CHAPTER VI

_Régulus_--Talma and the play--General Foy--The letter of recommendation and the interview--The Duc de Bellune's reply--I obtain a place as temporary clerk with M. le Duc d'Orléans--Journey to Villers-Cotterets to tell my mother the good news--No. 9--I gain a prize in a lottery

Men and things began to appear to me in their true light, and the world, which until now had been hidden from me in the mists of illusion, began to show itself as it really is, as God and the Devil have made it, interspersed with good and evil, spotted with dirt. I related to Adolphe everything that had occurred.

"Go on," he said; "if your story finishes as it has begun, you will accomplish much more than the writing of a comic opera: you will write a comedy."

But Adolphe's thoughts were in reality busy on my behalf. _Régulus_ was to be played at the Théâtre-Français that night: he had asked for two orchestra stalls from Lucien Arnault, and had kept them for me; only, on that evening, he would be too busy to come with me: the _Pauvre Fille_ claimed every minute of his time.

I was almost glad of this inability: I could thus take General Verdier to the play in return for his dinner. I found him waiting for me at his house at six o'clock; I showed him my two tickets, and laid my proposal before him.

"Well, well, well!" he said, "I cannot refuse this: I do not often allow myself the luxury of going to the play, and especially as it is Talma...."

"You know some dramatists, then?"

"Yes, I know M. Arnault."

"Very good!... And now I must confess, General, that I want to stay in Paris really to go in for literature."

"Ah! not really?"

"Really, General."

"Listen: you came to ask my advice ...?"

"Certainly I did."

"Very well, don't count too much on literature for a living; you look as though you had a good appetite; now, literature will necessitate your going hungry many a time.... However, on those days, you must look me up: the painter always shares his crusts with the poet. _Ut pictura poesis!_ I do not need to interpret that, for I presume you know Latin."

"A little, General."

"That is much more than I do. Come, let us go and dine."

"Do we not dine at your rooms?"

"Do you imagine I am rich enough, on my half-pay, to keep up a kitchen and a household? No, no, no, indeed! I dine at the Palais-Royal for forty sous; to-day we will have an _extra_, and I can get it for six francs. You see you are not going to cost me much, so need not be anxious."

We betook ourselves to the Palais-Royal, where indeed we dined excellently for our six francs, or rather for General Verdier's six francs. Then we went to take our places for _Régulus._ My mind was still full of _Sylla_; I saw the gloomy Dictator enter with his flattened locks, his crowned head, his forehead furrowed with anxieties: his speech was deliberate, almost solemn; his glance--that of a lynx and a hyena--shot from under his drooping eyelids like that of a nocturnal animal which sees in the darkness.

Thus I awaited Talma.

He entered, at a rapid pace, with haughty head and terse speech, as befitted the general of a free people and a conquering nation; he entered, in short, as _Régulus_ would have entered. No longer, the toga, no longer the purple, no longer the crown: a simple tunic, bound by an iron girdle, without any other cloak than that of the soldier. Here was where Talma was admirable in his personality--always that of the hero he was called upon to represent--he reconstructed a world, he refashioned an epoch.

Yes, in _Sylla_ he was the man of the falling republic; he was the man who, in putting aside the purple, and in restoring to Rome that temporary independence which she was soon no longer to know, said, to those who assisted at this great act of his public life:--

"J'achève un grand destin; j'achève un grand ouvrage; Sur ce monde étonné, j'ai marqué mon passage. Ne m'accusez jamais dans la postérité, Romains, de vous avoir rendu la liberté!"

It was Sylla who, in Marius and with Marius, witnessed the expiration of the last breath of republican virility; it was he who saw the rise of Cæsar--that Cæsar who later spoke thus to Brutus:--

