AFTER A CURIOUS ADVENTURE UPON THE PONT NEUF, ISRAEL ENTERS THE
PRESENCE OF THE RENOWNED SAGE, DR. FRANKLIN, WHOM HE FINDS RIGHT
LEARNEDLY AND MULTIFARIOUSLY EMPLOYED.
Following the directions given him at the place where the diligence
stopped, Israel was crossing the Pont Neuf, to find Doctor Franklin,
when he was suddenly called to by a man standing on one side of the
bridge, just under the equestrian statue of Henry IV.—The man had a
small, shabby-looking box before him on the ground, with a box of
blacking on one side of it, and several shoe-brushes upon the other.
Holding another brush in his hand, he politely seconded his verbal
invitation by gracefully flourishing the brush in the air.
“What do you want of me, neighbor?” said Israel, pausing in somewhat
uneasy astonishment.
“Ah, Monsieur,” exclaimed the man, and with voluble politeness he ran
on with a long string of French, which of course was all Greek to poor
Israel. But what his language failed to convey, his gestures now made
very plain. Pointing to the wet muddy state of the bridge, splashed by
a recent rain, and then to the feet of the wayfarer, and lastly to the
brush in his hand, he appeared to be deeply regretting that a gentleman
of Israel’s otherwise imposing appearance should be seen abroad with
unpolished boots, offering at the same time to remove their blemishes.
“Ah, Monsieur, Monsieur,” cried the man, at last running up to Israel.
And with tender violence he forced him towards the box, and lifting
this unwilling customer’s right foot thereon, was proceeding vigorously
to work, when suddenly illuminated by a dreadful suspicion, Israel,
fetching the box a terrible kick, took to his false heels and ran like
mad over the bridge.
Incensed that his politeness should receive such an ungracious return,
the man pursued, which but confirming Israel in his suspicions he ran
all the faster, and thanks to his fleetness, soon succeeded in escaping
his pursuer.
Arrived at last at the street and the house to which he had been
directed, in reply to his summons, the gate very strangely of itself
swung open, and much astonished at this unlooked-for sort of
enchantment, Israel entered a wide vaulted passage leading to an open
court within. While he was wondering that no soul appeared, suddenly he
was hailed from a dark little window, where sat an old man cobbling
shoes, while an old woman standing by his side was thrusting her head
into the passage, intently eyeing the stranger. They proved to be the
porter and portress, the latter of whom, upon hearing his summons, had
invisibly thrust open the gate to Israel, by means of a spring
communicating with the little apartment.
Upon hearing the name of Doctor Franklin mentioned, the old woman, all
alacrity, hurried out of her den, and with much courtesy showed Israel
across the court, up three flights of stairs to a door in the rear of
the spacious building. There she left him while Israel knocked.
“Come in,” said a voice.
And immediately Israel stood in the presence of the venerable Doctor
Franklin.
Wrapped in a rich dressing-gown, a fanciful present from an admiring
Marchesa, curiously embroidered with algebraic figures like a
conjuror’s robe, and with a skull-cap of black satin on his hive of a
head, the man of gravity was seated at a huge claw-footed old table,
round as the zodiac. It was covered with printer papers, files of
documents, rolls of manuscript, stray bits of strange models in wood
and metal, odd-looking pamphlets in various languages, and all sorts of
books, including many presentation-copies, embracing history,
mechanics, diplomacy, agriculture, political economy, metaphysics,
meteorology, and geometry. The walls had a necromantic look, hung round
with barometers of different kinds, drawings of surprising inventions,
wide maps of far countries in the New World, containing vast empty
spaces in the middle, with the word DESERT diffusely printed there, so
as to span five-and-twenty degrees of longitude with only two
syllables,—which printed word, however, bore a vigorous pen-mark, in
the Doctor’s hand, drawn straight through it, as if in summary repeal
of it; crowded topographical and trigonometrical charts of various
parts of Europe; with geometrical diagrams, and endless other
surprising hangings and upholstery of science.
The chamber itself bore evident marks of antiquity. One part of the
rough-finished wall was sadly cracked, and covered with dust, looked
dim and dark. But the aged inmate, though wrinkled as well, looked neat
and hale. Both wall and sage were compounded of like materials,—lime
and dust; both, too, were old; but while the rude earth of the wall had
no painted lustre to shed off all fadings and tarnish, and still keep
fresh without, though with long eld its core decayed: the living lime
and dust of the sage was frescoed with defensive bloom of his soul.
