The Lesser Bourgeoisie by Honore de Balzac (best ereader for graphic novels TXT) 📕

the place it occupies in the heavens have been proved in the most

irrefutable manner: 'There _must_ be _there_ a hitherto unknown star; I

cannot see it, but I am sure of it,'--that is what this man of science

said to the Academy, whom he instantly convinced by his deductions.

And do you know, messieurs, who is this Christopher Columbus of a new

celestial world? An old man, two-thirds blind, who has scarcely eyes

enough to walk in the street."

"Wonderful! Marvellous! Admirable!" came from all sides.

"What is the name of this learned man?" asked several voices.

"Monsieur Picot, or, if you prefer it, pere Picot, for that is how

they call him in the rue du Val-de-Grace, where he lives. He is simply

an old professor of mathematics, who has turned out several very fine

pupils,--by the bye, Felix Phellion, whom we all know, studied under

him, and it was he who read, on behalf of his blind old master, the

communication to the Academy this afternoon."

Hearing that name, and remembering the promise Felix had made her to

lift her to the skies, which, as he said it, she had fancied a sign of

madness, Celeste looked at Madame Thuillier, whose face had taken a

sudden glow of animation, and seemed to say to her, "Courage, my

child! all is not lost."

"My dear Theodose," said Thuillier, "Felix is coming here to-night;

you must take him aside and get him to give you a copy of that

communication; it would be a fine stroke of fortune for the 'Echo' to

be the first to publish it."

"Yes," said Minard, assuming the answer, "that would do good service

to the public, for the affair is going to make a great noise. The

committee, not finding Monsieur Picot at home, went straight to the

Minister of Public Instruction; and the minister flew to the Tuileries

and saw the King; and the 'Messager' came out this evening--strange to

say, so early that I could read it in my carriage as I drove along

--with an announcement that Monsieur Picot is named Chevalier of the

Legion of honor, with a pension of eighteen hundred francs from the

fund devoted to the encouragement of science and letters."

"Well," said Thuillier, "there's one cross at least well bestowed."

"But eighteen hundred francs for the pension seems to me rather

paltry," said Dutocq.

"So it does," said Thuillier, "and all the more because that money

comes from the tax-payers; and, when one sees the taxes, as we do,

frittered away on court favorites--"

"Eighteen hundred francs a year," interrupted Minard, "is certainly

something, especially for savants, a class of people who are

accustomed to live on very little."

"I think I have heard," said la Peyrade, "that this very Monsieur

Picot leads a strange life, and that his family, who at first wanted

to shut him up as a lunatic, are now trying to have guardians

appointed over him. They say he allows a servant-woman who keeps his

house to rob him of all he has. Parbleu! Thuillier, you know her; it

is that woman who came to the office the other day about some money in

Dupuis's hands."

"Yes, yes, true," said Thuillier, significantly; "you are right, I do

know her."

"It is queer," said Brigitte, seeing a chance to enforce the argument

she had used to Celeste, "that all these learned men are good for

nothing outside of their science; in their homes they have to be

treated like children."

"That proves," said the Abbe Gondrin, "the great absorption which

their studies give to their minds, and, at the same time, a simplicity

of nature which is very touching."

"When they are not as obstinate as mules," said Brigitte, hastily.

"For myself, monsieur l'abbe, I must say that if I had had any idea of

marriage, a savant wouldn't have suited me at all. What do they do,

these savants, anyhow? Useless things most of the time. You are all

admiring one who has discovered a star; but as long as we are in this

world what good is that to us? For all the use we make of stars it

seems to me we have got enough of them as it is."

"Bravo, Brigitte!" said Colleville, getting loose again; "you are

right, my girl, and I think, as you do, that the man who discovers a

new dish deserves better of humanity."

"Colleville," said Flavie, "I must say that your style of behavior is

in the worst taste."

"My dear lady," said the Abbe Gondrin, addressing Brigitte, "you might

be right if we were formed of matter only; and if, bound to our body,

there were not a soul with instincts and appetites that must be

satisfied. Well, I think that this sense of the infinite which is

within us, and which we all try to satisfy each in our own way, is

marvellously well helped by the labors of astronomy, that reveal to us

from time to time new worlds which the hand of the Creator has put

into space. The infinite in you has taken another course; this passion

for the comfort of those about you, this warm, devoted, ardent

affection which you feel for your brother, are equally the

manifestation of aspirations which have nothing material about them,

and which, in seeking their end and object, never think of asking,

'What good does that do? what is the use of this?' Besides, I must

assure you that the stars are not as useless as you seem to think.

Without them how would navigators cross the sea? They would be puzzled

to get you the vanilla with which you have flavored the delicious

cream I am now eating. So, as Monsieur Colleville has perceived, there

is more affinity than you think between a dish and a star; no one

should be despised,--neither an astronomer nor a good housekeeper--"

The abbe was here interrupted by the noise of a lively altercation in

the antechamber.

"I tell you that I will go in," said a loud voice.

"No, monsieur, you shall not go in," said another voice, that of the

man-servant. "The company are at table, I tell you, and nobody has the

right to force himself in."

Thuillier turned pale; ever since the seizure of his pamphlet, he

fancied all sudden arrivals meant the coming of the police.

Among the various social rules imparted to Brigitte by Madame de

Godollo, the one that most needed repeating was the injunction never,

as mistress of the house, to rise from the table until she gave the

signal for retiring. But present circumstances appeared to warrant the

infraction of the rule.

