Balsamo, the Magician; or, The Memoirs of a Physician

by Alexandre Dumas

  CHAPTER XXIX.

  WHO MASTER JACQUES WAS.

  While the novice was covering the paper with his first attempts, theold gentleman set to reading printer's proofs--long leaves blank on oneside like the paper of which was made the bean bags.

  At nine Therese rushed in.

  "Quick, quick!" she cried to Jacques, who raised his head. "Come out.It is a prince who calls. Goodness me! when will this procession ofhigh-cockalorums cease? I hope this one will not take it into his headto have breakfast with us, like the Duke of Chartres the other day."

  "Which prince is this one?" asked Jacques in an undertone.

  "His Highness the Prince of Conti."

  Gilbert let a blob of ink fall on the paper much more resembling a blotthan a full note.

  Jacques went out, smiling behind Therese, who shut the door after them.

  "Princes here!" thought Gilbert. "Dukes calling on a copier of music!"

  With his heart singularly beating, he went up to the door to listen.

  "I want to take you with me," said a strange voice.

  "For what purpose, prince?" inquired Jacques.

  "To present you to the dauphiness. A new era opens for philosophers inher coming reign."

  "I am a thousand times thankful to your highness; but my infirmitieskeep me indoors."

  "And your misanthropy?"

  "Suppose it were that? Is it so curious a thing that I should putmyself out for it?"

  "Come, and I will spare you the grand reception at the celebration atSt. Denis, and take you on to Muette, where her royal highness willpass the night in a couple of days."

  "Does she get to St. Denis the day after to-morrow?"

  "With her whole retinue. Come! the princess is a pupil of Gluck and anexcellent musician."

  Gilbert did not listen to any more after hearing that the dauphiness'retinue would be at St. Denis, only a few miles out, in a day or two.He might soon be within view of Andrea. This idea dazzled him like aflash from a looking-glass in his face. When he opened his eyes afterthis giddiness they fell on a book which happened to be open on thesideboard; it was Rousseau's _Confessions_, "adorned with a portrait ofthe author."

  "The very thing I was looking for. I had never seen what he was like."

  He quickly turned over the tissue paper on the steel plate and ashe looked, the door opened and the living original of the portraitreturned. With extended hands, dropping the volume, and trembling allover, he muttered:

  "Oh! I am under the roof of Jean Jacques Rousseau!"

  The old gentleman smiled with more happiness at this unstudied ovationthan at the thousand triumphs of his glorious life.

  "Yes, my friend, you are in Rousseau's house."

  "Pray forgive me for the nonsense I have talked," said thehero-worshiper, clasping his hands and about to fall on his knees.

  "Did it require a prince's call for you to recognize the persecutedphilosopher of Geneva? poor child--but lucky one--who is ignorant ofpersecution."

  "Oh, I am happy to see you, to know you, to dwell by you."

  "Yes, yes, that is all very well; but we must earn our living. Whenyou shall have copied this piece--for you have practiced enough tomake a start--you will have earned your keep to-day. I charge nothingfor the lodging--only do not sit up late and burn up the candles, forTherese will scold. What was left over from supper last night will beour breakfast; but this will be the last meal we take together, unlessI invite you. In the street is a cheap dining-house for artisans,where you will fare nicely. I recommend it. In the mean time, let usbreakfast."

  Gilbert followed without a word, for he was conquered, for the firsttime; but then this was a man superior to others.

  After the first mouthfuls he left table; the shock had spoilt hisappetite. At eight in the evening he had copied a piece of music, notartistically but legibly, and Rousseau paid him the six cents.

  "We have plenty of bread," remarked Therese, on whom the young man'sgentleness, application and discretion had produced good effect.

  "I shall never forget your kindness, madame," he said, about to excusehimself, when he caught the host's eye and guessed that it would offendhim.

  "I accept," he said.

  He went up to his loft, with the bread and money.

  "At last I am my own master," he said to himself, "or should be but forthis bread, which is from charity."

  Although hungry, he placed it on the window sill and did not touch itduring the night, though famine made him remember it.

  He woke up at daylight, but still he did not eat the bread. He took itup, though, and at five o'clock, went down and outdoors.

  From suspicion, or merely to study his guest, Rousseau was on thelookout, and he followed the youth up the street.

  A beggar coming up to Gilbert, he gave him the hunk of bread. Enteringthe baker's, he bought another roll.

  "He is going into the eating-house," thought the watcher, "where themoney will soon fly."

  But Gilbert munched part of the roll while strolling; he washed downthe rest at the public fountain, washed his hands and sauntered home.

  "By my faith, I believe that I am happier than Diogenes and have foundan honest man," thought Rousseau.

  The day passed in uninterrupted labor. At even Gilbert had turned outseven pages of copy--if not elegant, faultless. He tested in his handthe money received for it with ardent satisfaction.

  "You are my master," he said, "since I find work in your place and yougive me lodgings gratis. I should therefore lay myself open to be badlythought of by you if I acted without consulting you."

  "What," said Rousseau, frightened; "what are you going to do? Going offelsewhere to work?"

  "No, only I want a holiday, with your leave, to-morrow."

  "To idle?"

  "No, to go to St. Denis to see the dauphiness arrive."

  "I thought you scorned the pomps of this worldly show," said Rousseau."I, though an obscure citizen, despised the invitation of these greatpeople to be of the reception party."

  Gilbert nodded approval.

  "I am not philosophic," said he, "but I am discreet."

  This word struck the tutor, who saw there was some mystery in thisbehavior, and he looked at the speaker with admiration.

  "I am glad to see you have a motive."

  "Yes, and one which does not resemble the curiosity of a man at a show."

  "It is for the better, or for the worse, for your look is deep, youngman, and I seek in it in vain for youthful calm and candor."

  "I told you I was unfortunate," returned Gilbert; "and such have noyouth."

  "But at the hour when you are seeing all the pomps of societyglitter before you, I shall open one of my herbariums and review themagnificence of nature."

  "But would you not have turned your back on herbariums if you weregoing to see your sweetheart--the one to whom you tossed a bunch ofcherries?"

  "Quite true! And you are young. Go to the show, my boy. It is notambition in him, but love," he commented when Gilbert had gone outgleefully.