June 6.
It was the first Thursday in June. I shut up my books and took myleave of the holy abbot Droctoveus, who, being now in the enjoyment ofcelestial bliss, cannot feel very impatient to behold his name and worksglorified on earth through the humble compilation being prepared by myhands. Must I confess it? That mallow-plant I saw visited by a bee theother day has been occupying my thoughts much more than all the ancientabbots who ever bore croisers or wore mitres. There is in one ofSprengel's books which I read in my youth, at that time when I usedto read in my youth, at that time when I used to read anything andeverything, some ideas about "the loves of flowers" which now return tomemory after having been forgotten for half a century, and whichto-day interest me so much that I regret not to have devoted the humblecapacities of my mind to the study of insects and of plants.
And only awhile ago my housekeeper surprised me at the kitchen window,in the act of examining some wallflowers through a magnifying-glass....
It was while looking for my cravat that I made these reflections. Butafter searching to no purpose in a great number of drawers, I foundmyself obliged, after all, to have recourse to my housekeeper. Theresecame limping in.
"Monsieur," she said, "you ought to have told me you were going out, andI would have given you your cravat!"
"But Therese," I replied, "would it not be a great deal better to put insome place where I could find it without your help?"
Therese did not deign to answer me.
Therese no longer allows me to arrange anything. I cannot even have ahandkerchief without asking her for it; and as she is deaf, crippled,and, what is worse, beginning to lose her memory, I languish inperpetual destitution. But she exercises her domestic authority withsuch quiet pride that I do not feel the courage to attempt a coup d'etatagainst her government.
"My cravat! Therese!--do you hear?--my cravat! if you drive me wild likethis with your slow ways, it will not be a cravat I shall need, but arope to hang myself!"
"You must be in a very great hurry, Monsieur," replied Therese. "Yourcravat is not lost. Nothing is ever lost in this house, because I havecharge of everything. But please allow me the time at least to find it."
"Yet here," I thought to myself--"here is the result of half a centuryof devotedness and self-sacrifice!... Ah! if by any happy chance thisinexorable Therese had once in her whole life, only once, failed in herduty as a servant--if she had ever been at fault for one single instant,she could never have assumed this inflexible authority over me, and Ishould at least have the courage to resist her. But how can one resistvirtue? The people who have no weaknesses are terrible; there is no wayof taking advantage of them. Just look at Therese, for example; shehas not a single fault for which you can blame her! She has no doubtof herself; nor of God, nor of the world. She is the valiant woman, thewise virgin of Scripture; others may know nothing about her, but Iknow her worth. In my fancy I always see her carrying a lamp, a humblekitchen lamp, illuminating the beams of some rustic roof--a lamp whichwill never go out while suspended from that meagre arm of hers, scraggyand strong as a vine-branch.
"Therese, my cravat! Don't you know, wretched woman, that to-day is thefirst Thursday in June, and that Mademoiselle Jeanne will be waiting forme? The schoolmistress has certainly had the parlour floor vigorouslywaxed: I am sure one can look at oneself in it now; and it will be quitea consolation for me when I slip and break my old bones upon it--whichis sure to happen sooner or later--to see my rueful countenancereflected in it as in a looking-glass. Then taking for my model thatamiable and admirable hero whose image is carved upon the handle ofUncle Victor's walking-stick, I will control myself so as not to maketoo ugly a grimace.... See what a splendid sun! The quays are all gildedby it, and the Seine smiles in countless little flashing wrinkles. Thecity is gold: a dust-haze, blonde and gold-toned as a woman's hair,floats above its beautiful contours.... Therese, my cravat!... Ah! Ican now comprehend the wisdom of that old Chrysal who used to keep hisneckbands in a big Plutarch. Hereafter I shall follow his example bylaying all my neckties away between the leaves of the Acta Sanctorum."
Therese let me talk on, and keeps looking for the necktie in silence. Ihear a gentle ringing at our door-bell.
"Therese," I exclaim; "there is somebody ringing the bell! Give me mycravat, and go to the door; or, rather, go to the door first, and then,with the help of Heaven, you will give me my cravat. But please donot stand there between the clothes-press and the door like an oldhack-horse between two saddles."
