diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/cspns10h.htm')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/cspns10h.htm | 13996 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 13996 deletions
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">
-<html>
-<head>
-<title>Cousin Pons</title>
-<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1">
-<style type="text/css">
-<!--
-body {margin:10%; text-align:justify}
-blockquote {font-size:14pt}
-P {font-size:14pt}
--->
-</style>
-</head>
-<body>
-
-
-<pre>
-
-The Project Gutenberg EBook of Cousin Pons, by Honore de Balzac
-#74 in our series by Honore de Balzac
-
-Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
-copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing
-this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.
-
-This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project
-Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the
-header without written permission.
-
-Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the
-eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is
-important information about your specific rights and restrictions in
-how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a
-donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.
-
-
-**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
-
-**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**
-
-*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
-
-
-Title: Cousin Pons
-
-Author: Honore de Balzac
-
-Release Date: August, 1999 [EBook #1856]
-[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
-[This file was first posted on May 3, 2003]
-
-Edition: 10
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
-
-*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COUSIN PONS ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Walter Debeuf from an etext prepared by
-Dagny, dagnyj@hotmail.com and John Bickers, jbickers@templar.actrix.gen.nz
-
-
-
-
-
-
-</pre>
-
-
-<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
-
-*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COUSIN PONS ***
-
-This file should be named cspns10h.htm or cspns10h.zip
-Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, cspns11h.htm
-VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, cspns10ah.htm
-
-Produced by Walter Debeuf from and etext prepared by
-Dagny, dagnyj@hotmail.com and John Bickers, jbickers@templar.actrix.gen.nz
-
-Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed
-editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US
-unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not
-keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
-
-We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance
-of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.
-Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections,
-even years after the official publication date.
-
-Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til
-midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
-The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at
-Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A
-preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
-and editing by those who wish to do so.
-
-Most people start at our Web sites at:
-http://gutenberg.net or
-http://promo.net/pg
-
-These Web sites include award-winning information about Project
-Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new
-eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!).
-
-
-Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement
-can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is
-also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the
-indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an
-announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter.
-
-http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext03 or
-ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03
-
-Or /etext02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90
-
-Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want,
-as it appears in our Newsletters.
-
-
-Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)
-
-We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The
-time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours
-to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
-searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our
-projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value
-per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
-million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text
-files per month: 1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+
-We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002
-If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total
-will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end.
-
-The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks!
-This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
-which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users.
-
-Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated):
-
-eBooks Year Month
-
- 1 1971 July
- 10 1991 January
- 100 1994 January
- 1000 1997 August
- 1500 1998 October
- 2000 1999 December
- 2500 2000 December
- 3000 2001 November
- 4000 2001 October/November
- 6000 2002 December*
- 9000 2003 November*
-10000 2004 January*
-
-
-The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created
-to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium.
-
-We need your donations more than ever!
-
-As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people
-and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut,
-Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois,
-Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts,
-Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New
-Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio,
-Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South
-Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West
-Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming.
-
-We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones
-that have responded.
-
-As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list
-will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states.
-Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state.
-
-In answer to various questions we have received on this:
-
-We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally
-request donations in all 50 states. If your state is not listed and
-you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have,
-just ask.
-
-While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are
-not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting
-donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to
-donate.
-
-International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about
-how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made
-deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are
-ways.
-
-Donations by check or money order may be sent to:
-
-Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
-PMB 113
-1739 University Ave.
-Oxford, MS 38655-4109
-
-Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment
-method other than by check or money order.
-
-The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by
-the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN
-[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154. Donations are
-tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law. As fund-raising
-requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be
-made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states.
-
-We need your donations more than ever!
-
-You can get up to date donation information online at:
-
-http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html
-
-
-***
-
-If you can't reach Project Gutenberg,
-you can always email directly to:
-
-Michael S. Hart hart@pobox.com
-
-Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message.
-
-We would prefer to send you information by email.
-
-
-**The Legal Small Print**
-
-
-(Three Pages)
-
-***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START***
-Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers.
-They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
-your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from
-someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
-fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement
-disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how
-you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to.
-
-*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK
-By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
-eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
-this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive
-a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by
-sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
-you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical
-medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.
-
-ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS
-This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks,
-is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart
-through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project").
-Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright
-on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and
-distribute it in the United States without permission and
-without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth
-below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook
-under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.
-
-Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market
-any commercial products without permission.
-
-To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable
-efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain
-works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any
-medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other
-things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or
-corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
-intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged
-disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer
-codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.
-
-LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES
-But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,
-[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may
-receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims
-all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including
-legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR
-UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,
-INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE
-OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE
-POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.
-
-If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of
-receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)
-you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that
-time to the person you received it from. If you received it
-on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and
-such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement
-copy. If you received it electronically, such person may
-choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to
-receive it electronically.
-
-THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER
-WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
-TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
-LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
-PARTICULAR PURPOSE.
-
-Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or
-the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
-above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
-may have other legal rights.
-
-INDEMNITY
-You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation,
-and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated
-with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
-texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including
-legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the
-following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this eBook,
-[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook,
-or [3] any Defect.
-
-DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"
-You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by
-disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this
-"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,
-or:
-
-[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this
- requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the
- eBook or this "small print!" statement. You may however,
- if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable
- binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
- including any form resulting from conversion by word
- processing or hypertext software, but only so long as
- *EITHER*:
-
- [*] The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and
- does *not* contain characters other than those
- intended by the author of the work, although tilde
- (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may
- be used to convey punctuation intended by the
- author, and additional characters may be used to
- indicate hypertext links; OR
-
- [*] The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at
- no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent
- form by the program that displays the eBook (as is
- the case, for instance, with most word processors);
- OR
-
- [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at
- no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the
- eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC
- or other equivalent proprietary form).
-
-[2] Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this
- "Small Print!" statement.
-
-[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the
- gross profits you derive calculated using the method you
- already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you
- don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are
- payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation"
- the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were
- legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent
- periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to
- let us know your plans and to work out the details.
-
-WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
-Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of
-public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed
-in machine readable form.
-
-The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time,
-public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses.
-Money should be paid to the:
-"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
-
-If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or
-software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at:
-hart@pobox.com
-
-[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only
-when distributed free of all fees. Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by
-Michael S. Hart. Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be
-used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be
-they hardware or software or any other related product without
-express permission.]
-
-*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END*
-
-
-
-</pre>
-
-</body>
-</html>
-
|