Mv Uncle 
 
 Benja 
 
 n 
 
 CkAUDE TlLLIER
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 EDWIN CORLE 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 JEAN CORLE
 
 Benjamin 
 
 Claude Tidier- 
 
 Miik 
 BOSTON
 
 MY UNCLE 
 
 A HUMOROUS, SATIRICAL, AND PHILOSOPHICAL 
 NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 CLAUDE TILLIER 
 
 Translated from the French by 
 BENJ. R. TUCKER 
 
 With a Sketch of the Author's Life and Works by 
 LUDWIG PFAU 
 
 BOSTON, MASS. 
 BENJ. R. TUCKER, PUBLISHER 
 
 1890
 
 COPYRIGHT, 
 
 BY BENJ. B. TUOKBB, 
 
 1890.
 
 College 
 Library 
 
 TQ 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 Who my uncle was 7 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 Why my uncle decided to marry 20 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 How my uncle meets an old sergeant and a poodle dog, 
 
 which prevents him from going to M. Minxit's .... 29 
 
 CHAPTER I\ r . 
 How my uncle passed himself off for the Wandering Jew . . 69 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 My uncle works a miracle 76 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 Monsieur Minxit 81 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 Table talk at M. Minxit's 92 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 How my uncle kissed a marquis 107 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 M. Minxit prepares for war 119 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 How my uncle made the marquis kiss him 127 
 
 1164374
 
 4: CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 How my uncle helped his tailor to seize him 138 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 How my uncle hung M. Susurrans to a hook in his kitchen . 153 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 How my uncle spent the night in prayer for his sister's safe 
 
 delivery 172 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 My uncle's speech before the bailiff 182 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 How my uncle was arrested by Parlanta in the performance 
 
 of his functions as godfather, and put in prison .... 194 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 A breakfast in prison. How my uncle got out of prison . . 199 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 A trip to Corvol 212 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 What my uncle said to himself regarding dueling .... 223 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 How my uncle thrice disarmed M. de Pont-Casse .... 243 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 Abduction and death of Mile. Minxit 253 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A final festival 261 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 Claude Tillier . ...... 276
 
 TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 I RESURRECT a buried treasure ; a novel unlike any 
 other, by an author unlike any other ; a novel, as 
 Charles Monselet says, that " has no equivalent in the 
 literature of this century " ; a novel which, despite the 
 pessimism with which it opens and the pathos with 
 which it closes, yes, even in these, must take rank 
 among the wittiest and most humorous ever written; 
 a novel of philosophy, of progress, of reality, of human- 
 ity; a novel of the heart and of the head; a novel 
 that is less a work of art than a work of genius, the 
 work of an obscure genius, a child of the French Revo- 
 lution, who lived and died early in the nineteenth 
 century and will be famous early in the twentieth. 
 
 BENJ. R. TUCKER.
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 WHO MY UNCLE WAS. 
 
 I REALLY do not know why man so clings to life. 
 What does he find that is so agreeable in this insipid 
 succession of nights and days, of winter and spring? 
 Always the same sky, the same sun ; always the same 
 green pastures and the same yellow fields ; always the 
 same speeches of the crown, the same knaves and the 
 same dupes. If this is the best that God could do, he 
 is a sorry workman, and the scene-shifter at the Grand 
 Opera is cleverer than he. 
 
 More personalities, you say ; there you are now, in- 
 dulging in personalities against God. What do you 
 expect ? To be sure, God is a functionary and a high 
 functionary too, although his functions are not a sine- 
 cure. But I am not afraid that he will sue me in the 
 courts for damages, wherewith to build a church, as a 
 compensation for the injury that I may have done to his 
 honor. 
 
 I know very well that the court officials are more 
 sensitive in regard to his reputation than he is himself ; 
 but it is precisely that of which I complain. By virtue 
 of what title do these men in black arrogate to them- 
 selves the right to avenge injuries which are wholly 
 personal to him? Have they a power of attorney 
 signed by Jehovah that authorizes them ?
 
 8 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 Do you believe that he is highly pleased when the 
 police magistrates take in hand his thunderbolts and 
 launch them brutally upon the unfortunate for an 
 offence of a few syllables ? Besides, what proof have 
 these gentlemen that God has been offended? He is 
 there in the court-room, fastened to his cross, while 
 they sit in their arm-chairs : let them question him ; if 
 he answers in the affirmative, I will admit my error. 
 Do you know why he tumbled from the throne the 
 Capet dynasty, that old and august salad of kings so 
 saturated with holy oil? I know, and I am going to 
 tell you. It is because it enacted the law against 
 sacrilege. 
 
 But this is not to the point. 
 
 What is it to live ? To rise, to go to bed, to break- 
 fast, to dine, and begin again to-morrow. When one 
 has performed this task for forty years, it finally be- 
 comes very insipid. 
 
 Men resemble the spectators, some sitting on velvet, 
 others on bare boards, but the greater number stand- 
 ing, who witness the same drama every evening, and 
 yawn every one of them till they nearly split their jaws. 
 All agree that it is mortally tiresome, that they would 
 be much better off in their beds, and yet no one is will- 
 ing to give up his place. 
 
 To live, is that worth the trouble of opening one's 
 eyes? All our enterprises have but a beginning; the 
 house that we build is for our heirs; the morning 
 wrapper that we wad with love to envelop our old age, 
 will be made into swaddling-clothes for our grand- 
 children. We say to ourselves : " There, the day is 
 ended ! " We light our lamp, we stir our fire ; we get
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 9 
 
 ready to pass a quiet and peaceful evening at the 
 corner of our hearth ; tic, tac, some one knocks at the 
 door. Who is there? It is death; we must start. 
 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 million- 
 aires. We have scarcely 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 resemble those ant-hills which the poor 
 insects build with such great efforts; when it needs 
 but a grain to finish them, an ox crushes them under 
 his broad foot, or a cart under its wheel. What you 
 call the vegetable stratum of this globe consists of 
 thousands and thousands of shrouds laid one upon 
 another by successive generations. The great names 
 that resound upon the lips of men, names of capitals, 
 monarchs, generals, are the clattering debris of old em- 
 pires. You do not take a step that you do not raise 
 about you the dust of a thousand things destroyed 
 before they were finished. 
 
 I am forty years old, I have already passed 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 at the corner of 
 the fireside, behind prison bars and in the midst of the 
 broad expanses of the 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
 
 10 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 the season of fruits, as the poets say ; and under none 
 of these circumstances have I found any reason to con- 
 gratulate myself on being confined in the skin of a 
 man rather than in that of a wolf or a fox, rather than in 
 the shell of an oyster, in the bark of a tree, or in the 
 jacket of a potato. Perhaps if I were a man of prop- 
 erty, a man with an income of fifty thousand francs, I 
 should think differently. 
 
 In the meantime, my opinion is that man is a machine 
 made expressly for sorrow; he has only five senses with 
 which to receive pleasure, and suffering comes to him 
 through the whole surface of his body : in whatever 
 spot he is pricked, he bleeds ; in whatever spot he is 
 burned, he blisters. The lungs, the liver, the bowels 
 can give him no enjoyment: nevertheless the lungs 
 inflame and make him cough ; the liver becomes ob- 
 structed and throws him into a fever ; the bowels gripe 
 and give him the colic. You have not a nerve, a 
 muscle, a sinew under your skin that cannot make you 
 howl with pain. 
 
 Your organization unjoints at every moment, like a 
 bad pendulum. You raise your eyes to heaven to in- 
 voke it, and a swallow's dung falls into them and dries 
 them up; if you go to a ball, you sprain your ankle and 
 have to be carried home on a mattress ; to-day you are 
 a great writer, a great philosopher, a great poet: a 
 fibre of your brain breaks, and in vain will they bleed 
 you or put ice on your head, to-morrow you will be 
 only a poor madman. 
 
 Sorrow hides behind all your pleasures; you are 
 gluttonous rats which it attracts with a bit of savory 
 bacon. You are in the shadow of your garden, and
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 11 
 
 you shout : " Oh ! what a beautiful rose ! " and the rose 
 pricks you ; " Oh ! what a beautiful fruit ! " there is a 
 wasp on it, and the fruit bites you. 
 
 You say : God has made us to serve him and to love 
 him. It is not true. He has made you to suffer. The 
 man who does not suffer is an ill-made machine, an im- 
 perfect creature, a moral cripple, one of nature's abor- 
 tions. Death is not only the end of life, it is its 
 remedy. One is nowhere so well off as in the grave. 
 If you believe me, you will order, instead of a new 
 overcoat, a coffin. It is the only garment that does not 
 pinch. 
 
 What I have just said to you you may take for a philo- 
 sophical idea or for a paradox, it certainly is all one to 
 me. But I pray you at least to accept it as a preface, for 
 I cannot make you a better one, or one more suitable to 
 the sad and lamentable story which I am going to have 
 the honor of relating to you. 
 
 You will permit me to trace my story back to the 
 second generation, like that of a prince, or of a hero, 
 when his funeral oration is delivered. Perhaps you 
 will not lose thereby. The customs of that time were 
 well worth those of ours : the people carried swords, 
 but they danced with them, and made them rattle 
 like castanets. 
 
 For, note this, gayety always keeps company with 
 servitude. It is a blessing that God, the great maker 
 of compensations, has created especially for those who 
 become dependent upon a master, or fall under the 
 hard and heavy hand of poverty. This blessing he 
 has given them to console them for their miseries, just 
 as he has made certain grasses to grow between the
 
 12 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 pavements that we tread under our feet, certain birds 
 to sing on the old towers, and the beautiful verdure of 
 the ivy to smile upon grimacing ruins. 
 
 Gayety flies, like the swallow, above the splendid 
 roofs of the great. It stops in the school yards, at the 
 gates of barracks, on the mouldy flaggings of prisons. 
 It rests like a beautiful butterfly on the pen of the 
 school-boy scrawling in his copy-book. It hob-nobs 
 at the canteen with the old grenadiers; and never 
 does it sing so loud provided they let it sing as 
 between the dark walls that confine the unfortunate. 
 
 For the rest, the gayety 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 
 hard as you like, and strike again : I will answer your 
 scourgings with sarcasms ; I will be like the tree that 
 blooms while they are cutting at its roots ; like the 
 column whose metal eagle shines in the sun while the 
 pick is working 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 is not a merry-maker, 
 quite the contrary. 
 
 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 swollen with vanity ; the grocer 
 calls the confectioner, his neighbor, his honorable friend,
 
 MY TINGLE BENJAMIN. 13 
 
 and the confectioner begs the grocer to accept the assur- 
 ance of the distinguished consideration with which he 
 has the honor 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. To the man of the constitutional regime 
 no sacrifice is too costly to satisfy his mania for making 
 a show. He lives on bread and water, he dispenses 
 with fire in winter and beer in summer, in order to 
 wear a coat made of fine cloth, a cashmere waistcoat, 
 and yellow gloves. When others regard him as re- 
 spectable, he regards himself as great. 
 
 He is prim and stiff; he does not shout, he does not 
 laugh aloud, he knows not where to spit, he never 
 makes one gesture more violent than another. He says 
 very properly : " How do you do, Sir " ; " how do you 
 do, Madam." That is good behavior ; now, what is 
 good behavior? A lying varnish spread upon a bit of 
 wood to make it pass for a cane. We so behave before 
 the ladies. Very well ; but, before God, how must we 
 behave ? 
 
 He is pedantic, he makes up for the wit that he has 
 not by the purism of his language, as a good housewife 
 makes up for the furniture which she lacks by order 
 and cleanliness. 
 
 He is always observant of the proprieties. If he 
 attends a banquet, he is silent and preoccupied, he 
 swallows a cork for a piece of bread, and uses the cream 
 for the melted butter. He waits till a toast is proposed 
 before he drinks. He always has a newspaper in his 
 pockets, he talks only of commercial treaties and rail-
 
 14 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 way lines, and laughs only in the Chamber of Dep- 
 uties. 
 
 But, at the period to which I take you back, the cus- 
 toms of the little towns were not yet glossed with 
 elegance ; they were full of charming negligence and 
 most agreeable simplicity. The characteristic of that 
 happy age was unconcern. All these men, ships or 
 walnut-shells, abandoned themselves with closed eyes 
 to the current of life, without troubling themselves as 
 to where it would land them. 
 
 The bourgeois were not office-seekers ; they were not 
 miserly ; they lived at home in joyous abundance, and 
 spent their incomes to the last louis. The merchants, 
 few in number then, grew rich slowly, without devot- 
 ing themselves exclusively to business, and solely by 
 the force of things ; the laborers worked, not to amass 
 savings, but to make both ends meet. They had not at 
 their heels that terrible competition which presses us, 
 and cries to us incessantly : " On ! On ! " Conse- 
 quently they took their ease ; they had supported their 
 fathers, and, when they were old, their children in turn 
 would support them. 
 
 Such was the abandonment of this society to merry- 
 making that all the lawyers and even the judges went 
 to the wine-shop, and there publicly took part in orgies. 
 Far from fearing lest this might be known, they would 
 willingly have hung their wigs upon the branches of 
 the tavern bush. All these people, great and small 
 alike, seemed to have no other business than to amuse 
 themselves; they exercised their ingenuity only in 
 playing some joke or in concocting some good story. 
 Those who then had wit, instead of expending it in 
 intrigues, expended it in merriment.
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 15 
 
 The idlers, and there were many of them, gathered 
 in the public square ; to them, market-days were days 
 of fun. The peasants who came to bring their pro- 
 visions to the town were their martyrs ; they practised 
 on them the most waggish and witty cruelties ; all the 
 neighbors hurried to get their share of the show. The 
 police magistrates of to-day would prosecute such 
 things; but the court officials of that time enjoyed 
 these burlesque scenes as well as anybody, and often 
 took part in them. 
 
 My grandfather was a summons-server; my grand- 
 mother was a little woman whom they reproached with 
 not being able to see, when she went to church, whether 
 the holy-water basin was full. She has remained in my 
 memory like a little girl of sixty. When she had been 
 married six years, she had five children, some boys and 
 some girls ; they all lived upon my grandfather's miser- 
 able 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 grandmother, ac- 
 cording to their age and strength. The eldest, who 
 was my father, was named Gaspard ; he washed the 
 dishes and went to the butcher's shop, there was no 
 poodle in the town better tamed than he ; the second 
 swept the room ; the third held the fourth in his arms, 
 arid the fifth rocked in its cradle. Meantime my grand- 
 mother was at church or talking with her neighbors. 
 All went well, however; they succeeded in reaching 
 the end of the year without getting Into debt. The 
 boys were strong, the girls were not ill, and the father 
 and mother were happy.
 
 16 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 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 color and material, pearl-gray silk stockings, and 
 shoes with silver buckles ; over his coat bobbed a large 
 black cue almost as long as his sword, which, inces- 
 santly going and coming, had covered him with pow- 
 der, so that my uncle's coat, with its shades of red and 
 white, looked like a peeling brick. My uncle was a 
 doctor ; that was why he had a sword. I do not know 
 whether tlie sick 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 came into 
 possession of a franc or two, he went to buy a big fish 
 and gave it to his sister to make a matelote, upon 
 which the entire family feasted. My uncle Benjamin, 
 according to all who knew him, was the gayest, droll- 
 est, wittiest man in all the country round, and he would 
 have been the most how shall I say it not to fail 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 very 
 elevated and distinguished stomach. He loved wine, 
 not for itself, but for that short-lived madness which it 
 brings, a madness which engenders in the man of wit 
 an unreasonableness so naive, piquant, and original that 
 one almost prefers it to reason. If he could have in-
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 17 
 
 toxicated himself by reading the mass, he would have 
 read the mass every day. My uncle Benjamin had 
 principles: he maintained that a fasting man was a 
 man still asleep ; that intoxication would have been 
 one of the greatest blessings of the Creator, if it had 
 not injured the head, and that the only thing that 
 made man superior to the brute was the faculty of 
 getting drunk. 
 
 Reason, said my uncle, amounts to nothing; it is 
 simply the power of feeling present evils and remem- 
 bering them. The privilege of abdicating one's reason 
 is the only thing of value. You say that the man who 
 drowns his reason in wine brutalizes himself : it is the 
 pride of caste that makes you hold to that opinion. 
 Do you really think, then, that the condition of the 
 brute is worse than your own? When you are tor- 
 mented by hunger, you would like very much to be 
 the ox that feeds 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 turned out of house 
 and home, you would like very much to be the ugly 
 snail whose shell there is none to dispute. 
 
 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 common 
 life studied in vain by your philosophers 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. He
 
 18 MY TTKCLB 
 
 had been practising medicine for three years ; but medi- 
 cine had not made him a man of income, far from it : 
 he owed his tailor for three scarlet coats and his barber 
 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 Benja- 
 min; she had cradled him on her knees and carried 
 him in her arms, and she looked upon herself as his 
 mentor. She bought his cravats and pocket-handker- 
 chiefs, mended his shirts, and gave him good advice, to 
 which he listened very attentively, so much justice at 
 least must be done him, but of which he did not make 
 the slightest use. 
 
 Every evening regularly, after supper, she urged him 
 to seek a wife. 
 
 " Bah ! " said Benjamin ; " to have six children like 
 Machecourt," that was the name he gave my grand- 
 father, " and dine off the fins of a herring ? " 
 
 " But, poor fellow, you would at least have bread." 
 
 "Yes, bread that will have risen too much to-day, 
 not enough to-morrow, and the day after will have the 
 measles ! Bread ! what does that amount to ? It is 
 good to keep one from dying, but it is not good to 
 make one live. I shall be far advanced 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 cue, to come 
 to the tavern in search of me, to rummage in my 
 pockets when I am asleep, and to buy three cloaks for 
 herself to one coat for me." 
 
 "But your creditors, Benjamin, how do you expect 
 to pay them ? "
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 19 
 
 " In the first place, when one has credit, it is the 
 same as if he were rich, and when your creditors are 
 good-natured and patient, it is the same as if you had 
 none. Besides, what do I need to enable me to square 
 my accounts? Only a first-class epidemic. God is 
 good, my dear sister, and will not abandon in his em- 
 barrassment hirn whose business it is to repair his 
 finest work." 
 
 "Yes," said my grandfather, "and render it so un- 
 serviceable that it has to be buried in the ground." 
 
 " Well," responded my uncle, " that is the usefulness 
 of doctors; but for them there would be too many 
 people in the world. 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 conversation had 
 changed its current, decided that she had better go to 
 sleep.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WHY MY UNCLE DECIDED TO MARRY. 
 
 NEVERTHELESS a terrible catastrophe, which I shall 
 have the honor to relate to you directly, shook Benja- 
 min's resolutions. 
 
 One day my cousin Page, a lawyer in the bailiwick 
 of Clamecy, came to invite him together with Mache- 
 court to celebrate Saint Yves. The dinner was to take 
 place at a well-known tea-garden situated within two 
 gun-shots of the faubourg ; the guests, moreover, were 
 a select party. Benjamin would not have given that 
 evening for an entire week of his ordinary life. So 
 after vespers my grandfather, adorned in his wedding 
 coat, and my uncle, with his sword at his side, were at 
 the rendezvous. 
 
 Almost all the guests were there. Saint Yves was 
 magnificently represented in this assembly. In the 
 first place there was Page, the lawyer, who never 
 pleaded a case except between two glasses of wine ; the 
 clerk of the court, who was in the habit of writing 
 while asleep; the government attorney, Rapin, who, 
 having received as a present from a litigant a cask of 
 tart wine, had him cited before the court that he might 
 get a better one from him ; Arthus, the notaiy, who 
 had been known to eat a whole salmon for his dessert; 
 Millot-Rataut, poet and tailor, author of " Grand 
 Noel " ; an old architect that had not been sober for 
 twenty years; M. Minxit, a doctor of the neighbor-
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 21 
 
 hood, who consulted urines ; two or three notable mer- 
 chants, notable, that is, for their gayety and appe- 
 tite*; and some huntsmen, who had provided the table 
 with an abundance of game. At sight of Benjamin all 
 the guests uttered a shout of welcome, and declared that 
 it was time to sit down to table. During the two first 
 courses all went well. My uncle was charming with 
 his wit and his sallies ; but at dessert heads began to 
 grow hot ; 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 clashing against each other simulta- 
 neously. 
 
 " Gentlemen," cried Page, the lawyer, " I must en- 
 tertain you with my last speech in court. The case 
 was this. Two asses had got into a quarrel in a 
 meadow. The owner of one, good-for-nothing scamp 
 that he is, runs and beats the other ass. But this 
 quadruped, not being disposed to endure it, bites our 
 man on the little finger. The owner of the ass who 
 inflicted the bite is cited before the bailiff as responsible 
 for the doings of his beast. I was counsel for the 
 defendant. 'Before coming to the question of fact,' 
 said I to the bailiff, ' I must enlighten you as to the 
 morals of the ass 'that I defend and that of the plaintiff. 
 Our ass is an entirely inoffensive quadruped; he enjoys 
 the esteem of all who know him, and the town con- 
 stable holds him in high regard. Now, I defy the man 
 who is our adversary to say as much of his. Our 
 ass is the bearer of a certificate from the mayor of his 
 commune, and this certificate really existed, which
 
 22 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 testifies to his morality and good conduct. If the 
 plaintiff can produce a like certificate, we 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': 
 
 ' A genoux, chr^tiens, k genoux I ' 
 
 " That is eminently lyrical. It must have been the 
 Holy Spirit that 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 
 with all his might on the table ; " I declare to the court 
 that I wish to finish my plea." 
 
 " Directly," said my uncle ; " you are not yet drunk 
 enough to plead." 
 
 "And I tell you that I will plead now. Who are 
 you, old five-foot-ten, to prevent a lawyer from talk- 
 ing?" 
 
 " Have a care, Page," exclaimed Arthus, the notary, 
 "you are only a man of the pen, and you are dealing 
 with a man of the sword." 
 
 "It well becomes 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 indeed terrible," said the architect. 
 " He is like the lion ; at one stroke of his cue he can 
 knock a man down."
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 23 
 
 "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, Machecourt ? " 
 
 " And you,. Benjamin, do you really dare to maintain 
 the contrary?" 
 
 " Then you shall give me satisfaction on the instant 
 for this insult ; and, as we have here but one sword, 
 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, accepted the proposition, to avoid vexing him. 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 
 adversaries shall hold on to the arm of his second, in 
 order that he may not fall before it is time." 
 
 "Adopted ! " cried all the guests. 
 
 Benjamin and Machecourt stood promptly 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 sufficient 
 to force him to drink with his left hand for at least a 
 week. 
 
 " The clumsy fellow ! " cried Benjamin ; " he has cut 
 me." 
 
 " What ! " answered my grandfather, with charming 
 simplicity, " does your sword really cut ? " 
 
 " All the same, 1 still want my revenge ; and the
 
 24 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 remaining half of this scabbard is enough with which 
 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 play no more." 
 
 The guests, sobered by this accident, wanted to re- 
 turn to town. 
 
 "No, gentlemen," cried Benjamin, with his stento- 
 rian 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 behaved most brill- 
 iantly ; he is in a position to measure himself against 
 the most murderous of baibers, provided the latter will 
 yield him the sword and keep the scabbard. I propose 
 that we name him fencing-master ; only on this condi- 
 tion will I consent to let him live ; and, if you indorse 
 my opinion, I will even force myself to offer him my 
 left hand, inasmuch as he has disabled the other." 
 
 "Benjamin is right," cried a multitude of voices. 
 " Bravo, Benjamin. Machecourt must be made fencing- 
 master." 
 
 And each one ran to his seat, and Benjamin ordered 
 a second dessert. 
 
 Meanwhile the news of this accident had spread to 
 Clamecy. In passing from mouth to mouth, it had 
 grown marvellously, and, when 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. 
 
 My grandmother, in a body that was less than five 
 feet long, had a character that was full of firmness and 
 energy. She did not go screaming and crying to her
 
 MY tJNCLE BENJAMIN. 25 
 
 neighbors, to have them apply salts to her nose. With 
 that presence of mind which sorrow imparts to strong 
 souls, she saw at once what she must do. She put her 
 children to bed, took all the money there was in the 
 house, and the few jewels that she possessed, in order 
 to supply her husband with means to leave the country, 
 if that should be necessary; made up a bundle of linen 
 for bandages and of lint to stanch the wounds of the 
 injured man in case he should be still alive ; took a 
 mattress from her bed, and asked a neighbor to follow 
 on with it; and then, wrapping herself in her cloak, she 
 started without faltering for the fatal tea-garden. On 
 entering 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 
 reward "... 
 
 " 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 the latter, he remembered his wound only 
 the next morning when he was 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 at last she could 
 listen to him, he promised her that henceforth he would 
 lead a more regular life, and said that he was seriously 
 thinking of paying his debts and marrying.
 
 26 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 My grandmother soon recovered. She charged her 
 husband to be on the lookout for a wife for Ben- 
 jamin. 
 
 Sometime after that, one evening in November, my 
 grandfather came home, splashed to the chin, but 
 radiant. 
 
 "I have found something far better than we ex- 
 pected," cried the excellent man, pressing the hand 
 of his brother-in-law ; " now, Benjamin, you are rich ; 
 you can eat as many matelotes as you like." 
 
 " But what have you found, then ? " asked my 
 grandmother and Benjamin at the same time. 
 
 "An only daughter, a rich heiress, the daughter of 
 Mirixit, with whom we celebrated Saint Yves a month 
 ago." 
 
 "What, that village doctor who consults urines?" 
 
 "Precisely; he accepts you unreservedly; he is 
 charmed with your wit ; he believes that you are well 
 fitted, by your manners and your eloquence, to aid him 
 in his industry." 
 
 " The devil ! " said Benjamin, scratching his head, 
 " I am not anxious to consult urines." 
 
 " Oh, you big booby ! Once you are father Minxit's 
 son-in-law, you can dismiss him and his vials, and bring 
 your wife to Clamecy." 
 
 " Yes, but Mile. Minxit has red hair." 
 
 " She is only blonde, Benjamin ; I give you my word 
 of honor." 
 
 " She is so freckled that one would say a handful of 
 bran had been thrown in her face." 
 
 "I saw her this evening. I assure you that she is 
 scarcely freckled at all."
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 27 
 
 " Besides, she is five feet three inches tall. I really 
 should be afraid of spoiling the human race. We should 
 have children as tall as bean-poles." 
 
 " Oh, these 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 
 that your barber will not dress your hair again." 
 
 "So you wish me, my dear sister, to marry Mile. 
 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 devil of a preterit at which I rebel; besides, 
 my dear sister is ho longer sick. M. Minxit, Mme. 
 Minxit, M. Rathery Benjamin Minxit, little Jean Rath- 
 ery Minxit, little Pierre Rathery Minxit, little Adle 
 Rathery Minxit. Why, in our family there will be 
 enough to turn a mill. And then, to be frank about 
 it, I am scarcely anxious to marry. You know there 
 is a song that says: 
 
 . . . ' qu'on est heureux 
 Dans les liens du mariage ! ' 
 
 But this song does not know what it sings. It must 
 have been written by a bachelor. 
 
 . . . ' qu'on est heureux 
 Dans les liens du mariage ! * 
 
 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 a ridiculous
 
 28 MY UKCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 way and contrary to our inclinations. Man marries a 
 dowry, woman a profession. Then, after all the fine 
 Sundays of their honeymoon, they return to the solitude 
 of their household, only to see that they do not suit 
 each other. One is avaricious and the other prodigal, 
 the wife is coquettish and the husband jealous, one 
 likes the north wind and the other the south wind; 
 they would like to be a thousand miles apart, but they 
 have to live in the circle of iron 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 ? " answered the latter. 
 
 " Because he is talking sense." 
 
 Nevertheless they made my uncle listen to reason, 
 and it was agreed that on the next day, which was Sun- 
 day, he should go to see Mile. Minxit.
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 HOW KT UNCLE MEETS AN OLD SERGEANT AND A POODLE 
 
 DOG, WHICH PREVENTS HIM FROM GOING TO 
 
 M. MINXIT'S. 
 
 THE next day, at eight o'clock in the morning, my 
 uncle was dressed in clean linen, and needed in order 
 to start only a pair of shoes which were to be brought 
 him by Cicero, the famous town-crier of whom we have 
 already spoken, and who combined the profession of 
 shoemaker with that of drummer. 
 
 Cicero was not slow in arriving. In those days of 
 frankness it was the custom, when a workman brought 
 work to a house, not to let him go away without first 
 making him drink several glasses of wine. It was a 
 bad habit, I admit ; but these kindly ways tended to 
 offset class distinctions; the poor man was grateful to 
 the rich man for his concessions, and was not jealous of 
 him. Consequently during the Revolution there was 
 seen an admirable devotion of servants to their masters, 
 of farmers to their landlords, of laborers to their em- 
 ployers, which certainly could not be found in the pres- 
 ent day of insolent arrogauce and ridiculous pride. 
 
 Benjamin asked his sister to go and draw a bottle of 
 white wine, that he might drink with Cicero. His sister 
 drew one, then two, then three, and even seven. 
 
 " My dear sister, I beg of you, one more bottle." 
 
 " But do you not know, you wretch, that you are at 
 the eighth?"
 
 30 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 " You know very well, dear sister, that we keep no 
 accounts together." 
 
 " But you know very well that you have a journey 
 to make." 
 
 " Just this last bottle, and I start." 
 
 " Yes, you are in a fine condition to start ! Suppose 
 anyone should send for you now to visit a patient ? " 
 
 " How little you appreciate, my good sister, the ef- 
 fects of wine ! It is easy to see that you drink only 
 the limpid waters of the Beuvron. Have I to start? 
 My centre of gravity is always in the same place. 
 Have I to bleed some one. ... But, by the way, my 
 sister, I must bleed you ; Machecourt advised it when 
 he went out. You were complaining this morning of a 
 severe headache ; a bleeding will do you good." 
 
 And Benjamin took out his case of instruments, and 
 my grandmother armed herself with the tongs. 
 
 "The devil! You make a very rebellious patient. 
 Well, let us compromise : I will not bleed you, and you 
 shall go to draw us an eighth bottle of wine." 
 
 " I will not draw you a single glass." 
 
 " Then I will draw it myself," said Benjamin ; and, 
 taking the bottle, he started for the cellar. 
 
 My grandmother, seeing no better way of stopping 
 him, seized his cue ; but Benjamin, without paying any 
 attention to this incident, went to the cellar with a 
 step as firm as if there had been only a bunch of onions 
 hanging to his cue, and came back with his bottle full. 
 
 " Well, my dear sister, it was well worth while for 
 two of us to go to the cellar for a paltry bottle of white 
 wine ; but I must warn you that, if you persist in these 
 bad habits, you will force me to cut off my cue."
 
 MY TTNCLE BENJAMIN. 31 
 
 Nevertheless Benjamin, who but a short time before 
 had looked upon the journey to Corvol as a disagree- 
 able duty, was now obstinately bent on starting. My 
 grandmother, to make it impossible for him to do so, 
 had locked up his shoes in the closet. 
 
 " I tell you that I will go." 
 
 " And I tell you that you shall not go." 
 
 " Do you wish me to carry you clear to M. Minxit's 
 hanging to the end of my cue ? " 
 
 Such was the dialogue in progress between brother 
 and sister when my grandfather arrived. He put an 
 end to the discussion by declaring that the next day 
 he must go to La Chapelle, and that he would take 
 Benjamin with him. 
 
 My grandfather was up before daylight. When lie 
 had scribbled off his writ and written at the foot: 
 " The cost of which is six francs four sous and six 
 deniers," he wiped his pen on the sleeve of his coat, 
 carefully put away his glasses in their case, and went 
 to wake Benjamin. The latter was sleeping like the 
 Prince de Cond (provided the Prince was not pretend- 
 ing sleep) on the eve of a battle. 
 
 " Hello, there, Benjamin, get up ; it is broad day- 
 light." 
 
 " You are mistaken," answered Benjamin, with a 
 grunt, and turning over toward the wall, " it is pitch 
 dark." 
 
 "Lift up your head, and you will see the sunlight on 
 the floor." 
 
 " I tell you that it is the light of the street lamp." 
 
 " Oh, then, you do not want to go ? " 
 
 "No, I have dreamed all night of hard bread and
 
 32 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 sour wine, and if we start some misfortune will happen 
 to us." 
 
 " Well, I declare to you that, if in ten minutes you 
 are not up, I will send your dear sister to you. If, on 
 the other hand, you are up, I will open that quarter- 
 cask of old wine you know so well." 
 
 "You are sure that it is from Pouilly, are you?" 
 said Benjamin, sitting up in bed; "you give me your 
 word of honor?" 
 
 " Yes, upon my word as a summons-server." 
 
 " Then go open your quarter-cask ; but I warn you 
 that, if we meet with any accident on our way, you 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 little peasants, of whom one was 
 carrying a rabbit under his arm and the other had two 
 hens in his basket. The former said to his com- 
 panion : 
 
 "If you will tell M. Cliquet that my rabbit is a 
 warren rabbit, and that you saw him taken in the trap, 
 you shall be my comrade." 
 
 " Willingly," answered the latter, " but on condition 
 that you will tell Mme. Deby that my hens lay twice 
 a day and that their eggs are as big as ducks' eggs." 
 
 " You are two little thieves," said my grandfather ; 
 " I will have your ears pulled one of these days by the 
 commissary of police." 
 
 " And I, my friends," said Benjamin, " I beg you each 
 to accept this twelve-denier piece." 
 
 " Well, that's generosity well placed," said my grand- 
 father, shrugging his shoulders ; " you will undoubtedly
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 33 
 
 give the flat of your sword to the first poor honest man 
 that you meet, since you prostitute your money on 
 these two scamps." 
 
 " Scamps to you, Machecourt, who see only the sur- 
 face of things ; but to me they are two philosophers. 
 They have just invented a machine which, well organ- 
 ized, would make the fortune of ten honest people." 
 
 "And what machine is that, pray," said my grand- 
 father, with an air of incredulity, " which has just been 
 invented by these two philosophers, whom I would 
 thrash soundly if we had the time to stop ? " 
 
 " It is a simple machine," said my uncle ; " this is 
 how it works. We are ten friends who, instead of 
 meeting for breakfast, meet to make our fortunes." 
 
 " That is something worth meeting for," interrupted 
 iny grandfather. 
 
 "All ten of us are intelligent, adroit, and, if need 
 be, shrewd. We have loud voices and are wonderful 
 debaters. We handle words with the same skill with 
 which a juggler handles his balls. As for morality, we 
 are all capable in our professions, and well-meaning 
 persons may say, without seriously compromising them- 
 selves, that we are superior to our rivals. We form, 
 with the most honorable intentions, a society to puff 
 each other, to inflate our little merits and make them 
 froth and foam." 
 
 "I understand," said my grandfather: "one sells 
 ' Rough on Rats ' and has only a big drum, the other 
 Swiss tea and has only a pair of cymbals. You unite 
 your means of making a noise, and "... 
 
 "That's it exactly," interrupted Benjamin. "You 
 see that, if the machine works properly, each of the
 
 34 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 members has about him nine instruments that make a 
 frightful uproar. 
 
 "There are nine of us who say: Page, the lawyer, 
 drinks too much; but I believe that this devil of a man 
 steeps leaves from the common-law book in his wine, 
 and that he has bottled up logic. All the cases that he 
 wants to win, he wins ; and the other day he got a ver- 
 dict of heavy damages for a gentleman who had beaten 
 a peasant. 
 
 " The process-server, Parlanta, is a little crafty ; but 
 he is the Hannibal of process-servers. His arrests for 
 debt are inevitable ; his debtor could only escape him if 
 he had no body at all. He would lay his hand on the 
 shoulder of a duke and peer. 
 
 " As for Benjamin Rathery, he is a careless fellow, 
 who mocks at everything and laughs in the face of 
 fever, a man, if you will, of the plate and the bottle ; 
 but it is precisely for that reason that I prefer him to 
 his rivals. He has not the air of those sinister doctors 
 whose register is a cemetery. He is too gay and di- 
 gests too well to have many death certificates to answer 
 for. 
 
 " Thus each of the members finds himself 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," re- 
 plied Benjamin, quickly. "But let me finish my 
 demonstration; you shall joke afterward. 
 
 " Here are nine living advertisements, who insinuate 
 themselves everywhere, who repeat to you to-morrow
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 35 
 
 under another form what they have told you to-day ; 
 nine placards that talk and take passers-by by the arm ; 
 nine signs that promenade through the town, that dis- 
 cuss, that make dilemmas and enthymemes, and mock at 
 you if you are not of their opinion. 
 
 "As a result, the reputation of Page, Rapin, and 
 Rathery, which was dragging painfully along within 
 the precincts of their little town, like a lawyer in a 
 vicious circle, suddenly takes an astonishing flight. 
 Yesterday it had no feet ; to-day it has wings. It ex- 
 pands like gas when the bottle in which it was confined 
 has been opened. It spreads throughout the province. 
 Clients come to these people from all parts of the baili- 
 wick ; they come from the South and from the North, 
 from the dawn and from the sunset, as in the Apoca- 
 lypse the elect come to the city of Jerusalem. After 
 five or six years Benjamin Rathery is the owner of a 
 handsome fortune, which he expends, with great noise 
 of glasses and bottles, in breakfasts and dinners ; you, 
 Machecourt, are no longer a server of writs ; I buy you 
 the office of bailiff. Your wife is covered with silks 
 and laces like a holy queen ; your eldest son, who is 
 already a choir-boy, enters the ecclesiastical seminary ; 
 your second son, who is sickly and as yellow as a canary 
 bird, studies medicine ; I give him my reputation and 
 my old clients, and I keep him in red coats. Of your 
 youngest son, we make a lawyer. Your eldest daughter 
 marries a man of letters. We marry the youngest to a 
 fat bourgeois, and the day after the wedding we put the 
 machine away in the attic." 
 
 " Yes, but your machine has one little defect j it is 
 not for the use of honest people."
 
 36 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 " W'hy so ? " 
 
 " Because." 
 
 " Because what ? " 
 
 " Because the effect is immoral." 
 
 " Can you prove me that by now and by then ? " 
 
 "To the devil with your nows and thens. You are 
 an educated man, and you reason with your mind ; but 
 I, who am a poor server of writs, I feel with my con- 
 science. I maintain that any man who acquires his 
 fortune by other means than his labor and his talents 
 is not a legitimate possessor." 
 
 " What you say is very good, Machecourt," cried my 
 uncle; "you are perfectly right. Conscience is the 
 best of all logics, and charlatanism, under whatever 
 form it may disguise itself, is always a swindle. Well, 
 we will break our machine and say no more about it." 
 
 While chattering thus, they were approaching the 
 village of Moulot ; they saw in front of a vineyard gate 
 a sort of soldier half buried in brambles, the brown and 
 red tufts of which, touched by the frost, fell in con- 
 fusion like a disordered head of hair. This man had 
 on his head a piece of a cocked hat without a cockade ; 
 his dilapidated face had a stony tint, that yellow tint 
 which old monuments have in the sunlight. The two 
 halves of a huge white moustache encircled his mouth, 
 like two parentheses. He was dressed in an old uni- 
 form. Across one of the sleeves stretched an old and 
 worn strip of gold lace. 
 
 The other sleeve, deprived of its ensign, was nothing 
 but a rectangle distinguished from the rest of the mate- 
 rial by a newer wool and a deeper shade. His bare 
 legs, swollen by the cold, were red as beets. He was
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 87 
 
 letting a few drops of brandy drip from a gourd on 
 some old pieces of black bread. A poodle dog of the 
 larger type was .sitting in front of him, and following 
 all his movements, like a dumb servant listening with 
 his eyes to the orders given him by his master. 
 
 My uncle would sooner have passed by a tavern 
 without stopping than by this man. Halting on the 
 side of the road, he said : 
 
 " Comrade, that's a bad breakfast you have there." 
 
 " I have eaten many a worse one, but Fontenoy and 
 I have good appetites." 
 
 " Who is Fontenoy ? " 
 
 " My dog, that poodle that you see there." 
 
 " The devil ! but that is a fine name for a dog. But 
 then, glory is a good thing for kings ; why shouldn't it 
 be for poodle dogs ? " 
 
 " That's his fighting name," continued the sergeant ; 
 " his family name is Azor." 
 
 " Well, why do you call him Fontenoy ? " 
 
 " Because at the battle of Fontenoy he made an Eng- 
 lish' captain prisoner." 
 
 " Hey, how is that?" exclaimed my uncle, greatly 
 astonished. 
 
 "In a very simple way, by hanging to one of the 
 skirts of his coat until I could lay my hand on his 
 shoulder. Fontenoy, just as he is, has been made a 
 member of the order of the army, and has had the 
 honor to be presented to Louis XV., who condescended 
 to say to me: 'Sergeant Durantou, you have a fine 
 dog there.' " 
 
 " Well, that was a king who was very sociable with 
 quadrupeds: I am astonished that he did not issue a
 
 38 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 patent of nobility to your poodle. How does it happen 
 that you have abandoned the service of so good a 
 king?" 
 
 " Because they have done me a wrong," said the ser- 
 geant, his eyes glaring and his nostrils swelling with 
 anger ; " I ha_ve had these golden rags on my arms for 
 ten years; I have been through all the campaigns of 
 Maurice de Saxe, and I have more scars on my body 
 than would be required for two periods of service. 
 They had promised me the epaulette ; but to make a 
 weaver's son an officer would have been a scandal 
 calculated to horrify all the pigeon wings of France and 
 of Navarre. They promoted over my body a sort of 
 little knight just hatched from his page's shell. He 
 will find a way to get himself killed, of course; for 
 they are brave, there is no denying that. But he does 
 not know how to say : ' Eyes, . . . right ! ' 
 
 At this drill command, strongly accented by the ser- 
 geant, the poodle turned his eyes to the right in a truly 
 military fashion. 
 
 "Very fine, Fontenoy," said his master, "you forget 
 that we have retired from the service." And he con- 
 tinued : " I could not forgive the very Christian king 
 for that; I have been out with him ever since, and 
 I asked him for my furlough, which he graciously 
 granted." 
 
 " You have done well, brave man," cried Benjamin, 
 slapping the old soldier on the shoulder, an imprudent 
 gesture that came very near causing the poodle to de- 
 vour him. " 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 
 prevent me from hating them with all my heart."
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 39 
 
 " In that case it is a purely platonic hatred," inter- 
 rupted my grandfather. 
 
 "Say rather a purely philosophical hatred, Mache- 
 court. Nobility is the most absurd of all things. It is 
 a flagrant revolt of despotism against the Creator. Did 
 God make the grasses of the prairie higher one than 
 the other? Did he engrave escutcheons upon the 
 wings of birds and the skins of wild beasts? What 
 signify these superior men which a king makes by let- 
 ters patent, as he makes an exciseman or a huckster ? 
 Dating from to-day, you will recognize Mr. So-and-so 
 as a superior man. Signed Louis XVI., and lower 
 down Choiseul. Oh, that's a fine way to establish supe- 
 riority. 
 
 "A villein is made a count by Henri IV., because he 
 has served that majesty with a nice goose ; if he had 
 served a capon with the goose, he would have been 
 made a marquis ; it would have taken no more ink or 
 parchment. Now the descendants of these men have 
 the privilege of beating us, whose ancestors never had 
 an opportunity of offering a fowl's wing to a king. 
 
 "And see on what a little thing greatness depends in 
 this world ! If the goose had been cooked a little more 
 or a little less, if they had put on 'it one more pinch of 
 salt or one less pinch of pepper, if a little soot had 
 fallen into the dripping-pan or a little cinder upon the 
 slices of bread, or if the bird had been served a little 
 sooner or a little later, there would have been one less 
 noble family in France. And the people bow their 
 heads before such greatness ! Oh I I could wish, as 
 Caligula wished of the Roman people, that France had 
 but a single pair of cheeks that I might slap its face.
 
 40 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 " But tell me, imbecile people, what value do you 
 find then in the two letters that these people place be- 
 fore their names ? Do they add an inch to their stat- 
 ure? Have they more iron than you in their blood, 
 more cerebral marrow in the bony box of their heads ? 
 Could they handle a sword heavier than yours? Does 
 this marvellous de cure scrofula? Does it preserve its 
 possessor from the colic when he has dined too heavily, 
 or from intoxication when he has drunk too much? 
 Do you not see that all these counts, these barons, these 
 marquises, are capital letters which, in spite of the place 
 that they occupy in the line, are never of more impor- 
 tance than the small letters ? If a duke and peer and 
 a woodcutter were together on an American prairie or 
 in the middle of the great desert of Sahara, I should 
 like to know which of the two would be the nobler. 
 
 " Their great-great-grandfather . wiel4ed 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 new candle which we light from a candle that is 
 going out? Are the toadstools which arise from the 
 ruins of a dead oak, oaks on that account ? 
 
 " When I learn that the king has created a noble 
 family, it seems to me that I see a farmer planting in his 
 field a big booby of a poppy, which will infect twenty 
 furrows with its seed and yield every year only four 
 big red leaves. Nevertheless, as long as there shall be 
 kings, there will be nobles. 
 
 " The kings make counts, marquises, dukes, that ad-
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 41 
 
 miration may rise to them by degrees. Nobles, rela- 
 tively to them, are the bagatelles of the gate, the pa- 
 rade that gives the idlers a foretaste of the magnificence 
 of the spectacle. A king without nobility would be a 
 salon without an ante-chamber; but this dainty pride 
 will cost them dear. It is impossible that twenty mill- 
 ions of men should consent forever to be nothing in 
 the State that a few thousand courtiers may be some- 
 thing ; who sows privileges will reap revolutions. 
 
 "The time is not far off perhaps when all these 
 brilliant escutcheons will be dragged in the gutter, and 
 when 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 there in that that is astonish- 
 ing ? My grandfather had a jug that held a pint and 
 a half, and my uncle emptied it at one draught: he 
 called that making tirades." 
 
 " And his words ? How were they preserved ? " 
 
 " My grandfather wrote them down." 
 
 " Then he had there, in the open air, all the necessary 
 writing materials ? " 
 
 " How stupid ! Wasn't he a summons-server? " 
 
 " And the sergeant ? Did he have anything more to 
 say?" 
 
 "Certainly; it was very necessary that he should 
 speak in order that my uncle might reply." 
 
 Now then, the sergeant said: 
 
 "I have been on the road for three months; I go
 
 42 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 from farm to farm, and I stay as long as they are will- 
 ing to keep me. I play with the children, I tell the 
 story of our campaigns to the men, and Fontenoy 
 amuses the women with his frolics. I am in no hurry, 
 for I don't exactly know where I am going. They send 
 me back to my fireside, and I have no fireside. My 
 father's stove was long ago staved in, and my arms are 
 hollower and rustier than two old gun-barrels. Never- 
 theless I think that I shall return to my village. Not 
 that I expect to be better off there than anywhere else. 
 The ground is as hard there as elsewhere, and they do 
 not drink brandy in the roads. But what difference 
 does it make ? I shall go there just the same. It is a 
 sort of sick man's whim. I shall be the garrison of the 
 neighborhood. If they do not wish to support the old 
 soldier, they will have at least to bury him, and," he 
 added, " they will certainly be kind enough to place 
 upon my grave a little soup for Fontenoy, until he shall 
 die of sorrow; for Fontenoy will not let me go away 
 alone. When we are alone and he looks at me, he 
 promises me that, this good Fontenoy." 
 
 "So that is the fate that they have made for you?" 
 answered Benjamin. "Truly, kings are the most self- 
 ish of all beings. If the serpents, of which our poets 
 speak so ill, had a literature, they would make kings 
 the symbol of ingratitude. I have read somewhere that, 
 when God had made the heart of kings, a dog ran off 
 with it, and that, not wishing to begin his work again, 
 he put a stone in its place. That seems to me very 
 likely. As for the Capets, perhaps they have a lily-root 
 in place of a heart ; I defy anyone to prove the con- 
 trary.
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 43 
 
 "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; if their valet de chambre should scratch them in 
 putting on their shirt, it would be a sacrilege. Their 
 little ones are highnesses, these brats, which a woman 
 carries in her hand, and whose cradle could be held in 
 a hen-coop ; they are very lofty heights, most serene 
 mountains. We would willingly gild their nurses' nip- 
 ples. 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 caste of sires, pride goes to the point of mad- 
 ness. They are compared to Jupiter holding a thunder- 
 bolt, and they do not consider themselves too highly 
 honored by the comparison. Leave out the thunder- 
 bolt, and they would be offended. Nevertheless, Jupi- 
 ter has the gout, and it takes two valets to lead him to 
 his table or to bed. The rhymester Boileau has, by his 
 private authority, ordered the winds to be silent, inas- 
 much as he was about to speak of Louis XIV. : 
 
 ' Et vous, vents, faites silence, 
 Je vais parler de Louis.' 
 
 "And Louis XIV. looked on this as very natural ; 
 only it has never occurred to him to order the com- 
 manders of his vessels to speak of Louis in order to still 
 the tempests. 
 
 "All these poor madmen believe that the space of 
 earth over which they reign is theirs; that God has 
 given it to them, soil and sub-soil, to be enjoyed, with- 
 out disturbance or hindrance, by them and their de-
 
 44 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 scendants. Let a courtier tell them that God made the 
 Seine expressly to supply the great basin of the Tuil- 
 eries, and they will look on him as a man of wit. They 
 regard these millions of men around them as their prop- 
 erty, the title to whom cannot be disputed on the 
 penalty of hanging; some have come into the world to 
 supply them with money ; others to die in their quar- 
 rels ; some, who have the clearest and reddest blood, to 
 beget mistresses for them. All this evidently results 
 from the cross which an old arch-bishop, with his with- 
 ered hand, has laid upon their brows. 
 
 " They take a man in the strength of his youth, they 
 put a gun in his hands and a knapsack on his back, 
 they adorn his head with a cockade, and they 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 honor to present yourself 
 at the frontier to strangle them, and that they should 
 be ready to give you a warm welcome. Between mon- 
 archs these are considerations which we owe each other. 
 You will think perhaps at first sight that our enemies 
 are men ; I warn you to the contrary ; they are Prus- 
 sians ; you will distinguish them from the human race 
 by the color of their uniform. Try to do your duty 
 well, for I shall be there sitting on my throne to watch 
 3-011. If you bring victory with you when you return 
 to France, you will be led beneath the windows of my 
 palace; I shall appear in full uniform, and say to you: 
 "Soldiers, I am content with you." If you are one 
 hundred thousand men, you will have for your share a 
 hundred-thousandth of these six words. In case you
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 45 
 
 should remain on the battle-field, which may very 
 easily happen, I will send your death certificate to your 
 family, that they may weep for you and that your 
 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 ill fortune, whichever you may 
 think it, to escape the bullet, when you have no longer 
 strength enough to carry your knapsack, I will give you 
 your furlough, and you can go to die where you like ; 
 that will no longer concern me.' " 
 
 " That's just the way it is," said the sergeant ; 
 " when they have extracted from our blood the phos- 
 phorus of which they make their glory, they throw us 
 aside as the wine-grower throws on the muck-heap the 
 skin of the grape after squeezing out the liquor, or as 
 a child throws into the gutter the stone of the fruit 
 which he has just eaten." 
 
 u That is very wrong of them," said Machecourt, 
 whose mind was at Corvol, and who longed to see his 
 brother-in-law there. 
 
 " Machecourt," said Benjamin, looking at him as- 
 kance, " be more careful of your expressions ; this is no 
 laughing matter. Yes, whep I see these proud soldiers, 
 who have made the glory of their country with their 
 blood, obliged, like that poor old Cicero, to spend the 
 rest of their life on a cobbler's bench, while a multitude 
 of gilded puppets monopolize the public revenues, and 
 prostitutes have cashmeres for their morning wrappers, 
 a single thread of which is worth the entire wardrobe 
 of a poor house-wife, I am exasperated against kings ; 
 if I were God, I would put a leaden uniform on their 
 bodies, and condemn them to a thousand years of mili-
 
 46 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 tary service in the moon, with all their iniquities in 
 their knapsacks. The emperors should be corporals." 
 
 After having recovered his breath and wiped his 
 brow, for he was sweating, my worthy great-uncle, 
 with emotion and wrath, he took my grandfather 
 aside, and said to him : 
 
 " Suppose we invite this brave man and this glorious 
 poodle to breakfast with us at Manette's ? " 
 
 " Hum ! hum ! " objected my grandfather. 
 
 " The devil ! " replied Benjamin, " one does not meet 
 every day a poodle who has made an English captain 
 prisoner, and every day political banquets are given to 
 people who are not worth this honorable quadruped." 
 
 " But have you any money ? " said my grandfather ; 
 " I have only a thirty-sou piece, which your sister gave 
 me this morning because, I believe, it is imperfectly 
 coined, and she urgently recommended me to bring her 
 back at least half." 
 
 " For my part, I have not a sou, but I am Manette's 
 physician, just as she from time to time is my tavern- 
 keeper, and we give each other credit." 
 
 " Manette's physician only?" 
 
 "What's that to you?" 
 
 " Nothing; but I warn you that I will not stay more 
 than an hour at Manette's." 
 
