Through all the preoccupations of science, the desire to see his native
town, his house, his family, agitated Balthazar’s mind. His daughter’s
letters had told him of the happy family events; he dreamed of crowning
his career by a series of experiments that must lead to the solution
of the great Problem, and he awaited Marguerite’s arrival with extreme
impatience.
The daughter threw herself into her father’s arms and wept for joy. This
time she came to seek a recompense for years of pain, and pardon for the
exercise of her domestic authority. She seemed to herself criminal, like
those great men who violate the liberties of the people for the safety
of the nation. But she shuddered as she now contemplated her father
and saw the change which had taken place in him since her last visit.
Monsieur Conyncks shared the secret alarm of his niece, and insisted on
taking Balthazar as soon as possible to Douai, where the influence
of his native place might restore him to health and reason amid the
happiness of a recovered domestic life.
After the first transports of the heart were over,--which were far
warmer on Balthazar’s part than Marguerite had expected,--he showed a
singular state of feeling towards his daughter. He expressed regret at
receiving her in a miserable inn, inquired her tastes and wishes, and
asked what she would have to eat, with the eagerness of a lover; his
manner was even that of a culprit seeking to propitiate a judge.
Marguerite knew her father so well that she guessed the motive of this
solicitude; she felt sure he had contracted debts in the town which he
wished to pay before his departure. She observed him carefully for
a time, and saw the human heart in all its nakedness. Balthazar had
dwindled from his true self. The consciousness of his abasement, and
the isolation of his life in the pursuit of science made him timid and
childish in all matters not connected with his favorite occupations. His
daughter awed him; the remembrance of her past devotion, of the energy
she had displayed, of the powers he had allowed her to take away from
him, of the wealth now at her command, and the indefinable feelings that
had preyed upon him ever since the day when he had abdicated a paternity
he had long neglected,--all these things affected his mind towards her,
and increased her importance in his eyes. Conyncks was nothing to him
beside Marguerite; he saw only his daughter, he thought only of her, and
seemed to fear her, as certain weak husbands fear a superior woman
who rules them. When he raised his eyes and looked at her, Marguerite
noticed with distress an expression of fear, like that of a child
detected in a fault. The noble girl was unable to reconcile the majestic
and terrible expression of that bald head, denuded by science and by
toil, with the puerile smile, the eager servility exhibited on the lips
and countenance of the old man. She suffered from the contrast of that
greatness to that littleness, and resolved to use her utmost influence
to restore her father’s sense of dignity before the solemn day on which
he was to reappear in the bosom of his family. Her first step when they
were alone was to ask him,--
“Do you owe anything here?”
Balthazar colored, and replied with an embarrassed air:--
“I don’t know, but Lemulquinier can tell you. That worthy fellow knows
more about my affairs than I do myself.”
Marguerite rang for the valet: when he came she studied, almost
involuntarily, the faces of the two old men.
“What does monsieur want?” asked Lemulquinier.
Marguerite, who was all pride and dignity, felt an oppression at her
heart as she perceived from the tone and manner of the servant that some
mortifying familiarity had grown up between her father and the companion
of his labors.
“My father cannot make out the account of what he owes in this place
without you,” she said.
“Monsieur,” began Lemulquinier, “owes--”
At these words Balthazar made a sign to his valet which Marguerite
intercepted; it humiliated her.
“Tell me all that my father owes,” she said.
“Monsieur owes, here, about three thousand francs to an apothecary who
is a wholesale dealer in drugs; he has supplied us with pearl-ash and
lead, and zinc and the reagents--”
“Is that all?” asked Marguerite.
Again Balthazar made a sign to Lemulquinier, who replied, as if under a
spell,--
“Yes, mademoiselle.”
“Very good,” she said, “I will give them to you.”
Balthazar kissed her joyously and said,--
“You are an angel, my child.”
He breathed at his ease and glanced at her with eyes that were less sad;
and yet, in spite of this apparent joy, Marguerite easily detected the
signs of deep anxiety upon his face, and felt certain that the three
thousand francs represented only the pressing debts of his laboratory.
