UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
AT LOS ANGELES
d?-^L* t fU&jJ-,
1898
; CRIME OF
SYLVESTRE
BONNARD.
ANATOLE FRANCE
NEW YORK AND BOSTON
THOMAS Y. CROWELL AND
COMPANY
136471
THE CRIME
OF
SYLVESTRE BONNARD
(.Member of the Institute)
BY
ANATOLE FRANCE
TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH
BY
ARABELLA WARD
NEW YORK: 46 EAST MTH STRBBT
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY
BOSTON: too PUKCHASB STRBBT
COPYRIGHT, 1897,
BY T. Y. CROWELL & Co.
TYPOGRAPHY BY C. J. PRTKRS & SON, BOSTON.
FRBSSWORK BY ROCKWELL k CHURCHILL.
c ^GES \v
CONTENTS.
PART I.
PACK
THE LOG i
PART II.
THE DAUGHTER OF CLEMENTINE
THE FAIRY 75
LITTLE SAINT GEORGE 104
J
PART I.
THE LOG.
THE
CRIME OF SYLVESTRE BONNARD.
THE LOG.
December 24, 1849.
I PUT on my slippers and my dressing-gown, and
brushed away a tear which the north wind, blowing
across the quay, had brought into my eyes. A
bright fire was burning on the hearth in my study.
Ice-crystals, in the form of fern-leaves, frosted the
window-panes, hiding from me the Seine, its bridges,
and the Louvre des Valois.
Drawing my arm-chair and writing-table before
the fire, I took the place that Hamilcar deigned to
leave me. Hamilcar, his nose between his paws,
lay curled up on a feather cushion in front of the
andirons. His thick, soft fur rose and fell with his.
regular breathing. As I approached, he gently
opened his dark eyes from between their half-
closed lids, but almost instantly shut them again,
as if saying to himself, "It is nothing; only my
friend."
" Hamilcar!" I exclaimed, as I stretched out my
legs, " Hamilcar, somnolent Prince, mighty Guard-
ian of the City of Books! Like the Divine Cat
that fought against the ungodly in Heliopolis dur-
ing the night of the great combat, thou dost pre-
2 THE CRIME OF
serve from vile gnawing the books which this old
student has purchased at the cost of his scant sav-
ings and untiring patience! In this library, pro-
tected by thy military genius, sleep, O Hamilcar, as
softly as a sultana. For in thy person are united
the formidable aspect of a Tartar warrior and the
sensuous grace of a woman of the Orient. Sleep,
thou brave and voluptuous Hamilcar, until the hour
draws nigh when the mice begin their dance in the
light of the moon, before the Acta Sanctorum of
the learned Bollandists ! "
The beginning of this apostrophe must have
pleased Hamilcar, for he accompanied it with a
gurgle in his throat like the sound of a boiling
kettle. But as my voice became louder, Hamilcar's
ears began to droop, the striped skin of his fore-
head grew puckered, and this warned me that it
was unbecoming in me thus to harangue.
" This old bookworm," Hamilcar evidently mused,
" makes idle speeches, whereas our housekeeper
never utters a word that is not full of good sense
and meaning, containing either the announcement
of a meal or the promise of a whipping. Any one
can understand what she says. But this old man
strings together sounds that signify nothing."
Thus mused Hamilcar. Leaving him to his re-
flections, I opened a book in which I became deeply
interested. It was a catalogue of manuscripts. I
know of no easier, more pleasing, or more fascinat-
ing reading than that of a catalogue. The one that
I was reading, published in 1824, by Mr. Thompson,
librarian to Sir Thomas Raleigh, errs, it is true, by
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 3
an excess of brevity, and fails to show that accuracy
which the archaeologists of my generation were the
first to introduce into works of diplomatics and pale-
ography. It leaves much to be desired and conjec-
tured. This is perhaps why, in reading it, I feel a
sensation which in a more imaginative nature than
mine might be called revery.
I had given myself up to the gentle train of my
thoughts, when my housejceeper, in a sullen tone,
announced that Monsieur Coccoz wished to speak
with me.
In fact, some one had already slipped behind her
into the library. It was a poor, puny, insignificant
little fellow in a thin jacket. He approached me
with a series of little bows and smiles. But he
was very pale, and although still young and active,
he seemed ill. As I looked at him, I thought of
a wounded squirrel. Under his arm he carried a
green case, which he placed on a chair. Then, un-
tying the four corners, he uncovered a pile of small
yellow books.
" Monsieur," said he, " I have not the honor of
being known to you. I am a book-agent, monsieur.
I represent the leading houses of the capital, and in
the hope that you will be good enough to honor me
with your patronage, I take the liberty of offering
you a few novelties."
Ye kind and just gods ! Such novelties as the
little Coccoz fellow showed me! The first volume
he handed me was rtlistoire de la Tour de Nesle,
with the love affairs of Margudrite of Bourgogne
and Captain Buridan.
4 THE CRIME OF
" This," said he, smiling, " is a book that deals
with true history."
" In that case," I replied, " it must be very tire-
some, for a history which keeps strictly to the truth
is extremely dull. I have written some such myself ;
and if ever you should be unfortunate enough to
offer one of them from door to door, you would run
the risk of keeping it all your life in your green
case, without ever finding a maid-servant sufficiently
ill-advised to buy it of you."
" Certainly, monsieur," replied the little fellow
out of pure good nature. And, still smiling, he
showed me the Amours d'Htloise et d^Abeilard;
but I made him understand that, at my age, I had
no use for a love-story. Still smiling, he suggested
the Regie des jeux desociett : piquet, be"sique, dcartd,
whist, dice, checkers, chess.
" Alas ! " said I, " if you would have me remem-
ber the rules of bdsique, give me back my old friend
Bignan, with whom I used to play cards every even-
ing until the five Academies bore him solemnly to
his grave ; or bring down to the frivolous level of
human amusements the grave intelligence of Ham-
ilcar, whom you see sleeping on that cushion, and
who at the present time is the sole companion of
my evenings."
The little fellow's smile became vague and fright-
ened.
"This," said he, "is a new collection of society
diversions, jokes and puns, with directions for chan-
ging a red rose to a white."
I told him that for a long time I had been put
BONNARD. 5
out with white roses, and that as to the jokes, I was
satisfied with those which I unconsciously allowed
myself to make in the course of my scientific work.
The little fellow offered me his last book with his
last smile, saying,
" Here is the Cle_d&s Songes, with explanations
of ever)' possible dream, the dream of gold, tlu
dream of robbers, the dream of death, the dream of
one's falling from the top of a towei^-^the list is
complete ! "
I had seized the tongs, and brandishing them in
the air, I replied to my commercial visitor,
" Yes, my friend ; but these dreams, as well as a
thousand others, both joyous and tragic, are summed
up in a single one, the Dream of Life. Does your
little yellow book give me~The key to this ?"
" Yes, monsieur," replied the little man ; " the
book is complete ; and it is not dear, only one franc,
twenty-five centimes, monsieur."
I called my housekeeper, for my lodgings are
without a bell.
" The'rese," said I, " Monsieur Coccoz, whom I
beg you to escort to the door, has a book which may
be of interest to you. It is the ' Key to Dreams. 1 I
shall be glad to buy it for you."
My housekeeper replied,
" Monsieur, if one has not the time to dream when
awake, one has not the time to dream when asleep.
Thank God ! the days are enough for my work, and
my work for the days ; and I can say every evening,
4 O Lord, bless the rest I am about to have ! ' I
dream neither awake nor asleep; and I do not mis-
6 THE CRIME OF
take my eider-down coverlet for a ghost either, as
my cousin did. Moreover, if I may be allowed to
give my opinion, we already have books enough
here. Monsieur has thousands and thousands of
them, which turn his head ; and I have two, which
are all I need, my Catholic Prayer-book and my
Cuisiniere Bourgeoises
With these words, my housekeeper helped the lit-
tle man to p*t his goods back again into his green
case.
Coccoz no longer smiled. His relaxed features
wore such an expression of suffering that I was
filled with remorse at having poked fun at so un-
happy a creature. I called him back, and told him
that I had caught a glimpse of a copy of rHistoire
d' ' Estelle et de Nemorin, which he had ; that I was
very fond of shepherds and shepherdesses, and that
for a reasonable sum I should be glad to buy the
story of these two perfect lovers.
" I will let you have this book for one franc,
twenty-five centimes, monsieur," answered Coccoz,
whose face now beamed with delight. " It is his-
torical, and I am sure you will be pleased with it.
I see now what you want. You are a connaisseur.
To-morrow I will bring you the Crimes des Papes.
It is a good book. I will bring you the Edition-de-
luxe with the colored plates."
I begged him to do nothing of the sort, and sent
him away happy. When the peddler and his green
case had vanished in the shadow of the hall, I asked
my housekeeper from where the little man had
dropped in upon us.
SYLVESTRE BONJtfARD. 7
" Dropped is the very word," said she. " He
dropped from the roof, monsieur, where he lives
with his wife."
" He has a wife you say, The'rese? That is mar
vellous ! Women certainly are strange creatures.
This one must be a very unfortunate little woman."
" I really do not know what she is," replied The'-
rese; "but every morning I see her trailing down
the stairs in a silk gown that is covered with grease-
spots. She makes eyes at people too. Now, how
in all justice can such eyes and such dresses belong
to a woman who is received out of charity? For,
in consideration of the fact that the man is ill and
the wife in a delicate condition, they have been
allowed to occupy the attic while the roof is under-
going repairs. The janitress said that the woman's
confinement began this very morning. They must
have had great need of a child!"
"The'rese," I replied, "they certainly had no need
of one. But Nature willed that they should have/
one, and they fell into her trap. Unusual precau-// \
tion is necessary in order to foil the tricks of Na- \
tare. Let us pity rather than blame them! As to
the silk dresses, there is not a young woman in the /
whole world who does not love them. The daugh- /
ters of Eve adore finery. You yourself. The'rese,/
who are serious and sensible, how you do scold if
you have no white apron in which to wait at table !
But tell me, have they all that they need in their
attic?"
"How could that be possible, monsieur?" an-
swered the housekeeper. "The husband, whom you
8 THE. CRIME OF
have just seen, used to peddle jewels, so the jani-
tress tells me, and no one knows why he gave up
selling watches. You see he peddles almanacs now.
This, in my opinion,, is not an honest profession ;
and I can never believe that God will bless any one
who follows it. The woman, between you and me,
seems unfitted for anything, a lazy good-for-nothing.
I consider her as capable of bringing up a child as
I should be of playing the guitar. No one knows
from where they come, but I feel sure that they
must have come by the coach of Poverty from the
Land of Don't-Care."
" Wherever they have come from, The"rese, they
are wretched, and their attic is cold."
" Mercy ! I should think it was ! The roof has
cracks in several places, and the rain pours in by
the gutterful. They have neither furniture nor cloth-
ing. Cabinet-makers and weavers seldom work, I
think, for Christians of such a brotherhood."
"It is very sad, The'rese, that a Christian woman
should be less well cared for than this pa^an of an
Hamilcar. What does the woman herself say?"
" Monsieur, I never speak to people of that class.
I have no idea what she says or what she sings.
But she sings the whole day long. I hear her from
the stairs whenever I go in and out."
" Well ! the heir of this Coccoz family can say,
like the egg in the village riddle, ' My mother
brought me into the world while singing.' A simi-
lar thing happened in the case of Henry IV. When
Jeanne d'Albret was about to be confined, she began
to sing an old Bdarnaise canticle :
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 9
' Our Lady from the end of the bridge,
May this hour bring me joy !
Raise now thy prayer,
That God may hear,
And send to me a 6oy.'-' 1
It is unreasonable, on the face of it, to bring poor
little wretches into the world. But it happens every
day, my poor The'rese, and all the philosophers in
_the_wprld cannot reform the foolish custom. Ma-
dame Coccoz has followed it, and sings. That is
good, at least ! But tell me, The'rese, have you not
set the pot to boil to-day?"
" Yes, monsieur, and it is about time for me to go
and skim it."
" Very good ! but do not fail, The'rese, to carry a
good bowl of soup to Madame Coccoz, our neighbor
up-stairs."
My housekeeper was about to leave the room,
when I added,
"The'rese, first of all, be good enough to call your
friend thp porter, and tell him to look about our
woodhouse for an armful of wood for this Coccoz
family. Above all, see that he does not fail to put
in the pile a big log, a regular yule log. As to the
little man, I beg you, in case he returns, to show
him politely to the door, him and all his yellow
books."
Having taken these measures, with the selfishness
1 Notre-Dame du bout du font,
I'enez it man aide en cettt htttre I
I'riez It Dim du del,
QtSU mt tUlivre vitt,
Qu'U mt dottnt UH gar (on I
IO THE CRIME OF
of a confirmed bachelor, I turned again to my cata-
logue.
With what surprise, pleasure, and pain, I came
upon the following words, which even now I cannot
copy with a firm hand :
"THE GOLDEN LEGEND" BY JACQUES DE GENES
(JACQUES DE VORAGINE).
Translated into French. Small quarto.
This manuscript of the fourteenth century contains,
besides the more or less complete translation of the cele-
brated works of Jacques de Voragine, i. The Legends
of Saints Ferreol, Ferrution, Germain, Vincent, and
Droctoveus ; 2. A poem on " The Miraculous Burial of
Monsieur Saint-Germain of Auxerre." The translation,
the legends and the poem, are due to the clerk Alex-
ander. The manuscript is on vellum. It contains a
large number of illuminated initials, and two beautifully
painted miniatures in a poor state of preservation. One
represents the Purification of the Virgin, the other the
Crowning of Proserpine.
What a discovery ! The perspiration came out
on my forehead, a mist swam before my eyes. I
trembled, I flushed, feeling that I must shout, yet
unable to utter a word.
What a treasure! For forty years I had been
studying the history of Christian Gaul, especially
the wonderful Abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Prds,
whence came the king-monks who founded our
national dynasty. But in spite of the culpable in-
sufficiency of the description, it was evident to me
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. II
that the manuscript of the clerk Alexander must
have come from the great abbey. Everything
proved it. All the legends added by the translator
related to the pious founding of the abbey by King
Childebert. The legend of Saint Droctoveus was
especially significant, for it was that of the first
abbot of my dear abbey. The poem in French
verse on the burial of Saint-Germain took me into
the very nave of the venerable basilica, which was
the centre of Christian Gaul.
" The Golden Legend " is in itself a vast and
graceful work. Jacques de Voragine, Assistant of
the Order of Saint Dominic and Archbishop of
Genoa, collected in the thirteenth century all the
legends of Catholic saints, and made a volume of
such richness, that from the monasteries and cha-
teaux there came the cry, "It is the Golden Le-
gend ! " " The Golden Legend " was particularly
rich in Roman hagiography. Edited by an Italian
monk, it was especially good in its treatment of the
earthly domains of Saint Peter. Voragine sees the
greatest saints of the Occident only through a cold
mist. Therefore the Aquitanian and Saxon trans-
lators of this good legendary were careful to add to
his account the lives of their own national saints.
I have read and collated many manuscripts of
The Golden Legend." I know those described
by my learned colleague, Monsieur Paulin Paris,
in his beautiful catalogue of the manuscripts of
the Royal Library. Of these, two in particular
held my attention. One is of the fourteenth cen-
tury, and contains a translation of Jean Belet ; the
12 THE CRIME OF
other, younger by a century, includes the version
of Jacques Vignay. Both came from the Colbert
collection, and were placed on the shelves of that
glorious Colbertine library through the energy of
the librarian Baluze, whose name I never utter
without baring my head ; for even in the cen-
tury of the giants of learning, Baluze astonishes
every one by his greatness. I know a very curi-
ous codex of the Bigot collection. I know seventy-
four printed editions, beginning with the venerable
ancestor of all, the Gothic of Strasbourg, com-
menced in 1471, and finished in 1475.
But not one of these manuscripts, not one of
these editions, contains the legends of Saints Fer-
re'ol, Ferrution, Germain, Vincent, and Droctoveus,
not one bears the name of the clerk Alexander, not
one, in short, comes from the Abbey of Saint-Ger-
main-des-Prds. Compared with the manuscript de-
scribed by Mr. Thompson, they are as straw to gold.
I have seen with my own eyes, I have touched with
my own fingers, an indisputable proof of the exis-
tence of this document. But the document itself?
\ What has become of it ? Sir Thomas Raleigh
spent his last days on the shores of Lake Como,
whither he carried a part of his vast treasures.
What became of them, then, after the death of
that elegant collector of curios? Where could the
manuscripts of the clerk Alexander have gone?
"And why," I ask myself, "why have I learned
of the existence of this precious volume, if I am
never to possess it, never even to see it? If I knew
that it were there, I would seek it in the burning
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 13
heart of Africa or among the ice regions of the
Pole. But I do not know where it is. I know not
if it is guarded by some jealous bibliomaniac in an
iron safe, beneath a triple lock, or if it lies moulder-
ing in the garret of some ignorant person. I shudder
when I think that perhaps its pages have been torn
out to cover the gherkin-jars of some housekeeper."
August 30, 1850.
The heat was so oppressive that I was obliged
to walk slowly. I strolled along, close to the walls
of the northern quay; and in the sultry twilight
the shops of dealers in old books, prints, and an-
tique furniture attracted my eyes and my fancy.
Rummaging among them as I idled along, I en*
joyed a finely turned verse by a poet of the Pleiad,
I looked through an elegant " Masquerade " by Wat-
teau, I weighed with my eye a two-handled sword,
a steel gorget, a marion. What a thick helmet!
What a heavy breastplate, Lord ! The covering of
a giant ? No ; the carapace of an insect. The men
of those days were armed like beetles, their weak-
ness was within. Now, on the contrary, our strength
is within. Our armed souls dwell in weak bodies.
Here is a pastel of a lady of the olden time. The
face, faint as a shadow, is smiling. One hand, cov-
ered with an open-worked mitt, holds upon her satin
gown a lap-dog with a ribbon about his neck. The
picture fills me with a sweet melancholy. Let those
who have in their hearts no half-obliterated pastel
make fun of me !
14 THE CRIME OF
Like the horse that scents the stable, I hasten my
steps as I near my lodgings. Here it is, the human
hive where I have my cell, in which I distil the
somewhat bitter honey of learning. With a heavy
step I mount the stairs. A few feet more and I
shall be at my door. But I imagine rather than
see a gown descending, with the sound of rustling
silk. I pause,- and draw back against the railing.
The woman who passes is bareheaded, she is young,
she is singing. Her eyes and her teeth gleam in the
shadow, for she has laughing eyes and a laughing
mouth. She is certainly a neighbor, and one who
knows us well. In her arms she holds a pretty
child, a little boy, quite naked, like the son of a
goddess. About his neck is a medal attached to
a little silver chain. I watch him as he sucks his
thumbs, staring at me with his great eyes, and gaz-
ing upon this old world, as yet so new to him. At
the same time the mother looks at me in a sly, mys-
terious way. Then she stops, blushes slightly, I
think, and holds out the little creature to me. The
baby has a pretty dimple between his wrist and his
arm, another in his neck, and everywhere, from his
head to his feet, others laugh in his rosy flesh.
The mother shows him to me with pride.
" Monsieur," she says, " my little boy is very
pretty ; don't you think so ? "
She takes his hand, places it on his lips, and
holds out his dear little rosy fingers towards me.
" Baby, throw a kiss to the gentleman," she says.
Then, folding the little creature in her arms, she
glides away with the swiftness of a cat, and dis-
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 15
appears down a hallway, which, judging from its
odor, leads to a kitchen.
I enter my own rooms.
" The'rese, who is the young mother whom I saw
bareheaded on the stairs with her pretty little boy ? "
The'rese replies that it is Madame Coccoz. I
stare at the ceiling, as if to find there some further
explanation. The'rese recalls to my mind the poor
peddler who a year ago came to sell me almanacs
while his wife was ill. /
" And what of Coccoz ? " I asked.
The reply was that I would never see him again.
The poor fellow had been laid away under ground
without my knowledge, and, indeed, without the
knowledge of many, a short time after the recovery
of Madame Coccoz. I learned that his wife had
become consoled. I followed her example.
"But, The'rese," I asked, "has Madame Coccoz
all she needs in her attic ? "
" You will be very stupid, monsieur," replied my
housekeeper, " if you give a thought to that woman.
They notified her to leave the attic when the roof
was repaired. But she is still there, in spite of the
proprietor, the agent, the janitress, and the bailiff.
I believe she has bewitched them all. She will
leave the attic, monsieur, when she pleases, but
she will leave it in her own carriage! Mark my
words ! "
The'rese reflected a moment, then she made this
remark,
" A pretty face is a curse from Heaven ! "
" I should thank Heaven, then, for having spared
1 6 THE CRIME OF
me that curse. But take my hat and cane. I am
going to read a few pages of More'ri for recreation.
If my old fox scent tells me true, we are going to
have a delicately flavored pullet for dinner. Attend
to this estimable fowl, my good woman, and spare
your neighbors, so that they may spare you and
your old master."
So saying, I set about to study the gnarled
branches of a princely genealogy.
May 7, 1851.
I have spent the winter in a manner most pleas-
ing to sages, in angello cum libello ; and now the
swallows of the quay Malaquais find me, on their
return, almost as when they left me. He who lives
little, changes little, and using up one's days poring
over ancient texts is scarcely living at all.
And yet to-day I feel myself a little more than
ever imbued with that vague sadness that life gives
out. My intellectual harmony (I scarcely dare ac-
knowledge it to myself) has been troubled ever
since that momentous hour when the existence of
the clerk Alexander's manuscript was revealed to
me. It seems strange that for a few pages of old
parchment I should have lost sleep, but such is the
truth. The poor man without desires possesses the.
greatest of all treasures, he is master of himself.
The rich man who has a desire is but a wretched
slave. I am that slave. The sweetest pleasures,
that of conversing with a man of an acute, bright
mind, or dining with a friend, cannot make me for-
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. \J
get the manuscript which I have wanted ever since
1 knew of its existence. I want it by day and by
night. 1 want it in joy and in sorrow. I want it
when I work, and I want it when I rest.
I recall to mind the desires of my childhood.
How clearly I understand to-day all the intense
wishes of those early years ! I can still see with
wonderful vividness a doll, which, when I was eight
years old, was displayed in the window of a wretched
little shop in the rue de Seine. Why that doll
pleased me I have no idea. I was very proud of
being a boy. I despised little girls, and I looked
forward with impatience to the time (alas, it has
come !) when a prickly white beard would bristle on
my chin. I played soldier, and in order to obtain
food for my hobby-horse I made ravages among the
plants that my long-suffering mother tried to culti-
vate on the window-ledge. That was certainly a
manly amusement. And yet I longed for a doll !
A Hercules has his weakness. Was the object
of my love beautiful? No. I can see her now.
She had a dab of vermilion on either cheek, short,
flabby arms, horrible wooden hands, and long,
shapeless legs. Her flowered skirt was fastened
at the waist by two pins. I can still see the
black heads of those two pins. She was a low-class
doll, smelling of the faubourg. I well remember,
little boy that I was and not yet in trousers, that
I felt in my own way and very strongly, that this
doll lacked grace and style. She was coarse and
vulgar. Nevertheless, I loved her, in spite of her
faults. I loved her for them. I loved her alone,
18 THE CRIME OF
and I wanted her. My soldiers and my drums
were no longer of any account. I had stopped
putting into my hobby-horse's mouth stems of he-
liotrope and speedwell. That doll was everything
to me. I planned schemes worthy of a savage,
in order that my nurse Virginie might be obliged
to take me by the little shop in the rue de Seine.
I would flatten my nose against the window until
my nurse had to take hold of my arm and drag
me away. " Monsieur Sylvestre, it is late, and your
mamma will scold you." Monsieur Sylvestre cared
nothing in those days for the threatened scoldings
and whippings. But his nurse raised him in her
arms as if he were a feather, and Monsieur Sylvestre
yielded to force. In after years, as he grew older,
he became degenerate, and now yields to fear. But
then he was afraid of nothing.
I was wretched. An inconsiderate but irresistible
shame kept me from telling my mother of the object
of my love. Hence my sufferings. For days that
doll, constantly in my mind, danced before my eyes,
and gazed fixedly at me, and opened her arms to
me, assuming, in my imagination, a sort of life that
made her seem strange and terrible to me, and much
dearer and more to be coveted.
Finally, one day, a day I shall never forget, my
nurse took me to see my uncle, Captain Victor, who
had asked me to breakfast. I felt a deep admira-
tion for my uncle, the Captain, as much from the
fact of his having fired the last French cartridge at
Waterloo, as because with his own hands, at my
mother's table, he used to make crotitons rubbed
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 19
in garlic, which he then put into the chicory salad.
I thought that was very fine.
My uncle Victor also filled me with great respect
on account of his frogged coats, and especially on
account of the way he had of turning the house
topsy-turvy the moment he entered it. Even to-day
I do not understand how he did it; but whenever
my uncle Victor was in a company of twenty per-
sons, he was the only one seen and heard. My good
father, I believe, did not share my great admiration
for my uncle Victor, who troubled him by his smok-
ing, gave him friendly although hearty slaps on his
back, and accused him of lack of energy. My
mother, while she felt for the Captain all a sister's
indulgence, sometimes asked him to pay less atten-
tion to the brandy bottle. But I had no part in
these feelings of dislike, or in the reproaches that
were heaped upon him. My uncle Victor inspired
me with the greatest enthusiasm.
Therefore I entered his small lodgings in the rue
Gue'ne'gaud with a feeling of pride. The entire
breakfast, served oh a round table in a corner of
the fireplace, consisted of pork and sweets. The
Captain filled me with cake and pure wine. He told
me of countless acts of injustice of which he had
been the victim. He complained especially of the
Bourbons ; and as he neglected to tell me who the
Bourbons were, I somehow imagined that they were
horse-dealers at Waterloo. The Captain, who inter-
rupted himself only to fill our glasses, furthermore
accused a number of young men, jean/esses and
good-for-nothings, whom I did not know at all, but
20 THE CRIME OF
whom I hated with my whole heart. At dessert I
thought that I heard the Captain say that my
father was a man whom one could twist round
one's little finger, but I am not sure that I under-
stood him. My ears were ringing, and it seemed
to me that the table was dancing. My uncle put
on his frogged coat, took his hat, and we went
out into the street, which seemed to me to have
undergone a wonderful transformation.
I felt as if a long time had elapsed since I had
been there. But when we came to the rue de
Seine, the thought of my doll came back to my
mind, and threw me into a wonderful state of exal-
tation. My head was on fire. I resolved to try a
bold stroke. We were passing in front of the
shop. There she was behind the glass, with her
red cheeks, her flowered skirt, and her shapeless
legs.
" Uncle," said I with an effort, " will you buy me
that doll ? "
Then I waited.
" Buy a doll for a boy ! Damnation ! " cried my
uncle in a voice of thunder. " Do you want to dis-
grace yourself? So, it is that Margot that you want,
is it ? I congratulate you, my little fellow. If you
grow up with such tastes you will never have any
fun at all in .life, and your friends will call you a
precious ninny. If you asked me for a sword or a
gun, I would buy it for you, my boy, with the last
silver crown of my pension. But buy you a doll !
A thousand devils ! To disgrace you ! Never in the
world ! If ever I catch you playing with such a
SYLVESTRE BONNAR&. 21
decked-out piece of finery as that, I tell you what,
monsieur, son of my sister as you are, I'll never again
own you for my nephew."
At these words my heart swelled so, that pride
alone, a diabolic pride, kept me from crying.
My uncle, suddenly growing calm, returned to his
ideas about the Bourbons. But I, still under the
lash of his indignation, felt an unspeakable shame.
My resolve was soon made. I inwardly swore that
I would never disgrace myself. I firmly and for-
ever gave up the red-cheeked doll. That day I felt
for the first time the cruel sweetness of sacrifice.
Captain, although it is true that in your life you
swore like a heathen, smoked like a beadle, and
drank like a bell-ringer, nevertheless may your mem-
ory be honored, not merely because you were a
brave soldier, but also because you showed your
nephew, while he still wore short skirts, the senti-
ment of heroism ! Pride and laziness made you
almost unbearable, O uncle Victor ! but a great
heart beat beneath the frogs of your coat.
I remember you always wore a rose in your button-
hole. That flower which, as I now believe, you
let the shop-girls pluck for you, that open-hearted
flower which shed its petals on every breeze, was
the symbol of your glorious youth. You scorned
neither absinthe nor tobacco, but you despised life.
Neither common-sense nor refinement could be ac-
quired from you, Captain ; but you taught me, at an
age when my nurse still looked after me, a lesson
of honor and self-sacrifice which I shall never forget.
You have been sleeping now a long time in the
22 THE CRIME OF
cemetery of Mont-Parnasse, beneath a humble slab
which bears this epitaph :
HERE LIES
ARISTIDE-VICTOR MALDENT.
CAPTAIN OF INFANTRY.
CHEVALIER OF THE LEGION OF HONOR.
But, Captain, the inscription which you intended
for your old bones, so long knocked about on bat-
tlefields and in haunts of pleasure, is not there.
Among your papers we found this proud and bitter
epitaph, which, in spite of your last wish, we dared
not place on your tomb :
HERE LIES
A BRIGAND OF THE LOIRE.
" Thdrese, to-morrow let us place a wreath of
immortelles on the tomb of the Brigand of the
Loire."
But Thdrese is not here. And how could she be
near me on the "greeting " of the Champs-Elyse'es?
Beyond, at the end of the avenue, the Arc de Tri-
ornphe lifts its huge portal against the sky, bearing
beneath its vault the names of my uncle Victor's
comrades-in-arms. Under the spring sunshine the
trees along the avenue are unfolding their first
leaves, still pale and tender. At my side the open
carriages roll along to the Bois de Boulogne.
Unconsciously 1 have wandered into this fashion-
able avenue, and stop mechanically before an open
booth filled with gingerbread and jars of liquorice-
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 23
water, with lemons for stoppers. A poor little ur-
chin, clad in rags through which his chapped skin
can be seen, stands with wide-opened eyes before the
luxuries which are not for him. He shows his long-
ing with the shamelessness of innocence. His round
eyes stare fixedly at a tall man made out of ginger-
bread. He is a general, and bears some resemblance
to my uncle Victor. I take him, pay for him, and
hold him out to the little fellow, who scarcely dares
to raise his hand, for from early experience he does
not believe in good luck. He gazes at me with a
look such as we see in the eyes of a big dog, and which
seems to say, " You are cruel to make fun of me."
" Come, little simpleton," I say to him in the
gruff tone which is hajaitual with me, "take it, take
it, and eat it, for you are more fortunate than I was
at your age, and can satisfy your wishes without
disgracing yourself." . . .
And you, uncle Victor, now that this gingerbread
general brings back to my mind your manly figure,
come, glorious Shade that you are, and make me
forget my new doll. We are forever children,
always running after new toys.
Tlu tame day.
In the strangest possible way the Coccoz family
has become associated in my mind with the clerk
Alexander.
"The'rese," said I, as I threw myself into my
easy-chair, "tell me if the little Coccoz is well, and
if he has cut his first teeth yet, and give me my
slippers."
24 THE CRIME OF
" He ought to have them, monsieur," replied
The'rese ; " but I have not seen them. The first fine
day of spring the mother disappeared with the child,
leaving behind her furniture and clothes. Thirty-
eight empty pomatum jars were found in the attic.
It is beyond belief. Latterly she began to receive
visitors, and you may be sure she has not entered
a convent. The janitress's niece said that she saw
her in an open carriage on the boulevards. I was
right when I told you that she would come to a bad
end."
" The'rese," I replied, " this young woman has
come neither to a bad nor a good end. Wait until
her life is over before you judge her. And be care-
ful not to gossip too much with the janitress. Ma-
dame Coccoz, of whom I caught a glimpse once on
the stairs, seemed to me to be very fond of her child.
This love should count for much in her favor."
" Oh, as to that, monsieur, the child lacked noth-
ing. There could not be found another in the whole
quarter that was better kept, better nourished, or
more petted. Every day she put a white bib on
him, and from morning till night she sang him songs
that made him laugh."
" The'rese, a poet has said, The child on whom
his mother has not smiled, is worthy neither of the
table of the gods nor of the couch of the god-
desses.' "
July 8, 1852.
Having heard that they were relaying the pave-
ment in the Chapel of the Virgin at Saint-Germain-
SYLVESTRE BONNAKD. 25
des-Pre's, I went to the church in hopes of finding
some inscriptions brought to light by the workmen.
My hopes were not deceived. The architect kindly
showed me a stone which he had just raised against
the wall. I knelt down in order that I might see
the words cut on the stone ; and in a low tone, in the
shadow of the ancient apse, I read these words,
which made my heart leap :
HERE LIES ALEXANDER,
MONK OF THIS CHURCH,
WHO HAD THE CHIN OF SAINT VINCENT .AND
SAINT AMANT AND THE FOOT OF THE
INNOCENTS ENCLOSED IN SILVER.
IN HIS LIFETIME HE WAS EVER GOOD AND WORTHY.
PRAY FOR HIS SOUL.l
With my handkerchief I gently brushed away
the dust which covered that mortuary stone. I could
have kissed it.
" It is he ! It is Alexander ! " I cried ; and from
the vault of the church the name fell back upon me
with a noise as if broken.
The grave, solemn face of the beadle, whom I saw
coming towards me, made me ashamed of my enthu-
siasm : and I slipped away in spite of the two rival
church mice that would have made the sign of the
cross on me with holy water.
' Cy-gist Alejcandre, moyne de cette fglise, q*i fitt mettrt en
argent It nunton de saint Vincent et de saint A mant, et le fif dtl
Innocent ; qui toujottrs en son vivant fnt preud 'hantme et vayllant.
Frit* four fame de //
26 THE CRIME OF
However, it was certainly my Alexander ! There
was no longer any doubt of it. The translator of
" The Golden Legend," the author of the lives of
Saint Germain, Saint Vincent, Saint Ferrdol, Saint
Ferrution, and Saint Droctoveus was, as I had sup-
posed, a monk of Saint-Germain-des-Pre's. And
what a good, pious, and generous monk too ! He
had a silver chin made, a silver head, and a silver
foot, in order that precious remains might be cov-
ered with an imperishable envelope. But am I
never to know his work, or is the new discovery
merely to augment my longing?
August 20, 1859.
" /, who please some and who try all men, the joy
of the good and the terror of the wicked, /, who make
and unfold error, I take it upon myself to stretch
my wings. Do not take offence if in my rapid flight
I slide over years"
Who speaks thus ? It is an old man whom I know
only too well. It is Time.
Shakespeare, after having finished the third act
of the " Winter's Tale," pauses, in order to give
Perdita time to grow in wisdom and in beauty; and
when he raises the curtain once more he evokes
the ancient scythe-bearer to give an account to the
spectators of the long days that have weighed down
upon the head of the jealous Leontes.
Like Shakespeare in his comedy, I have left in
this diary a long interval which I have passed over
in silence ; and, in the manner of the poet, I will
summon Time to explain the silence of ten years.
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 27
For ten years I have written not one line in this
journal ; and now that I take up my pen again, 1
have no Perdita, alas ! to describe as having "grown
in grace." Youth and beauty are the faithful com-
panions of the poets. But the charming phantoms
visit the rest of us not even for the space of a season.
We know not how to keep them. If, by some curious
caprice, the shade of some Perdita should plan to
enter my brain, she would be horribly bruised there
against the piles of dried parchment. Happy poets !
whose white locks do not frighten away the waver-
ing shades of Helens, Francescas, Juliets, Julias,
and Dorotheas ! And Sylvestre Bonnard's nose
alone would put to flight the entire swarm of Love's
famous heroines !
Yet I, like many another, have known beauty; I
have felt the mysterious charm which Nature, in-
comprehensible in itself, has given to animate forms.
A living clay has made me tremble like the lover
and the poet. But I have known neither how to
love nor how to sing. Within my heart, hidden
beneath a pile of ancient texts and old inscriptions, I
can see again, like a miniature in an attic, a bright
face with two violet eyes.
" Bonnard, my friend, you are an old imbecile !
Read this catalogue, which was sent you this very
morning by a Florentine bookseller. It is a cata-
logue of manuscripts, and promises a description of
several noted ones, preserved by collectors in Italy
and Sicily. This is what is suited to you ; this is
what is in keeping with your appearance."
I read ; suddenly I give a cry. Hamilcar, who,
28 THE C Iff ME OF
with age, has assumed a seriousness that frightens
me, looks at me reproachfully, as if to ask if there
is such a thing as peace in this world, since he can-
not have it near me, who am old like himself.
In the joy of my discovery I need a confidant,
and I turn to the sceptic Hamilcar with the impul-
siveness of a happy man.
" No, Hamilcar, no," I say ; " rest does not belong
to this world, and the calm for which you long is
incompatible with the work of life. But who says
that we are old ? Listen to what I read from this
catalogue, and then tell me if this is a time to rest :
" THE GOLDEN LEGEND " OF JACQUES DE VORAGINE.
Translated into French in the fourteenth century by the
clerk Alexander.
A superb manuscript, ornamented with two miniatures
marvellously painted, and in a perfect state of preserva-
tion, one representing the Purification of the Virgin, the
other the Crowning of Proserpine.
Appended to " The Golden Legend " are the legends
of Saints Ferreol, Ferrution, Germain, and Droctoveus.
xxviij pages, and the " Miraculous Burial of Monsieur
Saint Germain d'Auxerre," xij pages.
This valuable manuscript, which formed part of the
collection of Sir Thomas Raleigh, is at present preserved
in the collection of Monsieur Micael-Angelo Polizzi of
Girgenti.
"Do you hear, Hamilcar? The manuscript of
the clerk Alexander is in Sicily, in the home of
Micael-Angelo Polizzi. If only this man is fond
of scholars ! I must write to him."
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 2Q
I did so without delay. In the letter I begged
Signer Polizzi to allow me to see the clerk Alex-
ander's manuscript, stating on what grounds I ven-
tured to believe myself worthy of such a favor. At
the same time I put at his disposition several unpub-
lished texts in my possession, which were of no
small value. I begged him to favor me with an
early reply, and beneath my name I wrote all my
honorary titles.
" Monsieur ! monsieur ! Where are you going
like that ? " cried Thdrese in fright, as she ran
down the stairs after me, four steps at a time, my
hat in her hand.
" I am going to post a letter, Thdrese."
"Good Lord ! The idea of rushing out that way,
bare-headed, like a crazy man ! "
"I am crazy, Thdrese. But who is not? Give
me my hat, quick."
" And your gloves, monsieur ! and your um-
brella!"
I had reached the foot of the stairs, but I still
heard her calling and expostulating.
October 10, 1859.
I awaited Signer Polizzi's reply with ill-concealed
impatience. I could not keep still. I grew ner-
vous. I would open and close my books. One day
I knocked down a volume of Morri with my elbow.
Hamilcar, who was washing himself, stopped sud-
denly, his paw behind his ear, and looked angrily at
me. Had he any reason to expect such a tempestu-
ous existence under my roof ? Had we not tacitly
30 THE CRIME OF
agreed to lead a peaceful life ? I had broken our
compact.
" My poor friend," said I, " I am the victim of a
violent passion, that agitates and completely over-
masters me. Passion is the enemy of peace, I ad-
mit, but without it there would be neither industry
nor art in this world. Every one would sleep uncov-
ered on a dunghill, and you could not lie all day long,
Hamilcar, on a silken cushion in the City of Books."