 So my uncle extended his invitation to the sergeant. 
 The latter accepted without ceremony, and joyfully 
 placed himself between my uncle and my grandfather, 
 walking in what soldiers call lock-step. 
 
 They met a bull, which a peasant was driving to 
 pasture. Offended undoubtedly by Benjamin's coat, 
 he suddenly started for him. My uncle dodged his
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 47 
 
 horns, arid, as he had joints of steel, he cleared at a 
 bound, with no more effort than if he had cut a caper, 
 a broad ditch that separated the road from the fields. 
 The bull, who was undoubtedly determined to make a 
 slash in the red coat, tried to follow my uncle's exam- 
 ple ; but he fell into the middle of the ditch. " Good 
 enough for you ! " said Benjamin, t; that's what you get 
 by seeking a quarrel with people who are not dreaming 
 of you." But the quadruped, as obstinate as a Russian 
 mounting to an assault, was not discouraged by this 
 failure ; planting his hoofs in the half-thawed ground, 
 he tried to climb the slope. My uncle, seeing that, 
 drew his sword, and, while he was pricking the enemy's 
 snout to the best of his ability, he called the peasant, 
 and cried : "My good man, stop your beast ; else I warn 
 you that I will pass my sword through his body." But, 
 as he said the words, 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 
 he knew his enemy, bit him on the ham-string. The 
 animal then turned his wrath against the dog ; but, 
 while he was making havoc with his horns, the peas- 
 ant came up and succeeded in passing a noose around 
 the bull's hind legs. This skilful manoeuvre was per- 
 fectly successful, and put an end to the hostilities. 
 
 Benjamin returned to the road. He thought that 
 Machecourt was going to laugh at him, but the latter 
 was as pale as a sheet and trembled on his legs. 
 
 " Come, Machecourt, brace up," said my uncle ; "else 
 I shall have to bleed you. And you, my brave Fonte-
 
 48 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 noy, you have made to-day a prettier fable than that of 
 La Fontaine, entitled : ' The Dove and the Ant.' You 
 see, gentlemen, a good deed is never lost. Generally 
 the benefactor is obliged to give long credit to the 
 beneficiary, but he, Fontenoy, has paid me in advance. 
 Who the devil would have thought that I would ever 
 be under obligations to a poodle ? " 
 
 Moulot is hidden among a clump of willows and 
 poplars on the left bank of the Beuvron river, at the 
 foot of a big hill, up which runs the road to La Chapelle. 
 A few houses of the village had already gone up by the 
 side of the road, as white and as spick and span as 
 peasant women when they go into a place frequented 
 by society ; among them was Manette's wine-shop. At 
 sight of the frost-covered sign that hung from the attic- 
 window, Benjamin began to sing with his stentorian 
 
 voice : 
 
 " Amis, il faut faire une pause, 
 J'ape^ois 1'ombre d'un bouchon." 
 
 On hearing this familiar voice, Manette ran blushing 
 to the threshold of her door. 
 
 Manette was really a very pretty person, plump, 
 chubby, and white, but perhaps a little too pink ; her 
 cheeks would have reminded you of a pool of milk, on 
 the surface of which a few drops of wine were floating. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Benjamin, " permit me first of all 
 to kiss our pretty hostess, as an appetizer for the good 
 breakfast which she is going to prepare for us directly." 
 
 "Indeed, Monsieur Rathery ! " exclaimed Manette, 
 starting back, "you are not made for peasant women; 
 go and kiss Mademoiselle Minxit." 
 
 "It seems," thought my uncle, "that the report of
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 49 
 
 my marriage has already spread through the country. 
 No one but M. Minxit can have spoken of it ; hence he 
 must be determined 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 added, "Mile. Minxit is not in ques- 
 tion here ; have you any fish ? " 
 
 "There are plenty of fish," said Manette, "in M. 
 Minxit's fish pond." 
 
 "Again I ask you, Manette," said Benjamin, "have 
 you any fish ? Be careful what you answer." 
 
 " Well," said Manette, " my husband has gone fish- 
 ing, and he will soon return." 
 
 " Soon does not meet our case ; put on the gridiron 
 as many slices of ham as it will hold, and make us an 
 omelette of all the eggs in your hen-house." 
 
 The breakfast was soon ready. While the omelette 
 was leaping in the frying-pan, the ham was broiling. 
 Now, the omelette was almost as soon despatched as 
 served. It takes a hen six months to lay twelve eggs, 
 a woman a quarter of an hour to convert them into an 
 omelette, and three men five minutes to absorb the 
 omelette. "See," said Benjamin, "how much more 
 rapid is decomposition than recomposition ; countries 
 covered with a numerous population grow poorer every 
 day. Man is a greedy infant who makes his nurse 
 grow thin ; the ox does not restore to the fields all the 
 grass that he takes from it ; the ashes of the oak that 
 we burn do not return as an oak to the forest; the 
 zephyr does not carry back to the rose-bush the leaves 
 of the bouquet that the young girl scatters around her; 
 the candle that burns in front of us does not fall back
 
 50 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 iii waxen dew upon the earth ; rivers continually 
 despoil continents, and lose in the bosom of the sea the 
 matter which they take from their banks ; most of the 
 mountains have no verdure left upon their big bald 
 craniums; the Alps show us their bare and jagged 
 bones; the interior of Africa is nothing but a lake of 
 sand ; Spain is a vast moor, and Italy a great charnel- 
 house where there remains only a bed of ashes. 
 Wherever great peoples have passed, they have left 
 sterility in their tracks. This earth, adorned with ver- 
 dure and with flowers, is a consumptive whose cheeks 
 are red, but whose life is condemned. A time will 
 come when it will be nothing but an inert, dead, icy 
 mass, a great sepulchral stone upon which God will 
 write: 'Here lies the human race.' Meantime, gentle- 
 men, let us profit by the blessings which the earth gives 
 us, and, as she is a tolerably good mother, let us drink 
 to her long life." 
 
 They came then to the ham. My grandfather ate 
 from a sense of duty, because man must eat to main- 
 tain his health and must have blood in order to serve 
 writs ; Benjamin ate for amusement ; but the sergeant 
 ate like a man who sits down to table for no other pur- 
 pose, and he did not utter a word. 
 
 At table Benjamin was famous ; but his noble 
 stomach was not exempt from jealousy, a base passion 
 which dims the most brilliant qualities. 
 
 He watched the sergeant with the vexed air of a 
 man outdone, as Caesar would have watched, from the 
 height of the Capitol, Bonaparte winning the battle 
 of Marengo. After having contemplated his man for 
 some time in silence, he thought fit to address these 
 words to him :
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 51 
 
 " Drinking and eating are two beings that resemble 
 each other ; at first sight you would take them for own 
 cousins. But drinking is as much above eating as the 
 eagle who alights upon the mountain peak is above 
 the raven 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, while 
 drinking is an artist. Drinking inspires poets with 
 pleasant ideas, philosophers with noble thoughts, musi- 
 cians with melodious strains; eating gives them only 
 indigestion. Now, I flatter myself, sergeant, that I 
 could drink quite as well as you ; I even think that 
 I could drink better ; but, when it comes to eating, I 
 am the merest novice beside you. You could cope 
 with Arthus in person ; I even think that on a turkey 
 you could go him one wing better." 
 
 "You see," answered the sergeant, "I eat for yester- 
 day, to-day, and to-morrow." 
 
 "Permit me then to serve you for day after-to- 
 morrow this last slice of ham." 
 
 " Thank you very much," said the sergeant, " there 
 is an end to everything." 
 
 "Well, the Creator who has made soldiers to pass 
 suddenly from extreme abundance to extreme want has 
 given to them, as to the camel, two stomachs; their 
 second stomach is their knapsack. Take this ham, 
 which neither Machecourt nor I want, and put it in 
 your knapsack." 
 
 " No," said the soldier, " I do not need to lay up pro- 
 visions ; I always get food enough ; permit me to offer 
 this ham to Fontenoy ; we are in the habit of sharing 
 everything together, on days of feast as on days of 
 fast."
 
 52 MY TTPTCLE BENJAMIN-. 
 
 " You have there, indeed, a dog who deserves to be 
 well taken care of," said my uncle ; " will you sell him 
 tome?" 
 
 " Monsieur ! " exclaimed the sergeant, quickly placing 
 his hand upon his poodle. 
 
 " Pardon me, worthy man, pardon me ; I am dis- 
 tressed at having offended you ; I spoke only in jest ; 
 I know very well that to propose to a poor man to sell 
 his dog is like proposing 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, 
 too, once had a poodle, a poodle that was well worth 
 yours, sergeant, be it said without offence to Fonte- 
 noy, save that he has taken prisoner nothing but the 
 tax-collector's wig. Well, one day, when I had lawyer 
 Page to dinner, he ran off with a calfs head, and that 
 very night I passed him under the mill-wheel." 
 
 " What you say proves nothing ; you have a wife and 
 six children ; it is quite work enough for you to love 
 all these people without forming a romantic affection 
 for a poodle ; but I am talking of a poor devil isolated 
 among men and with no relative but his dog. Put a 
 man with a dog in a desert island, in another desert 
 island put a woman with her child, and I will wager 
 that in six months' time the man will love the dog, pro- 
 vided the dog is amiable, as well as the woman will love 
 her child." 
 
 " I can conceive," answered my grandfather, " that a 
 traveller may like a dog to keep him company, that an 
 old woman that lives alone in her room may like a pug 
 with which to babble all day long. Bat that a man 
 should love a dog with real affection, that he should
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 53 
 
 love him as a Christian, that is what I deny, that is 
 what I deem impossible." 
 
 "And I tell you that under certain circumstances 
 you would love even a rattlesnake ; the loving fibre in 
 man cannot remain entirely inert. The human soul 
 abhors a vacuum; observe attentively the most hard- 
 ened egoist, and at last you will find, like a little flower 
 among the stones, an affection hidden under a fold of 
 his soul. 
 
 " It is a general rule, to which there is no 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 de- 
 cency 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 ani- 
 mate to absorb our affections, we love material objects, 
 a ring, a snuff-box, a tree, a flower; the Dutchman 
 feels 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 
 to say, dinner-time ; suppose we make a dinner of 
 this eel?" 
 
 " It is time to go," said Machecourt, " and we shall 
 dine at M. Minxit's." 
 
 " And you, sergeant ? Suppose we eat this eel ? " 
 
 " For my part," said the sergeant, " I am in no 
 hurry ; as I am not going anywhere in particular, I 
 spend every night at home." 
 
 " Very well said ! And the respectable poodle, what 
 is his opinion on this point ? "
 
 54 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 The poodle looked at Benjamin and wagged his tail 
 two or three times. 
 
 " Well, silence gives consent : so, Machecourt, there 
 are three of us against you ; you must bow to the will 
 of the majority. The majority, you see, my friend, 
 is stronger than the rest of the world. Put ten philos- 
 ophers 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 bacon, it will 
 make an excellent matelote. But, the devil ! what 
 about my writ ? That must be served." 
 
 " Mark this," said Benjamin ; " it will undoubtedly 
 be necessary for some one to lend me his arm to escort 
 me back to Clamecy. If you shirk this pious duty, I 
 will no longer own you as my brother-in-law." 
 
 Now, as Machecourt was very anxious to continue as 
 Benjamin's brother-in-law, he remained. 
 
 The eel being ready, they sat down at table again. 
 Manette's matelote was a chef-d 'ceuvre ; the sergeant 
 did not tire of admiring it. But the chefs-d'oeuvre of 
 the cook are ephemeral ; we scarcely give them time to 
 cool. There is only one thing in the arts that can be 
 compared to culinary products ; I refer to the products 
 of journalism ; and even a stew can be warmed over, a 
 terrine oifoie gras may keep a whole month, and 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 finished it, we throw it on our desk, as we 
 throw our napkin on the table after we have dined. 
 Consequently I do not understand how a man of liter-
 
 MY TJNCLE BENJAMIN. 55 
 
 ary value can consent to waste his talents in the obscure 
 works of journalism ; how he who might write on parch- 
 ment can make up his mind to scribble on the blotting- 
 paper of a journal ; certainly it must occasion him no 
 small heart-break 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 
 daily from its branches. 
 
 Meanwhile the hand of the cuckoo clock kept moving 
 on, while my uncle philosophized. Benjamin did not 
 notice that it was dark until Manette placed a lighted 
 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 declared 
 that they had had enough for one day, and that 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 ; September 1, 
 with M. Page, nine bottles and a plate of fish.' God 
 forgive me, I believe it is a bill." 
 
 " Undoubtedly," said Manette ; " I see clearly that it 
 is time to balance our accounts, and I hope that you 
 will send me yours very soon." 
 
 " For my part, Manette, I have no account to render. 
 It is an agreeable duty indeed to touch the plump 
 white arm of a pretty woman like yourself." 
 
 " You say that to laugh at me, Monsieur Rathery," 
 exclaimed Manette, thrilling with delight. 
 
 " I say it because it is true, because I think it," an-
 
 56 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 swered my uncle. " As for your bill, my poor Manette, 
 it comes at a fatal moment ; I am obliged to declare to 
 you that I haven't the smallest coin at the present hour; 
 but, stay, here is my watch ; you shall keep it until I 
 have paid you. It is in the best possible condition ; it 
 hasn't been going since yesterday." 
 
 Manette began to weep, and tore up the bill. 
 
 My uncle kissed her on the cheek, on the forehead, 
 on the eyes, and wherever he could find a place to kiss 
 her. 
 
 " Benjamin," said Manette to him, leaning over to 
 whisper in his ear, " if you need money, tell me so." 
 
 "No, no, Manette," my uncle answered quickly, "I 
 do not need your money. The devil ! that would be 
 getting serious. To make you pay for the happiness 
 you give me ! Why, that would be an indignity ; I 
 should be as vile as a prostitute ! " And he kissed 
 Manette as he had done before. 
 
 " Oh, do not embarrass yourself, Monsieur Rathery," 
 said Jean-Pierre, who just then came in. 
 
 " What, you were there, Jean-Pierre ? Are you jeal- 
 ous, then ? I warn you that I have a profound aver- 
 sion for jealous people." 
 
 " Well, it seems to me that I have a good right to be 
 jealous." 
 
 " Imbecile ! you always take things wrong. These 
 gentlemen have charged me to testify to your wife their 
 satisfaction for the excellent matelote which she has 
 made for us, and I was fulfilling the commission." 
 
 " There was a good way, it seems to me, to testify 
 your satisfaction to Manette ; and that was by paying 
 her, do you understand ? "
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 57 
 
 " Iii the first place, Jean-Pierre, we are not dealing 
 with you : it is Manette who keeps this tavern ; as for 
 paying you, rest easy, I charge myself with the bill; 
 you know that no one ever loses anything by me ; and 
 besides, if you are afraid of waiting too long, I will 
 straightway pass my sword through your body. Does 
 that suit you, Jean-Pierre ? " 
 
 And with these words he went out. 
 
 Up to this time Benjamin had only been over-ex- 
 cited; he contained all the elements of intoxication, 
 without yet being intoxicated. But, on leaving Ma- 
 nette's wine-shop, the cold seized upon his brain and 
 legs. 
 
 " Hello, there, Machecourt, where are you ? " 
 
 " Here I am, holding on to the lappel of your coat." 
 
 "You hold me, that's good, that does me honor, you 
 flatter me. You mean to say thereby that I am in a 
 condition to sustain both my hypostasis and your own. 
 At another time, yes ; but now I am as weak as the 
 most ordinary of men when he has remained too long 
 at dinner. I have engaged your arm, I call upon you to 
 offer it to me." 
 
 "At another time, yes," said Machecourt; "but there 
 is a difficulty in the way ; I cannot walk myself." 
 
 " Then you have forfeited your honor, you have failed 
 in the most sacred of duties ; I had engaged your arm, 
 you were to save yourself for both of us ;. but I forgive 
 your weakness. Homo sum, . . . that is to say, I forgive 
 you on one condition : that you go directly for the 
 town constable and two peasants carrying torches to 
 escort me back to Clamecy. You shall take one of the 
 officer's arms, and I the other."
 
 58 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 " But the constable has but one arm," said my grand- 
 father. 
 
 "Then the valid arm belongs to me. The best that 
 I can do for you is to allow you to hang on to my cue, 
 and you must take care not to untie the ribbon. Or, 
 if you prefer, get on the poodle's back." 
 
 "Gentlemen," said the sergeant, "why look so far 
 for what is close at hand? I have two good arms, 
 which fortunately the bullet has spared, and I place 
 them at your disposition." 
 
 "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 charge myself with your future, sergeant." 
 
 " And I too, sergeant, I charge myself with it, al- 
 though, to tell the truth, any charge at the present 
 moment" . . . 
 
 " I will teach you to pull teeth, sergeant." 
 
 "And I, sergeant, will teach your poodle to be a 
 bailiff's keeper." 
 
 " In three months you will be able to be a fakir at 
 the fairs." 
 
 "In three months your poodle, if he behaves himself, 
 will be able to earn thirty sous a day." 
 
 " The sergeant shall serve his apprenticeship by prac- 
 tising on you^Machecourt ; you have some decayed old . 
 stumps that torment you ; we will pull them out, one 
 every two days, in order not to fatigue you, and when 
 we have finished with the stumps, we will pull out your 
 gums." 
 
 " And I will put my bailiff's keeper at the service of
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 59 
 
 your creditors, old dead-beat. I will proceed to tell 
 you in advance of the duties you will have to fulfil 
 toward him. You must give him, in the morning, bread 
 and cheese, or, in the season, a bunch of little radishes ; 
 for dinner, soup and boiled beef, and for supper a roast 
 and a salad, though the salad may be replaced by a 
 glass of wine. You will take care that he does not pine 
 away in your hands, for nothing does so much honor to 
 a debtor as a good fat keeper. On his- side he must be- 
 have properly toward you ; he has no right to disturb 
 you in your occupations, to play, for instance, the clari- 
 nette, or sound the hunting horn." 
 
 " Meantime I offer the sergeant a residence at the 
 house ; you do not disapprove, do you, Machecourt ? " 
 
 " Not exactly, but I am very much afraid that your 
 dear sister will disown you." 
 
 " Oh, gentlemen," said the sergeant, " let us under- 
 stand each other. Do not expose me to insult ; for, I 
 warn you, one or the other of you w r ill have to answer 
 for it." 
 
 " Rest easy, sergeant," said my uncle ; " and, if the 
 case occurs, you will have to address yourself to me ; 
 for Machecourt doesn't know how to fight, except when 
 his adversary gives him the sword and keeps the 
 scabbard." 
 
 While thus philosophizing, they reached the door of 
 the house. My grandfather was not anxious to enter 
 first, and my uncle preferred to enter second. 
 
 To settle the matter, they entered both together, 
 knocking against each other like two gourds carried 
 at the end of a stick. 
 
 The sergeant and the poodle, whose intrusion made
 
 60 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 the cat growl like a royal tigress, brought up the 
 rear. 
 
 "My dear sister," said Benjamin, " I have the honor 
 to introduce to you a pupil in surgery and a "... 
 
 "Benjamin is beginning to talk nonsense to you," 
 interrupted my grandfather; "don't listen to him. 
 Monsieur is a soldier sent us to be lodged and whom 
 we met at the door." 
 
 My grandmother was a good woman, but something 
 of a shrew; she thought that to talk very loud added 
 to her importance. She had the greatest desire in the 
 world to get angry, and all the more desire because she 
 had the right. But she prided herself on her good 
 breeding, being a descendant of a lawyer ; and the pres- 
 ence of a stranger restrained her. 
 
 She offered the sergeant some supper. The latter 
 having declined and for good reason, she bade one of 
 her children take him to the neighboring tavern, with an 
 order that breakfast be given him in the morning before 
 his departure. 
 
 My grandfather always bent like a rush, peace- 
 able, worthy man that he was, when he saw a conjugal 
 storm brewing. Up to a certain point this weakness 
 was perhaps excusable in him, inasmuch as he was 
 always in the wrong. 
 
 He had clearly seen the clouds massing on his wife's 
 wrinkled brow ; and so the sergeant had hardly reached 
 the threshold when he had gained his bed, into which 
 he found his way as best he could. As for Benjamin, 
 he was incapable of such cowardice. A sermon in five 
 points, like a game of ScartS, would not have sent him 
 to bed a minute before his time. He was willing that
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 61 
 
 his sister should scold him, but he could not consent to 
 fear her. He awaited the tempest that was about to 
 burst forth, with the indifference of a rock, his hands in 
 his pockets and his back resting against the mantel- 
 shelf, and humming between his lips : 
 
 " Malbrough s'en va-t-en guerre, 
 Mironton, mironton, mirontaine, 
 Malbrough s'en va-t-en guerre, 
 Savoir s'il reviendra." 
 
 My grandmother had scarcely conducted the sergeant 
 to the door, when, impatient for the fray, she came 
 back to confront Benjamin. 
 
 " Well, Benjamin, are you satisfied with your day's 
 work ? Do you like the situation in which you are ? 
 Or must I go and draw a bottle of white wine for 
 you?" 
 
 "Thank you, dear sister. As you have said very 
 elegantly, my day's work is done." 
 
 "A fine day's work, indeed ! It would take many of 
 that sort to pay your debts. Have you at least reason 
 enough left to tell me how M. Minxit received you?" 
 
 " Mironton, mironton, mirontaine, dear sister," said 
 Benjamin. 
 
 " Ah ! mironton, mironton, mirontaine," cried my 
 grandmother; "just wait, and I will give you miron- 
 ton, mirontaine" 
 
 And she seized the tongs. My uncle took three 
 steps backward and drew his sword. 
 
 " Dear sister," said he, putting himself on guard, " I 
 hold you responsible for all the blood that is about to 
 be shed here." 
 
 But my grandmother, although she was descended
 
 62 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 from a lawyer, had no fear of a sword. She dealt her 
 brother a blow with the tongs that struck him on the 
 thumb and made him drop his sword. 
 
 Benjamin hopped about the room, squeezing his 
 wounded thumb in his left hand. As for my grand- 
 father, although he was good among the best, he was 
 bursting with laughter under the bed-clothes. He 
 could not help saying to my uncle : 
 
 " Well, how do you like that thrust ? This time you 
 had both the scabbard and the sword. You cannot say 
 that the weapons were not equal." 
 
 " Alas ! no, Machecourt, they were not ; for that, I 
 ought to have had the shovel. All the same, your wife 
 for I can no longer say my dear sister deserves to 
 wear at her side, instead of a distaff, a pair of tongs. 
 With a pair of tongs she would win battles. I am con- 
 quered, I confess, and I must submit to the law of the 
 conqueror. Well, no, we did not go to Corvol; we 
 stopped at Manette's." 
 
 " Always at Manette's, a married woman ! Are you 
 not ashamed, Benjamin, of such conduct ? " 
 
 "Ashamed! And why, dear sister? As soon as a 
 tavern-keeper gets married, must one no longer break- 
 fast at her establishment? That is not my way of 
 looking at it; to a true philosopher a tavern has no 
 sex. Isn't that so, Machecourt ? " 
 
 "When I meet her at the market, your Manette, I 
 will treat the wench as she deserves." 
 
 " Dear sister, when you meet Manette at the market, 
 buy her as many cream cheeses as you like, but if you 
 insult her "... 
 
 " Well, if I should insult her, what would you do ? "
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIK. 63 
 
 " I would leave you, I would go away to the islands, 
 and I would take Machecourt with me, I warn you." 
 
 My grandmother understood that all these transports 
 would end in nothing, and she at once decided upon her 
 course. 
 
 " You shall follow the example of that drunkard in 
 bed yonder," said she ; " you need to lie down as much 
 as he. But to-morrow I shall take you myself to M. 
 Minxit's, and we shall see if you will stop on the way." 
 
 " Mironton, mironton, mirontaine" hummed Benja- 
 min, as he started off for bed. 
 
 The idea of the morrow's proceedings disturbed my 
 uncle's usually peaceful, deep, and sound slumbers ; he 
 dreamed aloud, and this is what he said : 
 
 " You say, sergeant, that you have dined like a king. 
 That is not the word; you use the rhetorical figure 
 known as the litotes. You have dined better than an 
 emperor. Kings and emperors, in spite of all their 
 power, cannot have anything extra, and you have had 
 something extra. You see, sergeant, everything is rela- 
 tive. This matelote is certainly not worth a truffled 
 partridge. Nevertheless, it has tickled the nerves of 
 your palate more agreeably than a truffled partridge 
 would tickle the king's. Why is that ? Because his 
 majesty's palate is blasS in the matter of truffles, 
 whereas yours is not accustomed to matelotes. 
 
 "My dear sister tells me: ' Benjamin, do something 
 to get rich. Benjamin, marry Mile. Minxit that you 
 may have a good dowry.' What good would that do 
 me ? Does the butterfly take the trouble to build a 
 nest for the two or three months of fine days allotted 
 it for its life? I am convinced that enjoyments are
 
 64 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 relative to position, and that at the end of the year the 
 beggar and the rich man have had the same amount of 
 happiness. 
 
 " Each individual becomes accustomed to his situa- 
 tion, be it good or bad. The cripple no longer per 
 ceives that he walks with a crutch, or the rich man 
 that he has a carriage. The poor snail who carries his 
 house on his back enjoys a day of perfume and sun- 
 shine as much as the bird who chirps above him in the 
 branches. It is not the cause that is to be considered, 
 but the effect that it produces. Is not the journeyman 
 sitting on his bench in front of his cottage as comfort- 
 able as the king on the eider-down cushion of his arm- 
 chair ? Does not the peasant eat his soup of cabbage 
 with as much pleasure as the king eats his soup of 
 crabs ? And does not the beggar sleep as well in the 
 straw as the great lady under her silk curtains and 
 between the perfumed linen of her bed ? The child 
 who finds a sou is happier than the banker who has 
 found a louis, and the poor peasant who inherits an 
 acre of ground is as triumphant as the king whose 
 armies have conquered a province and who makes his 
 people strike up a Te Deum. 
 
 " Every evil here below is compensated by a good, 
 and every good that parades itself is attenuated by an 
 invisible evil. God has a thousand ways of making 
 compensations. If he has given good dinners to one, 
 to another he gives a little better appetite, and that 
 re-establishes the equilibrium. To the rich man he has 
 given the fear of losing and the care of keeping, and to 
 the beggar carelessness. In sending us into this place 
 of exile he has laden us all with an almost equal bag-
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 65 
 
 gage of misery and comfort. If it were otherwise, he 
 would not be just, for all men are his children. 
 
 "And why, then, in fact, should the rich man be 
 happier than the poor man ? To be sure, he does no 
 work ; but he has not the pleasure of resting. 
 
 " He has fine clothes ; but all the charm of them is 
 enjoyed by those who look at him. When the church- 
 warden makes a saint's toilet, does he do it for the saint 
 or for his adorers ? For the rest, does not a hump-back 
 show as plainly under a velvet coat as under a linsey- 
 woolsey ? 
 
 " The rich man has two, three, four, ten valets in his 
 service. My God ! why proudly add this quantity of 
 useless members to one's body, when it needs but four 
 to serve our person? The man accustomed to be 
 served is an unfortunate, crippled in all his members, 
 who has to be fed. 
 
 "This rich man has a city mansion and a country 
 house ; but of what use is the country house when the 
 owner is in the mansion, or the mansion when he is in 
 the country house ? What boots it that his lodgings 
 consist of twenty rooms, when he can occupy only one 
 at a time ? 
 
 " Adjoining his country house, he has for his dreamy 
 promenades an immense park, enclosed by a wall of 
 lime and sand ten feet high ; but, in the first place, 
 suppose he has no dreams? and then is not the open 
 country, enclosed only by the horizon and belonging 
 to all, as beautiful as his great park? 
 
 " In the middle of the aforesaid park, a canal fed by 
 a little stream drags along its greenish and sickly 
 waters, to the surface of which adhere, like plasters,
 
 66 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN, 
 
 the broad leaves of the water-lily ; but is not the river 
 that flows freely through the open country clearer and 
 more liquid than his canal? 
 
 " Dahlias of one hundred and fifty varieties line his 
 walks ; grant it ; I give you four per cent, additional, 
 which makes one hundred and fifty-six varieties ; but 
 is not the elm-shaded road that winds through the grass 
 like a serpent well worth his walks ? And the hedges 
 festooned with wild roses and sprinkled with hawthorn, 
 the hedges which mingle with the wind their tufts of 
 many colors and scatter flowers by the wayside, are 
 they not well worth those dahlias whose merits can 
 only be appreciated by the horticulturist? 
 
 " The aforesaid park belongs to him exclusively, you 
 say : you are mistaken ; it is only the purchase-deed 
 locked up in his secretary of which he has the exclusive 
 ownership, and he only has that on condition that the 
 ticks do not eat it. 
 
 " His park belongs to him much less than to the birds 
 that build their nests there, the rabbits who browse 
 amid the wild thyme, and the insects who rustle under 
 the leaves. . 
 
 " Can his watchman keep the serpent from coiling in 
 the grass, or the toad from nestling under the moss? 
 
 "The rich man gives parties ; but are not the dances 
 under the old lindens of the promenade, to the sound 
 of the bag-pipe, parties also? 
 
 " The rich man has a carriage. He has a carriage, 
 the unfortunate ! But is he then a cripple or a para- 
 lytic ? There is a woman yonder carrying one child in 
 her arms, while another gambols about her, running 
 after the butterflies and flowers. Which of the two
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 67 
 
 little ones is in the more agreeable situation? A car- 
 riage ! But that is an infirmity ; let a wheel break, or 
 your 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 and none to walk, how 
 much they must have suffered from the fatigue of those 
 who carried them ! 
 
 " You think that to go in a carriage is an enjoyment 
 of the rich man ; you are mistaken ; it is only a sort of 
 slavery which his vanity imposes upon him. If it were 
 otherwise, why should this gentleman and this lady, 
 .who are as thin as a bundle of thorns and whom an ass 
 could carry with the greatest ease, harness four horses 
 to their coach? 
 
 " For my part, when I am on the greensward, in moss 
 up to my ankles ; when I am wandering at will along a 
 beautiful cross-road, with hands in my pockets, dream- 
 ing and leaving behind me, like one of the damned 
 passing, the blue smoke from my blackened pipe ; or 
 when I follow slowly, in the beautiful moonlight, the 
 white road festoonecT on one side by the shadow of the 
 hedges, I should very much like to see anyone have the 
 insolence to offer me a carriage." 
 
 With these words, my uncle awoke. 
 
 "What!" you say; "your uncle dreamed that? 
 And out loud?" 
 
 Why, what is there that's astonishing in that? Did 
 not Madame George Sand make the reverend father 
 Spiridion dream aloud a whole chapter in one of her 
 novels? Has not M. Golbe*ry dreamed aloud in the 
 Chamber, for a whole hour, of a proposition on the re-
 
 68 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 port of the parliamentary debates? And have not we 
 ourselves been dreaming for the last thirteen years that 
 we have made a revolution? When my uncle had not 
 had time to" philosophize during the day, he philoso- 
 phized while dreaming, to make up for it. That is how 
 I explain the phenomenon the result of which I have 
 just related to you.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 HOW MY UNCLE PASSED HIMSELF OFF FOB THE WANDERIXG 
 
 JEW. 
 
 MEANWHILE my grandmother had put on her shot- 
 colored silk dress, which she took from her drawer only 
 on grand and solemn festival occasions; she had fas- 
 tened over her round cap, in the form of a head-band, 
 the finest of her ribbons, a cherry-red ribbon as broad 
 as one's hand and broader ; she had got ready her short 
 cloak of black taffeta trimmed with lace of the same 
 color, and she had taken from its box her new lynx muff, 
 a present which Benjamin had made her on her birth- 
 day, and for which he still owed the furrier. When she 
 was thus dressed up, she ordered one of her children to 
 go after M. Durand's ass, a fine little animal, which at 
 the last fair at Billy had cost three pistoles, and was let 
 for thirty-six deniers more than ordinary asses. 
 
 Then she called Benjamin. "When the latter came 
 down, M. Durand's ass, with his two baskets hanging 
 over his flanks and between them a large and very 
 white pillow, was fastened before the door eating his 
 provision of bran that had been served him in a basket 
 on a chair. 
 
 Benjamin first anxiously inquired whether Mache- 
 court was there to drink a glass of white wine with 
 him. His sister having told him that he had gone out, 
 he added : 
 
 " I hope at least, my good sister, that you will be
 
 70 MY TINGLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 friendly enough to take a little glass of ratafia with 
 me." For my uncle's stomach knew how to put itself 
 within the reach of all stomachs. 
 
 My grandmother did not dislike ratafia, on the con- 
 trary; she accepted Benjamin's proposition, and per- 
 mitted him to go after the carafe. Finally, after hav- 
 ing warned my father, who was the oldest child, not 
 to beat his brothers, and Premoins, who was indisposed, 
 to ask in case he felt certain needs, and after having 
 set Surgie her stint of knitting work, she mounted the 
 little ass. 
 
 Long live the earth and the sun ! The neighbors 
 had gathered in their door-ways to see her start ; for in 
 those days to see a woman of the middle class dressed 
 up on any other day than Sunday was an event of which 
 everyone who witnessed it tried to penetrate the causes, 
 and upon which he built a system. 
 
 Benjamin, cleanly shaven and superabundantly pow- 
 dered, and as red moreover as a poppy spreading in the 
 morning sun after a stormy night, followed on behind, 
 uttering from time to time a vigorous " Gee-hup " in a 
 chest C, and pricking the animal with the point of his 
 rapier. 
 
 M. Durand's ass, thus pricked in the loins by my 
 uncle's sword, went very well ; he went too well even 
 to suit my grandmother, who bobbed up and down on 
 her pillow like a shuttlecock on a battledore. But at 
 some distance from the spot where the road to Moulot 
 separates from the road to La Chapelle to go on to its 
 humble destination, she perceived that the gait of her 
 ass slackened, like a jet of molten metal which thickens 
 and moves slower the farther it gets from the furnace ;
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIK. 71 
 
 his bell, which up to that time had kept up a proud and 
 very pronounced jingling, now gave forth only spas- 
 modic sighs, like a voice in the hour of the death agony. 
 My grandmother turned around to seek an explanation 
 from Benjamin ; but the latter had disappeared, melted 
 like a ball of wax, conjured away, lost like a midge in 
 space ; no one could give any news of him. You can 
 imagine the vexation that my grandmother felt at Ben- 
 jamin's sudden disappearance. She said to herself that 
 he did not deserve the trouble that they took to secure 
 his happiness ; that his indifference was incurable ; that 
 he would always stagnate there ; that he was a marsh 
 whose waters could not be made to flow. For a mo- 
 ment she felt a desire to abandon him to his destiny, 
 and even to no more plait his shirts ; but her queenly 
 character came uppermost; she had begun, and she 
 must finish. She swore that she would find Benjamin 
 again and take him to M. Minxit's, even though she 
 had to fasten him to the tail of her ass. It is by such 
 firmness of resolution that great enterprises are carried 
 to their conclusion. 
 
 A little peasant, who was tending his sheep at the 
 fork of the two roads, told her that the red man whom 
 she had lost had gone down toward the village nearly a 
 quarter of an hour before. My grandmother urged on 
 her ass in that direction, and such was the ascendency 
 that her indignation gave her over this quadruped that 
 he began to trot of himself, out of pure deference to his 
 rider, as if he desired to do homage to her grand char- 
 acter. 
 
 The village of Moulot seemed to be in an extraor- 
 dinary commotion ; the Moulotats, generally so ^ sedate
 
 72 MY TJNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 and in whose brains there was never more fermentation 
 than in a cream cheese, seemed all to be in transports. 
 The peasants were hurrying down from the neighboring 
 hillsides; the women and children were running and 
 calling each other ; all spinning-wheels were abandoned, 
 and all distaffs at rest. My grandmother inquired the 
 cause of this commotion. They told her that the 
 Wandering Jew had just arrived at Moulot, and was 
 breakfasting in the market-place. She understood at 
 once that this pretended Wandering Jew was no other 
 than Benjamin, and, indeed, she was not slow in per- 
 ceiving him from the height of her ass, in the middle of 
 a circle of idle bystanders. 
 
 Above this moving ribbon of black and white heads, 
 the gable of his three-cornered hat rose with great 
 majesty, like the slate-colored steeple of a church amid 
 the moss-clad roofs of a village. They had set for him 
 in the market-place itself a little table "where he had 
 been served a half-bottle of wine and a little loaf of 
 bread, and before which he was passing to and fro with 
 the gravity of a great sacrificer, now taking a swallow 
 of white wine, now breaking a bit from his little loaf. 
 
 My grandmother urged her ass into the crowd and 
 soon found herself in the front rank. 
 
 "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. As in the 
 course of my travels I have heard much said of the 
 beauty of this little village and the amiability of its 
 inhabitants, I resolved to breakfast here." 
 
 Then, approaching her, he said in a low voice :
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 73 
 
 "In five minutes I follow you, but not a word more, 
 I beg of you ; the evil might be irreparable ; these im- 
 beciles would be capable of killing me, if they should 
 discover that I am making sport of them." 
 
 The eulogy of Moulot, which Benjamin had suc- 
 ceeded in interpolating into his reply to his sister, re- 
 paired or rather prevented the check which her im- 
 prudent rebuke would otherwise have caused him to 
 suffer, and a thrill of pride ran through the assembly. 
 
 " Monsieur Wandering Jew," said a peasant in whose 
 mind still lingered some doubt, " who, then, is this lady 
 who just now shook her fist at you ? " 
 
 "My good friend," answered my uncle, not at all 
 disconcerted, " she is the Holy Virgin, whom God has 
 ordered me to escort on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem on 
 that little ass. She is really a good woman, but a little 
 talkative ; she is ill-humored this morning because she 
 has lost her rosary." 
 
 " And why is not the infant Jesus with her ? " 
 
 " God did not wish her to take him along, because 
 just now he has the small-pox." 
 
 Then the objections fell upon Benjamin as thick as 
 hail ; but my uncle was not a man to be frightened by 
 the dolts of Moulot ; danger electrified him, and he 
 parried with admirable dexterity all the thrusts that 
 were made at him, which did not prevent him from now 
 and then wetting his whistle with a swallow of white 
 wine, and, to tell the truth, he was already at his 
 seventh half-bottle. 
 
 The village schoolmaster, as the learned man of the 
 neighborhood, was the first to enter the lists. 
 
 "How does it happen, then, Monsieur Wandering
 
 74 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 Jew, that you have no beard ? It is said in the Brus- 
 sels lament that you are heavily bearded, and every- 
 where you are represented with a great white beard 
 which reaches down to your girdle." 
 
 " It soiled too easily, Monsieur schoolmaster. I 
 asked the good God's permission to discard that great 
 ugly beard, and he has passed it into my cue." 
 
 " But," continued the teacher, "how do you manage 
 to shave, since you cannot stop ? " 
 
 " God has provided for that, my dear Monsieur 
 schoolmaster. Every morning he sends me the patron 
 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," the schoolmaster continued, 
 " the good God has been very stingy with you in plac- 
 ing at your disposition only five sous at a time." 
 
 " My friend," rejoined my uncle, crossing his arms 
 over his breast and bowing profoundly, "let us bless 
 the decrees of God ; it is probably because that was all 
 the money he had in his pocket." 
 
 "I should very mu,ch like to know," said the old 
 tailor of the neighborhood, "how they succeeded in 
 taking your measure for your coat, which, by the 
 way, fits you like a glove, since you are never at 
 rest?" 
 
 " You should have noticed, you who are of the trade, 
 respectable pique-prune, that this coat was not made by 
 the hand of man ; every year, on the first of April, there 
 grows on my back a light coat of red serge, and on All 
 Saints' Day a heavy coat of red velvet." 
 
 " Then," said a youngster, over whose waggish face
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 75 
 
 hung tresses of light hair, "you must wear it out very 
 fast ; it is not a fortnight now since All Saints' Day, 
 and your coat is already threadbare and white along the 
 seams." 
 
 Unfortunately the father of the little philosopher was 
 standing beside him. " Go back to the house and see 
 if I'm there," he said to him, giving him a kick ; and 
 he begged my uncle to excuse the impertinence of this 
 little fellow, whose schoolmaster neglected to teach him 
 his religion. 
 
 " Gentlemen," cried the schoolmaster, " I call you all 
 to witness, and Monsieur Wandering Jew also, that 
 Nicolas attacks my reputation; he continually assails 
 the village authorities ; I am going to take him by his 
 tongue." 
 
 "Yes," said Nicolas, "there's a fine authority for 
 you; attack me when you like; I shall find no diffi- 
 culty in proving the truth of what I say; the bailiff 
 shall question Chariot. The other day I asked him 
 which was Jacob's most remarkable son, and he an- 
 swered 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 should be the occasion of a law- 
 suit among you ; the wool of my coat has not yet fully 
 grown, as we are now only at St. Martin's Day ; that is 
 what led little Chariot into error. Monsieur school- 
 master was unaware of this circumstance, and conse- 
 quently could not teach it to his pupils ; I hope that 
 M. Nicolas 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 a pas- 
 sage for herself through the crowd ; as he loved young 
 girls at least as well as Jesus Christ loved little chil- 
 dren, he signalled to the bystanders to allow her to 
 approach. 
 
 " I should very much like to know," said the young 
 Moulotate with her finest bow, the bow that she made to 
 the bailiff when, going to carry him cream, she met him 
 on her way, " whether what old Gothon says is the pure 
 truth : she pretends that you work miracles." 
 
 " Undoubtedly," answered my uncle, " when they are 
 not too difficult." 
 
 " In that case, could you by a miracle cure my father, 
 who has been sick since morning with a disease with 
 which nobody is familiar?" 
 
 "Why not?" said my uncle; "but first of all, my 
 pretty child, you must permit me to kiss you ; other- 
 wise the miracle will amount to nothing." 
 
 And he kissed the young Moulotate on both cheeks, 
 damned sinner that he was. 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed in his rear a voice which he 
 knew well, " does the Wandering Jew kiss women ? " 
 
 He turned around and saw Manette. 
 
 " Undoubtedly, my beautiful lady : God permits me 
 to kiss three a year ; that is the second one that I have
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN". 77 
 
 kissed this year, and, if you like, 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 brilliant wits of Clamecy jealous. He 
 took rank immediately among the famous jokers, and 
 lawyer Page would no longer dare to speak to him so 
 often of his hare changed into a rabbit. Who would 
 dare to compare himself, in audacity and resources of 
 imagination, with Benjamin Rathery, when once he 
 had worked a miracle ? And who knows ? Perhaps 
 the future generation would take the matter seriously. 
 If he were to be canonized ; if they should make of his 
 person a big saint of red wood ; if they should give him 
 an office, a niche, a place in the almanac, an Ora pro 
 nobis in the litanies; if he should become the patron 
 saint of a good parish ; if every year they should cele- 
 brate his birthday with incense, crown him with flowers, 
 decorate him with ribbons, and place a ripe grape in 
 his hands; if they should enshrine his red coat in a 
 reliquary; if he should have a church-warden to wash 
 his face every week ; if he should cure of the pest 
 or of hydrophobia ! The only thing necessary was to 
 carry out this miracle successfully ; if he had only seen 
 a few performed ! But how should he 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. ..." Oh ! nonsense ! " said my 
 uncle, pouring a large glass of wine for inspiration, 
 " Providence will provide : Audaces fortuna juvat, and 
 besides, a miracle asked for is a miracle half performed."
 
 78 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 So lie followed the young peasant girl, dragging in 
 his train, like a comet, a long tail of Moulotats ; having 
 entered the house, he saw lying on the bed a peasant 
 with his mouth askew, who seemed to be trying to eat 
 his ear; he inquired how this accident had happened, 
 and whether it was not the result of a yawn or an out- 
 burst of laughter. 
 
 "It happened this morning at breakfast," answered 
 his wife, " as he was trying to break a walnut with his 
 teeth." 
 
 " Very well," said my uncle, his face lighting up, 
 "and did you call anybody?" 
 
 " We sent for M. Arnout, who declared that it was an 
 attack of paralysis." 
 
 " You could not have done better. I see that Doctor 
 Arnout knows paralysis as well as if he had invented 
 it ; and what did he prescribe ? " 
 
 " The medicine in this vial." 
 
 My uncle, having examined the drug, saw that it was 
 an emetic, and threw the vial into the street. His as- 
 surance produced an excellent effect. 
 
 " I see clearly, Monsieur Jew," said the good woman, 
 " that you are capable of performing the miracle that 
 we ask of you." 
 
 " Of such miracles as this," answered Benjamin, " I 
 could work a hundred a day, if I were supplied with 
 them." 
 
 He had them bring him an iron spoon, the handle 
 of which he wound with several thicknesses of fine 
 linen ; he introduced this improvised instrument into 
 the patient's mouth, raised the upper jaw, which was 
 protruding over the lower jaw, and put it back in its
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 79 
 
 place ; for the only disease from which this Moulotat 
 suffered was a dislocated jaw, which my uncle, with his 
 gray eye that penetrated everything, as if it were a nail, 
 had perceived at once. The paralytic of the morning 
 declared that he was completely cured, and he began 
 to eat ravenously of a cabbage soup prepared for the 
 family dinner. 
 
 The report spread among the crowd with the rapidity 
 of lightning that father Pintot was eating cabbage 
 soup. The sick and all those whose forms nature had 
 more or less altered implored my uncle's protection. 
 Mother Pintot, very proud to think that the miracle 
 had been performed in her family, introduced to my 
 uncle one of her cousins who had a left shoulder that 
 looked like a ham, and asked him to reduce it ; but my 
 uncle, who did not wish to compromise his reputation, 
 answered that the best that he could do would be to 
 pass the hump from the left shoulder to the right ; that 
 moreover it was a very painful miracle, and that out of 
 ten hump-backs of the common sort he had scarcely 
 found two who had had the strength to endure it. 
 
 Then he declared to the inhabitants of Moulot that 
 he was grieved that he could not stay with them longer, 
 but that he did not dare to keep the Holy Virgin wait- 
 ing ; and he went to join his sister, who was warming 
 her feet in the village tavern and had had time to have 
 the ass fed. 
 
 My uncle and my grandmother had the greatest dif- 
 ficulty in the world in getting rid of the crowd, and the 
 village 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 Benja-
 
 80 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 min had extricated himself from this difficult situation 
 flattered her pride as a sister, and she said that a man 
 like Benjamin was well worth Mile. Minxit, even with 
 an income of two or three thousand francs thrown in. 
 
 The description 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 Benjamin, who 
 always knew what to do, gave them his blessing.
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 MON8IEUK MINXIT. 
 
 MONSIEUR MINXIT extended a very cordial welcome 
 to my uncle and my grandmother. M. Minxit was a 
 doctor, I know not why. He had not spent the beauti- 
 ful days of his youth in the society of corpses. The 
 science of medicine had sprouted in his head one fine 
 day, 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; all the 
 Latin he knew was on his bottles, and even there, if he 
 had depended on the labels, he would often have given 
 parsley for hemlock. He had a very fine library, but 
 he never poked his nose into his books. He said that, 
 since his books were written, the temperament of man 
 had changed. Some even pretended that all these 
 precious works were only imitations of books made out 
 of pasteboard, on the backs of which he had placed in 
 gilt letters names celebrated in medicine. What con- 
 firmed them in this opinion was that, whenever any 
 one asked M. Minxit to let him see his library, he had 
 lost the key. However, M. Minxit was a man of wit, 
 he was endowed with a large share of intelligence, and, 
 in default of printed knowledge, he had much knowl- 
 edge of e very-day life. As he knew nothing, he under- 
 stood that to succeed he must persuade the multitude 
 that he knew more than his rivals, and he made a spe- 
 cialty of the divination of urines. After twenty years'
 
 82 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 study of this science, lie had succeeded in distinguish- 
 ing those that were turbid 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 
 cabinet minister, by his urine. As there were no kings, 
 or cabinet ministers, or great men, in the vicinity, he 
 did not fear that any one would take him at his word. 
 M. Minxit had an incisive manner. He talked loud, 
 a great deal, and incessantly; he divined those words 
 which are likely to have an effect on peasants and knew 
 how to make them prominent in his phrases. He had 
 the faculty of deceiving the multitude, a faculty which 
 consists of I know not what impalpable quality, impos- 
 sible to describe, teach, or counterfeit ; an inexplicable 
 faculty by which a simple operator Causes a shower of 
 pennies to fall into his cash-box, and by which the great 
 man wins battles and founds empires ; a faculty which 
 in some has taken the place of genius, which Napoleon 
 of all men possessed in a supreme degree, and which in 
 all cases I call simply charlatanism. It is not my fault 
 if the instrument with which they sell Swiss tea is the 
 same as that with which they build a throne. Through- 
 out the neighborhood no one was willing to die except 
 by the hand of M. Minxit. The latter, however, did 
 not abuse this privilege ; he was no more of a murderer 
 than his rivals, only he made more money with his vials 
 of many colors than they did with their aphorisms. He 
 had acquired a very handsome fortune, and had, more- 
 over, the faculty of spending his money to the purpose ; 
 he seemed to give everything as if it had cost him 
 nothing, and the clients that came to him always found 
 open table at his house.
 
 MY TTNCLE BENJAMIN. 83 
 
 For the rest my uncle and M. Minxit were bound to 
 be friends as soon as they should meet. These two 
 natures resembled each other exactly; they were as 
 near alike as two drops of wine or, to use an expression 
 less offensive to my uncle, as two spoons cast in the 
 same mould. They had the same appetites, the same 
 tastes, the same passions, the same way of looking at 
 things, the same political opinions. Both concerned 
 themselves little about those thousand little accidents, 
 those thousand microscopic catastrophes, which the rest 
 of us, fools that we are, consider as great misfortunes. 
 ^ He who has no philosophy amid the miseries of this 
 world is like a man bareheaded in a shower. The phi- 
 losopher, on the contrary, has over his head a good um- 
 brella, which shelters him from the storm. Such was 
 their opinion. They regarded life as a farce, and they 
 played their parts in it as gayly as possible. They had 
 a sovereign contempt for those ill-advised people who 
 make their life one long sob. They wished theirs to 
 be a fit of laughter. Age had produced no difference 
 between them, beyond a few wrinkles. They were like 
 two trees of the same species, one of which is old and 
 the other in the full vigor of its sap, but both of which 
 are adorned with the same flowers and bear the same 
 fruits. Consequently the future father-in-law had 
 formed a prodigious friendship for his son-in-law, and 
 the son-in-law professed for the father-in-law a high 
 esteem, barring his vials. Nevertheless my uncle ac- 
 cepted M. Minxit's alliance only in self-defence, by an 
 effort of reason and that he might not displease his dear 
 sister. 
 
 M. Minxit, because he loved Benjamin, found it very
 
 84 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 natural that he should be loved by his daughter. For 
 every father, however good he may be, loves himself in 
 the person of his children ; he regards them as beings 
 who ought to contribute to his comfort ; if he chooses 
 a son-in-law, he does so first largely for himself, and 
 then a little for his daughter. When he is avaricious, 
 he puts her into the hands of a miser ; when 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 an undivided property which he possesses 
 with his wife. Whether the property is enclosed by a 
 flowering hedge or by a great ugly wall built of dry 
 stones, whether it is made to produce roses or rape- 
 seed, that does not concern her. She has no advice to 
 give to the experienced agriculturist who cultivates 
 her. She is unskilled in selecting the seed best suited 
 to her. Provided these good parents in their soul and 
 conscience find their daughter happy, that is enough. 
 It is for her to accommodate herself to her condition. 
 Every night the wife when making her curl papers and 
 the good man when putting on his nightcap congratu- 
 late themselves on having married their child so well. 
 She does not love her husband, but she will accustom 
 herself to love him : with patience one can accomplish 
 anything. They do not know what it is to a woman 
 to have a husband that she does not love. It is like a 
 burning cinder that cannot be expelled from the eye, 
 or a toothache that does not give one a moment's rest. 
 Some allow themselves to die in pain ; others go else- 
 where in search of the love which they cannot procure 
 with the corpse to which they have been attached.
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 85 
 
 The latter gently slip into their fortunate husband's 
 soup a pinch of arsenic, and have it inscribed upon his 
 tombstone that 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 naturalized as a man and a Frenchman, the father 
 and mother would not willingly consent, and it cer- 
 tainly would be necessary for the jocko to serve on 
 them the required legal papers. You say : Those are 
 good parents ; they do not wish their daughter to make 
 herself unhappy. But I say : Those are detestable 
 egoists. Nothing is more ridiculous than to put your 
 way of feeling in the place of another's: it is like try- 
 ing to substitute your organization for his. Such a 
 man wishes to die ; he probably has good reasons for 
 that. This young girl wishes to marry a monkey; 
 she probably prefers a monkey to a man. Why refuse 
 her the faculty of being happy in her own way ? If she 
 thinks herself happy, who has a right to maintain 
 that she is not? This monkey will scratch her in 
 caressing her. What's that to you ? She probably 
 would rather be scratched than caressed. Besides, if 
 her husband scratches her, it is not her mamma's cheek 
 that will bleed. Who disapproves the dragon-fly of 
 the marshes for hovering over the reeds rather than 
 among the garden rose-bushes? Does the pike re- 
 proach the eel, its god-mother, for staying continually 
 in the mud at the bottom, instead of rising to the flow- 
 ing water which ripples at the surface of the river ? 
 
