MY UNCLE BENJAMIN
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 BY CLAUDE TILLIER 
 
 TRANSLATED BY ADELE SZOLD SELTZER 
 ILLUSTRATIONS BY EMIL PREETORIUS
 
 
 
 Copyright, 1917, by 
 Boni & Liveright, Inc. 
 
 Second Impression 
 
 Printed in the United State* of America
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. Who My Uncle Was I 
 
 II. Why My Uncle Decided to Marry 15 
 
 III. How My Uncle Meets an Old Sergeant 
 
 and a Poodle Dog, Which Prevents 
 
 Him from Going to M. Minxit's 25 
 
 IV. How My Uncle Passed Himself Off for 
 
 the Wandering Jew 68 
 
 V. My Uncle Works a Miracle 76 
 
 VI. Monsieur Minxit 81 
 
 VII. Conversation at M. Minxit's Dinner. ... 93 
 
 VIII. How My Uncle Kissed a Marquis 109 
 
 IX. M. Minxit Prepares for War 123 
 
 X. How My Uncle Made the Marquis Kiss 
 
 Him 133 
 
 XL How My Uncle Helped His Tailor to At- 
 tach His Property 145 
 
 XII. How My Uncle Hung M. Susurrans to a 
 
 Hook in His Kitchen 161 
 
 XIII. How My Uncle Spent the Night in Prayer 
 
 for His Sister's Safe Delivery 182 
 
 XIV. My Uncle's Speech Before the Bailiff 193 
 
 FRENOrf
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XV. How Parlanta Arrested My Uncle, While 
 Acting as Godfather, and Put Him in 
 Prison 206 
 
 XVI. A Breakfast in Prison How My Uncle 
 
 Got Out of Prison 212 
 
 XVII. A Trip to Corvol 227 
 
 XVIII. What My Uncle Said to Himself Regard- 
 ing Duelling 239 
 
 XIX. How My Uncle Thrice Disarmed M. de 
 
 Pont-Casse 261 
 
 XX. Abduction and Death of Mademoiselle 
 
 Minxit 271 
 
 XXI. A Final Festival 279
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Claude Tillier Frontispiece 
 
 Facing Page 
 
 M. Rathery 10 
 
 Rathery at Home and How His Sister Tries to 
 
 Persuade Him to Get Married 14 
 
 Page's Banquet and the Bloody Duel Between 
 
 Rathery and Machecourt 18 
 
 Mme. Machecourt 26 
 
 Rathery and Cicero at the Seventh Bottle and How 
 
 Rathery Meets the Sergeant 32 
 
 M. Machecourt 36 
 
 M. Duranton 44 
 
 Rathery Treacherously Abandons His Sister and 
 
 Is Found by Her as the Wandering Jew. ... 72 
 How Rathery Cures the Peasant and Blesses the 
 
 Worshippers 80 
 
 M. Minxit 82 
 
 Rathery and Minxit and How Minxit Conducts 
 
 His Examinations 90 
 
 How Rathery Administers His Blessing Again and 
 
 Returns Home with His Sulking Sister 106 
 
 How Minxit Rouses His Troops and Is Afterwards 
 
 Quieted by Page 124 
 
 Bonteint at Rathery's and How Rathery Gives His 
 
 Sister a Calling Down 1 54 
 
 M. Page , 158 
 
 i
 
 ii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Rathery, Susurrans and Gaspard at the Junket and 
 How Rathery Justifies Himself before Mme. 
 Susurrans 168 
 
 Rathery at Prayer and How He Drinks Mulled 
 
 Wine 182 
 
 How My Uncle Defends Himself before the Bailiff 
 
 and Walks Off Triumphant 202 
 
 How Rathery Takes Leave of Arabella and the 
 Jailer Brings Him and Machecourt Two Little 
 Glasses of Wine 206 
 
 M. Rapin 212 
 
 How Arthus Brings Rathery Breakfast and Minxit 
 
 Brings Hirm Bonteint's Discharge 224 
 
 M. de Pont-Casse 232 
 
 Rathery on His Way to Sembert and How He 
 
 Overhears Arabella with Her Lover 236 
 
 Mile. Minxit 246 
 
 Rathery on His Way Home and the Interrupted 
 
 Fencing Lesson 258 
 
 How Rathery Lectures the Vicomte on the Nature 
 
 of the Duel and Then Disarms Him 264 
 
 How Rathery Catches up the Fainting Minxit and 
 
 Tries in Vain to Calm Him 274 
 
 Minxit and Rathery in the Field and How Rathery 
 
 Repels the Priest 280 
 
 M. Millot Rataut.. 286
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 WHO MY UNCLE WAS 
 
 I REALLY do not know why human beings cling 
 so tenaciously to life. What great pleasure do they 
 find in this vapid Succession of days and nights, of 
 winter and spring? Always the same sky, the same 
 sun; always the same green pastures and the same 
 green fields; always the same political discussions, 
 the same rogues and the same dupes. If this is the 
 best that God can do, he is a sorry workman. The 
 scene-shifter at the Grand Opera can do better 
 than he. 
 
 More personalities, you say. There you are in- 
 dulging in personalities against God. What of it? 
 It is true that God is a functionary, and a high func- 
 tionary at that, although his office is not a sinecure. 
 But I am not afraid that he will bring suit against 
 me for damages, and build a church with the pro- 
 ceeds to compensate himself for the injury that I 
 may have done his honour. 
 
 I know very well that the gentlemen of the law 
 are more sensitive about his reputation than he is 
 himself. But that is exactly what I regard as evil. 
 By what title do these men in black arrogate to 
 
 i
 
 2 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 themselves the right to avenge injuries which are 
 wholly personal to him? Do they hold a power of 
 attorney signed "Jehovah" giving them this au- 
 thority? 
 
 Do you believe that he is highly pleased when the 
 police magistrates take his thunderbolts in their 
 own hands and hurl them brutally at some poor 
 devils for an offence of a few syllables? Moreover, 
 what proof have these gentlemen that God has been 
 offended? There he is in the court-room fastened 
 to his cross, while they sit comfortably in their arm- 
 chairs. Let them question him. If he answers in the 
 affirmative, I will admit that I am wrong. Do you 
 know why he has overthrown the dynasty of the 
 Capets, that ancient august salad of kings, soaked 
 through and through with holy oil? I know, and I 
 am going to tell you. It is because they enacted the 
 law against sacrilege. 
 
 But this is not to the point. 
 
 What is it to live? To rise, to go to bed, to 
 breakfast, to dine, and begin all over again the next 
 day. When one has done these things for forty 
 years, it finally becomes a bore. 
 
 Me/i resemble spectators, some sitting on velvet, 
 others on bare boards, by far the greater number 
 standing, who witness the same drama every eve- 
 ning, and yawn every one of them till they almost 
 split their jaws. They all agree that it is mortally 
 tiresome and yet no one is willing to give up his 
 place.
 
 WHO MY UNCLE WAS 3 
 
 To live is it worth the trouble of opening one's 
 eyes for? All we ever do is but a beginning. The 
 house we build is for our heirs; the dressing- 
 gown we so fondly pad to envelop our old age will 
 be made into swaddling clothes for our grandchil- 
 dren. We say to ourselves: "There, the day is 
 ended!" We light our lamp, we poke up our fire, 
 we get ready to pass a pleasant peaceful evening at 
 the corner of our fireplace. Ra-ta-ta ! Some one is 
 knocking at the door. Who is there? Death. 
 We must go. When we have all the appetites of 
 youth, when our blood is full of iron and alcohol, 
 we are without a cent. When our teeth and stomach 
 are gone, we are millionaires. We have barely time 
 to say to a woman, "I love you." At our second 
 kiss she is old and decrepit. Empires are no sooner 
 consolidated than they begin to crumble. They are 
 like those ant-hills which the poor insects build with 
 great effort. When it requires but one grain more 
 to finish them, an ox crushes it under his broad foot 
 or a cart under its wheel. What you call the vege- 
 table layer of this globe is but a heap of shrouds, 
 thousands and thousands of them laid one on top of 
 the other by successive generations. Those great 
 names which reverberate in men's mouths, the 
 names of capitals, monarchs, and generals, are but 
 the clattering ruins of old empires. You cannot take 
 a step without raising about you the dust of a thou- 
 sand things destroyed before they were finished. 
 
 I am forty years old, I have already passed
 
 4 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 through four professions; I have been a monitor, a 
 soldier, a school-teacher, and now I am a journalist. 
 I have been on land and on sea, under tents and by 
 the fireside, behind prison bars and in the free wide 
 world; I have obeyed and I have commanded; I 
 have had moments of wealth and years of poverty. 
 I have been loved and I have been hated; I have 
 been applauded and I have been ridiculed. I have 
 been a son and a father, a lover and a husband; I 
 have passed through the season of flowers and 
 through the season of fruits, as the poets say. In 
 none of these circumstances have I found any reason 
 to congratulate myself on being enclosed in the skin 
 of a man rather than in that of a wolf or a fox, or 
 in the shell of an oyster, the bark of a tree, or the 
 jacket of a potato. Perhaps if I were a rich man 
 with an income of fifty thousand francs, I should 
 think differently. 
 
 In the meantime, my opinion is that a man is a 
 machine made expressly for suffering. He has only 
 five senses through the whole surface of his body. 
 In whatever spot he is pricked, he bleeds; in what- 
 ever spot he is burned, he gets a blister. The lungs, 
 the liver, the bowels can give him no pleasure. But 
 the lungs become inflamed and make him cough; the 
 liver becomes obstructed and throws him into a 
 fever; the bowels gripe and give him the colic. 
 There is not a nerve, a muscle, a sinew under your 
 skin that cannot make you howl with pain. 
 
 Your machinery is thrown out of gear every mo-
 
 WHO MY UNCLE WAS 5 
 
 ment like a bad pendulum. You raise your eyes to 
 heaven to invoke it, and a swallow's dung falls into 
 them and sears them. You go to a ball, and you 
 sprain your ankle and have to be carried home on a 
 stretcher. To-day you are a great writer, a great 
 philosopher, a great poet; a thread in your brain 
 snaps; they bleed you, put ice on your head in 
 vain to-morrow you will be only a poor madman. 
 
 Sorrow lurks behind all your pleasures; you are 
 greedy rats whom it attracts with a bit of savory 
 bacon. You are in your shady garden, and cry out, 
 "Oh ! what a beautiful rose !" and the rose pricks 
 you; "Oh! what a beautiful pear!" there is a wasp 
 on it, and the pear stings you. 
 
 You say, "God has made us to serve and to love 
 him." It is not true. He has made us to suffer. The 
 man who does not suffer is a badly-made machine, a 
 defective creature, a moral cripple, one of nature's 
 abortions. Death is not only the end of life, it is 
 its cure. One is nowhere so well off as in the grave. 
 If you believe me, you will order a coffin instead of 
 a new overcoat. It is the only garment that does 
 not make you feel uncomfortable. 
 
 You may take what I have said to you as phil- 
 osophy or as paradox; it is all one to me, I assure 
 you. But I pray you at least to accept it as a preface, 
 for I could not make you a better one, or one more 
 suitable to the sad and lamentable story which I am 
 going to have the honour to relate to you. 
 
 You will permit me to trace my story back to the
 
 6 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 second generation, as they do in the funeral oration 
 over a prince, or a hero. Perhaps you will not lose 
 thereby. The customs of that time were worth just 
 as much as ours. The people carried chains, but 
 they danced with them, and made them rattle like 
 castanets. 
 
 For, mark you, gaiety always keeps company with 
 servitude. .It is a blessing for those who are subject 
 to a master, or who are under the hard and heavy 
 hand of poverty. He has given them this blessing 
 as consolation for their miseries, just as he has made 
 certain grasses to grow between the pavements that 
 we tread under our feet, certain birds to sing on 
 the old towers, and the beautiful verdure of the ivy 
 to smile qn wry-faced, tumble-down hovels. 
 
 Gaiety flies, like the swallow, above the splendid 
 roofs of the great. It stops in the schoolyards, at 
 the doors of barracks, on the mouldy flaggings of 
 prisons. It alights like a beautiful butterfly on the 
 pen of a schoolboy scrawling his exercises in his 
 copybook. It hobnobs at the canteen with the old 
 grenadiers. And never does it sing so loud pro- 
 vided they let it sing as between the dark walls in 
 which they shut up the unfortunates. 
 
 Besides, the gaiety of the poor is a sort of 
 pride. I have been poor among the poorest. Well, 
 I found pleasure in saying to fortune, "I will not bend 
 under your hand; I will eat my hard crust as proudly 
 as the dictator Fabricius ate his radishes; I will wear 
 my poverty as kings wear their diadem. Strike as
 
 WHO MY UNCLE WAS 7 
 
 hard as you like, and strike again I will answer 
 your blows with sarcasms; I will be like the tree that 
 puts forth flowers while they are cutting at its roots ; 
 like the column whose metal eagle shines in the sun 
 while the pick is at its base." 
 
 Dear readers, be content with these explanations; 
 I can furnish you none more reasonable. 
 
 What a difference between that age and ours! 
 The man of the constitutional regime cannot laugh, 
 he is absolutely incapable of fun. 
 
 He is hypocritical, avaricious, and profoundly 
 selfish. Whatever question strikes against his brow, 
 his brow rings like a drawer full of big pennies. 
 
 He is pretentious and bloated with vanity. The 
 grocer calls the confectioner his neighbour, his hon- 
 ourable friend, and the confectioner begs the grocer 
 to accept the assurance of the distinguished consid- 
 eration with which he has the honour to be, etc., etc. 
 
 The man of the constitutional regime has a mania 
 for wishing to distinguish himself from the people. 
 The father wears a blue cotton blouse and the son 
 an Elbeuf cloak. No sacrifice is too costly to the 
 man of the constitutional regime to satisfy his mania 
 for appearing to be somebody. He lives on bread 
 and water, he dispenses with fire in winter and beer 
 in summer, in order to have a coat made of fine 
 cloth, a cashmere waistcoat, and yellow gloves. 
 When others regard him as respectable, he regards 
 himself as great. 
 
 He is stiff and formal; he does not raise his voice,
 
 8 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 he does not laugh aloud, he does not know where to 
 spit. His gestures are all alike. He says very 
 promptly, "How do you do, sir." "How do you do, 
 madam." That is good behavior. Now, what is 
 good behavior? A lying varnish spread on a piece of 
 wood to make it pass for a cane. One must behave 
 that way in the presence of the ladies. Very well; 
 but how must one behave in the presence of God? 
 
 He is pedantic, he makes up for lack of wit by 
 purism of language, as a good housewife makes up 
 for lack of furniture by order and cleanliness. 
 
 He is always oh a low diet. If he attends a ban- 
 quet, he is silent and preoccupied, he swallows a 
 cork for a piece of bread, and uses the cream for the 
 white sauce. He waits till a toast is proposed before 
 he drinks. He always has a newspaper in his pocket, 
 he talks only of commercial treaties and railway 
 lines, and laughs only in the Chamber of Deputies. 
 
 But at the period to which I take you back the cus- 
 toms of the little towns were not yet glossed over 
 with elegance; they were full of a charming ease and 
 freedom and a lovely simplicity. 
 
 The characteristic of that happy age was uncon- 
 cern. All these men, whether ships or nutshells, 
 abandoned themselves with closed eyes to the cur- 
 rent of life, without troubling where they would land. 
 
 The bourgeois were not office-seekers; they did 
 not hoard money; they lived at home in joyous 
 abundance, and spent their incomes to the last louis. 
 The merchants, few in number then, grew rich
 
 WHO MY UNCLE WAS 9 
 
 slowly, without doing very much, and only in the 
 natural order of things. The labourers worked, not 
 to amass savings, but to make both ends meet. They 
 had not at their heels that terrible competition which 
 drives us, and cries to us incessantly: "Onl On!" 
 Consequently they took their ease. They had sup- 
 ported their fathers, and, when they were old, their 
 children in turn would support them. 
 
 Such was the ease and unconstraint of this society 
 that all the lawyers and even the judges went to the 
 tavern, and there publicly indulged in orgies. To 
 prevent it from being unknown they would gladly 
 have hung their caps on the tavern sign. All these 
 people, great and small alike, seemed to have no 
 other business than to amuse themselves. They ex- 
 ercised their ingenuity in playing some good joke or 
 in concocting some good story. Those who then 
 had wit, instead of expending it in intrigues, ex- 
 pended it in pleasantries. 
 
 The idlers, and there were many of them, gath- 
 ered in the public square. The market-days were 
 days of fun for them. The peasants who came to 
 bring their provisions to the town were their vic- 
 tims, on whom they played the funniest, cleverest 
 practical jokes. All the neighbours flocked there for 
 their part of the show. The police magistrates to- 
 day would regard such things as matters to be prose- 
 cuted, but the court officials of that time enjoyed these 
 burlesque scenes as well as anybody, and often took 
 part in them.
 
 io MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 My grandfather was a process-server. My grand- 
 mother was a little woman who was teased for not 
 being able to see whether the holy-water basin in 
 church was full. She has remained in my memory 
 as a little girl of sixty. By the time she had been 
 married six years, she had five children, some boys 
 and some girls. They all lived on my grandfather's 
 miserable fees and got along marvellously well. The 
 seven of them dined off three herrings, but they had 
 plenty of bread and wine, for my grandfather had 
 a vineyard which was an inexhaustible source of white 
 wine. All these children were utilized by my grand- 
 mother according to their age and strength. The 
 oldest, who was my father, was named Gaspard. 
 He washed the dishes and went to the butcher 
 shop. There was no poodle in the town better tamed 
 than he. The next to oldest child swept the room. 
 The third child held the fourth in his arms. And 
 the fifth rocked in its cradk. Meantime my grand- 
 mother was at church, or at her neighbour's, chat- 
 ting. All went well, however; they managed, so-so, 
 to reach the end of the year without getting into 
 debt The boys were strong, the girls were not 
 bad-looking, and the father and mother were 
 happy. 
 
 My uncle Benjamin lived at his sister's. He was 
 five feet ten inches in height, carried a big sword at 
 his side, and wore a coat of scarlet ratteen, breeches 
 of the same colour and material, pearl-grey silk stock- 
 ings, and shoes with silver buckles. Over his coat
 
 WHO MY UNCLE WAS 1 1 
 
 hung a large black queue almost as long as his sword. 
 It kept bobbing about and covered him with powder, 
 so that his coat, with its shades of red and white, 
 looked like an unbaked brick. My uncle was a doc- 
 tor. That's why he carried a sword. I do not know 
 whether the patients had much confidence in him, but 
 he, Benjamin, had very little confidence in medicine. 
 He often said that a doctor did very well if he did 
 not kill his patient. Whenever my uncle Benjamin 
 got a franc or two, he went to buy a big fish and 
 gave it to his sister to make a chowder, upon which 
 the entire family feasted. My uncle Benjamin, ac- 
 cording to all who knew him, was the gayest, fun- 
 niest, wittiest man in all the country round, and he 
 would have been the most how shall I say it with- 
 out failing in respect to my great uncle's memory? 
 he would have been the least sober, if the town 
 drummer, named Cicero, had not shared his glory. 
 Nevertheless my Uncle Benjamin was not what you 
 lightly term a drunkard, make no mistake about that. 
 He was an epicurean who pushed philosophy to the 
 point of intoxication that was all. He had a su- 
 premely elevated and noble stomach. He loved wine, 
 not for itself, but for the short-lived madness which 
 it brings, a madness which makes a man of wit talk 
 nonsense in so naive, piquant, and original a way that 
 one would like to talk.that way always. If he could 
 have intoxicated himself by reading the mass, he 
 would have read the mass every day. My uncle 
 Benjamin had principles. He maintained that a fast-
 
 12 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 ing man was a man still asleep; that intoxication 
 would have been one of the greatest blessings of the 
 Creator, if it did not cause headache, and that the 
 only thing that made man superior to the brute was 
 the faculty of getting drunk. 
 
 Reason, said my uncle, is nothing. It is simply 
 the power of feeling present evils and remembering 
 past ones. The privilege of renouncing one's rea- 
 son that's something. You say that the man who 
 drowns his reason in wine brutalizes himself. It is 
 the pride of caste that makes you think so. Do you 
 really believe that the condition of the brute is 
 worse than your own? When you are tormented by 
 hunger, you would like very much to be the ox that 
 grazes in grass up to his belly. When you are in 
 prison, you would like very much to be the bird that 
 cleaves the azure of the skies with a free wing. 
 When you are on the point of being dispossessed, 
 you would like very much to be the ugly snail whose 
 right to its shell no one ever disputes. 
 
 The equality of which you dream, the brute pos- 
 sesses. In the forests there are neither kings, nor 
 nobles, nor a third estate. The problem of com- 
 munal life which your philosophers seek in vain to 
 unravel was solved thousands of centuries ago by the 
 poor insects, the ants, and the bees. The animals 
 have no doctors; they are neither blind, nor hump- 
 backed, nor lame, nor bow-legged, and they have no 
 fear of hell. 
 
 My uncle Benjamin was twenty-eight years old
 
 WHO MY UNCLE WAS 13 
 
 He had been practising medicine for three years, but 
 medicine brought him no income, far from it. He 
 owed his tailor for three scarlet coats and his bar- 
 ber for three years of hair-dressing, and in each of 
 the most famous taverns of the town he had a pretty 
 little account running, with nothing on the credit side 
 but a few drugs. 
 
 My grandmother was three years older than Ben- 
 jamin. She had rocked him on her knees and car- 
 ried him in her arms, and she looked upon herself 
 as his mentor. She bought his cravats and pocket- 
 handkerchiefs, mended his shirts and gave him good 
 advice, to which we must do him this justice he 
 listened very attentively, but of which he did not 
 make the slightest use. 
 
 Every evening regularly, after supper, she urged 
 him to get married. 
 
 "Faugh!" said Benjamin. "To have six children 
 like Machecourt" that was the way he called my 
 grandfather "and dine off the fins of a her- 
 ring?" 
 
 "But, you pauper, you would at least have bread." 
 
 "Yes, bread, which will rise too much to-day, not 
 enough to-morrow, and the day after will have the 
 measles! Bread! What is bread? It is good to keep 
 one from dying, but it is not good to keep one living. 
 I shall be far gone indeed when I shall have a 
 wife to tell me that I put too much sugar in my vials 
 and too much powder on my queue, to come to look 
 for me at the tavern, to go through my pockets
 
 I 4 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 when I am asleep, and to buy three cloaks for her- 
 self to one coat that I buy for myself." 
 
 "But your creditors, Benjamin, how are you going 
 to pay them?" 
 
 "In the first place, as long as one has credit, it is 
 the same as if he were rich, and when your creditors 
 are kneaded of the right kind of dough, if they are 
 patient, it is the same as if you had none. Besides, 
 what do I need to enable me to square my accounts? 
 A first-class epidemic. God is good, my dear sister, 
 and will not leave a man who repairs his finest work 
 in embarrassment." 
 
 "Yes," said my grandfather, "and a man who puts 
 it so out of commission that it has to be buried in the 
 ground." 
 
 "Well,'' replied my uncle, "that is the good of doc- 
 tors; without them the world would be too popu- 
 lous. Of what use would it be for God to take the 
 trouble to send us diseases if men could be found to 
 cure them?" 
 
 "In that case you are a dishonest man; you rob 
 those who send for you." 
 
 "No, I do not rob them, because I reassure them, 
 I give them hope, and I always find a way to make 
 them laugh. That is worth a good deal." 
 
 My grandmother, seeing that the subject of the 
 conversation had changed, decided to drop off asleep.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 WHY MY UNCLE DECIDED TO MARRY 
 
 A TERRIBLE catastrophe, of which I shall have 
 the honour to tell you presently, shook Benjamin's 
 resolutions. 
 
 One day my cousin Page, a lawyer in the baili- 
 wick of Clamecy, came and invited him and Mache- 
 court to a celebration of Saint Yves. The dinner 
 was to take place at a well-known tavern within two 
 gun-shots of the faubourg. The guests were a se- 
 lect party. Benjamin would not have given that even- 
 ing for a whole week of his ordinary life. So after 
 vespers, my grandfather, dressed in his wedding coat, 
 and my uncle with his sword at his side, presented 
 themselves at the rendezvous. 
 
 Almost all the guests were already assembled. 
 Saint Yves was magnificently represented in the gath- 
 ering. In the first place, lawyer Page was there, 
 who never pleaded a case except between two glasses 
 of wine; and then there was the clerk of the court, 
 who had learned to write while asleep; and the gov- 
 ernment attorney Rapin, who had received a half 
 hogshead of sour wine from a litigant, and then 
 had him summoned to appear at court so as to get a
 
 i6 
 
 better one; and the notary Arthus, who had once 
 eaten a whole salmon for his dessert; Millot- 
 Rataut, poet and tailor, author of Grand Noel; an 
 old architect, who had not been sober for twenty 
 years; M. Minxit, a doctor of the neighbourhood, 
 who examined urines; two or three prominent busi- 
 ness men prominent for their gaiety and appe- 
 tite; and some sportsmen, who had provided the 
 table with an abundance of game. At sight of Benja- 
 min all the guests uttered a shout of welcome, and 
 declared it was time to sit down to table. Dur- 
 ing the first two courses all went well. My uncle was 
 charming with his wit and his sallies. But at des- 
 sert the heads grew heated; all commenced shouting 
 at once. Soon the conversation was nothing but a 
 confusion of epigrams, oaths, and sallies, bursting 
 out together and trying to stifle each other, the whole 
 making a noise like that of a dozen glasses striking 
 against each other simultaneously. 
 
 "Gentlemen," cried Page, the lawyer, "I must en- 
 tertain you with my last speech in court. The case 
 was this. Two donkeys had got into a fight in a 
 meadow. The owner of one, good-for-nothing 
 scamp that he was, ran, took a stick and beat the 
 other donkey. But this quadruped would not 
 stand for it, and bit our man on his little finger. 
 The owner of the donkey that inflicted the bite was 
 cited before the bailiff as responsible for the doings 
 of his beast. 
 
 "I was counsel for the defendant. 'Before com-
 
 WHY MY UNCLE DECIDED TO MARRY 17 
 
 ing to the question of fact,' said I to the bailiff, 'I 
 must enlighten you as to the moral character of the 
 donkey that I defend and of that of the plaintiff. 
 Our donkey is an entirely inoffensive quadruped; he 
 enjoys the esteem of all who know him, and the town 
 constable holds him in high regard. Now, I defy 
 the man who is our adversary to say as much of his. 
 Our donkey is the bearer of a certificate from the 
 mayor of his commune' this certificate really 
 existed 'which testifies to his morality and good 
 conduct. If the plaintiff can produce a like certifi- 
 cate, we will consent to pay him three thousand 
 francs damages.' ' 
 
 "May Saint Yves bless you!" said my uncle. 
 "Now the poet, Millot-Rataut, must sing us his 
 Grand Noel : 
 
 'Down on your knees, O Christians, down !' 
 
 "That is eminently lyrical. No one but the Holy 
 Spirit could have inspired that beautiful line." 
 
 "I should like to see you do as much," cried the 
 tailor, who was very irascible under the influence of 
 Burgundy. 
 
 "I am not so stupid," answered my uncle. 
 
 "Silence!" interrupted Page, the lawyer, striking 
 on the table with all his might. "I declare to the 
 court that I wish to finish my plea." 
 
 "Directly," said my uncle, "you are not drunk 
 enough yet to plead."
 
 1 8 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 "And I tell you I will plead now. Who are 
 you, old five-foot-ten, to prevent a lawyer from talk- 
 ing?" 
 
 "Be careful, Page," exclaimed Arthus, the notary, 
 "you are only a man of the pen, and you are dealing 
 with a man of the sword." 
 
 "It is quite becoming to you, a man of the fork 
 and a devourer of salmon, to talk of men of the 
 sword. Before you could frighten anybody, he 
 would have to be cooked." 
 
 "Benjamin is really terrible," said the architect. 
 "He is like the lion; at one stroke of his queue he 
 can knock a man down." 
 
 "Gentlemen," said my grandfather, rising, "I will 
 answer for my brother-in-law. He has never shed 
 blood except with his lancet." 
 
 "Do you really dare to maintain that, Mache- 
 court?" 
 
 "And you, Benjamin, do you really dare to main- 
 tain the contrary?" 
 
 "Then you shall give me satisfaction on the in- 
 stant for this insult; and, as we have but one sword 
 here, which is mine, I will keep the scabbard, and 
 you shall take the blade." 
 
 My grandfather, who was very fond of his 
 brother-in-law, did not want to contradict him, and 
 so accepted the proposition. As the two adversaries 
 rose, Page, the lawyer, said: 
 
 "One moment, gentlemen. We must fix the condi- 
 tions of the combat. I propose that each of the two

 
 WHY MY UNCLE DECIDED TO MARRY 19 
 
 adversaries shall hold on to the arm of his second, 
 in order that he may not fall before it is time." 
 
 "Agreed!" cried all the guests. 
 
 Benjamin and Machecourt stood face to face. 
 
 "Are you there, Benjamin?" 
 
 "And you, Machecourt?" 
 
 With the first stroke of his sword my grandfather 
 cut Benjamin's scabbard in two as if it had been an 
 oyster plant, and made a gash upon his wrist, which 
 must have reduced him to drink with his left hand 
 for at least a week. 
 
 "The clumsy fellow!" cried Benjamin. "He has 
 cut me." 
 
 "Well," answered my grandfather, with charm- 
 ing simplicity, "why have you a sword that cuts?" 
 
 "All the same, I still want my revenge; and the 
 half of this scabbard I have left is enough to make 
 you beg my pardon." 
 
 "No, Benjamin," rejoined my grandfather, "it is 
 your turn to take the sword. If you stick me, we 
 shall be even, and we will quit playing." 
 
 The guests, sobered by the accident, wanted to re- 
 turn to town. 
 
 "No, gentlemen," cried Benjamin, in his sten- 
 torian voice, "let each one return to his seat. I have 
 a proposition to make to you. Considering that it 
 was his first attempt, Machecourt has conducted him- 
 self most brilliantly. He is in a position to measure 
 himself against the most murderous of barbers, pro- 
 vided the latter will yield him the sword and keep
 
 20 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 the scabbard. I propose that we name him fencing- 
 master. It is only on this condition that I consent 
 to let him live. If you indorse my opinion, I will 
 even force myself to offer him my left hand, inas- 
 much as he has disabled the other." 
 
 "Benjamin is right," cried a multitude of voices. 
 "Bravo, Benjamin. Machecourt must be made fenc- 
 ing-master." 
 
 And each one ran to his seat, and Benjamin or- 
 dered a second dessert. 
 
 Meanwhile the news of the accident spread to 
 Clamecy. In passing from mouth to mouth, it grew 
 marvellously, and by the time it reached my grand- 
 mother, it had taken on the gigantic proportions of a 
 murder committed by her husband upon the person 
 of her brother. 
 
 In the less than five feet of my grandmother's 
 figure there dwelt a character full of firmness and 
 energy. She did not go screaming and crying to her 
 neighbours and have vinegar thrown on her face. 
 With that presence of mind which grief imparts to 
 strong souls, she saw at once what she had to do. She 
 put her children to bed, took all the money there 
 was in the house and the few jewels that she pos- 
 sessed, in order to supply her husband with means 
 to leave the country, if that should be neces- 
 sary; made up a bundle of linen for bandages and 
 of lint to staunch the wounds of the injured man 
 in case he should still be alive; took a mattress from 
 her bed, and asked a neighbour to follow her with it;
 
 WHY MY UNCLE DECIDED TO MARRY 21 
 
 and then, wrapping herself in her cloak, she started 
 without faltering for the fatal tea-garden. On en- 
 tering the faubourg, she met her husband, whom they 
 were bringing back in triumph, crowned with corks. 
 Benjamin, on whose left arm he was supported, was 
 crying at the top of his voice : "Know all men by these 
 presents, that Monsieur Machecourt, verger to his 
 Majesty, has just been appointed fencing-master, in 
 recognition of " 
 
 "Dog of a drunkard!" cried my grandmother, on 
 seeing Benjamin; and, unable to resist the emotion 
 that had been stifling her for an hour, she fell upon 
 the pavement. They had to carry her home on the 
 mattress which she had intended for her brother. 
 
 As for Benjamin, he forgot his wound until the 
 next morning when putting on his coat; but his 
 sister had a high fever. She was dangerously ill 
 for a week, and during the entire time Benjamin 
 did not leave her bedside. When she could listen 
 to him at last, he promised her that henceforth he 
 would lead a more regular life, and said he was 
 seriously thinking of paying his debts and marry- 
 ing. 
 
 My grandmother soon recovered. She charged 
 her husband to be on the lookout for a wife for Ben- 
 jamin. 
 
 Some time after that, one evening in November, 
 my grandfather came home, splashed to his neck, 
 but radiant. 
 
 "I have found something far better than we ex-
 
 22 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 pected," cried the excellent man, clasping his brother- 
 in-law's hands. "Now, Benjamin, you are rich; you 
 shall be able to eat as many matelotes as you like." 
 
 "What have you found?" asked my grandmother 
 and Benjamin at the same time. 
 
 "An only daughter, a rich heiress, the daughter 
 of Minxit, with whom we celebrated Saint Yves a 
 month ago." 
 
 "What, that village doctor who examines 
 urines?" 
 
 "Precisely. He accepts you unconditionally; he 
 is charmed with your wit; he believes you are well 
 fitted, by your manner and your eloquence, to aid 
 him in his profession." 
 
 "The devil!" said Benjamin, scratching his head, 
 "I am not anxious to examine urines." 
 
 "Oh, you big simpleton! Once you are father 
 Minxit's son-in-law, you can tell him and his vials to 
 go hang, and bring your wife to Clamecy." 
 
 "Yes, but Mademoiselle Minxit has red hair." 
 
 "She is only blonde, Benjamin, I give you my word 
 of honour." 
 
 "She is so freckled one would say a handful of 
 bran had been thrown in her face." 
 
 "I saw her this evening. I assure you she has 
 hardly any freckles at all." 
 
 "Besides, she is five feet three inches tall. I really 
 am afraid of spoiling the human race. We shall have 
 children as tall as bean-poles." 
 
 "Oh, those are only stupid jokes," said my grand-
 
 mother. "I met your tailor yesterday, and he abso- 
 lutely insists on being paid; and you know very well 
 your barber will not dress your hair any more." 
 
 "So you wish me, my dear sister, to marry Made- 
 moiselle Minxit? But you do not know what that 
 means, Minxit. And you, Machecourt, do you 
 know?" 
 
 "To be sure I know. It means father Minxit." 
 
 "Have you read Horace, Machecourt?" 
 
 "No, Benjamin." 
 
 "Well, Horace says : Num minxit patrios cineres. 
 It is that confounded preterit that revolts me. Be- 
 sides, my dear sister is no longer sick. M. Minxit, 
 Mme. Minxit, M. Rathery Benjamin Minxit, little 
 Jean Rathery Minxit, little Pierre Rathery Minxit, 
 little Adele Rathery Minxit. Why, in our family 
 there will be enough to turn a mill. And then, to be 
 frank about it, I hardly care to marry. It is true 
 there is a song that says : 
 
 . . . 'What happiness 
 
 Within the bonds of married life !' 
 
 But this song does not know what it sings. It must 
 have been written by a bachelor. 
 
 . . . 'What happiness 
 
 Within the bonds of married life !' 
 
 That would be all right, Machecourt, if a man were 
 free to choose a companion for himself; but the 
 necessities of social life always force us to marry in
 
 24 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 a ridiculous way and contrary to our inclinations. 
 The man marries a dowry, and the woman a pro- 
 fession. Then, after all the fine Sundays of their 
 honeymoon, they return to the solitude of their house- 
 hold, only to see that they do not suit each other. 
 One is stingy and the other extravagant; the wife is 
 coquettish and the husband jealous; one loves like a 
 tempest and the other like a gentle breeze; they 
 would like to be a thousand miles apart, but they 
 have to live in the iron circle within which they have 
 confined themselves, and remain together usque ad 
 vitam ceternam" 
 
 "Is he drunk?" whispered my grandfather to his 
 wife. 
 
 "What makes you think so?" she answered. 
 
 "Because he talks sensibly." 
 
 However, they made my uncle listen to reason, and 
 it was agreed that on the next day, Sunday, he should 
 go to see Mademoiselle Minxit.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 HOW MY UNCLE MEETS AN OLD SERGEANT AND 
 
 A POODLE DOG, WHICH PREVENTS HIM 
 
 FROM GOING TO M. MINXIT'S 
 
 AT eight o'clock the next morning, my uncle fresh- 
 ened and dressed, was all ready to start, except that 
 he still needed a pair of shoes that were to be brought 
 to him by Cicero, the famous town-crier of whom we 
 have already spoken, who combined the trade of a 
 shoemaker with that of a drummer. 
 
 It was not long before Cicero arrived. In those 
 free and easy days, when a workman brought work 
 to a house, it was the custom not to let him go away 
 without first making him drink several glasses of 
 wine. It was a bad habit, I admit, but those kindly 
 ways softened the distinctions of rank. The poor 
 man was grateful to the rich man for his generosity, 
 and was not envious of him. That is why during the 
 Revolution there were instances of admirable de- 
 votion shown by servants to their masters, by farm- 
 ers to their landlords, by labourers to their employ- 
 ers, certainly not to be found in our day of insolence, 
 arrogance, and ridiculous pride. 
 
 Benjamin asked his sister to draw a bottle of white 
 
 25
 
 26 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 wine to drink with Cicero. His sister brought one 
 bottle, then two, then three, up to seven bottles. 
 "My dear sister, I beg of you, one more bottle." 
 "You wretch, don't you know this is the eighth 
 bottle already?" 
 
 "But my dear sister, we keep our accounts sepa- 
 rate." 
 
 "Remember, you are going on a journey." 
 "Just this last bottle, and I will start." 
 "A fine condition to start in! Suppose any one 
 should send for you now to visit a patient?" 
 
 "My dear sister, how little you appreciate the 
 good effects of wine ! It is easy to see that you never 
 drink anything but the limpid waters of Beuvron. 
 What if I do have to travel, my center of gravity 
 is always in the same place. If I have to bleed 
 
 some one By the way, sister, I ought to bleed 
 
 you. Machecourt advised it when he left. You 
 complained this morning of a severe headache. A 
 bleeding will do you good." 
 
 So saying, Benjamin took out his case of instru- 
 ments, and my grandmother armed herself with a 
 pair of tongs. 
 
 "The devil! You are a very rebellious patient. 
 Very well, let us compromise. I will not bleed you, 
 and you will go get us the eighth bottle of wine." 
 "I will not bring you a single glass." 
 "Then I will draw it myself," said Benjamin; and, 
 taking the bottle, he started for the cellar. 
 
 Seeing no better way of stopping him, my grand-
 
 MY UNCLE MEETS AN OLD SERGEANT 27 
 
 mother seized his queue, but Benjamin paid not the 
 slightest attention to this, and walked to the cellar 
 as steadily as if there had been nothing more than 
 a bunch of onions hanging to his queue. He came 
 back with his bottle filled. 
 
 "My dear sister, it was well worth while for the 
 two of us to go to the cellar for a paltry bottle of 
 white wine; but I warn you, if you persist in these 
 bad habits, you will force me to cut off my queue." 
 
 A moment ago Benjamin had looked upon the 
 journey to Corvol as a disagreeable duty. Now he 
 insisted upon starting, and my grandmother, to pre- 
 vent him, locked his shoes up in a closet. 
 
 "I tell you, I am going." 
 
 "And I tell you, you are not going." 
 
 "Would you like me to drag you all the way to 
 M. Minxit's at the end of my queue?" 
 
 It was in the midst of this discussion that my 
 grandfather found the brother and sister when he 
 arrived. He put an end to it by announcing that he 
 had to go to La Chapelle the next day and would 
 take Benjamin, with him. 
 
 Grandfather was up before daylight. When he 
 had scribbled off his writ and noted at the end, "The 
 cost, six francs, four sous and six deniers,"-he wiped 
 his pen on his coat sleeve, carefully laid his spectacles 
 in their case, and went to wake Benjamin up. Ben- 
 jamin was sleeping like the Prince de Conde (that is, 
 if the Prince was not shamming sleep) on the eve of 
 a battle.
 
 28 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 "Get up, get up, Benjamin. It's broad day- 
 light." 
 
 "You're wrong," answered Benjamin, turning to- 
 wards the wall with a grunt, "it is pitch dark." 
 
 "Raise your head, and you will see the sunlight on 
 the floor." 
 
 "That's the light from the street lamp." 
 
 "Oh, then you don't want to go?" 
 
 "No, I dreamt the whole night through of hard 
 bread and sour wine, and if we go, something bad 
 might happen." 
 
 "Very well, if you are not up in ten minutes, I 
 will send your dear sister to you. But, if you get 
 up, I will open that quarter-cask of old wine you 
 know which." 
 
 "You're sure it's from Pouilly, aren't you?" said 
 Benjamin, sitting up in bed. "On your word of 
 honour?" 
 
 "Yes, on my word of honour as a summons- 
 server." 
 
 "Then go open your quarter-cask. But I warn 
 you, if anything happens on the way, it is you who 
 will have to answer for it to my dear sister." 
 
 An hour later my uncle and my grandfather were 
 on their way to Moulot. At some distance from the 
 town they met two peasant boys, one of whom was 
 carrying a rabbit under his arm and the other two 
 hens in a basket. The boy with the rabbit said to 
 the other one: 
 
 "If you tell M. Cliquet that my rabbit is a war-
 
 MY UNCLE MEETS AN OLD SERGEANT 29 
 
 ren rabbit and you saw me get it from a trap, I 
 will make you my chum." 
 
 "All right, if you tell Madame Deby that my hens 
 lay twice a day and their eggs are as big as ducks' 
 eggs." 
 
 "You are two little thieves," said my grandfather. 
 "One of these days I will have your ears pulled by 
 the police officer." 
 
 "And I, my friends," said Benjamin, "beg you each 
 to accept this twelve-denier piece." 
 
 "Well, that is generosity well placed," said my 
 grandfather, shrugging his shoulders. "No doubt 
 you will bestow the flat of your sword on the first 
 honest poor man you come across if you throw your 
 money away on these two scamps." 
 
 "Scamps to you, Machecourt, who see nothing but 
 the outside of things. To me those boys are two 
 philosophers. They have just invented a machine, 
 which, if well organized, would make the fortune of 
 ten honest people." 
 
 "And what machine may that be," said my grand- 
 father with an air of incredulity, "which your two 
 philosophers have invented? I'd thrash the philoso- 
 phers soundly if we had time to stop." 
 
 "A simple machine," my uncle replied. "This is 
 how it works. There are ten of us. ten friends, who, 
 instead of meeting for breakfast, meet to make our 
 fortunes." 
 
 "At least something worth meeting for," inter- 
 rupted my grandfather.
 
 30 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 "All ten of us are intelligent, skilful, even tricky, 
 if need be. We can assume a lofty tone and are fas- 
 cinating talkers. We play with words as cleverly as 
 a juggler plays with his balls. As for morality, we 
 are all capable in our professions; and well-meaning 
 persons may say, without seriously compromising 
 themselves, that we are the superiors of our col- 
 leagues. In a perfectly honourable spirit we form a 
 society for throwing each other bouquets, puffing 
 each other, and boosting our small deserts." 
 
 "I understand," said my grandfather. "One of 
 you sells rat poison and has nothing but a big drum, 
 the other, Swiss tea and has nothing but a pair of 
 cymbals. You pool your means of making a noise, 
 and " 
 
 "Exactly," interrupted Benjamin. "You see, if 
 the machine works properly, each of the members 
 has nine instruments around him that make a tre- 
 mendous noise. 
 
 "There are nine of us who say, 'Page the lawyer 
 drinks too much. But I believe the devil of a fellow 
 steeps the Nivernais code of laws in his wine and 
 then corks up his logic in bottles. He wins every case 
 he wants to. The other day he won large damages 
 for a nobleman because the nobleman had beaten a 
 peasant. The process-server, Parlanta, is a little 
 too cunning. But he is the Hannibal of process-serv- 
 ers. You can't escape his arrests for debt. A debtor 
 would have to be without a body to evade him. He 
 would not hesitate to lay his hands on a duke or a
 
 MY UNCLE MEETS AN OLD SERGEANT 31 
 
 peer. As for Benjamin Rathery, he is an easy-going 
 fellow who makes fun of everything and laughs a 
 fever in the face. A man, if you will, of the dish and 
 the bottle. But it is for that very reason that I'd 
 rather call him in when I'm ill than anyone else. He 
 hasn't got the manner of those gloomy doctors whose 
 record is a cemetery. He is too gay and his di- 
 gestion is too good for a man who has many deaths 
 on his conscience. In this way each of the members 
 is multiplied by nine." 
 
 "Yes," said my grandfather, "but will that give 
 you nine red coats? Nine times Benjamin Rathery, 
 what does that make?" 
 
 "That makes nine hundred times Machecourt," 
 Benjamin retorted like a flash. "But let me finish 
 my explanation. You can make your jokes after- 
 ward. Here are nine advertisements that insinuate 
 themselves everywhere, that to-morrow repeat under 
 another form what they have told you to-day; nine 
 placards that talk and catch passers-by by the arm; 
 nine signs that promenade through the town and dis- 
 cuss, and propound dilemmas and set up syllogisms 
 and make sport of you if you are not of their opinion. 
 
 "As a result, the reputations of Page and Rapin 
 and Rathery, till then dragging themselves along 
 painfully within the limits of the small town, like a 
 lawyer moving in a vicious circle, suddenly soar up- 
 ward. Yesterday they had no feet. To-day they 
 have wings. They expand like gas let out of a sealed 
 bottle. They spread throughout the province.
 
 32 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 Clients stream to these people from all parts of the 
 bailiwick, from the south and the north and the 
 east and the west, like the elect in the Apocalypse 
 streaming into Jerusalem. At the end of five or six 
 years Benjamin Rathery is the possessor of a large 
 fortune, which he spends in luncheons and dinners 
 to the loud accompaniment of glasses and bottles. 
 You, Machecourt, are no longer a server of writs. 
 I buy you the office of bailiff. Your wife is covered 
 with silk and lace like an image of Our Lady. Your 
 oldest son, who is already a choir-boy, enters the 
 seminary. Your second son who is sickly and as yel- 
 low as a Canary bird, studies medicine. I make over 
 to him my good-will and my practise and keep him 
 in red coats. Of your younger son I make a lawyer. 
 Your older daughter marries a literary man and we 
 marry the younger one to a fat bourgeois, and the 
 day after the wedding we put the machine away in 
 the attic." 
 
 "Yes, but there is just one little flaw in your ma- 
 chine. Honest people can't use it." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because." 
 
 "Because what?" 
 
 "Because the effect is immoral." 
 
 "Can you prove your immoral effect by premises 
 and conclusions?" 
 
 "Go away with your premises and conclusions. 
 You who are a scholar reason with your intellect. 
 I who am a poor process-server feel with my con-
 
 MY UNCLE MEETS AN OLD SERGEANT 33 
 
 science. I maintain that any man who acquires a 
 fortune in any other way than by his own work and 
 his own talents does not come by it rightly." 
 
 "Excellent, Machecourt," cried my uncle, "you are 
 perfectly right. Conscience is the best logician, and 
 charlatanism, in whatever disguise, is a fraud always. 
 So we will break our machine and say no more about 
 it." 
 
 Chatting on in this way, they approached the vil- 
 lage of Moulot. A man looking something like a 
 soldier was sitting at the gate of a vineyard. He 
 was all framed in by blackberry bushes, which had 
 been browned and reddened by the frost and hung 
 about him like tousled hair. On his head was a piece 
 of a cocked hat without a cockade. His emaciated 
 face had a stony colour like the deep ivory of old 
 monuments long exposed to the sunlight. The two 
 halves of a huge white mustache encircled his mouth 
 like a parenthesis. He was dressed in an old uni- 
 form, and across one sleeve was an old, worn-out 
 strip of galloon. 
 
 The other sleeve, with the insignia gone, was noth- 
 ing but a rectangle showing a newer material and a 
 deeper shade than the rest of the garment. His bare 
 legs, swollen by the cold, were as red as beets. He 
 was moistening a piece of black bread with a few 
 drops of brandy from a gourd. A large poodle dog 
 was sitting in front of him, following all his move- 
 ments with the attentiveness of a deaf mute who lis- 
 tens to his master's orders with his eyes.
 
 34 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 My uncle would rather have passed a tavern with- 
 out going in than have passed this man without stop- 
 ping to speak to him. 
 
 "My good man, that is a bad lunch you have 
 there," he said from the roadside. 
 
 U I have eaten many a worse one. But Fontenoy 
 and I have good appetites." 
 
 "Who is Fontenoy?" 
 
 "My dog. This one here." 
 
 "The devil ! A fine name for a dog. In fact, if 
 glory is good for kings, why should it not be good for 
 poodles?" 
 
 "That is his nom de guerre," continued the ser- 
 geant. "His real name is Azor." 
 
 "Why do you call him Fontenoy?" 
 
 "Because he took an English captain prisoner at 
 the battle of Fontenoy." 
 
 "Indeed? How did he do that?" exclaimed my 
 uncle, greatly amazed. 
 
 "Very simply by hanging to one of his coat-tails, 
 until I could put my hand on his shoulder. Just as he 
 is, Fontenoy was given an army order, and had the 
 honour to be presented to Louis XV., who conde- 
 scended to say to me: 'Sergeant Duranton, that's a 
 fine dog of yours.' ' 
 
 "A king courteous to animals. I am surprised 
 he did not bestow a title of nobility upon your 
 poodle. How is it you left the service of so good a 
 king?" 
 
