rebellion arrayed against him. He subsequently accepted the
difficult post of director of a division (in which his great
acquirements were not less useful than the truly French affability
of his manners) for the express purpose of conciliating the
serious interests that arise under its administration. No rewards
have ever been more truly deserved than those by which the King,
Louis XVIII., and his present Majesty took pleasure in crowning a
loyalty which never faltered under the usurper. This old family
still survives in the person of a single heir to the excellent man
whose death now afflicts so many warm friends. His Majesty has
already graciously made known that Monsieur Benjamin de la
Billardiere will be included among the gentlemen-in-ordinary of
the Bedchamber.
“The numerous friends who have not already received their
notification of this sad event are hereby informed that the
funeral will take place to-morrow at four o’clock, in the church
of Saint-Roch. The memorial address will be delivered by Monsieur
l’Abbe Fontanon.” — —
“Monsieur Isidore-Charles-Thomas Baudoyer, representing one of the
oldest bourgeois families of Paris, and head of a bureau in the
late Monsieur de la Billardiere’s division, has lately recalled
the old traditions of piety and devotion which formerly
distinguished these great families, so jealous for the honor and
glory of religion, and so faithful in preserving its monuments.
The church of Saint-Paul has long needed a monstrance in keeping
with the magnificence of that basilica, itself due to the Company
of Jesus. Neither the vestry nor the curate were rich enough to
decorate the altar. Monsieur Baudoyer has bestowed upon the parish
a monstrance that many persons have seen and admired at Monsieur
Gohier’s, the king’s jeweller. Thanks to the piety of this
gentleman, who did not shrink from the immensity of the price, the
church of Saint-Paul possesses to-day a masterpiece of the
jeweller’s art designed by Monsieur de Sommervieux. It gives us
pleasure to make known this fact, which proves how powerless the
declamations of liberals have been on the mind of the Parisian
bourgeoisie. The upper ranks of that body have at all times been
royalist and they prove it when occasion offers.”
“The price was five thousand francs,” said the Abbe Gaudron; “but as the payment was in cash, the court jeweller reduced the amount.”
“Representing one of the oldest bourgeois families in Paris!” Saillard was saying to himself; “there it is printed, — in the official paper, too!”
“Dear Monsieur Gaudron,” said Madame Baudoyer, “please help my father to compose a little speech that he could slip into the countess’s ear when he takes her the monthly stipend, — a single sentence that would cover all! I must leave you. I am obliged to go out with my uncle Mitral. Would you believe it? I was unable to find my uncle Bidault at home this afternoon. Oh, what a dog-kennel he lives in! But Monsieur Mitral, who knows his ways, says he does all his business between eight o’clock in the morning and midday, and that after that hour he can be found only at a certain cafe called the Cafe Themis, — a singular name.”
“Is justice done there?” said the abbe, laughing.
“Do you ask why he goes to a cafe at the corner of the rue Dauphine and the quai des Augustins? They say he plays dominoes there every night with his friend Monsieur Gobseck. I don’t wish to go to such a place alone; my uncle Mitral will take me there and bring me back.”
At this instant Mitral showed his yellow face, surmounted by a wig which looked as though it might be made of hay, and made a sign to his niece to come at once, and not keep a carriage waiting at two francs an hour. Madame Baudoyer rose and went away without giving any explanation to her husband or father.
“Heaven has given you in that woman,” said Monsieur Gaudron to Baudoyer when Elisabeth had disappeared, “a perfect treasure of prudence and virtue, a model of wisdom, a Christian who gives sure signs of possessing the Divine spirit. Religion alone is able to form such perfect characters. To-morrow I shall say a mass for the success of your good cause. It is all-important, for the sake of the monarchy and of religion itself that you should receive this appointment. Monsieur Rabourdin is a liberal; he subscribes to the ‘Journal des Debats,’ a dangerous newspaper, which made war on Monsieur le Comte de Villele to please the wounded vanity of Monsieur de Chateaubriand. His Eminence will read the newspaper to-night, if only to see what is said of his poor friend Monsieur de la Billardiere; and Monseigneur the coadjutor will speak of you to the King. When I think of what you have now done for his dear church, I feel sure he will not forget you in his prayers; more than that, he is dining at this moment with the coadjutor at the house of the curate of Saint-Roch.”