"O le pauvre insensé! qui vient, du couchant sombre, Demander la lumière, et qui marche vers l'ombre! Et qui se croit, rêvant les antiques vertus, Au siècle des Camille et des Cincinnatus! Oui, leur siècle était grand, peut-être regrettable; Oui, la simplicity des habits, de la table; Cette orge qui bouillait sur le plat des Toscans; Ce peu qu'on avait d'or, qui reluisant aux camps; Annibal, sous nos murs plantant sa javeline; Et nos guerriers debout sur la porte Colline; Voilà qui défendait au vice d'approcher!... Mais le Nil dans le Tibre est venu s'épancher, Et l'or asiatique, aux mains sacerdotales, A remplacé l'argile étrusque des vestales; Et le luxe, fondant sur nous comme un vautour, Venge les nations et nous dompte à son tour. La Rome des consuls et de la république A brisé dès longtemps sa ceinture italique. Rome a conquis la Grèce, et Carthage, et le Pont; Rome a conquis l'Espagne et la Gaule.--Répond, Toi, qui ne veux pas voir, comme une mer de lave, Monter incessamment vers nous le monde esclave: Cette ville aux sept monts, qu'un dieu même créa, Est-ce toujours la fille et l'Albe et de Rhéa, La matrone sévère ou bien la courtisane?... Ville de Mithridate et d'Ariobarzane, Ville de Ptolémée, et ville de Juba. Rome est un compost de tout ce qui tomba! Rome, c'est l'univers! et sa débauche accuse Marseille, Alexandrie, Athènes, Syracuse, Et Rhode et Sybaris, fécondes en douleurs, Et Tarente lascive, au front chargé de fleurs!..."

Well, it was in this first epoch, spoken of by Cæsar, when "l'orge bouillait sur le plat des Toscans," that Regulus flourished. Therefore, from his very entry, Talma appeared as the stern republican, the man vowed to great causes. Yes, yes, Talma, you were indeed, this time, the Punic warrior, the colleague of Duillius--that conqueror to whom his contemporaries, still in ignorance of the titles and the honours with which defenders of their country should be rewarded, were giving a flute player to follow him wherever he went, and a rostral column to set up in front of his house; yes, you were indeed the consul who, when he landed on African shores, had to beat down monsters before he could beat down men, and who tested the implements of war, which were destined to break down the walls of Carthage, by crushing a boa-constrictor a hundred cubits in length. You were indeed that man whose two victories spelt two hundred towns, and who refused Carthage peace: Carthage, the Queen of the Mediterranean, the Sovereign of the Ocean, who had coasted down Africa as far as the Equator, who had spread North as far as the Cassiterides, and who possessed armed ships. O Carthaginians, merchants, lawyers and senators! you were lost at last. The race of traders had to give way to the race of warriors, speculators to soldiers, Hannons to Barcas; you would have consented to all the demands of Regulus, if there had not been found in Carthage a Lacedemonian, a mercenary, a Xantippe, who declared that Carthage still possessed the means for resisting, and demanded the chief command of the armies. The command was given him. He was a Greek. He lured the Romans into the plain, charged into them with his cavalry and crushed them beneath his elephants. It was at this stage of affairs, O Regulus--Talma that you made your entry into Carthage, but conquered, and a prisoner!

Lucien Arnault had certainly not extracted all the dramatic force out of this splendid republican subject that it was capable of showing: he had certainly not shown us Rome, patient and indefatigable as the ploughing oxen; he had certainly not depicted commercial Carthage, with its armies of condottieri recruited from the sturdy Ligurians, that Strabo shows us, in the mountains of Genes, breaking down the rocks and carrying enormous burdens; from those clever slingers who came from the Balearic Isles, who could stop a stag in its flight, an eagle on the wing, with their stone-throwing; from the sturdy and strong Iberians, who seemed insensible to hunger and to fatigue, when they were marching to battle with their red cloaks and their two-edged-swords; finally, from the Numidians whom we fight even to-day at Constantine and at Djidjelli, terrible cavaliers, centaurs thin and fiery like their chargers. No,--although the epoch was not remote,--the piece lacked poetry; you, my dear Lucien, simply extracted from this mass of material the devotion of a single man, and did not choose to depict a people.

Talma was superb when he was urging the Roman Senate to refuse peace, thereby condemning himself to death; Talma was magnificent in that last cry which hung for two centuries after, like a menace, over the city of Dido: "To Carthage! to Carthage!"

I returned to my quarters, this second time even more filled with admiration than on the first occasion; only, as I knew my way, I dispensed with the expense of a cab. Besides, my way was nearly the same as General Verdier's to the faubourg Montmartre; he left me at the corner of the rue Coquillière, shaking my hand and wishing me good luck.

Next day, at ten, I presented myself at General Foy's. He lived at No. 64 rue du Mont-Blanc. I was shown into his study, and found him engaged upon his _Histoire de la Péninsule._ As I entered he was writing, standing against a table which could be lowered or raised as required. Round him, on chairs, on arm-chairs, on the floor, were scattered, in apparent confusion, speeches, proofs, maps and open books. When the general heard the door of his sanctum open he turned round. General Foy was, at that time, a man of about forty-eight or fifty years of age, thin, short rather than tall, with scanty grey hair, a projecting forehead, an aquiline nose and a bilious complexion. He carried his head high, his manner was short and his gestures commanding. I was announced.