 "Because they committed an injustice against me,"
 
 MY UNCLE MEETS AN OLD SERGEANT 35 
 
 said the sergeant, his eyes lighting up and his nostrils 
 dilating with anger. "It's ten years since I've been 
 wearing these gold rags on my arms, and I have been 
 through all the campaigns of Morris of Saxony, and 
 I have more scars on my body than would be re- 
 quired for two periods of service. They promised 
 me the epaulets, but to make a weaver's son an of- 
 ficer would have been a scandal to make every hair 
 of every animal in the kingdom of France and Na- 
 varre stand on end in horror. So, over my head, 
 they promoted a chick of a knight just hatched from 
 the page's shell. He will find a way of getting killed. 
 They are brave, there is no denying that; but the man 
 doesn't know how to say Right-dress !" 
 
 At this word, uttered very emphatically, the poodle 
 turned his head to the right, military fashion. 
 
 "Fine, Fontenoy," said his master, "you forget 
 we have retired from the service." Then he went 
 on: "I could not forgive the very Christian king. 
 I have been on bad terms with him ever since; and 
 I asked him for my dismissal, which he graciously 
 granted." 
 
 "You did well, my brave fellow," cried Benjamin, 
 slapping the old soldier on the shoulder, an im- 
 prudent demonstration, for the poodle nearly ate 
 him up. "If my approval is of any value to you, I 
 give it to you without reserve. The nobles have 
 never stood in the way of my advancement, but that 
 does not keep me from hating them with my whole 
 heart and soul."
 
 36 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 "In that case a purely Platonic hatred," inter- 
 rupted my grandfather. 
 
 "Say rather a purely philosophical hatred, Mache- 
 court. Of all absurd things, nobility is the most ab- 
 surd. It is a flagrant revolt of despotism against 
 the Creator. Did God make the grasses of the field 
 one higher than the other? Did he engrave escutch- 
 eons upon the wings of birds and the hides of beasts? 
 What do these superior men signify whom a king 
 makes by letters-patent as he licenses an exciseman 
 or a huckster? Dating from to-day, you will ac- 
 knowledge Mr. So-and-so as a superior man. Signed 
 'Louis XV.,' and lower down, 'Choiseul.' A fine 
 way of establishing superiority. A serf Is made- a 
 count by Henri IV. because he served his majesty 
 with a nice goose. Had he served a capon along 
 with the goose, he would have been made a mar- 
 quis, and not a bit more ink or parchment would 
 have been needed. Now the descendants of these 
 men have the privilege of beating us because our 
 ancestors never had the opportunity of offering a 
 fowl's wing to a king. Just see on what a little thing 
 greatness depends in this world! Had the goose 
 been cooked a bit too much or a bit too little, had it 
 been seasoned with one pinch of salt too much or too 
 little, had a speck of soot fallen into the dripping 
 pan or a tiny cinder on the slices of bread, had the 
 bird been served a moment too soon or too late, 
 there would have been one noble family the less in 
 France. And the people bow low to these great
 
 MY UNCLE MEETS AN OLD SERGEANT 37 
 
 ones. Oh, I should like the same that Caligula 
 wanted of the Romans, that France had only a single 
 pair of cheeks to slap." 
 
 "But tell me, imbecile people, what value do you 
 find in the two letters that the nobles place in front 
 of their names ? Do they add an inch to their height ? 
 Have they more iron than you in their blood, more 
 brain matter inside their skulls? Can they handle a 
 heavier sword than yours? Does this marvellous de 
 cure scrofula? Does it safeguard its possessor 
 against the colic when he has dined too heavily, or 
 from intoxication when he has drunk too much? 
 Don't you see that all these counts, these barons, 
 these marquises are capital letters which, in spite of 
 the place they occupy in the line, don't help with 
 the spelling any more than the small letters? If a 
 duke and a peer and a woodcutter were alone to- 
 gether on an American prairie or in the middle of 
 Sahara, I should like to know which of them would 
 be the nobler. 
 
 "Their great-great-grandfather wielded the shield, 
 and your father made cotton caps. What does that 
 prove for them or against you? Do they come into 
 the world with their ancestor's shield at their side? 
 Have they his scars marked on their skin? What is 
 this greatness that is transmitted from father to son, 
 like a fresh candle lighted at a dying candle? Are 
 the mushrooms that spring up on the decayed wood 
 of a dead oak, oaks? When I hear that the king 
 has created a noble family, it is as though I were to
 
 3 8 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 see a farmer planting in his field a great fool of a 
 poppy that will choke up twenty furrows with its 
 seed and yield nothing but four big red leaves a year. 
 Nevertheless, as long as there are kings, there will 
 be nobles. The kings make counts, marquises, dukes, 
 so that admiration should rise up to them by degrees. 
 Relatively to the kings the nobles are the small show 
 at the entrance which gives the idlers on the street a 
 foretaste of the magnificent spectacle inside. A king 
 without nobility would be a salon without an ante- 
 chamber. But this dainty ministering to their van- 
 ity will cost them dear. It is impossible that twenty 
 millions of men should forever consent to be noth- 
 ing in the state so that a few thousand courtiers may 
 be something. He who sows privileges will reap 
 revolutions. 
 
 "The time is not far off perhaps when all those 
 brilliant escutcheons will be dragged in the gutter, 
 and those who now adorn themselves with them will 
 need the protection of their valets." 
 
 "What," you say to me, "your uncle Benjamin 
 said all that?" 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "All in one breath?" 
 
 "To be sure. What is so surprising about it? My 
 grandfather had a jug that held a pint and a half, 
 and my uncle emptied it at one draught. He called it 
 making tirades." 
 
 "And his words? How were they pre- 
 served?"
 
 MY UNCLE MEETS AN OLD SERGEANT 39 
 
 "My grandfather wrote them down." 
 
 "You mean to say he had writing material with 
 him there in the open country?" 
 
 "How stupid! Wasn't he a process-server?" 
 
 "And the sergeant? Did he have anything more 
 to say?" 
 
 "Certainly. He had to say something for my 
 uncle to reply to." 
 
 So then, the sergeant said: 
 
 "I have been tramping now for three months. I 
 go from farm to farm, and I stay as long as they 
 are willing to keep me. I drill with the children, I 
 tell the men the story of our campaigns, and Fonte- 
 noy amuses the women with his tricks. I never am in 
 a hurry because I never exactly know where I am 
 going. They send me back to my fireside, and I have 
 no fireside. My father's hearth was destroyed long 
 ago, and my arms are hollower and rustier than two 
 old gun-barrels. However, I think I shall go back 
 to my village. Not that I expect to be better off 
 there than anywhere else. The ground is as hard 
 there as elsewhere, and the roads there don't flow 
 with brandy. But what is the difference? I'll go 
 there anyway. It is a sort of sick man's whim. I 
 shall be the garrison of the neighbourhood. If they 
 won't support the old soldier, they will at least have 
 to bury him, and," he added, "they will certainly be 
 kind enough to place a little soup for Fontenoy on 
 my grave, until he dies of grief. For Fontenoy will 
 not let me go away alone. That's the promise he
 
 40 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 makes me when we are alone and he looks at me. 
 My good Fontenoy." 
 
 "So that is the fate they have prepared for you?" 
 answered Benjamin. "Truly, kings are the most self- 
 ish of beings. If the serpents that our poets speak 
 so ill of had a literature, they would make kings the 
 symbol of ingratitude. I somewhere read that after 
 God made the heart of kings a dog ran off with it, 
 and not wishing to do his work over again, he put 
 a stone in its place. That seems to me very likely. 
 As for the Capets, perhaps they have an onion in 
 place of a heart. I defy anyone to prove the con- 
 trary. 
 
 "Because these people had a cross made on their 
 foreheads with oil, their persons are august, they are 
 majesties, they are we instead of I. They can do 
 no wrong. Should their valets de chambre happen 
 to scratch them putting on their shirts, it would be a 
 sacrilege. Their little ones are highnesses, these 
 tots, which a woman carries in her hand, and whose 
 cradle could be put in a hen-coop. They are very 
 high heights, most serene mountains. We would 
 gladly gild their nurses' nipples. If such is the effect 
 of a little oil, how much we ought to respect the 
 anchovies that are pickled in oil till we eat 
 them! 
 
 "In the cast of kings and emperors, pride goes to 
 the point of madness. They are compared to Jupi- 
 ter holding a thunder-bolt, and they do not consider 
 themselves too highly honoured by the comparison.
 
 MY UNCLE MEETS AN OLD SERGEANT 41 
 
 Leave out the thunder-bolt, and they would be of- 
 fended. Nevertheless, Jupiter has the gout, and it 
 takes two lackeys to lead him to table or to bed. 
 The rhymester Boileau on his own authority ordered 
 the winds to keep quiet because he was going to speak 
 of Louis XIV. : 
 
 'Be silent, O ye winds, 
 Of Louis I shall speak.' 
 
 "And Louis XIV. saw nothing except what was 
 quite natural in this. Only it never occurred to him 
 to bid the commanders of his vessels speak of Louis 
 in order to still the tempests. 
 
 "All these poor madmen believe that the extent of 
 earth over which they reign is theirs, and God gave 
 it to Count Odo of Paris, soil and sub-soil, to be en- 
 joyed, without disturbance or hindrance, by him and 
 his descendants. If a courier tells them that God 
 made the Seine for the express purpose of feeding 
 the great fountain of the Tuileries, they will con- 
 sider him a man of intelligence. They look upon the 
 millions of men around them as their property, the 
 title to which cannot be disputed on the penalty of 
 hanging. Some come into the world to furnish 
 them with money, some to die in their quarrels, and 
 some with the clearest and reddest blood, to beget 
 mistresses for them. All this evidently because an 
 old archbishop, with his trembling hand, made the 
 sign of the cross on their brows. 
 
 "They take a man in the heydey of youth, put
 
 42 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 a gun in his hands and a knapsack on his back, stick 
 a cockade on his cap and say to him: 'My brother 
 of Prussia has wronged me. You are to attack all 
 his subjects. I have warned them by my process- 
 server, whom I call a herald, that on the first of 
 April next you will have the honour to present your- 
 self at the frontier to cut their throats and they 
 should be ready to welcome you properly. Between 
 monarchs these are considerations that one owes the 
 other. At first sight you may think our enemies are 
 men. I warn you, they are Prussians. You can tell 
 them from human beings by the colour of their uni- 
 forms. Try to do your duty well, for I shall be 
 there sitting on my throne watching you. If you 
 bring back victory when you return to France, you 
 will be led beneath the windows of my palace. I 
 will appear in full uniform and say: 'Soldiers, I am 
 satisfied with you.' If you are one hundred thousand 
 men, you will have a hundred-thousandth of these 
 six words for your share. In case you should remain 
 on the battlefield, which may very well happen, I 
 will send your family the death certificate, so that 
 they may mourn you, and that brothers may inherit 
 your property. If you lose an arm or a leg, I will 
 pay you what they are worth, but if you have the 
 good or the ill fortune, whichever you may think it, 
 to escape the bullet, and you no longer have the 
 strength to carry your knapsack, I will dismiss you, 
 and you can go die where you like. I have no fur- 
 ther interest in the matter."
 
 MY UNCLE MEETS AN OLD SERGEANT 43 
 
 "Exactly," said the sergeant, "When they have 
 extracted the phosphorus of which they make their 
 glory from our blood they throw us aside the way the 
 wine-grower throws the grape skin on the muck- 
 heap, after he has pressed out the juice, or the way 
 a child throws the pit of the fruit he has just eaten 
 into the gutter." 
 
 "That is very wrong of them," said Machecourt 
 whose mind was at Corvol, and who was eager to 
 see his brother-in-law. 
 
 "Machecourt," said Benjamin, looking at him as- 
 kance, "choose your expressions better. This is no 
 laughing matter. Really, when I see these valiant 
 soldiers, whose blood has made the glory of their 
 country, obliged to spend the rest of their life in a 
 cobbler's hole of a workshop, like poor old Cicero : 
 while a multitude of gilded puppets snatch up all the 
 taxes, and prostitutes have cashmere for their morn- 
 ing wrappers, a single one of which is worth the en- 
 tire wardrobe of a poor housewife, I am furious at 
 kings. If I were God, I would make them wear a 
 uniform of lead, and condemn them to a thousand 
 years of military service in the moon, with all their 
 iniquities in their knapsacks. I'd make the emperors 
 be corporals." 
 
 On recovering his breath and wiping his brow 
 for his feelings and his indignation had put my 
 worthy great-uncle into a sweat he took my grand- 
 father aside and said: 
 
 "What do you say to our having this brave man
 
 44 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 and his glorious poodle breakfast with us at Ma* 
 nette's?" 
 
 "Hem! Ahem!" objected my grandfather. 
 
 "The devil!" replied Benjamin. "It isn't every 
 day you meet a poodle who has taken an English cap* 
 tain prisoner; and every day political banquets are 
 given to persons worth less than this honourable 
 beast." 
 
 "But have you any money?" said my grandfather. 
 "I have only a thirty-sou piece that your sister gave 
 me this morning because, I believe, it isn't stamped 
 right, and she impressed upon me to bring her back 
 at least half of it." 
 
 "I haven't a single sou, but I am Manette's physi- 
 cian, and she from time to time is my landlady, and 
 we give each other credit." 
 
 "Nothing more than Manette's physician?" 
 
 "What's that to you?" 
 
 "Nothing. But I warn you I shan't stay at Ma- 
 nette's more than an hour." 
 
 So my uncle extended his invitation to the ser- 
 geant. He accepted without ceremony, and joyfully 
 placed himself between my uncle and my grand- 
 father, walking in what soldiers call lock-step. 
 
 They met a bull being driven to pasture by a peas- 
 ant. Irritated, no doubt, by Benjamin's coat, he 
 made a lunge at him. My uncle dodged his horns, 
 and, having joints like springs of steel, he bounded 
 across a broad ditch separating the road from the 
 field with as little effort as if he had been taking a
 
 MY UNCLE MEETS AN OLD SERGEANT 45 
 
 dance step. The bull, evidently eager to rip up the 
 red coat, tried to imitate my uncle, but landed in 
 the middle of the ditch. "Good enough for you !" 
 said Benjamin. "That's what you get by seeking a 
 quarrel with people who are not thinking of you." 
 But the beast, as obstinate as a Russian mounting to 
 an assault, was not discouraged. Planting his hoofs 
 in the half-thawed ground, he tried to climb the slope. 
 Thereupon, my uncle drew his sword, and did his 
 best to prick the enemy's snout. He called to the 
 peasant: "My good man, stop your beast; else I 
 shall have to put my sword through his body." But, 
 so saying, he let his sword fall into the ditch. "Take 
 off your coat, and throw it to him as quickly as you 
 can," cried Machecourt. "Hide among the vines," 
 said the peasant. "Sic him! Sic him, Fontenoy!" 
 said the sergeant. The poodle leaped at the bull, 
 and, as if knowing whom he had to deal with, bit 
 him on the ham-string. The bull then turned his 
 wrath against the dog; and, while he was thrusting 
 his horns furiously this way and that, the peasant 
 came up and succeeded in passing a noose around his 
 hind legs. This skilful manoeuver met with complete 
 success and put an end to the hostilities. 
 
 Benjamin returned to the road. He thought 
 Machecourt was going to laugh at him, but Mache- 
 couFt was as pale as a sheet and his legs were tremb- 
 ling. 
 
 "Come, Machecourt, brace up," said my uncle, 
 "else I shall have to bleed you. As for you, my
 
 46 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 brave Fontenoy, you made a prettier fable to-day 
 than the one by La Fontaine entitled 'The Dove and 
 the Ant.' You see, gentlemen, a good deed is never 
 lost. Generally the giver is obliged to allow long 
 credit to the debtor. But Fontenoy has paid me in 
 advance. Who the devil would have thought I 
 should ever be under obligations to a poodle?" 
 
 Moulot is hidden among a clump of willows and 
 poplars on the left bank of the Beuvron stream, at 
 the foot of a big hill, into which the road to La 
 Chapelle cuts. A few houses of the village had al- 
 ready gone up by the side of the road, as white and 
 as spick and span as peasant women dressed for the 
 fairs. Among them was Manette's wine-shop. At 
 sight of the frost-covered sign hanging from ths 
 attic-window, Benjamin began to sing in his sten- 
 torian voice: 
 
 "Friends, here we must come to a halt, 
 I see the shadow of a dram-shop." 
 
 On hearing this familiar voice, Manette ran to the 
 doorway, blushing. 
 
 Manette was really a very pretty person, plump, 
 chubby-cheeked and fair, but perhaps a little too 
 pink. Her cheeks were like a pool of milk with a 
 few drops of wine floating on the surface. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Benjamin, "permit me first of 
 all to kiss our pretty hostess as part payment in ad- 
 vance for the good lunch she is going to give us
 
 MY UNCLE MEETS AN OLD SERGEANT 47 
 
 "Oh, come, Monsieur Rathery!" exclaimed Ma- 
 nette, retreating. "You are not made for peasant 
 women. Go and kiss Mademoiselle Minxit." 
 
 "It seems rumours of my marriage have already 
 spread through the country," my uncle thought. "No 
 one but M. Minxit can have spoken of it. Hence he 
 must be anxious to have me for a son-in-law. So, if 
 he should not receive my visit to-day, that would not 
 be a reason for breaking off the negotiations." 
 
 "Manette," he said, "Mademoiselle Minxit is not 
 in question here. Have you any fish?" 
 
 "Fish?" said Manette. "There are plenty in M. 
 Minxit's pond." 
 
 "Manette, I ask you again," said Benjamin, "have 
 you any fish? Be careful what answer you give me." 
 
 "Well," said Manette, "my husband has gone fish- 
 ing, and he will soon return." 
 
 "Soon does not interest us. Put as many slices 
 of ham on the gridiron as it will hold, and make us 
 an omelette of all the eggs in your hen-house." 
 
 The lunch was soon ready. While the ome- 
 lette was leaping in the frying-pan, the ham was 
 broiling on the iron. Scarcely was the omelette 
 served than it was already consumed. It takes a 
 hen six months to lay twelve eggs, a woman a quar- 
 ter of an hour to convert the twelve eggs into an ome- 
 lette, and three men five minutes to devour the ome- 
 lette. "See," said Benjamin, "how much faster tear- 
 ing down goes on than building up. Land where 
 there is a large population grows poorer every day.
 
 48 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 Man is a greedy child who wears his nurse away. 
 The ox does not restore to the fields all the grass he 
 takes from it. The ashes of the oak that we burn 
 do not return to the forest as an oak. The breezes 
 do not carry back to the rose-bush the leaves of the 
 bouquet that the maiden scatters around her. The 
 candle burning in front of us does not fall back on 
 the ground in waxen dew. Rivers continually rob 
 the continents of soil and deposit it in the bosom of 
 the sea. Most of the mountains have no verdure 
 left on their big bald skulls. The Alps expose their 
 bare, jagged bones. The interior of Africa is noth- 
 ing but a sea of sand. Spain is a vast steppe, and 
 Italy a great charnel-house with only a bed of ashes 
 remaining. Wherever great peoples have passed, 
 they have left sterility in their tracks. This earth, 
 adorned with leaves and flowers, is a consumptive 
 with red cheeks whose days are numbered. A time 
 will come when it will be nothing but an inert, dead, 
 icy mass, a great tombstone on which God will write : 
 'Here lies the human race.' Meanwhile, gentlemen, 
 let us enjoy the blessings the earth gives us, and, as 
 she is a tolerably good mother, let us drink to her 
 long life." 
 
 Next came the ham. My grandfather ate from a 
 sense of duty, because a man must eat to be strong, 
 and must have blood to be able to serve writs. Ben- 
 jamin ate for amusement. But the sergeant ate like 
 a man who sits down to table for no other purpose, 
 and he did not utter a word,
 
 MY UNCLE MEETS AN OLD SERGEANT 49 
 
 At table Benjamin was a great man; but his noble 
 stomach was not free from jealousy, that 
 base passion which dims the most brilliant 
 qualities. 
 
 He watched the sergeant with the thwarted air of 
 a man who has been excelled, as Cassar might have 
 looked on from the Capitol at Bonaparte winning 
 the battle of Marengo. After contemplating his 
 man for some time in silence, he thought fit to address 
 these words to him: 
 
 "Drinking and eating are two beings that resemble 
 each other. At first sight you would take them for 
 first cousins. But drinking is as much above eating 
 as the eagle who alights upon the mountain peak is 
 above the crow who perches on the tree-top. Eating 
 is a necessity of the stomach; drinking is a necessity 
 of the soul. Eating is only a common workman; 
 drinking is an artist. Drinking inspires poets with 
 jolly ideas, philosophers with noble thoughts, musi- 
 cians with melodious airs. Eating gives them noth- 
 ing but cramps. Now, sergeant, I flatter myself I 
 know how to drink as well as you even better, I be- 
 lieve. But, when it comes to eating, I am a bungler 
 next to you. You could cope with Arthus in per- 
 son. I even think that on a turkey you could go 
 him a wing better." 
 
 "That's because I eat for yesterday, to-day, and to- 
 morrow." 
 
 "Then permit me to serve you with this last slice 
 of ham for day after-to-morrow,"
 
 50 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 "Thank you very much," said the sergeant, "there 
 is an end to everything." 
 
 "Well, the Creator who has caused soldiers to pass 
 suddenly from extreme abundance to extreme want 
 has given to them, as he has to the camel, two 
 stomachs. Their second stomach is their knapsack. 
 Put this ham in your knapsack. Neither Machecourt 
 nor I want it." 
 
 "No," said the soldier, "I don't have to lay up 
 provisions. I always get food enough. But permit 
 me to offer this ham to Fontenoy. We are in the 
 habit of sharing everything, feast days as well as 
 fast days." 
 
 "Your dog really does deserve to be well taken 
 care of," said my uncle. "Will you sell him to me?" 
 
 "Monsieur!" exclaimed the sergeant, quickly put- 
 ting his hand on his poodle. 
 
 "I beg pardon, my brave man, I beg pardon. 
 Sorry to have offended you. I was only joking. I 
 know asking a poor man to sell his dog is like pro- 
 posing to a mother to sell her child." 
 
 "You will never make me believe," said my grand- 
 father, "that one can love a dog as much as a child. 
 I once had a poodle, too, a match to yours, sergeant 
 without offense to Fontenoy except that the only 
 thing that he ever took prisoner was the tax-collec- 
 tor's wig. Well, one day, when lawyer Page was 
 dining with me, he ran off with a calf's head, and 
 that very night I passed him under the mill-wheel." 
 
 "What you say proves nothing. You have a wife
 
 MY UNCLE MEETS AN OLD SERGEANT 51 
 
 and six children quite enough of a task for you to 
 love them all without forming a romantic affection 
 for a poodle. But I am talking of a poor devil alone 
 among men and with no relative but his dog. Put a 
 man with a dog on a desert island and a woman with 
 her child on another desert island, and I will wager 
 that in six months the man will love the dog if the 
 dog is at all lovable, as well as the woman will love 
 her child." 
 
 "I can conceive," answered my grandfather, "that 
 a traveler would take a dog along for company, or an 
 old woman alone in her room would keep a pug to 
 talk to all day. But that a man should love a dog 
 with real affection, that he should love him as a 
 Christian, I deny. It's impossible." 
 
 "And I tell you that under certain circumstances 
 you would love even a rattlesnake. The loving fiber 
 in man cannot remain inactive. The human soul 
 abhors a vacuum. Study the most hardened egoist 
 carefully, and you will find an affection tucked away 
 in a fold of his soul, like a little flower among the 
 stones. 
 
 "It is a general rule, and without exception, that 
 man must love something. The dragoon who has 
 no mistress loves his horse. The young girl who has 
 no lover loves her bird. The prisoner, who cannot 
 in decency love his jailer, loves the spider that spins 
 its web in the window of his cell, or the fly that comes 
 down to him in a ray of sunlight. When we find 
 nothing animate to expend our affections upon, we
 
 52 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 love mere matter, a ring, a snuff-box, a tree, a flower. 
 The Dutchman has a passion for his tulips, and the 
 antiquary for his cameos." 
 
 Just then Manette's husband came in with a fat 
 eel in his basket. 
 
 "Machecourt," said Benjamin, "it is noon, that is, 
 dinner-time. What do you say to our making a din- 
 ner of this eel?" 
 
 "It is time to go," said Machecourt, "and we are 
 going to dine at M. Minxit's." 
 
 "And you, sergeant? What do you say to our 
 eating this eel?" 
 
 "For my part," said the sergeant, "I am in no 
 hurry. As I am not going anywhere in particular, 
 I arrive at my destination every night." 
 
 "Very well said! And the respectable poodle, 
 what is his opinion on the subject?" 
 
 The poodle looked at Benjamin and wagged his 
 tail tw r o or three times. 
 
 "Good. Silence gives consent. So, Machecourt, 
 there are three of us against your one. You must 
 yield to the will of the majority. You see, my friend, 
 the majority is stronger than all the world. Put ten 
 philosophers on one side and eleven fools on the 
 other, and the fools will carry the day." 
 
 "The eel is indeed a very fine one," said my grand- 
 father, "and, if Manette has a little fresh lard, she 
 can make an excellent dish of it. But, the devil! 
 what about my writ? I must perform my office." 
 
 "Look here," said Benjamin. "It will undoubtedly
 
 MY UNCLE MEETS AN OLD SERGEANT 53 
 
 be necessary for some one to lend me his arm to es- 
 cort me back to Clamecy. If you shirk this pious 
 duty, I will disown you as my brother-in-law." 
 
 Since Machecourt set store on being Benjamin's 
 brother-in-law, he remained. 
 
 When the eel was ready, they sat down at table 
 again. Manette's dish was a masterpiece. The ser- 
 geant could not admire it enough. But a cook's mas- 
 terpieces are ephemeral. We scarcely give them 
 time to cool. There is only one thing in the arts that 
 can be compared to culinary products the products 
 of journalism. But even a stew can be warmed over, 
 a pate de fole gras may last a whole month, a ham 
 may see its admirers gather about it many times. 
 But a newspaper article has no to-morrow. Before 
 we reach the end, we have forgotten the beginning, 
 and when we have glanced through it, we throw it on 
 our desk, as we throw our napkin on the table after 
 dinner is over. I cannot understand how a man of 
 literary ability can consent to waste his talents in 
 obscure journalistic work; how a man who might 
 write on parchment can make up his mind to scribble 
 on the blotting-paper of a journal. Certainly it must 
 give him no slight pang to see the leaves upon which 
 he has placed his thought fall noiselessly with those 
 thousand other leaves which the immense tree of the 
 press shakes from its branches daily. 
 
 While my uncle was philosophising, the hand of 
 the cuckoo clock kept moving on and on. Benjamin 
 did not notice it was dark until Manette put a lighted
 
 54 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 candle on the table. Then, without waiting for the 
 observations of Machecourt, who for that matter was 
 scarcely in a condition to observe anything, he de- 
 clared they had had enough for one day, and it was 
 time to return to Clamecy. 
 
 The sergeant and my grandfather went out first. 
 Manette stopped my uncle at the threshold. 
 
 "Monsieur Rathery," said she, "see here." 
 
 "What is this scrawl?" said my uncle. ' 'August 
 10, three bottles of wine with a cream cheese; Sept- 
 ember i, nine bottles and fish with M. Page.' God 
 forgive me, I believe it is a bill." 
 
 "To be sure," said Manette. "I see it is time to 
 balance our accounts, and I hope you will send me 
 your bill soon." 
 
 "I, Manette, I have no bill against you. Faith ! 
 Rather a hard task to touch the round white arm of 
 a pretty woman like you." 
 
 "You're making fun of me, Monsieur Rathery," 
 said Manette, thrilling with delight. 
 
 "I say it because it is true, because I think it. As 
 for your bill, my poor Manette, it comes at a bad 
 time. I confess I haven't a penny just now. But 
 here is my watch. Keep it until I have paid you. 
 This is quite convenient. It hasn't been going since 
 yesterday." 
 
 Manette began to cry, and tore her bill to bits. 
 
 My uncle kissed her on her cheek, her forehead, 
 her eyes, wherever he could find a place to kiss. 
 
 "Benjamin," Manette whispered in his ear, lean-
 
 MY UNCLE MEETS AN OLD SERGEANT 55 
 
 ing toward him, "if you need money, tell me." 
 
 "No, no, Manette," my uncle answered quickly, 
 "I don't need your money. The devil ! That would 
 be a pretty state of things to make you pay for the 
 happiness you give me ! Why, that would be an in- 
 dignity. I should be as vile as a prostitute!" And 
 he covered Manette with kisses again. 
 
 "Oho ! Don't feel embarrassed, Monsieur Rath- 
 ery," said Jean-Pierre, entering. 
 
 "What, you've been here, Jean-Pierre? You're 
 not jealous, are you ? I warn you, I have a profound 
 aversion for jealous people." 
 
 "I think I have a good right to be jealous." 
 
 "Imbecile ! You always see things contrary. 
 These gentlemen have charged me to show your wife 
 their satisfaction at the excellent meal she gave us, 
 and I was fulfilling the commission." 
 
 "It seems to me you have one good way of showing 
 your satisfaction, and that is by paying your bill. Do 
 you understand?" 
 
 "In the first place, Jean-Pierre, we have nothing 
 to do with you. Manette is mistress here. As for 
 paying you, rest easy. That's my affair. You know 
 no one ever loses anything by me. Besides, if you are 
 afraid of waiting too long, I will run my sword 
 through your body this instant. Does that suit you, 
 Jean-Pierre?" 
 
 Here my Uncle Benjamin went out. 
 
 Up to this time he had only been over-excited. 
 All the elements of intoxication were in him without
 
 56 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 his yet being drunk. But outside the wine-shop, the 
 cold clutched at his brain and his legs. 
 
 "Hello, there, Machecourt, where are you?" 
 
 "Here I am, holding on to your coat." 
 
 "You holding on to me? That's good. You 
 honour me, you flatter me. By that you mean to say 
 that I am in a condition to support upright both my 
 personality and yours. At another time, yes. But 
 now I am as weak as any man who has dined too 
 long. I have engaged your arm beforehand. I 
 order you to offer it to me." 
 
 "At another time, yes," said Machecourt. "But 
 there's a hitch; I cannot walk either." 
 
 "Then you have acted dishonourably. You have 
 failed in the most sacred of duties. I reserved your 
 arm. You were to save yourself for both of us. But 
 I forgive you your weakness. Homo sum. That is 
 to say, I forgive you on one condition : that you go 
 right away and get the town constable and two peas- 
 ants with torches to escort me back to Clamecy. You 
 can take one of the constable's arms, and I will take 
 the other." 
 
 "But the constable has only one arm," said my 
 grandfather. 
 
 "Then the sound arm belongs to me. The only 
 thing I can do for you is to allow you to hang on to 
 my queue. Only take care not to untie the ribbon. 
 Or, if you prefer, ride on the poodle's back." 
 
 "Gentlemen," said the sergeant, "why go to a 
 distance to look for what is close at hand? I have
 
 MY UNCLE MEETS AN OLD SERGEANT 57 
 
 two sound arms, that the bullets have fortunately 
 spared. I place them at your service." 
 
 "You are a brave man, sergeant," said my uncle, 
 taking the old soldier's right arm. 
 
 "An excellent man," said my grandfather, taking 
 his left arm. 
 
 "I will look out for your future, sergeant." 
 
 "And I, too, sergeant, I take upon myself the same 
 task, although, to tell the truth, any task at the pres- 
 ent moment " 
 
 "I will teach you how to pull teeth, sergeant." 
 
 "And I will teach your poodle to be a bailiff's as- 
 sistant." 
 
 "In three months you will be able to do tricks at 
 the fairs." 
 
 "In three months your poodle, if he behaves him- 
 self, will be able to earn thirty sous a day." 
 
 "The sergeant can begin by practising on you, 
 Machecourt. You have some decayed old stumps 
 that bother you. We will pull one out every other 
 day so as not to wear you out, and when we have 
 finished with the stumps, we will pull out your 
 gums." 
 
 "And I will put my bailiff's assistant at the service 
 of your creditors, Monsieur Debtor, and I may as 
 well tell you in advance what your duties toward him 
 will be. In the morning you must give him bread and 
 cheese, or a bunch of little radishes in season. For 
 dinner, soup and boiled beef, and for supper a roast 
 and a salad, or a glass of wine instead of the salad.
 
 5 8 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 You will have to take care that he does not pine 
 away, for nothing does so much honour to a debtor 
 as a good fat keeper. He, for his part, must behave 
 properly toward you. He has no right to disturb 
 you in your occupations, like playing the clarinet, or 
 sounding the hunting horn." 
 
 "For the time being I offer the sergeant shelter at 
 home. You do not disapprove, do you, Mache- 
 court?" 
 
 "Not exactly, but I very much fear me your dear 
 sister will disown you." 
 
 "Ah, gentlemen," said the sergeant, "let us under- 
 stand each other. Do not expose me to insult. One 
 or the other of you will have to answer for it." 
 
 "Rest easy, sergeant," said my uncle. "If anyone 
 should offer you insult, turn to me. Machecourt 
 doesn't know how to fight, except when his ad- 
 versary gives him the sword and keeps the scab- 
 bard." 
 
 Thus philosophising, they reached the house. My 
 grandfather was not anxious to enter first, and my 
 uncle preferred to enter second. 
 
 To settle the matter, they entered together, knock- 
 ing against each other like two gourds carried at the 
 end of a stick. 
 
 The sergeant and the poodle, whose intrusion 
 made the cat growl like a Bengal tigress, brought up 
 the rear. 
 
 "My dear sister," said Benjamin, "I have the hon- 
 our to present to you a pupil in surgery and a "
 
 MY UNCLE MEETS AN OLD SERGEANT 59 
 
 "Benjamin is talking nonsense," interrupted my 
 grandfather. "Don't listen to him. Monsieur is a 
 soldier whom we have been ordered to give a lodg- 
 ing to. We met him outside the door." 
 
 My grandmother was a good woman, but some- 
 thing of a shrew. She thought it added to her im- 
 portance to talk very loud. She wanted badly to 
 get angry, and all the more so because she had a 
 perfect right to. But she prided herself on her good 
 breeding, as the descendant of a lawyer, and the 
 presence of a stranger restrained her. 
 
 She offered the sergeant some supper. He de- 
 clined and for good reason, and she told one of her 
 children to take him to the tavern nearby, and order 
 breakfast to be given him in the morning before he 
 left. 
 
 When my grandfather, good, peaceable man that 
 he was, saw a conjugal tempest brewing, he always 
 bent like a reed; which weakness was excusable in a 
 degree, since he was always in the wrong. 
 
 He had seen the clouds gathering on his wife's 
 knitted brow, and the sergeant had hardly crossed 
 the threshold, when he, at his bed, scrambled into it 
 as best he could. As for Benjamin, he was incapable 
 of such cowardice. A sermon in five points, like a 
 game of ecarte, would not have sent him to bed a 
 minute before his time. He was willing to let his 
 sister scold him, but he was not willing to fear her. 
 He awaited the tempest that was about to burst with 
 the indifference of a rock, his hands in his pockets
 
 60 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 and his back resting against the mantel-piece, while 
 he hummed : 
 
 "Marlbrough has gone to war, 
 Diddledee, diddledee-dum. 
 Marlbrough has gone to war. 
 Who knows if back he'll come?" 
 
 My grandmother conducted the sergeant to the 
 door, then, impatient for the fray, she turned and 
 confronted Benjamin. 
 
 "Well, Benjamin, are you satisfied with your day's 
 work? You're feeling good, aren't you? Shall I 
 draw a bottle of white wine for you?" 
 
 "Thank you, dear sister. As you have so elegantly 
 said, my day's work is done." 
 
 "A fine day's work, indeed! It would take many 
 like it to pay your debts. Have you sense enough 
 left at least to tell me how M. Minxit received 
 you?" 
 
 "Diddledee, diddlee-dum, dear sister," said Ben- 
 jamin. 
 
 "Ah! Diddledee, diddlee-dum," cried my grand- 
 mother. "You wait! I'll diddlee-dum you." 
 
 She seized the tongs and my uncle took three steps 
 backward and drew his sword. 
 
 "Dear sister," said he, putting himself on guard, 
 "I shall hold you responsible for all the blood that 
 is about to be shed here." 
 
 But my grandmother, though descended from a 
 lawyer, had no fear of a sword. She dealt her
 
 MY UNCLE MEETS AN OLD SERGEANT 61 
 
 brother a blow with the tongs that struck him on the 
 thumb and made him drop his sword. 
 
 Benjamin danced about the room, squeezing his 
 wounded thumb in his left hand. My grandfather, 
 although the kindest of men, was suffocating with 
 laughter under the bed-clothes. He could not help 
 saying to my uncle : 
 
 "Well, how did you like that thrust? This time 
 you had both the scabbard and the sword. You can- 
 not say the weapons were not equal." 
 
 "Alas, no, Machecourt, they were not equal. I 
 ought to have had the shovel. All the same, your 
 wife I can no longer say dear sister deserves to 
 wear a pair of tongs at her side instead of a distaff. 
 With a pair of tongs she would win battles. I am 
 conquered, I confess, and I must submit to the law 
 of the conqueror. Well, no, we did not go to Cor- 
 vol. We stopped at Manette's." 
 
 "Always at Manette's, a married woman! Aren't 
 you ashamed of such conduct, Benjamin?" 
 
 "Ashamed! Why, dear sister? When a landlady 
 gets married, mayn't one eat at her place any more? 
 That's not the way I look at it. To a true philoso- 
 pher an inn has no sex. Isn't that so, Machecourt?" 
 
 "When I meet her at market, your Manette, I 
 will treat her, shameless creature that she is, as she 
 deserves." 
 
 "Dear sister, when you meet Manette at market, 
 buy as many cream cheeses as you like from her, but 
 if you insult her "
 
 62 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 (Veil, if I insult her, what will you do?" 
 
 "I will leave you, I will go away to the islands 
 and take Machecourt with me, I warn you." 
 
 My grandmother realised that her transports of 
 anger would end in nothing, and forthwith made up 
 her mind to a certain course of action. 
 
 "Now do what that drunkard over there in bed 
 did," said she. "You need to lie down as much as 
 he. But to-morrow I myself will take you to M. 
 Minxit's, and we shall see if you will stop on the 
 way." 
 
 "Diddledee, diddledee-dum," hummed Benjamin, 
 going off to bed. 
 
 The idea of the step he was to take the next day 
 disturbed my uncle's slumbers, usually so peaceful 
 and profound. He dreamed aloud, and this is what 
 he said: 
 
 "You say, sergeant, that you dined like a king. 
 That's not the word. You put it too weakly. You 
 have dined better than an emperor. Kings and em- 
 perors, for all their power, are unequal to anything 
 extra, and you had something extra. You see, ser- 
 geant, everything is relative. That dish of fish was 
 certainly not worth a truffled partridge. Neverthe- 
 less, it tickled the nerves of your palate more agree- 
 ably than a truffled partridge would tickle the king's. 
 Why? Because his majesty's palate is blase in the 
 matter of truffles, whereas yours is not accustomed 
 to fish. 
 
 "My dear sister says to me, 'Benjamin, do some-
 
 MY UNCLE MEETS AN OLD SERGEANT 63 
 
 thing to get rich. Benjamin, marry Mademoiselle 
 Minxit so as to have a fine dowry.' What good 
 would that do me? Does the butterfly take the 
 trouble to build a nest for the sake of the two or 
 three months of fine days that are the span of its 
 life? I am convinced that enjoyments are relative to 
 position, and that at the end of the year the beggar 
 and the rich man have had the same sum of happi- 
 ness. 
 
 u Each individual becomes accustomed to his situa- 
 tion, good or bad. The cripple no longer notices 
 that he walks with a crutch, or the rich man that he 
 rides in a carriage. The wretched snail that carries 
 his house on his back enjoys his day of perfume and 
 sunshine as much as the bird chirping overhead on 
 the branch. The thing to be considered is not the 
 cause, but the effect that the cause produces. Does 
 not the day labourer resting on his bench in front of 
 his cottage feel as good as the king on the eider-down 
 cushions of his armchair? Does not cabbage soup 
 taste as good to the peasant as crab chowder to the 
 king? And does not the beggar sleep as well in the 
 straw as the fine lady behind silk curtains and under 
 perfumed coverlets? The child who finds a sou is 
 happier than the banker who finds a louis, and the 
 peasant who inherits an acre of land is as triumphant 
 as the king whose armies conquer a province and 
 who has his people offer up a Te Deum. 
 
 "Every evil here below is balanced by a good, 
 and every good that parades itself is weakened by an
 
 64 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 invisible evil. God has a thousand ways of making 
 compensations. If he gives one man good dinners, 
 he gives another man a somewhat better appetite, 
 and that restores the equilibrium. He gives the rich 
 man the fear of losses and the worry over preserv- 
 ing his property. To the beggar he gives freedom 
 from care. In sending us into this place of exile he 
 has put upon us all an almost equal burden of misery 
 and well-being. Any other arrangement would have 
 been unjust, for all men are his children. 
 
 "And why, as a matter of fact, should the rich man 
 be happier than the poor man? He doesn't work. 
 Very well. But there he misses the pleasure of rest- 
 ing from work. 
 
 "He has fine clothes. But the enjoyment from 
 them is with those who look at him. When the 
 church-warden dresses iip a saint, does he do it for 
 the saint or for the saint's worshippers? And isn't a 
 hump-back as much of a hump-back under a velvet 
 gown as under jean overalls? 
 
 "The rich man has two, three, four, ten servants. 
 My God! Why so proudly add this quantity of 
 useless members to one's body, when the four at- 
 tached to it perform all its functions? The man ac- 
 customed to service is a miserable cripple, who has 
 to be fed. 
 
 "The rich man has a house in the city and a villa 
 in the country. But of what use is the villa when the 
 owner is in the house, or the house when he is in the 
 villa? Of what use are the twenty rooms of his
 
 MY UNCLE MEETS AN OLD SERGEANT 65 
 
 dwellings, when he can occupy only one room at a 
 time? 
 
 "His villa is set in a large park, surrounded by a 
 stone wall ten feet high, where he can go walking 
 and dream. But suppose he has no dreams? And, 
 besides, isn't the open country, with only the horizon 
 to wall it in and belonging to everybody, as beautiful 
 as his grand park? 
 
 "The sickly, greenish thread of an artificial 
 stream drags itself through the park, with broad 
 water-lily leaves sticking to it like cakes of plaster. 
 Isn't the river that flows through the open country 
 cleaner, hasn't it more of a current than the park 
 stream? 
 
 "Dahlias of one hundred and fifty varieties line 
 the rich man's walks. All right. I'll add four to 
 the hundred; which makes one hundred and fifty- 
 six varieties. But is not the elm-shaded road that 
 winds like a snake through the grassy fields as good 
 as his walks? And the hedges festooned with wild 
 roses and sprinkled with hawthorn, the hedges with 
 their bright foliage waving in the wind, scattering 
 flowers by the wayside aren't they quite the equal 
 of those dahlias which no one can appreciate except 
 the horticulturist? 
 
 "The park belongs to the rich m?n exclusively, 
 you say. You are mistaken. It is only the pur- 
 chase deed locked up in his secretary that he owns 
 exclusively, and that only in case the worms don't 
 eat it.
 
 66 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 "His park belongs to him much less than it does 
 to the birds that build their nests there, or to the 
 rabbits that browse amid the wild thyme, or the 
 insects that rustle in the leaves. 
 
 "Can his forester keep the snake from coiling in 
 the grass, or the toad from nestling on the moss? 
 
 "The rich man gives festivities. But are not the 
 dances under the old lindens of the promenade to 
 the sound of the bag-pipe also festivities? 
 
 "The rich man has a carriage. He has a car- 
 riage, the unfortunate ! Why, is he a cripple? There 
 is a woman carrying one child in her arms, while 
 another gambols about her, chasing after the butter- 
 flies and picking flowers. Which of the two worms 
 is better off? A carriage! But a carriage is an 
 infirmity. Let a wheel break, or a horse cast a shoe, 
 and there you are a cripple. Those grandees who, 
 in the time of Louis XIV., had themselves carried 
 to the ball-room on a litter, poor people who had 
 legs to dance with and none to walk with how 
 much they must have suffered from the fatigue of 
 those who carried them! 
 
 "You think riding in a carriage is enjoyment to 
 the rich man. Not a bit. It's only a sort of slavery 
 that his vanity imposes upon him. If it weren't, why 
 should this gentleman and this lady, who are as 
 thin as a bundle of thorns and whom a donkey could 
 carry with the greatest ease, harness four horses to 
 their coach? 
 
 "For my part, when I am on the sward ankle-
 
 MY UNCLE MEETS AN OLD SERGEANT 67 
 
 deep in moss, or wandering along with my hands in 
 my pockets, dreaming, the blue smoke from my 
 blackened pipe trailing behind me like a shade from 
 the underworld; or when, in the exquisite moon- 
 light, I stride along the white road, shadowed by 
 the hedges, I should like to see anyone dare to offer 
 me a carriage." 
 
 Here my uncle awoke. 
 
 "What," you say, "your uncle dreamed all that? 
 And out loud?" 
 
 Why, what's so surprising in that? Did not 
 Madam George Sand have the reverend father 
 Spiridion dream a whole chapter of one of her nov- 
 els out loud? And didn't M. Golbery dream aloud 
 for a whole hour in the Chamber about a proposition 
 on the report of the parliamentary debates? And 
 we ourselves, have we not been dreaming for the 
 last thirteen years that we made a revolution? When 
 my uncle had no time during the day to philoso- 
 phise, he made up by philosophising in his dreams. 
 That is how I explain the phenomenon I have just 
 told you about.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 HOW MY UNCLE PASSED HIMSELF OFF FOR THE 
 WANDERING JEW 
 
 MEANWHILE my grandmother put on her dove- 
 coloured silk dress, which she took from her drawer 
 only on solemn and festive occasions. She tied her 
 round cap on with the finest of her ribbons, cerise- 
 coloured and as broad as one's hand and broader. 
 She got ready her cloak of black taffeta trimmed 
 with black lace and took her new lynx muff out of its 
 box, a present from Benjamin on her birthday. He 
 still owed for it. When finished dressing up, she 
 ordered one of her children to go hire M. Durand's 
 donkey, a fine little animal, which had cost three 
 pistoles, at the last fair at Billy, and was let for 
 thirty-six deniers more than ordinary donkeys. 
 
 Then she called Benjamin. When he came down, 
 M. Durand's donkey was fastened before the door 
 eating his provender of bran out of a basket set on 
 a chair. A large, pure white pillow was laid between 
 the two baskets slung across his back. 
 
 Benjamin first inquired anxiously whether Mache- 
 court was there to drink a glass of white wine with 
 him. His sister told him he had gone out. 
 
 68
 
 MY UNCLE AS THE WANDERING JEW 69 
 
 "Then I hope, my good sister, that you will be 
 friendly enough to take a little glass of cordial with 
 me." For my uncle's stomach knew how to accom- 
 modate itself to all stomachs. 
 
 My grandmother did not dislike cordial, on the 
 contrary, she was very fond of it. So she accepted 
 Benjamin's invitation, and permitted him to get the 
 decanter. Then after admonishing my father, who 
 was the oldest child, not to beat his brothers, and 
 telling Premoins, who was ill, to ask for anything 
 he needed, and assigning to Surgie a piece of knitting 
 to be done, my grandmother mounted the donkey. 
 
 Long live the earth and the sun ! The neighbours 
 gathered in their doorways to witness her departure; 
 for in those days a middle class woman dressed up 
 on a week-day was an event, and everyone who 
 saw it tried to guess the reason therefor and built 
 up a whole system of speculation on it. 
 
 Benjamin, clean-shaven and superabundantly pow- 
 dered and red as a poppy spreading its petals in the 
 morning sun after a stormy night, followed behind, 
 uttering from time to time a vigourous "Gee-hup" in 
 a chest C, and pricking the donkey with the point of 
 his rapier. 
 
 M. Durand's donkey, under my uncle's sword 
 pricks, went at a good pace, too good, in fact, to 
 suit my grandmother, who bobbed up and down on 
 her pillow like a shuttlecock on a battledore. But at 
 some distance from the point where the road to 
 Moulot separates from the road to La Chapelle to
 
 70 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 reach its modest destination, she perceived that the 
 donkey had slowed down, like a stream of molten 
 metal which thickens and moves slower the farther 
 it gets from the furnace. Its bell, which had been 
 jingling emphatically and proudly, now gave forth 
 only spasmodic sighs, like a voice dying away. My 
 grandmother turned around to ask Benjamin what 
 was the matter, but he had disappeared, melted like 
 a ball of wax, conjured away, lost like a fly in space. 
 No one could give her any information about him. 
 You can imagine her vexation at his sudden disap- 
 pearance. He was not worth the trouble they took 
 for his happiness, she said to herself. His indif- 
 ference was incurable. He would always stagnate 
 like a marsh whose waters could not be made 
 to flow in a channel. For a moment she felt a 
 desire to abandon him to his destiny and not even 
 iron his shirts any more. But her queenly char- 
 acter asserted itself. She had begun, and she must 
 finish. She swore she would find Benjamin again and 
 take him to M. Minxit's, even if he had to be tied 
 to her donkey's tail. It is such firmness of resolu- 
 tion that carries great enterprises to their con- 
 clusion. 
 
