The Grandissimes
Page 20
CHAPTER XIX
ART AND COMMERCE
It was some two or three days after the interview just related that theapothecary of the rue Royale found it necessary to ask a friend to sitin the shop a few minutes while he should go on a short errand. He waskept away somewhat longer than he had intended to stay, for, as theywere coming out of the cathedral, he met Aurora and Clotilde. Both theladies greeted him with a cordiality which was almost inebriating,Aurora even extending her hand. He stood but a moment, respondingblushingly to two or three trivial questions from her; yet even in soshort a time, and although Clotilde gave ear with the sweetest smilesand loveliest changes of countenance, he experienced a lively renewal ofa conviction that this young lady was most unjustly harboring toward hima vague disrelish, if not a positive distrust. That she had some mentalreservation was certain.
"'Sieur Frowenfel'," said Aurora, as he raised his hat for good-day,"you din come home yet."
He did not understand until he had crimsoned and answered he knew notwhat--something about having intended every day. He felt lifted he knewnot where, Paradise opened, there was a flood of glory, and then he wasalone; the ladies, leaving adieus sweeter than the perfume they carriedaway with them, floated into the south and were gone. Why was it thatthe elder, though plainly regarded by the younger with admiration,dependence, and overflowing affection, seemed sometimes to be, one mightalmost say, watched by her? He liked Aurora the better.
On his return to the shop his friend remarked that if he received manysuch visitors as the one who had called during his absence, he might bepermitted to be vain. It was Honore Grandissime, and he had leftno message.
"Frowenfeld," said his friend, "it would pay you to employ a regularassistant."
Joseph was in an abstracted mood.
"I have some thought of doing so."
Unlucky slip! As he pushed open his door next morning, what was hisdismay to find himself confronted by some forty men. Five of them leapedup from the door-sill, and some thirty-five from the edge of the_trottoir_, brushed that part of their wearing-apparel which always fitswith great neatness on a Creole, and trooped into the shop. Theapothecary fell behind his defences, that is to say, his prescriptiondesk, and explained to them in a short and spirited address that he didnot wish to employ any of them on any terms. Nine-tenths of themunderstood not a word of English; but his gesture was unmistakable. Theybowed gratefully, and said good-day.
Now Frowenfeld did these young men an injustice; and though they werefar from letting him know it, some of them felt it and interchangedexpressions of feeling reproachful to him as they stopped on the nextcorner to watch a man painting a sign. He had treated them as if theyall wanted situations. Was this so? Far from it. Only twenty men wereapplicants; the other twenty were friends who had come to see them getthe place. And again, though, as the apothecary had said, none of themknew anything about the drug business--no, nor about any other businessunder the heavens--they were all willing that he should teachthem--except one. A young man of patrician softness and costly appareltarried a moment after the general exodus, and quickly concluded that onFrowenfeld's account it was probably as well that he could not qualify,since he was expecting from France an important government appointmentas soon as these troubles should be settled and Louisiana restored toher former happy condition. But he had a friend--a cousin--whom he wouldrecommend, just the man for the position; a splendid fellow; popular,accomplished--what? the best trainer of dogs that M. Frowenfeld mightever hope to look upon; a "so good fisherman as I never saw! "--themarvel of the ball-room--could handle a partner of twice his weight; thespeaker had seen him take a lady so tall that his head hardly came up toher bosom, whirl her in the waltz from right to left--this way! andthen, as quick as lightning, turn and whirl her this way, from left toright--"so grezful ligue a peajohn! He could read and write, and knewmore comig song!"--the speaker would hasten to secure him before heshould take some other situation.
The wonderful waltzer never appeared upon the scene; yet Joseph madeshift to get along, and by and by found a man who partially met hisrequirements. The way of it was this: With his forefinger in a bookwhich he had been reading, he was one day pacing his shop floor in deepthought. There were two loose threads hanging from the web of incidentweaving around him which ought to connect somewhere; but where? Theywere the two visits made to his shop by the young merchant, HonoreGrandissime. He stopped still to think; what "train of thought" could hehave started in the mind of such a man?