 Do you know why these good parents refuse their 
 blessing to their daughter and her jocko ? The father
 
 86 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 refuses because he desires a son-in-law who can be a 
 voter, and with whom he can talk literature or politics ; 
 the mother refuses because she needs a handsome young 
 man to give her his arm, take her to the play, and go to 
 walk with her. 
 
 M. Minxit, after having uncorked some of his best 
 bottles with Benjamin, took him into his house, into 
 his cellar, into his barn, into his stables ; he walked 
 him through his garden, and forced him to make the 
 circuit of a large meadow watered by a living spring 
 and 'planted with trees, which stretched away in the 
 rear of the house and at the end of which the stream 
 formed a fish-pond. All this was very desirable; un- 
 happily fortune gives nothing for nothing, and in ex- 
 change for all this comfort it was necessary to marry 
 Mile. Minxit. 
 
 After all, Mile. Minxit was as good as another ; she 
 was only two inches too tall ; she was neither dark nor 
 light, nor blonde nor red, nor stupid nor witty. She was 
 a woman like twenty-five out of every thirty. She knew 
 how to talk very pertinently of a thousand insignificant 
 little things, and she made very good cream cheeses. 
 It was much less against her than against marriage 
 in general that my uncle rebelled, and if at the very 
 first she had displeased him, it was because he had 
 regarded her in the form of a heavy chain. 
 
 " There is my estate," said M. Minxit ; " when you 
 shall be my son-in-law, it will be ours, and indeed, 
 when I am no longer here "... 
 
 " Let us understand each other," said my uncle, " are 
 you very sure that Mile. Arabelle is not at all reluctant 
 to marry me ? "
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 87 
 
 " And why should she be ? You do not do justice to 
 yourself, Benjamin. Are you not the handsomest of 
 young fellows, are you not amiable when you like and 
 as much as you like, and are you not a man of wit in 
 the bargain?" 
 
 " There is some truth in what you say, M. Minxit, 
 but women are capricious, and I have allowed myself to 
 say that Mile. Arabelle had an inclination for a gentle- 
 man of this neighborhood, a certain de Pont-CasseV' 
 
 " A country squire," said M. Minxit, " a sort of mus- 
 keteer who has squandered on fine horses and embroid- 
 ered coats the fine domains that his father left him. 
 He has, in truth, asked me for Arabelle, but I rejected 
 his proposal most decidedly. In less than two years he 
 would have devoured my fortune. You can see that I 
 could not give my daughter to such a being. Besides, 
 he is a furious duellist. By way of compensation, one 
 of these days he would have rid Arabelle of his noble 
 person." 
 
 " You are right, M. Minxit, but then, if this being is 
 loved by Arabelle "... 
 
 "Nonsense, Benjamin! Arabelle has in her veins 
 too much of my blood 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 philoso- 
 phize ; a shrewd physician to exploit my clients with 
 me and to supply by his science what the divination of 
 urines may fail to reveal to us." 
 
 " One moment," said my uncle, " I warn you, Mon- 
 sieur Minxit, that I will not consult urines." 
 
 "And why, Monsieur, do you not wish to consult 
 urines ? Come, Benjamin, he was a very sensible man,
 
 88 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 that emperor who said to his son : ' Do these gold pieces 
 smell of urine ? ' If you knew how much presence of 
 mind, imagination, perspicacity, and even logic are 
 required for the consultation of urines, you would not 
 want to follow any other profession all your life long ; 
 perhaps you will be called a charlatan, but what is a 
 charlatan ? A man who has more wit than the multi- 
 tude ; and I ask you, is it from lack of desire or lack 
 of wit that most doctors do not impose upon their 
 patients ? Stay, there comes my fifer, probably to an- 
 nounce the arrival of some vial. I am going to give 
 you a sample of my art." 
 
 "Well, fifer," said M. Minxit to the musician, 
 "what's new?" 
 
 " A peasant has come to consult you," he answered. 
 
 " And has Arabelle made him talk ? " 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur Minxit; he brings you his wife's 
 urine, she having fallen on a flight of steps and rolled 
 down four or five of them. Mile. Arabelle doesn't 
 remember the exact number." 
 
 " The devil ! " said M. Minxit, " that is very stupid 
 on Arabelle's part; all the same, I will remedy that. 
 Benjamin, go wait for me in the kitchen with the 
 peasant ; you shall know what a doctor who consults 
 urines is." 
 
 M. Minxit entered his house through the little garden 
 door, and five minutes afterward came into the kitchen 
 with an harassed and over-fatigued air, holding a riding- 
 whip in his hand and wearing a cloak splashed up to 
 the collar. 
 
 " Oh ! " said he, throwing himself upon a chair, 
 " what abominable roads ! I am worn out ; I have trav-
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 89 
 
 elled more than fifteen leagues this morning ; take off 
 my boots immediately and warm my bed." 
 
 " Monsieur Minxit, I beg of you ! " said the peasant, 
 presenting his vial. 
 
 " To the devil," said M. Minxit, " with your vial ; 
 you see well enough that I can do no more. That's 
 just like you all ; you always come to consult me just as 
 I come in from the country." 
 
 "My father," said Arabelle, "this man too is tired; 
 do not force him to corne again to-morrow." 
 
 " Well, let me see the vial then," said M. Minxit, 
 with an air of extreme vexation ; and approaching the 
 window, he added : " This is your wife's urine, isn't 
 it?" 
 
 " You are right, Monsieur Minxit," said the peasant. 
 
 " She has had a fall," added the doctor, examining the 
 vial again. 
 
 " You could not have divined more accurately." 
 
 " On a flight of steps, was it not ? " 
 
 " Why, you are a sorcerer, Monsieur Minxit." 
 
 " And she rolled down four of them." 
 
 "This time you are wrong, Monsieur Minxit; she 
 rolled down five." 
 
 " Nonsense, it is impossible ; go count your flight of 
 steps again, and you will see that there are only four 
 in all." 
 
 " I assure you, Monsieur, that there are five, and that 
 she did not miss a single one." 
 
 "It is astonishing," said M. Minxit, examining the 
 vial again ; " there certainly are but four steps in this. 
 By the way, did you bring me all the urine that your 
 wife gave you ? "
 
 90 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 " I threw a little on the ground, because the vial was 
 too full." 
 
 "I am no longer surprised that I d:d not find the full 
 number; that is the cause of the deficit: it was the 
 fifth step that you poured out, you stupid fellow ! So 
 ws 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. 
 
 " I should have thought," said my uncle, " that you 
 would first have practised an abundant bleeding." 
 
 " 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 in this way." 
 
 After the peasant came a young girl. 
 
 " Well ! how is your mother? " asked the doctor. 
 
 " Much better, Monsieur Miuxit ; but she cannot re- 
 gain her strength, and I came to ask you what she 
 should do." 
 
 " You ask me what she must do, and I will bet that 
 you haven't a sou with which to buy medicines ! " 
 
 " Alas ! no, my good Monsieur Minxit, for my father 
 has had no work for a week." 
 
 " Then why the devil does your mother take it into 
 her head to be sick ? " 
 
 " Rest easy, Monsieur Minxit ; as soon as my father 
 gets work, you will be paid for your visits ; he charged 
 me to tell you so." 
 
 " Indeed ! more nonsense ! Is your father mad that 
 he expects to pay me for my visits when he has no 
 bread ? For what does your imbecile of a father take 
 me ? You will go this evening with your ass to get
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 91 
 
 a sack of wheat at my mill, and you will carry away 
 with you from here a basket of old wine and a quarter 
 of mutton ; that is what your mother immediately needs. 
 If her strength does not return within two or three 
 days, you will let me know. Now go, my child." 
 
 " Well ! " said M. Minxit to Benjamin, " what do you 
 think of the practice of medicine by the consultation of 
 urines ? " 
 
 " You are a brave and worthy man, Monsieur Minxit ; 
 that is your excuse ; but, the devil ! you will never get 
 me to treat a patient who has fallen down stairs other- 
 wise than by bleeding." 
 
 " Then you are only a raw recruit in medicine ; are 
 you not aware that peasants must have drugs ? Other- 
 wise they think that yon are neglecting them. Well, 
 then, you shall not consult urines ; but it's a pity, for 
 you would have been a famous hand at it."
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 TABLE TALK AT M. 
 
 THE dinner-hour arrived. Although M. Minxit had 
 invited but a few persons besides those known to us, 
 the priest, the tabellion, and one of his confreres in the 
 neighborhood, the table was loaded down with a pro- 
 fusion of ducks and chickens, some lying in stately in- 
 tegrity in the midst of their sauce, others symmetrically 
 spreading their disjointed members on the ellipsis of 
 their platter. The wine, for the rest, was from a certain 
 hillside of Trucy, whose vines, in spite of the levelling 
 which has passed over our vineyards as over our society, 
 have maintained their aristocracy, and still enjoy a de- 
 served reputation. 
 
 " But," said my uncle to M. Minxit, at sight of this 
 Homeric abundance, "you have a whole poultry-yard 
 here. There is enough to satisfy a company of dragoons 
 after field-day exercises. Or perhaps you expect our 
 friend Arthus?" 
 
 "In that case I would have spitted one fowl more," 
 answered M. Minxit, laughing. "But if we do not suc- 
 ceed in disposing of all this, it will be easy to find 
 people to finish our task ; and my officers, that is, my 
 musicians, and the clients who will come to me to- 
 morrow with their vials, have I not to think of them ? 
 I adopt it as a principle that he who has dinner prepared 
 only for himself is not fit to dine." 
 
 " It is just," replied my uncle. And after this phil-
 
 MY TJNCLE BENJAMIN. 93 
 
 osophical 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 mat- 
 ter, my uncle was suited to everybody, and everybody 
 was suited to -him. ^They enjoyed frankly and very 
 noisily M. Minxit's copious hospitality. " Fifer," said 
 the latter to one of the table-waiters, "bring in the 
 Burgundy, and tell the musicians to come hither with 
 arms and baggage ; those who are drunk are not ex- 
 empt." The musicians came in at once and arranged 
 themselves around the room. M. Minxit, having un- 
 corked a few bottles of Burgundy, solemnly lifted his 
 full glass, and said : " Gentlemen, to the health of M. 
 Benjamin Rathery, the first doctor of the bailiwick ; I 
 present him to you as my son-in-law, and pray you to 
 love him as you love me. Let the music play." Then 
 an infernal noise of bass drum, triangle, cymbals, and 
 clarinette burst forth in the dining room, and my uncle 
 was obliged to ask mercy for the guests. This an- 
 nouncement, a little too official and premature, caused 
 Mile. Minxit to sulk and make wry faces. Benjunin, 
 who had something else to do than criticise what was 
 going on around him, noticed nothing ; but this mark 
 of repugnance did not escape my grandmother. Her 
 pride was deeply wounded ; for, if Benjamin was not to 
 everybody the handsomest young fellow in the country, 
 he was such at least to his sister. After having thanked 
 M. Minxit for the honor that he did her brother, she 
 added, biting each syllable as if she had the poor Ara- 
 belle between her teeth, that the principal, the only 
 reason that had determined Benjamin to solicit M. 
 Minxit's alliance was the lofty consideration enjoyed 
 by M. Minxit in all the country round.
 
 94 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 Benjamin, thinking that his sister had made a mess 
 of it, hastened to add: "And also the graces and 
 charms of every sort with which Mile. Arabelle is so 
 abundantly provided, and which promise to the happy 
 mortal who shall be her husband days spun of gold and 
 silk." Then, as if to quiet the remorse which this sad 
 compliment caused him, the only one that he had yet 
 expended on Mile. Minxit and which his sister had 
 obliged him to commit, he began to furiously devour a 
 chicken's wing, and emptied a huge glass of Burgundy 
 at one swallow. 
 
 There were three doctors present ; they were bound 
 to talk medicine, and they did. 
 
 "You said just now, M. Minxit," said Fata, "that 
 your son-in-law was the first doctor of 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 ? " 
 
 "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 do not need 
 to depreciate your rivals, do you ? Tell us what you 
 think of him, just to oblige Fata." 
 
 " Since you insist, I think that Doctor Arnout wears 
 a superb wig." 
 
 " And why," said Fata, " is not a doctor who wears 
 a wig as good as a doctor who wears a cue ? " 
 
 " The question is the more delicate because you your- 
 self wear a wig, Monsieur Fata. But I will try to 
 explain myself without wounding the pride of anyone 
 whomsoever. Here is a doctor who has his head full of
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 95 
 
 knowledge, who has ransacked all the old medical 
 books ever written, who knows from what Greek 
 words come the five or six hundred diseases that afflict 
 our poor humanity. Well, if he has only a limited in- 
 telligence, I would not like to trust him to cure my 
 little finger ; I would give the preference to an intelli- 
 gent mountebank, for his science is a lantern that is not 
 lighted. It has been said: The value of the man 
 measures the value of his land; it would be quite 
 as true to say : The value of the man measures the 
 value of his knowledge ; and that is especially true of 
 medicine, which is a conjectural scieoce. There one 
 must divine causes by equivocal and uncertain effects. 
 The pulse that is dumb under the finger of a fool con- 
 fides marvellous secrets to the man of wit. Two things 
 above all are necessary to success in medicine, and these 
 two things are not to be acquired : they are perspicacity 
 and intelligence." 
 
 " You forget," said M. Minxit, laughing, " the cym- 
 bals and the bass drum." 
 
 " Oh," said Benjamin, " speaking of your bass 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," answered Benjamin. 
 
 " And on what instrument can your two protSgSs 
 play?" 
 
 " I do not know," said Benjamin ; " probably on any 
 instrument you like." 
 
 " At any rate we can have your old sergeant groom 
 my four horses until my music-master has familiarized
 
 96 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 him with some instrument or other, or else he shall 
 pound my drugs." 
 
 " 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; one would think that he 
 had spent his whole life in simply crossing and recross- 
 ing the equator ; you would take him for the good mail 
 Tropic in person ; besides, he is as dry as an old burnt 
 bone : we will give it out that from his body we ex- 
 tracted the grease of which we make our pomatum: 
 that will sell better than bear's grease ; or else we will 
 pass him off for an old Nubian of one hundred and 
 forty years, who has prolonged his days to this extraor- 
 dinary age by the use of an elixir of long life, the 
 secret of which he has transmitted to us in considera- 
 tion of a life pension. Now, we will sell this precious 
 elixir for the mere bagatelle of fifteen sous a bottle. 
 Then no one can afford to be without it." 
 
 "Thunder!" saidM. Minxit, "I see that you under- 
 stand the practice of medicine on the grand orchestra 
 plan ; send me your man as soon as you like ; I will 
 take him into my service, whether as a Nubian or as a 
 dried-up old man." 
 
 At this moment a domestic entered the dining-room 
 in a great fright, and told my uncle that a score of 
 women were tugging at his ass's tail, and that, 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 see how it is," said my uncle, bursting with 
 laughter : " they are pulling hairs from the Holy Vir- 
 gin's beast to keep as relics."
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 97 
 
 M. Minxit asked for an explanation of this allusion. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he cried, when my uncle had finished 
 his story, " we are impious men if we do not worship 
 Benjamin ; pastor, you must make a saint of him." 
 
 " I protest," said Benjamin ; " I do. not wish to go to 
 Paradise, for I should not meet any of you there." 
 
 " Yes, laugh, gentlemen," said my grandmother, after 
 having laughed herself; "but that doesn't make me 
 laugh ; Benjamin's practical jokes always end in some 
 such way; M. Durand will make us pay for his ass, 
 unless we restore the animal as we received it." 
 
 " At any rate," said my uncle, " he cannot make us 
 pay for more than the tail. Would a man who had cut 
 off my cue, and my cue may surely be said, without 
 flattering it, to be worth as much as the tail of M. 
 Durand's ass, be as guilty in the eyes of justice as if 
 he had killed me entirely ? " 
 
 " Certainly not," said M. Minxit, " and if you want 
 to know my opinion, I should not esteem you one obole 
 less." 
 
 Meanwhile the yard was filling with women who 
 maintained a respectful attitude, such as is maintained 
 around a too small chapel in which divine service is in 
 progress, and many of whom were kneeling. 
 
 " You will have to rid us of these people," said M. 
 Minxit to Benjamin. 
 
 " Nothing easier," answered the latter ; then he went 
 to the window and told the throng that they would 
 have plenty of time to see the Holy Virgin, that she 
 proposed to remain two days at M. Minxit's, and that 
 the next Sunday she would not fail to attend high mass. 
 On the strength of this assurance the people withdrew 
 satisfied.
 
 98 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 " Such, parishioners," said the priest, " do me little 
 honor ; I must tell them so on Sunday in my sermon. 
 How can any one be so limited in capacity as to take 
 the dirty tail of an ass for a sacred object ? " 
 
 "But, pastor," responded Benjamin, "you who are so 
 philosophical at table, have you not in your church two 
 or three bones as white as paper, which are under glass 
 and which you call the relics of Saint Maurice ? " 
 
 " Those are exhausted relics," said M. Minxit : " it is 
 more than fifty years since they worked miracles. My 
 friend the priest would do well to get rid of them and 
 sell them to be made into animal black. I would take 
 them myself to make album grsecum, if he would let 
 me have them at a reasonable price." 
 
 " What is album graecum ? " asked my grandmother, 
 innocently. 
 
 " Madame," answered M. Minxit, with a bow, " it is 
 Greek white : I regret that I cannot tell you more about 
 it." 
 
 " For my part," said the tabellion, a little old man in 
 a white wig, whose eye was full of mischief and vivac- 
 ity, "I do not reproach the pastor for the honorable 
 place which he has given in his church to the shin- 
 bones of Saint Maurice : Saint Maurice undoubtedly 
 had shin-bones when he was alive. Why should they 
 not be here as well as anywhere ? I am even astonished 
 at one thing, that the vestry does not possess our 
 patron saint's Hessian boots. But I could wish that 
 the pastor in his turn might be more tolerant and might 
 not rebuke his parishioners for their faith in the Wan- 
 dering Jew. Not to believe enough is as sure a sign of 
 ignorance as to believe too much."
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 99 
 
 " What ! " replied the priest quickly, " you, Monsieur 
 tabellion, you believe in the Wandering Jew?" 
 
 " Why, then, should I not believe in him as well as 
 in Saint Maurice ? " 
 
 "And you, Monsieur doctor," said he, addressing 
 Fata, "do you believe in the Wandering Jew?" 
 
 " Hum ! hum ! " said the latter, taking a huge pinch 
 of snuff. 
 
 " And you, respectable Monsieur Minxit "... 
 
 "I," interrupted M. Minxit, "agree with my cen- 
 tre" re, except that, instead of a pinch of snuff, I take a 
 glass of wine." 
 
 "You, at least, Monsieur Rathery, who pass for a 
 philosopher, I really hope that you do not honor the 
 Wandering Jew with belief in his eternal peregrina 
 tions." 
 
 " Why not ? " said my uncle ; " you believe in Jesus 
 Christ." 
 
 "Oh! that's different," answered the priest, "I be- 
 lieve in Jesus Christ because neither his existence nor 
 his divinity can be called in question; because the 
 evangelists who have written his history are men 
 worthy of faith ; because they could not have been mis- 
 taken; because they had no motive to deceive their 
 neighbor, and because, even if they had desired it, the 
 fraud could not have been carried out. 
 
 " If the facts recorded by them were manufactured, if 
 the Gospel were, like ' Teldmaque,' only a sort of philo- 
 sophical and religious novel, on the appearance of 
 that fatal book which was to spread trouble and division 
 over the surface of the earth; which was to separate 
 husband from wife, children from their fathers ; which
 
 100 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 rehabilitated poverty ; which made the slave the equal 
 of the master ; which conflicted with all received ideas : 
 which honored everything that up to that time had 
 been received, and threw as rubbish into the fire of hell 
 everything that had been honored; which overturned 
 the old religion of the Pagans, and on its ruins estab- 
 lished, in the place of altars, the gibbet of a poor car- 
 penter's son "... 
 
 "Monsieur priest," said M. Minxit, "your period is 
 too long ; you must cut it with a glass of wine." 
 
 The priest, having drunk a glass of wine, continued : 
 
 " On the appearance of that book, I say, the Pagans 
 would have uttered an immense cry of protest, and the 
 Jews, whom it accused of the greatest crime that a 
 people can commit, a deicide, would have followed it 
 with their eternal denunciations." 
 
 " But," said my uncle, " the Wandering Jew is sup- 
 ported by an authority no less powerful than that of 
 the Gospel, the lament of the bourgeois of Brussels in 
 Brabant, who met him at the gates of the city and 
 regaled him with a pot of fresh beer. 
 
 " The evangelists are men worthy of faith ; grant it. 
 But in fact, inspiration aside, what were these evangel- 
 ists ? Tramps, men who had neither fire nor shelter, 
 who paid no taxes, and whom the authorities to-day 
 would prosecute as vagabonds. The bourgeois of Brus- 
 sels, on the contrary, were established men, house- 
 holders; several, I am sure v were syndics or church- 
 wardens. If the evangelists and the Brussels bourgeois 
 could have a discussion before the bailiff, I am very sure 
 that the magistrate would defer to the oath of the 
 Brussels bourgeois.
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 101 
 
 "The Brussels bourgeois could not have been mis- 
 taken ; for a bourgeois is not a puppet, a man of ginger- 
 bread, and it is no more difficult to distinguish a man 
 over seventeen hundred years old from a modern than 
 to distinguish an ordinary old man from a child of five. 
 
 u The Brussels bourgeois had no motive to deceive 
 their fellow-citizens : it was of little importance to 
 them whether there was or was not a man who travels 
 on forever; and what honor could they derive from 
 sitting at table in a brewery with the superlative of 
 vagabonds, with one of the damned, so to speak, a hun- 
 dred times more despicable than a galley-slave, to 
 whom I myself would not like to take off my hat, and 
 from having drunk fresh beer with him ? Arid, looking 
 at the matter rightly, they even acted, in publishing 
 their lament, rather against their interest than for it ; 
 for that bit of poetry is not calculated to give a high 
 opinion of their poetic value. And the tailor Millot- 
 Rataut, whose ' Grand Noel ' I have many a time sur- 
 prised around a bit of Brie cheese, is a Virgil in com- 
 parison with them. 
 
 " The Brussels bourgeois could not have deceived their 
 fellow-citizens, even had they wished to do so. If the 
 facts celebrated in their lament were manufactured, on 
 the appearance of that document the inhabitants of 
 Brussels would have protested ; the police would have 
 consulted their registers to see if a certain Isaac Laque- 
 dem had spent such a day in Brussels, and they would 
 have protested. The shoemakers, whose venerable 
 brotherhood has been forever dishonored by the brutal 
 conduct of the Wandering Jew, himself a knight of the 
 \awl, would not have failed to protest ; in short, there
 
 102 MY TTNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 would have been a concert of protests sufficient to 
 crumble the towers of the capital of Brabant. 
 
 " Besides, in the matter of credibility, the lament of 
 the Wandering Jew has notable advantages over the 
 Gospel ; it did not fall from heaven like a meteoric 
 stone ; it has a precise date. The first copy was de- 
 posited in the royal library, well and duly signed with 
 the name of the printer and the street and number 
 of his domicile. The lament of Brussels is accom- 
 panied by a portrait of the Wandering Jew in a three- 
 cornered hat, polonaise coat, Hessian boots, and carry- 
 ing a huge cane ; no medallion, however, has come 
 down to us bearing the effigy of Jesus Christ. The 
 lament of the Wandering Jew was written in an en- 
 lightened, investigating century, more disposed to 
 shorten its creed than to lengthen it ; the Gospel, on 
 the contrary, appeared suddenly like a torch, lighted 
 no one knows by whom, amid the darkness of a century 
 given over to gross superstitions, and among a people 
 plunged in the deepest ignorance, and whose history is 
 only a long series of acts of superstition and bar- 
 barism." 
 
 " Permit me*, Monsieur Benjamin," said the notary ; 
 " you have said that the Brussels bourgeois could not 
 have been mistaken as to the identity of the Wandering 
 Jew ; yet the inhabitants of Moulot took you this morn- 
 ing for the Wandering Jew ; you yourself, in that ca- 
 pacity, have worked an authentic miracle in presence 
 of the entire people of Moulot; your demonstration 
 fails therefore in one point, and your rules regarding 
 historical certainty are not infallible." 
 
 " The objection is a strong one," said Benjamin,
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 103 
 
 scratching his head ; " I admit that it is impossible for 
 me to answer it; but it applies as well to Monsieur's 
 Jesus Christ as to my Wandering Jew." 
 
 "But," interrupted my grandmother, who always 
 wanted to come down to facts, " I hope that you believe 
 in Jesus Christ, Benjamin ? " 
 
 "Undoubtedly, my dear sister, I believe in Jesus 
 Christ. I believe in him the more firmly because with- 
 out believing in the divinity of Jesus Christ one cannot 
 believe in the existence of God, as 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, to explain myself more clearly, 
 shall I tell you how I view the Wandering Jew ? 
 
 " The Wandering Jew is the effigy of the Jewish 
 people, sketched by some unknown poet of the people, 
 on the walls of a cottage. This myth is so striking that 
 only a blind man could fail to recognize it. 
 
 " The Wandering Jew has no roof, no fireside, no 
 legal and political domicile : the Jewish people have no 
 country. 
 
 " The Wandering Jew is obliged to travel on without 
 rest, without stopping, without taking breath, which 
 must be very fatiguing to him with his Hessian boots. 
 He has already been seven times around the world. 
 The Jewish people are not firmly established anywhere ; 
 everywhere they live in tents ; they go and come in- 
 cessantly like the waves of the ocean, and they too, like 
 I foam floating on the surface of the nations, like a straw 
 \ borne by the current of civilization, have already been 
 many times around the world. 
 
 "The Wandering Jew always has five sous in his
 
 104 MY TJNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 pocket. The Jewish people, continually ruined by the 
 exactions of the feudal nobility and by the confiscations 
 of the kings, always came back to a prosperous condi- 
 tion, as a cork reascends from the bottom to the surface 
 of the water. Their wealth sprang up of itself. 
 
 "The Wandering Jew can spend only five sous at 
 a time. The Jewish people, obliged to conceal their 
 wealth, have become stingy and parsimonious; they 
 spend little. 
 
 " The torment of the Wandering Jew will last for- 
 ever. The Jewish people can no more reunite as a 
 national body than the ashes of an oak struck by light- 
 ning can reunite as a tree. They are scattered over the 
 surface of the earth until the centuries shall be no more. 
 
 " To speak seriously, it is doubtless a superstition to 
 believe in the Wandering Jew, but I will say to you as 
 it is said in the Gospel: let him who is free from all 
 superstition cast the first sarcasm at the inhabitants of 
 Moulot. The fact is that we are all superstitious, some 
 more, others less, and often he who has a wen on his 
 ear as big as a potato makes sport of him who has a 
 wart on his chin. 
 
 "There are not two Christians who have the same 
 beliefs, who admit and reject the same things. One 
 fasts on Friday and does not go to church on Sunday; 
 another goes to church on Sunday and eats meat on Fri- 
 day. This lady mocks at Friday and Sunday alike, and 
 would consider herself damned if she should be married 
 outside of a church. 
 
 "Let religion be a beast with seven horns. He 
 who believes only in six of its horns mocks at him who 
 believes in the seventh ; he who grants it but five horns
 
 MY UKCLE BENJAMIN. 105 
 
 mocks at him who recognizes six. Then comes the 
 deist who mocks at all who believe that religion has 
 horns, and finally passes the atheist who mocks at all 
 the others, and yet the atheist believes in Cagliostro 
 and consults the fortune-tellers. In short, there is 
 only one man who is not superstitious, namely, he 
 who believes only in that which is demonstrated." 
 
 It was dark and more than dark when my grand- 
 mother declared that she wished to start. 
 
 " I will let Benjamin go only on one condition," said 
 M. Minxit, "that he promises me to take part on Sun- 
 day in a grand hunting party which I decree in his 
 honor: he must become familiar with his woods and 
 the hares within them." 
 
 " But," said my uncle, " I do not know the first ele- 
 ments of hunting. I could readily distinguish a hare 
 stew from a stewed rabbit, but may Millot-Rataut sing 
 me his ' Grand Noel ' if I am capable of distinguishing a 
 hare on the run from a running rabbit." 
 
 " 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, Monsieur Minxit, that I shall do some- 
 thing awful ; I shall kill one of your musicians." 
 
 " Oh ! be careful not to do that, at least ; I should 
 have to pay his bereaved family more than he is worth. 
 But, to avoid any accident, you shall hunt with your 
 sword." 
 
 "Well, I promise," said my uncle. 
 
 And thereupon he took his leave of M. Minxit, accom- 
 panied by his dear sister. 
 
 " Do you know," said Benjamin to my grandmother
 
 106 MY TJNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 when they were on their way home, " that I would 
 rather marry M. Minxit than his daughter?" 
 
 " One should desire only what he can have, and 
 whatever one can have he should desire," answered 
 my grandmother, dryly. 
 
 "But" . . . 
 
 "But . . . look out for the ass, and do not prick 
 him with your sword, as you did this morning ; that is 
 all I ask of you." 
 
 "You are out of sorts, my sister; I should like to 
 know why." 
 
 " Well, I will tell you ; because you drank too much, 
 debated too much, and did not say a word to Mile. 
 Arabelle. Now, leave me in peace."
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 HOW MY UNCLE KISSED A MAEQUIS. 
 
 THE following Saturday my uncle slept at Corvol. 
 
 They started the next morning at sunrise. M. 
 Minxit was accompanied by all his people and several 
 friends, among whom was his confrere Fata. It was 
 one of those splendid days that gloomy winter, like a 
 smiling jailer, occasionally gives the earth; February 
 seemed to have borrowed its sun from the month of 
 April ; the sky was clear, and the South wind filled the 
 atmosphere with a soft warmth ; the river was steaming 
 in the distance among the willows ; the white frost of 
 the morning hung in little drops from the branches of 
 the bushes ; the little shepherds were singing in the 
 meadows for the first time in the year, and the brooks 
 that ran 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 pass under the wet branches of the woods ? " 
 
 " I don't care to, my confrere," said the latter. " If 
 you will come to. my house, I will show you a four- 
 headed child which I have sealed in a bottle. M. 
 Minxit offers me three hundred francs for it." 
 
 " You will do well to let him have it," said my uncle, 
 " and put some currant wine in its place." 
 
 Nevertheless, as he had a good pair of legs, and as it 
 was only two short leagues from there to Varzy, he 
 decided to follow his confrere. So Fata and he left the
 
 108 MY tTKCLE BEKJAMTtf. 
 
 main body of the huntsmen, and plunged into a cross- 
 path that ran through the meadow. Soon they found 
 themselves opposite Saint-Pierre du Mont. Now, Saint- 
 Pierre du Mont is a big hill situated on the road from 
 Clamecy to Varzy. At its base it is surrounded with 
 meadows and streaming with water-courses, but at its 
 summit it is shorn and bare. You would take it for a 
 huge ball of earth raised on the plain by a gigantic 
 mole. On its bare and scurvy cranium there was then 
 the remnant of a feudal castle ; to-day that is replaced 
 by an elegant country-house, in which a cattle-raiser 
 lives, for thus it is that the works of man, like those of 
 nature, insensibly decompose and recompose. 
 
 The walls of the castle were dismantled and its bat- 
 tlements toothless in many spots ; the towers seemed to 
 have been broken off in the middle, and they were 
 reduced to the condition of trunks; its moats, half 
 dried up, were encumbered by tall grasses and a forest 
 of reeds, and its drawbridge had given place to a stone 
 bridge ; the sinister shadow of this old feudal ruin sad- 
 dened the entire neighborhood ; the cottages had moved 
 back from it : some had gone to the neighboring hill to 
 form the village of Flez, while others had gone down 
 into the valley and grouped themselves as a hamlet 
 along the road. 
 
 The master of this old establishment at that time was 
 a certain Marquis de Cambyse. M. de Cambyse was 
 tall, stout, heavily built, and had a giant's strength. 
 You would have thought him an old suit of armour 
 made of flesh. He was of a violent, passionate, exces- 
 sively irascible nature, and was moreover spoiled by his 
 nobility, and imagined that the Cambyse family was a 
 work unparalleled in creation.
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 109 
 
 At one time he had been an officer of musketeers, of 
 I know not what color ; but he was ill at ease at court, 
 his will there was repressed, his violence could not give 
 itself vent, and moreover he was stifled amid that dust 
 of country squires which sparkled and whirled around 
 the throne. He had returned to his estate, and lived 
 there like a little monarch. Time had taken away one 
 by one the old privileges of the nobility; but he had 
 actually kept them, and exercised them to the full. He 
 was still absolute master, not only of his domains, but 
 also of all the country round about. Barring the 
 buckler, he was a veritable feudal lord. He cudgelled 
 the peasants, took their wives from them when they 
 were pretty, invaded their lands with his hounds, tram- 
 pled their crops under the feet of his valets, and sub- 
 jected to a thousand annoyances the bourgeois who 
 allowed themselves to meet him in the vicinity of his 
 mountain. 
 
 He practised despotism and violence from caprice, for 
 entertainment, and especially through pride. In order 
 to be the most eminent personage in the vicinity, he 
 wished to be the wickedest. He knew no better way of 
 showing his superiority to people than to oppress them. 
 To be famous he made himself wicked. Except in size, 
 he was like the flea who cannot make you aware of his 
 presence among your bed-clothes except by pricking 
 you. Although rich, he had creditors. But he made it 
 a point of honor not to pay them. Such was the terror 
 of his name that you could not have found a sheriff's 
 officer in the country willing to serve a paper on him. 
 A single one, father Ballivet, had dared to serve a writ 
 on him with his own hand and speaking in his own
 
 110 MY tmCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 pei-son, but he had risked his life in doing it. Honor 
 then to generous father Ballivet, the royal process- 
 server, who served writs everywhere and two leagues 
 beyond, as the wags of the neighborhood said in order 
 to dim the glory of this great process-server. 
 
 This was how he managed it. He wrapped his docu- 
 ment in a half-dozen envelopes treacherously sealed, and 
 presented it to M. de Cambyse as a package coming 
 from the castle of Vilaine. While the Marquis was 
 unwrapping the document, he ran away noiselessly, 
 reached the main gate, and mounted his horse, which 
 he had fastened to a tree at some distance from the 
 castle. When the Marquis found out what the pack- 
 age contained, furious at having been the dupe of a 
 process-server, he ordered his domestics to follow in his 
 tracks ; but father Ballivet was beyond their reach, and 
 mocked at them with a gesture which I cannot repro- 
 duce here. 
 
 Moreover, M. de Cambyse felt scarcely greater scru- 
 ple about discharging his gun at a peasant than at a fox. 
 He had already maimed two or three, who were known 
 in the neighborhood as the cripples of M. de Cambyse, 
 and several quasi-notable inhabitants of Clamecy had 
 been the victims of his wicked practical jokes. Although 
 he was not yet very old, there had already been in the 
 life of this honorable lord enough bloody tricks to en- 
 title him to two life-sentences ; but his family stood 
 well at court, and the protection of his noble relatives 
 secured him against prosecution. And in fact each one 
 takes his pleasure where he finds it. The good King 
 Louis XV., while engaged in such gentle and merry 
 sports at Versailles, and while giving parties to the
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. Ill 
 
 gentlemen of his court, did not wish his gentlemen in 
 the provinces to grow weaiy on their estates, and he 
 would have been very much vexed had there been any 
 lack of peasants for them to whip until they howled or 
 of bourgeois for them to insult. Louis, called the Well- 
 Beloved, was determined to deserve the love that his 
 subjects had awarded him. So then it is understood 
 that the Marquis de Cambyse was as inviolable as a 
 constitutional king, and that for him there was neither 
 justice nor marshalsea. 
 
 Benjamin was fond of declaiming against M. de 
 Cambyse. He called him the Gessler of the neighbor- 
 hood, and had often manifested a desire to find himself 
 face to face with this man. His wishes were fulfilled 
 only too soon, as you will now see. 
 
 My uncle, in his capacity of philosopher, stood in 
 contemplation before the old battlements, black and 
 notched, that rent the azure of the sky. 
 
 " Monsieur Rathery," said his confrere to him, pull- 
 ing him by the sleeve, " it does no one any good to stay 
 around this castle, I warn you." 
 
 "What, Monsieur Fata, you too are afraid of a Mar- 
 quis ? " 
 
 "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 course to his indignation ; " there are three 
 hundred common people against one gentleman, and 
 they allow the gentleman to walk over their bellies. 
 Furthermore, they flatten themselves as much as they 
 can for fear this noble personage may stumble ! " 
 
 "What do you expect, M. Rathery, against force?"
 
 112 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 "But it is you who have the force, poor fellow! 
 You resemble the ox who lets a child lead him from 
 his green meadow to the slaughter-house. Oh, the 
 people are cowards, cowards ! I say it with bitterness, 
 as a mother says that her child has a wicked heart. 
 They always abandon to the executioner those who 
 have sacrificed themselves for them, and, if a rope is 
 lacking with which to hang them, they undertake to 
 furnish it. Two thousand years have passed over the 
 ashes of the Gracchi, and seventeen hundred and fifty 
 years over the gibbet of Jesus Christ, and they are still 
 the same people. They sometimes have spurts of cour- 
 age, and fire issues from their mouths and nostrils ; 
 but slavery is their normal condition, and they always 
 return to it, as a tamed canary always returns to 
 its cage. You watch the passing of the torrent 
 swollen by a sudden storm, and you take it for a 
 river. You pass again the next day, and you find noth- 
 ing but a sheepish thread of water hiding under the 
 grasses of its banks, and which has left, from its pas- 
 sage of the day before, only a few straws on the 
 branches of the bushes. They 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 icy surface of a lake." 
 
 Just at that moment a man dressed in a rich hunting 
 costume crossed the road, followed by barking dogs and 
 a long train of valets. Fata turned pale. 
 
 " M. de Cambyse," said he to my uncle ; and he 
 bowed profoundly ; but Benjamin stood straight and 
 covered like a Spanish grandee. 
 
 Now, nothing was more calculated to offend the terri-
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 113 
 
 ble Marquis than the presumption of this villein who 
 refused him the ordinary homage on the verge 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 gentle- 
 man's air, " why do you not salute me ? " 
 
 " And you," answered my uncle, surveying him from 
 head to foot with his gray eye, "why did you not 
 salute me ? " 
 
 " Do you not know that I am the Marquis de Cam- 
 byse, lord of all this country ? " 
 
 " And are you ignorant of the fact that I am Benja- 
 min Rathery, doctor of medicine, of Clamecy ? " 
 
 " Really," said the Marquis, " so you are a saw- 
 bones ? I congratulate you upon it ; it is a fine title 
 that you have." 
 
 "It is as good a title as yours ! To acquire it, I had 
 to follow long and serious studies. But what did that 
 de which you put before your name cost you? The 
 king can make twenty marquises a day, but I defy 
 him, with all his power, to make a doctor ; a doctor has 
 his usefulness ; later perhaps you will recognize it ; 
 but what is a marquis good for?" 
 
 The Marquis de Cambyse had breakfasted well that 
 morning. He was in good humor. 
 
 " Well," said he to his steward, " this is an original 
 wag ; 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, Monsieur," said the doctor, 
 making a second genuflection. 
 
 "Fata," said my uncle, "you are a poltroon; I sus-
 
 114 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 pected as much ; but you shall account to me for this 
 conduct." 
 
 " So," said the Marquis to Fata, " you are acquainted 
 with this man ? " 
 
 "Very slightly, Monsieur Marquis, I swear it: I 
 know him only from having dined with him at M. 
 Minxit's; but from the moment that he fails in the 
 respect that he owes to 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 queer fellow Minxit? " 
 
 "Oh, by chance, Monseigneur, one day when I was 
 passing through Corvol. I know very well that this 
 Minxit is not a man to associate with; he is a hare- 
 brained fellow, a man spoiled by his wealth, and who 
 thinks himself as good as a gentleman. Hi ! hi ! who 
 gave me that kick from behind? " 
 
 "I did," said Benjamin, "in behalf of Monsieur 
 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 not saluting me ? " 
 
 "If you salute me first, I will salute you second," 
 said Benjamin. 
 
 " And that is your last word ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You have carefully considered what you are do- 
 ing?" 
 
 " Listen," said my uncle : " I wish to show deference 
 for your title, and to prove to you how accommodating 
 I am in everything that concerns etiquette."
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 115 
 
 Then he took a coin from his pocket, and, tossing it 
 in the air, said to the Marquis : 
 
 "Heads or tails? Gentleman or doctor, he whom 
 fortune shall designate shall be the first to salute, and 
 from this there shall be no appeal." 
 
 " Insolent fellow," said the fat, chub-faced steward, 
 " do you not see that you are most scandalously lacking 
 in respect to Monseigneur. If I were in his place, I 
 would have beaten you long ago." 
 
 " My friend," answered Benjamin, " attend to your 
 figures. Your lord pays you to rob him, not to give 
 him advice." 
 
 Just then a game-keeper passed behind my uncle, and 
 with the back of his hand knocked off his three-cornered 
 hat, which fell in the mud. Benjamin had extraor- 
 dinary muscular strength: as he turned round, there 
 was still on the game-keeper's lips the broad smile 
 which his trick had excited. My uncle, with one blow 
 of his iron fist, sent the man head over heels, half into 
 the ditch, half into the hedge that lined the road. The 
 man's comrades wanted to extricate him from the am- 
 phibious position in which he thus found himself, but 
 M. de Cambyse would not allow it. " The rogue must 
 learn," said he, " that the right of insolence does not 
 belong to common people." 
 
 Really I do not understand why my uncle, generally 
 so philosophical, did not yield with good grace to ne- 
 cessity. 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 sway 
 of force, our free will is gone ; it is no longer an act 
 performed, it is a result produced. We are nothing but
 
 11(5 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. * 
 
 a machine that is not responsible for its acts ; the man 
 who does us violence is the only one who can be re- 
 proached for whatever is shameful or guilty in our 
 action. Consequently I have always looked upon the 
 invincible resistance of martyrs to their persecutors as 
 an obstinacy scarcely worthy of being canonized. You 
 wish, Antiochus, to throw me into boiling oil, if I refuse 
 to eat pork ? I must first call your attention to the fact 
 that we do not fry a man as we do a gudgeon ; but, if 
 you persist in your demands, I eat your stew, and I even 
 eat it with pleasure if it is well-cooked ; for to you, to 
 you alone, Antiochus, will the digestion be dangerous. 
 You, Monsieur de Cambyse, you demand, with your gun 
 levelled at my breast, that I salute you ? Well, Mar- 
 quis, I have the honor to salute you. I know very well 
 that after this formality you will be worth no more and 
 I no less. There is only one case in which we ought, 
 whatever may happen, to stand up against force, and 
 that is when they try to make us commit an act prejudi- 
 cial to the nation, for we have no right to set our per- 
 sonal interest before the public interest. 
 
 But then, such was not the opinion of my uncle. As 
 he stood firm in his refusal, M. de Cambyse had him 
 seized by his valets and ordered them to return to the 
 castle. Benjamin, pulled in front and pushed behind, 
 and entangled with his sword, protested nevertheless 
 with all his might against the violence to which they 
 subjected him, and still found a way to distribute a few 
 blows right and left. There were some peasants at 
 work in the neighboring fields : my uncle appealed to 
 them for help ; but they were careful not to allow the 
 justice of his appeals, and even laughed at his martyr- 
 dom in order to toady to the Marquis.
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 117 
 
 When they had reached the castle yard, M. de Cam- 
 byse 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 he 
 began with this man a semblance of deliberation as to 
 the fate of my poor uncle. He, in presence of this 
 parody of justice, maintained a steadily firm attitude, 
 and even kept his scornful and jeering air. 
 
 The worthy steward favored twenty-five lashes and 
 forty-eight hours in the old dungeon ; but the Marquis 
 was in good humor, and even seemed to be slightly 
 under the influence of wine. 
 
 " Have you anything to say in your defence ? " said 
 he to Benjamin. 
 
 "Come with me," answered the latter, "with your 
 sword, to a distance of thirty paces from your castle, 
 and I will acquaint you with my methods of defence." 
 
 Then the Marquis rose and said : 
 
 " Justice, after having deliberated, condemns the in- 
 dividual here present to kiss Monsieur the Marquis de 
 Cambj'se, lord of all this neighborhood, ex-lieutenant 
 of musketeers, master of the wolf-hounds of the baili- 
 wick of Clamecy, etc., etc., etc., in a spot which my 
 aforesaid Lord de Cambyse is about to make known 
 to him." 
 
 And at the same time he lowered his breeches. The 
 flunkeys understood his intention, and began to ap- 
 plaud with all their might and to cry : " Long live the 
 Marquis de Cambyse ! " 
 
 As for my poor uncle, he roared with fury ; he said 
 later that he feared a stroke of apoplexy at the time. 
 Two game-keepers stood with guns levelled, and they
 
 118 MY TTtfCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 had received an order from the Marquis to fire at his 
 first signal. 
 
 " One, two," said the latter. 
 
 Benjamin knew that the Marquis was a man to exe- 
 cute his threat, he did not wish to run the risk of a gun- 
 shot, and ... a few seconds later the justice of the 
 Marquis was satisfied. 
 
 " All right," 'said M. de Cambyse, " I am content 
 with you ; now you can boast of having kissed a Mar- 
 quis." 
 
 He had him escorted by two armed game-keepers to 
 the carriage entrance. Benjamin fled like a dog to 
 whose tail a mischievous urchin has fastened a tin can ; 
 as he was on the road to Corvol, he did not give him- 
 self time to change his direction, and went straight to 
 M. Minxit's.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 M. MINXIT PREPARES FOB WAR. 
 
 Now, M. MINXIT had been informed, I know not by 
 whom, by rumor doubtless, which meddles with every- 
 thing, that Benjamin was held a prisoner at Saint- 
 Pierre du Mont ; he knew no better way of delivering 
 his friend than to take the castle of the Marquis by 
 assault and then level it to the ground. Let those who 
 laugh find me in history a war more just. Where the 
 government does not know how to make the laws re- 
 spected, the citizens must do justice themselves. 
 
 M. Minxit's yard resembled a camp-ground ; the mu- 
 sicians, on horseback and armed with guns of all sorts, 
 were already arranged in line of battle ; the old ser- 
 geant, who had lately entered the doctor's service, had 
 taken command of this picked body. From the middle 
 of the ranks rose a large flag made out of a window- 
 curtain, on which M. Minxit had inscribed in printed 
 letters, that no one might fail to see them : THE LIB- 
 ERTY OF BENJAMIN OR THE EARS OF M. DE CAMBYSE. 
 This was his ultimatum. 
 
 In the second line came the infantry, represented by 
 five or six farm-hands carrying their picks on their 
 shoulders, and four slaters of the neighborhood each 
 equipped with his ladder. 
 
 The barouche represented the baggage ; it was loaded 
 with fagots with which to fill up the moats of the castle, 
 which time itself had filled in several places. But
 
 120 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 M. Minxit was bound to do things regularly; he had 
 taken the further precaution of putting his case of 
 instruments and a big flask of rum in one of the pockets 
 of the carriage. 
 
 The warlike doctor, with feathers in his hat and a 
 naked sword in his hand, wheeled about his troops and 
 hastened the preparations for departure with a voice of 
 thunder. 
 
 It is customary for an army, before entering on a 
 campaign, to be harangued. M. Minxit was not a man 
 to fail in this formality. Now, this is what he said to 
 the 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 engraved in the 
 temple of glory, etc., etc., etc., because these phrases 
 are the empty and barren seeds thrown to nincompoops ; 
 but this is what I have to say : 
 
 " In all wars soldiers fight for the benefit of the sov- 
 ereign ; generally they have not even the advantage of 
 knowing why they die ; but you are going to fight in 
 your own interest and in the interest of your wives and 
 children, those of you who have any. M. Benjamin, 
 whom you all have the honor 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 on 
 account of the dangers which you are to incur on his 
 account, 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 also 
 will result in the deliverance of the country from a
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 121 
 
 tyrant who oppresses it, who crushes your wheat, who 
 beats you when he meets you, and who behaves very 
 badly with your wives. One good reason is enough to 
 make a Frenchman fight courageously ; you have two : 
 then 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 
 come in through a back gate, as became a conquered 
 man. " That was a well-prepared harangue ; if you 
 had delivered it in Latin, I should have thought that 
 you pillaged it from Titus Livius." 
 
 At sight of my uncle a general hurrah went up from 
 the army. M. Minxit gave the order " Place rest ! " 
 and took Benjamin into his dining-room. The latter 
 gave an account of his adventures in the most circum- 
 stantial manner, and with a fidelity that statesmen do 
 not always show in writing their memoirs. 
 
 M. Minxit was horribly exasperated 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 : you shall 
 take command of the army, and we will march against 
 Cambyse's castle; where its turrets were, nettles and 
 quitch-grass shall grow." 
 
 " If you say so," said my uncle, " we will level even 
 the mountain of Saint-Pierre du Mont; but, saving the 
 respect 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
 
 122 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 his lackeys plunged in wine and sleep, as Virgil says ; 
 and they will all have to kiss us." 
 
 "That's 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 ! how 
 you go on ! 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 have 
 time to finish themselves, while I am taking my re- 
 freshment." 
 
 Fortunately for the castle of the Marquis, lawyer 
 Page, who was returning from a legal examination, 
 came to ask permission to dine at M. Minxit's. 
 
 "You arrive opportunely, Monsieur Page," said the 
 warlike doctor ; " I am going to enroll you in our ex- 
 pedition." 
 
 " What expedition ? " said Page, who had not studied 
 the right to make war. 
 
 Then my uncle related his adventure and the way in 
 which he proposed to avenge himself. 
 
 " Take care," said lawyer Page ; " the thing is more 
 serious than you think. In the first place, as to suc- 
 cess, how do you hope with seven or eight cripples to 
 overcome a garrison of thirty domestics commanded by 
 a lieutenant of musketeers ? " 
 
 " Twenty men and all valid, Monsieur attorney," said 
 M. Minxit.
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 123 
 
 "Very well," said lawyer Page, coldly; "but the 
 castle of M. de Cambyse is surrounded by walls ; will 
 those walls tumble, like those of Jericho, at the sound 
 of cymbals and bass-drum? Suppose, however, that 
 you take the castle of the Marquis by assault : it un- 
 doubtedly will be a fine feat of arms ; but this exploit 
 is not calculated to win for you the cross of Saint Louis ; 
 where you see only a good bit of fun and legitimate 
 reprisals, justice will see a case of breaking and enter- 
 ing, a scaling of walls, a violation of domicile, a night 
 attack, and all these, furthermore, against a Marquis. 
 The least of these things involves the penalty of the 
 galleys, I warn you ; you will be obliged therefore after 
 your victory to make up your mind to leave the country, 
 and that to what end ? Simply to force a Marquis to 
 kiss you. 
 
 "When one can avenge himself without risk and 
 without damage, I admit vengeance ; but to avenge 
 one's self to one's own detriment is a ridiculous thing, 
 an act of folly. You say, Benjamin, that you have been 
 insulted; but what is an insult? Almost always an 
 act of brutality committed by the stronger to the preju- 
 dice of the weaker. Now, how can another's brutality 
 damage your honor ? Is it your fault if this man is a 
 miserable savage, who knows no other right than might ? 
 Are you responsible 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 single 
 combat, like that of the poodle of Montargis with the 
 assassin of his master ? If the insult dishonors anyone, 
 it is the insulting party : all honest people are on the
 
 124 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 side of the insulted. When a butcher maltreats a sheep, 
 tell me, are we indignant at the sheep ? 
 
 "If the evil that 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 yourself new 
 cruelties ; if, on the contrary, you are the stronger, you 
 have still to take the trouble to fight your adversary. 
 Thus the man who avenges himself always plays the 
 rdle of a dupe. The precept of Jesus Christ Avhich tells 
 us to forgive those who have offended us is not only a 
 fine moral precept, but also sensible advice. From all 
 which I conclude that you will do well, my dear Ben- 
 jamin, to forget the honor that the Marquis has done 
 you, and to drink with us until night to drown this 
 recollection." 
 
 "For my part, I am not at all of cousin Page's 
 opinion. It is always pleasant and sometimes useful 
 to loyally return the evil that has been done us : it is 
 a lesson that we give to the wicked. It is good that 
 they should know that it is at their own risk and peril 
 that they abandon themselves to their mischievous in- 
 stincts. To leave undisturbed the viper that has bitten 
 you 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 done to society. Though Jesus 
 Christ said : ' Forgive your enemies,' Saint Peter cut off 
 Malchus's ear ; these things compensate each other." 
 