 A peasant boy, who was watching his sheep at the 
 fork of the two roads, told her the man in red she 
 was missing had gone down toward the village nearly 
 a quarter of an hour before. My grandmother 
 turned the donkey in that direction, and such was the 
 influence of her indignation upon the beast that he
 
 MY UNCLE AS THE WANDERING JEW 71 
 
 began to trot of himself, out of pure deference to his 
 rider, as if he desired to do homage to her grand 
 character. 
 
 The village of Moulot was in a state of unwonted 
 commotion. The Moulotats, usually so staid and 
 with no more fermentation in their brains than in a 
 cream cheese, seemed all to be in great excitement. 
 The peasants were hurrying down from the hill- 
 sides round about. The women and children came 
 running, calling to each other. Every spinning-wheel 
 was abandoned, every distaff came to a standstill. 
 My grandmother inquired the cause of the commo- 
 tion. They told her the Wandering Jew had just 
 arrived at Moulot and was lunching in the market- 
 place. She realised instantly that the pretended 
 Wandering Jew was none other than Benjamin; and, 
 indeed, from her donkey's back she soon caught sight 
 of him in the middle of a circle of idle by- 
 standers. 
 
 The gable of his three-cornered hat rose above 
 this moving ribbon of black and white heads majes- 
 tically, as the slate-coloured church steeple rises 
 above the thatched roofs of a village. They had set 
 a small table for him in the market-place itself, and 
 served him with a pint flask of wine and a little loaf 
 of bread. He walked up and down before the table 
 with the gravity of a sacrificiant, now taking a swal- 
 low of white wine, now breaking a bit from the loaf. 
 
 My grandmother urged her donkey into the 
 crowd and soon found herself in the front row.
 
 72 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 "What are you doing here, you wretch?" said 
 she to my uncle, shaking her fist at him. 
 
 "You see, Madame, I wander. I am Ahasuerus, 
 commonly called the Wandering Jew. In the course 
 of my travels I have heard much said of the beauty 
 of this little village and the cordiality of its inhabi- 
 tants, so I resolved to lunch here." Then, approach- 
 ing her, he said in a low voice: "In five minutes I 
 will follow you, but not a word more, I beg of you. 
 The harm might be irreparable. These imbeciles 
 would be capable of killing me, if they were to dis- 
 cover that I am making fun of them." 
 
 The praise of Moulot that Benjamin had suc- 
 ceeded in interjecting into his reply to his sister re- 
 paired, or rather prevented, the defeat that her im- 
 prudent words would otherwise have caused him, 
 and a thrill of pride ran through the assembly. 
 
 "Monsieur Wandering Jew," said a peasant in 
 whose mind still lingered some doubt, "who is that 
 lady who just now shook her fist at you?" 
 
 "My good friend," answered my uncle, by no 
 means disconcerted, "she is the Holy Virgin. God 
 ordered me to escort her on a pilgrimage to Jerusa- 
 lem on that little ass. She is really a good woman, 
 but a little talkative. She is in a temper this morn- 
 ing because she has lost her rosary." 
 
 "Why isn't the infant Jesus with her?" 
 
 "God did not wish her to take him along, because 
 he has chicken-pox just now." 
 
 Then the objections began to rain down on Ben-
 
 MY UNCLE AS THE WANDERING JEW 73 
 
 jamin as thick as hail. But he was not a man to be 
 intimidated by the Moulot blockheads. Danger elec- 
 trified him, and he parried all the thrusts aimed at 
 him with admirable dexterity; which did not prevent 
 him from every now and then moistening his throat 
 with a swallow of white wine. And, to tell the truth, 
 he was already at his seventh pint. 
 
 The village schoolmaster, in the capacity of learned 
 man, was the first to enter the lists. 
 
 "Then how does it happen, Monsieur Wandering 
 Jew, that you have no beard? In the Ballad of 
 Brussels it says that you have a thick beard, and you 
 are represented everywhere with a long white beard 
 reaching to your girdle." 
 
 "It was too dirty, Monsieur schoolmaster. I 
 asked the good God to let me go without that horrid 
 big beard, and he put it in my queue instead." 
 
 "But how do you manage to shave, since you can- 
 not stop?" the teacher insisted. 
 
 "God has provided for that, my dear Monsieur 
 schoolmaster. Every morning he sends me the pat- 
 ron saint of the barbers in the shape of a butterfly, 
 who shaves me with the edge of his wing, while 
 hovering around me." 
 
 "But, Monsieur Jew, 1 ' the schoolmaster continued, 
 "the good God has been very stingy with you in 
 giving you only five sous at a time." 
 
 "My friend," rejoined my uncle, crossing his arms 
 over his breast and bowing profoundly, "let us bless
 
 74 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 the decrees of God. Probably that is all the money 
 he had in his pocket." 
 
 "I should very much like to know," said the old 
 tailor of the place, u how they succeeded in taking 
 the measure for your coat, which fits you like a glove, 
 since you are never at rest?" 
 
 "You, who are of the trade, you should have no- 
 ticed that this coat was not made by the hand of man. 
 Twice a year one grows on my back, on the first of 
 April, a light one of red serge, and on All Saints' 
 Day a heavy one of red velvet." 
 
 "Then," put in a fair-haired youngster with a 
 roguish face, "you must wear your coats out very 
 fast. All Saints' Day isn't two weeks past, and 
 your coat is threadbare already and white along the 
 
 seams. 
 
 I 
 
 Unfortunately for the little philosopher his father 
 was standing beside him. "Go back to the house 
 and see if I'm there," he said, giving him a kick on 
 his buttocks and begging my uncle to excuse the im- 
 pertinence of this little fellow, whose schoolmaster 
 neglected to teach him religion properly. 
 
 "Gentlemen," cried the schoolmaster, "I call you 
 all to witness, and Monsieur Wandering Jew also, 
 that Nicholas has libelled me. He continually assails 
 the village authorities. I am going to pull his 
 tongue." 
 
 "Yes," said Nicholas, "there's a fine authority for 
 you. Bring charges against me as much as you like. 
 I shall not find it hard to prove that what I say is
 
 MY UNCLE AS THE WANDERING JEW 75 
 
 true. Just let the judge question my boy Charlie. 
 The other day I asked him which one of Jacob's 
 sons was the most remarkable, and he answered 
 Pharaoh. Mother Pintot is my witness." 
 
 "Oh, gentlemen," said my uncle, "do not quarrel 
 on my account. I should be grieved if my arrival in 
 this beautiful village were to be the occasion of a law- 
 suit. The wool has not yet fully grown on my coat, 
 as it is only St. Martin's Day now. That is what 
 led little Charlie into error. Monsieur schoolmaster 
 was unaware of this circumstance, and consequently 
 could not teach it to his pupils. I hope M. Nicholas 
 is satisfied with this explanation."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 MY UNCLE WORKS A MIRACLE 
 
 MY uncle was about to break up the meeting, when 
 he noticed a pretty peasant girl trying to make her 
 way through the crowd. As he loved young girls at 
 least as well as Jesus Christ loved little children, he 
 signalled to the bystanders to allow her to approach. 
 
 "I should very much like to know," said the young 
 Moulotate with her finest courtesy, the courtesy she 
 made to the bailiff when she met him on the way as 
 she was carrying cream to him, "I should like to 
 know whether what old Gothon says is really true. 
 She says you work miracles." 
 
 "Undoubtedly," answered my uncle, "when they 
 are not too difficult." 
 
 "Then could you cure my father by a miracle? 
 Since this morning he has been sick with a disease 
 that nobody knows about." 
 
 "Why not?" said my uncle. "But first of all, my 
 pretty child, you must permit me to kiss you. Other- 
 wise the miracle won't work." 
 
 And he kissed the young Moulotate on both 
 cheeks, damned sinner that he was. 
 
 "See here," a voice from the rear exclaimed, a 
 76
 
 MY UNCLE WORKS A MIRACLE 77 
 voice he knew well, "does the Wandering Jew kiss 
 
 women?" 
 
 He turned and saw Manette. 
 
 "Undoubtedly, my beautiful lady. God permits 
 rne to kiss three a year. This is the second one I 
 have kissed this year, and. if you will allow me. you 
 shall be the third." 
 
 The idea of working a miracle fired Benjamin's 
 ambition. To pass himself off for the Wandering 
 Jew, even at Moulot, was much, was immense, was 
 enough to make all the bright wits of Clamecy jeal- 
 ous. He took rank immediately among the famous 
 mystifiers, and lawyer Page wouldn't dare to speak 
 to him again of his hare changed into a rabbit. Who 
 would dare to compare himself in audacity and re- 
 sources of imagination with Benjamin Rathery when 
 once he had worked a miracle? And who knows? 
 Perhaps future generations would take the thing 
 seriously. If he were to be canonized, if they were 
 to make a big saint of red wood in his image, read 
 a mass in his honour, give him a niche, a place in the 
 almanac, an Ora pro nobls in the litanies, if he should 
 become the patron saint of a good parish, if they 
 were to celebrate his birthday every year with in- 
 cense, crown him with flowers, decorate him with 
 ribbons, place ^ ripe grape in his hands, enshrine his 
 red coat in a reliquary, and give him a church-warden 
 to wash his face every week. If he should work 
 cures of the plague or hydrophobia ! But everything 
 depended upon his carrying this miracle out sue-
 
 78 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 cessfully. If only he had seen a few miracles per- 
 formed! But how was he to go about it? And if 
 he failed, he would be scoffed at, jeered, vilified, 
 possibly beaten. He would lose all the glory of the 
 hoax so well begun. "Ah, bah !" said my uncle, 
 pouring a large glass of wine to inspire him. "Provi- 
 dence will provide. Audaces fortuna juvat. Be- 
 sides, a miracle asked for is a miracle half per- 
 formed." 
 
 So he followed the peasant girl, a long tail of 
 Moulotats dragging after him like a comet. On en- 
 tering the house, he saw a peasant lying on the bed, 
 his jaws so out of place that he looked as if he were 
 trying to eat his ear. Benjamin inquired how the 
 accident had happened, and whether it was not the 
 result of a yawn or an outburst of laughter. 
 
 "It happened this morning at breakfast," an- 
 swered his wife, "while he was trying to break a nut 
 with his teeth." 
 
 "Good," said my uncle, his face lighting up. "Did 
 you call anybody?" 
 
 "We sent for M. Arnout. He said it was an at- 
 tack of paralysis." 
 
 "You could not have done better. I see Doctor 
 Arnout knows paralysis as well as if he had in- 
 vented it. What did he prescribe?" 
 
 "The medicine in this bottle." 
 
 My uncle examined the drug, saw it was an emetic, 
 and threw the bottle into the street. His assurance 
 produced an excellent effect.
 
 MY UNCLE WORKS A MIRACLE 79 
 
 "Monsieur Jew." said the good woman, "I see 
 you are capable of performing the miracle we want." 
 
 "I could work a hundred miracles like this a day 
 if I were supplied with them." 
 
 He had an iron spoon brought and wound several 
 thicknesses of fine linen about the broad end. This 
 improvised instrument he introduced into the pa- 
 tient's mouth, raised the upper jaw, which was pro- 
 truding over the lower jaw, and put it back in its 
 place. For the disease from- which this Moulotat 
 suffered was nothing but a dislocated jaw, which my 
 uncle had discerned at once with those gray eyes of 
 his which penetrated everything like nails. The para- 
 lytic of the morning declared he was completely 
 cured, and ravenously attacked a cabbage soup that 
 had been prepared for the family dinner. 
 
 With the rapidity of lightning the report spread 
 among the crowd that father Pintot was eating cab- 
 bage soup. The sick, the halt, the lame, the blind, 
 all implored my uncle's help. Mother Pintot, very 
 proud of the miracle's having been performed in her 
 family, introduced one of her cousins to my uncle to 
 straighten out his body. His left shoulder looked 
 like a ham. But my uncle was loath to risk his repu- 
 tation, and answered that the best he could do would 
 be to transfer the hump from the left to the right 
 shoulder, which was a very painful miracle that 
 scarcely two out of ten hump-backs of the common 
 sort had the strength to endure. 
 
 Then he told the Moulotats that he was sorry
 
 8o MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 not to be able to stay there longer, but he did not 
 dare keep the Holy Virgin waiting any more. And 
 he went to join his sister, who was warming her 
 feet in the village tavern and had had time to have 
 the donkey fed. 
 
 My uncle and my grandmother had the greatest 
 difficulty in escaping from the crowd, and the vil- 
 lage bell was rung as long as they were in sight. My 
 grandmother did not scold Benjamin. After all she 
 was more pleased than vexed. The way in which 
 Benjamin had extricated himself from the severe 
 test flattered her sisterly pride, and she said that 
 a man like Benjamin was well worth Mademoiselle 
 Minxit, even with an income of two or three thou- 
 sand francs thrown in. 
 
 The news of the Wandering Jew and the Holy 
 Virgin, and even that of the ass, had already reached 
 La Chapelle. When they entered the town, the 
 women were kneeling in their doorways, and Ben- 
 jamin, whose wits never failed him, gave them his 
 blessing.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 MONSIEUR MINXIT 
 
 MONSIEUR MINXIT received my uncle and my 
 grandmother very pleasantly. He was a doctor, I 
 know not why. He had not spent his youth in the 
 company of corpses. One fine day the science of 
 medicine sprouted in his head like a mushroom. If 
 he knew medicine, it was because he had invented 
 it. His parents had never dreamed of giving him a 
 liberal education. The only Latin he knew was the 
 Latin on the labels of his bottles, and at that had he 
 depended on the labels, he would often have given 
 hemlock for parsley. He had a fine library, but he 
 never poked his nose into his books. He said that 
 since these old books had been written, man's tem- 
 perament had changed. Some people even said that 
 all those precious works were only cardboard imita- 
 tions with names celebrated in medicine printed in 
 gilt on the backs. What confirmed them in their 
 opinion was that whenever any one asked to see the 
 library, M. Minxit had lost the key. However, he 
 was an intelligent man, endowed with a good dose 
 of common sense. He made up for lack of printed 
 knowledge by large practical experience. Since he 
 
 81
 
 82 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 was actually ignorant, he soon realized that in order 
 to succeed he must persuade the multitude that he 
 knew more than his rivals, and he made a specialty 
 of urines. After twenty years' study of the science, 
 he succeeded in distinguishing those that were cloudy 
 from those that were clear, which did not prevent 
 him from telling every one who came to him that 
 he could tell a great man, a king, or a minister by 
 his urine. As there were no kings or ministers or 
 great men in the vicinity, he had no fear of being 
 caught. 
 
 M. Minxit had very decided mannerisms. He 
 talked loud, a great deal, and incessantly. He 
 guessed what words were likely to impress the peas- 
 ants and knew how to use them effectively in his 
 talk. He had the gift of deceiving the people, a gift 
 which consists of I know not what impalpable qual- 
 ity, impossible to describe, teach, or imitate. It is 
 the inexplicable gift by which a shower of pennies 
 falls into a simple surgeon's pocket, and by which the 
 great man wins battles and founds empires; the gift 
 that in some takes the place of genius, and that 
 Napoleon of all men possessed in a supreme degree. 
 I call it plain charlatanism. It is not my fault if 
 the instrument with which Swiss tea is sold is the 
 same as the one with which a throne is built. In 
 the whole neighbourhood no one was willing to die 
 except at M. Minxit's hands. However, he did not 
 abuse his privilege. He was no more of a murderer 
 than his rivals, only he made more money with his
 
 MONSIEUR MINXIT 83 
 
 many-coloured vials than they did with their pre- 
 scriptions. He had acquired a handsome fortune, 
 and also had the faculty of spending his money to 
 a good purpose. He seemed to give everything as if 
 it cost nothing, and ,his clients, who streamed to 
 him, always found open table at his house. 
 
 My uncle and M. Minxit were certain to be friends 
 as soon as they met. These two natures resembled 
 each other to the dot. They were as alike as two 
 drops of wine, as two spoons cast in the same mould. 
 They had the same appetites, and the same tastes, 
 the same passions, the same way of looking at things, 
 the same political opinions. Both cared little about 
 those thousand little accidents, those thousand micro- 
 scopic catastrophes, which we other fools make such 
 an ado about. The man without a philosophy amid 
 the miseries here below is like a man going bare- 
 headed in the rain. The philosopher, on the other 
 hand, has an umbrella to shield him against the 
 storm. That was their opinion. They looked upon 
 life as a farce, and they played their parts in it as 
 gaily as possible. They had a sovereign contempt 
 for those ill-advised people who make one long sob 
 of their life. They wished theirs to be one long 
 spell of laughter. Age had made no difference be- 
 tween them, except for a few wrinkles. They were 
 like two trees of the same species, one old and the 
 other in the full vigour of its sap, but bearing the 
 same flower and the same fruit. Consequently the 
 future father-in-law formed a prodigious friendship
 
 84 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 for his son-in-law, and the son-in-law professed a 
 high esteem for the father-in-law, all but his vials. 
 Nevertheless my uncle entered into the alliance with 
 M. Minxit reluctantly. He consented because his 
 reason told him to and because he did not wish to dis- 
 please his dear sister. 
 
 Since M. Minxit loved Benjamin, he found it 
 quite natural that his daughter should love him, too. 
 For every father, however good he may be, loves 
 himself in the person of his children. He looks 
 upon them as beings who ought to contribute to his 
 comfort. If he chooses a son-in-law, he does so in 
 the first place largely for himself and then a little 
 for his daughter. If he is avaricious, he gives her 
 to a skinflint. If he is a noble, he welds her to an 
 escutcheon. If he is fond of chess, he gives her to 
 a chess-player, for he must have some one to play 
 with him in his old age. His daughter is a piece of 
 property which he shares with his wife. Whether the 
 property is enclosed by a flowering hedge or by a 
 great ugly brick wall, whether it is cultivated to 
 produce roses or rape-seed, is none of the property's 
 business. The property has no advice to give to the 
 experienced agriculturist; it is unskilled in selecting 
 the seed best suited to it. Provided the souls and 
 consciences of these good parents tell them their 
 daughter is happy, that is enough. It is for her to 
 accommodate herself to her condition. Every night 
 the wife when doing up her curls and the husband 
 when putting on his nightcap congratulate them-
 
 MONSIEUR MINXIT 85 
 
 selves on having married their child off so well. 
 She does not love her husband, but she will get to. 
 With patience one can accomplish anything. They 
 do not know what a husband she does not love 
 means to a woman. It is like a burning cinder that 
 you cannot get out of your eye, or a steady tooth- 
 ache. Some women die of the anguish. Others go 
 elsewhere in search of the love they cannot get from 
 the corpse to which they have been attached. And 
 some gently drop a pinch of arsenic into their for- 
 tunate husbands' soup\ and have their tombstones 
 inscribed, "he leaves an inconsolable widow." Such 
 is the result of the pretended infallibility and the dis- 
 guised egoism of the good parents. 
 
 If a young girl wanted to marry a monkey who 
 had been naturalised as a man and a Frenchman, 
 the father and mother would not consent, and the 
 jocko would certainly have to serve the acte respec- 
 tueux. Good parents, you say. They do not wish 
 their daughter to make herself unhappy. Detest- 
 able egoists, I say. There is nothing more absurd 
 than to put your own way of feeling in place of 
 another's: It is like trying to substitute your own 
 body for his. Here's a man who wants to die. He 
 probably has good reasons for wanting to die. 
 This young girl wants to marry a monkey. She 
 probably prefers a monkey to a man. Why refuse 
 her the chance of being happy in her own way? If 
 she thinks she is happy who has the right to say 
 she is not? The monkey will scratch her in caress-
 
 86 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 ing her. What's that to you? She'd rather be 
 scratched than caressed. Besides, if her husband 
 scratches her, it is not her mamma's cheek that will 
 bleed. Who objects to the dragon-fly's hovering 
 over the reeds in the marshes instead of over the 
 rose-bushes in the garden? Does the pike reproach 
 the eel, its god-mother, for always staying in the 
 mud at the bottom instead of rising to the water 
 rippling at the surface? 
 
 Do you know why these good parents refuse their 
 blessing to their daughter and her jocko? The 
 father refuses because he wants a voter for a son- 
 in-law, with whom he can talk literature or politics. 
 The mother refuses because she needs a personable 
 young man to give her his arm, take her to the 
 play, and go out walking with her. 
 
 M. Minxit, after having uncorked some of his 
 best bottles with Benjamin, showed him through his 
 house, his cellar, his barn, and his stables. He took 
 him on a walk through his garden and all around a 
 large meadow stretching away from the back of 
 his house. It was planted with trees and watered by 
 a stream fed at one end by a gushing spring and 
 forming a fish-pond at the other end. All this was 
 greatly to be coveted. But, alas, fortune does not 
 give anything for nothing, and in exchange for all 
 this comfort it was necessary to marry Mademoiselle 
 Minxit. 
 
 After all, Mademoiselle Minxit was as good as an- 
 other; she was only two inches too tall; she was
 
 MONSIEUR MINXIT 87 
 
 neither dark nor light, neither blond nor red, neither 
 stupid nor witty. She was a woman like twenty-five 
 out of thirty. She knew how to talk very pertinently 
 of a thousand trifles, and made very good cream 
 cheese. It was much less against her than against 
 marriage in general that my uncle rebelled, and if 
 she had displeased him at first, it was because he 
 had looked upon her as a heavy chain. 
 
 "So you have seen my estate," said M. Minxit. 
 "When you are my son-in-law, it will be ours to- 
 gether, and when I am no longer here, too." 
 
 "Let us understand each other," said my uncle, 
 "are you quite certain that Mademoiselle Arabella 
 has no objections at all to marrying me?" 
 
 "Why should she? You don't do justice to your- 
 self, Benjamin. Aren't you as handsome as any 
 young fellow? Aren't you amiable when you choose 
 to be and as much as you choose to be? And aren't 
 you a man of intelligence, besides?" 
 
 "There is some truth in what you say, M. Minxit, 
 but women are capricious, and I have heard that 
 Mademoiselle Arabella has an inclination for a gen- 
 tleman of this neighbourhood, a certain Monsieur 
 de Pont-Casse." 
 
 "A country squire," said M. Minxit, "a sort of 
 musketeer who has squandered the fine estate his 
 father left him on fine horses and embroidered coats. 
 He did ask me for Arabella's hand, but I rejected 
 his proposal most decidedly. In less than two years 
 he would have devoured my fortune. You can see
 
 88 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 I could not give my daughter to such a creature. 
 Besides, he is a furious duellist. However, that does 
 not matter, since he would have rid Arabella of his 
 noble person one of these days." 
 
 "You are right, M. Minxit. But if Arabella loves 
 this creature?" 
 
 "Nonsense, Benjamin! Arabella has too much of 
 my blood in her veins to be smitten with a viscount. 
 What I need is a child of the people, a man like 
 you, Benjamin, with whom I can laugh, drink, and 
 philosophise, a shrewd physician who will exploit 
 my clients along with me and whose science will 
 supply what the divination of urines may fail to 
 reveal." 
 
 "One moment," said my uncle, "I warn you, Mon- 
 sieur Minxit, I will not examine urines." 
 
 "Why not? Come, Benjamin, that emperor was 
 a very wise man who said to his son : 'Do these 
 gold pieces smell of urine?' If you knew how 
 much presence of mind, resourcefulness, keenness, 
 and even logic are required for diagnosis, by urines, 
 you would .not want to do anything else your whole 
 life long. Perhaps you will be called a charlatan, 
 but what is a charlatan? A man who has more 
 wit than the multitude. And I ask you, is it from 
 lack of desire or lack of wit that most doctors do 
 not deceive their patients this way? Look, here 
 comes my piper, probably to announce the arrival 
 of some urine vial. I can give you a sample of my 
 art on the spot."
 
 MONSIEUR MINXIT 89 
 
 "Well, piper," said M. Minxit to the musician, 
 "what's new?" 
 
 "A peasant has come to consult you," he an- 
 swered. 
 
 "Has Arabella made him talk to her yet?" 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur Minxit. He has his wife's 
 urine. She fell downstairs about four or five steps, 
 Mademoiselle Arabella doesn't remember exactly 
 how many." 
 
 "The devil!" said M. Minxit. "Very stupid in 
 Arabella. All the same, I will remedy that. Ben- 
 jamin, go wait for me in the kitchen where the 
 peasant is. You will see what a doctor who studies 
 
 urine is." 
 
 M. Minxit entered his house through the little 
 garden door, and five minutes later came into the 
 kitchen looking utterly exhausted. He carried a 
 riding-whip and wore a cloak splashed with mud up 
 to the collar. 
 
 "Whew!" he said, falling into a chair. "What 
 abominable roads! I am worn out. I have trav- 
 elled more than fifteen leagues this morning. Take 
 my boots off immediately and warm my bed." 
 
 "Monsieur Minxit, I beg of you !" said the peas- 
 ant, presenting his vial. 
 
 "To the devil with your vial," said M. Minxit. 
 "You see I can't do another thing. Just like you all. 
 You always come to consult me just when I come 
 back from a long way in the country." 
 
 "Father," said Arabella, "the man too is tired.
 
 90 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 Do not force him to come again to-morrow." 
 
 "Well, then, let me see the vial," said M. Minxit, 
 with an air of annoyance. He went to the window 
 and added, "Your wife's urine, isn't it?" 
 
 ' L Yes, Monsieur Minxit." said the peasant. 
 
 "She has had a fall," added the doctor, examin- 
 ing the vial again. 
 
 "You guessed exactly." 
 
 "On a flight of steps, was it not?" 
 
 "Why, you are a sorcerer, Monsieur Minxit." 
 
 "And she rolled down four steps." 
 
 "This time you are wrong, Monsieur Minxit. It 
 was down five steps." 
 
 "Nonsense, impossible. Go count your flight of 
 steps over again. You will see there are only fo.ur 
 in all." 
 
 "I assure' you, Monsieur, there are five, and she 
 didn't miss a single one." 
 
 "Astonishing," said M. Minxit, examining the 
 vial again. "There certainly are only four steps 
 here. By the way, did you bring me all the urine 
 that your wife gave you?" 
 
 "I threw a little on the ground, because the vial 
 was too full." 
 
 "No wonder I didn't get the right number. That 
 is the cause of the deficit. It was the fifth step you 
 poured out, you stupid fellow ! So we will treat your 
 wife as having rolled down a flight of five steps." 
 
 And he gave the peasant five or six little packages 
 and as many vials, all labelled in Latin.
 
 MONSIEUR MINXIT 91 
 
 "I should have thought you would have given a 
 bleeding," said my uncle. 
 
 "If it had been a fall from a horse, a fall from a 
 tree or a fall in the road, yes. But a fall on 
 a flight of steps should always be treated this 
 way." 
 
 A little girl came in after the peasant. 
 
 "Well, how is your mother?" asked the doctor. 
 
 "Much better, Monsieur Minxit. But she cannot 
 get her strength back, and I came to ask you what 
 she should do." 
 
 "You ask me what she should do, and I wager 
 you haven't a sou with which to buy medicine." 
 
 "Oh, no, dear Monsieur Minxit. My father has 
 been out of work a whole week." 
 
 "Then why the devil does your mother take it 
 into her head to be sick?" 
 
 "Don't worry, Monsieur Minxit. As soon as 
 father gets work, you will be paid for your visits. 
 He told me to tell you so." 
 
 "Nonsense again ! Is your father crazy to expect 
 to pay me for my visits when he has no bread in his 
 house? For what does your imbecile of a father 
 take me? Take your donkey this evening and get 
 a sack of wheat at my mill. And take a basket of 
 old wine and a quarter of mutton along with you 
 from here. That is what your mother needs. If 
 her strength doesn't come back in two or three days, 
 let me know. Now go, my child." 
 
 "Well," said M. Minxit to Benjamin, "what do
 
 92 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 you think of the practice of medicine by examining 
 urines?" 
 
 "You are a fine, splendid man, Monsieur Minxit. 
 That is your excuse. But, the devil ! You will never 
 get me to treat a patient who has fallen down stairs 
 any other way than by bleeding." 
 
 "Then you are only a raw recruit in medicine. 
 Don't you know peasants must have drugs? Other- 
 wise they think you are neglecting them. Well, 
 then, you shall not diagnose by urines. But it's a 
 pity. You'd have been a famous hand at it."
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 CONVERSATION AT M. MINXIT'S DINNER 
 
 THE dinner-hour arrived. Although M. Minxit 
 had invited but a few persons beside those known 
 to us, the priest, the notary, and one of his colleagues 
 in the neighbourhood, the table was loaded down 
 with a profusion of ducks and chickens, some lying 
 in stately integrity in the midst of their sauce, others 
 symmetrically spreading their disjointed members on 
 the oval of their platters. The wine was from a 
 certain hillside of Trucy, whose vines, in spite of 
 the levelling-down that has taken place in our vine- 
 yards as in our society, have maintained their aris- 
 tocracy, and still enjoy a deserved reputation. 
 
 "Why," said my uncle to M. Minxit at sight of 
 this Homeric abundance, "you have a whole poultry- 
 yard here, enough to satisfy a company of dragoons 
 after manoeuvres. Or perhaps you are expecting 
 our friend Arthus?" 
 
 "In that case I would have spitted one fowl 
 more," answered M. Minxit, laughing. "But if we 
 ourselves can't manage all this, it will be easy to find 
 others to finish our task. How about my officers, 
 that is, my musicians, and the clients who will come 
 
 93
 
 94 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 to-morrow with their vials? Don't I have to think 
 of them? It is a principle of mine that he who has 
 dinner prepared only for himself is not fit to 
 dine." 
 
 "Quite right," replied my uncle; and after this 
 philosophical reflection, he began to attack M. 
 Minxit's chickens as if he had a personal spite against 
 them. 
 
 The guests were suited to each other. For that 
 matter, my uncle was suited to everybody, and 
 everybody was suited to him. They frankly and 
 very noisily enjoyed M. Minxit's bounteous hospi- 
 tality. 
 
 "Piper," said M. Minxit to one of the waiters, 
 "bring in the Burgundy, and tell the musicians to 
 come in with arms and baggage, the drunken ones 
 not excepted." The musicians entered at once and 
 ranged themselves in a ring around the room. M. 
 Minxit uncorked a few bottles of Burgundy, then 
 lifted his full glass solemnly, and said: 
 
 "Gentlemen, to the health of M. Benjamin 
 Rathery, the first doctor in the bailiwick. I pre- 
 sent him to you as my son-in-law, and pray you to 
 love him as you love me. Let the music play." 
 
 An infernal din of bass drum, triangle, cymbals, 
 and clarinet broke out in the dining-room, so that 
 my uncle was obliged to ask mercy on behalf of the 
 guests. Mademoiselle Minxit made a wry face over 
 the announcement, somewhat too definite and pre- 
 mature. Benjamin, who had something else to do
 
 CONVERSATION AT M. MINXIT'S 95 
 
 than observe what was going on around him, did 
 not notice it. But the sign of repugnance did not 
 escape my grandmother. Her pride was deeply 
 wounded. If Benjamin was not the handsomest 
 fellow in the country to everybody, he was to his 
 sister at least. After thanking M. Minxit for the 
 honour he did her brother, she added, biting each 
 syllable as if she had poor Arabella between her 
 teeth, that the principal, the only reason that had 
 moved Benjamin to solicit M. Minxit's alliance was 
 the high esteem in which M. Minxit was held in all 
 the country round. 
 
 Benjamin, feeling that his sister had been tactless, 
 hastened to add, "And also the graces and charms 
 with which Mademoiselle Arabella is so abundantly 
 provided, and which promise days spun of gold and 
 silk to the happy mortal who shall be her husband." 
 Then, as if to still the pangs of conscience that this 
 sorry compliment caused him the only one he had 
 yet bestowed on Mademoiselle Minxit and which his 
 sister had obliged him to he set furiously upon a 
 chicken's wing and emptied a huge glass of Bur- 
 gundy at one draught. 
 
 There were three doctors present. They were 
 bound to <^1k medicine, and they did. 
 
 "You just now said, M. Minxit," said Fata, "that 
 your son-in-law was the first doctor in the bailiwick. 
 I do not protest in my own behalf, although I have 
 made certain cures. But what do you think of 
 Doctor Arnout of Clamecy?"
 
 96 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 "Ask Benjamin," said M. Minxit. "He knows 
 him better than I do." 
 
 "Oh, M. Minxit," answered my uncle, "a rival!" 
 
 "What difference does that make? You don't 
 have to run your rivals down, do you? Tell us 
 what you think of him, just to oblige Fata." 
 
 "Since you insist, I think Doctor Arnout wears 
 a superb wig." 
 
 "Why isn't a doctor who wears a wig as good 
 as a doctor who wears a queue?" asked Fata. 
 
 "A delicate question, Monsieur Fata, especially 
 since you yourself wear a wig. But I will try to 
 explain myself without wounding anybody's pride. 
 Here is a doctor who has his head stuffed full of 
 knowledge. He has studied all the old books ever 
 written about medicine. He knows to a tee the 
 Greek words from which the five or six hundred 
 diseases that afflict poor humanity are derived. 
 Well, if his intelligence is limited, I should not like 
 to trust him to cure my little finger. I would prefer 
 an intelligent mountebank. His science is a lantern 
 without a light. It has been said that whatever a 
 man is worth, his land is worth. It would be equally 
 true to say that whatever a man is worth, his knowl- 
 edge is worth. That is especially true of medicine, 
 which is a science of hypotheses. Causes must be 
 divined by equivocal and uncertain effects. The 
 pulse that is dumb under the finger of a fool con- 
 fides marvellous secrets to the man of brains. Two 
 things above all are necessary to success in medi-
 
 CONVERSATION AT M. MINXIT'S 97 
 
 cine, and these two things are not to be acquired. 
 They are insight and intelligence." 
 
 "You forget the cymbals and the bass drum," 
 said M. Minxit, laughing. 
 
 "Oh," said Benjamin, "speaking of your bas8 
 drum, I have an excellent idea. Does there happen 
 to be a vacancy in your orchestra?" 
 
 "For whom?" said M. Minxit. 
 
 "For an old sergeant of my acquaintance and a 
 poodle." 
 
 "On what instrument can your two proteges play?" 
 
 "I do not know," said Benjamin. "Any you like, 
 probably." 
 
 "At any rate we can have your old sergeant groom 
 my four horses until my music-master has familiar- 
 ised him with some instrument. Or else he can roll 
 my pills." 
 
 "By the way," said my uncle, "we can use him to 
 still better advantage. He has a face as brown 
 as a chicken just from the spit. You'd think he 
 did nothing his whole life except cross and recross 
 the equator. You would take him for the Tropic in 
 person. Besides, he is as dry as an old burnt bone. 
 We will say we extracted from his body the grease 
 we make our salves of. -Our salves will sell better 
 than bear's grease. Or else we will pass him off for 
 a Nubian a hundred and forty years old, who has 
 lived to this extraordinary age by using an elixir, 
 the secret of which he has transmitted to us in con- 
 sideration of a life pension; and we will sell the
 
 98 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 precious elixir for the mere bagatelle of fifteen sous 
 a bottle. No one will afford to be without it." 
 
 "Heavens," said M. Minxit, "I see you under- 
 stand the practice of medicine on the scale of grand 
 orchestra. Send me your man as soon as you like. 
 I will take him into my service, whether as a Nubian 
 or as a dried bone." 
 
 At this moment a domestic entered the dining- 
 room in a great fright, and told my uncle that about 
 twenty women were tugging at his donkey's tail, and, 
 when he had tried to disperse them with a whip, 
 they had come very near tearing him to pieces with 
 their sharp finger-nails. 
 
 "I know what it is," said my uncle, and burst out 
 laughing. "They are pulling hairs from the Holy 
 Virgin's ass to keep as relics." 
 
 M. Minxit asked for an explanation. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he cried, when my uncle had finished 
 his story, "we are impious men if we do not wor- 
 ship Benjamin. Pastor, you must make a saint 
 of him." 
 
 "I protest," said Benjamin. "I don't want to 
 go to Heaven. I shall certainly not meet any of 
 you there." 
 
 "Yes, laugh, gentlemen." said my grandmother, 
 after having laughed herself. "I don't feel like 
 laughing. Benjamin's practical jokes always end 
 that way. M. Durand will make us pay for his 
 ass, unless we return it in the same condition he gave 
 it to us in."
 
 CONVERSATION AT M, MINXITS 99 
 
 "At any rate," said my uncle, "he cannot make 
 us pay for more than the tail. Would a man who 
 cuts off my queue and my queue, without flattering 
 it, is surely worth as much as the tail of M. Durand's 
 donkey be as guilty in the eyes of justice as if he 
 had killed me?" 
 
 "Certainly not," said M. Minxit, "and to tell you 
 the truth, I should not esteem you one obole the less 
 for it." 
 
 Meanwhile the yard was filling with women who 
 maintained a respectful attitude, as though they were 
 near a chapel in which divine service is being held 
 and which is too small to hold all the worshippers. 
 Many of them were kneeling. 
 
 "You must rid us of these people," said M. 
 Minxit to Benjamin. 
 
 "Nothing easier," answered Benjamin. He went 
 to the window and told the good people that they 
 would have plenty of time to see the Holy Virgin. 
 She expected to remain two days at M. Minxit's, and 
 the next Sunday she would not fail to attend high 
 mass. At this assurance the people withdrew 
 satisfied. 
 
 "Such parishioners," said the cure, "do me little 
 honour. I must reprove them in my sermon next 
 Sunday. How can any one be so simple-minded as to 
 take a donkey's dirty tail for a sacred object?" 
 
 "But, pastor," responded Benjamin, "you who are 
 so philosophical at table, haven't you in your 
 church under glass two or three bones as white as
 
 ioo MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 paper, which you call the relics of Saint Maurice?" 
 
 "Those are exhausted relics," said M. Minxit. 
 "It is more than fifty years since they worked mir- 
 acles. My friend the priest would do well to get 
 rid of them and sell them to be made into bone- 
 black. I would take them myself to make album 
 graecum, if he would let me have them at a reason- 
 able price." 
 
 "What is album graecum?" asked my grand- 
 mother, innocently. 
 
 "Madame," answered M. Minxit, with a bow, 
 "it is Greek white. I regret I cannot tell you more 
 about it." 
 
 "For my part," said the notary, a little old man 
 in a white wig, with vivacious eyes full of mischief, 
 "I don't find fault with the pastor for the place of 
 honour he has given the shin-bones of Saint Maurice 
 in his church. Saint Maurice undoubtedly had shin- 
 bones when he was alive. Why should they not be 
 there as well as anywhere? I am surprised that the 
 vestry hasn't our patron saint's riding-boots, too. 
 But I could wish that the cure in his turn might 
 be more tolerant and might not rebuke his parish- 
 ioners for their faith in the Wandering Jew. Not 
 to believe enough is as sure a sign of ignorance as 
 to believe too much." 
 
 "What," replied the cure quickly, "you, Mon- 
 sieur notary, you believe in the Wandering Jew?" 
 
 "Why should I not believe in him just as well as 
 in Saint Maurice?"
 
 CONVERSATION AT M. MINXIT'S 101 
 
 "And you, Doctor," said he, addressing Fata, 
 "do you believe in the Wandering Jew?" 
 
 "H'm, h'm !" said the latter, taking a huge pinch 
 of snuff. 
 
 "And you, honourable Monsieur Minxit?" 
 
 "I agree with my colleague," interrupted M. 
 Minxit, "except that I'll take a glass of wine instead 
 of a pinch of snuff." 
 
 "But surely you, Monsieur -Rathery, you who 
 pass for a philosopher, I do hope you do not honour 
 the Wandering Jew with belief in his eternal pere- 
 grinations." 
 
 "Why not?" said my uncle. "You believe in 
 Jesus Christ." 
 
 "Oh, that's different," answered the cure. "I be- 
 lieve in Jesus Christ because neither his existence 
 nor his divinity can be called in question, because 
 the evangelists who wrote his history are men 
 worthy of credence. They could not have been 
 mistaken. They had no motive for deceiving their 
 neighbours, and even if they had wanted to, they 
 could not have succeeded in accomplishing the 
 fraud. 
 
 "If the facts recorded by them were invented, if 
 the Gospel, like Telemaque, were a sort of philo- 
 sophical and religious novel, then, on the appear- 
 ance of that fatal book which was to spread trouble 
 and division over the whole surface of the earth, 
 which was to separate husband from wife, children 
 from their fathers, which made poverty honourable,
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 which made the slave the equal of the master, which 
 upset all received ideas, which honoured everything 
 that up to that time had been despised, and threw 
 everything that had been honoured into the fire of 
 hell as rubbish, which overturned the old religion 
 of the Pagans, and on its ruins established the gibbet 
 of a poor carpenter's son in the place of altars " 
 
 "Monsieur Cure," said M. Minxit, "your period 
 is too long. You must cut it with a glass of wine." 
 
 The cure, having drunk a glass of wine, con- 
 tinued: 
 
 "On the appearance of that book, I say, the 
 Pagans would have uttered an immense cry of pro- 
 test, and the Jews, whom it accused of the greatest 
 crime that a people can commit, a deicide, would have 
 pursued it with their eternal denunciations." 
 
 "But the Wandering Jew," said my uncle, "has the 
 support of an authority no less powerful than the 
 Gospel the rhymed chronicle of the burghers of 
 Brussels in Brabant, who met him at the gates of 
 the city and regaled him with a pot of fresh beer. 
 
 "The apostles, I admit, are men worthy of faith. 
 But, inspiration aside, what were they really? 
 Tramps, men without hearth or home, who paid no 
 taxes, and whom the authorities to-day would prose- 
 cute as vagabonds. The burghers of Brussels, on the 
 contrary, were respectable men, householders. Some, 
 I am sure, were syndics or church-wardens. If the 
 apostles and the Brussels burghers could have a dis- 
 cussion before the bailiff, I am sure the magistrate
 
 CONVERSATION AT M. MINXIT'S 103 
 
 would defer to the oath of the Brussels burghers. 
 
 "The Brussels burghers could not have been mis- 
 taken. A burgher is not a puppet, a boon companion, 
 or a man of gingerbread. And it is no harder to tell 
 an old man of over seventeen hundred years of age 
 from an old man of to-day than it is to tell an ordi- 
 nary old man from a child of five. 
 
 "The Brussels burghers had no motives for deceiv- 
 ing their fellows. It made no difference to them 
 whether or not there was a man who travels on for- 
 ever. And what glory could have accrued to them 
 for having sat at table in an ale-house and drunk 
 freshly tapped beer with the superlative of vaga- 
 bonds, with a sort of damned creature, a hundred 
 -times more despicable than a galley-slave, to whom 
 I myself would not like to take off my hat? As a 
 matter of fact the Brussels burghers acted rather 
 against than for their interest in publishing their 
 chronicle. The ballad is not calculated to inspire a 
 high opinion of their poetic ability. The tailor 
 Millot-Rataut, whose Grand Noel I have many a 
 time found wrapped around a bit of Brie cheese, is 
 a Virgil in comparison with them. 
 
 "The Brussels burghers could not have deceived 
 their people, even had they wished to. Had the facts 
 celebrated in their chronicle been invented, the in- 
 habitants of Brussels would have protested on the 
 appearance of the document. The police would have 
 consulted their registers to see if a certain Isaac 
 Laquedem had passed through Brussels on such and
 
 104 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 such a day, and they would have protested. The 
 cobblers, whose respectable guild was forever dis- 
 honoured by the brutal conduct of the Wandering 
 Jew, who was one of the craft, would not have 
 failed to protest; in short, there would have been a 
 concerted storm of protests sufficient to make the 
 towers of the capital of Brabant topple and fall. 
 
 "Besides, in the matter of credibility, the ballad 
 of the Wandering Jew has notable advantages over 
 the Gospels. It did not fall from heaven like a 
 meteoric stone. It has a precise date. The first 
 copy was deposited in the royal library, duly in- 
 scribed with the printer's name and street number. 
 The Gospels, on the other hand, are not dated. The 
 ballad of Brussels is illustrated by a portrait of the 
 Wandering Jew, in a three-cornered hat, Polish 
 coat, riding boots, and with a tremendously long 
 cane. But no medallion has come down to us bear- 
 ing the picture of Jesus Christ. The chronicle of 
 the Wandering Jew was written in an enlightened, 
 investigating century, more disposed to cut down its 
 beliefs than to add to them, while the Gospels ap- 
 peared suddenly like a torch lighted by no one knows 
 whom in the darkness of a century given over to 
 gross superstitions, and among a people plunged in 
 the deepest ignorance, whose history is one long 
 series of superstitions and barbarisms." 
 
 "Permit me, Monsieur Benjamin," said the notary. 
 "You said that the Brussels burghers could not have 
 been mistaken as to the identity of the Wandering
 
 CONVERSATION AT M. MINXIT'S 105 
 
 Jew. Yet this morning the inhabitants of Moulot 
 took you for the Wandering Jew. In the capacity 
 of Wandering Jew you yourself worked an authentic 
 miracle in the presence of the entire people of 
 Moulot. So your demonstration fails in one point, 
 and your rules regarding historical certainty are not 
 infallible." 
 
 "The objection is a strong one," said Benjamin, 
 scratching his head. "I admit I can't answer it. 
 But it applies to Monsieur Cure's Jesus Christ as 
 well as to my Wandering Jew." 
 
 "But I hope you believe in Jesus Christ, Ben- 
 jamin?" interrupted my grandmother, who always 
 wanted to come down to facts. 
 
 "Undoubtedly, my dear sister, I believe in Jesus 
 Christ. I believe in him the more firmly because 
 without believing in the divinity of Jesus Christ one 
 cannot believe in the existence of God, since the only 
 proofs of the existence of God are the miracles of 
 Jesus Christ. But then that does not prevent me 
 from believing in the Wandering Jew, or, rather, 
 shall I tell you what the Wandering Jew means 
 to me? 
 
 "The Wandering Jew is the picture of the Jewish 
 people sketched by some unknown poet of the people 
 on the walls of a cottage. The myth is so striking 
 that you'd have to be blind not to see it. 
 
 "The Wandering; Jew has no hearth nor home 
 nor legal and political domicile. The Jewish people 
 have no country.
 
 io6 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 "The Wandering Jew is obliged to travel on with- 
 out rest, without stopping, without taking breath, 
 which must be very fatiguing to him in his Hessian 
 boots. He has already been around the world seven 
 times. The Jewish people are not firmly estab- 
 lished anywhere. Everywhere they live in tents. 
 They go and come incessantly like the waves of the 
 ocean, and they too, have already been around the 
 world many times, like foam floating on the surface 
 of the nations, like a straw borne by the current of 
 civilisation. 
 
 "The Wandering Jew always has five sous in his 
 pocket. The Jewish people, continually ruined by 
 the exactions of the feudal lords and by the royal 
 confiscations, always rise to the top of prosperity 
 again, like a cork. Their wealth grew of itself. 
 
 "The Wandering Jew can spend only five sous at 
 a time. The Jewish people, obliged to conceal their 
 wealth, have become sparing and close-fisted. They 
 spend little. 
 
 "The suffering of the Wandering Jew will last 
 forever. The Jewish people can no more reunite 
 into a national body than the ashes of an oak struck 
 by lightning can make a tree again. They are scat- 
 tered over the earth until the end of the centuries. 
 
 "To speak seriously, it is doubtless a superstition 
 to believe in the Wandering Jew. But I say to you 
 as is said in the Gospel, let him who is free from 
 all superstition cast the first sarcasm at the inhab- 
 itants of Moulot. The fact is, we are all supersti-
 
 CONVERSATION AT M. MINXIT'S 107 
 
 tious, some more, others less, and often the man with 
 a wen on his ear as big as a potato makes sport of 
 the man with a wart on his chin. 
 
 "There are not two Christians having the same be- 
 liefs who admit and reject the same things. One 
 fasts on Friday and does not attend divine service. 
 Another attends divine service and eats meat on 
 Friday. Some lady will mock at Friday and Sunday 
 alike, yet would consider herself damned if she 
 were not married in church. 
 
 "Let religion be a beast with seven horns. He 
 who believes in only six horns scoffs at him who 
 believes in seven, and he who admits but five horns 
 scoffs at him who admits six. Then comes the deist 
 who scoffs at all the others, and finally there is the 
 atheist. And yet the atheist believes in Cagliostro 
 and consults the fortune-tellers. In short, there is 
 only one man who is not superstitious, the man who 
 believes in nothing but what is demonstrated to 
 him." 
 
 It was past nightfall when my grandmother an- 
 nounced her wish to start. 
 
 "I will let Benjamin go on only one condition," 
 said M. Minxit, "that he will promise to take part 
 in a grand hunting party on Sunday which I will give 
 in his honour. He must familiarise himself with his 
 woods and the hares." 
 
 "But I do not know the mere elements of hunt- 
 ing," said my uncle. "I can easily tell a hare stew 
 from a rabbit stew, but may Millot-Rataut sing me
 
 io8 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 his Grand Noel if I am capable of telling a hare on 
 the run from a rabbit on the run." 
 
 "So much the worse for you, my friend. But that 
 is one reason more why you should come. One 
 should know a little of everything." 
 
 "You will see me do something bad. I shall kill 
 one of your musicians." 
 
 "Oh, be careful not to do that, at least. I shall 
 have to pay his bereaved family more than he is 
 worth. But to avoid an accident you shall hunt with 
 your sword." 
 
 "Very well, I promise," said my uncle. 
 
 Thereupon he and his dear sister took leave of 
 M. Minxit. 
 