"M. Alexandre Dumas!" he repeated after the servant; "let him come in."

I appeared before him, trembling all over.

"Are you M. Alexandre Dumas?" he asked.

"Yes, General."

"Are you the son of General Dumas who commanded the Army of the Alps?"

"Yes, General."

"I have been told that Bonaparte treated him very unjustly and that this injustice was extended to his widow."

"He left us in poverty."

"Can I do anything for you?"

"I confess, General, that you are nearly my sole hope."

"How is that?"

"Will you first make yourself acquainted with this letter from M. Danré."

"Ah! worthy Danré!... You know him?"

"He was an intimate friend of my father."

"Yes, he lived a league from Villers-Cotterets, where General Dumas died.... And what is the good fellow doing?"

"He is happy and proud to have been of some use to you in your election, General."

"Of some use? Say rather he did everything!" said he, breaking open the letter. "Do you know," he continued, as he held the letter open without reading it,--"do you know that he made himself answerable on my account to the electors--body and soul, body and soul?... They did not want to appoint me! I hope his rash zeal did not cost him too much. Let me see what he says."

He began to read.

"Oh! oh! he commends you to me most pressingly; he is very fond of you, then?"

"Almost as fond as he is of his own son, General."

"I must first find out what you are fit for."

"Oh! not good for much."

"Bah! you surely know some mathematics?"

"No, General."

"You have at least some notion of algebra, of geometry, of physics?"

He stopped between each word, and at each word I blushed afresh, and the perspiration ran down my forehead in faster and faster drops. It was the first time I had been thus actually confronted with my ignorance.

"No, General," I replied, stammering; "I do not know anything of those things."

"You have perhaps studied law?"

"No, General."

"You know Latin, Greek?"

"A little Latin, no Greek."

"Can you speak any modern language?"

"Italian."

"You understand book-keeping?"

"Not the least in the world."

I was in agony, and he himself was visibly sorry for me.

"Oh, General!" I burst out in tones that seemed to impress him greatly, "my education is utterly defective and I am ashamed to say that I never realised it until this moment.... Oh! but I will mend matters, I give you my word; and soon, very soon, I shall be able to reply 'Yes' to all the questions to which I have just now said 'No.'"

"But have you anything to live upon in the meantime, my young friend?"

"Nothing, absolutely nothing, General!" I replied, crushed by the feeling of my powerlessness.

The general looked at me in profound pity.

"Nevertheless," he said, "I do not want to abandon you ..."

"No, General, for you will not be abandoning me only! True, I am ignorant and good for nothing; but my mother counts upon me; I have promised her I will find a place, and she ought not to be punished for my ignorance and my laziness."

"Give me your address," said the general. "I will consider what can be done for you.... Write, there, at that desk."

He held the pen out to me which he had just been using. I took it; I looked at it, still wet; then, shaking my head, I gave it back to him.

"What is the matter?"

"No, General," I said; "I cannot write with your pen: it would be a profanation."

He smiled. "What a child you are!" he said. "Look, here is a new one."

"Thanks." I wrote. The general looked on.

I had scarcely written my name before he clapped his hands together.

"We are saved!" he said.

"How is that?"

"You write a beautiful hand."

My head fell on my breast; my shame was insupportable. The only thing I possessed was a good handwriting. This diploma of incapacity well became me! A beautiful handwriting! So some day I might become a copying-clerk. That was my future! I would rather cut off my right arm. General Foy went on without paying much heed to what was passing through my mind.

"Listen," he said: "I am dining to-day at the Palais-Royal; I will mention you to the Duc d'Orléans; I will tell him he ought to take the son of a Republican general into his offices. Sit down there...."

He pointed to an empty desk.

"Draw up a petition, and write your very best."

I obeyed. When I had finished, General Foy took my petition, read it and traced a few lines in the margin. His handwriting compared unfavourably with mine and humiliated me most cruelly. Then he folded up the petition, put it in his pocket and, holding out his hand to bid me good-bye, he invited me to return and lunch with him next day. I returned to my hotel in the rue des Vieux-Augustins, and there I found a letter franked by the Minister of War. Good and evil fortune had, up to this time, treated me pretty impartially. The letter that I was about to break open should turn the scale definitely. The minister replied that, as he had no time for a personal interview, he invited me to lay before him anything I had to say in writing. Decidedly, the balance of the scale was towards ill-fortune. I replied that the audience I asked of him was but to hand him the original of a letter of thanks he had once written to my father, his general-in-chief; but that, as I might not have the honour of seeing him, I would content myself with sending him a copy of it. Poor marshal! I have seen him since: he was then as affectionate to me as he had been indifferent under the circumstances I have just related; and, nowadays, his son and his grandson are my good friends.

