After the trout came another dish, accompanied with this bulletin:
"Fillets of grouse with white Piedmont truffles, minced raw.
"Enclose each mouthful of grouse between two slices of truffle, and moisten the whole well with sauce à la Perigueux, with which black truffles are mingled.
"Masticateforte, as the white truffles are raw.
"Drink two glasses of this wine of Château-Margaux 1834,—it also has made a voyage from the Indies.
"This wine reveals itself in all its majesty only in the after-taste."
These fillets of grouse, far from appeasing the growing appetite of the canon, excited it to violent hunger, and, in spite of the profound respect which the orders of the great man had inspired in him, he sent Pablo, before another ringing of the bell, in search of a new culinary wonder.
Finally the bell sounded.
The majordomo returned with this note, which accompanied another dish:
"Salt marsh rails roasted on toast à la Sardanapalus.
"Eat only the legs and rump of the rails; do not cut the leg, take it by the foot, sprinkle it lightly with salt, then cut it off just above the foot, and chew the flesh and the bone.
"Masticatelargoandfortissimo; eat at the same time a mouthful of the hot toast, coated over with an unctuous condiment made of the combination of snipe liver and brains and fat livers of Strasburg, roebuck marrow, pounded anchovy, and pungent spices.
"Drink two glasses of Clos Vougeot of 1817.
"Pour out this wine with emotion, drink it with religion."
After this roast, worthy of Lucullus or Trimaleyon, and enjoyed by the canon with all the intensity of unsatisfied hunger, the majordomo reappeared with two side-dishes that the menu announced thus:
"Mushrooms with delicate herbs and the essence of ham; let this divine mushroom soften and dissolve in the mouth.
"Masticatepianissimo.
"Drink a glass of the wine Côte-Rôtie 1829, and a glass of Johannisberg of 1729, drawn from the municipal vats of the burgomasters of Heidelberg.
"No recommendation to make for the advantage of the wine, Côte-Rôtie; it is a proud, imperious wine, it asserts itself. As for the old Johannisberg, one hundred and forty years old, approach it with the veneration which a centenarian inspires; drink it with compunction.
"Two sweet side-dishes.
"Morsels à la duchesse with pineapple jelly.
"Masticateamoroso.
"Drink two or three glasses of champagne dipped in ice, dry Sillery the year of the comet.
"Dessert.
"Cheese from Brie made on the farm of Estonville, near Meaux. This house had for forty years the honour of serving the palate of Prince Talleyrand, who pronounced the cheese of Brie the king of cheeses,—the only royalty to which this great diplomatist remained faithful unto death.
"Drink a glass or two of Port wine drawn from a hogshead recovered from the great earthquake of Lisbon.
"Bless Providence for this miraculous salvage, and empty your glass piously.
"N. B. Never fruits in the morning; they chill, burden, and involve the stomach at the expense of the repose of the evening; simply rinse the mouth with a glass of cream from the Barbadoes of Madame Amphoux, 1780, and take a light siesta, dreaming of dinner."
It is needless to say that all the prescriptions of the cook were followed literally by the canon, whose appetite, now a prodigious thing, seemed to increase in proportion as it was fed; finally, having exhausted his glass to the last drop, Dom Diégo, his ears scarlet, his eyes softly closed, and his cheeks flushed, commenced to feel the tepid moisture and light torpor of a happy and easy digestion; then, sinking into his armchair with a delicious languor, he said to his majordomo:
"If I were not conscious of a tiger's hunger, whichthreatens explosion too soon, I would believe myself in Paradise. So, Pablo, go at once for this great man of the kitchen, this veritable magician; tell him to come and enjoy his work; tell him to come and judge of the ineffable beatitude in which he has plunged me, and above all, Pablo, tell him that if I do not go myself to testify my admiration, my gratitude, it is because—"
The canon was interrupted by the sight of the culinary artist, who suddenly entered the room, and stood face to face with Diégo, staring at him with a strange expression of countenance.
At the sight of the cook, who wore, according to the habit of his profession, a white vest and a cotton cap,—the ancient and highly classic schools of Laguipierre, Morel, and Carême remained faithful to the cotton cap, the young romantic school adopting the toque of white muslin,—Canon Dom Diégo rose painfully from his armchair, made two steps toward the culinary artist, with his hands extended, and cried, in a voice full of emotion:
"Welcome, my saviour, my friend, my dear friend! Yes, I am proud to give you this title; you have deserved it, because I owe you my appetite, and appetite is happiness,—it is life!"
The cook did not appear extremely grateful for the friendly title with which the canon had honoured him; he remained silent, his arms crossed on his breast, and his gaze fixed on Dom Diégo, but the latter, in the fiery ardour of gastronomic gratitude, did not observe the sardonic smile,—we would almost say Satanic smile,—which played upon the lips of the great man of the kitchen, and so continued the expression of his gratitude:
"My friend," pursued the canon, "from this day you are mine; your conditions will be mine. I am rich; good cheer is my only passion, and for you I will not be a master, but an admirer. Never, my friend, never, have you been better appreciated. You have told me yourself you work only for art, and you prove it, for I declare openly you are the greatest master cook of the world. The miracle that you have wrought to-day, notonly in restoring my appetite, but in increasing it as I tasted your masterpieces (even at this hour I feel able to enjoy another breakfast), this miracle, I say, places you outside of the line of ordinary cooks. We will never part, my dear friend; all that you ask I will grant; you can take other assistants, other subalterns, if you desire to do so. I wish to spare you all fatigue; your health is too precious to me to permit you to compromise it, for henceforth,—I feel it there," and Dom Diégo put his fat hand on his stomach,—"henceforth, I shall not know how to live without you, and—"
"So," cried the cook, interrupting the canon, and smiling with a sarcastic air, "so you have breakfasted well, my lord canon?"
"Have I breakfasted well, my dear friend! Let me tell you I owe you the enjoyment of an hour and a quarter. An inexpressible enjoyment, without intermission except when your services were interrupted, and these intermissions were filled with delight. Hovering between hope and remembrance, was I not expecting new pleasures with an insatiable longing? You ask me if I have breakfasted well! Pablo will tell you that I have wept with tenderness. That is my reply."
"I have been permitted, my lord, to send you some wines as accompaniments, because good dishes without good wines are like a beautiful woman without soul. Now, have you found these wines palatable, my lord?"
"Palatable! Great God, what blasphemy! Inestimable samples of all known nectars—palatable! Wines whose value could not be paid, if you exchanged them, bottle for bottle, with liquid gold—palatable! Come now, my dear friend, your modesty is exaggerated, as you seemed a moment ago to exaggerate your immense talent. But I recognise the fact that, if your genius should be boasted to hyperbole, there would still remain more than half untold."
"I have still more wine of this quality," said thecook, coldly; "for twenty-five years I have been preparing a tolerable cellar for myself."
"But this tolerable cellar, my dear friend, must have cost you millions?"
