Just as Hulot was going into the opera-house, he was stopped by the of the and of the Rue le Peletier, where there were no gendarmes, no lights, no theatre-servants, no to the crowd. He looked up at the announcement-board, and a of white paper, on which was printed the notice:
"CLOSED ON ACCOUNT OF ILLNESS."
He off to Josepha's in the Rue Chauchat; for, like all the singers, she close at hand.
"Whom do you want, sir?" asked the porter, to the Baron's great astonishment.
"Have you me?" said Hulot, much puzzled.
"On the contrary, sir, it is I have the to you that I ask you, Where are you going?"
A upon the Baron.
"What has happened?" he asked.
"If you go up to Mademoiselle Mirah's rooms, Monsieur le Baron, you will Mademoiselle Heloise Brisetout there—and Monsieur Bixiou, Monsieur Leon de Lora, Monsieur Lousteau, Monsieur de Vernisset, Monsieur Stidmann; and ladies of patchouli—holding a housewarming."
"Then, where—where is ?"
"Mademoiselle Mirah? I don't know that I ought to tell you."
The Baron two five-franc pieces into the porter's hand.
"Well, she is now in the Rue de la Ville l'Eveque, in a house, to her, they say, by the Duc d'Herouville," the man in a whisper.
Having the number of the house, Monsieur Hulot called a and to one of those modern houses with doors, where everything, from the at the entrance, luxury.
The Baron, in his cloth coat, white neckcloth, trousers, leather boots, and shirt-frill, was to be a guest, though a late arrival, by the of this new Eden. His of manner and quick step this opinion.
The a bell, and a appeared in the hall. This man, as new as the house, the visitor, who said to him in an tone, and with a gesture:
"Take in this card to Mademoiselle Josepha."
The looked the room in which he himself—an full of choice flowers and of that must have cost twenty thousand francs. The servant, on his return, to wait in the drawing-room till the company came to their coffee.
Though the Baron had been familiar with Imperial luxury, which was prodigious, while its productions, though not in kind, had cost sums, he dazzled, dumfounded, in this drawing-room with three looking out on a garden like fairyland, one of those gardens that are in a month with a and shrubs, while the as if it must be to by some chemical process. He not only the decoration, the gilding, the carving, in the most Pompadour style, as it is called, and the brocades, all of which any have for money; but he also noted such as only can select and find, can pay for and give away; two pictures by Greuze, two by Watteau, two by Vandyck, two by Ruysdael, and two by le Guaspre, a Rembrandt, a Holbein, a Murillo, and a Titian, two paintings, by Teniers, and a pair by Metzu, a Van Huysum, and an Abraham Mignon—in short, two hundred thousand francs' of pictures framed. The was almost as much as the paintings.
"Ah, ha! Now you understand, my good man?" said Josepha.
She had in on through a noiseless door, over Persian carpets, and came upon her adorer, in amazement—in the when a man's ears so that he nothing but that knell.
The "my good man," spoken to an official of such high importance, so perfectly the with which these on the loftiest, that the Baron was to the spot. Josepha, in white and yellow, was so for the banquet, that all this she still like a jewel.
"Isn't this fine?" said she. "The Duke has all the money on it that he got out of a company, of which the all at a premium. He is no fool, is my little Duke. There is nothing like a man who has been a in his time for into gold. Just dinner the me the title-deeds to and the receipted! They are all a first-class set in there—d'Esgrignon, Rastignac, Maxime, Lenoncourt, Verneuil, Laginski, Rochefide, la Palferine, and from among the bankers Nucingen and du Tillet, with Antonia, Malaga, Carabine, and la Schontz; and they all for you deeply. Yes, old boy, and they you will join them, but on condition that you drink up to two bottles full of Hungarian wine, Champagne, or Cape, just to you up to their mark. My dear fellow, we are all so much on here, that it was necessary to close the Opera. The manager is as as a cornet-a-piston; he is already."
"Oh, Josepha! " the Baron.
"Now, can anything be more than explanations?" she in with a smile. "Look here; can you six hundred thousand which this house and cost? Can you give me a to the of thirty thousand a year, which is what the Duke has just me in a packet of common from the grocer's? a that "
"What an atrocity!" Hulot, who in his would have his wife's diamonds to in the Duc d'Herouville's shoes for twenty-four hours.