The weather was warm; like some old West India hogshead on the wharf,
the whole chamber buzzed with flies. But the sapient inmate sat still
and cool in the midst. Absorbed in some other world of his occupations
and thoughts, these insects, like daily cark and care, did not seem one
whit to annoy him. It was a goodly sight to see this serene, cool and
ripe old philosopher, who by sharp inquisition of man in the street,
and then long meditating upon him, surrounded by all those queer old
implements, charts and books, had grown at last so wondrous wise. There
he sat, quite motionless among those restless flies; and, with a sound
like the low noon murmur of foliage in the woods, turning over the
leaves of some ancient and tattered folio, with a binding dark and
shaggy as the bark of any old oak. It seemed as if supernatural lore
must needs pertain to this gravely, ruddy personage; at least far
foresight, pleasant wit, and working wisdom. Old age seemed in no wise
to have dulled him, but to have sharpened; just as old dinner-knives—so
they be of good steel—wax keen, spear-pointed, and elastic as
whale-bone with long usage. Yet though he was thus lively and vigorous
to behold, spite of his seventy-two years (his exact date at that time)
somehow, the incredible seniority of an antediluvian seemed his. Not
the years of the calendar wholly, but also the years of sapience. His
white hairs and mild brow, spoke of the future as well as the past. He
seemed to be seven score years old; that is, three score and ten of
prescience added to three score and ten of remembrance, makes just
seven score years in all.
But when Israel stepped within the chamber, he lost the complete effect
of all this; for the sage’s back, not his face, was turned to him.
So, intent on his errand, hurried and heated with his recent run, our
courier entered the room, inadequately impressed, for the time, by
either it or its occupant.
“Bon jour, bon jour, monsieur,” said the man of wisdom, in a cheerful
voice, but too busy to turn round just then.
“How do you do, Doctor Franklin?” said Israel.
“Ah! I smell Indian corn,” said the Doctor, turning round quickly on
his chair. “A countryman; sit down, my good sir. Well, what news?
Special?”
“Wait a minute, sir,” said Israel, stepping across the room towards a
chair.
Now there was no carpet on the floor, which was of dark-colored wood,
set in lozenges, and slippery with wax, after the usual French style.
As Israel walked this slippery floor, his unaccustomed feet slid about
very strangely as if walking on ice, so that he came very near falling.
“’Pears to me you have rather high heels to your boots,” said the grave
man of utility, looking sharply down through his spectacles; “don’t you
know that it’s both wasting leather and endangering your limbs, to wear
such high heels? I have thought, at my first leisure, to write a little
pamphlet against that very abuse. But pray, what are you doing now? Do
your boots pinch you, my friend, that you lift one foot from the floor
that way?”
At this moment, Israel having seated himself, was just putting his
right foot across his left knee.
“How foolish,” continued the wise man, “for a rational creature to wear
tight boots. Had nature intended rational creatures should do so, she
would have made the foot of solid bone, or perhaps of solid iron,
instead of bone, muscle, and flesh,—But,—I see. Hold!”
And springing to his own slippered feet, the venerable sage hurried to
the door and shot-to the bolt. Then drawing the curtain carefully
across the window looking out across the court to various windows on
the opposite side, bade Israel proceed with his operations.
“I was mistaken this time,” added the Doctor, smiling, as Israel
produced his documents from their curious recesses—“your high heels,
instead of being idle vanities, seem to be full of meaning.”
“Pretty full, Doctor,” said Israel, now handing over the papers. “I had
a narrow escape with them just now.”
“How? How’s that?” said the sage, fumbling the papers eagerly.
“Why, crossing the stone bridge there over the _Seen_”—
“_Seine_”—interrupted the Doctor, giving the French
pronunciation.—“Always get a new word right in the first place, my
friend, and you will never get it wrong afterwards.”
“Well, I was crossing the bridge there, and who should hail me, but a
suspicious-looking man, who, under pretence of seeking to polish my
boots, wanted slyly to unscrew their heels, and so steal all these
precious papers I’ve brought you.”
“My good friend,” said the man of gravity, glancing scrutinizingly upon
his guest, “have you not in your time, undergone what they call hard
times? Been set upon, and persecuted, and very illy entreated by some
of your fellow-creatures?”
“That I have, Doctor; yes, indeed.”
“I thought so. Sad usage has made you sadly suspicious, my honest
friend. An indiscriminate distrust of human nature is the worst
consequence of a miserable condition, whether brought about by
innocence or guilt. And though want of suspicion more than want of
sense, sometimes leads a man into harm, yet too much suspicion is as
bad as too little sense. The man you met, my friend, most probably had
no artful intention; he knew just nothing about you or your heels; he
simply wanted to earn two sous by brushing your boots. Those
blacking-men regularly station themselves on the bridge.”
“How sorry I am then that I knocked over his box, and then ran away.