"It has cost me nothing, my lord."
"Nothing."
"They are all so many gifts to my humble merit."
"I am by no means astonished, my dear friend, but what are you going to do with this cellar, which is rich enough to be the envy of a king? Ah, if you desired to surrender to me the whole, or a part of it, I would not hesitate to make any sacrifice for its possession; because, as you have just said with so much significance, good dishes without good wines are like a beautiful woman without soul. Now, these wines accompany your productions so admirably that—I—"
The cook interrupted Dom Diégo with a sarcastic, sneering laugh.
"You laugh, my friend?" said the canon, greatly surprised. "You laugh?"
"Yes, my lord, I laugh."
"And at what, my friend?"
"At your gratitude to me, my lord canon."
"My friend, I do not understand you."
"Ah, Lord Dom Diégo! you believe that your good angel—and I picture him to myself, fat and chubby, dressed as I am, like a cook, and wearing pheasant wings on the back of his white robe!—ah, you believe, I say, my lord canon, that your good angel has sent me to you!"
"My dear friend," said Dom Diégo, stretching his large eyes, and feeling very uncomfortable on account of the cook's sardonic humour, "my dear friend, I pray you, explain yourself clearly."
"My lord canon, this day will prove a fatal one for you."
"Great God! what do you say?"
"My lord canon!" replied the cook, his arms crossed and his eyes fixed in a threatening manner on the canon.
And he took a step toward Dom Diégo, who recoiled from him with an expression of pain.
"My lord canon, look at me well."
"I—I—am looking at you," stammered Dom Diégo, "but—"
"My lord canon, my face shall pursue you everywhere, in your sleep and in your waking hours! You shall see me always before you, with my cotton cap and white jacket, like a terrible and fantastic apparition."
"Ah, my God! it is all up with me!" murmured the canon, terrified. "My presentiments did not deceive me; this appetite was too miraculous, these dishes, these wines, too supernatural not to have some awful mystery, some infernal magic in them."
Just at this critical moment the canon fortunately saw his majordomo enter.
"My lord," said Pablo, "the lawyer has just arrived; you know the lawyer who—"
"Pablo, stop there!" cried Dom Diégo, seizing his majordomo by the arm and drawing him near to himself. "Do not leave me."
"My God, sir! what is the matter?" said Pablo. "You seem to be frightened."
"Ah, Pablo, if you only knew," said Dom Diégo, in a low, whining voice, without daring to turn his eyes away from the cook.
"My lord," replied Pablo, "I told you the lawyer had arrived."
"What lawyer, Pablo?"
"The one who comes to draw up in legal form your demand for the arrest of Captain Horace, guilty of the abduction of Senora Dolores."
"Pablo, it is impossible to occupy myself now with business. I have no head—I must be dreaming. Ah,if you only knew what had happened! This cook—oh, my presentiments!"
"Then, my lord, I am going to send the lawyer away."
"No!" cried the canon, "no, it is this miserable Captain Horace who is the cause of all my ills. If he had not destroyed my appetite, I should have already breakfasted this morning when this tempter in a white jacket introduced himself here, and I would not have been the victim of his sorcery. No," added Dom Diégo, in a paroxysm of anger, "tell this lawyer to wait; he shall write my complaint this very hour. But first let me get out of this awful perplexity," added he, throwing a frightened glance at the silent and formidable cook. "I must know what this mysterious being wants of me to terrify me so. Tell the lawyer to enter my study, and do not leave me, Pablo."
The majordomo went to say a few words outside of the door to the lawyer, who entered an adjacent room, and the canon, the majordomo, and the cook remained alone.
Dom Diégo, encouraged by the presence of Pablo, tried to reassure himself, and said to the man in the white jacket, who still preserved his unruffled and sardonic demeanour:
"See, my good friend, let us talk seriously. It is neither a question of good or of bad angels, but of a man who possesses tremendous talent,—I am speaking of you,—whom I would like to attach to my household at whatever price it may cost. We were discussing the cellar of divine wines, for the acquisition of which I would esteem no sacrifice too much. I speak to you with all the sincerity of my soul, my dear and good friend; reply to me in the same way."
Then the canon whispered to his majordomo:
"Pablo, do you stand between him and me."
"Then," replied the cook, "I will speak to you withequal sincerity, my lord canon, and first, let me repeat, I will be the desolation, the despair of your life."
"You?"
"I."
"Pablo, do you hear him? What have I done to him? My God!" murmured Dom Diégo, "what grudge has he?"
"Remember well my words, my lord canon. In comparison with the marvellous repast I have served you, the best dishes will seem insipid, the best wines bitter, and your appetite, awakened a moment by my power, will be again destroyed when I am no longer there to resurrect it."
"But, my friend," cried the canon, "you are thinking then of—"
The man in the cotton cap and white jacket again interrupted the canon and said:
"In recalling the delicacies which I have made you enjoy a moment, you will be like the fallen angels, who recall the celestial joys of paradise only to regret them in the midst of lamentation and gnashing of teeth."
"My good friend, I pray you one word!"
"You will gnash your teeth, canon!" cried the cook, in a solemn voice, which sounded in the depths of Dom Diégo's soul like the blast of the trumpet of the last judgment. "You will be as a soul,—no, you have no soul, you will be like a stomach, scenting, hunting, touching all the choicest dishes that can be served, and crying with terrible groanings as you recall this morning's breakfast: 'Alas! alas! my appetite has passed like a shadow; those exquisite dishes I will taste no more! alas! alas!' Then in your despair you will become lean,—do you hear me, canon?—you will become lean."
"Great God! Pablo, what is this wretched man saying?"
"Until the present, in spite of your loss of appetite, you have lived upon your fat, like rats in winter, buthenceforth you will suffer the double and terrible blow of the loss of appetite and the ceaseless regrets that I will leave to you. You will become lean, canon, yes, your cheeks will be flabby, your triple chin will melt like wax in the sun, your enormous stomach will become flat like a leather bottle exhausted of its contents, your complexion, so radiant to-day, will grow yellow under the constant flow of your tears, and you will become lean, scraggy, and livid as an anchorite living on roots and water,—do you hear, canon?"
"Pablo," murmured Dom Diégo, shutting his eyes, and leaning on his majordomo, "support me. I feel as if I were struck with death. It seems to me I see my own ghost, such as this demon portrays. Yes, Pablo, I see myself lean, scraggy, livid. Oh, my God! it is frightful! it is horrible! It is the divine punishment for my sin of gluttony."
"My lord, calm yourself," said the majordomo.
And addressing the cook with mingled fear and anger, he said:
"Do you undertake to tyrannise over such an excellent and venerable a man as the Lord Dom Diégo?"
"And now," continued the cook, pitilessly, "farewell, canon, farewell for ever."
