“Here is Monsieur Hochon; how does he seem to you?” asked his wife.
“Precisely the same as when I last saw him,” said the Parisian woman.
“Ah! it is easy to see you come from Paris; you are so complimentary,” remarked the old man.
The presentations took place: first, young Baruch Borniche, a tall youth of twenty-two; then Francois Hochon, twenty-four; and lastly little Adolphine, who blushed and did not know what to do with her arms; she was anxious not to seem to be looking at Joseph Bridau, who in his turn was narrowly observed, though from different points of view, by the two young men and by old Hochon. The miser1 was saying to himself, “He is just out of the hospital; he will be as hungry as a convalescent.” The young men were saying, “What a head! what a brigand9! we shall have our hands full!”
“This is my son, the painter; my good Joseph,” said Agathe at last, presenting the artist.
There was an effort in the accent that she put upon the word “good,” which revealed the mother’s heart, whose thoughts were really in the prison of the Luxembourg.
“He looks ill,” said Madame Hochon; “he is not at all like you.”
“No, madame,” said Joseph, with the brusque candor10 of an artist; “I am like my father, and very ugly at that.”
Madame Hochon pressed Agathe’s hand which she was holding, and glanced at her as much as to say, “Ah! my child; I understand now why you prefer your good-for-nothing Philippe.”
“I never saw your father, my dear boy,” she said aloud; “it is enough to make me love you that you are your mother’s son. Besides, you have talent, so the late Madame Descoings used to write to me; she was the only one of late years who told me much about you.”
“Talent!” exclaimed the artist, “not as yet; but with time and patience I may win fame and fortune.”
“By painting?” said Monsieur Hochon ironically.
“Come, Adolphine,” said Madame Hochon, “go and see about dinner.”
“Mother,” said Joseph, “I will attend to the trunks which they are bringing in.”
“Hochon,” said the grandmother to Francois, “show the rooms to Monsieur Bridau.”
As the dinner was to be served at four o’clock and it was now only half past three, Baruch rushed into the town to tell the news of the Bridau arrival, describe Agathe’s dress, and more particularly to picture Joseph, whose haggard, unhealthy, and determined11 face was not unlike the ideal of a brigand. That evening Joseph was the topic of conversation in all the households of Issoudun.
“That sister of Rouget must have seen a monkey before her son was born,” said one; “he is the image of a baboon12.”
“He has the face of a brigand and the eyes of a basilisk.”
“All artists are like that.”
“They are as wicked as the red ass13, and as spiteful as monkeys.”
“It is part of their business.”
“I have just seen Monsieur Beaussier, and he says he would not like to meet him in a dark wood; he saw him in the diligence.”
“He has got hollows over the eyes like a horse, and he laughs like a maniac14.”
“The fellow looks as though he were capable of anything; perhaps it’s his fault that his brother, a fine handsome man they tell me, has gone to the bad. Poor Madame Bridau doesn’t seem as if she were very happy with him.”
“Suppose we take advantage of his being here, and have our portraits painted?”
The result of all these observations, scattered15 through the town was, naturally, to excite curiosity. All those who had the right to visit the Hochons resolved to call that very night and examine the Parisians. The arrival of these two persons in the stagnant16 town was like the falling of a beam into a community of frogs.
After stowing his mother’s things and his own into the two attic17 chambers18, which he examined as he did so, Joseph took note of the silent house, where the walls, the stair-case, the wood-work, were devoid20 of decoration and humid with frost, and where there was literally21 nothing beyond the merest necessaries. He felt the brusque transition from his poetic23 Paris to the dumb and arid24 province; and when, coming downstairs, he chanced to see Monsieur Hochon cutting slices of bread for each person, he understood, for the first time in his life, Moliere’s Harpagon.
“We should have done better to go to an inn,” he said to himself.
The aspect of the dinner confirmed his apprehensions25. After a soup whose watery26 clearness showed that quantity was more considered than quality, the bouilli was served, ceremoniously garnished27 with parsley; the vegetables, in a dish by themselves, being counted into the items of the repast. The bouilli held the place of honor in the middle of the table, accompanied with three other dishes: hard-boiled eggs on sorrel opposite to the vegetables; then a salad dressed with nut-oil to face little cups of custard, whose flavoring of burnt oats did service as vanilla28, which it resembles much as coffee made of chiccory resembles mocha. Butter and radishes, in two plates, were at each end of the table; pickled gherkins and horse-radish completed the spread, which won Madam Hochon’s approbation29. The good old woman gave a contented30 little nod when she saw that her husband had done things properly, for the first day at least. The old man answered with a glance and a shrug31 of his shoulders, which it was easy to translate into —
“See the extravagances you force me to commit!”
