ministerial journals will fire a broadside at you.”
The next day Thuillier was at the office as early as eight o’clock, in
order to be the first to receive that formidable salvo. After looking
through every morning paper he was forced to admit that there was no
more mention of the “Echo de la Bievre” than if it didn’t exist. When la
Peyrade arrived he found his unhappy friend in a state of consternation.
“Does that surprise you?” said the Provencal, tranquilly. “I let you
enjoy yesterday your hopes of a hot engagement with the press; but I
knew myself that in all probability there wouldn’t be the slightest
mention of us in to-day’s papers. Against every paper which makes its
debut with some distinction, there’s always a two weeks’, sometimes a
two months’ conspiracy of silence.”
“Conspiracy of silence!” echoed Thuillier, with admiration.
He did not know what it meant, but the words had a grandeur and a
_something_ that appealed to his imagination. After la Peyrade had
explained to him that by “conspiracy of silence” was meant the agreement
of existing journals to make no mention of new-comers lest such notice
should serve to advertise them, Thuillier’s mind was hardly better
satisfied than it had been by the pompous flow of the words. The
bourgeois is born so; words are coins which he takes and passes without
question. For a word, he will excite himself or calm down, insult
or applaud. With a word, he can be brought to make a revolution and
overturn a government of his own choice.
The paper, however, was only a means; the object was Thuillier’s
election. This was insinuated rather than stated in the first numbers.
But one morning, in the columns of the “Echo,” appeared a letter from
several electors thanking their delegate to the municipal council for
the firm and frankly liberal attitude in which he had taken on all
questions of local interests. “This firmness,” said the letter, “had
brought down upon him the persecution of the government, which, towed
at the heels of foreigners, had sacrificed Poland and sold itself to
England. The arrondissement needed a man of such tried convictions to
represent it in the Chamber,--a man holding high and firm the banner of
dynastic opposition, a man who would be, by the mere signification of
his name, a stern lesson given to the authorities.”
Enforced by an able commentary from la Peyrade, this letter was signed
by Barbet and Metivier and all Brigitte’s tradesmen (whom, in view of
the election she had continued to employ since her emigration); also
by the family doctor and apothecary, and by Thuillier’s builder, and
Barniol, Phellion’s son-in-law, who professed to hold rather “advanced”
political opinions. As for Phellion himself, he thought the wording
of the letter not altogether circumspect, and--always without fear as
without reproach--however much he might expect that this refusal would
injure his son in his dearest interests, he bravely refrained from
signing it.
This trial kite had the happiest effect. The ten or a dozen names thus
put forward were considered to express the will of the electors and were
called “the voice of the quarter.” Thus Thuillier’s candidacy made
from the start such rapid progress that Minard hesitated to put his own
claims in opposition.
Delighted now with the course of events, Brigitte was the first to say
that the time had come to attend to the marriage, and Thuillier was all
the more ready to agree because, from day to day, he feared he might be
called upon to pay the twenty-five thousand francs to Madame Lambert
for which he had pledged himself. A thorough explanation now took place
between la Peyrade and the old maid. She told him honestly of the
fear she felt as to the maintenance of her sovereign authority when a
_son-in-law_ of his mind and character was established in the household.
“If we,” she ended by saying, “are to oppose each other for the rest
of our days, it would be much better, from the beginning, to make two
households; we shouldn’t be the less friends for that.”
La Peyrade replied that nothing under the sun would induce him to
consent to such a plan; on the contrary, he regarded as amongst his
happiest prospects for the future the security he should feel about the
wise management of the material affairs of the home in such hands
as hers. He should have enough to do in the management of outside
interests, and he could not comprehend, for his part, how she could
suppose he had ever had the thought of interfering in matters that were
absolutely out of his province. In short, he reassured her so completely
that she urged him to take immediate steps for the publication of the
banns and the signature of the marriage contract,--declaring that she
reserved to herself all the preparations relating to Celeste, whose
acceptance of this sudden conclusion she pledged herself to secure.
“My dear child,” she said to Celeste the next morning, “I think you have
given up all idea of being Felix Phellion’s wife. In the first place,
he is more of an atheist than ever, and, besides, you must have noticed
yourself that his mind is quite shaky. You have seen at Madame Minard’s
that Madame Marmus, who married a savant, officer of the Legion of
honor, and member of the Institute. There’s not a more unhappy woman;
her husband has taken her to live behind the Luxembourg, in the rue
Duguay-Trouin, a street that is neither paved nor lighted. When he goes
out, he doesn’t know where he is going; he gets to the Champ de Mars
when he wants to go to the Faubourg Poissoniere; he isn’t even capable
of giving his address to the driver of a street cab; and he is so
absent-minded he couldn’t tell if it were before dinner or after. You
can imagine what sort of time a woman must have with a man whose nose is
always at a telescope snuffing stars.”
“But Felix,” said Celeste, “is not as absent-minded as that.”
“Of course not, because he is younger; but with years his
absent-mindedness and his atheism will both increase. We have therefore
decided that he is not the husband you want, and we all, your mother,
father, Thuillier and myself, have determined that you shall take la
Peyrade, a man of the world, who will make his way, and one who has
done us great services in the past, and who will, moreover, make your
godfather deputy. We are disposed to give you, in consideration of him,
a much larger ‘dot’ than we should give to any other husband. So, my
dear, it is settled; the banns are to be published immediately, and
this day week we sign the contract. There’s to be a great dinner for the
family and intimates, and after that a reception, at which the contract
will be signed and your trousseau and corbeille exhibited. As I take all
that into my own hands I’ll answer for it that everything shall be of
the best kind; especially if you are not babyish, and give in pleasantly
to our ideas.”
“But, aunt Brigitte,” began Celeste, timidly.
“There’s no ‘but,’ in the matter,” said the old maid, imperiously; “it
is all arranged, and will be carried out, unless, mademoiselle, you
pretend to have more wisdom than your elders.”
“I will do as you choose, aunt,” replied Celeste, feeling as if a
thunder-cloud had burst upon her head, and knowing but too well that she
had no power to struggle against the iron will which had just pronounced
her doom.
She went at once to pour her sorrows into Madame Thuillier’s soul; but
when she heard her godmother advising patience and resignation the poor
child felt that from that feeble quarter she could get no help for even
the slightest effort of resistance, and that her sacrifice was virtually
accomplished.
Precipitating herself with a sort of frenzy into the new element of
activity thus introduced into her life, Brigitte took the field in the
making of the trousseau and the purchase of the corbeille. Like many
misers, who on great occasions come out of their habits and their
nature, the old maid now thought nothing too good for her purpose; and
she flung her money about so lavishly that until the day appointed
for the signing of the contract, the jeweller, dressmaker, milliner,
lingere, etc. (all chosen from the best establishments in Paris), seemed
to occupy the house.
“It is like a procession,” said Josephine, the cook, admiringly, to
Francoise, the Minards’ maid; “the bell never stops ringing from morning
till night.”
CHAPTER XII. A STAR
The dinner on the great occasion was ordered from Chabot and Potel, and
not from Chevet, by which act Brigitte intended to prove her initiative
and her emancipation from the late Madame de Godollo. The invited guests
were as follows: three Collevilles, including the bride, la Peyrade the
groom, Dutocq and Fleury, whom he had asked to be his witnesses, the
extremely limited number of his relatives leaving him no choice, Minard
and Rabourdin, chosen as witnesses for Celeste, Madame and Mademoiselle
Minard and Minard junior, two of Thuillier’s colleagues in the
Council-general; the notary Dupuis, charged with the duty of drawing up
the contract, and lastly, the Abbe Gondrin, director of the consciences
of Madame Thuillier and Celeste, who was to give the nuptial blessing.
The latter was the former vicar of Saint-Jacques du Haut-Pas, whose
great refinement of manner and gift of preaching had induced the
archbishop to remove him from the humble parish where his career
had begun to the aristocratic church of the Madeleine. Since Madame
Thuillier and Celeste had again become his parishioners, the young
abbe visited them occasionally, and Thuillier, who had gone to him to
explain, after his own fashion, the suitableness of the choice made for
Celeste in the person of la Peyrade (taking pains as he did so to cast
reflections on the religious opinions of Felix Phellion), had easily
led him to contribute by his persuasive words to the resignation of the
victim.
When the time came to sit down to table three guests were missing,--two
Minards, father and son, and the notary Dupuis. The latter had written a
note to Thuillier in the morning, excusing himself from the dinner, but
saying that at nine o’clock precisely he would bring the contract and
place himself at the orders of Mademoiselle Thuillier. As for Julien
Minard, his mother excused him as being confined to his room with a
sore-throat. The absence of Minard senior remained unexplained, but
Madame Minard insisted that they should sit down to table without him;
which was done, Brigitte ordering that the soup be kept hot for him,
because in the bourgeois code of manners and customs a dinner without
soup is no dinner at all.
The repast was far from gay, and though the fare was better, the
vivacity and the warmth of the conversation was far, indeed, from that
of the famous improvised banquet at the time of the election to the
Council-general. The gaps occasioned by the absence of three guests may
have been one reason; then Flavie was glum; she had had an interview
with la Peyrade in the afternoon which ended in tears; Celeste, even if
she had been content with the choice imposed on her, would scarcely, as
a matter of propriety, have seemed joyful; in fact, she made no effort
to brighten a sad face, and dared not look at her godmother, whose own
countenance gave the impression, if we may so express it, of the long
bleating of a sheep. The poor girl seeing this feared to exchange a look
with her lest she might drive her to tears. Thuillier now felt himself,
on all sides, of such importance that he was pompous and consequential;
while Brigitte, uneasy out of her own world, where she could lord it
over every one without competition, seemed constrained and embarrassed.
Colleville tried by a few jovialities to raise the temperature of the
assemblage; but the coarse salt of his witticisms had an effect, in the
atmosphere in which he produced them, of a loud laugh in a sick-chamber;
and a mute intimation from his wife, Thuillier, and la Peyrade
to _behave himself_ put a stopper on his liveliness and turbulent
expansion. It was somewhat remarkable that the gravest member of the
party, aided by Rabourdin, was the person who finally warmed up the
atmosphere. The Abbe Gondrin, a man of a most refined and cultivated
mind, had, like every pure and well-ordered soul, a fund of gentle
gaiety which he was well able to communicate, and liveliness was
beginning to dawn upon the party when Minard entered the room.
After making his excuses on the ground of important duties, the mayor of
the eleventh arrondissement, who was in the habit of taking the lead in
the conversation wherever he went, said, having swallowed a few hasty
mouthfuls:--
“Messieurs and mesdames, have you heard the great news?”
“No, what is it?” cried several voices at once.
“The Academy of Sciences received, to-day, at its afternoon session, the
announcement of a vast discovery: the heavens possess a new star!”
“Tiens!” said Colleville; “that will help to replace the one that
Beranger thought was lost when he grieved (to that air of ‘Octavie’)
over Chateaubriand’s departure: ‘Chateaubriand, why fly thy land?’”
This quotation, which he sang, exasperated Flavie, and if the custom had
been for wives to sit next to their husbands, the former clarionet
of the Opera-Comique would not have escaped with a mere “Colleville!”
imperiously calling him to order.