I explained no more to Hamilcar regarding the
theory of passion, because my housekeeper brought
in a letter. It bore the postmark of Naples, and
ran as follows :
Most Illustrious Signor,
/ have indeed in my possession the incomparable manu-
script of " The Golden Legend" -which has not escaped
your close attention. All-important reasons, however, ab-
solutely and tyrannically prevent my parting with it for a
single day, a single instant. It would be a pleasure and
an honor to show it to you in my humble home at Girgenti,
which would be embellished and illuminated by your pres-
ence. So, in the impatient hope of greeting you, I dare to
sign myself, Signor Academician, your humble and devoted
servant, MICAEL-ANGELO POLIZZI.
Dealer in Wines, and Arcliaeotogist at Girgenti (Sicily).
Very well ! I will go to Sicily.
" Extremum hunc, Arethusa, ntihi concede labo-
rem"
October 25, 1859.
My resolve taken and my arrangements com-
pleted, nothing remained but to notify my house-
SYLVESTRE BONNAKD. 31
keeper. I must confess that I hesitated a long
time before telling her of my proposed departure.
I was afraid of her remonstrances, her teasing, her
prayers, and her tears. " She is a good girl," I
said to myself, " and she is attached to me. She
will want to prevent my going; and God knows that
when she wants anything, words, gestures, and cries
are nothing to her. In the present instance she will
call to her aid the janitress, the floor-polisher, the
mattress-maker, and the seven sons of the fruit-
dealer. They will all fall on their knees in a cir-
cle at my feet. They will weep, and they will look
so homely that I shall have to give in so as not to
see them any more."
Such were the frightful visions, the hallucinations,
that fear brought before my imagination. Yes, fear,
"fruitful fear," as the poet says, engendered these
monstrous ideas in my brain. For, in this private
diary, I will confess that I am afraid of my house-
keeper. I know that she realizes how weak I am,
and in my struggles with her this fact takes away
all my courage. These struggles occur frequently,
and I invariably give in. But I had to announce
my departure to The>ese. She came into the li-
brary with an armful of wood to make a little fire,
"a flame," she said, for the mornings are sharp. I
watched her out of the corner of my eye as she bent
down, her head under the hood of the fireplace. I
have no idea where my courage came from, but
I did not hesitate a moment. I rose and began pa-
ring up and down the room.
"By the way," said I in a careless tone, with \\
32 THE CRIME OF
that swaggering manner which is characteristic of
cowards, " by the way, Therese, I am going to
Sicily."
Having spoken, I waited, extremely anxious. The"-
rese made no reply. Her head and her huge cap
remained buried in the fireplace, and I saw nothing
in her appearance that betrayed the slightest emo-
tion. She was stuffing some paper under the logs,
and was kindling the fire. That was all.
At length I saw her face again. It was calm, so
calm that I grew angry.
" Really," I thought, " this old maid has no heart.
She lets me go away -without even saying ' Ah ! ' Is
the absence of her old master of such small account
to her ? "
"Well, monsieur," she said at last, "go; but be
back by six o'clock. We have a dish for dinner
to-day that cannot be kept waiting."
NAPLES, November 10, 1859.
" Co tra calle vive, magne e lave a faccia"
I understand, my friend. For three centimes I
can drink, eat, and wash my face, all by means of
one of these slices of watermelon which you display
on a little table. But Occidental prejudices would
prevent my honestly relishing this simple pleasure.
How could I suck the watermelon? It is all I can
do to keep my footing in this crowd. How brilliant
and noisy the night is in the Strada di Porto ! The
fruit is piled lip like mountains in the shops that are
bright with multi-colored lanterns. On the stoves,
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 33
burning in the open air, the water boils in the ket-
tles, and the frying things sing away in the pans.
The odor of fried fish and hot meats tickles my
nose, and makes me sneeze. At this point I find
that my handkerchief has vanished from my coat
pocket. I am pushed, turned about, and literally
carried off my feet, by the gayest, the most reckless,
the liveliest, and the nimblest people that can be
imagined. Suddenly a young woman, whose mag-
nificent black hair I am admiring, sends me flying,
with a shove of her powerful and elastic shoulder,
three steps backward, without hurting me, into the
arms of a macaroni-eater, who welcomes me with a
smile.
I am in Naples. How I arrived here with the few
battered and mutilated remnants of my luggage, I
cannot tell, for the simple reason that I do not
know. I made my journey in a constant state of ter-
ror ; and I know that in this brilliant city I looked,
a while ago, just like an owl in the sunshine. To-
night it is much worse ! Wishing to study the hab-
its of the people, I came into the Strada di Porto,
where I am now. About me, animated groups
are crowding before the eating-shops ; and I float
like a wreck at the mercy of these living waves,
which, even as they carry one down, caress one
still. For there is something indescribably sweet
and gentle in the vivacity of these Neapolitans.
I am not rudely jostled. I am rocked ; and I
think that by swaying me back and forth, these
people want me to fall asleep while I am standing
hero.
34 THE CRIME OF
As I make my way along the lava pavement of the
strada, I cannot but admire the street porters and
the fishermen who pass by, talking, singing, smok-
ing, gesticulating, quarrelling and making up with
wonderful rapidity. They live in all their senses at
once, wise without knowing it, gauging their ambi-
tion by the shortness of life. I approach a well-
frequented wine-shop, and read on the door this
quatrain, in the patois of Naples :
Amice, alliegre magnammo e bevimmo,
Nfui che n'ce stace noelio a la htcerna ;
> if t>
Chi sa s'a /' antro munno ne'e vedimmo?
Chi sa s'a /' autro munno ne'e taverna 7
Come, Friends, let us merrily eat and drink,
As long as the lamp I/urns bright ;
Who knows if we'll meet in the world to come,
Or if taverns are kept in the Realms of Light ?
Horace gave similar counsels to his friends. You
accepted them, Postumus ; you heard them, Leuco-
noe, rebellious beauty, with your craving to know the
secrets of the future ; that future is now the past,
and we know it. In truth, you were very wrong to
trouble yourself for so little ; and your lover showed
himself to be a sensible man in advising you to be
wise, and to strain your Greek wines. Sapias, vina
liques.
Thus a beautiful land and a pure sky counsel us
to pursue quiet pleasures. But there are souls trou-
bled by a sublime discontent. These are the no-
blest. You were of these, Leuconoe ; and coming
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 35
at the close of my life to the city where your beauty
shone, I respectfully salute your melancholy shade.
The souls like yours, who appeared in the age of
Christianity, were the souls of saints ; and their mira-
cles fill " The Golden Legend." Your friend Horace
left a less noble posterity ; and I recognize one of
his descendants in the person of the tavern-keeper
poet, who even now is filling the cups with wine
beneath his epicurean signboard.
Yet life proves our friend Flaccus right, and his
philosophy alone is suited to the train of events.
See that jovial fellow leaning against a covered
vine-trellis, and eating an ice as he gazes at the
stars. He would not stoop to pick up the old
manuscript for which I am going in search with
so much trouble. And truly, man is made rather
to eat ices than to pore over old texts.
I continued to wander among the drinkers and
the singers. There were lovers, who, their arms
about each other's waists, were eating ripe fruit.
Man must be naturally evil, for all this strange hap-
piness saddened me deeply. The crowd made such
a display of their artless delight in mere existence,
that all the sensitiveness which years of writing
had intensified in me seemed to revolt against it.
Furthermore, I was disheartened at not understand-
ing a word of the gay talk that buzzed through the
air. It was a humiliating ordeal for a philologist,
and so I was positively peevish when some words
uttered behind me fell on my ear.
Dimitri, that old man is certainly a Frenchman.
He looks so bewildered that it troubles me. Shall
36 THE CRIME OF
I speak to him ? He has a good round back, hasn't
he, Dimitri?"
The words were spoken in French, and by a
woman. At the very first, it was extremely disagree-
able to hear myself spoken of as an old man. Is
one old at sixty-two ? The other day on the Pont
des Arts, my friend Perrot d'Avrignac complimented
me on my youthful appearance ; and he is a better
authority on age, apparently, than this young crow
who makes remarks about my back. My back is
round, is it ? Ah, ha ! I suspected as much ; but
now I shall not believe it at all, since it is the opin-
ion of a young simpleton. I will not even turn my
head to see who the speaker is, but I am sure that
it is a pretty woman. Why ? Because she speaks
in a capricious way, like a spoiled child. Homely
women would be as capricious as pretty ones ; but
as they are never spoiled, and as no allowances are
ever made for what they do, they are obliged to
forget their whims or to hide them. On the other
hand, pretty women may be as capricious as they
please. My neighbor is of the latter class. How-
ever, as I think of it, she expressed a kindly thought
about me, and that deserves my gratitude.
These reflections, including the last and crowning
one, chased one another through my brain in less
than a second ; and if I have taken a whole minute
to tell them, it is because I am a poor writer, a qual-
ity common to all philologists. Scarcely a second
after the voice had ceased speaking, I turned, and
saw a very vivacious and pretty little brunette.
" Madame," I said, bowing, "pardon my thought-
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 37
less indiscretion. I could not help overhearing what
you just said. You wished to do a kindness to a
poor old man. You have already done it, madame ;
the mere sound of a French voice is a pleasure to
me, and I thank you for it."
I bowed again, and was about to move away,
when my heel slipped on the rind of a watermelon,
and I should certainly haVe kissed the Parthenopean
soil had not the young woman raised her hand to
catch me.
In circumstances, even the njost trifling, there is
a force that one cannot resist. I resigned myself to
being the prottgt of the unknown lady.
" It is late," said she ; " do you not want to return
to your hotel, which must be near ours, if not the
same ? "
" Madame," I replied, " I do not know what time
it is, because my watch has been stolen ; but I think,
with you, that it is time to beat a retreat, and I shall
be happy to return to the Hotel de Genes in the
company of such kind compatriots."
So saying, I bowed again to the young woman
and her companion, who was a silent giant, gentle,
yet sad.
I had not gone far with them before I learned,
among other things, that they were the Prince and
Princess Trdpof, and that they were making a trip
around the world in pursuit of match-boxes, of which
they were making a collection.
We walked along a winding, narrow vicoletto
(alley), lighted by a solitary lamp burning before
the niche of a Madonna.
136471
38 THE CRIME OF
The transparency and purity of the air gave even
the darkness a heavenly light, and we made our way
without difficulty under the limpid night. Then we
plunged into a small street, or, to use the Neapolitan
expression, a sotto-portico (arcade), which ran along
beneath so many arches and projecting balconies
that scarcely a ray of light reached us. My young
guide took this route, she said, because it was
shorter, but also, I imagine, in order to show us
that she was thoroughly acquainted with Naples,
and could find her way about. It was indeed neces-
sary to know the city in order to venture by night
within this labyrinth of subterranean alleys and
stairways.
If ever man was docile in letting himself be guided
it was I. Dante followed the steps of Beatrice no
more trustingly than I those of the Princess Trdpof.
This lady evidently took some pleasure in my
conversation ; for she offered me a seat in her car-
riage the next day, to visit the grotto of Posilippo
and the tomb of Virgil. She declared that she had
seen me somewhere before, but she did not know
whether it was at Stockholm or Canton. In the
former case I was a highly distinguished professor
of geology; in the latter, a provision-merchant,
whose courtesy and kindness had been greatly ap-
preciated. However, she was certain that some-
where she had seen my back:
"Excuse me," she added; "my husband and I
travel constantly in order to collect match-boxes,
and to find new forms of ennui by finding new coun-
tries. Perhaps it would be better to content our-
SYLVESTRE BONNAKD. 39
selves with one kind of ennui alone. But all our
arrangements are made for travelling ; it is no trouble
for us, and it would be very annoying if we had to
stop anywhere. I tell you this that you may not be
surprised if my ideas are somewhat confused. But
when I first saw you this evening I felt, indeed I
knew, that I had seen you before. But where ?
That is the question. Are you sure that you are
neither the geologist nor the provision-merchant ? "
" No, madame," I replied, ' I am neither the one
nor the other; and I regret the fact, since you have
had occasion to be pleased with them. There is
nothing in me to arouse your interest. I have spent
my life among books, and I have never travelled.
You must have seen that from my bewilderment,
which you pitied. I am a member of the Institute."
"A member of the Institute! Oh, that is charm-
ing! You must write something in my album. Do
you understand Chinese ? I should so much like to
have you write something in Chinese or Persian in
my album. I will present you to my friend Miss
Fergusson. She travels everywhere, in order to see
every celebrity in the world. She will be delighted.
Dimitri, did you hear? This gentleman is a mem-
ber of the Institute, and has spent his life among
books ! "
The prince nodded his head approvingly.
" Monsieur," I said, trying to bring him into the
conversation, " there is no doubt but that something
is to be learned from books ; but one can learn much
more by travelling, and I greatly regret that I have
not, like you, been all over the world. I have lived
40 THE CRIME OF
in the same house for thirty years, and I scarcely
ever go out."
" You have lived in the same house for thirty
years ! Is it possible ? " exclaimed Madame Trepof.
" Yes, madame," I answered. " To be sure, the
house is on the banks of the Seine, in the most
noted and most beautiful spot in the world. My
window looks out upon the Tuileries and the Louvre,
the Pont-Neuf, the towers of Notre-Dame, the tow-
ers of the Palais de Justice, and the spire of Sainte-
Chapelle. All these stones speak to me. They tell
me stories of the days of Saint Louis, of the Valois,
of Henry IV. and Louis XIV. I understand them,
and I love them. It is but one small corner'; but in
all truth, madame, is there a more beautiful one ? "
We had reached a square, a largo, bathed in the
soft radiance of the night. Madame Tre"pof looked
anxiously at me, her raised eyebrows almost touch-
ing her curly black hair.
" Where do you live ? " she asked suddenly.
" On the quay Maloquais, madame, and my name
is Bonnard. Not widely known, it is true ; but it is
enough for me that my friends do not forget it."
This announcement, unimportant as it was, pro-
duced an extraordinary effect on Madame Trdpof.
She immediately turned her back upon me, and
seized her husband's arm.
"Come, Dimitri," said she, "do make haste! I
am horribly tired, and you are so slow. We shall
never get there. That is your road, monsieur, over
there."
She pointed vaguely toward a dark iricolo, pushed
SYLVESTRE BONNAKD. 41
her husband in the opposite direction, and called
out to me without turning her head,
" Farewell, monsieur. We shall not go to Posi-
lippo to-morrow, nor the day after, either. I have a
frightful headache, frightful. Dimitri, you are un-
bearable, you are so slow ! "
I stood petrified, trying, but in vain, to discover
what I could have done to offend Madame Trdpof.
I was lost ; and, so far as I could see, I should have
to wander about all night. As to asking my way of
any one, I should have to meet some one in order
to do this, and I despaired of seeing a soul. In my
despair I took a street at random, or, rather, a hor-
rible looking alleyway. It certainly resembled the
haunt of cut-throats; and, in fact, it was such, for
I had not walked more than a few moments before I
came upon two men using knives. They were fight-
ing with their tongues even more than with their
blades, and from the harsh words they interchanged
I concluded that they were lovers. I prudently
turned into a side alley, while the worthy fellows
went on with their own affair without in the least
troubling themselves about mine. I walked on for
some time at random, and sat down discouraged
on a stone bench, inwardly cursing the whims of
Madame Tre*pof.
" How are you, signor? Are you just back from
San Carlo? Did you hear the diva? One hears
such singing only at Naples."
I looked up, and recognized my landlord. I was
sitting against the faqade of my hotel, beneath my
own window.
42 THE CRIME OF
MONTB-ALLEGRO, November 30, 1859.
My guides, the mules, and I, on our way from
Sciacca to Girgenti, were resting at an inn in the
wretched village of Monte-Allegro. The inhabit-
ants, wasted away by mal' aria, were shivering in
the sun. But they are Greeks, and their gayety
rises above everything. Some of them surrounded
the inn, full of smiling curiosity. A story, could I
have told them one, would have made them forget
all the ills of life. They looked intelligent ; and
the women, although sunburned and faded, wore
their long black cloaks with much grace.
Before me were ruins bleached by the sea wind ;
not even grass grows on them. The mournful lone-
liness of the desert reigns in this arid land, the
parched breast of which scarcely finds sufficient
nourishment for a few dried mimosa, some cacti,
and dwarf palms. Twenty paces distant, at the
bottom of a ravine, some stones were gleaming
white, like a trail of bones. My guide told me that
they marked the bed of a stream.
I had spent a fortnight in Sicily. As I entered
the Bay of Palermo, which opens between the two
barren and mighty mountains of the Pellegrino and
the Catalfano, and runs the length of the Golden
Conch, I was filled with such admiration that I de-
termined to travel in the island, so noted on account
of its historic memories, and so beautiful in the out-
lines of its hills, which reveal the principles of Greek
art. Old pilgrim that I was, grown white in the
Gothic Occident, I dared to venture on this classic
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 43
soil; and, having arranged with my guide, I went
from Palermo to Trapani, from Trapani to Selinonte,
from Selinonte to Sciacca, which I left this morning
for Girgenti, to find the manuscript of the clerk
Alexander. The beautiful things that I have seen
are so fresh in my mind that I consider the trouble
of describing them a useless task. Why spoil my
trip by gathering notes ? Lovers who truly love
never describe their happiness.
Wholly given over to the melancholy of the pres-
ent and the poetry of the past, my mind filled with
beautiful images, my eyes full of pure and harmo-
nious lines, I was sipping the sirup-like dew of a
fiery wine in the inn of Monte-Allegro, when I saw
two persons enter the room. After a moment's hesi-
tation I recognized them as Monsieur and Madame
Trdpof.
This time I saw the princess in the light, and
such a light ! When one has enjoyed that of Sicily,
one understands better these expressions of Sopho-
cles :
" O holy light .' . . . Eye of the golden day .' "
Madame Tre"pof, in brown holland, and wearing a
broad-brimmed straw hat, looked like a very pretty
woman of about twenty-eight. Her eyes were like a
child's, but her full chin showed a riper age. She
is, I must confess, a very pleasant person. She is
souplc and variable. She is the shifting sea; but,
thank Heaven, I am no sailor! I soon detected
that she was in a bad humor ; and this, after hear-
ing her utter a few broken words, I attributed to the
44 THE CRIME OF
fact that she had not met a single brigand on the
way.
" Such things never happen except to us," she
exclaimed, letting her arms fall with a gesture of
discouragement.
She asked for a glass of iced water, and the host
presented it to her with a grace which reminded
me of those scenes of funeral offerings depicted on
Greek vases.
I was in no haste to show myself before the lady
who had left me so suddenly in the Square in
Naples ; but she caught sight of me in my corner,
and her quick frown showed me very plainly that
my presence was disagreeable to her.
She drank a swallow of the water ; and then,
either her whim changed, or she felt sorry for my
solitude, but she came straight to me.
" Good-morning, Monsieur Bonnard," she said.
" How do you do? What luck to meet you in this
frightful country ! "
" This country is not frightful, madame," I re-
plied. " This land is a land of glory. Beauty is a
thing so great and so dignified that it takes centuries
of barbarism to efface it, and even then there will
always remain some adorable traces of it ! The
majesty of ancient Ceres still broods over these arid
valleys, and the Greek muse who made Arethusa
and Mamalus re-echo with her divine accents still
sings in my ears on the bare mountain and in the
dried bed of the stream. Yes, madame, when this
uninhabited earth shall, like the moon, roll its pale
corpse in space, the soil that bears the ruins of
SYLVESTRE BONNAKD. 45
Selinonte shall even in death keep the everlasting
stamp of beauty ; and then, then at least, there will
no longer be frivolous lips to blaspheme the grandeur
of these solitudes."
I knew very well that my words were beyond the
comprehension of the pretty little empty-head who
heard them ; but a man like myself, who has spent
his life over books, cannot change his tone to suit
every one. Besides, I was glad to teach Madame
Trdpof a lesson in reverence. She received it with
such submission and with such an intelligent air,
that I added, in as good-natured a manner as pos-
sible,
" As to whether the chance which has thrown us
together is fortunate or unfortunate I am at a loss
to say, before knowing whether or not my presence
is disagreeable to you. The other day at Naples
you seemed suddenly to grow weary of my company.
I can attribute your actions only to my natural dis-
agreeableness, since at that time I had the honor of
meeting you for the first time in my life."
My words seemed to cause her the most inde-
scribable delight. She smiled on me most gra-
ciously, and held out her hand, which I raised to
my lips.
" Monsieur Bonnard," she said vivaciously, " do
not refuse a seat in my carriage. You shall talk to
me on the way about antiquities, and I shall be
greatly interested."
My dear," said the prince, " it shall be just as
you say ; but you know the carriage is not an easy
riding one, and I fear that you are only giving
46 THE CRIME OF
Monsieur Bonnard a chance, to suffer from a hor-
rible backache."
Madame Tre"pof tossed her head to show that she
did not hesitate at any such consideration ; then
she took off her hat. The shadow fell from her
black hair over her eyes, bathing them in a velvety
softness. She stood motionless, her features assum-
ing a far-away, dreamy expression. But suddenly
her eyes fell on a basket of oranges which the inn-
keeper had brought in ; and taking them up one by
one, she put them into a fold of her gown.
" They are for our drive," she said. " You are
going to Girgenti, and so are we. Do you know
why we are going there ? I will tell you. My hus-
band, you know, is collecting match-boxes. We
bought thirteen hundred at Marseilles. But we
heard that there was a factory of them at Girgenti.
We were told that it was a small factory, and that
its products, which are very ugly, never go outside
of the city and its suburbs. So ! we are going to Gir-
genti to buy these boxes. Dimitri has tried all sorts
of collections, but at present he is interested in noth-
ing but match-boxes. He already has five thousand
two hundred and fourteen different kinds. We have
some that were a great deal of trouble to find. For
instance, we knew that at Naples boxes were once
made with the portraits of Mazzini and Garibaldi on
them, and that the police had seized the plates from
which they were printed, and imprisoned the manu-
facturer. By hunting and inquiring we secured one
of these boxes for a hundred francs, instead of two
sous. That was not very dear, but we were in-
SYLVESTRE BONNAKD. 47
I
formed against. We were taken for conspirators.
Our baggage was searched. They did not find the
box, however, which I had carefully hidden; but they
found my jewels, and took them. They still have
them. The affair caused some talk, and we were
on the point of being arrested. But the king heard
of it, and ordered us to be let alone. Until then I
thought it stupid to collect match-boxes ; but when
I found that our liberty and perhaps our life were
at stake, I developed a sudden liking for it. Now
I have a perfect craze for collecting match-boxes.
Next summer we are going to Sweden to complete
our collection. Are we not, Dimitri ? "
I felt (must I admit it?) considerable sympathy
for these intrepid collectors. No doubt I should
rather have found Monsieur and Madame Trdpof
interested in antique marbles and painted vases in
Sicily. I should like to have seen them studying
the ruins of Agrigentum and the poetical traditions
of the Eryx. But no matter; they were making a
collection, they belonged to the brotherhood, and
could I laugh at them without laughing at myself?
Besides, Madame Tre"pof had spoken of her collec-
tion with a mingling of enthusiasm and irony that
made the idea a very pleasing one. As we were
about to leave the inn, we saw some men with car-
bines under their dark cloaks, coming down-stairs
from the upper rooms. To me they had the appear-
ance of thorough-going bandits, and after they had
gone I told Monsieur Tre"pof my opinion of them.
He calmly replied that he thought as I did, that
they were bandits; and our guides advised us to
48 THE CRJME OF
take an escort of gendarmes. But Madame Tre'pof
begged us to do nothing of the kind. There was no
need, she said, to spoil her trip.
Turning a pair of pleading eyes to me, she
added,
" Is it not true, Monsieur Bonnard, that nothing
in life is worth anything but sensations ? "
" No doubt, madame," I replied ; " but still, we
must understand the nature of the sensations. Those
that are inspired by a noble memory or a grand
spectacle are of course the best element of life ;
whereas it seems to me that those resulting from
threatening danger should be carefully avoided.
Should you think it pleasant, madame, if at mid-
night among the mountains the muzzle of a carbine
were pressed against your forehead ? "
" Oh, no," she answered ; " comic operas have
made carbines perfectly absurd, and it would be a
great misfortune for a young women to be killed
with an absurd weapon. But a knife-blade is an-
other thing. A polished, cold knife-blade ! That
makes one shiver."
She herself shivered as she spoke, closed her
eyes, and threw her head back. Then she re-
sumed,
"You are happy you are interested in all sorts
of things."
She gave a side glance at her husband as he
stood talking with the innkeeper. Then, leaning
towards me, she said in a low tone,
" Dimitri and I are both bored to death, you see.
To be sure, we have the match-boxes left, but one
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 49
tires even of them. Besides, before long our collec-
tion will be completed. What shall we do then ? "
"Ah, madame," I said, touched by the moral
wretchedness of this pretty woman, " if you had a
son, you would know what to do. The aim of your
life would be very apparent then, and your thoughts
would be at once more serious and more cheerful.' 1
' I have a son," she replied. " He is grown now ;
he is almost a man. He is eleven years old, and is
already wearied of life. Yes, really, my George, he,
too, suffers from ennui. It is very distressing."
Again she glanced at her husband, who was
superintending the harnessing of the mules on the
road, and examining the girths and straps. Then
she asked me if, during the last ten years, there had
been many changes on the quay Malaquais. She
said she never went there, because it was too far
away.
" Too far from Monte-Allegro ? " I asked.
" Oh, no ! " she answered ; " too far from the
Avenue des Champs-Elyse'es, where we live."
Then, as if to herself, she murmured in a low
tone,
" Too far ! too far ! " with a dreamy expression,
the meaning of which I could not fathom.
Suddenly she smiled and said to me,
" I like you immensely, Monsieur Bonnard, im-
mensely."
The mules were harnessed. The young woman
picked up the oranges, which had fallen from her
lap, rose, and, looking at me, began to laugh.
" How I should like to see you struggling with
5O THE CRIME OF
brigands ! " she cried. " You would say such extraor-
dinary things to them ! Do take my hat and hold
my parasol for me, will you, Monsieur Bonnard ? "
" Well," said I to myself as I followed her, "well,
she is a queer little mortal ! Nature must have
been unpardonably thoughtless when she gave a
son to such a silly creature ! "
GIROENTI, The same day.
Her manners had shocked me. I let her settle
herself in her lettica (litter), and I made myself as
comfortable as I could in mine. These wheelless
vehicles are borne by two mules, one in front, the
other behind. This style of litter or chair is of
ancient usage. I often used to see similar ones
depicted in French manuscripts of the fourteenth
century. I did not know then that some day I
should be using one of them. It is well for us not
to count too certainly on anything.
For three hours the mules jingled their little bells,
and beat their hoofs on the sunburnt soil. On
either side the arid and prodigious shapes of an
African landscape came slowly into view. When
we had gone half the distance we paused to let our
mules take breath. Madame Trdpof stepped from
her litter, and, coming to me, took my arm, and drew
me forward a few steps. Then, all at once, in a
voice that I could not believe was hers, she said to
me,
" Do not think me a bad woman. My George
knows that I am a good mother."
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 51
We walked a space in silence. She raised her
head, and I saw that she was weeping.
"Madame," I said, "do you see this soil that is
cracked by five months' heat? A little white lily
has sprung from it."
And with the end of my cane I pointed to the
frail stalk ending in a double blossom.
"Your heart also," I said, "however arid it may
be, yet bears its white lily. This in itself proves
that I do not think you to be, as you said, a bad
woman."
" Yes, I am ! yes, I am ! " she cried, with the ob-
stinacy of a child. " I am a bad woman ; but I am
ashamed of it before you, who are so good, so very
good."
" You know nothing about it," I said.
" Yes, I do ; I know you," she said with a smile.
And with a quick step she returned to her Uttica.
GIRGENTI, November 30, 1859.
The following day I awoke at Girgenti, in the
house of Gellias. Gellias was a wealthy citizen of
ancient Agrigentum. He was as noted for his gen-
erosity as for his opulence, andhe endowed his city
with a large number of free hotels. Gellias has
been dead for more than thirteen hundred years,
and there is no longer free hospitality among civil-
ized peoples. But the name Gellias now belongs to
a hotel, where, as I was worn out with fatigue, I
was able to get a good night's rest.
Modern Girgenti raises its narrow, closely built
52 THE CRIME OF
houses above the acropolis of ancient Agrigentum,
and over all a sombre Spanish cathedral looks down.
From my windows I see, half-way down the hill
toward the sea, the white line of half-destroyed
temples. These ruins are the sole touch of fresh-
ness. All else is dried up. Water and life have
deserted Agrigentum. Water, the divine Nestis of
Empedocles of Agrigentum, is so necessary to life
that nothing lives far from streams and springs.
But a brisk trade is carried on at the port of Gir-
genti, three kilometers from the city.
" So," said I to myself, " in this sad city, on this
abrupt height, the manuscript of the clerk Alexan-
der is to be found ! "
I had Signor Micael-Angelo Polizzi's house pointed
out to me, and went there.
I found Signor Polizzi clad in white from head to
foot, engaged in cooking sausages in a frying-pan.
At sight of me he let go the handle of the pan,
raised his arms, and gave a cry of delight. He was
a small man, whose pimpled face, hooked nose, pro-
jecting chin, and round eyes made a remarkably
expressive physiognomy.
He addressed me as Your Excellency, said that
this was a red-letter day, and asked me to be seated.
The room in which we were, opened into the kitchen,
the parlor, the sleeping-room, the workshop, and the
cellar.
I saw furnaces, a bed, some canvases, an easel,
several bottles, some bunches of onions, and a mag-
nificent colored spun-glass chandelier. I glanced
at the pictures with which the walls were covered.
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 53
" Art ! art ! " cried Signer Polizzi, again raising
his arms to heaven. " Art ! What an honor !
What a comfort ! I am a painter, Your Excellency."
He showed me an unfinished Saint Francis, which
might well have remained so without loss to art or
religion. Then he called my attention to some old
pictures of a somewhat better quality, but they
seemed to me to have been restored indiscrim-
inately.
" I repair ancient paintings," said he. " Oh, what
soul, what genius, the old masters had ! "
" Is it true, then ? " I asked, " are you painter,
antiquary, and wine-merchant all in one ? "
" At your service, Your Excellency," he replied.
" At present 1 have a zucco, every drop of which is
a pearl of fire. I will have your lordship taste it."
" I esteem the wines of Sicily highly," I answered ;
" but I have not come to see you on account of your
bottles, Signer Polizzi."
He " For my paintings, then. You are an
amateur. It is a great delight to me to receive
such men. I will show you the masterpiece of
' Monrealese ; ' yes, Your Excellency, his master-
piece! 'The Adoration of the Shepherds!' It is
the gem of the Sicilian school ! "
/. " It will give me pleasure to see this master-
piece. But let us first speak of what has brought
me here."
His small, restless eyes, brimming over with curi-
osity, fastened themselves on me ; and I saw with a
sharp pang that he did not even suspect the object
of my visit.
54 THE CRIME OF
Anxious, feeling the cold perspiration on my
brow, I pitifully stammered out something to this
effect,
" I have come from Paris on purpose to see a
manuscript of ' The Golden Legend,' which you
wrote that you had in your possession."
At these words he raised his arms, opened wide
his mouth and eyes, and showed the greatest agita-
tion.
" Oh ! the manuscript of ' The Golden Legend ' !
A gem, Your Excellency, a ruby, a diamond ! Two
miniatures so perfect that they seem to give you a
glimpse of Paradise. What softness is there ! The
wonderful tints robbed from the corolla of a flower
are honey for the eyes ! A Sicilian could not have
done better ! "
" Show it to me ! " I cried, unable to conceal my
impatience or my hope.
" Show it to you ! " cried Polizzi. " How can I,
Your Excellency ? I no longer have it ! I no longer
have it ! "
And he seemed as if he would tear his hair from
his head. He might have pulled every bit of it out
of his hide before I would have stopped him. But
he grew calm before he had done himself much
damage.
" What ! " I cried in my wrath ; " do you mean
that you led me to come from Paris to Girgenti by
offering to show me a manuscript, and when I ar-
rive you tell me that you no longer have it? It is
shameful, monsieur. I will expose you to all good
men."
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 55
Had any one seen me then, he would have gained
a good idea of an enraged sheep.
" It is shameful ! shameful! " I repeated, shaking
my trembling arms.
Micael-Angelo Polizzi sank into a chair in the
manner of a dying hero. His eyes filled with tears ;
and his hair, which until then had stood on end,
fell in disorder about his forehead.
" I am a father, Your Excellency, I am a father ! "
cried he, clasping his hands. He added between
sobs,
" My son Rafael, the son of my poor wife whose
death I have mourned for fifteen years, Rafael,
Your Excellency, wanted to set up a business in
Paris. He rented a shop in the Rue Laffitte in
order to sell curios. I gave him everything of any
value that I possessed, my handsomest majolica
ware, my most beautiful faience from Urbino, my
finest paintings such paintings, signor! They
still dazzle me in imagination. And they were all
signed ! I gave him the manuscript of The
Golden Legend.' I would have given him my flesh
and blood. He was my only son, the child of my
poor, sainted wife ! "
"So," said I, "while I, trusting to your given
word, was coming to the heart of Sicily in quest
of the clerk Alexander's manuscript, this manuscript
lay in a shop-window in the rue Laffitte, not fifteen
hundred meters from my own lodgings !"
" It was there, that is positive," replied Signor
Polizzi, suddenly growing calm again ; " and it is
still there, or at least I trust so, Your Excellency."
56 THE CRIME OF
He took from a shelf a card which he handed to
me, saying,
" Here is my son's address. You will greatly
oblige me by letting your friends know it. Faience,
enamels, draperies, paintings, a complete assort-
ment of objects of art, all at the most reasonable
prices, all guaranteed, on my word of honor. Go
and see him. He will show you the manuscript of
' The Golden Legend.' Two miniatures of wonder-
ful clearness."
I was weak enough to accept the card he handed
me. This man took advantage of my weakness in
again asking me to mention the name of Rafael
Polizzi to my friends.
My hand was already on the door-knob, when the
Sicilian grasped my arm. He seemed inspired.
" Ah, Your Excellency," he cried, "what a city is
ours! It gave birth to Empedocles. Empedocles !
What a man he was ! What a citizen ! What bold-
ness of thought he possessed ! What virtue ! What
soul ! Down there at the port, there is a statue of
Empedocles ; and whenever I pass it I uncover.
When my son Rafael was on the point of setting out
to open a shop of antiquities in the rue Laffitte, in
Paris, I went with him to the port of our city, and
at the feet of the statue of Empedocles, I gave him
my paternal blessing. ' Remember Empedocles!' I
said to him. Ah ! signor, our unhappy country needs
another Empedocles to-day ! Should you like me
to show you the statue, Your Excellency ? I will be
your guide to the ruins. I will show you the temple
of Castor and Pollux, the temple of Jupiter Olym-
SYLVESTRE BONNAKD. 57
pus, the temple of Lucinian Juno, the ancient well,
the tomb of Theron, and the Golden Gate. Pro-
fessional guides are all ignorant mules ! but we will
make excavations, if you wish, and we will discover
treasures. I understand the science, the gift of
making treasure-troves, a gift of Heaven."
Finally I succeeded in getting away. But he ran
after me, stopped me at the foot of the stairs, and
whispered in my ear,
" Listen, Your Excellency ! I will guide you
about the city. I will make you acquainted with
some of our girls ! What a race they are ! What
a type ! What figures they have ! Sicilian girls,
signor ! the ancient beauty ! "
" The Devil take you ! " I cried in anger ; and
I rushed into the street, leaving him discoursing
in a lofty style equal to his enthusiasm. When
I was out of his sight I sank down on a stone,
and clasping my head in my hands, began to ru-
minate.
" Was it," thought I to myself, " was it to listen
to such propositions that I came to Sicily? This
Polizzi is a scoundrel , his son is another, and to-
gether they have tried to ruin me. But what plot
have they arranged ? "
I could not understand it. In the meanwhile,
was I not sufficiently humiliated and disappointed?
A burst of merry laughter made me raise my
head ; and I saw Madame Trdpof running in front
of her husband, and waving a diminutive some-
thing in her hand. She seated herself by my side,
and showed me, amid bursts of fresh laughter, a
58 THE CRIME OF
wretched little pasteboard box, on which was a
bluish-red head, indicated in the description as that
of Empedocles.
" Yes, madame," I said ; " but that wretched
Polizzi to whom I advise you not to send Monsieur
Trdpof has disgusted me for life with Empedocles,
and this picture of him is not calculated to make
this ancient philosopher any more agreeable to
me."
" Oh," said Madame Trdpof, " it is homely, but it
is rare. These boxes are not exported. They have
to be bought on the spot. Dimitri has six others
just like this in his pocket. We took them in or-
der to exchange with collectors, you see. We were
at the factory at nine o'clock this morning. So you
see we have not wasted our time."
" I certainly do see that, madame," I replied in
a bitter tone ; " but I have wasted mine."
I saw then that she was a kind woman. All her
merriment disappeared.
" Poor Monsieur Bonnard ! Poor Monsieur Bon-
nard !" she whispered ; and taking my hand in hers
she added, " tell me about your troubles."
1 told her. It was a long story, but she was
touched ; for afterwards she asked me a number of
minute questions, which I looked upon as a proof
of her interest. She wanted to know the exact title
of the manuscript, its size, appearance, and age.
Then she asked me for Signor Rafael Polizzi's ad-
dress. I gave it to her (O fate ! ), doing exactly as
that wretched Polizzi had asked me to do.
It is sometimes difficult to stop. I began my suf-
SYLVESTKE BONNARD. 59
ferings and imprecations all over again. This time
Madame Tre*pof commenced to laugh.
" Why do you laugh ? " I asked her.
"Because I am a wicked woman," she replied.
Then she fled away, leaving me alone and mystified
on the stone.
PARIS, December 8, 1859.
My trunks, still unpacked, were piled up in the
dining-room. I was seated before a table laden
with all the good things that France produces for
an epicure. I was eating a. pdti de Chartres, which
alone would make one love one's country. Thdrese,
her hands clasped over her white apron, stood watch-
ing me with kindness, anxiety, and pity. Hamilcar
was rubbing against me wild with joy.
The following verse of an old poet came to my
mind :
" Happy is he, who, like Ulysses, has made a good
journey."
" Well," I thought to myself, " I have journeyed
in vain, I have returned empty-handed, but, like
Ulysses, I have made a good journey."
I swallowed my last drop of coffee, and asked
Thdrese for my hat and cane. She handed them
to me with a look of distrust, fearing a second de-
parture. But I reassured her by asking her to have
dinner ready by six o'clock.
It was always a delight to me to saunter along
the streets of Paris, every cobble and flagstone of
which I worship. But I had an object in view, and
6<D THE CRIME OF
I went direct to the rue Laffitte. I was not long in
finding Rafael Polizzi's shop. It attracted atten-
tion because of its great array of old paintings.
These, although bearing a diversity of famous
signatures, nevertheless showed a certain family
likeness, which would have given one the idea of
the touching fraternity among geniuses, had it not
betrayed rather the tricky mannerisms of Polizzi
senior. Enriched by these dubious masterpieces,
the shop was brightened by various curios, swords,
flagons, goblets, vases, brass godroons, and Spanish-
Arabian dishes of metallic lustre.
On a Portuguese armchair in embossed leather
lay a copy of Simon Vostre's " Hours," open at the
page that is embellished with an astrological figure;
and an old Vitruvius on a chest displayed its mas-
terly engravings of caryatides and telamones. This
seeming disorder, which concealed a wise arrange-
ment, this way in which the objects were thrown
apparently at random, and yet by which they were
placed in the most favorable light, would have in-
creased my distrust; but that, which the mere name
of Polizzi roused in me, could not be augmented, as
it was boundless to begin with.