I went early, next morning, as I had been advised, to General Foy's, who was now my only hope. The general was at his work, as on the previous day. He received me with a smiling face, which looked very promising.

"Well," he said, "our business is settled."

I looked at him, astounded.

"How is that?" I asked.

"Yes, you are to enter the secretarial staff of the Duc d'Orléans as supernumerary, at twelve hundred francs. It is nothing very great; but mow is your chance to work."

"It is a fortune!... And when am I to begin?"

"Next Monday, if you like."

"Next Monday?"

"Yes, it is arranged with the chief clerk in the office."

"What is his name?"

"M. Oudard.... You will introduce yourself to him in my name."

"Oh, General, I can hardly believe my good fortune."

The general looked at me with an indescribably kindly expression. This reminded me that I had not even thanked him. I threw my arms round his neck and kissed him. He began to laugh.

"There is good stuff in you," he said; "but remember what you have promised me: study!"

"Oh yes, General; I am now going to live by my handwriting: but I promise you that one day I shall live by my pen."

"We shall see; take your pen and write to your mother."

"No, General, no; I wish to tell her this good news with my own lips. To-day is Tuesday; I will start to-night: I will spend Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday with her; I will come back here on the night of Sunday--and on Monday I will go to my office."

"But you will ruin yourself in carriages!"

"No; I have a free pass from the diligence proprietor."

And I related to him how old Cartier owed me a dozen fares. "Now," I asked of the general, "what message shall I take from you to M. Danré?"

"Well, tell him we had lunch together and that I am very well."

A small round table ready laid was carried in at this juncture.

"A second cover," ordered the general.

"Really, General, you make me ashamed...."

"Have you lunched?"

"No, but----"

"To table, to table!... I have to be at the Chamber by noon."

We lunched _tête-à-tête._ The general talked to me of my future plans; I confided all my literary plans to him. He looked at me; he listened to me with the benevolent smile of a large-hearted man; he seemed to say, "Golden dreams! foolish hopes! purple but fugitive clouds, which sail over the heaven of youth, may they not vanish into the azure firmament too quickly for my poor protégé!" Beloved and kindly general! loyal soul! noble heart! you are now, alas! dead, before those dreams were realised; you died without knowing they were to be realised one day,--you are dead, and gratitude and grief have inspired me, on the borders of that tomb into which you descended before your time, to write I will not say the first good lines I made,--that would perhaps be too ambitious,--but the first of my lines which are worth the trouble of being quoted. Here are those I recall; the rest I have completely forgotten:--

"Ainsi de notre vieille gloire Chaque jour emporte un débris! Chaque jour enrichit l'histoire Des grands noms qui nous sont repris! Et, chaque jour, pleurant sur la nouvelle tombe D'un héros généreux dans sa course arrêté, Chacun de nous se dit épouvante: 'Encore une pierre qui tombe Du temple de la Liberté!'..."

With one bound I covered the distance between the rue du Mont-Blanc and the rue Pigale. I longed to tell Adolphe the realisation of all my hopes. I was now, at last, sure of remaining in Paris. A most ambitious career opened out before me, limitless and vast. God, on His side, had done all that was necessary: He had left me with Aladdin's lamp in the enchanted garden. The rest depended on myself. No man had ever, I believe, seen his wishes more completely satisfied, his hopes more entirely crowned. Napoleon could not have been prouder and happier than I on the day when, having espoused Marie-Louise, he repeated three times before nightfall, "My poor uncle Louis XVI.!" Adolphe entered very heartily into my delight. M. de Leuven, to be still characteristic, quietly ridiculed my raptures. Madame de Leuven, the most perfect of women, rejoiced in advance over the joy my mother would shortly experience. All three wanted to keep me to dinner with them; but I remembered that a diligence left at half-past four o'clock, and that by it I should be able to reach home by one in the morning. It was odd I should be as eager to return to Villers-Cotterets as I had been to come to Paris. True, I was not returning for long. I reached Villers-Cotterets at one o'clock. One thing marred my joy: everybody was asleep; no one was in the dark streets; I could not cry out from the door of the diligence, "Here I am! but only for three days; I am going back to Paris for good." Oh! what an incontestable reality had the fable of King Midas become to me! When I reached Cartier's house, I leapt from the coach to the ground without thinking of making use of the step. When on mother-earth I rushed off, shouting to Auguste--

"It is I, it is I, Auguste! Put my fare down to your father's account."