But he didn’t catch me.”
“How? surely, my honest friend, you—appointed to the conveyance of
important secret dispatches—did not act so imprudently as to kick over
an innocent man’s box in the public streets of the capital, to which
you had been especially sent?”
“Yes, I did, Doctor.”
“Never act so unwisely again. If the police had got hold of you, think
of what might have ensued.”
“Well, it was not very wise of me, that’s a fact, Doctor. But, you see,
I thought he meant mischief.”
“And because you only thought he _meant_ mischief, _you_ must
straightway proceed to _do_ mischief. That’s poor logic. But think over
what I have told you now, while I look over these papers.”
In half an hour’s time, the Doctor, laying down the documents, again
turned towards Israel, and removing his spectacles very placidly,
proceeded in the kindest and most familiar manner to read him a
paternal detailed lesson upon the ill-advised act he had been guilty
of, upon the Pont Neuf; concluding by taking out his purse, and putting
three small silver coins into Israel’s hands, charging him to seek out
the man that very day, and make both apology and restitution for his
unlucky mistake.
“All of us, my honest friend,” continued the Doctor, “are subject to
making mistakes; so that the chief art of life, is to learn how best to
remedy mistakes. Now one remedy for mistakes is honesty. So pay the man
for the damage done to his box. And now, who are you, my friend? My
correspondents here mention your name—Israel Potter—and say you are an
American, an escaped prisoner of war, but nothing further. I want to
hear your story from your own lips.”
Israel immediately began, and related to the Doctor all his adventures
up to the present time.
“I suppose,” said the Doctor, upon Israel’s concluding, “that you
desire to return to your friends across the sea?”
“That I do, Doctor,” said Israel.
“Well, I think I shall be able to procure you a passage.”
Israel’s eyes sparkled with delight. The mild sage noticed it, and
added: “But events in these times are uncertain. At the prospect of
pleasure never be elated; but, without depression, respect the omens of
ill. So much my life has taught me, my honest friend.”
Israel felt as though a plum-pudding had been thrust under his
nostrils, and then as rapidly withdrawn.
“I think it is probable that in two or three days I shall want you to
return with some papers to the persons who sent you to me. In that case
you will have to come here once more, and then, my good friend, we will
see what can be done towards getting you safely home again.”
Israel was pouring out torrents of thanks when the Doctor interrupted
him.
“Gratitude, my friend, cannot be too much towards God, but towards man,
it should be limited. No man can possibly so serve his fellow, as to
merit unbounded gratitude. Over gratitude in the helped person, is apt
to breed vanity or arrogance in the helping one. Now in assisting you
to get home—if indeed I shall prove able to do so—I shall be simply
doing part of my official duty as agent of our common country. So you
owe me just nothing at all, but the sum of these coins I put in your
hand just now. But that, instead of repaying to me hereafter, you can,
when you get home, give to the first soldier’s widow you meet. Don’t
forget it, for it is a debt, a pecuniary liability, owing to me. It
will be about a quarter of a dollar, in the Yankee currency. A quarter
of a dollar, mind. My honest friend, in pecuniary matters always be
exact as a second-hand; never mind with whom it is, father or stranger,
peasant or king, be exact to a tick of your honor.”
“Well, Doctor,” said Israel, “since exactness in these matters is so
necessary, let me pay back my debt in the very coins in which it was
loaned. There will be no chance of mistake then. Thanks to my Brentford
friends, I have enough to spare of my own, to settle damages with the
boot-black of the bridge. I only took the money from you, because I
thought it would not look well to push it back after being so kindly
offered.”
“My honest friend,” said the Doctor, “I like your straightforward
dealing. I will receive back the money.”
“No interest, Doctor, I hope,” said Israel.
The sage looked mildly over his spectacles upon Israel and replied: “My
good friend, never permit yourself to be jocose upon pecuniary matters.
Never joke at funerals, or during business transactions. The affair
between us two, you perhaps deem very trivial, but trifles may involve
momentous principles. But no more at present. You had better go
immediately and find the boot-black. Having settled with him, return
hither, and you will find a room ready for you near this, where you
will stay during your sojourn in Paris.”
“But I thought I would like to have a little look round the town,
before I go back to England,” said Israel.
“Business before pleasure, my friend. You must absolutely remain in
your room, just as if you were my prisoner, until you quit Paris for
Calais. Not knowing now at what instant I shall want you to start, your
keeping to your room is indispensable. But when you come back from
Brentford again, then, if nothing happens, you will have a chance to
survey this celebrated capital ere taking ship for America. Now go
directly, and pay the boot-black. Stop, have you the exact change
ready? Don’t be taking out all your money in the open street.”