 "Do you know," said Benjamin to my grand- 
 mother when they were on their way, "I would 
 rather marry M. Minxit than his daughter." 
 
 "Don't wish for anything you can not get, but 
 do wish for everything you can get," answered my 
 grandmother, dryly. 
 
 "But- 
 
 "But look out for the donkey, and don't prick 
 him with your sword the way you did this morning. 
 That is all I ask of you." 
 
 "You are cross with me, sister. I should like to 
 know why." 
 
 "Well, I will tell you. Because you drank too 
 much, discussed too much, and did not say a word 
 to Mademoiselle Arabella. Now, let me alone."
 
 .CHAPTER VIII 
 
 HOW MY UNCLE KISSED A MARQUIS 
 
 THE following Saturday my uncle spent the night 
 at Corvol. 
 
 They started the next morning at sunrise. M. 
 Minxit was accompanied by all his people and sev- 
 eral friends, among whom was his colleague Fata. 
 It was one of those glorious days that gloomy winter 
 occasionally bestows upon the earth, like a jailer 
 bestowing a smile. February seemed to have bor- 
 rowed its sun from April. The sky was clear, and 
 the south wind filled the air with a soft warmth. 
 The river was steaming in the distance among the 
 willows. The morning hoar frost hung in little drops 
 from the branches of the bushes. For the first time 
 in the year the birds were singing in the meadows, 
 and the brooks running down the mountain of Flez, 
 awakened by the warmth of the sun, babbled at the 
 foot of the hedges. 
 
 ''Monsieur Fata," said my uncle, "this is a fine 
 day. Shall we take a walk under the wet branches 
 of the woods?" 
 
 "I don't care to, my colleague," said M. Fata. 
 "If you will come to my house, I will show you a 
 
 109
 
 no MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 four-headed child which I keep sealed in a bottle. 
 M. Minxit offers me three hundred francs for it." 
 
 "You would do well to let him have it," said my 
 uncle, "and put currant wine in the bottle instead." 
 Nevertheless, having a good pair of legs, and it 
 being only two short leagues from there to Varzy, 
 he decided to go with his colleague. So Fata and 
 he left the hunting party and plunged into a side- 
 path that disappeared in the meadow. Soon they 
 found themselves opposite Saint-Pierre du Mont. 
 Saint-Pierre du Mont is a big hill on the road from 
 Clamecy to Varzy. At its base it is covered with 
 meadows streaming with water-courses, but at its 
 summit it is shorn and bare. It is like a huge clump 
 of earth raised on the plain by a gigantic mole. At 
 that time there stood on its bare an^ scurvy cranium 
 the remains of a feudal castle. To-day it is re- 
 placed by an elegant country-house, in which a cattle- 
 raiser lives. Thus it is that the works of man, like 
 those of nature, imperceptibly decompose and form 
 again. 
 
 The walls of the castle were dilapidated and its 
 battlements toothless in many spots. The towers 
 seemed as though broken off in the middle and re- 
 duced to stumps. Its moats, half dried up, were 
 encumbered with tall grass and a forest of reeds, and 
 its drawbridge had had to be replaced by a stone 
 bridge. The sinister shadow of this old feudal ruin 
 cast a gloom on the entire neighbourhood. The 
 cottages had moved back from it, some going to
 
 MY UNCLE KISSES A MARQUIS in 
 
 the neighbouring hill and forming the village of 
 Flez, others descending into the valley and grouping 
 themselves as a hamlet along the road. 
 
 The lord of this old establishment at that time 
 was a certain Marquis de Cambyse. M. de Cambyse 
 was tall, stout, heavily built, and had the strength of 
 a giant a veritable old suit of armour made of 
 flesh. He was of a violent, passionate, excessively 
 irascible nature, infatuated with his nobility, and 
 fancying the Cambyse family was an unparalleled 
 work of creation. 
 
 At one time he had been an officer of musketeers, 
 I know not of what colour. But he was ill at ease 
 at court, his will there was repressed, his violence 
 could not find free vent, and he felt stifled amid the 
 dust of the landed aristocrats which sparkled and 
 whirled around the throne. He had returned to his 
 estate, and lived there like a little monarch. Though 
 time had taken away the old privileges of the no- 
 bility one by one, he had managed to keep them, 
 and he exercised them to the full. He was still abso- 
 lute master, not only of his domains, but also of the 
 whole country round. Barring the buckler, he was 
 a veritable feudal lord. He beat the peasants, took 
 their wives from them when they were pretty, in- 
 vaded their lands with his hounds, sent his servants 
 to trample down their crops, and subjected the 
 burghers whom he came across in the vicinity of his 
 mountain to a thousand annoyances. 
 
 He practised despotism and violence from caprice,
 
 ii2 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 for entertainment, but especially from pride. To 
 be the most eminent personage in the vicinity, he 
 thought he must be the wickedest. He knew no bet- 
 ter way of showing his superiority than by oppres- 
 sion. To be famous he made himself a detestable 
 villain. Except in size, he was like the flea whose 
 only way to make you aware of its presence in the 
 bed-clothes is biting you. Although rich, he had 
 creditors, and he made it a point of honour not to 
 pay them. The terror of his name was such that 
 not a sheriff's officer in the country could be found 
 willing to serve a paper on him. A single one, 
 father Ballivet, had dared to serve a writ on him 
 with his own hand, speaking to him in person, but 
 he had risked his life in doing it. Honour to gen- 
 erous father Ballivet, the royal process-server, who 
 served writs all over the world and two leagues 
 beyond, as the spiteful wags said in order to dim 
 the glory of this great process-server. 
 
 This is how he managed it. He wrapped his docu- 
 ment in a half-dozen envelopes cunningly sealed, 
 and presented it to M. de Cambyse as a package 
 coming from the castle of Vilaine. While the Mar- 
 quis was unwrapping the document, he sneaked out 
 stealthily, reached the main gate, and mounted his 
 horse, which he had fastened to a tree some dis- 
 tance from the castle. The Marquis was furious 
 when he found out what the package contained and 
 that he had been duped by a process-server, and he 
 ordered his domestics to go in pursuit of him. But
 
 MY UNCLE KISSES A MARQUIS 113 
 
 father Ballivet was beyond their reach, and mocked 
 at them with a gesture of the hand that I cannot 
 describe here. 
 
 M. de Cambyse felt scarcely greater scruples 
 about discharging hii> gun at a peasant than at 'a fox. 
 He had already maimed two or three, who were 
 known in the neighbourhood as M. de Cambyse's 
 cripples, and several prominent inhabitants of 
 Clamecy had been the victims of his mean practical 
 jokes. Although he was not yet very old, the hon- 
 ourable lord had perpetrated enough bloody tricks 
 to entitle him to two life-sentences. But his family 
 stood well at court, and the protection of his noble 
 relatives secured him against prosecution. The fact 
 is, each one takes his pleasure where he finds it. 
 The good King Louis XV., who entertained him- 
 self so merrily and pleasantly at Versailles and gave 
 parties to the lords and ladies of his court, did not 
 wish his peers in the provinces to be bored on their 
 estates, and he would have been very much vexed 
 had they had no peasants to howl under their whips, 
 or had there been no burghers for them to insult. 
 Louis, called the Well-Beloved, was determined to 
 deserve the love of his subjects. It is clear, there- 
 fore, that the Marquis de Cambyse was as inviolable 
 as a constitutional king, and that neither justice nor 
 the police could touch him. 
 
 Benjamin was fond of declaiming against M. de 
 Cambyse. He called him the Gessler of the neigh- 
 bourhood, and had often expressed the desire to
 
 Ii4 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 meet this man face to face. His wish was fulfilled 
 only too soon, as you will now see. 
 
 At sight of the black, shadowy ruins that stood 
 out sharply against the azure of the sky, my uncle, 
 philosopher that he was, fell into meditation. 
 
 "Monsieur Rathery," said his colleague, pulling 
 him by the sleeve, "it isn't safe to be in the neigh- 
 bourhood of this castle, I warn you." 
 
 "What, Monsieur Fata, are you too afraid of a 
 Marquis?" 
 
 "But, Monsieur Rathery, you know I am a doctor 
 with a wig." 
 
 "That's the way with all of them!" cried my 
 uncle, giving free rein to his indignation. "There 
 are three hundred citizens to one nobleman, and 
 they allow the nobleman to walk over their bellies. 
 And they flatten themselves all they can, too, lest 
 the noble personage stumble!" 
 
 "What do you expect, M.- Rathery? Against 
 force " 
 
 "But it is you who have the force, you wretch! 
 You are like the ox who lets a child lead him from 
 the green pasture to the shambles. Oh, the people 
 are cowards, cowards ! I say it in bitter sorrow, 
 as a mother says that her child has a bad heart. 
 The man who sacrifices himself for the people is al- 
 ways left to the mercy of the executioner, and if there 
 is no rope with which to hang him, the people under- 
 take to furnish it. Two thousand years have passed 
 over the ashes of the Gracchi, and seventeen hundred
 
 MY UNCLE KISSES A MARQUIS 115 
 
 and fifty years over the cross of Jesus, and they are 
 still the same people. They sometimes have spurts of 
 courage, and then fire issues from their mouths and 
 nostrils. But slavery is their normal condition. 
 They always return to it, as a tamed canary returns 
 to its cage. You see the brook rushing onward 
 swollen by a sudden storm, and you take it for a 
 mighty river. The next day you pass again and you 
 find only a mere thread of water hiding under the 
 grass growing on the banks, with nothing left of the 
 torrential flood of the day before but a few straws 
 hanging from the branches of the bushes. The peo- 
 ple are strong when they wish to be. But look out, 
 their strength lasts only a moment. Those who rely 
 upon them build their house upon the frozen surface 
 of a lake." 
 
 At that moment a man dressed in a rich hunting 
 suit crossed the road, followed by barking dogs 
 and a long train of attendants. Fata turned pale. 
 
 "M. de Cambyse," he said to my uncle, and bowed 
 profoundly. But Benjamin stood erect, without 
 doffing his hat, like a Spanish grandee. 
 
 Nothing was more likely to offend the terrible 
 Marquis than the presumption of this common citi- 
 zen who refused him the ordinary homage on the 
 edge of his domains and in front of his castle. It 
 was, moreover, a very bad example, which might 
 become contagious. 
 
 "Clodhopper," said he to my uncle, with his lordly 
 air, "why don't you salute me?"
 
 n6 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 "And you," answered my uncle, measuring him 
 from head to foot with his grey eyes, "why didn't 
 you salute me?" 
 
 "Don't you know I am the Marquis de Cambyse, 
 lord of all this domain?" 
 
 "And you, don't you know I am Benjamin 
 Rathery, doctor of medicine, of Clamecy?" 
 
 "Really," said the Marquis, "so you are a saw- 
 bones? I congratulate you. It is a fine title you 
 have." 
 
 "It is as good a title as yours. To acquire it 
 I had to pursue long and serious studies. But what 
 did that de cost you which you put before your 
 name? The king can make twenty marquises a day, 
 but I defy him, with all his power, to make one 
 doctor. A doctor has his usefulness. You'll find it 
 out later, perhaps. But what is a marquis good for?" 
 
 The Marquis de Cambyse had breakfasted well 
 that morning. He was in a good humour. 
 
 "A funny old codger," he said to his steward. 
 "I would rather have met him than a deer. 
 And this one," he added, pointing his finger at Fata, 
 "who is he?" 
 
 "M. Fata, of Varzy, Marquis," said the doctor, 
 bowing reverentially a second time. 
 
 "Fata," said my uncle, "you are a poltroon. I 
 suspected as much, but you will have to answer to 
 me for this conduct." 
 
 "What," said the Marquis to Fata, "you are ac- 
 quainted with this man?"
 
 MY UNCLE KISSES A MARQUIS 117 
 
 "Very slightly, Monsieur Marquis, I swear it. I 
 know him only because I have dined with him at 
 M. Minxit's. But the moment he fails in the respect 
 he owes the nobility, I know him no more." 
 
 "And I," said my uncle, "am just beginning to 
 know him." 
 
 "What, Monsieur Fata of Varzy," continued the 
 Marquis, "do you dine with that scoundrel 
 Minxit?" 
 
 "Oh, quite by chance, Monseigneur, when I hap- 
 pened to pass through Corvol one day. I know 
 very well that Minxit is a man one ought not to 
 associate with. He is a hare-brained fellow, con- 
 ceited on account of his wealth, and thinks himself 
 as good as a nobleman. Wow ! Wow ! Who gave 
 me that kick from behind?" 
 
 "I did," said Benjamin, "in behalf of M. 
 Minxit." 
 
 "Now," said the Marquis, "you have nothing 
 more to do here, Monsieur Fata. Leave me alone 
 with your travelling companion. So then," he 
 added, addressing my uncle, "you persist in refus- 
 ing to salute me?" 
 
 "If you salute me first, I will salute you next," 
 said Benjamin. 
 
 "Is that your last word?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Have you carefully considered what you are 
 doing?" 
 
 "Listen," said my uncle, "I will show deference
 
 ii8 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 for your title, and prove to you how accommodating 
 I am in everything that concerns etiquette." 
 
 With this he took a coin from his pocket, and, 
 tossing it in the air, said to the Marquis: 
 
 "Heads or tails? Noble or doctor, whomso for- 
 tune designates shall be the first to salute, and from 
 this there shall be no appeal." 
 
 "Insolent fellow," said the fat, chubby-faced 
 steward. "Don't you see that you are lacking most 
 scandalously in respect to Monseigneur. If I were 
 in his place, I would have given you a beating long 
 ago." 
 
 "My friend," answered Benjamin, "stick to your 
 figures. Your lord pays you to cheat him, not to 
 give him advice." 
 
 Just then a game-keeper stole behind my uncle, 
 and knocked his three-cornered hat into the mud. 
 Benjamin was remarkably strong. As he turned 
 round, the broad grin at the success of his trick was 
 still on the game-keeper's lips. My uncle with one 
 blow of his iron fist sent the man sprawling down- 
 ward so that he remained lying, half in the ditch, half 
 in the hedge on the roadside. The man's comrades 
 wanted to extricate him from the amphibious position 
 he had gotten into, but M. de Cambyse would not 
 allow it. "The rogue must learn," said he, "that 
 the right to insolence does not belong to the common 
 people." 
 
 I really do not understand why my uncle, gen- 
 erally so philosophical, did not yield with good grace
 
 MY UNCLE KISSES A MARQUIS 119 
 
 to necessity. I know very well that it is vexing to a 
 proud citizen of the people, who feels his worth, to 
 be obliged to salute a Marquis. But when we are 
 under the coercion of force, our free will is gone. 
 What a man does in such circumstances is not a 
 personal act but the result of external power. We 
 are then merely a machine not responsible for its 
 acts. The only one deserving of blame for what- 
 ever is shameful or guilty in our conduct is the man 
 who does violence to us. I have, therefore, always 
 looked upon the unconquerable resistance of mar- 
 tyrs to their persecutors as obstinacy scarcely worthy 
 of being canonised. Do you want to throw me into 
 boiling oil, Antiochus, if I refuse to eat pork? Well, 
 I must first of all call your attention to the fact that 
 it is not right to fry a man as we fry a fish. But, 
 if you persist in your demands, I will eat your stew, 
 and I will eat it with pleasure even if it is well- 
 cooked. For to you, to you alone, Antiochus, can its 
 digestion be dangerous. You, Monsieur de Cam- 
 byse, level your gun at my breast and demand that 
 I salute you? Well, Marquis, I have the honour 
 to salute you. I know very well that after this for- 
 mality you will be worth no more and I no less. 
 There is only one case in which we ought to stand 
 up against force, whatever the consequences, and 
 that is when they try to force us to commit an act 
 which is harmful to the people, for we have no right 
 to set our persona] interest before the public 
 interest.
 
 120 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 But then my uncle was of a different opinion. As 
 he stood firm in his refusal, M. de Cambyse had 
 him seized by his menials and ordered them to return 
 to the castle. Benjamin, pulled in front and pushed 
 behind, and entangled in his sword, nevertheless 
 protested with all his might against the violence to 
 which they subjected him, and still found a way to 
 distribute blows right and left. There were some 
 peasants at work in the neighbouring fields. My 
 uncle appealed to them for help; but they were 
 careful not to heed his appeals, and even laughed 
 at his martyrdom to show their obsequiousness to 
 the Marquis. 
 
 When they had reached the castle yard, M. de 
 Cambyse ordered that the gate be closed. He had 
 the bell rung to summon all his people. They 
 brought two arm-chairs, one for him and one for 
 his steward, and then he began a pretense of delib- 
 erating with him over the fate of my poor uncle. 
 My uncle maintained his proud attitude before this 
 parody of justice, never for a moment relinquishing 
 his scornful, mocking air. 
 
 The worthy steward was for twenty-five lashes 
 and forty-eight hours in the old dungeon, but the 
 Marquis was in good humour, he even seemed to be 
 slightly under the influence of wine. 
 
 "Have you anything to say in your defence?" said 
 he to Benjamin. 
 
 "Take your sword," answered my uncle, "and 
 come with me thirty feet; away from your
 
 MY UNCLE KISSES A MARQUIS 121 
 
 castle, and I will show you my methods of 
 defence." 
 
 Then the Marquis rose and said: 
 
 "The court, after due deliberation, condemns the 
 individual here present to kiss Monsieur the Mar- 
 quis de Cambyse, lord of all these domains, ex-lieu- 
 tenant of musketeers, master of the wolf-hounds of 
 the bailiwick of Clamecy, etc., etc., etc., in a spot 
 which the said Lord de Cambyse will make known 
 to him forthwith." 
 
 Saying which, he began to undo his breeches. The 
 menials who immediately understood his intention, 
 began to applaud with all their might and cry, "Long 
 live the Marquis de Cambyse!" 
 
 My poor uncle was furious with rage. He said 
 later that he feared a stroke of apoplexy. Two 
 game-keepers stood with their guns levelled at him, 
 with the order from the Marquis to fire at his first 
 signal. 
 
 "One, two," said the nobleman. 
 
 Benjamin knew that the Marquis was a man to 
 execute his threat. He did not wish to run the risk 
 of being shot, and ... a few seconds later the jus- 
 tice of the Marquis was accomplished. 
 
 "All right," said M. de Cambyse, "I am satisfied 
 with you. Now you can boast of having kissed a 
 Marquis." 
 
 He had him escorted to the gate by two armed 
 game-keepers. Benjamin fled like a dog to whose 
 tail a mischievous urchin had fastened a wooden
 
 122 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 slipper. As he was on the road to Corvol, he kept 
 straight on in that direction, and went to M. 
 Minxit's.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 M. MINXIT PREPARES FOR WAR 
 
 M. MINXIT had already been informed, I know 
 not by whom by rumour, no doubt, which meddles 
 in everything that Benjamin was held a prisoner 
 at Saint-Pierre du Mont. To free his friend he 
 knew no better way than to take the castle of the 
 Marquis by assault and then level it to the ground. 
 You laugh? But find me in history a war more just. 
 Where the government does not know how to make 
 the laws respected, the citizens must take the law 
 into their own hands. 
 
 M. Minxit's yard resembled a camp. The mu- 
 sicians, on horseback, armed with guns of all sorts, 
 were already drawn up in battle array. The old 
 sergeant, who had lately entered the doctor's service, 
 had taken command of this picked body of men. 
 From the middle of the ranks rose a large flag made 
 out of a window-curtain, on which M. Minxit had 
 inscribed in large letters, that no one might fail to 
 see them: THE LIBERTY OF BENJAMIN OR THE 
 EARS OF M. DE CAMBYSE. That was his ultima- 
 tum. 
 
 In the second line came the infantry, consisting of 
 123
 
 I2 4 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 five or six farm-hands carrying their picks on their 
 shoulders, and four roofers of the neighbourhood 
 each armed with his ladder. 
 
 The transport train was represented by the 
 barouche. It was loaded with fagots with which to 
 fill up the moats of the castle, although time itself 
 had filled them up in several places. But M. Minxit 
 insisted on doing things in the proper regular way. 
 He had taken the further precaution of putting his 
 case of surgical instruments and a big flask of rum 
 in one of the pockets of the carriage. 
 
 The warlike doctor, with feathers in his hat and 
 an unsheathed sword in his hand, bustled about and 
 with a voice of thunder urged his men on to hasten 
 the preparations for departure. 
 
 It is customary for a general to address his army, 
 before it advances to battle. M. Minxit was not a 
 man to omit a formality of this kind. This is what 
 he said to his soldiers: 
 
 "Soldiers, I will not say to you that Europe has 
 its eyes fixed upon you, that your names will be 
 handed down to posterity, that they will be en- 
 graved in the temple of glory, etc., etc., etc., because 
 those are empty phrases, useless chaff and barren 
 seeds thrown out to nincompoops. What I have to 
 say is this: 
 
 "In all wars soldiers fight for the benefit of their 
 sovereign. Generally they have not even the ad- 
 vantage of knowing why they die. But you are going 
 to fight in your own interest and in the interest of
 
 M. MINXIT PREPARES FOR WAR 125 
 
 your wives and children, if you have any. M. Ben- 
 jamin, whom you all have the honour to know, is 
 to become my son-in-law. In this capacity he will 
 reign with me, over you, and when I shall be no 
 more, he will be your master. He will be under 
 infinite obligation to you for all of the dangers to 
 which you expose yourselves on his behalf, and he 
 will reward you generously. 
 
 "But it is not only to restore liberty to my son-in- 
 law that you have taken up arms. Our expedition 
 will result also in the deliverance of the country 
 from a tyrant who oppresses it, who ruins your 
 grain, who beats you when he meets you, and who 
 behaves very improperly with your wives. One 
 good reason is enough to make a Frenchman fight 
 bravely. You have two, so you are invincible. The 
 dead shall have a decent burial at my expense, and 
 the wounded shall be cared for in my house. Long 
 live M. Benjamin Rathery! Death to Cambyse! 
 Destruction to his castle!" 
 
 "Bravo, Monsieur Minxit!" said my uncle, who 
 had just come in through a back gate, as became a 
 conquered man. "That was a fine speech. If you 
 had delivered it in Latin, I should have thought that 
 you pirated it from Titus Livius." 
 
 At sight of my uncle a general hurrah went up 
 from the army. M. Minxit gave the command, 
 "At ease!" and took Benjamin into his dining- 
 room. There my uncle gave a most circumstantial 
 account of his adventures, and with a fidelity to
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 truth that statesmen do not always show in writing 
 their memoirs. 
 
 M. Minxit was outraged at the insult offered to 
 his son-in-law, and ground all the stumps in his jaw. 
 At first he could express himself only in curses, 
 but when his indignation had quieted a little, he said, 
 "Benjamin, you are nimbler than I am. You take 
 command of the army, and we will march against 
 Cambyse's castle. Where its turrets stood, there 
 shall henceforth grow only nettles and quitch- 
 grass." 
 
 "If you say so," said my uncle, "we will level even 
 the mountain of Saint-Pierre. But, saving the re- 
 spect that I owe to your opinion, I believe that we 
 ought to act strategically. We will scale the walls 
 of the castle by night, we will seize De Cambyse and 
 all his lackeys drunk with wine and sleep, as Virgil 
 says, and they will all have to kiss us." 
 
 "A fine idea," answered M. Minxit. "We 
 have a good league and a half to travel before we 
 reach the place, and it will be dark in an hour. Run 
 and kiss my daughter, and we will start." 
 
 "One moment," said my uncle. "The devil ! 
 What a hurry you are in ! I have eaten nothing 
 to-day, and I should rather like to breakfast before 
 we start." 
 
 "Then," said M. Minxit, "I will give the order to 
 break ranks, and a ration of wine shall be distributed 
 to our soldiers to keep them in breath." 
 
 "That's right," answered my uncle, "they will
 
 M. MINXIT PREPARES FOR WAR 127 
 
 have time to drink themselves drunk while I am 
 taking my refreshments." 
 
 Fortunately for the castle of the Marquis, lawyer 
 Page, who was returning from a legal examination, 
 came and asked leave to dine at M. Minxit's. 
 
 "You come just at the right time, Monsieur 
 Page," said the warlike doctor. "I am going to 
 enroll you in our expedition." 
 
 "What expedition?" asked Page, who had not 
 studied law in order to go to war. 
 
 Then my uncle related his adventure and how he 
 proposed to avenge himself. 
 
 "Take care," said lawyer Page. "The thing is 
 more serious than you think. In the first place, as 
 to success. Do you really expect to overcome a 
 garrison of thirty domestics commanded by a lieu- 
 tenant of musketeers with seven or eight half- 
 cripples?" 
 
 "Twenty men and all hale and hearty, Monsieur 
 attorney," said M. Minxit. 
 
 "Granted," said lawyer Page coldly, "but the 
 castle of M. de Cambyse is surrounded by walls. 
 Will these walls tumble, like those of Jericho at the 
 sound of cymbals and bass-drums? Suppose, how- 
 ever, that you take the Marquis' castle by assault. 
 It will be a fine feat of arms, no doubt. But this 
 exploit is not likely to win you the cross of Saint 
 Louis. Where you see only a good joke and legiti- 
 mate reprisals, justice will see a case of forcible 
 entry, scaling of walls, infringement of domiciliary
 
 128 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 peace, night attack, and all this against a Marquis, 
 too. The least of these things is punishable by the 
 galleys, I warn you. After your victory, therefore, 
 you will be oblged to leave the country. And 
 what for? Simply to force a Marquis to kiss 
 you. 
 
 "When one can avenge himself without risk and 
 damage to oneself, I am willing to admit vengeance. 
 But to avenge oneself to one's own detriment is 
 ridiculous, an act of folly. You, Benjamin, say that 
 you have been insulted. But what is an insult? 
 Almost always an act of brutality committed by the 
 stronger to the prejudice of the weaker. Now how 
 can another's brutality damage your honour? Is it 
 your fault that this man is a miserable savage who 
 knows no other right than might? Are you respon- 
 sible for his cowardice? If a tile should fall on 
 your head, would you run to break it into pieces? 
 Would you think yourself insulted by a dog who had 
 bitten you, and would you challenge him to a duel, 
 like the strange duel of Montargis' poodle with 
 his master's assassin? If the insult dishonours any- 
 one, it is the insulter himself. All honest people 
 are on the side of the insulted. When a butcher 
 maltreats a sheep, are we indignant at the sheep? 
 Eh? 
 
 "If the evil you wish to do to your insulter 
 would cure you of that which he has done to you, I 
 could understand your thirst for revenge. But if 
 you are the weaker, you will bring down upon your-
 
 M. MINXIT PREPARES FOR WAR 129 
 
 self new acts of violence. If, on the contrary, you 
 are the stronger, you will still have the trouble to 
 fight your adversary. Thus the man who avenges 
 himself always plays the role of a dupe. The pre- 
 cept of Jesus Christ which tells us to forgive those 
 who have offended us is not only a fine moral pre- 
 cept, but also good, sensible advice. From all which 
 I conclude that you will do well, my dear Benja- 
 min, to forget the honour that the Marquis has done 
 you, and to drink with us until night to drown the 
 memory of it." 
 
 "I don't share cousin Page's opinion at all. It is 
 always pleasant and sometimes useful honestly to 
 return the evil that has been done us. It serves as 
 a lesson to the wicked. Let them know that it is at 
 their own risk and peril that they abandon them- 
 selves to their evil instincts. To let the viper that 
 has bitten you escape when you might crush it, and 
 to forgive the wicked, is the same thing. Generosity 
 in such a case is not only stupidity, it is a wrong 
 against society. Though Jesus Christ said, 'For- 
 give your enemies,' Saint Peter cut off Malchus's 
 ear; which make things even." 
 
 My uncle was as obstinate as a donkey. For 
 that matter obstinacy is an hereditary vice in our 
 family. Nevertheless he agreed that lawyer Page 
 was right. 
 
 "I believe, Monsieur Minxit," said he, "that the 
 best thing for you to do is to put your sword bade 
 in the scabbard and your plumed hat in its box. War
 
 i 3 o MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 should be made only for extremely serious causes, 
 and the king who drags a part of his people unneces- 
 sarily to those vast slaughter-houses known as bat- 
 tle-fields is a murderer. Perhaps it would flatter 
 you, Monsieur Minxit, to be enrolled among the 
 heroes. But what is the glory of a general? Cities 
 in ruins, villages in ashes, countries ravaged, women 
 abandoned to the brutality of the soldiers, children 
 led away captive, casks of wine in the cellars staved 
 in. Have you not read Fenelon, Monsieur Minxit? 
 All these things are atrocious. I shudder at the 
 very thought of them." 
 
 "What are you talking about?" answered Mon- 
 sieur Minxit, "this is a question only of a few blows 
 of a pick-axe at some old crumbling walls." 
 
 "Well," said my uncle, "why take the trouble to 
 knock them down when they are ready to fall of 
 themselves? Please restore peace to this beautiful 
 country. I should be a coward and a wretch if, in 
 order to avenge an injury wholly personal to myself, 
 I should let you expose yourself to the manifold dan- 
 gers that our expedition would involve." 
 
 "But," said M. Minxit, "I have some personal 
 injuries of my own to avenge on this country squire. 
 He once mockingly sent me horse's urine instead of 
 human urine for examination." 
 
 "A fine reason for risking six years in the galleys ! 
 No, Monsieur Minxit, posterity would not absolve 
 you. If you will not think of yourself, think of your 
 daughter, of your dear Arabella. What pleasure
 
 M. MINXIT PREPARES FOR WAR 131 
 
 would she take in making such good cream cheeses, 
 if you were no longer here to eat them?" 
 
 This appeal to the paternal feelings of the old 
 doctor had its effect. 
 
 "Promise me, at least," he said, "that justice shall 
 be done to M. de Cambyse for his insolence. For 
 you are my son-in-law, and from this time forth, 
 where honour is concerned, we are as one man instead 
 of two." 
 
 "Oh, rest easy as to that, Monsieur Minxit! I 
 shall always have my eye trained for the Marquis. 
 I shall watch him with the patient attention of a cat 
 watching a mouse. Some day or other I shall catch 
 him alone and without an escort. Then he will 
 have to cross his noble sword with my rapier, or I 
 shall cudgel him to my heart's content. I cannot 
 swear, like the old knights, to let my beard grow or 
 to eat hard bread until I have avenged myself, be- 
 cause the one is unbefitting our profession and the 
 other is contrary to my temperament. But I swear 
 to you that I will not become your son-in-law until 
 the insult that has been offered me shall have been 
 gloriously atoned for." 
 
 "No, no," answered M. Minxit, "you go too far, 
 Benjamin. I do not accept this impious oath. On 
 the contrary, you must marry my daughter. You 
 can avenge yourself afterward as well as before." 
 
 "How can you think so, Monsieur Minxit? Since 
 I must fight to the death with the Marquis, my life 
 no longer belongs to me. I cannot think of marry-
 
 132 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 ing your daughter, and perhaps leave her a widow 
 the very day after her wedding." 
 
 The good doctor tried to shake my uncle's reso- 
 lution, but seeing that he could not succeed, he de- 
 cided to change his clothes and disband his army. 
 
 Thus ended this great expedition, which cost 
 humanity little blood, but M. Minxit much wine.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 HOW MY UNCLE MADE THE MARQUIS KISS HIM 
 
 BENJAMIN had passed the night at Corvol. 
 
 The next day, as he was leaving the house with 
 M. Minxit, the first person they saw was Fata. 
 Fata, who did not have a clear conscience, would 
 rather have met two big wolves in his path than 
 my uncle and M. Minxit. Still, as he could not 
 run away, he decided to put the best face he could 
 on the matter and walked up to my uncle. 
 
 "How do you do, Monsieur Rathery? How are 
 you, honourable Monsieur Minxit? Well, Mon- 
 sieur Benjamin, how did you get out of your diffi- 
 culty with our Gessler? I was terribly afraid he 
 might play you a mean trick. I did not sleep a wink 
 the whole night." 
 
 "Fata," said M. Minxit, "keep your obsequious- 
 ness for the Marquis when you meet him. Is it 
 true that you told M. de Cambvse that you don't 
 want to know Benjamin any more?" 
 
 "I don't remember, my good Monsieur Minxit." 
 
 "And is it true that you told the Marquis that I 
 was not a man to associate with?" 
 
 "I could not have said that, my dear Monsieur
 
 i 3 4 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 Minxit. You know how much I esteem you, my 
 friend." 
 
 "I declare on my honour that he said both," said 
 my uncle, with the icy coldness of a judge. 
 
 "Very well," said M. Minxit, "then we will settle 
 his account." 
 
 "Fata," said Benjamin, "I warn you that M. 
 Minxit intends to flog you. Here is my switch. 
 For the honour of the profession, defend yourself. 
 A doctor cannot allow himself to be whipped like a 
 donkey." 
 
 "The law is on my side," said Fata. "If he 
 strikes me, every blow will cost him dear." 
 
 "I am willing to spend a thousand francs," said 
 M. Minxit, making his whip whistle in the air. 
 "Take this, Fata fatorum, Destiny, Providence of 
 the ancients ! And this, and this, and this, and this !" 
 
 The peasants came to their doorways to see 
 Fata flogged. For, be it said to the shame of our 
 poor humanity, nothing is so dramatic as to see a 
 man ill-treated. 
 
 "Gentlemen," cried Fata, "I place myself under 
 your protection." 
 
 But no one budged from his place. Owing to 
 the esteem which M. Minxit enjoyed, he was looked 
 upon as having in a way the right to administer 
 petty justice in the village. 
 
 "Then," continued the infortunate Fata, "I call 
 on you as witnesses of the violence perpetrated on 
 my person. I am a doctor of medicine."
 
 THE MARQUIS KISSES MY UNCLE 135 
 
 "Wait," said M. Minxit, "I will strike harder, 
 so that those who do not see the blows may hear 
 them, and that you may have some scars to show 
 the bailiff." 
 
 And he did indeed strike harder, ferocious 
 plebeian that he was. 
 
 "Just you wait, Minxit," said Fata, as he went 
 away, "you will have to deal with M. de Cambyse. 
 He will not suffer me to be maltreated because I 
 salute him." 
 
 "Tell Cambyse," said M. Minxit, "that I laugh 
 him to scorn, that I have more men than he, that 
 my house is more solid than his castle, and that if 
 he wants to come to-morrow to the plateau of Fer- 
 tiant with his people, I am his man." 
 
 To have done with this incident, let me say at 
 once that Fata had M. Minxit cited before the bailiff 
 to answer for the violence he had done him, but 
 that he could not find a single witness to testify to 
 the fact, although the thing had happened in the 
 presence of a hundred people. 
 
 When my uncle reached Clamecy, his sister 
 handed him a letter postmarked Paris, with the fol- 
 lowing contents : 
 
 MONSIEUR RATHERY: 
 
 I have learned on good authority that you intend to marry 
 Mademoiselle Minxit. I expressly forbid you to do so. 
 
 VICOMTE DE PONT-CASSE:. 
 
 My uncle sent Gaspard to fetch him a sheet of
 
 136 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 royal writing paper, took Machecourt's ink-stand, 
 and replied at once: 
 
 MONSIEUR VICOMTE: 
 You may go to ... 
 
 Accept the assurance of the respectful sentiments with which 
 I have the honour to be, 
 
 Your humble and devoted servant, 
 
 B. RATHERY. 
 
 Where did my uncle wish to send his vicomte? I 
 don't know. I have made inquiries to penetrate the 
 mystery of the words left unwritten. In vain. At 
 any rate, I have given you an example of the firm- 
 ness, precision, force and accuracy of his style when 
 he took the trouble to write. 
 
 Meanwhile, my uncle had not abandoned his ideas 
 of revenge. Quite the contrary. The following 
 Friday, after visiting his patients, he sharpened his 
 sword and put Machecourt's overcoat over his red 
 coat. As he did not wish to sacrifice his queue and as 
 he could not put it in his pocket, he hid it under his 
 old wig, and, thus disguised, went to seek out his 
 Marquis. He established his headquarters in a 
 sort of tavern on the edge of the Clamecy road 
 opposite the Marquis' castle. The host had just 
 broken his leg. My uncle, always prompt to come 
 to the aid of a neighbour who has broken a limb, 
 declared himself a physician and offered the help 
 of his art to the patient. The afflicted family per- 
 mitted him to join the two fragments of the broken
 
 THE MARQUIS KISSES MY UNCLE 137 
 
 shinbone; which he did quickly and to the great 
 admiration of two tall lackeys in the livery of 
 M. de Cambyse, who were drinking in the wine- 
 shop. 
 
 When the operation was finished, my uncle took 
 up his position in an upper chamber of the tavern, 
 directly above the sign, and began to observe the 
 castle with a spy-glass, which he had borrowed from 
 M. Minxit. He had been waiting there a good hour 
 without noticing anything to his purpose, when he 
 saw a lackey of M. de Cambyse come running down 
 the hill at full speed. The man stepped to the door 
 of the tavern, and asked if the doctor was still there. 
 Receiving an answer in the affirmative, he went up 
 to my uncle's room, and, doffing his hat, begged him 
 to come to the castle and attend M. de Cambyse, 
 who had just swallowed a fish-bone. My uncle was 
 at first tempted to refuse. But reflecting that this 
 circumstance might favour his project of revenge, 
 he decided to follow the domestic. 
 
 The lackey ushered him into the Marquis' 
 chamber. M. de Cambyse was in his arm-chair, 
 with his head resting on his hands, and his elbows 
 on his knees. He seemed to be violently agitated. 
 The Marquise, a pretty brunette of twenty-five, 
 was standing beside him, trying to calm him. On 
 the arrival of my uncle, the Marquis raised his head 
 and said: 
 
 "I swallowed a fish-bone at dinner, which has 
 stuck in my throat. I had heard that you were in
 
 138 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 the village, and I sent for you, although I have not 
 the honour of knowing you. I am sure you will not 
 refuse me your aid." 
 
 "We owe that to everybody," answered my uncle, 
 with icy coldness. "To the rich as well as to the 
 poor, to noblemen as well as to peasants, to the 
 wicked as well as to the just." 
 
 "This man frightens me," said the Marquis to his 
 wife, "make him go away." 
 
 "But," said the Marquise, "you know very well 
 that no doctor will venture into the castle. You 
 have this one here, try to keep him at least." 
 
 The Marquis yielded to this advice. Benjamin 
 examined the sick man's throat, and shook his 
 head with an air of anxiety. The Marquise turned 
 pale. 
 
 "What is the matter?" he said. "Can it be even 
 more serious than we supposed?" 
 
 "I don't know what you supposed," answered 
 Benjamin, in a solemn voice, "but it will be very 
 serious indeed unless the right measures are taken 
 immediately. You have swallowed a salmon bone, a 
 bone from the tail, the place where it is most 
 poisonous." 
 
 "That's true," said the astonished Marquise. 
 "How did you find it out?" 
 
 "By inspection of the throat, Madame." 
 
 The fact is, he had found it out in a very simple 
 way. On passing the open door of the dining-room, 
 he had seen a salmon on the table, with only the tail
 
 THE MARQUIS KISSES MY UNCLE 139 
 
 missing, from which he inferred that the swallowed 
 fish-bone had come from the tail. 
 
 "We have never heard that salmon bones are 
 poisonous," said the Marquise in a voice trembling 
 with fright. 
 
 "That does not alter the fact that they are, and 
 very much so," said Benjamin, "and I should be 
 sorry to have Madame Marquise doubt it, for I 
 should be obliged to contradict her. The bones of 
 the salmon, like the leaves of the manchineel tree, 
 contain a substance so bitter and corrosive that if 
 this bone should remain a half-hour longer in the 
 Marquis' throat, it would produce an inflammation 
 which I could not subdue, and the operation would 
 become impossible." 
 
 "In that case, doctor, operate directly, I beg of 
 you," said the Marquis, getting more and more 
 frightened. 
 
 "One moment," said my uncle. "The thing can- 
 not move as fast as you would like. There is a little 
 formality to be gone through first." 
 
 "Hurry up and go through it, then, and begin." 
 
 "It's something you have to do." 
 
 "Tell me what it is, surgeon of misfortune! Are 
 you going to let me die of neglect?" 
 
 "I still hesitate," continued Benjamin, slowly and 
 deliberatingly. "How shall I venture to make such 
 a proposition to you? To a Marquis! To a man 
 descended in direct line from Cambyse, king of 
 Egypt!"
 
 i 4 o MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 "You wretch, I believe you are taking advantage 
 of my position to make fun of me," cried the Mar- 
 quis, the violence of his character reasserting itself. 
 
 "Why no, not at all," answered Benjamin, coldly. 
 "Do you remember a man that you ordered your 
 menials to drag into your castle three months ago, 
 because he did not salute you, and then you inflicted 
 the most outrageous affront upon him that one man 
 can inflict upon another?" 
 
 "A man I made kiss me. Actually, you are the 
 man. I recognise you by your five feet ten inches." 
 
 "Well, the man of the five feet ten inches, the man 
 you looked upon as an insect, as a grain of dust, 
 the man you would never meet except under your 
 feet, that man now demands satisfaction of you for 
 the insult you offered him." 
 
 "My God, I ask nothing better. Mention the 
 sum at which you value your honour, and I will have 
 it paid to you directly." 
 
 "So you think, Marquis de Cambyse, do you, that 
 you are rich enough to reimburse the honour of an 
 honourable man? Do you take me for a wretched 
 clerk? Do you think I will allow myeslf to be in- 
 sulted in return for money? No, no, it is satisfac- 
 tion I want, satisfaction for the insult to my honour! 
 Do you hear, Marquis de Cambyse?" 
 
 "Very well. I agree," said M. de Cambyse, whose 
 eyes were fixed on the hands of the clock. In terror 
 he saw the fatal half hour slipping by. "In the 
 presence of the Marquise, I will declare, and in
 
 THE MARQUIS KISSES MY UNCLE 141 
 
 writing, if you wish, that you are a man of honour 
 and I did wrong to insult you." 
 
 "The devil ! You get rid of your debts quickly ! 
 Do you think that when you have insulted an honour- 
 able man all you need do is admit you were wrong, 
 and then everything is all right aaain? To-morrow 
 you and your country squires would laugh at the 
 simpleton who contented himself with a mere show 
 of satisfaction. No, no, it is the penalty of eye 
 for eye, tooth for tooth, that you must submit to. 
 The weak man of yesterday is the strong man of 
 to-day. The worm has turned into a snake. You 
 won't escape my sentence, as you escaped the magis- 
 trate's. There is no protection that can defend you 
 against me. I kissed you. You must kiss me." 
 
 "Have you forgotten, wretch, that I am the Mar- 
 quis de Cambyse?" 
 
 "You forgot that I am Benjamin Rathery. An 
 insult is like God. In its presence all men are equal. 
 There is no Insulter the Great and no Insulted the 
 Small." 
 
 "Lackeys," said the Marquis, who in his wrath 
 forgot the supposed danger he was in, "take this 
 man to the yard and have him given a hundred 
 lashes. I want to hear him howl from here." 
 
 "Very well," said my uncle, "but in ten minutes it 
 will be impossible to perform the operation, and in 
 an hour you will be dead." 
 
 "Can't I send my messenger to Varzy for a 
 surgeon?"
 
 142 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 "If your footman finds the surgeon at home, he 
 will bring him here just in time to see you die and 
 come to the assistance of the Marquise." 
 
 "But you can't possibly remain inexorable," said 
 the Marquise. "Isn't there more pleasure in for- 
 giveness than in revenge?" 
 
 "Oh, Madame," replied Benjamin, bowing grace- 
 fully, "I assure you, had it been from you that I 
 received such an insult, I should not have resented 
 it." 
 
 Madame de Cambyse smiled. Realising there was 
 nothing to be done with my uncle, she herself urged 
 her husband to submit to necessity, and pointed out 
 that he had but five minutes left in which to make 
 up his mind. 
 
 The Marquis, subdued by fear, made a sign to 
 the two lackeys who were in his room to retire. 
 
 "No," said the inflexible Benjamin, "that is not 
 the way I mean. On the contrary, lackeys, you will 
 go and notify the people of M. de Cambyse in his 
 name that they are to come here. They were wit- 
 nesses of the insult. They must be witnesses of the 
 satisfaction. Madame the Marquise alone is per- 
 mitted to retire." 
 
 The Marquis glanced at the clock and saw there 
 were but three minutes left. As the lackey did not 
 budge, he said: 
 
 "Hurry, Pierre. Carry out Monsieur's orders. 
 Don't you see that he alone is master here at this 
 moment?"
 
 THE MARQUIS KISSES MY UNCLE 143 
 
 The domestics arrived one after another, all ex- 
 cept the steward. Benjamin, unrelenting to the end, 
 would not begin until he came in, too. 
 
 "Good," said Benjamin, "now we are quits, and 
 everything is forgotten. Now I will conscientiously 
 attend to your throat." 
 
 He extracted the bone very quickly and very 
 deftly, and placed it in the Marquis's hands, and 
 while the Marquis was examining it curiously, he 
 said: 
 
 "I must give you some fresh air." 
 
 He opened a window, swung himself down into 
 the yard, and in two or three strides of his long legs 
 was at the gate. While he hurried down the hill- 
 side, the Marquis stood at the window, shouting: 
 
 "Stop, Monsieur Benjamin Rathery. Please stop. 
 Come back and receive my thanks and the Mar- 
 quise's thanks. I must pay you for the operation." 
 
 But Benjamin was not a man to be trapped by such 
 fine words. At the foot of the hill he met the Mar- 
 quis's messenger. 
 
 "Landry," he said, "my compliments to the Mar- 
 quise, and reassure M. de Cambyse in regard to 
 salmon bones. They are no more poisonous than 
 a pike's bones, only they should not be swallowed. 
 He should keep warm compresses about his throat, 
 and in two or three days he will be cured." 
 
 As soon as my uncle was off the Marquis's estate, 
 he turned to the right, crossed the meadows of Flez
 
 144 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 and the thousands of brooks that intersected them, 
 and went to Corvol. He wanted first of all to 
 regale old M. Minxit with the news of his exploit. 
 He saw him from a distance standing in front of 
 his door, and waved his handkerchief triumphantly 
 and shouted : 
 
 "We are avenged." 
 
 The good old man ran to meet him as quickly as 
 his short fat legs would carry him, and threw him- 
 self into his arms as tenderly as if he had been his 
 son. My uncle said he even tried to hide two big 
 tears that rolled down his cheeks. The old doctor, 
 whose nature was no less proud and wrathful than 
 Benjamin's, was beside himself with joy. On reach- 
 ing the house he told the musicians to celebrate the 
 glorious day by blowing the trumpets until night, 
 and then he told them to get drunk an order that 
 was punctually executed.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 HOW MY UNCLE HELPED HIS TAILOR TO ATTACH HIS 
 PROPERTY 
 
 NEVERTHELESS, Benjamin returned to Clamecy a 
 little disturbed by the audacity of his exploit. But 
 the next day the messenger from the castle brought 
 him a note from his master and a considerable sum 
 of money. The note read as follows : 
 
 The Marquis de Cambyse begs M. Benjamin Rathery to forget 
 what passed between them, and in payment for the operation he 
 so skilfully performed to accept this trifling sum. 
 
 "Oh," said my uncle, after reading this letter, 
 "the good lord wants to pay me to hold my tongue. 
 He is even honest enough to pay me in advance. A 
 pity he does not treat all his trades-people the same 
 way. Had I extracted the fish-bone simply, in the 
 regular way without any fuss or ceremony, he would 
 have pressed a six-franc piece into my hand and sent 
 me to the kitchen for a bite. Moral : It is better to 
 be feared than to be loved by the aristocrats. May 
 God damn me if ever I depart from this principle! 
 
 "Nevertheless, since I have no intention of hold- 
 
 H5
 
 146 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 ing my tongue, I cannot conscientiously keep this 
 money. If one is to be honest at all, one should 
 be honest with everybody. But I'd like to see how 
 much money is in this bag. I'd like to see how much 
 he pays for the operation, and how much for me to 
 hold my tongue. One hundred and fifty francs ! 
 Thunder! Cambyse comes down handsomely. To 
 the thrasher who swings his flail from three o'clock 
 in the morning until eight o'clock at night, he gives 
 only twelve sous, and that without any guarantee 
 that he won't also give the man a beating to 
 boot. And he pays me one hundred and fifty 
 francs for a quarter of an hour's work. I call that 
 generosity. 
 
 "M. Minxit would have asked a hundred francs 
 for the extraction of this bone. But he practises 
 medicine on the grand orchestra and loud noise plan. 
 He has four horses and twelve musicians to feed. 
 For me, who have nothing to support but my case 
 of instruments and my personage a personage of 
 five feet ten inches, to be sure two pistoles is 
 enough. So, taking twenty from one hundred and 
 fifty, there are thirteen pistoles to go back to the 
 Marquis. I almost feel remorse at taking any of 
 his money. I'd pay a thousand francs myself to 
 be paid after my death, of course rather than not 
 have performed that operation for which I am tak- 
 ing twenty francs. That poor aristocrat, how small 
 and pitiful he looked with his pale, beseeching face 
 and the salmon-bone in his throat! How humbly
 
 MY UNCLE'S PROPERTY IS ATTACHED 147 
 
 nobility in his person apologised to the people rep- 
 resented in my person! He would willingly have 
 allowed me to fasten his escutcheon to his hind parts. 
 If there was a portrait of one of his ancestors in 
 the room at the time, his brow must still be red with 
 shame. I should like the little spot he kissed me 
 on to be separated from the rest of my body after 
 my death, and transferred to the Pantheon, that is, 
 of course, if the people have a Pantheon by that 
 time. 
 