Signor Rafael, who seemed to be the sole genius
of all this incongruous and heterogeneous mass,
struck me as a phlegmatic young man, a sort
of Englishman. He showed none of his father's
transcendental faculties of buffoonery and declama-
tion.
I told him the object of my coming. He opened
a closet, and brought out a manuscript which he
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 6 1
placed on a table, that I might examine it at my
leisure.
Never in my life have I felt such a sensation
except during a few months of my boyhood, the
memory of which, should I live to be a hundred,
will be at my last hour as fresh in my mind as on
the first day. It was actually the manuscript de-
scribed by Sir Thomas Raleigh's librarian. It was
indeed the clerk Alexander's manuscript that I saw
before me, that I touched ! Voragine's work was
evidently abridged, but that was of small conse-
quence. The priceless additions of the monk of
Saint-Germain-des-Pre's were there. That was the
great point ! I tried to read the legend of Saint
Droctoveus, but it was in vain. All the lines were
blurred before my eyes, and my ears rang with
the sound of a mill-wheel at night in the country.
I saw, however, that the manuscript offered points
of the most undeniable authenticity. The two
drawings of the Purification of the Virgin and the
Crowning of Proserpine were weak in design and
crude in color. Greatly damaged in 1824, as the
catalogue of Sir Thomas states, they had since then
regained their freshness. But this miracle was not
surprising to me. And, besides, what did I care for
the two miniatures? The legends and the poem of
Alexander were the treasures ! I took in as much
of it as my eyes could see.
I affected an indifferent manner, and asked Si-
gnor Rafael the price of the manuscript, inwardly
praying, while I waited his reply, that the figures
would not be beyond my small savings, which
62 THE CRIME OF
already had been greatly diminished by my expen-
sive journey. Signer Polizzi replied that he could
not sell the manuscript because it did not belong to
him. This, with other manuscripts and a few in-
cunabula, was to be put up at auction in the HStel
des Ventes.
It was a cruel blow to me. I strove to hide my
feelings, and answered somewhat in this way,
" You greatly surprise me, monsieur. Your father,
whom I have recently seen at Girgenti, told me that
you were the possessor of this manuscript. You
surely do not want to make me doubt your father's
word."
"I was," Rafael replied with perfect sincerity;
" but it is no longer mine. That manuscript, the
great value of which has not escaped you, I sold
to a private collector whose name I am forbidden to
mention, and who, for reasons which I must also
decline to state, is obliged to dispose of his collec-
tion. Honored by the confidence of my client, I am
ordered by him to arrange the catalogue and direct
the sale, which will take place the twenty-fourth of
next December. If you care to leave your address,
I will take pleasure in sending you the catalogue,
which is now in press, and in which you will find
' The Golden Legend ' described under No. 42."
I gave him my address and left.
I was as disagreeably impressed by this man's calm
dignity as by his father's impudent mummery. From
the bottom of my soul I detested the tricks of these
wretched traffickers. It was clear to me that the
two scoundrels were in league, and that they had
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 63
devised this auction sale merely for the sake of
raising to an exhorbitant price the manuscript I
wanted, and had secured the aid of an auctioneer so
as to avoid any recrimination. I was completely in
their hands. Even the noblest passions have one
serious drawback : they compel us to yield to others,
and thus make us become dependent. This thought
was deeply painful to me, but it did not rid me of
the wish to own the manuscript of the clerk Alex-
ander. Suddenly, while I was meditating, I heard
a driver swear; but not until I felt the pole of his
carriage in my ribs did I realize that I was the one
at whom he was angry. I stepped aside in time to
escape being run over ; and whom did I see through
the coupe' window but Madame Tre'pof, driving into
the street which I had just left. She had two spirited
horses, and a driver dressed in fur like a Russian
nobleman. She did not see me. She was smiling
to herself with that childish expression which still
gave her, at thirty, the charm of a girl.
" Well," said I to myself, " she is laughing, is she?
She must have found a new match-box."
And full of disappointment I reached the Bridges.
Ever indifferent, Time brought the twenty-fourth
of December with haste and without delay. I went
to the H6tel Bullion, and took my stand in Room
No. 4, at the foot of the desk where Boulouze,
the auctioneer, and the expert Polizzi were to con-
duct the sale. I saw the room fill gradually with
well-known faces. I shook hands with several old
booksellers of the quay ; but discretion, which every
64 THE CRIME OF
great desire inspires in even the most confident, pre-
vented my explaining my unusual presence in the
HStel Bullion. On the contrary, I asked these gen-
tlemen what possible interest they could have in the
Polizzi auction, and I had the satisfaction of hear-
ing them speak of everything else but the object of
my desires.
The room filled slowly with interested and curi-
ous spectators; and at the end of half an hour the
auctioneer with his ivory gavel, the clerk with his
account-book, the expert with his catalogue, and the
crier provided with a wooden bowl fastened to the
end of a stick, filed in with the solemnity of .a peas-
ant funeral, and took their places on the platform.
The hall-boys stood around below the desk. The
officers announced that the sale was about to begin,
and for a moment there was partial silence.
First (at a reasonable price) was sold an ordinary
lot of Preces pice with miniatures. It is needless
to say that the latter were absolutely modern.
The insignificance of the bids encouraged the
crowd of second-hand bookdealers; and they mingled
with us, and began to grow familiar. The copper-
smiths came in their turn ; and while they were wait-
ing for the doors of an adjoining room to open, their
ribald jokes drowned the voice of the crier.
A magnificent manuscript of the Guerre des Juifs
stirred some interest. It gave rise to a long and
lively rivalry.
" Five thousand francs, five thousand ! " shouted
the crier; while the coppersmiths, filled with admira-
tion, kept still. Seven or eight antiphonaries went
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 65
at a low price. A huge bareheaded woman,' en-
couraged by the size of the volume and the low
bidding, secured one of the antiphonaries for thirty
francs.
Finally the expert Polizzi announced No. 42,
' The Golden Legend," a French manuscript un-
published; two superb miniatures; started at three
thousand francs."
" Three thousand ! Three thousand ! " shouted
the crier.
" Three thousand ! " dryly repeated the auctioneer.
My temples throbbed ; and, as though through a
mist, I saw a crowd of serious faces turned toward
the manuscript, which a boy was carrying open
around the room.
" Three thousand and fifty ! " I cried. I was
startled at the sound of my own voice, and confused
at seeing, or thinking that I saw, all faces turned to-
ward me.
" Three thousand and fifty on the right ! " called
the crier, taking my bid.
" Three thousand one hundred ! " cried Signer
Polizzi. *
Then began a heroic duel between the expert and
myself.
" Three thousand five hundred ! "
" Six hundred ! "
" Seven hundred ! "
" Four thousand ! "
" Four thousand five hundred ! "
Then by an appalling jump, Signor Polizzi sud-
denly raised the bid to six thousand.
66 THE CRIME OF
All I had at my disposal was six thousand francs.
For me it was the possible. I risked the impos-
sible.
" Six thousand one hundred ! " I shouted.
Alas ! Even the impossible did not suffice.
" Six thousand five hundred," was Signor Polizzi's
calm response.
I lowered my head, and sat with my mouth open,
daring to say neither yes nor no to the crier who
shouted to me,
" The bid of six thousand five hundred is mine,
not yours there on the right, but mine ! No mistake !
Six thousand five hundred ! "
" That is understood," cried the auctioneer. " Six
thousand five hundred. That is clearly understood.
Well ? Is there no one who offers more than six
thousand five hundred francs?"
A solemn silence filled the room. Suddenly I
felt as if my head were bursting. It was the auc-
tioneer's hammer, which, with a quick, short tap on
the desk, irrevocably knocked down No. 42 to Signor
Polizzi. At the same time the clerk ran his pen across
the stamped paper, and registered the great fact in a
simple line.
I was absolutely crushed, and felt the necessity of
rest and solitude. Yet I did not leave my seat.
By degrees I began to think. Hope is tenacious ;
and I still had one hope. It occurred to me that
the buyer of " The Golden Legend " might be an
intelligent and liberal book-lover, who would let me
see the manuscript, and even allow me to publish
the more important "facts of it. Therefore, when
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 67
the sale was over, I accosted the expert who was
coming from the platform.
" Monsieur," said I, " did you buy No. 42 for
yourself, or on commission ? "
" On commission. I was ordered not to let it go
at any price."
" Can you tell me the name of the buyer?"
" I am very sorry to disappoint you, but that is
absolutely forbidden."
I turned from him in despair.
December jo, 1859.
" TheVese, don't you hear ? the bell has been ring-
ing for the last quarter of an hour."
The'rese does not reply. She is gossiping in the
lodge with the janitress. Of this I am sure. So
this is the way you celebrate your old master's birth-
day ! You leave me even on the eve of Saint-Sylves-
tre! Alas ! If good wishes do come to me on this
day, they must come out of the ground; for every-
thing that ever loved me has long since been
buried. I do not know of what use I am in the
world. There is the bell again !
I leave the fireplace slowly, with stooping shoul-
ders, and open the door myself. Whom do I see at
the head of the stairs ? Not Cupid with dripping
wings, and I am not the old Anacreon : but I see a
pretty little boy of ten. He is alone. He raises his
head, and looks at me. His cheeks are rosy, but
his little saucy nose has a roguish expression. He
has feathers in his cap, and a great ruff of lace on
his blouse. Such a pretty little fellow ! In his arm
68 THE CRIME OF
he carries a package as big as himself. He asks
if I am Monsieur Sylvestre Bonnard ; and upon my
saying that I am, he hands me the package, which
he says is from his mamma ; then he darts down-
stairs.
I descend a few steps, and leaning over the bal-
usters I see the little fellow flying around the spiral
staircase like a feather in the breeze. " Hallo ! my
little boy ! " I should have been so glad to speak
to him. But what should I have asked him? It is
not nice to ply children with questions. Besides,
the package will probably tell me more than the
messenger. It is a very large package, but not
very heavy. Returning to my library, I remove its
ribbons and wrappings, and find what ? A log,
a great log, a real Christmas log, but so light that
I conclude it must be hollow. In fact, I discover
that it consists of two pieces fastened together by
clasps, and opening on hinges. Pushing back the
clasps, I am suddenly inundated with violets ! My
table, my knees, the carpet, are covered with them.
They pour into my waistcoat, and into my sleeves.
I am all perfumed by them !
" The*rese ! Thdrese ! Fill some vases with water
and bring them to me ! Here are some violets,
come I know not from what country or by what
hand ; but it must be a sweet country, and a gentle
hand. Old crow, don't you hear me?"
I have put the violets on my table, which is com-
pletely hidden beneath their fragrant masses.
But, there is something else in the log, a book, a
manuscript. It is I can scarcely believe my eyes,
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 69
yet there it is " The Golden Legend," the manu-
script of the clerk Alexander. Here is the Purifica-
tion of the Virgin, and the Crowning of Proserpine,
and the legend of Saint Droctoveus. I gaze at the
relic, which is sweet with the odor of the violets. I
I turn over the leaves, between which some of the
demure little blossoms have found their way, and
opposite the legend of Saint Cecilia, I find a card
bearing this name :
PRINCESS TKPOF.
Princess Trdpof ! You, who laughed and cried by
turn -so prettily under the lovely sky of Agrigentum
you, whom a crabbed old man took for a little
simpleton, have convinced me to-day of your rare
and beautiful folly ; and the man whom you over-
whelm with joy will go and kiss your hand, and
offer you an edition of this precious manuscript
in such an accurate and sumptuous form as will
satisfy both science and himself.
Just then TheVese, in a great state of agitation,
came hurrying into my library.
"Monsieur," she cried, "guess whom I have just
seen at the door, in a carriage bearing a coatof-
arms ? "
" Madame Tre'pof," I cried.
" I have no idea who Madame Trepof is," replied
my housekeeper. "The lady I saw just now was
dressed like a duchess. She had with her a little
boy whose clothes were all trimmed with lace. And
it was that little Madame Coccoz to whom you sent
70 THE CRIME OF
a log when she was confined eleven years ago. I
recognized her instantly."
" Madame Coccoz ! " I exclaimed quickly ; " the
almanac peddler's widow ? You don't say so ! "
" The very same, monsieur. The coach-door was
wide open as her little boy was getting into the car-
riage where he had come from I'm sure I don't
know. She has changed scarcely any. And why
should such women grow old ? They have no cares
at all. Madame Coccoz is merely somewhat stouter
than formerly. The idea of a woman who was re-
ceived here out of charity coming to display her
velvet and diamonds in a carriage with her coat-
of-arms on it ! Is it not shameful ? "
" The'rese ! " I cried in a voice of thunder, " if you
speak of this lady in any but terms of the highest
respect, we shall quarrel. Bring me my Sevres vases
for these violets. They give to this City of Books a
charm it has never had before."
While The'rese with heavy sighs went for the
Sevres vases, I looked at the beautiful violets which
lay about me, spreading their perfume around like
the sweetness of some gentle soul, and I asked my-
self how I could have failed to recognize Madame
Coccoz in the Princess Tre'pof. But the young
widow who held out her little naked child to me
on the stairway had been but a fleeting vision. I
had much greater cause to reproach myself for hav-
ing passed by a kind and beautiful heart without
discovering it.
" Bonnard," I said to myself, " you know how to
decipher ancient texts, but you are utterly incapa-
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. J\
ble of reading the Book of Life. . This giddy little
Madame Tre'pof, who you believed had no more
heart than a bird, has in her gratitude displayed
more spirit and energy than you have ever shown
for the sake of obliging any one. She has royally
repaid you for the log you sent her that day when
her child was born.
" The'rese, you were a magpie, but you are turn-
ing into a tortoise. Do come, and bring me some
water for these Parma violets ! "
PART II.
CLEMENTINE'S DAUGHTER.
THE FAIRY.
WHEN I left the train at the Melun station,
night was spreading her peace over the silent landJ
all day long by the blazing
the "broad sun" (gras soleil), as the expression
is among the harvesters of the Valley of Vire, ex-
haled a warm, pungent odor. A breath, laden with
the heavy perfume ofjjrasses, now and again swept
along the ground. Jl brushed off the dust of the
car, and exultingly drew in a deep breath. My
travelling-bag, which my housekeeper had packed
with linen and various toilet articles, Horace's tnun-
ditiis, weighed so little in my hand, that I swung it
back and forth as a boy just out of school swings
his strap full of class-books.
Would to Heaven I were still a little school-boy !
Hut fifty years have passed since my good mother,
with her own hands, made me a plum tart, which
she put into a basket, the handle of which she
slipped over my arm. Thus fortified, I was taken
to the school kept by Monsieur Uouloir, in a house
that stood between a court and a garden, in a cor-
ner of the Passage du Commerce well-known to the
sparrows.
Monsieur Douloir was a huge man, who smiled
at us in a pleasant way, and patted my cheek, in
75
76 THE CRIME OF
order, no doubt, the better to express the affection
which I immediately inspired v 'in him. But no
sooner had my mother crossed the court, startling
the sparrows as she went, than Monsieur Dou-
loir ceased to smile on me, and showed me no
further marks of attention. On the contrary, he
seemed to consider me a very troublesome little
fellow, and very much in the way. I afterwards
discovered that he cherished similar feelings for all
his pupils. He distributed ferulings with an agility
which one would not have expected in a man of his
excessive corpulence. But his early affection showed
itself whenever he spoke to our mothers in our
presence. Then he would praise our beautiful dis-
positions, and at the same time look down at us
with affection ; yet those were indeed happy days
that we spent on the benches at Monsieur Douloirs,
with the little maids, who, like myself, laughed and
cried by turn, with their whole heart, from morning
to night.
After half a century, these memories come fresh
and clear to the surface of my mind, under this
starry sky, which is forever the same. Undoubtedly
those calm and steady lights will look down on other
school-children such as I was, and see them grow
into men like myself, gray-haired, and subject to
catarrh.
Stars that have shone on eacn frivolous or serious
head among all my forgotten ancestors, your bright-
ness has caused me to feel a pang of keen regret !
I would that I had a son who, when I no longer
could behold you, might still gaze up at you. How
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 77
I should love him ! Ah ! he would now what am
I saying ? he would now be twenty years old, had
you so willed it, Clementine you whose cheeks
were so fresh beneath your rosy hood !
But you married a clerk in a bank, that same
Noel Alexandre, who afterwards made so many
millions. I have not seen you since your marriage,
Clementine ; yet I always think of you with your
golden xurls and your rosy hood.
A mirror ! A mirror ! Give me a mirror ! I
should like to see how I look now with my white
locks, breathing the name of Clementine to the
stars. However, it is not well to end ironically that
which one has begun in a spirit of faith and love.
Cldmentine, if your name came to my lips this
beautiful night, may it be blessed ; and may you, a
happy mother, a happy grandmother, enjoy to the
very end, with your opulent husband, the bliss which
you thought, as you had the right to think, you could
not have with the poor young scholar who loved
you! If, although I cannot imagine it, your hair
has grown white, Clementine, carry with dignity
the bunch of keys intrusted to you by Noel Alex-
andre, and teach your grandchildren the sweet do-
mestic, virtues !
RVhat a beautiful night ! She reigns with languor-
ous gentleness over man and beast, freed from the
daily yoke; and I feel her kindly influence, though
from habit confirmed by sixty years. I no longer
feel things except by the signs which represent
them. There is for me in this world nothing but
words, such a philologist have I become. Kach
78 THE CRIME OF
in his own way dreams the dream of life. I have
dreamed mine in 'my library ; and when the hour
comes for me to depart from this world, may the
good God take me as I stand on my ladder beforo
my shelves of books-!
" Why, yes, here is the man himself ! Good-
evening, Monsieur Sylvestre Bonnard ! Where are
you going, tramping over the country with your
light step, while I have been waiting for you at the
station with my carriage ? I missed you when the
train went out, and I was on my way back to
Lusance. Give me your valise, and get into the
carriage here beside me. Do you know it is seven
good kilometers from here to the chateau ! "
Who is calling to me thus in a loud voice from his
high-seated carriage ? Monsieur Paul de Gabry,
nephew and heir of Monsieur Honore" de Gabry,
peer of France in 1842, who recently died at Mo-
naco. And I was on my way to Monsieur Paul de
Gabry's, with my valise which my housekeeper had
packed. This excellent young fellow, conjointly with
his two brothers-in-law, had just come into posses-
sion of the property. The uncle, the descendant of
a very ancient and distinguished family of jurists,
had preserved, in his chateau at Lusance, a library,
rich in manuscripts, some of which dated back to
the fourteenth century. And I had come to Lu-
sance, in order to make an inventory and catalogue
of these manuscripts, at the urgent invitation of
Monsieur Paul de Gabry, whose father, a man of
honor and a distinguished bibliophile, had during
SYLVESTRE BONNAKD. 79
his lifetime been on friendly terms with me. Truth
to tell, the son has not inherited his father's refined
tastes. Monsieur Paul is devoted to all kinds of
sport ; he thoroughly understands horses and dogs ;
and I believe, that of all the sciences suited to sa-
tiate or deceive the inexhaustible curiosity of man,
those of the stable and the kennel are the only ones
of which he is masterj!
I cannot say that I was surprised to meet him,
since I had an appointment with him ; but I con-
fess that, carried away by the natural trend of my
thoughts, I had forgotten the Chateau of Lusance
and its owners ; so that when a country gentleman
called out to me, just as I was starting down the
road, which unwound before me like un bon rttban
de queue, as they say, his voice fell on my ears at
first like an unaccustomed sound.
I have reason to fear that my physiognomy showed
my absent-mindedness by a certain expression of stu-
pidity, which it assumes in most of my social trans-
actions. My valise found a^ place in the carriage,
and I followed my valise. My host pleased me by
his _f rank and simple manner.
f "I know nothing about your old parchments," said
he, " but you will find some companionable people
at our house. Without counting the curate, who
writes, and the physician, who is very likable,
though a radical, you will find one who will keep
pace with you. I mean my wife. She is not very
learned, but I think there is nothing which she does
not get at the heart of. I hope to keep you long
enough so that you may meet Mademoiselle Jeanne;
'
SO THE CRIME OF
she has the fingers of a magician and the spirit of
an angel."
" Is this gifted young lady," I asked, " a member
of your family? "
"No, indeed," replied Monsieur Paul.
" A friend, then, I presume ? " I asked, inanely
enough.
" She is an orphan, without father or mother,"
replied Monsieur de Gabry, with his eyes fixed on
his horse's ears, while the hoof-beats resounded on
the hard road, that gleamed blue in the moonlight.
" Her father involved us in great trouble, and we
got out of it ; but it cost us much more than mere
fear."
Then he shook his head, and changed the sub-
ject. He warned me of the state of decay in which
I should find the park and the chateau. They had
been absolutely deserted for thirty-two years. /
I learned from him that Monsieur Honore" de
Gabry, his uncle, had been, during his lifetime, on
bad terms with the poachers of the country, and
had shot at them as if they were rabbits. One of
them, a vindictive peasant who had received a
charge of shot full in the face, one night lay in wait
for the seigneur, behind the trees along the mall,
and almost killed him, for he scored the tip of his
ear with a bullet.
" My uncle," added Monsieur Paul, " tried to dis-
cover who fired the shot, but he could not make out,
and he returned to the chateau without hurrying.
The following day he called his steward, told him
to close the manor and the park, and not to allow a
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 8 1
living soul to enter. He expressly forbade anything
to be touched, repaired, or kept in order on the es-
tate, or in his home, until his return. He added,
between his teeth, that he would return at Easter or
Trinity, as in the song; and, as in the song, Trinity
passed, and he was not seen. He died last year, at
Monaco ; and my brother-in-law and I were the first
to enter the chateau since it was abandoned, more
than thirty-two years ago. We found a chestnut-
tree growing in the middle of the drawing-room,
the park is still inaccessible for lack of paths."
companion grew silent. Nothing was heard
save the regular trot of the horse, and the hum of
the insects in the grass. In the fields, on both sides
of the road, the rows of sheaves, with the uncertain
moonlight falling on them, looked like tall white
women kneeling. Like a child I gave myself up to
the wonderful fascinations of the magic night. \ We
passed under the thick shadows of the mall, and
turning at right angles, our carriage rolled along a
magnificent avenue, at the end of which the chateau
suddenly appeared in all its massive blackness, with
its pepper-box towers. We followed a sort of cause-
way, which led to the court-of-honor, and which
passed over a moat filled with running water, tak-
ing the place, no doubt, of a drawbridge long since
destroyed.] The loss of the drawbridge was, I
think, tKe first humiliation to which the warlike
manor had to submit before it was finally reduced
to the peaceful conditions under which it welcomed
me.
{"The stars were reflected with marvellous clearness
82 THE CRIME OF
in the dark water. .Monsieur Paul, being a most
courteous host, escorted me to my room, which was
in the top of the chateau, at the end of a long corri-
dor. Then apologizing, on account of the lateness
of the hour, for not presenting me at once to his
wife, he bade me good-night.
My chamber, painted white and hung with chintz,
bore traces of the sprightly grace characteristic of
the eighteenth century. Still glowing embers filled
the fireplace, and made me feel what pains had
been taken to dispel all dampness from the room.
On the mantel-piece stood a bisque bust of Queen
Marie Antoinette. On the white frame of the dark
and specked glass, two brass hooks, which once had
held ladies' chatelaines, offered a fitting place for
my watch, which I was careful to wind. For, con-
trary to the maxims of Thelemites, I think that man
is master of Time, which is Life itself, only when he
has divided it into hours, minutes, and seconds ; that
is to say, into spaces proportioned to the brevity of
human existence.
And I thought that life seems short to us only
because we foolishly measure it by our irrational
hopes. All of us, like the old man in the fable,
have a wing to add to the house we are building. I
want to finish, before I die, the " History of the
Abbots of Saint-Germain-des-Pre's." The time that
God gives to each of us is like a precious tissue,
which we are to embroider to the best of our abil-
ity. I have worked my woof with every kind of
philological design.
Thus my thoughts wandered on ; and in tying my
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 83
silk Handkerchief about my head, the idea of time
took me back to the past ; and for the second time
in the turn of the dial, I thought of you, Clementine,
and blessed you in your posterity, if you have any,
before I blew out my candle, and fell asleep to the
songs of the. frogs, i
II.
During breakfast I had many opportunities of
gaining a high idea of Madame de Gabry's taste,
tact, and intelligence. She told me how the chateau
was haunted by ghosts, and especially by the lady
" with the three wrinkles in her back," who in her
lifetime had poisoned people, and whose soul was
now doomed to eternal torment. I cannot describe
the spirit and vivacity which she infused into the tell-
ing of this old nurse's tale. We drank our coffee
on the terrace, the balusters of which, grasped and
torn from their stone railing by a lusty ivy, were held
between the knots of the wanton plant in the hope-
less attitude of the Athenian women in the arms of
wicked Centaurs.
The chateau was built in the form of a four-
wheeled cart, re-enforced by a tower at each corner ;
but it had been repaired so many times that it had
lost all its originality. It was a roomy, dignified
structure nothing more. It did not strike me as
having suffered much damage during its thirty-two
years of abandonment; but when Madame de Gabry
showed me the large drawing-room on the ground-
floor, I perceived that the flooring was heaved up,
84 THE CRIME OF
the plinths rotten, the woodwork cracked, the paint-
ings of the piers turned black and three-quarters
out of their frames. A chestnut-tree had pushed
.through the flooring, and was growing there, its
broad leaves turned toward the glassless window.
Although the sight had a charm for me, yet 1
viewed it with anxiety, when I thought how Mon-
sieur Honore* de Gabry's rich library in the adjoin-
ing room had been exposed for so long to these
destroying influences. But as I looked at the young
chestnut-tree in the drawing-room, I could not help
admiring the magnificent force of Nature, and that
irresistible power which pushes every germ toward
the development of life. On the other hand, I grew
sad when I thought how painful, and yet fruitless,
is the effort which we scholars make to keep and
preserve anything that is dead. Whatever has
lived is a necessary aliment for new life. The
Arab who builds himself a hut with marble from
the temples of Palmyra is a greater philosopher
than all the guardians of the museums in London,
Paris, and Munich.
August ii.
Thank God, the library, situated toward the east,
has not suffered irreparable damage. Except the
shelf containing the heavy folio volumes of old
cotitumiers, which the mice have riddled, the books
are untouched in their grated cases.
I have been spending the whole day in classifying
manuscripts. The sun came in through the high,
curtainless windows; and in the midst of my read-
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 85
ing, which at times was very interesting, I heard
the drowsy bumblebees striking heavily against the
window-panes, the cracking of the woodwork, and
the flies, blinded with light and heat, buzzing in
circles about my head. Towards three o'clock their
buzzing became so loud that I raised my head from
a document that was of great value for the history
of Melun in the thirteenth century, and I began to
watch the concentric movements of these little ani-
mals, or bestions as they are called by Lafontaine,
who found the term in the old popular idiom whence
comes the expression " tapestry d bestions" that is,
tapestry with little figures on it. I had to confess
that heat affects the wings of a fly in a very differ-
ent manner from what it does the brain of a stu-
dent of old manuscripts; for I found it very hard
to think, and fell into a pleasant revery, from which
I had difficulty in rousing myself. | The dinner-bell
surprised me in the midst of my labors; and I had
just time to slip on my new coat, so as to appear
respectable in Madame de Gabry's eyes.
The meal, which consisted of several courses, was
naturally long. As a connoisseur of wine, I have a
talent perhaps above the average. My host, who
soon discovered the extent of my knowledge, was
gracious enough to uncork for me a bottle of Cha-
teau- Margaux of the genuine vintage of Bordeaux.
With real reverence I drank this wine, so royal in
its origin, so noble in its flavor, with a bouquet and
fire beyond all praise. This glowing liquid infused
itself into my veins, and awakened in me the spark
of youth. Seated on the terrace with Madame de
86 THE CRIME OF
Gabry, in the twilight which now spread a soft mel-
ancholy over the trees of the park, and bathed even
the smallest objects in a mysterious light, I had the
pleasure of telling my lively hostess my impressions,
with a vivacity and fluency most remarkable in a
man like me, devoid of all imagination.
I described to her'spontaneously, and without the
help of a single old quotation, the soft melancholy
of the twilight, and the beauty of the mother-earth
that nourishes us, not only by bread and wine, but
by ideas, feelings, and beliefs, and which will re-
ceive us again into her maternal bosom, as if we
were little children wearied after a long day.
" Monsieur," said this good lady, " look at these
old towers, these trees, this sky. How naturally the
heroes of stories and songs came from them all !
Over there is the path by which little Red Riding
Hood went to the woods to gather nuts. This ever-
changing and half-veiled sky was marked by fairy
chariots, and the northern tower might have hidden
at one time beneath its painted roof the old dame
whose spindle pricked the Sleeping Beauty of the
woods."
I was still thinking of these pretty fancies, while
Monsieur Paul puffed a strong cigar, and told me
about some action which he had brought against
the commune concerning a water-privilege. Madame
de Gabry, feeling the evening dampness, shivered,
though her husband had thrown a shawl over her
shoulders, and left us to go to her room.
I then determined that instead of going to mine,
I would return to the library, and continue my ex-
SYLVESTRE BONNARD.
8 9
amination of the manuscripts. So, in spite of Mo ac
sieur Paul's protest, I went to what, in old-fashionee 1
language, I shall call the librairie, or book-room, '
and set to work by lamp-light.
After I had read fifteen pages, which iiad evi-
dently been written by an ignorant and careless
clerk, for I experienced some difficulty in making
out their meaning, I plunged my hand into the open
pocket of my coat to get my snuff-box ; but this or-
dinary and, as it were, instinctive movement, this
time cost me some effort and fatigue. Neverthe-
less, I opened the silver box, and took out a pinch
of the odorous powder, spilling it all down my shirt-
front under my baffled nose.
I am sure that my nose showed its disappoint-
ment, for it is a very expressive nose. Many times
it has betrayed my innermost thoughts, and espe-
cially in the public library of Coutances, where,
under the very beard of iry colleague Brioux, I dis-
covered the " Cartulary of Notre-Dame-des-Anges."
How great was my joy ! My small, dull eyes,
screened by their glasses, did not betray me. But
at the mere sight of my broad pug-nose, trembling
with joy and pride, Brioux surmised that I had
found a treasure-trove. He saw the volume which
I held, noted the shelf where I replaced it, took it
down as soon as I had gone, copied it secretly, and
published it without delay, in order to play me a
turn. But the edition swarms with blunders, and
I had the satisfaction of criticising several of his
gross mistakes.
But to resume. I suspected that a heavy stupor
86; THE CRIME OF
G?as weighing upon my mind. ^ I was looking at a
ajhar't, the interest of which every one can appreciate
when I say that mention is made in it of a rabbit-
hutch sold to Jehan d'Estouville, priest, in 1312.
But although I realized at the time its great value,
I did not pay it the attention that such a document
deserved. In spite of all my efforts, my eyes kept
turning to one side of the table where there was
nothing important as far as learning was concerned.
There was merely a great German volume there,
bound in pig-skin, with brass studs on the sides,
and heavy raised bands at the back. It was a fine
example of that compilation so well known under
the name of " Cosmography of Munster," valuable
merely on account of the wood engravings with
which it is adorned. The volume, with its covers
somewhat spread apart, stood face down on its
edge.
I could not say how long I had been gazing with-
out any apparent reason on this sixteenth century
folio, when my eyes were attracted by a sight so
unusual, that even a man totally devoid of imagina-
tion, like myself, would have been very much startled
by it.
Suddenly I noticed, though I had not seen any
one come into the room, a diminutive young woman,
seated on the back of the book, with one knee folded
under her, the other leg hanging down in almost the
same position as that taken by the Amazonian
horseback riders in Hyde Park or in the Bois du
Boulogne. She was so small that her swinging foot
did not reach the table, on which lay the train of
SYLVESTRE BOXNARD. 89
her gown in a serpentine line. She had the face
and figure of a well-developed woman. Her full
bust and ample waist left no doubt on this point,
even to the mind of an old scholar like myself. 1
I may add, without fear of being mistaken, that
she was very beautiful and of proud mien ; for my
iconographic studies have long since accustomed me
to recognize the purity of a type and the character of
a physiognomy. The face of this lady, who had so
unexpectedly seated herself on the back of a " Cos-
mography of Munster," expressed a noble pride,
mingled with waywardness. ^She had the air of a
queen, but of a whimsical queen ; and I judged from
the glance of her eye that somewhere she exercised
great authority in a very capricious waj
There was a proud and ironical expression about
her mouth, and a disquieting smile gleamed in her
blue eyes, under her delicately arched black browsj
I have always understood that black eyebrows
are very becoming to blondes, and this lady was
very blond. In short, the impression she gave was
one of greatness.
It may seem strange that a person no taller than
a bottle, and whom I might have hidden in my coat-
pocket if it had not been disrespectful to put her
there, should give one the idea of greatness. But
in the proportions of the lady seated on the " Cos-
mography of Munster," there was such a proud
daintiness, such a dignified harmony, her attitude
was at once so easy and so noble, that she seemed
great to me. And she was great, and imposing too,
in her sprightliness; although my inkstand, which
90 THE CRIME OF
she gazed at with an ironical attention, as if she
could read in advance every word that would come
from the end of my pen, was for her a deep ba-
sin, in which she would have got her pink silk
stockings, with their yellow clocks, black up to the
garters.
\13er costume, suited to her style, was very rich.!
It consisted of a robe of gold and silver brocade^
and a cloak of nacarat velvet, lined with small vair.
Her coiffure was a sort of hennin, with two horns;
and pearls of beautiful water made it gleam as bright
as the crescent moon. (TiTher small white hand she
held a wand. This wand attracted my attention all
the more strongly for the reason that my archaeo-
logical studies had taught me to recognize with some
certainty the signs by which the noted characters
of legend and of history are distinguished. This
knowledge came to my mind in the midst of the
strange conjectures I was making.
I looked at the wand, which seemed to me to
have been cut from a hazel branch.
" It is a fairy wand," I said to myself, "and con-
sequently the lady who holds it is a fairy."
Happy at thus recognizing the lady who sat be-
fore me, I strove to collect my ideas, and pay her
a respectful compliment._j I should have felt some
satisfaction, I confess, in speaking to her in a
learned way of the part played by her compeers,
both among the Saxon and Germanic races, and in
the Latin Occident. Such a dissertation was, to my
thinking, an ingenious way of thanking this lady for
having appeared before an old scholar, contrary to
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 9!
the usual custom of her people, who show themselves
only to innocent children and ignorant villagers.
I Being a fairy does not make one any less a woman,
I said to myself ; and since Madame Rdcamier, if I
may credit J. J. Ampere, used to blush with pleas-
ure when the little chimney-sweeps opened their eyes
wide in order to see her as well as they could, the
supernatural little lady seated on the " Cosmography
of Munster" would no doubt feel flattered to hear a
scholar discoursing in a learned manner about her,
as if she were a medal, a seal, a buckle, or a token.
But such a venture, which was a trial to a man
like myself, became entirely out of the question when
I beheld the lady of the " Cosmography " quickly
draw from a purse at her side some nuts, smaller
than any I had ever seen, crack them between her
teeth, and throw the shells into my face^while she
craunched the kernels with the seriousness of a nurs-
iog_c_hild.
, Under such circumstances, I did what the dignity
of science demanded, I was silent. But as the
shells tickled me disagreeably, I raised my hand to
my nose, and to my great surprise found that my
spectacles were straddling the end of it, and that I
was looking at the lady, not through them, but over
them ; a most incomprehensible thing, because my
eyes, weakened by work on old manuscripts, could
not, without the aid of spectacles, distinguish a
melon from a carafe, even if both were held directly
in front of my nose.
This nose, remarkable on account of its size,
shape, and color, naturally attracted the attention of
92 THE CRIME OF
the fairy ; for she seized my goose-quill, which rcse
from the ink-well like a plume, and tickled my nose
with the feather end of it]
I have had in society, now and then, occasion to
become a cheerful victim to the innocent pranks of
young girls, who, drawing me into their games, of-
fered me their cheeks to kiss through the back of a
chair, or asked me to blow out a candle which they
immediately raised out of the reach of my breath.
But until then no one of the fair sex had ever sub-
jected me to such a familiar trick as tickling my
nose with the feathers of my own pen.
Happily I recalled a maxim of my late grand-
father, who had a habit of saying that everything
is allowed to the ladies, and that anything that they
do is a favor and a compliment. Therefore I re-
ceived the nut-shells and the feathers of my pen as
if they were favors and compliments, and I strove
to smjje. More than this ! I spoke
r Madame," I said, with dignified courtesy, "the
honor of your visit you confer on no child or peas-
ant, but on a book-lover, who is happy indeed to
make your acquaintance^ a d who knows that in
days gone by you used to entangle the manes and
tailg of mares in their cribs, and to drink the milk
from foaming bowls, to pour prickly burs down the
backs of our great-grandmothers, to make the hearth
snap sparks into the faces of worthy people, and, in
a word, to fill the house with confusion and merri-
ment. Moreover, you can boast of having, at night
in the wpods, given belated couples many a good
fright ! I But I thought you had vanished at least
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 93
three centuries ago. Is it possible, madame, that
you are seen in these days of railways and tele-
graphs? My janitress, who in her day was a nurse,
does not know your story ; and my little neighbor,
still in his nurse's care, says that you no longer
exist."
" What do you say about it ? " cried she, in a sil-
very voice, drawing up her royal little person in a
cavalier-like manner, and beating the back of the
" Cosmography of Munster " as if it had been a
hippogriffe.
" I do not know," I answered, rubbing my eyes.
This reply, stamped with a profoundly scientific
scepticism, produced the most deplorable effect on
my visitor.
"Monsieur Sylvestre Bonnard," said she, "you
are nothing but a pedant. I have always suspected
it. The smallest of the little urchins who go along
the street with their shirts sticking out of their,
ragged trousers knows me better than all the spec-
tacled people of your institutes and your academies.
Knowledge is nothing, imagination is everything.
Nothing exists except what we imagine. I am im-
aginary, and that is living ! People dream of me,
and I appear ! Everything is but a dream ; and
since no one dreams of you, Sylvestre Bonnard, you
do not exist. I delight the world. I am every-
where, on a moonbeam, in the ripple of a hidden
spring, in the moving foliage that sings, in the white
vapors rising every morning from the wilds of the
meadows, among the pink heath, everywhere ! I
am seen, I am loved. There are sighing, there
94 THE CRIME OF
are trembling hearts wherever my light footsteps
fall, causing the dead leaves to sing. I make little
children smile, I give humor to the dullest-minded
nurses. Stooping over cradles, I tease, I console,
I lull to sleep, and you are in doubt as to my exis-
tence ! Sylvester Bonnard, your warm-lined coat
covers the hide of an ass ! "
She became silent. Her delicate nostrils quiv-
ered with indignation ; and while, in spite of my vex-
ation, I was admiring the noble anger of this little
creature, she dipped my pen in the ink-well, as one
would an oar in a lake, and threw it at my nose, the
point foremost.
I rubbed my face, and felt that it was covered
with ink. She had vanished from sight. My lamp
had gone out. A moonbeam had stolen down the
window-pane, and lay upon the " Cosmography of
Munster." A cool breeze, which had risen without
my perceiving it, was blowing away pens, papers,
and wafers. My table was covered with ink. I
had left my window partly open during the storm.
How imprudent
in.
I wrote to my housekeeper, as I promised, that
I was well and happy. I was very careful not to
mention the head cold which I caught from having
slept that evening in the library with the window
open, for the good woman would have been no more
sparing of remonstrances than are parliaments to
kings.
