August 12.
I waited for them. In fact, I waited for them very impatiently. Iexerted all my powers of insinuation and of coaxing to induce Therese toreceive them kindly; but my powers in this direction are very limited.They came. Jeanne was neater and prettier than I had ever expected tosee her. She has not, it is true, anything approaching the charm ofher mother. But to-day, for the first time, I observed that she has apleasing face; and a pleasing face is of great advantage to a womanin this world. I think that her hat was a little on one side; but shesmiled, and the City of Books was all illuminated by that smile.
I watched Therese to see whether the rigid manners of the oldhousekeeper would soften a little at the sight of the young girl. I sawher turning her lustreless eyes upon Jeanne; I saw her long wrinkledface, her toothless mouth, and that pointed chin of hers--like the chinof some puissant old fairy. And that was all I could see.
Mademoiselle Prefere made her appearance all in blue--advanced,retreated, skipped, tripped, cried out, sighed, cast her eyes down,rolled her eyes up, bewildered herself with excuses--said she darednot, and nevertheless dared--said she would never dare again, andnevertheless dared again--made courtesies innumerable--made, in short,all the fuss she could.
"What a lot of books!" she screamed. "And have you really read them all,Monsieur Bonnard?"
"Alas! I have," I replied, "and that is just the reason that I do notknow anything; for there is not a single one of those books which doesnot contradict some other book; so that by the time one has read themall one does not know what to think about anything. That is just mycondition, Madame."
Thereupon she called Jeanne for the purpose of communicating herimpressions. But Jeanne was looking out of the window.
"How beautiful it is!" she said to us. "How I love to see the riverflowing! It makes you think about all kinds of things."
Mademoiselle Prefere having removed her hat and exhibited a foreheadtricked out with blonde curls, my housekeeper sturdily snatched up thehat at once, with the observation that she did not like to see people'sclothes scattered over the furniture. Then she approached Jeanne andasked her for her "things," calling her "my little lady!" Where-uponthe little lady, giving up her cloak and hat, exposed to view a verygraceful neck and a lithe figure, whose outlines were beautifullyrelieved against the great glow of the open window; and I could havewished that some one else might have seen her at that moment--some onevery different from an aged housekeeper, a schoolmistress frizzled likea sheep, and this old humbug of an archivist and paleographer.
"So you are looking at the Seine," I said to her. "See how it sparklesin the sun!"
"Yes," she replied, leaning over the windowbar, "it looks like a flowingof fire. But see how nice and cool it looks on the other side overthere under the shadow of the willows! That little spot there pleases mebetter than all the rest."
"Good!" I answered. "I see that the river has a charm for you. How wouldyou like, with Mademoiselle Prefere's permission, to make a trip toSaint-Cloud? We should certainly be in time to catch the steamboat justbelow the Pont-Royal."
Jeanne was delighted with my suggestion, and Mademoiselle Preferewilling to make any sacrifice. But my housekeeper was not at all willingto let us go off so unconcernedly. She summoned me into the dining-room,whither I followed her in fear and trembling.
"Monsieur," she said to me as soon as we found ourselves alone, "younever think about anything, and it is always I who have to think abouteverything. Luckily for you I have a good memory."
I did not think that it was a favourable moment for any attempt todispel this wild illusion. She continued:
"So you were going off without saying a word to me about what thislittle lady likes to eat? At her age one does not know anything, onedoes not care about anything in particular, one eats like a bird. Youyourself, Monsieur, are very difficult to please; but at least you knowwhat is good: it is very different with these young people--they do notknow anything about cooking. It is often the very best thing whichthey think the worst, and what is bad seems to them good, because theirstomachs are not quite formed yet--so that one never knows just what todo for them. Tell me if the little lady would like a pigeon cooked withgreen peas, and whether she is fond of vanilla ice-cream."
"My good Therese," I answered, "just do whatever you think best, andwhatever that may be I am sure it will be very nice. Those ladies willbe quite contented with our humble ordinary fare."
Therese replied, very dryly,
"Monsieur, I am asking you about the little lady: she must not leavethis house without having enjoyed herself a little. As for that oldfrizzle-headed thing, if she doesn't like my dinner she can suck herthumbs. I don't care what she likes!"