As soon as Monsieur Hochon had, as it were, slivered32 the bouilli into slices, about as thick as the sole of a dancing-shoe, that dish was replaced by another, containing three pigeons. The wine was of the country, vintage 1811. On a hint from her grandmother, Adolphine had decorated each end of the table with a bunch of flowers.
“At Rome as the Romans do,” thought the artist, looking at the table, and beginning to eat — like a man who had breakfasted at Vierzon, at six o’clock in the morning, on an execrable cup of coffee. When Joseph had eaten up all his bread and asked for more, Monsieur Hochon rose, slowly searched in the pocket of his surtout for a key, unlocked a cupboard behind him, broke off a section of a twelve-pound loaf, carefully cut a round of it, then divided the round in two, laid the pieces on a plate, and passed the plate across the table to the young painter, with the silence and coolness of an old soldier who says to himself on the eve of battle, “Well, I can meet death.” Joseph took the half-slice, and fully33 understood that he was not to ask for any more. No member of the family was the least surprised at this extraordinary performance. The conversation went on. Agathe learned that the house in which she was born, her father’s house before he inherited that of the old Descoings, had been bought by the Borniches; she expressed a wish to see it once more.
“No doubt,” said her godmother, “the Borniches will be here this evening; we shall have half the town — who want to examine you,” she added, turning to Joseph, “and they will all invite you to their houses.”
Gritte, who in spite of her sixty years, was the only servant of the house, brought in for dessert the famous ripe cheese of Touraine and Berry, made of goat’s milk, whose mouldy discolorations so distinctly reproduce the pattern of the vine-leaves on which it is served, that Touraine ought to have invented the art of engraving34. On either side of these little cheeses Gritte, with a company air, placed nuts and some time-honored biscuits.
“Well, Gritte, the fruit?” said Madame Hochon.
“But, madame, there is none rotten,” answered Gritte.
Joseph went off into roars of laughter, as though he were among his comrades in the atelier; for he suddenly perceived that the parsimony35 of eating only the fruits which were beginning to rot had degenerated36 into a settled habit.
“Bah! we can eat them all the same,” he exclaimed, with the heedless gayety of a man who will have his say.
“Monsieur Hochon, pray get some,” said the old lady.
Monsieur Hochon, much incensed37 at the artist’s speech, fetched some peaches, pears, and Saint Catherine plums.
“Adolphine, go and gather some grapes,” said Madame Hochon to her granddaughter.
Joseph looked at the two young men as much as to say: “Is it to such high living as this that you owe your healthy faces?”
Baruch understood the keen glance and smiled; for he and his cousin Hochon were behaving with much discretion38. The home-life was of less importance to youths who supped three times the week at Mere22 Cognette’s. Moreover, just before dinner, Baruch had received notice that the grand master convoked39 the whole Order at midnight for a magnificent supper, in the course of which a great enterprise would be arranged. The feast of welcome given by old Hochon to his guests explains how necessary were the nocturnal repasts at the Cognette’s to two young fellows blessed with good appetites, who, we may add, never missed any of them.
“We will take the liqueur in the salon,” said Madame Hochon, rising and motioning to Joseph to give her his arm. As they went out before the others, she whispered to the painter:—
“Eh! my poor boy; this dinner won’t give you an indigestion; but I had hard work to get it for you. It is always Lent here; you will get enough just to keep life in you, and no more. So you must bear it patiently.”
The kind-heartedness of the old woman, who thus drew her own predicament, pleased the artist.
“I have lived fifty years with that man, without ever hearing half-a-dozen gold pieces chink in my purse,” she went on. “Oh! if I did not hope that you might save your property, I would never have brought you and your mother into my prison.”
“But how can you survive it?” cried Joseph naively40, with the gayety which a French artist never loses.
“Ah, you may well ask!” she said. “I pray.”