“The point which gives this great astronomical event a special interest
on this occasion,” continued Minard, “is that the author of the
discovery is a denizen of the twelfth arrondissement, which many of you
still inhabit, or have inhabited. But other points are striking in this
great scientific fact. The Academy, on the reading of the communication
which announced it, was so convinced of the existence of this star that
a deputation was appointed to visit the domicile of the modern Galileo
and compliment him in the name of the whole body. And yet this star is
not visible to either the eye or the telescope! It is only by the
power of calculation and induction that its existence and the place it
occupies in the heavens have been proved in the most irrefutable manner:
‘There _must_ be _there_ a hitherto unknown star; I cannot see it, but
I am sure of it,’--that is what this man of science said to the
Academy, whom he instantly convinced by his deductions. And do you know,
messieurs, who is this Christopher Columbus of a new celestial world? An
old man, two-thirds blind, who has scarcely eyes enough to walk in the
street.”
“Wonderful! Marvellous! Admirable!” came from all sides.
“What is the name of this learned man?” asked several voices.
“Monsieur Picot, or, if you prefer it, pere Picot, for that is how they
call him in the rue du Val-de-Grace, where he lives. He is simply an
old professor of mathematics, who has turned out several very fine
pupils,--by the bye, Felix Phellion, whom we all know, studied under
him, and it was he who read, on behalf of his blind old master, the
communication to the Academy this afternoon.”
Hearing that name, and remembering the promise Felix had made her to
lift her to the skies, which, as he said it, she had fancied a sign
of madness, Celeste looked at Madame Thuillier, whose face had taken a
sudden glow of animation, and seemed to say to her, “Courage, my child!
all is not lost.”
“My dear Theodose,” said Thuillier, “Felix is coming here to-night;
you must take him aside and get him to give you a copy of that
communication; it would be a fine stroke of fortune for the ‘Echo’ to be
the first to publish it.”
“Yes,” said Minard, assuming the answer, “that would do good service
to the public, for the affair is going to make a great noise. The
committee, not finding Monsieur Picot at home, went straight to the
Minister of Public Instruction; and the minister flew to the Tuileries
and saw the King; and the ‘Messager’ came out this evening--strange to
say, so early that I could read it in my carriage as I drove along--with
an announcement that Monsieur Picot is named Chevalier of the Legion of
honor, with a pension of eighteen hundred francs from the fund devoted
to the encouragement of science and letters.”
“Well,” said Thuillier, “there’s one cross at least well bestowed.”
“But eighteen hundred francs for the pension seems to me rather paltry,”
said Dutocq.
“So it does,” said Thuillier, “and all the more because that money comes
from the tax-payers; and, when one sees the taxes, as we do, frittered
away on court favorites--”
“Eighteen hundred francs a year,” interrupted Minard, “is certainly
something, especially for savants, a class of people who are accustomed
to live on very little.”
“I think I have heard,” said la Peyrade, “that this very Monsieur Picot
leads a strange life, and that his family, who at first wanted to shut
him up as a lunatic, are now trying to have guardians appointed over
him. They say he allows a servant-woman who keeps his house to rob him
of all he has. Parbleu! Thuillier, you know her; it is that woman who
came to the office the other day about some money in Dupuis’s hands.”
“Yes, yes, true,” said Thuillier, significantly; “you are right, I do
know her.”
“It is queer,” said Brigitte, seeing a chance to enforce the argument
she had used to Celeste, “that all these learned men are good for
nothing outside of their science; in their homes they have to be treated
like children.”
“That proves,” said the Abbe Gondrin, “the great absorption which their
studies give to their minds, and, at the same time, a simplicity of
nature which is very touching.”
“When they are not as obstinate as mules,” said Brigitte, hastily.
“For myself, monsieur l’abbe, I must say that if I had had any idea
of marriage, a savant wouldn’t have suited me at all. What do they do,
these savants, anyhow? Useless things most of the time. You are all
admiring one who has discovered a star; but as long as we are in this
world what good is that to us? For all the use we make of stars it seems
to me we have got enough of them as it is.”
“Bravo, Brigitte!” said Colleville, getting loose again; “you are right,
my girl, and I think, as you do, that the man who discovers a new dish
deserves better of humanity.”
“Colleville,” said Flavie, “I must say that your style of behavior is in
the worst taste.”
“My dear lady,” said the Abbe Gondrin, addressing Brigitte, “you might
be right if we were formed of matter only; and if, bound to our
body, there were not a soul with instincts and appetites that must be
satisfied. Well, I think that this sense of the infinite which is within
us, and which we all try to satisfy each in our own way, is marvellously
well helped by the labors of astronomy, that reveal to us from time to
time new worlds which the hand of the Creator has put into space. The
infinite in you has taken another course; this passion for the comfort
of those about you, this warm, devoted, ardent affection which you feel
for your brother, are equally the manifestation of aspirations which
have nothing material about them, and which, in seeking their end and
object, never think of asking, ‘What good does that do? what is the use
of this?’ Besides, I must assure you that the stars are not as useless
as you seem to think. Without them how would navigators cross the
sea? They would be puzzled to get you the vanilla with which you have
flavored the delicious cream I am now eating. So, as Monsieur Colleville
has perceived, there is more affinity than you think between a dish and
a star; no one should be despised,--neither an astronomer nor a good
housekeeper--”
The abbe was here interrupted by the noise of a lively altercation in
the antechamber.
“I tell you that I will go in,” said a loud voice.
“No, monsieur, you shall not go in,” said another voice, that of the
man-servant. “The company are at table, I tell you, and nobody has the
right to force himself in.”
Thuillier turned pale; ever since the seizure of his pamphlet, he
fancied all sudden arrivals meant the coming of the police.
Among the various social rules imparted to Brigitte by Madame de
Godollo, the one that most needed repeating was the injunction never, as
mistress of the house, to rise from the table until she gave the
signal for retiring. But present circumstances appeared to warrant the
infraction of the rule.
“I’ll go and see what it is,” she said to Thuillier, whose anxiety she
noticed at once. “What _is_ the matter?” she said to the servant as soon
as she reached the scene of action.
“Here’s a gentleman who wants to come in, and says that no one is ever
dining at eight o’clock at night.”
“But who are you, monsieur?” said Brigitte, addressing an old man very
oddly dressed, whose eyes were protected by a green shade.
“Madame, I am neither a beggar nor a vagabond,” replied the old man, in
stentorian tones; “my name is Picot, professor of mathematics.”
“Rue du Val-de-Grace?” asked Brigitte.
“Yes, madame,--No. 9, next to the print-shop.”
“Come in, monsieur, come in; we shall be only too happy to receive you,”
cried Thuillier, who, on hearing the name, had hurried out to meet the
savant.
“Hein! you scamp,” said the learned man, turning upon the man-servant,
who had retired, seeing that the matter was being settled amicably, “I
told you I should get in.”
Pere Picot was a tall old man, with an angular, stern face, who, despite
the corrective of a blond wig with heavy curls, and that of the pacific
green shade we have already mentioned, expressed on his large features,
upon which the fury of study had produced a surface of leaden pallor, a
snappish and quarrelsome disposition. Of this he had already given proof
before entering the dining-room, where every one now rose to receive
him.
His costume consisted of a huge frock-coat, something between a paletot
and a dressing-gown, between which an immense waistcoat of iron-gray
cloth, fastened from the throat to the pit of the stomach with two rows
of buttons, hussar fashion, formed a sort of buckler. The trousers,
though October was nearing its close, were made of black lasting,
and gave testimony to long service by the projection of a darn on the
otherwise polished surface covering the knees, the polish being produced
by the rubbing of the hands upon those parts. But, in broad daylight,
the feature of the old savant’s appearance which struck the eye most
vividly was a pair of Patagonian feet, imprisoned in slippers of beaver
cloth, the which, moulded upon the mountainous elevations of gigantic
bunions, made the spectator think, involuntarily, of the back of a
dromedary or an advanced case of elephantiasis.
Once installed in a chair which was hastily brought for him, and the
company having returned to their places at table, the old man suddenly
burst out in thundering tones, amid the silence created by curiosity:--
“Where is he,--that rogue, that scamp? Let him show himself; let him
dare to speak to me!”
“Who is it that offends you, my dear monsieur?” said Thuillier, in
conciliating accents, in which there was a slight tone of patronage.
“A scamp whom I couldn’t find in his own home, and they told me he
was here, in this house. I’m in the apartment, I think, of Monsieur
Thuillier of the Council-general, place de la Madeleine, first story
above the entresol?”
“Precisely,” said Thuillier; “and allow me to add, monsieur, that you
are surrounded with the respect and sympathy of all.”
“And you will doubtless permit me to add,” said Minard, “that the mayor
of the arrondissement adjoining that which you inhabit congratulates
himself on being here in presence of Monsieur Picot,--_the_ Monsieur
Picot, no doubt, who has just immortalized his name by the discovery of
a star!”
“Yes, monsieur,” replied the professor, elevating to a still higher
pitch the stentorian diapason of his voice, “I am Picot (Nepomucene),
but I have not discovered a star; I don’t concern myself with any such
fiddle-faddle; besides, my eyes are very weak; and that insolent young
fellow I have come here to find is making me ridiculous with such talk.
I don’t see him here; he is hiding himself, I know; he dares not look me
in the face.”
“Who is this person who annoys you?” asked several voices at once.
“An unnatural pupil of mine,” replied the old mathematician; “a scamp,
but full of ideas; his name is Felix Phellion.”
The name was received, as may well be imagined, with amazement. Finding
the situation amusing, Colleville and la Peyrade went off into fits of
laughter.
“You laugh, fools!” cried the irate old man, rising. “Yes, come and
laugh within reach of my arm.”
So saying, he brandished a thick stick with a white china handle, which
he used to guide himself, thereby nearly knocking over a candelabrum on
the dinner-table upon Madame Minard’s head.
“You are mistaken, monsieur,” cried Brigitte, springing forward and
seizing his arm. “Monsieur Felix is not here. He will probably come
later to a reception we are about to give; but at present he has not
arrived.”
“They don’t begin early, your receptions,” said the old man; “it is past
eight o’clock. Well, as Monsieur Felix is coming later, you must allow
me to wait for him. I believe you were eating your dinners; don’t let me
disturb you.”
And he went back peaceably to his chair.
“As you permit it, monsieur,” said Brigitte, “we will continue, or, I
should say, finish dinner, for we are now at the dessert. May I offer
you anything,--a glass of champagne and a biscuit?”
“I am very willing, madame,” replied the intruder. “No one ever refuses
champagne, and I am always ready to eat between my meals; but you dine
very late.”
A place was made for him at table between Colleville and Mademoiselle
Minard, and the former made it his business to fill the glass of his new
neighbor, before whom was placed a dish of small cakes.
“Monsieur,” said la Peyrade in a cajoling tone, “you saw how surprised
we were to hear you complain of Monsieur Felix Phellion,--so amiable, so
inoffensive a young man. What has he done to you, that you should feel
so angry with him?”
With his mouth full of cakes, which he was engulfing in quantities
that made Brigitte uneasy, the professor made a sign that he would soon
answer; then, having mistaken his glass and swallowed the contents of
Colleville’s, he replied:--
“You ask what that insolent young man had done to me? A rascally thing;
and not the first, either. He knows that I cannot abide stars, having
very good reason to hate them, as you shall hear: In 1807, being
attached to the Bureau of Longitudes, I was part of the scientific
expedition sent to Spain, under the direction of my friend and
colleague, Jean-Baptiste Biot, to determine the arc of the terrestrial
meridian from Barcelona to the Balearic isles. I was just in the act
of observing a star (perhaps the very one my rascally pupil has
discovered), when suddenly, war having broken out between France
and Spain, the peasants, seeing me perched with a telescope on Monte
Galazzo, took it into their heads that I was making signals to the
enemy. A mob of savages broke my instruments, and talked of stringing me
up. They were just going to do it, when the captain of a vessel took me
prisoner and thrust me into the citadel of Belver, where I spent three
years in the harshest captivity. Since them, as you may well believe, I
loathe the whole celestial system; though I was, without knowing it, the
first to observe the famous comet of 1811; but I should have taken care
not to say a word about it if it had not been for Monsieur Flauguergues,
who announced it. Like all my pupils, Phellion knows my aversion to
stars, and he knew very well the worst trick he could play me would
be to saddle one on my back; and that deputation that came to play the
farce of congratulating me was mighty lucky not to find me at home, for
if they had, I can assure those gentlemen of the Academy, they would
have had a hot reception.”
