Chapter 29. The House of Morrel & Son
Anyone who had quitted Marseilles a few years previously, wellacquainted with the interior of Morrel’s warehouse, and had returned atthis date, would have found a great change. Instead of that air of life,of comfort, and of happiness that permeates a flourishing and prosperousbusiness establishment—instead of merry faces at the windows, busyclerks hurrying to and fro in the long corridors—instead of the courtfilled with bales of goods, re-echoing with the cries and the jokes ofporters, one would have immediately perceived all aspect of sadness andgloom. Out of all the numerous clerks that used to fill the desertedcorridor and the empty office, but two remained. One was a young man ofthree or four-and-twenty, who was in love with M. Morrel’s daughter, andhad remained with him in spite of the efforts of his friends to inducehim to withdraw; the other was an old one-eyed cashier, called “Cocles,”or “Cock-eye,” a nickname given him by the young men who used to throngthis vast now almost deserted bee-hive, and which had so completelyreplaced his real name that he would not, in all probability, havereplied to anyone who addressed him by it.
Cocles remained in M. Morrel’s service, and a most singular change hadtaken place in his position; he had at the same time risen to the rankof cashier, and sunk to the rank of a servant. He was, however, the sameCocles, good, patient, devoted, but inflexible on the subject ofarithmetic, the only point on which he would have stood firm against theworld, even against M. Morrel; and strong in the multiplication-table,which he had at his fingers’ ends, no matter what scheme or what trapwas laid to catch him.
In the midst of the disasters that befell the house, Cocles was the onlyone unmoved. But this did not arise from a want of affection; on thecontrary, from a firm conviction. Like the rats that one by one forsakethe doomed ship even before the vessel weighs anchor, so all thenumerous clerks had by degrees deserted the office and the warehouse.Cocles had seen them go without thinking of inquiring the cause of theirdeparture. Everything was as we have said, a question of arithmetic toCocles, and during twenty years he had always seen all payments madewith such exactitude, that it seemed as impossible to him that the houseshould stop payment, as it would to a miller that the river that had solong turned his mill should cease to flow.
Nothing had as yet occurred to shake Cocles’ belief; the last month’spayment had been made with the most scrupulous exactitude; Cocles haddetected an overbalance of fourteen sous in his cash, and the sameevening he had brought them to M. Morrel, who, with a melancholy smile,threw them into an almost empty drawer, saying:
“Thanks, Cocles; you are the pearl of cashiers.”
Cocles went away perfectly happy, for this eulogium of M. Morrel,himself the pearl of the honest men of Marseilles, flattered him morethan a present of fifty crowns. But since the end of the month M. Morrelhad passed many an anxious hour.
In order to meet the payments then due; he had collected all hisresources, and, fearing lest the report of his distress should getbruited abroad at Marseilles when he was known to be reduced to such anextremity, he went to the Beaucaire fair to sell his wife’s anddaughter’s jewels and a portion of his plate. By this means the end ofthe month was passed, but his resources were now exhausted. Credit,owing to the reports afloat, was no longer to be had; and to meet theone hundred thousand francs due on the 15th of the present month, andthe one hundred thousand francs due on the 15th of the next month to M.de Boville, M. Morrel had, in reality, no hope but the return of thePharaon, of whose departure he had learnt from a vessel which hadweighed anchor at the same time, and which had already arrived inharbor.
But this vessel which, like the Pharaon, came from Calcutta, had been infor a fortnight, while no intelligence had been received of the Pharaon.
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Such was the state of affairs when, the day after his interview with M.de Boville, the confidential clerk of the house of Thomson & French ofRome, presented himself at M. Morrel’s.
Emmanuel received him; this young man was alarmed by the appearance ofevery new face, for every new face might be that of a new creditor, comein anxiety to question the head of the house. The young man, wishing tospare his employer the pain of this interview, questioned the new-comer;but the stranger declared that he had nothing to say to M. Emmanuel, andthat his business was with M. Morrel in person.
Emmanuel sighed, and summoned Cocles. Cocles appeared, and the young manbade him conduct the stranger to M. Morrel’s apartment. Cocles wentfirst, and the stranger followed him. On the staircase they met abeautiful girl of sixteen or seventeen, who looked with anxiety at thestranger.
“M. Morrel is in his room, is he not, Mademoiselle Julie?” said thecashier.