He was about to resume his walk, when there came in, or more strictlyspeaking, there shot in, a young, auburn-curled, blue-eyed man, whoseadolescent buoyancy, as much as his delicate, silver-buckled feet andclothes of perfect fit, pronounced him all-pure Creole. His name, whenit was presently heard, accounted for the blond type by revealing aFranco-Celtic origin.
"'Sieur Frowenfel'," he said, advancing like a boy coming in afterrecess, "I 'ave somet'ing beauteeful to place into yo' window."
He wheeled half around as he spoke and seized from a naked black boy,who at that instant entered, a rectangular object enveloped in paper.
Frowenfeld's window was fast growing to be a place of art exposition. Apair of statuettes, a golden tobacco-box, a costly jewel-casket, or apair of richly gemmed horse-pistols--the property of some ancientgentleman or dame of emaciated fortune, and which must be sold to keepup the bravery of good clothes and pomade that hid slow starvation--wentinto the shop-window of the ever-obliging apothecary, to be disposed ofby _tombola_. And it is worthy of note in passing, concerning the moraleducation of one who proposed to make no conscious compromise with anysort of evil, that in this drivelling species of gambling he saw nothinghurtful or improper. But "in Frowenfeld's window" appeared also articlesfor simple sale or mere transient exhibition; as, for instance, thewonderful tapestries of a blind widow of ninety; tremulous littlebunches of flowers, proudly stated to have been made entirely of thebones of the ordinary catfish; others, large and spreading, the sight ofwhich would make any botanist fall down "and die as mad as the wildwaves be," whose ticketed merit was that they were composed exclusivelyof materials produced upon Creole soil; a picture of the Ursulines'convent and chapel, done in forty-five minutes by a child of ten years,the daughter of the widow Felicie Grandissime; and the siege of Troy, inordinary ink, done entirely with the pen, the labor of twenty years, by"a citizen of New Orleans." It was natural that these things should cometo "Frowenfeld's corner," for there, oftener than elsewhere, the criticswere gathered together. Ah! wonderful men, those critics; and,fortunately, we have a few still left.
The young man with auburn curls rested the edge of his burden upon thecounter, tore away its wrappings and disclosed a painting.
He said nothing--with his mouth; but stood at arm's length balancing thepainting and casting now upon it and now upon Joseph Frowenfeld a lookmore replete with triumph than Caesar's three-worded dispatch.
The apothecary fixed upon it long and silently the gaze of asomnambulist. At length he spoke:
"What is it?"
"Louisiana rif-using to hanter de h-Union!" replied the Creole, with anecstasy that threatened to burst forth in hip-hurrahs.
Joseph said nothing, but silently wondered at Louisiana's anatomy.
"Gran' subjec'!" said the Creole.
"Allegorical," replied the hard-pressed apothecary.
"Allegoricon? No, sir! Allegoricon never saw dat pigshoe. If you insistto know who make dat pigshoe--de hartis' stan' bif-ore you!"
"It is your work?"
"'Tis de work of me, Raoul Innerarity, cousin to de disting-wish HonoreGrandissime. I swear to you, sir, on stack of Bible' as 'igh asyo' head!"
He smote his breast.
"Do you wish to put it in the window?"
"Yes, seh."
"For sale?"
M. Raoul Innerarity hesitated a moment before replying:
"'Sieur Frowenfel', I think it is a foolishness to be too proud, eh? Iwant you to say, 'My frien', 'Sieur Innerarit
y, never care to sellanything; 'tis for egs-hibby-shun'; _mais_--when somebodylook at it, so," the artist cast upon his work a look of languishingcovetousness, "'you say, _foudre tonnerre!_ what de dev'!--I take datris-pon-sibble-ty--you can have her for two hun'red fifty dollah!'Better not be too proud, eh, 'Sieur Frowenfel'?"
"No, sir," said Joseph, proceeding to place it in the window, his newfriend following him about spanielwise; "but you had better let me sayplainly that it is for sale."