"Atrocity is my trade," said she. "So that is how you take it? Well, why don't you a company? Goodness me! my Tom, you ought to be to me; I have you over just when you would have on me your widow's fortune, your daughter's portion. What, tears! The Empire is a thing of the past—I the Empire!"
She a attitude, and exclaimed:
"They call you Hulot! Nay, I know you not "
And she into the other room.
Through the door, left ajar, there came, like a lightning-flash, a of light with an of the of the and the of a of the description.
The singer through the open door, and Hulot as if he had been a image, she came one step into the room.
"Monsieur," said she, "I have over the in the Rue Chauchat to Bixiou's little Heloise Brisetout. If you wish to your nightcap, your bootjack, your belt, and your dye, I have for their return."
This the Baron the room as as Lot from Gomorrah, but he did not look like Mrs. Lot.
Hulot home, along in a fury, and talking to himself; he his family still playing the game of at two a point, at which he left them. On her husband return, Adeline something dreadful, some dishonor; she gave her cards to Hortense, and Hector away into the very room where, only five hours since, Crevel had her the of poverty.
"What is the matter?" she said, terrified.
"Oh, me—but let me tell you all these horrors." And for ten minutes he out his wrath.
"But, my dear," said the woman, with courage, "these do not know what love means—such pure and love as you deserve. How you, so clear-sighted as you are, of with millions?"
"Dearest Adeline!" the Baron, her to his heart.
The Baroness' had on the to his vanity.
"To be sure, take away the Duc d'Herouville's fortune, and she not us!" said the Baron.
"My dear," said Adeline with a final effort, "if you positively must have mistresses, why do you not them, like Crevel, among who are less extravagant, and of a class that can for a time be with little? We should all by that arrangement. I your need—but I do not that "
"Oh, what a and perfect wife you are!" he. "I am an old lunatic, I do not to have such a wife!"
"I am the Josephine of my Napoleon," she replied, with a touch of melancholy.
"Josephine was not to with you!" said he. "Come; I will play a game of with my and the children. I must try my hand at the of a family man; I must Hortense a husband, and the libertine."
His so touched Adeline, that she said:
"The has no taste to any man in the world to my Hector. Oh, I would not give you up for all the gold on earth. How can any woman you over who is so happy as to be loved by you?"
The look with which the Baron his wife's her in her opinion that and were a woman's weapons.
But in this she was mistaken. The sentiments, to an excess, can produce as great as do the vices. Bonaparte was Emperor for having on the people, at a stone's from the spot where Louis XVI. his and his he would not allow a Monsieur Sauce to be hurt.
On the morning, Hortense, who had slept with the seal under her pillow, so as to have it close to her all night, very early, and sent to her father to join her in the garden as soon as he should be down.
By about half-past nine, the father, to his daughter's petition, gave her his arm for a walk, and they along the by the Pont Royal to the Place du Carrousel.
"Let us look into the shop windows, papa," said Hortense, as they through the little gate to the wide square.
"What—here?" said her father, laughing at her.
"We are to have come to see the pictures, and over there"—and she pointed to the in of the houses at a right to the Rue du Doyenne "look! there are in and pictures "
"Your there."
"I know it, but she must not see us."
"And what do you want to do?" said the Baron, who, himself thirty yards of Madame Marneffe's windows, her.
Hortense had her father in of one of the shops the of a of houses along the of the Old Louvre, and the Hotel de Nantes. She into this shop; her father outside, in at the of the little lady, who, the before, had left her image on the old beau's heart, as if to the he was so soon to receive; and he not help his wife's into practice.
"I will on a little citizen's wife," said he to himself, Madame Marneffe's graces. "Such a woman as that will soon make me that Josepha."
Now, this was what was at the same moment and the shop.
As he his on the of his new belle, the Baron saw the husband, who, while his with his own hands, was on the lookout, to see some one on the square. Fearing he should be seen, and recognized, the Baron his on the Rue du Doyenne, or at three-quarters' face, as it were, so as to be able to from time to time. This him to with Madame Marneffe, who, up from the quay, was the of houses to go home.
Valerie was as she met the Baron's eye, and she with a of her eyelids.