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 95
" To be so careless at your age, monsieur . " she
would have said. She is simple enough to think
that sense increases with years. I seem to her an
exception to the rule. Not having the same reasons
for withholding my experience from Madame de
Gabry, I told her all the details of my dream, in
which she took great interest.
" Your dream," said she, " is charming. One
must have real cleverness to have such visions ! "
" You mean that I am clever when I am asleep,"
I said.
" When you dream," she replied ; " and you are
always dreaming ! "
I know very well that in speaking thus Madame
de Gabry had no thought other than to make me
happy, but her intention deserves my warmest
thanks. It is with a deep sense of gratitude and
kindly remembrance that I copy down her words
in my diary ; and I shall always feel the same when
I read them over and over, until I die, but no one
be&ides myself shall read them.
//I spent the following days in completing the in-
ventory of the manuscripts in the library of Lusance.
A few confidential words which escaped Monsieur
Paul de Gabry caused me painful surprise, and
made me determined to carry on my work in a dif-
ferent manner from that in which I had begun it.
From those few words, I learned that Monsieur Ho-
nore* de Gabry's property had been badly managed
for years, and to a great measure lost by the failure
of a banker, whose name I do not know, and that
the old French nobleman's heirs received nothing
96 THE CRIME OF
from 5t except hypotheticated real estate and uncol-
lectable accounts.
Monsieur Paul, by agreement with his joint heirs,
had decided to sell the library ; and I was commis-
sioned to arrange for the sale on the most advan-
tageous terms. But, as I am wholly unacquainted
with the methods of business and trade, I resolved
to ask the advice of a friend of mine, who is a book-
seller. I wrote to him to come to Lusance ; and
while waiting for his arrival, I took my hat and
walking-stick, and went out to visit the churches of
the diocese, in some of which are epitaphs as yet
never correctly copie_(Ly
So I took leave of my hosts, and set out on my
pilgrimage. Every day I explored churches and
cemeteries, visited curates and village notaries,
supped at inns with peddlers and cattle-dealers, and
slept between lavender-scented sheets, thus spend-
ing a week of calm, profound enjoyment, thinking
of the dead, and watching the living busy with their
daily labor. So far as the object of my researches
was concerned, I made but ordinary discoveries, such
as caused me no great delight ; and on that very ac-
count my pleasure was healthful and not fatiguing.
/Ideciphered some interesting epitaphs, and added
to this small store several recipes for country dishes,
which a worthy c urt was kind enough to bestow on
me.
With these treasures I returned to Lusance, and
crossed the court-of-honor with the deep satisfaction
of a countryman returning home. This was caused
by the kindness of my hosts, and the sensations
SYLVESTRE BONNAKD. 97
V
which at that time I felt on their threshold proves
better than any argument their kind hospitality.
I reached the large drawing-room without meeting
any one ; and the young chestnut-tree, which spread
out its broad leaves there, seemed like a friend.)
But what I next saw on the pier-table was such a
surprise to me, that I adjusted my spectacles with
both hands, and pinched myself in order to get at
least a superficial idea of my own existence. Twenty
or more ideas came to my mind in an instant ; and
of them all, the most likely was that I had gone
mad. It seemed to me impossible that what I saw
was really there, yet I could not see it except as e
isting. The cause of my surprise, as I have said,
was on a pier-table beneath a dull and specked
mirror.
I caught sight of my own reflection in this mirror,
and I may say that for once in my life I saw the
living image of stupefaction. But I made allow-
ances for myself, and approved of myself for being
stupefied by a stupefying thing. The object, at
which I was gazing with an^ astonishment not di-
minished by reflection, accepted the examination
without moving. The persistency and fixity of the
phenomenon excluded all idea of hallucination. I
am absolutely free from those nervous troubles
which affect the sight.! This is generally due to indi-
gestion, and thankTTeaven I have a good digestion.
Moreover, the illusions of sight are accompanied by
peculiar and abnormal conditions, which affect the
victims themselves, and inspire them with a sort of
terror. But I felt nothing of all this. And the ob-
98 THE CRIME OF
ject before me, although impossible in itself, appeared
to me under every condition of actual reality. I
noticed that it had three dimensions and color, and
that it cast a shadow. Ah ! How I watched it !
The tears came into my eyes, and I was obliged to
wipe my spectacles.
/ATlast I had to yield to the evidence, and confess
/that I saw before me the fairy of whom I had
dreamed the other evening in the library. It was
she ! I assure you it was she ! She still had her
child-queen air, that proud yet supple attitude. In
her hand she held her wand of hazel-wood. She
wore the two-horned hennin, and the train of her
brocade robe lay in serpentine folds about her little
feet. The same face and figure as before. It was
indeed she ; and to make assurance doubly sure, she
was seated on the back of a heavy old volume that
looked very much like the " Cosmography of Mun-
ster." Her immobility half reassured me ; but I
feared that she would again draw some nuts from
her purse, and throw the shells into my face.
I stood there, my arms raised, my mouth open,
when Madame de Gabry's laughing and musical
voice fell on my ear.
" So you are studying your fairy, are you, Mon-
sieur Bonnard ? " exclaimed my hostess. " Well,
do you see any resemblance ? 7'
It was said quickly; but in the meantime I had
time to see that my fairy was a statuette modelled
in colored wax, with evident feeling and taste, by the
hand of some amateur. But the phenomenon, thus
rationally explained, was still a surprise to me.
I ought S'ght of my own reflection in the mirror.
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 99
How and by whom had the lady of the " Cosmog-
raphy " come into plastic existence ? This was
what I had still to learn.
\ Turning to Madame de Gabry, I saw that she
was not alone. A young girl dressed in mourning
stood beside her. She had large, intelligent eyes,
of a gray as soft as the sky of the Isle de France,
and with an expression in them indicating both
strength and innocence. Her arms were somewhat
thin, her hands restless and small, and red as the
hands of a young girl usually are. In her merino
dress she looked like a young sapling. Her mouth
was large, indicating frankness. I cannot tell how
greatly this young girl pleased me at first glance.
She was not beautiful ; but she had three merry
dimples in her cheeks and chin, and her whole per-
son, though betraying the awkwardness of inexpe-
rience, had in it something strong and fine.
My eyes went from the statuette to the young
girl ; and I saw the latter blush, but frankly, deeply,
the blood rushing like a torrent over her face.
" Well," said my hostess, who, being accustomed
to my absent-mindedness, repeated her question,
" is that the lady who came in to see you through
the window which you left opene^Uf She was very
bold, but you were just as imprudent. Tell me, do
you recognize her ? "
!' It is her very self," I replied. " I see her once
more on this pier-table, just as I saw her on the
library table."
i " If that is so," replied Madame de Gabry, "the
(responsibility for this resemblance you may charge
100 THE CKIME OF
first to yourself, who for a man devoid of all imagi-
nation, as you say you are, can describe your dreams
so vividly; next to me, who remembered your dream,
and repeated it faithfully ; and lastly, and above all,
to Mademoiselle Jeanne, whom I present to you, and
who, following out my suggestions, modelled the wax
figure that you see."
As she spoke, Madame de Gabry took the young
girl's hand ; but Mademoiselle Jeanne tore herself
away, and was already down in the park, darting
away as if on wings.
" You silly girl ! " cried Madame de Gabry as she
ran. " Why be so shy ? Come back to be scolded
( and kissed ! "\
But no reply came, and the frightened bird disap-
peared within the shrubbery. Madame de Gabry
sat down in the only armchair the deserted room
possessed.
" I should be greatly surprised," said she, " if my
husband had not already spoken to you of Jeanne.
We love her deeply, and indeed she is a good girl.
Tell me frankly, what do you think of the statuette ? "
I replied that it showed taste and spirit, but that
the artist needed study and practice. But I was
greatly touched because her young fingers had
worked out an old man's rough sketch, and por-
trayed with such brilliancy an old dotard's dreams.
" My reason for asking your advice," gravely re-
sumed Madame de Gabry, " is because Jeanne is a
poor orphan. Do you think she could make hen
living by modelling statuettes like this one?"
" No; I do not," I replied. " And it is not to be
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. IOI
greatly regretted. You say the girl is affectionate
and gentle. I believe you. I see it in her face.
An artist's life has temptations which lead generous
spirits beyond proper rules and limits. This young
creature is moulded out of loving clay. Keep her
for the home and fireside. There alone is true hap-
piness."
"But she has no dowry!" replied Madame de
Gabry. Then, holding out her hand to me, she
added, " You are our friend, and I may tell you all.
This child's father was a banker, and a friend of
ours. He tried to engineer various colossal specu-
lations ; and this, in fact, was what ruined him. He
survived but a few months after his failure, in which
(Paul must have told you) three-fourths of my uncle's
fortune was sunk, and more than half of ours. /
" We knew him at Monaco the winter that we
spent with my uncle. He had an adventurous dis-
position, but so plausible! He deceived himself
before deceiving others. The greatest skill lies in
that, does it not? My uncle, my husband, and I
were drawn into ".; and we risked more than a rea-
sonable amou t in a dangerous speculation. But
what matte r , as Paul says/since we have no chil-
dren.J Moreover, we have the satisfaction of know-
ing tha_t .he friend in whom we trusted was an honest
man.f ^ ou must know his name, it was so constantly
in the j.apers and on posters, Noel Alexandre. His
wife w is very sweet. } I did not know her until she
-as already faded; but she still retained traces of
beauU', and a taste for great style and show that
well became her. She was somewhat fond of excite-
IO2 THE CRIME OF
ment, but she showed great courage and dignity
after her husband's death. jShe died a year later,
leaving Jeanne alone in the world."j
" Clementine ! " I exclaimed.
Upon hearing what I had never imagined, and
the mere thought of which would have roused to re-
bellion all the forces of my soul, on learning that
Clementine was no more on earth, a great silence,
as it were, took possession of me ; and the feeling
which swept over my whole being was not a sharp,
sudden pang, but a calm and solemn sadness. I
felt an indescribable peace, and my thoughts sud-
denly rose to heights unknown.
" From where you are to-day, Clementine," I said
to myself, " look down on this heart now grown cold
wjth years, but whose pulse once beat warmly for
you, and tell me if it does not again waken at the
thought of loving all that is left of you on earth.
All is over since you are gone ; but life is immortal,
and it is this we must love in itfe constantly renewed
form. The rest is child's play; and I, with my books,
am, as it were, a little boy playing with knuckle-
bones. O Clementine, you have revealed to me the
aim of life." Madame de Gabry roused me from
my reflections by the words,
" The child is poor."
" Clementine's daughter poor ! " I exclaimed.
"How fortunate that is! None other than I must
provide for her, and give her a dowry. No ! Clemen-
tine's daughter shall not receive a dowry from uny
one but me ! "
I approached Madame de Gabry, who had already
SYLVESTRE BONNAKD. 1 03
risen, and taking her right hand, I kissed it, laid it
upon my arm, and said, " Take me to the grave of
Noel Alexandre's widow." And I heard Madame
de Gabry say to me,
" Why are you weeping ? "
104 THE CRIME OF
LITTLE SAINT GEORGE.
April 16.
SAINT DROCTOVEUS and the early abbots of
Saint-Gemain-des-Pres have taken up my time and
attention for forty years, but I do not know whether
or not I shall write their history before I go to join
them. I have been an old man for many years.
One day last year, on the Pont des Arts, one of my
colleagues of the Institute was complaining to me of
the trials of growing old.
" Still," Sainte-Beuve answered him, " that is the
only way yet discovered of living long."
I have used this method, and I know what it is
worth. The pity lies, not in living too long, but in
seeing every one around us die. Mother, wife,
friends, children, Nature makes and unmakes these
divine treasures with calm indifference, and we find
that in the end we have been loving and embracing
mere shadows. But there are some very dear ones !
If ever any one glided like a shadow into a man's
life, it was the young girl whom I loved when (how
incredible it now is!) I was a young man. And the
memory of this shadow is even to-day one of the
dearest realities of my life.
A Christian sarcophagus from the catacombs of
Rome bears a form of curse, the dreadful meaning
of which I have learned to understand with time.
It reads:
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 10$
" If 'any wicked person violates this totnb, may he
die last of all his race /"
As an archaeologist I have opened tombs and re-
moved their ashes, in order to collect from them
shreds of cloth, metal ornaments, and various gems.
But I did this with a scientific curiosity, not lacking
reverence and pity. May the curse cut on the tomb
of a martyr, by one of the early disciples of the
apostles, never fall upon me ! I ought not to fear
lest I outlive my friends, so long as there are men
on earth, for there are always some whom one can
love.
But the power to love grows weak, and finally is
lost with age, like every other faculty of man. Ex-
ample proves it, and this is what frightens me. Am
I sure that I have not already suffered in this way ?
Certainly I should have done so, had not a happy
meeting rejuvenated me. The poets speak of the
Fountain of Youth. It exists; it bubbles under the
earth at our every step, and we pass without drink-
ing of it ! J
The young girl whom I loved, having been mar-
ried according to the dictates of her heart to a rival,
grew old, and entered into eternal rest. \\ have found
her daughter; so that my life, which was of no fur-
ther use, has once more acquired some meaning and
excuse.
To-day I " take the sun " as they say in Provence.
I take it on the terrace of the Luxembourg at the
foot of the statue of Marguerite of Navarre. It is
the sunshine of spring, as intoxicating as young
wine. I sit and ponder. My thoughts escape from
IO6 THE CRIME OF
my head like the foam on a beer-bottle. They are
light, and their sparkles amuse me. I am dreaming.
This, I think, is allowable in a man who has pub-
lished thirty volumes of old texts, and contributed
for twenty-six, years to the Journal des Savants. I
have the satisfaction of knowing that I did my task
as well as I could, and of having fully exercised the
ordinary talents with which nature endowed me.
My efforts have not been entirely in vain, and I have
contributed my small share to the number of his-
toric works which will be an honor to this restless
century. I shall surely be counted among the ten
or twelve who have revealed to France her literary
antiquities. My publication of the poetic works of
Gautier de Coincy inaugurated a judicious system,
and made an epoch. The severe serenity of old
age makes it permissible for me to claim this de
served reward ; and God, who sees my heart, knows
whether pride or vanity has any part in the justice
I render myself.
But I am weary, my eyes are dim, my hand trem-
bles, and I see an image of myself in those old men
of Homer, who, by reason of their feebleness, were
out of the combats, and who, seated along the ram-
parts, raised their voices like cicalas in a bower.
Thus my thoughts were roaming, when three
young men sat down near T&&.-JL do not know
whether each came in three pal'Pd'frx, Tike La Fon-
taine's monkey, but the three certainly sat down on
a dozen chairs ! I took great pleasure in watching
them, not that there was anything extraordinary
about them, but because they had that happy, joy-
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. IO?
ous air that belongs to youth. They were college
men ; I was sure of it, perhaps less from the books
in their hands than from the character of their faces^J
\Fpr all who devote themselves to intellectual pur-
suits are recognizable at first sight by an indescrib-
able something which is common to all of them. |l
am very fond of young people ; and these pleased
me, in spite of certain wild and annoying ways that
vividly recalled my own student days. But they did
not wear their hair long, as we did, over velvet
doublets. They did not walk, as we did, with a
death's head, or cry out, as we did, " Hell and dam-
nation ! " They were correctly dressed, and neither
their costume nor their language was at all sugges-
tive of the Middle Ages.
I must add that they had keen eyes for the women
who passed on the terrace, and that they showed
their admiration of some of them in rather lively
language. But their ideas on this subject did not
go so far as to compel me to leave my seat. Be-
sides, when young men are studious, I do not grudge
them their fun.
One of them made a witty remark about some
girl :
" What's that ? " cried the smallest and darkest of
the three, with a slight Gascon accent. " Let us
physiologists occupy ourselves with living matter.
And you, Ge*lis, who, like all your archaeological
friends, live only in the past, why don't you occupy
yourself with those stone women who are your con-
temporaries ? "
He pointed across to thq statues of the ladies of
IO8 THE CRIME OF
ancient France that rose in a white semicircle under
the trees along the terrace. This by-play, trifling
in itself, showed me at least that the one called
Ge"lis was a student in the ficole . des Chartes.
From the rest of the conversation, I learned that his
silent, sarcastic neighbor, light complexioned and as
pale as a shadow, was Boulmier, his fellow-student.
Gelis and the future doctor (I hope he may become
one some day) talked together with much liveliness
and wit. In the midst of the most serious specula-
tions, they played on words and perpetrated jokes
after the absurd style characteristic of wits I mean
they got off prodigious absurdities. I need not add,
need I, that they scorned to maintain anything but
the most colossal paradoxes.) They used all their
imagination to make themselves ridiculous, and all
their logic to support the opposite of common-sense.
(_Gpod for them ! ) I do not like young people to be
too sensible.
The medical student looked at the book that
Boulmier had in his hand.
"What," said he, "you. reading Michelet!"
" Yes," replied Boulmier seriously ; " I like novels."
Gdlis, who excelled the others by his handsome,
slender figure, his imperious bearing and ready flow
01 words, took the book, glanced over a few pages,
and said, J
" Michelet has always had a tendency for the ro-
mantic. He shed sentimental tears over Maillard,
that nice little man who introduced scribbling into
the massacres of September. But, as tenderness
leads to madness, behold him suddenly grown furi-
SYLVESTKE BONNARD.
ous at his victims. What can you expect? This is
modern sentimentality. We pity the assassin, and
consider the victim as unpardonable. In his later
manner, Michelet has become more Michelet than
ever. It no longer has any common-sense in it. It
is amazing! Neither art nor science, neither criti-
cism nor narrative. [Only outbursts of anger, faint-
ing-fits, an epileptic seizure, on account of facts which
he never deigns to expound, j Infantile shrieks, wo-
man's unreasonable cravings, and a style, my friends,
with never a familiar commonplace in it ! (jj is as-
tonishing ! "
He returned the book to his friend.
" Their fun is amusing," said I to myself, " and not
so devoid of reason as it seems. This young man,
in his jesting way, has keenly hit the weak point in
the armor."
But the student from Provence declared that his-
tory was nothing but a despicable and thoroughly
rhetorical study. His idea was that the only real
history was the natural history of man. Michelet
was on the right road when he came upon the fistula
of Louis XIV., but he fell back almost immediately
into the old rut.
Having given expression to this wise idea, the
young physiologist rose, and joined a group of pass-
ing friends. The two archaeological students, having
fewer acquaintances in the garden, it was a long
distance from the rue Paradis-?u-Marais, remained
behind, and began talking of their studies. Ge'lis,
who was near the end of his third year, was prepar-
ing a thesis, the subject of which he told with boy-
IIO THE CRIME OF
ish enthusiasm. The subject seemed to me a good
one, especially as I had recently thought it my duty
to treat a notable part of it. It was the Monasti-
ciun gallicanum.
The young erudite (I give him this name as an
omen) was planning to mention all the plates en-
graved about 1690 for the work that Dom Michel
Germain would have had published had it not been
for the one single obstacle that one scarcely ever
foresees, and never avoids.
Dom Michel Germain at least left his manuscript
complete and in good order when he died. Shall I
do as much with mine? But that is not the ques-
tion.
Monsieur Ge'lis, so far as I could understand, pro-
posed to consecrate an archaeological notice to each
abbey pictured by the humble engravers of Dom
Michel Germain.
His companion asked him if he was acquainted
with all the manuscripts and publications relating
to the subject. Then, indeed, I strained my ears to
listen. They spoke first of original sources; and I
must say that they did it systematically enough, in
spite of their countless and wretched puns. Then
they mentioned the works of contemporary criticism.
" Have you read," asked Boulmier, " the notice of
Courajod ? "
" Good ! " said I to myself.
" Yes," answered G^lis ; " it is correct."
" Have you read the\ article by Tamisey de Lar-
roque in the Review of Historical Questions ? "
asked Boulmier.
SYLVESTRE BONPfAJ*D>^ HI
" Good ! " said I to myself a second time".
" Yes," answered Ge'lis ; " and it is full of infdrma"^
tion."
" Have you read," asked Boulmier, "the 'Picture
of the Historical Abbeys of the Benedictines in
1600,' by Sylvestre Bonnard?"
" Good ! " I exclaimed a third time.
" Mercy, no ! " replied Ge'lis. " Bonnard is a
fool."
I turned my head, and saw that night's shadows
were creeping over where I sat. The air was grow-
ing damp, and I thought myself very foolish to risk
taking cold while listening to the impertinent re-
marks of two young coxcombs.
" Ha ! Ha ! " said I to myself, as I rose. " Let
this young chatterbox write his thesis and support
it. He will find that my colleague Quicherat, or some
other professor of the school, will show him his crass
ignorance. I have good reason to call him a black-
guard ; and really, in thinking of the matter as I do
now, what he said about Michelet is intolerable and
outrageous. The idea ! To speak in such a way
of an old master so full of genius. It is abomi-
nable ! "
Afril 17.
" TheVcse, give me my new hat, my best coat, and
my silver-headed cane."
But Thdrese is as deaf as a coal-sack, and as
slow as justice. Age is the cause of it. The worst
of it is, that she thinks l.er hearing good and her
steps agile ; moreover, she is proud of her sixty
I I 2 WTHE CRIME OF
yp'ars of honest housekeeping, and she serves her
old master with the most watchful despotism.
What did I say ? . . . Here she is unwilling
to give me my silver-headed cane, for fear of my
osing it. It is true that I quite frequently leave
umbrellas and sticks in the 'buses and book-shops.
But I have a good reason to-day for carrying my old
cane, the carved silver head of which represents
Don Quixote galloping with poised lance against
the wind-mills, while Sancho Panza, his arms raised
to heaven, begs him in vain to stop.
This cane is all that I inherited from my uncle,
Captain Victor, who in his lifetime resembled Don
Quixote rather than Sancho Panza, and who loved
blows as naturally as one usually fears them. For
thirty years I have carried this cane on every mem-
orable or solemn walk I have taken, and the two
figures of the knight and the squire inspire and con-
sole me. I can almost hear them. Don Quixote
says to me,
" Think deeply of serious things, and know that
thought is the only reality in the world. Lift nature
up to your own height, and let the whole world be
for you but the reflection of your heroic spirit.
Fight for honor this alone is worthy of a man;
and if you are wounded, spill your blood like gener-
ous dew, and smile."
And Sancho Panza says in turn,
" Remain what Heaven made you, brother ! Pre-
fer the crust of bread drying in your wallet to the
ortolans that are roasting in the duke's kitchen.
Obey your master, whether he be wise or foolish,
1 1
and 'do not load your brain with too many useless
facts. Fear blows ; 'tis tempting God to seek
danger."
But if the incomparable knight and his unparal-
leled squire exist as merely figures on the head of my
cane, they themselves are in my innermost conscience.
All of us have a Don Quixote and a Sancho within
us, to whom we listen ; and even while Sancho per-
suades us, it is Don Quixote whom we must admire.
But a truce to this nonsense ! Let us go to Ma-
dame de Gabry about a matter which is of more
importance than the ordinary affairs of life.
The tame day,
I found Madame de Gabry dressed in black, and
just buttoning her gloves.
" I am ready," said she.
Ready ! I have always found her so, on every
occasion for doing good.
After a few pleasant words regarding the good
health of her husband, who had gone for a walk,
we went down-stairs, and stepped into the carriage.
I know not what secret spell I feared to break by
speaking ; but we drove without a word along the
wide, deserted boulevard, studying the shops where
crosses, gravestones, and funeral-wreaths were wait-
ing for their purchaser. The cab stopped at the
final bourn of the land of the living, before the
gate, on which are graven words of hope.
" Follow me," said Madame de Gabry, whose
height I now noticed fov the first time. We went
down a walk bordered by cypress-trees, then fol-
114 THE CRIME OF
lowed a narrow path between the tombs. Finally
we stopped in front of a flat stone.
" It is here," said she ; and she knelt down.
In spite of myself I could not help noticing the
unconsciously graceful way in which this Christian
woman fell on her knees, letting the folds of her
gown spread about her as they chanced. With the
exception of two Polish exiles one evening in a de-
serted church of Paris, never had I seen any woman
kneel so unaffectedly, and in such utter lack of self-
consciousness.
The picture flashed through my mind like lighten-
ing ; and then I saw nothing but the low slab on
which was cut the name CLEMENTINE. What
I felt was something profound and intangible and
inexpressible, unless by the sound of exquisite music.
I I heard instruments of a celestial sweetness mak-
ing melody in my old heart. With the solemn tones
of a funeral hymn were mingled the muted notes of
a love-song, for into the same feeling my soul min-
gled the solemn sadness of the present and the well-
known graces of the past. I
I cannot say whether or not we had been before
the tomb of Cldmentine for long, when Madame
de Gabry rose. We crossed the cemetery without
speaking, but when we were once more among living
men my tongue became unfettered.
V' As I followed you," I said to Madame de Gabry,
" I was thinking of those legendary angels whom
one meets on the mysterious borders of life and
death. The grave to whirh you have taken me
and I was as ignorant of it as of almost all else
SYLVESTKE BOXKARD. 11$
concerning her whom it covers recalled certain
unparalleled emotions of existence, comparable in
the dulness of this life to a light on a dark road.
The farther one goes, the farther away is the gleam.
I am almost at the foot of the last slope, and yet I
see the light as distinctly as ever every time I look
back..
il You, madame, who knew Clementine as she
was, with white hair, a wife and mother, you cannot
imagine her as she was when I saw her, a fair-haired
young girl, with cheeks like roses and skin so white !
Since you have been good enough to be my guide,
I think I should tell you, de^ar madame, what feel-
ings this grave aroused. I Recollections are crowd-
ing into my heart. I am like an old, gnarled, and
moss-grown oak, which sways its branches, and
awakens nests of singing birds. Unfortunately the
song of my birds is as old as the world, and can
amuse no one but myself."y
f'Tell me your recollections," said Madame de
GabryJ " I cannot read your books, for they are
written for scholars ; but I like to listen when you
talk, because you make the most ordinary things
in life interesting. Speak to me as if I were an old
woman. PFhis morning I found three white hairs
on my head."]
"Behold them come without regret, madame," M
said I. - "Time deals gently only with those who
take it gently. And when, in a few years, a light
silver foam will float on the ripples of your dark
hair, you will be clothed in a new beauty, less vivid,
but more touching than the first, and you will see
I 1 6 THE CRIME OF
that your husband will love your white hair just as
much as he did the black curl which you gave him
when he married you, and which he wears in a locket,
as if it were something sacred. These boulevards
are wide and but little frequented. We can talk^.t
our ease as we drive along. I will tell you first how
I became acquainted with Clementine's father. But
pray expect nothing extraordinary, nothing remark-
able; for if you do you will be greatly disappointed.^
["""Monsieur de Lessay occupied the second story
or an old house on the Avenue de 1'Observatoire.
The plaster facade, ornamented with antique busts,
and the great rambling garden near it, were the first
images that stamped themselves on my childish
eyes, and in all probability they will be the last
which, when the inevitable day arrives, will fade
from under my heavy lids. For in this house I was
born. In this garden I played, and learned to feel
and know some fragments of this old universe.
Happy hours ! sacred hours ! when the pure soul
discovers the world revealing itself by a kindly light
and with a mysterious charm. For, madame, the
universe is but the reflection of our own soul."^
" My mother was a being happily endowed. She
rose with the sun, like the birds ; and she resembled
them by her domestic industry, by her maternal in-
stinct, by the necessity which she felt to be always
singing, and by a sort of graceful abruptness, all of
which I thoroughly appreciated, though I was only
a child. She was the soul of the house, filling it
with her well-regulated and happy energy. My
father was as slow as she was sprightly. I well re-
SYLVESTKE BONNARD. I I/
call his placid face, over which now and then would
pass an ironical smile. He was weary, and he loved
his weariness. Seated near the window in his deep
armchair, he used to read from morning till night.
From him I inherited my love of books. I have in
my library a Mably and a Raynal which he anno-
tated with his own hand from beginning to end.
But it was not to be expected that he would trouble
himself about practical affairs. When my mother
strove by gentle tact to draw him out from his indif-
ference, he shook his head with that inexorable
sweetness which is the strength of weak characters.
He was the despair of the poor woman who had no
manner of sympathy with this contemplative wisdom,
and understood nothing of life but its daily cares
and the happy work of each hour. She thought he
was ill, and feared that he would grow worse. But
his apathy arose from another cause.
' My father entered the navy department under
Monsieur Decres in 1801, and showed marked talent
as administrator. There was a great activity at that
time in connection with the navy, and in 1805 my
father became chief of the second administrative
division. That year the emperor, to whom he had
been recommended by the minister, ordered him to
draw up a report on. the organization of the English-
navy. This work was stamped with a deeply lib-
eral and philosophical spirit, though the writer him-
self was not aware of the fact. It was not finished
until 1807, about eighteen months after the defeat
of Admiral Villeneuve at Trafalgar. Napoleon, who
after that ill-fated day never again wished to hear
Il8 THE CRIME OF
a ship mentioned, wrathfully glanced over the pages,
and then threw the report into the fire, crying,
' Phrases, nothing but phrases. I have already said
that I do not like ideologists ! ' They brought back
word to my father that the emperor was so angry
that he had ground the manuscript down into the fire
with his boot. At all events, it was his habit when
he was irritated to poke the fire with his. boot until
the very sole was scorched.
" My father never recovered from this disgrace,
and the failure of all his efforts to do his duty was
certainly the cause of the apathy into which he fell
later. Nevertheless, Napoleon, on his return from
the Island of Elba, sent for him, and ordered him
to draw up, in a patriotic and liberal spirit, procla-
mations and bulletins for the fleet. After Waterloo,
my father, more saddened than surprised, went into
retirement, and was left unmolested. Only it was
generally said of him that he was Jacobin and
blood-thirsty, a man to be avoided.
" My mother's elder brother, Victor Maldent, cap-
tain of infantry, retired on half pay in 1814 and dis-
missed in 1815, added, by his wrong attitude, to the
difficulties which the fall of the emperor had brought
on my father. Captain Victor noised it about in
the cafe's and in public balls that the Bourbons had
sold France to the Cossacks. He showed every one
a tricolored cockade that was hidden in his hat-
lining ; he carried with great ostentation a cane, the
twisted handle of which had been wrought so that
the shadow it made was the silhouette of the em-
peror.
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. I 19
'Unless, madame, you have seen certain litho-
graphs by Charlet, you can form no idea of my uncle
" Victor, and how he looked in his tight-fitting frogged
coat, with the cross of honor and some violets on his
chest, as he strolled up and down the garden of the
Tuileries with that fierce dignity of his. Idleness
and intemperance had the worst possible effect on
his political passions. He used to insult people
whom he saw reading the Quotidienne or the Dra-
peau blanc, and force them to fight with him. In
this way he had the grief and shame of wounding a
lad only sixteen years old in a duel. In short, my
uncle Victor was the opposite of a wise man ; and as
he used every day to come to our house for his
breakfast and dinner, his evil reputation clung to our
fireside. My poor father suffered deeply from the
eccentricity of his guest ; but as he was kind-hearted,
he said nothing, and opened his house to the captain,
who despised him cordially in return.
" What I am telling you now, madame, I learned
later. At that time my uncle filled me with the
greatest enthusiasm, and I determined that some
day I would be as much like him as possible. One
fine morning, in order to begin the desired resem-
blance, I struck an attitude, my hands on my hips,
and swore like an infidel.
" My good mother gave me such a stinging slap
on my cheek, that for a moment I stood perfectly
stupefied, before bursting into tears. I can still see
the armchair, covered with yellow Utrecht velvet, be-
hind which that day I shed countless tears.
" 1 was at that time a very little fellow. One
I2O THE CRIME OF
morning my father raised me in his arms as was his
habit, and smiled at me with that touch of irony
which gave a piquant look to his gentle expression.
While I sat on his knees, playing with his long white
hair, he told me things which I did not understand
very well, but which interested me deeply, simply
because they were mysterious. I think, although I
am not positive, that on that morning he was telling
me the story of the little King of Yvetot, as we find
it in the song. Suddenly we heard a great noise,
and the windows rattled. My father let me slip to
his feet, and with trembling arms uplifted, he shook
his fists. His face was pallid and lifeless looking, his
eyes preternaturally large. He strove to speak,
but his teeth chattered. At last he muttered, ' They
have shot him ! ' I did not know what he meant,
and I felt a vague terror. Afterwards I learned
that he was speaking of Marshal Ney, killed on the
7th of December, 1815, beneath the wall which en-
closed an empty lot adjoining our house.
" About this time I often used to meet on the
stairs an old man (he was not so very old perhaps),
whose little black eyes shone with wonderful bright-
ness from his calm, swarthy face. To me he did
not seem alive, or at least it did not seem as if he
were alive like other men. At Monsieur Denon's,
where my father had taken me* I had seen a
mummy, brought from Egypt ; and I really thought
that Monsieur Denon's mummy awoke when it was
alone, crept out of its gilded case, put on a drab-
colored coat and a powdered wig, and that then it
became Monsieur de Lessay. And even to-day, my
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 121
dear madame, although I repel the idea as without
foundation, I must confess that Monsieur de Lessay
greatly resembled Monsieur Denon's mummy. This
is equivalent to saying that this man was an object
of terror and at the same time of fascination to me.
In reality, Monsieur de Lessay was a small gen-
tleman and a great philosopher. A disciple of
Mably and Rousseau, he flattered himself that he
was unprejudiced, and this pretension was in itself
a great prejudice.} He detested fanaticism, but he
possessed that of tolerance. ^1 speak, madame, of
a contemporary of a bygone age. I fear that I may
not be understood, and I am sure that I do not in-
terest you. It is all so far away from us ! But I
am abridging as much as possible. Besides, I did
not promise you anything interesting, and you could
not expect to hear of great adventures in the life
of Sylvestre Bonnard."
Madame de Gabry begged me to go on, and I did
so in these words :
" Monsieur de Lessay was curt with men and cour-
teous to women. He used to kiss my mother's hand,j
[_tliough she was not accustomed to such gallantry,
the customs of the Republic and the Empire being
very different. Through him I touched the age oi
Louis XVI. /Monsieur de Lessay was a geographerjj
and no one, TbelieVe, was prouder than he to dis-
cuss the face of the earth. Under the Ancient Re"-
gime he had done something in agriculture from a
philosophical standpoint, and in this way consumed
his estates to their last acre. No longer having an
inch of land left to call his own, he took possession
122 THE CRIME OF
of the whole earth, and made a wonderful number
of maps, based on the accounts of travellers.
"But as he had been nourished on the purest
marrow of the encyclopaedia, he was not satisfied
with enclosing human beings within so many degrees,
minutes, and seconds of latitude and longitude. He
looked after their happiness, alas ! It is noticeable,
madame, that men who have looked after the hap-
piness of people in general have made their own
household very unhappy^-?' 1 Monsieur de Lessay, a
greater geometrician than Dalembert, a greater
philosopher than Jean-Jacques,|was yet a greater
royalist than Louis XVIII. But his love for the
king was nothing in comparison to his hatred for
the emperor. He took part in the conspiracy of
Georges against the First Consul ; but the court,
having forgotten him, or thinking him of no conse-
quence, he was not included in the list of the guilty.
He never forgave Bonaparte for this insult ; and he
called him the Ogre of Corsica, to whom, he said, he
would never intrust a regiment, because he found
him such a contemptible soldier.
"In 1820 Monsieur de Lessay, who had been a
widower for many years, married again, at the age
of nearly sixty. His wife was a very young woman,
and he set her to work, without mercy, on his maps.
After a few years of marriage, she died in giving
birth to a daughter. My mother nursed her in her
short illness, and saw that the child wanted nothing.
This child was named Clementine.
" The relations of my family with Monsieur de
Lessay begin with that birth and that death. As I
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 12$
was just then emerg'ng from the first years of child-
Iiood, I was beginning to grow big and stupid. I
lost the charming gift of insight and feeling. Things
no longer caused me the delightful surprise that is
t'.ie charm of youth. So I have no remembrance of
the years which followed the birth of Clementine. I
know only that within a few months I experienced
a grief, the mere thought of which still makes my
heart ache. I lost my mother. A great silence, a
great coldness, and a great shadow, suddenly filled
our home.
" I fell into a sort of stupor. My father sent me
to college, but I had great difficulty in rousing my-
self from my torpor.
" However, I was not altogether an idiot, and
my professors taught me almost all they thought
necessary; that is, a little Greek, and much Latin.
I had no acquaintances, except with the ancients. I
learned to esteem Miltiades, and to admire Themis-
tocles; became familiar with Quintus Fabius, so far
as any one could be familiar with such a great con-
sul. Proud of these lofty relationships, I no longer
condescended to look at little Clementine and her
old father ; besides, they set out one fine day for
Normandy, nor did I give a thought to their return.
" But they did return, madame, they did return ! '
Ye Influences of Heaven, ye Forces of Nature, ye
Mysterious Powers that give to man the ability to
love, you know how I again saw Clementine ! They
entered our sad home. Monsieur de Lessay no lon-
ger wore a wig. Bald, with a few grizzled locks on
his purple temples, he looked the picture of robust
124 THE CRIME or
old age. But the beautiful, glow ing creature whom
I saw on his arm, and whose presence lighted up
our old faded drawing-room, was not a vision no !
it was Clementine ! I am telling the truth. Her
blue eyes, blue as the flowers of the periwinkle,
seemed to- me supernatural ; and even to-day I can-
not believe that those two living gems can have suf-
fered the trials of life and the decay of death. She
was somewhat embarrassed when she met my father,
for she did not recognize him. Her cheeks had
a soft, becoming color ; and her parted lips wore a
smile that made one think of the Infinite, probably
because it betrayed no particular thought, and ex-
pressed only the joy of living and the delight of be-
ing beautiful. Her face shone beneath a pink hood
like a jewel in an open casket. She wore a cache-
mire shawl over a white muslin dress, which was
plaited at the waist, and which came to the tops of
her reddish-brown boots. Do not smile, madame ;
that was the style then, and I am not sure if our
modern fashions have as much simplicity, fresh-
ness, and graceful propriety.
(^ Monsieur de Lessay told us, that, as he had be-
gun the publication of an historical atlas, he in-
tended to live in Paris once more, and would be
glad to re-occupy his old apartment if it was vacant.
My father asked Mademoiselle de Lessay if she was
glad to be in the capital. Yes, she was ; for she
smiled still more radiantly. She smiled at the win-
dows that opened on the shining green garden;
she smiled at the bronze Marius seated among the
ruins of Carthage on the top of the clock ; she
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 125
smiled on the old yellow velvet chairs, and on the
poor student who dared not lift his eyes to her.
From that day, how I loved her !
" But here we are in the rue de Sevres, and soon
we shall see your windows. I am a poor story-teller ;
and if ever I were to try the impossible and under-
take a novel, I should never succeed. I have spun
out a long introduction for a story which I am going
to tell you in a few words ; for there is a certain
delicacy, a certain feeling of the heart, that would
be shocked by an old man calmly enlarging upon
the sentiments of even the most innocent love.
" Let us drive for a few moments along this bou-
levard, with its row of convents, and my story will
be finished by the time we reach that little steeple
yondej>
x ^* t Monsieur de Lessay, learning that I was just fin-
ishing my studies at the Ecole des Charles, thought
me capable of working with him on his historical
atlas. The point at issue was to determine, on a se-
ries of maps, what this philosophic graybeard called
4 the vicissitudes of empires ' from Noah down to
Charlemagne. Monsieur de Lessay had stored away
in his head every error of the eighteenth century
concerning antiquities.