Everybody present thought the old mathematician’s monomania quite
delightful, except la Peyrade, who now, in perceiving Felix Phellion’s
part in the affair, regretted deeply having caused the explanation.
“And yet, Monsieur Picot,” said Minard, “if Felix Phellion is only
guilty of attributing his discovery to you, it seems to me that his
indiscreet behavior has resulted in a certain compensation to you: the
cross of the Legion of honor, a pension, and the glory attached to your
name are not to be despised.”
“The cross and the pension I take,” said the old man, emptying his
glass, which, to Brigitte’s terror, he set down upon the table with a
force that threatened to smash it. “The government has owed them to me
these twenty years; not for the discovery of stars,--things that I
have always despised,--but for my famous ‘Treatise on Differential
Logarithms’ (Kepler thought proper to call them monologarithms), which
is a sequel to the tables of Napier; also for my ‘Postulatum’ of Euclid,
of which I was the first to discover the solution; but above all, for
my ‘Theory of Perpetual Motion,’--four volumes in quarto with plates;
Paris, 1825. You see, therefore, monsieur, that to give me glory is
bringing water to the Seine. I had so little need of Monsieur Felix
Phellion to make me a position in the scientific world that I turned him
out of my house long ago.”
“Then it isn’t the first star,” said Colleville, flippantly, “that he
dared to put upon you?”
“He did worse than that,” roared the old man; “he ruined my reputation,
he tarnished my name. My ‘Theory of Perpetual Motion,’ the printing of
which cost me every penny I owned, though it ought to have been printed
gratis at the Royal Printing-office, was calculated to make my fortune
and render me immortal. Well, that miserable Felix prevented it. From
time to time, pretending to bring messages from my editor, he would say,
the young sycophant, ‘Papa Picot, your book is selling finely;
here’s five hundred francs--two hundred francs--and once it was two
thousand--which your publisher charged me to give you.’ This thing went
on for years, and my publisher, who had the baseness to enter into the
plot, would say to me, when I went to the shop: ‘Yes, yes, it doesn’t
do badly, it _bubbles_, that book; we shall soon be at the end of this
edition.’ I, who didn’t suggest anything, I pocketed my money, and
thought to myself: ‘My book is liked, little by little its ideas are
making their way; I may now expect, from day to day, that some great
capitalist will come to me and propose to apply my system--’”
“--of ‘Absorption of Liquids’?” asked Colleville, who had been steadily
filling the old fellow’s glass.
“No, monsieur, my ‘Theory of Perpetual Motion,’ 4 vols. in quarto with
plates. But no! days, weeks went by and nobody came; so, thinking that
my publisher did not put all the energy he should into the matter, I
tried to sell the second edition to another man. It was that, monsieur,
that enabled me to discover the whole plot, on which, as I said before,
I turned that serpent out of my house. In six years only nine copies
had been sold! Kept quiet in false security I had done nothing for the
propagation of my book, which had been left to take care of itself; and
thus it was that I, victim of black and wicked jealousy, was shamefully
despoiled of the value of my labors.”
“But,” said Minard, making himself the mouthpiece of the thoughts of
the company, “may we not see in that act a manner as ingenious as it was
delicate to--”
“To give me alms! is that what you mean?” interrupted the old man, with
a roar that made Mademoiselle Minard jump in her chair; “to humiliate
me, dishonor me--me, his old professor! Am I in need of charity? Has
Picot (Nepomucene), to whom his wife brought a dowry of one hundred
thousand francs, ever stretched out his palm to any one? But in these
days nothing is respected. Old fellows, as they call us, our religion
and our good faith is taken advantage of so that these youths may say
to the public: ‘Old drivellers, don’t you see now they are good for
nothing? It needs _us_, the young generation, _us_, the moderns, _us_,
Young France, to bring them up on a bottle.’ Young greenhorn! let me see
_you_ try to feed _me_! Old drivellers know more in their little finger
than you in your whole brain, and you’ll never be worth us, paltry
little intriguer that you are! However, I know my day of vengeance will
come; that young Phellion can’t help ending badly; what he did to-day,
reading a statement to the Academy, under my name, was forgery, forgery!
and the law will send him to the galleys for that.”
“True,” said Colleville, “forgery of a public star.”
Brigitte, who quaked for her glasses, and whose nerves were exacerbated
by the monstrous consumption of cakes and wine, now gave the signal to
return to the salon. Besides, she had heard the door-bell ring several
times, announcing the arrival of guests for the evening. The question
then was how to transplant the professor, and Colleville politely
offered him his arm.
“No, monsieur,” he said, “you must allow me to stay where I am. I am
not dressed for a party, and besides, a strong light hurts my eyes.
Moreover, I don’t choose to give myself as a spectacle; it will be
best that my interview with Felix Phellion should take place between
‘four-eyes,’ as they say.”
“Well, let him alone, then,” said Brigitte to Colleville.
No one insisted,--the old man having, unconsciously, pretty nigh
discrowned himself in the opinion of the company. But before leaving,
the careful housewife removed everything that was at all fragile from
his reach; then, by way of a slight attention, she said:--
“Shall I send you some coffee?”
“I’ll take it, madame,” responded pere Picot, “and some cognac with it.”
“Oh! parbleu! he takes everything,” said Brigitte to the male domestic,
and she told the latter to keep an eye on the old madman.
When Brigitte returned to the salon she found that the Abbe Gondrin had
become the centre of a great circle formed by nearly the whole company,
and as she approached, she heard him say:--
“I thank Heaven for bestowing upon me such a pleasure. I have never felt
an emotion like that aroused by the scene we have just witnessed; even
the rather burlesque form of this confidence, which was certainly very
artless, for it was quite involuntary, only adds to the honor of the
surprising generosity it revealed. Placed as I am by my ministry in
the way of knowing of many charities, and often either the witness or
intermediary of good actions, I think I never in my life have met with
a more touching or a more ingenious devotion. To keep the left hand
ignorant of what the right hand does is a great step in Christianity;
but to go so far as to rob one’s self of one’s own fame to benefit
another under such conditions is the gospel applied in its highest
precepts; it is being more than a Sister of Charity; it is doing the
work of an apostle of beneficence. How I should like to know that noble
young man, and shake him by the hand.”
With her arm slipped through that of her godmother, Celeste was standing
very near the priest, her ears intent upon his words, her arm pressing
tighter and tighter that of Madame Thuillier, as the abbe analyzed the
generous action of Felix Phellion, until at last she whispered under her
breath:--
“You hear, godmother, you hear!”
To destroy the inevitable effect which this hearty praise would surely
have on Celeste, Thuillier hastened to say:--
“Unfortunately, Monsieur l’abbe, the young man of whom you speak so
warmly is not altogether unknown to you. I have had occasion to tell you
about him, and to regret that it was not possible to follow out
certain plans which we once entertained for him; I allude to the very
compromising independence he affects in his religious opinions.”
“Ah! is that the young man?” said the abbe; “you surprise me much; I
must say such an idea would never have crossed my mind.”
“You will see him presently, Monsieur l’abbe,” said la Peyrade, joining
in the conversation, “and if you question him on certain grounds you
will have no difficulty in discovering the ravages that a love of
science can commit in the most gifted souls.”
“I am afraid I shall not see him,” said the abbe, “as my black gown
would be out of place in the midst of the more earthly gaiety that will
soon fill this salon. But I know, Monsieur de la Peyrade, that you are a
man of sincerely pious convictions, and as, without any doubt, you feel
as much interest in the young man’s welfare as I do myself, I shall say
to you in parting: Do not be uneasy about him; sooner or later, such
choice souls come back to us, and if the return of these prodigals
should be long delayed I should not fear, on seeing them go to God, that
His infinite mercy would fail them.”
So saying, the abbe looked about to find his hat, and proceeded to slip
quietly away.
Suddenly a fearful uproar was heard. Rushing into the dining-room,
whence came a sound of furniture overturned and glasses breaking,
Brigitte found Colleville occupied in adjusting his cravat and looking
himself over to be sure that his coat, cruelly pulled awry, bore no
signs of being actually torn.
“What is the matter?” cried Brigitte.
“It is that old idiot,” replied Colleville, “who is in a fury. I came
to take my coffee with him, just to keep him company, and he took a
joke amiss, and collared me, and knocked over two chairs and a tray of
glasses because Josephine didn’t get out of his way in time.”
“It is all because you’ve been teasing him,” said Brigitte, crossly;
“why couldn’t you stay in the salon instead of coming here to play your
jokes, as you call them? You think you are still in the orchestra of the
Opera-Comique.”
This sharp rebuke delivered, Brigitte, like the resolute woman that she
was, saw that she absolutely must get rid of the ferocious old man
who threatened her household with flames and blood. Accordingly, she
approached pere Picot, who was tranquilly engaged in burning brandy in
his saucer.
“Monsieur,” she said, at the top of her lungs, as if she were speaking
to a deaf person (evidently thinking that a blind one ought to be
treated in the same manner), “I have come to tell you something that
may annoy you. Monsieur and Madame Phellion have just arrived, and they
inform me that their son, Monsieur Felix, is not coming. He has a cold
and a sore-throat.”
“Then he got it this afternoon reading that lecture,” cried the
professor, joyfully. “That’s justice!--Madame, where do you get your
brandy?”
“Why, at my grocer’s,” replied Brigitte, taken aback by the question.
“Well, madame, I ought to tell you that in a house where one can drink
such excellent champagne, which reminds me of that we used to quaff at
the table of Monsieur de Fontanes, grand-master of the University, it is
shameful to keep such brandy. I tell you, with the frankness I put into
everything, that it is good only to wash your horses’ feet, and if I had
not the resource of burning it--”
“He is the devil in person,” thought Brigitte; “not a word of excuse
about all that glass, but he must needs fall foul of my brandy
too!--Monsieur,” she resumed, in the same raised diapason, “as Monsieur
Felix is not coming, don’t you think your family will be uneasy at your
absence?”
“Family? I haven’t any, madame, owing to the fact that they want to make
me out a lunatic. But I have a housekeeper, Madame Lambert, and I dare
say she will be surprised not to see me home by this time. I think I had
better go now; if I stay later, the scene might be more violent. But
I must own that in this strange quarter I am not sure if I can find my
way.”
“Then take a carriage.”
“Carriage here, carriage there, indeed! my spiteful relations wouldn’t
lose the chance of calling me a spendthrift.”
“I have an important message to send into your quarter,” said Brigitte,
seeing she must resolve to make the sacrifice, “and I have just told
my porter to take a cab and attend to it. If you would like to take
advantage of that convenience--”
“I accept it, madame,” said the old professor, rising; “and, if it
comes to the worst, I hope you will testify before the judge that I was
niggardly about a cab.”
“Henri,” said Brigitte to the man-servant, “take monsieur down to the
porter and tell him to do the errand I told him about just now, and to
take monsieur to his own door, and be very careful of him.”