 My uncle was as obstinate as if he had been the son 
 of a horse and an ass, and 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 you will
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 125 
 
 do very well to put your sword back in the scabbard 
 and your plumed hat in its box. One should make war 
 only for extremely serious reasons, and the king who 
 unnecessarily drags a part of his people to those vast 
 slaughter-houses known as battle-fields is an assassin. 
 Perhaps you would be flattered, Monsieur Minxit, to 
 take rank 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 sol- 
 dier, children led away captive, casks of wine staved in 
 in the cellars. Have you not read Fe'nelon, Monsieur 
 Minxit? All these things are atrocious, and I shudder 
 at the very thought of them." 
 
 "What are you talking about?" answered Monsieur 
 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 so willing to fall of 
 themselves? Believe me, restore peace to this beautiful 
 country ; I should be a coward and a wretch if I should 
 suffer you, in order to avenge an injury wholly personal 
 to myself, to expose yourself to the manifold dangers 
 that must result from our expedition." 
 
 "But I too," said M. Minxit, "have some personal 
 injuries to avenge on this country squire ; he once sent 
 me, out of derision, a horse's urine to consult for human 
 urine." 
 
 "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 daugh- 
 ter, of your dear Arabelle: what pleasure would she 
 take in making such good cream cheeses, if you were 
 no longer here to eat them?"
 
 126 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 This appeal to the paternal feelings of the old doctor 
 had its effect. 
 
 "At least," said he, "you promise me 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 
 honor is concerned, we are as one man instead of two." 
 
 "Oh! rest easy as to that, Monsieur Minxit, I shall 
 always have an eye open for the Marquis. I shall 
 watch him with the patient attention of a cat that 
 watches 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 else I will beat him 
 to my satisfaction. I cannot swear, like the old knights, 
 to let my beard grow or to eat hard bread until I have 
 avenged myself, because one of these things would not 
 be fitting in our profession and the other is contrary to 
 my temperament ; but I swear not to 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; you 
 must, on the contrary, marry my daughter ; you will 
 avenge yourself as well afterward as before." 
 
 "Do you think so, Monsieur Minxit? From the 
 moment that I must fight to the death with the Marquis, 
 my life no longer belongs to me ; I cannot allow my- 
 self to marry your daughter, simply perhaps to leave 
 her a widow on the day after her wedding." 
 
 The good doctor tried to shake my uncle's resolution, 
 but, seeing that he could not succeed, he decided to go 
 change his costume and disband his army. Thus ended 
 this great expedition, which cost humanity little blood, 
 but M. Minxit much wine.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 HOW MY UNCLB MADE THE MARQUIS KISS HIM. 
 
 BENJAMIN had slept at Corvol. 
 
 The next day, as he was leaving the house with 
 M. Minxit, the first person whom they saw was Fata. 
 The latter, who did not feel 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 approached my uncle. 
 
 " How do you do, Monsieur Rathery ? How is your 
 health, honorable Monsieur Minxit ? Well, Monsieur 
 Benjamin, how did you get out of your difficulty with 
 our Gessler? I was terribly afraid that he might serve 
 you a bad trick, and I did not close my eyes all night." 
 
 "Fata," said M. Minxit, "keep your obsequiousness 
 for the Marquis when you shall meet him. Is it true 
 that you told M. de Cambyse that you no longer know 
 Benjamin ? " 
 
 "I do not remember that, my good Monsieur 
 Minxit." 
 
 "Is it true that you told the same Marquis that I 
 was not a man to associate with?" 
 
 "I could not have said that, my dear Monsieur 
 Minxit ; you know how much I esteem you, my friend." 
 
 "I affirm on my honor that he said both those 
 things," said my uncle, with the icy sang-froid of a 
 judge.
 
 128 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 " Very well," said M. Minxit ; " then we will settle 
 his account." 
 
 "Fata," said Benjamin, "I warn you that M. Miuxit 
 desires to flog you. Here, then, is my switch ; for the 
 honor of the profession, defend yourself; a doctor 
 cannot allow himself to be beaten like an ass." 
 
 " The law is on my side," said Fata ; " if he strikes 
 me, every blow will cost him dear." 
 
 "I sacrifice a thousand francs," said M. Minxit, 
 making his whip whistle in the air ; " take that, Fata, 
 fatorum, destiny, providence of the ancients ! and that, 
 and that, and that, and that ! " 
 
 The peasants had come to their door-ways to see 
 Fata flogged ; for I say it to the shame of our poor 
 humanity nothing is so dramatic as a man ill-treated. 
 
 " Gentlemen," cried Fata, "I place myself under your 
 protection." 
 
 But no one left his place. For M. Minxit, through 
 the consideration which he enjoyed, had almost the 
 right of administering petty justice in the village. 
 
 " Then," continued the unfortunate Fata, " I call you 
 to witness the violence practised on my person ; I am a 
 doctor of medicine." 
 
 " Wait," said M. Minxit, " I will strike harder, in 
 order that those who do not see the blows may hear 
 them, and that you may have some scars to show to the 
 bailiff." 
 
 And in fact he did strike harder, ferocious plebeian 
 that he was. 
 
 "Rest easy, 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,"
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 129 
 
 " You will say to Carabyse," said M. Minxit, " that I 
 mock at him, that I have more men than he, that my 
 house is more solid than his castle, and that, if he wishes 
 to come to-morrow to the plateau of Fertiant with his 
 people, I am his man." 
 
 Let us say directly, to end with this affair, that Fata 
 had M. Minxit cited before the bailiff to answer for the 
 violence committed on his person ; but that he could 
 find no witness to testify to the fact, although the 
 thing had happened in the presence of a hundred in- 
 dividuals. 
 
 When my uncle reached Clamecy, his sister handed 
 him a letter postmarked Paris, of the following tenor : 
 
 " Monsieur Rathery : 
 
 "I have it on good authority that you intend to 
 marry Mile. Minxit; I expressly forbid you to do so. 
 
 "VlCOMTE DE PONT-CASSE." 
 
 My uncle sent Gaspard to get a sheet of royal writ- 
 ing paper ; he took Machecourt's ink-stand, and straight- 
 way answered this missive. 
 
 " Monsieur Vicomte : 
 
 " You may go 
 
 " Accept the assurance of the respectful sentiments 
 with which I have the honor to be 
 
 " Your humble and devoted servant, 
 
 "B. RATHERY." 
 
 Whither did my uncle wish to send his vicomte? I 
 do not know. I have made useless inquiries to pene- 
 trate the mystery of this reticence ; but at any rate I 
 have given you an idea of the firmness, clearness, nerve,
 
 130 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 and precision of his style when he saw fit to take the 
 trouble to write. 
 
 Meanwhile, my uncle had not abandoned his ideas 
 of revenge ; quite the contrary. The following Friday, 
 after having visited his patients, he sharpened his sword 
 and put on Machecourt's overcoat over his red coat. 
 As he did not wish to sacrifice his cue, and as he could 
 not put it in his pocket, he hid it under his old wig, 
 and went thus disguised to watch his Marquis. He 
 established his headquarters in a sort of wine-shop situ- 
 ated on the edge of the Clainecy road opposite the 
 castle of M. de Cambyse. The proprietor of the estab- 
 lishment had just broken his leg. My uncle, always 
 prompt to come to the aid of his neighbor when he was 
 fractured, made known his profession and offered the 
 help of his art to the patient. He was authorized by 
 the afflicted family to put back in their proper place 
 the two fragments of the broken shinbone ; which he 
 did quickly and to the great admiration of the two 
 grand lackeys in the livery of M. de Cambyse, who 
 were drinking in the wine-shop. 
 
 My uncle, when the operation was finished, 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 hoar and had not yet 
 noticed anything by which he could profit, when he 
 saw a lackey of M. de Cambyse descending the hill at 
 full speed. This man came to the door of the wine- 
 shop, and asked if the doctor was still there. Being 
 answered in the affirmative by the servant, he went up 
 to my uncle's room, and, doffing his hat very low,
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 131 
 
 begged him to give attendance on M. de Cambyse, who 
 had just swallowed a fish-bone. My uncle at first was 
 tempted to refuse. But he reflected that this circum- 
 stance might favor his project of revenge, and he de- 
 cided to follow the domestic. 
 
 The latter ushered him into the chamber of the Mar- 
 quis. M. de Cambyse was in his arm-chair, with his 
 head resting on his hands, and his elbows on his knees, 
 and he seemed to be the victim of a violent agitation. 
 The Marquise, a pretty brunette of twenty-five years, 
 stood beside him, trying to reassure him. On the ar- 
 rival of my uncle, the Marquis raised his head and 
 said: 
 
 "At dinner I swallowed a fish-bone, which has stuck 
 in my throat. I had heard that you were in the village, 
 and I have sent for you, although I have not the honor 
 of knowing you, persuaded that you will not refuse me 
 your aid." 
 
 "We owe that to everybody," answered my uncle, 
 with an icy sang-froid ; " to the rich as well as to the 
 poor, to gentlemen 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 out." 
 
 "But," said the Marquise, "you know very well that 
 no doctor will venture to come to the castle ; since you 
 have this one here, try at least to keep him." 
 
 The Marquis surrendered to this opinion. Benjamin 
 examined the sick man's throat, and shook his head 
 with an air of anxiety. The Marquis turned pale. 
 
 "What is the matter?" said he; "can the trouble 
 be more serious than we had supposed?"
 
 132 MY UNCLE BENJAMOf. 
 
 "I do not know what you have supposed," an- 
 swered Benjamin, in a solemn voice, " but the trouble 
 will indeed be very serious, if the necessary measures 
 are not promptly taken to combat it. You have swal- 
 lowed a bone from a salmon, and the bone is from the 
 tail, the very place where they are most poisonous." 
 
 " That is true," said the astonished Marquise; "but 
 how did you find that out?" 
 
 " By inspection of the throat, Madame." 
 
 The fact is that he had found it out in a very natural 
 way. In passing by the dining-room, the door of which 
 was open, he had seen on the table a salmon, of which 
 only the tail was missing, and he had inferred that to 
 the tail of this fish had belonged the swallowed fish- 
 bone. 
 
 " We have never heard," said the Marquise, in a voice 
 trembling with fright, "that the bones of the salmon 
 were poisonous." 
 
 " That does not alter the fact that they are exceed- 
 ingly 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 contain, 
 like the leaves of the manchineel tree, a substance so 
 bitter and corrosive that, if this bone should remain a 
 half-hour longer in the throat of Monsieur Marquis, it 
 would produce an inflammation which I could not sub- 
 due, and the operation would become impossible." 
 
 " In that case, doctor, operate directly, I beg of you," 
 said the Marquis, more and more frightened. 
 
 "One moment," said my uncle; "the thing cannot 
 proceed as rapidly as you desire ; there is first a little 
 formality to be fulfilled."
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 133 
 
 " Fulfil it, then, very quietly, and begin." 
 
 "But this formality concerns you; you alone must 
 accomplish it." 
 
 " Then tell me at least of what it consists, surgeon of 
 misfortune ! Do you wish to leave me to die for want 
 of acting?" 
 
 "I still hesitate," continued Benjamin, slowly. 
 " How shall I venture such a proposition as that which 
 I have to make to you ? With a Marquis ! With a 
 man who descends in a direct line from Cambyse, king 
 of Egypt!" 
 
 " I believe, wretch, that you are taking advantage of 
 my position to make sport of me," cried the Marquis, 
 the violence of his character coming to the surface. 
 
 "Not the least in the world," answered Benjamin, 
 coldly. " Do you remember a man whom three months 
 ago you had dragged to your castle by your myrmidons 
 because he did not salute you, and upon whom you in- 
 flicted the most outrageous affront that one man can 
 inflict upon another ? " 
 
 " A man whom I forced to kiss .... In fact, you are 
 the man. I recognize you by your five feet ten inches." 
 
 " Well, the man of five feet ten inches, this man 
 whom you regarded as an insect, as a grain of dust 
 whom you would never meet except under your feet, 
 now demands of you reparation of the insult which you 
 have offered him." 
 
 "My God! I ask nothing better; fix the sum at 
 which you value your honor, and I will have it counted 
 out to you directly." 
 
 " Do you think, then, Marquis de Cambyse, that you 
 are rich enough to pay for the honor of an honest man ?
 
 134 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 Do you take me for a lawyer ? Do you think that I 
 would submit to an insult for money? No, LO, it is a 
 reparation of honor that I want. A reparation of 
 honor! Do you understand, Marquis de Cambyse ?" 
 
 " Well, so be it," said M. de Cambyse, whose eyes 
 were fixed on the hands of his clock, and who saw with 
 terror the fatal half-hour slipping by; "I will declare 
 in presence of Madame Marquise, I will declare it in 
 writing, if you say so, that you are a man of honor, and 
 that I did wrong in offending you." 
 
 "The devil! you have a summary way of paying 
 your debts. Do you think, then, that, when you 
 have insulted an honest man, you have only to admit 
 that you were wrong, and that all is mended? To- 
 morrow you would laugh heartily in the company of 
 your country squires at the simpleton who had con- 
 tented himself with this semblance of satisfaction. No, 
 no, it is the penalty of retaliation to which you must 
 submit; the weak man of yesterday has become the 
 strong man of to-day ; the worm has turned into a ser- 
 pent. You shall not escape my justice, as you escape 
 that of the bailiff; there is no protection that can 
 defend you against me. I have kissed you ; you must 
 kiss me." 
 
 "Have you, then, forgotten, wretch, that I am the 
 Marquis de Cambyse ? " 
 
 " You forgot that I was Benjamin Rathery. An in. 
 suit is like God ; all men are equal before it. There is 
 neither great insulter nor little insulted." 
 
 " Lackey," said the Marquis, whose wrath made him 
 forget the supposed danger that he incurred, "take this 
 man into the yard, and have him given a hundred 
 lashes; I want to hear him howl from here."
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 135 
 
 " Very well," said my uncle, " but in ten minutes the 
 operation will have become impossible, and in an hour 
 you will be dead." 
 
 " But can I not send to Varzy by my footman for a 
 surgeon ? " 
 
 " If your footman finds the surgeon at home, he will 
 arrive just in time to see you die, and bestow his care 
 upon Madame Marquise." 
 
 " But it is not possible," said the Marquise, " that 
 you should remain inflexible. Is there not, then, more 
 pleasure in forgiveness than in vengeance ? " 
 
 " Oh, Madame," replied Benjamin, bowing gracefully, 
 " I beg you to believe that, if it was from you that I 
 had received such an insult, I should harbor no grudge 
 against you." 
 
 Madame de Cambyse smiled, and, understanding that 
 there was nothing to be gained with my uncle, she her- 
 self urged her husband to submit to necessity, and 
 called his attention to the fact that he had but five min- 
 utes left in which to make up his mind. 
 
 The Marquis, overcome by terror, made a sign to the 
 two lackeys who were in his room to retire. 
 
 " No," said the inflexible Benjamin, " that is not what 
 I desire. Lackey, you will go, on the contrary, to notify 
 the people of M. de Cambyse to gather here in his 
 name. They witnessed the insult ; they must witness 
 the reparation. Madame Marquise alone can be per- 
 mitted to retire." 
 
 The Marquis glanced at the clock, and saw that there 
 were but three minutes left. As the lackey did not 
 budge, he said : 
 
 " Hurry, Pierre, and execute Monsieur's orders ; do
 
 136 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 you not see that he alone is master here for the mo- 
 ment?" 
 
 The domestics arrived one after another ; none were 
 lacking but the steward ; but Benjamin, unrelenting to 
 the end, would not begin until he was present. 
 
 "Well," said Benjamin, "now we are ' quits, and all 
 is forgotten ; therefore I will conscientiously attend to 
 your throat." 
 
 He extracted the bone very quickly and well, and 
 placed it in the hands of the Marquis. While the latter 
 was examining it with curiosity, he said : 
 
 "I must give you some air." 
 
 Then he opened a window, leaped into the yard, and 
 with two or three strides of his long legs reached the 
 carriage-entrance. While he was hurrying down the 
 hillside, the Marquis stood at a window, shouting : 
 
 " Stop, Monsieur Benjamin Rathery ; pray stop ; 
 come back and receive my thanks and those of Ma- 
 dame Marquise. I must pay you for your operation." 
 
 But Benjamin was not a man to be caught by these 
 fine words. At the foot of the hill he met the foot- 
 man of the Marquis. 
 
 " Landry," said he to him, " my compliments to Ma- 
 dame Marquise, and reassure M. de Cambyse in regard 
 to salmon bones ; they are no more poisonous than 
 those of a pike ; only they should not be swallowed. 
 Let him keep his throat wrapped in a poultice, and in 
 two or three days he will be cured." 
 
 As soon as my uncle was out of reach of the Mar- 
 quis, he turned to the right, crossed the meadows of 
 Flez and the thousand brooks which intersected them,
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 137 
 
 and went to Corvol. He desired to regale M. Minxit 
 with the first news of his expedition ; he saw him from 
 a distance standing before his door, and waving his 
 handkerchief as a sign of triumph, he shouted : 
 
 " We are revenged." 
 
 The good man ran to meet him, with all the speed 
 of his short fat legs, and threw himself into his arms 
 with the same effusion as if he had been his son ; my 
 uncle said that he even saw two big tears roll down 
 his cheeks, which he tried to hide. The old doctor, 
 whose nature was no less proud and irascible than 
 Benjamin's, was exultant with joy. On reaching the 
 house he told the musicians, in order to celebrate the 
 glory of the day, to execute trumpet-flourishes until 
 night, and then he ordered them to get drunk, an 
 order which was punctually executed.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 HOW MY UNCLE HELPED HIS TAILOR TO SEIZE HIM. 
 
 NEVERTHELESS, Benjamin came back to Clamecy a 
 little disturbed at his own audacity. But the next day 
 the footman of the castle delivered to him in behalf of 
 his master, together with a considerable sum of money, 
 a note that read as follows : 
 
 " The Marquis de Cambyse begs M. Benjamin Ra- 
 thery to forget what has passed between them, and to 
 receive, in payment for the operation which he has so 
 skilfully executed, the insignificant sum which he sends 
 him." " 
 
 " Oh," said my uncle, after reading this letter, " this 
 good lord would like to purchase my discretion ; he 
 even has the honesty to pay me in advance ; it is a pity 
 that he does not treat all his trades-people in the same 
 way. If I had simply, vulgarly, and without any pre- 
 liminary extracted the fish-bone that he had planted in 
 his throat, he would have put six francs in my hand 
 and sent me to eat a bite in the kitchen. The moral of 
 this is that with the great it is better to be feared than to 
 be loved. May God damn me if during my life I ever 
 fail in this principle ! 
 
 " Nevertheless, as I have no intention of being dis- 
 creet, I cannot conscientiously keep the money which 
 he sends me as the wages of my discretion ; one should 
 be honest with everybody, or else have nothing to do 
 with them. But let us count the money in this bag;
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 139 
 
 let us see how much he pays for the operation, and how 
 much he gives for silence : one hundred and fifty francs ! 
 Thunder! Cambyse is generous; he will allow only 
 twelve sous, without any guarantee of not being beaten, 
 to the thrasher who swings his flail from three o'clock 
 in the morning until eight o'clock at night, and he pays 
 me one hundred and fifty francs for a quarter of an 
 hour's work : there's magnificence for you ! 
 
 " For the extraction of this bone M. Minxit would 
 have asked a hundred francs; but he practises medi- 
 cine on the grand orchestra and the grand spectacle 
 plan ; he has four horses and twelve musicians to feed. 
 For me, who have to support only my case of instru- 
 ments and my hypostasis, an hypostasis, it is true, of 
 five feet nine inches, two pistoles is all that that is 
 worth. So, taking twenty from one hundred and fifty, 
 there are thirteen pistoles to send back to the Marquis ; 
 I almost feel remorse at taking any of his money. This 
 operation for which I charge him twenty francs I would 
 not have failed to perform for a thousand francs, a 
 thousand francs to be paid of course after my death. 
 This poor grand lord, how wretched and pitiful he 
 looked with his pale and suppliant face and his salmon- 
 bone in his throat ! How nobility apologized in his 
 person to the people represented in mine ! He would 
 willingly have allowed me to fasten -his escutcheon be- 
 hind his back. If at that time there were in his salon 
 any portraits of his ancestors, their brows must still be 
 red with shame. I would like the little spot where he 
 kissed me to be separated from my person after my 
 death, and transferred to the Pantheon . . . when the 
 people have a Pantheon, I mean of course.
 
 140 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 " But, Marquis, you are not to be let off in this way : 
 before three days the bailiwick will know your advent- 
 ure ; I even intend to have it related to posterity by 
 Millot-Rataut, our maker of songs ; he must manufact- 
 ure for me on this subject half a handful of Alexandrines. 
 As for these twenty francs, they are money found; I 
 do not wish them to pass through my dear sister's hands. 
 To-morrow is Sunday; to-morrow, then, I give my 
 friends with this money a luncheon such as I have 
 never given them, a luncheon for which I will pay cash. 
 It is well to let them know how a man of wit can 
 avenge himself without recourse to his sword." 
 
 The thing thus arranged, my uncle began to write 
 to the Marquis to announce the return of his money. 
 I should be delighted if I could give my readers a new 
 specimen of my uncle's epistolary style. Unhappily, 
 his letter is not to be found among the historical docu- 
 ments which my grandfather has handed down to us ; 
 perhaps my uncle the tobacco-merchant made a cornet 
 of it. 
 
 While Benjamin was in the act of writing, his tailor 
 came in with a bill 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 presented it to 
 me so many times that I know it by heart: six ells of 
 scarlet full width, with ten ells of lining and three sets 
 of carved buttons, isn't that right ? " 
 
 " That's right, Monsieur Rathery, exactly right ; a 
 total of one hundred and fifty francs ten sous six 
 deniers. May I be excluded from Paradise as a rascal 
 if I do not lose at least a hundred francs on this trans- 
 action ! "
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 141 
 
 " If that is the case," rejoined ray uncle, " why con- 
 tinue to waste your time in scribbling off all these ugly 
 bits of paper? You know very well, Monsieur Bon- 
 teint, that I never have any money." 
 
 " I see, on the contrary, Monsieur Rathery, that you 
 have some, and that I arrive at an opportune moment. 
 Here on this table is a bag which must contain almost 
 the exact amount of my bill, and if you will permit 
 it"... 
 
 "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 
 which I have just written, and on which you have 
 caused me to make a blot. Here," he added, offering 
 the letter to the merchant, " if you wish to read it "... 
 
 "It is useless, Monsieur Rathery, utterly useless. 
 All that I want to know is at what time you will have 
 some money that belongs to you." 
 
 "Alas! M. Bonteint, who can foresee the future? 
 What you ask I would very much like to know my- 
 self." 
 
 "That being so, Monsieur Rathery, you will not 
 blame me if I go directly to Parlanta to tell him to 
 push the suit that I have begun against you." 
 
 " You are in ill-humor, respectable Monsieur Bon- 
 teint. What sort of cloth clippings have you been 
 walking on to-day?" 
 
 " You must admit, Monsieur Rathery, that I at least 
 have good reason to be ill-humored ; for three years you 
 have owed me this money, and you put me off from 
 month to month, on the strength of I know not what 
 epidemic, of the arrival of which I see no sign. You
 
 142 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 are the cause of my daily quarrels with Madame Bori- 
 teint, who reproaches me with not knowing how to col- 
 lect my bills, and who sometimes pushes her vivacity to 
 the point of calling me a blockhead." 
 
 "Madame Bonteint is surely a very amiable lady; 
 you are fortunate, Monsieur Bonteint, in having such a 
 wife, and I beg you to present her my compliments 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 that, if you had had to deal 
 with my rival Grophez, you would long ago have been 
 in the Boutron Hotel." 
 
 "The devil take it!" cried my uncle, furious that 
 Bonteint showed no signs of retreating, "it is your 
 fault if I have not settled with you ; all your rivals 
 have been or are sick: Dutorrent has had inflammation 
 of the chest twice this year ; Artichaut, the typhoid 
 fever; Sergifer has the rheumatism; Ratine has had 
 the diarrhoaa for six months. But you enjoy perfect 
 health; I have had no opportunity of supplying you 
 any medicine ; you have a complexion like one of your 
 pieces of nankeen, and Madame Bonteint resembles a 
 statuette made out of fresh butter. You see I have 
 been deceived ; I thought that you would be an honor 
 to my clientage ; if I had known then what I know 
 now, I would not have given you my custom." 
 
 "But, Monsieur Rathery, it seems to me that neither 
 Madame Bonteint or myself are obliged to be sick in 
 order to furnish you the means of paying your bills." 
 
 "And I declare to you, Monsieur Bonteint, that you 
 are under precisely that moral obligation. How would
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 143 
 
 you manage to pay your bills if your customers did 
 not wear coats? This obstinacy in keeping your health 
 is an abominable procedure on your part ; it is a trap 
 that you have set for me; you ought at the present 
 hour to have on my account-book an indebtedness of 
 one hundred and fifty francs ; hence I deduct from 
 your bill one hundred and thirty francs ten sous six 
 deniers for the diseases that you ought to have had. 
 You will admit that I am reasonable. You are very 
 fortunate in having to pay for the medicine without 
 having had to have the doctor, and I know many people 
 who would like to be in your place. So, then, if from 
 one hundred and fifty francs ten sous six deniers we 
 take one hundred and thirty francs ten sous six de- 
 niers, there is a balance of twenty francs still due you ; 
 if you wish them, there they are ; I advise you as a 
 friend to take them ; you will not soon have so good an 
 opportunity again." 
 
 "I will willingly take them," said M. Bonteint, "as 
 an instalment." 
 
 " As a final settlement of the account," insisted my 
 uncle, " and even then I need all my strength of soul 
 to make this sacrifice. I intended this money for a 
 bachelors' breakfast, it was even my design to invite 
 you, although you are the father of a family." 
 
 "This is more of your nonsense, Monsieur Rathery; 
 I have never been able to get anything else from you. 
 You know very well, however, that I have a seizure 
 drawn up against you in good form, and that I might 
 proceed to execution directly." 
 
 "Well, it is precisely that of which I complain, Mon- 
 sieur Bonteint; you have no confidence in your friends;
 
 144 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 why go to these useless expenses? Could you not 
 come to me and say : ' Monsieur Rathery, it is my in- 
 tention to have you seized.' I would have answered: 
 'Seize me yourself, Monsieur Bonteint; you need no 
 sheriff's officer for that ; ' I will even serve you as a 
 bailiff's man, if that will be agreeable to you; and 
 besides, there is time enough yet; seize me on the in- 
 stant; do not stand on ceremony; all that I have is at 
 your disposition ; I permit jou. to pack up, wrap up, 
 and carry away anything that you like." 
 
 " What ! Monsieur Rathery, you would be good 
 enough "... 
 
 "Why, of course, Monsieur Bonteint, I should be 
 delighted to be seized by your hands ; I will even help 
 you to seize me." 
 
 My uncle then opened an old ruin of a wardrobe, in 
 which were still hanging on a nail some bits of yellow 
 copper lining, and, taking two or three old cue-ribbons 
 from a drawer, he said to M. Bonteint, as he offered 
 them to him : 
 
 "See, you will not lose all; these articles will not 
 count in the total ; I throw them in." 
 
 "Indeed!" answered M. Bonteint. 
 
 "This red morocco portfolio which you see is my 
 case of instruments." 
 
 As M. Bonteint was about to lay his hand on it, 
 Benjamin said : 
 
 " Softly ; the law does not allow you to touch that. 
 My instruments are the tools of my profession, and I 
 ha^e a right to keep them." 
 
 "' But," said M. Bonteint . . . 
 
 ** Here now is a corkscrew, with an ebony handle in-
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 145 
 
 laid with silver. As for this article," he added, as he 
 put it in his pocket, " I withdraw it from my creditors ; 
 and besides^ I need it more than you do." 
 
 "But," replied M. Bonteint, "if you keep everything 
 that you need more than I do, I shall need no cart in 
 which to carry away my plunder." 
 
 "One moment," said my uncle, "you will lose noth- 
 ing by waiting. Here on this shelf are some old medi- 
 cine bottles, some of which are cracked : I do not guar- 
 antee their integrity; I abandon them to you with all 
 the spiders that are in them. On this other shelf is a 
 large stuffed vulture; that will cost you nothing but 
 the trouble of moving it, and it will make a very good 
 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, be- 
 cause I know that you wear only a false forelock." 
 
 "What do you know about it, Monsieur Rathery?" 
 cried Bonteint, getting more and more irritated. 
 
 " Here in this bottle," continued my uncle, with im- 
 perturbable sang-froid, "is a tapeworm which I have 
 preserved in spirit of wine. You can use it to make 
 garters for yourself, Madame Bonteint, and your chil- 
 dren. I call your attention to the fact, however, that 
 it would be a pity to mutilate this beautiful animal: 
 you can boast of having in your possession the longest 
 being in creation, not excepting the immense boa-con- 
 strictor. For the rest, you will estimate it at what 
 value you like." 
 
 ** Surely you are making sport of me, Monsieur Rath- 
 ery ; all these things have not the slightest value."
 
 146 MY TTNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 " I know that very well," said my uncle, coldly, " but 
 then you have no bailiff's man to pay. Now here, for 
 instance, is an article worth in itself alone the entire 
 amount of your bill : it is the stone that 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 stones, 
 and it will make a very pretty birthday present for 
 Madame Bonteint." 
 
 Bonteint, furious, started for the door. 
 
 "One moment," said my uncle, catching hold of the 
 skirt of his coat. " Don't be in such a hurry, Monsieur 
 Bonteint. I have shown you yet only the least of my 
 treasures. Stay, here is an old engraving representing 
 Hippocrates, the father of medicine ; I guarantee it a 
 good likeness; furthermore, here are three incomplete 
 volumes of the ' Medical Gazette,' which will entertain 
 you delightfully during these long winter evenings." 
 
 "Once more, Monsieur Rathery" . . . 
 
 "Oh! do not be angry, papa Bonteint; we have just 
 reached the most valuable article among my posses- 
 sions." 
 
 My uncle then opened an old closet, and took out 
 two red coats, which he threw at M. Bonteint's feet, 
 and from which there arose a cloud of dust that made 
 the good merchant cough, together with a swarm of 
 spiders that scattered about the room. 
 
 " There," said he, " there are the last two coats that 
 you sold me ! You have outrageously deceived me, 
 Monsieur Fauxteint : * they faded in one morning, like 
 two rose leaves, and my dear sister could not even use 
 
 *onteint, good tint; Fauxteint, false tint. Translator.
 
 MT UNCLE BENJAMIN. 147 
 
 them to color the Easter eggs for her children. You 
 really deserve to have the cost of the coloring material 
 deducted from your bill." 
 
 " Oh, really," cried Bonteint, horrified, " that is really 
 too much; never was a creditor more insolently treated. 
 To-morrow morning you shall hear from me, Monsieur 
 Rathery." 
 
 "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 for- 
 getting your cue-ribbons ! " 
 
 As Bonteint went out, lawyer Page came in. He 
 found my uncle shouting with laughter. 
 
 " What have you been doing to Bonteint?" he said; 
 "I just met him on the stairs, almost red with anger; 
 he was in such a violent crisis of exasperation that he 
 did not bow to me as he passed." 
 
 " The old imbecile," said Benjamin, " is angry with 
 me because I have no money. As if that ought not to 
 disturb me more than him ! " 
 
 " You have no money, my poor Benjamin ! So much 
 the worse, doubly so much the worse, for I came to 
 offer you a golden bargain." 
 
 " Offer it just the same," said Benjamin. 
 
 "The vicar Djhiarcos wishes to get rid of a quarter- 
 cask of Burgundy, which one of his devotees has given 
 him, because he has the catarrh and Doctor Arnout will 
 allow him only mild drinks ; as the diet is likely to be 
 long, he is afraid that his wine may spoil. He wants 
 this money to furnish some rooms for a poor orphan 
 who has just lost her last aunt. So it is not only a 
 good bargain, but a good deed that I propose to you."
 
 148 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 "Yes," said Benjamin, "but without money it is not 
 so easy to do a good deed ; good deeds are expensive, 
 and cannot be done at will. But what is your opinion 
 of the wine?" 
 
 "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 
 for it?" 
 
 " Twenty-five francs," said Page. 
 
 " I have only twenty francs ; if he wants to part with 
 it for twenty francs, it is a bargain. In that case we 
 will lunch on credit." 
 
 " His terms are twenty-five francs, take it or leave it. 
 Twenty-five francs to relieve a poor orphan from pov- 
 erty and preserve her from vice, you will agree that 
 that is not too much." 
 
 " But if you had five francs, Page," replied my uncle, 
 " we could buy it together." 
 
 " Alas ! " said Page, " it is a good fortnight since I 
 have seen so much money. I believe that specie is 
 afraid of M. de Calonne ; it retires "... 
 
 "It does not always frequent the doctors," said my 
 uncle. " So we must think no more of your quarter- 
 cask." 
 
 For sole response, Page heaved a deep sigh. 
 
 Just then came in my grandmother, carrying a big 
 roll of linen in her arms, like an Infant Jesus. She 
 placed the cloth enthusiastically on my uncle's knees. 
 
 "See, Benjamin," said she, "I have just made a su- 
 perb bargain ; I caught sight of this piece of cloth this 
 morning, as I was making the tour of the fair-grounds. 
 You need shirts, and I thought that it would just suit
 
 MY/ TJtfCLE BENJAMIN. 149 
 
 you. Madame Avril offered seventy-five francs for it; 
 she allowed the merchant to leave her, but I could see 
 from the way in which she eyed him that she had a 
 good mind to call him back. * Let me see your cloth,' 
 said I then to the peasant. I offered him eighty francs ; 
 I did not think that he would part with it for that 
 sum. The linen is worth one hundred and twenty 
 francs if it is worth a sou, and Madame Avril is furi- 
 ous with me for having interfered with her bargain." 
 
 "And this linen," cried my uncle, "you have bought, 
 bought?" 
 
 " Bought," said my grandmother, who did not under- 
 stand Benjamin's exasperation ; " and there is no way 
 of getting out of it ; the peasant is downstairs waiting 
 for the money." 
 
 " Well, go to the devil ! " cried Benjamin, throwing 
 the roll across the room, "you and . . . That is, for- 
 give me, my dear sister, forgive me, no ; do not go to 
 the devil ; it is too far ; but go carry the cloth back to 
 the merchant : I have no money to pay for it." 
 
 " And the money that you received this morning 
 from M. de Cambyse?" asked my grandmother. 
 
 " Why, that money is not mine jM.de Cambyse has 
 given me too much." 
 
 "Too much? What do you mean?" answered my 
 grandmother, looking at Benjamin in amazement. 
 
 "Why, yes, too much, my sister, too much, do you 
 understand? too much. He sends me one hundred 
 and fifty francs for a twenty-franc operation : now do 
 you understand?" 
 
 "And you are stupid enough to send him back his 
 money? Well, I should like to see my husband play 
 me suck a trick as that."
 
 150 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 " Yes, I have been stupid enough for that ; what do 
 you expect? Everybody cannot have the wit that you 
 exact of Machecourt ; I have been stupid enough for 
 that, and I do not repent of it. I will not be a charla- 
 tan to please you. My God! my God! how difficult it 
 is in this world to be an honest man ! Your nearest and 
 your dearest are sure to be the first to lead you into 
 temptation." 
 
 " But you miserable fellow, you lack everything ; you 
 haven't a pair of silk stockings that are presentable, 
 and while I mend your shirts on one side, they fall to 
 pieces on the other." 
 
 "And because my shirts fall to pieces on one side 
 while you mend them on the other, must I fail in prob- 
 ity, my dear sister ? " 
 
 "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 the cloth merchant, what shall I tell him?" 
 
 "Tell him what you like. Tell him that I don't 
 wear shirts, or that I have three hundred dozen in my 
 closet , he will choose which of these reasons suits him 
 best," 
 
 " Oh, my poor Benjamin I " said my grandmother, 
 carrying off the linen, " with all your wit you will never 
 be anything but a fool." 
 
 " In fact," said Page, when my grandmother was at 
 the foot of the stairs, "your dear sister is right; you 
 push probity to the point of stupidity." 
 
 My uncle rose with vivacity, and, grasping the law- 
 yer's arm so firmly in his iron hand as to make him cry 
 out with pain, he said :
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 151 
 
 "Page, this is not simply probity, it is noble and 
 legitimate pride ; it is respect not only for myself, but 
 also for our poor oppressed class. Would you have me 
 allow this country squire to say that he offered me a 
 sort of pourboire and that I accepted it ? Do you wish 
 them to hurl back at us, when their escutcheon is only 
 a beggar's badge, that charge of beggary which we have 
 so often made against them ? Would you have us give 
 them the right to proclaim that we too receive alms 
 when they are willing to bestow them upon us? 
 Listen, Page, you know whether I love Burgundy; 
 you know, too, from what my dear sister has just said, 
 whether I need shirts ; but for all the vineyards of 
 C6te-d'Or and all the hemp-fields of Pays-Bas, I would 
 not have a single face in the bailiwick in presence of 
 which I must hang my head. No, I will not keep this 
 money, though I needed it to purchase my life. It is 
 for us, men of heart and education, to do honor to these 
 people in the midst of whom we were born ; they must 
 learn through us that they do not need to be nobles in 
 order to be men ; that they may rise through self- 
 esteem from the degradation into which they have 
 fallen ; and that they may say at last to the handful of 
 tyrants who oppress them : * We are as good as you 
 are, and more numerous. "Wliy 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, if I 
 have to drink sour wine all the rest of my life ! " 
 
 u That is very fine," said Page, " but all that does not 
 give us Burgundy." 
 
 " Rest easy, drunkard, you will lose nothing. Sunday 
 I am going to give you all a luncheon, with these
 
 152 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 twenty francs that I have taken from the throat of 
 M. de Cambyse, and at dessert I will tell you their 
 story. I am going to write directly to M. Minxit. 
 I cannot have Arthus, inasmuch as I have only twenty 
 francs to spend, or else he would have to dine copiously 
 that day. But if you meet Rapin, Parian ta, and the 
 others before I do, warn them not to make any other 
 engagements." 
 
 I must say at once that this luncheon was postponed 
 for a week because M. Minxit could not be there, and 
 then indefinitely abandoned because my uncle was 
 obliged to part with his two pistoles.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 HOW MY IJNCLB HUNG M. SUSURRANS TO A HOOK IN" HIS 
 KITCHEN. 
 
 SEE how marvellously fertile are the flowers: they 
 scatter their seeds about them like rain ; they abandon 
 them to the winds like dust; they send them without 
 stint, like those alms that mount to dark garrets, to the 
 peaks of desolate rocks, among the old stones of cracked 
 walls, amid ruins that fall and hang, and they will find 
 a handful of earth to fertilize them, a drop of rain for 
 their roots to suck, and, after a ray of light to make 
 them grow, another ray to paint them. The departing 
 breezes of the spring carry away the last perfumes of 
 the meadows, and the earth is strewn with fading 
 leaves ; but when the autumn breezes shall, pass, shak- 
 ing 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 bear no resemblance to 
 them. Most women, ladies especially, and I pray 
 you, prolStaires my friends and brothers, to believe 
 that I use this expression only to conform to custom, 
 for to me the truest lady is the woman who is most 
 amiable and the prettiest, ladies, I say, produce no 
 longer ; they become mothers of families as seldom as 
 possible ; they are barren for economy's sake. When
 
 154 MY TINGLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 the clerk's wife has had her little clerk and the notary's 
 wife her little notary, they believe that they have ful- 
 filled their obligation to the human race, and they ab- 
 dicate. Napoleon, who was very fond of recruits for 
 his armies, said that the woman whom he liked best 
 was the woman who had the most children. Napoleon 
 could very easily say this, having kingdoms instead of 
 domains to give to his sons. The fact is that children 
 are very expensive, and that this expense is not within 
 the reach of everybody: the poor man alone can permit 
 himself the luxury of a numerous family. Are you 
 aware that the months required for the nursing of a 
 child alone cost almost as much as a cashmere dress? 
 Besides, the baby grows fast; then come the swollen 
 accounts of the boarding-school proprietor and the bills 
 of the shoemaker and the tailor ; the infant of to-day 
 to-morrow will be a man, his moustache begins to grow, 
 and there he is a bachelor of letters. Then you know 
 not what to do with him. To get rid of him you buy 
 him a fine profession ; but you are not slow in perceiv- 
 ing, from the drafts made on you from the four corners 
 of the city, that this profession brings your professor 
 nothing but invitations and visiting cards : you must 
 keep him, till past the age of thirty, in kid gloves, 
 Havana cigars, and mistresses. You will admit that 
 that is very disagreeable. If there were a hospital for 
 young people twenty years old, as there is or used to 
 be for infants, I assure you that it would be crowded. 
 
 But in the century when my uncle Benjamin lived, 
 things went differently : that was the golden age of 
 nurses and of mid wives. Women abandoned themselves 
 to their instincts without concern and without fore-
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 155 
 
 thought; they all had children, rich and poor alike, 
 and even those who had no right to have them. But 
 in those days they knew what to do with these children ; 
 competition, that ogress with the steel fangs which de- 
 vours so many little people, had not yet arrived. There 
 was a place for everybody in the beautiful sunshine 
 of France, and in every profession there was plenty 
 of elbow room. Places offered themselves, like fruit 
 hanging from the branch, to men capable of filling 
 them, and the fools themselves found situations, each 
 according to the specialty of his foolishness; glory was 
 as easily achieved, as accommodating a girl, as fortune; 
 it did not take half the wit that is required now to be 
 a man of letters, and with a dozen Alexandrines one was 
 a poet. I do not say that I regret the loss of that blind 
 fertility of the olden time, which produced like a 
 machine without knowing what it did: I find that I 
 have quite neighbors enough as it is ; I simply wish to 
 make you understand how it was that at the period of 
 which I speak my grandmother, although she was not 
 yet thirty years old, was already at her seventh child. 
 So my grandmother was at her seventh child. My 
 uncle absolutely insisted that his dear sister should be 
 present at his wedding, and he had made M. Minxit 
 consent to postpone the marriage until after my grand- 
 mother's churching. The wardrobe of the new comer 
 was all white and embroidered, and his entrance upon 
 existence was expected daily. The six other children 
 were all living, and delighted at being in the world. 
 Sometimes they lacked one a pair of shoes, another a 
 cap ; now this one was out at the elbows, and now that 
 one waa out at the heels; but they had their white
 
 156 MY TINGLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 starched shirts, and on the whole got along marvel- 
 lously and flourished in their rags. 
 
 My father, however, who was the eldest, was the best 
 and most handsomely dressed of the six : that perhaps 
 was due to the fact that his uncle Benjamin handed 
 over to him his old knee-breeches, in which scarcely 
 any change had to be made in order that Gaspard 
 might wear them as pantaloons, and often no change 
 at all. By the protection of cousin Guillaumot, who 
 was sexton, he had been promoted to the dignity of 
 choir boy, and, I say it with pride, he was one of the 
 best choir boys in the diocese. If he had persisted in 
 the career that cousin Guillaumot had opened for him, 
 instead of the handsome captain of a fire company that 
 he is to-day, lie would have made a magnificent priest. 
 It is true that I should still be sleeping in the void, as 
 says the good M. de Lamartine, who sleeps himself 
 sometimes ; but sleep is an excellent thing, and besides, 
 to live to be the editor of a country newspaper and the 
 rival of the department of public wit, is that really 
 worth living for ? 
 
 However that may be, my father owed to his Levit- 
 ical functions the advantage of having a superb sky- 
 blue coat. This is how that good fortune came to him : 
 the banner of Saint Martin, patron saint of Clamecy, 
 had been dismissed ; my grandmother, with that eagle- 
 eye of hers, had discovered in this holy stuff the where- 
 withal to make her eldest son a jacket and a pair of 
 pantaloons, and she had succeeded in securing the cast- 
 off banner from the vestrymen at a ridiculous price. 
 The saint was painted in the very middle ; the artist 
 had represented him in the act of cutting off a piece of
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 157 
 
 his cloak with his sabre to cover the nakedness of a 
 beggar; but this was not a serious obstacle to my 
 grandmother's plan. She simply turned the material, 
 so that Saint Martin came on the inside, which for that 
 matter was quite immaterial to the saint. 
 
 The coat had been finished by a seamstress in the 
 Rue des Moulins : it would have fitted my uncle Benja- 
 min perhaps quite as well as my father ; but my grand- 
 mother had had it made in such a way that, after 
 having been worn out the first time by the eldest son, 
 it could be worn out a second time by the second son. 
 At first my father strutted about in his sky-blue coat ; 
 I even believe that he contributed out of his salary to 
 pay for the making. But he was not slow in finding 
 out that a magnificent garment is often like hair-cloth. 
 Benjamin, to whom nothing was sacred, had nicknamed 
 him the patron saint of Clamecy. This nickname the 
 children had picked up, and it had cost my father many 
 blows. More than once did it happen -to him to come 
 home with a piece of the sky-blue coat in his pocket. 
 Saint Martin had become his personal enemy. Often 
 you could have seen him at the foot of the altar 
 plunged in gloomy meditation. Now, of what was he 
 dreaming ? Of some way of getting rid of his coat ; and 
 one day, to the Dominus vobiscum of the officiating 
 clergyman, he responded, thinking that he was talking 
 to his mother: " I tell you that I will never wear your 
 sky-blue coat again." 
 
 My father was in this state of mind when, on the 
 Sunday after high mass, my uncle, having to pay a visit 
 to Val-des-Rosiers, proposed to him to accompany him. 
 Gaspard, who preferred playing quoits in the street to
 
 158 MY tnsrcLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 serving as an aid to my uncle, answered that he could 
 not, because he had a baptism to attend. 
 
 " That doesn't hinder," said Benjamin ; " another will 
 serve in your place." 
 
 " Yes, but I must go to catechism at one o'clock." 
 
 "I thought that you had made your first com- 
 munion." 
 
 " It is true I came very near making it, but you pre- 
 vented me by forcing me to get drunk the night before 
 the ceremony." 
 
 " And why did you 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." 
 
 " I was wrong," said Benjamin, " but all the same 
 you risk nothing by coming with me ; we shall not be 
 long ; we shall return before the catechism hour." 
 
 " Indeed I " answered Gaspard ; " where another would 
 take only an hour, you need half a day. You stop at 
 all the taverns ; and the priest has forbidden me to go 
 with you because you set me bad examples." 
 
 " Well, pious Gaspard, if you refuse to come with 
 rne, I will not invite you to my wedding ; if, on the 
 contrary, you grant me this favor, I will give you 
 twelve sous." 
 
 " Give them to me now," said Gaspard. 
 
 " And why do you wish them now, you scamp ? Do 
 you distrust my word ? " 
 
 " No, but I am not anxious to be your creditor. I 
 have heard it said in the village that you pay nobody, 
 and that they do not wish to seize your effects because 
 your possessions are not worth thirty sous."
 
 :MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 159 
 
 " Well said, Gaspard ! " said my uncle ; " here, there 
 are fifteen sous, and go tell ray dear sister that you are 
 going with me." 
 
 My grandmother went clear to the threshold to ad- 
 vis 3 Gaspard to be very careful of his coat, for, she said, 
 he must keep it for his uncle's wedding. 
 
 "Are you joking?" said Benjamin; "is there any 
 need of recommending a French choir boy to be care- 
 ful of the banner of his patron saint? " 
 
 " Uncle," said Gaspard, " before we start I \yarn you 
 of one thing, that, if you call me again banner-bearer, 
 blue bird,, or patron saint of Clamecy, I will run away 
 with your fifteen sous, and come back to play quoits." 
 
 On entering the village my uncle met M. Susurrans, 
 the grocer, very short and very thin, but made, like 
 gun-powder, out of charcoal and saltpetre. M. Susur- 
 rans. 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 which Madame Susur- 
 rans was waiting for to put on the spit. M. Susur- 
 rans knew my uncle and esteemed him, for Benjamin 
 bought of him the sugar with which he sweetened his 
 drugs and the powder that he put on his cue. So M. 
 Susurrans proposed to him to come to the farm to re- 
 fresh himself. My uncle, to whom thirst was a normal 
 condition, accepted without ceremony. The grocer and 
 his customer established themselves at the corner of 
 the fire, each on a stool ; they placed the keg be- 
 tween 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.
 
 160 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 " Appetite comes by drinking as well as by eating ; 
 suppose we eat the chickens," said M. Susurrans. 
 
 " In fact," answered my uncle, " that will save you 
 the trouble of carrying them home, and I do not Under- 
 stand how 3'ou undertook to load yourself down with 
 such a burden." 
 
 " And with what sauce shall we eat them? " 
 
 " With that which is quickest made," said Benjamin, 
 " and here is an excellent fire with which to roast 
 them." 
 
 " Yes," said M. Susurrans, " but there are no kitchen 
 utensils here save those that are necessary to make an 
 onion soup: we have no spit." 
 
 Benjamin, like all great men, was never taken un- 
 awares. 
 
 " It shall not be said," he answered, " that two men 
 of wit like ourselves were unable to eat a roasted fowl 
 for want of a spit. If you say so, we will spit our 
 chickens on the blade of my sword, and Gaspard here 
 will turn them before the fire." 
 
 You would never have thought of this expedient, 
 friendly reader, but my uncle had imagination enough 
 for ten novelists of our day. 
 
 Gaspard, who did not often have a chance to eat 
 chicken, went joyfully to work, and in an hour's time 
 the fowls were roasted to a turn. They turned a wash- 
 tub upside-down, and dragged it up to the fire ; on 
 this they placed the plates, knives, and forks, and thus, 
 without leaving their seats, the guests were at table. 
 Glasses were lacking ; but the keg was not long left 
 still ; they drank out of the bunghole, as in the days of 
 Homer ; it was not very convenient, but such was the
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 161 
 
 stoic character of my uncle that he would rather drink 
 good wine thus than sour wine out of crystal glasses. 
 In spite of the difficulties of all sorts which the opera- 
 tion involved, the chickens were soon despatched. For 
 some time the unfortunate birds had been nothing 
 more than stripped carcasses, and still the two friends 
 kept on drinking. M. Susurrans, who was, as we have 
 said, a very small man, whose stomach and brain al- 
 most touched each other, was as drunk as well could be ; 
 but Benjamin, the great Benjamin, had preserved the 
 major part of his reason, and looked with pity on his 
 weaker adversary ; 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 any other expression. 
 
 Such was the moral situation of the guests when 
 they left the wash-tub. It was then four o'clock, and 
 they began to get ready to start. M. Susurrans, who 
 remembered very well that he was to carry spme 
 chickens to his wife, looked about for them to place them 
 on the end of his cane; he asked my uncle if he had not 
 seen them. 
 
 " Your chickens," said Benjamin ; " are you joking ? 
 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 is not true," cried M. Susurrans, "for, if I had 
 eaten my chickens, I should not be hungry, and I have 
 appetite enough to devour a wolf." 
 
 " I do not deny it," responded my uncle, "but it is 
 none the less true that you have eaten your chickens.
 
 162 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 See, if you doubt it, there are the two carcasses ; you 
 can hang them to the end of your cane if you like." 
 
 " You are lying, Benjamin ; I do not recognize those 
 as the carcasses of my chickens ; you have taken them 
 from me, and you shall return them to me." 
 
 " Very well," said my uncle, " send to my house for 
 them to-morrow, and I will return them to you." 
 
 "You shall return them to me directly," said M. 
 Susurrans, rising on tip-toe to grasp my uncle by the 
 throat. 
 
 "Ah, there! papa Susurrans!" said Benjamin; "if 
 you are joking, I warn you that this is carrying the 
 joke too far, and "... 
 
 "No, you miserable fellow, I am not joking," said M. 
 Susurrans, placing himself in front of the door, " and 
 you shall not leave here, neither you nor your nephew, 
 until you have restored my chickens." 
 
 " Uncle," said Gaspard, " would you like me to trip 
 up this old imbecile ? " 
 
 "It is useless, Gaspard, useless, my friend," said 
 Benjamin ; " besides, you are a churchman, and it does 
 not become you to intervene in a quarrel. Say there ! " 
 he added, " once, twice, M. Susurrans, will you let us 
 go out ? " 
 
 "When you have restored my chickens," answered 
 M. Susurrans, making a half turn to the left and pre- 
 senting the end of his cane at my uncle as if it had 
 been a bayonet. 
 
 Benjamin lowered the cane with his hand, and, tak- 
 ing the little man by the middle of the body, he hung 
 him by the waistband to a piece of iron over the door 
 which was used to hang kitchen utensils upon.
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 163 
 
 Susurrans, thus likened to a saucepan, kicked about 
 like a beetle pinned to a curtain. He screamed and 
 gesticulated, crying now " Fire ! " now " Murder ! " 
 
 My uncle caught sight of a Liege almanac which was 
 lying on the mantel-shelf. Said he : 
 
 " Stay, Monsieur Susurrans ; study, writes Cicero, is 
 a consolation in all situations of life : amuse yourself 
 in studying until some one comes to take you down ; 
 for I have no time to carry on a conversation with you, 
 and I have the honor to wish you good evening." 
 
 My uncle had gone only twenty steps when he met 
 the farmer running up, who asked him why his master 
 was crying " Fire ! " and " Murder ! " 
 
 " Probably because the house is burning and someone 
 is killing your master," answered my uncle, tranquilly ; 
 and, whistling to Gaspard, who was lingering in the 
 rear, he continued on his way. 
 