" As to history, I belonged to the new and ad-
vanced school, and was at an age when one does not
know how to pretend. The way in which the old
man understood, or rather failed to understand, the
barbarous ages, his obstinacy in seeing in remote
antiquity, ambitious princes, hypocritical and cov-
etous priests, virtuous citizens, poet-philosophers and
1-26 THE CRIME OF
others, who never existed save in the romances of
Marmontel, caused me great unhappiness, and in-
spired me at first to raise every sort of objection,
reasonable, no doubt, but perfectly useless, and
at times dangerous. Monsieur de Lessay was very
irascible, and Clementine was very beautiful. Be-
tween the two I spent hours of torture and delight.
I was in love ; I was a coward ; and soon I conceded
to him all that he demanded regarding the histori-
cal and political figure that this earth, destined later
to bear Clementine, offered in the time of Abraham,
Menes, and Deucalion.
"As we finished drawing the maps, Mademoiselle
de Lessay tinted them in water-colors. Leaning
over the table, she held her brush between two fin-
gers ; a shadow fell from her eyelashes upon her
cheeks, and bathed her half-closed eyes in a soft
shade. Occasionally she would raise her head, and
I saw her parted lips. There was such expression
in her beauty that she could not breathe without
seeming to sigh, and her most ordinary movements
filled my soul with dreamy ecstasy. As I gazed at
her, I agreed with Monsieur de Lessay that Jupiter
ruled once as a despot over the mountainous regions
of Thessaly, and that Orpheus was unwise in in-
trusting to the clergy the teaching of philosophy.
To this day I do not know whether I was a coward
or a hero when I yielded these points to the obsti-
nate old man.
" Mademoiselle de Lessay, I must confess, did
not pay much attention to me. But her indifference
seemed so reasonable and so natural that I did not
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 12
think of complaining about it. I suffered on ac-
count of it, but unconsciously I was full of hope.
Wewere then only at the first Assyrian Empire.
/* Monsieur de Lessay came every evening for a
cup of coffee with my father. I cannot understand
in what way they were congenial, for never were two
natures so completely opposed to each other. My
father had few admirations and a forgiving soul.
As he grew older, he came to hate all exaggeration.
He clothed his ideas with a thousand delicate shades,
and never stated an opinion save with all sorts of
reservations.
" These habits of a gentle mind roused the dry,
hard old gentleman whom moderation in an adver-
sary never disarmed quite the contrary ! I scented
danger; the danger was Napoleon. My father cher-
ished no affection for him ; but having worked under
his orders, he did not like to hear him abused, espe-
cially to the advantage of the Bourbons, against
whom he had deep grievances.
" Monsieur de Lessay, more of a Voltairean and a
legitimist than ever, credited Bonaparte with being 4
the source of every political, social, and religious
evil. Tin this state of affairs Captain Victor was my
greatest anxiety. That dreadful uncle of mine had
grown perfectly intolerable since his sister was no
longer there to quiet him. The harp of David was\
broken, and Saul was given over to his madness.
The fall of Charles X. augmented the old Bonapart-
ist's audacity, and he did all sorts of wild things.
He seldom came to our house, for it had grown too
gloomy for him ; but occasionally at dinner-time we
THE CRIME OF
t
saw him come in, covered with flowers, like a mau-
soleum. Usually he sat down to table swearing in
his deep voice, and, as he ate, boasting of the success
which, as an old veteran warrior, he had enjoyed with
the ladies. Then, when dinner was finished, he would
fold up his napkin in the shape of a bishop's bon-
net, swallow half a decanter of brandy, and take his
departure as hastily as if he feared to spend, with-
out drinking, even a moment alone with an old phi-
losopher and a young scholar. I knew well enough
that if ever he should meet Monsieur de Lessay, all
would be lost.
" The day came, madame !
" On that occasion the captain was quite hidden
by his flowers, and looked so much like a monument
erected in memory of the glories of the Empire that
any one would have longed to put a wreath of im-
mortelles on each of his arms. He was in unusu-
ally good humor ; and the first person who benefited
by his happy disposition was the cook, whom he
seized about the waist just as she was placing the
roast on the table.
" After dinner he pushed aside the decanter offered
him, saying that he would burn the brandy in his
coffee. I asked him tremblingly if he would not
rather have his coffee at once. My uncle Victor
was suspicious and by no means dull. The haste
which I displayed seemed to him in poor taste; for
he looked hard at me, and said,
"'Patience, nephew. It is not the place of the
child of the regiment to sound the retreat. The
devil ! You are in great haste, Master Pedant, to
see if I have spurs on my heels.'
SYLVESTRE BOKNARD. 12Q
" It was evident that the captain had suspected
that I wanted him to go. Knowing this, I was cer-
tain that he would stay, and he did ! The slightest
details of that evening are indelibly impressed on
my memory. My uncle was perfectly jovial. The \
mere idea of his being in the way kept him in good
humor. He told us in fine barracks' style, ma foi,
about a monk, a trumpeter, and five bottles of Cham-
bertin a story that would be greatly enjoyed in a
garrison, but which I would not attempt to tell you,
madame, even if I had the time to recall it. When
we went into the drawing-room, the captain called
our attention to the bad condition of our andirons,
and discoursed in a knowing way on the use of trip-
oli for polishing brass. Not a word of politics. He
was conducting himself cautiously. Eight o'clock
struck from the ruins of Carthage. It was time for
Monsieur de Lessay to arrive. A few moments
later he entered the room with his daughter. The
evening's usual routine began. Clementine occu-
pied herself with her embroidery near the lamp, the
shade of which enveloped her pretty head with soft
shadow, and threw a light upon her fingers that
made them almost luminous. Monsieur de Lessay
spoke of a comet predicted by the astronomers, and
advanced some theories which, though they were ex-
travagant, showed some intellectual culture. My
father, who knew considerable about astronomy, ex- ^
pressed a few sensible ideas, ending with his eternal,
* But what do I know, after all ? '
"In my turn I gave the opinion of our neighbor
in the observatory, the well-known Arago. Uncle
I3O THE CRIME OF
Victor declared that comets have an influence on
the quality of wines, and in order to uphold his the-
ory, cited a rollicking tavern story. I was so pleased
with this conversation, that, calling to my aid my
latest readings, I strove to prolong it by a lengthy
exposition of the chemical constitution of the clus-
ters of nebulae which, scattered through celestial
space for millions of leagues, could be contained in
a bottle. My father, somewhat surprised at my elo-
quence, looked at me with that calm, ironical ex-
pression of his. But we cannot always be in the
clouds. Then, while my eyes rested on Clementine,
I spoke of a comet of diamonds that I had admired
the night before in a jeweller's showcase. This was
a most unfortunate inspiration on my part.
" ' My dear nephew,' cried Captain Victor, ' your
comet was not equal to that which sparkled on the
head of the Empress Josephine when she came to
Strasbourg to distribute crosses to the army.'
" ' That little Josephine was very fond of jewelry,'
said Monsieur de Lessay between two sips of coffee,
' and I do not blame her. There was some good
in her, frivolous as she was. She was a Tascher,
and it was a great honor to Buonaparte when she
married him. A Tascher is not much, but a Buona-
parte is nothing at all.'
/' ' What do you mean by that, Monsieur le Mar-
quis ? ' demanded Captain Victor.
" ' I am no marquis,' dryly replied Monsieur de
Lessay; 'and what I mean is, that Buonaparte
would have been well matched had he married one
of those cannibal women Captain Cook describes
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 131
in his voyages, naked, tattooed, a ring in her nose,
and in the habit of devouring with ecstasy decayed
human bodies.'
" I knew it, thought I to myself, and in my anguish
(oh poor human heart ! ) my first thought was to no-
tice the correctness of my predictions. I must say
that the captain's reply had in it a touch of sublim-
ity. Placing his hands on his hips, he measured
Monsieur de Lessay scornfully from head to foot,
and said,
" ' Napoleon, sir, 1 had another wife besides Jose-
phine and Marie Louise. You are not acquainted
with this companion, but I have seen her close at
hand. She wears an azure mantle dotted with
stars ; she is crowned with laurels ; the cross of
honor sparkles on her breast. Her name is Glory.'
" Monsieur de Lessay put his cup on the mantel-
piece, and said quietly,
" ' Your Buonaparte was a scoundrel.'
" My father rose calmly, and slowly raising his
hands, said very gently to Monsieur de Lessay,
" ' Whatever the man may have been who died at
Saint Helena, I worked ten years in his government,
and my brother-in-law was thrice wounded under his
eagles. I beg you, my dear sir, my friend, not to
forget this in future.'
"That which the captain's lofty and burlesque
impertinences could not do, my father's courteous
remonstrance accomplished at once, it made
Monsieur de Lessay furiously angry.
1 In the original the captain calls his opponent " Monsieur
le Vidame" (Vidamf, a sprig of nobility) in contradistinction
to his former use of the title marquis.
132 THE CRIME OF
" ' I forgot,' cried he, livid with rage, his teeth
clinched, his lips foaming ; ' I was wrong. The her-
ring-cask always smells .of herring ; and when one
ha^ been in the service of scoundrels '
^At this word the captain sprang at his throat.
Had it not been for his daughter and me, I think
be would have been choked to death. My father,
somewhat paler than usual, stood with folded arms,
watching the spectacle with an indescribable ex-
pression of pity. What followed was sadder still
but of what use is it to dwell on the anger of
two old men ? At last I succeeded in separating
them. Monsieur de Lessay beckoned to his daugh-
ter, and went out. She followed him. I ran to the
stairs after her.
" Mademoiselle,' I cried, distracted, pressing her
hand, ' I love you ! I love you ! '
" For an instant she held my hand in hers, her
lips half opened. What was she going to say ?
But all at once, raising her eyes to her father, who
was ascending the stairs, she withdrew her hand,
and made me a gesture of farewell. I never saw
her again. Her father took rooms near the Pan-
the"on, in an apartment which he had rented for the
sale of his historical atlas. He died there a few
months later from a stroke of apoplexy. His daugh-
ter, I was told, went to live at Caen with an aged
lady, a relative of hers. There, some years later, she
married a bank-clerk, the Noel Alexandre who be-
came so rich and died so poor. As for me, madame,
I live alone in peace by myself. My life, free from
great sorrows as well as from great joys, has been
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 133
tolerably happy. But for years I could not, with-
out a great pang at heart, see an empty armchair
near mine on a winter evening. Last year I heard
through you, who knew her, of her old age and
death. I met her daughter at your house. I have
seen her ; but I will not say as yet, as did the aged
man of the Scriptures, ' And now, O Lord, lettest
thou thy servant depart in peace.' If an old fellow
like me can be of use to any one, I should like, with
your help, to devote my last years to this orphan
girl."
I uttered these words on the vestibule of Ma-
dame de Gabry's home; and I was about to take
leave of this kind friend, when she said to me,
" Dear friend, I cannot aid you in this as much
as I could wish. Jeanne is an orphan and a minor.
You cannot do anything for her without her guard-
ian's consent"
"Ah ! I never thought for an instant that Jeanne
might have a guardian."
Madame de Gabry looked at me with ill-concealed
surprise. She had not expected to find the old man
quite so simple-minded.
" Jeanne Alexandre's guardian," said she, " is
Maitre Mouche, a notary at Levallois-Perret. I fear
that you will not get on very well with him. He is
a serious man."
"Ah! good Heavens!" I cried; "whom do you
think I should get on with at my age, if not with
serious people ? "
She gently smiled, with a mischievous expression
in her eyes, just as my father used to do, and re-
plied,
134 THE CRIME OF
" With those who, like you, are innocent and gen-
erous. Monsieur Mouche is not exactly of that kind.
He is artful and light-fingered. Although I find lit-
tle pleasure in meeting him, we will go together, if
you wish, and ask permission to see Jeanne, whom
he has put in a boarding-school at les Ternes, where
she is very unhappy."
We appointed a day. I kissed Madame de Ga-
bry's hand, and we parted.
May 2-5.
I have seen Maitre Mouche, Jeanne's guardian, in
his office. Small, thin, and dried-up, his complexion
looks as if it were made of the dust of his old pa-
pers. He is a spectacled animal, for one could not
imagine him without his glasses. I have heard
Maitre Mouche speak ; he has the voice of a rattle,
and he uses carefully chosen terms. I should have
liked it better if he had not chosen them at all. I
have observed Maitre Mouche ; he is ceremonious,
and watches one from the corner of his eye, behind
his spectacles.
Maitre Mouche is happy, he tells us he is de-
lighted, at our interest in his ward. But he does
not think that we are on this earth in order to amuse
ourselves. No, he does not think so ; and I must
say, in all justice, that one is of his opinion, when
with him, so little enjoyment does he inspire. He
fears that it would be giving a false and pernicious
idea of life to his dear ward if he allowed her too
much pleasure. That is why he asks Madame de
Gabry to invite her but seldom to her home.
We left the dusty notary and his dusty office,
SYLVESTRE BONiJARD. 135
with his consent given in due form (everything that
Maitre Mouche does is in due form) to see Made-
moiselle Jeanne Alexandre the first Thursday of
every month, at the home of her instructor, Made-
moiselle Prdfere, rue Demours, at les Ten.es.
The first Thursday in May I set out '.or Made-
moiselle Prdfere's, whose establishment 1 saw from
afar by its sign in blue letters. The blue tint was the
first indication I had of Mile. Virginie Prdfere's tem-
perament, which I afterwards had ample opportunity
of studying. A scared-looking maid-servant took
my card, and left me, without a word of hope, in an
icy parlor, where I noticed that stale odor charac-
teristic of the dining-rooms of boarding-schools.
The floor of this room had been waxed with such
pitiless energy that I stood with fear and trembling
even on the threshold. Happily, however, I noticed
some small woollen squares that lay on the floor be-
fore the hair-cloth chairs ; and by stepping from one
to the other of these carpet islands, I succeeded in
reaching the corner of the fireplace, where I sat
down out of breath. ]
Over the mantelpiece in a great gilt frame, there
hung an Honor List, enrolling in flaming Gothic
script a long list of names, among which I did not
have the pleasure of finding Jeanne Alexandre's. I
read several times over the names of those pupils,
who in the eyes of Mademoiselle Prdfere were
worthy of such honor, .and then I began to grow
uneasy at hearing no one coming. Had it not been
for the countless swarms of sparrows that had
chosen her court for a gathering-place where they
136 THE CRIME OF
might chirp and squabble, Mademoiselle Prefere
would certainly have succeeded in establishing
within her house of learning the perfect silence of
the celestial regions. It was a delight to hear the
birds, but (I beg to ask) how could one see them
through th-5 ground-glass windows ? I had to be sat-
isfied with what I could find in the parlor, the four
walls of which were adorned, from floor to ceiling,
with drawings done by the scholars. There were
vestal virgins there, flowers, cottages, capitals, vo-
lutes, and an enormous head of Tatius, King of
the Sabines, signed Estelle Mouton. For several
minutes I had been admiring the energy which
Mademoiselle Mouton had spent in delineating the
ancient warrior's bushy eyebrows and infuriated
gaze, when a slight noise, like that made by a
dead leaf wafted by the wind, made me turn
/my head, jit was not a dead leaf at all ; it was
Mademoiselle Prefere. With clasped hands she
advanced across the polished mirror of the floor,
as the saints in " The Golden Legend " glide over
the crystal waters. But at any other time I think
Mademoiselle Prdfere would not have reminded
me of the holy virgins so dear to mystic fancy.
Her face alone would have reminded me of a pip-
pin apple kept over winter in the attic of a thrifty
housewife. On her shoulders she wore a fringed
pelerine. In itself there was nothing remarkable
about this ; but she wore it as if it were a holy vest-
ment, or the mark of some high civil office.
I explained to her the object of my visit, and
handed her my letter of introduction.
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. \IJ
" You have seen Monsieur Mouche, then," said
she. " Is he in very good health ? He is such a
worthy man, such a "
She did not finish tha sentence, but raised her
eyes to the ceiling. I did the same ; and I saw a
narrow spiral of paper lace, which hung in the place
of the chandelier, and was meant, I suppose, to at-
tract the flies, and turn them from the gilt frames
of the mirrors and the List of Honor.
" I have met Mademoiselle Alexandre at Madame
de Gabry's," said I, " and I can appreciate the
young girl's noble character and quick intelligence.
I was well acquainted with her parents, and I
should like to transfer to her some of the interest
I felt for fhem."
For answer Mademoiselle Pre*fere sighed deeply,
drew her mysterious pelerine closely about her, and
again gazed at the little paper spiral. At last she
said,
" Since you were the friend of Monsieur and
Madame Alexandre, monsieur, I am glad to believe
that you, like Monsieur Mouche and myself, regret
the foolish speculations which brought them to ruin
and their daughter to poverty."
As I listened to her words, I thought how deeply
wrong it is to be unfortunate, and how unpardon-
able this wrong is on the part of those who for a
long time were worthy of envy. Their fall avenges
and natters us, and we are pitiless.
After having declared in all sincerity that I'was
entirely ignorant of the bank trouble, I asked the
mistress of the school if she was pleased with
Mademoiselle Alexandre.
138 THE CRIME OF
" The child is incorrigible," cried Mademoiselle
Prefere, assuming a deeply pedantic attitude in
order to symbolize the situation in which she was
placed by such a fractious pupil.
Then, returning to a calmer mode of speech,
" This girl is not without intelligence," said she,
"but she cannot make up her mind to learn facts
by principles."
What a strange woman was Mademoiselle Pre"-
fere ! She walked without raising her feet, and
spoke without moving her lips. Without dwelling
longer than a reasonable amount of time on these
details, I replied that principles no doubt were ex-
cellent things, and that I deferred to her intelligence
on this point, but that, after all, when ohe knew a
fact, it did not much matter whether one had learned
it in one way or another.
Mademoiselle Pre"fere made a slow gesture of
denial. Then she sighed again.
"Ah, monsieur, people who are strangers to edu-
cation have very wrong ideas on the subject. I am
sure that they speak with the best intent in the
world ; but they would do better, much better, to re-
fer such questions to those who are competent."
I dropped the subject, and asked if I might see
Mademoiselle Alexandre without further delay.
She contemplated her pelerine as if to read in the
tangle of its fringe, as in a conjurer's book, what
answer she ought to make. At length she said,
" Mademoiselle Alexandre has a penance to do
and a lesson to give, but I should be inconsolable
to have you make a useless trip here. I will have
SYLVESTKE BONNARD. 139
her called. But allow me, sir, as a matter of form,
to write your name on our visitors' register."
She sat down before the table, opened a large
blank-book, and drawing Maitre Mouche's letter
from under her pelerine where she had slipped it,
she said,
" ' Bonnard ' has a d, has it not? Pardon my in-
sisting on this detail. But in my opinion, proper
names have an orthography. Here, sir, we have
dictations in proper names historical names, of
course, you understand ! "
She inscribed my name in a scrawly hand, and
then asked if she could not append a title of some
kind, something like retired merchant, employd,
stockholder, or some other. Her registry had a
column for titles.
" Why, of course, madame, if you feel you must
fill out your column, put ' Member of the Insti-
tute.' "
I still saw before me Mademoiselle Pre"fere's
pelerine, but it was no longer Mademoiselle Prdfere
who wore it. She was another person, pleasing,
gracious, wheedling, merry, and radiant. Her eyes
smiled ; the little wrinkles on her face (and there
were many) smiled ; her mouth smiled too, but only
in one corner. I have since learned that it was the /
good corngr. When she spoke, her voice was in
accordance with her manner, it was like honey.
" You said just now, monsieur, that our dear
Jeanne was very intelligent. I have noticed it, and
I am proud to agree with you. Indeed, this young
girl is a source of great interest to me. She has
140 THE CRIME OF
what I call a happy disposition. But forgive me
for wasting your precious time."
She called the servant, who came in greater haste
and looked more frightened than ever, and who dis-
appeared with the order to tell Mademoiselle Alex-
andre that Monsieur Sylvestre Bonnard, a Membei
of the Institute, was waiting for her in the parlor.
Mademoiselle Prdfere had only time to confide to
me that she had a profound respect for the decis-
ions of the Institute, whatever they might be, when
Jeanne appeared out of breath, as red as a peony,
her great eyes wide open, her arms swinging, charm-
ing in her innocent awkwardness.
"How you are dressed, dear child !" murmured
Mademoiselle Pre"fere, with the gentleness of a
mother, as she arranged the girl's collar.
Jeanne, in truth, was dressed in a queer fashion.
Her hair was drawn back into a net, from which
stray locks escaped ; her thin arms were covered to
the elbow with lustring sleeves ; her hands were
red and chapped, and she seemed greatly ashamed
of them ; her dress was too short, showing a pair
of baggy stockings and shoes trodden down at the
heels ; a jumping-rope was wound about her waist
like a belt, and the entire combination made Jeanne
rather unpresentable.
" Crazy little thing ! " murmured Mademoiselle
Prdfere, this time no longer the mother, but the
elder sister. Then she escaped, gliding like a
shadow over the slippery floor.
I said to Jeanne,
" Sit down, Jeanne, and talk to me as to a friend.
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 141
Are you not more contented here than you were last
year?"
She hesitated ; then with a sweet smile of resig-
nation, she replied, '
" Not much more."
I begged her to tell me what she did in the school.
She began by enumerating all sorts of studies, piano,
style, chronology of the kings of France, sewing,
drawing, dancing, catechism, good manners I
know not what else ! in the meantime unconsciously
holding the two ends of the rope with which she
marked off her list. Suddenly, however, she no-
ticed what she was doing, blushed, stammered, and
I had to give up further knowledge of the complete
list of studies in the Pre"fere Institute.
I questioned Jeanne on various points ; but, ob-
taining the most confused answers, I saw that the
rope was occupying the whole attention of the young
girl, and I bravely touched upon this serious subject.
"You jump rope, I see," I said to her. "It is
good exercise, but must not be carried to excess;
for then it might seriously injure your health, and I
should never cease regretting it, Jeanne, never."
" You are very good, monsieur," replied the young
girl, " to come to see me, and speak to me as you
do. I did not think of thanking you when I first
came in, I was so surprised. Have you seen Ma-
dame de Gabry? Tell me about her, monsieur, will
you ? "
" Madame de Gabry," I replied, " is very well. I
might say of her, Jeanne, what an old gardener said
of the lady of the manor, his mistress, when some
142 THE CRIME OF
one asked anxiously about her, ' Madame is on her
road.' Madame de Gabry is on hers ; and you know
how good a one it is, and with what even steps she
walks there. The other day I went a long distance
with her, and we spoke of you. We spoke of you,
my child, at your mother's grave."
" I am very glad," said Jeanne, and she began to
cry.
I let the young girl's tears flow in silence. Then,
as she dried her eyes, I asked,
" Jeanne, will you not tell me why this rope trou-
bled you just now ? "
"Yes, indeed, monsieur. It was because I should
not have come into the parlor with a rope. You
know that at my age a girl does not jump rope. When
the maid told me that an old gentleman oh ! a
gentleman was in the parlor and wished to see me,
I was making the children jump. Then I tied the
rope round my waist so as not to lose it. That was
wrong. But I am so little used to receiving guests !
Mademoiselle Pre"fere never excuses faults in good
manners. She will certainly punish me, and I am
very sorry."
" Yes, Jeanne, that is too bad."
She looked very serious. " Yes, monsieur, that
is too bad, because when I am punished I have no
more authority over the little children."
I had no very clear idea on this unpleasant sub-
ject; but Jeanne explained that she was expected by
Mademoiselle Pre"fere to dress the children of the.
youngest class, wash them, teach them manners, the
alphabet, the use of the needle, to play with them
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 143
and to put them to bed, and that she could exact no
obedience from these restless little ones when she
was condemned to wear her nightcap in the class-
room, or while standing to eat her food from a plate
turned upside down. Secretly admiring the penal-
ties imposed by the Lady of the Enchanted Pele-
rine, I said,
" If I understand you, Jeanne, you are both pupil
and teacher. This is no uncommon thing in the
world. You are punished and you punish, in turn."
" Oh, monsieur ! " she exclaimed, " I never punish."
" And I imagine that this indulgence draws the
reprimands of Mademoiselle Pre'fere upon you."
She smiled, and nodded her head.
I told her then that the troubles we brought upon
ourselves in trying to do our best, according to the
dictates of our conscience, should not disgust or
weary us, for they were helpful trials. This philos-
ophy appealed to her but slightly. She seemed per-
fectly indifferent to my sermon. And what more
natural ? Do I not know that only those who are
no longer innocent take delight in moralizers ? I
was wise enough to cut short my preaching.
"Jeanne," I said, "you spoke just now of Ma-
dame de Gabry. Let us speak of your fairy. She
was very well made. Do you model wax figures
here ? "
" I have no wax," she replied, dropping her arms,
" no wax ! "
" No wax," I cried, " in a realm of bees ! "
She laughed.
" And then, you see, monsieur, my littleyfg-r<rj, as
.
144 THE CRIME OF
you call them, are not on Mademoiselle Pre*fere's
program. But I began a little Saint-George lor
Madame de Gabry, a miniature Saint-George with
a golden breastplate. A golden breastplate is fine
for a Saint-George, is it not, Monsieur Bonnard ? "
"Very fine, Jeanne. But what became of it?"
" I will tell you. I kept it in my pocket, for I
had no other place to put it and I sat down on it."
She drew a little wax figure from her pocket. It
no longer had any human shape, and its broken
limbs were scarcely held together by their wire
thread. At sight of her hero thus destroyed, she
was filled with grief and merriment. The latter got
the better of her, and she burst into a peal of
laughter, which suddenly came to an end.
Mademoiselle Prdfere stood at the door of the
parlor, smiling.
" The dear child ! " sighed the mistress of the
school in her tenderest tone ; " I fear she will weary
you. Besides, your time is precious."
I begged Mademoiselle Pre"fere to dismiss that
illusion, and rose to take leave, first drawing from
my pockets some chocolate tablets and other sweets
that I had brought with me.
" Oh ! oh ! " cried Jeanne ; "there are enough for
the whole school."
The Lady of the Pelerine interposed.
" Mademoiselle Alexandre," said she, " thank the
gentleman for his generosity."
Jeanne gave her a rather sullen look ; then, turn-
ing to me, she said with remarkable firmness,
" I thank you, monsieur, for your kindness in
cominr to see me."
SYLVESTKE BONNARD. 145
"Jeanne," said I, holding both her hands, "be a
good and brave girl. Good-by."
As she ran off with her packages of chocolate
and her sweets, the ends of her rope hit the back of
a chair. Mademoiselle Pre*fere was greatly shocked,
and pressed both hands to her heart under her pele-
rine. I expected to see her scholastic soul vanish
in a swoon.
When we were alone, her serenity returned ; and I
must say, without flattering myself, that she smiled
on me with one whole side of her face.
" Mademoiselle," said I, taking advantage of her
good humor, " I noticed that Jeanne Alexandre is a
little pale. You understand better than I how, at
her age, a girl needs rest and care. Do not let me
give offence by asking you to watch more closely
over her."
My words seemed to delight her. She gazed with
ecstasy at the spiral in the ceiling, and clasping her
hands, exclaimed,
" How well these noted men understand how to
stoop to the smallest details ! "
I observed that the health of a young girl was not
a small detail, and I had the honor of bidding her
good-day. But at the threshold she paused, and said
in a confidential way,
" Excuse my foolishness, monsieur. I am a wo-
man, and I love glory. I cannot hide from you the
fact that I am honored by the presence of a Member
of the Institute in my humble institution."
I excused the foolishness of Mademoiselle Pre*-
fere ; and thinking of Jeanne, with the blindness of
146 THE CRIME OF
egotism I kept asking myself as I walked along,
" What shall we do with this child ? "
June 3.
That day I escorted to the cemetery of Marnes
an old friend who, according to Goethe's dictum,
had consented to die. The great Goethe, whose vi-
tal power was extraordinary, believed that one dies
only when one wishes to do so ; that is, when the last
of the forces which resist final decay, and the total-
ity of which makes life itself, are entirely destroyed.
In other words, he thought that one dies only when
one can no longer live. Well, it is only necessary to
understand one another ; and the beautiful thought
of Goethe, when one knows how to take it, leads to
the song of La Palisse.
So my good friend had consented to die, thanks
to two or three persuasive attacks of apoplexy, the
last of which was unanswerable. I had known him
but slightly during his lifetime ; but it seemed that
as soon as he was no more I became his friend, for
our colleagues told me, in a solemn tone and with
melancholy faces, that I was to be one of the pall-
bearers, and speak at the grave.
Having read, very poorly, a short address which
I had written as well as I could, and that is not
saying much, I went for a stroll among the woods
of Ville-d'Avray, and followed, without leaning too
heavily on the captain's cane, a hidden path, over
which the sunlight fell in golden disks. Never had
the odor of the grass and the damp leaves, or the
beauty of the sky above the trees, and the great
stillness of all vegetable growth, penetrated so deeply
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 147
into my heart and soul ; and the sadness that I felt
in this silence, broken by a sort of continual tinkling,
weighed both on my senses and on my soul !
I sat down in the shadow of the roadside beneath
a clump of young oaks. And then I promised my-
self that I would not die, or at least that I would
not consent to die before sitting again beneath an
oak, where, in the calm of the open country, I could
think about the nature of the soul and the final aim
of man. A bee, whose brown corsage sparkled in
the sun like an armor of old gold, lighted on a mal-
low-flower of sombre richness, in full bloom upon
its tufted stalk. Surely it was not the first time I
had seen such a common sight, but I noticed it
then for the first time with such affectionate and
intelligent curiosity. I discovered that between the
insect and the plant there were all sorts of sympa-
thies, and a thousand ingenious relations which un-
til then I had never suspected.
Satiated with nectar, the insect flew away in a
straight line, and I rose as well as I could and re-
adjusted myself on my legs.
"Adieu," I said to the flower and the bee,
"adieu. May I live long enough to know the
secret of your harmonies ! I am very weary. But
man is so made that he finds rest from one labor
only by another. The flowers and the insects shall
rest me, if God is willing, after my philology and
diplomatics. What sense there is in the ancient
myth of Antaeus ! "
I have touched the earth, and I am a new man ;
and here at the age of seventy new interests rise in
148 THE CRIME OF
me, as one sees shoots sprouting from the hollow
trunk of an old oak.
June 4.
I love to look from my window at the Seine and
j\ its quays on these soft gray mornings that give
such infinite softness to ^Tthings| I have^-gaawd
{fye azure sky which umoms. Its shining calm
aopaas the Bay of Naples. '^'t)ur Parisian sky i* ,
yvCcAJt v . -^\ f**^&ftiys*.
more animated, more kind, more intelligent. It
smiles, threatens, caresses, is sad and gay, like a
human gaze. Just now it is pouring a soft light /
, , , , . , o^e^a^^JU-t
over the men and beasts of the city as they jpewwm
J . .p-**' 1 /V*JL
their daily labors. Beyond, on the opposite bank,
the longshoremen of the Port Saint-Nicolas are un-/
loading cargoes of cattle-horns, while a line of ^uyh
standing on a gangplank briskly toss from one to
tb4*tfacr, sugar-loaves w.hirVi ir^Jjnally gfowfd away
within^ the hold of a steajn^hip,. X)n the northern
quay the cab-horses, Jt aiming fc rowc beneath the
shadow of the plane-trees, their heads in their noso^
r . i
bags, *ftranquilly ea^flE, their oats, while the
I -*s^~3w4 tc . ..
coachmen aw* Uvmlyws; before the bar of the WIIK--
A*^^*^! 1 ii i -t< ' ' s l ' ' ' " V >'" i 'ijT 1 : ll
ohap, all the li^^lte<?ptt>g a brp leoliout-for morn-
ing in Hill lit. /
r TtA/ The dealers in old /books ^deposit their cases on
r the parapet^- Theaejlilrinerchants of knowledge
ci>n>!antly live out-of-doors, wWi blouses pluyrd
1 '
'ipr> n -by pyjtry b rj ^ T " ; aod so hardened have they
grown by the air, the rain, the hail, the snow, the
fog, and the broad sun, that they come to look like
the old statues on cathedrals. They are all friends
of mine ; and I scarcely ever pass their stalls without
SYLVESTRE BONNAKD.
finding some old volume which, until then, I have
needed without in the least suspecting it.
On my return home, my housekeeper cries out that
I am tearing all my pockets, and filling the house
with old pamphlets which attract the rats. The'rese
is wise on this point, and it is just because she i&
wise that I pay no heed to her; for in spite. of my
quiet manner, I have always preferred the folly of
the passions to the wisdom of indifference. But
TjecairseTTmjf jp'assions are" not such as burst forth to
hurt and kill, the ordinary person does not notice
them. However, they stir me; and more than once
I have lost sleep over a few pages written by a for-
gotten monk, or printed by some humble apprentice
of Peter Schoffer. And if these lively emotions are
dying out in me, it is~Eecause I am dying out myself.
Our passions are ourselves. My old books are my-
self. I am old and motheaten like them.
A light breeze sweeps up the dust of the road
with the winged seeds of the plane-trees, and the bits
of hay that have fallen from the horses' mouths. It
is nothing but a cloud of dust; but seeing it rise re-
calls to my mind that in my boyhood I saw a simi-
lar cloud of dust rise, and my old Parisian heart is
deeply moved by it.. Everything that I see from my
window, the horizon extending on my left to the
hills of Chaillot, the Arc de Triomphe that looks
like a block of stone, the Seine, river of glory, and
its bridges, the linden-trees of the terrace of the Tui-
leries, the Louvre of the Renaissance, cut like a
jewel ; on my right, by the side of the Pont-Neuf,
POHS lutetiae novus diet us ^ as we read on old prints,
150 THE CRIME OF-
the ancient and venerable Paris with its towers and
spires all that is my life, myself ; and I should be
nothing without these things which are reflected in
me with my thousand shades of thought, and which
inspire and animate me. This is why I love Paris
with such a deep affection.
Yet I am weary ; and I realize that no one can
rest in the heart of this city, which thinks so much,
which has taught me to think, and which ceaselessly
urges me to think. How can one help but be excited
in the midst of the books which constantly rouse my
interest, and weary without satisfying it ? Now it
is a date that must be found, now a place which it
is necessary to determine precisely, or some old ex-
pression, the real meaning of which it is interesting
to know. Words ? Yes, they are words ; and as a
philologist, I am their king; they are my subjects,
and I, like a good king, give them my whole life.
Can I not abdicate some day ? I imagine that
somewhere, far from here, there is, at the edge of the
wood, a little cottage, where I should find the rest I
need, while waiting for the great irrevocable Rest
that will envelop me forever. I dream of a bench
at the door, and of fields as far as eye can see. But
a young face must smile beside me, in order to re-
flect and concentrate all the freshness about me. I
could imagine myself a grandfather ; then the whole
void of my life would be filled.
I am not a man of violent temper; and yet I am
easily irritated, and all my labors have caused me
as much pain as pleasure. I do not know why I
gave a thought, three months ago, to the silly and
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. !$!
impertinent remark which my young friend of the
Luxembourg took the liberty to make about me. I
do not use the word " friend " in any ironical sense,
for I love studious youth with its audacities and
mental flights. But my young friend went beyond
all limit. Master Ambroise Par^the first to under-
stand the ligature of the arteries, and who, having
found surgery practised by barbers on empirical
lines, raised it to where it is to-day, was attacked in
his old age by every conceited young leech. Taken
to task by a thoughtless youngster, who might have
been the best son in the world, but who lacked all
feeling of reverence, the aged master replied to him
in his treatise on The Mummy, the Unicorn, Poi-
sons and the Plagued " I beg of him," said the
great man, " I beg of him, if he desires to oppose
my reply, to give up personal feelings, and treat the
old man more kindly."
This reply is admirable from the pen of Ambroise
Pare* ; but had it come from a village bone-setter,
grown old over his work, and ridiculed by a strip-
ling, it would still be praiseworthy.
It will perhaps be thought that this remembrance
is but the awakening of contemptible resentment.
I thought so, too, and blamed myself for giving a
thought to a mere boy, who had no idea of what he
was saying. But my ideas on this subject turned
into a better channel ; this is why I note them down
in my diary. I remembered that one fine day, when
I was not more than twenty (more than half a cen-
tury ago), I was walking with some companions in
1 De la. Mumie, de la. Licornt, dti I 'en ins et dt la /'este.
I$2 THE CRIME OF
this same garden of the Luxembourg. We were
talking of our old masters ; and one of us mentioned
Monsieur Petit-Radel, a respectable scholar, who
was the first to throw a gleam of light on the origin
of the Etruscans, but who had been unfortunate
enough to prepare a chronological table of the lov-
ers of Helen. This table caused us much merri-
ment ; and I cried,
" Petit-Radel is an ass, not of three letters, but of
a dozen volumes ! "
That youthful remark is too light to weigh upon
an old man's conscience. If I have hurled only
such harmless missiles in the battle of life ! But
I ask myself to-day, if, during my lifetime, I have
not done, though unconsciously, something as fool-
ish as the chronological table of the lovers of Helen.
The progress of sciences renders useless the works
which have most aided that progress. As these
labors are no longer of much account, youth natu-
rally believes that they have never been of use she
despises them ; and if any antiquated idea is found,
she laughs at it. That is why, at the age of twenty,
I made fun of Monsieur Petit-Radel and his honest
chronological table. That is why, yesterday, in the
Luxembourg, my young and disrespectful friend
" Look to thyself, Octavins, nor complain.
Wouldst thou hope to be spared, thou, that sparest in vain ? " *
June 6.
It was the first Thursday of June. I closed my
books, and took leave of the holy Abbot Droctoveus,
1 " Renlre en toi-mtme, Octave, et cesse de te plaindre.
Quai I tu veux yu'en flpargne et u'as rien ipargni ? "
SYL VESTRE BONNARD. I 5 3
who, as he is now enjoying celestial happiness, is in
no haste. I think to see his name and his works
glorified on this earth in a humble volume by my
hands./ Shall I admit it? that mallow-stock that I
*"
saw the other day, and the bee that lighted upon it,
have occupied my thoughts much more than all the
old abbots with their crosses and mitres. In my
youth, when I read everything, I came across a vol-
ume by Sprengel, which contained some theories
about the loves of the flowers. These came back
to me after having been forgotten for half a century ;
and I am so much interested in them to-day, that I
am sorry that I did not consecrate my humble tal-
ents to the study of insects and plants.
Just now my housekeeper surprised me at the
kitchen window, examining, through a magnifying-
glass, the corolla of a gillyflower.
These reflections occurred to me as I was look-
ing for my cravat. But having rummaged in vain
through a number of drawers, I resorted to my
housekeeper. The'rese came limpingly into the
room.
"Monsieur," said she, "you should have told me
that you were going out, and I would have given
you your cravat."
" But, The'rese," I replied, "would it not be better
to have some place for it where I could find it with-
out your help ? "
The'rese did not deign to reply. She no longer
allows me to make arrangements about anything.
I cannot have even a handkerchief without asking
her for it ; and as she is deaf and infirm, and what
154 TIIE CRIME OF
is still worse, is losing her memory, I languish in a
constant state of destitution. But she exercises her
domestic authority with such a tranquil pride that
I have hot the courage to attempt a stroke of state-
policy agVinst the government of my wardrobe.
" My cravat ! The'rese, do you hear ? My cra-
vat ! or if you drive me to distraction by further
delay, I shalK not need a cravat, but a rope with
which to hang myself."
" You are in\ great haste, monsieur," replies
The'rese. " Your\cravat is not lost. Nothing is
lost here, for I look \after everything. But at least
give me time to find it."
" Behold," I think to myself, " behold the result
of half a century of devotion. Ah ! if by some
happy chance this inexorable The'rese had once,
only once in her life, failed in her duty as a servant,
if, for an instant, she had been at fault, she would
not hold this despotic rule over me, or at least I
should have dared to resist her. But how can one
rebel against goodness ? People without any weak-
ness are dreadful. One has no hold upon them.