“Careful of him!” echoed the old man. “Do you take me for a trunk,
madame, or a bit of cracked china?”
Seeing that she had got her man fairly to the door, Brigitte allowed
herself to turn upon him.
“What I say, monsieur, is for your good. You must allow me to observe
that you have not an agreeable nature.”
“Careful of him! careful of him!” repeated the old man. “Don’t you
know, madame, that by the use of such words you may get people put
into lunatic asylums? However, I will not reply rudely to the polite
hospitality I have received,--all the more because, I think, I have put
Monsieur Felix, who missed me intentionally, in his right place.”
“Go, go, go, you old brute!” cried Brigitte, slamming the door behind
him.
Before returning to the salon she was obliged to drink a whole glassful
of water, the restraint she had been forced to put upon herself in order
to get rid of this troublesome guest having, to use her own expression,
“put her all about.”
CHAPTER XIII. THE MAN WHO THINKS THE STAR TOO BRIGHT
The next morning Minard paid a visit to Phellion in his study. The great
citizen and his son Felix were at that moment engaged in a conversation
which seemed to have some unusual interest for them.
“My dear Felix,” cried the mayor of the eleventh arrondissement,
offering his hand warmly to the young professor, “it is you who bring me
here this morning; I have come to offer you my congratulations.”
“What has occurred?” asked Phellion. “Have the Thuilliers--”
“It has nothing to do with the Thuilliers,” interrupted the mayor.
“But,” he added, looking hard at Felix, “can that sly fellow have
concealed the thing even from you?”
“I do not think,” said Phellion, “that ever, in his life, has my son
concealed a thing from me.”
“Then you know about the sublime astronomical discovery which he
communicated to the Academy of Sciences yesterday?”
“Your kindness for me, Monsieur le maire,” said Felix, hastily, “has led
you astray; I was only the reader of the communication.”
“Oh! let me alone!” said Minard; “reader, indeed! I know all about it.”
“But see,” said Felix, offering Minard the “Constitutionnel,” “here’s
the paper; not only does it announce that Monsieur Picot is the maker
of the discovery, but it mentions the rewards which, without losing a
moment, the government has bestowed upon him.”
“Felix is right,” said Phellion; “that journal is to be trusted. On this
occasion I think the government has acted very properly.”
“But, my dear commander, I repeat to you that the truth of the affair
has got wind, and your son is shown to be a most admirable fellow. To
put his own discovery to the credit of his old professor so as to obtain
for him the recognition and favor of the authorities--upon my word, in
all antiquity I don’t know a finer trait!”
“Felix!” said Phellion, beginning to show some emotion, “these immense
labors to which you have devoted so much time of late, these continual
visits to the Observatory--”
“But, father,” interrupted Felix, “Monsieur Minard has been
misinformed.”
“Misinformed!” cried Minard, “when I know the whole affair from Monsieur
Picot himself!”
At this argument, stated in a way to leave no possible doubt, the truth
began to dawn upon Phellion.
“Felix, my son!” he said, rising to embrace him.
But he was obliged to sit down again; his legs refused to bear his
weight; he turned pale; and that nature, ordinarily so impassible,
seemed about to give way under the shock of this happiness.
“My God!” said Felix, terrified, “he is ill; ring the bell, I entreat
you, Monsieur Minard.”
And he ran to the old man, loosened his cravat and unfastened the collar
of his shirt, striking him in the palms of his hands. But the sudden
faintness was but momentary; almost immediately himself again, Phellion
gathered his son to his heart, and holding him long in his embrace, he
said, in a voice broken by the tears that came to put an end to this
shock of joy:--
“Felix, my noble son! so great in heart, so great in mind!”
The bell had been rung by Minard with magisterial force, and with such
an accent that the whole household was alarmed, and came running in.
“It is nothing, it is nothing,” said Phellion to the servants, sending
them away. But almost at the same moment, seeing his wife, who now
entered the room, he resumed his habitual solemnity.
“Madame Phellion,” he said, pointing to Felix, “how many years is it
since you brought that young man into the world?”
Madame Phellion, bewildered by the question, hesitated a moment, and
then said:--
“Twenty-five years next January.”
“Have you not thought, until now, that God had amply granted your
maternal desires by making this child of your womb an honest man, a
pious son, and by gifting him for mathematics, that Science of sciences,
with an aptitude sufficiently remarkable?”
“I have,” said Madame Phellion, understanding less and less what her
husband was coming to.
“Well,” continued Phellion, “you owe to God an additional thanksgiving,
for He has granted that you be the mother of a man of genius; his toil,
which lately we rebuked, and which made us fear for the reason of our
child, was the way--the rough and jagged way--by which men come to
fame.”
“Ah ca!” cried Madame Phellion, “can’t you stop coming yourself to an
explanation of what you mean, and get there?”
“Your son,” said Minard, cautious this time in measuring the joy he was
about to bestow, fearing another fainting-fit of happiness, “has just
made a very important scientific discovery.”
“Is it true?” said Madame Phellion, going up to Felix, and taking him by
both hands as she looked at him lovingly.
“When I say important,” continued Minard, “I am only sparing your
maternal emotions; it is, in truth, a sublime, a dazzling discovery.
He is only twenty-five years old, but his name, from henceforth, is
immortal.”
“And this is the man,” said Madame Phellion, half beside herself, and
kissing Felix with effusion, “to whom that la Peyrade is preferred!”
“No, not preferred, madame,” said Minard, “for the Thuilliers are not
the dupes of that adventurer. But he has made himself necessary to them.
Thuillier fancies that without la Peyrade he could not be elected; the
election is still doubtful, and they are sacrificing everything to it.”
“But isn’t it odious,” cried Madame Phellion, “to consider such
interests before the happiness of their child!”
“Ah!” said Minard, “but Celeste is not their child, only their adopted
daughter.”
“Brigitte’s, if you like,” said Madame Phellion; “but as for
Thuillier--”
“My good wife,” said Phellion, “no censoriousness. The good God has just
sent us a great consolation; and, indeed, though certainly far advanced,
this marriage, about which I regret to say Felix does not behave with
all the philosophy I could desire, may still not take place.”
Seeing that Felix shook his head with a look of incredulity, Minard
hastened to say:--
“Yes, yes, the commander is quite right. Last night there was a hitch
about signing the contract, and it was not signed. You were not there,
by the bye, and your absence was much remarked upon.”
“We were invited,” said Phellion, “and up to the last moment we
hesitated whether to go or not. But, as you will readily see, our
position was a false one; besides, Felix--and I see now it must have
been in consequence of his lecture at the Academy--was completely worn
out with fatigue and emotion. To present ourselves without him would
have seemed very singular; therefore we decided that it would be wisest
and best to absent ourselves.”
The presence of the man whom he had just declared immortal did not deter
Minard, when the occasion was thus made for him, from plunging eagerly
into one of the most precious joys of bourgeois existence, namely, the
retailing of gossip.
“Just imagine!” he began; “last night at the Thuilliers’ the most
extraordinary things took place, one after another.”
First he related the curious episode of pere Picot. Then he told of the
hearty approbation given to Felix’s conduct by the Abbe Gondrin, and the
desire the young preacher had expressed to meet him.
“I’ll go and see him,” said Felix; “do you know where he lives?”
“Rue de la Madeleine, No. 8,” replied Minard. “But the great event of
the evening was the spectacle of that fine company assembled to listen
to the marriage-contract, and waiting in expectation a whole hour for
the notary, who--never came!”
“Then the contract is not signed?” said Felix, eagerly.
“Not even read, my friend. Suddenly some one came in and told Brigitte
that the notary had started for Brussels.”
“Ah! no doubt,” said Phellion, naively; “some very important business.”
“Most important,” replied Minard; “a little bankruptcy of five hundred
thousand francs which the gentleman leaves behind him.”
“But who is this public officer,” demanded Phellion, “so recreant, in
this scandalous manner, to the sacred duties of his calling?”
“Parbleu! your neighbor in the rue Saint-Jacques, the notary Dupuis.”
“What!” said Madame Phellion, “that pious man? Why, he is churchwarden
of the parish!”
“Eh! madame, those are the very ones,” said Minard, “to run off--there
are many precedents for that.”
“But,” said Phellion, “such news cast suddenly among the company must
have fallen like a thunderbolt.”
“Especially,” said Minard, “as it was brought in the most unexpected and
singular manner.”
“Tell us all about it,” said Madame Phellion, with animation.
“Well, it seems,” continued Minard, “that this canting swindler had
charge of the savings of a number of servants, and that Monsieur de
la Peyrade--because, you see, they are all of a clique, these pious
people--was in the habit of recruiting clients for him in that walk of
life--”
“I always said so!” interrupted Madame Phellion. “I knew that Provencal
was no good at all.”
“It seems,” continued the mayor, “that he had placed in Dupuis’s hands
all the savings of an old housekeeper, pious herself, amounting to a
pretty little sum. Faith! I think myself it was worth some trouble. How
much do you suppose it was? Twenty-five thousand francs, if you please!
This housekeeper, whose name is Madame Lambert--”
“Madame Lambert!” cried Felix; “why, that’s Monsieur Picot’s
housekeeper; close cap, pale, thin face, speaks always with her eyes
lowered, shows no hair?”
“That’s she,” said Minard,--“a regular hypocrite!”
“Twenty-five thousand francs of savings!” said Felix. “I don’t wonder
that poor pere Picot is always out of money.”
“And that someone had to meddle with the sale of his book,” said Minard,
slyly. “However that may be, you can imagine that the woman was in a
fine state of mind on hearing of the flight of the notary. Off she
went to la Peyrade’s lodgings; there she was told he was dining at
the Thuilliers’; to the Thuilliers’ she came, after running about the
streets--for they didn’t give her quite the right address--till ten
o’clock; but she got there while the company were still sitting round
waiting for the notary, and gaping at each other, no one knowing what
to say and do, for neither Brigitte nor Thuillier have faculty enough
to get out of such a scrape with credit; and we all missed the voice of
Madame de Godollo and the talent of Madame Phellion.”
“Oh! you are too polite, Monsieur le maire,” said Madame Phellion,
bridling.
“Well, as I said,” continued Minard, “at ten o’clock Madame Lambert
reached the antechamber of Monsieur the general-councillor, and there
she asked, in great excitement, to see la Peyrade.”
“That was natural,” said Phellion; “he being the intermediary of the
investment, this woman had a right to question him.”
“You should just have seen that Tartuffe!” continued Minard. “He had no
sooner gone out than he returned, bringing the news. As everybody was
longing to get away, there followed a general helter-skelter. And then
what does our man do? He goes back to Madame Lambert, who was crying
that she was ruined! she was lost!--which might very well be true, but
it might also be only a scene arranged between them in presence of the
company, whom the woman’s outcries detained in the antechamber. ‘Don’t
be anxious, my good woman,’ said la Peyrade; ‘the investment was made at
your request, consequently, I owe you nothing; BUT it is enough that
the money passed through my hands to make my conscience tell me I am
responsible. If the notary’s assets are not enough to pay you I will do
so.’”
“Yes,” said Phellion, “that was my idea as you told it; the intermediary
is or ought to be responsible. I should not have hesitated to do as
Monsieur de la Peyrade did, and I do not think that after such conduct
as that he ought to be taxed with Jesuitism.”
“Yes, you would have done so,” said Minard, “and so should I, but we
shouldn’t have done it with a brass band; we should have paid our money
quietly, like gentlemen. But this electoral manager, how is he going to
pay it? Out of the ‘dot’?”