"Farewell, farewell for ever," cried Dom Diégo, with a violent start, as if he had received an electric shock. "What! can it be true? you will abandon me for ever. Oh, no, no, I see all now: in making me regret your loss so deeply, you wish to put your services at a higher price. Well, then, speak, how much must you have?"
"Ah, ah, ah, ah!" shouted the man with the cotton cap and white jacket, bursting into Mephistophelian laughter, and walking slowly toward the door.
"No, no," cried the canon, clasping his hands; "no, you will not abandon me thus,—it would be atrocious, it would be savage, it would be to leave an unfortunatetraveller in the middle of a burning desert, after having given him the delight of an oasis full of shade and freshness."
"You ought to have been a great preacher in your time, canon," said the man in the white jacket, continuing his march toward the door.
"Mercy, mercy!" cried Dom Diégo, in a voice choked with tears. "Ah, indeed, it is no longer the artist, the cook of genius with whom I plead; it is the man,—it is to one like myself that I bend the knee,—oh, see me, and beseech him not to leave a brother in hopeless woe."
"Yes, and see me at your knees, too, my lord cook!" cried the worthy majordomo, excited by the emotion of his master, and like him, falling on his knees; "a very humble poor creature joins his prayer to that of the Lord Dom Diégo. Alas! do not abandon him, he will die!"
"Yes," replied the cook, with a Satanic burst of laughter, "he will die, and he will die lean."
The last sarcasm changed the despair of Dom Diégo to fury. He rose quickly, and, notwithstanding his obesity, threw himself upon the cook, crying:
"Come to me, Pablo; the monster shall not cook for anybody, his death only can deliver me from his infernal persecution!"
"My lord," cried the majordomo, less excited than his master, "what are you doing? Grief makes you wild."
Fortunately, the man in the white jacket, at the first aggressive movement of Dom Diégo, recoiled two steps, and put himself in a defensive attitude by means of a large kitchen knife which he brandished in one hand, while in the other he held a sharp larding-pin.
At the sight of the formidable knife and larding-pin, drawn like a dagger, the murderous exasperation of the canon was dispelled; but the violence of his emotions,the heat of his blood, and the state of his digestion produced such a revolution that he tottered and fell unconscious in the arms of the majordomo, who, too weak to sustain such a weight, himself sank to the floor, screaming with all his strength:
"Help! help!"
Then the man in the white jacket disappeared, with a last resounding burst of laughter which would have done honour to Satan himself, and terrified the majordomo almost to death.
Many days had elapsed since the canon, Dom Diégo, had been so mercilessly abandoned by the strange and inimitable cook of whom we have spoken.
In the home of the Abbé Ledoux, the following scene occurred between him and the canon.
The threatening predictions of the great cook were beginning to be realised. Dom Diégo, pale, dejected, with a complexion yellowed by abstinence,—for all dishes seemed to him tasteless and nauseating since the marvellous breakfast of which he constantly dreamed,—would scarcely have been recognised. His enormous stomach had already lost its rotundity, and the poor man, whose physiognomy and attitude betrayed abject misery, responded in a mournful tone to the questions of the abbé, who, walking up and down the parlour in the greatest agitation, addressed him in a rude and angry tone:
"In truth, you have not the least energy, Dom Diégo; you have fallen into a desperate state of apathy."
"That is easy for you to say," murmured the canon, in a grieved tone. "I would like very much to see you in my place, alas!"
"Oh, come now, this is shameful!"
"Abuse me, abbé, curse me; but what do you want? Since this accursed man has abandoned me I live no longer, I eat no longer, I sleep no longer! Ah, he well said, 'My memory and my face will pursue you everywhere, canon!' In fact, I am always thinking of the Guinea fowl eggs, the trout, and the roast à la Sardanapalus.And he, I see him always and everywhere in his white jacket and cotton cap. It is like a hallucination. To-night, even, yielding myself to a feverish, nervous slumber, I dreamed of this demon."
"Better and better, canon."
"What a nightmare! My God! what a horrible nightmare! He had served me with one of those exquisite, divine dishes, which he alone has the genius to produce, and he said to me, with his sardonic air, 'Eat, canon, eat.' It was, I recollect,—I see it still,—a delicious reed-bird with orange sauce. I had a devouring appetite; I took my knife and fork to carve the adorable little bird; I was carving it into slices, golden outside and rosy within, and veined with such fine, delicate fat. A thousand little drops of rosy juice appeared on the flesh, like so many drops of dew, to such a point was it roasted. I steeped it in several spoonfuls of orange sauce whose flavour tickled my palate, before I tasted it. I took on the end of my fork a royal mouthful; I opened my mouth. Suddenly the ferocious laughter of my executioner resounded, and horror! I had on the end of my fork only a great piece of rancid, glutinous, infected yellow bacon. 'Eat, canon, why do you not eat?' repeated this accursed man, in his strident voice. 'Why do you not eat?' And in spite of myself, in spite of my terrible repugnance, I ate! Yes, abbé, I ate this disgusting bacon. Oh, when I think of it,—bah! it was horrible. And I awoke, bathed in tears. Night before last another odious dream. It was about eel-pout livers, and—"
"Go to the devil, canon!" cried the abbé, already provoked by this recital of Dom Diégo's gastronomic nightmare, "you are enough to damn a saint with your maudlin prattle."
"Prattle!" cried the canon, in despair. "What! here for eight days I have been able to swallow only a few spoonfuls of chocolate,—so faint, so disheartenedam I. What! I have had the fortitude to pass two hours seated in the museums of Chevet and Bontoux, those famous cooks, hoping that perhaps the sight of their rare collections of comestibles would excite in me some desire of appetite,—and nothing, nothing. No, the recollection of that celestial breakfast was there, always there, annihilating everything by the sole power of a cherished memory. Ah, abbé, abbé, I have never loved, but since these three days I comprehend all that is exclusive in love; I comprehend how a man passionately in love remains indifferent to the sight of the most beautiful creature in the world, dreaming, alas!—three times alas!—only of the adored object which he regrets."
"But, canon," said the abbé, looking at Dom Diégo with anxiety, "do you know that all this will result in delirium—in insanity?"
"Eh, my God! I know it well, abbé, I am losing my head. This cursed seducer has carried away my life and thought with him. In the street, I gaze into the faces of all who pass, in the hope of meeting him. Great God! if this good luck would only happen! Oh, he would not be insensible to my prayers. 'Cruel, perfidious man,' I would say, 'look at me. See on my features the mark of my sufferings! Will you be without pity? No, no; mercy, mercy!'"
And the canon, falling back in his armchair, covered his face with his hands and burst into sobs.
"My God! my God! how wretched I am!" he cried.
"What a double brute! He will be a fool, if he is not one already," said the abbé to himself. "I will not complain of it, because, his insanity once established, he will not leave our house, and whether it is he or his niece little matters."
The abbé approached the canon with compunction, and said to him, gently:
"Come, my brother, be reasonable, calm yourself,perhaps we ought to see in what has happened the punishment of Heaven."