 "But, Marquis, that does not mean that you are 
 to be let off this way. Before three days have 
 expired, the entire bailiwick shall know of your 
 adventure. I even intend to have it related to pos- 
 terity by Millot-Rataut, our Christmas poet. All he 
 need do is fill a dozen sheets with Alexandrines on 
 the theme. As for these twenty francs, they are 
 money found. They are not to pass through my 
 dear sister's hands. To-morrow is Sunday. To- 
 morrow, then, I shall give my friends a supper with 
 this money such as I have never given them before, 
 a supper for which I shall pay cash. They should 
 know how a man of wit can avenge himself without 
 recourse to his sword." 
 
 Having thus adjusted the matter, my uncle began 
 to write to the Marquis notifying him of the return 
 of the money. I should be delighted were I able to 
 give my readers this specimen of my uncle's epis- 
 tolary style. Unhappily, his letter is not to be found 
 .among the historical documents that my grand-
 
 i 4 8 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 father kept for us. Perhaps my uncle the tobacco- 
 merchant used it for a paper bag. 
 
 While Benjamin was writing, the maker of his 
 red suits came in with a bill folded up in his hand. 
 
 "What's that?" said Benjamin, laying his pen on 
 the table. "Your bill again, Monsieur Bonteint, 
 forever your eternal bill? My God, you have pre- 
 sented it to me so many times that I know it by 
 heart. Six yards of scarlet cloth, double width 
 isn't that so? with ten yards of lining and three 
 sets of carved buttons?" 
 
 "That's right, Monsieur Rathery, exactly right. 
 A total of one hundred and fifty francs ten sous six 
 deniers. May I be barred out of Paradise if I do 
 not lose at least a hundred francs on this trans- 
 action!" 
 
 "If that is so," my uncle replied, "why waste 
 your time smearing up all that ugly paper? You 
 know I never have money, Monsieur Bonteint." 
 
 "On the contrary, Monsieur Rathery, I see you 
 have some, and I see I came at exactly the right 
 moment. There's a bag on the table which must hold 
 just about the amount of my bill, and if you will 
 permit me " 
 
 "One moment," said my uncle, quickly laying 
 his hand on the bag. "This money does not belong 
 to me, Monsieur Bonteint. Here is the very letter 
 of return that I have just written, wjiich you made 
 me blot. Here," he added, handing the letter .j 
 the merchant, "if you wish to read it."
 
 MY UNCLE'S PROPERTY IS ATTACHED 149 
 
 "No use, Monsieur Rathery, absolutely no use. 
 All I want to know is when you will have some 
 money that belongs to you." 
 
 "Alas, M. Bonteint, who can foretell the future? 
 I should very much like to know the same thing 
 myself." 
 
 "In that case, Monsieur Rathery, you will not 
 take it ill if I go directly to Parlanta and tell him 
 to push my suit against you." 
 
 "You are out of sorts, my dear sir. On what 
 kind of cloth have you been working to-day?" 
 
 "Out of sorts, Monsieur Rathery? Don't you 
 think I have reason to be? For three years you have 
 been owing me this money, and you put me off from 
 month to month on the ground of some epidemic 
 that has never come. It's on your account that 
 Madame Bonteint quarrels with me every day. She 
 finds fault with me for not knowing how to collect 
 my bills, and sometimes she gets so furious that she 
 treats me like a blockhead." 
 
 "Certainly a very amiable lady. You are fortu- 
 nate, Monsieur Bonteint, in having such a wife, and 
 I beg you to present my compliments to her as soon 
 as possible." 
 
 "I thank you, Monsieur Rathery, but my wife is, 
 as they say, something of a Greek. She prefers 
 money to compliments, and she says, if you had had 
 to deal w'f^ rrr r r 'vq] Grop^ez. vou would have 
 been in the Hotel Boutron long ago." 
 
 "The devil take it !" cried my uncle, furious that
 
 150 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 Bonteint was not making off. "It is your fault if 
 I have not settled with you. All your rivals either 
 have been or are sick. Dutorrent has had two 
 attacks of pneumonia this year. Artichaut has had 
 typhoid fever, Sergifer, rheumatism, and Ratine has 
 had diarrhoea for six months. While you you enjoy 
 perfect health. I have had no opportunity of sup- 
 plying you with medicine. Your face is as fresh as 
 one of your pieces of nankeen, and Madame Bonteint 
 looks like a statuette of fresh butter. You see I 
 have been deceived. I thought you would be 
 an honour to my clientele. Had I known then what 
 I know now, I would not have given you my 
 custom." 
 
 "But, Monsieur Rathery, I can't see why either 
 Madame Bonteint or myself are obliged to be ill 
 so as to help you pay your debts." 
 
 "And I say, Monsieur Bonteint, that you are 
 under that moral obligation. How would you man- 
 age to pay your bills if your customers did not 
 wear coats? This obstinacy in keeping your health 
 is an abominable procedure. It is a trap you set 
 for me. At this moment your account-book ought 
 to show that I owe you fifty crowns. So I will 
 deduct one hundred and thirty francs ten sous six 
 deniers from your bill for the maladies you ought 
 to have had. You will admit that I am reasonable. 
 You are very lucky to pay for the medicine without 
 having had to call in a doctor. I know many people 
 who would like to be in your place. So, then, if
 
 MY UNCLE'S PROPERTY IS ATTACHED 151 
 
 from one hundred and fifty francs ten sous six 
 deniers we take one hundred and thirty francs ten 
 sous six deniers, there is a balance of twenty francs 
 still due you. If you want them, here they are. 
 I advise you as a friend to take them. So good 
 an opportunity will not present itself soon again." 
 
 "On account," said M. Bonteint, "I will willingly 
 take twenty francs on account." 
 
 "In final settlement," insisted my uncle. "Even 
 so I need all my strength of soul to make this sac- 
 rifice. I had meant the money to be used for a 
 bachelors' supper. I had even intended to invite 
 you, though you are the father of a family." 
 
 "Some more of your poor jokes, Monsieur Ra- 
 thery. That's all I can ever get out of you. You 
 know very well I have a warrant drawn up for the 
 seizure of your property, and I can have it enforced 
 immediately." 
 
 "Exactly what I complain of, Monsieur Bon- 
 teint. You have no confidence in your friends. Why 
 go to useless expense? Couldn't you come to me 
 and say, 'Monsieur Rathery, it is my intention to 
 have your property attached?' I would have an- 
 swered, 'Attach it yourself, Monsieur Bonteint. 
 You don't need a sheriff's officer for that.' I will 
 even serve as a bailiff's man for you, if that is 
 agreeable to you. Why not seize it now? Don't 
 stand on ceremony. Everything I have is at your 
 disposal. You may pack up, wrap up, and carry 
 away anything you like,"
 
 152 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 "What, you would be good enough, Monsieur 
 Rathery?" 
 
 "Why not, Monsieur Bonteint? I should be de- 
 lighted to be arrested by your hands. I will even 
 help you seize my things." 
 
 My uncle opened a tumble-down wardrobe that 
 still had some copper fittings hanging from a nail 
 inside. He drew out a drawer and removed two or 
 three old queue ribbons, which he handed to M. Bon- 
 teint. 
 
 "You see, you won't lose everything. These ar- 
 ticles will not count in the total. I throw them in." 
 
 "Umpf !" answered M. Bonteint. 
 
 "This red morocco portfolio is my case of instru- 
 ments." 
 
 M. Bonteint was about to lay his hand on it. 
 
 "Softly," said Benjamin. "The law does not 
 allow you to touch this. These are the tools of my 
 profession, and I have a right to keep them." 
 
 "But " said M. Bonteint. 
 
 "Here is a corkscrew with an ebony handle in- 
 laid with silver," Benjamin said, putting it in his 
 pocket. "I withdraw it from my creditors. I need 
 it more than you do." 
 
 "If you keep everything you need more than I 
 do, I shall certainly not need a cart to carry off 
 my prize in." 
 
 "One moment," said my uncle, "you will lose 
 nothing by waiting. Here on this shelf are some 
 old :::edicine bottles, some of which are cracked.
 
 MY UNCLE'S PROPERTY IS ATTACHED 153 
 
 I do not guarantee their integrity. I leave them to 
 you with all the spiders that are in them. On this 
 other shelf is a large stuffed vulture. It will cost 
 you nothing but the trouble of taking it down, and 
 it will do nicely as a sign for you." 
 
 "Monsieur Rathery!" said Bonteint. 
 
 "Here is Machecourt's wedding wig. I don't know 
 how it happens to be here. I do not offer it to you, 
 because I know all you wear is a toupee." 
 
 "What do you know about what I wear, Monsieur 
 Rathery?" cried Bonteint, getting more and more 
 irritated. 
 
 "Here in this bottle," continued my uncle, with 
 imperturbable sang-froid} "is a tapeworm which I 
 have preserved in alcohol. You can use it to make 
 garters for yourself, Madame Bonteint, and your 
 children. However, I call your attention to the 
 fact that it would be a pity to mutilate this beautiful 
 animal. You can boast of having the longest being 
 in creation, not excepting the immense boa-con- 
 strictor. Estimate the rest at whatever you like." 
 
 "You are playing with me, Monsieur Rathery. 
 These things have not the slightest value." 
 
 "I know it," said my uncle, coldly, "but then you 
 have no bailiff's man to pay. Now here, for in- 
 stance, is an article that alone is worth the entire 
 amount of your bill. It is the stone I extracted two 
 or three years ago from the mayor's bladder. You 
 can have it carved into the shape of a snuff-box, put 
 a band of gold about it, and add a few precious
 
 154 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 stones, and it will make a very pretty birthday pres- 
 ent for Madame Bonteint." 
 
 Bonteint, furious, started for the door. 
 
 "One moment," said my uncle, catching hold of 
 his coat tail. "What a hurry you are in, Monsieur 
 Bonteint. I have shown you only the least of my 
 treasures. Here is an old engraving representing 
 Hippocrates, the father of medicine. I guarantee 
 it to be a perfect likeness. And here are three 
 volumes of the Medical Gazette, which will make 
 delightful entertainment for these long winter 
 evenings." 
 
 "You're fooling again, Monsieur Rathery." 
 
 "My goodness, don't be angry, papa Bonteint. 
 We have just reached the most valuable article." 
 
 My uncle opened an old closet and took out two 
 red coats, which he threw at M. Bonteint's feet. A 
 cloud of dust arose that made the good merchant 
 cough, and a swarm of spiders scattered about the 
 room. 
 
 "The last two coats you sold me. You deceived 
 me outrageously, Monsieur Fauxteint. They faded 
 in one morning like two rose leaves, and my dear 
 sister could not even use them to colour the chil- 
 dren's Easter eggs. You deserve to have a deduc- 
 tion made from your bill for this colour." 
 
 "Oh," cried Bonteint, horrified, "this is really too 
 much. Never was a creditor treated more inso- 
 lently. To-morrow morning you shall hear from 
 me, Monsieur Rathery."
 
 MY UNCLE'S PROPERTY IS ATTACHED 155 
 
 "So much the better, Monsieur Bonteint. I shall 
 always be delighted to learn that you are in good 
 health. By the way, Monsieur Bonteint, you are 
 forgetting your queue ribbons !" 
 
 As Bonteint went out, lawyer Page came in. He 
 found my uncle shaking with laughter. 
 
 "What have you been doing to Bonteint?" he 
 said. "I just met him on the stairs, red with anger, 
 He was in such a fury that he did not even bow to 
 me." 
 
 "The old imbecile is angry with me because I 
 have no money. As if that ought not to bother me 
 more than him!" 
 
 "You have no money, my poor Benjamin? Bad, 
 doubly bad, because I came to offer you a wonderful 
 bargain." 
 
 "Offer it just the same," said Benjamin. 
 
 "The vicar Djhiarcos wishes to get rid of a 
 quarter-cask of Burgundy, a present from one of 
 his pious parishioners. He has rheumatism, and 
 Doctor Arnout has put him on a diet of tea, which 
 promises to last a long time, and he is afraid his 
 wine may spoil. He wants the money to furnish a 
 home for a poor orphan who has just lost her last 
 aunt. So it's both a good bargain and a good deed 
 that I am proposing to you." 
 
 "All very well and good," said Benjamin, "but 
 without money it is not so easy to do a good deed. 
 Good deeds are expensive. It isn't everybody that can 
 afford them. But what is your opinion of the wine?"
 
 t$6 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 "Exquisite," said Page, smacking his lips. "He 
 made me taste it. It is Beaune of the first 
 quality." 
 
 "And how much does the virtuous Djhiarcos want 
 fork?" 
 
 "Twenty-five francs." 
 
 "I have only twenty francs. If he wants to let 
 it go for twenty francs, the sale is concluded. Then 
 we will lunch on credit." 
 
 "His terms are twenty-five francs, take it or leave 
 it. Twenty-five francs to save a poor orphan from 
 poverty and preserve her from vice. You will admit 
 that that is not too much." 
 
 "If you had five francs, Page, we could buy it 
 together." 
 
 "Alas," said Page, "it is a good fortnight since 
 I have seen a miserable six-franc piece. Cash seems 
 to be afraid of M. de Calonne. It retires " 
 
 "It is not always to be found with doctors," said 
 my uncle. "So we must think no more of your 
 quarter-cask." 
 
 For sole response, Page heaved a deep sigh. 
 
 At that moment my grandmother entered, carry- 
 ing a big roll of linen in her arms, like an Infant 
 Jesus. She placed it on my uncle's knees enthusias- 
 tically. 
 
 "Look, Benjamin," she said, "I have just got a 
 superb bargain. I caught sight of this piece of goods 
 this morning going around the fair. You need 
 shirts, and I thought it would just suit you. Madame
 
 MY UNCLE'S PROPERTY IS ATTACHED 1 5 7 
 
 Avril bid seventy-five francs for it, and she allowed 
 the merchant to leave, but I could see from the way 
 she eyed him that she intended to call him back. 
 'Let me see your linen,' I said to the peasant. I 
 offered him eighty francs. I didn't think he would 
 part with it for that. The linen is worth one hun- 
 dred and twenty francs if it is worth a sou, and 
 Madame Avril is furious with me for having inter- 
 fered with her bargain." 
 
 "And this linen," cried my uncle, "you have 
 bought it, you have bought it?" 
 
 "Yes," said my grandmother, who did not under- 
 stand Benjamin's exasperation. "And there is no 
 getting out of it. The peasant is downstairs waiting 
 for his money." 
 
 "Well, go to the devil!" cried Benjamin, throw- 
 ing the roll across the room, "you and That 
 
 is, forgive me, my dear sister, forgive me, no do 
 not go to the devil. That's too far. But go carry 
 the cloth back to the peasant. I have no money to 
 pay for it." 
 
 "How about the money you received this morning 
 from your client?" asked my grandmother. 
 
 "Lord, that money isn't mine. M. de Cambyse 
 gave me too much." 
 
 "Too much? What do you mean?" answered my 
 grandmother, looking at Benjamin in amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 "Yes, too much, my sister, too much, do you hear 
 me, too much. He sent me fifty crowns for a
 
 158 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 twenty-franc operation. Do you understand?" 
 
 "And you are stupid enough to send him back his 
 money? If my husband were to play a trick like 
 that on me!" 
 
 "Yes, I was stupid enough to send him back his 
 money. What do you expect? Everybody cannot 
 have the spirit you exact of Machecourt. I was 
 stupid enough to send him back his money, and I 
 don't repent it. I am not going to be a charlatan to 
 please you. My God, my God! How hard it is 
 to be an honest man in this world! Your nearest 
 and your dearest are always the first to lead you 
 into temptation." 
 
 "But you wretch, you need everything. You 
 haven't a pair of silk stockings that are fit to wear, 
 and when I mend your shirts on one side, they fall to 
 pieces on the other." 
 
 "And because my shirts fall to pieces on one side 
 when you mend them on the other, I am to be dis- 
 honest, my dear sister, am I?" 
 
 "But your creditors, when will you pay 
 them?" 
 
 "When I have the money, that is all. I defy the 
 richest man to do better." 
 
 "And what shall I tell the peasant?" 
 
 "Tell him whatever you like. Tell him I don't 
 wear shirts, or I have three hundred dozen in my 
 closet. Let him choose the one of the two reasons 
 that suits him best." 
 
 "Oh, my poor Benjamin," said my grandmother,
 
 MY UNCLE'S PROPERTY IS ATTACHED 159 
 
 carrying off the linen, "with all your wit you will 
 never be anything but an idiot." 
 
 "Really," said Page, when my grandmother was 
 at the foot of the stairs, "your dear sister is right. 
 You push honesty to the point of stupidity." 
 
 My uncle rose, full of fire, and grasped the law- 
 yer's arm so hard in his iron hand that he cried out 
 with the pain. 
 
 "Page, this is not a mere matter of honesty. It 
 is noble and legitimate pride. It is respect not only 
 for myself, but also for our poor oppressed class. 
 Should I let this squire say he offered me a sort of 
 tip and I accepted it? When their escutcheon is 
 nothing but a beggar's badge, would you have them 
 fling back at us the charge of beggary that we have 
 so often made against them? Would you give them 
 the right to say that we too receive alms when they 
 are disposed to bestow them upon us? Listen, Page, 
 you know whether or not I love Burgundy. You 
 also know from what my dear sister just said 
 whether or not I need shirts. But for all the vine- 
 yards of Cote-d'Or and all the hemp-fields of Pays- 
 Bas, I would not want to have to turn my eyes aside 
 from a single other person's eyes in the whole baili- 
 wick. No, I wouldn't keep this money, not even to 
 buy my life with. It is for us, men of heart and 
 education, to do honour to these people among whom 
 we were born. Through us they must learn that 
 one does not have to be a noble to be a man, that 
 they may rise through self-esteem from the degrada-
 
 160 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 tion into which they have fallen, and that they may 
 say to the handful of tyrants who oppress them, 
 'We are as good as you are, and more numerous. 
 Why should we continue to be your slaves, and 
 why should you wish to remain our masters?' Oh, 
 Page, may I live to see that day, even if I have to 
 drink poor wine the rest of my life!" 
 
 "All very fine," said Page, "but it won't give us 
 Burgundy." 
 
 "Rest easy, drunkard, you will lose nothing. 
 Sunday I am going to treat you all to supper with 
 these twenty francs that I extracted from M. de 
 Cambyse's throat, and at dessert I will tell you the 
 whole story. I am going to write to M. Minxit 
 directly. I cannot have Arthus, seeing that I have 
 only twenty francs to spend, or else he will have 
 to dine abundantly that day. But if you meet Rapin, 
 Parlanta, and the others before I do, warn them not 
 to make any other engagements." 
 
 I must say at once that this supper was post- 
 poned for a week because M. Minxit could not 
 attend, and then was postponed indefinitely because 
 my uncle was obliged to part with his two pistoles.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 HOW MY UNCLE HUNG M. SUSURRANS TO A HOOK IN 
 HIS KITHCEN 
 
 BEHOLD the flowers, how wonderfully fertile they 
 are. They scatter their seeds like rain. They 
 throw them to the wind like dust, they send them 
 without stint, like those alms that mount to dark 
 attics, up to barren rocky peaks, among the old stones 
 of tumbling walls, amid ruins that totter and fall, 
 without troubling whether or not they will find a 
 handful of earth to fertilise them, a drop of rain 
 for their roots to suck, a ray of light to make them 
 grow, and another ray to give them colour. The 
 breezes of departing spring carry away the last per- 
 fumes of the meadows, and the earth is strewn with 
 fading leaves; but when the autumn breezes come 
 and shake their moist wings over the fields, another 
 generation of flowers will have invested the earth 
 with a new robe, and their feeble perfume will be 
 the last breath of the dying year, which in dying 
 smiles on us still. 
 
 In all other respects women are like flowers. But 
 in the matter of fecundity they are not like flowers 
 at all. Most women, ladies especially and I beg
 
 1 62 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 of you, my proletarian friends and brothers, to be- 
 lieve that I use this expression only to conform to 
 custom; to me the truest lady is the woman who is 
 the prettiest and the most charming ladies, I say, 
 bear children no longer. They become mothers of 
 families as seldom as possible. They keep from 
 having children for economy's sake. When the 
 clerk's wife has produced her little clerk and the 
 notary's wife her little notary, they believe they 
 have fulfilled their obligation to the human race, and 
 abdicate. Napoleon, who had a passion for con- 
 scripts, said the woman he liked best was the woman 
 who had the most children. Easy for Napoleon to 
 say when he had kingdoms instead of estates to pass 
 on to his children. 
 
 The fact is, children are very expensive, an ex- 
 pense not within everybody's reach. The poor man 
 alone can permit himself the luxury of a numerous 
 family. Are you aware that the months required for 
 nursing a child alone cost almost as much as a cash- 
 mere dress? Besides, the baby grows fast. The 
 swollen boarding-school accounts and bills begin to 
 come in, the shoemaker's bills and the tailor's. The 
 infant of to-day will be a man to-morrow. His 
 moustache appears, and there he is a bachelor of let- 
 ters. Now you don't know what to do with him. 
 So, to get rid of him you buy him a fine profession. 
 But you are not slow to perceive from the drafts 
 made on you from the four corners of the city that 
 the profession brings your doctor nothing but invi-
 
 M. SUSURRANS IS HUNG TO A HOOK 163 
 
 tations and visiting cards. You must keep him till 
 he is past the age of thirty in kid gloves, Havana 
 cigars, and mistresses. Very disagreeable, you 
 will admit. If there were a home for young 
 people of twenty, as there is or, rather, no 
 longer is, for infants, I assure you it would be 
 crowded. 
 
 But in my uncle Benjamin's time things were very 
 different. It was the golden age of midwives. 
 Women gave themselves up to their instincts with- 
 out worry or thought of the consequences. They 
 all had children, rich and poor alike, even those 
 who had no right to have them. But in those days 
 they knew what to do with the children. Competi- 
 tion, that ogre with the steel fangs which devours 
 so many little people, had not arrived yet. There 
 was a place for everybody in the beautiful sunshine 
 of France, and elbow room in every profession. Po- 
 sitions presented themselves to men capable of 
 filling them like fruit hanging from the branch. 
 Even the fools found situations, each according to 
 the specialty of his folly. Glory was as easily 
 achieved, as accommodating a maid, as fortune. It 
 did not take half the wit it does now to be a man 
 of letters; a dozen Alexandrines made a poet. I do 
 not say I regret the loss of that blind fertility of 
 old which produced like a machine without knowing 
 what it did. I find I have enough neighbours as 
 it is. I simply wish to make you understand how 
 it was that at the period of which I speak my grand-
 
 164 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 mother, although not yet thirty years old, was already 
 at her seventh child. 
 
 My uncle absolutely insisted on his dear sister's 
 being present at his wedding, and he made M. Minxit 
 consent to postpone the event until after my grand- 
 mother's churching. The wardrobe of the newcomer 
 was all white and embroidered, and his entrance 
 into existence was expected daily. The six other 
 children were all living, and all delighted to be in 
 the world. Sometimes one of them was out of shoes, 
 another one out of a cap. This one had holes at his 
 elbows, and that one was run down at the heels. 
 But they had their daily bread and their white 
 starched shirts on Sundays, and in short kept wonder- 
 fully well and blooming in their rags. 
 
 My father, the eldest child, was the handsomest 
 of the six and the best equipped with clothes. That 
 may have been due to the fact that my uncle Ben- 
 jamin passed on to him his old knee-breeches. They 
 scarcely needed any alteration and often no altera- 
 tion at all to make them over into pantaloons for 
 Gaspard. Through cousin Guillaumot, who was 
 sexton, Gaspard was promoted to the dignity of 
 choir boy, and, I say it with pride, one of the best 
 choir boys in the diocese. Had he stuck to the career 
 that cousin Guillaumot started him on, he would have 
 made a magnificent priest, instead of the handsome 
 captain of a fire company that he is to-day. It is 
 true I should still be sleeping in the void, as the good 
 M. de Lamartine says, who himself goes to sleep
 
 M. SUSURRANS IS HUNG TO A HOOK 165 
 
 sometimes. But sleep is an excellent thing. Be- 
 sides, to be the editor of a country newspaper and 
 the antagonist of the department of public intelli- 
 gence, is that worth the trouble of living? 
 
 However that may be, his Levitical functions 
 brought my father a superb sky-blue suit. This is 
 how the good fortune befell him. The banner of 
 Saint Martin, patron saint of Clamecy, had been dis- 
 carded. My grandmother, with that eagle eye of 
 hers, discovered in this holy stuff the wherewithal 
 to make her eldest son a jacket and a pair of panta- 
 loons, and succeeded in securing the cast-off banner 
 from the church treasury at a ridiculous price. The 
 saint was painted in the very middle, represented 
 in the act of cutting off an end of his cloak with his 
 sabre to cover the nakedness of a beggar. That 
 was no obstacle to my grandmother's plan. She 
 turned the material, and Saint Martin came on the 
 inside ; which doubtless did not trouble the saint. 
 
 The coat was finished off by a seamstress in the 
 Rue des Moulins. It would have fitted my uncle 
 Benjamin, perhaps, quite as well as my father. My 
 grandmother had had it made with enough goods to 
 make it over for the second son after the first son 
 had worn it out. At first my father paraded his 
 sky-blue coat. I even believe he contributed to pay 
 for the making out of his wages. But he was not 
 slow to find out that a magnificent robe is often a 
 garment of sack-cloth. Benjamin, to whom nothing 
 was sacred, nicknamed him the patron saint of
 
 1 66 -MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 Clamecy. The children picked up the nickname, and 
 it cost my father many a blow. More than once 
 he came home with a piece of the sky-blue coat in 
 his pocket. Saint Martin became his personal 
 enemy. He was often to be seen at the foot of the 
 altar plunged in gloomy meditation. Of what was 
 he dreaming? Of how to get rid of his coat. And 
 one day, while the priest was saying the Dominus 
 vobiscum, he responded, thinking he was talking to 
 his mother: 
 
 "I tell you, I will never wear your sky-blue coat 
 again." 
 
 It was while my father was in this state of mind 
 that my uncle, the Sunday after high mass, sug- 
 gested his going along with him to Val-des-Rosiers, 
 where he had a visit to pay. Gaspard preferred 
 playing with corks in the street to serving as aid to 
 my uncle and answered he could not because he had 
 a baptism to attend. 
 
 "That doesn't matter," said Benjamin. "Some- 
 body else will take your place." 
 
 "Yes, but I must go to catechism at one o'clock." 
 
 "I thought you had had your first communion." 
 
 "I came near having it, but you yourself pre- 
 vented me by making me get drunk the night before 
 the ceremony." 
 
 "Why did vou get drunk?" 
 
 "Because you were drunk yourself and threatened 
 to beat me with the flat of your sword if I did not 
 get drunk too."
 
 M. SUSURRANS IS HUNG TO A HOOK 167 
 
 "I was wrong," said Benjamin. "All the same 
 you risk nothing by coming along with me. I shall 
 be only a moment. We will return before rate- 
 chism." 
 
 "Of course !" answered Gaspard. "When it 
 would take someone else only an hour, it takes you 
 half a day. You stop at all the taverns, and the" 
 priest forbade me to go with you because you set me 
 a bad example." 
 
 "Well, pious Gaspard, if you refuse to come with 
 me, I w r ill not invite you to my wedding. But if 
 you do me this favour, I will give you twelve sous." 
 
 "Give them to me now," said Gaspard. 
 
 "Why must you have them immediately, you 
 scamp? Do you doubt my word?" 
 
 "No, but I am not anxious to be your creditor. I 
 have heard it said in the village that you never pay 
 anybody, and there's no use seizing your effects be- 
 cause your effects are not worth thirty sous." 
 
 "Well said, Gaspard. Here are fifteen sous, go 
 tell my dear sister you are coming along with me." 
 
 My grandmother went all the way to the door 
 with Gaspard admonishing him to be very careful 
 with his coat, as he must keep it for his uncle's 
 wedding. 
 
 "Are you joking?" said Benjamin. "Is there any 
 need of telling a French choir boy to be careful 
 with the banner of his patron saint?" 
 
 "Uncle," said Gaspard, "before we start I warn 
 you that if you call me banner-bearer again, or blue
 
 i68 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 bird, or patron saint of Clamecy, I will run away 
 with your fifteen sous, and go back to play corks." 
 
 On entering the village my uncle met M. Susur- 
 rans, the grocer, a very short, very thin little man, 
 who seemed to be made out of charcoal and salt- 
 petre, like gunpowder. M. Susurrans had a sort 
 of small farm at Val-des-Rosiers. He was on his 
 way back to Clamecy, carrying under his arm a keg 
 that he hoped to smuggle in, and at the end of his 
 cane a pair of capons that Madame Susurrans was 
 waiting for to put on the spit. M. Susurrans knew 
 my uncle and esteemed him, for Benjamin bought 
 the sugar of him with which he sweetened his drugs 
 and the powder he put on his queue. So M. Susur- 
 rans asked him to come to the farm and take some 
 refreshment. My uncle, whose normal condition 
 was thirst, accepted without ceremony. The grocer 
 and his customer established themselves at the corner 
 of the fire, each on a stool. They placed the keg 
 between them. But they did not allow its contents 
 to turn sour, and when it was not in the hands of 
 one, it was at the lips of the other. 
 
 "Appetite comes by drinking as well as by eating. 
 Suppose we eat the chickens?" said M. Susurrans. 
 
 "Right you are," answered my uncle, "it will save 
 you the trouble of carrying them home. I don't 
 understand how you could ever have thought of 
 loading yourself down with such a burden." 
 
 "And what sauce shall we eat them with?" 
 
 "With that which can be made the quickest," said
 
 M. SUSURRANS IS HUNG TO A HOOK 169 
 
 Benjamin. "Here is an excellent fire to roast them 
 on, too." 
 
 "Yes," said M. Susurrans, "but there are no 
 kitchen utensils here except for making an onion 
 soup. We have no spit." 
 
 Benjamin, like all great men, was never caught 
 unprepared in any situation. 
 
 "It shall never be said," he answered, "that two 
 intelligent men like ourselves were unable to eat a 
 roasted fowl for want of a spit. If you take my 
 advice, we will spit our chickens on the blade of my 
 sword, and Gaspard here will turn them over the 
 fire." 
 
 You would never have thought of this expedient, 
 dear reader, but my uncle had imagination enough 
 for ten present-day novelists. 
 
 Gaspard, who did not often get chicken to eat, 
 went at his task with a will, and in an hour's time 
 the fowls were roasted to a turn. They set a wash- 
 tub upside-down before the fire for a table, and so 
 did not have to leave their seats. They had no 
 glasses, but the keg was not left idle on that account. 
 They drank out of the bunghole, as in the days of 
 Homer. It was not very convenient, but my uncle 
 was such a stoic that he would rather drink good 
 wine that way than bad wine out of crystal glasses. 
 In spite of the various difficulties that the operation 
 involved, the chickens were soon despatched. For 
 some time the unfortunate birds had been nothing 
 more than bare skeletons and still the two friends
 
 170 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 kept on drinking. M. Susurrans, a very small man, 
 as we have said, whose stomach and brain almost 
 touched each other, was as drunk as one can be. 
 But Benjamin, the tall Benjamin, had preserved the 
 major part of his reason, and looked on his weaker 
 adversary with pity. As for Gaspard, to whom they 
 had occasionally passed the keg, he went a little 
 beyond the limits of temperance. Filial respect does 
 not allow me to use another expression. 
 
 Such was the spiritual situation of the party when 
 they left the wash-tub. It was then four o'clock, and 
 they began to get ready to start. M. Susurrans re- 
 membered he was to carry some chickens home to 
 his wife and looked about for them to put them on 
 the end of his cane, and asked my uncle if he had 
 not seen them. 
 
 "Your chickens?" said Benjamin. "Are you jok- 
 ing? You have just eaten them." 
 
 "Yes, you old fool," added Gaspard, "you have 
 eaten them. They were spitted on my uncle's sword, 
 and I turned the spit." 
 
 "It's not true," cried M. Susurrans. "If I had 
 eaten my chickens, I should not have such an appe- 
 tite, and I am hungry enough to devour a wolf." 
 
 "I don't deny it," replied my uncle, "but it is 
 none the less true that you have eaten your chickens. 
 If you doubt it, here are the tones of both of them. 
 You can hang them to the end of your cane if you 
 like." 
 
 "You are lying, Benjamin. I don't recognise them
 
 M. SUSURRANS IS HUNG TO A HOOK 1 7 1 
 
 as~ the bones of my chickens. It's you who have 
 taken them from me, and you shall return them 
 to me." 
 
 "Very well," said my uncle, "send to look for 
 them at my house to-morrow, .and I'll return them 
 to you." 
 
 "You shall return them to me at once," said M. 
 Susurrans, rising on tip-toe to grab my uncle by the 
 throat. 
 
 "Now, now, papa Susurrans !" said Benjamin. 
 "If you are joking, I warn you that you are carry- 
 ing the joke too far, and " 
 
 "No, you wretch, I am not joking," said M. 
 Susurrans, planting himself in front of the door. 
 "You shall not leave here, neither you nor your 
 nephew, till you have given me back my chick- 
 ens." 
 
 "Uncle," said Gaspard, "would you like me to trip 
 up the old imbecile?" 
 
 "Never mind, Gaspard, never mind, my friend," 
 said Benjamin. "You are a churchman, and it is 
 not seemly for you to to be mixed up in a quarrel. 
 Now, then, M. Susurrans, one, two, will you let us 
 out?" 
 
 "When you have given me my chickens back 
 again," answered M. Susurrans, making a half turn 
 to the left and thrusting his cane at my uncle like a 
 bayonet. 
 
 Benjamin caught the cane, lowered it, took the 
 little man by the middle of the body, and hung him
 
 172 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 by the waistband to an iron rod over the door used 
 to hang kitchen utensils on. 
 
 Susurrans, hanging like a saucepan, behaved like 
 a beetle pinned to the floor. He screamed and 
 kicked and cried "Fire! Murder P' 
 
 My uncle caught sight of a Liege almanac lying 
 on the mantel-shelf. 
 
 "Here, Monsieur Susurrans. Cicero says study 
 is a consolation in all situations in life. Content 
 yourself with studying this book until someone comes 
 to take you down. For I have no time to carry on 
 a conversation with you, and I have the honour to 
 wish you good evening." 
 
 My uncle had gone only twenty steps when he 
 met the farmer, who came running at full speed and 
 asked why his master was crying "Fire! Murder!" 
 
 "The house is probably burning and someone is 
 trying to kill your master," answered my uncle with 
 perfect composure. He whistled to Gaspard, who 
 was lingering behind, and continued on his way. 
 
 The weather had grown milder. The sky, shortly 
 before so bright, had turned drab-colour, like a plas- 
 ter ceiling before it dries. A fine, close, piercing 
 rain was falling and streamed in little drops from 
 the stripped branches, making the trees and bushes 
 look as though they were crying. 
 
 My uncle's hat soaked up the rain like a sponge, 
 and soon its two corners became two spouts from 
 which black water poured upon his shoulders. Con- 
 cerned for his coat, he turned it inside out, and re-
 
 M. SUSURRANS IS HUNG TO A HOOK 173 
 
 membering his sister's injunction, ordered Gaspard 
 to do the -same. Gaspard heeded the injunction, 
 forgetting Saint Martin. 
 
 A little farther on, Benjamin and Gaspard met 
 a troop of peasants returning from vespers. At 
 sight of the saint on Gaspard's coat, head down- 
 most and all four of his horse's hoofs in the air, 
 as if he had fallen down from the sky, the peasants 
 burst out laughing and making fun. You know my 
 uncle well enough to know he would not allow fel- 
 lows like that to make sport of him with impunity. 
 He drew his sword, while Gaspard armed himself 
 with stones and led the attack, carried away by his 
 ardour. Then my uncle saw that Saint Martin was 
 the only one to blame, and he was seized with such a 
 fit of laughter that he was obliged to lean on his 
 sword to keep from falling. 
 
 "Gaspard," he cried, in a choking voice, "patron 
 saint of Clamecy, your saint is up'side down, your 
 saint is losing his helmet." 
 
 Gaspard, seeing he was the object of all this mirth, 
 could not endure the humiliation. He tore off his 
 coat, threw it on the ground, and trampled on it. 
 When my uncle had finished laughing, he tried to 
 make him pick it up and put it on again. But Gas- 
 pard dashed off across the fields, and was seen no 
 more. Benjamin picked up the coat in pity and put 
 it on the end of his sword. 
 
 In the meantime M. Susurrans had come up. 
 JHle .had sobered off a little and now remembered
 
 i 7 4 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 quite distinctly that he had eaten his chickens up. 
 But he had lost his three-cornered hat. Benjamin, 
 who was much amused by the little man's outbursts 
 of anger and liked to see him get heated up, 
 maintained he had eaten his hat. Susurrans had 
 acquired such respect for Benjamin's physical 
 strength that he did not dare take offence. He even 
 was so contrary as to apologise to my uncle. 
 
 Benjamin and M. Susurrans returned to Clamecy 
 together. At the otusk'irts of the town they met 
 lawyer Page. 
 
 "Where are you going?" he asked my uncle. 
 
 "You might imagine. I am going to my dear 
 sister's for supper." 
 
 "No, you are not," said Page. "You are going 
 to have supper with me at the Hotel du 
 Dauphin." 
 
 "And if I should accept, to what circumstance 
 would I owe the privilege?" 
 
 "I will explain in a word. A wealthy lumber 
 merchant of Paris, for whom I won an important 
 case, has invited me to dine with his attorney, whom 
 he does not know. It is carnival time. So I de- 
 cided you were to be his attorney, and I was on my 
 way to tell you. It is an adventure worthy of us, 
 Benjamin, and I feel sure I did not overestimate 
 your passion for merry pranks when I counted on 
 your doing this." 
 
 "A well-conceived masquerade, I am sure," said 
 Benjamin. "But I don't know," he added, laugh-
 
 M. SUSURRANS IS HUNG TO A HOOK 1 75 
 
 ing, "whether honour and delicacy will permit me 
 to play the part of the attorney." 
 
 "At table," said Page, "the most honourable man 
 is the man who most conscientiously empties his 
 glass." 
 
 "True, but suppose your lumber merchant should 
 talk to me about his case?" 
 
 "I will answer for you." 
 
 "And suppose he should take it into his head to 
 pay a visit to his attorney to-morrow?" 
 
 "I will bring him to you." 
 
 "All very fine, but I don't look like an attorney, 
 at least so I flatter myself." 
 
 "You'll succeed in making your looks fit. You 
 once passed yourself off for the Wandering Jew." 
 
 "And my red coat?" 
 
 "The man is a gull from Paris. We'll tell him 
 that in the provinces attorneys wear red coats." 
 
 "And my sword?" 
 
 "If he notices it, tell him you use it to cut your 
 pens with." 
 
 "But who actually is your lumberman's attorney?" 
 
 "Dulciter. You won't be so inhuman as to let me 
 dine with Dulciter?" 
 
 "I know Dulciter isn't very entertaining, but if 
 ever he finds out that I dined in his place, he would 
 sue me for damages." 
 
 "I will defend you in court. Come, I am sure 
 dinner is ready. But wait a moment! Our host 
 asked me to bring Dulciter's head clerk along.
 
 176 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 Where the devil am I to find a clerk for Dul- 
 citer?" 
 
 Benjamin ha-ha'd and clapped his hands. 
 
 "I have it! Here," he said, putting his hand on 
 M. Susurrans' shoulder, "here is your clerk." 
 
 "Bosh," said Page, "a green-grocer?" 
 
 "What difference does that make?" 
 
 "He smells of cheese." 
 
 "You are not a connoisseur, Page. He smells of 
 candles." 
 
 "But he is sixty years old." 
 
 "We will introduce him as the elder of the guild 
 of clerks." 
 
 "You are knaves, blackguards!" said M. Susur- 
 rans in a fury. "I am not a bandit! I am not a 
 fellow who runs from tavern to tavern." 
 
 "No," interrupted my uncle. "He gets drunk 
 by himself in his cellar." 
 
 "Possibly, Monsieur Rathery. At any rate I don't 
 get drunk at other people's expense, and I won't have 
 anything to do with your rascalities." 
 
 "But you will this evening," said my uncle. "If 
 you don't I'll tell everybody where I hung you." 
 
 "Where did you hang him?" asked Page. 
 
 "Guess " said Benjamin. 
 
 "Monsieur Rathery!" cried Susurrans, putting his 
 finger on his mouth. 
 
 "Well, are you ready to come along with us?" 
 
 "But, Monsieur Rathery, my wife is waiting for 
 me. They will think me dead, murdered. They
 
 M. SUSURRANS IS HUNG TO A HOOK 177 
 
 will search for me along the road as far as Val-des- 
 Rosiers." 
 
 "So much the better. Perhaps they'll find your 
 hat." 
 
 "Monsieur Rathery, my good Monsieur Ra- 
 thery!" pleaded Susurrans, clasping his hands. 
 
 "Now, now," said my uncle, "don't be so child- 
 ish ! You owe me satisfaction, and I owe you a 
 dinner. At one stroke we shall be quits." 
 
 "At least let me go tell my wife." 
 
 "No," said Benjamin, placing himself between 
 him and Page. "I know Madame Susurrans from 
 behind her counter. She would lock you in and turn 
 the key twice, and I don't want you to escape us. 
 I wouldn't give you up for ten pistoles." 
 
 "And my keg," said Susurrans, "what am I to do 
 with my keg now that I am an attorney's clerk?'' 
 
 "You're right," said Benjamin, "you cannot pre- 
 sent yourself to our client with a keg." 
 
 They were then in the middle of the Beuvron 
 bridge. My uncle took the keg from the hands of 
 Susurrans and threw it into the river. 
 
 "Rathery, you rascal! Rathery, you scoundrel!" 
 cried Susurrans. "You shall pay me for my keg. 
 Six francs it cost me. You shall find out what it will 
 cost you." 
 
 "M. Susurrans," said Benjamin, assuming a lofty 
 mien, "let us follow the example of the sage who 
 said, Omnia me cum porto, that is, everything that 
 is a burden to me I throw into the river. See, here
 
 178 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 at the end of my sword is a magnificent coat, my 
 nephew's Sunday coat, a museum piece. The mak- 
 ing of it alone costs thirty times as much as your 
 miserable keg. Well, I sacrifice it without the slight- 
 est regret. Throw it over the bridge, and we shall 
 be quits." 
 
 M. Susurrans objecting, Benjamin himself threw 
 the coat over the bridge, then took Page and Susur- 
 rans each by the arm, and said: 
 
 "Now let us be off. Raise the curtain. The play 
 is on." 
 
 But man proposes and God disposes. As they 
 were going up the steps of Vieille-Rome, they met 
 Madame Susurrans face to face. As her husband 
 had not yet returned, she had started out to meet 
 him with a lantern. When she caught sight of him 
 between my uncle and lawyer Page, both men of a 
 suspicious reputation, her anxiety turned into anger. 
 
 "At last, here you are!" she cried. "How fortu- 
 nate I I was beginning to think you were not com- 
 ing home at all to-night. A nice life you are lead- 
 ing! A fine example to your son!" 
 
 Then, looking at her husband closer, she saw he 
 was empty-handed and hatless. 
 
 "Where are your chickens, Monsieur! And your 
 hat, wretch ! And your keg, drunkard ! What have 
 you done with them?" 
 
 "Madame," responded Benjamin, gravely, "we 
 ate the chickens, and as for his hat, he had the mis- 
 fortune to lose it on the way."' 5
 
 M. SUSURRANS IS HUNG TO A HOOK 1 79 
 
 "What, the monster lost his hat! A freshly- 
 blocked hat!" 
 
 "Yes, Madame, he lost it, and he is to be con- 
 gratulated, considering the position he was in, that 
 he didn't lose his wig, too. As for the keg, the 
 customs officials seized it, and have reported the 
 offence." 
 
 Page could not help laughing, and Mme. Susur- 
 rans said: 
 
 "I see. You made my husband drunk, and are 
 now making fun of us into the bargain. You would 
 do better, Monsieur Rathery, attending to your pa- 
 tients and paying your debts." 
 
 "Do I owe you anything, Madame?" replied my 
 uncle, proudly. 
 
 "Yes, my dear," broke in Susurrans, feeling strong 
 under his wife's protection, "he made me get drunk, 
 and he and his nephew ate my chickens. They took 
 away my hat and threw my keg into the river, and 
 now the blackguard wants to force me to dine with 
 him at the Dauphin and, at my age, play the part of 
 an attorney's clerk." 
 
 "That will do! I will go directly and tell M. 
 Dulciter that you intend to take his and his clerk's 
 place at dinner." 
 
 "You see, Madame," said my uncle, "your hus- 
 band is drunk. He doesn't know what he is talking 
 about. If you take my advice, put him to bed the 
 minute you reach home, and give him some camomile 
 tea every two hours. While holding him up before,
 
 i8o MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 I had the chance to feel his pulse, and I assure you, 
 he is not at all well." 
 
 "Oh, you rascal, you blackguard, you revolu- 
 tionist! You dare to tell my wife I am sick from 
 having drunk too much, while you yourself are 
 drunk! Wait, I am going to Dulciter's this instant, 
 and you will hear from him directly." 
 
 "Madame," said Page, with the utmost sang- 
 froid, "you can't help seeing that this man is talking 
 wildly. You would be untrue to your wifely duties 
 if you would not make your husband take camomile 
 tea, according to M. Rathery's orescription. He 
 certainly is the most skilful doctor in the bailiwick, 
 and he rewards this madman for his insults by saving 
 his life." 
 
 Susurrans was about to renew his asseverations. 
 
 "That will do," his wife said to him, "I see these 
 gentlemen are right. You are so drunk you cannot 
 talk properly. Come with me right off, or I will 
 lock you out, and you may sleep wherever you can." 
 
 "That's right," said Page and my uncle simulta- 
 neously, and they were still laughing when they 
 reached the Dauphin. The first person they met in 
 the yarcJ was M. Minxit, who was just mounting 
 his horse ready to return to Corvol. 
 
 "By God," said my uncle, seizing his horse's 
 bridle, "you shall not go home to-night, Monsieur 
 Minxit. You are going to dine with us. We have 
 lost one table companion, but you are worth thirty 
 of him."
 
 M. SUSURRANS IS HUNG TO A HOOK 1 8 1 
 
 "If it pleases you, Benjamin. Hostler, take my 
 horse back to the stable, and tell them to keep a bed 
 for me."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 HOW MY UNCLE SPENT THE NIGHT IN PRAYER FOR 
 HIS SISTER'S SAFE DELIVERY 
 
 MY time is precious, dear readers, and I suppose 
 yours is, too. So I shall not amuse myself by de- 
 scribing this memorable supper. You ^know the 
 guests well enough to form an idea of how things 
 went. 
 
 My uncle left the Hotel du Dauphin at midnight, 
 advancing three steps and retreating two, like some 
 pilgrims of old who vowed to go to Jerusalem at that 
 pace. On entering the house, he saw a light in 
 Machecourt's room, and thinking that his brother- 
 in-law was scribbling off some writ, he went in to 
 bid him good-night. My grandmother was in the 
 pains of child-birth. The midwife, frightened at my 
 uncle's unexpected appearance at that hour, went to 
 notify him officially of the event that was about to 
 take place. Benjamin remembered through the 
 mists that obscured his brain that in the first year 
 of her marriage his sister had had a very painful 
 delivery which endangered her life. Immediately 
 he dissolved in a flood of tears. 
 
 "Alas," he cried, in a voice loud enough to waken 
 182
 
 (}lath&nj at 
 arid how he, "drink*
 
 the entire Rue des Moulins, "my dear sister is going 
 to die. Alas ! She is going to " 
 
 "Madame Lalande," cried my grandmother from 
 her bed, "put that drunken dog out." 
 
 "Please go out, Monsieur Rathery," said Madame 
 Lalande. "There is not the slightest danger. The 
 child is coming head first, and in an hour your sister 
 will be delivered." 
 
 But Benjamin kept on crying, "Alas, my dear 
 sister is going to die." 
 
 Machecourt, seeing the midwife's remarks had 
 had no effect, thought it his duty to intervene. 
 
 "Yes, Benjamin, my friend, my brother, the child 
 is coming head first. Do me the favour and go to 
 bed, please." 
 
 So spoke my grandfather. 
 
 "And you, Machecourt, my friend, my brother," 
 answered my uncle, "please, do me the favour and 
 go- 
 
 My grandmother, realising she could not count 
 on Machecourt to take any determined step with 
 Benjamin, decided to put him out doors herself. 
 
 With lamblike docility my uncle suffered himself 
 to be pushed outside. His mind was soon made up. 
 He would spend the night with Page, who was 
 snoring like a blacksmith's bellows on one of the 
 tables at the Dauphin. But in passing the church, 
 it occurred to him to pray to God for his dear sister's 
 safe delivery. The weather had grown very cold 
 again, and the temperature was five or six degrees
 
 i8 4 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 below freezing point. Paying no attention to the 
 cold, Benjamin knelt on the church steps, folded his 
 hands as he had seen them do at his dear sister's, and 
 began to murmur fragments of prayers. On begin- 
 ning his second Ave, sleep overcame him, and he 
 began to snore like his friend Page. 
 
 The next morning at five o'clock, when the sexton 
 came to ring the Angelus, he saw something like a 
 human form on its knees. At first, in his simplicity, 
 he thought it was a saint who had left his niche to 
 do penance. And he was about to carry him back 
 into the church when by the light of his lantern, 
 on coming nearer, he saw it was my uncle with an 
 inch of ice on his back and an icicle half a yard long 
 hanging from his nose. 
 
