Joseph Balsamo (56 page)

” I do not think, Therese, you are looking in the right quarter.”

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” What do yon mean ? “

” Why, we have the garret, yon know.”

” The garret ? The loft, yon mean.”

” No, it is not a loft. It is a room, a little garret-like, I confess, but wholesome, and with a splendid view of the neighboring gardens a thing very unusual in Paris.”

“Oh, what matters it, sir,” exclaimed Gilbert, ” whether it be a loft or not ? Even if it were, I should be but too glad of it, I assure you.”

” But stay that cannot be!” cried Therese. “It is there that I dry our linen.”

” The young man will not disturb it, Therese. You will take care, will you not, my young friend, that no accident happens to my good housekeeper’s linen? We are poor, and any loss is serious to us.”

” Oh, do not be afraid, sir.”

Jacques rose and approached Therese. ” I do not wish, my dear Therese,” said he, ” that this young man should be ruined. Paris is a dangerous place for a stranger ; while here, we can watch over his conduct.”

” Then you have taken him to educate? He will pay for his board, this pupil of yours?”

” No ; but I answer for it he shall cost you nothing. From to-morrow he will provide for himself. As for lodging, since the garret is almost useless to us, let us do him this slight service.”

“How well idle people understand one another!” muttered Therese, shrugging her shoulders.

” Sir,” said Gilbert, more wearied even than his host of this struggle for a hospitality which was so humbling to him, and which was only gained by fighting for every inch of ground, ” sir, I have never yet given trouble to any one, and I shall certainly not begin with you, who have been so good to me. Permit me, therefore, to leave you, if you please. I saw, near the bridge which we crossed, some trees with benches under them. I shall sleep very well, I assure you, on one of those benches.”

” Yes,” said Jacaues, ” to be taken up by the watch as a vagabond.”

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” Which he is,” muttered Therese to herself, as she removed the supper things.

” Come, come, young man,” Jacques added, ” there is, as well as I can remember, a very good straw mattress up-stairs, and that is surely better than a bench. “

” Oh, sir, I have never slept on anything but a straw mattress,” said Gilbert ; then, correcting this truth by a slight fib, ” a feather-bed always overheated me,” added he.

Jacques smiled. ” Straw is certainly cool and refreshing,” said he. ” Take that bit of caudle which is on the table and follow me.”

Therese did not even look at them. She sighed she was defeated.

Gilbert rose gravely and followed his protector. Passing through the anteroom, he saw a cistern of water. ” Sir,” asked he, ” is water dear in Paris ?”

” No, my friend ; but were it dear, water and bread are two things which no man has a right to refuse his fellow-man who begs for them.”

” Oh, the reason I asked is, that at Taverney water costs nothing, and cleanliness is the luxury of the poor.”

” Take some, my friend, “said Jacques, pointing to a large earthenware pitcher ; and he preceded the young man to his sleeping apartment, surprised to find united in a youth of his age all the strength of mind of the lower classes with all the refined tastes of the higher.

CHAPTER XLV. M. JACQUES’ GARRET.

THE staircase, narrow and steep even at its commencement in the hall below, became still more narrow and more steep from the third story, on which Jacques lived, to the rooms above. It was, therefore, with considerable difficulty that they reached what was really a loft. Therese was right for once ; it was neither more nor less than a

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loft, divided into f on r compartments, three of which were uninhabited. To say the truth, they were all, except the one destinedfor Gilbert, uninhabitable.

The roof sloped precipitately down and formed anacnte angle with the floor. In the middle of the slope, a skylight in a broken frame, without glass, admitted both light and air ; the former rather scantily, the latter superabundantly, particularly during high winds in winter.

Fortunately, summer was near ; and yet, in spite of the approaching warm weather, the candle which Jacques held was nearly blown out on entering the loft.

The mattress of which Jacques had spoken so boastingly lay on the floor, and at the first glance seemed to be in itself the whole furniture of the place. Here and there were piles of old printed papers, which had turned yellow at the edges from age, and in the midst of them were some books half gnawed away by rats.