Joseph quivered as he heard the words, which raised the old woman so much in his estimation that he stepped back a little way to look into her face; it was radiant with so tender a serenity41 that he said to her —
“Let me paint your portrait.”
“No, no,” she answered, “I am too weary of life to wish to remain here on canvas.”
Gayly uttering the sad words, she opened a closet, and brought out a flask42 containing ratafia, a domestic manufacture of her own, the receipt for which she obtained from the far-famed nuns43 to whom is also due the celebrated44 cake of Issoudun — one of the great creations of French confectionery; which no chef, cook, pastry-cook, or confectioner has ever been able to reproduce. Monsieur de Riviere, ambassador at Constantinople, ordered enormous quantities every year for the Seraglio.
Adolphine held a lacquer tray on which were a number of little old glasses with engraved45 sides and gilt46 edges; and as her mother filled each of them, she carried it to the company.
“It seems as though my father’s turn were coming round!” exclaimed Agathe, to whom this immutable47 provincial custom recalled the scenes of her youth.
“Hochon will go to his club presently to read the papers, and we shall have a little time to ourselves,” said the old lady in a low voice.
In fact, ten minutes later, the three women and Joseph were alone in the salon, where the floor was never waxed, only swept, and the worsted-work designs in oaken frames with grooved48 mouldings, and all the other plain and rather dismal49 furniture seemed to Madame Bridau to be in exactly the same state as when she had left Issoudun. Monarchy50, Revolution, Empire, and Restoration, which respected little, had certainly respected this room where their glories and their disasters had left not the slightest trace.
“Ah! my godmother, in comparison with your life, mine has been cruelly tried,” exclaimed Madame Bridau, surprised to find even a canary which she had known when alive, stuffed, and standing51 on the mantleshelf between the old clock, the old brass52 brackets, and the silver candlesticks.
“My child,” said the old lady, “trials are in the heart. The greater and more necessary the resignation, the harder the struggle with our own selves. But don’t speak of me, let us talk of your affairs. You are directly in front of the enemy,” she added, pointing to the windows of the Rouget house.
“They are sitting down to dinner,” said Adolphine.
The young girl, destined53 for a cloister54, was constantly looking out of the window, in hopes of getting some light upon the enormities imputed55 to Maxence Gilet, the Rabouilleuse, and Jean–Jacques, of which a few words reached her ears whenever she was sent out of the room that others might talk about them. The old lady now told her granddaughter to leave her alone with Madame Bridau and Joseph until the arrival of visitors.
“For,” she said, turning to the Parisians, “I know my Issoudun by heart; we shall have ten or twelve batches56 of inquisitive57 folk here to-night.”
In fact Madame Hochon had hardly related the events and the details concerning the astounding58 influence obtained by Maxence Gilet and the Rabouilleuse over Jean–Jacques Rouget (without, of course, following the synthetical59 method with which they have been presented here), adding the many comments, descriptions, and hypotheses with which the good and evil tongues of the town embroidered60 them, before Adolphine announced the approach of the Borniche, Beaussier, Lousteau–Prangin, Fichet, Goddet–Herau families; in all, fourteen persons looming61 in the distance.
“You now see, my dear child,” said the old lady, concluding her tale, “that it will not be an easy matter to get this property out of the jaws62 of the wolf —”
“It seems to me so difficult — with a scoundrel such as you represent him, and a daring woman like that crab-girl — as to be actually impossible,” remarked Joseph. “We should have to stay a year in Issoudun to counteract63 their influence and overthrow64 their dominion65 over my uncle. Money isn’t worth such a struggle — not to speak of the meannesses to which we should have to condescend66. My mother has only two weeks’ leave of absence; her place is a permanent one, and she must not risk it. As for me, in the month of October I have an important work, which Schinner has just obtained for me from a peer of France; so you see, madame, my future fortune is in my brushes.”
This speech was received by Madame Hochon with much amazement67. Though relatively68 superior to the town she lived in, the old lady did not believe in painting. She glanced at her goddaughter, and again pressed her hand.
“This Maxence is the second volume of Philippe,” whispered Joseph in his mother’s ear, “— only cleverer and better behaved. Well, madame,” he said, aloud, we won’t trouble Monsieur Hochon by staying very long.”