"I think with you, abbé, this tempter came from hell. It is not given to any human being to be such a cook. Ah, abbé, I must be a great sinner, for my punishment is terrible!"
"You have indeed surrendered yourself, without measure, without restraint, to one of the foulest of the capital sins,—gluttony, my dear brother,—and I repeat to you Heaven punishes you, as is its law, in the very thing by which you have sinned."
"But after all, what is my crime? I have simply used the admirable gifts of the Creator, for in fact it is not I who, in order to enjoy them, have created pheasants, ortolans, fat livers, salmon trout, truffles, oysters, lobsters, wines, and—"
"My brother, my brother!" cried the abbé, interrupting this appetising enumeration, "your words savour of materialism, pantheism, heresy! You are not in a state of mind to listen to me as I refute these impious, abominable systems which lead directly to paganism. But there is one indisputable fact, which is, that you suffer, my brother, you suffer cruelly; it is for us to bind up your wounds, my tender brother, it is for us to comfort them with balm and honey."
At these words the canon made an involuntary grimace, because, in his gastronomic monomania, the idea of honey and balm was especially distasteful.
The abbé continued:
"Let us see, my dear brother, let us return to the cause of all your ills."
"Alas! abbé, it is the loss of my appetite."
"Be it so, my brother, and who has caused the loss of your appetite?"
"That wretch!" cried the canon, irritated, "that infamous Captain Horace."
"That is true; well, I will always preach to you theforgiveness of injuries, my dear brother; but, too, I must recommend to you an inexorable severity against sacrilege."
"What sacrilege, abbé?"
"Have not Captain Horace and one of his sailors dared to leap over the sacred walls of the convent where you had shut up your niece? Have they not had the audacity to carry away the miserable girl, whom happily we have recaptured? This enormity in other times might have been punished with fire, and one day it will be punished with eternal fire."
"And this villain of a captain will only have what he deserves," cried Dom Diégo, ferociously; "yes, he will cook—he will roast on Satan's spit by a slow fire, all eternity, where he will be moistened with gravy of melted lead, after having been larded with red-hot iron. Such will be his punishment, I earnestly hope."
"So may it be, but while waiting this eternal expiation, why not punish him here below? Why have you had the culpable weakness to give up your demand for the arrest of this miscreant? I need not remind you that this man is the first cause of all that you call your ills,—that is, the loss of your appetite."
"That is true, he is a great criminal."
"Then, my brother, why, I ask again, have you been so weak as to renounce your pursuit of him? You do not reply, you seem to be embarrassed."
"It is that—"
"It is what?"
"Alas, abbé, you are going to scold me, to lecture me again."
"Explain yourself, my brother."
"What shall I say? It is his fault, for, since he has disappeared, all my thoughts come from him and return to him."
"Who, he?"
"This angel or this demon."
"What angel—what demon?"
"The cook."
"Again the cook?"
"Always!"
"Come," said the abbé, shrugging his shoulders, "do explain yourself, my brother."
"Well, then, abbé, know that the day after the fatal day when I breakfasted as I shall never breakfast again, alas! when my despair was at its height, I received a mysterious note."
"And what did this contain, my brother?"
"Here it is."
"You have kept it."
"It is perhaps his cherished handwriting," murmured the canon, with a melancholy accent.
And he handed the note to Abbé Ledoux, who read as follows:
"My Lord Canon:—There remains perhaps one means of seeing me again.
"You now know the delights with which I am able to surfeit you.
"You also know the terrible torments which my absence inflicts.
"Before yesterday, not having felt these torments in all their anguish, you presumed to refuse what I expected of you.
"To-day, as past sufferings will be a guarantee for the sufferings to come, listen to me.
"You can put an end to these sufferings.
"For that, you must grant me three things.
"I demand the first to-day; in eight days the second; in fifteen days the third.
"I proportion the importance of my demands to the progress of your suffering, because the more you suffer, the more you will regret me and show yourself docile.
"Here is my first demand:
"Send back by the bearer of this note, your nonsuit of all complaint against Captain Horace.
"Give me by this act a proof of your desire to satisfy me, and then you will be able to hope that you may find again
Appetite."
When Abbé Ledoux had finished reading this note, he reflected a moment in silence, while the canon, repeating the last words of the letter, said, bitterly:
"'And you will be able to hope to find Appetite!' What cruel irony in this pitiless pun!"
"That is singular," said the abbé, thoughtfully. "Did you see the bearer of this note, Dom Diégo?"
"Did I see him? Could I lose this opportunity to speak ofhim?"
"Well?"
"Ah, well, one would have thought I was speaking Hebrew to this animal. To my most pressing questions, he responded with a stupid air. I was not able to draw from him either the address or the name of the person who had sent me the note."
"And so, canon, it is in obedience to this letter that you have renounced your complaint against this renegade Captain Horace."
"Yes, because I hoped, by my deference to the desires of him who holds my life in his hands, to soften his heart of stone, but alas! this concession has not touched him."
"But what relations can exist between this accursed cook and Captain Horace?" said Abbé Ledoux, still absorbed in thought. "Some intrigue is hidden there."
Then after another silence he added:
"Dom Diégo, listen to me; I will not tell you to abandon the hope that some day you may have in yourservice this cook whom you prize so highly. I shall not insist upon the dangers which threaten your eternal salvation in consequence of your persistent and abominable gluttony; you are at this moment in such a state of excitement that you would not comprehend it."
"I fear so, abbé"
"I am sure of it, canon. I will deal then with you as we deal, permit me to say it, with monomaniacs. I will for the present put myself in your place, extraordinary as it may seem, and I must tell you that you have done exactly the contrary of what you ought to have done, if you wish to gain power over this man, who, as you say, controls your destiny."
"Explain yourself, my dear abbé."
"After all you have confided to me, evidently this cook has no need of a position; having learned of your favourite vice, he has only sought a pretext for introducing himself into your house; his connivance with Captain Horace only proves, do you not see, that their plan was arranged beforehand, and they proposed to use your love of eating as a means of gaining influence over you."
"Great God!" cried Dom Diégo, "that is a ray of light!"
"Do you confess your blindness now?"
"What an infernal plot! What atrocious Machiavellism!" murmured the canon, thoroughly frightened.
Then he added, with a sigh of dejection, full of bitterness:
"Such dissimulation! Such perfidy united to such beautiful genius! Oh, humanity! Oh, humanity!"
"Let me continue," replied the abbé. "You have already, by your unworthy weakness, deprived yourself of one of the three means by which you might have controlled this great cook, since, as he has had the effrontery to warn you beforehand, there are yet two others he intends to exact from you, and he counts on your deplorable readiness to yield, to obtain them. Now,this end once attained, he will laugh at you, and you will see him no more."
"Abbé, that is impossible."
"Why?"
"I tell you, abbé, such treason is impossible. You surely do not believe that men are ferocious beasts,—monsters."