These words made Saillard and Baudoyer begin to perceive that Elisabeth had not been idle ever since Godard had informed her of Monsieur de la Billardiere’s decease.
“Isn’t she clever, that Elisabeth of mine?” cried Saillard, comprehending more clearly than Monsieur l’abbe the rapid undermining, like the path of a mole, which his daughter had undertaken.
“She sent Godard to Rabourdin’s door to find out what newspaper he takes,” said Gaudron; “and I mentioned the name to the secretary of his Eminence, — for we live at a crisis when the Church and Throne must keep themselves informed as to who are their friends and who their enemies.”
“For the last five days I have been trying to find the right thing to say to his Excellency’s wife,” said Saillard.
“All Paris will read that,” cried Baudoyer, whose eyes were still riveted on the paper.
“Your eulogy costs us four thousand eight hundred francs, son-in-law!” exclaimed Madame Saillard.
“You have adorned the house of God,” said the Abbe Gaudron.
“We might have got salvation without doing that,” she returned. “But if Baudoyer gets the place, which is worth eight thousand more, the sacrifice is not so great. If he doesn’t get it! hey, papa,” she added, looking at her husband, “how we shall have bled! — ”
“Well, never mind,” said Saillard, enthusiastically, “we can always make it up through Falleix, who is going to extend his business and use his brother, whom he has made a stockbroker on purpose. Elisabeth might have told us, I think, why Falleix went off in such a hurry. But let’s invent my little speech. This is what I thought of: ‘Madame, if you would say a word to his Excellency — ’”
“‘If you would deign,’” said Gaudron; “add the word ‘deign,’ it is more respectful. But you ought to know, first of all, whether Madame la Dauphine will grant you her protection, and then you could suggest to Madame la comtesse the idea of co-operating with the wishes of her Royal Highness.”
“You ought to designate the vacant post,” said Baudoyer.
“‘Madame la comtesse,’” began Saillard, rising, and bowing to his wife, with an agreeable smile.
“Goodness! Saillard; how ridiculous you look. Take care, my man, you’ll make the woman laugh.”
“‘Madame la comtesse,’” resumed Saillard. “Is that better, wife?”
“Yes, my duck.”
“‘The place of the worthy Monsieur de la Billardiere is vacant; my son-in-law, Monsieur Baudoyer — ’”
“‘Man of talent and extreme piety,’” prompted Gaudron.
“Write it down, Baudoyer,” cried old Saillard, “write that sentence down.”
Baudoyer proceeded to take a pen and wrote, without a blush, his own praises, precisely as Nathan or Canalis might have reviewed one of their own books.
“‘Madame la comtesse�
� — Don’t you see, mother?” said Saillard to his wife; “I am supposing you to be the minister’s wife.”
“Do you take me for a fool?” she answered sharply. “I know that.”
“‘The place of the late worthy de la Billardiere is vacant; my son-in-law, Monsieur Baudoyer, a man of consummate talent and extreme piety — ’” After looking at Monsieur Gaudron, who was reflecting, he added, “‘will be very glad if he gets it.’ That’s not bad; it’s brief and it says the whole thing.”
“But do wait, Saillard; don’t you see that Monsieur l’abbe is turning it over in his mind?” said Madame Saillard; “don’t disturb him.”
“‘Will be very thankful if you would deign to interest yourself in his behalf,’” resumed Gaudron. “‘And in saying a word to his Excellency you will particularly please Madame la Dauphine, by whom he has the honor and the happiness to be protected.’”
“Ah! Monsieur Gaudron, that sentence is worth more than the monstrance; I don’t regret the four thousand eight hundred — Besides, Baudoyer, my lad, you’ll pay them, won’t you? Have you written it all down?”
“I shall make you repeat it, father, morning and evening,” said Madame Saillard. “Yes, that’s a good speech. How lucky you are, Monsieur Gaudron, to know so much. That’s what it is to be brought up in a seminary; they learn there how to speak to God and his saints.”