 The weather had grown milder. The sky, so bright 
 but a little while before, had become a dull and dirty 
 white, like a gypsum ceiling before it is dry. A fine, 
 thick, piercing rain was falling, streaming in little drops 
 along the stripped branches, and making the trees and 
 bushes weep. 
 
 My uncle's hat drank in this rain like a sponge, and 
 soon its two corners became two spouts from which 
 black water poured upon his shoulders. Benjamin, 
 anxious about his coat, turned it inside out, and, re- 
 membering his sister's injunction, he ordered Gaspard 
 to do the same. The latter, forgetting Saint Martin, 
 conformed to my uncle's command. 
 
 A little distance farther on, Benjamin and Gaspard 
 met a troop of peasants returning from vespers. At
 
 164 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 sight of the saint on Gaspard's coat, with his head down 
 and his horse with all four feet in the air, as if he had 
 fallen from the sky, the rustics first burst into loud 
 shouts of laughter, and then their laughter turned to 
 hisses. You know my uncle well enough to believe 
 that he would not allow such a crowd to make sport of 
 him with impunity. He drew his sword; Gaspard, on 
 his side, armed himself with stones, and, carried away 
 by his ardor, led the attack. My uncle then saw that 
 Saint Martin was the only party wronged in this affair, 
 and he was seized with such a desire to laugh that he 
 was obliged to rest on his sword to keep from falling. 
 
 " Gaspard," he shouted, in a choking voice, " patron 
 saint of Clamecy, your saint is upside down, your saint's 
 helmet is falling off." 
 
 Gaspard, understanding that he was the object of all 
 this mirth, could not endure this humiliation ; he took 
 off his coat, threw it on the ground, and trampled on it 
 with his feet. When my uncle had finished laughing, 
 he tried to force him to pick it up and put it on again : 
 but Gaspard ran away across the fields, and was seen no 
 more. Benjamin pitifully picked up the coat and put 
 it on the end of his sword. In the meantime M. Su- 
 surrans came up. He had sobered off a little, and re- 
 membered very distinctly that he had eaten his chickens ; 
 but he had lost his three-cornered hat. Benjamin, who 
 was much amused at the little man's vivacity, and who 
 wished, as we professors say, people of evil associations 
 and low tone, to get him a little rattled, maintained 
 that he had eaten his hat; but Benjamin's muscular 
 strength h;id impressed itself so forcibly upon Susurrans 
 that he squarely refused to take offence ; he even pushed
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 165 
 
 his obstinacy to the point of making apologies to my 
 uncle. 
 
 Benjamin and M. Susurrans returned to Clamecy 
 together. Toward the middle of the faubourg they met 
 lawyer Page. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " said the latter to my uncle. 
 
 " Why, you must see for yourself ; I am going to my 
 dear sister's to dine." 
 
 " Not at all," said Page ; " you are going to dine with 
 me at the Hotel du Dauphin." 
 
 " And if I accept, to what circumstance shall I owe 
 this advantage ? " 
 
 " I will explain that to you in a word. A wealthy 
 wood merchant of Paris, for whom I have won an im- 
 portant case, has invited me to dine with his attorney, 
 whom he does not know. We are in the midst of the 
 carnival ; I have decided that you shall be his attorney, 
 and I was on my way to notify you. It is an adventure 
 worthy of us, Benjamin, and I undoubtedly have not 
 presumed too much upon your genius in hoping that 
 you would play a part in it." 
 
 "It is, indeed," said Benjamin, "a well-conceived 
 masquerade. But I do not know," he added, laughing, 
 " whether honor and delicacy will permit me to play the 
 part of the attorney." 
 
 " At table," said Page, " the most honest man is the 
 man who most conscientiously empties his glass." 
 
 " Yes, but suppose your wood merchant should talk 
 to me about his case ? " 
 
 " I will answer for you." 
 
 " And suppose to-morrow he should take it into his 
 head to pay a visit to his attorney?"
 
 166 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 " It is to you that I will take him." 
 
 "That's all very well, but I haven't an attorney's 
 phiz ; at least I so flatter myself." 
 
 " You shall assume it ; you have already succeeded in 
 passing yourself off for the Wandering Jew." 
 
 " And my red coat ? " 
 
 " Our man is an idler from Paris ; we will make him 
 believe that in the provinces a red coat is a part of an 
 attorney's insignia." 
 
 " And my sword ? " 
 
 " If he notices it, you will tell him that you cut your 
 pens with that." 
 
 " But who then is your wood merchant's attorney ? " 
 
 " Dulciter. Would you be so inhuman as to let me 
 dine with Dulciter?" 
 
 " I know very well that Dulciter is not amusing ; 
 but, if he should know that I had dined in his place, he 
 would sue me for damages." 
 
 " I will plead your cause ; come, I am sure that dinner 
 is ready; but, by the way, our. host urged me to bring 
 with me Dulciter's head clerk: where the devil am I 
 to find a clerk for Dulciter?" 
 
 Benjamin burst into a mad laugh. 
 
 " Oh ! " he shouted, clapping his hands, " I have it ! 
 Stay," he added, putting his hand on the shoulder of 
 M. Susurrans, " here is your clerk." 
 
 " Oh, fie ! " said Page, " a grocer ? " 
 
 " What difference does that make ? " 
 
 " He smells of cheese." 
 
 " You are not an epicure, Page ; he smells of can- 
 dles." 
 
 " But he is sixty years old."
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 167 
 
 " We will introduce him as the Nestor of the cor- 
 poration." 
 
 "You are rogues and good-for-nothings," said M. 
 Susurrans, his impetuous character coming to the front 
 again ; " I am not a bandit, nor a frequenter of wine- 
 shops." 
 
 " No," interrupted my uncle ; " he gets drunk alone 
 in his cellar." 
 
 " Possibly, Monsieur Rathery, but at any rate I do 
 not get drunk at the expense of others, and I will not 
 take part in your filibustering projects." 
 
 " But you must at any rate," said my uncle, " take 
 part this evening ; otherwise I will tell everybody where 
 I hung you." 
 
 " And where then did you hang him ? " said Page. 
 
 " Imagine," said Benjamin . . . 
 
 "Monsieur Rathery," cried Susurrans, putting a 
 finger over his mouth. 
 
 " Well, do you consent to come with us ? " 
 
 " Why, Monsieur Rathery, consider that my wife is 
 waiting for me ; they will think me dead, murdered ; 
 they will institute a search for me on the road to Val- 
 des-Rosiers." 
 
 "So much the better; perhaps they will find your 
 three-cornered hat." 
 
 " Monsieur Rathery, my good Monsieur Rathery ! " 
 exclaimed Susurrans, clasping his hands. 
 
 "Well, then," said my uncle, "don't be childish! 
 You owe me a reparation, and I owe you a dinner ; at 
 one stroke we shall cancel our mutual obligations." 
 
 " At least let me go tell my wife." 
 
 "No," said Benjamin, placing himself between him
 
 168 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 and Page ; " I know Madame Susurrans from having 
 seen her at her counter. She would put you under 
 lock and key, and I do not wish you to escape us : I 
 would not give you for ten pistoles." 
 
 " And my keg," said Susurrans, " what am I going 
 to do with that now that I am an attorney's clerk ? " 
 
 "It is true," said Benjamin, "you cannot present 
 yourself at our client's 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. 
 
 " Rascal of a Rathery ! knave of a Rathery ! " cried 
 Susurrans ; " you shall pay me for my keg ; it cost me 
 six francs ; but you shall know what it will cost you." 
 
 "M. Susurrans," said Benjamin, assuming a majsstic 
 attitude, "let us imitate the sage who said: Omnia 
 mecum porto ; that is, everything that hinders me I 
 throw into the river. See, there at the end of this sword 
 is a magnificent coat, my nephew's Sunday coat; a coat 
 which might figure in a museum, and which cost for the 
 making alone thirty times as- much as your miserable 
 keg. Well, I sacrifice it without the slightest regret ; 
 throw it over the bridge, and we shall be quits." 
 
 As M. Susurrans was unwilling to do anything of the 
 kind, Benjamin threw the coat over the bridge, and, 
 taking Page's arm and that of Susurrans, he said : 
 
 " Now let us be off ; they can raise the curtain ; we 
 are ready to go upon the stage." 
 
 But man proposes and God disposes. As they were 
 going up the steps of Vieille-Rome, they met Madame 
 Susurrans face to face. Not seeing her husband, re turn, 
 she had started out to meet him with a lantern. When
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 169 
 
 she saw him between my uncle and lawyer Page, both 
 of whom had a suspicious reputation, her anxiety gave 
 place to anger. 
 
 " At last, Monsieur, here you are ! " she cried ; " it is 
 really fortunate ; I began to think that you were not 
 coming home to-night; you are leading a pretty life, 
 and setting a fine example to your son." 
 
 Then, surveying her husband with a rapid glance, she 
 saw how incomplete he was. 
 
 "And your chickens, Monsieur! and your hat, 
 wretch ! and your keg, drunkard ! What have you 
 done with them ? " 
 
 " Madame," responded Benjamin, gravely, " we have 
 eaten the chickens; as for the three-cornered hat, he 
 has had the misfortune to lose it in the road." 
 
 " What ! the monster has lost his three-cornered hat ! 
 a three-cornered hat that had just been done over ! " 
 
 " Yes, Madame, he has lost it, and you are very fort- 
 unate, considering the position which he occupied, that 
 he did not lose his wig as well ; as for the keg, the cus- 
 toms officials seized it, and they have reported the of- 
 fence." 
 
 As Page could not help laughing, Mme. Susiirrans 
 said: 
 
 " I see how it is ; you have debauched my husband, 
 and you are laughing at us besides. You would be in 
 much better business attending to your patients and 
 paying your debts, Monsieur Rathery." 
 
 "Do I owe you anything, Madame?" replied my 
 uncle, proudly. 
 
 "Yes, my dear," broke in Susurrans, feeling strong 
 under his wife's protection, " he debauched me ; he and
 
 170 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 his nephew ate my chickens ; they took my three-cor- 
 nered hat and threw my keg into the river; he tried 
 also, infamous man that he is, to force me to go to dine 
 with him at the Dauphin and to play at my age the 
 part of an attorney's clerk." 
 
 " Away, base man ! I am going at once to warn M. 
 Dulciter that you intend to dine in his place and in 
 that of his clerk." 
 
 "You see, Madame," said my uncle, "that your hus- 
 band is drunk and doesn't know what he is talking 
 about ; if you take my advice, you will put him to bed 
 as soon as you reach the house, and give him every two 
 hours a decoction of camomile and lime-tree flowers: 
 while holding him up, I had occasion to feel his pulse, 
 and I assure you that he is not at all well." 
 
 " Oh ! you rascal ! Oh ! you knave ! Oh ! you revolu- 
 tionist ! You dare to tell my wife that I am sick from 
 having drunk too much, whereas it is you who are 
 drunk ! Wait, I am going to Dulciter's at once, and 
 you will hear from him directly." 
 
 " You must see, Madame," said Page, with the utmost 
 sang-froid, " that this man is talking wildly : you would 
 be false to all your wifely duties if you should not make 
 your husband take camomile and lime-tree flowers, ac- 
 cording to the prescription of M. Rathery, who is surely 
 the most skilful doctor in the bailiwick, and who an- 
 swers this madman's insults by saving his life." 
 
 Susurrans was about to renew his curses. 
 
 " Come," his wife said to him, " I see that these gen- 
 tlemen are right: you are so drunk that you cannot 
 talk; follow me directly, or I will lock you out, and 
 you will sleep wherever you can."
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 171 
 
 "That's right," said Page and my uncle together, 
 and they were still laughing when they reached the 
 door of the Dauphin. The first person whom they met 
 in the yard was M. Minxit, who was mounting his 
 horse to return to Corvol. 
 
 " Stay," said my uncle, seizing his horse's bridle, 
 " you shall not leave here to-night, Monsieur Minxit ; 
 you are going to sup with us ; we have lost one guest, 
 but you are worth thirty of him." 
 
 " If that will please you, Benjamin . . . Hostler, 
 take my horse back to the stable, and tell them to pre- 
 pare a bed for me."
 
 CHAPTER Xin. 
 
 HOW MY UNCLE SPENT THE NIGHT Itf PRATER FOR HIS 
 SISTER'S SAFE DELIVERY. 
 
 MY time is precious, dear readers, and I suppose 
 that yours is no less so; I shall not amuse myself 
 therefore in describing to you this memorable supper ; 
 you know the guests well enough to form an idea of 
 the way in which they supped. My uncle left the 
 Hotel du Dauphin at midnight, advancing three steps 
 and retiring two, like certain pilgrims of former times 
 who vowed to go to Jerusalem by that method. On 
 entering the house, he saw a light in Machecourt's 
 chamber; and, supposing that his brother-in-law was 
 scribbling off some writ, he went in with the intention 
 of bidding him good-night. My grandmother was in 
 the pains of child-birth ; the midwife, frightened at my 
 uncle's unexpected appearance at this hour, came to 
 officially notify him of the event that was about to take 
 place. Benjamin remembered, through the mists that 
 obscured his brain, that his sister, during the first year 
 of her marriage, had had a very painful delivery which 
 endangered her life : immediately he melted into two 
 tear-spouts. 
 
 " Alas ! " he cried, in a voice loud enough to waken 
 the entire Rue des Moulins, " my dear sister is going 
 to die ; alas ! she is going "... 
 
 " Madame Lalande," cried my grandmother from her 
 bed, " put that dog of a drunkard out doors-"
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 173 
 
 "Retire, Monsieur Rathery," said Madame Lalande, 
 "there is not the slightest danger; the child presents 
 itself by the shoulders, and in an hour your sister will 
 be delivered.*-' 
 
 But Benjamin still cried : " Alas ! my dear sister is 
 going to die." 
 
 Machecourt, seeing that the midwife's remarks had 
 no effect, thought it his duty to intervene. 
 
 "Yes, Benjamin, my friend, my good brother, the 
 child presents itself by the shoulders ; do me the favor 
 to go to bed, I beg of you." 
 
 So spoke my grandfather. 
 
 " And you, Machecourt, my friend, my good brother," 
 answered my uncle, " I beg of you, do me the favor to 
 go"... 
 
 My grandmother, seeing that she could not count on 
 Machecourt to take any decisive 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 
 decided to go sleep beside Page, who was snoring like a 
 blacksmith's bellows on one of the tables at the Dau- 
 phin. Bat, as he was passing by the church, the idea 
 occurred to him to pray to God for his dear sister's safe 
 delivery ; now the weather had grown very cold again, 
 and the temperature was several degrees below freez- 
 ing. Notwithstanding this, Benjamin knelt on the 
 steps of the church-front, joined his hands as he had 
 seen them do at his dear sister's, and began to mumble 
 some bits of prayer. As he was beginning his second 
 Ave, sleep took possession of him, and he began to snore 
 like his friend Page. The next morning at five o'clock,
 
 174 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 when the sexton came to ring the " Angelus," he saw 
 something kneeling like a human form. At first he 
 imagined in his simplicity that some saint had left hij 
 niche to do penance, and he began to get ready to take 
 him back into the church ; but, on coming closer, the 
 light of his lantern enabled him to recognize my uncle, 
 who had an inch of frost on his back and an icicle on 
 the end of his nose half an ell in length. 
 
 " Hello, Monsieur Rathery ! Hello ! " he shouted in 
 Benjamin's ear. 
 
 As my uncle did not answer, he went calmly to ring 
 his "Angelus," and, when he had finished and well 
 finished, he came back to M. Rathery. In case that he 
 might not be dead, he took him on his shoulders like a 
 sack and carried him to his sister's. My grandmother 
 had been delivered two good hours ; the neighbors who 
 had spent the night by her side transferred their cares 
 to Benjamin. They placed him on a mattress before 
 the fire, wrapped him in warm towels and blankets, and 
 placed a hot brick at his feet; in the excess of their 
 zeal, they would willingly have put him in the oven. 
 My uncle thawed out gradually ; his cue, which was as 
 stiff as his sword, began to weep on the bolster, his 
 joints relaxed, the power of speech returned to him, and 
 the first use that he made of it was to call for hot wine. 
 They quickly made him a kettleful ; when he had 
 drunk half of it, he was taken with such a sweat that 
 they thought he was going to liquefy. He swallowed 
 the rest, went to sleep, and at eight o'clock in the morn- 
 ing was as well as anybody. If the priest had made an 
 official report of these facts, my uncle would surely have 
 been canonized. They probably would have given him
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 175 
 
 to the tavern-keepers for their patron saint ; and it may 
 be said, without flattering him, that, with his cue and 
 his red coat, he would have made a magnificent tavern- 
 sign. 
 
 More than a week had passed since my grandmother's 
 safe delivery, and already she was thinking of her 
 churching. This sort of quarantine imposed by the 
 canons of the church involved serious inconveniences 
 to her in particular and to the whole family in general. 
 In the first place, when any rather striking event 
 some bit of scandal, for instance ruffled the smooth 
 surface of the neighborhood, she could not go to gossip 
 with her neighbor in the Rue des Moulins, which to 
 her was a cruel privation ; further, she was obliged to 
 send Gaspard to the market and the butcher's, wrapped 
 in a kitchen-apron. Now, when Gaspard lost the dinner- 
 money playing quoits, or when he brought home a scrag 
 of mutton instead of a leg, or when, on being sent to 
 get a cabbage to put in the kettle, he did not return 
 until after the soup was done, Benjamin laughed, Mache- 
 court swore, and my grandmother whipped Gaspard. 
 
 " Why," said my grandfather one day, irritated at 
 being obliged, in consequence of Gaspard's absence, to 
 eat a calf's head without shallots, " do you not do your 
 work yourself?" 
 
 " Why ! Why ! " replied my grandmother ; " because 
 I cannot go to mass without paying Mme. Lalande." 
 
 " Why the devil, then, dear sister," said Benjamin, 
 " did you not wait till you had some money before giv- 
 ing birth to your child ? " 
 
 " Ask rather your imbecile brother-in-law why he has 
 not brought me six francs for a month."
 
 17C MY TJNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 " So then," said Benjamin, " if you were to go six 
 months without receiving money, for six months you 
 would remain shut up in your house as in a lazaretto ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied my grandmother, " because if I should 
 go out before I had been to mass, the priest would de- 
 nounce me from the pulpit and the people would point 
 their fingers at me in the streets." 
 
 " In that case you should call on the priest to send 
 you his housekeeper to perform your household duties ; 
 for God is too just to require Machecourt to eat calf's 
 head without shallots simply because you have given 
 him a seventh child." 
 
 Happily the six francs' so impatiently awaited arrived 
 accompanied by a few others, and my grandmother was 
 able to go to mass. 
 
 On re-entering the house with Mme. Lalande, she 
 found my uncle stretched out in Machecourt's leather 
 arm-chair, his heels resting on the andirons and a por- 
 ringer full of hot wine in front of him ; for I must tell 
 you that, since his convalescence, Benjamin, grateful to 
 the hot wine that had saved his life, took enough of it 
 every morning to satisfy two naval officers. To justify 
 this tremendous extra allowance, he said that his tem- 
 perature was still below zero. 
 
 " Benjamin," said my grandmother, " I have a service 
 to ask of you." 
 
 " A service ! " answered Benjamin, " and what can I 
 do, dear sister, to be agreeable to you ? " 
 
 " You ought to be able to guess, Benjamin ; you must 
 stand godfather to my last child." 
 
 Benjamin, who had guessed nothing at all, and whom 
 this proposition took entirely unawares, shook his head 
 and uttered a big : " But "...
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 177 
 
 " What ! " said my grandmother, looking at him with 
 flashing eyes, " is it possible that yoti. would refuse me 
 that?" 
 
 " No, dear sister, quite the contrary, but "... 
 
 " But what? You begin to make me impatient with 
 your buts." 
 
 " Well, you see, I have never been a godfather, and 
 I should not know how to perform my functions." 
 
 " Fine difficulty, that ! You will be told what to do ; 
 I will ask cousin Guillaumot to give you some lessons." 
 
 "I doubt neither the talent nor the zeal of cousin 
 Guillaumot ; but, if it is necessary for me to take les- 
 sons in the science of being a godfather, I fear that this 
 study is not suited to my style of intelligence ; perhaps 
 you would do batter to take a well-informed godfather 
 at the start; Gaspard, for instance, who is a choir boy, 
 would suit you perfectly." 
 
 "Come, Monsieur Rathery," said Madame Lalande, 
 " you must accept your sister's invitation ; it is a family 
 duty from which you cannot be exempted." 
 
 " I see how it is, Madame Lalande," said Benjamin ; 
 " although I am not rich, I have the reputation of doing 
 things well, and you would as willingly deal with me as 
 with Gaspard, isn't that it ? " 
 
 " Oh, fie ! Benjamin. Oh, fie ! Monsieur Rathery," 
 exclaimed my grandmother and Madame Lalande 
 together. 
 
 "See, my dear sister," continued Benjamin, "to be 
 frank with you, I am not anxious to be a godfather. 
 I am very willing to bshave toward my nephew as if I 
 had held him over the baptismal fonts ; I will listen 
 with satisfaction to the compliment that he shall ad-
 
 178 MY UNCLE 
 
 dress me every year on my birthday, and, though it 
 should be in the style of Millot-Rataut, I promise to 
 think it charming. I will permit him to kiss me every 
 New Year's Day, and I will give him for his present 
 a punchinello that goes with a spring or a pair of 
 breeches, just as you prefer. I will even feel flattered 
 if you name him Benjamin. But to go plant myself 
 like a big imbecile in front of the baptismal fonts, with 
 a candle in my hand, oh, no, dear sister, do not ask that 
 of me ; my manly dignity is opposed to it ; I should bs 
 afraid that Djhiarcos would laugh in my face. And 
 besides, how can I declare that the squalling young one 
 renounces Satan and his works ? Do I know whether 
 he renounces Satan and his works ? What proves to 
 me that he renounces the works of Satan? If the 
 responsibility of a godfather is only a sham, as some 
 think, of what use is a godfather, of what use is a god- 
 mother, of what use are two securities instead of one, 
 and why have my signature indorsed by another ? If, 
 on the contrary, this responsibility is serious, why 
 should I incur the consequences? Our soul being the 
 most precious thing that we have, must not one be 
 mad to put it in pawn for that of another? And 
 besides, what makes you in such a hurry to have your 
 infant baptized ? Is it a terrine of foie gras or a May- 
 ence ham which would spoil if it were not salted at 
 once ? Wait until he is twenty-five ; then at least he 
 will 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
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 17 ( . 
 
 not be able to marry without your consent and Mache- 
 court's ; and yet you expect him at the age of nine days 
 to have sufficient discrimination to choose a religion. 
 Nonsense ! you can see for yourself that that is not 
 reasonable." 
 
 " Oh, my dear lady," cried the nurse, frightened at 
 my uncle's heterodox logic, " your brother is one of the 
 damned. Take good care not to let him stand god- 
 father to your child; it would bring misfortune." 
 
 " Madame Lalande," said Benjamin, in a severe tone, 
 "a course in midwifery is not a course in logic. It 
 would be cowardly on my part to discuss with you ; I 
 will content myself with asking you whether Saint 
 John baptized in the Jordan, in consideration of a ses- 
 terce and a cornet of dried dates, the neophytes brought 
 him from Jerusalem on their nurses' arms." 
 
 "Indeed!" said Madame Lalande, embarrassed by 
 the objection, " I would rather believe it than go there 
 to see." 
 
 " What, Madame, you would rather believe it than 
 go there to see ! Is that the proper language for a mid- 
 wife well-informed in her religion? Well, since you 
 take that air, I will do myself the honor to confront 
 you with this dilemma" . . . 
 
 " Let us alone with your dilemmas," interrupted my 
 grandmother; "does Madame Lalande know what a 
 dilemma is?" 
 
 " What, Madame ! " exclaimed the nurse, piqued at 
 my grandmother's observation, " I do not know what a 
 dilemma is? I, the wife of a surgeon, do not know 
 what a dilemma is? Go on, Monsieur Rathery, I am 
 listening to you."
 
 180 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 "It is entirely useless," replied my grandmother, 
 dryly ; " I have decided that Benjamin shall be god- 
 father, and godfather he shall be ; there is no dilemma 
 in the world that can exempt him from it." 
 
 " I appeal to Machecourt," cried Benjamin. 
 
 "Machecourt has condemned you in advance: he 
 went this morning to Corvol to invite Mile. Minxit to 
 be godmother." 
 
 " So then," cried my uncle, " they dispose of me with- 
 out my consent; they have not even the honesty to 
 forewarn me. Do they take me for a stuffed man, for 
 a gingerbread man ? A fine figure I shall cut with my 
 five feet nine inches beside the five feet three inches 
 of Mile. Minxit, who, with her flat and calibrated figure, 
 will look like a greased Maypole crowned with ribbons. 
 Do you know that the idea of going to church side by 
 side with her has tormented me for the last six months, 
 and that the repugnance excited in me by this disagree- 
 able duty has almost made me renounce the advantage 
 of becoming her husband? " 
 
 "Do you see, Madame Lalande," said my grand- 
 mother, " how facetious this Benjamin is ? He loves 
 Mile. Minxit passionately, and yet he must laugh at 
 her." 
 
 " Hum ! " said the nurse. 
 
 Benjamin, who had forgotten Madame Lalande, saw 
 that he had been guilty of a lapsus linguoe ; to escape 
 his sister's reproaches, he hastened to declare that he 
 consented to anything that they might require of him, 
 and ran away before the nurse had gone. 
 
 The baptism was to take place the following Sunday ; 
 my grandmother had dressed herself especially for the
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 181 
 
 ceremony ; she had authorized Machecourt to invite all 
 his friends and those of my uncle to a solemn dinner. 
 As for Benjamin, he was in a position to meet the ex- 
 pense that the magnificent rdle of godfather called for : 
 he had just received from the government a present of 
 a hundred francs for the zeal which he had displayed in 
 propagating inoculation in the country, and in rehabili- 
 tating the potato, attacked at once by the agriculturists 
 and the physicians. "
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MY UNCLE'S SPEECH BEFORE THE BAILIFF. 
 
 ON the following Saturday, the day before the bap- 
 tismal ceremony, my uncle was cited to appear before 
 the bailiff to hear himself sentenced under penalty of 
 imprisonment to pay Monsieur Bonteint the sum of 
 one hundred and fifty francs ten sous six deniers for 
 merchandise sold to him ; so it was expressed in the 
 summons, the cost of which was four francs five sous. 
 Any other than my uncle would have deplored his fate 
 in all the tones of elegy ; but the soul of this great man 
 was inaccessible to the buffets of fortune. The whirl- 
 wind of misery which society raises about itself, the 
 vapor of tears in which it is enveloped, could not rise 
 to his height ; his body was down deep in the mire of 
 humanity: when he had drunk too much, he had a 
 headache ; when he had walked too far, he was tired ; 
 when the road was muddy, he splashed himself up to 
 his neck; and, when he had no money to pay his score, 
 the inn-keeper charged it on his ledger ; but, like the 
 rock whose base is beaten by the waves and whoso 
 brow is radiant in the sunlight, like the bird which has 
 its nest in the thickets by the wayside and lives amid 
 the .azure of the skies, his soul soared in an upper 
 region, always calm and serene ; he had but two needs, 
 the satisfaction of hunger and thirst, and, if the 
 firmament had fallen in pieces upon the earth, and 
 had left one bottle intact, my uncle would have
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 183 
 
 calmly emptied it to the resurrection of the crushed 
 human race, standing on a smoking fragment of some 
 star. To him the past was nothing, and the future was 
 nothing as yet. He compared the past to an empty 
 bottle, and the future to a chicken ready for the spit. 
 
 " What care I," said he, " what sort of liquor the bottle 
 contained? And as for the chicken, why should I roast 
 myself in turning it round and round before the fire ? 
 Perhaps when it is cooked to a turn, when the table is 
 laid, and when I have put my napkin on, some dog will 
 come along and carry away the smoking fowl between 
 his teeth. 
 
 ' Eternitd, n^ant, bass, sombres abiraes ! ' 
 
 cries the poet ; for my part, all that I should try to 
 save from the gloomy abyss would be my last red coat 
 if it floated within my reach ; life is entirely in the 
 present, and the present is the passing moment ; now, 
 what to me is the happiness or the sorrow of a mo- 
 ment ? Here is a beggar and there 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, and makes them live on thus to the age of 
 ninety years. Do you think that one is really happier 
 than the other ? Man himself is the artisan of all the 
 miseries that afflict him; the pleasures which he con- 
 trives are not worth a quarter of the trouble that he 
 takes to acquire them. He is like a hunter who scours 
 the country all day long for an emaciated hare or a 
 partridge's body. We boast of the superiority of our 
 intelligence, but what matters it that we can measure 
 the course of the stars, that we can tell almost to a sec-
 
 184 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 ond at what hour the moon will pass between the earth 
 and the sun, that we can traverse the solitudes of the 
 ocean With wooden boats or hempen sails, if we do not 
 know how to enjoy the blessings which God has placed 
 in our existence. The animals whom we insult with 
 the name of brutes know how to take life much better 
 than we do. The ass rolls about in the grass and eats 
 it, without troubling himself about whether it will grow 
 again ; the bear does not go to guard a farmer's flocks 
 in order to have mittens and a fur cap in the winter ; 
 the hare does not become the drummer of a regiment in 
 the hope of laying up provisions for his old age ; the 
 Vulture does not seek a position as a letter-carrier in 
 order to wear a beautiful gold necklace around its bare 
 neck: all are content with what nature has given 
 them, with the bed which she has prepared for them in 
 the grass of the forests, with the roof which she has 
 made for them with the stars and the azure of the 
 firmament. 
 
 " As soon as a ray lights on the plain, the bird begins 
 to twitter on its branch, the insect hums around the 
 bushes, the fish leaps to the surface of its pool, the 
 lizard lounges on the warm stones of the ruin it in- 
 habits ; if some shower falls from the clouds, each takes 
 refuge in its asylum and sleeps there peacefully while 
 waiting for the morrow's sun. Why does not man do 
 likewise ? 
 
 " May it not displease the great King Solomon, the ant 
 is the stupidest of animals: instead of enjoying itself 
 during the fine weather in the fields,, and getting its 
 share of that magnificent festival which heaven for the 
 space of six months gives the earth, it wastes all its
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 185 
 
 summer hi piling one upon another little scraps of 
 leaves ; then, when its city is finished, a passing wind 
 sweeps it away with its wing." 
 
 So Benjamin got Bonteint's process-server drunk and 
 used the stamped paper of the summons to wrap some 
 ointment in. 
 
 The bailiff before whom my uncle was to appear was 
 so important a personage that I must not neglect to 
 give you his portrait. Besides, my grandfather on his 
 death-bed expressly urged me to do so, and for nothing 
 in the world would I fail in this pious duty. 
 
 The bailiff, then, was born, like so many others, of 
 poor parents. His first swaddling-clothes were cut out 
 of a gendarme s old cloak, and he began his studies in 
 jurisprudence by cleaning his father's big sword and 
 currying his red horse. I cannot explain to you how, 
 from the lowest rank of the judicial hierarchy, the 
 bailiff rose to the highest judicial position in the neigh- 
 borhood ; all that I can tell you is that the lizard as 
 well as the eagle reaches the peaks of the high rocks. 
 
 Among other fancies the bailiff had a mania for being 
 a grand personage. The inferiority of his origin was 
 his despair. He could not conceive how it was that a 
 man like himself was not born a gentleman. He attrib- 
 uted it to an error of the Creator. He would have 
 given his wife, his children, and his clerk for the tiniest 
 coat of arms. Nature had been to the bailiff a good 
 mother enough ; in truth, she had given him his share 
 of intelligence, neither too much nor too little, but she 
 had added to this a large dose of craft and audacity. 
 The bailiff was neither stupid nor witty. He lingered 
 on the borderland of the two camps : with this differ-
 
 186 MY FNCLE BEN J A MIX. 
 
 ence, however, that he had never set foot in that of 
 the people of wit, whereas he had made frequent excur- 
 sions into the easy and open territory of the other. 
 Unable to have the wit of bright men, the bailiff had 
 contented himself with that of fools : he made puns. 
 The lawyers and their wives made it a duty to consider 
 these puns very funny; his clerk was charged with 
 spreading them among the people, and even with ex- 
 plaining them to those dull minds which at first failed 
 to understand their meaning. Thanks to this agreeable 
 social talent, the bailiff had acquired in a certain circle 
 a reputation as a man of wit ; but my uncle said that 
 he purchased this reputation with counterfeit coin. 
 
 Was .the bailiff an honest man ? I would not dare to 
 say the contrary. You know the Code defines robbers, 
 and society regards as honest people all those who are 
 outside the definition ; now, the bailiff was not defined 
 by the Code. The bailiff, by dint of intrigue, had suc- 
 ceeded in managing, not only the business, but also the 
 pleasures of the town. As a magistrate, the bailiff was 
 a personage not to be highly recommended ; he under- 
 stood the law very well, but, when it went against his 
 hatreds or his sympathies, he interpreted it to suit him 
 self. It was charged that one scale of his balance was 
 gold and the other wood, and, in fact, I know not how 
 it happened, but his friends were always right and his 
 enemies always wrong. If they were arraigned for an, 
 offence, the latter incurred the highest penalty of the 
 law ; if he could have added to it, he would have done 
 so with a good heart. Nevertheless the law cannot al- 
 ways bend : when the bailiff found himself under the 
 necessity of passing sentence upon a man whom he
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 187 
 
 feared or from whom he hoped something, he got out 
 of the affair by declining to sit, and thus his impartial- 
 ity was a boast among his coterie. The bailiff aimed at 
 universal admiration : he cordially, but secretly, detested 
 those who obscured him by any superiority whatever. 
 If you pretended to believe in his importance, if you 
 applied to him for protection, you made him the happi- 
 est man in the world ; but, if you refused to take off 
 your hat to him, this insult buried itself deeply in his 
 memory, and made a wound there, and, if you had lived 
 a hundred years and he also, never would he have for- 
 given you. So it went hard with the unfortunate fellow 
 who abstained from saluting the bailiff. If any affair 
 brought him before his tribunal, he excited him by some 
 well-planned outrage to fail in respect. Then ven- 
 geance became to him a duty, and he put our man in 
 prison, while deploring the fatal necessity which his 
 functions imposed upon him. Often even, to make his 
 grief seem more real, he had the hypocrisy to take to 
 his bed, and on great occasions he went so far as to sub- 
 mit to bleeding. 
 
 The bailiff paid court to God as well as to the powers 
 of earth ; he was never absent from high mass, and he 
 ahvays placed himself in the very middle of the vestry- 
 men's pew. That brought him every Sunday a share 
 of the blessed bread with the protection of the priest. 
 If he could have established by an official report that he 
 had attended divine service, he undoubtedly would have 
 done so. But these little faults were made up for in 
 the bailiff by brilliant qualities. No one understood 
 better than he how to organize a ball at the expense of 
 the city or a banquet in honor of the Due de Niver-
 
 188 MY TJKCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 nais. On these solemn occasions lie was magnificent in 
 majesty, appetite, and puns; Lamoignon or President 
 Mol would have been very small men beside him. In 
 reward for the eminent services that he rendered to the 
 city, he had hoped for ten years to receive the cross of 
 Saint Louis ; and, when Lafayette was decorated after 
 his American campaigns, he loudly protested against 
 the injustice. 
 
 Such was the bailiff morally; physically he was a 
 fleshy man, although he had not yet attained his full 
 majesty ; his person resembled an ellipse swollen at the 
 bottom; you might have compared him to an ostrich- 
 egg standing on two legs. Perfidious nature, which 
 beneath a fiery sky has given to the manchineel tree a 
 broad and thick shade, had granted to the bailiff the 
 face of an honest man. Consequently he was fond of 
 posing, and it was a fine day in his life when he could 
 go, escorted by the firemen, from the tribunal to the 
 church. 
 
 The bailiff always stood as stiff as a statue on a 
 pedestal : if you had not known him, you would have 
 said that he had a plaster of Burgundy pitch or a broad 
 blister between his shoulders : he walked in the street 
 as if he had carried a holy sacrament ; his step was as 
 invariable as a yard-stick: a shower of spears would 
 not have made him lengthen it an inch ; with the bailiff 
 for his single instrument an astronomer could have 
 measured an arc of the meridian. 
 
 My uncle did not hate the bailiff ; he did not even 
 deign to despise him; but, in presence of this moral 
 abjection, he felt something like a revolt of his soul, 
 and he sometimes said that this man had the effect upon 
 him of a big toad crouching in a velvet arm-chair.
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 189 
 
 As for the bailiff, lie hated Benjamin with all the 
 energy of his bilious soul. The latter was not ignorant 
 of thiT; but he cared very little about it. 
 
 My grandmother, fearing a conflict between these 
 two natures so diverse, wanted Benjamin to abstain 
 from going to court; but the great man, who had con- 
 fidence in the strength of his will, had disdained this 
 timid counsel ; only, on Saturday morning he abstained 
 from taking his customary allowance of hot wine. 
 
 Bonteint's lawyer proved that his client had a right 
 to claim a judgment against my uncle for seizure of his 
 body. When he had entirely finished his demonstra- 
 tion, the bailiff asked Benjamin what he had to say in 
 his defence. 
 
 " I have but one observation to make," said my uncle, 
 "but it is worth more than Monsieur's whole speech, 
 for it is unanswerable : I am five feet nine inches above 
 the level of the sea and six inches above the level of the 
 ordinary man; I think" . . . 
 
 "Monsieur Rathery," interrupted the bailiff, "how- 
 ever tall a man you may be, you have no right to joke 
 with justice." 
 
 " If I had a desire to joke," said my uncle, " it would 
 not be with so powerful a personage as Monsieur, whose 
 justice, moreover, does not joke ; but when I affirm that 
 I am five feet nine inches above the level of the sea, 
 I do not perpetrate a joke ; I offer a serious defence. 
 Monsieur can have me measured if he doubts the truth 
 of my declaration. I think, then" . . . 
 
 " Monsieur Rathery," replied the bailiff quickly, " if 
 you continue in this tone, I shall be obliged to deprive 
 you of the floor."
 
 190 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 " It is not worth while," answered iny uncle, " for I 
 am done. I think, then," he added, hurrying his syl- 
 lables one after another, " that the body of a man of my 
 stature is not to be seized for fifty miserable three-franc 
 pieces." 
 
 " According to you," said the bailiff, " the seizure of 
 the body could be practised only on one of your arms, 
 one of your legs, or perhaps even on your cue." 
 
 "In the first place," answered my uncle, "I will beg 
 Monsieur to observe that my cue is not in question ; 
 then I make no pretension to the quality attributed to 
 me by Monsieur; I was born undivided, and I intend 
 to remain undivided all my life ; but, a 3 the security is 
 worth at least double the amount of the credit, I beg 
 Monsieur 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 the tavern, since you 
 have brought up the question of the tavern, it is too 
 highly appreciated by honest people to need to be 
 rehabilitated by me. If we go to the tavern, it is be- 
 cause, when we are thirsty, we have not the privilege 
 of refreshing ourselves at the expense of the city. The 
 tavern is the wine-cellar of those who have none ; and 
 the wine-cellar of those who have one is nothing but a
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAME*. 191 
 
 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 they get intoxi- 
 cated in drinking toasts to the king and to the Due de 
 Nivernais are simply, euphony aside, what the people 
 call drinking bouts. To get drunk at one's table is 
 more decent, but to get drunk at the tavern is nobler, 
 and more profitable to the public treasury besides. As 
 to the consideration that attaches to my person, it is 
 less extended than that which Monsieur can claim for 
 his, inasmuch ^as I enjoy the consideration of honest 
 people only. But "... 
 
 "Monsieur Rathery," cried the bailiff, finding no 
 better and easier answer to the epigrams with which my 
 uncle was tormenting him, " you are an insolent fellow." 
 
 " So be it," replied Benjamin, knocking off a straw 
 which had attached itself to the facing of his coat, " but 
 I must in conscience warn Monsieur that I have con- 
 fined myself this morning within the limits of the 
 strictest temperance, and that consequently, if he should 
 try to make me depart from the respect that I owe to 
 his robe, he would do so at his costs of provocation." 
 
 "Monsieur Rathery," exclaimed the bailiff, "your 
 allusions are insulting to justice; I fine you thirty 
 sous for contempt." 
 
 " There are three francs," said my uncle, putting a 
 little coin on the judge's green table, " take your pay out 
 of that." 
 
 "Monsieur Rathery," cried the exasperated bailiff, 
 " leave the room."
 
 192 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 " Monsieur bailiff, I have the honor to salute you. 
 My compliments to Madame your wife, if you please." 
 
 " I fine you forty sous more," screamed the judge. 
 
 " What ! " said my uncle, " a fine of forty sous be- 
 cause I present my compliments to Madame your wife." 
 
 And he went out. 
 
 " That devil of a man ! " said the bailiff in the even- 
 ing to his wife ; " never would I have supposed him so 
 moderate. But let him look out ; I have issued a war- 
 rant for his arrest, and shall ask Bonteint to execute it 
 immediately. He shall learn what it is to defy me. 
 When I invite him to the festivities given by the city, 
 it will be hot, and if I can diminish his practice "... 
 
 " Oh, fie, Monsieur ! " answered his wife, " are those 
 proper sentiments to be uttered by a man who sits in 
 the vestrymen's pew? And besides, what has M. 
 Rathery done to you ? He is such a merry, handsome, 
 and amiable 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 ; moreover, he is wittier and more honest 
 than I. Do you think that a little matter ? " 
 
 The next day my uncle had ceased to think about the 
 warrant issued for his arrest ; he started for the church, 
 powdered and solemn, Mile. Minxit on his right and 
 his sword on his left; he was followed by Page, who 
 presented a smart appearance in his brown coat; by 
 Arthus, whose abdomen was enveloped to a point be- 
 yond its diameter by a waistcoat figured with large 
 branches, among which little birds were fluttering ; by 
 Millot-Rataut, who wore a brick-colored wig, and whose 
 gridelin tibias were marbled with black ; and by a great
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 193 
 
 many others, whose names it does not please me to 
 hand down to posterity. Parlanta alone failed to an- 
 swer to the call. Two violins squeaked at the head of 
 the procession ; Machecourt and his wife brought up 
 the rear. Benjamin, always magnificent, scattered by 
 the way sugar-plums and small coins from the inocula- 
 tion money. Gaspard, very proud to serve him as a 
 pocket, walked by his side, carrying the sugar-plums in 
 a big bag.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 HOW MY UNCLE WAS ARRESTED BY PARLANTA IN THE 
 
 PERFORMANCE OF HIS FUNCTIONS AS GODFATHER, 
 
 AND PUT IN PRISON. 
 
 BUT quite another ceremony was in store for him ! 
 Parlanta had received from Bonteint and the bailiff 
 express orders to execute the warrant during the cere- 
 mony ; he had ambushed his assistants in the vestibule 
 of the court-house, and was awaiting the procession 
 himself under the portal of the church. 
 
 As soon as he saw my uncle's three-cornered hat 
 emerge from the steps of Vieille-Rome, he went up to 
 him and summoned him in the name of the king to fol- 
 low him to prison. 
 
 " Parlanta," answered my uncle, " your conduct is 
 hardly conformable to the rules of French politeness; 
 could you not wait until to-morrow to effect my confis- 
 cation, and come to-day to dine with us ? " 
 
 "If you are very desirous of it," said Parlanta, "I 
 will wait ; but I warn you that the bailiff's orders are 
 explicit, and that I run a risk, if I disregard them, of 
 incurring his resentment in this life and in the other." 
 
 " That being the case, do your duty," said Benjamin ; 
 and he went to ask Page to take his place beside Mile. 
 Minxit ; then, bowing to the latter with all the grace 
 that his five feet nine inches would allow, he said : 
 
 " You see, Mademoiselle, that I am forced to separate 
 from you ; I beg you to believe that nothing less than
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 195 
 
 a summons in the name of His Majesty could induce 
 me to do such a thing. I should have liked, if Parlanta 
 had allowed me, to enjoy the pleasure of this ceremony 
 to the end; but these sheriff's officers are like death: 
 they seize their prey wherever they find it, they tear it 
 violently from the arms of the loved one as a child tears 
 a butterfly by its gauze wings from the calyx of a rose." 
 
 " It is as disagreeable to me as to you," said Mile. 
 Minxit, pouting frightfully: "your friend is a little 
 man and as round as a ball, and he wears a wig a mar- 
 teaux ; I shall look like a Maypole beside him." 
 
 "What do you expect me to do?" said Benjamin, 
 dryly, wounded at so much egoism ; " I cannot make 
 you any shorter, or M. Page any thinner, and I cannot 
 lend him my cue." 
 
 Benjamin took leave of the company and followed 
 Parlanta, whistling his favorite air : 
 
 " Malbrough s'en va-t-an guerre." 
 
 He halted a moment on the threshold of the prison 
 to cast a last glance at the free spaces which were about 
 to close behind him; he saw his sister motionless on 
 the arm of her husband, who was following him with 
 a distressed look; on seeing this, he pulled the door 
 violently after him, and rushed into the prison-yard. 
 
 That night my grandfather and his wife came to see 
 him ; they found him perched at the top of a flight of 
 steps, throwing to his companions in captivity the bal- 
 ance of his sugar-plums, and laughing like the happiest 
 of men to see them scramble for them. 
 
 " What the devil are you doing there ? " said my 
 grandfather to him.
 
 196 MY TJNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 "You see for yourself," answered Benjamin, "I am 
 finishing the baptismal ceremony. Do you not find 
 that these men swarming at our feet to pick up insipid 
 sweetmeats faithfully represent society? Is it not in 
 this way that the poor inhabitants of this earth push 
 each other, crush each other, overturn each other, to 
 get the blessings that God has cast in the midst of 
 them ? Is it not thus that the strong man tramples the 
 weak man under his feet, thus that the weak man 
 bleeds and cries, thus that he who has taken everything 
 insults by his superb irony him to whom he has left 
 nothing, and thus finally that, when the latter dares to 
 complain, the other kicks him ? These poor devils are 
 breathless, covered with sweat ; their fingers are bruised, 
 and their faces torn ; not one has come out of the 
 struggle without a scratch of some kind. If they had 
 listened to their real interests rather than to their wild 
 instinct of greed, instead of disputing over these sugar- 
 plums as enemies, would they not have shared them as 
 brothers ? " 
 
 "Possibly," answered Machecourt ; "but try not to 
 get too lonesome this evening and to sleep well to-night, 
 for to-morrow morning you will be free." 
 
 " How so ? " answered Benjamin. 
 
 " Because," replied Machecourt, " to get you out of 
 this difficulty, we have sold our little vineyard." 
 
 " And is the contract signed ? " inquired Benjamin, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Not yet," said my grandfather, " but we are to meet 
 to-night to sign it." 
 
 "Well, you, Machecourt, and you, my dear sister, 
 pay careful attention to what I am going to say : if you
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 197 
 
 sell your vineyard to get me out of Bonteint's clutches, 
 the first use that I shall make of my liberty will be to 
 leave your house, and never in all your life will you 
 see me again." 
 
 "Nevertheless," said Machecourt, "the matter must 
 be so arranged ; one is a brother or one is not. I cannot 
 allow you to remain in prison when I have in my hands 
 the means of restoring your liberty. You take things 
 as a philosopher, but I am not a philosopher. As long 
 as you remain here, I shall be unable to eat a- morsel or 
 drink a glass of white wine for my benefit." 
 
 " And I," said my grandmother, " do you think that 
 I can accustom myself to see you no more ? Did not 
 our mother recommend you to my care on her death- 
 bed? Have I not brought you up? Do I not look 
 upon you as the eldest of my children ? And these poor 
 children, it is pitiable to see them ; since you are no 
 longer with us, one would say there was a coffin in the 
 house. They all wanted to come with us to see you, 
 and little Nanette was not willing to touch her pie- 
 crust, saying that she kept it for her uncle Benjamin, 
 who was in prison and had only black bread to eat." 
 
 "This is too much," said Benjamin, pushing my 
 grandfather by the shoulders ; " go away, Machecourt, 
 and you too, my dear sister, go away, I bag of you, for 
 you will cause me to be guilty of a weakness ; but, I 
 warn you, if you sell your vineyard to pay my ransom, 
 never in my life will I set eyes on you again." 
 
 " Nonsense, you booby ! " answered my grandmother, 
 "is not a brother more valuable than a vineyard? 
 Would you not do for us what we do for you, if oppor- 
 tunity offered ? And when you are rich, will you not
 
 198 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 aid us to establish our children ? With your profession 
 and your talents you can return us a hundred times 
 over what we give you to-day. And, my God ! what 
 would the public 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, and do not make m 
 all unhappy by insisting on staying here." 
 
 While my grandmother was speaking, Benjamin had 
 his head hidden in his hands, and was trying to repress 
 the tears that were gathering under his eyelids. 
 
 " Machecourt," he cried suddenly, " I can stand this 
 no longer; tell Boutron to bring me a little glass of 
 wine ; and come and kiss me. See," said he, pressing 
 him against his breast until he cried with pain, " you 
 are the first man that I ever kissed, and these are the 
 first tears that I have shed since the last time that I 
 was flogged." 
 
 And truly my poor uncle burst into tears. But the 
 jailer having brought two little glasses, he had no 
 sooner emptied his than he became as calm and serene 
 as an April sky after a shower. 
 
 My grandmother again tried to move him, but her 
 words had no more effect upon him than the moon's 
 rays upon an icicle. 
 
 The only thing that troubled him was that the jailer 
 had seen him weep. So Machecourt had to keep his 
 vineyard willy-nilly.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A BREAKFAST IN PRISON. HOW MY UNCLE GOT OUT OF 
 PRISON. 
 
 THE next morning, as my uncle was promenading in 
 the prison-yard, whistling a well-known air, Arthus 
 entered, followed by three men carrying baskets cov- 
 ered with white linen. 
 
 " Good morning, Benjamin," he cried : " we come to 
 breakfast with you, since you can no longer come to 
 breakfast with us." 
 
 At the same time Page, Rapin, Guillerand, Millot- 
 Rataut, and Machecourt marched in. Parlanta brought 
 up the rear, looking a little abashed: my uncle went 
 up to him, and, taking him by the hand, said : 
 
 " Well, Parlanta, I hope you do not bear me any ill- 
 will for having made you lose a good dinner yester- 
 day." 
 
 " On the contrary," answered Parlanta, " I was afraid 
 that you would be angry with me for not allowing you 
 to finish your baptism." 
 
 "Understand this, Benjamin," interrupted Page, "we 
 have assessed ourselves to get you out of here ; but, as 
 we have no ready cash, we act as if 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
 
 200 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 than he thinks ; Guillerand will give his children some 
 grammar lessons of indifferent excellence ; Rataut, who 
 is nothing, inasmuch as he is a poet, engages himself 
 upon his honor to buy of him all the coats that 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 ; " why ! he receives values 
 amounting to more than five hundred francs. Rapin 
 arranged this affair with him yesterday ; it remains but 
 to draw up the documents." 
 
 " Well," said my uncle, " I will take my share of this 
 good deed; I engage to treat him, without any bill, 
 during the next two sicknesses with which he may be 
 afflicted. If I kill him with the first, his wife shall in- 
 herit the privilege of the second; as for you, Mache- 
 court, I permit you to subscribe 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 
 which had become somewhat mixed, and placed them in 
 their order on the table. 
 
 " Come," he shouted, " let us sit down, and a truce 
 to babbling ! I do not like to be disturbed when I am 
 eating; you will have plenty of time to chatter at 
 dessert." 
 
 The breakfast did not taste at all of the place in 
 which it was celebrated. 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, gentlemen, do
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 201 
 
 you know that Machecourt came near doing a good deed 
 yesterday ? He wanted to sell his good vineyard to pay 
 Bonteint my ransom." 
 
 " Magnificent ! " cried Page. 
 
 " Succulent ! " said Arthus. 
 
 " I consider it an instance of morality in action," de- 
 clared Guillerand. 
 
 " Gentlemen," interrupted Rapin, " virtue must be 
 honored wherever one is fortunate enough to find it ; I 
 propose, therefore, that every time that Machecourt sits 
 down at table with us, he shall ba given an arm-chair." 
 
 " Adopted ! " cried all the guests together, " and 
 here's to Machecourt's health ! " 
 
 " Indeed ! " said my uncle, " I do not know why 
 people are so afraid of prison. Is not this fowl as 
 tender, and this Bordeaux as fragrant, on this side of 
 the grating as on the other ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Guillerand, " as long as there is grass 
 beside the walls to which it is fastened the goat does 
 not feel its tether ; but when the place is stripped, it 
 begins to worry and tries to break its tether." 
 