“Ah! you are young; you know nothing of the world,” said the old lady. “A couple of weeks, if you are judicious69, may produce great results; listen to my advice, and act accordingly.”
“Oh! willingly,” said Joseph, “I know I have a perfectly70 amazing incapacity for domestic statesmanship: for example, I am sure I don’t know what Desroches himself would tell us to do if my uncle declines to see us.”
Mesdames Borniche, Goddet–Herau, Beaussier, Lousteau–Prangin and Fichet, decorated with their husbands, here entered the room.
When the fourteen persons were seated, and the usual compliments were over, Madame Hochon presented her goddaughter Agathe and Joseph. Joseph sat in his armchair all the evening, engaged in slyly studying the sixty faces which, from five o’clock until half past nine, posed for him gratis71, as he afterwards told his mother. Such behavior before the aristocracy of Issoudun did not tend to change the opinion of the little town concerning him: every one went home ruffled72 by his sarcastic73 glances, uneasy under his smiles, and even frightened at his face, which seemed sinister74 to a class of people unable to recognize the singularities of genius.
After ten o’clock, when the household was in bed, Madame Hochon kept her goddaughter in her chamber19 until midnight. Secure from interruption, the two women told each other the sorrows of their lives, and exchanged their sufferings. As Agathe listened to the last echoes of a soul that had missed its destiny, and felt the sufferings of a heart, essentially75 generous and charitable, whose charity and generosity76 could never be exercised, she realized the immensity of the desert in which the powers of this noble, unrecognized soul had been wasted, and knew that she herself, with the little joys and interests of her city life relieving the bitter trials sent from God, was not the most unhappy of the two.
“You who are so pious,” she said, “explain to me my shortcomings; tell me what it is that God is punishing in me.”
“He is preparing us, my child,” answered the old woman, “for the striking of the last hour.”
At midnight the Knights78 of Idleness were collecting, one by one like shadows, under the trees of the boulevard Baron79, and speaking together in whispers.
“What are we going to do?” was the first question of each as he arrived.
“I think,” said Francois, “that Max means merely to give us a supper.”
“No; matters are very serious for him, and for the Rabouilleuse: no doubt, he has concocted80 some scheme against the Parisians.”
“It would be a good joke to drive them away.”
“My grandfather,” said Baruch, “is terribly alarmed at having two extra mouths to feed, and he’d seize on any pretext81 —”
“Well, comrades!” cried Max softly, now appearing on the scene, “why are you star-gazing? the planets don’t distil82 kirschwasser. Come, let us go to Mere Cognette’s!”
“To Mere Cognette’s! To Mere Cognette’s!” they all cried.
The cry, uttered as with one voice, produced a clamor which rang through the town like the hurrah83 of troops rushing to an assault; total silence followed. The next day, more than one inhabitant must have said to his neighbor: “Did you hear those frightful84 cries last night, about one o’clock? I thought there was surely a fire somewhere.”
A supper worthy85 of La Cognette brightened the faces of the twenty-two guests; for the whole Order was present. At two in the morning, as they were beginning to “siroter” (a word in the vocabulary of the Knights which admirably expresses the act of sipping86 and tasting the wine in small quantities), Max rose to speak:—
“My dear fellows! the honor of your grand master was grossly attacked this morning, after our memorable87 joke with Fario’s cart — attacked by a vile88 pedler, and what is more, a Spaniard (oh, Cabrera!); and I have resolved to make the scoundrel feel the weight of my vengeance89; always, of course, within the limits we have laid down for our fun. After reflecting about it all day, I have found a trick which is worth putting into execution — a famous trick, that will drive him crazy. While avenging90 the insult offered to the Order in my person, we shall be feeding the sacred animals of the Egyptians — little beasts which are, after all, the creatures of God, and which man unjustly persecutes91. Thus we see that good is the child of evil, and evil is the offspring of good; such is the paramount92 law of the universe! I now order you all, on pain of displeasing93 your very humble94 grand master, to procure95 clandestinely96, each one of you, twenty rats, male or female as heaven pleases. Collect your contingent97 within three days. If you can get more, the surplus will be welcome. Keep the interesting rodents98 without food; for it is essential that the delightful99 little beasts be ravenous100 with hunger. Please observe that I will accept both house-mice and field-mice as rats. If we multiply twenty-two by twenty, we shall have four hundred; four hundred accomplices101 let loose in the old church of the Capuchins, where Fario has stored all his grain, will consume a not insignificant102 quantity! But be lively about it! There’s no time to lose. Fario is to deliver most of the grain to his customers in a week or so; and I am determined that that Spaniard shall find a terrible deficit103. Gentlemen, I have not the merit of this invention,” continued Max, observing the signs of general admiration104. “Render to Caesar that which is Caesar’s, and to God that which is God’s. My scheme is only a reproduction of Samson’s foxes, as related in the Bible. But Samson was an incendiary, and therefore no philanthropist; while we, like the Brahmins, are the protectors of a persecuted105 race. Mademoiselle Flore Brazier has already set all her mouse-traps, and Kouski, my right-arm, is hunting field-mice. I have spoken.”
