"My young friend," began the Italian, "I learned from your respectedfather's apprentice that you were confined in this sanctuary ofstudious learning. I venture to say your fortune is overcastwith clouds, at least I fear it is. The lowliness of your estateis not gilded like that of the Latin poet, and you are strugglingwith a valiant heart against adverse fortune. That is why I amcome to offer you the hand of friendship, and I venture to sayyou will regard as a mark of my amity and my esteem the requestI proffer for a crown-piece, which I find needful to sustainan existence consecrated to learned studies."The parlour was filling with pupils and their friends and relations.
Mothers and sons were exchanging sounding kisses, followed byexclamations of "How hot you are, dear!" and prolonged whisperings.
Girls in light summer frocks were making sheep's eyes on the slyat their brothers' friends, while fathers were pulling cakesof chocolate out of their pockets.
Monsieur Tudesco, entirely at his ease among these fine people, didnot seem at all aware of the young usher's hideous embarrassment.
To the latter's "Come outside; we can talk better there," theold man replied unconcernedly, "Oh, no, I don't think so."He welcomed each lady who came in with a profound bow, anddistributed friendly taps on the cheek among the young aristocratsaround him.
Lying back in an arm-chair and displaying his famous waistcoatto the very best advantage, he enlarged on such episodes of hislife as he thought most impressive:
"The fates were vanquished," he was telling Servien, "my livelihoodwas assured. The landlord of an inn had entrusted his books to me,and under his roof I was devoting my attention to mathematicalcalculations, not, like the illustrious and ill-starred Galileo,to measure the stars, but to establish with exactitude the profitsand losses of a trader. After two days' performance of thesehonourable duties, the Commissary of Police made a descent uponthe inn, arrested the landlord and landlady and carried away myaccount books with him. No, I had not vanquished the fates!"Every head was turned, every eye directed in amazement towardsthis extraordinary personage. There was much whispering and somehalf-suppressed laughter. Jean, seeing himself the centre ofmocking glances and looks of annoyance, drew Tudesco towards thedoor. But just as the Marquis was making a series of sweepingbows by way of farewell to the ladies, Jean found himself faceto face with the Superintendent of Studies, who said to him:
"Oh! Monsieur Servien, will you go and take detention in MonsieurSchuver's absence?"The Marquis pressed his young friend's hand, watched him departto his duties, and then, turning back to the groups gathered inthe parlour, he waved his hand with a gesture at once dignifiedand appealing to call for silence.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "I have translated into theFrench tongue, which Brunetto Latini declared to be the mostdelectable of all, the _Gerusalemme Liberata_, the gloriousmasterpiece of the divine Torquato Tasso. This great work I wrotein a garret without fire, on candle wrappers, on snuff papers----"At this point, from one corner of the parlour, a crow of childishlaughter went off like a rocket.
Monsieur Tudesco stopped short and smiled, his hair flying, hiseye moist, his arms thrown open as if to embrace and bless; thenhe resumed:
"I say it: the laugh of innocence is the ill-starred veteran'sjoy. I see from where I stand groups worthy of Correggio's brush,and I say: Happy the families that meet together in peace inthe heart of their fatherland! Ladies and gentlemen, pardon meif I hold out to you the casque of Belisarius. I am an old treeriven by the levin-bolt."And he went from group to group holding out his peaked felt hat,into which, amid an icy silence, fell coin by coin a dribbleof small silver.
But suddenly the Superintendent of Studies seized the hat andpushed the old man outside.
"Give me back my hat," bawled Monsieur Tudesco to the Superintendent,who was doing his best to restore the coins to the donors; "giveback the old man's hat, the hat of one who has grown grey inlearned studies."The Superintendent, scarlet with rage, tossed the felt into thecourt, shouting:
"Be off, or I will call the police."The Marquis Tudesco took to his heels with great agility.
The same evening the new Assistant was summoned to the Director'spresence and received his dismissal.
"Unhappy boy! unhappy boy!" said the Abbé Bordier, beating hisbrow; "you have been the cause of an intolerable scandal, of asort unheard of in this house, and that just when I had so muchto do."And as he spoke, the scattered papers fluttered like white birdson the Director's table.
Making his way through the parlour, Jean saw the _Mater dolorosa_as before, and read again the names of Philippe-Guy Thierercheand the Countess Valentine.
"I hate them," he muttered through clenched teeth, "I hate themall."Meantime, the good priest felt a stir of pity. Every day theyhad badgered him with reports against Jean Servien. This time hehad given way; he had sacrificed the young usher; but he reallycould make nothing of this tale about a beggar. He changed hismind, ran to the door and called to the young man to corne back.
Jean turned and faced him:
"No!" he cried, "no! I can bear the life no longer; I am unhappy,I am full of misery--and hate.""Poor lad!" sight the Director, letting his arms drop by his side.
That evening he did not write a single line of his Tragedy.