At this moment the little page entered the room and gave a letter
to Felix Phellion. It came from pere Picot, and was written at his
dictation by Madame Lambert, for which reason we will not reproduce the
orthography. The writing of Madame Lambert was of those that can never
be forgotten when once seen. Recognizing it instantly, Felix hastened to
say:--
“A letter from the professor”; then, before breaking the seal, he added,
“Will you permit me, Monsieur le maire.”
“He’ll rate you finely,” said Minard, laughing. “I never saw anything so
comical as his wrath last night.”
Felix, as he read the letter, smiled to himself. When he had finished
it, he passed it to his father, saying:--
“Read it aloud if you like.”
Whereupon, with his solemn voice and manner, Phellion read as follows:--
My dear Felix,--I have just received your note; it came in the
nick of time, for I was, as they say, in a fury with you. You tell
me that you were guilty of that abuse of confidence (about which I
intended to write you a piece of my mind) in order to give a
knock-down blow to my relations by proving that a man capable of
making such complicated calculations as your discovery required
was not a man to put in a lunatic asylum or drag before a
judiciary council. That argument pleases me, and it makes such a
good answer to the infamous proceedings of my relations that I
praise you for having had the idea. But you sold it to me, that
argument, pretty dear when you put me in company with a star, for
you know very well _that_ propinquity wouldn’t please me at all. It
is not at my age, and after solving the great problem of perpetual
motion, that a man could take up with such rubbish as that,--good
only for boys and greenhorns like you; and that is what I have
taken the liberty this morning to go and tell the minister of
public instruction, by whom I must say I was received with the
most perfect urbanity. I asked him to see whether, as he had made
a mistake and sent them to the wrong address, he could not take
back his cross and his pension,--though to be sure, as I told him,
I deserved them for other things.
“The government,” he replied, “is not in the habit of making
mistakes; what it does is always properly done, and it never
annuls an ordinance signed by the hand of his Majesty. Your great
labors have deserved the two favors the King has granted you; it
is a long-standing debt, which I am happy to pay off in his name.”
“But Felix?” I said; “because after all for a young man it is not
such a bad discovery.”
“Monsieur Felix Phellion,” replied the minister, “will receive in
the course of the day his appointment to the rank of Chevalier of
the Legion of honor; I will have it signed this morning by the
king. Moreover, there is a vacant place at the Academy of
Sciences, and if you are not a candidate for it--”
“I, in the Academy!” I interrupted, with the frankness of speech
you know I always use; “I execrate academies; they are stiflers,
extinguishers, assemblages of sloths, idlers, shops with big signs
and nothing to sell inside--”
“Well, then,” said the minister, smiling, “I think that at the
next election Monsieur Felix Phellion will have every chance, and
among those chances I count the influence of the government which
is secured to him.”
There, my poor boy, is all that I have been able to do to reward
your good intentions and to prove to you that I am no longer
angry. I think the relations are going to pull a long face. Come
and talk about it to-day at four o’clock,--for I don’t dine after
bedtime, as I saw some people doing last night in a house where I
had occasion to mention your talents in a manner that was very
advantageous to you. Madame Lambert, who does better with a
saucepan than with pen and ink, shall distinguish herself, though
it is Friday, and she never lets me off a fast day. But she has
promised us a fish dinner worthy of an archbishop, with a fine
half-bottle of champagne (doubled if need be) to wash it down.
Your old professor and friend,
Picot (Nepomucene),
Chevalier of the Legion of honor.
P.S.--Do you think you could obtain from your respectable mother a
little flask of that old and excellent cognac you once gave me?
Not a drop remains, and yesterday I was forced to drink some stuff
only fit to bathe horses’ feet, as I did not hesitate to say to
the beautiful Hebe who served it to me.
“Of course he shall have some,” said Madame Phellion; “not a flask, but
a gallon.”
“And I,” said Minard, “who pique myself on mine, which didn’t come from
Brigitte’s grocer either, I’ll send him several bottles; but don’t tell
him who sent them, Monsieur le chevalier, for you never can tell how
that singular being will take things.”
“Wife,” said Phellion, suddenly, “get me my black coat and a white
cravat.”
“Where are you going?” asked Madame Phellion. “To the minister, to thank
him?”
“Bring me, I say, those articles of habiliment. I have an important
visit to make; and Monsieur le maire will, I know, excuse me.”
“I myself must be off,” said Minard. “I, too, have important business,
though it isn’t about a star.”
Questioned in vain by Felix and his wife, Phellion completed his attire
with a pair of white gloves, sent for a carriage, and, at the end of
half an hour, entered the presence of Brigitte, whom he found presiding
over the careful putting away of the china, glass, and silver which
had performed their several functions the night before. Leaving these
housekeeping details, she received her visitor.
“Well, papa Phellion,” she said, when they were both seated in the
salon, “you broke your word yesterday; you were luckier than the rest.
Do you know what a trick that notary played us?”
“I know all,” said Phellion; “and it is the check thus unexpectedly
given to the execution of your plans that I shall take for the text of
an important conversation which I desire to have with you. Sometimes
Providence would seem to take pleasure in counteracting our best-laid
schemes; sometimes, also, by means of the obstacles it raises in our
path, it seems to intend to indicate that we are bearing too far to the
right or to the left, and should pause to reflect upon our way.”
“Providence!” said Brigitte the strong-minded,--“Providence has
something else to do than to look after us.”
“That is one opinion,” said Phellion; “but I myself am accustomed to
see its decrees in the little as well as the great things of life; and
certainly, if it had allowed the fulfilment of your engagements with
Monsieur de la Peyrade to be even partially begun yesterday, you would
not have seen me here to-day.”
“Then,” said Brigitte, “do you think that by default of a notary the
marriage will not take place? They do say that for want of a monk the
abbey won’t come to a standstill.”
“Dear lady,” said the great citizen, “you will do me the justice to
feel that neither I, nor my wife, have ever attempted to influence your
decision; we have allowed our young people to love each other without
much consideration as to where that attachment would lead--”
“It led to upsetting their minds,” said Brigitte; “that’s what love is,
and that’s why I deprived myself of it.”
“What you say is, indeed, true of my unfortunate son,” resumed Phellion;
“for, notwithstanding the noble distractions he has endeavored to
give to his sorrow, he is to-day so miserably overcome by it that this
morning, in spite of the glorious success he has just obtained, he was
speaking to me of undertaking a voyage of circumnavigation around the
globe,--a rash enterprise which would detain him from his native land at
least three years, if, indeed, he escaped the dangers of so prolonged a
journey.”
“Well,” said Brigitte, “it isn’t a bad idea; he’ll return consoled,
having discovered three or four more new stars.”
“His present discovery suffices,” said Phellion, with double his
ordinary gravity, “and it is under the auspices of that triumph, which
has placed his name at so great a height in the scientific world, that I
have the assurance to say to you, point-blank: Mademoiselle, I have come
to ask you, on behalf of my son, who loves as he is beloved, for the
hand in marriage of Mademoiselle Celeste Colleville.”
“But, my dear man,” replied Brigitte, “it is too late; remember that we
are _diametrically_ engaged to la Peyrade.”
“It is never, they say, too late to do well, and yesterday it would have
been in my judgment too early. My son, having to offer an equivalent for
a fortune, could not say to you until to-day: ‘Though Celeste, by your
generosity has a “dot” which mine is far from equalling, yet I have
the honor to be a member of the Royal order of the Legion of honor,
and shortly, according to appearance, I shall be a member of the Royal
Academy of Sciences, one of the five branches of the Institute.’”
“Certainly,” said Brigitte; “Felix is getting to be a very pretty match,
but we have passed our word to la Peyrade; the banns are published
at the mayor’s office, and unless something extraordinary happens the
contract will be signed. La Peyrade is very busy about Thuillier’s
election, which he has now got into good shape; we have capital engaged
with him in the affair of this newspaper; and it would be impossible to
go back on our promise, even if we wished to do so.”
“So,” said Phellion, “in one of the rare occasions of life when reason
and inclination blend together, you think you must be guided solely
by the question of material interests. Celeste, as we know, has no
inclination for Monsieur de la Peyrade. Brought up with Felix--”
“Brought up with Felix!” interrupted Brigitte. “She was given a period
of time to choose between Monsieur de la Peyrade and your son,--that’s
how we coerce her, if you please,--and she would not take Monsieur
Felix, whose atheism is too well known.”
“You are mistaken, mademoiselle, my son is not an atheist; for Voltaire
himself doubted if there could be atheists; and no later than yesterday,
in this house, an ecclesiastic, as admirable for his talents as for
his virtues, after making a magnificent eulogy of my son, expressed the
desire to know him.”
“Parbleu! yes, to convert him,” said Brigitte. “But as for this
marriage, I am sorry to tell you that the mustard is made too late for
the dinner; Thuillier will never renounce his la Peyrade.”
“Mademoiselle,” said Phellion, rising, “I feel no humiliation for the
useless step I have this day taken; I do not even ask you to keep it
secret, for I shall myself mention it to our friends and acquaintances.”
“Tell it to whom you like, my good man,” replied Brigitte,
acrimoniously. “Because your son has discovered a star,--if, indeed, he
did discover it, and not that old fool the government decorated--do you
expect him to marry a daughter of the King of the French?”
“Enough,” said Phellion, “we will say no more. I might answer that,
without depreciating the Thuilliers, the Orleans family seems to me
more distinguished; but I do not like to introduce acerbity into the
conversation, and therefore, begging you to receive the assurance of my
humble respects, I retire.”
So saying, he made his exit majestically, and left Brigitte with the
arrow of his comparison, discharged after the manner of the Parthian
“in extremis,” sticking in her mind, and she herself in a temper all the
more savage because already, the evening before, Madame Thuillier, after
the guests were gone, had the incredible audacity to say something in
favor of Felix. Needless to relate that the poor helot was roughly put
down and told to mind her own business. But this attempt at a will of
her own in her sister-in-law had already put the old maid in a vile
humor, and Phellion, coming to reopen the subject, exasperated her.
Josephine, the cook, and the “male domestic,” received the after-clap of
the scene which had just taken place. Brigitte found that in her absence
everything had been done wrong, and putting her own hand to the work,
she hoisted herself on a chair, at the risk of her neck, to reach the
upper shelves of the closet, where her choicest china, for gala days,
was carefully kept under lock and key.
This day, which for Brigitte began so ill, was, beyond all gainsaying,
one of the stormiest and most portentous of this narrative.
CHAPTER XIV. A STORMY DAY
As an exact historian, we must go back and begin the day at six in the
morning, when we can see Madame Thuillier going to the Madeleine to hear
the mass that the Abbe Gondrin was in the habit of saying at that hour,
and afterwards approaching the holy table,--a viaticum which pious souls
never fail to give themselves when it is in their minds to accomplish
some great resolution.
About mid-day the abbe received a visit in his own home from Madame
Thuillier and Celeste. The poor child wanted a little development of
the words by which the priest had given security, the evening before, in
Brigitte’s salon, for the eternal welfare of Felix Phellion. It seemed
strange to the mind of this girl-theologian that, without practising
religion, a soul could be received into grace by the divine justice; for
surely the anathema is clear: Out of the Church there is no salvation.
“My dear child,” said the Abbe Gondrin, “learn to understand that saying
which seems to you so inexplicable. It is more a saying of thanksgiving
for those who have the happiness to live within the pale of our holy
mother the Church than a malediction upon those who have the misfortune
to live apart from her. God sees to the depths of all hearts; He knows
His elect; and so great is the treasure of His goodness that to none is
it given to limit its riches and its munificence. Who shall dare to
say to God: Thou wilt be generous and munificent so far and no farther.