Therese marched to the door as if advancing upon the enemy. My excellenthousekeeper becomes more inhospitable the older she grows. Everystranger is an object of suspicion to her. According to her ownassertion, this disposition is the result of a long experience withhuman nature. I had not the time to consider whether the same experienceon the part of another experimenter would produce the same results.Maitre Mouche was waiting to see me in the ante-room.
Maitre Mouche is still more yellow than I had believed him to be. Hewears blue glasses, and his eyes keep moving uneasily behind them, likemice running about behind a screen.
Maitre Mouche excuses himself for having intruded upon me at a momentwhen.... He does not characterise the moment; but I think he means tosay a moment in which I happen to be without my cravat. It is not myfault, as you very well know. Maitre Mouche, who does not know, does notappear to be at all shocked, however. He is only afraid that he mighthave dropped in at the wrong moment. I succeeded in partially reassuringhim at once upon that point. He then tells me it is as guardian ofMademoiselle Alexandre that he has come to talk with me. First of all,he desires that I shall not hereafter pay any heed to those restrictionshe had at first deemed necessary to put upon the permit given to visitMademoiselle Jeanne at the boarding-school. Henceforth the establishmentof Mademoiselle Prefere will be open to me any day that I might chooseto call--between the hours of midday and four o'clock. Knowing theinterest I have taken in the young girl, he considers it his duty togive me some information about the person to whom he has confided hisward. Mademoiselle Prefere, whom he has known for many years, is inpossession of his utmost confidence. Mademoiselle Prefere is, in hisestimation, an enlightened person, of excellent morals, and capable ofgiving excellent counsel.
"Mademoiselle Prefer," he said to me, "has principles; and principlesare rare these days, Monsieur. Everything has been totally changed; andthis epoch of ours cannot compare with the preceding ones."
"My stairway is a good example, Monsieur," I replied; "twenty-five yearsago it used to allow me to climb it without any trouble, and now ittakes my breath away, and wears my legs out before I have climbed halfa dozen steps. It has had its character spoiled. Then there arethose journals and books I used once to devour without difficultyby moonlight: to-day, even in the brightest sunlight, they mock mycuriosity, and exhibit nothing but a blur of white and black when I havenot got my spectacles on. Then the gout has got into my limbs. That isanother malicious trick of the times!"
"Not only that, Monsieur," gravely replied Maitre Mouche, "but what isreally unfortunate in our epoch is that no one is satisfied with hisposition. From the top of society to the bottom, in every class, thereprevails a discontent, a restlessness, a love of comfort...."
"Mon Dieu, Monsieur!" I exclaimed. "You think this love of comfort is asign of the times? Men have never had at any epoch a love of discomfort.They have always tried to better their condition. This constant effortproduces constant changes, and the effort is always going on--that isall there is about it!"
"Ah! Monsieur," replied Maitre Mouche, "it is easy to see that you livein your books--out of the business world altogether. You do not see, asI see them, the conflicts of interest, the struggle for money. It isthe same effervescence in all minds, great or small. The wildestspeculations are being everywhere indulged in. What I see around mesimply terrifies me!"
I wondered within myself whether Maitre Mouche had called upon me onlyfor the purpose of expressing his virtuous misanthropy; but all at onc
eI heard words of a more consoling character issue from his lips. MaitreMouche began to speak to me of Virginie Prefere as a person worthy ofrespect, of esteem, and of sympathy,--highly honourable, capable ofgreat devotedness, cultivated, discreet,--able to read aloud remarkablywell, extremely modest, and skillful in the art of applying blisters.Then I began to understand that he had only been painting that dismalpicture of universal corruption in order the better to bring out, bycontrast, the virtues of the schoolmistress. I was further informed thatthe institution in the Rue Demours was well patronised, prosperous, andenjoyed a high reputation with the public. Maitre Mouche lifted up hishand--with a black woollen glove on it--as if making oath to the truthof these statements. Then he added:
"I am enabled, by the very character of my profession, to know a greatdeal about people. A notary is, to a certain extent, a father-confessor.
"I deemed it my duty, Monsieur, to give you this agreeable informationat the moment when a lucky chance enabled you to meet MademoisellePrefere. There is only one thing more which I would like to say. Thislady--who is, of course, quite unaware of my action in the matter--spoketo me of you the other day in terms of deepest sympathy. I could onlyweaken their expression by repeating them to you; and furthermore,I could not repeat them without betraying, to a certain extent, theconfidence of Mademoiselle Prefere."