In five minutes I was at home. I had a special way of my own of opening the door, after my nocturnal escapades; I turned it to account, and I entered my mother's room, who had hardly been an hour in bed, crying--

"Victory, dear mother, victory!"

My poor mother sat up in bed in great agitation: such an early return and one so completely successful had never entered her head. She was obliged to believe my word when, after kissing her, she saw me dance round the room still shouting "Victory!" I told her the whole story: Jourdan and his lackeys, Sébastiani and his secretaries, Verdier and his pictures, the Duc de Bellune refusing to receive me and General Foy receiving me twice. And my mother made me repeat it over and over again; unable to believe that I, her poor child, had in three days, without support, without acquaintances, without influence, by my persistence and determination, myself changed the course of my destiny for ever.

At last I got to the end of my tale and sleep had a hearing. I went to the bed that was scarcely cold since I had last used it, and, when I woke up, I wondered if I could really have been absent from Villers-Cotterets during those three days, and if it had not all been a dream. I leapt out of my bed, I dressed myself, I kissed my mother and I ran off along the road to Vouty. M. Danré ought to be the first to hear of my good fortune. This was but fair, since he had brought it about.

M. Danré learnt the news with feelings of personal pride. There is something very comforting to poor human nature when a man counts on a friend for a good action, and this friend accomplishes the deed, without ostentation, in fulfilment of his promise.

M. Danré would have liked me to have stayed there all day; but I was as slippery as an eel. I was not merely in haste that everybody should know of my happiness, but I wanted to increase this happiness twofold, by telling it myself. Dear M. Danré understood this, like the good soul he was. We lunched, and then he set me free. Without, I am thankful to say, representing the same mythological idea as Mercury, my heels, like his, were endowed with wings: in twenty or twenty-five minutes, I was back in Villers-Cotterets; but the news had spread in my absence, in spite of my celerity. Everybody already knew, on my return, that I was a supernumerary in the secretariat of the Duc d'Orléans, and everybody was waiting for me at their doors to congratulate me on my good fortune. They followed me in procession to the door of Abbé Grégoire's house. What recollections of my own have I not put in the story of my poor fellow-countrywoman Ange Pitou! I found our house full of gossips when I returned. Besides our friend Madame Darcourt, our neighbours Mesdames Lafarge, Dupré, Dupuis were holding a confabulation. I was welcomed with open arms, fêted by everybody. They had never doubted my powers; they had always said that I should become somebody; they were delighted to have prophesied an event to my poor mother which was now realised. These ladies, with the exception of Madame Darcourt, let it be noted, were those who had predicted to my mother that her darling son would always be a good-for-nothing. But Fate is the most powerful, the most inexorable of kings; it is not, then, to be wondered at that it has its courtiers. We were never left alone together the whole of the day. I took advantage of the numbers in the house to go and pay a special farewell visit to my good Louise, who would fain have comforted me after Adèle's marriage, if I had been consolable, and whom I would assuredly have comforted after Chollet had gone, had not I myself left.

In the evening my mother and I at last found ourselves alone together for a little while. We took the opportunity to talk over our private affairs. I wanted my mother to sell everything that we did not need and come as soon as possible to settle with me in Paris. Twenty years of misfortunes had sown distrust in my mother's heart. In her opinion, it was far too hasty to act like this. Then, the twelve hundred francs that I looked upon as a fortune was a very small amount to live upon in Paris. Besides, I had not got the salary yet. A supernumerary is but a probationer: if at the end of one month, or two months, they thought that I was not suitable for the post, and if M. Oudard, the head of my office, should make me take a seat as Augustus had made Cinna, as M. Lefèvre had made me, and ask me, as M. Lefèvre had asked me, "Monsieur, do you understand mechanics?" we were lost; for my mother would not even have her tobacco-shop to fall back upon, which she would have left and which she could not sell merely temporarily. My mother, therefore, decided on a common-sense course, which was as follows--

I was to return to Paris, where my bed, my bedding, my sheets, my table linen, four chairs, a table, a chest of drawers and two sets of plate would be forwarded; I would hire a small room, the cheapest possible; I would stay there until my position was established; and when my place was secure, I would write to my mother. Then my mother would hesitate no longer: she would sell everything and come to join me.