“Doctor,” said Israel, “I am not so simple.”
“But you knocked over the box.”
“That, Doctor, was bravery.”
“Bravery in a poor cause, is the height of simplicity, my friend.—Count
out your change. It must be French coin, not English, that you are to
pay the man with.—Ah, that will do—those three coins will be enough.
Put them in a pocket separate from your other cash. Now go, and hasten
to the bridge.”
“Shall I stop to take a meal anywhere, Doctor, as I return? I saw
several cookshops as I came hither.”
“Cafes and restaurants, they are called here, my honest friend. Tell
me, are you the possessor of a liberal fortune?”
“Not very liberal,” said Israel.
“I thought as much. Where little wine is drunk, it is good to dine out
occasionally at a friend’s; but where a poor man dines out at his own
charge, it is bad policy. Never dine out that way, when you can dine
in. Do not stop on the way at all, my honest friend, but come directly
back hither, and you shall dine at home, free of cost, with me.”
“Thank you very kindly, Doctor.”
And Israel departed for the Pont Neuf. Succeeding in his errand
thither, he returned to Dr. Franklin, and found that worthy envoy
waiting his attendance at a meal, which, according to the Doctor’s
custom, had been sent from a neighboring restaurant. There were two
covers; and without attendance the host and guest sat down. There was
only one principal dish, lamb boiled with green peas. Bread and
potatoes made up the rest. A decanter-like bottle of uncolored glass,
filled with some uncolored beverage, stood at the venerable envoy’s
elbow.
“Let me fill your glass,” said the sage.
“It’s white wine, ain’t it?” said Israel.
“White wine of the very oldest brand; I drink your health in it, my
honest friend.”
“Why, it’s plain water,” said Israel, now tasting it.
“Plain water is a very good drink for plain men,” replied the wise man.
“Yes,” said Israel, “but Squire Woodcock gave me perry, and the other
gentleman at White Waltham gave me port, and some other friends have
given me brandy.”
“Very good, my honest friend; if you like perry and port and brandy,
wait till you get back to Squire Woodcock, and the gentleman at White
Waltham, and the other friends, and you shall drink perry and port and
brandy. But while you are with me, you will drink plain water.”
“So it seems, Doctor.”
“What do you suppose a glass of port costs?”
“About three pence English, Doctor.”
“That must be poor port. But how much good bread will three pence
English purchase?”
“Three penny rolls, Doctor.”
“How many glasses of port do you suppose a man may drink at a meal?”
“The gentleman at White Waltham drank a bottle at a dinner.”
“A bottle contains just thirteen glasses—that’s thirty-nine pence,
supposing it poor wine. If something of the best, which is the only
sort any sane man should drink, as being the least poisonous, it would
be quadruple that sum, which is one hundred and fifty-six pence, which
is seventy-eight two-penny loaves. Now, do you not think that for one
man to swallow down seventy-two two-penny rolls at one meal is rather
extravagant business?”
“But he drank a bottle of wine; he did not eat seventy-two two-penny
rolls, Doctor.”
“He drank the money worth of seventy-two loaves, which is drinking the
loaves themselves; for money is bread.”
“But he has plenty of money to spare, Doctor.”
“To have to spare, is to have to give away. Does the gentleman give
much away?”
“Not that I know of, Doctor.”
“Then he thinks he has nothing to spare; and thinking he has nothing to
spare, and yet prodigally drinking down his money as he does every day,
it seems to me that that gentleman stands self- contradicted, and
therefore is no good example for plain sensible folks like you and me
to follow. My honest friend, if you are poor, avoid wine as a costly
luxury; if you are rich, shun it as a fatal indulgence. Stick to plain
water. And now, my good friend, if you are through with your meal, we
will rise. There is no pastry coming. Pastry is poisoned bread. Never
eat pastry. Be a plain man, and stick to plain things. Now, my friend,
I shall have to be private until nine o’clock in the evening, when I
shall be again at your service. Meantime you may go to your room. I
have ordered the one next to this to be prepared for you. But you must
not be idle. Here is Poor Richard’s Almanac, which, in view of our late
conversation, I commend to your earnest perusal. And here, too, is a
Guide to Paris, an English one, which you can read. Study it well, so
that when you come back from England, if you should then have an
opportunity to travel about Paris, to see its wonders, you will have
all the chief places made historically familiar to you. In this world,
men must provide knowledge before it is wanted, just as our countrymen
in New England get in their winter’s fuel one season, to serve them the
next.”
So saying, this homely sage, and household Plato, showed his humble
guest to the door, and standing in the hall, pointed out to him the one
which opened into his allotted apartment.