My mind being thus set at rest, I returned to the City of Books, whereMademoiselle Prefere was crocheting as calmly as if she were at home. Ialmost felt inclined myself to think she was. She did not take up muchroom, it is true, in the angle of the window. But she had chosen herchair and her footstool so well that those articles of furniture seemedto have been made expressly for her.
Jeanne, on the other hand, devoted her attention to the books andpictures--gazing at them in a kindly, expressive, half-sad way, as ifshe were bidding them an affectionate farewell.
"Here," I said to her, "amuse yourself with this book, which I am sureyou cannot help liking, because it is full of beautiful engravings." AndI threw open before her Vecellio's collection of costume-designs--notthe commonplace edition, by your leave, so meagrely reproduced by modernartists, but in truth a magnificent and venerable copy of that editioprinceps which is noble as those noble dames who figure upon itsyellowed leaves, made beautiful by time.
While turning over the engravings with artless curiosity, Jeanne saidto me,
"We were talking about taking a walk; but this is a great journey youare making me take. And I would like to travel very, very far away!"
"In that case, Mademoiselle," I said to her, "you must arrange yourselfas comfortably as possible for travelling. But you are now sitting onone corner of your chair, so that the chair is standing upon only oneleg, and that Vecellio must tire your knees. Sit down comfortably; putyour chair on its four feet, and put your book on the table."
She obeyed me with a laugh.
I watched her. She cried out suddenly,
"Oh, come look at this beautiful costume!" (It was that of the wife ofa Doge of Venice.) "How noble it is! What magnificent ideas it gives oneof that life! Oh, I must tell you--I adore luxury!"
"You must not express such thoughts as those, Mademoiselle," said theschoolmistress, lifting up her little shapeless nose from her work.
"Nevertheless, it was a very innocent utterance," I replied. "Thereare splendid souls in whom the love of splendid things is natural andinborn."
The little shapeless nose went down again.
"Mademoiselle Prefere likes luxury too," said Jeanne; "she cuts outpaper trimmings and shades for the lamps. It is economical luxury; butit is luxury all the same."
Having returned to the subject of Venice, we were just about to makethe acquaintance of a certain patrician lady attired in an embroidereddalmatic, when I heard the bell ring. I thought it was some peddler withhis basket; but the gate of the City of Books opened, and... Well, MasterSylvestre Bonnard, you were wishing awhile ago that the grace of yourprotegee might be observed by some other eyes than old withered onesbehind spectacles. Your wishes have been fulfilled in a most unexpectedmanner, and a voice cries out to you as to the imprudent Theseus,
"Craignez, Seigneur, craignez que le Ciel rigoureux Ne vous Haisse assez pour exaucer vos voeux! Souvent dans sa colere il recoit nos victimes, Ses presents sont souvent la peine de nos crimes."
["Beware my lord! Beware lest stern Heaven hate you enough to hear your prayers! Often 'tis in wrath that Heaven receives our sacrifices: its gifts are often the punishment of our crimes."]
The gate of the City of Books had opened, and a handsome young man madehis appe
arance, ushered in by Therese. That good old soul only knows howto open the door for people and to shut it behind them; she has no ideawhatever of the tact requisite for the waiting-room and for the parlour.It is not in her nature either to make any announcements or to makeanybody wait. She either throws people out on the lobby, or simplypitches them at your head.
And here is this handsome young man already inside; and I cannot reallytake the girl at once and hide her like a secret treasure in the nextroom. I wait for him to explain himself; he does it without the leastembarrassment; but it seems to me that he has already observed theyoung girl who is still bending over the table looking at Vecellio. AsI observe the young man it occurs to me that I have seen him somewherebefore, or else I must be very much mistaken. His name is Gelis. Thatis a name which I have heard somewhere,--I can't remember where. At allevents, Monsieur Gelis (since there is a Gelis) is a fine-looking youngfellow. He tells me that this is his third class-year at the Ecole desChartes, and that he has been working for the past fifteen or eighteenmonths upon his graduation thesis, the subject of which is the Conditionof the Benedictine Abbeys in 1700. He has just read my works upon the"Monasticon"; and he is convinced that he cannot terminate this thesissuccessfully without my advice, to begin with, and in the second placewithout a certain manuscript which I possess, and which is nothing lessthan the "Register of the Accounts of the Abbey of Citeaux from 1683 to1704."