"Oh--I don't care--_mais_--my rillation' will never forgive me!_Mais_--go-ahead-I-don't-care! 'T is for sale."
"'Sieur Frowenfel'," he resumed, as they came away from the window, "oneweek ago"--he held up one finger--"what I was doing? Makin' bill ofladin', my faith!--for my cousin Honore! an' now, I ham a hartis'! Sosoon I foun' dat, I say, 'Cousin Honore,'"--the eloquent speaker liftedhis foot and administered to the empty air a soft, polite kick--"I nevergoin' to do anoder lick o' work so long I live; adieu!"
He lifted a kiss from his lips and wafted it in the direction of hiscousin's office.
"Mr. Innerarity," exclaimed the apothecary, "I fear you are making agreat mistake."
"You tink I hass too much?"
"Well, sir, to be candid, I do; but that is not your greatest mistake."
"What she's worse?"
The apothecary simultaneously smiled and blushed.
"I would rather not say; it is a passably good example of Creole art;there is but one way by which it can ever be worth what you ask for it."
"What dat is?"
The smile faded and the blush deepened as Frowenfeld replied:
"If it could become the means of reminding this community that crudeability counts next to nothing in art, and that nothing else in thisworld ought to work so hard as genius, it would be worth thousandsof dollars!"
"You tink she is worse a t'ousand dollah?" asked the Creole, shadow andsunshine chasing each other across his face.
"No, sir."
The unwilling critic strove unnecessarily against his smile.
"Ow much you tink?"
"Mr. Innerarity, as an exercise it is worth whatever truth or skill ithas taught you; to a judge of paintings it is ten dollars' worth ofpaint thrown away; but as an article of sale it is worth what it willbring without misrepresentation."
"Two--hun-rade an'--fifty--dollahs or--not'in'!" said the indignantCreole, clenching one fist, and with the other hand lifting his hat bythe front corner and slapping it down upon the counter. "Ha, ha, ha! apase of waint--a wase of paint! 'Sieur Frowenfel', you don' know not'in''bout it! You har a jedge of painting?" he added cautiously.
"No, sir."
"_Eh, bien! foudre tonnerre_!--look yeh! you know? 'Sieur Frowenfel'?Dat de way de publique halways talk about a hartis's firs' pigshoe. But,I hass you to pardon me, Monsieur Frowenfel', if I 'ave speak a lilltoo warm."
"Then you must forgive me if, in my desire to set you right, I havespoken with too much liberty. I probably should have said only what Ifirst intended to say, that unless you are a person of independentmeans--"
"You t'ink I would make bill of ladin'? Ah! Hm-m!"
"--that you had made a mistake in throwing up your means of support--"
"But 'e 'as fill de place an' don' want me no mo'. You want aclerk?--one what can speak fo' lang-widge--French, Eng-lish, Spanish,_an'_ Italienne? Come! I work for you in de mawnin' an' paint in deevenin'; come!"
Joseph was taken unaware. He smiled, frowned, passed his hand across hisbrow, noticed, for the first time since his delivery of the picture, thenaked little boy standing against the edge of a door, said, "Why--," andsmiled again.
"I riffer you to my cousin Honore," said Innerarity.
"Have you any knowledge of this business?"
"I 'ave.'
"Can you keep shop in the forenoon or afternoon indifferently, as I mayrequire?"
"Eh? Forenoon--afternoon?" was the reply.
"Can you paint sometimes in the morning and keep shop in the evening?"
"Yes, seh."
Minor details were arranged on the spot. Raoul dismissed the black boy,took off his coat and fell to work decanting something, with theunderstanding that his salary, a microscopic one, should begin from dateif his cousin should recommend him.
"'Sieur Frowenfel'," he called from under the counter, later in the day,"you t'ink it would be hanny disgrace to paint de pigshoe of a niggah?"
"Certainly not."
"Ah, my soul! what a pigshoe I could paint of Bras-Coupe!"
We have the afflatus in Louisiana, if nothing else.