“When last I passed through the town,” continued Captain Aspertini, “on
the second of January I think it was, I caught this young savant under
the lime-tree in the courtyard of the library, chatting with the young
porteress, whose ears, I remember, were very red. And you know that is
a sign that she was listening with pleased excitement. There could be
nothing prettier than that dainty little ruby shell clinging above the
white neck. With great discretion I pretended not to see them, in order
that I might not be like the Pythagorean philosopher who used to harass
lovers in Metapontus. That is a very charming young girl, with her red,
flame-like hair and her delicate skin, faintly dappled with freckles,
yet so pearly that it seems lit up from within. Have you ever noticed
her, Monsieur Bergeret?”
M. Bergeret replied by a nod, for he had often noticed her, and found
her very much to his taste. He was too honourable a man and had too
much prudence and respect for his position ever to have taken any
liberty with the young porteress at the library. But the delicate
colouring, the thin, supple figure, the graceful beauty of this girl
had more than once floated before his eyes in the yellow pages of
Servius and Domat, when he had been sitting over them a long while.
Her name was Mathilde and she had the reputation of being fond of
pretty lads. Although M. Bergeret was usually very indulgent towards
lovers, the idea of M. Roux finding favour with Mathilde was distinctly
distasteful to him.
“It was in the evening, after I had been reading there,” continued
Captain Aspertini. “I had copied three unpublished letters of Muratori,
which were not in the catalogue. As I was crossing the court where
they keep the remains of ancient buildings in the town, I saw, under
the lime-tree near the well and not far from the pillar of the
Romano-Gallic boatmen, the young porteress with the golden hair. She
was listening with downcast eyes to the remarks of your pupil, M. Roux,
while she balanced the great keys at the end of her fingers. What he
said was doubtless very like what the herdsman of the Oaristys[15] said
to the goat-girl. There was little doubt as to the gist of his remarks.
I felt sure, in fact, that he was making an assignation. For, thanks to
the skill I have acquired in interpreting the monuments of ancient art,
I immediately grasped the meaning of this group.”
[15] First idyll of André Chénier.
He went on with a smile:
“I cannot, Monsieur Bergeret, really feel all the subtleties, all the
niceties of your beautiful French tongue, but I do not like to use the
word ‘girl’ or ‘young girl’ to describe a child like this porteress of
your municipal library. Neither can one use the word maid,[16] which is
obsolete and has degenerated in meaning. And I would say in passing,
it is a pity that this is the case. It would be ungracious to call
her a young person, and I can see nothing but the word nymph to suit
her. But, pray, Monsieur Bergeret, do not repeat what I told you about
the nymph of the library, lest it should get her into trouble. These
secrets need not be divulged to the mayor or the librarians. I should
be most distressed, if I thought I had inadvertently done the slightest
harm to your nymph.”
[16] _Pucelle._
“It is true,” thought M. Bergeret, “that my nymph is pretty.”
He felt vexed, and at this moment could scarcely have told whether he
was more angry with M. Roux for having found favour in the eyes of the
library porteress, or for having seduced Madame Bergeret.
“Your nation,” said Captain Aspertini, “has attained to the highest
mental and moral culture. But it still retains, as a relic of the
barbarism in which it was so long plunged, a kind of uncertainty and
awkwardness in dealing with love affairs. In Italy love is everything
to the lovers, but of no concern to the outside world. Society in
general feels no interest in a matter which only concerns the chief
actors in it. An unbiassed estimate of licence and passion saves us
from cruelty and hypocrisy.”
For some considerable time Captain Aspertini continued to entertain his
French friend with his views on different points in morals, art and
politics. Then he rose to take leave, and catching sight of Marie in
the hall, said to M. Bergeret:
“Pray don’t take offence at what I said about your cook. Petrarch also
had a servant of rare and peculiar ugliness.”