"Sir, I have translated the _Gerusalemme Liberata_, the immortalmasterpiece of Torquato Tasso"--and a bulging packet of manuscriptunder his arm confirmed the statement.
"Yes, sir, I have devoted sleepless nights to this glorious andungrateful task. Without family or fatherland, I have written mytranslation in dark, ice-cold garrets, on chandlers' wrappers,snuff papers, the backs of playing cards! Such has been the exile'stask! You, sir, you live in your own land, in the bosom of ahappy family--at least I hope so."This speech, which impressed him by its magniloquence and itsstrangeness, set the bookbinder dreaming of the dead woman hehad loved, and he saw her in his mind's eye coiling her beautifulhair as in the early days of their married life.
The big man proceeded:
"Man is like a plant which perishes when the storms uproot it.
"Here is your son, is it not so? He is like you"--and layinghis hand on Jean's head, who clung to his father's coat-tailsin wonder at the red waistcoat and the sing-song voice, he askedif the child learned his lessons well, if he was growing up tobe a clever man, if he would not soon be beginning Latin.
"That noble language," he added, "whose inimitable monuments haveoften made me forget my misfortunes.
"Yes, sir, I have often breakfasted on a page of Tacitus and suppedon a satire of Juvenal."As he said the words, a look of sadness over-spread his shiningred face, and dropping his voice:
"Forgive me, sir, if I hold out to you the casque of Belisarius.
I am the Marquis Tudesco, of Venice. When I have received fromthe bookseller the price of my labour, I will not forget thatyou succoured me with a small coin in the time of my sharpesttrial."The bookbinder, case-hardened as he was against beggars, whoon winter evenings drifted into his shop with the east wind,nevertheless experienced a certain sympathy and respect for theMarquis Tudesco. He slipped a franc-piece into his hand.
Thereupon the old Italian, like a man inspired, exclaimed:
"One Nation there is that is unhappy--Italy, one generousPeople--France; and one bond that unites the twain--humanity.
Ah! chiefest of the virtues, humanity, humanity!"Meantime the bookbinder was pondering his wife's last words: "Iwish my Jean to learn Latin." He hesitated, till seeing MonsieurTudesco bowing and smiling to go:
"Sir," he said, "if you are ready, two or three times a week,to give the boy lessons in French and Latin, we might come toterms."The Marquis Tudesco expressed no surprise. He smiled and said:
"Certainly, sir, as you wish it, I shall find it a delightfultask to initiate your son in the mysteries of the Latin rudiments.
"We will make a man of him and a good citizen, and God knowswhat heights my pupil will scale in this noble land of freedomand generosity. He may one day be ambassador, my dear sir. Isay it: knowledge is power.""You will know the shop again," said the bookbinder; "there ismy name on the signboard."The Marquis Tudesco, after tweaking the son's ear amicably andbowing to the father with a dignified familiarity, walked awaywith a step that was still jaunty.