“Be frank with me, father,” she said, letting him seat her on his knee;
“you owe more than that. Tell me all, and come back to your home without
an element of fear in the midst of the general joy.”
“My dear Marguerite,” he said, taking her hands and kissing them with a
grace that seemed a memory of her youth, “you would scold me--”
“No,” she said.
“Truly?” he asked, giving way to childish expressions of delight. “Can I
tell you all? will you pay--”
“Yes,” she said, repressing the tears which came into her eyes.
“Well, I owe--oh! I dare not--”
“Tell me, father.”
“It is a great deal.”
She clasped her hands, with a gesture of despair.
“I owe thirty thousand francs to Messieurs Protez and Chiffreville.”
“Thirty thousand francs,” she said, “is just the sum I have laid by. I
am glad to give it to you,” she added, respectfully kissing his brow.
He rose, took his daughter in his arms, and whirled about the room,
dancing her as though she were an infant; then he placed her in the
chair where she had been sitting, and exclaimed:--
“My darling child! my treasure of love! I was half-dead: the
Chiffrevilles have written me three threatening letters; they were about
to sue me,--me, who would have made their fortune!”
“Father,” said Marguerite in accents of despair, “are you still
searching?”
“Yes, still searching,” he said, with the smile of a madman, “and I
shall FIND. If you could only understand the point we have reached--”
“We? who are we?”
“I mean Mulquinier: he has understood me, he loves me. Poor fellow! he
is devoted to me.”
Conyncks entered at the moment and interrupted the conversation.
Marguerite made a sign to her father to say no more, fearing lest he
should lower himself in her uncle’s eyes. She was frightened at the
ravages thought had made in that noble mind, absorbed in searching for
the solution of a problem that was perhaps insoluble. Balthazar, who
saw and knew nothing outside of his furnaces, seemed not to realize the
liberation of his fortune.
On the morrow they started for Flanders. During the journey Marguerite
gained some confused light upon the position in which Lemulquinier and
her father stood to each other. The valet had acquired an ascendancy
over his master such as common men without education are able to obtain
over great minds to whom they feel themselves necessary; such men,
taking advantage of concession after concession, aim at complete
dominion with the persistency that comes of a fixed idea. In this case
the master had contracted for the man the sort of affection that grows
out of habit, like that of a workman for his creative tool, or an Arab
for the horse that gives him freedom. Marguerite studied the signs of
this tyranny, resolving to withdraw her father from its humiliating yoke
if it were real.
They stopped several days in Paris on the way home, to enable Marguerite
to pay off her father’s debts and request the manufacturers of chemical
products to send nothing to Douai without first informing her of any
orders given by Claes. She persuaded her father to change his style of
dress and buy clothes that were suitable to a man of his station. This
corporal restoration gave Balthazar a certain physical dignity which
augured well for a change in his ideas; and Marguerite, joyous in the
thought of all the surprises that awaited her father when he entered his
own house, started for Douai.
Nine miles from the town Balthazar was met by Felicie on horseback,
escorted by her two brothers, Emmanuel, Pierquin, and some of the
nearest friends of the three families. The journey had necessarily
diverted the chemist’s mind from its habitual thoughts; the aspect of
his own Flanders acted on his heart; when, therefore, he saw the joyous
company of his family and friends gathering about him his emotion was
so keen that the tears came to his eyes, his voice trembled, his eyelids
reddened, and he held his children in so passionate an embrace, seeming
unable to release them, that the spectators of the scene were moved to
tears.
When at last he saw the House of Claes he turned pale, and sprang from
the carriage with the agility of a young man; he breathed the air of the
court-yard with delight, and looked about him at the smallest details
with a pleasure that could express itself only in gestures: he drew
himself erect, and his whole countenance renewed its youth. The tears
came into his eyes when he entered the parlor and noticed the care
with which his daughter had replaced the old silver candelabra that he
formerly had sold,--a visible sign that all the other disasters had been
repaired. Breakfast was served in the dining-room, whose sideboards and
shelves were covered with curios and silver-ware not less valuable than
the treasures that formerly stood there. Though the family meal lasted
a long time, it was still too short for the narratives which Balthazar
exacted from each of his children. The reaction of his moral being
caused by this return to his home wedded him once more to family
happiness, and he was again a father. His manners recovered their former
dignity. At first the delight of recovering possession kept him from
dwelling on the means by which the recovery had been brought about. His
joy therefore was full and unalloyed.