 "Hello, Monsieur Rathery! Hello!" he shouted 
 in Benjamin's ear. 
 
 My uncle did not answer, and the sexton pro- 
 ceeded calmly to ring the Angelus. It was not until 
 he had quite finished that he returned to M. Rathery. 
 In case there should still be some life left, he lifted 
 him to his shoulders like a sack and carried him to 
 his sister's. My grandmother had already been 
 delivered two good hours, so the neighbours who 
 had spent the night with her could turn their atten- 
 tion to Benjamin. They placed him on a mat- 
 tress before the hearth, wrapped him in warm cover- 
 ings, and put a hot brick at his feet. In their 
 zeal, they would have prepared to put him in the 
 oven. Gradually my uncle thawed out. His queue,
 
 MY UNCLE SPENDS NIGHT IN PRAYER 185 
 
 which had been as stiff as his sword, began to weep 
 on the bolster, his joints relaxed, his speech returned 
 and the first use he made of it was to call for 
 mulled wine. They quickly made him a whole ket- 
 tlerul. When he had drunk half of it, he fell into 
 such a sweat that they thought he was going to turn 
 into fluid. He swallowed the rest of the mulled 
 wine, went to sleep again, and at eight o'clock in 
 the morning was fresh and well. Had the priest 
 made an official report of these facts, my uncle would 
 surely have been canonised. They probably would 
 have made him patron saint of the hosts of the 
 inns. And, without flattering him, he would certainly 
 have made a magnificent sign for an inn, with his 
 queue and his red coat. 
 
 More than a week had passed since my grand- 
 mother's delivery, and she was already thinking of 
 her churching. This sort of quarantine imposed by 
 the canons of the church resulted in serious incon- 
 veniences to the whole family in general, and to 
 her in particular. In the first place, when any 
 important event, a shocking bit of scandal, for in- 
 stance, ruffled the smooth surface of the neighbour- 
 hood, she could not gossip with her neighbours in 
 the Rue des Moulins, which was a cruel privation. 
 Moreover, she was obliged to send Gaspard to the 
 market and the butchers wrapped in a kitchen- 
 apron, and Gaspard either lost the money playing 
 corks, or brought home a piece of neck instead of a 
 leg. Or, if he was sent for a cabbage for the soup,
 
 1 86 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 he did not return until after the soup had been made 
 with something else. Benjamin would laugh, Mache- 
 court would swear, and my grandmother would give 
 Gaspard a whipping. 
 
 One day, irritated because he had to eat a calf's 
 head without onions on account of Gaspard's tardi- 
 ness, my grandfather said to my grandmother: 
 
 "Why don't you do the marketing yourself?" 
 
 "Why! Why!" replied my grandmother. "Be- 
 cause I cannot go to mass until Mme. Lalande has 
 been paid." 
 
 "Why the devil, dear sister, didn't you wait with 
 your confinement till you had some money?" 
 
 "Ask your simpleton brother-in-law why he has 
 not brought me a miserable six-franc piece for a 
 month." 
 
 "That is to say, if you were not to get any money 
 for six months, you would remain shut up at home 
 as in quarantine for that length of time?" asked 
 Benjamin. 
 
 "Of course," replied my grandmother, "because 
 if I were to go out before having been to mass, the 
 priest would talk against me from the pulpit and 
 the people would point their fingers at me in the 
 streets." 
 
 "Then tell the priest to send you his housekeeper 
 to keep house for you. God is too just to require 
 Machecourt to eat calf's head without onions simply 
 because you presented him with a seventh child." 
 
 Fortunately that six-franc piece so ardently
 
 MY UNCLE SPENDS NIGHT IN PRAYER 187 
 
 craved came in the company of a few others, and 
 my grandmother was able to go to mass. 
 
 On returning home with Mme. Lalande, she found 
 my uncle stretched out in Machecourt's leather arm- 
 chair, his heels resting on the andirons and a bowl 
 of mulled wine next to him. For I must tell you that 
 ever since his recovery, Benjamin, out of gratitude 
 to the mulled wine that had saved his life, took 
 enough of it every morning to satisfy two sea cap- 
 tains. To justify this additional feat, he maintained 
 that his temperature was still below zero. 
 
 "Benjamin," my grandmother said to him, "you 
 must do me a favour." 
 
 "A favour! What can I do to please you, dear 
 sister?" 
 
 "Can't you guess, Benjamin? You must be the 
 baby's godfather." 
 
 Benjamin, who had not guessed it at all, but, on 
 the contrary, was taken entirely unawares, shook 
 his head and emitted a prolonged "But 
 
 "What," said my grandmother, her eyes flashing, 
 "you don't mean to refuse?" 
 
 "Not at all, dear sister, not at all, but 
 
 "But what? Your eternal buts make me impa- 
 tient." 
 
 "Well, you see, I have never been a godfather, 
 and I really shouldn't know what to do." 
 
 "A tremendous difficulty ! You will be told what 
 to do. I will ask cousin Guillaumot to give you 
 some lessons."
 
 1 88 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 "I have the utmost faith in cousin Guillaumot's 
 talents and zeal; but I fear the prience of being a 
 godfather is not suited to my intelligence. You will 
 do better to take a godfather already endowed with 
 the requisite knowledge. There's Gaspard, for in- 
 stance. He's a choir boy and would suit per- 
 fectly." 
 
 "Come, Monsieur Rathery," said Madame 
 Lalande, "you ought to accept your sister's invita- 
 tion. It is a family duty." 
 
 "I see, Madame Lalande," said Benjamin. 
 "Though I am not rich, I have the reputation of 
 doing things well, and you would rather deal with 
 me than with Gaspard. Isn't that so?" 
 
 "Oh, fie, Benjamin. Oh, fie, Monsieur Rathery," 
 exclaimed my grandmother and Madame Lalande 
 simultaneously. 
 
 "See here, my dear sister, frankly I have abso- 
 lutely no desire to be a godfather. I will gladly act 
 toward my nephew as if I had held him over the 
 baptismal font. I will listen with satisfaction to the 
 annual congratulations that he will extend to me on 
 my birthday, and I promise to think them beautiful 
 even if they have been composed by Millot-Rataut. 
 I will let him kiss me every New Year's Day, and I 
 will give him either a jumping Jack or a pair of 
 breeches, whichever you prefer. I shall even feel 
 flattered if you name him Benjamin. But to go 
 plant myself like a great simpleton in front of the 
 baptismal font and hold a candle in my hand oh,
 
 MY UNCLE SPENDS NIGHT IN PRAYER 189 
 
 no, dear sister, you mustn't ask it of me. It goes 
 against my manly dignity. I should be afraid that 
 Djhiarcos would laugh in my face. Besides, how can 
 I guarantee that the squeding youngster will re- 
 nounce Satan and his works? Who will prove to me 
 that he will renounce Satan and his works? If the 
 godfather's responsibility is a mere sham, as some 
 think, what's a godfather for? What's a godmother 
 for? What are two securities for instead of one? 
 Why need my signature be endorsed by another? 
 But if the responsibility is a serious one, then why 
 should I incur the consequences? Our soul is our 
 most precious possession. Then isn't it crazy to 
 pledge it for someone else's soul? Besides, why are 
 you in such a hurry to have the poor little worm 
 baptised? Is he a pate de foie gras or a Mayence 
 ham which would spoil if it were not salted without 
 delay? Wait until he is twenty-five. Then he will 
 at least be able to answer for himself, and if he 
 needs a security I shall know what I have to do. 
 Until he is eighteen, your son will not be able to 
 enlist in the army; until he is twenty-one, he will 
 not be able to make a civil contract; until he is 
 twenty-five, he will not be able to marry without 
 your consent and Machecourt's. And yet you expect 
 him at the age of nine days to have sufficient dis- 
 crimination to choose a religion. Come now, you 
 can see for yourself it is irrational." 
 
 "Oh, dear Madame Machecourt," cried the nurse, 
 frightened at my uncle's heterodox logic, "your
 
 i 9 o MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 brother is one of the damned. Don't let him he 
 your child's godfather. It would bring him mis- 
 fortune." 
 
 "Madame Lalande," said Benjamin, in a severe 
 tone, "a course in midwifery is not a course in logic. 
 It would be mean in me to argue with you. I will 
 limit myself to one question. Were the converts 
 that Saint John baptised in the Jordan for a sesterce 
 and a cornet of dried dates, carried there from 
 Jerusalem on their nurses' arms?" 
 
 "On my word," said Madame Lalande, embar- 
 rassed by the objection, "I am ready to believe it." 
 
 "What, Madame, you are ready to believe it! 
 Is that the way for a midwife who has had religious 
 instruction to talk? Well, since that's the way you 
 take it, I will propose the following dilemma " 
 
 "Let us alone with your dilemmas," interrupted 
 my grandmother. "What does Madame Lalande 
 know about a dilemma?" 
 
 "What, Madame!" exclaimed the nurse, piqued 
 at my grandmother's remark. "I don't know what 
 a dilemma is? I, the wife of a surgeon, don't know 
 what a dilemma is? Go on, Monsieur Rathery, I 
 am listening to you." 
 
 "There's no need to," replied my grandmother, 
 dryly. "I have decided that Benjamin is to be the 
 child's godfather, and that settles it. No dilemma 
 in the world can excuse him from it." 
 
 "I appeal to Machecourt," cried Benjamin. 
 
 "Machecourt has condemned you in advance.
 
 MY UNCLE SPENDS NIGHT IN PRAYER 191 
 
 This morning he went to Corvol to invite Mademoi- 
 selle Minxit to be godmother." 
 
 "So you dispose of me without my consent," cried 
 my uncle. "You haven't even the consideration to 
 give me fair warning. What am I? Stuffed with 
 sawdust? A gingerbread mannikin? A fine figure 
 I shall cut with my five feet ten inches beside Made- 
 moiselle Minxit's five feet three. Her straight, an- 
 gular figure will look like a beribboned Maypole. 
 You know, the idea of walking beside her to church 
 has tormented me for six months, and my aversion 
 for the obligatory act has almost made me forego 
 the joy of becoming her husband." 
 
 "You see, Madame Lalande," said my grand- 
 mother, "what a joker Benjamin is. He loves Made- 
 moiselle Minxit passionately, and yet he can't help 
 laughing at her." 
 
 "Hum!" said the nurse. 
 
 Benjamin, who had forgotten Madame Lalande's 
 presence, realised he had been guilty of a lapsus 
 linguae. To escape his sister's reproaches, he has- 
 tened to declare that he consented to anything they 
 asked of him, and made off before the nurse left. 
 
 The baptism was to take place the following Sun- 
 day. My grandmother plunged into expense for 
 the occasion. She allowed Machecourt to invite all 
 his and my uncle's friends to a festal meal. Ben- 
 jamin, for his part, was fn a position to meet the 
 expenses that the generous role of godfather called 
 for. The government had just presented him with
 
 i 9 2 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 a hundred francs in reward of his zeal in propagat- 
 ing vaccination in the country and in restoring the 
 potato, which agriculturists and physicians had been 
 attacking, to a place of honour.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 MY UNCLE'S SPEECH BEFORE THE BAILIFF 
 
 THE following Saturday, the day before the bap- 
 tism, my uncle was cited to appear before the bailiff 
 to hear himself sentenced, under penalty of imprison- 
 ment, to pay Monsieur Bonteint the sum of one 
 hundred and fifty francs ten sous six deniers for 
 merchandise sold to him. So read the summons, 
 the cost of which was four francs five sous. Another 
 man would have lamented his fate in all the tones of 
 elegy. But the soul of this great man was not 
 reached by the vicissitudes of fortune. The whirl- 
 wind of misery that society raises, the mist of tears 
 enshrouding it, did not rise to his height. His body, 
 it is true, was caught in the mire of humanity. When 
 he drank too much, he got a headache; when he 
 walked too far, he got tired; when the road was 
 muddy, he splashed himself up to his waist; and, 
 when he had no money to pay his score, the inn- 
 keeper charged it on his ledger. Yet, like the rock 
 whose base is beaten by the waves but whose top 
 shines in the sunlight, like the bird with its nest in the 
 thickets by the wayside and soaring up in the azure 
 skies, so Benjamin's soul, always bright and serene, 
 
 193
 
 194 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 soared in a realm above the rest of humanity. He 
 had but two needs, the satisfaction of hunger and 
 thirst. And had the firmament fallen in pieces on the 
 earth and had only one bottle been left intact, my 
 uncle, sitting on the smoking ruins of a cosmic body, 
 would calmly have drunk down the contents to the 
 resurrection of the human race. To him the past was 
 nothing, and the future as yet was nothing. He 
 compared the past to an empty bottle, and the fu- 
 ture to a chicken ready for the spit. 
 
 "What care I," said he, "what sort of drink the 
 bottle contains? And as for the chicken, why 
 should I roast myself turning it round and round 
 before the fire? Perhaps exactly when it is finished 
 roasting, and the table is laid, and I have tied my 
 napkin on, some monster will come along and carry 
 away the smoking fowl in his jaws. 
 
 'Eternity and Nothingness ! 
 
 Ye sombre caverns of the Past !' 
 
 cries the poet. For my part, all I should try to save 
 from the gloomy abyss would be my last red coat 
 if it were floating about within my reach. Life is 
 entirely in the present, and the present is the passing 
 moment. So, of what significance is the fortune or 
 the misfortune of a moment? Here is a beggar and 
 here is a millionaire. God says to them, 'You 
 have but a minute to remain upon earth.' This 
 minute gone, he grants them a second, then a third,
 
 MY UNCLE'S SPEECH 195 
 
 and lets them live on like that to ninety. Do you 
 think the one is really happier than the other? All 
 the miseries that afflict man, man alone creates. The 
 pleasures he goes to so much trouble to get are 
 not worth a quarter of the effort he expends upon 
 them. He is like a hunter who scours the country 
 all day long for a thin hare or a tough partridge. 
 We boast of the superiority of our intelligence, but 
 what good does it do us that we can calculate the 
 course of the stars, that we can foretell almost to a 
 second when the moon will pass between the sun and 
 the earth, that we can traverse the ocean solitudes 
 with wooden boats or hempen sails, if we do not 
 know how to enjoy the blessings with which God 
 has equipped our existence. The animals that we 
 look down on as dumb brutes know how to get 
 more out of life than we do. The donkey pastures 
 at ease in the grass without troubling whether it will 
 grow again. It doesn't occur to the bear to guard a 
 farmer's flocks so as to have warm mittens and a fur 
 cap in the winter time. The hare doesn't beat the 
 drum in a regiment in the hope of earning feed for 
 his old age. The vulture does not get a position as 
 a letter-carrier in order to wear a beautiful gold 
 necklace around its bare neck. They are all content 
 with what nature has given them, with the bed she 
 made for them in the grass, with the roof she built 
 for them under the blue, starry firmament. 
 
 "As soon as a ray of light shines on the plain, the 
 bird begins to twitter on its branch, the insect hums
 
 196 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 around the bushes, the fish leaps to the surface of its 
 pool, the lizard comes out on the warm stones of 
 its wall. If a shower falls from the clouds, each 
 takes refuge in its hiding-place and waits sleeping 
 peacefully until the sun shines again the next day. 
 Why doesn't man do likewise? 
 
 "I hope it won't offend the great King Solomon, 
 but the ant is the stupidest of animals. Instead of 
 playing in the fields in the loveliest season of the 
 year and sharing in the glorious festival that heaven 
 bestows on the earth for six months in the year it 
 wastes the whole summer piling up little scraps of 
 leaves. And when the ant city is finished, a wind 
 comes and sweeps it away under its wing." 
 
 Benjamin made Bonteint's process-server get drunk 
 and used the stamped paper of the summons to wr-ap 
 some ointment in. 
 
 The bailiff before whom my uncle was to appear 
 was too important a personage for me to fail to 
 describe him. Besides, my grandfather on his death- 
 bed expressly urged me to do so, and I would not 
 fail in this pious duty for anything in the world. 
 
 The bailiff, like so many others, was born of poor 
 parents. His swaddling-clothes had been made of a 
 gendarme's old cloak, and he began his studies in 
 jurisprudence by cleaning his father's big sword and 
 currying his sorrel. I cannot explain to you 
 how the bailiff rose from the lowest rank of the 
 judicial hierarchy to the highest judicial position in 
 the neighbourhood. All I can say is that the lizard
 
 MY UNCLE'S SPEECH 197 
 
 reaches the peaks of the high rocks as well as the 
 eagle. 
 
 The bailiff had a number of set ideas, among them 
 that he was a great personage. The lowliness of his 
 birth troubled him. He could not conceive how a 
 man like himself had not been born a gentleman. 
 He ascribed it to an error on the Creator's part. 
 He would have given his wife, his children, and his 
 clerk for a pitiful coat of arms. Nature had been 
 tolerably good to the bailiff. Though she had dealt 
 out intelligence to him in neither too large nor too 
 small a portion, yet she had added a large dose of 
 shrewdness and self-assurance. The bailiff was 
 neither stupid nor clever. He stood exactly between 
 the two camps; he never crossed over into the camp 
 of the people of intelligence, while he made frequent 
 incursions into the accessible territory of the others. 
 Since he was denied the wit of clever men, he con- 
 tented himself with the wit of fools he made puns. 
 It was the duty of the lawyers and their wives to 
 think his puns very funny. His clerk had to spread 
 them among the people, and even explain them to 
 those dullards who at first failed to get the point. 
 Thanks to this agreeable social talent, the bailiff had 
 acquired the reputation of a man of wit in a certain 
 circle. But my uncle said he had purchased his repu- 
 tation with counterfeit coin. 
 
 Was the bailiff an honest man? I should not 
 like to take it upon myself to assert the contrary. 
 You know the code of laws gives an accurate defini-
 
 198 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 tion of the concept robber, and society looks upon 
 all those who are not included in the definition as 
 honest people, and the bailiff was one of those not 
 included in the definition. By various machinations 
 he succeeded in conducting not only the business, but 
 even the pleasures of the town. As a magistrate, 
 he was not a personage to be highly recommended. 
 He thoroughly understood the law, to be sure, but 
 when it went counter to his likes or his dislikes, he 
 simply set it aside. The charge was made against 
 him that one scale of his balance was of gold and 
 the other of wood, and as a matter of fact, I don't 
 know how, but his friends were always right and 
 his enemies always wrong. An offence always in- 
 curred the highest penalty of the law, and if the 
 bailiff could have added to it, he would have done so 
 with a will. Nevertheless the law cannot always be 
 twisted to suit one's purposes; so, when the bailiff 
 was obliged to pass sentence upon a man whom- he 
 feared or from whom he hoped for something, he 
 got out of the dilemma by declining to pronounce 
 judgment, and then got his following to boast of his 
 impartiality. The bailiff courted universal admira- 
 tion. He cordially, but secretly, detested those who 
 had any sort of superiority that cast him into the 
 shade. If you pretended to believe in his impor- 
 tance, even if you sought his protection, you made 
 him the happiest of men. But if you failed to take 
 your hat off to him, the insult buried itself so deeply 
 in his memory and made such a wound that if you
 
 MY UNCLE'S SPEECH 199 
 
 and he lived to be a hundred he never would have 
 forgiven you. So woe to the unfortunate who did 
 not salute the bailiff. If some matter brought the 
 man to court, the bailiff would know a skilful way 
 of treating him roughly so as to drive him to show 
 lack of respect. Then vengeance became duty, and 
 he had the man thrown in prison, all the while de- 
 ploring the sad necessity that his office imposed upon 
 him. Often, even, to make people believe in his 
 grief, he carried hypocrisy so far as to take to his 
 bed, and on special occasions even had himself bled. 
 The bailiff paid court to God just as he did to 
 the earthly powers. He never absented himself 
 from high mass, and his place was always in the 
 very middle of the vestrymen's pew. That brought 
 him every Sunday a share of the blessed bread and 
 also the cure's protection. Could he have had an 
 official report drawn up testifying to his having 
 attended divine service, he undoubtedly would have 
 done so. But these little faults were compensated 
 for by brilliant qualities. No one understood better 
 than he how to organise a ball at the town's ex- 
 pense or a banquet in honour of the Due de Niver- 
 nais. On such festive occasions he was magnificent 
 in his dignity, his appetite, and his puns. Lamoignon 
 or President Mole would have been small beside 
 him. For ten years he had been hoping to receive 
 the cross of Saint Louis in reward for the eminent 
 services he rendered the city. And when Lafayette 
 was given the cross after his American cam-
 
 200 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 paigns, he muttered to himself against the injustice. 
 
 Such was the bailiff morally. As for his body, 
 it was a fat figure, although he had not yet attained 
 his full majesty. His figure resembled an ellipse 
 enlarged at the lower end. He might have been 
 compared to an ostrich-egg on two legs. Perfidious 
 nature, which lets the manchineel tree cast a broad, 
 heavy shade beneath a fiery sky, bestowed upon the 
 bailiff the appearance of an honest man. And he 
 loved to make an impression. It was a glorious day 
 in his life when he could go from the courthouse 
 to the church escorted by the firemen. 
 
 The bailiff always stood as stiff as a statue on a 
 pedestal. If you had not known him, you would 
 have said he had a plaster of Burgundy pitch or a 
 broad blister between his shoulders. On the street 
 he walked as if carrying the holy sacrament. His 
 step was as invariably the same length as a yard- 
 stick. A shower of spears would not have made 
 him lengthen it an inch. With the bailiff as his 
 single instrument an astronomer could have measured 
 an arc of the meridian. 
 
 My uncle did not hate the bailiff. He did not 
 even honour him with his contempt. But in pres- 
 ence of such moral baseness he felt something like 
 nausea of his soul, and sometimes he said the man 
 had the effect upon him of a great toad squatting on 
 a velvet arm-chair. 
 
 As for the bailiff, he hated Benjamin with the 
 whole force of his bilious soul. Benjamin was not
 
 MY UNCLE'S SPEECH 201 
 
 ignorant of this, but it made very little difference 
 to him. 
 
 My grandmother, fearing a conflict between these 
 two such opposite natures, wanted Benjamin to 
 refrain from going to court. But the great man, 
 confident of the strength of his will, disdained this 
 timid counsel. His one concession was to abstain 
 from his customary allowance of mulled wine on 
 Saturday morning. 
 
 Bonteint's lawyer proved that his client had a 
 right to a verdict of imprisonment for debt. When 
 he had exhausted every argument, the bailiff asked 
 Benjamin what he had to say in his defence. 
 
 "I have only a simple remark to make," said my 
 uncle, "but it is worth more than Monsieur's whole 
 speech, because it is irrefutable. I am five feet ten 
 inches above the level of the sea and six inches above 
 the average height. So, I think " 
 
 "Monsieur Rathery," interrupted the bailiff, "no 
 matter how great a man you may be, you have no 
 right to joke with justice." 
 
 "If I wanted to joke," said my uncle, "it would 
 not be with so powerful a personage as your Hon- 
 our, whose justice, moreover, does not joke. But 
 when I affirm that I am five feet ten inches above 
 the level of the sea, I am not making a joke. I 
 am offering a serious defence. Your Honour can 
 have me measured if he doubts the truth of my state- 
 ment. I think 
 
 "Monsieur Rathery," snapped the bailiff, "if you
 
 202 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 continue in this vein, I shall be obliged to forbid 
 your talking." 
 
 "Not necessary," answered my uncle. "I am 
 done. So I think," he added, bringing his words 
 out precipitately, "that the body of a man of my 
 size is not to be seized for fifty miserable crowns." 
 
 "According to you," said the bailiff, "the seizure 
 of the body can be practised only on one of your 
 arms, or one of your legs, or perhaps even on your 
 queue." 
 
 "In the first place," answered my uncle, "your 
 Honour will note that my queue is not in question. 
 Secondly, I make no such assumption as your Honour 
 attributes to me. I was born undivided, and I intend 
 to remain undivided all my life. But the security is 
 worth at least double the amount of the debt. I beg 
 your Honour to order that the sentence for seizure 
 of my body shall not be executed until Bonteint 
 shall have furnished me with three more red coats." 
 
 "Monsieur Rathery, this is not a tavern. I beg 
 you to remember to whom you are talking. Your 
 remarks are as ill-considered as your person." 
 
 "Monsieur bailiff," answered my uncle, "I have 
 a good memory, and I know very well to whom 
 I am talking. I have been too carefully brought 
 up by my dear sister in the fear of God and the 
 gendarmes to allow me to forget it. As for taverns, 
 since you mention the subject, taverns are too highly 
 appreciated by respectable people to need my de- 
 fence of them. If we go to a tavern when we are
 
 MY UNCLE'S SPEECH 203 
 
 thirsty, it is because we have not the privilege of 
 refreshing ourselves at the city's expense. The 
 tavern is the wine-cellar of those who have none, 
 and the wine-cellar of those who have one is noth- 
 ing, but a tavern without a sign. It ill becomes those 
 who drink a bottle of Burgundy and something else 
 for their dinner to abuse the poor devil who now 
 and then regales himself at the tavern with a pint 
 of Croix-Pataux. Those official orgies where men 
 get drunk toasting the king and the Due de Nivernais 
 are, stripped of fine speech, simply what the people 
 call drinking bouts. To get drunk at one's own 
 table is supposed to be more decent, but to get drunk 
 at a tavern is nobler and more profitable to the 
 public treasury. As to the consideration attaching 
 to my person, it is not so widespread as that which 
 Monsieur can claim for his person, inasmuch as I 
 enjoy the consideration of none but honest people. 
 However " 
 
 ''Monsieur Rathery," cried the bailiff, finding no? 
 better and easier answer to the epigrams with which 
 my uncle was tormenting him, "you are insolent." 
 
 "So be it," replied Benjamin, knocking off a bit 
 of straw from the facing of his coat, "but I must in 
 conscience warn your Honour that this morning I 
 have kept within the strictest limits of temperance, 
 and if your Honour tries to make me denart from the 
 respect I owe your robe, I cannot be held responsible 
 for the consequences." 
 
 "Monsieur Rathery, exclaimed the bailiff, "your
 
 204 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 allusions are an insult to the court. I fine you thirty 
 sous." 
 
 "Here are three francs," said my uncle, putting 
 a coin on the judge's green table. "Take your pay 
 out of that." 
 
 "Monsieur Rathery," cried the bailiff in exaspera- 
 tion, "leave the room." 
 
 "Monsieur bailiff, I have the honour to salute you. 
 My compliments to Madame your wife, if you 
 please." 
 
 "I fine you forty sous more," screamed the judge. 
 
 "What, a fine of forty sous for presenting my 
 compliments to Madame your wife." 
 
 And he went out. 
 
 "That devil of a man!" said the bailiff in the 
 evening to his wife. "I should never have supposed 
 that he would be so self-controlled. But let him look 
 out. I have issued a warrant for his arrest, and I 
 shall persuade Bonteint to execute it immediately. 
 He shall learn what it means to defy me. He can 
 wait long till I invite him to the festivities given by 
 the city, and if I can cut off his practice " 
 
 "For shame!" answered his wife. "Is that the 
 right way for a man who sits in the vestryman's pew 
 to talk? Besides, what has M. Rathery done to 
 you? He is such a jolly, cultured, delightful man." 
 
 "I will tell you what he has done to me, Madame. 
 He has dared to remind me that your father-in-law 
 was a gendarme, and said he is wittier and more 
 honest than I am. Is. that a small matter?"
 
 MY UNCLE'S SPEECH 205 
 
 By the next morning my uncle had forgotten about 
 the warrant issued for his arrest. He started off 
 for church, powdered and solemn, Mademoiselle 
 Minxit on his right and his sword on his left. He was 
 followed by Page, who was evidently pleased by the 
 appearance he presented in his best brown coat; by 
 Arthus, whose abdomen was enveloped to a point 
 beyond its diameter by a waistcoat embroidered with 
 large branches and birds fluttering among them; by 
 Millot-Rataut, who wore a brick-coloured wig and 
 whose yellowish shinbones were dotted with black; 
 and by a great many others, whose names I do 
 not care to hand down to posterity. Parlanta alone 
 failed to answer to the call. Two violins squeaked 
 at the head of the procession. Machecourt and his 
 wife brought up the rear. Benjamin, always munifi- 
 cent, scattered sweetmeats and the pennies from the 
 vaccination money. Gaspard, very proud to serve 
 as a pocket, walked by his side, carrying the sweet- 
 meats in a big bag.
 
 CHAPTER XV- 
 
 HOW PARLANTA ARRESTED MY UNCLE, WHILE 
 
 ACTING AS GODFATHER, AND PUT 
 
 HIM IN PRISON 
 
 BUT lo ! Quite another ceremony was in store for 
 him! Parlanta had been expressly ordered by Bon- 
 teint' and the bailiff to execute the warrant during 
 the ceremony. He had concealed his assistants in 
 the vestibule of the court-house, and himself awaited 
 the procession at the church portal. 
 
 As soon as he saw my uncle's three-cornered hat 
 rise above the steps of Vieille-Rome, he went up to 
 him and summoned him in the name of the king to 
 follow him to prison. 
 
 "Parlanta," answered my uncle, "what you are 
 doing 511 accords with the rules of French polite- 
 ness. Couldn't you have waited until to-morrow, 
 and come and dined with us to-day?" 
 
 "If it makes very much difference to you, I will 
 wait. But I'll tell you, the bailiff's orders were very 
 explicit, and I run the risk of bringing his ven- 
 geance down on me in this life and the next." 
 
 "In that case, do your duty," said Benjamin; and 
 he asked Page to take his place beside Mademoiselle 
 
 206
 
 PARLANTA ARRESTS MY UNCLE 207 
 
 Minxit. Then, bowing with all the grace that his 
 five feet ten inches would allow, he said : 
 
 "You see, Mademoiselle, that I am forced to 
 leave you. I beg you to believe that nothing less 
 than a summons in the name of His Majesty could 
 induce me to do such a thing. I wish Parlanta had 
 allowed me to enjoy the pleasure of this ceremony 
 to the end, but these sheriff's officers are like death. 
 They snatch their prey anywhere, they tear it vio- 
 lently from the arms of the loved one as a child 
 catches a butterfly by its gauze wings and tears it 
 from the rose's heart." 
 
 "It is as disagreeable to me as to you," said Made- 
 moiselle Minxit, pulling a long face. "Your friend 
 is short and as round as a ball, and he wears a wig a 
 marteaux. I shall look like a bean pole beside him." 
 
 "What can I do about it?" said Benjamin, dryly, 
 hurt by such egoism. "I cannot make you any 
 shorter, or M. Page any thinner, and I cannot lend 
 him my queue." 
 
 Benjamin took leave of the company and followed 
 Parlanta, whistling his favourite air: 
 
 "Marlbrough is off to war." 
 
 He halted a moment at the threshold of the prison 
 to cast a last glance at the free spaces about to be 
 shut off behind him. He saw his sister standing 
 motionless, holding her husband's arm and looking 
 after Benjamin sadly. At the sight of her look,
 
 ao8 MY UNCLE BENTAMIN 
 
 Benjamin quickly shut the door behind him and 
 rushed into the prison-yard. 
 
 That night my grandfather and his wife paid 
 him a visit. They found him standing on the steps, 
 throwing the rest of his sweetmeats to his com- 
 panions in captivity and laughing gleefully to see 
 them scramble for them. 
 
 "What the devil are you doing?" said my grand- 
 father. 
 
 "You see,*' answered Benjamin, "I am finishing 
 the baptismal ceremony. Don't you find that these 
 men falling over each other to pick up insipid sweet- 
 meats are a true picture of society? Isn't that the 
 way the poor inhabitants of the earth push each 
 other, trample on each other, throw each other 
 down, to snatch at the gifts God has thrown them? 
 Isn't that the way the strong man tramples on the 
 weak man? Isn't that the way the weak man bleeds 
 and cries? Isn't that the way the man who has taken 
 everything arrogantly scorns and insults the man 
 whom he has left nothing? And isn't that the way 
 when the man who has nothing dares to complain 
 the other kicks him? These poor devils are breath- 
 less, covered with sweat, their fingers are bruised, 
 their faces torn. Not one of them has come out of 
 the struggle without a scratch. Had they listened 
 to their real interests would they not have done 
 better to share the sweetmeats like brothers instead 
 of fighting over them like enemies?" 
 
 "Possibly," answered Machecourt. "But try not
 
 PARLANTA ARRESTS MY UNCLE 209 
 
 to be too bored this evening and be sure to sleep well 
 to-night, because to-morrow morning you will be 
 free." 
 
 "How so?" answered Benjamin. 
 
 "To get you out of here we have sold our little 
 vineyard in Choulot." 
 
 "Is the contract signed?" inquired Benjamin, 
 anxiously. 
 
 "Not yet," said my grandfather, "but we are to 
 meet to-night to sign it." 
 
 "Now listen, Machecourt, and you, my dear sister. 
 Listen very carefully to what I am going to say. 
 If you sell your vineyard to get me out of Bonteint's 
 clutches, the first use I shall make of my liberty 
 will be to leave your house. And you will never 
 in all your life see me again." 
 
 "Nevertheless," said Machecourt, "it's got to be 
 done. A brother can't do differently. I can't let 
 you stay in prison when I have the means of getting 
 you out. You take things as a philosopher, but I am 
 not a philosopher. As long as you are in this place, 
 I shan't be able to eat a morsel or drink a glass of 
 white wine." 
 
 "And I," said my grandmother, "do you think 
 I can get along without seeing you any more? 
 Didn't our mother on her death-bed tell me to take 
 care of you? Haven't I brought you UD? Don't I 
 look upon vou as r^e oldest of mv children? And 
 my poor children, thevVe a sad sight. Since vouVe 
 been gone, you'd think there was a coffin in the
 
 210 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 house. They all wanted to come along to see you. 
 And Nanette absolutely refused to touch her cake. 
 She had to keep it for uncle Benjamin, who was in 
 prison and had only black bread to eat." 
 
 "This is too much," said Benjamin, clutching my 
 grandfather's shoulders. "Go away, Machecourt, 
 and you too, my dear sister, go away, please do. 
 You will make me be guilty of a weakness. And I 
 warn you again, if you sell your vineyard to buy me 
 out of here, I will never in my life set eyes on you 
 again." 
 
 "Nonsense, you silly!" answered my grand- 
 mother, "isn't a brother worth more than a vine- 
 yard? If you had the chance, wouldn't you do the 
 same for us that we're doing for you? And when 
 you get to be rich, aren't you going to help us take 
 care of our children? With your profession and 
 your talents you can return us a hundredfold what 
 we are giving you to-day. And then, my God. what 
 will people say of us if we should leave you behind 
 the bars for a debt of a hundred and fifty francs? 
 Come, Benjamin, be a good brother, don't be obsti- 
 nate, don't make us all unhappy by insisting on stay- 
 ing here." 
 
 While my grandmother was speaking, Benjamin 
 kept his head hidden in his hands, trying to repress 
 the tears that were gathering under his eyelids. 
 
 "Machecourt," he cried suddenly, "I can't stand 
 this any longer. Tell Boutron to bring me a little 
 glass of brandy, and come and kiss me. See," he
 
 PARLANTA ARRESTS MY UNCLE 211 
 
 said, squeezing him to his chest so hard that he 
 almost cried out with pain, "you are the first man 
 I have ever kissed and these are the first tears I 
 have shed since I used to be flogged." 
 
 And my poor uncle actually burst into tears. But 
 the jailer brought two small glasses of brandy, and 
 Benjamin had no sooner emptied his than he turned 
 as bright and serene as an April sky after a shower. 
 
 My grandmother tried again to make him change 
 his mind, but her words had no more effect than the 
 moon's rays upon an icicle. 
 
 The only thing that troubled him was that the 
 jailer had seen him cry. So Machecourt willy-nilly 
 had to keep his vineyard.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 A BREAKFAST IN PRISON HOW MY UNCLE GOT OUT 
 
 OF PRISON 
 
 THE next morning, as my uncle was taking a walk 
 in the prison-yard, whistling a familiar air, Arthus 
 entered, followed by three men with baskets on their 
 backs covered with white linen. 
 
 "Good morning, Benjamin," he said, "we have 
 come to breakfast with you, since you cannot come 
 to breakfast with us." 
 
 At the same time came filing in Page, Rapin, 
 Guillerand, Millot-Rataut, and Machecourt. Par- 
 lanta brought up the rear, looking a little abashed. 
 My uncle went up to him, and, taking his hand, 
 said: 
 
 "Well, Parlanta, I hope you don't bear me any 
 ill-will for making you lose a good dinner yester- 
 day." 
 
 "On the contrary," answered Parlanta, "I was 
 afraid you would be angry with me for not allow- 
 ing you to go through with the baptism." 
 
 "I want you to know, Benjamin," broke in Page, 
 "that we have assessed ourselves to get you out of 
 here. But, as we have no ready cash, we act as if 
 
 212
 
 A BREAKFAST IN PRISON 213 
 
 money had not been invented. We give Bonteint our 
 respective services, each according to his profession. 
 I will plead his first case for him, Parlanta will write 
 two summonses for him, Arthus will draw up his 
 will, Rapin will give him two or three consultations 
 that will cost him dearer than he thinks; Guillerand 
 will give his children some excuse for grammar les- 
 sons, Rataut, who is a poet and therefore is nothing, 
 engages himself on his honour to buy of him all the 
 coats he may need for the next two years, which, in 
 my opinion and his, does not engage him to very 
 much." 
 
 "And does Bonteint accept?" said Benjamin. 
 
 "Accept?" said Page, a why, he receives value 
 amounting to more than five hundred francs. It was 
 Rapin who arranged this matter with him yesterday. 
 The only thing left to do is to draw up the docu- 
 ments." 
 
 "Well," said my uncle, "I will contribute my share 
 in this good work. I will treat him free of charge 
 the next two times he gets sick. If I kill him the 
 first time, his wife shall inherit the privilege of the 
 second. As for you, Machecourt, I'll let you sub- 
 scribe a jug of white wine." 
 
 Meantime Arthus had had the table set at the 
 jailer's. He took from the baskets the dishes, the 
 contents of all of which had become somewhat mixed 
 together, and placed them in their order on the 
 table. 
 
 "Come," he shouted, "let us sit down, and a
 
 214 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 truce to your talking. I don't like to be disturbed 
 when I am eating. You'll have plenty of time to 
 chatter at dessert." 
 
 The breakfast did not taste at all of the place in 
 which it was partaken. Machecourt alone was a 
 little sad, for the arrangement made with Bonteint 
 by my uncle's friends seemed to him like a joke. 
 
 "Come, Machecourt," cried Benjamin, "your 
 glass is always in your hand, full or empty. Are 
 you the prisoner here, or am I? By the way, gen- 
 tlemen, do you know that Machecourt came near 
 perpetrating a good deed yesterday? He wanted 
 to sell his goocl vineyard to pay Bonteint my 
 ransom." 
 
 "Magnificent!" cried Page. 
 
 "Succulent!" said Arthus. 
 
 "Morality in action," remarked Guillerand. 
 
 "Gentlemen," interjected Rapin, "virtue must be 
 honoured wherever one is fortunate enough to find 
 it. I propose, therefore, that every time Mache- 
 court sits down at table with us, he shall be given 
 an arm-chair." 
 
 *r "So ordered," cried all the guests together, "and 
 here's to Machecourt's health!" 
 
 "Upon my word !" said my uncle, "I don't see why 
 people are so afraid of prison. Isn't this fowl as 
 tender and this Bordeaux as delicious on this side of 
 the bars as on the other?" 
 
 "Yes," said Guillerand, "as long as there is grass 
 near the wall to which it is fastened the goat does
 
 A BREAKFAST IN PRISON 215 
 
 not feel its tether, but when the place is stripped, it 
 begins to worry and tries to break it." 
 
 "To go from the grass that grows in the valley 
 to that which grows on the mountain is the liberty 
 of the goat," my uncle answered, "but man's liberty 
 does not consist in merely doing just as he pleases. 
 He whose body has been imprisoned but who has 
 been left the liberty to think at his will is a hundred 
 times freer than he whose soul is held captive in 
 the chains of an odious occupation. The prisoner 
 undoubtedly passes sad hours in contemplating 
 through his bars the road that winds through the 
 plain and loses itself in the bluish shade of some 
 far-off forest. He would like to be the poor woman 
 who leads her cow along the road, twirling her 
 distaff, or the poor wood-cutter who goes back 
 loaded with boughs to his hut smoking above the 
 trees. But this liberty to be where one likes, to go 
 straight ahead until one is weary or is stopped by a 
 ditch who possesses it? Is not the paralytic a 
 prisoner in his bed, the merchant in his shop, the 
 clerk in his office, the burgher in his little town, the 
 king in his kingdom, and God himself in the icy 
 circumference that encircles the world? You go 
 breathless and dripping with perspiration over a 
 road burned with the sun. Here are tall trees that 
 spread their lofty tiers of verdure beside you, and 
 ironically shake their yellow leaves on your head as 
 if in sport. I am sure you would like very much to 
 rest a moment in their shade and wipe your feet on
 
 216 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 the moss that carpets their roots. But between them 
 and you there are six feet of wall, or the sharp- 
 pointed bars of an iron grating. Arthus, Rapin, 
 and all of you who have only a stomach, who after 
 breakfast can only think of dinner I don't know 
 whether you will understand me. But Millot-Rataut, 
 who is a tailor and composes Christmas songs, he 
 will understand me. I have often desired to follow 
 (he wind-driven cloud in its wanderings across the 
 sky. Often when, resting my elbows on the win- 
 dow-sill, and dreamily following the moon which 
 seemed to look at me like a human face, I have had 
 the desire to fly away like a bubble of air toward 
 those mysterious regions of solitude that spread 
 above my head, and I should have given all the 
 world to sit for a moment on one of those gigantic 
 peaks which rend the white surface of that planet. 
 Was I not then also a captive on the earth as truly 
 as the poor prisoner within the high walls of his 
 prison?" 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Page, "one thing must be ad- 
 mitted. To the rich man the prison is made too 
 pleasant and comfortable. It punishes him the way 
 a spoiled child is punished, like that nymph who 
 whipped Cupid with a rose. If the rich man is 
 allowed to take into prison his kitchen, wine-cellar, 
 library, parlour, then he is not a convict undergoing 
 punishment, but a burgher who has changed his 
 lodgings. Here you are sitting before a nice fire, 
 wrapped in the wadding of your dressing-gown.
 
 A BREAKFAST IN PRISON 217 
 
 With your feet on the andirons you digest your 
 food in your stomach fragrant with truffles and 
 champagne. The snow comes fluttering down on 
 the bars of your window while you blow the bluish 
 smoke of your cigar to the ceiling. You dream, you 
 think, you build castles in the air or write verses. 
 At your side is your newspaper, that friend which 
 you leave, which you call back, and which you cast 
 away for good when it becomes too tiresome. What 
 is there in such a situation, I should like to know, 
 that resembles a penalty? Haven't you passed 
 hours, days, entire weeks like that, without leaving 
 your house? And while you are passing your time 
 in this manner, what is the judge doing, who has had 
 the barbarity to condemn you to this torture? He 
 is hearing cases from eleven o'clock in the morning, 
 shivering in his black robe and listening to the 
 rigmarole of some lawyer who repeats the same 
 thing over and over again. And while thus occu- 
 pied catarrh seizes his lungs with its numbing clutch, 
 or chilblains bite his toes with their sharp teeth. 
 You say that you are not free ! On the contrary, you 
 are a hundred times freer than in your house. Your 
 whole day belongs to you. You get up when you 
 like, go to bed when you like, do what you like, 
 and you don't have to shave either. 
 
 "Take Benjamin, for instance. He is a prisoner. 
 Do you think Bonteint has served him such a bad 
 turn in having him shut up here? He often had to 
 rise before the street lamps were out. With one
 
 218 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 stocking on wrong side out, he went from door to 
 door, inspecting this one's tongue and feeling that 
 one's pulse. When he had finished on one side, he 
 had to begin on the other. He splashed himself on 
 the cross-roads up to his queue ; and the peasants gen- 
 erally had nothing to offer him but curds and black 
 bread. When he came home at night very tired, had 
 settled himself comfortably in his bed, and was be- 
 ginning to taste the joys of the early hours of sleep, 
 he would be brutally awakened and called to the 
 mayor choking with indigestion, or to the bailiff's 
 wife who was having a miscarriage. Here he is 
 free of all this bother and worry. He is as well off 
 here as a rat in a Dutch cheese. Bonteint has made 
 him a present of a little income, which he is con- 
 suming like a philosopher. Verily he is like the lily 
 of the Gospel. He bleeds not, neither does he pre- 
 scribe purgatives, and yet is well fed; he toils not, 
 neither does he spin, and yet is arrayed in a magnifi- 
 cent red robe. Upon my word, we are fools to pity 
 him, and enemies to his comfort to try to get him 
 out of here." 
 
 "It is comfortable here, I grant you," answered 
 my uncle, "but I'd rather be uncomfortable else- 
 where. That shall not prevent me from admitting 
 Page's contention that not only is the prison too 
 pleasant for the rich man, but too pleasant for every- 
 body. It is undoubtedly hard to cry to the law when 
 it scourges a poor, unfortunate fellow, 'Strike 
 harder, you don't hurt him enough.' But we must
 
 A BREAKFAST IN PRISON 219 
 
 also guard against that unintelligent, short-sighted 
 philanthropy which sees nothing beyond his misfor- 
 tune. Real philosophers, like Guillerand, like Mil- 
 lot-Rataut, like Parlanta, in a word, like all of us, 
 should consider men only en masse,, as we consider 
 a wheat field. A social question should always be 
 regarded from the standpoint of the public interest. 
 You have distinguished yourself by a fine feat of 
 arms, and the king decorates you with the cross of 
 Saint Louis. Do you think it's from goodwill 
 toward yourself, in the interest of your own indi- 
 vidual glory that His Majesty authorises you to wear 
 his gracious image on your breast? Ah, no, my poor 
 brave! It is in his own interest first, and in that of 
 the State, next. It is in order that those who, like 
 you, have hot blood in their veins, may imitate your 
 example, seeing how generously you have been re- 
 warded. Now, suppose that, instead of a good deed, 
 you have committed a crime. You have killed, not 
 three or four men who are different from you be- 
 cause they don't wear the same kind of coat-collar 
 that you do, but a good burgher of your own country. 
 The judge has sentenced you to death, and the king 
 has refused to pardon you. There is nothing left 
 for you now but to make your general confession and 
 begin your lamentation. Now, what feeling moved 
 the judge to pass this sentence upon you? Did he 
 ^EJsh to rid society of you, as when one kills a mad 
 dog, or to punish you, as when one whips a bad 
 boy? In the first place, if his object had been
 
 220 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 simply to cut you off from society, a very deep cell 
 with a very thick door and a loop-hole for a win- 
 dow would have been quite sufficient. Then the 
 judge often condemns to death a man who has at- 
 tempted to commit suicide, and to prison a poor 
 fellow to whom he knows that the prison will be a 
 welcome place of refuge. Is it to punish them 
 that he grants these two good-for-nothings precisely 
 what they ask for, that he performs for one, to 
 whom existence is a torture, an operation that ends 
 his life, and that he gives to the other, who has 
 neither bread nor a roof over his head, a place of 
 refuge? The judge has but one object in view. By 
 punishing you he wants to frighten those who would 
 be tempted to follow your example. 
 
 " 'People, look out, don't kill,' that's all the 
 judge's sentence means. If you could substitute a 
 mannikin for yourself who looks like you and put him 
 under the knife, it would be all the same to the 
 judge. If even after the executioner had cut off your 
 head and shown it to the people he could resuscitate 
 you, I am very sure he would willingly do so. For, 
 after all, the judge is a good man, and he would 
 not like to have his cook kill a chicken before his 
 eyes. 
 
 "They cry aloud, and you proclaim it too, that it is 
 better to let ten guilty men go unpunished than to 
 condemn one innocent man. That's the most de- 
 plorable of all the absurdities to which modern fash- 
 ionable philanthropy has given birth. It is an anti-
 
 A BREAKFAST IN PRISON 221 
 
 social principle. I, for my part, maintain that it is 
 better to condemn ten innocent men than to acquit a 
 single guilty man." 
 
 At these words all the guests raised a great out- 
 cry against my uncle. 
 
 "No, indeed," said my uncle, "I am not joking. 
 This is no subject for laughter. I express a strong, 
 firm, a long-settled conviction. The whole city pities 
 the innocent man who mounts the scaffold. The 
 newspapers raise lamentations, and your poets 
 make him the martyred hero of their dramas. But 
 how many innocent men perish in your rivers, on 
 your highways, in your mine pits, or even in your 
 workshops, crushed by the ferocious teeth of your 
 machines, those gigantic animals that seize a man by 
 surprise and swallow him before your eyes, without 
 your being able to help him. Yet their death hardly 
 wrings an exclamation from you. You pass by, and 
 after you have gone a few steps you think no more 
 about it. You even don't think of mentioning it to 
 your wife at dinner. The next day the newspaper 
 buries him in a corner of its pages, throws over his 
 body a few lines of heavy prose, and all is ended. 
 Why this indifference for one and this superabund- 
 ance of pity for the other? Why ring the funeral 
 knell of the one with a little bell and of the other 
 with a big one? Is a jydge's mistake a more ter- 
 rible accident than an overturned stage-coach or 
 a deranged machine? Do not my innocents make 
 as big a hole in society as yours? Do they not leave
 
 222 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 the wife a widow and the children orphans as well 
 as yours? 
 