 "To go from the grass that grows in the valley," 
 answered my uncle, " to that which grows on the moun- 
 tain is the liberty of the goat ; but man's liberty is to 
 do only that which befits him. He whose body has 
 been seized but whose power to think at his will has 
 been left him is a hundred times freer than he whose 
 soul has been left captive in the chains of an odious 
 occupation. The prisoner undoubtedly passes sad hours 
 in contemplating through his bars the road that winds 
 along the plain and loses itself beneath the bluish shade 
 of some far-off forest. He would like to be the poor
 
 202 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 woman who leads her cow along the road while twirl- 
 ing 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, to 
 whom does it belong ? Is not the paralytic in prison 
 in his bed, the merchant in his shop, the clerk in his 
 office, the bourgeois within the limits of his little town, 
 the king within the limits of his kingdom, and God 
 himself within that icy circumference which confines 
 worlds? You go breathless and streaming with sweat 
 over a road burned with the sun; here are tall trees 
 that spread beside you their lofty tiers of verdure, and 
 ironically shake their yellow leaves upon your head; 
 you would like very much to remain a moment in their 
 shade, and wipe your feet on the moss that carpets 
 their roots; but between them and you there is six 
 feet of wall or the pointed bars of an iron grating. 
 Arthus, Rapin, and all of you who have only a stom- 
 ach, who know how only to dine after having break 
 fasted, I do not know whether you will understand me 
 but Millot-Rataut, who is a tailor and makes songs, he 
 will understand me. I have often desired to follow in 
 its vagabond peregrinations the cloud driven by the 
 winds across the sky. Often when, resting my elbows 
 on my window-sill, I dreamily follow the moon which 
 seems to look at me like a human face, I would like to 
 fly away like a bubble of air toward those mysterious 
 solitudes that pass above my head, and would give 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
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 203 
 
 as the poor prisoner between 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 too comfortable. It corrects him like a spoiled 
 child, after the fashion of that nymph who whipped 
 Cupid with a rose. If you permit the rich man to 
 carry to his prison his kitchen, his wine-cellar, his 
 library, his parlor, it is not a condemned man whom 
 you punish, it is a bourgeois who changes his lodgings. 
 There you are before a good fire, wrapped in your well- 
 lined dressing gown; with your feet on the andirons 
 you digest your food, with stomach redolent with 
 truffles and champagne ; the snow-flakes flutter by the 
 bars of your window, while you blow toward the ceiling 
 the white smoke of your cigar. You dream, you think, 
 you build castles in Spain or write poetry. By your 
 side is your newspaper, that friend which we quit, 
 which we recall, and which we finally dismiss when it 
 becomes too tiresome. Tell me, what is there in such 
 a situation that resembles a penalty ? Have you not 
 thus passed hours, days, entire weeks, without leaving 
 your house ? What, meanwhile, 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 paternosters of some lawyer who repeats himself. 
 Meanwhile, catarrh with its torpid clutch seizes his 
 lungs, or a chilblain with its sharp tooth bites his toes. 
 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,
 
 204 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 go to bed when you like, do what you like, and you are 
 no longer obliged to shave. 
 
 " Take Benjamin, for instance, who is a prisoner : do 
 you think that Bonteint has served him such a bad turn 
 in getting him shut up here ? He was often obliged to 
 rise before the street lamps went out. With one stock- 
 ing on wrong side out, he went from door to door, to 
 inspect this one's tongue and feel that one's pulse. 
 When he had finished in one direction, he had to begin 
 again in another ; he splashed himself in the cross-roads 
 up to his cue, and his peasant generally had nothing to 
 offer him but curds and black bread. When he had 
 come home at night very tired, had settled himself com- 
 fortably in his bed, and was beginning to taste the joys 
 of the early hours of sleep, he was brutally awakened to 
 go to the aid of the mayor choking with indigestion, or 
 of the bailiff's wife in the midst of a miscarriage. Now, 
 here he is, rid of all this bustle. He is as well situated 
 here as a rat in a Dutch cheese. Bonteint has made 
 him a present of a little income, which he eats as a phi- 
 losopher. He is really the lily of the gospel, which 
 neither bleeds nor purges and yet is well fed, which 
 neither toils nor spins and yet is arrayed in a magnificent 
 red robe. Truly, we are dupes to pity him, and actual 
 enemies of his comfort to try to get him out of here." 
 
 "One is comfortable here, I grant," answered my 
 uncle, " but I would quite as willingly be uncomfort- 
 able somewhere else. That shall not prevent me from 
 admitting, as Page has shown you, not only that the 
 prison is too comfortable for the rich man, but also that 
 it is too comfortable for everybody. It is undoubtedly 
 hard to cry to the law when it scourges a poor fellow:
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 205 
 
 ' Strike harder ; you do not hurt him enough ' ; but it 
 is very necessary to guard also against that unintelli- 
 gent and near-sighted philanthropy which sees nothing 
 beyond his misfortune. Real philosophers, like Guil- 
 lerand, like Millot-Rataut, like Parlanta, in a word, like 
 all of us, should consider men only en masse, as we con- 
 sider a wheat field. A social question should always be 
 examined 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 that it is because he wishes you 
 well and in the interest of your individual glory that 
 His Majesty authorizes you to wear his gracious image 
 upon your breast ? Alas ! no, my poor brave ; it is in 
 his own interest first, and then in that of the State ; it 
 is in order that those who, like you, have hot blood in 
 their veins, seeing you so generously rewarded, may 
 imitate your example. Now, suppose that, instead of a 
 good deed, you have committed a crime ; you have 
 killed, not three or four men who do not wear the same 
 kind of coat-collar that you do, but a good bourgeois 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 draw up your gen- 
 eral confession and begin your lamentation. Now, 
 what feeling moved the judge to pass this sentence 
 upon you? Did he wish to rid society of you, as when 
 one kills a mad dog, or to punish you, as when one 
 whips an ugly child? In the first place, if his object 
 had been simply to cut you off from society, a very 
 deep cell with a very thick door and a loop-hole for a 
 window would have been amply sufficient for that.
 
 206 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 Then, the judge often condemns to death a man who 
 has attempted to commit suicide, and to prison a poor 
 fellow to whom he knows that the prison will be hos- 
 pitable. Is it, then, to punish them that he grants 
 these two good-for-nothings precisely what they ask; 
 that he performs for one, to whom existence is a torture, 
 an operation that ends his life, and that he grants to the 
 other, who has neither bread nor roof, a place of refuge ? 
 The judge wishes but one thing ; he wishes to frighten 
 by your torture those who would be tempted to follow 
 your example. 
 
 " ' People, take care that you do not kill,' that is all 
 that your sentence means. If you could substitute for 
 yourself under the knife a mannikin who resembles 
 you, 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 do so willingly ; 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 very loudly, 
 and you proclaim it yourselves, that it is better to acquit 
 ten guilty men than to condemn one innocent man. 
 That is the most deplorable of the absurdities to which 
 fashionable philanthropy has given birth ; it is an anti- 
 social principle. I maintain, for my part, 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 outcry 
 against my uncle. 
 
 " No, indeed," cried my uncle, " I am not joking, and 
 this subject is not one to excite laughter. I express 
 a firm, powerful, and long-settled conviction. The
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 207 
 
 whole city pities the innocent man who mounts the 
 scaffold; the newspapers resound with lamentations, 
 and your poets take him for the martyr of their dramas. 
 But how many innocent men perish in your rivers, on 
 your highways, in the depths of your mines, or even in 
 your workshops, torn to pieces by the ferocious teeth of 
 your machines, those gigantic animals that seize a man 
 by surprise and swallow him before your eyes, you un- 
 able to render him any aid. Yet their death hardly 
 tears an exclamation from you. You pass by, and a 
 few steps farther on you think no more about it. You 
 even forget to tell your wife of it at dinner. The next 
 day the newspaper buries him in one 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 super- 
 abundance of pity for the other? Why ring one's 
 funeral knell with a little bell and the other's with 
 a big one ? Is a mistaken judge a more terrible acci- 
 dent than an overturned stage-coach or a disarranged 
 machine ? Do not my innocents make as big a hole in 
 society as yours,? Do they not leave the wife a widow 
 and the children orphans as well as yours ? 
 
 " Undoubtedly it is not agreeable to go to the scaffold 
 for another, and I who speak to you admit that, if the 
 thing should happen to me, I should be very much put 
 out. But, in relation to society, what is this little 
 blood that the executioner sheds? A drop of water 
 that oozes from a reservoir, a bruised acorn that falls 
 from an oak. An innocent man condemned by a judge 
 is a consequence of the distribution of justice, as the 
 fall of a carpenter from the top of a house is a conse- 
 quence of the fact that man shelters himself under a
 
 208 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 roof. Out of a thousand bottles that a workman makes, 
 he breaks at least one ; out of a thousand sentences that 
 a judge passes, one at least will be unjust. It is an evil 
 that is expected, and for which there could be no pos- 
 sible remedy except the total suppression of justice. 
 Take an old woman sifting beans ; what would you say 
 of her if, through fear of throwing away a good one, 
 she should keep all the rubbish which she found with 
 it? Would it not be the same with the judge who, 
 through fear of condemning one innocent man, should 
 acquit ten guilty? 
 
 " 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 over- 
 whelm him with charges which he cannot disprove. 
 And even in such a case I maintain that there is in the 
 attitude of an accused man, 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 in- 
 nocent 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 
 goes on inside, it calculates the chances of safety which 
 your indulgence leaves it. It applauds you when, 
 through exaggerated caution, it sees you acquit a guilty 
 man, for it is crime itself that you acquit. Justice un- 
 doubtedly should not be too severe ; but, when it is 
 too indulgent, it abdicates, it annuls itself. From that 
 time forward men predestined to crime abandon them- 
 selves without fear to their instincts, and no longer see 
 in their dreams the sinister face of the executioner ; be-
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 209 
 
 tween them and their victims the scaffold no longer 
 rises ; they take your money provided they need it, and 
 your life provided it stands in their way. You applaud 
 yourselves, good people, at having saved an innocent 
 man from the axe, but you have caused twenty to die 
 by the dagger. There is a balance of nineteen murders 
 to be charged to your account. 
 
 "And now I come back to the prison. The prison, 
 in order to inspire a healthy terror, must be a place of 
 torture and misery. Nevertheless, there are in France 
 fifteen millions of men who are more miserable in their 
 houses than the prisoner behind his bars. ' Too happy 
 the man of the fields if he knows his happiness,' says 
 the poet. That's all very well in an idyl. The man of 
 the fields is the thistle of the mountain ; not a glowing 
 ray of sunlight that does not burn him, not a breath of 
 the north wind that does not bite him, not a shower 
 that he must not undergo ; he toils from the morning 
 Angelus till the evening Angelus ; he has an old father, 
 and he cannot mitigate the severity of his old age ; he 
 has a beautiful wife, and he can give her nothing but 
 rags ; he has famishing children continually calling for 
 bread, and often there is not a crumb in the bin. The 
 prisoner, on the contrary, is warmly clad and sufficiently 
 fed ; before having a piece of bread to put in his mouth, 
 he is not obliged to earn it. 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 
 organize themselves into societies to make his prison 
 less uncomfortable, and they do this so well that, in- 
 stead of a penalty, his imprisonment becomes a reward. 
 Beautiful ladies make his kettle simmer, and season 
 his soup ; they preach morality to him with white bread
 
 210 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 and meat. Surely to the toilsome liberty of the fields 
 or the shop, this man will prefer the careless and com- 
 fortable captivity of the prison. 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 clad in 
 black like the judge ; through its little grated windows 
 it should cast sinister looks at the passers-by; from 
 within it should arise, instead of songs, the noise of 
 clanking chains or barking dogs ; the old man should 
 fear to rest under its walls ; the child should not dare 
 to play within its shadow ; the bslated bourgeois should 
 turn out of his road to avoid it, and separate himself 
 from it as he separates himself from the graveyard. 
 Only on this condition will you obtain from the prison 
 the result that you expect of it." 
 
 My uncle perhaps would be discussing still, if M. 
 Minxit had not arrived to cut short his argument. 
 The worthy man was streaming with perspiration ; 
 he sucked in the air like a porpoise stranded on the 
 beach, and was as red as my uncle's coat. 
 
 " 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 is the whole 
 of the mystery. Here," he added, pulling, a paper 
 from his pocket and handing it to Boutron, " this is 
 Bonteint's receipt." 
 
 " Bravo, Monsieur Minxit ! " 
 
 And everybody, rising, glass in hand, drank to M. 
 Minxit's health. Machecourt tried to rise, but he fell 
 back on his chair ; joy had almost deprived him of his 
 senses; Benjamin chanced to cast a glance at him.
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 211 
 
 " What, Machecourt ! " he exclaimed, " are you 
 mad? Drink to Minxit's health, or I bleed you on 
 the spot." 
 
 Machecourt rose mechanically, emptied his glass at 
 one swallow, and began to weep. 
 
 " My good Monsieur Minxit," continued Benjamin, 
 "may 1" . . . 
 
 " Pshaw ! " said the latter, " I see how it is : you are 
 about to thank me ; well, I relieve you of that duty, 
 my poor fellow ; it is for my own fine eyes and not for 
 yours that I take you out of here ; you know very well 
 that I cannot get along without you. You see, gentle- 
 men, in all the actions that seem the most generous 
 there is only egoism. If this maxim is not consoling, 
 it is not my fault, but it is true." 
 
 " Monsieur Boutron," said Benjamin, "is Bonteint's 
 receipt in regular form ? " 
 
 " I see nothing defective about it except a big blot 
 which the honest tailor 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 follow you," said Machecourt, " I wish to be a 
 witness of her joy ; never have I been so happy since 
 the day when Gaspard came into the world." 
 
 " You will permit me," said M. Minxit, sitting 
 down to table. " Monsieur Boutron, another plate. 
 For that matter, gentlemen, I will do as much for you ; 
 this evening I invite you to supper at Corvol." 
 
 This proposition was welcomed with acclamation by 
 all the guests. After breakfast they retired to the cafS 
 to await the hour for starting.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A TRIP TO COKVOL. 
 
 THE waiter came to tell my uncle that there was an 
 old woman at the door who wanted to speak to him. 
 
 " Tell her to come in," said Benjamin, " and give her 
 some refreshment." 
 
 " 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 ; " and why, you 
 scamp, didn't you tell me that at once?" 
 
 And he hastened out. 
 
 The old woman who had called for my uncle was 
 indeed shedding big tears, which she wiped away with 
 an old piece of red calico. 
 
 " What is the matter, my good woman ? " said Benja- 
 min, in a tone of politeness that he did not assume 
 toward everyone, " and what can I do for you ? " 
 
 " You must come to Sembert," said the old woman, 
 "to see my sick son." 
 
 " Sembert ! That village at the top of Monts-le-Duc ? 
 Why, that's half way to heaven ! All the same, I will 
 call there to-morrow afternoon." 
 
 "If you do not come to-day," said the old woman, 
 " to-morrow the priest will come with his black cross, 
 and perhaps it is already too late, for my son is afflicted 
 with a carbuncle." 
 
 " That is awkward for your son and for me ; but, to
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 21 8 
 
 accommodate everybody, could you not apply to my 
 confrere Arnout?" 
 
 "I have applied to him; but, as he is acquainted 
 with our poverty and knows that he will not be paid 
 for his visits, he would not disturb himself." 
 
 "What!" said my uncle, "you have no money with 
 which to pay your doctor? In that case, it is another 
 matter ; that concerns me. I ask you to allow me only 
 time enough to empty a little glass that I have left on 
 the table, and I am with you. By the way, we shall 
 need some Peruvian bark ; so here is a little coin ; go 
 to Perier's and buy a few ounces; you will tell him 
 that I did not have time to write a prescription." 
 
 A quarter of an hour later my uncle was toiling, side 
 by side with the old woman, up those uncultivated and 
 savage slopes that take their roots in the faubourg of 
 Bethle'em and terminate in the broad plateau on top of 
 which the hamlet of Sembert is perched. 
 
 M. Minxit's guests, for their part, started off in a cart 
 drawn by four horses. The inhabitants of the faubourg 
 of Beuvron had placed themselves in their doorways, 
 candle in hand, to see them pass, and it was indeed a 
 more curious phenomenon than an eclipse. Arthus was 
 singing " Aussitot que la lumiere" ; Guillerand, " Mal- 
 brouf/h s'en va-t-en guerre " ; and the poet Millot, Avhom 
 they had fastened to one of the cart-stakes because he 
 did not seem very solid, struck up his " Grand Noel" 
 M. Minxit prided himself on an extraordinary magnifi- 
 cence ; he gave his guests a memorable supper, which 
 is to this day a topic of conversation at Corvol. Un- 
 fortunately he was so prodigal with his toasts that, 
 when they reached the second course, his guests were
 
 214 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 unable to raise their glasses. At this point Benjamin 
 arrived. He was worn with fatigue and in a humor to 
 massacre everything, for his patient had died on his 
 hands, and he had fallen down twice on the road. But 
 in him no sorrows or vexations could stand before a 
 white table-cloth adorned with bottles ; so he sat down 
 to table as if nothing had happened. 
 
 " Your friends," said M. Minxit, " are novices ; I 
 should have expected more solidity from sheriff's offi- 
 cers, manufacturers, and school-teachers ; I shall not 
 have the satisfaction of offering them any champagne. 
 And here is Machecourt who doesn't know you, and 
 Guilleraud is offering Arthus his snuff-box instead of 
 his glass." 
 
 " What do you expect ? " answered Benjamin ; 
 " everybody is not of your strength, Monsieur Minxit." 
 
 "Yes," replied the worthy man, flattered by the 
 compliment, "but what are we going to do with all 
 these milksops? I have no beds for them all, and 
 they are not in a condition to go back to Clamecy to- 
 night." 
 
 " Indeed, you are greatly embarrassed," said my 
 uncle; "have some straw spread in your barn, and as 
 fast as they go to sleep, you can send them out on a 
 litter; you can cover them, lest they may catch cold, 
 with the big matting that you put over your bed of 
 little radishes to keep the frost from them." 
 
 " You are right," said M. Minxit. 
 
 He sent for two musicians commanded by the ser- 
 geant, and the plan proposed by my uncle was carried 
 out to the letter. Millot was not slow in going to 
 sleep, and the sergeant swung him over his shoulder
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 215 
 
 and carried him off as if he were a clock-case. The 
 transportation of Rapin, Parlanta, and the others pre- 
 sented no serious difficulties; but, when they came to 
 Arthus, they found him so heavy that they had to let 
 him sleep where he lay. As for my uncle, he emptied 
 his last bumper of champagne, and then started in his 
 turn for the barn to bid them good-night. 
 
 The next morning, when M. Minxit's guests rose, 
 they resembled sugar-loaves just taken from their cases, 
 and it required all the domestics of the establishment 
 to rid them of the straw with which they were cov- 
 ered. After having breakfasted off the second course 
 which they had left intact the night before, they 
 started off with their four horses on a brisk trot. 
 
 They would have reached Clamecy very happily, but 
 for a little incident that happened on the way; the 
 horses, made impetuous by the whip, overturned the 
 cart into one of the thousand gullies with which the 
 road was lined, and they all fell pell-mell into the mud. 
 The poet Millot, who was always unlucky, had the mis- 
 fortune to find himself under Arthus. 
 
 Benjamin, fortunately for his coat, had remained at 
 Corvol. M. Minxit entertained at dinner that da} 7 all 
 the celebrities of the neighborhood, and among others 
 two noblemen. One of these illustrious guests was M. 
 de Pont-Casse*, a red musketeer ; the other was a mus- 
 keteer of the same color, a friend of M. de Font-Casse", 
 and whom the latter 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 displeased to repair 
 the damages which his own fortune had suffered with
 
 216 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 that of M. Minxit, and he had his eye on Arabelle, 
 although he dften told his friends that she was an in- 
 sect born in urine. Arabelle had allowed herself to be 
 taken in by the extravagance of his fine manners ; she 
 thought him much handsomer with his faded plumes and 
 much more amiable with his court rubbish 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, was not at all of this opinion; though 
 M. de Pont-Cass had been a colonel, he would not 
 have given him his daughter. He had kept Benjamin 
 to dinner in order that Arabelle might institute a com- 
 parison between her two adorers which, in his opinion, 
 could not be to the musketeer's advantage, and also 
 because he relied on my uncle to efface the tinsel of 
 the two noblemen and 'mortify their pride. 
 
 Benjamin, while waiting for dinner, went to take a 
 walk in the village. As he left M. Minxit's grounds, 
 he saw a pair of officers coming down the street, who 
 would not have turned out for a mail-coach, and at 
 whom the peasants were staring in wonder. My uncle 
 was not a man to disturb himself about so small a 
 matter; nevertheless, as he passed by them, he very 
 distinctly heard one of them say to his companion : 
 "Say, that is the queer chap who wants to marry Mile. 
 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, although he generally 
 cared very little for the proprieties, to make a spectacle 
 of himself before the inhabitants of Corvol. So he 
 acted as if he had heard nothing, and entered the house 
 of his friend the tabellion.
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 217 
 
 " I have just met in the street," said he, " two fellows 
 who looked like plumed lobsters, and who almost in- 
 snlted me ; could you tell me to what family of the 
 Crustacea these queer fellows belong?" 
 
 " Oh, the devil ! " said the tabellion, seemingly fright- 
 ened, "don't try any of your jokes in that direction: 
 one of them, M. de Pont-Cassd, is the most dangerous 
 duellist of our epoch, and of all those who have gone 
 on the duelling-ground with him not one has come back 
 safe and sound." 
 
 " We shall see," said my uncle. 
 
 The village clock having struck two, he took his 
 friend the tabellion by the arm, and went back with 
 him to M. Minxit's. The company was already gath- 
 ered in the parlor, and only waiting for them in order 
 to sit down at table. 
 
 The two noblemen, who acted in the presence of 
 these countrymen as if they were in a conquered 
 country, monopolized the conversation from the start. 
 M. de Pont-Cass did not cease twirling his moustache, 
 and talking of the court, of his duels, and of his 
 amorous exploits. Arabelle, who had never heard such 
 magnificent things, took great pleasure in his remarks. 
 My uncle noticed this; but, as Mile. Minxit was indif- 
 ferent to him, he thought it none of his concern. M. de 
 Pont-Casse", piqued at the little effect which he pro- 
 duced upon Benjamin, addressed him some remarks 
 that bordered on insolence ; but my uncle, sure of his 
 strength, disdained to pay any attention to them, and 
 occupied himself solely with his glass arid his plate. 
 M. Minxit was scandalized at the careless voracity of 
 his champion.
 
 218 MY UNCLE BENJAMIX. 
 
 "Don't you understand what M. de Pont-Casse* 
 means ? " cried the good man ; " of what are you think- 
 ing, Benjamin?" 
 
 "Of dinner, Monsieur Minxit, and I advise you to do 
 the same ; for I believe that is the purpose for which 
 you asked us here." 
 
 M. de Pont-Cass6 had too much pride to believe that 
 he could be spared. 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," said he to 
 Benjamin : " I was acquainted, or rather I have seen, 
 for one does not make the acquaintance of such people, 
 a Rathery among the king's hostlers ; perhaps he was a 
 relative of yours ? " 
 
 My uncle pricked up his ears like a horse struck with 
 a whip. 
 
 "M. de Pont-CasseY' he answered, "the Ratherj's 
 never made themselves servants of the court under any 
 livery whatsoever. The Ratherys have proud souls, 
 Monsieur ; they will not eat bread unless they earn it, 
 and they, with a few millions of others, pay the wages 
 of those flunkeys of all colors known as courtiers." 
 
 There was a solemn silence among the company, and 
 each one gave my uncle an approving look. 
 
 "Monsieur Minxit," he added, "a bit more of that 
 hare-pie, if you please ; it is excellent, arid I would 
 wager that the hare of which it was made was not a 
 nobleman." 
 
 "Monsieur," said the friend of M. dc Pont-Casse", 
 assuming a martial attitude, " what do you mean by 
 your remark about a hare?"
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 219 
 
 "That a nobleman," answered my uncle coldly, 
 " would not be good in a pie ; that was all that I 
 meant." 
 
 " Gentlemen," said M. Minxit, " it is understood of 
 course that your discussions should not overstep the 
 limits of pleasantry." 
 
 " Understood," said M. de Font-Casse* ; " strictly the 
 remarks of M. de Rathery are of a nature to offend two 
 officers of the king, who have not the honor to be, like 
 himself, of the plebeians ; nevertheless, 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 has been on 
 the point of taking a serpent for an eel, as I think that 
 I came near fraternizing with him. Nothing but his 
 long cue wriggling over his shoulders undeceived me." 
 
 " Monsieur de Font-Casse*," cried M. Minxit, "I will 
 not allow "... 
 
 " Let him go on, my good Monsieur Minxit," said my 
 uncle ; " insolence is the weapon of those who do not 
 know how to handle the flexible switch of wit. For 
 my part, I have no occasion to reproach myself regard- 
 ing my conduct toward M. de Pont-Casse, for I have 
 not as yet paid any attention to him." 
 
 "Very well," said M. Minxit. 
 
 The musketeer, who prided himself on being a very 
 witty fellow and who knew that in the combats of wit 
 as well as in those of the sword fortune is fickle, did 
 not become discouraged. 
 
 " Monsieur Rathery," he continued, " Monsieur sur- 
 geon Rathery, do you know that between our two pro- 
 fessions there is a closer analogy than you think? I 
 would bet my burnt sorrel horse against your red coat
 
 MT UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 that you have killed more people this year than I did 
 in my last campaign." 
 
 " You would win, Monsieur de Pont-Casse"," replied 
 my uncle coldly, " for this year I have had the mis- 
 fortune to lose a patient ; he died yesterday of a car- 
 buncle." 
 
 " Bravo, Benjamin ! Bravo, the people ! " cried M. 
 Minxit, unable longer to contain his joy. " You see, my 
 nobleman, that all the people of wit are not at court." 
 
 " You yourself are the best proof of that, Monsieur 
 Minxit," answered the musketeer, disguising the mor- 
 tification of his defeat under a serene front. 
 
 Meantime, all the guests, except the two noblemen, 
 presented their glasses to Benjamin, and touched them 
 cordially against his own. 
 
 " To the health of Benjamin Rathery, the avenger of 
 the misunderstood and insulted people ! " cried M. 
 Minxit. 
 
 The dinner was prolonged far into the evening. My 
 uncle noticed that Mademoiselle Minxit had disap- 
 peared some time after M. de Pont Cass ; but he was 
 too much preoccupied with the praises showered upon 
 him to pay any attention to his fiancee. Toward ten 
 o'clock he took leave of M. Minxit. The latter es- 
 corted him to the limits of the village, and made him 
 promise that the marriage should take place within a 
 week. As Benjamin arrived at a point opposite the 
 Trucy mill, a sound of conversation reached his ears, 
 and he thought he distinguished the voice of Arabelle 
 and that of her illustrious adorer. 
 
 Benjamin, out of regard for Mile. Minxit, did not 
 wish to surprise her at that hour on a country road
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 221 
 
 with a musketeer. He hid beneath the branches of a 
 large walnut-tree, and waited for the two lovers to pass 
 before continuing on his way. He doubtless did not 
 intend at all to steal Arabelle's little secrets, but the 
 wind brought them to him, and, in spite of himself, he 
 had to receive the confidence. 
 
 " I know a way," said M. de Pont-Casse*, " of making 
 him pack off : I will send him a challenge." 
 
 " I know him," answered Arabelle ; " he is a man of 
 ungovernable pride, and, though he were sure of being 
 killed on the spot v he would accept." 
 
 " So much the better ! In that way I shall rid you 
 of him forever." 
 
 " Yes, but in the first place I do not want to be an 
 accomplice in a murder ; and in the second place my 
 father loves this man more perhaps than he loves me, 
 his only daughter ; I will never consent that you shall 
 kill my father's best friend." 
 
 "You are charming, Arabelle, with your scruples; 
 I have killed more than one for a word that rang badly 
 in my ear, and this plebeian, whose wit is ferocious, has 
 taken a cruel revenge upon me ; I should not like 
 everybody at court to know what was said to-night at 
 your father's table. Nevertheless, not to go counter to 
 your wishes, I will content myself Avith crippling him. 
 If, for instance, I should cut the cord of his kneepan, 
 that would be a disqualification sufficient to justify you 
 in refusing him your hand." 
 
 "But suppose you, Hector, should fall yourself?" 
 said Mile. Minxit in her tenderest voice. 
 
 " I who have killed the finest swordsmen of the 
 army, the brave Bellerive, the terrible Desrivieres,
 
 222 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 the formidable Ch&teaufort, I fall by a surgeon's 
 rapier ! But you insult me, my beautiful Arabelle, 
 when you give voice to such a doubt. Do you not 
 know, then, that I am as sure of my sword as you of 
 your needle? Designate yourself the spot where you 
 would like me to strike him, and I shall be delighted to 
 serve you with this bit of gallantry." 
 
 The voices were lost in the distance; my uncle left 
 his hiding-place, and tranquilly resumed his journey to 
 Clainecy, considering what course he should take.
 
 CHAPTER XVm. 
 
 WHAT MY UNCLE SAID TO HIMSELF REGARDING DUELING. 
 
 " M. DE PCXNT-CASSE wishes to cripple me ; he has 
 promised Mile. Minxit that he will do so, and a knight 
 of the musketeers is not a man to fail in his word. 
 
 " Let me see : what shall I do in this matter ? Must 
 I allow myself to be crippled by M. de Pont-Cassd with 
 the docility of a dog under the scalpel, or shall I decline 
 the honor that he condescends to do me? It is for 
 M. de Pont-Casse"s interest that I should go upon 
 crutches ; that I know ; but I do not exactly see why 
 I should give him that pleasure. I hold very little to 
 Mile. Minxit, although she is decorated with a dowry 
 of one hundred thousand francs ; but I hold very much 
 to the symmetry of my person, and I flatter myself that 
 I am sufficiently good-looking to keep this pretension 
 from seeming ridiculous. You say, a man challenged 
 to a duel must fight; but where do you find that, if 
 you please? Is it in the Pandects, in Charlemagne's 
 Capitularies, in the commandments of God, or in those 
 of the Church? And in the first place, M. de Poiit- 
 Cassd, between you and me is the match really equal ? 
 You are a musketeer and I am a doctor ; you are an 
 artist in the matter of fencing, and I scarcely know how 
 to handle anything but the bistoury or the lancet ; you, 
 it seems, feel no more scruple in depriving a man of his 
 limb than in tearing a wing from a fly, whereas I have 
 a horror of blood, and especially of arterial blood.
 
 ?24 MY TJNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 Would it not be as ridiculous on my part to accept 
 your challenge as if I were to consent to walk a tight 
 rope upon the challenge of a rope-walker, or to cross an 
 arm of the sea upon the defiance of a professor of swim- 
 ming? And even though the chances were equal be- 
 tween us, when one concludes a treaty he must hope to 
 gain something thereby; 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 I should make a dupe's 
 bargain. You repeat that every man challenged to a 
 duel must fight. What ! if a murderer of the highway 
 should stop me at the corner of a wood, I should feel 
 no scruple in escaping from him with the aid of my 
 good legs, but, when a murderer of the drawing-room 
 places a challenge under my nose, I must feel myself 
 obliged to throw myself upon the point of his sword ? 
 
 "According to you, when an individual whom you 
 know only from accidentally having stepped on his toe, 
 writes to you : ' Monsieur, be present at such an hour, 
 at such a spot, in order that I may have the satisfaction 
 of killing you, in reparation of the insult which you 
 have offered me,' one must submit to the orders of this 
 person, and furthermore take good care not to keep 
 him waiting. Strange thing ! there are men who would 
 not risk a thousand francs to save their friend's honor 
 or their father's life, and who risk their own life in a 
 duel on account of an equivocal word or a squinting 
 glance. But then, what is life ? It is, then, no longer 
 a blessing without which all others are of little conse- 
 quence ? It is, then, a rag to be thrown to the passing 
 rag-picker, or a piece of worn-out money to be aban- 
 doned to the first blind man that sings beneath your
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 225 
 
 window? They require that I shall stake my life 
 against that of M. de Font-Casse* in a game of swords, 
 whereas, if I should play a game of cards for a hundred 
 francs, I should be a man ruined in reputation, and the 
 poorest cobbler among them all would not have me for 
 a son-in-law. According to them, I should be more 
 prodigal of my life than of my money. And must I, 
 who pride myself on being a philosopher, regulate my 
 conduct by the opinions of such casuists? 
 
 " In fact, what is this public which assumes to judge 
 our actions? Grocers who sell with false weights, 
 clothiers who give false measure, tailors who dress 
 their brats at the expense of their customers, men of 
 property who live on usury, mothers of families who 
 have lovers, and, in short, a heap of crickets and grass- 
 hoppers who know not what they sing, ninnies who 
 say yes and no without knowing why, an areopagus of 
 imbeciles incapable of giving reasons for their conclu- 
 sions. I should be in pretty business, I, a doctor, if I 
 should decide, because these boobies believe that Saint 
 Hubert cures of the rabies, to send a patient suffering 
 with hydrophobia to Ardennes to kneel at the shrine of 
 that great saint. Choose those among them who pride 
 themselves on being sages, and you will see how con- 
 sistent they are with themselves. Their philosophers 
 utter loud cries when one speaks to them of those poor 
 women of Malabar who throw themselves, alive and 
 decked in all their finery, on the funeral-pile of their 
 husband; and when two men cut each other's throats 
 for a straw, they award thorn a crown for intrepidity. 
 
 " You say that I am a coward when I have the good 
 sense to decline a challenge ; but what is cowardice,
 
 226 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 then, in your opinion ? If cowardice consists in recoil- 
 ing from useless danger, where will you find a coura- 
 geous man? Who of you, when his roof is cracking 
 and flaming above his head, remains calmly dreaming in 
 his bed? Who, when he is seriously sick, does not call 
 the doctor to his aid? Who, finally, when he falls into a 
 river, does not clutch at the bushes on the banks ? Once 
 more, what is this public ? A coward that preaches 
 temerity. Suppose that M. de Pont-Casse* were to chal- 
 lenge, not me, Benjamin Rathery, but the public to 
 fight a duel, how many out of the whole crowd would 
 dare to accept this defiance ? 
 
 " And besides, has a philosopher any other public to 
 consider than the men who think and reason? Now, in 
 the eyes of such people is not the duel the most absurd 
 as well as the most barbarous of prejudices? What 
 is proved by the logic that is learned in an armory ? 
 A well-delivered sword thrust is a magnificent argu- 
 ment, is it not? Parry tierce, parry quarte, you can 
 now demonstrate anything you like. It is a great pity, 
 indeed, that, when the pope excommunicated as hereti- 
 cal the revolution of the earth around the sun, Galileo 
 did not think of summoning His Holiness to a duel to 
 prove that this revolution was a fact. 
 
 "In the Middle Ages the duel had at least a reason; 
 it was the consequence of a religious idea. Our grand- 
 parents 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 with us, who are, thank Heaven, well recovered 
 from those mad ideas, and who believe in the temporal 
 justice of God only to such extent as we like, how can 
 the duel be justified and of what use is it?
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 227 
 
 "You fear that they will accuse you of lacking in 
 courage if you decline a challenge ; but those wretches 
 who make murder a profession and defy you because 
 they feel sure of killing you, what, then, do you think 
 of their courage ? What do you think of the courage 
 of the butcher who kills a sheep with its feet bound, or 
 that of the huntsman who fires pitilessly at a hare in 
 its form or at a bird singing on its branch. I have 
 known several of these people who, had not pluck 
 enough to have a tooth pulled ; and among the number 
 how many are there who would dare to obey their con- 
 science against the will of the man upon whom they 
 are dependent? I can understand that the cannibals 
 dwelling in the islands of the new world should kill 
 men of their own color in order to roast them, and, 
 after they have been well cooked, to eat them ; but 
 with what sauce will you, a duelist, eat the body of 
 the man you challenge, after you have killed him? 
 You are more guilty than the assassin whom justice 
 condemns to die upon the scaffold; he at least was 
 pushed to murder by poverty, a praiseworthy senti- 
 ment perhaps in its origin, however deplorable in its 
 results. But what is it that puts the sword in your 
 hand? Is it vanity, or an appetite for blood, or curi- 
 osity to see how a man writhes in the convulsions of 
 the death-agony? Do you picture to yourself a wife 
 throwing herself, half-crazed with grief, across the 
 body of her husband, children filling the widowed 
 house, draped with black, with their lamentations, a 
 mother praying God to receive her in the place of 
 her son in his coffin? And it is you who, moved by 
 a tiger's self-love, have caused all these miseries I You
 
 228 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 wish to kill us if we do not give you the title of a man 
 of honor ! But you are not worthy of the name of 
 man : you are only a brute thirsting for blood, only a 
 viper that bites for the pleasure of killing without 
 profiting by the evil that it does ; and even the viper 
 respects itself in its fellows. When your adversary 
 has fallen, you kneel in the mud mixed with his blood, 
 you try to stanch the wounds you have made, you aid 
 him as if you were his best friend ; but then, why did 
 you kill him, wretch ? A great deal society cares for 
 your remorse ! Will your tears replace the blood that 
 you have shed? You, fashionable assassin, you, re- 
 spectable murderer, you find men to take your hand, 
 mothers of families to invite you to their parties; 
 those women who faint at the sight of the executioner 
 dare to press their lips against yours, and suffer you to 
 rest your head upon their bosom. But these men and 
 women judge things only by their names : they are 
 horrified at the murder that is called assassination, and 
 they applaud the murder that is called a duel. And 
 after all, how much time have you in which to enjoy 
 this applause which they shower upon you? On high, 
 beside your name is written homicide. You have on 
 your brow a stain of clotted blood which the kisses 
 of your mistresses will not wipe out. You have found 
 no judge on earth, but in heaven a judge awaits you who 
 will not be taken in by your tall talk about honor. As 
 for me, I am a doctor, not to kill, but to cure, do you 
 hear, M. de Font-Casse" ? If you have too much blood 
 in your veins, only with the point of my lancet can I 
 let it out for you." 
 
 Thus reasoned my uncle to himself. We shall soon 
 see how he put his doctrine in practice.
 
 MT UNCLE BENJA3VTTN. 
 
 Night does not always bring good counsel. My uncle 
 rose the next day, determined not to cower before the 
 provocation of M. de Pcnt-Casse", and, in order to end 
 the adventure as soon as possible, he started that very 
 day for Corvol. Whether he had not breakfasted, or 
 did not perspire freely, or suffered from an unfinished 
 digestion of the day before, he felt an unusual melan- 
 choly creeping over him in spite of himself. In a very 
 pensive mood, like Racine's Hippolyte, he followed the 
 successive slopes of the mountain of Beaumont; his 
 noble sword, which generally fell with rigorous per- 
 pendicularity along his thigh-bone and threatened the 
 earth with its point, affecting now the trivial attitude 
 of a broche, seemed to conform to his sad thought ; and 
 his three-cornered hat, which usually stood proud and 
 straight upon his head with a slight inclination toward 
 the left ear, now sat sheepishly upon his neck, and 
 seemed itself preoccupied with sinister ideas; his stony 
 eye had softened. He contemplated with a sort of emo- 
 tion the valley of Beuvron which stretched away stiff 
 and shivering at his feet; those large walnut trees in 
 mourning, which, with their dark branches, resembled 
 a vast polyp ; those long poplars that had but a few red 
 leaves left on them, and on the tops of which thick 
 clusters of ravens sometimes balanced themselves ; that 
 wild copse browned by. the frost; the dark river that 
 flowed between its banks of snow toward the mill- 
 wheels; the dungeon of La Postaillerie, gloomy and 
 vaporous like a column of clouds ; the old feudal castle 
 of Pressure, crouching among the brown reeds of its 
 moats and seeming to have a fever; and the village 
 chimneys throwing out together their light thin smoke,
 
 230 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 like the breath of a man who blows between his fingers. 
 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, was full of sinister 
 notes ; it seemed to say in its spasmodic language : 
 
 Porteur de rapiere, 
 Tu vas au cimetiere. 
 
 To which my uncle replied : 
 
 Tic-tac indiscret, 
 Je vais oil il me plait; 
 Si c'est au trepas, 
 Ca n'te r'garde pas. 
 
 The weather was gloomy and sickly: huge white 
 clouds, pushed by the north wind, dragged heavily 
 across the sky, like a wounded swan ; the snow, de- 
 prived of its glitter by a grayish day, was dull and dim, 
 and the horizon was closed in every direction by a girdle 
 of fogs th it dragged along the mountains. It seemed 
 to ray uncle th.it he would never again see, lighted by 
 the joyous sun of spring and adorned with its festoons 
 of verdure, this landscape over which winter now had 
 spread so thick a veil of sadness. 
 
 M. Minxit was absent when my uncle arrived at 
 Corvol; he entered the drawing-room. M. de Pont- 
 Cass was installed upon a sofa, by the side of Arabelle. 
 Benjamin, without paying any attention to the pout of 
 his fiancte and the provoking airs of the musketeer, 
 threw himself into an arm-chair, crossed his legs, and 
 laid his hat on a chair, like a man in no hurry to go. 
 When they had talked for some time about M. Minxit's 
 health, the probabilities of a thaw, and the grippe, Ara-
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 281 
 
 belle became silent, and my uncle could get nothing 
 more out of her beyond a few sharp and shrill mono- 
 syllables, like the notes which an apprentice musician 
 elicits with great difficulty and at rare intervals from 
 his clarinette. M. de Font-Casse* walked up and down 
 the drawing-room, twirling his moustache and sounding 
 his big spurs on the floor ; he seemed to be studying to 
 himself the best way of picking a quarrel with my 
 uncle. 
 
 Benjamin had divined his intentions, but he had the 
 air of paying no attention to him, and took up a book 
 that was lying on a sofa. At first he contented himself 
 with turning 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 interesting 
 contents and forgot the musketeer. The latter decided 
 to bring things to a crisis ' he halted before my uncle, 
 and, surveying him from head to foot, said to him : 
 
 " Do you know, Monsieur, that your visits here are 
 very long?" 
 
 " It seems to me," answered my uncle, " that you 
 were here when I came." 
 
 " And also very frequent," added the musketeer. 
 
 " I assure you, Monsieur," replied my uncle, " that 
 they would be much less frequent if I expected always 
 to find you here." 
 
 " If you. come here on Mile. Minxit's account," con- 
 tinued the musketeer, "she begs you by my lips to rid 
 her of your long person." 
 
 " If Mile. 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
 
 232 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 retiring until she has explained herself on this subject 
 and until I have interviewed M. Minxit." 
 
 And my uncle went on with his chapter. 
 
 The officer went up and down the drawing-room a 
 few times nio're, and then, again placing himself oppo- 
 site my uncle, he said to him : 
 
 "I pray you, Monsieur, to interrupt your reading for 
 a moment, as I have a word to say to you." 
 
 " Since it is but a word," said my uncle, turning 
 down the leaf that he was reading, " I can easily waste 
 a moment in listening to you." 
 
 M. de Pont-Cass6 was exasperated at Benjamin's 
 sang-froid. 
 
 " I declare to you, Monsieur Rathery," said he, " that, 
 if you do not go out on the instant through the door, I 
 will throw you through the window." 
 
 " Really ! " said my uncle. " Well, I, Monsieur, will 
 be more polite than you; I shall throw you through 
 the door." 
 
 And taking the officer by the middle of the body, he 
 carried him to the head of the steps and locked the door 
 behind him. 
 
 As Mile. Minxit was trembling, my uncle said to 
 her: 
 
 " Do not be too much afraid of me ; the act of vio- 
 lence which I have permitted myself toward this man 
 was superabundantly justified by a long series of in- 
 sults. And besides," he added, bitterly, "I shall not 
 embarrass you long with my long person ; I am not 
 one of those dowry-marryers who take a woman from the 
 arm of the man she loves and fasten her brutally to the 
 foot of their bed. Every young girl has received from
 
 !Cr UNCLE BENJAMIN. 283 
 
 heaven her treasure of love : it is just that she should 
 choose the man with whom it pleases her to share it ; 
 no one has the right to pour the white pearls of her 
 youth into the street and trample them under foot. 
 God forbid that a base greed for money should lead me 
 to commit a bad action ! So far I have lived poor ; I 
 know the joys of poverty, and I am ignorant of the 
 miseries of wealth ; in exchanging my mad and laugh- 
 ing indigence for a cross and snarling opulence, per- 
 haps I should make a bad bargain ; at any rate, I 
 should not like this opulence to come to me with a 
 woman who detested me. I beg you, then, to tell me, 
 in all the sincerity of your soul, whether you love M. 
 de Pont-Casse" ; I need your reply in order to determine 
 my conduct toward you and your father." 
 
 Mile. Minxit, affected by Benjamin's frankness, an- 
 swered : 
 
 " If I had known you before M. de Font-Casse*, per- 
 haps you would now be the object of my love." 
 
 "Mademoiselle," interrupted my uncle, "it is not 
 politeness, but sincerity that I ask of you; tell me 
 frankly whether you think that you would be happier 
 with M. de Pont-Casse than with me." 
 
 "What shall I say, Monsieur Rathery?" answered 
 Arabelle ; " 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 breakfast for 
 me ? The stomach is an egoist which has little sym- 
 pathy with the tribulations of the heart." 
 
 My uncle breakfasted as Alexander or Csesar prob-
 
 234 MY UNCLE BENJAMIK. 
 
 ably breakfasted on the eve of battle. He did not want 
 to await M. Minxit's return ; he did not feel the courage 
 to face his grieved expression when he should learn 
 that he, Benjamin, whom he treated almost as a son, 
 had abandoned the design of becoming his son-in-law. 
 He preferred to inform him by letter of his heroic de- 
 termination. 
 
 At some distance from the town he saw the friend of 
 M. de Pont-Cass walking majestically up and down 
 the road. The musketeer advanced to meet him, and 
 said to him : 
 
 "Monsieur, you keep those who' have a reparation to 
 ask of you waiting a very long time." 
 
 " I was eating breakfast," answered my uncle. 
 
 " I have to hand you, in behalf of M. de Pont-Casse", 
 a letter to which he has charged me to bring back a 
 reply." 
 
 " Let us see, then, what this estimable nobleman has 
 to say to me : fr Monsieur, in view of the enormity of 
 the outrage which you have inflicted upon me ' . . . 
 What outrage ! I have carried him from a drawing-room 
 to the steps ; I wish some one would thus outrage me by 
 carrying me to Clamecy. . . . ' I consent to cross swords 
 with you.' The grand soul ! . . . What ! he conde- 
 scends to grant me the favor of being crippled by him ! 
 If that is not generosity, then I am mistaken ! 'I hope 
 that you will show yourself worthy of the honor which 
 I do you, by accepting it.' Why, of course ! it would 
 be base ingratitude on my part to refuse. You may say 
 to jour friend that, if he kills me like the brave Desri- 
 vieres, the intrepid Bellerive, etc., etc., I wish them to 
 write upon my tombstone in golden letters : ' Here
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 235 
 
 lies Benjamin Rathery, killed in a duel by a nobleman.' 
 ' Postscript.' What ! your friend's note lias a post- 
 script ? 'I will await you to-morrow at ten o'clock in 
 the morning at the place known as Chaume-des-Ferti- 
 aux.' At the place known as Chaume-des-Fertiaux ! 
 Upon my honor, a process-server could not have drawn 
 it up better. But Chaume-des-Fertiaux is a good league 
 from Clamecy ; I, who have no burnt sorrel horse, have 
 not time to go so far to fight. If your friend will con- 
 descend to go to the place known as Croix-des-Miche- 
 lins, I shall have the honor to await him there." 
 "And where is this Croix-des-Michelins?" 
 " On the Corvol road, at the height of the faubourg 
 of Beuvron. Your friend must be very pessimistic if 
 he does not like that spot ; from there one may enjoy a 
 panorama worthy of a king ; before him he will see the 
 hills of Sembert with their terraces loaded with vines, 
 and their big bald craniums with the forest of Frace on 
 their necks. At another season of the year the view 
 would be still finer, but I cannot revive the springtime 
 with a breath. At their feet the town, with its thou- 
 sand wavy plumes of smoke, presses between its two 
 rivers and climbs the arid slopes of Crot-Pin9on like 
 a man pursued. If your friend has any talent for draw- 
 ing, he will be able to enrich his album from this point 
 of view. Between its great gables, which, covered with 
 dark moss, resemble pieces of crimson velvet, rises the 
 tower of Saint Martin, invested with its turrets and 
 decorated with its jewels of stone. This tower in itself 
 alone is worth a cathedral; by its side extends the old 
 basilica, which throws to the right and to the left, with 
 admirable boldness, its great arch-shaped counter-forts.
 
 286 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 Your friend cannot help comparing it to a gigantic 
 spider resting on its long claws. Toward the south 
 run, like a succession of sombre clouds, the bluish 
 mountains of Morvan; then "... 
 
 "Oh, enough of banter, if you please! I did not 
 come here for you to show me the 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 which 
 Page proposes to buy ; he relies on my judgment as to 
 quality and price, and you must see that I cannot, for 
 the sake of your friend's fine eyes, fail in the duties 
 that friendship imposes on me ; day after to-morrow I 
 breakfast in town ; I cannot, in decency, give the 
 preference to a duel over a breakfast; Thursday I am 
 to tap a patient of mine, who has the drops} 7 " ; as your 
 friend wishes to cripple me, it would be impossible for 
 me to perform the operation afterward, and Doctor 
 Arnout would not do it well; for Friday . . . yes, that's 
 a fast day ; I believe I have no engagement for that 
 day, and I see nothing to prevent me from playing your 
 friend's game." 
 
 " We are obliged to comply with your desires ; at 
 least, you will do me the favor to bring a second with 
 you, in order to save me from playing the tiresome 
 rdle of spectator." 
 
 "Why not? I know that you are a pair of friends, 
 you and M. de Pont-Casse* : I should be sorry to sepa- 
 rate you. I will bring my barber, if he has time, and if 
 that suits you." 
 
 " Insolent fellow ! " said the musketeer.
 
 MY TJNCLE BENJAMIN. 237 
 
 " This barber," answered my uncle, " is nt a man to 
 be despised : he has a rapier long enough to spit four 
 musketeers upon, and moreover, if you prefer me to 
 him, I will willingly take his place." 
 
 " I take note of your words," said the musketeer. 
 
 My uncle, as soon as he had risen, went in search of 
 Machecourt's inkstand. He began to compose in his 
 finest style and his clearest penmanship a magnificent" 
 epistle to M. Minxit, in which he explained to him why 
 he could not become his son-in-law. My grandfather, 
 who was given an opportunity of reading it, has told 
 me that it would make a jailer weep. If the exclama- 
 tion point had not then existed, my uncle certainly 
 would have invented it. The letter had been in the 
 post-office scarcely a quarter of an hour, when M. 
 Minxit in person arrived at my grandmother's, accom, 
 panied by the sergeant, who was himself accompanied 
 by two masks, two foils, a-nd his respectable 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?" 
 
 " Fie ! do you take me for a thrasher ? " 
 
 " And you, sergeant ? " 
 
 " I have given up this sort of thing since I had the 
 honor to join the band." 
 
 "But your dog, what would he think of this head?" 
 
 " I thank you for him, but I believe he has little taste 
 for sea-fish." 
 
 "It is true that a herring is not as good as a pike 
 cooked in court-bouillon " .
 
 238 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 " And how about a carp stewed in Burgundy wine ? " 
 interrupted M. Minxit. 
 
 "To be sure, to be sure," said Benjamin; "3*011 
 might even say a jugged hare prepared by your own 
 hand ; but at any rate 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 pretend that Arabelle does not love you, 
 and because of that you will not marry her." 
 
 " M. Rathery is right/" said the sergeant. " I had a 
 bed-fellow who did not like me, and whose dislike I 
 cordially returned ; our household was a regular police- 
 station. When one wanted turnips in the soup, the 
 other put in carrots; at the canteen, if I asked for 
 currant wine, 1 e sent for gin. We quarrelled to see 
 which should -have the best place for his gun. If he 
 had a kick to give, he bestowed it on my poodle, and 
 when he was bitten by a flea, he would have it that it 
 came from this poor Azor. Would you believe it, we 
 once fought in the moonlight because he wanted to 
 sleep on the right side of the bed, and I insisted that 
 he should take the left. To get rid of him I was 
 obliged 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, 
 for it is to be happy ; consequently, I do not disapprove 
 your scruples, my dear Benjamin. All that I ask of
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 239 
 
 you is that you continue, as in the past, to come to 
 Corvol. That you do not wish to be my son-in-law is 
 not a reason why you should cease to be my friend. 
 You will no longer be obliged to play the languishing 
 lover to Arabelle, to go after water to sprinkle her 
 flowers, or to go into ecstasies over the ruffles which 
 she embroiders for me and over the superiority of her 
 cream -cheeses. We will breakfast, we will dine, we 
 will philosophize, we will laugh, that is as good a 
 pastime as any other. You are fond of truffles, I will 
 perfume my whole pantry with them ; you have a predi- 
 lection for volnay, a predilection which I do not 
 share, but I shall always have some in my wine-cellar; 
 if you take a notion to hunt, I will buy you a double- 
 barrelled gun and a pair of hounds. I give Arabelle 
 less than three months to get sick of lier nobleman and 
 to .love you madly. Do you accept or not? Answer 
 me, yes or no. You are aware that I am not fond of 
 fine phrases." 
 