Breakfast over, the four children, the father and Pierquin went into
the parlor, where Balthazar saw with some uneasiness a number of legal
papers which the notary’s clerk had laid upon a table, by which he
was standing as if to assist his chief. The children all sat down, and
Balthazar, astonished, remained standing before the fireplace.
“This,” said Pierquin, “is the guardianship account which Monsieur Claes
renders to his children. It is not very amusing,” he added, laughing
after the manner of notaries who generally assume a lively tone in
speaking of serious matters, “but I must really oblige you to listen to
it.”
Though the phrase was natural enough under the circumstances, Monsieur
Claes, whose conscience recalled his past life, felt it to be a
reproach, and his brow clouded.
The clerk began the reading. Balthazar’s amazement increased as little
by little the statement unfolded the facts. In the first place, the
fortune of his wife at the time of her decease was declared to have been
sixteen hundred thousand francs or thereabouts; and the summing up of
the account showed clearly that the portion of each child was intact and
as well-invested as if the best and wisest father had controlled it. In
consequence of this the House of Claes was free from all lien, Balthazar
was master of it; moreover, his rural property was likewise released
from encumbrance. When all the papers connected with these matters were
signed, Pierquin presented the receipts for the repayment of the moneys
formerly borrowed, and releases of the various liens on the estates.
Balthazar, conscious that he had recovered the honor of his manhood,
the life of a father, the dignity of a citizen, fell into a chair, and
looked about for Marguerite; but she, with the distinctive delicacy of
her sex, had left the room during the reading of the papers, as if to
see that all the arrangements for the fete were properly prepared. Each
member of the family understood the old man’s wish when the failing
humid eyes sought for the daughter,--who was seen by all present, with
the eyes of the soul, as an angel of strength and light within the
house. Gabriel went to find her. Hearing her step, Balthazar ran to
clasp her in his arms.
“Father,” she said, at the foot of the stairs, where the old man caught
her and strained her to his breast, “I implore you not to lessen your
sacred authority. Thank me before the family for carrying out your
wishes, and be the sole author of the good that has been done here.”
Balthazar lifted his eyes to heaven, then looked at his daughter, folded
his arms, and said, after a pause, during which his face recovered an
expression his children had not seen upon it for ten long years,--
“Pepita, why are you not here to praise our child!”
He strained Marguerite to him, unable to utter another word, and went
back to the parlor.
“My children,” he said, with the nobility of demeanor that in former
days had made him so imposing, “we all owe gratitude and thanks to
my daughter Marguerite for the wisdom and courage with which she has
fulfilled my intentions and carried out my plans, when I, too absorbed
by my labors, gave the reins of our domestic government into her hands.”
“Ah, now!” cried Pierquin, looking at the clock, “we must read the
marriage contracts. But they are not my affair, for the law forbids
me to draw up such deeds between my relations and myself. Monsieur
Raparlier is coming.”
The friends of the family, invited to the dinner given to celebrate
Claes’s return and the signing of the marriage contracts, now began to
arrive; and their servants brought in the wedding-presents. The company
quickly assembled, and the scene was imposing as much from the quality
of the persons present as from the elegance of the toilettes. The three
families, thus united through the happiness of their children, seemed to
vie with each other in contributing to the splendor of the occasion. The
parlor was soon filled with the charming gifts that are made to bridal
couples. Gold shimmered and glistened; silks and satins, cashmere
shawls, necklaces, jewels, afforded as much delight to those who gave
as to those who received; enjoyment that was almost childlike shone
on every face, and the mere value of the magnificent presents was lost
sight of by the spectators,--who often busy themselves in estimating it
out of curiosity.