Jesus Christ forgave the woman in adultery, and on the cross He promised
heaven to a thief, in order to prove to us that He deals with men, not
according to human sentiments, but according to _his_ wisdom and _his_
mercy. He who thinks himself a Christian may be in the eyes of God an
idolator; and another who is thought a pagan may, by his feelings
and his actions be, without his own knowledge, a Christian. Our holy
religion has this that is divine about it; all grandeur, all heroism are
but the practice of its precepts. I was saying yesterday to Monsieur de
la Peyrade that pure souls must be, in course of time, its inevitable
conquest. It is all-important to give them their just credit; that is a
confidence which returns great dividends; and, besides, charity commands
it.”
“Ah! my God!” cried Celeste, “to learn that too late! I, who could have
chosen between Felix and Monsieur de la Peyrade, and did not dare to
follow the ideas of my heart! Oh! Monsieur l’abbe, couldn’t you speak to
my mother? Your advice is always listened to.”
“Impossible, my dear child,” replied the vicar. “If I had the direction
of Madame Colleville’s conscience I might perhaps say a word, but we are
so often accused of meddling imprudently in family matters! Be sure that
my intervention here, without authority or right, would do you more harm
than good. It is for you and for those who love you,” he added, giving a
look to Madame Thuillier, “to see if these arrangements, already so far
advanced, could be changed in the direction of your wishes.”
It was written that the poor child was to drink to the dregs the cup she
had herself prepared by her intolerance. As the abbe finished speaking,
his housekeeper came in to ask if he would receive Monsieur Felix
Phellion. Thus, like the Charter of 1830, Madame de Godollo’s officious
falsehood was turned into truth.
“Go this way,” he said hastily, showing his two penitents out by a
private corridor.
Life has such strange encounters that it does sometimes happen that the
same form of proceeding must be used by courtesans and by the men of
God.
“Monsieur l’abbe,” said Felix to the young vicar as soon as they met, “I
have heard of the kind manner in which you were so very good as to
speak of me in Monsieur Thuillier’s salon last night, and I should have
hastened to express my gratitude if another interest had not drawn me to
you.”
The Abbe Gondrin passed hastily over the compliments, eager to know in
what way he could be useful to his fellow-man.
“With an intention that I wish to think kindly,” replied Felix, “you
were spoken to yesterday about the state of my soul. Those who read it
so fluently know more than I do about my inner being, for, during the
last few days I have felt strange, inexplicable feelings within me.
Never have I doubted God, but, in contact with that infinitude where he
has permitted my thought to follow the traces of his work I seem to have
gathered a sense of him less vague, more immediate; and this has led
me to ask myself whether an honest and upright life is the only homage
which his omnipotence expects of me. Nevertheless, there are numberless
objections rising in my mind against the worship of which you are the
minister; while sensible of the beauty of its external form in many of
its precepts and practices, I find myself deterred by my reason. I shall
have paid dearly, perhaps by the happiness of my whole life, for the
slowness and want of vigor which I have shown in seeking the solution of
my doubts. I have now decided to search to the bottom of them. No one
so well as you, Monsieur l’abbe, can help me to solve them. I have come
with confidence to lay them before you, to ask you to listen to me, to
answer me, and to tell me by what studies I can pursue the search for
light. It is a cruelly afflicted soul that appeals to you. Is not that a
good ground for the seed of your word?”
The Abbe Gondrin eagerly protested the joy with which, notwithstanding
his own insufficiency, he would undertake to reply to the scruples of
conscience in the young savant. After asking him for a place in his
friendship, and telling him to come at certain hours for conversation,
he asked him to read, as a first step, the “Thoughts” of Pascal.
A natural affinity, on the side of science, would, he believed,
be established between the spirit of Pascal and that of the young
mathematician.
While this scene was passing, a scene to which the greatness of the
interests in question and the moral and intellectual elevation of the
personages concerned in it gave a character of grandeur which, like
all reposeful, tranquil aspects, is easier far to comprehend than to
reproduce, another scene, of sharp and bitter discord, that chronic
malady of bourgeois households, where the pettiness of minds and
passions gives open way to it, was taking place in the Thuillier home.
Mounted upon her chair, her hair in disorder and her face and fingers
dirty, Brigitte, duster in hand, was cleaning the shelves of the closet,
where she was replacing her library of plates, dishes, and sauce-boats,
when Flavie came in and accosted her.
“Brigitte,” she said, “when you have finished what you are about you had
better come down to our apartment, or else I’ll send Celeste to you; she
seems to me to be inclined to make trouble.”
“In what way?” asked Brigitte, continuing to dust.
“I think she and Madame Thuillier went to see the Abbe Gondrin this
morning, and she has been attacking me about Felix Phellion, and talks
of him as if he were a god; from that to refusing to marry la Peyrade is
but a step.”
“Those cursed skull-caps!” said Brigitte; “they meddle in everything! I
didn’t want to invite him, but you would insist.”
“Yes,” said Flavie, “it was proper.”
“Proper! I despise proprieties!” cried the old maid. “He’s a maker of
speeches; he said nothing last night that wasn’t objectionable. Send
Celeste to me; I’ll settle her.”
At this instant a servant announced to Brigitte the arrival of a clerk
from the office of the new notary chosen, in default of Dupuis, to draw
up the contract. Without considering her disorderly appearance, Brigitte
ordered him to be shown in, but she made him the condescension of
descending from her perch instead of talking from the height of it.
“Monsieur Thuillier,” said the clerk, “came to our office this morning
to explain to the master the clauses of the contract he has been so good
as to entrust to us. But before writing down the stipulations, we are in
the habit of obtaining from the lips of each donor a direct expression
of his or her intentions. In accordance with this rule, Monsieur
Thuillier told us that he gives to the bride the reversion, at his
death, of the house he inhabits, which I presume to be this one?”
“Yes,” said Brigitte, “that is the understanding. As for me, I give
three hundred thousand francs a year in the Three-per-cents, capital and
interest; but the bride is married under the dotal system.”
“That is so,” said the clerk, consulting his notes. “Mademoiselle
Brigitte, three thousand francs a year. Now, there is Madame Celeste
Thuillier, wife of Louis-Jerome Thuillier, who gives six thousand in
the Three-per-cents, capital and interest, and six thousand more at her
death.”
“All that is just as if the notary had written it down,” said Brigitte;
“but if it is your custom you can see my sister-in-law; they will show
you the way.”
So saying, the old maid ordered the “male domestic” to take the clerk to
Madame Thuillier.
A moment later the clerk returned, saying there was certainly some
misunderstanding, and that Madame Thuillier declared she had no
intention of making any agreement in favor of the marriage.
“That’s a pretty thing!” cried Brigitte. “Come with me, monsieur.”
Then, like a hurricane, she rushed into Madame Thuillier’s chamber; the
latter was pale and trembling.
“What’s this you have told monsieur?--that you give nothing to Celeste’s
‘dot’?”
“Yes,” said the slave, declaring insurrection, although in a shaking
voice; “my intention is to do nothing.”
“Your intention,” said Brigitte, scarlet with anger, “is something new.”
“That is my intention,” was all the rebel replied.
“At least you will give your reasons?”
“The marriage does not please me.”
“Ha! and since when?”
“It is not necessary that monsieur should listen to our discussion,”
said Madame Thuillier; “it will not appear in the contract.”
“No wonder you are ashamed of it,” said Brigitte; “the appearance you
are making is not very flattering to you--Monsieur,” she continued,
addressing the clerk, “it is easier, is it not, to mark out passages in
a contract than to add them?”
The clerk made an affirmative sign.
“Then put in what you were told to write; later, if madame persists, the
clause can be stricken out.”
The clerk bowed and left the room.
When the two sisters-in-law were alone together, Brigitte began.
“Ah ca!” she cried, “have you lost your head? What is this crotchet
you’ve taken into it?”
“It is not a crotchet; it is a fixed idea.”
“Which you got from the Abbe Gondrin; you dare not deny that you went to
see him with Celeste.”
“It is true that Celeste and I saw our director this morning, but I did
not open my lips to him about what I intended to do.”
“So, then, it is in your own empty head that this notion sprouted?”
“Yes. As I told you yesterday, I think Celeste can be more suitably
married, and my intention is not to rob myself for a marriage of which I
disapprove.”
“_You_ disapprove! Upon my word! are we all to take madame’s advice?”
“I know well,” replied Madame Thuillier, “that I count for nothing in
this house. So far as I am concerned, I have long accepted my position;
but, when the matter concerns the happiness of a child I regard as my
own--”
“Parbleu!” cried Brigitte, “you never knew how to have one; for,
certainly, Thuillier--”
“Sister,” said Madame Thuillier, with dignity, “I took the sacrament
this morning, and there are some things I cannot listen to.”
“There’s a canting hypocrite for you!” cried Brigitte; “playing the
saint, and bringing trouble into families! And you think to succeed, do
you? Wait till Thuillier comes home, and he’ll shake this out of you.”
By calling in the marital authority in support of her own, Brigitte
showed weakness before the unexpected resistance thus made to her
inveterate tyranny. Madame Thuillier’s calm words, which became every
moment more resolute, baffled her completely, and she found no resource
but insolence.
“A drone!” she cried; “a helpless good-for-nothing! who can’t even pick
up her own handkerchief! that thing wants to be mistress of this house!”
“I wish so little to be its mistress,” said Madame Thuillier, “that last
night I allowed you to silence me after the first words I said in behalf
of Celeste. But I am mistress of my own property, and as I believe that
Celeste will be wretched in this marriage, I keep it to use as may seem
best to me.”
“Your property, indeed!” said Brigitte, with a sneer.
“Yes, that which I received from my father and my mother, and which I
brought as my ‘dot’ to Monsieur Thuillier.”
“And pray who invested it, this property, and made it give you twelve
thousand francs a year?”
“I have never asked you for any account of it,” said Madame Thuillier,
gently. “If it had been lost in the uses you made of it, you would never
have heard a single word from me; but it has prospered, and it is just
that I should have the benefit. It is not for myself that I reserve it.”
“Perhaps not; if this is the course you take, it is not at all sure that
you and I will go out of the same door long.”
“Do you mean that Monsieur Thuillier will send me away? He must have
reasons for doing that, and, thank God! I have been a wife above
reproach.”
“Viper! hypocrite! heartless creature!” cried Brigitte, coming to an end
of her arguments.
“Sister,” said Madame Thuillier, “you are in my apartment--”
“Am I, you imbecile?” cried the old maid, in a paroxysm of anger. “If I
didn’t restrain myself--”
And she made a gesture both insulting and threatening.
Madame Thuillier rose to leave the room.
“No! you shall not go out,” cried Brigitte, pushing her down into her
chair; “and till Thuillier comes home and decides what he will do with
you you’ll stay locked up here.”
Just as Brigitte, her face on fire, returned to the room where she had
left Madame Colleville, her brother came in. He was radiant.
“My dear,” he said to the Megaera, not observing her fury, “everything
is going on finely; the conspiracy of silence is broken; two papers,
the ‘National’ and a Carlist journal, have copied articles from us, and
there’s a little attack in a ministerial paper.”
“Well, all is not going on finely here,” said Brigitte, “and if it
continues, I shall leave the barrack.”
“Whom are you angry with now?” asked Thuillier.
“With your insolent wife, who has made me a scene; I am trembling all
over.”
“Celeste make you a scene!” said Thuillier; “then it is the very first
time in her life.”