 "Undoubtedly it is not pleasant to go to the 
 scaffold for another. If the thing should happen to 
 me, I admit I should be very much annoyed. But, 
 in relation to society as a whole, what is the little 
 blood that the executioner sheds? A drop of water 
 oozing out of a reservoir, a blighted acorn falling 
 , from an oak. The condemnation of an innocent 
 man by a judge is a consequence of our system of 
 justice, just as the fall of a carpenter from the top 
 of a house is a consequence of man having his shelter 
 under a roof. Of a thousand bottles a workman 
 makes, he breaks at least one. Of a thousand sen- 
 tences a judge passes, at least one is bound to be 
 unjust. It is an evil to be expected, and for which 
 there is no possible remedy except the total suppres- 
 sion of justice. What would you think of an old 
 woman picking over beans who kept all the rubbish 
 because she was afraid she might throw away one 
 good bean? Would not a judge be acting the same 
 way who acquitted ten guilty men for fear of con- 
 demning one innocent one? 
 
 "Moreover, the condemnation of an innocent man 
 is a rare thing. It marks an epoch in the annals of 
 justice. It is almost impossible that a fortuitous 
 concourse of circumstances should so unite against 
 a man as to overwhelm him with charges which he 
 cannot disprove. And even in such a case I main- 
 tain that there is in the attitude of an accused man,
 
 A BREAKFAST IN PRISON 223 
 
 in his look, in his gesture, in the sound of his voice, 
 elements of evidence which cannot escape the judge. 
 Besides, the death of an innocent man is only an 
 individual misfortune, while the acquittal of a guilty 
 man is a public calamity. Crime listens at the doors 
 of your court-room. It knows what is going on 
 inside, it calculates the chances of safety which your 
 indulgence affords. It applauds you when, through 
 excess of caution, it sees you acquit a guilty man, 
 for it is crime itself that you acquit. Justice should 
 not be too severe, there is no doubt of that. But, 
 when it is too indulgent, it abdicates, it destroys 
 itself. Men predestined to crime will abandon them- 
 selves without fear to their instincts, and no longer 
 see in their dreams the sinister face of the execu- 
 tioner. No longer will the scaffold rise between them 
 and their victims. They will take your money if 
 they need it, and your life if it stands in their way. 
 You congratulate yourself, good soul that you are, 
 on having saved an innocent man from the axe, but 
 you have caused twenty to die by the dagger. So 
 you have a balance of nineteen murders against your 
 account. 
 
 "And now I come back to the prison. To inspire 
 wholesome terror, the prison must be a place of 
 misery and suffering. Yet, there are in France fif- 
 teen million men who are more miserable in their 
 houses than the prisoner behind the bars. 'Too 
 happy if he but knew his happiness,' says the poet. 
 That's all very well in an eclogue. The husband-
 
 224 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 man is the mountain thistle. Not a ray of sunlight 
 that does not burn him, not a breath of the north 
 wind that does not bite him, not a downpour of rain 
 that does not drench him. He toils from the morn- 
 ing angelus till the evening angelus. He has an 
 old father, and he cannot soften the rigour of his 
 old age. He has a beautiful wife, and he can give 
 her nothing but rags. He has children, a hungry 
 brood, continually calling for bread, and often there 
 is not a crumb in the bin. The prisoner, on the other 
 hand, is warmly clad and sufficiently fed. He does 
 not have to earn his bread before he puts it in his 
 mouth. He laughs, he sings, he plays, he sleeps on 
 his straw as long as he likes, and yet he is the object 
 of public pity. Charitable persons organise socie- 
 ties to make his prison less uncomfortable, and they 
 do it so well that, instead of being a punishment, 
 imprisonment becomes a reward. Beautiful ladies 
 boil his pot and prepare his soup. They preach 
 morality to him with white bread and meat. Surely 
 this man will prefer the careless and gay captivity 
 of the prison to the pinching liberty of the fields or 
 the shop. The prison ought to be the hell of the 
 city. I should like to see it rise in the middle of the 
 public square, gloomy and robed in black like the 
 judge. Through its little grated windows it should 
 cast sinister looks at the passers-by. From within its 
 enclosures there should issue, not songs, but only 
 the sound of clanking chains or barking dogs. The 
 old man should be afraid to rest under its walls.
 
 A BREAKFAST IN PRISON 225 
 
 The child should not dare to play within its shadow. 
 The belated burgher should turn out of his way and 
 shun it as be shuns the graveyard. Only in this 
 way will you obtain from the prison the result that 
 you expect from it." 
 
 My uncle might still have been discussing, had 
 not M. Minxit arrived to cut short his argument. 
 The worthy man was streaming with perspiration. 
 He gasped for breath like a porpoise stranded on 
 the beach, and was as red as the case in which my 
 uncle carried his surgical instruments. 
 
 "Benjamin," he cried, mopping his forehead, "I 
 have come to take you to breakfast with me." 
 
 "How so, Monsieur Minxit?" cried all the guests 
 together. 
 
 "Why, because Benjamin is free. That's the key 
 to the whole riddle. Here," he added, pulling a 
 paper from his pocket and handing it to Boutron, 
 "here is Bonteint's discharge." 
 
 "Bravo, Monsieur Minxit!" 
 
 And all rose, and, glass in hand, drank to M, 
 Minxit's health. Machecourt tried to get up but he 
 fell back on his chair. Joy almost deprived him of 
 his senses. Benjamin chanced to cast a glance at him. 
 
 "What, Machecourt," exclaimed Benjamin, whose 
 eyes happened to fall on him just then, "are you 
 mad? Drink to Minxit's health, or I'll bleed you on 
 the spot." 
 
 Machecourt rose mechanically, emptied his glass 
 at one swallow, and began to weep.
 
 226 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 "My good Monsieur Minxit," continued Ben- 
 jamin, "may I 
 
 "All right, all right!" said Minxit. "I get you. 
 You are making ready to thank me. Poor boy, never 
 mind. I herewith absolve you of the onus. It is 
 for my own good and not yours that I have taken 
 you out of here. You know very well I cannot get 
 along without you. You see, gentlemen, at the bot- 
 tom of all our actions, no matter how generous they 
 may seem, there is only egoism. It may not be a 
 pleasant maxim, but I can't help it, it's true." 
 
 "Monsieur Boutron," said Benjamin, "is Bon- 
 teint's discharge in proper legal form?" 
 
 "I see nothing the matter with it except a big 
 blot which the honest cloth dealer has doubtless 
 added by way of a flourish." 
 
 "In that case, gentlemen," said Benjamin, "permit 
 me to go to my dear sister to announce this good 
 news to her myself." 
 
 "I'll go with you," said Machecourt. "I want to 
 be a witness of her joy. Never since the day Gas- 
 pard came into the world have I been so happy." 
 
 "Permit me," said M. Minxit, sitting down to 
 table. "Monsieur Boutron, another plate! Well, 
 in retaliation, I herewith extend my invitation to you 
 for supper at Corvol this evening." 
 
 This proposition was received with acclamation 
 by all the guests. After breakfast they retired to 
 the coffee-room to await the hour of parting.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 A TRIP TO CORVOL 
 
 THE waiter came to tell my uncle that there was 
 an old woman at the door who wanted to speak 
 to hrm. 
 
 "Tell her to come in," said Benjamin, "and give 
 her some refreshments." 
 
 "Yes," answered the waiter, "but you see the old 
 woman is not at all inviting. She is ragged, and 
 she is weeping tears as big as my little finger." 
 
 "She is weeping?" cried my uncle. "Why 
 didn't you tell me that at once, you scamp?" 
 
 And he hurried out of the room. 
 
 The old woman who had called for my uncle was 
 really shedding big tears, which she wiped away with 
 an old piece of red calico. 
 
 "What's the matter, my good woman?" said Ben- 
 jamin, in a tone of politeness that he did not use 
 toward everyone. "What can I do for you?" 
 
 "You must come to Sembert to see my sick son," 
 said the old woman. 
 
 "Sembert? The village at the top of Monts-le- 
 Duc? Why, that's half way to heaven! All right, 
 I'll call to-morrow afternoon." 
 
 227
 
 228 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 "If you don't come to-day," said the old woman, 
 "the priest will be there with his black cross to- 
 morrow. It may be too late already. My son has a 
 carbuncle." 
 
 "That's bad both for your son and for me. But 
 why don't you ask Doctor Arnout? That would be 
 best all around." 
 
 "I did ask him, but he knows we are poor and 
 that he will not be paid for his visits, and so he 
 doesn't want to disturb himself." 
 
 "What," said my uncle, "you have no money to 
 pay your doctor? That puts a different face on the 
 matter. Now I'm interested. All I'll ask you is to 
 give me time enough to empty a little glass I have 
 left on the table, then I'll go with you. By the way, 
 we'll need some Peruvian bark. Here is a little 
 coin. Go to Perier's and buy a few ounces. Tell 
 him I didn't have time to write a prescription." 
 
 A quarter of an hour later my uncle, with the old 
 woman at his side, was trudging up those unculti- 
 vated and savage slopes that begin the faubourg of 
 Bethleem and terminate in the broad plateau on top 
 of which is perched the hamlet of Sembert. 
 
 M. Minxit and his guests departed in a cart drawn 
 by four horses. All the inhabitants of the faubourg 
 of Beuvron turned out and stood at the doorways 
 with candles in their hand to see them pass. It was 
 indeed a more curious phenomenon than an eclipse. 
 Arthus was singing, "When the lights are lit," 
 Guillerand, "Marlbrough has gone to war," and the
 
 A TRIP TO CORVOL 229 
 
 poet Millot, whom they had fastened to one of the 
 cart-stakes because he didn't seem very steady, in- 
 toned his Christmas Hymn. M. Minxit prided him- 
 self on his magnificence. He gave his guests a mem- 
 orable supper, which is still being talked about at 
 Corvol. Unfortunately he was so prodigal with his 
 toasts that his guests were unable to raise their 
 glasses when they reached the second course. 
 
 Meanwhile Benjamin arrived. He was worn out 
 with fatigue and in a humour to kill everybody, for 
 his patient had died under his hands, and he had 
 fallen two times on the road. But no sorrow or 
 vexation could hold its own with Benjamin before a 
 white table-cloth adorned with bottles. So he sat 
 down to table as if nothing had happened. 
 
 "Your friends are milksops," said M. Minxit. "I 
 should have expected greater power of resistance 
 from sheriff's officers, manufacturers, and school- 
 teachers. I won't even have the satisfaction of offer- 
 ing them champagne. Why, look, Machecourt 
 doesn't recognise you, and Guillerand is holding out 
 his snuff-box instead of his glass to Arthus." 
 
 "What do you expect?" answered Benjamin. 
 "Not everybody has your strength, Monsieur 
 Minxit." 
 
 "Yes," replied the worthy man, flattered by the 
 compliment, "but what are we going to do with all 
 these chicken-hearted fellows? I haven't enough 
 beds for all of them, and they are in no condition to 
 go back tP Clamecy to-night,"
 
 2 3 o MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 "That needn't bother you any," said my uncle. 
 "Have some straw spread in your barn, and as fast 
 as they fall asleep, have them carried out there. To 
 keep them from catching cold put the big straw mat 
 over them which you use to protect the bed of 
 radishes from the frost." 
 
 "You are right," said M. Minxit. 
 
 He sent for two musicians, put them under the 
 command of the sergeant, and the plan proposed by 
 my uncle was carried out to the letter. Millot soon 
 dropped off to sleep, and the sergeant swung him 
 over his shoulder and carried him off as if he were a 
 clock-case. The transportation of Rapin, Parlanta, 
 and the others presented no serious difficulties. But 
 when it came to Arthus he proved to be so heavy 
 that they had to let him sleep where he was. As 
 for my uncle, he emptied his last bumper of cham- 
 pagne, said good-night and retired to the barn in his 
 turn. 
 
 The next morning, when M. Minxit's guests arose, 
 they looked like sugar-loaves just taken out of their 
 cases, and all the domestics of the house had to 
 be put to work to remove the straw from their 
 clothes. After breakfasting off the second course 
 which they had left untouched the night before, 
 they started off at a brisk trot with their four 
 horses. 
 
 They would have reached Clamecy very happily, 
 but for a little accident that happened on the way. 
 The horses, overexcited by the whip, upset the cart
 
 A TRIP TO CORVOL 231 
 
 into one of the many dirty holes that dotted the road 
 at that time, and they all fell pell-mell into the mud. 
 The poet Millot, hapless as ever, found himself lying 
 with Arthus on top of him. 
 
 Fortunately for his coat, Benjamin had remained 
 at Corvol. That day M. Minxit entertained at din- 
 ner all the celebrities of the neighbourhood, two 
 noblemen among others. One of these illustrious 
 guests was M. de Pont-Casse, a red musketeer. The 
 other was a musketeer of the same colour, a friend 
 of M. de Pont-Casse, whom he had invited to spend 
 a few weeks with him in the remains of his castle. 
 Now, M. de Pont-Casse, into whose confidence we 
 have already taken our readers, would not have 
 been indisposed to repair the damages of his decayed 
 fortune with M. Minxit's. So he made a diligent 
 pursuit of Arabella, whom he had his eye on, 
 although he often told his friends that she was an 
 insect hatched in urine. Arabella had allowed her-' 
 self to be taken in by his exaggeratedly fine manners. 
 She thought him far handsomer with his faded 
 plumes and far more amiable with his court frip- 
 pery than my uncle with his unpretentious wit and 
 his red coat. But M. Minxit, who was a man not 
 only of wit, but of common sense, did not share 
 this opinion at all. Though M. de Pont-Casse had 
 been a colonel, he would not let him have his daugh- 
 ter. He had made Benjamin stay for dinner to give 
 Arabella an opportunity to compare her two adorers, 
 which, in his opinion, could not result to the mus-
 
 232 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 keteer's advantage, and also because he felt confi- 
 dent that my uncle would succeed in removing the 
 tinsel of the two noblemen and mortifying their 
 pride. 
 
 While waiting for dinner, Benjamin went to take 
 a walk in the village. As he left M. Minxit's house, 
 he saw a pair of officers walking in the middle of 
 the street. They looked as*though they would not 
 have turned out of their way for a mail-coach, and 
 the peasants stared at them in amazement. My uncle 
 was not a man to pay any attention to so small 'a 
 matter. But as he passed them, he heard one of 
 them say very distinctly to his companion, "Say, 
 that is the queer chap who wants to marry Made- 
 moiselle Minxit." My uncle's first impulse was to 
 ask them why they thought him so queer. But he 
 reflected that it would be scarcely becoming to make 
 a spectacle of himself before the inhabitants of 
 Corvol, though he generally cared very little for 
 the proprieties. So he acted as if he had heard 
 nothing, and walked into the house of his friend, the 
 notary. 
 
 "I have just met two creatures in the street," he 
 said, "who looked like lobsters with feathers on 
 them. They almost insulted me. Can you tell me 
 to what family of the Crustacea these queer fellows 
 belong?" 
 
 "Oh, the devil!" said the notary, somewhat 
 frightened. "Don't try your jokes on those men. 
 One of them, M. de Pont-Casse, is the most dan-
 
 A TRIP TO CORVOL 233 
 
 gerous duellist of our age, and not one of the many 
 who have taken the duelling-ground against him has 
 returned from it whole." 
 
 "We shall see," said my uncle. 
 
 When the village clock struck two, he took his 
 friend, the notary, by the arm, and went back with 
 him to M. Minxit's. The company was already 
 gathered in the parlour, and they were only waiting 
 for them to sit down at table. 
 
 The two country squires, who acted in the pres- 
 ence of these rustics as though they were in a con- 
 quered country, monopolised the conversation from 
 the start. M. de Pont-Casse incessantly kept twirl- 
 ing his moustache, and talking of the court, of his 
 duels, and of his amorous exploits. Arabella, who 
 had never heard such magnificent things, was very 
 much taken with his conversation. My uncle noticed 
 it, but, as Mademoiselle Minxit was indifferent to 
 him, he thought it none of his concern. M. de 
 Pont-Casse, piqued at his failure to produce an effect 
 upon Benjamin, addressed some remarks to him that 
 bordered on insolence. But my uncle, sure of his 
 strength, disdained to pay any attention to them, 
 and occupied himself exclusively with his glass and 
 his plate. M. Minxit was scandalised by the non- 
 chalant voracity of his champion. 
 
 "Don't you understand what M. de Pont-Casse 
 means?" cried the good man. "What are you think- 
 ing of, Benjamin?" 
 
 "Of the dinner, Monsieur Minxit. And I advise
 
 234 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 you to do the same. Isn't that what you invited 
 us for?" 
 
 M. de Pont-Casse had too much pride to believe 
 that he could be ignored. He took my uncle's 
 silence for a confession of his inferiority and began 
 a more direct attack. 
 
 "I have heard you called de Rathery," he said to 
 Benjamin. "I used to know, or rather I have seen 
 for one does not make the acquaintance of such 
 people a Rathery among the king's hostlers. Was 
 he a relative of yours, perhaps?" x 
 
 My uncle pricked up his ears like a horse struck 
 with a whip. 
 
 "M. de Pont-Casse," he answered, "the Ratherys 
 have never made themselves court servants in any 
 livery whatsoever. The Ratherys have proud souls, 
 Monsieur. They will eat no bread except what they 
 have earned. And it is they who, with a few mil- 
 lions of others, pay the wages of those flunkeys of 
 all colours who go under the name of cour- 
 tiers." 
 
 There was a solemn silence in the company, and 
 everyone gave my uncle an approving look. 
 
 "Monsieur Minxit," he added, "may I have an- 
 other piece of that hare-pie? It is excellent. I 
 wager* that the hare of which it is made was not a 
 nobleman." 
 
 "Monsieur," said M. de Pont-Casse's friend, 
 assuming a martial attitude, "what did you mean 
 by that remark about a hare?"
 
 A TRIP TO CORVOL 235 
 
 "I meant that a nobleman would not be any good 
 in a pie, that's all," answered my uncle coldly, 
 
 "Gentlemen," said M, Minxit, "it U understood 
 of course that your discussions are not to overstep 
 the limits of pleasantry." 
 
 "Of course," said M. de Pont-Cassi "Strictly 
 speaking, the remarks of M. de Rathery are such as, 
 to constitute an offence to two officers of the king, 
 who have not the honour to be of the plebeian class 
 like himself. From his red coat and his big sword, 
 I at first took him for one of ours, and I still tremble, 
 like the man who came near taking a serpent for an 
 eel, when I think that I came near fraternising with 
 him. It was only tlje long queue dangling over his 
 shoulders that undeceived me." 
 
 "Monsieur de Pont-Casse," cried M. Minxit, "I 
 will not allow " 
 
 "Let him alone, my good Monsieur Minxit," said 
 my uncle. "Insolence is the weapon of those who 
 cannot handle the flexible rod of wit. I know that 
 I have no occasion to reproach myself for my con- 
 duct toward M. de Pont-Casse, for I have not yet 
 paid any attention to him." 
 
 "Good," said M. Minxit. 
 
 The musketeer, who prided himself on being a 
 very witty fellow, did not become discouraged. He 
 knew that in the combats of wit as well as in those 
 of the sword fortune is fickle. 
 
 "Monsieur Rathery," he continued, "Monsieur 
 surgeon Rathery, do you know that there is a closer
 
 236 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 analogy between our two professions than you think? 
 I would bet my sorrel horse against your red coat 
 that you have killed more people this year than I 
 did in my last campaign." 
 
 "You would win, Monsieur de Pont-Casse," re- 
 plied my uncle coolly. "I have had the misfortune to 
 lose a patient this year. He died of a carbuncle 
 yesterday." 
 
 "Bravo, Benjamin! Hurrah for the people!" 
 cried M. Minxit, unable any longer to restrain his 
 joy. "You see, my nobleman, the people of wit are 
 not all in court." 
 
 "You are the best proof of that, Monsieur 
 Minxit," answered the musketeer, disguising the 
 mortification at his defeat under a serene counte- 
 nance. 
 
 Meantime, all the guests, except the two noble- 
 men, held out their glasses and clinked them cor- 
 dially with Benjamin's. 
 
 "To the health of Benjamin Rathery, the avenger 
 of the people, the misunderstood and the insulted!" 
 cried M. Minxit. 
 
 The dinner lasted far into the evening. My 
 uncle noticed that Mademoiselle Minxit had disap- 
 peared soon after the departure of M. de Pont- 
 Casse. But he was too much preoccupied with the 
 praises showered upon him to pay any attention to 
 his fiancee. About ten o'clock he took leave of M. 
 Minxit. He escorted him to the end of the village, 
 and made him promise that the marriage should
 
 A TRIP TO CORVOL 237 
 
 take place within a week. As Benjamin approached 
 a point opposite the Trucy mill, a sound of conver- 
 sation reached his ears, and he thought he could 
 distinguish the voices of Arabella and her illustrious 
 adorer. 
 
 Out of regard for Mademoiselle Minxit, Benja- 
 min did not wish to surprise her on a country road 
 with a musketeer at that hour of the night. He hid 
 himself under the branches of a large walnut-tree, 
 and waited for the two lovers to pass on before con- 
 tinuing on his way. He had no desire whatever to 
 steal Arabella's little secrets, but the wind brought 
 them to him, and he had to overhear them in spite 
 of himself. 
 
 "I know a way of making him pack off," said M. 
 de Pont-Casse. "I will send him a challenge." 
 
 "I know him," answered Arabella. "He is a man 
 of ungovernable pride, and even if he were sure of 
 being killed on the spot, he would accept." 
 
 "So much the better. Then I'll rid you of him 
 forever." 
 
 "Yes. But in the first place I don't want to be 
 an accomplice in a murder, and secondly my father 
 loves that man perhaps more than he loves me, his 
 only daughter. I will never consent to your killing 
 my father's best friend." 
 
 "You are charming with your scruples, Arabella. 
 I have killed more than one for a word that sounded 
 bad in my ears, and this plebeian, with his savage 
 wit, has taken a cruel revenge on me. I should not
 
 238 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 like everybody at court to know what was said to- 
 night at your father's table. But to comply with 
 your wishes, I will content myself with crippling him. 
 If I should cut the cord of his kneepan, for instance, 
 you would have sufficient excuse to refuse him your 
 hand." 
 
 "But suppose you should fall yourself, Hector?" 
 said Mademoiselle Minxit in her tenderest voice. 
 
 "I who have sent to Hades the best swordsmen 
 of the army the brave Bellerive, the terrible 
 Desrivieres, the formidable Chateaufort I fall by 
 a surgeon's rapier! You insult me by entertaining 
 such a doubt, my beautiful Arabella. I am as sure 
 of my sword as you of your needles. Don't you 
 know that? Tell me the place where you would 
 like me to strike him, and I will be delighted to 
 serve you." 
 
 The voices were lost in the distance. My uncle 
 left his hiding-place, and calmly resumed his journey 
 to Clamecy, revolving over in his mind the course 
 he should pursue.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 WHAT MY UNCLE SAID TO HIMSELF REGARDING 
 DUELLING 
 
 "M. DE PONT-CASSE wants to cripple me. He 
 promised Mademoiselle Minxit that he would, and a 
 valiant officer of the Guards is not the man to break 
 his word. 
 
 "Let me think what I am to do in the circum- 
 stances. Shall I let myself be crippled by M. de 
 Pont-Casse with the docility of a dog under the 
 scalpel, or shall I decline the honour he graciously 
 intends to bestow upon me? It is to M. de Pont- 
 Casse's interest that I should go upon crutches. I 
 know it is, but I don't exactly see why I should do 
 him that favour. Mademoiselle Minxit makes very 
 little difference to me even though she is equipped 
 with a dowry of one hundred thousand francs. But I 
 care very much for the symmetry of my figure, and 
 without flattery to myself I am good-looking enough 
 for this concern of mine not to seem ridiculous. You 
 say a man challenged to a duel must fight. But 
 please tell me, in what code of laws do you find it 
 written? In the Pandects, in Charlemagne's Capitu- 
 laries, in the ten commandments, or in the canons 
 
 239
 
 240 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 of the Church? And in the first place, M. de Pont- 
 Casse, are you and I an even match? Yoit are a 
 musketeer and I am a doctor. You are an artist in 
 fencing, and I scarcely know how to handle any- 
 thing but the bistoury or the lancet. You feel no 
 more scruple, it seems, in depriving a man of a limb 
 than in tearing off a fly's wing, while I have a horror 
 of blood, especially arterial blood. Wouldn't it be 
 as ridiculous for me to accept your challenge as if 
 I were to try to walk a tight rope upon the challenge 
 of an acrobat, or try to swim across an arm of the 
 sea upon the challenge of a swimming teacher? And 
 even though the chances between us were equal, one 
 reckons on something to be gained in such affairs. 
 Now, if I kill you, what shall I gain? And if I am 
 killed by you, then what shall I gain? You see, in 
 either case it would be a bad bargain for me. But, 
 you repeat, where a man is challenged to a duel he 
 must fight. What, if a highwayman stops me at the 
 edge of a wood, I have no hesitation in making my 
 escape with the aid of my good legs; but when a 
 drawing-room murderer sticks a challenge under my 
 nose, must I feel myself in duty bound to throw 
 myself upon the point 9f his sword? 
 
 "When an individual whose acquaintance you have 
 made from having accidentally stepped on his toe, 
 writes: 'Monsieur, be present at such and such an 
 hour, at such and such a spot, so that I may have the 
 satisfaction of killing you to atone for the insult you 
 offered me,' one must, in your opinion, submit to his
 
 UNCLE'S SOLILOQUY ON DUELLING 241 
 
 orders, and also take good care not to keep him 
 waiting. Strange! There are men who would not 
 risk a thousand francs to save their friend's honour 
 or their father's life, who yet risk their own life in a 
 duel on account of an ambiguous word or a side 
 glance. But what is life? Isn't it the one blessing 
 without which all others are of little consequence? 
 Or is it a rag to be thrown to the passing rag-picker, 
 or a worn coin to be tossed to the blind man singing 
 beneath your window? They ask me to stake my 
 life in a game of swords with M. de Pont-Casse, 
 whereas, if I should stake a hundred francs in a game 
 of cards with him, my reputation would be ruined 
 and the poorest cobbler would not have me for a 
 son-in-law. Then, according to their views, am I to 
 be more prodigal of my life than of my money ? And 
 must I, who pride myself on being a philosopher, 
 regulate my convictions according to those of such 
 casuists? 
 
 "As a matter of fact, who constitutes this public 
 which takes it upon itself to judge our actions? Gro- 
 cers who use false scales, cloth merchants who give 
 false measure, tailors who make dresses for their 
 children out of their customers' goods, men of prop- 
 erty who live by usury, mothers of families who have 
 lovers; in short, a heap of crickets and grasshop- 
 pers who know not what they sing, simpletons who 
 say yes and no without knowing why, a tribunal of 
 blockheads incapable of giving reasons for their 
 decisions. It would be a fine thing in me if I, a
 
 24?- MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 doctor, should send a patient suffering with hydro- 
 phobia to Ardennes to kneel at the shrine of St. 
 Hubert because those fools believe the great saint 
 can cure the rabies. And then observe those who 
 pride themselves on being the wisest, and you will 
 see how illogical they are. The philosophers wax 
 indignant over the poor wives in India who" throw 
 themselves alive, decked in all their finery, on their 
 husbands' funeral-piles. And when two men cut each 
 other's throats for a mere nothing, they glorify them 
 for their bravery. 
 
 "You say I am a coward when I have the good 
 sense to decline a challenge. But what do you take 
 cowardice to be? If cowardice means avoiding 
 needless danger, where will you find a courageous 
 man? Who of you remains calmly dreaming in bed 
 when the roof is in flames over your head? Who 
 does not call the doctor in when he is seriously ill? 
 Who does not clutch at the bushes on the banks 
 when he falls into the river? Once more, what is 
 the public? A coward preaching bravery to others. 
 Suppose M. de Pont-Casse were to challenge, not 
 me, Benjamin Rathery, but the public to fight a duel, 
 how many in the crowd would have the courage to 
 accept? 
 
 "Besides, has a philosopher any other public to 
 consider than men of thought and superior intelli- 
 gence? And don't men of intelligence consider the 
 duel the most absurd, the most barbarous of preju- 
 dices? What does the logic learned in the duelling
 
 UNCLE'S SOLILOQUY ON DUELLING 243 
 
 academy prove? A well-delivered sword thrust is a 
 magnificent argument, is it not? Parry tierce, parry 
 quarte now you can demonstrate anything you like. 
 A great pity that when the pope declared that the 
 revolution of the earth was a heretical doctrine, 
 Galileo did not think of challenging His Holiness to 
 a duel to prove the truth of his discovery. 
 
 "In the Middle Ages there was at least a genuine 
 reason for duelling. It sprang from the religious 
 beliefs. Our grandparents thought God too just to 
 allow an innocent man to fall under the blows of a 
 guilty man, and the issue of the combat was regarded 
 as a decree from on high. But how can we, who, 
 thank Heaven, have recovered from those absurd 
 ideas, justify the duel? And what purpose can it 
 serve now? 
 
 "You dread the charge of cowardice if you de- 
 cline a challenge. But how about those wretches 
 who make murder a profession and challenge you 
 because they feel sure of killing you? What of 
 their courage? How courageous is the butcher who 
 kills a sheep with its feet bound, or the huntsman 
 who fires at a hare in the warren or at a bird singing 
 on the branch? I have known many of these people 
 to be too timid to have a tooth pulled. And how 
 many of them would dare to stand up against the 
 will of the man upon whom they are dependent to 
 satisfy their consciences? I can understand why the 
 cannibalistic Southsea Islander kills men of his own 
 colour. He roasts them nice and brown and eats
 
 244 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 them. But you, friend duellist, with what sauce 
 will you eat the body of the man you challenge after 
 you have killed him? You are guiltier than the mur- 
 derer sentenced to death by hanging. He at least 
 was driven to murder by poverty. In doing what 
 he did he may have been moved by a sentiment 
 praiseworthy in itself but deplorable in its conse- 
 quences. But you what motive puts the sword in 
 your hand? Is it vanity, or an appetite for-blood, or 
 curiosity to see how a man writhes in the death- 
 agony? Can't you picture to yourself the wife 
 throwing herself half-crazed with grief on her hus- 
 band's body, the orphaned children crying in the 
 house draped with black, the mother praying God 
 to take her instead of her son in the coffin? Yet it 
 is you who have acted like a tiger and caused all that 
 misery! You want to kill us if we don't recognise 
 you as a man of honour ! But you are not worthy 
 of the name of man. You are a brute thirsting for 
 blood, a viper stinging for the mere pleasure of use- 
 less killing. And even the viper does not attack 
 creatures of its own kind. When your adversary 
 has fallen, you kneel in the blood-stained mud, you 
 try to staunch the wounds you made, you act as if 
 you were his best friend. Then why did you kill 
 him, wretch? What good are your pangs of con- 
 science? Will your tears replace the blood that you 
 have shed? You, fashionable assassin, correct mur- 
 derer, you find men to shake hands with you, mothers 
 of families to invite you to their parties. Women
 
 UNCLE'S SOLILOQUY ON DUELLING 245 
 
 who faint at the sight of the executioner arc ready 
 to press their lips to yours and let your head rest on 
 their bosom. But these men and women, to be sure, 
 judge things only by their names. If a man is killed 
 by what is called murder, they are horrified. If he 
 is killed by what is called a duel, they applaud. 
 After all, how much time have you in which to enjoy 
 this applause? Up on high 'Murderer' is inscribed 
 after your name. On your brow is a blood-stain 
 which all the kisses of your mistresses will not re- 
 move. No judge on earth has sentenced you ; but up 
 in heaven there is a judge awaiting you who will not 
 be fooled by talk of honour. I for my part am a 
 doctor, not to kill, but to cure, do you hear, M. de 
 Pont-Casse? If you have too much blood in your 
 veins, I can rid you of some, but only with the point 
 of my lancet." 
 
 Thus my uncle reasoned with himself. We shall 
 soon see how he put his doctrines into practice. 
 
 Night does not always bring good counsel. My 
 uncle rose the next day determined not to yield to 
 M. de Pont-Casse's provocation, and to end the ad- 
 venture as soon as possible, he started for Corvol 
 that very day. Perhaps he had not breakfasted, or 
 did not perspire freely enough, or was suffering 
 from indigestion of the day before. However that 
 might be, he felt an unusual melancholy creeping 
 over him in spite of himself. In a very pensive mood, 
 like Racine's Hippolyte, he mounted the terraced 
 slopes of the mountain of Beaumont. His noble
 
 246 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 sword, which generally hung so straight at his side, 
 its point threatening the ground, now drooped 
 mournfully, as if sharing its master's thoughts. His 
 three-cornered hat, which usually sat so proudly on 
 his head, tilted a bit to the left, now hung anxiously 
 on his neck, as if in a melancholy mood, and his 
 bright eyes were dimmed. It moved him to look 
 down on the valley of the Beuvron, stretching away 
 stiff and shivering at his feet, at those large walnut 
 trees in mourning which looked like huge polyps, at 
 those tall poplars with but a few red leaves on them 
 left, at the flocks of ravens sometimes fluttering 
 about their tops, at that wild copse browned by the 
 frost, at the dark stream that flowed toward the 
 mill-wheels between banks of snow; at the round 
 tower of La Postaillerie, grey and misty as though 
 a column made of clouds, at the old feudal castle of 
 Pressure, which seemed to crouch among the brown 
 reeds of its moats like a creature in a fever, at the 
 village chimneys with the thin light smoke, like a 
 man's breath when he blows on his fingers, curling 
 up from them. The tic-tac of the mill, that friend 
 with which he had conversed so often on his way 
 back from Corvol in the fine moonlight nights of 
 autumn, had a sinister sound. It seemed to jerk 
 out: 
 
 "Carrying your sword, my brave, 
 You are walking to your grave." 
 
 To which my uncle replred :
 
 UNCLE'S SOLILOQUY ON DUELLING 247 
 
 "You babbler, for God's sake, be still I 
 I do whatever is my will. 
 And if I die before my turn, 
 It's no one else's damn concern." 
 
 There was something sickly about the weather. 
 Huge white clouds, driven by the north wind, crept 
 clumsily across the sky, like a wounded swan. The 
 snow was as grey as the day, and the horizon was 
 girdled in by a line of fog hanging on the mountains. 
 My uncle felt that he never again would see that 
 landscape, now in its winter shroud, lighted up by 
 the gay spring sunshine or festooned with flowers. 
 
 M. Minxit was absent when my uncle arrived at 
 Corvol. He entered the drawing-room, where he 
 found M. de Pont-Casse seated upon a sofa beside 
 Arabella. Without paying any attention to his be- 
 trothed's pouting or to the musketeer's provocative 
 manner, Benjamin threw himself into an arm-chair, 
 crossed his legs, and laid his hat on a chair, like a 
 man in no hurry to go. After talking for a while of 
 M. Minxit's health, the probabilities of a thaw, and 
 the grippe, Arabella turned silent, and my uncle 
 could get nothing out of her beyond a few sharp, 
 shrill monosyllables, like the notes that a learner 
 elicits from his clarinette with difficulty and at rare 
 intervals. M. de Pont-Casse walked up and down 
 the drawing-room, twirling ""his moustache, his big 
 spurs clanking on the wooden floor, apparently 
 pondering how to pick a quarrel with my uncle. 
 
 Benjamin divined his intentions, but pretended
 
 24$ MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 not to notice him, and picked up a book lying on 
 a sofa. At first he contented himself with turn- 
 ing over the leaves, watching M. de Pont-Casse 
 out of the corner of his eye; but as it was a 
 medical work, he soon became absorbed in its inter- 
 esting contents and forgot the musketeer. M. de 
 Pont-Casse, however, decided to bring things to a 
 crisis. He halted before my uncle, and said, sur- 
 veying him from head to foot : 
 
 "Do you know, Monsieur, you pay very long 
 visits here?" 
 
 "It seems to me," answered my uncle, "that you 
 came before I did." 
 
 "And also very frequent," added the musketeer. 
 
 "I assure you, Monsieur," replied my uncle, "they 
 would be much less frequent if I expected to find 
 you here each time." 
 
 "If you come here on Mademoiselle Minxit's ac- 
 count," continued the musketeer, "she begs you 
 through me to rid her of your long person." 
 
 "If Mademoiselle Minxit, who is not a musketeer, 
 had any orders to give me, she would give them 
 more politely. At any rate, Monsieur, you will allow 
 me to wait before retiring until she has spoken to me 
 herself and until I have interviewed M. Minxit." 
 
 And my uncle went on with his reading. 
 
 The officer took several more turns in the draw- 
 ing-room, then stood himself opposite my uncle and 
 said: 
 
 "I pray you, Monsieur, kindly interrupt your
 
 UNCLE'S SOLILOQUY ON DUELLING 249 
 
 reading a moment, I have a word to say to 
 you." 
 
 "Since it is only one word," said my uncle, turning 
 down the page he was reading, "I can spend a mo- 
 ment listening to you." 
 
 M. de Pont-Casse was infuriated by Benjamin's 
 coolness. 
 
 "Monsieur Rathery," said he, "if you do not leave 
 this instant by the door, I will put you out through 
 the window." 
 
 "Really ! Well, I, Monsieur, shall be politer than 
 you. I shall put you out by the door." 
 
 And taking the officer by the waist, Benjamin car- 
 ried him to the head of the steps and locked the door 
 behind him. 
 
 Mademoiselle Minxit sat there trembling, and my 
 uncle said: 
 
 "Do not be too much afraid of me. I was justified 
 in treating that man that way. He has insulted me 
 repeatedly. Besides," he added, bitterly, "I shall 
 not embarrass you long with my long person. I am 
 not one of those dowry-hunters who take a woman 
 from the arms of the man she loves and keep her 
 fastened to their bedstead. Heaven has granted 
 every young girl her share of love. She has the 
 right to choose the man upon whom she wishes to 
 bestow it. No one has the right to pour the white 
 pearls of her youth into the street and trample them 
 under foot. God forbid thnt low oreed for money 
 should lead me to do anything bad. So far I have
 
 250 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 been a poor man. I know the joys of poverty, and I 
 am ignorant of the miseries of wealth. Probably I 
 should be making a bad bargain if I exchanged my 
 wild jolly indigence for ill-tempered opulence. At 
 any rate, I should not like a woman who detested 
 me to bring me opulence. I beg you to tell me in all 
 sincerity whether you love M. de Pont-Casse. I 
 must have your reply in order to determine my con- 
 duct toward you and your father." 
 
 Mademoiselle Minxit was moved. 
 
 "Had I known you before M. de Pont-Casse, per- 
 haps you would be the one I love." 
 
 "Mademoiselle," interrupted my uncle, "it is not 
 politeness, but sincerity that I ask of you. Tell me 
 frankly, do you think you would be happier with 
 M. de Pont-Casse than with me?" 
 
 "What shall I say, Monsieur Rathery?" answered 
 Arabella. "A woman is not always happy with the 
 man she loves, but she is always unhappy with the 
 man she does not love." 
 
 "I thank you, Mademoiselle. Now I know what 
 I have to do. Will you kindly order some lunch 
 for me? The stomach is an egoist with little sym- 
 pathy for the tribulations of the heart." 
 
 My uncle ate as Alexander or Caesar might 
 have eaten on the eve of battle. He did not 
 want to await M. Minxit's return. He had not 
 the courage to face his mournful look when he 
 should learn that he, Benjamin, whom he treated 
 almost as a son, declined to be his son-in-law. He
 
 UNCLE'S SOLILOQUY ON DUELLING 251 
 
 preferred to inform him of his heroic determination 
 by letter. 
 
 At some distance from the town he saw M. de 
 Pont-Casse's friend walking up and down the road 
 majestically. The musketeer advanced to meet him, 
 and said: 
 
 "Monsieur, you keep those who demand repara- 
 tion of you waiting a very long time." 
 
 "I was having lunch," answered my uncle. 
 
 "In behalf of M. de Pont-Casse, I have to hand 
 you a letter to which he has charged me to bring back 
 a reply." 
 
 "Let us see what the worthy nobleman has to say 
 to me. 'Monsieur, in view of the enormity of the 
 outrage you inflicted upon me' What outrage? I 
 carried him from the drawing-room to the steps. I 
 wish some one would outrage me the same way by 
 carrying me to Clamecy 'I consent to cross swords 
 with you.' The great soul! He condescends to 
 grant me the favour of being crippled by him! If 
 that is not magnanimity, then I don't know what 
 magnanimity is ! 'I hope you will show yourself 
 worthy of the honoui I do you by accepting.' Why, 
 of course ! It would be base ingratitude on my part 
 to refuse. You may say to your friend that if he 
 kills me like the brave Desrivieres, the intrepid 
 Btllerive, etc., 1 wish them to inscribe my tombstone 
 in letters of gold with, 'Here lies Benjamin Rathery, 
 killed in a duel by a nobleman.' 'Postscript.' 
 Just see, your friend's note has a postscript. 'I
 
 252 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 will await you to-morrow at ten o'clock in the morn- 
 ing at the place known as Chaume-des-Fertiaux.'- 
 At the place known as Chaume-des-Fertiaux. Upon 
 my honour, a process-server could not have drawn 
 it up better. But Chaume-des-Fertiaux is a good 
 league from Clamecy. I, who have no sorrel horse, 
 haven't got the time to go so far to fight. If your 
 friend will condescend to meet me at the place known 
 as Croix-des-Michelins, I shall have the honour to 
 await him there." 
 
 "And where is this Croix-des-Michelins?" 
 "On the Corvol road, beyond the faubourg of 
 Beuvron. Your friend must be a sour sort of person 
 if he does not like the spot. From there you get a 
 view for a king to enjoy. In the foreground are the 
 hills of Sembert with their terraces loaded with vines, 
 their big bald pates and the forest of Frace on their 
 necks. At' another season of the year the view would 
 be still finer, but unfortunately I cannot revive 
 springtime with a breath. At the foot of the hills 
 lies the town, with its thousand curls of smoke, 
 pressed between the two rivers and climbing the 
 steep slopes of Crot-Pin^on like a hunted man. If 
 your friend has any talent for drawing, he can adorn 
 his album with a picture of this view. From up 
 between the great gables, that in their moss cover- 
 ings look like pieces of crimson velvet, rises the 
 tower of Saint Martin, turreted and decorated with 
 its stone jewels. The tower in itself is worth a 
 cathedral. Alongside extends the old basilica, with
 
 UNCLE'S SOLILOQUY ON DUELLING 253 
 
 great bold arched counter-forts on the right and the 
 left. Your friend will instinctively compare it to a 
 gigantic spider. Toward the south run the bluish 
 mountains of Morvan, like a succession of sombre 
 clouds. Then " 
 
 "Oh, enough of your joking, please! I did not 
 come here to have you show me a magic lantern. 
 To-morrow, then, at Croix-des-Michelins." 
 
 "To-morrow? One moment, the affair is not so 
 pressing that it cannot be postponed. To-morrow I 
 am going to Dornecy to taste a cask of old wine that 
 Page is thinking of buying. He relies on my judg- 
 ment as to quality and price, and you must realise 
 that for your friend's sake I cannot fail in the duties 
 of friendship. Day after to-morrow I am invited to 
 lunch in town. I cannot, in decency, give the pref- 
 erence to a duel. Thursday I am to tap a patient of 
 mine who has the dropsy. As your friend wishes to 
 cripple me, it would be impossible for me to per- 
 form the operation afterward, and Doctor Arnout 
 would make a bad job of it. For Friday oh, yes, 
 Friday's a fast day. I believe I have no engagement 
 for Friday, and I know of nothing to prevent me 
 from being at your friend's disposal." 
 
 "We are obliged to comply with your desires; at 
 least, you will do me the favour to bring a second 
 with you, in order to save me from playing the tire- 
 some role of spectator." 
 
 "Why not? I know you are friends, you and 
 M. de Pont-Casse, and I should be sorry to sepa-
 
 254 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 rate you. I will bring my barber, if he has time 
 and if it suits you." 
 
 "Insolent fellow!" said the musketeer. 
 
 "This barber," answered my uncle, "is not a man 
 to be despised. He has a rapier long enough to spit 
 four musketeers upon. Besides, if you prefer, I will 
 willingly take his place." 
 
 "I take note of your words," said the musketeer. 
 
 My uncle, as soon as he rose the next day, went 
 in search of Machecourt's inkstand, and began to 
 indite a magnificent epistle to M. Minxit in his finest 
 style and best penmanship, explaining why he could 
 not become his son-in-law. My grandfather, who 
 was given the privilege of reading it, told me it 
 would have made a jailer weep. If the exclamation 
 point had not then existed, my uncle would certainly 
 have invented it. The letter had been in the post- 
 office scarcely a quarter of an hour, when M. Minxit 
 arrived at my grandmother's in person, accompa- 
 nied by the sergeant, who was himself accompanied 
 by two masks, two foils, and his honourable poodle. 
 
 Benjamin was just then breakfasting with Mache- 
 court off a herring and the patrimonial white wine of 
 Choulot. 
 
 "Welcome, Monsieur Minxit!" cried Benjamin. 
 "Wouldn't you like a bit of this fish?" 
 
 "Do you take me for a thrasher?" 
 
 "And you, sergeant?" 
 
 "I have given up such things since I had the honour 
 to join the band."
 
 UNCLE'S SOLILOQUY ON DUELLING 255 
 
 "But your dog, what would he think of this 
 head?" 
 
 "I thank you for him, but I believe he doesn't 
 care for sea-fish." 
 
 "I admit a herring is not as good as pike boiled 
 in " 
 
 "And how about carp, especially carp cooked with 
 Burgundy wine?" interrupted M. Minxit. 
 
 "To be sure, to be sure," said Benjamin. "Or 
 hare that you yourself have prepared. However, 
 herring is excellent when you haven't anything else. 
 By the way, I mailed a letter to you a quarter of an 
 hour ago. You probably have not received it yet, 
 Monsieur Minxit?" 
 
 "No," said M. Minxit, "but I come to bring you 
 the answer. You say Arabella does not love you, 
 and for that reason you will not marry her." 
 
 "M. Rathery is right," said the sergeant. "I had 
 a bed-fellow who couldn't bear me. And I couldn't 
 bear him. Our household was a regular police-sta- 
 tion. When one of us wanted turnips in the soup, 
 the other one put carrots in. At the canteen, if I 
 asked for currant wine, he sent for gin. We quar- 
 relled over the best place to keep our guns in. If he 
 had a kick to give, it was my poodle that was sure 
 to get it, and if a flea bit him, he insisted it came 
 from poor Azor. Just think, we once fought in 
 the moonlight because he wanted to sleep on the 
 right side of the bed, and I insisted on his taking 
 the left side. The only thing I could do to get
 
 256 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 rid of him was to send him to the hospital.'' 
 
 "You did quite right, sergeant," said my uncle. 
 "When people do not know how to live in this world, 
 we sentence them to the other forever." 
 
 "There is some truth in what the sergeant says," 
 said M. Minxit. "To be loved is more than to be 
 rich. It means happiness. Consequently, I do not 
 disapprove of your scruples, my dear Benjamin. All 
 I ask of you is that you continue to come to Corvol, 
 as you have been doing. Your not wanting to be 
 my son-in-law is no reason for ceasing to be my 
 friend. You need no longer pay Arabella pretty 
 compliments, fetch water for sprinkling her flowers, 
 wax enthusiastic over the ruffles she embroiders for 
 me and over the superiority of her cream-cheeses. 
 We will breakfast together, dine together, philoso- 
 phise together, laugh together. That's the best 
 pastime conceivable. You are fond of truffles. My 
 pantry shall always smell of them. You have a 
 fondness for volnay a fondness I do not share- 
 but I shall always have some in my wine-cellar. If 
 you feel like going hunting, I will buy you a double- 
 barrelled gun and a brace of hounds. And inside of 
 three months, I am convinced, Arabella will be sick 
 of her nobleman and head over heels in love with 
 you. Does the arrangement suit you? Yes or no. 
 You know I am not fond of fine phrases." 
 
 "Well, yes, Monsieur Minxit," said my uncle. 
 
 "Very well, I expected nothing less from your 
 friendship. And now are you going to fight a duel?"
 
 UNCLE'S SOLILOQUY ON DUELLING 257 
 
 "Who the devil told you that?" cried my uncle. 
 "I know that urines hide nothing from you. Have 
 you examined my urine, without my knowledge?" 
 
 "Enough of your poor jokes. You are to fight 
 M. de Pont-Casse. You are to meet him three days 
 from now at Croix-des-Michelins, and in case you 
 rid me of M. de Pont-Casse, the other musketeer 
 will take his place. You see I am well informed." 
 
 "What, Benjamin!" cried Machecourt, his face as 
 pale as his plate. 
 
 "What, you wicked creature," my grandmother 
 also put in, "you are to fight a duel?" 
 
 "Listen to me, Machecourt, and you, my dear 
 sister, and you too, Monsieur Minxit. Yes, I am 
 going to fight a duel with M. de Pont-Casse. My 
 mind is made up. So save yourself remonstrances. 
 They would only bore me without making me change 
 my mind." 
 
 "I have not come," answered M. Minxit, "to try 
 to prevent the duel. On the contrary, I have come 
 to show you a way to victory, and, what is more, 
 to make your name famous throughout the coun- 
 try. The sergeant knows a superb thrust. In one 
 hour he could disarm the entire guild of fencing- 
 masters. As soon as he has drunk a glass of 
 white wine, he shall give you your first lesson. I 
 will leave him with you until Friday, and will stay 
 here myself to watch you and keep you from wasting 
 your time in the taverns." 
 