“I know,” said Goddet, “where to find an animal that’s worth forty rats, himself alone.”
“What’s that?”
“A squirrel.”
“I offer a little monkey,” said one of the younger members, “he’ll make himself drunk on wheat.”
“Bad, very bad!” exclaimed Max, “it would show who put the beasts there.”
“But we might each catch a pigeon some night,” said young Beaussier, “taking them from different farms; if we put them through a hole in the roof, they’ll attract thousands of others.”
“So, then, for the next week, Fario’s storehouse is the order of the night,” cried Max, smiling at Beaussier. “Recollect; people get up early in Saint–Paterne. Mind, too, that none of you go there without turning the soles of your list shoes backward. Knight77 Beaussier, the inventor of pigeons, is made director. As for me, I shall take care to leave my imprint106 on the sacks of wheat. Gentlemen, you are, all of you, appointed to the commissariat of the Army of Rats. If you find a watchman sleeping in the church, you must manage to make him drunk, — and do it cleverly — so as to get him far away from the scene of the Rodents’ Orgy.”
“You don’t say anything about the Parisians?” questioned Goddet.
“Oh!” exclaimed Max, “I want time to study them. Meantime, I offer my best shotgun — the one the Emperor gave me, a treasure from the manufactory at Versailles — to whoever finds a way to play the Bridaus a trick which shall get them into difficulties with Madame and Monsieur Hochon, so that those worthy old people shall send them off, or they shall be forced to go of their own accord — without, understand me, injuring the venerable ancestors of my two friends here present, Baruch and Francois.”
“All right! I’ll think of it,” said Goddet, who coveted108 the gun.
“If the inventor of the trick doesn’t care for the gun, he shall have my horse,” added Max.
After this night twenty brains were tortured to lay a plot against Agathe and her son, on the basis of Max’s programme. But the devil alone, or chance, could really help them to success; for the conditions given made the thing well-nigh impossible.
The next morning Agathe and Joseph came downstairs just before the second breakfast, which took place at ten o’clock. In Monsieur Hochon’s household the name of first breakfast was given to a cup of milk and slice of bread and butter which was taken in bed, or when rising. While waiting for Madame Hochon, who notwithstanding her age went minutely through the ceremonies with which the duchesses of Louis XV.‘s time performed their toilette, Joseph noticed Jean–Jacques Rouget planted squarely on his feet at the door of his house across the street. He naturally pointed107 him out to his mother, who was unable to recognize her brother, so little did he look like what he was when she left him.
“That is your brother,” said Adolphine, who entered, giving an arm to her grandmother.
“What an idiot he looks like!” exclaimed Joseph.
Agathe clasped her hands, and raised her eyes to heaven.
“What a state they have driven him to! Good God! can that be a man only fifty-seven years old?”
She looked attentively109 at her brother, and saw Flore Brazier standing directly behind him, with her hair dressed, a pair of snowy shoulders and a dazzling bosom110 showing through a gauze neckerchief, which was trimmed with lace; she was wearing a dress with a tight-fitting waist, made of grenadine (a silk material then much in fashion), with leg-of-mutton sleeves so-called, fastened at the wrists by handsome bracelets111. A gold chain rippled112 over the crab-girl’s bosom as she leaned forward to give Jean–Jacques his black silk cap lest he should take cold. The scene was evidently studied.