“There’s a beginning to everything, and if you don’t bring her to
order--”
“But what was it about--this scene?”
“About madame’s not choosing that la Peyrade should marry her
goddaughter; and out of spite, to prevent the marriage, she refused to
give anything in the contract.”
“Come, be calm,” said Thuillier, not disturbed himself, the admission of
the “Echo” into the polemic making another Pangloss of him. “I’ll settle
all that.”
“You, Flavie,” said Brigitte, when Thuillier had departed to his wife,
“you will do me the pleasure to go down to your own apartment, and tell
Mademoiselle Celeste that I don’t choose to see her now, because if she
made me any irritating answer I might box her ears. You’ll tell her
that I don’t like conspiracies; that she was left at liberty to choose
Monsieur Phellion junior if she wanted him, and she did not want him;
that the matter is now all arranged, and that if she does not wish to
see her ‘dot’ reduced to what you are able to give her, which isn’t as
much as a bank-messenger could carry in his waistcoat pocket--”
“But, my dear Brigitte,” interrupted Flavie, turning upon her at this
impertinence, “you may dispense with reminding us in this harsh way of
our poverty; for, after all, we have never asked you for anything,
and we pay our rent punctually; and as for the ‘dot,’ Monsieur
Felix Phellion is quite ready to take Celeste with no more than a
bank-messenger could carry in his _bag_.”
And she emphasized the last word by her way of pronouncing it.
“Ha! so you too are going to meddle in this, are you?” cried Brigitte.
“Very good; go and fetch him, your Felix. I know, my little woman, that
this marriage has never suited you; it IS disagreeable to be nothing
more than a mother to your son-in-law.”
Flavie had recovered the coolness she had lost for an instant, and
without replying to this speech she merely shrugged her shoulders.
At this moment Thuillier returned; his air of beatitude had deserted
him.
“My dear Brigitte,” he said to his sister, “you have a most excellent
heart, but at times you are so violent--”
“Ho!” said the old maid, “am I to be arraigned on this side too?”
“I certainly do not blame you for the cause of the trouble, and I have
just rebuked Celeste for her assumption; but there are proper forms that
must be kept.”
“Forms! what are you talking about? What forms have I neglected?”
“But, my dear friend, to raise your hand against your sister!”
“I, raise my hand against that imbecile? What nonsense you talk!”
“And besides,” continued Thuillier, “a woman of Celeste’s age can’t be
kept in prison.”
“Your wife!--have I put her in prison?”
“You can’t deny it, for I found the door of her room double-locked.”
“Parbleu! all this because in my anger at the infamous things she was
spitting at me I may have turned the key of the door without intending
it.”
“Come, come,” said Thuillier, “these are not proper actions for people
of our class.”
“Oh! so it is I who am to blame, is it? Well, my lad, some day you’ll
remember this, and we shall see how your household will get along when I
have stopped taking care of it.”
“You’ll always take care of it,” said Thuillier. “Housekeeping is your
very life; you will be the first to get over this affair.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Brigitte; “after twenty years of devotion,
to be treated like the lowest of the low!”
And rushing to the door, which she slammed after her with violence, she
went away.
Thuillier was not disturbed by this exit.
“Were you there, Flavie,” he asked, “when the scene took place?”
“No, it happened in Celeste’s room. What did she do to her?”
“What I said,--raised her hand to her and locked her in like a child.
Celeste may certainly be rather dull-minded, but there are limits that
must not be passed.”
“She is not always pleasant, that good Brigitte,” said Flavie; “she and
I have just had a little set-to.”
“Oh, well,” said Thuillier, “it will all pass off. I want to tell
you, my dear Flavie, what fine success we have had this morning. The
‘National’ quotes two whole paragraphs of an article in which there were
several sentences of mine.”
Thuillier was again interrupted in the tale of his great political and
literary success,--this time by the entrance of Josephine the cook.
“Can monsieur tell me where to find the key of the great trunk?” she
said.
“What do you want with it?” asked Thuillier.
“Mademoiselle told me to take it to her room.”
“What for?”
“Mademoiselle must be going to make a journey. She is getting her linen
out of the drawers, and her gowns are on the bed.”
“Another piece of nonsense!” said Thuillier. “Flavie, go and see what
she has in her head.”
“Not I,” said Madame Colleville; “go yourself. In her present state of
exasperation she might beat me.”
“And my stupid wife, who must needs raise a fuss about the contract!”
cried Thuillier. “She really must have said something pretty sharp to
turn Brigitte off her hinges like this.”
“Monsieur has not told me where to find the key,” persisted Josephine.
“I don’t know anything about it,” said Thuillier, crossly; “go and look
for it, or else tell her it is lost.”
“Oh, yes!” said Josephine, “it is likely I’d dare to go and tell her
that.”
Just then the outer door-bell rang.
“No doubt that’s la Peyrade,” said Thuillier, in a tone of satisfaction.
The Provencal appeared a moment later.
“Faith, my dear friend,” cried Thuillier, “it is high time you came; the
house is in revolution, all about you, and it needs your silvery tongue
to bring it back to peace and quietness.”
Then he related to his assistant editor the circumstances of the civil
war which had broken out.
La Peyrade turned to Madame Colleville.
“I think,” he said, “that under the circumstances in which we now stand
there is no impropriety in my asking for an interview of a few moments
with Mademoiselle Colleville.”
In this the Provencal showed his usual shrewd ability; he saw that in
the mission of pacification thus given to him Celeste Colleville was the
key of the situation.
“I will send for her, and we will leave you alone together,” said
Flavie.
“My dear Thuillier,” said la Peyrade, “you must, without any violence,
let Mademoiselle Celeste know that her consent must be given without
further delay; make her think that this was the purpose for which you
have sent for her; then leave us; I will do the rest.”
The man-servant was sent down to the entresol with orders to tell
Celeste that her godfather wished to speak to her. As soon as she
appeared, Thuillier said, to carry out the programme which had been
dictated to him:--
“My dear, your mother has told us things that astonish us. Can it be
true that with your contract almost signed, you have not yet decided to
accept the marriage we have arranged for you?”
“Godfather,” said Celeste, rather surprised at this abrupt summons, “I
think I did not say that to mamma.”
“Did you not just now,” said Flavie, “praise Monsieur Felix Phellion to
me in the most extravagant manner?”
“I spoke of Monsieur Phellion as all the world is speaking of him.”
“Come, come,” said Thuillier, with authority, “let us have no
equivocation; do you refuse, yes or no, to marry Monsieur de la
Peyrade?”
“Dear, good friend,” said la Peyrade, intervening, “your way of putting
the question is rather too abrupt, and, in my presence, especially, it
seems to me out of place. In my position as the most interested person,
will you allow me to have an interview with mademoiselle, which, indeed,
has now become necessary? This favor I am sure will not be refused by
Madame Colleville. Under present circumstances, there can surely be
nothing in my request to alarm her maternal prudence.”
“I would certainly yield to it,” said Flavie, “if I did not fear that
these discussions might seem to open a question which is irrevocably
decided.”
“But, my dear madame, I have the strongest desire that Mademoiselle
Celeste shall remain, until the very last moment, the mistress of her
own choice. I beg you, therefore, to grant my request.”
“So be it!” said Madame Colleville; “you think yourself very clever, but
if you let that girl twist you round her finger, so much the worse for
you. Come, Thuillier, since we are ‘de trop’ here.”
As soon as the pair were alone together, la Peyrade drew up a chair for
Celeste, and took one himself, saying:--
“You will, I venture to believe, do me the justice to say that until
to-day I have never annoyed you with the expression of my sentiments. I
was aware of the inclinations of your heart, and also of the warnings of
your conscience. I hoped, after a time, to make myself acceptable as a
refuge from those two currents of feeling; but, at the point which we
have now reached, I think it is not either indiscreet or impatient to
ask you to let me know plainly what course you have decided upon.”
“Monsieur,” replied Celeste, “as you speak to me so kindly and frankly,
I will tell you, what indeed you know already, that, brought up as I was
with Monsieur Felix Phellion, knowing him far longer than I have known
you, the idea of marrying alarmed me less in regard to him than it would
in regard to others.”
“At one time, I believe,” remarked la Peyrade, “you were permitted to
choose him if you wished.”
“Yes, but at that time difficulties grew up between us on religious
ideas.”
“And to-day those difficulties have disappeared?”
“Nearly,” replied Celeste. “I am accustomed to submit to the judgment of
those who are wiser than myself, monsieur, and you heard yesterday the
manner in which the Abbe Gondrin spoke of Monsieur Phellion.”
“God forbid,” said la Peyrade, “that I should seek to invalidate
the judgment of so excellent a man; but I venture to say to you,
mademoiselle, that there are great differences among the clergy; some
are thought too stern, some far too indulgent; moreover, the Abbe
Gondrin is more of a preacher than a casuist.”
“But, Monsieur Felix,” said Celeste, eagerly, “seems to wish to fulfil
Monsieur l’abbe’s hopes of him, for I know that he went to see him this
morning.”
“Ah!” said la Peyrade, with a touch of irony, “so he really decided to
go to Pere Anselme! But, admitting that on the religious side Monsieur
Phellion may now become all that you expect of him, have you reflected,
mademoiselle, on the great event which has just taken place in his
life?”
“Undoubtedly; and that is not a reason to think less of him.”
“No, but it is a reason why he should think more of himself. For the
modesty which was once the chief charm of his nature, he is likely to
substitute great assumption, and you must remember, mademoiselle, that
he who has discovered one world will want to discover two; you will have
the whole firmament for rival; in short, could you ever be happy with a
man so entirely devoted to science?”
“You plead your cause with such adroitness,” said Celeste, smiling,
“that I think you might be as a lawyer more disquieting than an
astronomer.”
“Mademoiselle,” said la Peyrade, “let us speak seriously; there is
another and far more serious aspect to the situation. Do you know that,
at this moment, in this house, and without, I am sure, desiring it, you
are the cause of most distressing and regrettable scenes?”
“I, monsieur!” said Celeste, in a tone of surprise that was mingled with
fear.
“Yes, concerning your godmother. Through the extreme affection that she
has for you she seems to have become another woman; for the first time
in her life she has shown a mind of her own. With an energy of will
which comes at times to those who have never expended any, she declares
that she will not make her proposed liberal gift to you in the contract;
and I need not tell you who is the person aimed at in this unexpected
refusal.”
“But, monsieur, I entreat you to believe that I knew nothing of this
idea of my godmother.”
“I know that,” said la Peyrade, “and the matter itself would be of small
importance if Mademoiselle Brigitte had not taken this attitude of your
godmother, whom she has always found supple to her will, as a personal
insult to herself. Very painful explanations, approaching at last to
violence, have taken place. Thuillier, placed between the hammer and
the anvil, has been unable to stop the affair; on the contrary, he has,
without intending it, made matters worse, till they have now arrived at
such a point that Mademoiselle Brigitte is packing her trunks to leave
the house.”
“Monsieur! what are you telling me?” cried Celeste, horrified.
“The truth; and the servants will confirm it to you--for I feel that my
revelations are scarcely believable.”
“But it is impossible! impossible!” said the poor child, whose agitation
increased with every word of the adroit Provencal. “I cannot be the
cause of such dreadful harm.”
“That is, you did not intend to be, for the harm is done; and I pray
Heaven it may not be irremediable.”
“But what am I to do, good God!” cried Celeste, wringing her hands.
“I should answer, without hesitation, sacrifice yourself, mademoiselle,
if it were not that I should then be forced to play the painful part of
victimizer.”