“Yes; I think so, at least,” said the young girl hesitatingly. “Go andsee, Cocles, and if my father is there, announce this gentleman.”
“It will be useless to announce me, mademoiselle,” returned theEnglishman. “M. Morrel does not know my name; this worthy gentleman hasonly to announce the confidential clerk of the house of Thomson & Frenchof Rome, with whom your father does business.”
The young girl turned pale and continued to descend, while the strangerand Cocles continued to mount the staircase. She entered the officewhere Emmanuel was, while Cocles, by the aid of a key he possessed,opened a door in the corner of a landing-place on the second staircase,conducted the stranger into an antechamber, opened a second door, whichhe closed behind him, and after having left the clerk of the house ofThomson & French alone, returned and signed to him that he could enter.
The Englishman entered, and found Morrel seated at a table, turning overthe formidable columns of his ledger, which contained the list of hisliabilities. At the sight of the stranger, M. Morrel closed the ledger,arose, and offered a seat to the stranger; and when he had seen himseated, resumed his own chair. Fourteen years had changed the worthymerchant, who, in his thirty-sixth year at the opening of this history,was now in his fiftieth; his hair had turned white, time and sorrow hadploughed deep furrows on his brow, and his look, once so firm andpenetrating, was now irresolute and wandering, as if he feared beingforced to fix his attention on some particular thought or person.
The Englishman looked at him with an air of curiosity, evidently mingledwith interest. “Monsieur,” said Morrel, whose uneasiness was increasedby this examination, “you wish to speak to me?”
“Yes, monsieur; you are aware from whom I come?”
“The house of Thomson & French; at least, so my cashier tells me.”
“He has told you rightly. The house of Thomson & French had 300,000 or400,000 francs to pay this month in France; and, knowing your strictpunctuality, have collected all the bills bearing your signature, andcharged me as they became due to present them, and to employ the moneyotherwise.”
Morrel sighed deeply, and passed his hand over his forehead, which wascovered with perspiration.
“So then, sir,” said Morrel, “you hold bills of mine?”
“Yes, and for a considerable sum.”
“What is the amount?” asked Morrel with a voice he strove to renderfirm.
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“Here is,” said the Englishman, taking a quantity of papers from hispocket, “an assignment of 200,000 francs to our house by M. de Boville,the inspector of prisons, to whom they are due. You acknowledge, ofcourse, that you owe this sum to him?”
“Yes; he placed the money in my hands at four and a half per cent nearlyfive years ago.”
“When are you to pay?”
“Half the 15th of this month, half the 15th of next.”
“Just so; and now here are 32,500 francs payable shortly; they are allsigned by you, and assigned to our house by the holders.”
“I recognize them,” said Morrel, whose face was suffused, as he thoughtthat, for the first time in his life, he would be unable to honor hisown signature. “Is this all?”
“No, I have for the end of the month these bills which have beenassigned to us by the house of Pascal, and the house of Wild
& Turner ofMarseilles, amounting to nearly 55,000 francs; in all, 287,500 francs.”
It is impossible to describe what Morrel suffered during thisenumeration. “Two hundred and eighty-seven thousand five hundredfrancs,” repeated he.
“Yes, sir,” replied the Englishman. “I will not,” continued he, after amoment’s silence, “conceal from you, that while your probity andexactitude up to this moment are universally acknowledged, yet thereport is current in Marseilles that you are not able to meet yourliabilities.”
At this almost brutal speech Morrel turned deathly pale.
“Sir,” said he, “up to this time—and it is now more than four-and-twentyyears since I received the direction of this house from my father, whohad himself conducted it for five-and-thirty years—never has anythingbearing the signature of Morrel & Son been dishonored.”
“I know that,” replied the Englishman. “But as a man of honor shouldanswer another, tell me fairly, shall you pay these with the samepunctuality?”
Morrel shuddered, and looked at the man, who spoke with more assurancethan he had hitherto shown.
“To questions frankly put,” said he, “a straightforward answer should begiven. Yes, I shall pay, if, as I hope, my vessel arrives safely; forits arrival will again procure me the credit which the numerousaccidents, of which I have been the victim, have deprived me; but if thePharaon should be lost, and this last resource be gone——”
The poor man’s eyes filled with tears.
“Well,” said the other, “if this last resource fail you?”
“Well,” returned Morrel, “it is a cruel thing to be forced to say, but,already used to misfortune, I must habituate myself to shame. I fear Ishall be forced to suspend payment.”