"Do not betray it, Monsieur; do not betray it!" I responded. "To tellyou the truth, I had no idea that Mademoiselle Prefere knew anythingwhatever about me. But since you have the influence of an old friendwith her, I will take advantage of your good will, Monsieur, to ask youto exercise that influence in behalf of Mademoiselle Jeanne Alexandre.The child--for she is still a child--is overloaded with work. She is atonce a pupil and a mistress--she is overtasked. Besides, she is punishedin petty disgusting ways; and hers is one of those generous natureswhich will be forced into revolt by such continual humiliation."
"Alas!" replied Maitre Mouche, "she must be trained to take her part inthe struggle of life. One does not come into this world simply to amuseoneself, and to do just what one pleases."
"One comes into this world," I responded, rather warmly, "to enjoy whatis beautiful and what is good, and to do as one pleases, when the thingsone wants to do are noble, intelligent, and generous. An education whichdoes not cultivate the will, is an education that depraves the mind. Itis a teacher's duty to teach the pupil HOW to will."
I perceived that Maitre Mouche began to think me a rather silly man.With a great deal of quiet self-assurance, he proceeded:
"You must remember, Monsieur, that the education of the poor has to beconducted with a great deal of circumspection, and with a view to thatfuture state of dependence they must occupy in society. Perhaps you arenot aware that the late Noel Alexandre died a bankrupt, and that hisdaughter is being educated almost by charity?"
"Oh! Monsieur!" I exclaimed, "do not say it! To say it is to pay oneselfback, and then the statement ceases to be true."
"The liabilities of the estate," continued the notary, "exceeded theassets. But I was able to effect a settlement with the creditors infavour of the minor."
He undertook to explain matters in detail. I declined to listen tothese explanations, being incapable of understanding business methods ingeneral, and those of Maitre Mouche in particular. The notary then tookit upon himself to justify Mademoiselle Prefere's educational system,and observed by way of conclusion,
"It is not by amusing oneself that one can learn."
"It is only by amusing oneself that one can learn," I replied. "Thewhole art of teaching is only the art of awakening the natural curiosityof young minds for the purpose of satisfying it afterwards; andcuriosity itself can be vivid and wholesome only in proportion as themind is contented and happy. Those acquirements crammed by force intothe minds of children simply clog and stifle intelligence. In order thatknowledge be properly digested, it must have been swallowed with a goodappetite. I know Jeanne! If that child were intrusted to my care, Ishould make of her--not a learned woman, for I would look to her futurehappiness only--but a child full of bright intelligence and full oflife, in whom everything beautiful in art or nature would awaken somegentle responsive thrill. I would teach her to live in sympathy withall that is beautiful--comely landscapes, the ideal scenes of poetry andhistory, the emotional charm of noble music. I would make lovable to hereverything I would wish her to love. Even her needlework I wouldmake pleasurable to her, by a proper choice of fabrics, the style ofembroideries, the designs of lace. I would give her a beautiful dog,and a pony to teach her how to manage animals; I would give her birds totake care of, so that she could learn the value of even a drop of waterand a crumb of bread. And in order that she should have a still higherpleasure, I would train her to find delight in exercising charity.And inasmuch as none of us may escape pain, I should teach her thatChristian wisdom which elevates us above all suffering, and gives abeauty even to grief itself. That is my idea of the right way to educatea young girl."
"I yield, Monsieur," replied Maitre Mouche, joining his black-glovedhands together.
And he rose.
"Of course you understand," I remarked, as I went to the door with him,"that I do not pretend for a moment to impose my educational systemupon Mademoiselle Prefere; it is necessarily a private one, and quiteincompatible with the organisation of even the best-managed boardingschools. I only ask you to persuade her to give Jeanne less work andmore play, and not to punish her except in case of absolute necessity,and to let her have as much freedom of mind and body as the regulationsof the institution permit."
It was with a pale and mysterious smile that Maitre Mouche informed methat my observations would be taken in good part, and should receive allpossible consideration.
Therewith he made me a little bow, and took his departure, leaving mewith a peculiar feeling of discomfort and uneasiness. I have met a greatmany strange characters in my time, but never any at all resemblingeither this notary or this schoolmistress.
The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard Page 24
