The Lesser Bourgeoisie by Honoré de Balzac (fiction novels to read .TXT) 📕

heavens possess a new star!"

"Tiens!" said Colleville; "that will help to replace the one that Beranger thought was lost when he grieved (to that air of 'Octavie') over Chateaubriand's departure: 'Chateaubriand, why fly thy land?'"

This quotation, which he sang, exasperated Flavie, and if the custom had been for wives to sit next to their husbands, the former clarionet of the Opera-Comique would not have escaped with a mere "Colleville!" imperiously calling him to order.

"The point which gives this great astronomical event a special interest on this occasion," continued Minard, "is that the author of the discovery is a denizen of the twelfth arrondissement, which many of you still inhabit, or have inhabited. But other points are striking in this great scientific fact. The Academy, on the reading of the communication which announced it, was so convinced of the existence of this star that a deputation was appointed to visit the domicile of the modern Galileo and compliment him in the name of the whole body. And yet this star is not visible to either the eye or the telescope! It is only by the power of calculation and induction that its existence and 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