“He is as good as he is learned,” said Baudoyer, pressing the priest’s hand. “Did you write that article?” he added, pointing to the newspaper.
“No, it was written by the secretary of his Eminence, a young abbe who is under obligations to me, and who takes an interest in Monsieur Colleville; he was educated at my expense.”
“A good deed is always rewarded,” said Baudoyer.
While these four personages were sitting down to their game of boston, Elisabeth and her uncle Mitral reached the cafe Themis, with much discourse as they drove along about a matter which Elisabeth’s keen perceptions told her was the most powerful lever that could be used to force the minister’s hand in the affair of her husband’s appointment. Uncle Mitral, a former sheriff’s officer, crafty, clever at sharp practice, and full of expedients and judicial precautions, believed the honor of his family to be involved in the appointment of his nephew. His avarice had long led him to estimate the contents of old Gigonnet’s strong-box, for he knew very well they would go in the end to benefit his nephew Baudoyer; and it was therefore important that the latter should obtain a position which would be in keeping with the combined fortunes of the Saillards and the old Gigonnet, which would finally devolve on the Baudoyer’s little daughter; and what an heiress she would be with an income of a hundred thousand francs! to what social position might she not aspire with that fortune? He adopted all the ideas of his niece Elisabeth and thoroughly understood them. He had helped in sending off Falleix expeditiously, explaining to him the advantage of taking post horses. After which, while eating his dinner, he reflected that it be as well to give a twist of his own to the clever plan invented by Elisabeth.
When they reached the Cafe Themis he told his niece that he alone could manage Gigonnet in the matter they both had in view, and he made her wait in the hackney-coach and bide her time to come forward at the right moment. Elisabeth saw through the window-panes the two faces of Gobseck and Gigonnet (her uncle Bidault), which stood out in relief against the yellow wood-work of the old cafe, like two cameo heads, cold and impassible, in the rigid attitude that their gravity gave them. The two Parisian misers were surrounded by a number of other old faces, on which “thirty per cent discount” was written in circular wrinkles that started from the nose and turned round the glacial cheek-bones. These remarkable physiognomies brightened up on seeing Mitral, and their eyes gleamed with tigerish curiosity.
“Hey, hey! it is papa Mitral!” cried one of them, named Chaboisseau, a little old man who discounted for a publisher.
“Bless me, so it is!” said another, a broker named Metivier, “ha, that’s an old monkey well up in his tricks.”
“And you,” retorted Mitral, “you are an old crow who knows all about carcasses.”
“True,” said the stern Gobseck.
“What are you here for? Have you come to seize friend Metivier?” asked Gigonnet, pointing to the broker, who had the bluff face of a porter.
“Your great-niece Elisabeth is out there, papa Gigonnet,” whispered Mitral.
“What! some misfortune?” said Bidault. The old man drew his eyebrows together and assumed a tender look like that of an executioner when about to go to work officially. In spite of his Roman virtue he must have been touched, for his red nose lost somewhat of its color.
“Well, suppose it is misfortune, won’t you help Saillard’s daughter? — a girl who has knitted your stockings for the last thirty years!” cried Mitral.
“If there’s good security I don’t say I won’t,” replied Gigonnet. “Falleix is in with them. Falleix has just set up his brother as a broker, and he is doing as much business as the Brezacs; and what with? his mind, perhaps! Saillard is no simpleton.”
“He knows the value of money,” put in Chaboisseau.
That remark, uttered among those old men, would have made an artist and thinker shudder as they all nodded their heads.
“But it is none of my business,” resumed Bidault-Gigonnet. “I’m not bound to care for my neighbors’ misfortunes. My principle is never to be off my guard with friends or relatives; you can’t perish except through weakness. Apply to Gobseck; he is softer.”
The usurers all applauded these doctrines with a shake of their metallic heads. An onlooker would have fancied he heard the creaking of ill-oiled machinery.
“Come, Gigonnet, show a little feeling,” said Chaboisseau, “they’ve knit your stockings for thirty years.”
