“It cannot be denied that poor Cousin Pons understands rubbish of that sort – ” said Cecile, the day after the bid.
“Rubbish!” cried her parent. “Why, Government is just about to buy the late M. le Conseiller Dusommerard’s collection for three hundred thousand francs; and the State and the Municipality of Paris between them are spending nearly a million francs over the purchase and repair of the Hotel de Cluny to house the ‘rubbish,’ as you call it. – Such ‘rubbish,’ dear child,” he resumed, “is frequently all that remains of vanished civilizations. An Etruscan jar, and a necklace, which sometimes fetch forty and fifty thousand francs, is ‘rubbish’ which reveals the perfection of art at the time of the siege of Troy, proving that the Etruscans were Trojan refugees in Italy.”
This was the President’s cumbrous way of joking; the short, fat man was heavily ironical with his wife and daughter.
“The combination of various kinds of knowledge required to understand such ‘rubbish,’ Cecile,” he resumed, “is a science in itself, called archaeology. Archaeology comprehends architecture, sculpture, painting, goldsmiths’ work, ceramics, cabinetmaking (a purely modern art), lace, tapestry – in short, human handiwork of every sort and description.”
“Then Cousin Pons is learned?” said Cecile.
“Ah! by the by, why is he never to be seen nowadays?” asked the President. He spoke with the air of a man in whom thousands of forgotten and dormant impressions have suddenly begun to stir, and shaping themselves into one idea, reach consciousness with a ricochet, as sportsmen say.
“He must have taken offence at nothing at all,” answered his wife. “I dare say I was not as fully sensible as I might have been of the value of the fan that he gave me. I am ignorant enough, as you know, of – ”
“You! One of Servin’s best pupils, and you don’t know Watteau?” cried the President.
“I know Gerard and David and Gros and Griodet, and M. de Forbin and M. Turpin de Crisse – ”
“You ought – ”
“Ought what, sir?” demanded the lady, gazing at her husband with the air of a Queen of Sheba.
“To know a Watteau when you see it, my dear. Watteau is very much in fashion,” answered the President with meekness, that told plainly how much he owed to his wife.
This conversation took place a few days before that night of first performance of The Devil’s Betrothed, when the whole orchestra noticed how ill Pons was looking. But by that time all the circle of dinner-givers who were used to seeing Pons’ face at their tables, and to send him on errands, had begun to ask each other for news of him, and uneasiness increased when it was reported by some who had seen him that he was always in his place at the theatre. Pons had been very careful to avoid his old acquaintances whenever he met them in the streets; but one day it so fell out that he met Count Popinot, the ex-cabinet minister, face to face in the bric-a-brac dealer’s shop in the new Boulevard Beaumarchais. The dealer was none other than that Monistrol of whom Pons had spoken to the Presidente, one of the famous and audacious vendors whose cunning enthusiasm leads them to set more and more value daily on their wares; for curiosities, they tell you, are growing so scarce that they are hardly to be found at all nowadays.
“Ah, my dear Pons, how comes it that we never see you now? We miss you very much, and Mme. Popinot does not know what to think of your desertion.”
“M. le Comte,” said the good man, “I was made to feel in the house of a relative that at my age one is not wanted in the world. I have never had much consideration shown me, but at any rate I had not been insulted. I have never asked anything of any man,” he broke out with an artist’s pride. “I have often made myself useful in return for hospitality. But I have made a mistake, it seems; I am indefinitely beholden to those who honor me by allowing me to sit at table with them; my friends, and my relatives… Well and good; I have sent in my resignation as smellfeast. At home I find daily something which no other house has offered me – a real friend.”
The old artist’s power had not failed him; with tone and gesture he put such bitterness into the words, that the peer of France was struck by them. He drew Pons aside.
“Come, now, my old friend, what is it? What has hurt you? Could you not tell me in confidence? You will permit me to say that at my house surely you have always met with consideration – ”
“You are the one exception,” said the artist. “And besides, you are a great lord and a statesman, you have so many things to think about. That would excuse anything, if there were need for it.”
The diplomatic skill that Popinot had acquired in the management of men and affairs was brought to bear upon Pons, till at length the story of his misfortunes in the President’s house was drawn from him.
Popinot took up the victim’s cause so warmly that he told the story to Mme. Popinot as soon as he went home, and that excellent and noble-natured woman spoke to the Presidente on the subject at the first opportunity. As Popinot himself likewise said a word or two to the President, there was a general explanation in the family of Camusot de Marville.
Camusot was not exactly master in his own house; but this time his remonstrance was so well founded in law and in fact, that his wife and daughter were forced to acknowledge the truth. They both humbled themselves and threw the blame on the servants. The servants, first bidden, and then chidden, only obtained pardon by a full confession, which made it clear to the President’s mind that Pons had done rightly to stop away. The President displayed himself before the servants in all his masculine and magisterial dignity, after the manner of men who are ruled by their wives. He informed his household that they should be dismissed forthwith, and forfeit any advantages which their long term of service in his house might have brought them, unless from that time forward his cousin and all those who did him the honor of coming to his house were treated as he himself was. At which speech Madeleine was moved to smile.
“You have only one chance of salvation as it is,” continued the President. “Go to my cousin, make your excuses to him, and tell him that you will lose your situations unless he forgives you, for I shall turn you all away if he does not.”
Next morning the President went out fairly early to pay a call on his cousin before going down to the court. The apparition of M. le President de Marville, announced by Mme. Cibot, was an event in the house. Pons, thus honored for the first time in his life saw reparation ahead.
“At last, my dear cousin,” said the President after the ordinary greetings; “at last I have discovered the cause of your retreat. Your behavior increases, if that were possible, my esteem for you. I have but one word to say in that connection. My servants have all been dismissed. My wife and daughter are in despair; they want to see you to have an explanation. In all this, my cousin, there is one innocent person, and he is an old judge; you will not punish me, will you, for the escapade of a thoughtless child who wished to dine with the Popinots? especially when I come to beg for peace, admitting that all the wrong has been on our side?.. An old friendship of thirty-six years, even suppose that there had been a misunderstanding, has still some claims. Come, sign a treaty of peace by dining with us to-night – ”
Pons involved himself in a diffuse reply, and ended by informing his cousin that he was to sign a marriage contract that evening; how that one of the orchestra was not only going to be married, but also about to fling his flute to the winds to become a banker.
“Very well. To-morrow.”
“Mme. la Comtesse Popinot has done me the honor of asking me, cousin. She was so kind as to write – ”
“The day after to-morrow then.”
“M. Brunner, a German, my first flute’s future partner, returns the compliment paid him to-day by the young couple – ”
“You are such pleasant company that it is not surprising that people dispute for the