"A woman," he, "for a man would do many things."
"Indeed, monsieur?" said she, suddenly, like a woman who has just come to some decision, "you are Monsieur le Baron Hulot, I believe?"
The Baron, more and more bewildered, assent.
"Then, as has twice our meet, and I am so as to have or puzzled you, I may tell you that, of doing anything foolish, you ought to do justice. My husband's rests with you."
"And how may that be?" asked the Baron.
"He is in your in the War Office, under Monsieur Lebrun, in Monsieur Coquet's room," said she with a smile.
"I am disposed, Madame—Madame ?"
"Madame Marneffe."
"Dear little Madame Marneffe, to do for your sake. I have a in your house; I will go to see her one day soon—as soon as possible; your to me in her rooms."
"Pardon my boldness, Monsieur le Baron; you must that if I to address you thus, it is I have no friend to protect me "
"Ah, ha!"
"Monsieur, you me," said she, her eyelids.
Hulot as if the sun had disappeared.
"I am at my wits' end, but I am an woman!" she on. "About six months ago my only protector died, Marshal Montcornet "
"Ah! You are his daughter?"
"Yes, monsieur; but he me."
"That was that he might you part of his fortune."
"He left me nothing; he no will."
"Indeed! Poor little woman! The Marshal died of apoplexy. But, come, madame, for the best. The State must do something for the of one of the Chevalier Bayards of the Empire."
Madame Marneffe and off, as proud of her success as the Baron was of his.
"Where the has she been so early?" he the of her skirts, to which she to a grace. "She looks too to have just come from a bath, and her husband is waiting for her. It is strange, and puzzles me altogether."
Madame Marneffe having within, the Baron what his was doing in the shop. As he in, still at Madame Marneffe's windows, he ran against a man with a and eyes, a of black merino, trousers, and shoes, with gaiters, away headlong; he saw him to the house in the Rue du Doyenne, into which he went.
Hortense, on going into the shop, had at once the famous group, on a table in the middle and in of the door. Even without the to which she her knowledge of this masterpiece, it would have her by the power which we must call the brio—the go—of great works; and the girl herself might in Italy have been taken as a model for the of Brio.
Not every work by a man of has in the same that brilliancy, that which is at once to the most beholder. Thus, pictures by Raphael, such as the famous Transfiguration, the Madonna di Foligno, and the of the Stanze in the Vatican, do not at our admiration, as do the Violin-player in the Sciarra Palace, the portraits of the Doria family, and the Vision of Ezekiel in the Pitti Gallery, the Christ His Cross in the Borghese collection, and the Marriage of the Virgin in the Brera at Milan. The Saint John the Baptist of the Tribuna, and Saint Luke painting the Virgin's portrait in the Accademia at Rome, have not the of the Portrait of Leo X., and of the Virgin at Dresden.
And yet they are all of equal merit. Nay, more. The Stanze, the Transfiguration, the panels, and the three pictures in the Vatican are in the perfect and sublime. But they a of attention, from the most beholder, and study, to be understood; while the Violin-player, the Marriage of the Virgin, and the Vision of Ezekiel go to the through the portal of sight, and make their home there. It is a to them thus without an effort; if it is not the phase of art, it is the happiest. This proves that, in the of of art, there is as much in the of the as there is in a family of children; that some will be graced, beautiful, and their mothers little suffering, on smiles, and with succeeds; in short, genius, like love, has its blossoms.
This brio, an Italian word which the French have to use, is of work. It is the fruit of an and fire of early talent—an which is met with again later in some happy hours; but this particular no longer comes from the artist's heart; of his it into his work as a up its fires, it comes to him from outside, by circumstances, by love, or rivalry, often by hatred, and more often still by the need of to be up to.
This group by Wenceslas was to his later what the Marriage of the Virgin is to the great of Raphael's, the step of a artist taken with the grace, the eagerness, and overflowingness of a child, is under the pink-and-white full of which to echo to a mother's laughter. Prince Eugene is said to have paid four hundred thousand for this picture, which would be a to any nation that owned no picture by Raphael, but no one would give that for the of the frescoes, though their value is as of art.
Hortense her admiration, for she on the amount of her savings; she an air of indifference, and said to the dealer:
"What is the price of that?"