The ceremonial forms used for generations in the Claes family for
solemnities of this nature now began. The parents alone were seated,
all present stood before them at a little distance. To the left of the
parlor on the garden side were Gabriel and Mademoiselle Conyncks, next
to them stood Monsieur de Solis and Marguerite, and farther on, Felicie
and Pierquin. Balthazar and Monsieur Conyncks, the only persons who were
seated, occupied two armchairs beside the notary who, for this occasion,
had taken Pierquin’s duty. Jean stood behind his father. A score of
ladies elegantly dressed, and a few men chosen from among the nearest
relatives of the Pierquins, the Conyncks, and the Claes, the mayor of
Douai, who was to marry the couples, the twelve witnesses chosen from
among the nearest friends of the three families, all, even the curate of
Saint-Pierre, remained standing and formed an imposing circle at the
end of the parlor next the court-yard. This homage paid by the whole
assembly to Paternity, which at such a moment shines with almost regal
majesty, gave to the scene a certain antique character. It was the only
moment for sixteen long years when Balthazar forgot the Alkahest.
Monsieur Raparlier went up to Marguerite and her sister and asked if all
the persons invited to the ceremony and to the dinner had arrived; on
receiving an affirmative reply, he returned to his station and took up
the marriage contract between Marguerite and Monsieur de Solis, which
was the first to be read, when suddenly the door of the parlor opened
and Lemulquinier entered, his face flaming.
“Monsieur! monsieur!” he cried.
Balthazar flung a look of despair at Marguerite, then, making her a
sign, he drew her into the garden. The whole assembly were conscious of
a shock.
“I dared not tell you, my child,” said the father, “but since you
have done so much, you will save me, I know, from this last trouble.
Lemulquinier lent me all his savings--the fruit of twenty years’
economy--for my last experiment, which failed. He has come no doubt,
finding that I am once more rich, to insist on having them back. Ah! my
angel, give them to him; you owe him your father; he alone consoled me
in my troubles, he alone has had faith in me,--without him I should have
died.”
“Monsieur! monsieur!” cried Lemulquinier.
“What is it?” said Balthazar, turning round.
“A diamond!”
Claes sprang into the parlor and saw the stone in the hands of the old
valet, who whispered in his ear,--
“I have been to the laboratory.”
The chemist, forgetting everything about him, cast a terrible look on
the old Fleming which meant, “You went before me to the laboratory!”
“Yes,” continued Lemulquinier, “I found the diamond in the china capsule
which communicated with the battery which we left to work, monsieur--and
see!” he added, showing a white diamond of octahedral form, whose
brilliancy drew the astonished gaze of all present.
“My children, my friends,” said Balthazar, “forgive my old servant,
forgive me! This event will drive me mad. The chance work of seven years
has produced--without me--a discovery I have sought for sixteen years.
How? My God, I know not--yes, I left sulphide of carbon under the
influence of a Voltaic pile, whose action ought to have been watched
from day to day. During my absence the power of God has worked in my
laboratory, but I was not there to note its progressive effects! Is it
not awful? Oh, cursed exile! cursed chance! Alas! had I watched that
slow, that sudden--what can I call it?--crystallization, transformation,
in short that miracle, then, then my children would have been richer
still. Though this result is not the solution of the Problem which I
seek, the first rays of my glory would have shone from that diamond upon
my native country, and this hour, which our satisfied affections have
made so happy, would have glowed with the sunlight of Science.”
Every one kept silence in the presence of such a man. The disconnected
words wrung from him by his anguish were too sincere not to be sublime.
Suddenly, Balthazar drove back his despair into the depths of his own
being, and cast upon the assembly a majestic look which affected
the souls of all; he took the diamond and offered it to Marguerite,
saying,--
“It is thine, my angel.”
Then he dismissed Lemulquinier with a gesture, and motioned to the
notary, saying, “Go on.”
The two words sent a shudder of emotion through the company such as
Talma in certain roles produced among his auditors. Balthazar, as he
reseated himself, said in a low voice,--
“To-day I must be a father only.”
Marguerite hearing the words went up to him and caught his hand and
kissed it respectfully.