"I believe, canon," replied the abbé, with a shrug of the shoulders, "I believe that a cook who gives gratis wines at one or two louis a bottle—"
"Wait, pray," interrupted Dom Diégo. "Neither one, nor two, nor six louis would pay the cost of such wines. They were nectar, abbé, they were ambrosia, I tell you!"
"All the more reason, canon; a cook who is so prodigal of such costly ambrosia has no need of hiring himself for wages, I imagine."
"I not only offered him wages, I offered him, also, my friendship,—think of it, abbé, I said to this perfidious monster, 'Friend, I will not be your master, I will be your admirer.'"
"You see that he cared as little for your friendship as for your admiration."
"Ah, that would be an ingrate, indeed!"
"That may be; but if you wish, in your turn, to put this ingrate at your feet, there is a way for you to do so."
"To put him at my feet! Oh, abbé, if you could work this miracle! but, no, no, you are without pity, you play upon my credulity."
"The miracle is very simple; refuse absolutely all that this man demands of you, because if he has no need of your friendship or your admiration, he has evidently great need of your leaving off your suit against this Captain Horace. Refuse that, and you will hold your man. I do not know for how long a time you will hold him, but you will hold him. We will see afterward how toprolong your power. I am, you see, a man of wise counsel."
"Abbé, you open my eyes, you are right; in refusing his demands, I shall force him to return to me."
"Well, do you agree to it?"
"I was blind, silly! But what do you want, abbé? Despair, inanition! The stomach reacts so terribly on the brain. Ah, why was I so weak as to sign this nonsuit?"
"It is time to recall it."
"You think so, abbé?"
"I am certain of it. I know persons who are very influential with the magistracy."
"What an opportunity, abbé, what an opportunity!"
"We have friends everywhere. Now, listen to what is necessary for you to do. You go at once and present your complaint in legal form; we will attest it immediately at the bar of the king's attorney. We will say to him that the other day when you were in a condition of suffering and wholly irresponsible, you signed the nonsuit, but reflecting upon the sacrilegious crime of Captain Horace, you would fail in your double character of canon and guardian if you did not deliver this criminal to the rigour of the law. Begin by this act of decision and you will soon see this insolent cook, who dictates his orders to you, humble and submissive to your will."
"Abbé, dear abbé, you have saved my life."
"Wait, that is not all. This mysterious unknown, who interests himself so much in Captain Horace, must also interest himself in the captain's marriage with your niece. Evidently this intrigue concerns that, because, understand me, I wager a hundred to one that one of the two things which this impertinent cook reserves to ask of you is your consent to this marriage."
"What a depth of villainy!" cried the canon. "What diabolical plotting! There is no longer room for doubt,abbé, such was the plan of this miserable creature. Oh, if in my turn I could only get him in my power!"
"The way is very easy, and whatever may be the cause of it, after the various ramifications of this dark intrigue, of which your niece is the end, you must see that there would be grave dangers in leaving her in Paris, and whatever course you may take in regard to this—"
"She shall enter a convent," interrupted the canon, "that is my intention at all hazards; she has already caused me enough worry, enough care. I do not like to play the rôle of a guardian in a comedy."
"Your niece, then, will enter a convent; but to leave her in Paris is to expose her to the plotting of Captain Horace and his friends, and you know their audacity. Perhaps they will abduct her a second time. Imagine what new sorrow that would bring to you."
"But where shall I send this accursed girl?"
"Let her depart for Lyons to-day, even; we have an excellent house in that city, once entered there it would be impossible for her to communicate with the outside. Now, see what we are going to do. The first thing is to go at once to the Palais de Justice; there I shall find an influential person who will recommend me to the king's attorney, in whose hands you will lodge your complaint. After that we will hasten to the convent; among the livery hacks there is always a carriage ready for an emergency; one of our sisters and a steady and resolute man will accompany your niece; you will give your orders to them; in two hours she will be on the route to Lyons, and before the end of the day Captain Horace will be locked in jail, because, as he believes your complaint is withdrawn, he will come out of the retreat which we have not been able to discover. Once this miscreant arrested, and your niece out of Paris, you will see my Lord Appetite run to you, and with a little address—I will help you if you wish it—you will havehim at your mercy, and can do with him as you please."
"Dear abbé, you are my saviour!" cried the canon, rising from his seat, his face radiant with hope. "You are a superior man; Father Benoit told me so in Cadiz. Let us go, let us go. I abandon myself blindly to your counsels; everything tells me they are excellent, and that they will place him, who is an angel and a demon to me, in my power for ever."
"Let us go, then, my dear Dom Diégo," said the abbé, hastily putting on his hat, and dragging the canon by the arm.
The moment the canon opened the door of the parlour, he found himself face to face with Doctor Gasterini, who familiarly entered the saintly man's house without announcement.
The abbé was just going to address a word to the doctor, when at a cry from the canon he turned abruptly and saw Dom Diégo, pale, motionless, his gaze fixed, and his hands clasped, and his face expressing all the contradictions of stupor, doubt, anguish, and hope. Finally, addressing the abbé, who comprehended nothing of this sudden emotion, the canon pointed to the doctor and stammered, in a broken voice, "It—is—he."
But Dom Diégo was not able to say more, and overcome by emotion he sat down heavily in a chair, closed his eyes, and fell over in utter weakness.
"The devil! the canon here!" said Doctor Gasterini to himself. "Cursed accident!"
Abbé Ledoux, at the sight of Dom Diégo's collapse,—a pathetic picture,—turned to the doctor, and said:
"I think, really, the canon must be ill. What is the matter with him? Your arrival is fortunate, my dear doctor; wait,—here is a vial of salts, it will assist his breathing."
Hardly was the bottle placed to the nostrils of the canon when he sneezed violently, with a cavernous bellowing,then coming out of his fainting fit, but not having the strength to rise, he turned his languid eyes, suffused with tears, to the doctor, and said, with an accent which he wished to be stern, but which was only tender:
"Ah, cruel man!"
"Cruel!" said the abbé, bewildered, "why do you call the doctor cruel, Dom Diégo?"
"Yes," interposed the physician, perfectly calm and smiling, "what cruelty can you accuse me of, sir?"
"You ask that, you ingrate!" said the canon. "You dare ask that!"
"What! you call the doctor an ingrate!" said the abbé.
"The doctor!" said the canon, "what doctor?"
"Why, my friend, the man to whom you are speaking," said the abbé, "my friend standing there, Doctor Gasterini."
"He!" cried the canon, rising abruptly. "I tell you that is my tempter, my seducer!"
"The devil! he sees him everywhere," said the abbé, impatiently. "I repeat it to you that the gentleman is Doctor Gasterini, my friend."
"And I repeat to you, abbé," cried Dom Diégo, "that the gentleman is the great cook of whom I have spoken to you!"
"Doctor," said the abbé, earnestly, "in the name of Heaven, do explain this blunder."