 " Well, yes, Monsieur Minxit," said my uncle. 
 
 "Very well, I expected nothing less from your friend- 
 ship. And now you are going to fight a duel? " 
 
 "Who the devil told you that?" cried my uncle. 
 "I know that urines hide nothing from you; can you 
 have consulted my urine without my knowledge?" 
 
 "You are to fight with M. de Pont-Casse*, you rogue ; 
 you are to meet him three days hence at Croix-des- 
 Michelins, and, in case you rid yourself of M. de Pont- 
 Casse", the other musketeer will take his place : you see 
 that I am well informed." 
 
 " What, Benjamin ! " cried Machecourt, turning paler 
 than his plate.
 
 240 >IY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 "What, wretch!" added my grandmother, "you are 
 to fight a duel?" 
 
 " Listen to me. you, Machecourt, you, my dear sister, 
 and you too. Monsieur Minxit : it is true that I am to 
 fight with M. de Pont-Casse*. My mind is made up ; so 
 save yourself the representations which would weary me 
 without causing me to abandon my design." 
 
 "I do not come," answered M. Minxit, "to place 
 obstacles in the way of your duel ; I come, on the con- 
 trary, to furnish you a means of coming out of it vic- 
 toriously, and furthermore of making your name famous 
 throughout the country. The sergeant knows a superb 
 thrust, with which he could disarm in an hour the en- 
 tire corporation of fencing-masters. As soon as he has 
 drunk a-glass ol white wine, he shall give you your first 
 lesson j I leave him with you until Friday, and shall 
 remain here myself to watch you, lest you may waste 
 your time in the taverns." 
 
 " But," said my uncle, " I have only to make your 
 thrust, and moreover, if your thrust is infallible, what 
 glory should I win in triumphing by this means over 
 our vicomte? Homer, in rendering Achilles invulner- 
 able, deprived him of" all the merit of his valor. I 
 have reflected: my intention is not to fight with the 
 sword." 
 
 "What! you want to fight with the pistol, imbecile! 
 Now, if it were with M. Arthus, who is as big as a 
 wardrobe, that would be all very well." 
 
 " I fight neither with the pistol nor with the sword ; 
 I wish to serve these bullies with a duel of my own 
 making ; I reserve for you the pleasure of the surprise ; 
 you shall see, Monsieur Minxit."
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 241 
 
 "Very well," answered the latter, "but learn my 
 thrust all the same : it is a weapon that will not em- 
 barrass you, and one never knows what one may need." 
 
 My uncle's room was in the second story, over that 
 occupied by Machecourt. So after breakfast, he shut 
 himself up in his room with the sergeant and M. Minxit 
 to begin his fencing-lessons. But the lesson was not of 
 long duration : at Benjamin's first appeal 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 disappearance 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 who is about to make a thrust. 
 As for M. Minxit, he was seized with such a desire to 
 laugh that he came near suffocating. 
 
 "Where is Rathery?" he cried. "What has become 
 of Rathery? Sergeant, what have you done with 
 Rathery?" 
 
 " I see M- Rathery 's head well enough," answered the 
 sergeant, "but devil take me if I know where his legs 
 are." 
 
 Gaspard just then was alone in his father's room ; at 
 first he was a little astonished at the abrupt arrival of 
 his uncle's legs, which certainly he did not expect, but 
 soon his surprise changed into mad shouts of laughter, 
 which mingled with those of M. Minxit. 
 
 " Hello, there, Gaspard," cried Benjamin, who heard 
 him. 
 
 " Hello, there, my dear uncle," answered Gaspard. 
 
 " Place your father's leather arm-chair under my feet, 
 I beg of you, Gaspard."
 
 242 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 "I have not the right," replied the scamp; "my 
 mother has forbidden anybody to stand on it."' 
 
 "Will you bring me that arm-chair, accursed cross- 
 bearer?" 
 
 " Take off your shoes, and I will bring it to you." 
 
 " And 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." 
 
 Fortunately Machecourt came in at this moment ; he 
 gave Gaspard a kick, and put an end to the suspension 
 of his brother-in-law. Benjamin went to finish 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 XTX. 
 
 HOW MY UNCLE THRICE DISARMED M. DE PONT-CASSE. 
 
 THE dawn, a dull and grimacing dawn of February, 
 had scarcely thrown its leaden tints upon the walls of 
 his room, when my uncle was up. He dressed himself 
 gropingly, and softly descended the stairs, being espe- 
 cially desirous of not waking his sister. But, as he was 
 crossing the stair-landing, he felt a woman's hand on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " What, dear sister ! " he cried, in a sort of fright, 
 "you are already awake?" 
 
 " Say rather that I am not yet asleep, Benjamin. Be- 
 fore you go, I wanted to say farewell to you, perhaps a 
 last farewell, Benjamin. Do you imagine how I suffer 
 when I think that you leave this house full of life, 
 youth, and hope, and that perhaps you will re-enter it 
 borne on the arms of your friends, and your body pierced 
 with a sword? Is your mind firmly made up? Before 
 coming to a decision, did you think of the grief with 
 which your death would fill this sad house ? For you, 
 when your last drop of blood has gone, all will be over ; 
 but many months and years will pass before our grief is 
 exhausted, and the tear-grass over your grave will have 
 been long withered before our tears cease to flow." 
 
 My uncle went away without answering, and perhaps 
 he was weeping ; but my grandmother caught him by 
 the skirt of his coat. 
 
 " Run, then, to your murderous rendezvous, ferocious
 
 244 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 beast," she cried ; " do not keep M. de Pont-Casse* wait- 
 ing. Perhaps honor requires you to start without kiss- 
 ing your sister ; but at least take this relic which cousin 
 Guillaumot has lent me ; perhaps it will preserve you 
 from the dangers into which you are about to throw 
 yourself so heedlessly." 
 
 My uncle thrust the relic into his pocket and slipped 
 away. 
 
 He ran to awaken M. Minxit at his tavern. They 
 took Page and Arthus in passing, and all went to break- 
 fast 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 stomach. He said that a soul which 
 reaches the tribunal of God between two glasses of wine 
 has more courage and pleads his cause better than a 
 poor soul full of nothing but sweetened water. The 
 sergeant was present at the breakfast ; when they were 
 at dessert, my uncle asked him to go to Croix-des-Mi- 
 chelins to carry a table, a box, and two chairs, which he 
 needed for his duel, and to build a big fire there with 
 vine-poles from the neighboring vineyard ; then he called 
 for coffee. 
 
 M. de Pont-Cassd and his friend were not slow in 
 arriving. 
 
 The sergeant did the honors of the bivouac to the 
 best of his abilit}'. 
 
 " 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 little, but he is at break- 
 fast with his seconds, and in a few minutes he will be 
 at your disposition." 
 
 Benjamin arrived, in fact, a quarter of an hour later
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 245 
 
 holding Arthus and M. Minxit by the arm, and singing 
 with bare throat : 
 
 " Ma foi, c'est un triste soldat 
 Que celui qui ne salt pas boire ! " 
 
 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 to you the cause 
 of our delay, and I hope that you will find it legiti- 
 mate." 
 
 " Your excuse is that you are a plebeian, and this is 
 probably the first time that you have had a duel with a 
 nobleman." 
 
 "What do you expect? We plebeians are -accus- 
 tomed to take coffee after each of our meals, and be- 
 cause you call yourself Vicomte de Pont-Casse", that is 
 no reason why we should violate this custom. Coffee, 
 you see, is beneficent, it is a tonic, it agreeably stimu- 
 lates the brain, it gives movement to the thought. If 
 you have not taken coffee this morning, the weapons 
 are not equal, and I do not know whether I can con- 
 scientiously measure myself against you." 
 
 " Laugh, Monsieur, laugh while you can ; but I warn 
 you that he laughs best who laughs last." 
 
 " Monsieur," rejoined Benjamin, " I do not laugh 
 when I say that 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 burnt sorrel horse ? I am greatly aston- 
 ished not to see him here ; is it possible that he is indis- 
 posed?"
 
 246 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 " Monsieur," said the second musketeer, " enough of 
 your wit ; you undoubtedly have not forgotten why you 
 have come here ? " 
 
 " Oh, ho ! it is you, number two ? Delighted to 
 renew my acquaintance with you; indeed I have not 
 forgotten why I come here, and the proof," he added, 
 pointing to the table on which the box was placed, " is 
 that I have made preparations to receive you." 
 
 " And what need have we of this juggler's apparatus 
 in order to fight with the sword ? " 
 
 "But," said my uncle, " I do not fight with the sword." 
 
 " Monsieur," said M. de Pont>Casse", " I am the in- 
 sulted party ; I have the choice of weapons ; I choose 
 the sword." 
 
 "It - is I, Monsieur, who was first insulted; I will not 
 yield my privilege ; and I choose chess." 
 
 At the same time he opened the box which the ser- 
 geant had brought, and, having taken out a chess-board, 
 he invited the nobleman to take his place at the table. 
 
 M. de Pont-Cass6 turned pale with anger. 
 
 " Are you trying to make sport of me ? " he cried. 
 
 "Not at all," said my uncle; "every duel is a game 
 in which two men stake their lives: why should not 
 this game be played as well with chess as with the 
 sword? However, if you doubt your strength at chess, 
 I am ready to play you a game of 6carte or of triomphe. 
 In five points, if you like, without a return game or a 
 rubber ; in that way it will be soon over." 
 
 " 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 of superior
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 247 
 
 skill with the sword, and you hope to have an advan- 
 tage over me, who never hold mine 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 
 thrasher 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," retorted 
 Benjamin. "No, Monsieur, this duel shall not be 
 accomplished as you hope. If you persist in your un- 
 fair obstinacy, I shall believe and declare that you have 
 speculated on your bravo's skill, that 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 Pont-Cass ? And I shall hold you for a coward, 
 yes, for a coward, my nobleman, for a coward, yes, for a 
 coward." 
 
 And 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. It would have 
 been all up with the latter, if the poodle, by throwing 
 himself upon M. de Pont-Casse, had not changed the 
 direction of his sword. The sergeant having called off 
 his dog, my uncle cried : 
 
 " Gentlemen, I call you to witness that, if I accept 
 the combat, it is to save this man from committing a 
 murder."
 
 24S MY TTNCLE BEKJAMIK. 
 
 And, flashing his sword in the air in turn, he sustained 
 the impetuous attack of his adversary 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 indicate to Benjamin the motion that he ought to 
 make in order to disarm his man. M. de Pont-Casse, 
 exasperated at the unexpected resistance which he met, 
 had lost his sang-froid and with it his murderous skill. 
 He no longer tried to parry the thrusts which his adver- 
 sary might make at him, but sought only to pierce him 
 with his sword. 
 
 "Monsieur de Font-Casse"," said my uncle, "you 
 would have done better to play chess : you never parry ; 
 I could kill you at any moment." 
 
 " Kill, Monsieur," said the musketeer ; " that is what 
 you are here for." 
 
 " I prefer to disarm you," said my uncle, and, quickly 
 passing his sword under that of his adversary, 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 Font-Casse* desired to begin the combat again. 
 The seconds, however, 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 ; 
 but at the first thrust M. de Pont-Casse"s sword went
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 249 
 
 flying into the road. As he ran to pick it up, Benjamin 
 said to him, in his sardonic voice : 
 
 " I ask your pardon, Monsieur Comte, for the trouble 
 that I give you ; but it is your own fault : if you had 
 been willing to play chess, you would not have had to 
 disturb yourself so often." 
 
 A third time the musketeer returned to the charge. 
 
 "Enough!" cried the seconds; "you abuse M. Ra- 
 thery's generosity." 
 
 " Not at all," said my uncle ; " Monsieur undoubtedly 
 wishes to learn the thrust: permit me to give him 
 another lesson." 
 
 In fact, the lesson was not long in coming, and M. 
 de Pont-Casse*'s sword escaped from his hand for the 
 third time. 
 
 "At least," said my uncle, "you would have done 
 well to bring a servant with you to run after your 
 sword." 
 
 " You are the demon in person," said the vicomte ; " I 
 would rather have been killed by you than treated so 
 ignominiously." 
 
 " And you, my nobleman," said Benjamin, turning to 
 the other musketeer, "you see that my barber is not 
 here. Do you wish me to fulfil the promise that I 
 made to you?" 
 
 "By no means," said the musketeer; "to you the 
 honors of the day : there is no cowardice in retiring 
 before you, since you do not lift your sword against the 
 conquered. Although you are not a nobleman, I hold 
 you as the best swordsman and the most honorable man 
 that I know ; for your adversary wanted to kill you, 
 but you, who had his life in your hands, respected it.
 
 250 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 If I were king, you should be at least a duke and 
 peer. And now, if you attach any value to my friend- 
 ship, I offer it to you with all my heart, and ask yours 
 in exchange." 
 
 He extended his hand to my uncle, who grasped it 
 cordially in his own. M. de Pont-Cass6 stood before 
 the fire, gloomy and sullen, his brow charged with a 
 stormy cloud. He took his friend's arm, saluted my 
 uncle freezingly, and went away. 
 
 My uncle hastened to return to his sister ; but the 
 report of his victory had spread rapidly through the 
 faubourg. At every step he was intercepted \>y a self- 
 styled friend who came to congratulate him on his fine 
 feat of arms and to shake his arm clear to the shoulder 
 under pretext of grasping his hand. The urchins, that 
 population which each fresh event gathers in the street* 
 swarmed about him and deafened him with their hur- 
 rahs. In a few moments he became the centre of a 
 horribly tumultuous crowd, who tagged at his heels, 
 spattered his silk stockings, and tumbled his three- 
 cornered hat into the mud. He was still able to ex- 
 change a few words with M. Minxit, but, under pretext 
 of completing his triumph, Cicero, the drummer whom 
 you already know, placed himself at the head of the 
 crowd with his drum, and began to beat the charge 
 vigorously enough to shatter the bridge of Beuvron; 
 Benjamin even had to give him thirty sous for his din. 
 The only thing lacking to complete his misfortune was 
 an harangue. That is how my uncle was rewarded for 
 having risked his life in a duel. 
 
 " If, on the height of Croix-des-Michelins," he said to 
 himself, "I had given a few louis to a wretch dying
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIK. 251 
 
 of hunger, all these loungers now shouting about me 
 would let me pass quietly enough. My God ! what, 
 then, is glory, and to whom does it appeal ? This noise 
 that they make around a name, is it a blessing so rare 
 and so precious that, to obtain it, one should sacrifice 
 rest, happiness, sweet affection, the finest years of one's 
 life, and sometimes the peace of the world ? The lifted 
 finger that points you out to the public, upon whom, 
 then, has it not been fixed ? The child whom they take 
 to church to the sound of pealing bells, the ox that they 
 lead through the city, decorated with flowers and rib- 
 bons, the six-footed calf, the stuffed boa-constrictor, the 
 monster pumpkin, the acrobat who walks a wire, the 
 aeronaut who makes an ascension, the juggler who swal- 
 lows balls, the prince who passes, the bishop who 
 blesses, the general who returns from a far-off victory, 
 have not all these had their moment of glory? You 
 think yourself celebrated, you who have sown your 
 ideas in the arid furrows of a book, who have made men 
 out of marble and passions out of ivory-black and white- 
 lead ; but you would be much more famous if you had 
 a nose six inches long. As for that glory which sur- 
 vives us, it does not belong to everybody, I admit; but 
 the difficulty is to enjoy it. Find me a banker who dis- 
 counts immortality, and from to-morrow I will toil to 
 make myself immortal." 
 
 My uncle wanted to have a family dinner at his sis- 
 ter's with M. Minxit; but the worthy man, although 
 his dear Benjamin stood before him, safe, sound, and 
 victorious, was sad and preoccupied. What my uncle 
 had said in the morning to M. de Pont-Casse' came back 
 continually to his mind. He said that a voice rang in
 
 252 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 his ears summoning him to Corvol. He was seized 
 with a nervous agitation like that felt by persons who 
 have drunk a strong cup of coffee when not accustomed 
 to it. He was frequently obliged to leave the table 
 and take a turn about the room. This undue excite- 
 ment frightened Benjamin, and he himself urged him. 
 to depart.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ABDUCTION AND DEATH OP MLLB. MINXIT. 
 
 MY uncle, however, escorted M. Minxit as far as 
 Croix-des-Michelins, and then returned to go to bed. 
 He was in that profound annihilation produced by the 
 first hours of sleep when he was awakened by a violent 
 knock at the outside door. This knock gave my uncle 
 a painful shock. He opened his window; the street 
 was as dark as a deep ditch ; nevertheless he recog- 
 nized M. Minxit, and thought he perceived in his at- 
 titude indications of distress. He ran to open the 
 door; scarcely had he drawn the bolt, when the 
 worthy man threw himself into his arms and burst into 
 tears. 
 
 " Well, what is it, Monsieur Minxit ? Come, speak 
 out ; tears do not end in anything ; certainly no mis- 
 fortune has happened to you ? " 
 
 " Gone ! gone ! " cried M. Minxit, choking with 
 sobs, " gone with him, Benjamin ! " 
 
 " What ! Arabelle has gone with M. de Pont-Casse' ? " 
 said my uncle, divining at once what he meant. 
 
 " You were quite right to warn me to distrust him ; 
 why did you not kill him ? " 
 
 " There is still time," said Benjamin ; " but first we 
 must start in pursuit." 
 
 " And you will accompany me, Benjamin ; for in you 
 lies all my strength, all my courage." 
 
 " Accompany you ! Of course I will; and directly.
 
 254 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 
 
 And, by the way, did it occur to you to supply yourself 
 with money ? " 
 
 " I haven't a bit of cash, my friend ; the poor girl 
 carried off all the money that there was in my sec- 
 retary." 
 
 "So much the better," said my uncle ; "you can, at 
 least be sure that 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 that they will 
 amuse themselves in making love on the greensward by 
 the roadside ? When it is light, they will be far from 
 here. You must go at once to awaken your banker, 
 and knock at his door until he has counted out a thou- 
 sand francs for you. You will have to pay twenty per 
 cent, instead of fifteen, that is all." 
 
 "But what road have they taken? We must wait 
 for daylight in order to make inquiries." 
 
 " Not at all," said my uncle ; " they have taken the 
 Paris road : M. de Font-Casse* can go only to Paris ; I 
 have it on good authority that his leave of absence ex- 
 pires in a few days. I am going at once to get a carriage 
 and two good horses ; you will join me at the Golden 
 Lion." 
 
 As my uncle started to go out, M. Minxit said to 
 him: 
 
 " But you have nothing on but your shirt." 
 
 " True, you are right," said Benjamin, " I had for j 
 gotten that ; it was so dark that I did not notice 
 it ; but in five minutes I shall be dressed, and in 
 twenty minutes I shall be at the Golden Lion ; I will
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 255 
 
 say good-bye to my dear sister when I return from our 
 journey." 
 
 An hour later my uncle and M. Minxit, in a rickety 
 vehicle drawn by two jades, were driving along the ex- 
 ecrable cross-road that then led from Clamecy to Au- 
 xerre. By daylight winter is tolerable, but at night it 
 is horrible. With the utmost diligence they could em- 
 ploy, it was ten o'clock in the morning when they 
 arrived at Courson. Under the porch of La Levrette, 
 the only tavern in the neighborhood, a coffin was ex- 
 posed, and a whole swarm of old women, hideous and 
 in rags, were croaking around it. 
 
 "I have it from Gobi, the sexton," said one, "that 
 the young lady has promised to give three thousand 
 francs to ba 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," an- 
 swered a third ; " we should do well to go and see the 
 bailiff, that he may look after our inheritance." 
 
 My uncle called one of these old women, and asked 
 her to explain to him what this meant. The latter, 
 proud at having been singled out by a stranger who 
 had a two-horse carriage, gave her companions a look 
 of triumph, and said : 
 
 " You have done well to ask me, my good Monsieur, 
 for I know all the details of this matter better than they 
 do. He who is now in this coffin was this morning in 
 that green carriage that 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 ceme-
 
 256 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 tery to rot with the peasants whom he so despised. He 
 was young and handsome, and I, old Manette, who am 
 all worn out and good for nothing, shall go to sprinkle 
 holy water on his grave, and in ten years, if I live so 
 long, his rottenness will have to make room for my old 
 bones. For in vain are all these grand gentlemen rich, 
 sooner or later they have to go where we go ; in vain do 
 they dress themselves in velvets and taffetas, their last 
 coat is always made of the planks of their coffin; in 
 vain do they care for and perfume their skin, the worms 
 of the earth are made for them as well as for us. To 
 think that I, the old washerwoman, shall be able to go, 
 when I like, to squat on a nobleman's grave. Oh, my 
 good Monsieur, this thought does us good ; it consoles 
 us for being poor, and avenges us for not being nobles. 
 For the rest, it is really his fault that he is dead. He 
 wanted to take possession of a traveller's room because 
 it was the finest in the tavern. A quarrel ensued be- 
 tween them ; 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 woman. 
 When she learned that her husband was dead, she was 
 taken in labor, and is scarcely better off just now than 
 her noble husband. Doctor Ddbrit left her room just 
 now ; as I do his washing, I inquired of him regarding 
 the young woman, and he answered : ' Ah ! Mother 
 Manette, I would rather be in your old wrinkled skin 
 than in hers.' ' 
 
 " And this grand lord ? " said my uncle, " had he not 
 a red coat, a light wig, and three plumes in his hat? " 
 
 " He had all those, my good Monsieur ; perhaps you 
 knew him ? "
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 257 
 
 " No," said my uncle, " but I may have seen him 
 somewhere." 
 
 " And the young lady ? " said M. Minxit, " is she not 
 tall, and has she not red spots on her face ? " 
 
 " She is a good five feet three inches in height," an- 
 swered 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 cared for 
 him ; then he asked to be taken to Arabelle ; for the 
 beautiful lady. who was dying in the pains of child-birth 
 was M. Minxit's daughter. She occupied the room that 
 her lover had obtained at the cost of his life. A gloomy 
 room, truly, the possession of which was scarcely worthy 
 quarrelling about. 
 
 There Arabelle lay in a bed of green serge. My 
 uncle opened the curtains and looked at her for some- 
 time in silence. A moist and dull pallor, like that of 
 a white marble statue, had spread over her face ; her 
 half-open eyes were faded and expressionless ; her 
 breath escaped in sobs. Benjamin lifted her arm that 
 lay motionless along the bed; having felt her pulse, 
 he sadly shook his head, and ordered the nurse to go 
 for Dr. Ddbrit. Arabelle, on hearing his voice, trem- 
 bled like a corpse under the influence of a galvanic 
 current. 
 
 " Where am I ? " said she, throwing a wild look about 
 her; "have I, then, been the plaything of a sinister 
 dream? Is it you, Monsieur Rathery, whom I hear, 
 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 ;
 
 258 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 he asks of you but one thing, that you will allow 
 yourself to live that he may live also." 
 
 Arabelle's eyes chanced to fix themselves upon M. de 
 Font-Cassis 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, as a corpse falls back that has been raised 
 in its coffin. Benjamin placed his hand upon her heart ; 
 it was no longer beating. He held a mirror at her lips ; 
 the glass remained clear and brilliant. .Misery and hap- 
 piness, all were over for the poor Arabelle. Benjamin 
 stood erect at her bedside, holding her hand in his, and 
 plunged in an abyss of bitter reflections. 
 
 Just then a heavy and 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 wish to see my 
 daughter ; I must see her ! She cannot die until I have 
 seen her." 
 
 It is a cruel thing to suppose a dead person to be 
 alive, and to attribute acts to her as if she were still in 
 existence. My uncle, however, did not shrink from 
 this necessity. 
 
 " Go away, Monsieur Minxit, I beg of you. Arabelle 
 is better ; she is resting : your sudden presence might 
 provoke a crisis that would kill her." 
 
 " I tell you, wretch, that I wish to see my daughter," 
 cried M. Minxit; and he made such a violent effort 
 against the door that the staple of the lock fell on the 
 floor. 
 
 " Well," said Benjamin, hoping still to deceive him,
 
 MY TTNCLE BENJAMIN. 259 
 
 " you see your daughter is quietly sleeping. Are you 
 satisfied now, and will you go away ? " 
 
 The unhappy old man threw a glance at his daugh- 
 ter. 
 
 " You are lying," he cried, in a voice that made Ben- 
 jamin tremble ; " she is not asleep, she is dead ! " 
 
 He threw himself upon her body and pressed her 
 convulsively to his breast. 
 
 "Arabelle!" he cried, " Arabelle ! Arabelle ! Oh! 
 was it thus, then, that I was to find you again ? She, 
 my daughter, my only child ! God leaves the brow of 
 the murderer to cover itself with white hairs, and he 
 takes from a father his only child. How can they tell 
 us that God is good and just?" Then, his grief 
 changing into anger against my uncle, he continued: 
 " It is you, miserable Rathery, who caused me to refuse 
 her to M. de Pont-Cassd ; but for you she would be 
 married and full of life." 
 
 "Are you joking?" said my uncle. "Is it my fault 
 if she has become smitten with a musketeer ? " 
 
 All passions are nothing but blood rushing to the 
 brain. M. Minxit's reason had doubtless given way 
 under this terrible grief ; but in the paroxysm of his de- 
 lirium his scarcely-closed vein (it will be remembered 
 that my uncle had just bled him) reopened. Benjamin 
 allowed the blood to flow, and soon a salutary swoon 
 succeeded this superabundance of life, and saved the 
 poor old man. Benjamin gave orders and money to the 
 proprietor of La Levrette, in order that Arabelle and 
 her lover might receive an honorable burial. Then he 
 came back to station himself at M. Minxit's bedside, 
 and watched over him like a mother over her sick child.
 
 260 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 M. Minxit remained three days between life and the 
 grave ; but, thanks to the skilful and affectionate care 
 of my uncle, the fever which was devouring him grad- 
 ually disappeared, and soon he was in a condition to be 
 carried to Corvol.
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 A FINAL FESTIVAL. 
 
 MONSIEUR MINXIT had one of those antediluvian 
 constitutions that seem made of more solid material 
 than our own. It was one of those deep-rooted plants 
 that still preserve a vigorous vegetation when winter 
 has withered the others. Wrinkles had been unable 
 to ruffle this 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. 
 
 The death of his daughter, coming after her flight 
 and after the revelation of her pregnancy, had dealt 
 this powerful organization a mortal blow ; a slow fever 
 was silently undermining him. He had renounced 
 those noisy inclinations that had made his life one long 
 festivity. He had put aside medicine as a useless em- 
 barrassment. The companions of his long youth re- 
 spected his sorrow, and, without ceasing to love him, 
 they had ceased to see him. His house was silent and 
 sealed, like a tomb; and scarcely could its occupants 
 get a few stealthy glimpses of the village through the 
 blinds occasionally half-opened. The yard no longer 
 rang with the noise of people going and coming ; the 
 early weeds of the spring had taken possession of the 
 avenue, and high domestic plants grew along the walls, 
 forming a circle of verdure.
 
 262 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 This poor soul in mourning needed nothing now but 
 obscurity and silence. He had done as the wild beast 
 that retires, when it wishes to die, into the gloomiest 
 depths of its forest. My uncle's gayety had proved 
 powerless to overcome this incurable melancholy. 
 M. Minxit answered his joyousness only by a sad and 
 gloomy smile, as much as to say that he had under- 
 stood and thanked him 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 all else was being born again, the poor 
 man was slowly dying. 
 
 It was an evening in the month of May. He was 
 walking in his field, resting on Benjamin's arm. The 
 sky was clear, the earth was green and fragrant, the 
 nightingales were singing in the poplars, the dragon- 
 flies were hovering among the reeds of the brook with 
 a harmonious rustling of their wings, and the water, all 
 covered with hawthorn blossoms, was murmuring under 
 the roots of the willows. 
 
 "This is a fine evening," said Benjamin, trying to 
 rouse M. Minxit from the gloomy reverie which en- 
 wrapped his mind like a shroud. 
 
 "Yes," answered the latter, "a fine evening for a 
 poor peasant who goes between two flowering hedges, 
 with his pick on his shoulder, toward his smoking hut, 
 where his children await him; but, for the father in 
 mourning for his daughter, there are no more fine 
 evenings." 
 
 " And at what fireside," said my uncle, " is there not 
 some vacant chair ? Who has not in the field of rest
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 263 
 
 some grassy hillock, where every year, on All Saints' 
 day, he comes to shed pious tears ? And in the streets 
 of the city what throng, however pink and gilded, is 
 not stained 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 seeing than for 
 weeping, and every soul has its wound, as every flower 
 has its insect nibbling at it. But also, in the path of 
 life, God has put forgetfulness, which follows death 
 with slow steps, effacing the epitaphs which death has 
 traced and repairing the ruins which death has made. 
 Are you willing, my dear Monsieur Minxit, to follow a 
 piece of good advice ? Believe me then, go eat carp 
 on the shores of Lake Geneva, macaroni at Naples, 
 drink Xere's wine at Cadiz, and taste ices at Constan- 
 tinople ; in a year you will come back as fat and round 
 as you used to be." 
 
 M. Minxit allowed my uncle to harangue as long as 
 he liked, and, when he had finished, he said to him : 
 
 " How many days have I still to live, Benjamin ? " 
 
 "Why? " 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 I 
 have still to live." 
 
 " The devil ! " said my uncle, " that is a very em- 
 barrassing question : on the one hand, I should not like 
 to disoblige you ; but, on the other, I know not whether 
 prudence permits me to satisfy your desire. They an- 
 nounce to the condemned man the news of his execu-
 
 264 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 tion only a few hours before his journey to the scaffold, 
 and you" . . . 
 
 "It is a service," interrupted M. Minxit, "which I 
 impose upon your friendship, because you alone can 
 render it. The traveller must know at what hour he is 
 to start, in order that he may pack his porte-manteau" 
 
 "Do you wish me, then, to speak frankly and sincerely, 
 Monsieur Minxit? Will you, on your honor, not be 
 frightened at the sentence that I shall utter?" 
 
 " I give you my word of honor," 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 ; he inter- 
 rogated his dim, dull eye, which still reflected but a few 
 gleams of light ; he consulted his pulse, as if listening 
 to its beating with his ringers ; and for some time 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 ; " what 
 you have just sai*d, I thought myself ; if you ever find 
 an opportunity to introduce yourself, I predict that 
 you will make one of our medical celebrities ; but does 
 Sunday belong to me entirely ? " 
 
 " It belongs to you from beginning to end, provided 
 you do nothing to hurry the end of your days." 
 
 " I have nothing more to do," said M. Minxit ; " do 
 me now the service of inviting our friends for Sunday 
 to a solemn dinner ; I do not wish to go away on bad 
 terms with life, and it is with glass in hand that I desire 
 to make my farewell. You will insist on their accept- 
 ance of my invitation, making it, if necessary, a duty 
 on their part."
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 265 
 
 " I will go myself to invite them," said my uncle, 
 " and I guarantee that none of them shall fail you." 
 
 " Now, let us pass to another order of ideas. I do 
 not wish to be buried in the churchyard; it lies in a 
 valley, it is cold arid damp, and the shadow of the 
 church stretches over its surface like crape. I should 
 be uncomfortable in that spot, and you know that I like 
 my ease. I desire you to bury me in my field, at the 
 edge of this brook of whose harmonious song I am so 
 fond." He tore up a handful of grass, and said : " See, 
 here is the spot where I wish you to dig my last resting- 
 place. You will plant here a bower of vines and honey- 
 suckles, in order that the verdure may be mingled with 
 flowers, and you will come here sometimes to dream of 
 your old friend. In order that you may come oftener, 
 and also in order that they may not disturb my sleep, I 
 leave you this domain and all my other property. But 
 this is on two conditions : first, that you shall live in 
 the house that I am about to leave empty ; and, second, 
 that you shall continue to attend my patients as I have 
 attended them for thirty years." 
 
 "I accept with gratitude this double inheritance," 
 said my uncle, " but I warn you that 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 system 
 of Tissot, which seems to me founded on experience 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
 
 266 MY TTNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 will never see me more, to these little birds that sing, 
 for we shall not come back here till Monday morning." 
 
 The next day he shut himself up with his friend, the 
 tabellion. The day after that he grew weaker and 
 weaker and kept his bed ; but, when Sunday came, he 
 rose, had himself powdered, and put on his best coat. 
 Benjamin, as he had promised, had been to Clamecy to 
 extend the invitations ; not one of his friends had failed 
 to respond to this funeral call, and at four o'clock they 
 found themselves all gathered in the drawing-room. 
 
 M. Minxit was not slow in. making his appearance, 
 tottering and resting on my uncle's arm. He shook 
 hands with all of them, and thanked them affectionately 
 for having conformed to his last desire, which was, he 
 said, the caprice of a dying man. 
 
 This man whom they had seen sometime before, so 
 gay, so happy, and so full of life, grief had broken ; old 
 age had come upon him at one stroke. At sight of 
 him, all shed tears, and Arthus himself suddenly felt 
 his appetite leave him. 
 
 A servant announced that dinner was ready. M. 
 Minxit placed himself as usual at the head of the table. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said he to his guests, " this dinner is 
 to me a final dinner ; I wish my last looks to be fixed 
 only on full glasses and merry faces ; if you wish to 
 please me, you will give free course to your accustomed 
 gayety." 
 
 He poured out a few drops of Burgundy, and ex- 
 tended his glass to his guests. They all said together : 
 
 "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
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 267 
 
 health, to you all, to your prosperity, to your happi- 
 ness, and may God keep those of you who have chil- 
 dren 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 have lost a daugh- 
 ter, a daughter whom I placed at school with the Sis- 
 ters. 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 have no longer to pay her board." 
 
 " 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 thus, 
 you, Arthus, who fear no misfortune except the loss of 
 appetite." 
 
 " I have more bowels than you, song-maker," an- 
 swered 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," answered Arthus, " that you bear me ill- 
 will because I fell on you on the way from Corvol. 
 But sing me your ' Grand-Noel,' and we shall be quits." 
 
 " And I maintain that my song is a fine bit of poesy ; 
 do you wish me to show you a letter from Monseigneur 
 the bishop, who compliments me upon it ? " 
 
 " Yes, put your song on the gridiron, and you will 
 find out what it is worth."
 
 268 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 " I recognize you there, Arthus ; you value nothing 
 that isn't roasted or boiled." 
 
 " What would you ? My sensitiveness resides in my 
 palate ; and I like as well to have it there as anywhere 
 else. Is a solidly-organized digestive apparatus worth 
 less, for purposes of happiness, than a largely-developed 
 brain? That is the question." 
 
 " If we should leave it to a duck or a pig, I do not 
 doubt that they would decide it in your favor ; but I 
 take Benjamin for judge." 
 
 " Your song suits me very, well," said my uncle : 
 
 " ' A genoux, chretien?, a genoux ' : 
 
 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 the opinion of Arthus ; I prefer 
 a cutlet in papers." 
 
 " A joke is not a reply," said Millot. 
 
 " Well, do you think that there is any moral sorrow 
 that causes as much suffering as a tooth-ache or an 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 the stomach of M. Arthus and the over- 
 oxygenated brain of J. J. Rousseau, I should take the 
 stomach of M. Arthus. Sensitiveness is the faculty of 
 suffering ; to be sensitive is to walk barefooted over the 
 sharp pebbles of life, to pass through the crowd that 
 rubs against and jostles you, with an open wound in 
 your side. Man's unhappiness consists of unsatisfied 
 desires. Now, every soul that feels too keenly is a bal-
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 loon that would like to mount to heaven but cannot go 
 beyond the limits of the atmosphere. Give a man good 
 health and a good appetite, and plunge his soul into 
 perpetual somnolence, and he will be the happiest of all 
 beings. To develop his intelligence is to sow thorns in 
 his life. The peasant who plays at skittles is happier 
 than the man of wit who reads a fine book." 
 
 All the guests became silent after these words. 
 
 " Parlanta," said M. Minxit, " what is the status of 
 my suit against Malthus ? " 
 
 " We have a warrant for his arrest," said the sheriff's 
 officer. 
 
 "Well, you will throw all the documents into the 
 fire, and Benjamin will reimburse you for the costs. 
 And you, Rapin, how does my trouble with the clergy 
 in relation to my music come on ? " 
 
 " The case is postponed for a week," said Rapin. 
 
 " Then they will sentence me by default," answered 
 M. Minxit. 
 
 " But," said Rapin, " perhaps there will be a heavy 
 fine. The sexton has testified that the sergeant in- 
 sulted the vicar when the latter summoned him to evac- 
 uate the square in front of the church with his band." 
 
 " That is 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 flog 
 the sexton at the first opportunity ; I want the scamp to 
 remember me." 
 
 They had reached the dessert. M. Minxit made a 
 punch, and poured into his glass a few drops of the 
 flaming liquor.
 
 270 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 " That will hurt you, Monsieur Minxit," said Mache- 
 court. 
 
 "And what can hurt me now, my good Machecourt? 
 I must make my farewell to all that has been dear to 
 me in life." 
 
 Meanwhile his strength rapidly grew less, and he 
 could express himself only in a weak voice. 
 
 " You know, gentlemen," said he, " that it is to my 
 funeral that I have invited you ; I have had beds pre- 
 pared for all of you, in order that you may be in readi- 
 ness to-morrow morning to escort me to my last resting- 
 place. I wish no one to weep over my death : instead 
 of crape, you will wear roses in your coats, and, after 
 wetting the leaves in a glass of champagne, you will 
 strew them over my grave. It is the cure of a sick 
 man, the deliverance of a captive, that you celebrate. 
 And by the way," he added, " which of you will under- 
 take my funeral oration ? " 
 
 " It shall be Page," said some. 
 
 " No," answered M. Minxit, " Page is a lawyer, and 
 at the grave the truth must be told. I prefer that it 
 should be Benjamin." 
 
 " I ! " said my uncle ; " you know very well that I am 
 no orator." 
 
 " You are enough of an orator for me," answered M. 
 Minxit. " Come, speak to me as if I were lying in my 
 coffin ; I should be much pleased to hear while living 
 what posterity will say of me." 
 
 " Indeed," said Benjamin, " I really don't know what 
 to say." 
 
 " What you like, but make haste, for I feel myself 
 sinking."
 
 MY TJNCLE BENJAMIN. 271 
 
 " Well," said my uncle, " ' he whom we lay under 
 this foliage leaves behind him unanimous regrets.' " 
 
 "'Unanimous regrets' is not good," said M. Minxit; 
 " no man leaves behind him unanimous regrets ; that 
 is a lie that can be retailed only from a pulpit." 
 
 " Do you prefer ' friends who will weep over him for 
 a long time ' ? " 
 
 " That is less ambitious, but it is no more exact. For 
 one friend who loves us loyally and without reserve, 
 we have twenty enemies hidden in the shadow, who 
 await in silence, like a hunter in ambush, an opportu- 
 nity to injure us ; I am sure that there are in this vil- 
 lage many people who will be happy at my death." 
 
 "Well, 'he leaves behind him inconsolable friends,'" 
 said my uncle. 
 
 " ' Inconsolable ' is another falsehood," answered 
 M. Minxit. "We doctors do not know what part of 
 our organization sorrow affects, or how it makes us suf- 
 fer ; but it is a disease that is cured without treatment 
 and very quickly. Most sorrows are to the heart of 
 man only slight scabs that fall almost as soon as they 
 are formed; none are inconsolable except fathers and 
 mothers who have children in the grave." 
 
 " ' Who will long preserve your memory ' ; does that 
 suit you better ? " 
 
 "That will do," said M. Minxit; "and that this 
 memory may be more lasting, I provide a permanent 
 fund for a dinner to be eaten at each anniversary of my 
 death, at which you will all be present as long as you 
 remain in this part of the country ; Benjamin is 
 charged with the execution of my will." 
 
 " That is better than a service," said my uncle ; and
 
 272 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 he continued in these terms : " ' I will not speak to you 
 of his virtues.' " 
 
 " Say ' qualities,' " said M. Minxit ; " that savors less 
 of exaggeration." 
 
 " ' Nor of his talents : you have all been in a position 
 to appreciate them.' " 
 
 " Especially Arthus, from whom I have won during 
 the past year forty-five bottles of beer at billiards." 
 
 " ' I will not tell you that he was a good father ; you 
 all know that he is dead from having loved his daugh' 
 ter too well.' " 
 
 " Alas ! would to Heaven that that were true ! " 
 answered M. Minxit, "but it is a deplorable truth, 
 which I can no longer conceal, that my daughter is 
 dead because I did not love her enough. My conduct 
 toward her lias been that of an execrable egoist : she 
 loved a nobleman, and I did not wish her to marry him 
 because I detested noblemen ; she did not lov.e Benja- 
 min, and I wished him to become my son-in-law be- 
 cause I loved him. But I hope that God will pardon 
 me. We did not make our passions, and our passions 
 always govern our reason. We must obey the instincts 
 that he has given us, as the duck obeys the imperative 
 instinct that takes it toward the river." 
 
 " ' He was a good son,' " continued my uncle. 
 
 " What do you know about it? " answered M. Minxit. 
 "That is the way in which epitaphs and funeral ora- 
 tions are made. Those paths that run through our 
 cemeteries lined with graves and cypresses are like the 
 columns of a newspaper, full of lies and falsehood. 
 The fact is that I never knew either my father or my 
 mother, and it is not clearly demonstrated that I was
 
 MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. 273 
 
 born of the union of a man and a woman ; but I have 
 never complained of the abandonment in which I was 
 left ; it did not prevent me from making my way, and, 
 if I had had a family, perhaps I should not have gone 
 so far : a family embarrasses and thwarts you in a thou- 
 sand ways ; you must obey its ideas, and not yours ; 
 you are not free to follow your vocation, and, in the 
 path in which it often throws you, from the first step 
 you find yourself in the mire." 
 
 " ' He was a good husband,' " said my uncle. 
 
 "Indeed, I am not too sure of that," said M. Minxit; 
 " I married my wife without loving her, and I have 
 never loved her much ; but with me she always had her 
 own way : when she wanted a dress, she bought one ; 
 when a servant displeased her, she discharged him. If 
 that is what makes a good husband, so much the better ! 
 But I shall soon know what God thinks about it." 
 
 " * He has bsen a good citizen,' " said my uncle : 
 "'you have been witnesses of the zeal with which he 
 has labored to spread among the people ideas of reform 
 and liberty.' " 
 
 " You can say that now without compromising me." 
 
 " ' I will not say to you that he was a good friend.' " 
 
 " But then what will you say ? " said M. Minxit. 
 
 " A little patience," said Benjamin. " ' His intelli- 
 gence has enabled him to win the favor of fortune.' " 
 
 " Not precisely my intelligence," said M. Minxit, 
 " although mine is as good as another's ; I have profited 
 by the credulity of men; that takes audacity rather 
 than intelligence." 
 
 " ' And his wealth has always been at the service of 
 the unfortunate.' "
 
 274 MY TJNCLE BENJAMIN. 
 
 M. Minxit gave a sign of assent. 
 
 " ' He has lived as a philosopher, enjoying life and 
 causing those around him to enjoy it, and he has died 
 as a philosopher also, surrounded by his friends, after a 
 grand feast. Passers-b}'-, drop a flower upon his grave.' " 
 
 " That is pretty nearly right," said M. Minxit. " Now, 
 gentlemen, let us drink the stirrup-cup, and wish me a 
 pleasant journey." 
 
 He ordered the sergeant to carry him to his bed. My 
 uncle wanted to follow him, but he was opposed to it, 
 and insisted that they should remain at table until the 
 following day. 
 
 An hour later he sent for Benjamin. The latter 
 hurried to his bedside ; M. Minxit had only time to 
 take his hand, and then expired. 
 
 The next morning Monsieur Minxit's coffin, sur- 
 rounded by his friends and followed by a long procession 
 of peasants, was about to leave the house. 
 
 The priest presented himself at the door, and ordered 
 the bearers to take the body to the churchyard. 
 
 " But," said my uncle, " it is not to the churchyard 
 that M. Minxit intends to go ; he is going to his field, 
 and no one has a right to prevent it." 
 
 The priest objected that the remains of a Christian 
 could 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 ? " 
 
 " Then," said the priest, " you wish your friend to be 
 damned?" 
 
 " Allow me," said my uncle : " M. Minxit has been 
 in the presence of God since yesterday, and, unless his
 
 TVTT UNCLE BENJAMIN. 275 
 
 case lias been postponed a week, he is now judged. In 
 case he has been damned, it will not be your funeral 
 ceremony that will revoke his sentence, and, in case he 
 has been saved, of what use will the ceremony be ? " 
 
 The priest cried that Benjamin was an impious man, 
 and ordered the peasants to leave. All obeyed, and the 
 bearers themselves 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 perform their task well, each shall have his pay : 
 if, on the contrary, one of them refuses to go, I will 
 beat him with the flat of my sword till he falls to the 
 ground." 
 
 The bearers, even more frightened by Benjamin's 
 threats than by the priest's, made up their mind to 
 march, and M. Minxit was laid in his grave with all the 
 formalities that Benjamin had indicated. 
 
 On his return from the funeral, my uncle had an 
 income of ten thousand francs. Perhaps we shall see 
 later what use he made of his fortune. 
 
 THE END.
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 CLAUDE TILLIEE,.* 
 
 AT the beginning of the fifties, while I was saunter- 
 ing through Paris one day and standing before one of 
 those itinerant news stalls that exhibit their wares on the 
 ramparts of the quais and under the archways of the 
 houses, my eyes caught sight of a stitched volume, of 
 damaged appearance. No cover, no title-page, no pref- 
 ace, neither author nor printer, nothing but a dirty 
 title pasted on with the three words : Mon Oncle Ben- 
 jamin. I do not know what attraction these three 
 words had for me, but they seemed to look at me in a 
 friendly way, as if to say : " Only turn the leaves, you 
 will not regret it." I was not long to be entreated, and, 
 indeed, scarcely had I hurried through a few pages 
 when both style and contents began to fascinate me in 
 such a degree that I bought the book for a few sous and 
 put it in my pocket. Then I went to the Luxembourg 
 garden, took a seat beneath a chestnut tree, and did not 
 rise again until I had read the book to the end. 
 
 For a long time no book had yielded me such deep 
 satisfaction ; but by whom was it ? The simple, con- 
 cise, and direct style seemed to be that of the eighteenth 
 century ; the narrative, so natural and without reserve 
 and circumlocution, recalled Voltaire, Diderot, and Le 
 
 This sketch of Claude Tillier's life and works is translated from the 
 German of Ludwig Pf au by George Schumm.
 
 APPENDIX. 277 
 
 Sage ; the genuine feeling for nature and mankind 
 maybe also conveyed a suggestion of the sentimentalism 
 of Rousseau. But the whole manner of expression was 
 more spontaneous, popular, and richer in color; and 
 even if the author had not introduced himself as a grand- 
 child of that generation, the spirit of liberty and equal- 
 ity that permeates his book betrayed too much of modern 
 thought not to have lain at the breasts of the Revolu- 
 tion. Moreover, in spite of all that family resemblance, 
 the character of the author was so independent, his 
 humor so peculiar, as to permit of explanation only by 
 the individuality of the man. 
 
 Greatly as I was delighted, therefore, by the beauty 
 of the book, greater almost was my astonishment to find 
 its author so entirely forgotten. How came it that a 
 man of such talent was not in everybody's mouth ? How 
 could a writer who so easily wins the sympathies of the 
 reader remain wholly in concealment ? For a long time 
 I made vain inquiry among litterateurs and the trade, 
 until I finally succeeded in discovering the traces of my 
 Great Unknown, who in the meantime, to be sure, has 
 acquired a certain popularity. I secured the four vol- 
 umes of his writings that were published at Nevers in 
 1846, and learned now that his name was Claude Tillier, 
 that he had lived in the province, died in the province, 
 and was therefore being ignored by Paris. 
 
 Claude Tillier is probably the only highly-gifted 
 French writer of this century who could decide to play 
 his modest part in the obscurity of a small town. A child 
 of the Revolution, he was born on the 21st of Germinal in 
 the year IX. of the republic, or on the 10th of April, 
 1801, in Clamecy, a small town in the department of
 
 278 APPENDIX. 
 
 Nievre. His father was a locksmith. Already as a boy 
 he was wont to take the part of the weaker in the fights 
 of his comrades and oppose the stronger. In conse- 
 quence of this pernicious inclination he came home one 
 day with a broken arm. But his talents kept equal 
 pace with his courage, and he so distinguished himself 
 while at school as to win the town scholarship of Cla- 
 mecy in 1813 among numerous competitors. With this 
 assistance he completed his studies at the lyceum of 
 Bourges. 
 
 During the first Restoration, Claude, the child of the 
 Revolution, who, as he himself says, drank his mother's 
 milk out of the field-flasks of the daughters of the regi- 
 ment, rebelled against the new order of things. Placing 
 himself at the head of a riot at school, he met the shout : 
 Vive le roi ! with the exclamation : Vive Vempereur ! He 
 tore up the white cockade and wrote his mother an en- 
 thusiastic letter, which later fell into hostile hands and 
 shut him out from the career of a public instructor dur- 
 ing the second Restoration. 
 
 Completing his studies in 1819, Tillier left the col- 
 lege of Bourges. He now became an assistant teacher, 
 first at the college of Saissons, and later at a boarding 
 school in Paris. In 1821 he was drawn into military 
 service and obliged to take part in the campaign of 
 1823 as subaltern of the artillery. The son of liberty, 
 he must march in favor of the Holy Alliance against 
 the Spaniards ! After passing six years, full of disgust 
 and weariness, in military service (where, moreover, he 
 laid the seeds of the lung trouble that was to prove 
 fatal), he returned home in November, 1828. He be- 
 came teacher of the communal school and got married.
 
 APPENDIX. 279 
 
 Now Tillier begins to attract attention as a writer ; 
 he becomes a zealous contributor to a small opposition 
 paper that was founded in Clamecy in 1831 under the 
 title, " L'Inde*pendant." Not satisfied with teaching 
 the young, he wishes also to instruct the old. But 
 people unwilling to learn prove unfriendly towards 
 those who give them lessons, and they revenged them- 
 selves on the writer at the expense of the schoolmaster. 
 His opponents moved, in public meeting, to appoint a 
 second principal, and to divide the salary between the 
 two. Tillier defended himself with his " hard and 
 pointed weapons," as he himself calls them. He sub- 
 mitted a remonstrance to the common council, in which 
 he brought out the incongruity of the proposition in a 
 humorous way, by comparing the union of two teachers 
 to a double team consisting of a horse and a donkey. 
 But, tired of the squabble, he finally consented to the 
 discharge of the horse, and left the vehicle to the other 
 companion. The police court, however, took the part 
 of the donkey, and the unharnessed schoolmaster had 
 to atone for the directness of his speech with eight days' 
 imprisonment. 
 
 Tillier now founded a private school, which was 
 originally well attended. But the antagonisms that led 
 to the catastrophe of 1848, the dissensions between a 
 rotten bourgeoisie that had shared the spoils of 1830 
 with royalism and the outraged people who had gained 
 nothing, were at that time coming to a head. True to 
 himself, Tillier took the part of the oppressed, and soon 
 the whole camp of corruption official robe, cowl, and 
 money-bag had entered into a conspiracy against him. 
 These natural enemies of every free and noble character
 
 280 APPENDIX. 
 
 strove to cut the poor schoolmaster off from the eco- 
 nomic means of life. Political hatred and religious per- 
 secution placed themselves in ambush to draw away his 
 pupils. Fatted bourgeois and fanatical confessors be- 
 labored the fathers and terrified the mothers until the 
 private school more and more melted away. 
 
 But as it ever happens that the evil principle incurs 
 its own defeat by its victory, so also Tillier was urged 
 on to his literary calling by these persecutions, and his 
 mighty pen dealt the reactionaries far severer and more 
 effective blows than his teacher's rod could ever have 
 done. In 1840 he published his first pamphlet under 
 the title : " A Raftsman, to the Common Council of 
 Clamecy." This was followed by the " Letters on Elec- 
 toral Reform," which appeared in the " National." In 
 1841 there was already such a good ring to his name 
 that he received a call to Nevers to assume the editorial 
 chair of the journal, " L' Association." Here he wrote 
 for the feuilleton two stories : his " Oncle Benjamin " 
 and " Belleplante and Cornelius." The first, a charm- 
 ing sketch of the Nivernese manners and customs of the 
 eighteenth century, combines the spiritual freshness of 
 Gallic presentation with that German humor that laughs 
 through tears, and is in this respect unique in French 
 literature. As if in play and by a few strokes, the mas- 
 terful description endows a character with flesh and 
 blood, and places him, as by magic, in full life before 
 the eyes of the reader. Experienced rather than in. 
 vented, sprung from the fulness of artistic observation, 
 the " Oncle Benjamin " belongs to those favored spirit- 
 ual children of which the most fortunate father produces 
 but one ; to those rare books which by the delicate
 
 APPENDIX. 281 
 
 because unconscious blending of the ideal and the 
 real become the common property of all times and 
 places and pass from generation to generation in eternal 
 youth. The other story treats of the joys and suffer- 
 ings of the inventor in battle with the commonplace ; it 
 is more of a fantastic nature, but rich in beautiful pas- 
 sages. 
 