From two cords which were stretched from one side of the loft to the other, and the first of which was nearly strangling Gilbert, hung, dancing in the night breeze, several paper bags containing kidney-beans dried in their pods, a few bundles of aromatic herbs, some household lir.en, and several articles of female attire almost in rags.

” It is not a very handsome place ‘ said Jacques, ” bnt sleep and darkness make an hnmble cabin equal to a sumptuous palace. Sleep, my young friend, as you ought to sleep at your age, and to-morrow morning you may believe that you have slept in the Louvre. But, above all things, take care of fire.”

” Yes, sir ‘ said Gilbert, a little bewildered at all that he had heard and seen.

Jacques left the room smiling, then returned.

” To-morrow we shall have some conversation ‘ said he ; ” you will have no objection to work, will you ? “

” You know, sir, that, on the contrary, to work is my strongest wish.”

” That is right,” said Jacques, and he turned away.

” To work in an honorable way, you understand, sir,” added the punctilious Gilbert.

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” I know of no other, my young friend ; so, then, good night.”

” Good night, and thank you, sir.”

Jacques retired, closed the door, and Gilbert was left alone in his garret.

At first amazed, then stupefied at the thought that he was in Paris, he asked himself could this really be Paris ? could there be in Paris such rooms as his ?

He then reflected that, in reality, M. Jacques was bestowing charity on him, and as he had seen alms bestowed at Taverney, not only did his surprise subside, but gradually gave way to gratitude, so much difference was there in the manner of performing the two acts.

Then, candle in hand, and taking every precaution against fire, as recommended by Jacques, he went over all parts of his garret ; thinking so little of Therese’s clothes that he would not take even an old gown to serve him for a quilt.

He stopped at the piles of printed papers. They roused his curiosity to the utmost ; but they were tied up, and he did not touch them.

With outstretched neck and eager eye, he passed from these parcels to the bags of kidney-beans. The bags were made of very white paper, also printed, and were fastened together by pins.

In making rather a hurried movement he touched the rope with his head and one of the bags fell. Paler and more frightened than if he had been discovered breaking open a strong-box, Gilbert hastened to gather up the beans scattered on the floor and to return them to the bag.

During this process he naturally looked at the paper, and mechanically read a few words. These words excited his interest ; he pushed aside the beans, and sitting down on his mattress he read with eagerness, for the words were so completely in unison with his own character and feelings that he could almost imagine them to have been written, not only for, but by myself. They were as follows

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‘ Besides, grisettes, tradesmen’s daughters, a,jid filles de chambre never presented any temptation to me ; I was influenced by ladies alone. Every one lias his whim, and this was mine. I do not agree with Horace on this point. It is not, however, mere admiration of rank or wealth which induces this preference ; it is the superior delicacy of complexion, the soft white hands, the becoming attire, the air of delicacy and order exhibited in the whole per-son, the taste which appears in every gesture and every expression, the dress so much finer and better formed, the shoes of more delicate workmanship, the more judicious blending of ribbons and laces, the hair arranged with superior care. Thus adorned, I should prefer the plainest features to beauty without them. This preference may be and I feel that it is very ridiculous, but my heart has made it almost in spite of me.”

Gilbert started, and the perspiration burst from his forehead his thoughts could not be better expressed, his desires more clearly defined, nor his tastes more perfectly analyzed. But Andre, though thus adorned, did not require these auxiliaries to set off ” the plainest features.” All these were subservient to her peerless beauty.

After this came a delightful adventure of a young man with two young girls. Their setting out all together on horseback was related, and all the pretty little, fears of the ladies were described. Then their nocturnal return was told in the most charming style.

Gilbert’s interest increased ; he unfolded the bag and read all that was in it ; then he looked at the pages that he might, if possible, go on regularly with what was so interesting. The paging was not regular, but he found seven or eight bags which seemed in the narrative to have some connection. He took out the pins, emptied the beans on the floor, put the sheets together, and proceeded to read.