"There is no blunder at all, my dear abbé."
"What?"
"The canon speaks the truth," replied Doctor Gasterini. "Day before yesterday I had the pleasure of preparing a dish for him; for, in order to have the honour of calling yourself a glutton, you must have a practical acquaintance with the culinary art."
The abbé, amazed, looked at Doctor Gasterini, unable to believe what he had heard; at last he said:
"What! you, doctor, have cooked dishes for Dom Diégo? You! you?"
"Yes, I, my dear abbé."
"A doctor," exclaimed the canon, in his turn amazed, "a physician?"
"Yes, canon," replied Doctor Gasterini, "I am a physician, which does not prevent my being a passable cook."
"Passable!" cried the canon, "say rather, divine! But what means this—"
"I comprehend all!" replied Abbé Ledoux, after having remained silent and thoughtful a moment, "the plot was skilfully contrived."
"What is it that you comprehend, abbé? Of what plot are you talking?" said the canon, who, after his first astonishment, began to wonder how a physician could be such an extraordinary cook. "I pray you explain yourself, abbé!"
"Do you know, Dom Diégo," asked the abbé, with a bitter smile, "who Doctor Gasterini is?"
"But," stammered the canon, wiping the perspiration from his brow, for he had been making superhuman efforts to penetrate the mystery, "everything is so complicated—so strange—that—"
"Doctor Gasterini," cried the abbé, "is the uncle of Captain Horace! Do you understand now, Dom Diégo, the diabolical trick the doctor has played you? Do you understandthat he has played upon your deplorable gluttony in order to get such a hold on you that he might induce you to abandon your pursuit of Captain Horace, his nephew, and afterward to induce you to consent to the marriage of your niece and the captain? Do you understand at last to what point you have been duped? Do you see the depth of the abyss you have escaped?"
"My God! this great cook a doctor! And he is the uncle of Captain Horace!" murmured the canon, stunned by the revelation. "He is not a real cook! Oh, illusion of illusions!"
The doctor remained silent and imperturbable.
"Hey, have you been duped enough?" asked the abbé. "Have you played a sufficiently ridiculous rôle? And do you now believe that the illustrious Doctor Gasterini, one of the princes of science, who has fifty thousand a year income, would hire himself to you as a cook? Was I wrong in saying that you had been made a scoff and jeer for other persons' amusement?"
Every word from the abbé exasperated the anger, the grief, and the despair of the canon. The last remark above all. "Do you think the celebrated Doctor Gasterini would hire himself for wages," gave a mortal blow to the last illusions that Dom Diégo cherished. Turning to the doctor, he said, with an ill-concealed anger:
"Ah, sir, do you recollect the evil you have done me? I may die of it, perhaps, but I will have my revenge, if not on you, at least on that rascal, your nephew, and on my unworthy niece, who, no doubt, is also in this abominable intrigue!"
"Well, courage, Dom Diégo; this righteous vengeance will not tarry," said Abbé Ledoux.
Then he turned to the doctor, and said, sarcastically:
"Ah, doctor, you are doubtless a very shrewd, clever man, but you know the best players sometimes lose the best games, and you will lose this one!"
"Perhaps," said the doctor, smiling; "who knows?"
"Come, my dear abbé, come," cried the canon, pale and exasperated; "come, let us see the king's attorney, and then we will hasten the departure of my niece."
And, turning to the doctor, he said:
"To employ arms so perfidious, so disloyal! to deceive a confiding and inoffensive man with this odious Machiavellism! I who have eaten with my eyes shut, I who have taken delight upon the very brink of an abyss! Ah, sir, it is abominable, but I will have my revenge!"
"And this very instant," said the abbé. "Come, Dom Diégo, follow me. A thousand pardons, my dear doctor, to leave you so abruptly, but you understand moments are precious."
The canon, boiling with rage, was about to follow the abbé when Doctor Gasterini said, in a calm voice:
"Canon, a word if you please."
"If you listen to him, you are lost, Dom Diégo!" cried the abbé, dragging the canon with him. "The evil spirit himself is not more insidious than this infernal doctor. Decide for yourself after the trick he has played on you. Come, come!"
"Canon," said the doctor, seizing Dom Diégo by the right sleeve, while the abbé, who held the worthy man by the left sleeve, was using every effort to force him to follow him. "Canon," repeated the doctor, "just one word, I pray you."
"No, no!" said the abbé, "let us flee, Dom Diégo, let us flee this serpent tempter."
And the abbé continued to pull the canon by his right sleeve.
"Just a word," said the physician, "and you will see how much this dear abbé deceives you in my place."
"The Abbé Ledoux deceives me in your place! That is too much by far!" cried Dom Diégo. "How, sir, do you dare?"
"I am going to prove to you what I say, canon," said the doctor, earnestly, as he saw Dom Diégo make aneffort to approach him. The abbé, suspecting the canon's weakness, pulled him violently, and said:
"Recollect, unhappy man, that your mother Eve was lost by listening to the first word of Satan. I adjure you, I command you, to follow me this instant! If you give way, unhappy man, take care! One second more, and it is all up with you. Let us go, let us go!"
"Yes, yes, you are my saviour, take me away from here," stammered the canon, disengaging himself from the grasp of the doctor. "In spite of myself, I am already yielding to the incomprehensible influence of this demon. I recall those Guinea fowl eggs with crab gravy, that trout with frozen Montpellier butter, that celestial roast à la Sardanapalus, and already a dim hope—let us fly, abbé, it is time, let us fly."
"Canon," said the doctor, holding on to the arm of Dom Diégo with all his strength, "listen to me, I pray you."
"Vade retro, Satanas!" cried Dom Diégo, with horror, escaping from the doctor's hands.
And dragged along by the abbé, he was on the threshold of the door, when the physician cried:
"I will cook for you as much as you desire, and as long as I shall live, Dom Diégo. Grant me five minutes, and I will prove what I declare. Five minutes, what do you risk?"
At the magic words, "I will cook for you as much as you desire," the canon seemed nailed to the door-sill, and did not advance a step, in spite of the efforts of the abbé, who was too exhausted to struggle against the weight of such a large man.
"You certainly are stupid!" cried the abbé, losing control of himself, "what a fool you are to have any dealings with him!"
"Grant me five minutes, Dom Diégo," urged the doctor, "and, if I do not convince you of the reality of my promises, then give free course to your vengeance. I repeat,what do you risk? I only ask a poor five minutes."
"In fact," said the canon, turning to the abbé, "what would I risk?"
"Go, you risk nothing!" cried the abbé, pushed to the extreme by the weakness of the canon; "from this moment you are lost, a scoff and a jeer. Go, go, throw yourself into the jaws of this monster, thrice dull brute that you are!"
These unfortunate words, uttered by the abbé in anger, wounded the pride of Dom Diégo to the quick, and he replied, with an offended air:
"At least, I will not be brute enough, Abbé Ledoux, to hesitate between the loss of five minutes, and the ruin of my hopes, as weak as they may be."