Take The'rese, for example : she has not a fault to
which I can take exception. She doubts neither
herself, nor God, nor the world. She is the strong
woman, the wise virgin of the Scriptures; and if
men do not know her, I do. In my mind's eye I
see her, bearing in her hand a lamp, a humble
household lamp, that shines beneath the joists of
a rustic roof, and which will never go out while
held by that meagre arm, as scraggy and as strong
as a vine-shoot.
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 155
" There*se, my cravat ! Do you not know,
[wretched woman, that to-day is the first Thursday
in June, and that Mademoiselle Jeanne is expecting
me? The mistress of the school will undoubtedly
JTavphaf^hqr floor highly wavpH I am sure that
already one can see one's self in it ; and it will be a
distraction for me when I break my bones, which I
certainly shall do before long, to see my sad face in
it, as in a mirror. Then, taking as a model the good
and excellent hero whose image is carved on my
uncle Victor's cane, I shall try not to make too hid-
eous a face. See the beautiful sunshine. The
quays are gilded with it, and the Seine smiles in
countless little sparkling wrinkles. The city is
golden a light golden dust-cloud, like a wealth of
hair, floats over its beautiful contours. Therese,
my cravat^ Ah ! I sympathize now with good mas-
ter Chrysal, who used to lay his neckbands between
the pages of a thick Plutarch. I will follow his
example, and hereafter I will put all my cravats be-
tween the leaves of the Acta Sanctorum."
The*rese in silence proceeded with her search,
letting me talk. At last I heard a gentle ring at our
door.
" The>ese," said I, "some one is ringing. Give
me my cravat, and go and open the door ; or rather,
go and open the door first, and then, by the help of
Heaven, you may give me my cravat. But do not
stand like that, I beg you, between my dressing-
table and the door, like, if I dare to use such a sim-
ile, a hackney between two saddles."
The"rese strode to the door as toward an enemy.
156 THE CRIME OF
My good housekeeper is becoming very inhospitable
as she grows old. A stranger is a suspicious char-
acter to her. According to her own account, this
feeling comes from a long experience with men. I
never had the time to consider if the same experi-
ence made by another experimenter would produce
the same result. Maitre Mouche was waiting for
me in my library.
Maitre Mouche is even yellower than I thought.
He wears blue glasses, and his eyes keep shifting
behind them like mice behind a screen.
Maitre Mouche apologizes for troubling me at a
time he does not designate what time, but I think
that he means to say at a time when I have no
cravat on. But this, as you know, is not my fault.
Maitre Mouche, who knows nothing about it, does
not seem at all offended. He simply fears that he
has arrived at an inconvenient hour, but I partly re-
assure him. He says that, as the guardian of Ma-
demoiselle Alexandre, he has come to speak to me.
In the first place, he begs me to pay no attention to
the restrictions which at first he had thought best
to place upon the permission given us for seeing
Mademoiselle Jeanne in school. Henceforth the
establishment of Mademoiselle Pre'fere will be open
to me every day between twelve o'clock an<J four.
Knowing the interest I take in this young girl, he
thinks it his duty to tell me something of the person
to whose care he has intrusted his ward. Made-
moiselle Pre'fere, whom he has known for years, has
his entire confidence. According to his ideas she is
an intelligent woman, of sound common-sense and
fine manners.
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 157
" Mademoiselle Pre"fere," said he, " is a woman of
principles, and that is a rare thing, monsieur, in these
days. There has been a great change, and this
age is not equal to those that have preceded it."
" Take my stairway, for example, monsieur," I re-
plied*. " Twenty-five years ago it used to let me
climb it with perfect ease, and now it tires my legs
and makes me out of breath to mount the very
first steps. It has become spoiled. There are the
papers, and the books too, that once I devoured in
the moonlight without any difficulty; but to-day, in
the brightest sunlight, they mock my interest, and
show me nothing but white and black when I am
without glasses. I have gout in my limbs. This,
again, is one of the evils of the times."
" Not only that, monsieur," gravely replied Maitre
Mouche, " but the real evil of the present age is the
fact that no one is satisfied with his position. There
is an uneasiness, an unrest, a thirst for the comforts
of life in every class of society, from the lowest to
the highest."
" Heavens, monsieur ! " I cried, " do you consider
that this thirst for comfort is a sign of the times?
Men have at no time had a desire for discomfort.
They have always tried to better their condition.
This constant effort has produced constant change.
It still continues, that is all."
"Ah, monsieur," replied Maitre Mouche, "it is
easy to see that you live among your books, far
from the world. You do not see, as I do, the con-
flicts of interest, the struggle for money. You find
in the great and the small the same effervescence.
158 THE CRIME OF
People give themselves up to unbridled speculation.
What I see frightens me."
I was beginning to wonder if Maitre Mouche had
come to my house simply to tell me his virtuous mis-
anthropy ; but soon I heard more cheering words
from him. Maitre Mouche described Virginie Prd-
,re to me as a woman worthy of respect, of esteem,
and of sympathy ; the soul of honor, capable of af-
fection, educated, discreet, a good reader, modest
and skilful in the art of applying blisters! I under-
stood then that he had given me such a gloomy pic-
ture of universal corruption in order to bring out by
contrast the virtues of the schoolmistress. I was
told that the establishment of the rue Demours was
well patronized, successful, and highly esteemed. In
order to give emphasis to his statements, Maitre
Mouche_waved his hand with its black woollen
glove. vThen he added,
" In the practice of my profession I have come to
know the world. A notary is somewhat of a con-
fessor. I considered it my duty, monsieur, to tell you
these facts, now that a happy chance has brought
you into relationship with Mademoiselle Prdfere. I
have but one word to add. This lady, who is abso-
lutely ignorant of my visit to you, spoke to me of
you the other day in terms of the highest praise. I
should only weaken them by repeating them to you ;
moreover, I could not tell them without, in a way,
betraying the confidence of Mademoiselle Prdfere."
" Do not betray it, monsieur," I replied, " do not
betray it. To tell you the truth, I was quite una-
ware that Mademoiselle Prdfere had the slightest
SYLVESTRE BONNAKD. 159
knowledge of me, However, since you have the ad-
vantage of such a long-standing friendship with her,
I will profit by your good will towards me, and beg
you to use your influence with your friend in favor
of Mademoiselle Jeanne Alexandre. The child, for
she is still such, is overtaxed with work. At once
pupil and teacher, she has too much to do. More
than this, she is punished in an absurdly childish
manner; and hers is a generous nature, which by
humiliation may be driven to revolt."
"Alas!" replied Maltre Mouche, "she must be
prepared for life. We are not in the world to enjoy
ourselves, and to have our own way."
"We are in the world," I replied with some
warmth, " to take pleasure in the good and the
beautiful, and to follow our own way when it is no-
ble, holy, and generous. An education which does
not train the will is one that depraves the mind.
The instructor must teach us how to will."
I imagined that Maitre Mouche thought me a
poor sort of fellow. He proceeded with great calm-
ness and assurance,
" Remember, monsieur, that the education of the
poor should be made with great care, and with a
view toward the state of dependence which they will
hold in society. Possibly you are not aware that
the late Noel Alexandre died insolvent, and that his
daughter is brought up almost by charity."
" Oh, monsieur ! " I cried, " do not say that. To
say it is to pay one's self back, and then it could
no longer be true."
"The debts of the estate exceeded the assets,"
I6O THE CRIME OF
continued the notary; "but I have arranged with
the creditors in favor of the minor."
He offered to explain in detail ; but I declined to
put him to that trouble, being incapable of compre-
hending business affairs in general, and those of
Maitre Mouche in particular. The notary began
again to uphold Mademoiselle Pre"fere's system of
education, and said to me in conclusion,
" We do not learn by amusing ourselves." '
" We learn only by amusing ourselves,".'! replied.
" The art of teaching is but the art of rousing the
interest of young minds in order to satisfy it later,
and interest is alert and healthy only in happy minds.
Knowledge, forced and crammed into the mind,
chokes and suffocates it. In order that knowledge
may be digested, it must be swallowed with relish.
I know Jeanne. If this child were intrusted to my
care, I would make of her not a student, for I wish
her well, but a girl of quick intelligence and full of
life, in whom everything beautiful in nature and art
would evoke a sweet yet brilliant response. I would
teach her to live in sympathy with the beautiful
country, with the ideal scenes of poetry and history,
with music that appeals to our noblest emotions.
I .wouldmake lovable everything thatJLwanted her
to love. I would gurfi distinction even to needle-
work, by the selection of fabrics, the choice of em-
broideries, and the style of laces. She should have
a beautiful dog and a pony, in order that she might
know how to govern animals ; she should have birds
to care for, that she might learn the value of a drop
of water and a crumb of bread. And in order to
SYLVESTKE BONNARD. l6l
give her still another pleasure, I should want her
to find pleasure in being charitable.
" Then, since sorrow is inevitable, since life is full
of grief, I would teach her that Christian wisdom
which lifts us above every grief, and makes even
sorrow beautiful. That is how I would direct a
young girl's education."
" I bow before you," said Maitre Mouche, clasp-
ing his hands in their black woollen gloves. Then
he rose.
" You understand, of course," said I, as I went
with him to the door, " that I do not pretend to im-
pose on Mademoiselle Pre'fere my system of edu-
cation, which is essentially a home-training, and
entirely incompatible with the organization of the
best schools. I merely beg you to ask her to give
Jeanne less work and more play, to punish her only
in case of necessity, and to allow her as much free-
dom of mind and body as confirms to the rule of the
school."
Maitre Mouche assured me, with a weak and mys-
terious smile, that my wishes would be taken in good
part, and that they would have great weight
He then made me a little bow and went away,
leaving me in a state of worry and unrest. I have
had to deal in my life with various kinds of people,
but never with any like this notary or this school
mistress.
July 5.
Maitre Mouche kept me so long by his visit that-*
I gave up going to see Jeanne that day. ProfesA
sional duties detained me at home for the rest of the
1 62 THE CRIME OF
week. Although I have reached the age when most
men retire from active duties, I am still bound by a
thousand ties to the life in which I have lived. I
preside at meetings of academies, congresses, and
societies. I am overwhelmed with honorary func-
tions. I fill as many as seven of these in one gov-
ernment department. The offices would like to get
rid of me, and I of them ; but habit is stronger than
they and I together. So, limpingly, I mount the
stairways of the state buildings. After I pass, the
old clerks will point me out to one another, wander-
ing like a shadow through the halls. When one is
very old, it becomes extremely difficult to disappear.
However, it is time, as runs the song, to retire on my
pension, and prepare for a peaceful end.
An old marchioness of a philosophic turn, a friend
of Helvetius in her early days, I used to see her at
my father's in her old age, received, during her last
illness, a visit from her curate, who came to prepare
her to die.
" Is it really necessary ? " she asked him. " I see
that every one succeeds perfectly the first time."
My father went to see her a short time after, and
found her very ill.
" Good-evening, my dear friend," said she, as she
pressed his hand ; " I am going to see if God im-
proves on acquaintance."
That is how the " beautiful friends " of the phi-
losophers used to die. Their method is not vul-
garly impertinent, and frivolous remarks such as
theirs are not begotten in the heads of fools. But
they shock me. Neither my hopes nor my fears are
SYLVESTRE BONNAKD. 163
compatible with such a mode of departure. For
mine, I should want meditation-, and therefore I
must begin to think, in a year or two, about giving
myself up to myself. Without this, I should risk
but hush ! if He be passing, let Him not hear the
sound of His name and turn back! I am still able
to raise my burden alone.
I found Jeanne very happy. She told me that
last Thursday after her guardian's visit, Mademoi-
selle Pre*fere had excused her from the rules of the
school, and lightened many of her duties. Since
that happy Thursday she could walk freely in the
garden, where only flowers and leaves were lacking.
She had even the facilities for modelling her unfor-
tunate little Saint-George.
" I know very well that I owe all this to you,"
said she, smiling.
I spoke to her of other things, but I noticed that
her attention wandered in spite of her.
" I see that something is on your mind," said I.
" Tell me about it, or else we shall be talking to no
purpose, and that would not be worth while for
either of us."
She answered,
" Oh, monsieur ! I heard you perfectly ; but it is
true that I was thinking of something else. You
will forgive me, will you not ? I was thinking that
Mademoiselle Pre"fere must be very fond of you to
have grown so good to me all of a sudden."
She looked at me in a smiling, yet frightened way
that made me laugh.
' So that surprises you, does it ? " I asked.
164 THE CRIME OF
" Yes, very much," she replied.
" Why ? if you do not mind telling."
" Because I do not see any reason, not the least
but there ! no, not the least in the world, why you
should please Mademoiselle Pre'fere."
" Do you think me so very disagreeable, Jeanne ? ''
She bit her lips as if to punish them for what
they had said ; then, opening her great soft eyes like
those of a water-spaniel, she continued in a wheed-
ling tone,
" I know very well that I have made a blunder,
but truly I do not see any reason why you should
please Mademoiselle Pre'fere. And yet you do
please her very, very much. She called me to her,
and asked me all sorts of questions about you."
" Did she really ? "
' Yes ; she wanted to know about your home.
Just imagine ! she asked me how old your house-
keeper was."
And Jeanne burst out laughing.
"Well," said I, "what do you think about it?"
For several moments her eyes were fixed on the
worn-out cloth of her boots. She seemed lost in
deep meditation. At last she raised her head.
" I am suspicious," said she. " It is very natural,
is it not, that we should be anxious about what we
do not understand. I know well enough that I am
silly, but I hope you are not angry with me."
" No, indeed, Jeanne. I am not at all angry."
I confess that her surprise was beginning to affect
me, and I kept revolving in my old head the girl's
words, ' we are anxious about wht we do not un-
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 165
derstand.' But with a fresh burst of laughter, she
cried,
" She asked me guess ! I will give you a hun-
dred, I will give you a thousand guesses. Do you
give it up ? Well, she asked me if you liked good
living."
" And how did you answer all this storm of ques-
tions, Jeanne ? "
' I answered, ' I do not know, mademoiselle.'
And then mademoiselle said, You are a little goose.
The smallest details in the life of a great man should
be noticed. You must know, mademoiselle, that
Monsieur Sylvestre Bonnard is one of the glories of
France.' "
" Nonsense ! " I cried. " And what do you think
about it, mademoiselle ? "
" I think that Mademoiselle Pre'fere was right
But I do not care (what I am going to tell you
is naughty!) I do not care, I don't care at all
whether Mademoiselle Pre'fere is right or not about
anything."
" Well, then, be contented, Jeanne ; Mademoiselle
Pre'fere was not right."
" Yes, she was, yes, she was ; she was perfectly
right. But I wanted to love every one who loves
you, without one exception, and I cannot do so; for
it never would be possible for me to love Mademoi-^
selle Pre'fere."
" Listen to me, Jeanne," I replied gravely.
" Mademoiselle Pre'fere has become good to you,
be good to her."
She answered in a hard tone,
1 66 THE CRIME OF
" It is very easy for Mademoiselle PreTere to be
good to me, and it would be very hard for me to
be good to her."
In a still more serious tone, I said,
" My child, the authority of a teacher is sacred.
Your schoolmistress takes the place of the mother
whom you have lost."
Scarcely had I uttered this solemn nonsense ere
I repented bitterly. The young girl's face grew
white, her eyes filled.
" Oh, monsieur ! " she cried, " how can you say
such a thing? You did not know mamma."
Ah, just Heaven ! but I had known her mother,
and how could I have said such a thing? She kept
saying over and over,
" Mamma ! my dear mamma, my poor mamma ! "
Chance prevented my becoming a perfect fool. I
do not know how it happened that I looked as if I were
crying. At my age one does not cry ! It must have
been a bad cough that drew the tears to my eyes.
It was a natural mistake. Jeanne made that mistake. v
Oh, what a fine, what a radiant smile shone under
her pretty wet lashes, like the sunlight among the
branches after a summer rain ! We took each other
by the hand, and stood for a long time in happy
silence. The heavenly strains that I had heard in
my heart, at the grave to which a good woman had
taken me, echoed again in my heart with infinite
sweetness. The child whose hands I held heard
them no doubt ; and the poor old man and the inno-
cent young girl, carried away from the world, saw
for an instant the same spirit hovering over them.
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 1 67
" My child," said I at last, " I am very old, and'N
many of the secrets of life which you will learn by
degrees are already revealed to me. Believe me,
the future is the outgrowth of the past. All that
you do in order to live a good life here, without re-
bellion and bitterness, will help you to live some
day in peace and joy in your home. Be gentle, and
learn how to suffer. When_pne knows how to suffer,
one suffers less. If some day you should have real
cause for complaint, I shall be there to hear you.
If any one offends you, Madame de Gabry and I
shall be offended too."
" Is your health very good indeed, my dear mon-
sieur ? "
It was Mademoiselle Pre'fere. She had come in
stealthily, and she smiled as she asked me the ques-
tion. My first thought was to tell her to go to the
devil; my second to remark that her mouth was
about as well adapted for smiles as a saucepan for
playing the violin with ; my third was to return her
courtesy, and say that I hoped she was well.
She sent the young girl to walk in the garden.
Then, with one hand on her shawl, and the other
raised toward the Honor List, she pointed to the
name of Jeanne Alexandre written in round letters
at the head of the list
"I see with genuine pleasure," said I, "that you
are pleased with this child's conduct. Nothing
could delight me more, and I must attribute this
happy result to your loving care. I have taken the
liberty to have some books sent to you, which may in-
terest and instruct the young ladies. After you have
1 68 THE CRIME OF
glanced at them, you will readily see if you wish
to give them to mademoiselle and her companions."
The schoolmistress's gratitude went so far as to
become tearful, and still continued in words. In
order to cut it short, I said,
" What a beautiful day it is ! "
"Yes," she replied; "and if it continues, these
dear little girls will have fine weather for their
outing."
" I suppose you mean their vacation. But Made-
moiselle Alexandre, who is an orphan, cannot leave
the school. What in the world will she do in this
great empty house ? "
" We will give her all the pleasure in our power.
I will take her to the museums, and "
She hesitated, blushed, and added,
" And to your house, if I may."
" Why, of course ! " I cried ; " that is an excellent
idea."
We parted very good friends. I, because I had
obtained what I wanted. She, from no apparent
reason ; and that, according to Plato, places her in
the highest circle of the hierarchy of souls.
And yet I have a presentiment of misfortune in
bringing this woman into my house. I should like
it if Jeanne were in some other hands than hers.
Maitre Mouche and Mademoiselle Pre"fere are be-
yond my comprehension. I never know why they
say what they say, or why they do what they do.
There is a mysterious depth to them that makes me
feel uneasy. As Jeanne said just now, " We are
anxious about what we do not understand."
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 169
Alas ! at my age, we know too well how seldom
life is free from evil ; we know too well what we
lose by dwelling in this world, and we have confi-
dence only in youth. ^
August 16. ~
I was waiting for them. Indeed, I was impatiently \
waiting for them. I have been exerting all the tal-
ent I possess in the art of pleasing and coaxing, so
as to wheedle The'rese into welcoming them kindly;
but my powers are limited.
They came. Jeanne was very smart looking in-
deed ! She is not her mother, of course ; but I no-
ticed to-day, for the first time, that she has a pleas-
ing face, which in this world is very advantageous
to a woman. I thought that her hat was somewhat
crooked ; but she smiled, and the City of Books was
illuminated.
I looked at The'rese to see if her old-guardian
sternness had relaxed at sight of the young girl. I
saw her gazing at Jeanne with her dull eyes, her
long face, her hollow mouth, and her pointed chin
that looks like that of some powerful old fairy. But
that was all.
Mademoiselle Pre*fere, dressed in blue, advanced,
retreated, skipped, trotted, cried out, sighed, raised
her eyes, lowered her eyes, stammered, she did not
dare, she dared, again she did not dare, yet she dared
again, courtesied in short, it was like the manoeu-
vres in a riding-school.
" Oh, what quantities of books ! " she cried ; " and
you have read them all, Monsieur Bonnard ? "
" Yes, unfortunately," I replied ; " and that is why
I7O THE CRIME OF
I know nothing at all ; for there is not one of these
books that does not contradict some other, so that
when you have read them all, you know not what to
think. This is my case, madame."
At this point she called Jeanne to tell her how
she felt about it. But Jeanne was looking out of
the window.
" How beautiful it is ! " she said to us. " I do so
love to watch the river. It makes one think of all
sorts of things."
Mademoiselle Prdfere having removed her hat,
and displayed a brow adorned with blond curls, my
housekeeper pounced upon the hat with emphasis,
saying that she did not like to have clothes lying
about on the furniture. Then she asked Jeanne for
her things, calling her ma petite demoiselle (" my lit-
tle lady)." The little lady gave up her cloak and
hat, exposing to view a graceful neck and a rounded
figure, the lines of which stood out in beautiful relief
against the strong light from the windows. I could
have wished that she might be seen at that moment
by some one else besides an antiquated housekeeper,
a schoolmistress frizzed like a sheep, and an old
fossil whose life had been given to archaeology and
books.
" So you are looking at the Seine," I said to her.
" See how it sparkles in the sun."
"Yes," she said, as she leaned out with her elbow
on the window-ledge ; " it looks .like a running flame.
But see how cool it looks over there under the wil-
lows on the bank that it reflects. I like that little
nook better than all the rest."
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. \Jl
" Come," said I, " I see that the river charms you.
What would you say if, with the consent of Made-
moiselle Prdfere, we were to make an excursion to
Saint-Cloud by the steamboat that is sure to be
below the Pont-Royal ? "
Jeanne was delighted with the idea, and Made-
moiselle Prdfere was willing to make any sacrifice.
But my housekeeper would not hear of our going in
any such way She took me into the dining-room,
where I followed her in fear and trembling.
" Monsieur," said she, when we were alone, " you
never think of anything, and I have to think of
everything. Fortunately I have a good memory."
I did not think it a seasonable moment to shatter
this rash illusion. She continued,
" The idea of your going away without telling me
what the little lady likes. Girls at her age are
stupid; they have no special tastes; they eat like
birds. You are very hard to please, monsieur, but
at least you know what is good. It is not so with
these young things. They know nothing about
cooking. They often think that the worst is the
best ; and the worst seems good to them, because
their stomachs are not yet formed, so that one does
not know what to do for them. Tell me, does the
little lady like pigeons with sweet pease and vanilla
cream ?"
" My good TheVese," I replied, " get whatever you
think best, and it will be right. These ladies will be
pleased with a simple dinner, such as we usually
have."
TheVese answered dryly,
1/2 THE CRIME OF
" Monsieur, I am speaking to you of the little lady.
She must not leave the house without having had
some good of it. As to the old frizzle-head, if my
dinner does not suit her, she may suck, her thumbs.
What do I care about her?"
I .returned with a quiet mind to the City of
Books, where Mademoiselle Prefere was crocheting
as calmly as if she had been at home. I almost be-
lieved she was. She occupied but a small space, it
is true, in a corner by the window. But she had
chosen her chair and her stool so well that they
seemed made for her.
Jeanne, on the other hand, was gazing at the
books and pictures with a look almost of sadness,
which seemed to be bidding them an affectionate
good-by.
" Here," said I, " amuse yourself in looking over
this book, which cannot fail to please you, for it con-
tains some beautiful engravings ; " and I laid before
her the collection of costumes by Vecellio. Not a
cheap copy, I will beg you to observe, poorly repro-
duced by modern artists, but a magnificent and ven-
erable copy of the editio princeps, which in beauty
equals the noble women upon its yellow pages, made
more beautiful by time.
Jeanne looked over the engravings with girlish
interest, and turning to me, said,
" We were speaking of an excursion, but you are
taking me on a journey. I should like to go a long,
long way ! "
" Well, then, mademoiselle," said I, "you must ar-
range yourself comfortably for travelling. You are
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 1 73
sitting on the edge of your chair, and tipping it up
on one leg, and Vecellio must be tiring your knees.
Sit down comfortably, put your chair straight, and
lay the book on the table.
She obeyed me with a laugh.
I watched her. At last she cried out,
" Oh ! come and see this lovely costume ! (It was
that of a doge's wife.) How splendid it is, and
what magnificent ideas it gives one ! I am going to
tell you something I adore pretty things."
" You must not express such thoughts, made-
moiselle," said the schoolmistress, lifting her shape-
less little nose from her work.
"^tnd yet there is no harm in that," said I ; " there
are sumptuous minds that have an inborn love of
sumptuousness."
The shapeless little nose sank down again im-
mediately.
41 Mademoiselle Pre"fere loves pretty things too,"
said Jeanne ; " she cuts out paper transparencies for
the lamps. That is an economical form of luxury,
but it is luxury just the same."
Returning to Venice, we were making the acquaint-
ance of a patrician lady clothed in an embroidered
dalmatic, when I heard the door-bell. 1 supposed
it was some patronnet with his basket, when the
door of the City of Books opened, and ah, Maitre
Sylvestre Uonnard, you were wishing a moment ago
that other eyes than those that were faded and hid-
den behind spectacles might see your prottgie in
her beauty, your wishes are answered in a most un-
expected manner. And as to the imprudent Theseus
a voice calls out to you,
174 THE CRIME OF
" Beware, my Lord, beware lest pitiless Heaven
Hate you enough to hearken to your prayer.
Oft Heaven in wratli accepts our sacrifices,
Its gifts are oft chastisements for our crimes." !
The door of the City of Books opened, and
a handsome young man appeared, shown in by
The"rese. That simple old soul knows no more
than to open and close the door for people.
She understands nothing of the etiquette of the
reception-room and the parlor. In her code of laws,
there is nothing about announcing a caller or asking
a person to wait. She shoulders people out on the
landing of the stairs or hurls them at your head.
But there is the young man already inside, and I
cannot hide him like a treasure in the adjoining
room. I wait for him to explain his errand. This
he does without embarrassment ; but it seems to me
that he has noticed the young girl, who is leaning
over the table turning the pages of the Vecellio.
I look at him. If I am not greatly mistaken, I
have seen him somewhere before. His name is
Gdlis, a name I have somewhere heard. Monsieur
Ge"lis (since Ge"lis it is) is a nice-looking young fel-
low. He says that this is his third year in the cole
des Chartes, and that for the last fifteen or eighteen
months he has been working on his graduating
thesis, the subject of which is the condition of the
Benedictine abbeys in 1700. He has just read my
1 " Craignez, Seigneur, craignez que le del rigoureux
Ne vous haisse assez pour exaucer vas vaeux !
Souvent dans sa colere il refoit nos victimes,
Les presents sont souvent la peine de nos crimes."
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 175
works on the Monastico n ; and he knows positively
that he cannot finish his thesis without my advice,
in the first place, and then, without a certain manu-
script which I have in my possession, and which is
no other than the register of the accounts of the ab-
bey of Citaux from 1 683 to 1 704.
Having enlightened me on these points, he hands
me a letter of introduction from one of the most dis-
tinguished of my colleagues.
Ah ! at last I remember who he is. Monsieur
GeTis is the very young man who a year ago, while
we sat under the chestnut-trees, called me a fool ;
and as I open the letter of introduction, I think to
myself,
"Ha! ha! you unfortunate young man. You
have no idea that I heard you, and that I know what
you think of me, or at least what you thought of
me then for these young heads are so fickle ! I
have you now, my friend. You are in the lion's den; .
and you came so suddenly that the old lion is taken
by surprise, and knows not what to do with his prey.
Hut you, old lion, would you be an imbecile? If
you are not one, you were one. You were a fool to
listen to Monsieur Gdlis at the foot of the statue
of Marguerite de Valois ; a double fool for hearing
him ; and a triple fool for not forgetting what it
would have been better not to hear at all."
Having thus reprimanded the old lion, I exhorted
him to be kind. He did not seem to be very reluc-
tant in this, and soon became so gay that he had to
suppress his feelings in order that they might not
burst forth in a joyous roar.
1 76 THE CRIME OF
From the way in which I read my colleague's let-
ter, it might have been thought that I did not know
my letters. It took me a long time, and Monsieur
Ge'lis might have grown tired waiting ; but he was
watching Jeanne, and took his punishment patiently.
Jeanne occasionally turned her head in our direction.
One cannot keep perfectly still, can one ? Made-
moiselle Prdfere patted her curls, her breast heaving
with little sighs. I must say that many times I have
been honored by these little sighs.
" Monsieur," said I, folding the letter, " I am
happy to be of service to you. You are occupied
with researches which have been of great interest to
me. I have done what I could. I realize as you
do, and even more than you do, how much there still
remains to be done. The manuscript that you ask
for is at your service. You may take it away if you
wish ; but it is not of the smallest size, and I fear "-
" Oh, monsieur ! " said Ge'lis, " heavy books do not
frighten me."
I begged the young man to wait for me ; and I
went into an adjoining closet for the register, which
at first I failed to find, and which I even despaired
of ever finding, as I saw by certain signs that The*-
rese had been putting the closet in order. But
the volume was so large and so heavy that The'rese
had been unable to hide it completely. I raised it
with difficulty, and was delighted to find it as heavy
as I could have wished.
" Now, my boy," said I to myself, with a smile
which I meant to be very sarcastic, "now I am
about to crush you. First this will be too much for
SYLVESTRE BONNAKD. \TJ
your arms, and then too much for your brain. This
is Sylvestre Bonnard's first revenge. We shall see
what next."
When I returned to the City of Books, I found
Monsieur Ge*lis and Mademoiselle Jeanne talking
together, if you please, as if they were the best ot
friends. Mademoiselle Pre'fere was preserving a
discreet silence, but the other two were chattering
like magpies. And about what? About Venetian
red ? Yes, exactly ! About Venetien red ! The
little insinuating Ge*lis was telling Jeanne the secret
of the dye with which, according to authentic ac-
counts, the women of Titian and Veronese's times
colored their hair. And Mademoiselle Jeanne was
giving her opinion as to the blond de miel and the
blond d 'or. I guessed that this rascal of a Vecellio
was in the conspiracy, that they had been bending
over the book, and that together they had admired
the late doge's wife, or some other patrician lady of
Venice.
But never mind ! I appeared with my huge old
book, thinking that Gdlis would make a face. It
was a porter's burden, and my arms ached from it ;
but the young man took it as if it were a feather,
and tucked it smilingly under his arm. Then he
thanked me with few words, as I like to be thanked,
reminded me that he had need of my advice, and
having made an appointment for another meeting, he
bowed to us with all the ease in the world, and left.
" Fine fellow, that," said I. Jeanne turned over
some of the pages of Vecellio without speaking.
"Well! well!" I thought
And we went to Saint-Cloud.
THE CRIME OF
September-December.
The visits to the old man have been repeated
with such regularity that I am deeply grateful to
Mademoiselle Prefere. At last she has a corner
set apart for her in the City of Books. She says
now, "my chair," "my stool," "my pigeon-hole."
Her pigeon-hole is a shelf from which she exiled
the poets of La Champagne in order to make room
for her work-bag. She is very amiable, and I must
be a monster not to like her. I suffer her in the
literal sense of the word. But what would one not
suffer for Jeanne's sake ? She gives to the City of
Books a charm, the recollection of which is sweet
to me long after she is gone. She is utterly igno-
rant, but so gifted that when I show her a beautiful
thing it seems to me as if I had never before seen
it, and that she is the one who is showing it to me.
So far, I have found it impossible to make her fol-
low my thoughts ; but I have often taken pleasure in
following the bright but erratic train of hers.
A more sensible man than myself would think of
making her useful. But is not the faculty of being
pleasant in itself useful in life ? Without being
pretty, she attracts, and to attract is perhaps of as
much use as to darn stockings. Besides, I am not
immortal, and in all probability she will not be very
much older when my notary (who is not Maitre
Mouche) will read her a certain paper that I signed
lately.
I do not want any one but myself to provide for
her, and give her a dowry. I am not, indeed, very
rich, and the paternal heritage has not increased in
SYLVESTKE BONNARD. 179
my hands. One does not gather crowns by poring
over old manuscripts. But my books, at the price
paid to-day for this noble kind of merchandise, are
worth something. On that shelf there are some
poets of the sixteenth century that bankers would
contend for with princes. And I think that these
Heures of Simon Vostre would not pass unnoticed
in the H6tel Silvestre, any more than these Preces
pice collected for the use of Queen Claude. I have
been careful to gather together and preserve all
these rare and curious editions of which the City
of Books is full, and for a long time I used to think
that they were as necessary to my life as air and
light. I have loved them well, and even to-day I
cannot help smiling on them and caressing them.
These morocco bindings are so pleasing to the eye,
and these vellums so soft to the touch ! There is
not a single one of these books that, for some par-
ticular reason, is not worthy of the esteem of a good
man. What other owner will know how to prize
them as they deserve? If only I were sure that
their next master would not leave them to go to
rack and ruin, or mutilate them under the impulse
of some ignorant whim. Into whose hands will fall
this incomparable copy of the Histoire de rAbbaye
de Saint-Germain-des-Prs, on the margins of which
the author himself, as Jacques Bouillard, wrote sub-
stantial notes with his own hand ?
Maitre Bonnard, you are an old booby ! Your
housekeeper, poor thing, is kept in bed to-day by
a severe attack of rheumatism. Jeanne is coming
with her chaperon; and, instead of thinking how
ISO THE CRIME OF
best to entertain them, you are dwelling on a thou-
sand foolish thoughts. Sylvestre Bonnard, you will
never accomplish anything, and I tell you so myself!
At this moment I see them from my window, get-
ting out of the omnibus. Jeanne springs down like
a kitten; but Mademoiselle Prdfere intrusts herself
to the strong arms of the conductor with the mod-
esty of a Virginia saved from shipwreck, and re-
signed this time to letting herself be saved. Jean-ne
raises her head, sees me, and laughs ; and Mademoi-
selle Pre"fere checks her as she is about to wave her
parasol at me. There is a degree of civilization
which Mademoiselle Jeanne will never reach. You
may teach her, if you will, every art (I am not speak-
ing especially to Mademoiselle Pre"fere now), but you
will never teach her manners. Being agreeable, she '
makes the mistake of being so in her own way. Only
an old scatterbrain like myself could forgive this.
As to the young scatterbrains (some of them are still '
found), I do not know what they think about it ; it
is none of my business.
See her as she trips along the sidewalk, wrapped
in her cloak, her hat tilted back, the feather blow-
ing in the breeze like a brig adorned with flags. And
truly she has the graceful, proud bearing of a fine
sailing-vessel; so much so, that I recollect how one
day when I was at Havre
But must I tell you again, Bonnard, my friend,
that your housekeeper is in bed, and that you must
open the door yourself ? ' Open it, Good Old Win-
ter Spring is ringing the bell !
It is Jeanne herself Jeanne, rosy red. After a
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. l8l
moment or two, Mademoiselle Pre'fere reaches the
landing breathless/a/id scandalized.
I explained atrourmy housekeeper, and suggested
dining at the restaurant ; but The'rese, all-power-
ful still, on her bed of pain, decided that we must
dine at home. Respectable people, in her opinion,
do not dine at restaurants. Moreover, she had ar-
ranged for everything. The dinner was bought, and
the janitress was to cook it.
Rash Jeanne wanted to go and see if the poor
old sick woman did not need something. As you
may suppose, she was sent quickly back to the draw-
ing-room without ceremony, but with less roughness
than I had reason to fear.
" If I need anything, which I don't, thank God,"
came the answer, " I will find some one less dainty
than you. I need rest. This is a merchandise which
you do not find sold at fairs under tne sign of 'place
a finger on your lips.' Go back and have a good ~>
time, and do not stay here, for fear old age may be
contagious."
Jeanne told us what she said, and added that she
greatly liked to hear old The'rese talk, whereupon
Mademoiselle Pre'fere reproached her for having
such low taste.
I strove to excuse her by mentioning the example
of Moliere.
Then it happened that as she climbed up on my
ladder to look for a book, Jeanne let a whole row
fall. They made a loud crash ; and Mademoiselle
Pre'fere, in her affectation of sensitiveness, had a V
slight attack of hysterics. Jeanne quickly followed
1 82 THE CRIME OF
the books to the foot of the ladder. She was the
kitten changed to a woman, catching mice meta-
morphosed into old books. One of them attracted
her; and she began to read, seated on her heels. It
was Prince Grenouille, she said. Mademoiselle Pre"-
fere seized this opportunity to complain that Jeanne
had so little liking for poetry. She could not be
made to recite perfectly the Death of Joan of Arc,
by Casimir Delavigne. It was all she could do to
remember the Petit Savoyard. The schoolmistress
did not approve of reading the Prince Grenouille
before knowing by heart the stanzas by Duperrier.
Carried away by her enthusiasm, she recited in a
voice that was softer than the bleating of a sheep :
" Ta douleur, Duperrier, sera done eternelle,
Et les tristes discours
Que te met en f esprit famitie paternelle
L? augmenieront toujours;
Je sais de quels appas son enfance etait pleine,
Et n'ai pas entrepris,
Injurieux ami de consoler ta peine
Avecque son mcpris."
Then she went into raptures.
" Oh, how beautiful it is ! What harmony ! How
is it possible not to admire such sweet, such touch-
ing verses. But why did Malherbe speak of this
poor Monsieur Duperrier, who was already broken
down from the loss of his daughter, as an injurieux
ami? Injurieux ami. You must admit that the
term is harsh."
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 183
I explained to the poetic creature that the inju-
rieux ami which so greatly shocked her was an
apposition, etc. What I told her seemed to clear
her head to such a degree that she was seized with
a great longing to sneeze. Prince Grenouille, mean-
time, must have been very funny ; for Jeanne, from
her seat on the floor, could scarcely keep from
laughing aloud. When she had finished with the
prince and princess of the story, and the innumer-
able children they never fail to have, she assumed
a beseeching expression, and teased me to let her,
as a favor, put on a white apron, and go into the
kitchen to see about the dinner.
"Jeanne," I replied with the seriousness of a mas-
ter, " I think that if it is a question of breaking the
plates, notching the dishes, denting the saucepans,
and staving in the kettles, the creature whom
The'rese has established in the kitchen is all-suffi-
cient, for at this very moment I seem to hear dis-
astrous sounds from there. However, Jeanne, I put
you in charge of the dessert. Go and get a white
apron. I will tie it around you myself."
I solemnly tied the linen apron around her waist ;
and she fled into the kitchen, where, as we discov-
ered later, she proceeded to concoct preparations
unknown to Vatel, unknown even to the great Ca-
reme, who began his treatise on fancy dishes as
follows: " The Fine Arts number five : Painting,
Music, Poetry, Sculpture, and Architecture, the
principal branch of which is Pastry"
I could not congratulate myself on this little
arrangement ; for Mademoiselle Pre'fere, now that
1 84 THE CRIME OF
she was alone with me, began to behave in a very
alarming manner. She gazed at me with eyes full
of tears and strange lights, and heaved deep sighs.
" I am so sorry for you," said she. " A man like
you, a man of such refinement as you are, to live
alone with a coarse servant (for she is coarse,
there is no denying that). What a hard life! You
need rest, care, attention of every kind ; you may
be taken ill. And there is not a woman who would
not consider it an honor to bear your name and
share your existence. No, not one. My heart tells
me so."
And she pressed both hands upon her heart,
which, apparently, was in constant danger of escap-
ing from her.
I was literally at my wits' end. I strove to show
Mademoiselle Prdfere that I had not the slightest
intention of making a change in my mode of living
at my advanced age, and that I was as happy as I
could be with my disposition and circumstances.
" No ! " cried she ; " you are not happy. You
need a soul close by you that is capable of under-
standing you. Rouse yourself from your torpor,
and look about you. You have wide connections
and delightful acquaintances. One cannot be a
member of the Institute without mingling in society.