“Monsieur,” said Celeste, “you interpret ill the resistance that I have
made, though, in fact, I have scarcely expressed it. I have certainly
had a preference, but I have never considered myself in the light of
a victim; and whatever it is necessary to do to restore peace in this
house to which I have brought trouble, I shall do it without repugnance,
and even willingly.”
“That would be for me,” said la Peyrade, humbly, “more than I could dare
ask for myself; but, for the result which we both seek, I must tell you
frankly that something more is needed. Madame Thuillier has not changed
her nature to instantly change back again on the mere assurance by
others of your compliance. It is necessary that she should hear from
your own lips that you accede to my suit, and that you do so with
eagerness,--assumed, indeed, but sufficiently well assumed to induce her
to believe in it.”
“So be it,” said Celeste. “I shall know how to seem smiling and happy.
My godmother, monsieur, has been a mother to me; and for such a mother,
what is there that I would not endure?”
The position was such, and Celeste betrayed so artlessly the depth and,
at the same time, the absolute determination of her sacrifice, that with
any heart at all la Peyrade would have loathed the part he was playing;
but Celeste, to him, was a means of ascent, and provided the ladder can
hold you and hoist you, who would ever ask if it cared to or not? It was
therefore decided that Celeste should go to her godmother and convince
her of the mistake she had made in supposing an objection to la Peyrade
which Celeste had never intended to make. Madame Thuillier’s opposition
overcome, all was once more easy. La Peyrade took upon himself the duty
of making peace between the two sisters-in-law, and we can well imagine
that he was not at a loss for fine phrases with which to assure the
artless girl of the devotion and love which would take from her all
regret for the moral compulsion she had now undergone.
When Celeste went to her godmother she found her by no means as
difficult to convince as she had expected. To go to the point of
rebellion which Madame Thuillier had actually reached, the poor woman,
who was acting against her instincts and against her nature, had needed
a tension of will that, in her, was almost superhuman. No sooner had she
received the false confidences of her goddaughter than the reaction set
in; the strength failed her to continue in the path she had taken. She
was therefore easily the dupe of the comedy which Celeste’s tender heart
was made to play for la Peyrade’s benefit.
The tempest calmed on this side, the barrister found no difficulty in
making Brigitte understand that in quelling the rebellion against her
authority she had gone a little farther than was proper. This authority
being no longer in danger, Brigitte ceased to be incensed with the
sister-in-law she had been on the point of beating, and the quarrel was
settled with a few kind words and a kiss, poor Celeste paying the costs
of war.
After dinner, which was only a family meal, the notary, to whose office
they were to go on the following day to sign the contract (it being
impossible to give a second edition of the abortive party), made his
appearance. He came, he said, to submit the contract to the parties
interested before engrossing it. This attention was not surprising in
a man who was just entering into business relations with so important a
person as the municipal councillor, whom it was his interest to firmly
secure for a client.
La Peyrade was far too shrewd to make any objections to the terms of the
contract, which was now read. A few changes requested by Brigitte, which
gave the new notary a high idea of the old maid’s business capacity,
showed la Peyrade plainly that more precautions were being taken against
him than were altogether becoming; but he was anxious not to raise
difficulties, and he knew that the meshes of a contract are never so
close that a determined and clever man cannot get through them. The
appointment was then made for the signing of the contract the next day,
at two o’clock, in the notary’s office, the family only being present.
During the rest of the evening, taking advantage of Celeste’s pledge
to seem smiling and happy, la Peyrade played, as it were, upon the poor
child, forced her, by a specious exhibition of gratitude and love, to
respond to him on a key that was far, indeed, from the true state of a
heart now wholly filled by Felix. Flavie, seeing the manner in which
la Peyrade put forth his seductions, was reminded of the pains he had
formerly taken to fascinate herself. “The monster!” she said, beneath
her breath. But she was forced to bear the torture with a good grace; la
Peyrade was evidently approved by all, and in the course of the evening
a circumstance came to light, showing a past service done by him to the
house of Thuillier, which brought his influence and his credit to the
highest point.
Minard was announced.
“My dear friends,” he said, “I have come to make a little revelation
which will greatly surprise you, and will, I think, prove a lesson
to all of us when a question arises as to receiving foreigners in our
homes.”
“What is it?” cried Brigitte, with curiosity.
“That Hungarian woman you were so delighted with, that Madame Torna,
Comtesse de Godollo--”
“Well?” exclaimed the old maid.
“Well,” continued Minard, “she was no better than she should be; you
were petting in your house for two months the most impudent of kept
women.”
“Who told you that tale?” asked Brigitte, not willing to admit that she
had fallen into such a snare.
“Oh, it isn’t a tale,” said the mayor, eagerly. “I know the thing
myself, ‘de visu.’”
“Dear me! do you frequent such women?” said Brigitte, resuming the
offensive. “That’s a pretty thing! what would Zelie say if she knew it?”
“In the discharge of my duties,” said Minard, stiffly, provoked at this
reception of his news, “I have seen _your friend_, Madame de Godollo, in
company with others of her class.”
“How do you know it was she if you only saw her?” demanded Brigitte.
The wily Provencal was not the man to lose an occasion that fell to him
ready-made.
“Monsieur le maire is not mistaken,” he said, with decision.
“Tiens! so you know her, too,” said Brigitte; “and you let us consort
with such vermin?”
“No,” said la Peyrade, “on the contrary. Without scandal, without saying
a word to any one, I removed her from your house. You remember how
suddenly the woman left it? It was I who compelled her to do so; having
discovered what she was, I gave her two days to leave the premises;
threatening her, in case she hesitated, to tell you all.”
“My dear Theodose,” said Thuillier, pressing his hand, “you acted with
as much prudence as decision. This is one more obligation that we owe to
you.”
“You see, mademoiselle,” said la Peyrade, addressing Celeste, “the
strange protectress whom a friend of yours selected.”
“Thank God,” said Madame Thuillier. “Felix Phellion is above such vile
things.”
“Ah ca! papa Minard, we’ll keep quiet about all this; silence is the
word. Will you take a cup of tea?”
“Willingly,” replied Minard.
“Celeste,” said the old maid, “ring for Henri, and tell him to put the
large kettle on the fire.”
Though the visit to the notary was not to be made till two in the
afternoon, Brigitte began early in the morning of the next day what
Thuillier called her _rampage_, a popular term which expresses that
turbulent, nagging, irritating activity which La Fontaine has described
so well in his fable of “The Old Woman and her Servants.” Brigitte
declared that if you didn’t take time by the forelock no one would be
ready. She prevented Thuillier from going to his office, insisting
that if he once got off she never should see him again; she plagued
Josephine, the cook, about hurrying the breakfast, and in spite of what
had happened the day before she scarcely restrained herself from nagging
at Madame Thuillier, who did not enter, as she thought she should have
done, into her favorite maxim, “Better be early than late.”
Presently down she went to the Collevilles’ to make the same
disturbance; and there she put her veto on the costume, far too elegant,
which Flavie meditated wearing, and told Celeste the hat and gown she
wished her to appear in. As for Colleville, who could not, he declared,
stay away all the morning from his official duties, she compelled him
to put on his dress-suit before he went out, made him set his watch by
hers, and warned him that if he was late no one would wait for him.
The amusing part of it was that Brigitte herself, after driving every
one at the point of the bayonet, came very near being late herself.
Under pretext of aiding others, independently of minding her own
business, which, for worlds, she would never have spared herself, she
had put her fingers and eyes into so many things that they ended by
overwhelming her. However, she ascribed the delay in which she was
almost caught to the hairdresser, whom she had sent for to make, on this
extraordinary occasion, what she called her “part.” That artist having,
unadvisedly, dressed her hair in the fashion, he was compelled, after
she had looked at herself in the glass, to do his work over again, and
conform to the usual style of his client, which consisted chiefly in
never being “done” at all, a method that gave her head a general air of
what is vulgarly called “a cross cat.”
About half-past one o’clock la Peyrade, Thuillier, Colleville, Madame
Thuillier, and Celeste were assembled in the salon. Flavie joined them
soon after, fastening her bracelets as she came along to avoid a
rebuff, and having the satisfaction of knowing that she was ready before
Brigitte. As for the latter, already furious at finding herself late,
she had another cause for exasperation. The event of the day seemed
to require a corset, a refinement which she usually discarded. The
unfortunate maid, whose duty it was to lace her and to discover the
exact point to which she was willing to be drawn in, alone knew the
terrors and storms of a corset day.
“I’d rather,” said the girl, “lace the obelisk; I know it would lend
itself to being laced better than she does; and, anyhow, it couldn’t be
bad-tongued.”
While the party in the salon were amusing themselves, under their
breaths, at the “flagrante delicto” of unpunctuality in which Queen
Elizabeth was caught, the porter entered, and gave to Thuillier a sealed
package, addressed to “Monsieur Thuillier, director of the ‘Echo de la
Bievre.’ _In haste_.”
Thuillier opened the envelope, and found within a copy of a ministerial
journal which had hitherto shown itself discourteous to the new paper
by refusing the _exchange_ which all periodicals usually make very
willingly with one another.
Puzzled by the fact of this missive being sent to his own house and not
to the office of the “Echo,” Thuillier hastily opened the sheet, and
read, with what emotion the reader may conceive, the following article,
commended to his notice by a circle in red ink:--
An obscure organ was about to expire in its native shade when an
ambitious person of recent date bethought himself of galvanizing
it. His object was to make it a foothold by which to climb from
municipal functions to the coveted position of deputy. Happily
this object, having come to the surface, will end in failure.
Electors will certainly not be inveigled by so wily a manner of
advancing self-interests; and when the proper time arrives, if
ridicule has not already done justice on this absurd candidacy, we
shall ourselves prove to the pretender that to aspire to the
distinguished honor of representing the nation something more is
required than the money to buy a paper and pay an underling to put
into good French the horrible diction of his articles and
pamphlets. We confine ourselves to-day to this limited notice, but
our readers may be sure that we shall keep them informed about
this electoral comedy, if indeed the parties concerned have the
melancholy courage to go on with it.
Thuillier read twice over this sudden declaration of war, which was far
from leaving him calm and impassible; then, taking la Peyrade aside, he
said to him:--
“Read that; it is serious.”
“Well?” said la Peyrade, after reading the article.
“Well? how well?” exclaimed Thuillier.
“I mean, what do you find so serious in that?”
“What do I find so serious?” repeated Thuillier. “I don’t think anything
could be more insulting to me.”
“You can’t doubt,” said la Peyrade, “that the virtuous Cerizet is at the
bottom of it; he has thrown this firecracker between your legs by way of
revenge.”
“Cerizet, or anybody else who wrote that diatribe is an insolent
fellow,” cried Thuillier, getting angry, “and the matter shall not rest
there.”
“For my part,” said la Peyrade, “I advise you to make no reply. You are
not named; though, of course, the attack is aimed at you. But you ought
to let our adversary commit himself farther; when the right moment
comes, we’ll rap him over the knuckles.”
“No!” said Thuillier, “I won’t stay quiet one minute under such an
insult.”
“The devil!” said the barrister; “what a sensitive epidermis! Do
reflect, my dear fellow, that you have made yourself a candidate and a
journalist, and therefore you really must harden yourself better than
that.”
“My good friend, it is a principle of mine not to let anybody step on
my toes. Besides, they say themselves they are going on with this thing.
Therefore, it is absolutely necessary to cut short such impertinence.”
“But do consider,” said la Peyrade. “Certainly in journalism, as in
candidacy, a hot temper has its uses; a man makes himself respected, and
stops attacks--”