"As you please, Dom Diégo," replied the abbé, gnawing his nails with anger; "you are a good, greasy dupe to experiment upon. Really, I am ashamed of having pitied you."
"Not such a dupe, Abbé Ledoux, not such a dupe as you may suppose," said the canon, in a self-sufficient tone. "You are going to discover, and the doctor, too, for no doubt he is going to explain himself."
"At once," eagerly replied the doctor, "at once, my lord canon, and very clearly too, very categorically."
"Let us see," said Dom Diégo, swelling cheeks with an important air. "You discover, sir, that I have now powerful reasons for not allowing myself to be satisfied with chimeras, because, as the abbé has said, I would be a good, greasy dupe to permit you to deceive me, after so many cautions."
"Oh, certainly," said the abbé, in his great indignation, "you are a proud man, canon, and quite capable of fighting this son of Beelzebub."
"By which title you mean me, dear abbé," said the doctor, with sardonic courtesy. "What an ingrate you are! I come to remind you that you promised to dinewith me to-day. Permit my lord canon, also,—he is not a stranger to our subject, as you will see."
"Yes, doctor," said the abbé, "I did make you this promise, but—"
"You will keep it, I do not doubt, and I will remind you, too, that this invitation was extended in consequence of a little discussion relative to the seven capital sins. Again, canon, I am in the question, and you are going to recognise it immediately."
"It is true, doctor," replied the abbé, with a constrained smile, "I would brand, as they deserve to be, the seven capital sins, causes of eternal damnation to the miserable beings who abandon themselves to these abominable vices, and in your passion for paradoxes, you have dared maintain that—"
"That the seven capital sins have good, in a certain point of view, in a certain measure, and gluttony, particularly, may be made an admirable passion."
"Gluttony!" cried the canon, amazed. "Gluttony admirable!"
"Admirable, my dear canon," replied the doctor, "and that, too, in the eyes of the wisest, and most sincerely religious men."
"Gluttony!" repeated the canon, who had listened to the physician with increasing bewilderment, "gluttony!"
"It is even more, my lord canon," said the doctor, solemnly, "because, for those who are to put it in practice, it becomes an imperious duty to humanity."
"A duty to humanity!" repeated Dom Diégo.
"And, above all, a question of high civilisation and great policy, my lord canon," added the doctor, with an air so serious, so full of conviction, that he imposed on the canon, who cried:
"Hold, doctor, if you could only demonstrate that—"
"Do you not see that the doctor is making you ridiculous?" said the abbé, shrugging his shoulders. "Ah, I told you the truth, unhappy Dom Diégo; you are lost,for ever lost, as soon as you consent to listen to such foolery."
"Canon," the doctor hastened to add, "let us resume our subject, not by reasoning, which, I confess, may appear to you specious, but by facts, by acts, by proofs, and by figures. You are both a glutton and superstitious. You have not the strength to resist your craving for good things; then, your gluttony satisfied, you are afraid of having committed a great sin, which sometimes spoils the pleasure of good cheer, and above all, injures the calmness and regularity of your digestion. Is this not true?"
"It is true," meekly replied the canon, dominated, fascinated by the doctor's words, "it is too true."
"Well, my lord canon, I wish to convince you, I repeat, not by reasoning, however logical it may be, but by visible, palpable facts and by figures, first, that in being a glutton, you accomplish a mission highly philanthropic, a benefit to civilisation and politics; second, that I can, and will be able to make you eat and drink, when you wish, with far more intense enjoyment than the other day."
"And I, I say to you," cried the abbé, appalled by the doctor's assurance, "that if you prove by facts and figures, as you pretend, that to be a glutton is to accomplish a mission to humanity or high civilisation, or is a thing of great political significance, I swear to you to become an adept in this philosophy, as absurd and visionary as it appears."
"And if you prove to me, doctor, that you can open again, and in the future continue to open the doors of the culinary paradise that you opened to me day before yesterday," cried the canon, palpitating with new hope, "if you prove to me that I accomplish a social duty in yielding myself up to gluttony, you will be able to dominate me, I will be your deputy, your slave, your thing."
"Agreed, my lord canon, agreed, Abbé Ledoux, you shall be satisfied. Let us depart."
"Depart?" asked the canon, "where?"
"To my house, Dom Diégo."
"To your house," said the canon, with an air of distrust, "to your house?"
"My carriage is below," replied the doctor; "in a quarter of an hour we will arrive there."
"But, doctor," asked the canon, "why go to your house? What are we going to do there?"
"At my house, only, will you be able to find those visible, palpable proofs of what I have declared, for I have come to remind the dear abbé that to-day is the twentieth of November, the day of the investigation to which I have invited him. But the hour advances, gentlemen, let us depart."
"I do not know if I am dreaming or awake," said Dom Diégo, "but I throw myself in the gulf with my eyes shut."
"You must be the very devil himself, doctor, for my instinct and reason revolt against your paradoxes. I do not believe one word of your promises, yet it is impossible for me to resist the curious desire to accompany you."
The canon and the abbé followed the doctor, entered his carriage with him, and soon the three arrived at the house occupied by the distinguished physician.
Doctor Gasterini lived in a charming house in the Faubourg du Roule, where he soon arrived in company with the canon and Abbé Ledoux.
"While we are waiting for dinner, would you like to take a turn in the garden?" said the doctor, to his guests. "That will give me the opportunity to present to you my poor sister's eight children, my nephews and nieces, whom I have reared and established in the world respectably, entirely by means of gluttony. You see, canon, we still follow our subject."
"What, doctor!" replied the canon, "you have reared a numerous family by means of gluttony?"
"You do not see that the doctor continues to ridicule you!" said the abbé, shrugging his shoulders. "It is too much by far!"
"I give you my word of honour as an honest man," replied Doctor Gasterini, "and besides, I am going to prove to you in a moment, by facts, that if I had not been the greatest gourmand among men, I should never have known how to make for each one of my nephews and nieces the excellent positions which they hold, as worthy, honest, and intelligent labourers, contributing, each in his sphere, to the prosperity of the country."
"So we are really to see people who contribute to the prosperity of the country, and for that we may thank the doctor's love of eating!" said the canon, with amazement.
"No," cried the abbé, "what confounds me is to hearsuch absurdities maintained till the last moment, and—" but suddenly interrupting himself, he asked with surprise, as he looked around:
"What is that building, doctor? It looks like shops."
"That is my orangery," replied the doctor, "and to-day, as every year at this time, my birthday, they set up shops here."
"How is that; set up shops, and what for?" asked the abbé.
"Zounds! why, to sell, of course, my dear abbé."
"Sell what? and who is to sell?"
"As to what is sold, you will soon see, and as to the purchasers, why, they are my patrons, who are coming to spend the evening here."