“Hey!” cried Joseph, “there’s a fine woman, and a rare one! She is made, as they say, to paint. What flesh-tints! Oh, the lovely tones! what surface! what curves! Ah, those shoulders! She’s a magnificent caryatide. What a model she would have been for one of Titians’ Venuses!”
Adolphine and Madame Hochon thought he was talking Greek; but Agathe signed to them behind his back, as if to say that she was accustomed to such jargon113.
“So you think a creature who is depriving you of your property handsome?” said Madame Hochon.
“That doesn’t prevent her from being a splendid model! — just plump enough not to spoil the hips114 and the general contour —”
“My son, you are not in your studio,” said Agathe. “Adolphine is here.”
“Ah, true! I did wrong. But you must remember that ever since leaving Paris I have seen nothing but ugly women —”
“My dear godmother,” said Agathe hastily, “how shall I be able to meet my brother, if that creature is always with him?”
“Bah!” said Joseph. “I’ll go and see him myself. I don’t think him such an idiot, now I find he has the sense to rejoice his eyes with a Titian’s Venus.”
“If he were not an idiot,” said Monsieur Hochon, who had come in, “he would have married long ago and had children; and then you would have no chance at the property. It is an ill wind that blows no good.”
“Your son’s idea is very good,” said Madame Hochon; “he ought to pay the first visit. He can make his uncle understand that if you call there he must be alone.”
“That will affront115 Mademoiselle Brazier,” said old Hochon. “No, no, madame; swallow the pill. If you can’t get the whole property, secure a small legacy116.”
The Hochons were not clever enough to match Max. In the middle of breakfast Kouski brought over a letter from Monsieur Rouget, addressed to his sister, Madame Bridau. Madame Hochon made her husband read it aloud, as follows:—
My dear Sister — I learn from strangers of your arrival in Issoudun. I can guess the reason which made you prefer the house of Monsieur and Madame Hochon to mine; but if you will come to see me you shall be received as you ought to be. I should certainly pay you the first visit if my health did not compel me just now to keep the house; for which I offer my affectionate regrets. I shall be delighted to see my nephew, whom I invite to dine with me tomorrow — young men are less sensitive than women about the company. It will give me pleasure if Messrs. Baruch Borniche and Francois Hochon will accompany him.
Your affectionate brother,
J.-J. Rouget.
“Say that we are at breakfast, but that Madame Bridau will send an answer presently, and the invitations are all accepted,” said Monsieur Hochon to the servant.
The old man laid a finger on his lips, to require silence from everybody. When the street-door was shut, Monsieur Hochon, little suspecting the intimacy117 between his grandsons and Max, threw one of his slyest looks at his wife and Agathe, remarking —
“He is just as capable of writing that note as I am of giving away twenty-five louis; it is the soldier who is corresponding with us!”
“What does that portend118?” asked Madame Hochon. “Well, never mind; we will answer him. As for you, monsieur,” she added, turning to Joseph, “you must dine there; but if —”
The old lady was stopped short by a look from her husband. Knowing how warm a friendship she felt for Agathe, old Hochon was in dread119 lest she should leave some legacy to her goddaughter in case the latter lost the Rouget property. Though fifteen years older than his wife, the miser hoped to inherit her fortune, and to become eventually the sole master of their whole property. That hope was a fixed120 idea with him. Madame Hochon knew that the best means of obtaining a few concessions121 from her husband was to threaten him with her will. Monsieur Hochon now took sides with his guests. An enormous fortune was at stake; with a sense of social justice, he wished it to go to the natural heirs, instead of being pillaged122 by unworthy outsiders. Moreover, the sooner the matter was decided123, the sooner he should get rid of his guests. Now that the struggle between the interlopers and the heirs, hitherto existing only in his wife’s mind, had become an actual fact, Monsieur Hochon’s keen intelligence, lulled124 to sleep by the monotony of provincial life, was fully roused. Madame Hochon had been agreeably surprised that morning to perceive, from a few affectionate words which the old man had said to her about Agathe, that so able and subtle an auxiliary125 was on the Bridau side.