"Fifteen hundred francs," the man, sending a of to a man seated on a in the corner.
The man himself in a at Monsieur Hulot's masterpiece. Hortense, forewarned, at once him as the artist, from the color that a with endurance; she saw the up in his by her question; she looked on the thin, features, like those of a monk by asceticism; she loved the red, well-formed mouth, the chin, and the Pole's hair.
"If it were twelve hundred," said she, "I would you to send it to me."
"It is antique, mademoiselle," the remarked, thinking, like all his fraternity, that, having this ne plus of bric-a-brac, there was no more to be said.
"Excuse me, monsieur," she very quietly, "it was this year; I came to you, if my price is accepted, to send the artist to see us, as it might be possible to him some commissions."
"And if he is to have the twelve hundred francs, what am I to get? I am the dealer," said the man, with good-humor.
"To be sure!" the girl, with a of disdain.
"Oh! mademoiselle, take it; I will make terms with the dealer," the Livonian, himself.
Fascinated by Hortense's and the love of art she displayed, he added:
"I am the of the group, and for ten days I have come here three times a day to see if would its and for it. You are my admirer—take it!"
"Come, then, monsieur, with the dealer, an hour hence. Here is my father's card," Hortense.
Then, the shopkeeper go into a room to the group in a piece of rag, she added in a low voice, to the great of the artist, who he must be dreaming:
"For the of your prospects, Monsieur Wenceslas, do not mention the name of the purchaser to Mademoiselle Fischer, for she is our cousin."
The word the artist's mind; he had a of Paradise this of Eve had come to him. He had of the girl of Lisbeth had told him, as Hortense had of her cousin's lover; and, as she had entered the shop—
"Ah!" he, "if she but be like this!"
The look that passed the lovers may be imagined; it was a flame, for lovers have no hypocrisies.
"Well, what the are you doing here?" her father asked her.
"I have been twelve hundred that I had saved. Come." And she took her father's arm.
"Twelve hundred francs?" he repeated.
"To be exact, thirteen hundred; you will me the odd hundred?"
"And on what, in such a place, you so much?"
"Ah! that is the question!" the happy girl. "If I have got a husband, he is not dear at the money."
"A husband! In that shop, my child?"
"Listen, dear little father; would you my marrying a great artist?"
"No, my dear. A great artist in these days is a without a title—he has and fortune, the two social advantages—next to virtue," he added, in a tone.
"Oh, of course!" said Hortense. "And what do you think of sculpture?"
"It is very business," Hulot, his head. "It needs high as well as great talent, for Government is the only purchaser. It is an art with no nowadays, where there are no houses, no great fortunes, no mansions, no estates. Only small pictures and small can a place; the are by this need of small things."
"But if a great artist a demand?" said Hortense.
"That would solve the problem."
"Or had some one to him?"
"That would be better."
"If he were of birth?"
"Pooh!"
"A Count."
"And a sculptor?"
"He has no money."
"And so he on that of Mademoiselle Hortense Hulot?" said the Baron ironically, with an look into his daughter's eyes.
"This great artist, a Count and a sculptor, has just your for the time in his life, and for the space of five minutes, Monsieur le Baron," Hortense replied. "Yesterday, you must know, dear little father, while you were at the Chamber, had a fit. This, which she to a attack, was the result of some worry that had to do with the failure of my marriage, for she told me that to of me—-"
"She is too of you to have used an "
"So unparliamentary!" Hortense put in with a laugh. "No, she did not use those words; but I know that a girl old to and who not a husband is a for to bear. Well, she thinks that if a man of energy and be found, who would be satisfied with thirty thousand for my marriage portion, we might all be happy. In fact, she it to prepare me for the of my lot, and to me from in too dreams. Which meant an end to the marriage, and no settlements for me!"
"Your mother is a very good woman, noble, admirable!" the father, humiliated, though not sorry to this confession.
"She told me yesterday that she had your permission to sell her diamonds so as to give me something to on; but I should like her to keep her jewels, and to a husband myself. I think I have the man, the possible husband, to mamma's "
"There? in the Place du Carrousel? and in one morning?"
"Oh, papa, the deeper!" said she archly.
"Well, come, my child, tell the whole to your good old father," said he persuasively, and his uneasiness.