“Have you no friends who could assist you?”
Morrel smiled mournfully.
“In business, sir,” said he, “one has no friends, only correspondents.”
“It is true,” murmured the Englishman; “then you have but one hope.”
“But one.”
“The last?”
“The last.”
“So that if this fail——”
“I am ruined,—completely ruined!”
“As I was on my way here, a vessel was coming into port.”
“I know it, sir; a young man, who still adheres to my fallen fortunes,passes a part of his time in a belvedere at the top of the house, inhopes of being the first to announce good news to me; he has informed meof the arrival of this ship.”
“And it is not yours?”
“No, she is a Bordeaux vessel, La Gironde; she comes from India also;but she is not mine.”
“Perhaps she has spoken to the Pharaon, and brings you some tidings ofher?”
“Shall I tell you plainly one thing, sir? I dread almost as much toreceive any tidings of my vessel as to remain in doubt. Uncertainty isstill hope.” Then in a low voice Morrel added,—“This delay is notnatural. The Pharaon left Calcutta the 5th of February; she ought tohave been here a month ago.”
“What is that?” said the Englishman. “What is the meaning of thatnoise?”
“Oh, my God!” cried Morrel, turning pale, “what is it?”
A loud noise was heard on the stairs of people moving hastily, and half-stifled sobs. Morrel rose and advanced to the door; but his strengthfailed him and he sank into a chair. The two men remained opposite oneanother, Morrel trembling in every limb, the stranger gazing at him withan air of profound pity. The noise had ceased; but it seemed that Morrelexpected something—something had occasioned the noise, and somethingmust follow. The stranger fancied he heard footsteps on the stairs; andthat the footsteps, which were those of several persons, stopped at thedoor. A key was inserted in the lock of the first door, and the creakingof hinges was audible.
“There are only two persons who have the key to that door,” murmuredMorrel, “Cocles and Julie.”
At this instant the second door opened, and the young girl, her eyesbathed with tears, appeared. Morrel rose tremblingly, supporting himselfby the arm of the chair. He would have spoken, but his voice failed him.
“Oh, father!” said she, clasping her hands, “forgive your child forbeing the bearer of evil tidings.”
Morrel again changed color. Julie threw herself into his arms.
“Oh, father, father!” murmured she, “courage!”
“The Pharaon has gone down, then?” said Morrel in a hoarse voice. Theyoung girl did not speak; but she made an affirmative sign with her headas she lay on her father’s breast.
“And the crew?” asked Morrel.
“Saved,” said the girl; “saved by the crew of the vessel that has justentered the harbor.”
Morrel raised his two hands to heaven with an expression of resignationand sublime gratitude.
“Thanks, my God,” said he, “at least thou strikest but me alone.”
A tear moistened the eye of the phlegmatic Englishman.
“Come in, come in,” said Morrel, “for I presume you are all at thedoor.”
Scarcely had he uttered those words when Madame Morrel entered weepingbitterly. Emmanuel followed her, and in the antechamber were visible therough faces of seven or eight half-naked sailors. At the sight of thesemen the Englishman started and advanced a step; then restrained himself,and retired into the farthest and most obscure corner of the apartment.Madame Morrel sat down by her husband and took one of his hands in hers,Julie still lay with her head on his shoulder, Emmanuel stood in thecentre of the chamber and seemed to form the link between Morrel’sfamily and the sailors at the door.
“How did this happen?” said Morrel.
“Draw nearer, Penelon,” said the young man, “and tell us all about it.”
An old seaman, bronzed by the tropical sun, advanced, twirling theremains of a hat between his hands.
“Good-day, M. Morrel,” said he, as if he had just quitted Marseilles theprevious evening, and had just returned from Aix or Toulon.
“Good-day, Penelon,” returned Morrel, who could not refrain from smilingthrough his tears, “where is the captain?”
“The captain, M. Morrel,—he has stayed behind sick at Palma; but pleaseGod, it won’t be much, and you will see him in a few days all alive andhearty.”
“Well, now tell your story, Penelon.”
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Penelon rolled his quid in his cheek, placed his hand before his mouth,turned his head, and sent a long jet of tobacco-juice into theantechamber, advanced his foot, balanced himself, and began.