See, think, compare. No sensible woman would
refuse you. I am a woman, monsieur, and my in-
stincts do not deceive me. There is something
in my heart that tells me you would find happiness
in marriage. Women are so devoted, so loving
(not all, of course, but some). And then, they are
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 185
sensitive to glory. You know that at your age a
man needs, like CEdipus, an Egeria. Your house-
keeper is no longer strong. She is deaf ; she is
infirm. Suppose anything should happen to you
in the night ! The very thought of it makes me
shudder ! "
And she actually shuddered. She closed her eyes,
clinched her fists, and stamped her foot. My dismay
was unspeakable. With what terrifying ardor she
continued,
" Your health ! Your dear health ! The health
of a member of the Institute! I would gladly give
every drop of my blood to prolong the life of a
scholar, a writer, a man of distinction. And a
woman who would not be willing to do as much,
I should despise. Monsieur, I once knew the wife
of a great mathematician, a man who made long
calculations in blank-books, and filled the closets of
his house with the volumes. He had trouble with
his heart, and was visibly wasting away. I saw his
wife sitting quietly by his side. I could not help
saying to her one day, ' My dear, you have no feel-
ing. If I were in your place, I should do, I should
do I do not know what I should do ! "'
She paused, exhausted. I was in a terrible posi-
tion. It was out of the question to tell Mademoi-
selle Prdfere all I thought of her suggestions, for
if I made her angry I should lose Jeanne. There-
fore I took it quietly. Besides, she was my guest.
This thought helped me to be more courteous.
" I am very old, mademoiselle," said I ; " and I
fear that your advice comes a little too late. How-
1 86 THE CRIME OF
ever, I will think of it. In the meantime, I beg you
to be calm. A glass of eau sucree would do you
good."
To my great surprise, my words calmed her at
once; and she returned quietly to her chair in her
corner, near her pigeon-hole, her feet on her stool.
The dinner was completely spoiled. Mademoi-
selle Prdfere, lost in her own thoughts, took no no-
tice of it. I am usually very sensitive about such
things ; but this one was such fun for Jeanne, that
after a while I, too, couldn't help enjoying it. I had
never known before, even at my age, that there was
anything funny in a chicken burned on one side
and raw on the other ; but Jeanne's merry laughter
showed me that such was the case. This chicken
was the cause of our making a thousand very witty
remarks, all of which I have now forgotten, and I
was delighted that it had not been properly cooked.
Jeanne put it back again on the spit; then she took
it and broiled it ; then she stewed it in butter. And
each time it came back to the table it was less pal-
atable and more hilarious than before. When we
ate it at last, it was a thing which had no name in
any kitchen.
The almond cake was still more extraordinary.
It was brought in in its pan, because it could not
be got out of it. I asked Jeanne to serve it herself,
thinking to embarrass her. But she broke the pan,
and gave us each a piece. The idea would never
enter any but the most innocent head that one
at my age could eat such things. Mademoiselle
Prelere, aroused from her musing, indignantly re-
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 1 87
pulsed the piece of earthenware covered with burnt
sugar, and took the opportunity to inform me confi-
dentially that she excelled in making candy.
" Oh ! " cried Jeanne, in a tone of surprise not
wholly devoid of mischief.
Then she wrapped all the pieces of the pan in a
bit of paper, intending to take them to her young
friends, and especially to the three Misses Mouton,
who are naturally inclined to gormandizing.
Secretly I was very much troubled. It seemed
to me almost impossible to remain long on good
terms with Mademoiselle Pre"fere, whose matrimo-
nial designs had burst forth with such fury. And
that lady gone, good-by to Jeanne !
I took advantage of the moment when the gentle
soul went for her cloak, to ask Jeanne exactly what
her own age was. She was eighteen years and one
month old. I counted on my fingers, and found
that she would not be of age till the end of two
years and eleven months. What should we do dur-
ing all that time?
When she parted from me, Mademoiselle Pre'fcre
squeezed my hand with so much meaning that I
trembled in every limb.
" Good-by," I said gravely to the young girl.
41 Listen to me, my dear ; this friend of yours is
old, and may fail you. Tell me that you will always
be true to yourself, and I shall be easy. God bless
you, my child ! "
I closed the door, and opened my window to watch
her go. But the night was dark, and I saw only
dim shadows gliding across the black quay. A
iCS THE CRIME OF
great, dull hum rose about me, and my heart almost
stopped beating.
Poor child !
December 15.
The King of Thule had a golden goblet which
his mistress had left him as a souvenir. When he
was almost dying, feeling that he had drunk from it
for the last time, he flung the goblet into the sea.
I am keeping this book of memories as the aged
prince of the misty seas kept his golden goblet; and
just as he threw his love-token into the waves, I will
burn this book of memories. Not from any feeling
of haughty avarice or selfish pride shall I destroy
this record of a humble life ; but I am afraid that
the things which are dear and sacred to me may,
because of their being inartistically expressed, seem
ordinary and absurd to others.
I do not say this in view of what follows. Ab-
surd I certainly was when, having been invited to
dine at Mademoiselle Pre'fere's, I sat down in an
easy-chair (it was indeed such) on the right of this
alarming person. The table was set in a small
drawing-room, and I saw from the poor condition
of the table furniture that the schoolmistress was
one of those ethereal beings that soar above the
realities of earth. Broken plates, odd glasses, loose-
handled knives, yellow forks nothing was missing
to take away the appetite of an honest man.
I was told that the dinner had been cooked for
me for me alone, though Maitre Mouche was
there also. Mademoiselle Pre*fere must have ima-
gined that I had a Sarmatian's taste for butter; for
SYLVESTRE BONNAKD. 189
that which she offered me, made into little thin pats,
was to the last degree rancid.
The roast put the finishing stroke to my disgust.
But I had the pleasure of hearing Maitre Mouche
and Mademoiselle PreTere talk about virtue. I said
the pleasure, I should have said the shame, for the
sentiments they expressed are far too much for my
worldly nature.
What they said showed me as clear as day that
devotion was their daily bread, and that self-sacrifice
was as necessary to them as air and water. Seeing
that I was not eating, Mademoiselle Pre*fere tried in
a thousand ways to overcome what she was good
enough to term my discretion.
Jeanne was not of the company ; because it was
said, her presence, as an exceptional favor, would
have been contrary to the rule of impartiality so
necessary to maintain among so many young girls.]]
I inwardly congratulated her on having escaped the
Merovingian butter, the huge radishes, as empty as
ballot-boxes, the tough roast, and the various other
curiosities of cooking to which I had exposed myself
for love of her.
The weary-looking servant served a liquid which \
for some occult reason they called a " cream," and
then disappeared like a shadow.
Then, with great ecstasy, Mademoiselle Pre*fere
related all that she had said to me in the City of
Books, while my housekeeper was in bed. Her ad-
miration for a member of the Institute, her fear that
I might be ill and alone, the certainty she felt that
an intelligent woman would be proud and happy to
THE CRIME OF
share my lot she made no concealment of any
of it ; on the contrary, she added new absurdities.
Maltre Mouche nodded approvingly as he cracked
the nuts ; then, after all this waste of words, he
asked, with a pleasant smile, what I had answered.
Mademoiselle Prdfere, placing one hand on her
heart, and raising the other toward me, cried,
" He is so affectionate, so superior, so good, and
so great! He answered but I could not I, a
simple woman, repeat the words of a member of
the Institute. All I can do is to give you the sub-
stance of them. He answered, ' Yes ; I understand
you. Yes.' "
Having thus spoken, she seized one of my hands.
Maitre Mouche, greatly moved, rose and took the
other.
" I congratulate you, monsieur," said he.
I have at times in my life known the meaning of
fear, but never before had I experienced such a
nauseating terror. I felt a sickening fright.
Disengaging my two hands, I rose, in order to
give all possible dignity to my words.
" Madame," said I, " either I made a poor expla-
nation at my house, or I have misunderstood you
here. In either case, a positive explanation is ne-
cessary. Permit me, madame, to make it in plain
words. No, I did not understand you. I am abso-
lutely ignorant of the match you may have in view
for me. if indeed you have planned any such. In
any case I do not wish to marry. At my age it
would be an unpardonable folly ; and even now, at
this late day, I cannot imagine how any sensible
SYLVESTRE BONNAKD. IQI
woman like yourself could suggest such a thing to
me. I have even every reason to think that I am
mistaken, and that you suggested nothing of the
kind. If this is the case, you will forgive an old
man, who has become unfamiliar with the ways of
society, and but little accustomed to the conversa-
tion of ladies, and who is heartbroken over his
blunder."
Maitre Mouche went quietly back to his chair,
and, as the nuts were all cracked, began to whittle
a cork.
Mademoiselle Prdfere gazed at me for an instant
out of her small round dry eyes with a peculiar ex-
pression, which I had never seen there before, and
then resumed her usual grace and sweetness. In a
voice like honey she exclaimed,
" Oh, these scholars ! these cloistered men ! they
are like children. Yes, Monsieur Bonnard, you are
a veritable child ! "
Then, turning to the notary, who sat in silence, his
nose on his cork,. she cried in a beseeching tone,
" Oh, do not accuse him ! Do not condemn him !
Do not think ill of him ! I beg you, do not. Must
I beg you on my knees ? "
Maitre Mouche examined his cork on every side
without vouchsafing any word.
I was furious ; and, to judge from the heat in my
head, my cheeks must have been crimson. This
circumstance, I suppose, must be the explanation of
the words which I heard through the buzzing in my
ears :
" Our poor friend frightens me. Monsieur Mouche,
1 92 THE CRIME OF
be kind enough to open the window. Perhaps an
arnica compress would be good for him."
I rushed into the street with an indescribable feel-
ing of shame.
My poor Jeanne !
December 20.
A week passed without my hearing a word from
the Prdfere Institute. Not being able to wait longer
without news of Clementine's daughter, and think-
ing, too, that I owed it to myself not to give up
going to the place, I set out on the road to les
Ternes. The parlor seemed colder, damper, more
inhospitable, more hateful, and the servant more
scared and more silent than ever. I asked for
Jeanne; but after the lapse of some time Mademoi-
selle Pre*fere herself appeared, stern and pale, with
drawn lips and cruel eyes.
" Monsieur," said she, folding her arms under her
ptterine, " I deeply regret my inability to allow you
to see Mademoiselle Alexandre to-day, but it is im-
possible."
"And why so?" I asked in astonishment.
" Monsieur," she replied, " the reasons that com-
pel me to have your calls here made less frequently
are of a peculiarly delicate nature, and I beg you to
spare me the embarrassment of mentioning them."
" Madame," I replied, " I am authorized by
Jeanne's guardian to see his ward every day. What
reason can you have for opposing the wish of Mon-
sieur Mouche ? "
" Mademoiselle Alexandre's guardian " (she dwelt
on the word guardian as on a firm support) "is as
SYLVESTRE BONWARD. 193
anxious as I am to have your assiduities come to an
end."
" If this is the case, be kind enough to give me
his reasons as well as yours."
She gazed at the little paper spiral, and replied
with stern calmness,
"You really wish this? Although such an ex-
planation is hard for a woman to make, I yield to
your demand. This house, monsieur, is a respect-
able house. I have my responsibility. I must
watch like a mother over each of my pupils. Your
attentions to Mademoiselle Alexandre cannot con-
tinue without harming this young girl. My duty is
to see that they are stopped."
" I fail to understand you," I said ; and it was the
truth. She replied slowly,
" Your constant visits to this house are inter-
preted by people, even by the most' respectable and
the least suspicious, in such a way that I am obliged
in the interest of my school, as well as in the interest
of Mademoiselle Alexandre, to stop them as soon as
possible."
" Madame," I cried, " I have heard a great many
foolish things in my life, but never one that can
compare to what you have just said ! "
She replied simply,
<; Your insults do not affect me in the least. A
woman is very strong in the performance of a duty."
And she pressed her ptlerine against her heart,
this time not to restrain, but probably to caress,
that generous heart.
"Madame," said I with uplifted finger, "you
194 THE CRIME OF
have roused the indignation of an old man. Act in
future in such a way that the old man may forget
you, and add no new misdeeds to those I already
have witnessed. I warn you, that I shall not keep
from watching over Mademoiselle Jeanne Alexan-
dre. If in any way whatsoever you harm her, it
will go hard with you ! "
As I grew angrier she became more calm, and
she put on a fine air of indifference as she re-
plied,
" Monsieur, I am too well acquainted with the
nature of the interest you take in this young girl,
not to do all in my power to withdraw her from the
surveillance with which you threaten me. Seeing
the more than equivocal intimacy in which you live
with your housekeeper, I should have prevented
you from ever coming into contact with an innocent
young girl. I shall do so in the future. If hith-
erto I have been too unsuspicious, not you, but
Mademoiselle Alexandre, can reproach me. But
she is too artless, too pure, thanks to me, to suspect
the nature of the danger to which you have exposed
her. You will not compel me, I presume, to en-
lighten her in regard to it."
" Well," said I to myself, shrugging my shoul-
ders, "you have had to live until now, my poor
Bonnard, to know exactly what a bad woman is.
At present your knowledge is complete in this line."
I went out without a word ; and I had the pleasure
of seeing, from the quick blush on the schoolmis-
tress's face, that she was more affected by my silence
than she had been by my words. I crossed the
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 195
court, looking right and left for Jeanne. She was
on the watch for me, and came running to me.
" If a hair of your head is touched, Jeanne, write
me. Good-by."
" No ! not good-by ! "
I answered, " No, no ! not good-by. Write to me."
I went straight to Madame de Gabry's.
" Madame is in Rome with monsieur. Did you
not know, monsieur?"
"Ah, yes," I replied; "madame wrote me about
it." So in truth she had done. I must have lost
my head to forget it. This was probably what the
servant thought ; for he looked at me as much as to
say, " Monsieur Bonnard is in his dotage," and he
leaned over the railing of the stairs to see if I did
not do something peculiar. But I walked down as
usual, and he withdrew disappointed.
On my return, I was told that Monsieur GeMis was
in the drawing-room. This young man is constantly
at my house. His judgment is sometimes faulty,
but his mind is above the ordinary. This time his
call brought nothing but embarrassment on me.
" Alas ! " I thought, " I shall certainly say some-
thing foolish to my young friend ; and he, too, will
think I am breaking down. And yet I cannot ex-
plain to him that I have been sought in marriage,
and condemned as an immoral man ; that The*rese
is under suspicion, and that Jeanne is in the power of
the most wicked woman on earth. I am in a fine state
of mind to discuss Cistercian abbeys with a young
and over-critical scholar. But come, let us go in.
196 THE CRIME OF
TheVese stopped me, however.
" How red your face is, monsieur ! " she said in a
tone of reproach.
" It is the spring," I answered.
"The spring in the month of December!" she
cried.
True, it is the month of December ! Ah ! how
my head feels ! What a strong support am I to
poor Jeanne !
" Thdrese, take my cane, and put it, if you possi-
bly can, where it can be found. Good-afternoon,
Monsieur Ge'lis. How are you?"
No date.
The following day the poor old fellow started to
rise, but the poor old fellow was unable to do so.
Cruel was the unseen hand that laid him low upon
his bed. The poor old fellow, pinned down as he
was, resigned himself to the inevitable, but his
thoughts were not idle.
He must have had a high fever; for Mademoiselle
Prdfere, the abbots of Saint-Germain-des-Pre's, and
Madame de Gabry's servant appeared to him under
fantastic forms, especially the servant, who leaned
over him, grinning like a gargoyle on a cathedral.
I had an idea that there were a great many people,
too many, in my room, j
This room is furnished in olden style. On the
wall hang the portrait of my father in full-dress uni-
form, and that of tnyNnother in a cachemire robe.
The wall-paper has a ofetdgn of green leaves and
flowers. I realize this. I even realize that it is all
very much faded, but an old man's room does not
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 197
need to be daintily pretty. It is enough if it is
clean, and The'rese sees to that. Then, further-
more, it is sufficiently decorated to please my fancy,
which is a tr\fle childish and prosaic. On the walls \
and the furniture there are figures which ordinarily ,
speak to me ami enliven me. But why are all these \
things angry at me to-day ? They seem discordant ;
they grin at me ; ttjey threaten me. The statuette,
copied from one of\the cardinal Virtues at Notre-
Dame de Brou, unaffected and graceful as it usually
appears, is now making\contortions, and putting out
its tongue at me. And that beautiful miniature, which
represents one of Jehan Fouquet's most gracious dis-
ciples, girt with the cord pf the sons of Francis,
offering, on bended knee, hid book to the good Duke
of Angoulcme who has removed it from its frame,
and substituted a great cat's head, glaring at me
with phosphorescent eyes ? T\he designs on the
wall-paper have become heads tofy green and shape-
less. No, they are not; they are^o-day what they
were twenty years ago, nothing but stamped leaves
and flowers. No, I was right, they, are heads
heads with eyes, noses, and mouths K Heads ! I
understand ; they are heads and flowers \^t the same
time. I wish I did not see them at all. \
There, on my right, the graceful miniature of the
Franciscan friar has returned ; but it seems to me
that I retain it by a superhuman effort of my will,
and that if I relax my effort the wretched cat's head
will come back, flam not delirious. I see The'rese
perfectly at the foot of my bed. I hear her speak-
ing to me, and I should answer with perfect clear-
p
198 777^ CRIME OF
ness if I were not busy keeping everything about me
in its natural form.
Here comes the doctor. I did not send for him,
but I am glad to see him. He is an old neighbor, to
whom I have been of little profit, but whom I like
exceedingly. Although I do not say much to him, I
am at least perfectly conscious, even strangely crafty ;
for I notice his gestures, his looks, the smallest wrin-
kles on his face. But he is shrewd, and I do not
really know what he thinks of me. The mighty
thought of Goethe comes to my mind, and I say,
" Doctor, this old man has consented to grow ill,
but he will allow nature no further concessions this
time."
Neither the doctor nor The'rese smiles at my jest.
They cannot have understood it.
The doctor takes his leave, daylight fades, and
all sorts of shadows form and break, like clouds,
among the folds of my curtains. They pass in crowds
before me, and through them I see the impassive
face of my faithful servant. All at once a cry, a'
sharp cry of distress, falls upon my ear. Is it you,
Joanne, calling to me ?
Night has come. The shadows cluster about my
bed, to remain by me through the long night.
At daybreak I feel a peace, a wonderful peace,
about me.
Art thou opening thine arms to me, O Lord, my
God?
Febrrtary, 186-.
The doctor is perfectly jovial. It seems that I am
doing him great honor by recovering. Numberless
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 199
ills, I understand, have been poured out over my
old body./
Theseills, which are the bane of man, have names
which iire the bane of the philologist. They are hy-
brid narnes>>half Greek, half Latin, ending in t/fs,
indicating the mfhwomatory state, and in algia, ex-
pressing pain. The doob>-uses them with a number
of adjectives ending in /V, whic*hs^erve to character-
ize their detestable qualities in sniart, a good half
of the complete copy of the medical dictionary con-
tained in the too authentic box of Pandora.
" Doctor, that story of Pandora is a good one. If
Iwere a poet, I would put it into French verse.
["Shake hands, doctor. You have brought me back
to life. I forgive you. You have restored me to my
friends, and I thank you. I am all sound, you say.
Xo doubt, no doubt; but I have endured a great
deal./ I am an old piece of furniture, quite like my
father's armchair. It was an armchair which that
honest man inherited, and in which he sat from
morning to night. Twenty times a day, when I was
a little boy, I used to perch on the arm of that old
chair. So long as it was in good condition, no one
paid any attention to it ; but the moment it began to
limp with one leg, we said what a good chair it was.
After a while, three of its legs went lame, the fourth
squeaked, and both of its arms were half gone.
Then we exclaimed, What a strong armchair ! '
We wondered how, being without a sound arm or a
firm leg, it could still look like an armchair, retain
an upright position, and be of use. But the horse-
hair came out of its body, and it gave up the ghost.
200 TJIE CRIME OF
And when Cyprien, our servant, cut off its legs for
fire-wood the shouts of admiration increased. 'The
fine, the wonderful old armchair! It was used by
Pierre-Sylvestre Bonnard, dry-goods merchant, by
his son Epime'nide Bonnard, and by Jean-Baptiste
Bonnard, chief of the third maritime division and
a Pyrrhonic philosopher. What a strong and ven-
erable armchair ! ' In reality it was a dead arm-
chair. Well, doctor, such an armchair am I. You
think me sound because I have resisted attacks
which would have killed many, but which killed
me only three-quarters. Many thanks. Neverthe-
lesSjI am an irrevocably damaged article."
/ The doctor strives, by the help of long Greek and
Latin terms, to prove that I am still hale and hearty ;
but French is too simple a language for an explana-
tion of that kind. However, I admit what he says,
and escort him to my doorj
" Good ! " says Thdrese. " That is the way to
put out a doctor. If you will only repeat it two
or three times, he will not return, and that would be
a good thing."
"Well, The'rese, now that I am a strong man
again, do not detain my letters any longer. There
is a good pile of them, no doubt, and it would be
wicked to keep me longer from reading them."
The'rese, after some delay, gave them to me. But
what did it matter? I looked at every envelope,
and not one was written by the little hand that I
longed to see here, turning over the pages of Ve-
cellio. I tossed aside the whole pile, for they no
longer appealed to me.
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 2OI
April-June.
The discussion has been a warm one.
" Wait, monsieur, until I put on some suitable
things," said The'rese, " and I will walk out again
with you. I will take your folding-chair as I have
done for the past few days, and we will go and sit
in the sunshine."
The truth is, The'rese thinks that I am infirm. I
have been ill, no doubt, but there is an end to all
things. Madame Illness departed long since; and
three months ago her pale and gentle-faced hand-
maid, Dame Convalescence, politely bade me good-
by. Were I to listen to my housekeeper, I should
be " Monsieur Argant," and I should wear a night-
cap trimmed with ribbons for the rest of my days.
Anything but that ! I intend to go out by myself.
The'rese will not hear to it. She brings my folding-
chair, and follows me.
" The'rese, to-morrow we will take our seat by the
wall of la petite Provence if you like, but to-day
I have important business to attend to."
Business ! She thinks I refer to money matters,
and explains that there is nothing important to be
decided.
" So much the better ! But there is other busi-
ness besides that in the world."
I tease, I scold, I escape.
The day is fair. By means of a hack, and by
the help of God, I shall accomplish my adventur-
ous design.
Here is the wall, bearing in blue letters the words:
PENSIONNAT DE DEMOISELLES, TENU IAR MA-
2O2 THE CRIME OF
DEMOISELLE ViRGiNiE PREFERS. Here is the iron
gate which would give entrance into the court of
honor if it ever were opened. But the lock is rusty ;
and between the bars, sheet-iron has been placed,
as a protection against indiscreet eyes that might
be turned upon the young souls, whom, no doubt,
Mademoiselle Pre"fere instructs in modesty, sincer-
ity, justice, and disinterestedness. Here, indicating
the domestic part of the establishment, is a barred
window, with painted panes, like a sightless eye,
the sole opening to the outside world.
The narrow door by which I have entered so
often, and which henceforth is closed to me, is the
same as it was, with its barred grating. The stone
steps leading to it are worn ; and though the eyes
behind my glasses are none too good, I can distin-
guish little white scratches made on the stone by
the nails in the scholars' heels as they pass in and
out. Cannot I also enter? It seems to me that
Jeanne must be suffering in this gloomy house, and
that she is secretly calling me. I cannot go away.
I am filled with anxiety. I ring the bell ; the fright-
ened servant-girl answers it, looking more frightened
than ever. The order has been given. I cannot
see Mademoiselle Jeanne. I at least ask how she
is. The servant, having glanced to the right and
left, replies that she is well, and shuts the door in
my face. Once more I am in the street.
And since then how often have I wandered be-
neath that wall, before that little door, ashamed,
and in despair at being weaker than the poor girl
who has no other protection on earth but mine !
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 2O3
June 10.
I overcame my repugnance, and went to see Mai-
tre Mouche. I noticed at first glance that his office
was dustier and mustier than it was a year ago.
The notary appeared with his angular gestures and
his restless eyes behind their glasses. I made my
complaint to him. He replied but of what use
is it to note down in a diary that will be burned
my reminiscences of a downright scoundrel. He
approves of all that is done by Mademoiselle Pre"-
fere, whose mind and character he has for many
years held in high appreciation. It is not for him
to give an opinion on the subject under discussion;
but on the face of it, he must say that appearances
are against me. That concerns me but little. He
adds and this concerns me more that the pal-
try sum which he had in his hands for his ward's
education is exhausted, and that under these cir-
cumstances he cannot but admire the disinterested-
ness of Mademoiselle Pre*fere, who has consented to
keep Mademoiselle Jeanne with her.
A brilliant flood of sunshine, the light of a fair
day, pours its incorruptible waves into this sordid
den and illuminates this man. Without, it spreads
its glory over all the poverty and wretchedness of a
thickly populated district.
How sweet is this light with which my eyes have
so long been filled, and which in a short time I
shf.ll no longer enjoy !
I go away, and in a dreamy state of mind, with
ly hands behind my back, wander along the fortifi-
:ations, and find myself, to my surprise, in one of the
204 THE CRIME OF
out-of-the-way faubourgs where mean little gardens
abouncL) By the dusty roadside I come upon a
plant, the flower of which, at once bright and som-
bre, seems made to be associated with the noblest
and the purest grief. It is the columbine. Our
fathers called it Le gant de Notre-Dame. Only a
Notre-Dame who should make herself very small,
so as to be seen by children, could slip her dainty
fingers into the tiny capsules of this flower.
Here comes a big bumblebee, diving into it with
brutal energy ; but his mouth cannot reach the nec-
tar, and the glutton strives in vain. At last he gives
up, and comes out all smeared with pollen. He re-
sumes his heavy flight; but there are few flowers in
this faubourg, blackened by the soot of factories.
He comes flying back to the columbine ; and this
time he pierces the corolla, and drinks the nectar
through the opening he has made. I would not
have believed that a bumblebee would have so
much sense. It is wonderful !
The more I observe insects and flowers, the more
they surprise me. I am like the good Rollin, who
found such intense delight in the flowers of his
peach-trees. I should like to own a beautiful gar-
den, and live on the edge of a wood.
A ugust-September.
One Sunday morning the idea came into my
mind to watch the pupils of Mademoiselle Prdfero's
school as they went to mass in the parish church.
I saw them pass two by two, the smaller ones lead-
ing, with serious faces. Three of them were plump,
SYLVESTRE BONNARD.
short, important-looking girls, dressed exactly alike.
These I recognized as the Misses Mouton. Their
elder sister is the artist who drew the terrible head
of Tatius, King of the Sabines. A little aloof from
the line, the under-teacher, with her prayer-book in
her hand, was fussing about and scowling darkly.
The middle class, and then the big girls, passed
along whispering. But I did not see Jeanne.
I asked at the department of education if there
was not among the records something about the
school in the rue Demours. I succeeded in having
some female inspectors sent there. They returned,
bringing the best accounts. In their opinion the
Prdfere school was a model institution. If I insti-
gated any investigation, Mademoiselle Pre'fere would
surely receive scholastic honors !
. October 3.
/ This Thursday being a holiday, I met the three
fittle Misses Mouton near the rue Demours. I
bowed to their mother, and asked the eldest, who
might have been ten years old, how her friend
Mademoiselle Jeanne Alexandre was. Little Made-
moiselle Mouton replied without an instant's hes-
itation,
"Jeanne Alexandre is not my friend. She is a
charity pupil in the school, and so she is made to
sweep the class-rooms. Mademoiselle said so. And
Jeanne Alexandre is wicked too, and she is shut up
in a dark room, and it serves her right. I am good.
They do not shut me up in a dark room."
The three little ladies resumed their walk, followed
206 THE CRIME OF
closely by Madame Mouton, who gave me a look of
distrust over her broad shoulder.
Alas ! I am forced to resort to questionable expe-
dients. Madame de Gabry will not return to Paris
for three months at the earliest. Away from her I
have neither tact nor sense. I am but a clumsy,
awkward, and deleterious machine.
Nevertheless, Jeanne must not be a servant in a
boarding-school !
ft ft*} December 28.
v The thought of Jeanne sweeping the class-rooms
had become perfectly intolerable to me.
The weather was cold and gloomy. Night was
already beginning to fall. I rang at the little door
with the calmness of a man whose mind was made
up. As soon as the frightened servant appeared, I
slipped a gold piece into her hand, and promised her
another if she succeeded in letting me see Made-
moiselle Alexandre. She answered,
" In an hour, at the grated window."
And she slammed the door in my face so violently
that it knocked my hat into the gutter.
I waited a long hour in the midst of a whirling
snow-storm ; then I approached the window. Noth-
ing! The wind howled, and the snow fell thickly.
The workmen as they passed by with their utensils
on their shoulders, their heads bent beneath the
thick falling snowflakes, brushed roughly against
me. Nothing ! I feared that I should be observed.
I knew that I had done wrong in bribing a servant,
but I did not regret it. Evil to him who is not able
to overstep the social laws if need be ! A quarter
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 2O/
of an hour passed. Nothing ! At last the window
was partly opened.
" Is that you, Monsieur Bonnard ? "
" Is that you, Jeanne ? Tell me in a word how
are you getting along ? "
" I am doing well, very well."
" But tell me more ! "
" I have been put into the kitchen, and they make
me sweep the rooms."
" Into the kitchen ! And you do the sweeping !
Goodness ! "
" Yes ; because my guardian no longer pays for
my schooling."
"Goodness ! It seems to me your guardian is a
scoundrel."
" Ah, you know then "
" What ? "
" Oh, do not make me say it. But I would rather
die than be alone with him."
" Why have you not written to me ? "
" I have been watched."
At that moment my resolution was taken, and no
power could have made me alter it. The thought
came to me that I might not be acting according to
law, but what did I care for that ? Being deter-
mined, I was prudent. I acted with remarkable
calmness.
" Jeanne," I asked, " does the room in which you
are connect with the court ? "
Yes."
" Can you open the street door yourself ? "
" Yes ; unless some one is in the lodge."
208 THE CRIME OF
" Go and try, and be sure not to let any one see
you."
I waited, watching both door and window. At
the end of five or six seconds Jeanne reappeared
behind the grating.
" The bonne is in the lodge," said she.
" Good," said I. " Have you a pen and ink ? "
" No."
" A pencil, then ? " .
" Yes."
" Hand it to me."
I took from my pocket an old newspaper ; and be-
tween the gusts of wind, which almost blew out the
street-lights, and under the falling snow which blinded
me, I put a paper band about the newspaper, and
addressed it as well as I could to Mademoiselle
Prdfere.
While I was writing, I said to Jeanne,
" When the postman comes along, he puts the let-
ters and papers in the box, does he not, rings the
bell, and goes on ? The bonne opens the box, and
immediately carries the mail to Mademoiselle Pre"-
fere, does she not ? That is what takes place, is it
not, every time the mail comes ? "
Jeanne thought it was.
" Well, we shall see. Jeanne, keep watch, and as
soon as the bonne has left the lodge, pull the rope
and come out."
So saying, I slipped the paper into the box, gave
the bell a vigorous pull, and hid in the shelter of an
adjoining doorway.
I had been there a few moments, when the small
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 2OQ
door moved, and opened part way; then a young
girl thrust her head out. I took hold of her, and
drew her towards me.
"Come, Jeanne, come."
She looked at me with uncertainty. She certainly
thought I had gone mad. On the contrary, I was to
the last degree rational.
" Come, come, my child."
" Where ? "
" To Madame de Gabry's."
Then she took my arm. We ran for some dis-
tance as if we were thieves. But running is not an
exercise suited for a man of my size ; and half-suf-
focated, I paused, and leaned on something which
proved to be the stove of a chestnut-dealer, at the
corner of a wine-shop where several cab-drivers
were drinking. One of them asked if we did not
want a carriage. Of course we did ! The man of
the whip set his glass down on the bar, mounted the
box, and urged his horse forward. We were saved !
" Whew ! " I cried, mopping my brow ; for in
spite of the cold, I was all of a perspiration.
Strange as it may seem, Jeanne apparently real-
ized the enormity of what we had done more than I
did. She was very serious and visibly nervous.
" In the kitchen ! " I cried indignantly.
She nodded her head, as if to say, " What does
it matter whether I am there or anywhere else ! "
And in the light of the lamps I noticed with sor-
row that her cheeks were thin, and her features
drawn. I missed the vivacity, the spontaneity, the
quick change of expression, which had been her
2IO THE CRIME OF
great charm for me. Her eyes were dull, her ges-
tures lifeless, her whole bearing dejected. 1 took
her hand. It was calloused, rough, and clammy.
The poor child must have suffered indeed. I
questioned her. She calmly told me that one day
Mademoiselle Pre*fere had summoned her, and for
some unfathomable reason had called her a mon-
ster and a little viper.
" She said, moreover, ' You shall not see Mon-
sieur Bonnard again. He has been giving you bad
advice, and has treated me shamefully.' I said to
her, ' That, mademoiselle, I will never believe.'
Mademoiselle gave me a box on the ear, and sent
me back to the schoolroom. The announcement
that I was not to see you any more was like night
falling about me. You know how blue and sad you
sometimes feel at evening, when the darkness settles
down upon you. Well ! imagine that feeling extend-
ing into weeks and months. Do you remember my
little Saint-George ? Until then I had worked at it
to the best of my ability for the mere fun of the
thing; but after I had given up all hope of ever
seeing you again, I went to work at my wax figure
in a very different way. I no longer used the ends
of matches to model with, as before, but hairpins. I
even used invisible hairpins. But perhaps you do not
know what these arc. I worked with more delicacy
than you can imagine. I put a dragon on the Saint-
George's helmet, and spent hour after hour in mod-
elling a head, eyes, and a tail for him. Especially the
eyes. I never stopped till I had given him red eyes,
white eyelids, eyelashes everything. I am foolish.
Then she took my arm.
SYLVESTRE BONNAKD. 211
I had an idea that when my little Saint-George was
finished I should die. I worked at it during vaca-
tions, and Mademoiselle Pre'fere let me alone. One
day I heard that you were in the parlor with made-
moiselle. I was on the watch for you ; we said 'Au
revoir 11 to each other, and I was somewhat consoled.
But one Thursday, a short time after that, my guard-
ian wanted me to go out with him. I refused to go
to his house. But do not ask me why, monsieur.
He replied very gently that I was a whimsical little
thing, and left me in peace. But the following day
Mademoiselle Pre'fere came to me with such an evil
look on her face that I was frightened. She held a
letter in her hand. ' Mademoiselle,' said she, 'your
guardian tells me that he has spent all the money
that belongs to you ; but you need have no fear, I
will not desert you. But you will admit that it is
right for you to earn your own living.'
" Then she set me to work cleaning her house ;
and when I made any mistake, she shut me up for
days in a garret. That is what has occurred since
we last met, monsieur. Even if I could have writ-
ten to you, I am not sure that I should have done so,
because I did not think it possible for you to take
me out of the school ; and as Maitre Mouche did
not come to see me again, there was no haste about
anything. I could wait in the garret and in the
kitchen."
"Jeanne," I cried, "if we have to flee to Oceanica,
this abominable Pre'fere shall never again take you.
I swear it. And why should we not go to Oceanica?
The climate is mild, and I read in a newspaper the
212 THE CRIME OF
other day that there were pianos there. Meanwhile,
we will go to Madame de Gabry, who, fortunately,
came back to Paris three or four days ago. We are
like two children, and we are in great need of aid."
While I spoke, Jeanne's face grew pale and life-
less. A shadow fell before her eyes, a movement
of pain contracted her half-open lips, and her head
sank down on her shoulder. She had fainted.
I raised her in my arms, and carried her up Ma-
dame de Gabry's steps as though she were a child,
asleep. When she regained consciousness, I my-
self, overcome with fatigue and emotion, was on the
point of giving way.
" Ah, so it is you ! " said she ; " I am so glad ! "
In this state, we rang at the door of our friend's
home.
The same day.
It was eight o'clock. Madame de Gabry, you may
well believe, was greatly surprised when she saw us.
But she welcomed the old man and the child with
that kindness which was manifested in her sweet
manner. It seems, if I may use the devotional lan-
guage natural to her, it seems as if some celestial
grace flows from her hands every time she opens
them ; and even the perfume she wafts as she passes,
suggests the sweet, calm intoxication of charity and
good works.
Surprised she was, certainly ; but she did not ask
a single question, and this reticence seemed to me
most commendable.
"Madame," said I, "we have both of us come
to you for protection. And first of all, we beg for
SYLVESTRE BONNAKD. 21 3
something to eat, especially for Jeanne, for she
fainted a moment ago in the cab from sheer ex-
haustion. For myself, I could touch nothing at
this late hour without suffering a night of agony.
I trust that Monsieur de Gabry is well."
" He is here," she replied ; and she called him.
" Paul ! come and see Monsieur Bonnard and
Mademoiselle Alexandre."
He came. I was glad to see his pleasant, honest
face, and to grasp his firm, square hand. All four
of us went into the dining-room ; and while they set
before Jeanne some cold meat, which she did not
touch, I told our story. Paul de Gabry asked if he
might smoke his pipe, then listened to me in silence.
When I had finished, he scratched the short, thick
beard which covered his cheeks, and uttered an em-
phatic sacrebleu ! But seeing that Jeanne turned a
pair of wide-opened, frightened eyes first on him
and then on me, he added,
" We will speak of this to-morrow morning. Come
into my library, I want to show you an old book,
and ask your opinion about it."
I followed him into his library where, against a
dark background, carbines and hunting-knives glim-
mered in the lamplight. Pulling me down on a leather
sofa, he cried,
" What have you done ! Good God, what have
you done ! Carrying off a minor ! abduction ! kid-
napping ! You have got into a pretty mess ! You
are simply liable to five or ten years' imprisonment."
" Mercy ! " I cried ; " ten years' imprisonment for
having saved an innocent girl ! "
214 THE CRIME OF
" That is the law," replied Monsieur de Gabry.
" I am well acquainted with it, my dear Monsieur
Bonnard, not because I have studied law, but be-
cause, as mayor of Lusance, I had to read up in it
in order to enlighten my subordinates. Mouche is
a rascal, Pre"fere a vile wretch, and you a I can
find no word strong enough."
He opened his bookcase, which was rilled with
dog-collars, horsewhips, stirrups, spurs, cigar-boxes,
and a few books of reference, and taking down a
law-book, turned over its leaves.
" ' Crimes and Misdemeanors . . . Sequestration
of Persons' 1 . . . that is not your case. 'Abduction
of Minors'* . . . here we are. < Article 35 4.. Who-
soever, by fraud or by "violence, shall have abducted
or caused to be abducted any minors, or shall have
enticed, conveyed, or removed them, or shall have
caused them to be enticed, conveyed, or removed
from the places in which they were put by those
to whose aitthority or direction they were consigned
or intrusted, shall be liable to imprisonment. See
PENAL CODE, zr and 28.
" ' 21. The term of imprisonment shall not be
less than five years. 28. Sentence to imprisonment
shall involve the loss of civil rights? That is very
clear, is it not, Monsieur Bonnard?"
" Perfectly clear."
" Let us continue : ' Article 356. If the abductor
be under the age of twenty-one years, he shall be pun-
ished only? . . . We certainly cannot invoke that
article. 'Article jj/. In case the abductor shall
have married the girl whom he has abducted, he
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 21$
can be prosecuted only on the complaint of the per-
sons iv/10, according to the Civil Code, have the right
to demand that the marriage be declared null and
void, nor can he be condemned until after the mar-
riage shall have been declared null and void?
" I do not know whether it is your idea to marry
Mademoiselle Alexandra or not. You see that the
law is kind, and that it offers you this loophole.