 "But what am I to do with your thrust," asked my
 
 258 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 uncle. "Besides, if it is infallible, what glory would 
 there be in my triumphing over the vicomte? In 
 rendering Achilles invulnerable, Homer deprived 
 him of all the merit of his valour. I have thought 
 the matter over. I don't mean to use the sword at 
 all." 
 
 "What! You don't mean to fight with a pistol, 
 you fool you! If M. Arthus were your opponent, 
 very well. He is as big as a wardrobe." 
 
 "I don't mean to fight either with a pistol or a 
 sword. I wish to serve these bullies with a duel of 
 my own kind. You'll see, but I want to surprise 
 you." 
 
 "Very well, but learn my thrust all the same. It 
 is a weapon that won't be a nuisance to you, and 
 one never knows what one may need." 
 
 My uncle's room was in the second story, over 
 Machecourt's. After breakfast, he shut himself up 
 in it with the sergeant and M. Minxit to begin his 
 fencing-lessons. But the lesson was not of long 
 duration. At Benjamin's first attack Machecourt's 
 worm-eaten floor gave way under his feet, and he 
 went through up to his arm-pits. 
 
 The sergeant, amazed at the sudden disappear- 
 ance of his pupil, remained standing with his left 
 arm gently curved on a level with his ear and his 
 right arm extended in the attitude of a man about to 
 make a thrust. As for M. Minxit, he was seized 
 with such a desire to laugh that he came near suffo- 
 cating.
 
 UNCLE'S SOLILOQUY ON DUELLING 259 
 
 "Where is Rathery?" he cried. "What has be- 
 come of Rathery? Sergeant, what have you done 
 with Rathery?" 
 
 "I see M. Rathery's head," answered the ser- 
 geant, "but the devil take me if I know where his 
 legs are." 
 
 Gaspard happened at that moment to be alone in 
 his father's room. At first he was somewhat aston- 
 ished at the abrupt arrival of his uncle's legs. Then 
 he burst out into wild shouts of laughter, which 
 mingled with M. Minxit's. 
 
 "Hello, there, Gaspard," cried Benjamin, who 
 heard him. 
 
 "Hello, there, my dear uncle," answered Gaspard. 
 
 "Please place your father's leather arm-chair un- 
 der my feet, Gaspard." 
 
 "I have no right to," replied the little rogue. "My 
 mother won't allow anybody to stand on it." 
 
 "Will you bring me that arm-chair, you damned 
 choir-boy, you!" 
 
 "Take off your shoes, and I will bring it to you." 
 
 "How do you expect me to take off my shoes? 
 My feet are in the first story, and my hands are in the 
 second." 
 
 "Well, give me a franc to pay me for my trouble." 
 
 "I will give you a franc and a half, my good 
 Gaspard, but the arm-chair at once, I beg of you. 
 My arms will soon separate from my shoulders." 
 
 "Credit is dead," said Gaspard. "Give me the 
 franc and a half at once. Otherwise, no arm-chair."
 
 260 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 Fortunately Machecourt came in at that point. 
 He gave Gaspard a kick, and put an end to his 
 brother-in-law's suspension. Benjamin went to fin- 
 ish his fencing-lesson at Page's, and he proved so 
 apt a pupil that in two hours' time he was as skilful 
 as his teacher.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 HOW MY UNCLE THRICE DISARMED M. DE PONT-CASSE 
 
 THE dawn, a dismal February dawn, had scarcely 
 thrown its leaden tints on the walls of his room, 
 when my uncle was up. He dressed himself grop- 
 ing about for his things, and softly descended the 
 stairs, particularly fearful of waking his sister. But 
 just as he reached the vestibule, he felt a woman's 
 hand on his shoulder. 
 
 "What, dear sister," he cried, just a bit scared, 
 "awake already?" 
 
 "Say rather not asleep yet, Benjamin. I wanted 
 to say good-bye to you before you go, perhaps the 
 last good-bye, Benjamin. Have you a conception of 
 how I am suffering at the thought that you are leav- 
 ing this house full of life, youth, and hope, and may 
 come back on the arms of your friends, with a sword 
 through your body? Is your mind quite made up? 
 Before coming to a decision, did you think of the 
 grief your death would cause in this unfortunate 
 house? For you, when your last drop of blood has 
 gone, all will be over, but many months, many years 
 will pass before our grief is stilled, and the 
 drops of resin will long have dried on the cross over 
 
 261
 
 262 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 your grave when our tears will still be flowing." 
 
 My uncle wanted to go away without answering, 
 and perhaps he was weeping. My grandmother 
 caught him by the skirt of his coat. 
 
 "Then be off to your murderous rendezvous, you 
 brute you," she cried. "Do not keep M. de Pont- 
 Casse waiting. Perhaps honour requires you to 
 start without kissing your sister. But at least take 
 this relic. Cousin Guillaumot lent it to me. It 
 may guard you from the dangers you are going into 
 so recklessly." 
 
 My uncle thrust the relic into his pocket and 
 slipped away. 
 
 He hastened to awaken M. Minxit at his hotel. 
 They picked up Page and Arthus in passing, and 
 all went to breakfast together in a wine-shop at the 
 extremity of Beuvron. My uncle, if he was to fall, 
 did not wish to depart this life with an empty stom- 
 ach. He said that a soul appearing before God's 
 judgment seat after a good long draught feels more 
 encouraged and pleads its cause better than a poor 
 soul with nothing but sweetened water inside of it. 
 The sergeant was present at breakfast, and at des- 
 sert my uncle asked him to carry a table, a box, and 
 two chairs to Croix-des-Michelins. He said he 
 needed them for his duel. He also asked him to 
 build a big fire there with vine-poles from the neigh- 
 bouring vineyard. Then he ordered coffee. 
 
 M. de Pont-Casse and his friend put in appear- 
 ance punctually.
 
 263 
 
 The sergeant did the honours of the bivouac to 
 the best of his ability. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said he, "be good enough to sit 
 down and warm yourselves. M. Rathery begs you 
 to excuse him if he keeps you waiting a short while. 
 He is breakfasting with his seconds, and will be at 
 your disposition in a few minutes." 
 
 Benjamin arrived a quarter of an hour later, hold- 
 ing Arthus and M. Minxit by the arm and singing 
 lustily : 
 
 "By God, a sorry soldier's he 
 Who never had a jolly spree." 
 
 My uncle saluted his two adversaries graciously. 
 
 "Monsieur," said M. de Pont-Casse, haughtily, 
 "we have been waiting for you twenty minutes." 
 
 "The sergeant must have explained the cause of 
 our delay. I 'hope you find it a legitimate one." 
 
 "What excuses you is that you are not a noble- 
 man, and this is probably the first time you have 
 any dealings with a nobleman." 
 
 "What do you expect? We plebeians are accus- 
 tomed to take coffee after each meal, and because 
 you call yourself Vicomte de Pont-Casse, that is no 
 reason why we should depart from our custom. You 
 see, coffee is a wholesome tonic. It stimulates the 
 brain agreeably and promotes thinking. If you have 
 not taken coffee this morning, the weapons are not 
 equal, and I am not sure whether my conscience will 
 let me measure myself against you."
 
 264 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 "Make your jokes, Monsieur; laugh while you 
 can. But I tell you, he laughs best who laughs last." 
 
 "Monsieur," rejoined Benjamin, "I am not jok- 
 ing when I say coffee is a tonic. That is the opinion 
 of several celebrated doctors, and I myself give it 
 as a stimulant in certain diseases." 
 
 "Monsieur!" 
 
 "And your sorrel horse? I am surprised not to 
 see him here. Is there anything wrong with him?" 
 
 "Monsieur," said the second musketeer, "enough 
 of your jokes. You have not forgotten why you 
 have come here, have you?" 
 
 "Ah, there you are, number two. Delighted to 
 renew our acquaintance. Of course, I have not for- 
 gotten what I came here for, and the proof," he 
 added, pointing to the table on which the box was 
 placed, "is that I have made preparations to re- 
 ceive you." 
 
 "What's this juggler's apparatus for in a duel?" 
 
 "I don't mean to fight with the sword." 
 
 "Monsieur," said M. de Pont-Casse, "I am the 
 insulted party. I have the choice of weapons. I 
 choose the sword." 
 
 "It is I, Monsieur, who was insulted first; I will 
 not yield my privilege, and I choose chess." 
 
 He opened the box the sergeant had brought, took 
 out a chess-board, and invited the nobleman to take 
 his place at the table. 
 
 M. de Pont-Casse turned pale with anger. 
 
 "Are you trying to make a fool of me?" he cried.
 
 MY UNCLE DISARMS THE VICOMTE 265 
 
 "Not at all," said my uncle. "Every 'duel is a 
 game in which two men stake their lives. Why 
 shouldn't the game be played with chess as well as 
 with the sword? However, if you doubt your 
 strength at chess, I am ready to play you a game 
 of ecarte or triomphe. In five points, if you like, 
 without a return game or a rubber. In that way it 
 will be over soon." 
 
 "I have come here," said M. de Pont-Casse, 
 scarcely able to contain himself, "not to stake my 
 life like a bottle of beer, but to defend it with my 
 sword." 
 
 "I understand," said my uncle. "You are a bet- 
 ter swordsman than I am, and you hope to have an 
 advantage over me, who never take mine in hand 
 except to put it at my side. Is that a nobleman's 
 fairness? If a mower should propose to fight you 
 with the scythe, or a rhi-asher with a flail, would 
 you accept, I ask you?" 
 
 "You will fight with the sword," cried M. de 
 
 Pont-Casse, beside himself. "Otherwise " he 
 
 added, lifting his riding-whip. 
 
 "Otherwise what?" said my uncle. 
 
 "Otherwise I will cut you across the face with my 
 riding-whip." 
 
 "You know how I answer your threats," re- 
 torted Benjamin. "No, Monsieur, this duel shall 
 not be carried through as you hope. If you persist 
 in your unfair obstinacy, I shall believe and declare 
 that you have speculated on your ruffian's skill, that
 
 266 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 you have set a trap for me, that you have come here, 
 not to risk your life against mine, but to cripple me, 
 do you understand, M. de JPont-Casse? And I shall 
 hold you for a coward, yes, fqr a coward, my noble- 
 man, for a coward, yes, for a coward." 
 
 My uncle's words vibrated between his lips like a 
 rattling window-pane. 
 
 The nobleman could endure it no longer. He 
 drew his sword and rushed upon Benjamin, and 
 it would have been all up with Benjamin if the 
 poodle had not changed the direction of his sword 
 by throwing himself upon-M. de Pont-Casse. The 
 sergeant having called off his dog, my uncle cried: 
 
 "Gentleman, I call you to witness that if I fight, 
 it is to save this man from committing a mur- 
 der." 
 
 Brandishing his sword, he sustained his adver- 
 sary's impetuous attack without retiring a step. The 
 sergeant, seeing no sign of his thrust, stamped on 
 the grass like a war-horse tied to a tree and twisted 
 his wrist till he nearly threw it out of joint to indi- 
 cate to Benjamin the motion he ought to make in 
 order to disarm his man. M. de Pont-Casse, exas- 
 perated at the unexpected resistance, lost his sang- 
 froid and along with it his murderous skill. He no 
 longer tried to parry, only to pierce his adversary 
 with his sword. 
 
 "Monsieur de Pont-Casse," said my uncle, "you 
 would have done better to play chess. You never 
 parry. I could kill you at any moment"
 
 MY UNCLE DISARMS THE VICOMTE 267 
 
 "Kill me, Monsieur," said the musketeer. "That 
 is what you are here for." 
 
 "I prefer to disarm you," said my uncle, and 
 swiftly passing his sword under his adversary's, he 
 sent it into the middle of the hedge. 
 
 "Well done! Bravo!" cried the sergeant. "I 
 could not have sent it so far myself. If you could 
 only take lessons of me for six months, you would 
 be the best swordsman in France." 
 
 M. de Pont-Casse desired to begin the combat 
 again. The seconds were opposed to this, but my 
 uncle said: 
 
 "No, gentlemen, the first time does not count, and 
 there is no game without a return game. The repara- 
 tion to which Monsieur is entitled must be complete." 
 
 The two adversaries put themselves on guard 
 again. At the first thrust M. de Pont-Casse's sword 
 went flying into the road. As he ran to pick it up, 
 Benjamin said to him with a sardonic smile: 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Count, for the trouble I gave 
 you. But it is your own fault. Had you been will- 
 ing to play chess, you would not have been both- 
 ered so often." 
 
 A third time the musketeer returned to the 
 charge. 
 
 "Enough !" cried the seconds. "You are abusing 
 M. Rathery's generosity." 
 
 "Not at all," said my uncle. "Monsieur undoubt- 
 edly wishes to learn the thrust. Permit me to give 
 him another lesson."
 
 268 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 The lesson was not long in coming, and M. de 
 Pont-Casse's sword escaped his hand the third time. 
 
 "At least," said my uncle, "you would have done 
 well to bring a servant with you to go pick up your 
 sword." 
 
 "You are the devil in person," said the vicomte. 
 "I would rather have been killed by you than treated 
 so ignominiously." 
 
 "And you, my nobleman," said Benjamin, turn- 
 ing to the other musketeer, "you see my barber is 
 not here. Shall I keep my promise to you?" 
 
 "By no means," said the musketeer. "To you 
 belong the honours of the day. There is no cow- 
 ardice in giving up to you, since you do not use your 
 sword against the defeated man. Although you are 
 not a nobleman, I consider you the best swordsman 
 and the most honourable man I know. Your ad- 
 versary wanted to kill you, but you, though you had 
 his life in your hands, respected it. If I were king, 
 you should be a duke, at least, and member of the 
 house of peers. And if you attach any value to my 
 friendship, I offer it to you with all my heart and 
 ask yours in exchange." 
 
 He held out his hand to my uncle, who shook it 
 cordially. M. de Pont-Casse stood before the fire, 
 gloomy and sullen, as though a storm cloud were 
 gathering on his brow. He took his friend's arm, 
 gave my uncle a chilly salute, and left. 
 
 My uncle wanted to hurry back to his sister. But 
 the report of his victory had spread rapidly through
 
 MY UNCLE DISARMS THE VICOMTE 269 
 
 the faubourg. At every step he was stopped by 
 someone calling himself a friend and congratulated 
 on his wonderful feat, and his arm was almost 
 shaken from his shoulder. The urchins that each 
 new event gathers in the streets swarmed about him 
 and deafened him with their hurrahs. In a few mo- 
 ments he became the centre of a frightfully noisy 
 crowd. They trod on his heels, spattered his silk 
 stockings, and knocked his three-cornered hat into 
 the mud. He was still able to exchange a few words 
 with M. Minxit, but then Cicero, the drummer, 
 whose acquaintance we have already made, to put 
 a finishing touch to his triumph, placed himself at 
 the head of the crowd and began to beat the charge 
 hard enough to shatter the bridge of Beuvron. Ben- 
 jamin even had to give him thirty sous for his din. 
 The only thing lacking to complete his misfortune 
 was a speech in his honour. That is how my uncle 
 was rewarded for having risked his life in a duel. 
 
 "If," he said to himself, "I had given a few louis 
 to a wretch dying of hunger in Croix-des-Michelins, 
 all these fools applauding me here would let me go 
 my way without a sound. My God, what is glory, 
 and to whom does it go? The fuss they make about 
 a name, is it so rare, so precious a blessing that 
 peace, happiness, affection, the finest years of one's 
 life, and sometimes the peace of the world, should 
 be sacrificed for it? What sort of a person has not 
 been pointed out to the public? The child that is 
 carried to church to the ringing bells, the ox that is
 
 2 7 o MY UNCLE. BENJAMIN 
 
 led through the city decorated with flowers and rib- 
 bons, the six-footed calf, the stuffed boa-constrictor, 
 the monster pumpkin, the tight-rope dancer, the 
 aeronaut who makes an ascent, the juggler who 
 swallows balls, the prince as he drives by, the bishop 
 who blesses, the general who returns from a vic- 
 torious campaign in a remote country have not all 
 of them had their moment of glory? You think 
 you are celebrated because you have sown your ideas 
 in the arid furrows of a book, or made men out of 
 marble and passions out of ivory. But your fame 
 would be far greater if you had a nose six inches 
 long. As for the glory that survives us, I admit 
 not everybody can attain it, but the difficulty is to 
 enjoy it. Find a banker who discounts immortality, 
 and from to-morrow on I will toil to make myself 
 immortal." 
 
 My uncle wanted M. Minxit to stay to the fam- 
 ily dinner at his sister's, but the good man, though 
 his dear Benjamin stood before him safe, sound, 
 and victorious, was sad and preoccupied. What my 
 uncle had said to M. de Pont-Casse in the morning 
 kept recurring to his mind. He said a voice was 
 ringing in his ears summoning him to Corvol. He 
 felt nervous, like a man who is not accustomed to 
 coffee and has drunk a strong cup. He was fre- 
 quently obliged to leave the table and take a turn 
 about the room. His extreme excitement fright- 
 ened Benjamin, and he himself urged him to go back 
 home.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 ABDUCTION AND DEATH OF MADEMOISELLE MINXIT 
 
 MY uncle escorted M. Minxit as far as Croix- 
 des-Michelins, and then returned to go to bed. He 
 was in the complete oblivion of the first hours of 
 sleep when he was awakened with a shock by a vio- 
 lent knocking at the outside door. He opened his 
 window. Though the street was as dark as a deep 
 ditch, he recognised M. Minxit, and thought he per- 
 ceived indications of distress in his attitude. He 
 ran to open the door. Scarcely had he drawn the 
 bolt, when the good man threw himself into his arms 
 and burst into tears. 
 
 "Well, what is it, Monsieur Minxit? Tell me. 
 Tears are no good. Has anything happened to 
 you?" 
 
 "Gone! Gone!" cried M. Minxit, choking with 
 sobs. "Gone with him, Benjamin!" 
 
 "What, Arabella has gone with M. de Pont- 
 Casse?" said my uncle, divining at once what he 
 meant. 
 
 "You were quite right in warning me against him. 
 Why didn't you kill him?" 
 
 271
 
 272 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 "There is still time for that," said Benjamin. 
 "But first we must start in pursuit." 
 
 "Come with me, Benjamin. All my strength 
 and courage is in you." 
 
 "Go with you ! Of course I will, and directly. 
 By the way, did it occur to you to take money?" 
 
 "I haven't a bit of cash, my friend. The poor 
 girl carried off every bit there was in my secretary." 
 
 "So much the better," said my uncle. "You can 
 at least be sure she will want for nothing until we 
 catch her." 
 
 "As soon as it is light, I will go to my banker to 
 get some funds." 
 
 "Yes," said my uncle, "do you think they will 
 amuse themselves making love on the greensward 
 by the roadside? When it is light, they will be far 
 far away. You must go at once to awaken your 
 banker, and knock at his door until he has counted 
 out a thousand francs. You will have to pay twenty 
 per cent, instead of fifteen, that is all." 
 
 "But what' road have they taken? We must 
 wait till daylight to make inquiries." 
 
 "Not at all," said my uncle. "They have taken 
 the road to Paris. Paris is the only place M. de 
 Pont-Casse can go to. I have it on good authority 
 that his leave of absence expires in a few days. I 
 am going at once to get a carriage and two good 
 horses. Join me at the Golden Lion." 
 
 As my uncle started to go out, M. Minxit said 
 to him:
 
 ABDUCTION OF MLLE. MINXIT 273 
 
 "You have nothing but your shirt on." 
 
 "Right," said Benjamin, "I forgot that. It was 
 so dark I didn't notice it. But I shall be dressed in 
 five minutes, and in twenty minutes I shall be at 
 the Golden Lion. I will say good-bye to my dear 
 sister when I return from the trip." 
 
 An hour later my uncle and M. Minxit were driv- 
 ing along the wretched road that then led from 
 Clamecy to Auxerre in a rickety vehicle drawn by 
 two jades. By daylight winter is tolerable, but at 
 night it is horrible. With the utmost speed pos- 
 sible, it was not until ten o'clock in the morning 
 that they arrived at Courson. Under the porch of 
 La Levrette, the only tavern in the neighbourhood, 
 a coffin was exposed, and a whole swarm of ugly, 
 ragged old women were croaking around it. 
 
 "I have it from Gobi, the sexton," said one, "that 
 the young lady promised three thousand francs to 
 be distributed among the poor of the parish." 
 
 "We shall get some of that, Mother Simonne." 
 
 "If the young lady dies, as they say she will, the 
 proprietor of La Levrette will take everything," 
 answered a third. "We ought to go see the bailiff 
 and get him to look after our inheritance." 
 
 My uncle took one of the old women aside and 
 asked her to explain what it was all about. Proud 
 at having been singled out by a stranger with a 
 carriage and pair, she gave her companions a look 
 of triumph, and said: 
 
 "You have done well to ask me, sir. I know
 
 274 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 everything that happened better than they do. This 
 morning the man in the coffin was in the green car- 
 riage you see yonder in the coach-house. He was 
 a grand lord, worth millions, who was going with 
 a young lady to Paris, to court perhaps, and he 
 stopped here, and he will remain in that poor 
 cemetery to rot along with the peasants he so de- 
 spised. He was young and handsome, and I, old 
 Manette, all worn out and good for nothing, will 
 sprinkle holy water on his grave, and in ten years, 
 if I live so long, his ashes will have to make room 
 for my old bones. No matter how rich the grand 
 gentlemen, sooner or later they have to go where 
 we go. They may dress themselves in velvets and 
 taffetas, but their last coat is always made of the 
 planks of their coffin. They tend and perfume their 
 skin, but the earthworms are made for them as 
 well as for us. To think that I, the old washer- 
 woman, shall be able to go, when I like, to squat on 
 a nobleman's grave. Oh, my dear sir, the thought 
 does us good. It consoles us for being poor, and 
 avenges us for not being nobles. However, it is 
 really his fault that he is dead. He wanted to take 
 a traveller's room because it was the finest in the 
 tavern, and the two quarrelled over it, so they went 
 to fight in the garden of La Levrette, and the 
 traveller put a ball through his head. The young 
 lady, it seems, was with child, poor thing. When 
 she heard her husband was dead, she was taken in 
 labour, and is scarcely better off than her noble
 
 ABDUCTION OF MLLE. MINXIT 275 
 
 husband. Doctor Debrit left her room just now. 
 I do his washing, and I asked how the young lady 
 was, and he said, 'Ah, Mother Manette, I would 
 rather be in your old wrinkled skin than in hers.' ' 
 
 "And this lord," said my uncle, "wasn't he wear- 
 ing a red coat, a light wig, and three plumes in his 
 hat?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. Do you know him?" 
 
 "No," said my uncle, "but I may have seen him 
 somewhere." 
 
 "And the young lady," said M. Minxit, "is she 
 not tall and freckled?" 
 
 "She is about five feet three inches," answered 
 the old woman, "and has a skin like the shell of a 
 turkey's egg." 
 
 M. Minxit fainted. 
 
 Benjamin carried M. Minxit to his bed, and 
 bled him. Then he asked to be taken to Arabella; 
 for the beautiful lady dying in the pains of child- 
 birth was M. Minxit's daughter. She was occupy- 
 ing the room that her lover had obtained at the 
 cost of his life a gloomy room, indeed, the pos- 
 session of which was scarcely worth quarrelling 
 about. 
 
 Arabella lay in a bed draped in green serge. My 
 uncle drew the curtains aside and looked at her for 
 some time in silence. A moist marble pallor had 
 spread over her face. Her half-open eyes were 
 faded and expressionless. Her breath escaped in 
 sobs. Benjamin lifted her arm lying motionless at
 
 276 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 her side. Having felt her pulse, he shook his head 
 sadly, and ordered the nurse to go for Dr. Debrit. 
 Hearing his voice, Arabella trembled like a corpse 
 under the influence of a galvanic current. 
 
 "Where am I?" she said, throwing a wild look 
 about her. "Was it a nightmare? Do I hear you, 
 Monsieur Rathery, and am I still at Corvol in my 
 father's house?" 
 
 "You are not in your father's house," said my 
 uncle, "but your father is here. He is ready to 
 forgive you. All he asks of you is to live so that 
 he may live too." 
 
 Arabella's eyes chanced to fall upon M. de Pont- 
 Casse's uniform, which was hanging on the wall 
 still soaked in blood. She tried to sit up in bed, 
 but her limbs twisted in a horrible convulsion, and 
 she fell back heavily, like a corpse that has been 
 raised in its coffin. Benjamin placed his hand upon 
 her heart. It was no longer beating. He held a 
 mirror to her lips; the glass remained clear. Mis- 
 ery and happiness were all over for poor Arabella. 
 Benjamin stood erect at her bedside, holding her 
 hand in his, plunged in bitter reflections. 
 
 Just then a heavy, uncertain step was heard on 
 the stairs. Benjamin hastened to turn the key in 
 the lock. It was M. Minxit, who knocked at the 
 door, and cried: 
 
 "It is I, Benjamin. Open the door. I want to 
 see my daughter. I must see her. She cannot die 
 until I have seen her."
 
 ABDUCTION OF MLLE. MINXIT 277 
 
 There is cruelty in making believe that a dead 
 person is still alive and active. My uncle, however, 
 did not shrink from this necessity. 
 
 "Go away, Monsieur Minxit, I beg of you. Ara- 
 bella is better. She is resting. Your coming in 
 suddenly might bring on a crisis that would kill 
 her." 
 
 "I tell you, wretch, I want to see my daughter," 
 cried M. Minxit, and he threw himself with such 
 violence against the door that the staple of the lock 
 fell to the floor. 
 
 "Well," said Benjamin, hoping still to deceive 
 him, "you see your daughter is sleeping quietly. 
 Are you satisfied now, and will you go away?" 
 
 The unhappy old man threw a' glance at his 
 daughter. 
 
 "You are lying," he cried, in a voice that made 
 Benjamin tremble. "She is not asleep, she is dead!" 
 
 He threw himself upon her body and pressed her 
 convulsively to his breast. 
 
 "Arabella!" he cried. "Arabella! Arabella! 
 Oh, was it this way that I was to find you again? 
 My daughter, my only child! God lets the mur- 
 derer's hair grow, and from a father he takes his 
 only child. How can they tell us that God is good 
 and just?" Then his grief changed into anger 
 against my uncle. "It is you, you miserable Rath- 
 ery, who made me refuse her to M. de Pont-Casse. 
 But for you she would be married and full of life." 
 
 "Are you joking?" said my uncle. "Is it my
 
 278 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 fault that she fell in love with a musketeer?" 
 All passions are nothing but blood rushing to 
 the brain. M. Minxit's reason had doubtless given 
 way under his terrible grief, and in the paroxysm 
 of his delirium the vein from which my uncle had 
 just bled him reopened. Benjamin allowed the 
 blood to flow, and soon a salutary swoon suc- 
 ceeded this superabundance of life and saved the 
 poor old man. Benjamin gave orders to the pro- 
 prietor of La Levrette for Arabella and her lover 
 to receive an honourable burial, and also gave him 
 the money with which to carry out his orders. Then 
 he came back to station himself at M. Minxit's bed- 
 side, and watched over him like a mother over her 
 sick child. M. Minxit hung three days between life 
 and the grave, but, thanks to my uncle's skilful, af- 
 fectionate care, the fever devouring him gradually 
 disappeared, and soon he was in a condition to be 
 transferred to Corvol.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 A FINAL FESTIVAL 
 
 MONSIEUR MINXIT had one of those antedilu- 
 vian constitutions which seem made of more solid 
 material than our own. It was one of those deep- 
 rooted plants that keep a vigourous vegetation 
 when winter has withered the others. Wrinkles 
 had been unable to ruffle his granite brow. Years 
 had accumulated upon his head without leaving any 
 trace of decline. He had remained young till past 
 his sixtieth year, and his winter, like that of the 
 tropics, was still full of sap and flowers. But time 
 and misfortune forget nobody. 
 
 His daughter's death, coming upon her flight and 
 the revelation of her pregnancy dealt the strong or- 
 ganism a mortal blow. A slow fever was silently 
 undermining M. Minxit. He had renounced those 
 noisy pleasures which had made his life one long 
 festivity. He put aside medicine as a useless en- 
 cumbrance. The companions of his long period of 
 youth respected his sorrow, and ceased to see him 
 without ceasing to love him. His house was silent 
 and sealed as a tomb. Its occupants could scarcely 
 snatch a few stealthy glimpses of the village 
 
 279
 
 28o MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 through the blinds that were only occasionally half- 
 opened. The y?rd no longer rang with the noise 
 of people going and coming. The early spring 
 weeds choked the drive, and high plants growing 
 along the walls formed a circle of verdure. 
 
 The poor soul in mourning needed nothing now 
 but obscurity and silence. He did what the wild 
 beast does that retires into the gloomiest depths of 
 its forest when it wishes to die. My uncle's gaiety 
 proved powerless to overcome this incurable mel- 
 ancholy. M. Minxit answered only with a sad, 
 gloomy smile, as much as to say that he understood 
 and thanked my uncle for his good intentions. 
 
 My uncle had counted on the spring to bring him 
 back to life. But the spring, which dresses the dry 
 earth anew in flowers and verdure, cannot revive a 
 grief-stricken soul, and while everything else was 
 being born again, the poor man was slowly dying. 
 
 It was an evening in the month of May. M. 
 Minxit was walking in his field, resting on Benja- 
 min's arm. The sky was clear, the earth was green 
 and fragrant, the nightingales were singing in the 
 poplars, the dragonflies were hovering among the 
 reeds of the brook, their wings making a melodious 
 buzzing, and the water, all covered with hawthorn 
 blossoms, was murmuring under the roots of the 
 willows. 
 
 "A fine evening," said Benjamin, trying to rouse 
 M. Minxit from the gloomy revery that shrouded 
 his mind.
 
 A FINAL FESTIVAL 281 
 
 "Yes," he answered, "a fine evening for a poor 
 peasant who walks along between the flowering 
 hedges with his pick on his shoulder, on his way to 
 his smoking hut, where his children are waiting for 
 him. But there are no more fine evenings for the 
 father mourning his daughter." 
 
 "At what fireside is there not some vacant 
 chair?" said my uncle. "Who has not some grassy 
 hillock in the cemetery where he comes every year on 
 All Saints' day to shed pious tears? And in the 
 streets of the city what throng, however pink and 
 gilded, is not spotted with black? When sons grow 
 old, they are condemned to put their old parents in 
 the grave. When they die in their prime, they leave 
 a desolate mother on her knees beside their coffin. 
 Believe me, man's eyes were made much less for see- 
 ing than for weeping, and every soul has its wound, 
 just as every plant has its canker. But God has also 
 sowed forgetfulness in the path of life. It follows 
 death with slow steps, effacing the epitaphs death 
 has traced and repairing the ruins death has made. 
 Are you willing, my dear Monsieur Minxit, to fol- 
 low a piece of good advice? Then go eat carp on 
 the shores of Lake Geneva, macaroni at Naples, 
 drink sherry wine at Cadiz, and taste ices at Con- 
 stantinople. In a year you will come back as fat and 
 round as you used to be." 
 
 M. Minxit allowed my uncle to harangue him as 
 long as he liked, and when he finished said to him: 
 
 "How many days have I still to live, Benjamin?"
 
 282 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 "Why? s said my uncle, amazed at the question 
 and thinking he had misunderstood him. "What do 
 you mean, Monsieur Minxit?" 
 
 "I ask you," repeated M. Minxit, "how many 
 days have I still to live?" 
 
 "The devil!" said my uncle. "A very embarrass- 
 ing question. On the one hand, I should not like to 
 disoblige you; but, on the other hand, I do not 
 know whether prudence permits me to satisfy your 
 desire. They tell the condemned man of his execu- 
 tion only a few hours before his journey to the scaf- 
 fold, and you " 
 
 "It is a service," interrupted M. Minxit, "that I 
 impose upon your friendship, because you alone can 
 render it. The traveller must know at what hour 
 he is to start, so that he may pack his trunk." 
 
 "Do you wish me to speak frankly and sincerely, 
 Monsieur Minxit? Will you, on your honour, not 
 be frightened at the sentence I shall utter?" 
 
 "I give you my word of honour," said M. Minxit.' 
 
 "Well, then," said my uncle, "I will speak as if 
 it were myself." 
 
 He examined the old man's dried-up face, his dim, 
 dull eyes which reflected only a few gleams of light, 
 his pulse, as if listening to its beating with his 
 fingers. For some time he was silent, then he said: 
 
 "To-day is Thursday. Well, on Monday there 
 will be one house more in mourning in Corvol." 
 
 "A very good diagnosis," said M. Minxit. "I 
 thought so myself. If you ever find an opportunity
 
 A FINAL FESTIVAL 283 
 
 to introduce yourself, I predict you will become one 
 of our medical celebrities. But does Sunday belong 
 to me entirely?" 
 
 "It belongs to you from the beginning to the end, 
 provided you do nothing to hurry the end of your 
 days." 
 
 "I have nothing more to do," said M. Minxit. 
 "Now do me the favour to invite our friends for 
 Sunday to a festive dinner. I do not wish to go 
 away on bad terms with life, and it is with the glass 
 in my hand that I desire to take leave. You must 
 insist on their acceptance of my invitation. If neces- 
 sary, tell them it is their duty." 
 
 "I will go to invite them myself," said my uncle, 
 "and I guarantee that none of them shall fail you." 
 
 "Now, let us take up something very different. 
 I do not want to be buried in the churchyard. It is 
 in a valley, and is cold and damp, and the shadow 
 of the church lies on it like a crape veil. I should 
 be uncomfortable in there, and you know I like my 
 ease. I want you to bury me in my field, at the edge 
 of this brook whose song I love so." He tore up a 
 handful of grass, and said, "See, here is the spot 
 where I wish you to dig my last resting-place. Plant 
 a bower of vines here and honeysuckles, so that the 
 verdure may be mingled with flowers, and come here 
 sometimes to dream of your old friend. To make 
 you come oftener, and also so as not to disturb my 
 sleep, I leave you this estate and all my other prop- 
 erty. But on two conditions. First, that you live
 
 284 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 in the house that I am about to leave empty; sec- 
 ond, that you continue to attend my patients as I 
 attended them for thirty years." 
 
 "I accept this double inheritance with gratitude," 
 said* my uncle, "but I warn you I will not go to the 
 fairs." 
 
 "Granted," answered M. Minxit. 
 
 "As for your patients," added Benjamin, "I will 
 treat them conscientiously and according to the sys- 
 tem of Tissot, which seems to me founded on ex- 
 perience and reason. The first one of them to leave 
 this world shall bring you news of me." 
 
 "I feel the cold of evening creeping over me. It 
 is time to say farewell to this sky, to these old trees 
 which will never see me again, to these little song- 
 sters, for we shall not come back here till Monday 
 morning." 
 
 The next day he shut himself up with his friend, 
 the notary. The day after he grew weaker and 
 weaker and kept his bed. But on Sunday he rose, 
 had himself powdered, and donned his best coat. 
 Benjamin, according to his promise, had gone to 
 Clamecy to extend the invitations, and not one of 
 the friends failed to respond to this funeral call. At 
 four o'clock they found themselves all gathered in 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 M. Minxit was not slow in making his appear- 
 ance, tottering and resting on my uncle's arm. He 
 shook hands with all of them, and thanked them af- 
 fectionately for having given in to his last wish,
 
 A FINAL FESTIVAL 285 
 
 which was, he said, the caprice of a dying man. 
 
 This man whom they had seen a short time before 
 so gay, so happy, and so full of life, had been 
 broken down by grief. Old age had come upon him 
 at one stroke. At sight of him all shed tears. Ar- 
 thus suddenly felt his appetite going. 
 
 A servant announced that dinner was ready. M. 
 Minxit seated himself as usual at the head of the 
 table. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said he to his guests, "this dinner is 
 my last. I wish my last looks to meet nothing but 
 full glasses and merry faces. If you wish to please 
 me, you will give free rein to your usual gaiety." 
 
 He poured out a few drops of Burgundy, and 
 held out his glass to his guests. They all said to- 
 gether: 
 
 "To M. Minxit's health!" 
 
 "No," said M. Minxit, "not to my health. Of 
 what use is a wish that cannot be gratified? But 
 to your health, to you all, to your prosperity, to 
 your happiness, and may God keep those of you 
 who have children from losing them !" 
 
 "M. Minxit," said Guillerand, "has taken 
 things too much to heart. I should not have thought 
 him capable of dying of sorrow. I too lost a 
 daughter, a daughter whom I placed at school with 
 the Sisters. It pained me for a time, but now I am 
 none the worse for it, and sometimes, I confess, the 
 thought occurs to me that I no longer have to pay 
 her board."
 
 286 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 "A bottle broken in your wine-cellar," said 
 Arthus, "or a scholar taken from your school would 
 have caused you more sorrow." 
 
 "It well becomes you," said Millot, "to talk that 
 way, you, Arthus who fear no misfortune except the 
 loss of your appetite." 
 
 "I have more bowels than you, song-maker," 
 answered Arthus. 
 
 "Yes, for digestive purposes," said the poet. 
 
 "Well, it is of some value to be able to digest 
 well," replied Arthus. "At least, when you go in 
 a cart, your friends are not obliged to fasten you 
 to the cart-stakes for fear of losing you on the way." 
 
 "Arthus," said Millot, "no personalities, I pray 
 you." 
 
 "I know that you bear me ill-will," answered 
 Arthus, "because I fell on you on the way from 
 Corvol. But sing me your Grand-Noel and we shall 
 be quits." 
 
 "And I maintain my song is a fine bit of poesy. 
 Would you like me to show you a letter from Mon- 
 seigneur the bishop who compliments me upon it?" 
 
 "Just put your song on the gridiron, and we shall 
 see what it is worth." 
 
 "I recognise you there, Arthus. Nothing has any 
 value for you that isn't roasted or boiled." 
 
 "What's wrong with that? My sensitiveness re- 
 sides in my palate, and I like to have it there as 
 well as anywhere else. Is a solidly organised diges- 
 tive apparatus worth less for purposes of happiness
 
 A FINAL FESTIVAL 287 
 
 than a highly developed brain? That is the 
 question." 
 
 "If we should leave it to a duck or a pig, I do not 
 doubt they would decide it in your favour. But I'll 
 ask Benjamin to be judge." 
 
 "Your song suits me very well," said my uncle : 
 
 " 'Down on your knees, O Christians, down !' 
 
 That is superb. What Christian could refuse to 
 kneel when you invite him to do so twice in a line 
 of eight syllables? But I am of Arthus' opinion. 
 I prefer a cutlet in papers." 
 
 "A joke is not a reply," said Millot. 
 
 "Well, do you think there is any moral sorrow 
 that causes as much suffering as toothache or ear- 
 ache? If the body suffers more keenly than the soul, 
 it must likewise enjoy more energetically. That is 
 logic. Pain and pleasure result from the same 
 faculty." 
 
 "The fact is," said M. Minxit, "that if I had my 
 choice between M. Arthus' stomach and the over- 
 oxygenated brain of J. J. Rousseau, I should take 
 M. Arthus' stomach. Sensitiveness is the fac- 
 ulty of suffering. To be sensitive is to walk bare- 
 footed over the sharp pebbles of life, to go through 
 the crowd with an open wound in your side and the 
 people jostling against you. Man's unhappiness con- 
 sists of unsatisfied desires. Now, every soul that 
 feels too keenly is a balloon aspiring to mount to
 
 288 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 heaven but unable to ascend beyond the limits of the 
 atmosphere. Give a man good health and a good 
 appetite, and put his soul to sleep forever, and he 
 will be the happiest being in all creation. To de- 
 velop his intelligence is to sow thorns in his life. The 
 peasant who plays at skittles is happier than the in- 
 tellectual who reads a fine book." 
 
 A general silence followed these words. 
 
 "Parlanta," said M. Minxit, "how does my case 
 stand against Malthus?" 
 
 "We have a warrant for his arrest," said the 
 sheriff's officer. 
 
 "Throw all the documents into the fire, and Ben- 
 jamin will pay you your expenses. And you, Rapin, 
 how is my affair with the clergy about my music com- 
 ing on?" 
 
 "The case has been postponed for a week," said 
 Rapin. 
 
 "Then I will be sentenced by default," answered 
 M. Minxit. 
 
 "But there may be a heavy fine," said Rapin. 
 "The sexton testified that the sergeant insulted the 
 vicar when he ordered him and his band to clear the 
 square in front of the church." 
 
 "That's not true," said the sergeant. "I only 
 ordered the band to play the air, 'Where are you 
 going, Monsieur Abbe?' ' 
 
 "In that case," said M. Minxit, "Benjamin will 
 give the sexton a drubbing at the first opportunity 
 that offers itself. I want the scamp to remember me."
 
 A FINAL FESTIVAL 289 
 
 They had reached the dessert. M. Minxit had a 
 punch made and poured a few drops of the flaming 
 liquor into his glass. 
 
 "That's bad for you, Monsieur Minxit," said 
 Machecourt. 
 
 "What can be bad for me now, my good Mache- 
 court? I must say good-bye to all that has been 
 dear to me in life." 
 
 His strength was rapidly declining, and his voice 
 was very weak. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he said, "do you know what I have 
 invited you for? I have invited you to my funeral. 
 I have had beds prepared for all of you, so that 
 you may be ready to-morrow morning to escort me 
 to my last resting-place. I don't want anyone to 
 weep over my death. Wear roses in your coats in- 
 stead of crape, and, after wetting the leaves in a 
 glass of champagne, strew them over my grave. It 
 is the recovery of a sick man, the release of a pris- 
 oner from his captivity, that you will be celebrating. 
 By the way, which of you will pronounce my funeral 
 oration?" 
 
 "It ought to be Page," said some. 
 
 "No," answered M. Minxit, "Page is a lawyer, 
 and at the grave one must tell the truth. I prefer 
 Benjamin." 
 
 "I?" said my uncle. "You know I am no orator." 
 
 "You are a good enough orator for me," an- 
 swered M. Minxit. "Come, speak as though I were 
 already lying in my coffin. It will give me great
 
 2 9 o MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 pleasure to hear what posterity will say of me while 
 I am still alive." 
 
 "I really don't know what to say," said Ben- 
 jamin. 
 
 "Say what you like, but hurry up, for I feel I am 
 dying." 
 
 "Well," said my uncle, " 'the loss of the man 
 whom we are laying under this foliage will be uni- 
 versally lamented.' ' 
 
 " 'Universally lamented' is not good," said M. 
 Minxit. "No man is universally lamented. It's a 
 lie fit to be spoken only from a pulpit." 
 
 "Do you prefer 'He leaves behind him friends who 
 will mourn him a long time'?" 
 
 "That's less pretentious, but no more exact. For 
 one friend who loves us loyally and without reserva- 
 tion, we have twenty secret enemies who, like a 
 hunter in ambush, await in silence an opportunity to 
 injure us. I am sure there are in this village many 
 people who will be glad I have died." 
 
 "Well, 'He leaves behind him inconsolable 
 friends,' " said my uncle. 
 
 " 'Inconsolable' is still a lie," answered M. 
 Minxit. "We doctors don't know what part of our 
 organism it is that grief settles in, nor how it makes 
 us suffer. But it is a disease that is cured without 
 treatment and very quickly. Most griefs are only 
 slight scabs on ^he heart that fall almost as soon as 
 they form. None are inconsolable except fathers 
 and mothers who have children in the grave."
 
 A FINAL FESTIVAL 291 
 
 " 'Who will long preserve your memory.' Does 
 that suit you better?" 
 
 "That's all right," said M. Minxit. "And that 
 you may preserve this memory of me the longer I 
 am bequeathing in perpetuity a fund for a dinner 
 to be given at each anniversary of my death, which 
 all of you are to attend as long as you remain in 
 this part of the country. I have made Benjamin the 
 executor of my will." 
 
 "That's better than a mere service," said my 
 uncle, and continued, " 'I will not speak to you of 
 his virtues.' ' 
 
 "Say 'qualities,' " said M. Minxit. "That smacks 
 less of an exaggeration." 
 
 " 'Nor of his talents. You have all had occasion 
 to appreciate them.' ' 
 
 "Especially Arthus, from whom I have won 
 forty-five bottles of beer at billiards within the last 
 year." 
 
 " 'I will not tell you that he was a good father. 
 You all know that he died loving his daughter too 
 much.' " 
 
 "Alas! Would to Heaven that were true!" an- 
 swered M. Minxit. "But the deplorable truth, 
 which I cannot conceal, is that my daughter died 
 because I did not love her enough. I acted toward 
 her like an execrable egoist. She loved a noble- 
 man, and I did not want her to marry him because 
 I detested noblemen. She did not love Benjamin, 
 and I wanted him to become my son-in-law because
 
 292 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 I loved him. But I hope God will pardon me. We 
 are~not responsible for our passions, and it is our 
 passions that govern our reason. We must obey 
 the instincts God has given us, as the duck obeys the 
 peremptory instinct which pulls it to the river." 
 
 " 'He was a good son,' " continued my uncle. 
 
 "What do you know about that?" said M. 
 Minxit. "That's the way epitaphs and funeral ora- 
 tions are made. The paths in our cemeteries lined 
 with graves and cypresses are like the columns of a 
 newspaper full of lies and falsehoods. The fact is 
 I never knew either my father or my mother, and it 
 has not been clearly established that I was born of 
 the union of a man and a woman. But I have never 
 complained of having been abandoned. It did not 
 prevent me from making my way. If I had had a 
 family I should perhaps not have gone so far. A 
 family hinders and thwarts you in a thousand ways. 
 You must act according to its ideas, and not accord- 
 ing to your own, you are not free to follow your 
 vocation, and it often turns you into a path where 
 you get stuck in the mud at the very first step you 
 take." 
 
 " 'He was a good husband,' " said my uncle. 
 
 "I am not so sure of that," said M. Minxit. "I 
 married my wife without loving her, and I 
 never loved her much; but she always had her way 
 with me. When she wanted a dress she bought one. 
 When a servant displeased her she discharged him. 
 If that makes a good husband so much the better.
 
 A FINAL FESTIVAL 293 
 
 But I shall soon know what God thinks about 
 it." 
 
 " 'He has been a good citizen/ "said my uncle. 
 " 'You have been witnesses of the zeal with which 
 he has laboured to spread ideas of reform and lib- 
 erty among the people.' ' 
 
 "You can say that now without compromising 
 me." 
 
 " Twill not say that he was a good friend.' ' 
 
 "What will you say then?" said M. Minxit. 
 
 "A moment's patience," said Benjamin. ' 'He 
 has succeeded in winning the favour of fortune by 
 his intelligence.' ' 
 
 "Not exactly my intelligence," said M. Minxit, 
 "although it's just as good as somebody else's. I 
 have profited by men's credulity. That requires au- 
 dacity rather than intelligence." 
 
 " 'And his wealth has always been at the service 
 of the unfortunate.' ' 
 
 M. Minxit gave a sign of assent. 
 
 " 'He has lived like a philosopher, enjoying life 
 and making the people around him enjoy it, and 
 he died like a philosopher, too, after a grand feast, 
 surrounded by his friends. Wayfarers, drop a 
 flower on his grave.' ' 
 
 "That's pretty nearly right," said M. Minxit. 
 "Now, gentlemen, let's drink the parting glass and 
 wish me a pleasant journey." 
 
 He ordered the sergeant to carry him to his bed. 
 My uncle wanted to follow him, but he would not
 
 294 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN 
 
 hear of it, and insisted that they should all remain 
 at table until the next day. 
 
 An hour later he sent for Benjamin, who hurried 
 to his bedside. M. Minxit had only time to take 
 his hand, and then he expired. 
 
 The next morning, as M. Minxit's coffin, sur- 
 rounded by his friends and followed by a long pro- 
 cession of peasants, was about to be taken out of 
 the house, the priest appeared at the door, and or- 
 dered the bearers to take the body to 'the church- 
 yard. 
 
 "But M. Minxit does not want to go to the 
 churchyard," said my uncle. "He is going to his 
 field, and no one has a right to interfere." 
 
 The priest protested that the remains of a Chris- 
 tian must rest only in consecrated ground. 
 
 "Is the ground to which we carry M. Minxit less 
 consecrated than yours? Do not the flowers and 
 the grass grow there as well as in the churchyard?" 
 
 "Do you want your friend to be damned?" asked 
 the priest. 
 
 "Allow me," said my uncle. "M. Minxit has been 
 in the presence of God since yesterday, and unless 
 his case has been postponed for a week, he has al- 
 ready been judged. If he has been damned, your 
 funeral ceremony cannot revoke his sentence, and if 
 he has been saved, then what is the use of the cere- 
 mony?" 
 
 The priest cried that Benjamin was an impious 
 man, and ordered the peasants to, leave. All obeyed,
 
 A FINAL FESTIVAL 295 
 
 and the bearers were disposed to follow their ex- 
 ample. But my uncle drew his sword and said: 
 
 "The bearers have been paid to carry the body 
 to its last resting-place, and they must earn their 
 money. If they do their work right, they will each 
 get half a crown, but if anyone shirks, I will beat 
 him with the flat of my sword till he falls to the 
 ground." 
 
 The bearers gave in, more frightened by Benja- 
 min's threats than even by the priest's, and M. 
 Minxit was laid in his grave with all the formalities 
 Benjamin prescribed. 
 
 On his return from the funeral, my uncle had an 
 income of ten thousand francs. We shall see later, 
 perhaps, what use he made of his fortune. 
 
 THE END