"I'll go and see what it is," she said to Thuillier, whose anxiety she

noticed at once. "What _is_ the matter?" she said to the servant as

soon as she reached the scene of action.

"Here's a gentleman who wants to come in, and says that no one is ever

dining at eight o'clock at night."

"But who are you, monsieur?" said Brigitte, addressing an old man very

oddly dressed, whose eyes were protected by a green shade.

"Madame, I am neither a beggar nor a vagabond," replied the old man,

in stentorian tones; "my name is Picot, professor of mathematics."

"Rue du Val-de-Grace?" asked Brigitte.

"Yes, madame,--No. 9, next to the print-shop."

"Come in, monsieur, come in; we shall be only too happy to receive

you," cried Thuillier, who, on hearing the name, had hurried out to

meet the savant.

"Hein! you scamp," said the learned man, turning upon the man-servant,

who had retired, seeing that the matter was being settled amicably, "I

told you I should get in."

Pere Picot was a tall old man, with an angular, stern face, who,

despite the corrective of a blond wig with heavy curls, and that of

the pacific green shade we have already mentioned, expressed on his

large features, upon which the fury of study had produced a surface of

leaden pallor, a snappish and quarrelsome disposition. Of this he had

already given proof before entering the dining-room, where every one

now rose to receive him.

His costume consisted of a huge frock-coat, something between a

paletot and a dressing-gown, between which an immense waistcoat of

iron-gray cloth, fastened from the throat to the pit of the stomach

with two rows of buttons, hussar fashion, formed a sort of buckler.

The trousers, though October was nearing its close, were made of black

lasting, and gave testimony to long service by the projection of a

darn on the otherwise polished surface covering the knees, the polish

being produced by the rubbing of the hands upon those parts. But, in

broad daylight, the feature of the old savant's appearance which

struck the eye most vividly was a pair of Patagonian feet, imprisoned

in slippers of beaver cloth, the which, moulded upon the mountainous

elevations of gigantic bunions, made the spectator think,

involuntarily, of the back of a dromedary or an advanced case of

elephantiasis.

Once installed in a chair which was hastily brought for him, and the

company having returned to their places at table, the old man suddenly

burst out in thundering tones, amid the silence created by

curiosity:--

"Where is he,--that rogue, that scamp? Let him show himself; let him

dare to speak to me!"

"Who is it that offends you, my dear monsieur?" said Thuillier, in

conciliating accents, in which there was a slight tone of patronage.

"A scamp whom I couldn't find in his own home, and they told me he was

here, in this house. I'm in the apartment, I think, of Monsieur

Thuillier of the Council-general, place de la Madeleine, first story

above the entresol?"

"Precisely," said Thuillier; "and allow me to add, monsieur, that you

are surrounded with the respect and sympathy of all."

"And you will doubtless permit me to add," said Minard, "that the

mayor of the arrondissement adjoining that which you inhabit

congratulates himself on being here in presence of Monsieur Picot,

--_the_ Monsieur Picot, no doubt, who has just immortalized his name by

the discovery of a star!"

"Yes, monsieur," replied the professor, elevating to a still higher

pitch the stentorian diapason of his voice, "I am Picot (Nepomucene),

but I have not discovered a star; I don't concern myself with any such

fiddle-faddle; besides, my eyes are very weak; and that insolent young

fellow I have come here to find is making me ridiculous with such

talk. I don't see him here; he is hiding himself, I know; he dares not

look me in the face."

"Who is this person who annoys you?" asked several voices at once.

"An unnatural pupil of mine," replied the old mathematician; "a scamp,

but full of ideas; his name is Felix Phellion."

The name was received, as may well be imagined, with amazement.

Finding the situation amusing, Colleville and la Peyrade went off into

fits of laughter.

"You laugh, fools!" cried the irate old man, rising. "Yes, come and

laugh within reach of my arm."

So saying, he brandished a thick stick with a white china handle,

which he used to guide himself, thereby nearly knocking over a

candelabrum on the dinner-table upon Madame Minard's head.

"You are mistaken, monsieur," cried Brigitte, springing forward and

seizing his arm. "Monsieur Felix is not here. He will probably come

later to a reception we are about to give; but at present he has not

arrived."

"They don't begin early, your receptions," said the old man; "it is

past eight o'clock. Well, as Monsieur Felix is coming later, you must

allow me to wait for him. I believe you were eating your dinners;

don't let me disturb you."

And he went back peaceably to his chair.

"As you permit it, monsieur," said Brigitte, "we will continue, or, I

should say, finish dinner, for we are now at the dessert. May I offer

you anything,--a glass of champagne and a biscuit?"

"I am very willing, madame," replied the intruder. "No one ever

refuses champagne, and I am always ready to eat between my meals; but

you dine very late."

A place was made for him at table between Colleville and Mademoiselle

Minard, and the former made it his business to fill the glass of his

new neighbor, before whom was placed a dish of small cakes.

"Monsieur," said la Peyrade in a cajoling tone, "you saw how surprised

we were to hear you complain of Monsieur Felix Phellion,--so amiable,

so inoffensive a young man. What has he done to you, that you should

feel so angry with him?"

With his mouth full of cakes, which he was engulfing in quantities

that made Brigitte uneasy, the professor made a sign that he would

soon answer; then, having mistaken his glass and swallowed the

contents of Colleville's, he replied:--

"You ask what that insolent young man had done to me? A rascally

thing; and not the first, either. He knows that I cannot abide stars,

having very good reason to hate them, as you shall hear: In 1807,

being attached to the Bureau of Longitudes, I was part of the

scientific expedition sent to Spain, under the direction of