“You see, M. Morrel,” said he, “we were somewhere between Cape Blanc andCape Boyador, sailing with a fair breeze, south-south-west after aweek’s calm, when Captain Gaumard comes up to me—I was at the helm Ishould tell you—and says, ‘Penelon, what do you think of those cloudscoming up over there?’ I was just then looking at them myself. ‘What doI think, captain? Why I think that they are rising faster than they haveany business to do, and that they would not be so black if they didn’tmean mischief.’—‘That’s my opinion too,’ said the captain, ‘and I’lltake precautions accordingly. We are carrying too much canvas. Avast,there, all hands! Take in the studding-sails and stow the flying jib.’It was time; the squall was on us, and the vessel began to heel. ‘Ah,’said the captain, ‘we have still too much canvas set; all hands lowerthe mainsail!’ Five minutes after, it was down; and we sailed undermizzen-topsails and top-gallant sails. ‘Well, Penelon,’ said thecaptain, ‘what makes you shake your head?’ ‘Why,’ I says, ‘I still thinkyou’ve got too much on.’ ‘I think you’re right,’ answered he, ‘we shallhave a gale.’ ‘A gale? More than that, we shall have a tempest, or Idon’t know what’s what.’ You could see the wind coming like the dust atMontredon; luckily the captain understood his business. ‘Take in tworeefs in the top-sails,’ cried the captain; ‘let go the bowlin’s, haulthe brace, lower the top-gallant sails, haul out the reef-tackles on theyards.’”
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“That was not enough for those latitudes,” s
aid the Englishman; “Ishould have taken four reefs in the topsails and furled the spanker.”
His firm, sonorous, and unexpected voice made everyone start. Penelonput his hand over his eyes, and then stared at the man who thuscriticized the manœuvres of his captain.
“We did better than that, sir,” said the old sailor respectfully; “weput the helm up to run before the tempest; ten minutes after we struckour top-sails and scudded under bare poles.”
“The vessel was very old to risk that,” said the Englishman.
“Eh, it was that that did the business; after pitching heavily fortwelve hours we sprung a leak. ‘Penelon,’ said the captain, ‘I think weare sinking, give me the helm, and go down into the hold.’ I gave himthe helm, and descended; there was already three feet of water. ‘Allhands to the pumps!’ I shouted; but it was too late, and it seemed themore we pumped the more came in. ‘Ah,’ said I, after four hours’ work,‘since we are sinking, let us sink; we can die but once.’ ‘Is that theexample you set, Penelon?’ cries the captain; ‘very well, wait aminute.’ He went into his cabin and came back with a brace of pistols.‘I will blow the brains out of the first man who leaves the pump,’ saidhe.”
“Well done!” said the Englishman.
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“There’s nothing gives you so much courage as good reasons,” continuedthe sailor; “and during that time the wind had abated, and the sea gonedown, but the water kept rising; not much, only two inches an hour, butstill it rose. Two inches an hour does not seem much, but in twelvehours that makes two feet, and three we had before, that makes five.‘Come,’ said the captain, ‘we have done all in our power, and M. Morrelwill have nothing to reproach us with, we have tried to save the ship,let us now save ourselves. To the boats, my lads, as quick as you can.’Now,” continued Penelon, “you see, M. Morrel, a sailor is attached tohis ship, but still more to his life, so we did not wait to be toldtwice; the more so, that the ship was sinking under us, and seemed tosay, ‘Get along—save yourselves.’ We soon launched the boat, and alleight of us got into it. The captain descended last, or rather, he didnot descend, he would not quit the vessel; so I took him round thewaist, and threw him into the boat, and then I jumped after him. It wastime, for just as I jumped the deck burst with a noise like thebroadside of a man-of-war. Ten minutes after she pitched forward, thenthe other way, spun round and round, and then good-bye to the Pharaon.As for us, we were three days without anything to eat or drink, so thatwe began to think of drawing lots who should feed the rest, when we sawLa Gironde; we made signals of distress, she perceived us, made for us,and took us all on board. There now, M. Morrel, that’s the whole truth,on the honor of a sailor; is not it true, you fellows there?” A generalmurmur of approbation showed that the narrator had faithfully detailedtheir misfortunes and sufferings.
“Well, well,” said M. Morrel, “I know there was no one in fault butdestiny. It was the will of God that this should happen, blessed be hisname. What wages are due to you?”
“Oh, don’t let us talk of that, M. Morrel.”
“Yes, but we will talk of it.”
“Well, then, three months,” said Penelon.