The next day was a Thursday. I utilised my being at Villers-Cotterets to draw for the conscription; my years would have called me to the service of my country, had I not been the son of a widow. I took No. 9, which was no inconvenience to myself, and did not deprive another of a good number I might have taken. I met Boudoux, my old friend of the _marette_ and the _pipée._

"Ah! Monsieur Dumas," he said, "as you have obtained such an excellent situation, you can surely give me a four-pound loaf."

I took him off to the baker; and instead of a four-pound loaf I paid for one of eight pounds for him.

I held my conscription ticket in my hand.

"What is that?" asked Boudoux.

"That? It is my number."

"You have taken No. 9?"

"As you see."

"Well, now, I have an idea: in return for your eight-pound loaf, Monsieur Dumas, if I were you, I would go to my aunt Chapuis, and I would put a thirty-sous piece on No. 9. Thirty sous wont ruin you, and if No. 9 turns up, it will bring you in seventy-three francs."

"Here are thirty sous, Boudoux; go and put them on in my name, and bring me back the ticket."

Boudoux went off, breaking off, with his right hand, huge chunks of the bread which he carried under his left arm. His aunt Chapuis kept both the post-office and the lottery-office.

Ten minutes later, Boudoux returned with the ticket. There was only a fragment of crust left of the eight-pound loaf, and that he finished before my eyes. It was the final day of the lottery. I should know, therefore, by Saturday morning whether I had won my seventy-three francs or lost my thirty sous.

Friday was taken up with making preparations for my Parisian housekeeping. My mother would have liked me to carry off everything in the house; but I realised that, with my twelve hundred francs per annum, the smaller the room the more economical it would be, and I stuck to the bed, the four chairs, and the chest of drawers.

One slight inconvenience remained to me. General Foy had told me that I was a supernumerary at twelve hundred francs; but these hundred francs per month which the munificence of Monseigneur the Duc d'Orléans conceded me would not be paid me until the end of the month. I had not Boudoux's appetite, but I could certainly eat and eat very heartily: General Verdier had not been out in his surmise.

I had thirty-five francs left out of my fifty. My mother decided to part with another hundred francs: it was half of what she had left. It went to my heart very bitterly to take my poor mother's hundred francs, and I was just thinking of having recourse to the purse of M. Danré, when, in the midst of our discussion, which took place on Saturday morning, I heard Boudoux's voice shouting out--

"Ah! M. Dumas, now this is well worth a second eight-pound loaf."

"What is worth an eight-pound loaf?"

"No. 9 came up! If you go to aunt Chapuis's office, she will count you out your seventy-three francs."

My mother and I looked at each other. Then we looked at Boudoux.

"Are you telling me the truth, Boudoux?"

"Before God, I am, M. Dumas; that rascally No. 9 turned up: you can go and see for yourself on the list; it is the third."

There was nothing astonishing about this: had we not struck a vein of good fortune?

My mother and I went to Madame Chapuis. We were even better off than we supposed. Boudoux had calculated upon the number coming out along with others; I had put my thirty sous on the single item: the result of this difference was that my thirty sous brought me in a hundred and fifty francs, instead of seventy-three.

I have never rightly understood the reason why Madame Chapuis doubled the amount, which was paid me, I remember, in crowns of six livres, plus the necessary smaller change; but when I saw the crowns, when I was allowed to carry them off, I did not ask for further explanation. I was the possessor of the sum of a hundred and eighty-five francs! I had never had so much money in my pocket. Therefore, as all these six-livre crowns made a great chinking and took up a lot of room, my mother changed them for me into gold.

Oh! what a fine thing gold is, however much decried, when it is the realisation of the dearest hopes in life! Those nine gold coins were little enough; but nevertheless, at that moment, they were of more value in my eyes than the thousands of similar pieces which have passed through my hands since; and which, after the fashion of Jupiter, I have showered upon that most costly of all mistresses men call _Fancy._ So I cost my mother nothing, not even for the carriage of my furniture, for which I paid the carrier in advance, bargaining with him for the sum of twenty francs to bring them to Paris, to the door of the hôtel des Vieux-Augustins, to be removed from there when I should have chosen my lodgings. They were to be delivered on the Monday night.

At last the hour of parting came. The whole town assisted at my departure. It was for all the world as though one of the navigators of the Middle Ages were leaving to discover an unknown land, and the wishes and the cheering of his compatriots were giving him a send-off across the seas.

In truth, those dear good friends realised, with their simple and kindly instinct, that I was embarking on an ocean quite as stormy and uncertain as that which, according to the blind soothsayer, surrounded the shield of Achilles.