prince. - -"The speech was as pretty as the fan," returned the Vicomtesse, who -brought out the stereotyped remark on all occasions. "He told my mother -that it was quite time that it should pass from the hands of vice into -those of virtue." - -The English lord looked at Mme. Camusot de Marville with an air of doubt -not a little gratifying to so withered a woman. - -"He used to dine at our house two or three times a week," she said; "he -was so fond of us! We could appreciate him, and artists like the -society of those who relish their wit. My husband was, besides, his one -surviving relative. So when, quite unexpectedly, M. de Marville -came into the property, M. le Comte preferred to take over the whole -collection to save it from a sale by auction; and we ourselves much -preferred to dispose of it in that way, for it would have been so -painful to us to see the beautiful things, in which our dear cousin was -so much interested, all scattered abroad. Elie Magus valued them, and in -that way I became possessed of the cottage that your uncle built, and I -hope you will do us the honor of coming to see us there." - - -Gaudissart's theatre passed into other hands a year ago, but M. Topinard -is still the cashier. M. Topinard, however, has grown gloomy and -misanthropic; he says little. People think that he has something on his -conscience. Wags at the theatre suggest that his gloom dates from -his marriage with Lolotte. Honest Topinard starts whenever he hears -Fraisier's name mentioned. Some people may think it strange that the one -nature worthy of Pons and Schmucke should be found on the third floor -beneath the stage of a boulevard theatre. - -Mme. Remonencq, much impressed with Mme. Fontaine's prediction, declines -to retire to the country. She is still living in her splendid shop on -the Boulevard de la Madeleine, but she is a widow now for the second -time. Remonencq, in fact, by the terms of the marriage contract, settled -the property upon the survivor, and left a little glass of vitriol -about for his wife to drink by mistake; but his wife, with the very best -intentions, put the glass elsewhere, and Remonencq swallowed the draught -himself. The rascal's appropriate end vindicates Providence, as well as -the chronicler of manners, who is sometimes accused of neglect on this -head, perhaps because Providence has been so overworked by playwrights -of late. - - - - -ADDENDUM - -The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. - - Baudoyer, Isidore - The Government Clerks - The Middle Classes - - Berthier (Parisian notary) - Cousin Betty - - Berthier, Madame - The Muse of the Department - - Bixiou, Jean-Jacques - The Purse - A Bachelor's Establishment - The Government Clerks - Modeste Mignon - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - The Firm of Nucingen - The Muse of the Department - Cousin Betty - The Member for Arcis - Beatrix - A Man of Business - Gaudissart II. - The Unconscious Humorists - - Braulard - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - Cousin Betty - - Brisetout, Heloise - Cousin Betty - The Middle Classes - - Camusot - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - A Bachelor's Establishment - The Muse of the Department - Cesar Birotteau - At the Sign of the Cat and Racket - - Camusot de Marville - Jealousies of a Country Town - The Commission in Lunacy - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - - Camusot de Marville, Madame - The Vendetta - Cesar Birotteau - Jealousies of a Country Town - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - - Cardot (Parisian notary) - The Muse of the Department - A Man of Business - Jealousies of a Country Town - Pierre Grassou - The Middle Classes - - Chanor - Cousin Betty - - Crevel, Celestin - Cesar Birotteau - Cousin Betty - - Crottat, Alexandre - Cesar Birotteau - Colonel Chabert - A Start in Life - A Woman of Thirty - - Desplein - The Atheist's Mass - Lost Illusions - The Thirteen - The Government Clerks - Pierrette - A Bachelor's Establishment - The Seamy Side of History - Modeste Mignon - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - Honorine - - Florent - Cousin Betty - - Fontaine, Madame - The Unconscious Humorists - - Gaudissart, Felix - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - Cesar Birotteau - Honorine - Gaudissart the Great - - Godeschal, Francois-Claude-Marie - Colonel Chabert - A Bachelor's Establishment - A Start in Life - The Commission in Lunacy - The Middle Classes - - Godeschal, Marie - A Bachelor's Establishment - A Start in Life - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - - Gouraud, General, Baron - Pierrette - - Graff, Wolfgang - Cousin Betty - - Granville, Vicomte de (later Comte) - The Gondreville Mystery - Honorine - A Second Home - Farewell (Adieu) - Cesar Birotteau - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - A Daughter of Eve - - Grassou, Pierre - Pierre Grassou - A Bachelor's Establishment - Cousin Betty - The Middle Classes - - Hannequin, Leopold - Albert Savarus - Beatrix - Cousin Betty - - Haudry (doctor) - Cesar Birotteau - The Thirteen - A Bachelor's Establishment - The Seamy Side of History - - Lebrun (physician) - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - - Louchard - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - - Madeleine - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - - Magus, Elie - The Vendetta - A Marriage Settlement - A Bachelor's Establishment - Pierre Grassou - - Matifat (wealthy druggist) - Cesar Birotteau - A Bachelor's Establishment - Lost Illusions - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - The Firm of Nucingen - - Minard, Prudence - The Middle Classes - - Pillerault, Claude-Joseph - Cesar Birotteau - - Popinot, Anselme - Cesar Birotteau - Gaudissart the Great - Cousin Betty - - Popinot, Madame Anselme - Cesar Birotteau - A Prince of Bohemia - Cousin Betty - - Popinot, Vicomte - Cousin Betty - - Rivet, Achille - Cousin Betty - - Schmucke, Wilhelm - A Daughter of Eve - Ursule Mirouet - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - - Stevens, Dinah - A Marriage Settlement - - Stidmann - Modeste Mignon - Beatrix - The Member for Arcis - Cousin Betty - The Unconscious Humorists - - Thouvenin - Cesar Birotteau - - Vinet - Pierrette - The Member for Arcis - The Middle Classes - - Vinet, Olivier - The Member for Arcis - The Middle Classes - - Vivet, Madeleine - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Cousin Pons, by Honore de Balzac - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COUSIN PONS *** - -***** This file should be named 1856.txt or 1856.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/5/1856/ - -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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