“Cocles, pay two hundred francs to each of these good fellows,” saidMorrel. “At another time,” added he, “I should have said, Give them,besides, two hundred francs over as a present; but times are changed,and the little money that remains to me is not my own, so do not thinkme mean on this account.”
Penelon turned to his companions, and exchanged a few words with them.
“As for that, M. Morrel,” said he, again turning his quid, “as forthat——”
“As for what?”
“The money.”
“Well——”
“Well, we all say that fifty francs will be enough for us at present,and that we will wait for the rest.”
“Thanks, my friends, thanks!” cried Morrel gratefully; “take it—take it;and if you can find another employer, enter his service; you are free todo so.”
These last words produced a prodigious effect on the seaman. Penelonnearly swallowed his quid; fortunately he recovered.
“What, M. Morrel!” said he in a low voice, “you send us away; you arethen angry with us!”
“No, no,” said M. Morrel, “I am not angry, quite the contrary, and I donot send you away; but I have no more ships, and therefore I do not wantany sailors.”
“No more ships!” returned Penelon; “well, then, you’ll build some; we’llwait for you.”
“I have no money to build ships with, Penelon,” said the poor ownermournfully, “so I cannot accept your kind offer.”
“No more money? Then you must not pay us; we can scud, like the Pharaon,under bare poles.”
“Enough, enough!” cried Morrel, almost overpowered; “leave me, I prayyou; we shall meet again in a happier time. Emmanuel, go with them, andsee that my orders are executed.”
“At least, we shall see each other again, M. Morrel?” asked Penelon.
“Yes; I hope so, at least. Now go.” He made a sign to Cocles, who wentfirst; the seamen followed him and Emmanuel brought up the rear. “Now,”said the owner to his wife and daughter, “leave me; I wish to speak withthis gentleman.”
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And he glanced towards the clerk of Thomson & French, who had remainedmotionless in the corner during this scene, in which he had taken nopart, except the few words we have mentioned. The two women looked atthis person whose presence they had entirely forgotten, and retired;but, as she left the apartment, Julie gave the stranger a supplicatingglance, to which he replied by a smile that an indifferent spectatorwould have been surprised to see on his stern features. The two men wereleft alone. “Well, sir,” said Morrel, sinking into a chair, “you haveheard all, and I have nothing further to tell you.”
“I see,” returned the Englishman, “that a fresh and unmerited misfortunehas overwhelmed you, and this only increases my desire to serve you.”
“Oh, sir!” cried Morrel.
“Let me see,” continued the stranger, “I am one of your largestcreditors.”
“Your bills, at least, are the first that will fall due.”
“Do you wish for time to pay?”
“A delay would save my honor, and consequently my life.”
“How long a delay do you wish for?”
Morrel reflected. “Two months,” said he.
“I will give you three,” replied the stranger.
“But,” asked Morrel, “will the house of Thomson & French consent?”
“Oh, I take everything on myself. Today is the 5th of June.”
“Yes.”
“Well, renew these bills up to the 5th of September; and on the 5th ofSeptember at eleven o’clock (the hand of the clock pointed to eleven), Ishall come to receive the money.”
“I shall expect you,” returned Morrel; “and I will pay you—or I shall bedead.” These last words were uttered in so low a tone that the strangercould not hear them. The bills were renewed, the old ones destroyed, andthe poor ship-owner found himself with three months before him tocollect his resources. The Englishman received his thanks with thephlegm peculiar to his nation; and Morrel, overwhelming him withgrateful blessings, conducted him to the staircase. The stranger metJulie on the stairs; she pretended to be descending, but in reality shewas waiting for him. “Oh, sir”—said she, clasping her hands.
“Mademoiselle,” said the stranger, “one day you will receive a lettersigned ‘Sinbad the Sailor.’ Do exactly what the letter bids you, howeverstrange it may appear.”
“Yes, sir,” returned Julie.
“Do you promise?”
“I swear to you I will.”
“It is well. Adieu, mademoiselle. Continue to be the good, sweet girlyou are at present, and I have great hopes that Heaven will reward youby giving you Emmanuel for a husband.”
Julie uttered a faint cry, blushed like a rose, and leaned against thebaluster. The stranger waved his hand, and continued to desce
nd. In thecourt he found Penelon, who, with a rouleau of a hundred francs ineither hand, seemed unable to make up his mind to retain them. “Comewith me, my friend,” said the Englishman; “I wish to speak to you.”
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