Having thus explained himself, he hands me a letter of introductionbearing the signature of one of the most illustrious of my colleagues.
Good! Now I know who he is! Monsieur Gelis is the very same young manwho last year under the chestnut-trees called me an idiot! And whileunfolding his letter of introduction I think to myself:
"Aha! my unlucky youth, you are very far from suspecting that Ioverheard what you said, and that I know what you think of me--or, atleast, what you did think of me that day, for these young minds are sofickle? I have got you now, my friend! You have fallen into the lion'sden, and so unexpectedly, in good sooth, that the astonished old liondoes not know what to do with his prey. But come now, old lion! do notact like an idiot! Is it not possible that you were an idiot? If youare not one now, you certainly were one! You were a fool to have beenlistening to Monsieur Gelis at the foot of the statue of Marguerite deValois; you were doubly a fool to have heard what he said; and you weretrebly a fool not to have forgotten what it would have been much betternever to have heard."
Having thus scolded the old lion, I exhorted him to show clemency.He did not appear to require much coaxing, and gradually became sogood-natured that he had some difficulty in restraining himself frombursting out into joyous roarings. From the way in which I had read mycolleague's letter one might have supposed me a man who did not know hisalphabet. I took a long while to read it; and Monsieur Gelis might havebecome very tired under different circumstances; but he was watchingJeanne, and endured the trial with exemplary patience. Jeanneoccasionally turned her face in our direction. Well you could not expecta person to remain perfectly motionless, could you? Mademoiselle Preferewas arranging her curls, and her bosom occasionally swelled with littlesighs. It may be observed that I have myself often been honoured withthose little sighs.
"Monsieur," I said, as I folded up the letter, "I shall be very happyto be of any service to you. You are occupied with researches in which Imyself have always felt a very lively interest. I have done all that layin my power. I know, as you do--and still better than you can know--howmuch there remains to do. The manuscript you asked for is at yourdisposal; you may take it home with you, but it is not a manuscript ofthe smallest kind, and I am afraid---"
"Oh, Monsieur," said Gelis, "big books have never been able to make meafraid of them."
I begged the young man to wait for me, and I went into the next room toget the Register, which I could not find at first, and which I almostdespaired of finding, as I discerned, from certain familiar signs, thatTherese had been setting the room in order. But the Register was so bigand so heavy that, luckily for me, Therese had not been able to put itin order as she had doubtless wished to do. I could scarcely lift it upmyself; and I had the pleasure of finding it quite as heavy as I couldhave hoped.
"Wait, my boy," I said, with a smile which must have been verysarcastic--"wait! I am going to give you something to do which willbreak your arms first, and afterwards your head. That will be the firstvengeance of Sylvestre Bonnard. Later on we shall see what else there isto be done."
When I returned to the City of Books I heard Monsieur Gelis andMademoiselle Jeanne chatting--chatting together, if you please! as ifthey were the best friends in the world. Mademoiselle Prefere, beingfull of decorum, did not say anything; but the other two were chattinglike birds. And what about? About the blond tint used by Venetianpainters! Yes, about the "Venetian blond." That little serpent of aGelis was telling Jeanne the secret of the dye with which, according tothe best authorities, the women of Titian and of Veronese tinted theirhair. And Mademoiselle Jeanne was expressing her opinion very prettilyabout the honey tint and the golden tint. I understood that that scampof a Vecellio was responsible--that they had been bending over the booktogether, and that they had been admiring either that Doge's wife we hadbeen looking at awhile before, or some other patrician woman of Venice.
Never mind! I appeared with my enormous old book, thinking that Geliswas going to make a grimace. It was as much as one could have asked aporter to carry, and my arms were stiff merely with lifting it. But theyoung man caught it up like a feather, and slipped it under his armwith a smile. Then he thanked me with that sort of brevity which Ilike, reminded me that he had need of my advice, and, having made anappointment to meet me another day, took his departure after bowing tous with the most perfect self-possession conceivable.
"He seems quite a decent lad," I said.
Jeanne turned over a few more pages of Vecellio, and made no answer.
"Aha!" I thought to myself.... And then we went to Saint-Cloud.