“That counts for something,” remarked Gobseck.
“Are you all alone? Is it safe to speak?” said Mitral, looking carefully about him. “I come about a good piece of business.”
“If it is good, why do you come to us?” said Gigonnet, sharply, interrupting Mitral.
“A fellow who was a gentleman of the Bedchamber,” went on Mitral, “a former ‘chouan,’ — what’s his name? — La Billardiere is dead.”
“True,” said Gobseck.
“And our nephew is giving monstrances to the church,” snarled Gigonnet.
“He is not such a fool as to give them, he sells them, old man,” said Mitral, proudly. “He wants La Billardiere’s place, and in order to get it, we must seize — ”
“Seize! You’ll never be anything but a sheriff’s officer,” put in Metivier, striking Mitral amicably on the shoulder; “I like that, I do!”
“Seize Monsieur Clement des Lupeaulx in our clutches,” continued Mitral; “Elisabeth has discovered how to do it, and he is — ”
“Elisabeth”; cried Gigonnet, interrupting again; “dear little creature! she takes after her grandfather, my poor brother! he never had his equal! Ah, you should have seen him buying up old furniture; what tact! what shrewdness! What does Elisabeth want?”
“Hey! hey!” cried Mitral, “you’ve got back your bowels of compassion, papa Gigonnet! That phenomenon has a cause.”
“Always a child,” said Gobseck to Gigonnet, “you are too quick on the trigger.”
“Come, Gobseck and Gigonnet, listen to me; you want to keep well with des Lupeaulx, don’t you? You’ve not forgotten how you plucked him in that affair about the king’s debts, and you are afraid he’ll ask you to return some of his feathers,” said Mitral.
“Shall we tell him the whole thing?” asked Gobseck, whispering to Gigonnet.
“Mitral is one of us; he wouldn’t play a shabby trick on his former customers,” replied Gigonnet. “You see, Mitral,” he went on, speaking to the ex-sheriff in a low voice, “we three have just bought up all those debts, the payment of which depends on the decision of the liquidation committee.”
“How much will you lose?” asked M
itral.
“Nothing,” said Gobseck.
“Nobody knows we are in it,” added Gigonnet; “Samanon screens us.”
“Come, listen to me, Gigonnet; it is cold, and your niece is waiting outside. You’ll understand what I want in two words. You must at once, between you, send two hundred and fifty thousand francs (without interest) into the country after Falleix, who has gone post-haste, with a courier in advance of him.”
“Is it possible!” said Gobseck.
“What for?” cried Gigonnet, “and where to?”
“To des Lupeaulx’s magnificent country-seat,” replied Mitral. “Falleix knows the country, for he was born there; and he is going to buy up land all round the secretary’s miserable hovel, with the two hundred and fifty thousand francs I speak of, — good land, well worth the price. There are only nine days before us for drawing up and recording the notarial deeds (bear that in mind). With the addition of this land, des Lupeaulx’s present miserable property would pay taxes to the amount of one thousand francs, the sum necessary to make a man eligible to the Chamber. Ergo, with it des Lupeaulx goes into the electoral college, becomes eligible, count, and whatever he pleases. You know the deputy who has slipped out and left a vacancy, don’t you?”
The two misers nodded.
“Des Lupeaulx would cut off a leg to get elected in his place,” continued Mitral; “but he must have the title-deeds of the property in his own name, and then mortgage them back to us for the amount of the purchase-money. Ah! now you begin to see what I am after! First of all, we must make sure of Baudoyer’s appointment, and des Lupeaulx will get it for us on these terms; after that is settled we will hand him back to you. Falleix is now canvassing the electoral vote. Don’t you perceive that you have Lupeaulx completely in your power until after the election? — for Falleix’s friends are a large majority. Now do you see what I mean, papa Gigonnet?”
“It’s a clever game,” said Metivier.
“We’ll do it,” said Gigonnet; “you agree, don’t you, Gobseck? Falleix can give us security and put mortgages on the property in my name; we’ll go and see des Lupeaulx when all is ready.”
Works of Honore De Balzac Page 781