Оноре де Бальзак
The Lesser Bourgeoisie
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.”