Towards midday the brains of Monsieur and Madame Hochon, of Agathe, and Joseph (the latter much amazed at the scrupulous126 care of the old people in the choice of words), were delivered of the following answer, concocted solely127 for the benefit of Max and Flore:—
My dear Brother — If I have stayed away from Issoudun, and kept up no intercourse128 with any one, not even with you, the fault lies not merely with the strange and false ideas my father conceived about me, but with the joys and sorrows of my life in Paris; for if God made me a happy wife, he has also deeply afflicted129 me as a mother. You are aware that my son, your nephew Philippe, lies under accusation130 of a capital offence in consequence of his devotion to the Emperor. Therefore you can hardly be surprised if a widow, compelled to take a humble situation in a lottery-office for a living, should come to seek consolation131 from those among whom she was born.
The profession adopted by the son who accompanies me is one that requires great talent, many sacrifices, and prolonged studies before any results can be obtained. Glory for an artist precedes fortune; is not that to say that Joseph, though he may bring honor to the family, will still be poor? Your sister, my dear Jean–Jacques, would have borne in silence the penalties of paternal132 injustice133, but you will pardon a mother for reminding you that you have two nephews; one of whom carried the Emperor’s orders at the battle of Montereau and served in the Guard at Waterloo, and is now in prison for his devotion to Napoleon; the other, from his thirteenth year, has been impelled134 by natural gifts to enter a difficult though glorious career.
I thank you for your letter, my dear brother, with heart-felt warmth, for my own sake, and also for Joseph’s, who will certainly accept your invitation. Illness excuses everything, my dear Jean–Jacques, and I shall therefore go to see you in your own house. A sister is always at home with a brother, no matter what may be the life he has adopted.
I embrace you tenderly.
Agathe Rouget
“There’s the matter started. Now, when you see him,” said Monsieur Hochon to Agathe, “you must speak plainly to him about his nephews.”
The letter was carried over by Gritte, who returned ten minutes later to render an account to her masters of all that she had seen and heard, according to a settled provincial custom.
“Since yesterday Madame has had the whole house cleaned up, which she left —”
“Whom do you mean by Madame?” asked old Hochon.
“That’s what they call the Rabouilleuse over there,” answered Gritte. “She left the salon and all Monsieur Rouget’s part of the house in a pitiable state; but since yesterday the rooms have been made to look like what they were before Monsieur Maxence went to live there. You can see your face on the floors. La Vedie told me that Kouski went off on horseback at five o’clock this morning, and came back at nine, bringing provisions. It is going to be a grand dinner! — a dinner fit for the archbishop of Bourges! There’s a fine bustle135 in the kitchen, and they are as busy as bees. The old man says, ‘I want to do honor to my nephew,’ and he pokes136 his nose into everything. It appears the Rougets are highly flattered by the letter. Madame came and told me so. Oh! she had on such a dress! I never saw anything so handsome in my life. Two diamonds in her ears! — two diamonds that cost, Vedie told me, three thousand francs apiece; and such lace! rings on her fingers, and bracelets! you’d think she was a shrine137; and a silk dress as fine as an altar-cloth. So then she said to me, ‘Monsieur is delighted to find his sister so amiable138, and I hope she will permit us to pay her all the attention she deserves. We shall count on her good opinion after the welcome we mean to give her son. Monsieur is very impatient to see his nephew.’ Madame had little black satin slippers139; and her stockings! my! they were marvels140 — flowers in silk and openwork, just like lace, and you could see her rosy141 little feet through them. Oh! she’s in high feather, and she had a lovely little apron142 in front of her which, Vedie says, cost more than two years of our wages put together.”
“Well done! We shall have to dress up,” said the artist laughing.
“What do you think of all this, Monsieur Hochon?” said the old lady when Gritte had departed.
Madame Hochon made Agathe observe her husband, who was sitting with his head in his hands, his elbows on the arms of his chair, plunged143 in thought.
“You have to do with a Maitre Bonin!” said the old man at last. “With your ideas, young man,” he added, looking at Joseph, “you haven’t force enough to struggle with a practised scoundrel like Maxence Gilet. No matter what I say to you, you will commit some folly144. But, at any rate, tell me everything you see, and hear, and do to-night. Go, and God be with you! Try to get alone with your uncle. If, in spite of all your genius, you can’t manage it, that in itself will throw some light upon their scheme. But if you do get a moment alone with him, out of ear-shot, damn it, you must pull the wool from his eyes as to the situation those two have put him in, and plead your mother’s cause.”