 The " Association " finally succumbed to a systematic 
 persecution ; but Tillier, although ill, did not lay down 
 the pen. He now wrote a first series of twenty-four 
 pamphlets, then a second one of twelve. The wealth of 
 satirical fire, philosophical humor, and poetical power 
 that he spent in these pamphlets is something amazing. 
 The elector, the tax-collector, the prefect, the bishop, 
 the priest, the professor, the mayor, the miracle-perform- 
 ing saint, and the severe beadle, all the half-gods of the 
 district, the giants of the country town, must take the 
 floor and play their part. But his favorite antagonist, 
 his hereditary foe, is the late M. Dupin, president of 
 the chamber of the republic and deputy of the July 
 revolution and subsequent attorney-general and senator 
 of the second empire. Nor can one imagine two more 
 complete opposites than these two men; the modest, 
 unselfish pamphleteer, full of tenderness and fidelity of 
 thought, and the greedy, venal political parasite, shame- 
 less and without principle. When this type of corrup- 
 tion appears on the scene in his great galoches, the style 
 of Tillier also puts on clouted shoes, the better to step 
 on the feet of his adversary. The " Pamphlets " consti- 
 tute a history of the liberal aspirations of the province 
 under Louis Philippe ; they furnish a comprehensive 
 picture of the struggles and battles which the demo-
 
 282 APPENDIX. 
 
 cratic opposition fought in all departments with the 
 July government. Tillier did not live to see the ap- 
 pearance of the second series. His lung trouble passed 
 into consumption, and so he faded away, pen in hand, 
 like a sentinel who in his fall still exclaims: "Com- 
 rades, here is the enemy ! " He died at Nevers, Octo- 
 ber 12, 1844, aged forty-three years. 
 
 Such is, in few words, the life so brief and so full, 
 so modest and so meritorious of a man of genius. As 
 child, a broken arm ; as boy, a rebellion ; as youth, 
 a soldier's fate ; as man, a school-room, then prison, 
 persecution, struggle, misery, and finally death ! He 
 died poor as he had lived, but, notwithstanding his pov- 
 erty, he frequently made himself responsible for his 
 friends and found means, when necessary, to pay for 
 them. The abstemiousness of the philosopher and the 
 carelessness of the artist constituted the features of his 
 character. In all questions we find him on the side of 
 truth, liberty, and justice. Whether he attacks the 
 superstition and intolerance of an ambitious clergy or 
 the selfishness and corruption of a wealthy bourgeoisie ; 
 whether he champions the right of suffrage and the lib- 
 erty of the press, or writes against the dotation of the 
 Duke of Nemaurs and in derision of the thighbone of 
 Sainte Flavia, all these little masterpieces of polemics 
 reveal the same warm feeling of justice, the same 
 healthy common sense, and the same relentless logic 
 that will never let go of what it has once seized, and 
 which a miracle-performing saint will no more escape 
 than a royal prince. 
 
 A master of form and abounding in matter, thinker 
 and artist, politician and poet, bright and clear, grace-
 
 APPENDIX. 283 
 
 fill and pointed, Claude Tillier is the genuine expres- 
 sion of French literature. Born in the centre of an- 
 cient Gaul, near the Loire, in the true home of the 
 Gallic spirit, on the boundary line between Troubadour 
 and Trouvere, he has, like the wine its bouquet, the 
 peculiar taste of the soil whose product he is. This 
 happy zone has brought forth many a writer of precious 
 humor, keen intellect, and biting satire ; but notably 
 Tillier's spiritual kinsman, Paul Louis Courier, and 
 the father of the pamphlet and of satire, the master of 
 Montaigne, Moliere, and Voltaire, the jolly Rabelais. 
 Tillier is the legitimate son of this family, and his po- 
 lemical writings, which are still read with undiminished 
 pleasure, take their place beside the pamphlets of Paul 
 Louis Courier. The two countrymen are equals in 
 respect to fire and dash, charming nature and artistic 
 skill, wealth of sentiment and power of irony; and, if 
 Tillier is sometimes left in the rear by his predecessor 
 in the matter of elegance of language and delicacy of 
 description, he excels him in point of novelty and 
 spontaneity, he has the unexpected turn and the sur- 
 prising metaphor. Tillier has the frank expression, 
 the scent of the country, the spicy strength of the peo- 
 ple from whom he sprang ; his style overflows with 
 sap and force, like the wild tree in the free country. 
 " What do I care," he remarks somewhere, " that you 
 call a simile trivial, if it is only correct and picturesque, 
 if it only embodies the idea and makes it tangible to 
 eye and ear? A fine reason, that, to refrain from the 
 use of a word because thirty millions of others use it."
 
 284 APPENDIX. 
 
 II. 
 
 Better, however, than any biography do Tillier's 
 writings tell us who and what he was. For as a poet 
 of lyrical feeling and plastic power he weaves his life 
 into his writings, and gives us, as none else, himself in 
 every line. Nothing, for instance, could furnish a 
 more realistic picture of the sufferings and struggles 
 of his youth than the following description of his life 
 as an assistant teacher : 
 
 " I who jest and laugh with you have passed through 
 life's severest trials. I was pupil, assistant teacher, sol- 
 dier, and schoolmaster. With these employments I al- 
 ways combined that of the poet. The corporal, the 
 school-director, the ill-bred children, the tender mothers, 
 and the rhyme were my five inexorable enemies that pur- 
 sued me incessantly. . . . Now I am a pamphleteer, a 
 pamphleteer with somewhat pointed tooth and nail by 
 whom a number of people carry scars, but I shall never 
 say anything so bad of society as it has done to me. 
 
 " Before I got to be a soldier, I was an assistant 
 teacher. But of all serving men the most unfortunate 
 is without doubt the assistant of a boarding school. 
 With terror I recall the miserable state of mind I was 
 in when, my certificate in' my pocket, I offered my ser- 
 vices to those Latin hucksters of the capital who trade 
 in the languages of Homer and Virgil. ... I was 
 nineteen years old ; suffering early marked me out for 
 her own, and I could not without great difficulty earn 
 the piece of bread that easily falls to the lot of every 
 beggar. During four weeks I wandered through the 
 streets of Paris with my grandmother ; we had searched
 
 APPENDIX. 285 
 
 the farthest suburbs, we had knocked at the doors of 
 all institutions known to the guide-board ; but the good 
 old woman might say as often as she would: 'Claude 
 has passed through all the grades, and in philosophy he 
 even stood second best ' in vain ! My unfortunate 
 nineteen years were to blame that I was everywhere 
 left on the hands of my grandmother. From door to 
 door we were turned -away with thunder tones : ' We 
 need nobody.' A joking principal of a boarding school 
 even pretended to consider me as a pupil who was 
 being brought him. Finally my grandmother suc- 
 ceeded in finding a corner for me in an institute, Ave- 
 nue de Lamothe-Piquet. The excellent institute was 
 situated between the House of Invalids and the Mili- 
 tary Academy, just opposite a school for trained dogs 
 that were taught to fetch and carry things and give the 
 paw." 
 
 . The neighborhood gave rise to a mistake that Claude 
 relates drolly enough. A lady who was looking for the 
 dog school for her little quadruped was mistaken by the 
 master of the institute for a mother who wanted to 
 place her child there. 
 
 " In this house," Tillier continues, " I had my wash- 
 ing, board, and lodging in the dormitory of the pupils ; 
 in view of my great youth, I was to receive no salary at 
 the beginning. I conducted the studies and recitations, 
 I watched over the recreation hours, and accompanied 
 the pupils on their walks. That was a dearly bought 
 morsel of bread. 
 
 " The proprietor of the institute had nothing to prove 
 himself a teacher except his sign. He did not under- 
 stand Latin, not even thieves' Latin. In order to con-
 
 286 APPENDIX. 
 
 ceal his ignorance, he sought to gain fame as a savant ; 
 to that end he published " The Beauties of French His- 
 tory," and was now engaged on the historical beauties 
 of other nations. This sort of books were the fashion 
 at that time ; every nation was presented with the 
 beauties of its history in a duodecimo volume, neither a 
 page more nor less. 
 
 " There are persons who will -make a fine book out 
 of one good page ; there are others who cannot get up 
 even a page with the aid of a whole book. Monsieur 
 R. belonged to the latter. He was one of those spirit- 
 ual journeymen who mutilate rather than abbreviate, 
 who take a folio, dissect it, throw away the meat, and 
 keep the bones ; one of those scullions of literature who, 
 when they pare an apple, leave nothing but the core. 
 His beauties of French history gave him the right to 
 assume the title of a writer, a title that served that of 
 teacher as no mean armament. He passed his days in 
 the public libraries in the preparation of extracts, and 
 his evenings in the salons of the Faubourg Saint-Ger- 
 main, where he was admitted in consequence of the 
 purity of his royalism. During his absence, the crown 
 descended to the female line. The female line ruled in 
 the person of Madame R., a red-haired, pale-faced Eng- 
 lishwoman, who had a skin like the shell of a turkey's 
 egg, or like white satin that has for some time been 
 exposed to the indignities of flies. The pupils liked 
 her very much, because she always maintained that they 
 were right ; the assistant teachers despised her just as 
 much, because she always said they were wrong. 
 
 " There were from twenty to twenty-five Englishmen 
 in the institute of Monsieur R., whom Ins wife had
 
 APPENDIX. 287 
 
 brought as her dowry, and about as many Frenchmen 
 who represented his share. This mixture of two na- 
 tionalities constituted the educational system. The 
 Englishmen of the wife were to initiate the Frenchmen 
 of the master into the language of Byron at the ball 
 and other games ; and these were at the same time to 
 teach the former the language of Racine. In conse- 
 quence of this unfortunate exchange, the substantives 
 had lost their articles, the adjectives their genders, and 
 the verbs their conjugations. There arose such a hodge- 
 podge of the two languages, such gibberish that, as at 
 the tower of Babel, no one any longer understood his 
 neighbor. . . . 
 
 " During the first days that I passed in this house I 
 felt terribly unhappy. The loss of liberty was intol- 
 erable torture to me. I envied secretly the boot-black 
 who went by the windows singing and whistling. How 
 gladly would I have exchanged all my treasures of 
 wisdom for his dirty stool and his black hands ! Some- 
 times I was almost choked by tears, but I dared not 
 cry; I had to await the night to permit myself this 
 luxury. Often I said to myself: Why did not my 
 father teach me his trade ? Then I should have all I 
 need : bread and liberty ; more I have never asked for, 
 and here I have neither bread nor liberty. The good 
 man had imagined that I must make my way as so 
 many others with the help of the education that he had 
 given me ; but instead of gold pieces he put counters in 
 my purse. I am too simple, too awkward, too ingenu- 
 ous to make my fortune in pedagogy. Fortune is like 
 the tall trees, only the insect that creeps or the bird 
 that flies can build its nest on them.
 
 288 APPENDIX. 
 
 "However, I was only at the beginning of my 
 troubles. After two or three days my charges had 
 lost all respect for my person. The two nations that 
 had daily made war upon each other made a truce, 
 and combined themselves against me. My gray dress 
 coat a gray dress coat which the best tailor of my 
 town had made and which my grandmother had said 
 was splendid was the target of their jests, and often 
 even of their missiles. It was useless to punish them 
 for it, large and small laughed at my punishments; 
 to be kept after school was recreation to them, for I had 
 to preside. Again, and again I was tempted to take 
 instant and summary revenge on these impudent and, 
 in their practical jokes, so cruel fellows. But if I were 
 sent away, what should I do ? How should I meet my 
 parents, who believed me to be on the road to success ? 
 And even if I had wished to come to this decision, how 
 should I pay my seat on the stage coach ? I was liter- 
 ally without a penny. My family granted me a 
 monthly allowance of five francs, which came to me 
 through my grandmother ; but these five francs I had 
 long ago spent in rolls and bretzels that I ate on my 
 walks, for I was always hungry." 
 
 But at last poor Tillier lost his patience anyway, 
 and, after he had one day deservedly whipped an inso- 
 lent young Englishman, he was obliged to leave the 
 institute in the fall of 1820. 
 
 "I had settled with Monsieur R.," he continues. 
 " There were still coming to me twenty-two francs and 
 ten centimes which he gave me. They leaped into my 
 pocket. My traps were soon together. My whole 
 trunk consisted of an old neckerchief tied together by
 
 APPENDIX. 289 
 
 the four corners, and contained more scribbled paper 
 than linen. An old stump of a cigar that was hidden 
 in my pocket came accidentally into my hands. It 
 seemed to me becoming to depart with the cigar in my 
 mouth. I lit it in the kitchen and marched proudly 
 over the yard, like a garrison that leaves the fortress 
 all covered with military glory. At the large gate 
 stood a boy who seemed to be waiting for some one. 
 This young pupil had been my neighbor at the table in 
 the workroom, and I had often helped him in his tasks. 
 As soon as he saw me coming, he came running up to 
 me and extended some square-looking object wrapped 
 in paper to me. 
 
 " ' I beg you, Monsieur Claude, take this ; it is vanilla 
 chocolate. I know you have not earned much at 
 Monsieur R.'s. That will make a few breakfasts. Do 
 not fear you are robbing me ; Christmas is at hand, 
 mamma will give me some more chocolate, and per- 
 haps nobody will give anything to you.' 
 
 "This unexpected manifestation of tender affection 
 embarrassed me. I am possessed of a very foolish ex- 
 citability, and my emotions, once aroused, lack all self- 
 control. Instead of expressing my thanks to this lov- 
 able boy, I began to cry like a donkey. In the mean- 
 time he attempted to force the package into my coat- 
 pocket, and I blinded by tears, choked by sobs, 
 unable to speak tried to stay his hands, but in vain. 
 As soon as the chocolate was in my pocket, the dear 
 little rogue took his flight like a bird that is chased 
 from one bush into another. A short distance from me 
 he stopped : 
 
 '"Monsieur Claude,' he cried, 'if you will promise
 
 290 APPENDIX. 
 
 me to keep the chocolate, I will come to you again ; I 
 have something more to say to you.' 
 
 " ' O dear little fellow, I promise you, I will always 
 keep it in memory of our friendship.' 
 
 " He came back and took both my hands. 
 
 " ' Now you must promise me further that you will 
 let me know what institute you will enter. I don't 
 like Monsieur R., because he is a royalist, nor Madame 
 R., because she is an Englishwoman ; but you I loved 
 from the first hour, I don't know why, and I will en- 
 treat mamma so long to take me to you until she con- 
 sents.' 
 
 " ' Well, my child, I will promise you also that.' 
 
 " And as I took my hands out of his, I fled to the 
 street, for I felt that I was again to be overcome by 
 crying. At some distance I saw my friend standing on 
 the terrace. He was looking after me with eyes that 
 were surely filled with tears. 
 
 "Afterward I forgot this child. I was unfeeling 
 enough to eat his chocolate without notifying him of the 
 institute I had entered. I have forgotten him, as the 
 wanderer forgets the tree under which he rested for a 
 moment on his journey through the desert. This poor, 
 deceased love, here it lies in a corner of my heart under 
 some rose-colored crape ; for it is the fate of man to 
 forget. At the bottom of every human heart lies, ah ! 
 a little heap of ashes and dross. Our soul is a church- 
 yard full of graves and inscriptions, a bed where 
 young blossoms strike their roots in dead flowers. 
 Oblivion is a blessing of God, for if man, while round 
 about him all is changing and passing away, had not 
 the faculty of oblivion, he would be the unhappiest
 
 APPENDIX. 291 
 
 of all creatures, his life would be one perpetual pain, 
 and his eye an inexhaustible well of tears." 
 
 The sorrows of the assistant are followed by the 
 tortures of the schoolmaster. The vivid description of 
 them furnishes at .the same time an intimation of the 
 struggles Tillier had to wage with the clergy. He 
 writes : 
 
 "Which of us earns the more honest bread, you 
 bishops or we schoolmasters ? In the midst of a troop 
 of children from morn till night who yelp like a pack 
 of hounds, we wrack ourselves to set in motion the 
 cumbersome, rusty machine called the school, and 
 spend our energy, like the wood-chopper who drives 
 a wedge into a block of wood, by forcing letters and 
 syllables into the hard heads of children, and ruin our 
 health by repeating tiresome explanations a hundred 
 times. The poor road-mender can put aside his shovel 
 for a moment in order to press the hand of an old 
 acquaintance who is passing along; the brick-layer on 
 the scaffolding turns his head in the direction of the 
 street and looks a long time after a girl whom he has 
 given a friendly nod ; the locksmith, while pulling up 
 and down his bellows, dreams of his home and of the 
 day of his return ; the tailor, sewing his coat, discovers 
 in a fold of the cloth a merry song that he hums again 
 and again, as the peasant jingles a gold piece that he 
 wishes to test. But we, we must stand guard over our 
 head like a sentinel over his post ; we must inexorably 
 turn away from us every dream, every memory, every 
 wish; we must see and speak at the same time, restrain 
 this one, spur on that one, preserve order here, call out 
 the spirit of industry there ; in short, we must do the
 
 292 APPENDIX. 
 
 work of three. Some of us are magnificently gifted, 
 but if their 'spirit wishes to soar into higher regions, 
 they must nail their pinions to the desk ; they have a 
 golden tool and must break stones with it. And you, 
 you bishops, what are you doing meanwhile? You 
 preach from your pulpit, you promenade like little gods 
 under a canopy, you let Levites flatter you, or you even 
 banish some old priest out of his congenial parish. 
 For this arduous labor the government pays you ten 
 thousand francs a year, but you are not of the kind to 
 content yourself with anything so small. You make a 
 journey every year, and when you have travelled a 
 hundred miles or so, you return, weary and exhausted, 
 into your palace to rest yourself, and for this toilsome 
 trouble you ask no less than two thousand francs' 
 ' travelling fees,' Ah ! how many of us would count 
 themselves overhappy if they received for the hard 
 labor of a year only one-half of what you earn in eight 
 days by breakfasting, dining, and triumphal proces- 
 sions. 
 
 " Do you perhaps claim that your abilities merit such 
 grand rewards? But who tells you that a bishop 
 requires more brains than a schoolmaster? A good 
 teacher must know everything, even a little theology; 
 but a bishop, what does he need to know except a 
 little theology ? Honestly, don't you think something 
 more is needed for a good arithmetician or a good 
 grammarian than for the manufacture of holy oils? 
 I will wager that the person of Monsieur Dupin con- 
 tains enough material fur ten bishops ; but I deny that 
 a single schoolmaster could be made out of him. Or 
 do you even claim that the size of your salary is deter-
 
 APPENDIX. 293 
 
 mined by the utility of your works? This would be a 
 second self-delusion ; in this respect also 've have the 
 advantage. For four months the diocese was without a 
 bishop, and nobody noticed it. The bells tolled, masses 
 were read, women went to confession now as before ; 
 there was only a priest less in the city, and since the 
 return of His Eminence there is one more, that is all. 
 But if the diocese should be four months without a 
 schoolmaster, do you think that would be immaterial, 
 too? Do not, therefore, reproach us again by saying 
 that we give instruction to earn money, for, you see, 
 we are capable of answering you." 
 
 III. 
 
 In the following picture of Dupin, Tillier furnishes 
 splendid proof of the power of his pen and the penetra- 
 tion of his thought. When he sketched it in the begin- 
 ning of the forties, this professional renegade stood in 
 the zenith of his glory and was the idol of the depart- 
 ment. To-day nobody any longer doubts the likeness 
 of the picture : 
 
 "Verily, I say to you, Monsieur Dupin, there is a 
 certain species of egotism that would even make a great 
 man ridiculous : namely, that shameless and garrulous 
 egotism that forever and ever prates of itself, that 
 would monopolize the attention of the entire world, 
 and write its name upon every wall. You, Monsieur 
 Dupin, are the most perfect type of this sort of egotism. 
 You love money, you love it with a measureless passion, 
 you love it as well as the law permits it to be loved* 
 and yet there is one thing that you love still more, and 
 the more so the more it is denied you, and that thing
 
 294 APPENDIX. 
 
 is popularity. As the people fail you, you have made 
 yourself a people out of the bourgeoisie. You need 
 people who are well-dressed, well-shaven, well-brushed, 
 well-polished, and who continually run up and down 
 stairs. You need newspapers that are forever on the 
 alert and exclaim every moment : ' O, the great man ! ' 
 To live obscurely would mean to you not to live. If 
 one should discover some luminous article that could 
 shed its radiance over a circumference of from two to 
 three miles, you would have to get a piece of it for a 
 wide dress-coat, and if every yard should cost a law- 
 suit. 
 
 " You have an insatiable craving to shine. Wherever 
 there are compliments to reap, you rush in instantly. 
 There can be no festivity in Clamecy but what you ap- 
 pear, clad in your wide dress-coat, majestically escorted 
 by firemen. Should the king of Monaco attend one of 
 these ostentatious festivities, he could but exclaim : 
 ' Upon my honor, if I were not king of Monaco, I would 
 be Monsieur Dupin ! ' 
 
 " Certain simple folks imagine that } T OU harbor an 
 implacable hatred against me who committed the blas- 
 phemy of defaming your great name, that hatred which 
 never vanishes, but, like the dagger of the savage, 
 eternally preserves its poison. These people do not 
 know you. Your mortal enemy, Monsieur Dupin, is 
 he who appears not to notice your importance and who 
 basely curtails you of the required attention. You 
 would much rather hear it said: 'This is Monsieur 
 Dupin, the lickspittle, the counsel of all abuses, the 
 defender of all wrongs; Monsieur Dupin, the turncoat, 
 who deserted the camp of the people under a great
 
 APPENDIX. 295 
 
 flourish of trumpets' than, 'Who is this old gentle- 
 man?' 
 
 " You have that voracious appetite for flattery which, 
 without nicety of choice, devours everything that is 
 thrown at it : you think more of quantity than quality. 
 It would require large bells to execute the serenade 
 that would truly delight you. There is a shoemaker in 
 Clamecy, a ridiculous poetaster whom everybody de- 
 rides. Nine out of every ten lines of the doggerel 
 which the lame muse of this Apollo of the last welds 
 together are addressed to the great Dupin, 'the king of 
 orators.' While awaiting your return, he has always a 
 poem on his last and a wreath in his tub. And you, 
 the academician, who are accustomed, moreover, to the 
 gilded flatteries of the court, you pride yourself with 
 this crown as if it were of roses' and laurels. The fetid 
 incense that he wafts towards you is sweet perfume to 
 you ; you wear the disgraceful mark of his praises on 
 your forehead as if it were the most precious jewel of 
 popularity. And to complete the bargain you send him 
 your addresses for his pathos ! . . . 
 
 " I will tell you what you are, Monsieur Dupin : 
 above all you are a Dupinian. You belong to no party, 
 you resemble those marshes between two rivers that 
 are neither land nor water, but treacherous quicksand. 
 You may now throw aside your honest man's mask ; 
 your hypocritical sturdiness no longer deceives any one. 
 You are not the peasant of the Morvan, you are the 
 fawner upon ministers at court. You take off your 
 iron-bound faced shoes in order to walk on the polished 
 floors of the salons. You are a lion that offers his 
 paw.
 
 296 APPENDIX. 
 
 " You were a liberal when you were young, if you 
 really ever were young. But liberty was only a poor 
 grisette, who lavished all the wealth of her love on you 
 while you were plotting a marriage for money with a 
 lady of high degree, royalty. Had the Restoration 
 lasted longer, you would have turned to her. Half 
 bourgeois, half nobleman, half prelate, half minister, we 
 should have seen you figure in a ministry of reconcilia- 
 tion. The Restoration was awaiting you. . . . 
 
 "You have in turn attacked and defended the same 
 people. You danced now on the right foot, now on 
 the left. You placed yourself as a hyphen between 
 progress and the reaction. You expected people would 
 regard your instability of principle as a sign of inde- 
 pendence of character, and say : ' Monsieur Dupin rec- 
 ognizes no master save his own conscience ; lie extols 
 the good and rebukes evil wherever he meets it, regard- 
 less of party.' But the art of your dissimulation wore 
 too clumsy galoches to sneak in unawares, and people 
 simply said: 'Monsieur Dupin wishes to enjoy at one 
 and the same time the rewards of servility and the 
 honors of independence.' From time to time you antag- 
 onized the ministers, but your opposition was so gentle 
 that it reminded me of the tactics of your old school- 
 master, who used to punish his favorite pupils with a 
 goose-quill. It reminded me of the valorous deeds of 
 those bears which, trained to sham-fighting, seize the 
 dogs of their masters between their paws as if they 
 would crush them, and suffer them to run away after 
 pulling out a few hairs. 
 
 " No, if I were the electorate, I should not have any- 
 thing to do with a delegate who occupies two seats. I
 
 APPENDIX. 297 
 
 should say to you : ' Monsieur Dupin, are } r ou the friend, 
 the foe, or the accomplice of the government ? You do 
 not wish to submit your creed in order not to limit 
 your independence? Well, then, Monsieur Dupin, 
 you remain mayor of Gacogne ! ' 
 
 "You have exerted a lamentable influence on the 
 district of Clamecy, Monsieur Dupin. Your protection 
 has killed every noble aspiration in its shadow. Our 
 young people got to be calculating old men in their 
 twentieth year. We came to be accustomed not to 
 engage in any political work without first asking our- 
 selves what you, the public conscience of the district, 
 would say of it. The fear of incurring your ill-will 
 and the hope of winning your applause have been our 
 sole guide for ten years. You have raised 'among us 
 the most pernicious spirit of selfishness and intrigue. 
 Out of our honest fat ciphers you have made State par- 
 asites and office seekers. Blockheads were sent to 
 high schools because in the mist of the future people 
 discerned your hand, ready to guide and to provide. 
 People married the daughters of your servants, in order 
 to gain your protection as dowry, and } T OU paid the 
 dowry. Your recommendation took the place of ac- 
 quired rights and replaced virtue and capacity. Integ- 
 rity that appeared without your marginal notes was 
 basely turned away from the door. The talent that 
 your fingers did not plant on a candlestick was suffered 
 to miserably perish under the bushel. You were 
 looked upon as the providence of the town. Favors, 
 official positions, advantages, everything came to us 
 out of your hands. Presently we should have en- 
 treated you for rain and sunshine; and if you had
 
 298 APPENDIX. 
 
 wanted an altar in the church of Clameay, the common 
 council would have built two for you. 
 
 " But what use have you made of your influence, 
 Monsieur Dupin? How have you distributed your 
 favors among the crowd of petitioners who daily made 
 a show of their pretended misery before your door, and 
 whom I used to call the poor of Monsieur Dupin ? It 
 is just as if you had intentionally selected the very 
 worst. Let us look at some of your favorites at ran- 
 dom. There is, for instance, -but, no ! You would 
 make me run the gauntlet of your laws, which in cer- 
 tain cases punish truth for libel. . . . 
 
 "This revolution that was taking place by your 
 side, without you, and perhaps in spite of you you 
 Lave despoiled of the better part of the booty, washed 
 it clean of blood, and distributed it among your creat- 
 ures. O, Monsieur Dupin, will we be burdened much 
 longer by the public calamity of your influence? I 
 think not. Since your last address, you have terribly 
 fallen off. You are no longer anything but a smoking 
 wick. There is already a certain odor of the peerage 
 about you. On the day when the miserable cry : 
 * Monsieur Dupin will be a peer, Monsieur Dupin is a 
 peer ' ' echoes through the district like a thunderclap, 
 there will be an end of you. You are not the man who 
 can make a weapon out of his quill when the platform 
 is taken from you. Your speech is good at one time 
 and bad at another ; but if your tongue should be cut 
 out, what would remain of your person? A demone- 
 tized gold coin still retains the greater part of its value, 
 but a depreciated assignat, what is that worth, Mon- 
 sieur Dupin? In ten years, when our young people
 
 APPENDIX. 299 
 
 will ask about the Monsieur Dupin who made such a 
 noise in the district, they will find nothing but an old 
 pettifogger." 
 
 IV. 
 
 What could better reveal the magnanimity of the 
 poet and the integrity of the poor man that Tillier 
 possessed in so eminent a degree than the following 
 passage : 
 
 " There is unfortunately no law against corruption ; 
 undisputed we must suffer this public calamity to scat- 
 ter down on our cities the infectious miasma out of its 
 wide pinions. ... If a soldier should deliver into the 
 hands of the Prussians the poorest hamlet on your 
 boundary, he would be sentenced to a shameful death ; 
 but the scoundrels who, to gratify their greed, sell our 
 liberties, violate our contracts, and hold the nation by 
 the throat while it is being placed in fetters are re- 
 warded with positions of honor and wealth untold. 
 According to what rule do you judge of human ac- 
 tions ? If treason, instead of a gorget, wears a stand-up 
 collar, and a pen behind the ear instead of a sword by 
 the side, does it then cease to be treason ? Does crime, 
 by merely changing coats, become a virtue? A few 
 moss-grown boundary stones are they of greater 
 value in your sight than the law of the land? 
 
 "But however base we esteem venality in general, 
 the basest is that of the writer. Those who have a 
 voice strong enough to make themselves heard by the 
 masses are the natural champions of the noble cause. 
 G)d has loosened their tongue and commanded them to 
 preach the service of liberty. If they prove false to
 
 300 APPENDIX. 
 
 their sacred calling, if they, like wicked shepherds, 
 lead their flocks to the shambles, they deserve all the 
 contempt of which a human soul is capable. That is 
 just as if the light-house were to desert the coast that 
 it ought to point out to the storm-tossed ship and sta- 
 tion itself on a cliff. I am one of the least of those 
 who write for the people ; I wield only a wren's quill ; 
 but God forbid that I should ever sell it to our op- 
 pressors ! O, no ! and if hunger with his iron fingers 
 should tug at my vitals, I would not so degrade myself. 
 If I must beg my bread, it shall at least not be in the 
 ante-chambers of the ministers. Rather would I recite 
 my pamphlets from door to door and hold out my hand 
 to those who have a heart for liberty and the people. 
 And surely calmer dreams would visit me on my straw 
 than many another on his silken couch. 
 
 " Between the icy steppes of poverty and the weari- 
 some Eden of wealth where heaven eternally reflects 
 the same blue and the earth the same green lies a tem- 
 perate zone where want and superfluity alike are un- 
 known. Here the soil yields nothing to the weakling 
 who will not till it ;; but whoever digs a furrow is sure 
 of a rich harvest. Under these changeful skies there 
 are indeed gloomy and rainy days, but often also the sun 
 smiles mildly and gloriously through the lifts of the 
 clouds. Here I have pitched my modest tent between 
 two blooming bushes. I am perfectly contented on this 
 spot, and have no desire to leave it. My wants are 
 few and my stomach is small. Since a little rib is suffi- 
 cient to fill it, why should I mortgage myself to a 
 butcher in order to have a leg ? . . . Great ladies I do 
 not frequent, my dress costs me very little conse-
 
 APPENDIX. 301 
 
 quently, and theirs costs me nothing at all. I hold 
 that a garment in the closet does not serve as clothing, 
 and so my entire wardrobe consists of a great coat of 
 agreeable thickness for winter and of a thin coat for 
 the mild days of the pleasant season. I try to make 
 these garments last as long as possible ; and it con- 
 cerns me very little if fashion looks at me askance 
 when I meet her. My respect does not suffer thereby 
 among those who know me, and the rest may think 
 what they like about it. When I am saluted, I can at 
 least feel assured that the salute is not meant for my 
 coat. . . . 
 
 " Should you appeal to my fatherly feelings, I will 
 answer you that I love my children with all my heart, 
 but that I cannot sell my conscience in order to enrich 
 them. Besides, I have not placed them in the world 
 that they should grow rich ; it would vex me if they 
 should. Their cradle was made of willows, and it is 
 not necessary that their death-bed should be carved of 
 mahogany. We Tilliers, we are made of the hard, 
 knotty wood of which the poor people are made. My 
 two grandfathers were poor, my father was poor, I am 
 poor; my children shall not depart from their kind. 
 If my son should take a notion to accumulate wealth, 
 my enraged shade would rise up before him and throw 
 his money-bags out of the window. And do not im- 
 agine I am exaggerating ; for I tell you : the lame old 
 cobbler who mends shoes in yonder street corner and 
 whom you despise earns his bread more honestly than 
 the loftiest plumed crest among our great lords or the 
 weightiest money-bug among our skilful financiers. 
 
 " And, moreover, why should I trouble myself about
 
 802 APPENDIX. 
 
 the lot of my children ? When my last coughing fit 
 has come, when my quill together with my soul has 
 returned to God, will the sun darken then and the 
 earth cease growing green ? The All-Father who sup- 
 plies the young of the birds with food, will he deny it 
 to the little ones of the pamphleteer ? My parents 
 gave me nothing, and I am grateful to them for it ; had 
 they given me much, I should perhaps not dare to sign 
 their name to my pamphlets. When I left the paternal 
 roof, I had not even a calling. I fell into this world 
 like a leaf that the storm shakes from the tree and 
 rolls along the highway. But I did not lose courage : 
 I always hoped that out of the wings of some bird 
 sweeping the skies a quill would fall down, fitted to my 
 fingers, and I have not been disappointed. The rich 
 man is a plant that springs from the earth full-grown 
 in leaf and flower. I was a poor grain cast among 
 thorns; with bleeding head I raised the hard shells 
 that were oppressing me and forced my way towards 
 the sun. Why should not the modest blades that I 
 leave on my root-stalk grow as I grew? Instead of 
 selling myself to the powerful, I made war upon those 
 who sold themselves to them, and I do not regret it. 
 That is, after all, the best road to an honorable grave. 
 Of that I am convinced ; and if this my pamphleteer's 
 quill should grow out of my grave, and my son had 
 the cunning to use it, I should urge him to grasp it, 
 even if he should meet a prison in the middle of his 
 course. When one can say to himself : the oppressor 
 fears you and the oppressor puts his trust in you 
 that is the noblest riches, riches for which I would 
 willingly give all else.
 
 APPENDIX. 303 
 
 "And of what avail if I, like those gentlemen, were 
 one of the most important philistines in my small 
 town ? A fine honor to be the thickest stalk of aspara- 
 gus in a bunch or the largest radish in a basket-full ! 
 I cannot walk on stilts, and in order to rise above the 
 heads of the rest, I will not get on a muck-heap. Who- 
 ever desires to be proud must at least know why ; but 
 these philistines who with their thick paunches put on 
 such great airs, what are they proud of ? They do not 
 know it themselves, and those who take off their hats 
 so slavishly before them do not know it either. These 
 gentlemen despise the people and consider themselves 
 therefore as half noblemen; but they are only butter- 
 flies that despise caterpillars. . . . 
 
 " And, moreover, man is not born alone to live, but 
 also to die. Who of us would riot cast a glance be- 
 hind the dark curtain that brings our existence to a 
 close ? All that dies leaves a trace of its life : when 
 the wind is dispersed in space, the leaves still tremble 
 which it has kissed ; when the wild thyme is crushed 
 between the great jaws of the ox, it still leaves its fra- 
 grance in the meadow for a time ; when the string of 
 a violin snaps asunder under the rude strokes of the 
 bow, its vibrating ends still emit a sibilant sound. But 
 all the people who bartered away their conscience 
 when the last sound of the bells that toll them to the 
 grave has died away ; when the silver-paper tears that 
 have been shed over them are laid away in their bier ; 
 when the smoke of the thundering guns that offer the 
 last salute to what is mortal in them has cleared away, 
 what remains of them? A disgraceful memory and 
 a dishonored name, something like the stench that sur-
 
 804 APPENDIX. 
 
 vives an extinguished candle. After their flatterers 
 will come the people whom they have betrayed, and 
 spit on their tomb. But I, if I have neither a marble 
 slab nor gilded letters on my coffin, I wish at least that 
 the modest hillock that shall cover it may spread a 
 sweet perfume ; and, haply, when a pious duty shall 
 lead the friend of liberty into the garden of the dead, 
 he will go a few graves farther and salute my 
 shade." . . . 
 
 And again : 
 
 "The name pamphleteer that you hurl at me as 
 something opprobrious, I take it up and wear it as a 
 badge of honor. To tell people the truth is, notwith- 
 standing all your talk, a noble calling. What does it 
 concern me if a couple of old crickets and two or three 
 barnbeetles that have lost their teeth angrily buzz at 
 me in their little rage ? I am conscious of having put 
 to good use what small portion of reason God gave me. 
 I am rather at peace with myself than with others, and 
 my self-respect is of greater value to me than that of a 
 whole troop of jackanapes who neither know nor under- 
 stand me. 
 
 " With what can they reproach me as a writer ? I 
 have always taken the part of the weak against the 
 strong ; I have always lived beneath the tattered tents 
 of the conquered and slept by their hard bivouac. It is 
 true, I have cancelled a number of too pompous adjec- 
 tives which certain names had appropriated to them- 
 selves; and now and then I have also pricked the 
 bubble of some bloated self-conceit. But the persons 
 whom I have treated so were on the side of the enemy, 
 and I had a right to explode their airs. I did not
 
 APPENDIX. 305 
 
 violate the law of war against them ; and if they com- 
 plain about me, it is just as if an old soldier of the 
 empire should complain because he was wounded at 
 Austerlitz by a Frenchman. Call it personalities 
 what of it? Every one has his own way of making 
 war : the others shoot into the masses at half the height 
 of a man ; but I select my man and take a good aim. 
 But if a plumed crest happens to pass by my door, I 
 always give him the preference. 
 
 " My name is lost among the many which the great 
 city daily rolls in its wide mouth ; but nevertheless I 
 flatter myself that my pen is not useless. The hedge is 
 low, and its branches hang into the grass; but with its 
 thorns it pricks the wrong-doer who would trespass 
 upon strange premises ; its wild flowers it gives to the 
 shepherdess who passes by the way, and the little birds 
 build their nest with security in its branches. I would 
 rather be a law-protecting hedge than a tall useless tree. 
 A shameful employment, that of the penny-a-liner who 
 sells to the powers that be an old duster of a quill with 
 which no scrub woman would sweep away the ashes in 
 the stove, and who for a handful of money lives a life 
 of falsehood and lies. I should indeed not like to be in 
 his place. 
 
 " I am, then, a writer of pamphlets ; but am I indeed 
 so godless as the black-coated gentry would like to 
 have their pious souls believe? According to their 
 religion, may be ; but not according to the religion of 
 God. Would the supreme judge, if I were to appear 
 before his tribunal to-morrow, have so very much to 
 hold up against me? I did not fill my hands with 
 gold ; I did not sell my thoughts. I gave them to the
 
 306 APPENDIX. 
 
 people, whole and unalloyed, as the tree gives them its 
 fruits. I took my daily bread out of God's hand, with- 
 out ever asking for more. If this bread is black, I do 
 not complain ; if it is white, I eat it with a good appe- 
 tite ; but black or white, I never let anything remain 
 over for the coming day. I go straight ahead, without 
 looking backwards or forwards ; only the stone before 
 my feet I seek to avoid, and in this, too, I do not 
 always succeed. If I see some weed on my way, I pull 
 it up by the roots ; if I find a good grain, I dig a hole 
 in the earth and plant it there; if it does not come 
 forth for me, it will yet grow for some one else. I do 
 as the butterfly that enjoys itself during the summer 
 without thinking of the winter, and that does not dream 
 of building itself a nest for the few days it will remain 
 on earth. I advise my children to do as I do. I will 
 them my example : that is, after all, the best riches, for 
 which they will at least not have to pay any inheritance 
 tax. I do not pray, for the reason that God knows 
 better than I what he must do ; because I might ask 
 things of him that would not be good for me; and 
 because without our asking he lets the sun rise every 
 morning and the earth bring forth fruit and herbs 
 every year, for, if he has created us, he is also bound 
 to care for our maintenance. He cannot be like those 
 wretched fathers who place their children before the 
 doors of foundling hospitals. Nor do I adore him, 
 because he does not need adoration, and the worship 
 that the masses offer him is nothing but the flattery of 
 selfish creatures who want to enter paradise. But if I 
 have a penny to spare, I give it to the poor. 
 
 " I have said what I am ; may those now who call me
 
 APPENDIX. 807 
 
 godless tell us just as sincerely what they are, and we 
 shall soon see that they are less religious than I." 
 
 V. 
 
 Nothing can give us a better idea of the fortitude 
 and strength of soul of the poor sufferer than the fol- 
 lowing passage, full of mockery and resignation, with 
 which Tillier laughed death in the face. The Mon- 
 sieur Gaume mentioned here is an abbe", who had 
 brought the thigh-bone of Sainte Flavia from Rome to 
 Nevers for his bishop, Monsieur Dufetre, and who 
 thereby challenged the scorn and ridicule of the pam- 
 phleteer : 
 
 "In the congregation of Monsieur Gaume," writes 
 Tillier, " a schism has broken out on my account ; for 
 a portion of the virgins declare that, struck by the 
 avenging thigh-bone of Sainte Flavia, I am about to 
 die ; but another, more impatient portion claim that I 
 have already died, that I am as dead as a rat, and even 
 buried. Very well, then, I am about to die ; that is 
 possible. It is indeed long since the years of youth, 
 these beautiful birds of passage whom winter drives 
 away, have flown from me. I have travelled over half 
 of my course. I am on the other slope of life, where 
 the valleys stretch before us in sombre twilight, where 
 the trees have retained hardly a few leaves, and 
 where the gray sky is thick with snow-flakes. When 
 one has once reached the downward course, the de- 
 scent is more like rolling than walking. But that I 
 am dead I deny. Besides, my death is -a ready-made 
 miracle for Sainte Flavia; I may die to-day, or to- 
 morrow, or in ten years nothing will prevent the
 
 308 APPENDIX. 
 
 superannuated virgins of Monsieur Gaume from claim- 
 ing that their saint killed me. 
 
 " I confess I was frightened by this threatening an- 
 nouncement of my impending doom ; but Claudius, my 
 venerable patron saint, appeared before me one night 
 recently : 
 
 " ' Do not fear, my dear Claude,' he said to me, ' the 
 Lord Christ has read your pamphlets, and he liked 
 them very much, and if he does not become a sub- 
 scriber to them, it is only because he would not like to 
 offend M. Dufetre. You are the defender of religion, 
 and its enemies are those Jesuits who shape and util- 
 ize it to their own advantage as if it were their prop- 
 erty. You are coughing, I know, I hear up yonder 
 how you cough, and, without meaning to flatter you, I 
 can say that you cough pretty well. But don't take 
 any of that medicine, that's poor stuff ; go early to bed, 
 rise late, and drink the wholesome country air ; I do 
 not claim that this diet will cure you. I am not one of 
 those empirical saints who pursue the art of healing as 
 if they had to live by it. But if this Flavia touches 
 your chest, she shall learn to know a Claude : with a 
 single stroke of my crosier I will break that thigh-bone 
 of hers into a thousand pieces.' 
 
 " ' Dear patron,' I answered him, ' is your crosier per- 
 haps loaded with lead ? But in any case, you cannot 
 mean to wield it against a woman ? ' 
 
 " * A woman,' he answered me, ' a woman ! Is mal- 
 ice invulnerable, then, as soon as it is coupled with 
 weakness? 'And you yourself, Claude, although you 
 are a whole-souled Claude, do you hesitate to kill the 
 fly that has stung you for the simple reason that you 
 are stronger than it ? "
 
 APPENDIX. 309 
 
 The warmth of his feeling, the tenderness of his 
 heart, how powerfully they burst forth once more in 
 these last lines which he wrote on his death-bed : 
 
 " My mother stands beside my invalid's chair ; she is 
 deaf, poor woman, and my voice is weak; we can 
 hardly make ourselves understood. But she is here, 
 she envelopes me in her glances, she seeks to read in 
 my eyes what I want, she can divine by the smallest 
 fold on my forehead what I dislike. She has left the 
 other half of her family, the half that can spare her ; 
 she wishes to have her part of my death-struggle. The 
 same care that once watched over my childhood she 
 now bestows on my early old age. One son she has 
 already seen dying, and now she comes to lend me also 
 the support of her arm and to lead me gently down the 
 slope of life. . . . 
 
 " Poor mother ! with what heavy hand did God 
 measure out the tears that he stored beneath your 
 lids ? Or is God unjust to the mothers ? A son can 
 only once bury his mother ; but a mother, how many 
 sons may she mourn ! Am I at least the last child she 
 must bury ? Will a last one remain to close her eyes 
 and lay her dear body beside our bones? Or must 
 it be her lot to take the key of our poor house with 
 her? . . . 
 
 "Ah! how much less am I to be commiserated than 
 she ! . . . I die a few days before my schoolmates, but I 
 die at that age when youth is nearing its end and life 
 is but a long decay. Unimpaired I return to God the 
 gifts with which he intrusted me ; free my thought 
 still soars through space, time could not bleach the 
 feathers of his wings. ... I am like the tree that is cut
 
 310 APPENDIX. 
 
 down and still bears fruit on the old trunk amidst the 
 young shoots that come after. Pale, beautiful autumn ! 
 this year thou hast not seen me on thy paths that are 
 fringed with fading flowers f thy mild sun, thy spicy air 
 have refreshed me only through my window ; but we 
 depart together ! With the last leaf of the poplar, with 
 the last flower of the meadow, with the last song of the 
 birds I wish to die, aye, with all that is beautiful in the 
 space of the year : may the first breath of frost call me 
 away ! Happy he who dies young and need not grow 
 old!" 
 
 This farewell requires no rhymes to be a poem; 
 poetry has not created anything more touching and 
 more genuine. Rarely do we find a combination of so 
 much lyrical charm and so much polemical power and 
 logical rigor as in the writings of Tillier. But his works 
 reflect his character. He was one of those beautiful 
 natures of native nobility, who rise out of the depth of 
 society, and who, in spite of temptation and misery, 
 pass unsullied through the filth of life. Wholly of the 
 third estate and of the people, he loved liberty passion- 
 ately and battled for her heroically on the remote out- 
 post that accident had intrusted to him. Regardless of 
 personal matters, he lived for his idea and found his 
 reward in himself. Unselfishness was his virtue and 
 human dignity his religion. 
 
 After I had learned to know this knightly figure by 
 his writings, I determined to revive his memory among 
 my countrymen. I visited his sunken grave, held out 
 my hand to his pensive shade, and spoke to him: 
 " Here you rest now, quietly and forsaken, under your 
 modest sod, brave champion ! And six feet of earth is
 
 APPENDIX. 311 
 
 all that death gave you after life denied you so much. 
 I, too, am an exiled disciple of liberty, travelling along 
 your paths and come for devotion to your grave. 
 Slumber on in your ungrateful earth, disinherited one ! 
 I, the refugee, will erect a monument to you in my 
 home. I will translate your ' Benjamin,' who resembles 
 you in noble pride and true love of man, into a lan- 
 guage that appeals to forty millions of hearts; and 
 your portrait, you faithful counsellor of the oppressed, 
 I will exhibit it among my countrymen, for you are the 
 true man of the people whom all nations recognize as 
 their own. Look you, our enemies consider us as poor 
 in wealth and as weak in power ; but we are rich in 
 the spirit and strong of will, and we are their masters 
 by the might of wisdom. The fools ! They do not 
 know that above them an eternal law holds sway and 
 that its mighty spirit is leading the world gently, but 
 irresistibly, towards our goal: the liberation of the 
 human race, the reign of justice. They do not see the 
 foot-prints of his progress, they do not hear the verdicts 
 of his tribunal ; but to us, his messengers, he appears in 
 all his glory, saying : 'Do not complain! I am with 
 you ; and instead of the things of time I promise you 
 the things of eternity. See these poor, they pride 
 themselves on their spoils and nothing is their in- 
 heritance ; for their deed is without seed and their 
 bequest without heirs, they are in the service of decay. 
 But you are the workers of the resurrection, your work 
 grows from generation to generation and has eternal 
 life.' Sleep on, then, with your honors, your poor 
 grave will outlive their marble vaults. Let them glis- 
 ten and glitter, let them mock and deride, the unjust :
 
 312 APPENDIX. 
 
 their soul will vanish without a trace, like the stalk 
 that bears no fruit ; but you, chosen one, you will live 
 among the living. Your brain sleeps and rests, but 
 your thought is awake and working. You have dug 
 your furrow in the field of time ; many a harvest will 
 come and go, and none will erase it. Thousands of 
 spirits will receive you, thousands of hearts will bless 
 you!"
 
 SIXTY-SECOND THOUSAND. 
 
 BY COUNT LEO TOLSTOI. 
 
 PRESS NOTICES. 
 
 The Critic, New York. " One hardly dares speak of the ' Kreutzer Sonata.' It is 
 like a moral earthquake, shattering the very foundations on which society is built, and 
 causing the ground to crumble beneath our feet. So daring a treatment of a daring 
 theme has never before been attempted in literature. Nettling has ever been given to 
 the world quite like this tremendous object-lesson projected on the canvas in colossal 
 proportions, with every shadow deepened, every line magnified and brought into appall- 
 ing relief. " 
 
 Kate Field's Washington. " Why is ' The Kreutzer Sonata ' prohibited ? I am at 
 a loss to imagine, unless it be that Tolstoi has told the truth very brutally about a 
 
 to tell the truth, of course Tolstoi 
 
 very brutal condition of things. If it be a crime 
 should be suppressed. But is it ? " 
 
 Buffalo Courier. " That singular code of morals which too many men hold, that 
 they may indulge in shameful license, and still call themselves by the ' grand old name 
 of gentleman,' while their sisters and sweethearts mast be utterly pure in their lives and 
 conduct, receives a stunning rebuke in this work." 
 
 Boston Transcript. " It is probably one of the most moral books ever written. . . . 
 As children sit spellbound, frozen to the spot, though desiring to fly, through the reading 
 of the ' Ancient Mariner,' so this generation of ours, which has strong moral impulses, 
 but feels, nevertheless, a weight as of death about its neck, must listen to this grim story 
 of the great Russian novelist and prose poet, whether it likes it or not." 
 
 St. Louis Republic. " The peculiarity and audacity of Tolstoi' is that he has taken 
 this subject out of its usual dress of secret or semi-medical advice 'for private circula- 
 tion only,' and clothed it in the garb of fiction, intended for universal reading." 
 
 e edition published by BENJ. R. TUCKER is the only complete 
 and correct edition published in America. 
 
 Price: In cloth, $1.00; in paper, 50 cents. 
 
 Sent, postpaid, on receipt of price, by the Publisher, 
 
 BENJ. R. TUCKER, - - Box 3366, 
 
 BOSTON, MASS.
 
 "Better than I" wrote Victor Hugo to Felix Pyat, "you have proved 
 the royalty of genius and the divinity of love" 
 
 A RIVAL OF "LES MISERABLES." 
 
 THE RflG-PlCKER OF PflRIS 
 
 BY FELIX PYAT. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY 
 
 BENJ. R. TUCKER. 
 
 This masterpiece of fiction was originally written as a play, and as 
 such achieved the greatest success known to the French stage. Re- 
 cently, and just before his death, the author elaborated his play into a 
 novel, in which form it presents a complete panorama of the Paris of the 
 present century. 
 
 What Great Critics think of it. 
 
 Heinrich Heine. " The passion of Shakspere and the reason of Moliere." 
 
 A lexandre Dumas (to the author). " You have killed Fre'de'ric Lemaitre for us. 
 After his Father Jean in 'The Rag-picker of Paris,' he can create no other role." 
 
 Victoria, Queen of England (to the Actor Lemaitre, after seeing him play in the 
 piece). " Is there, then, such misery in the Faubourg St. Antoine ? " 
 
 Frederic Lemaitre (in reply). " It is the Ireland of Paris." 
 
 Theophile Gautier. " The work of a Titan. " 
 
 Sainte-Beuve. "The paragon of the democratic-republican school." 
 
 Victor Hugo. "A fortunate drama, come late enough to represent the whole 
 people." 
 
 325 LARGE PAGES. 
 Price: In cloth, $1.00; in paper, 50 cents. 
 
 The cloth edition contains as a frontispiece a fine portrait of the author. 
 Sent, postpaid, on receipt of price, by the Publisher, 
 
 BENJ. R. TUCKER, Box 3366, 
 
 BOSTON, MASS.
 
 Wfiat's To Be Done? 
 
 A NIHILISTIC ROMANCE. 
 
 By N. G. TCHERNYCHEWSKY. 
 
 WITH A PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 WRITTEN IN PRISON. 
 
 SUPPRESSED BY THE CZAR. 
 
 THE AUTHOR OVER TWENTY YEARS AN EXILE IN SIBERIA. 
 
 PRESS COMMENTS. 
 
 Boston Advertiser. "To call the book the 'Uncle Tom's Cabin ' of Nihilism is 
 scarcely extravagance." 
 
 Boston Courier. " It is perhaps the book which has most powerfully influenced 
 the youth of Russia in their growth into Nihilism." 
 
 Providence Star. "As a revelation of folk life it is invaluable: we have no other 
 Russian pictures that compare with it." 
 
 329 LARGE PAGES. 
 Price: In cloth, $1.00; in paper, 35 cents. 
 
 Sent, postpaid, on receipt of price, by the Publisher, 
 
 BENJ. R. TUCKER, - - Box 3366, 
 
 BOSTON, MASS.
 
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