“No man was ever greater,” said Emmanuel, when his bride returned to
him; “no man was ever so mighty; another would have gone mad.”
After the three contracts were read and signed, the company hastened
to question Balthazar as to the manner in which the diamond had been
formed; but he could tell them nothing about so strange an accident. He
looked through the window at his garret and pointed to it with an angry
gesture.
“Yes, the awful power resulting from a movement of fiery matter which no
doubt produces metals, diamonds,” he said, “was manifested there for one
moment, by one chance.”
“That chance was of course some natural effect,” whispered a guest
belonging to the class of people who are ready with an explanation
of everything. “At any rate, it is something saved out of all he has
wasted.”
“Let us forget it,” said Balthazar, addressing his friends; “I beg you
to say no more about it to-day.”
Marguerite took her father’s arm to lead the way to the reception-rooms
of the front house, where a sumptuous fete had been prepared. As he
entered the gallery, followed by his guests, he beheld it filled with
pictures and garnished with choice flowers.
“Pictures!” he exclaimed, “pictures!--and some of the old ones!”
He stopped short; his brow clouded; for a moment grief overcame him; he
felt the weight of his wrong-doing as the vista of his humiliation came
before his eyes.
“It is all your own, father,” said Marguerite, guessing the feelings
that oppressed his soul.
“Angel, whom the spirits in heaven watch and praise,” he cried, “how
many times have you given life to your father?”
“Then keep no cloud upon your brow, nor the least sad thought in your
heart,” she said, “and you will reward me beyond my hopes. I have been
thinking of Lemulquinier, my darling father; the few words you said a
little while ago have made me value him; perhaps I have been unjust to
him; he ought to remain your humble friend. Emmanuel has laid by nearly
sixty thousand francs which he has economized, and we will give them
to Lemulquinier. After serving you so well the man ought to be made
comfortable for his remaining years. Do not be uneasy about us. Monsieur
de Solis and I intend to lead a quiet, peaceful life,--a life without
luxury; we can well afford to lend you that money until you are able to
return it.”
“Ah, my daughter! never forsake me; continue to be thy father’s
providence.”
When they entered the reception-rooms Balthazar found them restored and
furnished as elegantly as in former days. The guests presently descended
to the dining-room on the ground-floor by the grand staircase, on every
step of which were rare plants and flowering shrubs. A silver service of
exquisite workmanship, the gift of Gabriel to his father, attracted all
eyes to a luxury which was surprising to the inhabitants of a town where
such luxury is traditional. The servants of Monsieur Conyncks and of
Pierquin, as well as those of the Claes household, were assembled to
serve the repast. Seeing himself once more at the head of that table,
surrounded by friends and relatives and happy faces beaming with
heartfelt joy, Balthazar, behind whose chair stood Lemulquinier, was
overcome by emotions so deep and so imposing that all present kept
silence, as men are silent before great sorrows or great joys.
“Dear children,” he cried, “you have killed the fatted calf to welcome
home the prodigal father.”
These words, in which the father judged himself (and perhaps prevented
others from judging him more severely), were spoken so nobly that all
present shed tears; they were the last expression of sadness, however,
and the general happiness soon took on the merry, animated character of
a family fete.
Immediately after dinner the principal people of the city began to
arrive for the ball, which proved worthy of the almost classic splendor
of the restored House of Claes. The three marriages followed this happy
day, and gave occasion to many fetes, and balls, and dinners, which
involved Balthazar for some months in the vortex of social life. His
eldest son and his wife removed to an estate near Cambrai belonging
to Monsieur Conyncks, who was unwilling to separate from his daughter.
Madame Pierquin also left her father’s house to do the honors of a fine
mansion which Pierquin had built, and where he desired to live in
all the dignity of rank; for his practise was sold, and his uncle des
Racquets had died and left him a large property scraped together by slow
economy. Jean went to Paris to finish his education, and Monsieur and
Madame de Solis alone remained with their father in the House de Claes.
Balthazar made over to them the family home in the rear house, and took
up his own abode on the second floor of the front building.