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1
miser
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| n.守财奴，吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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3
retrospect
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| n.回顾，追溯；v.回顾，回想，追溯 | |
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4
fictitious
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| adj.虚构的，假设的；空头的 | |
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5
pouch
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| n.小袋，小包，囊状袋；vt.装...入袋中，用袋运输；vi.用袋送信件 | |
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provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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8
tepid
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| adj.微温的，温热的，不太热心的 | |
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9
brigand
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| n.土匪，强盗 | |
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10
candor
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| n.坦白，率真 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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12
baboon
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| n.狒狒 | |
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13
ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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14
maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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15
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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16
stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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17
attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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18
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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19
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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20
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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21
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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22
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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24
arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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25
apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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26
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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27
garnished
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| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28
vanilla
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| n.香子兰，香草 | |
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29
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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30
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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31
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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32
slivered
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| 使成薄片（sliver的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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33
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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34
engraving
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| n.版画；雕刻（作品）；雕刻艺术；镌版术v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的现在分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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parsimony
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| n.过度节俭，吝啬 | |
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36
degenerated
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| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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incensed
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| 盛怒的 | |
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38
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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39
convoked
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| v.召集，召开（会议）( convoke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
naively
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| adv. 天真地 | |
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41
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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42
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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43
nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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44
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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45
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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46
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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47
immutable
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| adj.不可改变的，永恒的 | |
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48
grooved
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| v.沟( groove的过去式和过去分词 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏 | |
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49
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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50
monarchy
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| n.君主，最高统治者；君主政体，君主国 | |
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51
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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52
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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53
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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54
cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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55
imputed
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| v.把（错误等）归咎于( impute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
batches
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| 一批( batch的名词复数 )； 一炉； （食物、药物等的）一批生产的量； 成批作业 | |
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57
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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58
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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59
synthetical
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| adj.综合的，合成的 | |
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60
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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61
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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62
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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63
counteract
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| vt.对…起反作用，对抗，抵消 | |
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64
overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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65
dominion
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| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
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66
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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67
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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68
relatively
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| adv.比较...地，相对地 | |
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69
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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70
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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71
gratis
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| adj.免费的 | |
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72
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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73
sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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74
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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75
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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76
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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77
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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78
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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79
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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80
concocted
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| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的过去式和过去分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
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81
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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82
distil
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| vt.蒸馏；提取…的精华，精选出 | |
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83
hurrah
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| int.好哇，万岁，乌拉 | |
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84
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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85
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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86
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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87
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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88
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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89
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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90
avenging
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| adj.报仇的，复仇的v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的现在分词 )；为…报复 | |
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91
persecutes
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的第三人称单数 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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92
paramount
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| a.最重要的，最高权力的 | |
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93
displeasing
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| 不愉快的，令人发火的 | |
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94
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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95
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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96
clandestinely
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| adv.秘密地，暗中地 | |
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97
contingent
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| adj.视条件而定的；n.一组，代表团，分遣队 | |
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98
rodents
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| n.啮齿目动物( rodent的名词复数 ) | |
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99
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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100
ravenous
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| adj.极饿的，贪婪的 | |
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101
accomplices
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| 从犯，帮凶，同谋( accomplice的名词复数 ) | |
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102
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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103
deficit
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| n.亏空，亏损；赤字，逆差 | |
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104
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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105
persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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106
imprint
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| n.印痕，痕迹；深刻的印象；vt.压印，牢记 | |
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107
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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108
coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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109
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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110
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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111
bracelets
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| n.手镯，臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
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112
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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113
jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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114
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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115
affront
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| n./v.侮辱，触怒 | |
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116
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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117
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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portend
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| v.预兆，预示；给…以警告 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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121
concessions
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| n.（尤指由政府或雇主给予的）特许权( concession的名词复数 )；承认；减价；（在某地的）特许经营权 | |
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122
pillaged
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| v.抢劫，掠夺( pillage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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auxiliary
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| adj.辅助的，备用的 | |
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126
scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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127
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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128
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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129
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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131
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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132
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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133
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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134
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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135
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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136
pokes
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| v.伸出( poke的第三人称单数 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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137
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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138
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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139
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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140
marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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141
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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142
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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143
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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