He was thinking of the happiness he should have, passing the whole night in reading, and the pleasure he should find in unpinning the long file of bags yet untouched,

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when suddenly a slight crackling was heard ; the candle being low, had heated the copper around it; it gunk in the melted grease, a disagreeable odor filled the loft, and in a moment all was darkness.

This event took place so quickly that Gilbert had no time to prevent it, and he could have wept with vexation at being interrupted in the middle of his reading. He allowed the paper to slip from his hands on the heap of beans near his bed, threw himself on his mattress, and, in spite of his disappointment, soon slept profoundly.

He did not awake until aroused by the noise of taking off the padlock with which Jacques had closed the door the night before. It was broad daylight, and as Gilbert opened his eyes, he saw his host enter softly.

His eyes immediately rested on the kidney-beans scattered on the floor, and the bags turned into their original form, Jacques’ glance had taken the same direction.

Gilbert felt the blush of shame covering his cheeks, and, scarcely knowing what he said, he murmured, “Good morning, sir.”

” Good morning, my friend,” said Jacques, ” have you slept well ?”

“Yes, sir.”

” Are yon a somnambulist ?”

Gilbert did not know what a somnambulist was, but he understood that the question referred to the beans no longer in their bags, and to the bags despoiled of their contents.

” Ah, sir,” said he, ” I understand why you ask me that question. Yes, I have been guilty of this misconduct ; I humbly confess it, but I think I can repair it.”

” Yes. But why is your candle burned out ? “

“I sat up too late.”

” But why sit up ? ” asked Jacques, distrustfully.

” To read, sir.”

The old man’s eyes wandered with increasing interest all round the garret.

” This first leaf,” said Gilbert, taking up the first page which he had unpinned and read, ” this first leaf, which 1

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looked at by chance, interested me so much but, sir, you who know so much do you know what book this is taken from?”

Jacques glanced carelessly at it and said ‘ I don’t know.”

“It is a romance, I am sure,” said Gilbert, “and a charming romance, too.”

‘ ‘ A romance ? Do you think so ? “

” Yes ; for love is spoken of here as in romances, only much better.”

” Well, as I see at the foot of this page the word ‘ confessions I think that it may be a true history.”

” Oh, no. The man who speaks thus does not speak for himself. There is too much frankness in his avowals, too much impartiality in his judgments.”

” You are wrong,” answered the old man, quickly ; ” the author wished to give an example of that kind to the world.”

” Do you know who is the author ? “

“The author is Jean Jacques Rousseau.”

“Rousseau ?” cried the young man, impetuously.

“Yes ; these are some leaves from his last work.”

” So this young man, as he speaks of himself here, poor, unknown, almost begging on the highway, was Rousseau that is to say, the man who was one day to write ‘ Le Contrat Social ‘ and ‘ Emile ‘ ? “

” The same or, rather, not the same ‘ said the old man, with an expression of deep melancholy ” no, not the same ; the author of ‘ Le Contrat Social ‘ and ‘ Emile ‘ is the MAN disenchanted with the world, life, glory, almost with the Deity himself ; the other the other Rousseau is the CHILD entering a world rosy as the dawn a child with all the joys and all the hopes of that happy age. Between the two Rousseaus lies an abyss which will forever prevent them from being one thirty years of misery ! “

The old man shook his head, let his arms sink by his side, and appeared lost in reverie.

Gilbert was delighted, not saddened, by what he heard. “Then,” said he, “all that I read last night was not a charming fiction, ‘t ”’

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” Young man, Rousseau has never lied ; remember his motto, vitam impendere vero!”

” I have seen it, but as I do not know Latin, I did not understand it.”

“It means to give one’s life for the truth. But my wife must have risen by this time ; let us go down ; a man determined to work can never begin the day too early. Rouse, young man, rouse.”

” And so,” said Gilbert, “it is possible that a man of such an origin as Ronsseau may be loved by a lady of rank ? Oh, heavens ! what it is to inspire with hope those who, like him, have dared to raise their eyes above them.”

” You love,” said Jacques, ” and you find an analogy between your situation and that of Rousseau.”