But it is wrong of me to jest, for your position is
serious. How could a man like you have imagined
that any one in Paris, in the nineteenth century, could
carry away a young girl with impunity ? We are not
living in the Middle Ages ; abduction is no longer
allowed."
" Do not imagine," said I, " that abduction was
allowed under the ancient laws. In Baluze you will
find a decree issued by King Childebert at Cologne,
in 593 or 594, on this question. Besides, who does
not know that the famous ordinance of Blois, in
May 1579, formally enacted that death should be
the penalty for those who were found guilty of ab-
ducting a boy or a girl under twenty-five years of
age, whether under promise of marriage or other-
wise, without the full knowledge, will, or express
consent of father, mother, or guardians ? And the
ordinance adds. ' And likewise all those shall suffer
condign punishment who shall have been in any
way implicated in said abduction, and who shall
have given counsel, help, or aid in any manner
whatsoever.' 1 Those are the exact, or almost the
exact, terms of the ordinance. As to the article
of the Napoleonic Code to which you have just re-
2l6 THE CRIME OF
ferred, and by which the abductor is exempt from
punishment if he marries the girl he has carried off,
it reminds me of the law of Bretagne, where abduc-
tion, followed by marriage, was not punishable.
But this custom, which gave rise to abuse, was
suppressed in 1 720.
" I give you the date within ten years. My mem-
ory is not very good now ; and I can no longer
recite by heart without even pausing for breath,
as I once could, fifteen hundred verses of Girart de
Roussillon.
" In regard to the capitulary of Charlemagne, regu-
lating the punishment for abduction, I need not
speak, for no doubt you remember it. You may
clearly see, then, my dear Monsieur de Gabry, that
abduction was considered a crime deserving of the
severest punishment under the three dynasties of
ancient France. It is entirely wrong to suppose
that the Middle Age's were a time of chaos. On
the contrary, you must remember "
Monsieur de Gabry interrupted me,
" You know the ordinance of Blois, Baluze, Childe-
bert, and the Capitularies," said he, "yet you are
ignorant of the Napoleonic Code ! "
I told him that I had never read that Code, and
he seemed surprised.
" Do you realize now," said he, " the seriousness
of the act you have committed ? "
In truth I scarcely did realize it as yet. But little
by little, as I listened to Monsieur Paul's very sen-
sible words, I began to see that I should be con-
demned, not for my innocent intentions, but for the
SYLyESTRE BONNARD. 2I/
act itself, which is punishable. Then I lost hope,
and began to lament.
" What shall I do ? " I cried. What shall I do ?
Am I, then, hopelessly lost? and shall 1 drag down
with me the poor girl whom I tried to save ? "
Monsieur de Gabry filled his pipe in silence, and
lighted it so deliberately that for three or four min-
utes his kind, broad face was as red as a black-
smith's in the fire of his forge.
"You ask me what you shall do. Do nothing,
my dear Monsieur Bonnard. For the love of Heaven
and for your own sake, do nothing at all. Your
position is bad enough now. Do not become en-
tangled any deeper for fear of fresh trouble. But
promise me to approve of all I am going to do.
Early to-morrow morning I shall go to Monsieur
Mouche ; and if he is what we believe him to be, a
downright scoundrel, I can easily find (even though
the Devil himself should take his part) a way to
make him perfectly harmless. For everything de-
pends on him. It is too late this evening to carry
Mademoiselle Jeanne back to the school, but my
wife will take care of her. That frankly and plainly
constitutes the misdemeanor of complicity, but in
this way we shall avoid anything equivocal in the
young girl's position. And do you, my dear mon-
sieur, return as fast as you can to the quay Malo-
quais ; and if any one comes in search of Jeanne there,
you can easily prove that she is not in your house."
During this conversation of ours, Madame de
Gabry was getting a sleeping-room in readiness for
her young guest.
2l8 THE CRIME OF
When she bade me good-night, she held on her
arm a pair of linen sheets perfumed with lavender.
" That is a sweet and wholesome smell," said I.
" Of course," said Madame de Gabry ; " we are
peasants."
"Ah!" I exclaimed; "if only I too might be a
peasant ! If only some day I might breathe the
woodland odors as you do at Lusance, beneath a
vine-covered roof ; and if this is too ambitious a wish
for an old man whose life is nearly spent, I will
wish, at least, that my shroud may be perfumed
with lavender, as is this linen which you have on
your arm ! "
It was decided that I should come to breakfast
the next morning, but they absolutely forbade my
appearing before noon. Jeanne kissed me good-
night, and begged me not to let her go back to the
boarding-school. We parted sad and anxious.
I found The'rese at the head of my stairs, in such
a condition of nervous anxiety as to make her furi-
ous. She spoke of nothing less than locking me up
in future.
What a night I spent ! I did not close my eyes
for a single instant. Sometimes I laughed like a
boy at the success of my adventure ; then, with inex-
pressible agony, I saw myself dragged before the
magistrates, and compelled to answer at the bar for
the crime that I had so naturally committed. I was
filled with terror, yet I felt neither remorse nor re-
gret. The sun crept into my room, and fell caress-
ingly across the foot of my bed. Then I prayed:
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 2 19
"O God, thou who didst make the sky and the
dew* as it says in Tristan, judge me in thy equity,
not according to my acts, but according to my in-
tentions, which were pure and upright Then will I
say, ' Glory to thee in the highest, Peace on earth,
Good will toward men? I leave in thy hands the
young girl whom I stole away. Do what I was
unable to do. Keep her from all her enemies, and
may thy name be forever blessed ! "
December g.
When I returned to Madame de Gabry's, I found
Jeanne transformed.
Had she, like myself, at early dawn, called upon
the name of Him who made the sky and the dewf
She wore such a sweet and peaceful smile.
Madame de Gabry called her back to finish her
hair, for this kind friend had taken it upon herself
to arrange her young visitor's locks in a becoming
manner. Having reached the house a little ahead
of time, I had interrupted the pretty toilet, and as a
punishment I was made to wait alone in the draw-
ing-room.
Monsieur de Gabry very soon joined me. He
evidently came from out-of-doors, for his forehead
still bore the mark of his hat. His open counte-
nance expressed joyous animation. I felt that I
had best not ask him any questions, and we all
went in to breakfast. When the servants had with-
drawn, Monsieur Paul, who had been keeping his
story for dessert, said to us,
" Well, I have been to Levallois."
220 THE CRIME OF
" Did you see Maitre Mouche ? " asked Madame
de Gabry eagerly.
"No," he replied, studying our faces, which
showed the disappointment we felt.
The good man enjoyed our anxiety for a reason-
able time in silence; then he added,
" Maitre Mouche is no longer at Levallois. He
has left France. Day after to-morrow it will be a
week since he locked his door, and went off with all
his clients' money, a good round sum too. I found
his office closed. A woman who lived near him
told me the story, with many curses and impreca-
tions. The notary took the 7.55 train, but he did
not go alone. He eloped with the daughter of a
Levallois barber, a young girl well known about the
country for her beauty and her accomplishments. It
is said that she could shave better than her father.
But Mouche has eloped with her. The fact was
confirmed by the chief of police. And really, could
he have gone away more opportunely ? Had he
postponed his plans for a week, as the representative
of society, he might have sent you, Monsieur Bon-
nard, like a criminal, into the blackest of dungeons.
But now we have nothing further to fear. To
Maftre Mouche's health ! " he cried, pouring out a
glass of white wine.
I should like to live long that I might long re-
member that morning. We four were assembled
about the polished oaken table in the great white
dining-room. Monsieur Paul's delight was intense,
and perhaps a trifle boisterous in its expression ; and
the good fellow drained his glass again and again.
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 221
Madame de Gabry smiled at me with her gentle,
pure, and noble smile. Such a woman should save
her smiles as a reward for good deeds, that every
one about her might do good. As a compensation
for our troubles, Jeanne, who had recovered her
sprightliness, kept up a storm of questions for a
quarter of an hour, the answers to which would
have included, at least a dissertation upon nature,
man, the physical and the metaphysical, the macro-
cosm and the microcosm, without mentioning the
ineffable and the unknowable. She drew from her
pocket her little Saint-George, which had suffered
cruelly in our flight. It no longer had any arms or
legs, but its golden helmet with the green dragon
was still intact. Jeanne took a solemn vow to re-
store it in honor of Madame de Gabry.
I left these good friends, overwhelmed with fatigue
and delight.
On my return home, The'rese met me with the
liveliest remonstrances. She was utterly incapable
of understanding my new mode of living. To her
way of thinking, monsieur had lost his mind.
"Yes, The'rese, I am a crazy old man, I'll admit,
and you are a crazy old woman. There is no doubt
of it. May the good Lord bless us, The'rese, and
give us fresh strength, for we have new duties. But
let me lie down on this sofa, for I cannot stand up
any longer."
Jamutry 15, 186-.
" Good-morning, monsieur," said Jeanne, opening
our door for me, while The'rese, who was not so
222 THE CRIME OF
quick as the young girl, stood grumbling in the
shadow of the corridor.
" Mademoiselle, I beg that you will call me sol-
emnly by my proper title. Say, 'good-morning,
guardian.' "
"It's all settled, then? Oh, good!" cried the
girl, clapping her hands.
" Yes ; it has been settled, mademoiselle, in the
court-room, in the presence of the justice of the
peace, and you are henceforth subject to my author-
ity. You laugh, do you, my ward ? I see it in
your eyes. You have some silly idea in your head.
Another whim ? "
" Oh, no, monsieur my guardian ; I was looking
at your white locks. They fall from beneath the
brim of your hat like honeysuckle over a balcony ;
your hair is very beautiful, and I like it im-
mensely ! "
" Sit down, my ward ; and if you can possibly help
it, stop saying such silly nonsense. I have so'me-
thing serious to tell you. Listen ! You are not
absolutely bent, I suppose, upon returning to Ma-
demoiselle Prdfere's? . . . No? What should you
say if I were to keep you here in order to finish
your education, until but how do I know ? for
always, as the expression is?"
" Oh, monsieur ! " exclaimed the girl, flushing with
delight.
I continued,
" There is a little back room that my housekeeper
has cleaned and put in order for you. You will
take the place of the old books just as day succeeds
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 22$
night. Go with Therese, and see if the room is
habitable. Madame de Gabry understands that you
will sleep there to-night."
She was already darting off, but I called her
back.
"Jeanne, listen to me further. So far you have
got on very well with my housekeeper, who, like all
old women, is naturally somewhat cross. Treat her
with consideration. I have thought it my own duty
to humor her, and to put up with her irritability. I
beg of you, Jeanne, respect her. And in speaking
in this way, I do not forget that she is my servant
and yours, and she will not forget it either. But
you should respect her great age and her great
heart. She is a humble creature who has grown old
in usefulness, and she has become confirmed in this
habit. Bear with the sternness of this upright soul.
If you command her wisely, she will obey. Go,
my dear girl, arrange your room in whatever way
may best suit your work and your comfort."
Having started Jeanne with this Viaticum on her
career as a housekeeper, I turned to a review, which,
although edited by young men, is excellent. The
tone of it is unpolished, but the spirit is full of
earnestness. The article I read surpasses, so far
as the strength and accuracy are concerned, all that
was done in my early days. The author of the
article, Monsieur Paul Meyer, notes every mistake
with clear, incisive criticism.
In those days we were not so mercilessly impartial.
Our indulgence was immense. It sometimes went
so far as to heap equal praise on the scholar and on
224 THE CRIME OF
the ignoramus. Yet one should be able to con-
demn ; nay, it is an imperative duty. I remember
little Raymond (for that was his name). He did
not know anything, and his mind was incapable
of acquiring knowledge, but he was devoted to his
mother. We were careful not to denounce the ig-
norance of such a good son ; and little Raymond,
thanks to our indulgence, made his way to the very
top. He had lost his mother, but every honor was
lavished on him. He was all powerful, to the great
detriment of his colleagues and science. But here
comes my young friend of the Luxembourg.
" Good-afternoon, Ge"lis. You look happy to-day.
My dear boy, what has happened ? "
It seems that he has sustained his thesis very
well, and that he has taken a high rank. He tells
me this, adding that my works, which were dis-
cussed incidentally in the course of the meeting,
were unreservedly praised by the professors of the
school.
" That is good," I replied ; " and I am glad, Gdlis,
to see my old reputation associated with your young
laurels. I was greatly interested, as you know, in
your thesis ; but domestic affairs made me forget that
you were to sustain it to-day."
Here Mademoiselle Jeanne came in just in time
to enlighten him in regard to these domestic affairs.
The little madcap rushed into the City of Books like
a fresh breeze, exclaiming that her room was a per-
fect dream. She blushed deeply on seeing Mon-
sieur Ge*lis, but no one can escape his fate.
Monsieur Ge"lis asked her how she was, in the
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 22$
tone of a youth who takes advantage of a previous
meeting, and who poses as an old acquaintance.
Oh! do not fear! she had not forgotten him. It
was apparent enough, when under my very nose they
took up their conversation of a year ago, on the
Venetian blond. They carried it on in a lively vein.
I asked myself what was I doing there, forsooth !
In order to make myself heard, there was nothing
for me to do but to cough. As to talking, they
scarcely gave me a chance to utter a word. Ge'lis
spoke with enthusiasm, not only of the Venetian
colorists, but also of everything else relating to
man and nature. And Jeanne answered him,
" Yes, monsieur, you are right. . . . That is ex-
actly what I thought, monsieur. . . . Monsieur, you
express very clearly what I feel. ... I will think
over what you have just said, monsieur."
When I speak, mademoiselle does not reply in
that tone. What I say she tastes with the tip of
her tongue, and a good half of it she will not touch
at all. But Monsieur Ge'lis is authority on all sub-
jects. To all his chattering I hear her replies of,
" Oh, yes ! Oh, certainly ! "
And Jeanne's eyes ! I never saw them so large
and so steady ; but her glance, as always, was frank,
innocent, and brave. Ge'lis pleased her. She ad-
mired Ge'lis, and her eyes betrayed her feelings.
They might have betrayed it to the whole world.
That is all very fine, Maitre Bonnard ; but while you
are watching your ward, you are forgetting that you
are her guardian. You have been her guardian since
this morning, and this new function is already im-
226 THE CRIME OF
posing delicate duties upon you. You should devise
some tactful way of keeping this young man at a
distance. Bonnard, you should but do I know
what I ought to do ? ...
I have taken up a book at random from the near-
est shelf. I open it, and enter with feelings of re-
spect into the midst of a drama of Sophocles. The
older I grow, the more I love the two great civiliza-
tions of antiquity, and I now keep the poets of Greece
and of Italy within arm's reach in the City of Books.
Monsieur and mademoiselle, seeing that I am not
bothering myself about them any more, condescend
to pay me some little attention. I really believe
that Mademoiselle Jeanne is asking me what I am
reading. No, indeed, I will not tell her. I am read-
ing of the sweet and glorious chorus that unrolls its
beautiful melopceia in the midst of a powerful scene,
the chorus of the old men of Thebes. "Epus
O Invincible Love, thou who descendest upon the wealthy,
Thou that makest thy couch on the soft clieeks of tlie maiden,
Thou tv/io passest over the seas, and entercst the shepherd 's
hut,
None either of the immortals can escape thee,
Or of men whose life is but a span of years.
And whosoever possesses thee is subject to madness.
And when I had read that delicious chant once
more, the figure of Antigone appeared before me,
in all her unalterable purity. What images, ye gods
and goddesses who hovered in the azure heavens !
The blind old man, the beggar-king who has wan-
dered for years, led by Antigone, at last has received
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 22J
holy burial. His daughter, as beautiful as the most
beautiful pictures that the human mind has ever
conceived, resists the tyrant, and piously buries her
brother. She loves the tyrant's son, and this son
loves her. And as she goes to execution, the vic-
tim of her filial love, the old men sing,
Invincible Love, thott -who dcscendest upon the wealthy,
Thou -who makest thy couch on the soft cheeks of the
maiden
" Mademoiselle Jeanne, do you really want to know
what I am reading ? I am reading, mademoiselle,
I am reading how Antigone, having buried the blind
old man, embroidered a beautiful tapestry, on which
were woven joyous figures."
" Oh ! " exclaimed GeUis, laughing, " that is not in
the text."
" That is a scholium," I replied.
" It is unpublished," said he, rising.
1 am not selfish. I am careful. I have to bring
up this young girl. She is too young ; I cannot let
her be married yet. No ! I am not selfish; but I
must keep her a few years with me, with me alone.
Can she not wait until after I am dead ? Be not
anxious, Antigone, old CEdipus will in due time find
the holy place for his burial.
Meanwhile Antigone is helping our housekeeper
to clean the carrots. She says that this suits her,
as it is like sculpture.
May.
Who would recognize the City of Books ? There/) 1 \J
are flowers now on every table. Jeanne is right.
228 THE CRIME OF
These roses are very beautiful in this vase of blue
faience. Every day she goes to market with The"-
rese under pretext of helping the old servant buy
the provisions, but she brings back nothing but
flowers. Flowers are indeed beautiful creatures.
Some day I must carry out my idea, and study
them in their own domain among the fields, in the
most systematic way I can.
And what is there for me to do here ? Why con-
tinue to spoil my eyes with old parchments which no
longer tell me anything worth while ? I used to
decipher these old texts with the most disinterested
enthusiasm. What did I hope to find in them then ?
The date of the endowment of some pious institu-
tion, the name of some monk, illuminator, or copyist,
the price of a loaf, of an axe, of a field, an adminis-
trative or judicial enactment, that and something
more, something mysterious, vague, sublime, that
roused my enthusiasm. But for sixty years I have
sought, and I have not found that something. More
worthy men than I, the masters, the truly great, the
Fauriels, the Thierrys, who made so many discov-
eries, have died without finding this something any
more than I have found it. It has no body, and has
no name, and yet without it no intellectual work
could be undertaken on this earth. Now that I am
seeking only for what I am sure I can find, I no
longer find anything at all ; and it is probable that
I shall never finish the history of the abbots of
Saint-Germain-des-Pre's.
"My guardian, guess what I have in my hand-
kerchief."
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 22<)
" To all appearances, Jeanne, it is flowers."
" Oh, no ! it is not flowers. Look ! "
I look, and see a little gray head thrusting itself
out of the handkerchief.
It belongs to a little gray cat. The handkerchief
opens. The animal springs to the carpet, shakes
itself, raises first one ear, then the other, and cau-
tiously investigates the place and the people.
While this is going on, The'rese makes her ap-
pearance, out of breath, her basket on her arm.
The kitten, evidently not over and above satisfied
with the result of his investigation, walks slowly
away from her, without, however, either touching
my legs or approaching Jeanne, though she calls
him pet names with wonderful volubility. The'rese,
one of whose faults is that she never dissimulates,
vehemently reproaches mademoiselle for bringing a
strange cat into the house. Jeanne, in order to jus-
tify herself, tells the story. As she was passing
with The'rese in front of a drug-store, she saw a
clerk kick a kitten out into the street. The kitten,
surprised and distressed, was in doubt whether to
remain in the street, in spite of the passers-by who
jostled against him and frightened him, or whether
to return to the shop at the risk of being kicked out
a second time. Jeanne saw that he was in a trying
position, and understood his hesitation. He acted
as if he were stupid, but she thought his appearance
of stupidity came from indecision. So she took
him up in her arms; and as he had been happy
neither in-doors or out, he allowed her to hold him
in mid air. Then, while she still kept soothing him
230 THE CRIME OF
by her caresses, she said boldly to the druggist's
clerk,
" There is no need of kicking this .poor little crea-
ture, even if you do not like him. You must give
him to me."
" Take him," replied the clerk.
" That's the whole story ! " exclaimed Jeanne in
conclusion ; and she began again in a soft voice to
make all sorts of sweet promises to pussy.
" He is very thin," said I, examining the pitiful-
looking little animal ; " moreover, he is very homely."
Jeanne thinks he is not homely, but she acknowl-
edges that he acts stupider than ever. But now it
is not indecision, it is surprise, which, in her opinion,
gives such a disagreeable aspect to his physiognomy.
She wants us to put ourselves in his place. We try
to do so, and acknowledge that it must be out of
the question for him to understand what has hap-
pened to him. We burst out laughing at the poor
beast, who gazes about in a serio-comic fashion.
Jeanne wants to take him in her arms; but he hides
underneath the table, and will not come out even at
sight of a saucerful of milk.
We turn our backs the saucer is empty !
" Jeanne," I say, " your prottgt is a sad-looking
creature. He is naturally suspicious. I trust that
he will not do anything in the City of Books that
will necessitate our sending him back to his drug-
store. In the meantime we must give him a name.
I would suggest Don Gris de Goutticre, but perhaps
that is a trifle long. Pilule, Drogue, or Ricin i
Pill, Drug, or Castor-OU.
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 2$l
would be shorter, and would also have the advan-
tage of recalling to mind his early conditions.
What do you say ? "
" Pilule would be good," answered Jeanne ; " but
it would not be kind to give him a name which
would constantly remind him of the troubles from
which we have rescued him. That would be mak-
ing him pay dearly for our hospitality. Let us be
more generous, and give him a pretty name, in the
hope that he will deserve it. See how he watches
us! He sees that we are talking about him. He is
not half so stupid now that he is not so unhappy.
I am not joking. Unhappiness makes one stupid ;
I know it very well."
" Well, Jeanne, if you would like, we will call
your prottgt Hannibal. The fitness of this name
does not strike you at first. But the Angora who
preceded him in the City of Books, and to whom I
was in the habit of confiding my secrets, for he was
a wise and discreet creature, was named Hamilcar.
It is natural that the one name should beget the
other, and that Hannibal should succeed Hamilcar."
We all agreed on this point.
" Hannibal ! " cried Jeanne, " come here." Han-
nibal, frightened by the strange sound of his new
name, ran and crouched down under a bookcase in
a space so small that a rat could not have squeezed
himself into it.
It was a fine way of carrying a mighty name.
That day I felt in a humor for writing, and I had
already dipped my pen into the ink when I heard
the bell. If ever any idle person should read these
232 THE CRIME OF
pages, scrawled by an old man devoid of imagina-
tion, he would smile at the sound of the bell which
every moment rings out in the course of my story
without ever introducing a new personage or an un-
expected scene.
On the stage it is different. Monsieur Scribe
never lets a door open without some good reason,
without furnishing some new enjoyment for the
ladies, old and young. That is art. I should rather
be hanged than have to write a play. Not because
I scorn life, but because I should not be able to
invent anything amusing. Invent ! For that one
must have inspiration. The gift would be fatal in
my case ! Imagine if, in my history of the Abbey
of Saint-Germain-des-Pre's, I should invent some
petty monk. What would our young scholars say?
What a disgrace to the School ! As for the Insti-
tute, it would say nothing, probably it would not
even think about it. Although my colleagues still'
do a little writing, they no longer read. They are
of the opinion of Parny, who said,
" Une paisible indifference
Est la plus sage des virtus." *
To be the least possible in order to be the great-
est possible is what the Buddhists are striving for
without knowing it. If there is wiser wisdom, I
will go and announce it in Rome. All this because
Monsieur Gdlis rings the door-bell !
This young man has undergone a great change
1 " A calm indifference
Is the wisest of virtues."
SYLVESTKE BONNARD. 233
in his manner toward Jeanne. He is now as se-
rious as he was once frivolous, as silent as he was
talkative. Jeanne follows his example. We have
reached the phase of suppressed passion. For, old
as I am, I am not deceived in it. These two young
people are deeply and lastingly in love with each
other. Jeanne avoids him now. When he comes
into the library, she hides in her room. But how
well she finds him again when she is alone ! Then,
she speaks to him every evening in the music which
she plays on the piano with a quick, vibrating touch,
which is the new expression of her new heart.
Well, why should I not say it ? Why not acknowl-
edge my weakness ? Would my selfishness become
any the less blameworthy if I were to hide it from
myself? I will admit it, then. Yes, I expected some-
thing else yes, I hoped to keep her for myself
alone, as my child, my daughter, not for always, not
even for long, but for a few years more. I am
so old ! Could she not have waited ? And who
knows? with the aid of the gout, perhaps I should
not have abused her patience for long. That was
my desire, my hope ; but I did not take her into my
calculations. I did not take this silly young man
into my calculations. And the mistake is none the
less hard for me because I miscalculated.
Yet it seems to me, Sylvestre Bonnard, my friend,
that you are blaming yourself, quite too easily. If
you wanted to keep this young girl a few years
longer, it was for her interest as well as for your
own. She has much to learn, and you are not a
master to be scorned. When that notary Mouche,
234 THE CRIME OF
who was discovered in his rascalities at such an
opportune moment, honored you by a call, you set
forth your system of education with all the enthusi-
asm of an adept. You have been zealously striving
to apply this system ; but Jeanne is an ungrateful
girl, and Ge"lis a very seductive youth.
But still, if I do not show him the door, an act
which would be detestably ill-mannered and unkind,
I must receive him. He has been waiting long
enough in my little drawing-room opposite the Se-
vres jars which were graciously presented to me by
King Louis-Philippe. The Moissonneurs and the
Pecheurs by Leopold Robert are painted on these
porcelain jars, and Gelis declares that they are fright-
ful ; and Jeanne, whom he has bewitched, claps her
hands in delight.
" My dear boy, pardon me for not seeing you at
once, I was finishing some work." I told the truth.
Meditation is work, but that is not what GeUis un-
derstands by it.
He supposes that I refer to archaeology; and
being set at ease as to the health of Mademoiselle
Jeanne (I said she was "very well," in a dry tone
which showed my moral authority as her guardian),
we two begin learnedly to discuss historical sub-
jects. We begin with generalities. Generalties are
a great help. I strive to inculcate into Ge"lis a lit-
tle respect for the generation of historians to which
I belong. I say to him,
" History, which used to be an art, and which
afforded room for all flights of the imagination, has
of late years become a science, in which we must
work in accordance with a rigorous system."
SYLVESTKE BONNARD. 235
Gelis begs leave to differ with me. He says that
he does not think that history is a science, or that it
ever will become a science.
"In the first place," he says, "what is history?
The written representation of past events. But what
is an event? Is it any trifling occurrence? Cer-
tainly not. You say, it is an important occurrence.
But how can the historian judge whether the occur-
rence is important or not ? He judges it arbitrarily,
according to his taste, his fancy, his idea. In short,
he judges it as an artist ! For facts (from their very
nature) are not divided into historical facts and non-
historical facts. A fact is something extremely com-
plex. Does the historian represent these facts in
their complexity ? No ; that is impossible. He will
represent them stripped of the greater part of the
characteristics which made them what they were.
That is, he represents them mangled, mutilated, dif-
ferent from their original nature. As to the inter-
relation of the facts we need not speak. If a
so-called historical fact is brought out (and this is
possible) by one or more facts which are non-histor-
ical, and on this account unknown, how can the
historian note the relation of these facts to one an-
other ? And in all that I say, Monsieur Bonnard, I
am supposing that the historian has under his eyes
positive proofs, while in reality he trusts this or that
witness only on sentimental reason. History is not
a science, it is an art ; and one succeeds in it only by
imagination.
At this point, Monsieur Ge*lis reminds me of a cer-
tain young lunatic, whom I heard one day uttering
236 THE CRIME OF
wild sophistries in the garden of the Luxembourg,
beneath the statue of Marguerite of Navarre. But
by a turn of the conversation, we come face to face
with Walter Scott, whom my scornful young friend
considers rococo, troubadourish, and dessus de pen-
dulel These were his very expressions.
" But," said I, warming up in defence of the mag-
nificent creator of Lucy and of the Fair Maid of
Perth, "the whole Past lives in his beautiful novels.
It is history ; it is epic poetry ! "
" It is nonsense ! " replied Gdlis.
And would you believe it ? This rattle-brained
youth declares that no matter how learned one may
be, one cannot know exactly how men lived five or
ten centuries ago, since it is only with great difficulty
that one imagines them as they were ten or fifteen
years ago. In his opinion, the historical poem, the
historical novel, the historical painting, are all abom-
inably false forms of art.
" In all the arts," he adds, " the artist can only
paint his own soul. His work, however it may be
clad, is his contemporary, because his spirit is in it.
What do we admire in the ' Divine Comedy,' if not
the great soul of Dante? And what do the marbles
of Michael Angelo show us above the ordinary, un-
less it be Michael Angelo himself? If a man is an
artist, he must give his own life to his creations, or
else he makes mere puppets, and dresses dolls ! "
What paradoxes and what lack of reverence ! But
' Dessus de f>cndulc is the ornament which some years ago used to be
the accompaniment of French clocks; hence, anything inartistic and
conventional ; here, " behind the times " might express the idea.
SYLVESTRE BONNARD.
boldness in a young man does not displease me.
Gelis rises, and sits down again. I know very well
what is on his mind, and what he is waiting for.
He speaks to me of the fifteen hundred francs he
makes above and beyond the small yearly income
of two thousand francs which he has inherited. I
am not deceived by these confidences. I know very
well that he tells me of his affairs so that I may
know that he is well established, steady, settled,
with a yearly income, fitted to marry, q. e. d,, as the
geometricians say.
He has risen and sat down again twenty times.
He rises for the twenty-first time, and not having
seen Jeanne, he goes out, disappointed.
As soon as he has gone, Jeanne comes into the
City of Books under the pretext of looking for Han-
nibal. She, too, is disappointed, and melancholy is
the tone in which she calls her prottgt to come and
get his milk. See her sad face.
Bonnard ! Tyrant, behold your handiwork ! You
have kept them apart; but the look on their faces
is the same, and you see from this, that in spite
of you they are united in thought. Cassandra, be
happy ! Bartholo, rejoice ! This is what it is to be
a guardian ? Do you see her as she kneels on the
carpet, holding Hannibal's head between her hands.
Yes ! caress the stupid little beast ! Pity him !
Moan over him ! We know very well, you sweet
little pretender, the object of your sighs, the cause
of your complaints. Nevertheless, they make a
pretty picture, and I gaze at it for some time.
Then, glancing at my book-shelves, I say,
238 THE CRIME OF
" Jeanne, all these books weary me. Let us sell
them."
September 20.
It is all over. They are engaged. Gelis, who,
like Jeanne, has neither father nor mother, made his
proposal through the medium of one of his profes-
sors, a colleague of mine, highly esteemed for his
character and his learning. But what a messenger
of love, good heavens ! A bear not a bear from
the Pyrenees, but a literary bear, and the latter
is much more ferocious than the former.
" Right or wrong (wrong in my opinion), Ge"lis
cares nothing about the dowry. He will take your
ward just as she is. Say yes, and the affair is set-
tled. And I beg you to make haste; for I want to
show you two or three rather curious tokens from
Lorraine, and which are new to you, I am sure."
This is literally what he said to me. I told him
I would ask Jeanne, and I took no small pleasure in
adding that my ward had a dowry! Her dowry!
There it is! It is my library. Henry and Jeanne
are a thousand miles from suspecting it, and it is
a fact that I am generally supposed to be richer than
I am. I look like an old miser. My appearance
belies me certainly, but it has brought me much
consideration. There's no kind of person whom the
world respects so much as a rich skinflint! I have
consulted Jeanne, but did I need to listen to her
words to know her answer? It is done now! They
are engaged !
It is not in keeping either with my face or
with my character to play the spy upon these
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 239
young people in order to note their words and
gestures.
Noli me tangere is the motto of love affairs. I
know my duty. It is to respect the secret of this
innocent heart which was intrusted to my guardian-
ship. Let them love each other! the dear children!
Not a word of their love-making, not a word of their
frank avowals, shall be put down in this diary by
the old guardian whose authority was so gentle and
so brief !
At any rate, I do not fold my arms ; for if they
have their affairs, I have mine. I am making out my
own catalogue of my library, with a view toward
selling it by auction. It is a task which both pains
and delights me. I linger over it perhaps some-
what longer than I ought to do ; and I turn over the
leaves in the volumes .that are so familiar to my
thought, to my hand, to my eyes, spending more
time than is necessary or best for me. But it is a
farewell to them, and it has ever been man's nature
to prolong his leave-takings.
This thick volume which has done me such good
service for thirty years, can I say good-by to it
without showing to it the respect that a good old
servant deserves ! And this one, that many a time
has comforted me by its wholesome doctrine, must I
not salute it for the last time as I would a master?
But whenever I come across a book that has led
me into error, that has caused me trouble by its in-
correct dates, its omissions, its falsehoods, and other
such faults, the torment of the antiquarian,
" Go ! " I say in cruvl joy, "go ! impostor, traitor, false
240 THE CRIME OF
witness ! flee far from me, vade retro > and mayest
thou, ridiculously bedizened with gold as thou art,
and thanks to thy stolen reputation and thy fine
morocco covers, find a place behind the glass doors
in the library of some bibliomaniac stockbroker,
whom thou canst not deceive as thou hast me, since
he will never read thee."
I laid aside the books that had been given me as
souvenirs, with the design of keeping them always.
As I placed among them the manuscript of " The
Golden Legend," I could not refrain from kissing it,
in memory of Madame Tre"pof, who, in spite of her
high position and her wealth, remained grateful, and
who, in order to show her gratitude, became my ben-
efactress. Thus I began a system of keeping back,
y "^ (Then first I made the acquaintance of crime!\
The temptations kept coming to me during the
night, and by dawn they were irresistible. So, while
the house still slept, I rose and crept stealthily from
my room. Shades of darkness, Phantoms of night,
if, lingering in my house after the crowing of the
cock, you saw me stealing on tiptoe about the City
of Books, you certainly did not cry out, as did Ma-
dame Trdpof at Naples, " That old man has a good
back ! "
I would enter the library. Hannibal, his tail in
the air, would come rubbing against my legs, purr-
ing. I would seize a volume from the shelf, some
old Gothic manuscript, or a great poet of the Re-
naissance, the jewel, the treasure, of which I had
dreamed the livelong night. I would take it up and
slip it as far as I could into the closet, where I hid
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 241
the books I was keeping back, and which was al-
ready full enough to burst. It is horrible to tell : I
was stealing Jeanne's dowry- And when the crime
had been committed, I would set to work again, cat-
aloguing industriously, until Jeanne came to consult
me about some detail of her dress or trousseau. I
never quite understood what it was, because I did
not know the modern vocabulary of dress-making
and dry goods. Ah ! if a fourteenth-century bride
had come by chance to consult me about her ap-
parel, I should have understood her. But Jeanne
belongs to another age than mine, and I have to
send her to Madame de Gabry, who is like a mother
to her at this time.
Night comes ! The night has come ! Leaning out
of the window, we watch the great dark expanse
covered with dots of light. Jeanne, as she bends
over the window-bar, holds her forehead against her
hands, and seems sad. I watch her, and say to my-
self, " Every change, even the happiest, has its sad-
ness ; for what we leave is a part of ourselves. We
must die in one life, in order to enter another."
4 As if in reply to my thought, the young girl says
to me,
" My guardian, I am very happy ; and yet I feel
like crying! "
LAST PAGE.
BROLLBS, Auftat at, 1869.
Page eighty-seven. Only a few lines more, and
mv book on the insects and flowers will be finished.
Page eighty-seven, and the last. ..." A s we have
242 THE CRIME OF
just seen, the visits of insects are of the greatest
importance to plants. Their function, indeed, is
to carry the pollen of the stamens to the pistil. It
seems that the flower prepares and decks herself,
in the expectation of this nuptial visit. I think I
have shown that the nectary of the floiuer distils a
sweet liquid, which attracts the insect, and compels
it unconsciously to carry out the fertilization, either
direct or crossed. The latter mode is the more com-
mon. I have said that the flowers are colored and
scented in such a manner as to attract insects, and
so constructed as to their inner formation as to offer
these visitors a passage by which they may reach
the corolla, and so leave upon the stigma the pol-
len with which they are covered. Sprcngel, my
respected teacher, said, apropos of the down which
lines the corolla of the wood geranium, ' The wise
Author of nature did not create one ttselcss hair\
I say in my turn, ' If the lily of the fields is more
richly clothed, as the Scriptures say, than King
Solomon, its purple cloak is a wedding-cloak, and
this rich covering is necessary for the perpetuation
of its life." 1 " J
Brolles ! My house is the last on the road between
1 Monsieur Sylvcstre Bonnard was unaware that some very noted
naturalists were making, at the same time as himself, researches in re-
gard to the relation between insects and plants. He was unacquainted
with the works of Monsieur Darwin, Dr. Hermann Miiller, as well as
with the observations of Sir John Lubbock. It is worthy of note that
Monsieur Sylvestre Uonnard's conclusions are very similar to those of
the three scientists above mentioned. It is less important, but perhaps
rather interesting, to remark that Sir John Lubbock is, like Monsieur
Bonnard, an arch/cologist, who began late in life to devote himself to
the natural sciences. Publisher's Note.
SYLVESTRE BONNARD. 243
the village and the forest. It is a gabled house, the
slate roof of which shines in the sun like the breast
of a pigeon. The weather-cock on my roof has won
for me more consideration in the country than all my
works on history and philology. There is not an
urchin in the village who does not know Monsieur
Bonnard's weather-vane. It is rusty, and squeaks
shrilly when the breeze shifts. Sometimes it refuses
to work at all, like Thdrese, who now allows herself,
though grumblingly, to be helped by a young peas-
ant girl. The house is not large, but I am very com-
fortable in it. My room has two windows, and the
early sun pours into it. Above is the children's
room. Jeanne and Henry come to occupy it twice
every year.
Little Sylvestre had his cradle there. He was a
pretty boy, but very pale. When he played on the
grass, his mother would watch him with an anxious
look, and every few minutes she would lay aside her
sewing to take him on her lap. The poor little fellow
did not like to go to sleep. He said that when he
slept, he went far, very far away, where it was dark,
and where he saw things that frightened him, and
that he did not want to see any more.
Then his mother would call' me, and I would sit
down by his cradle. He would take one of my
fingers in his little hot, dry hand, and say to me,
"Godfather, you must tell me a story."
I would tell him all sorts of stones, to which he
would listen with a serious face. He was interested
in them all, but one in particular filled him wonder
and delight. It was "The Blue Bird." When I
244 THE CRIME OF
had finished, he would say, " Again ! Again ! " and
I would begin once more ; and after a while his pale
little face, in which the veins stood out clearly, would
fall back on the pillow.
To all our questions the doctor replied,
" There is nothing much the matter with him ! "
No, there was nothing much the matter with little
Sylvestre. One evening, a year ago, his father called
me.
" Come," said he ; " our little one is worse."
I stepped to the cradle, by the side of which the
mother stood motionless, held there by every fibre
of her being.
Little Sylvestre slowly turned his eyes to me ;
their pupils had rolled up under his lids, and would
never come down again.
"Godfather," said he, "you need not tell me any
more stories."
No, it was not necessary to tell him any more
stories !
Poor Jeanne ! poor mother !
/ I am too old to feel very deeply, but the death of
la child is a strangely sad mystery.
To-day the father and the mother have come
back to spend six weeks under the old man's roof.
They are just returning from the forest, arm in arm.
Jeanne is closely wrapped in her black shawl, and
Henry wears a band on his straw hat ; but they are
both bright with youth, and they smile gently at
each other. They smile at the earth which bears
them, at the air which plays about them, at the light
which each sees shining in the other's eyes. I wave
SYLVESTRE BONNARD, 24$
my handkerchief to them from my window, and they
smile at the poor old man !
Jeanne comes lightly up the stairs, kisses me, and
whispers something in my ear, which I guess at
rather than hear. And I answer, " Cod bless you,
Jeanne, you and your husband, and your most
distant posterity. Et nitnc diinittis servuin tituin,
yZ&w >
189S
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