"Really, doctor, I do not comprehend you."
"You know, my dear abbé, that for a long time charity shops have been kept by some of the prettiest women in Paris."
"Ah, yes," replied the abbé; "the proceeds to be given to the poor."
"This is the same; the proceeds of this evening's sale will be distributed among the poor of my district."
"And who are to keep these shops?" asked the canon.
"My sister's eight children, Dom Diégo. They will sell there, for the charitable purpose I have mentioned, the produce of their own industry. But come, gentlemen, let us enter, and I shall have the honour of introducing to you my nieces and nephews."
With these words Doctor Gasterini conducted his friends into a vast orangery, where were arranged eight little shops or stalls for the display of wares. The green boxes of a large number of gigantic orange-trees formed the railings and separations of these stalls, so that each one had a ceiling of beautiful foliage.
"Ah, doctor," exclaimed the canon, stopping before the first stall in admiration, "this is magnificent! I have never seen anything like it in my life. It is magic!"
"It is indeed a feast for the eye," said the abbé. "It is unsurpassed."
Let us see what elicited the just admiration of Doctor Gasterini's guests. The boxes forming the enclosure of the first stall were ornamented with leaves and flowers; on each of these rustic platforms, covered with moss, a collection of fruits and early vegetables was displayed with rare beauty. Golden pineapples with crowns of green lay above immense baskets of grapes of every shade, from the dark purple cluster of the valley to the transparent red from the mountain vineyards. Pyramids of pears, and apples of the rarest and choicest species, of enormous size and variegated with the brightest colours, reached up to summits of bananas, as golden as if the sun of the tropics had ripened them. Farther on dwarf fig-trees in pots, and covered with violet-coloured figs, stood among a rare collection of autumn melons, Brazil pumpkins, and Spanish and white potatoes. Still farther, little rush baskets of hothouse strawberries contrasted with rosy mushrooms, and enormous truffles as black as ebony, obtained from the hotbed by special culture. Then came the rare and early specimens of the season,—green asparagus and varieties of lettuce.
In the midst of these marvels of the vegetable kingdom, which she herself had grouped in such a charming and picturesque scene, stood a beautiful young woman, elegantly attired in the costume of the peasants living in the neighbourhood of Paris.
"I present to you one of my nieces," said the doctor to his guests, "Juliette Dumont, cultivator of early fruits and vegetables, in the open field and hothouse at Montreuil-sous-Bois."
Then, turning to the young woman, the doctor added:
"My child, tell these gentlemen, please, how many gardeners you and your husband employ in your occupation."
"At least twenty men the whole time, my dear uncle."
"And their salary, my child."
"According to your advice, dear uncle, we give them the fixed price of fifty cents, and a part of our profit, in order to interest them as much as we are in the excellence of the work. We find this arrangement the best in the world, for our gardeners, interested as much as ourselves in the prosperity of our undertaking, labour with great zeal. So this year, their part in the income of the establishment has almost amounted to five francs a day."
"And about how much a year is the whole income, my child?"
"Thanks to our nurseries of fine fruit-trees, we make, dear uncle, from eighty to a hundred thousand francs a year."
"As much as that?" said the abbé.
"Yes, sir," replied the young woman; "and there are many houses in the neighbourhood of Paris and in the provinces whose incomes are larger than ours."
The canon, absorbed in the contemplation of fragrant golden fruits, truffles, and mushrooms, and the first vegetables of the season as luscious as they were rare, gave only a distracted attention to the economics of the conversation, and reluctantly accepted the doctor's invitation, who said to him:
"Let us pass to another specimen of the industry of my family, canon, for each one to-day displays his best wares. Now tell me if that jolly fellow over there is not a true artist."
And with these words Doctor Gasterini pointed out the second stall to his guests.
In the middle of an enclosure, carpeted with rushes and seaweeds, three large, white marble tables rose one above the other at an interval of one foot, gradually diminishing in size, like the basins of a fountain. Onthese marble slabs, covered with marine herbs, was a fine display of shells, crustaceans, and the choicest and most delicate sea-fish.
On the first slab was a sort of grotto made of shell-work, in which could be seen mussels and oysters from Marennes, Ostend, and Cancale, fattened at an immense expense in the parks. At the base of this slab lobsters, shrimps, and crabs were slowly crawling, or putting out a feeler from under their thick shells.
On the second slab, fringed with long seaweeds of a light green colour, were fish of the most diminutive size and exquisite flavour; sardines gleaming like silver, others of ultramarine blue, others still of bright red, and dainty grill fish with backs as white as snow, and rose-coloured bellies.
Finally, on the last and largest of these marble basins lay, here and there, veritable monsters of the sea, enormous turbots, gigantic salmon, formidable sturgeons, and prodigious tunnies.
A young man with sunburnt complexion, and frank, prepossessing countenance, who recalled the features of Captain Horace, smiled complaisantly at this magnificent exhibition of the products of the sea.
"Gentlemen, I present to you my nephew Thomas, patron of fisheries at Etretat," said Doctor Gasterini to his guests, "and you see that his nets do not bring back sand alone."
"I never saw anything in my life more admirable! I never saw more appetising fish!" exclaimed Dom Diégo, with enthusiasm. "One could almost eat them raw!"
"My boy," said Doctor Gasterini to his nephew, "these gentlemen would like to know how many sailors you patron fishers employ in your boats."
"Each boat employs eight or ten men and a cabin-boy," replied patron Thomas. "You see, my dear uncle, that makes quite a fine array of men, when you think of the number of fishing-boats on the coasts ofFrance, from Bayonne to Dunkerque, and from Perpignan to Cannes."
"And what pay do these men get, my boy?" asked the doctor.
"We buy boats and nets in common, and divide the produce of the fish, and when a sailor is carried away by a big wave, his widow and children succeed to the father's portion; in a word, we work in an association, all for each, and each for all, and I assure you that when it is necessary to throw our nets or draw them in, to furl a sail or give it to the winds, there is no idler among us. All work with a good heart."
"Very well, my brave boy," said the doctor. "But, my lord canon," added he, turning to Dom Diégo, "as a true gourmand, you shall taste scalloped salmon with truffles, and sole minced in the Venetian style. Here we promote one of the noblest industries of the country, and it also contributes to the amelioration of the condition of our marine service. Let this thought, canon, take possession of your mind when you eat sturgeon baked in its own liquor, flavoured highly with Bayonne ham and oyster sauce, mingled with Madeira wine!"
At these words, Dom Diégo opened mechanically his large mouth and shut it, passing his tongue over his lips, with a sigh of greedy desire.
Abbé Ledoux, too discerning not to comprehend the doctor's intention, betrayed increasing resentment, but did not utter a word. The physician affected not to perceive the vexation of his guest. Taking Dom Diégo by the arm, he said, as he conducted him to the third stall:
"Honestly, my lord canon, did you ever see anything more beautiful, more charming, than this?"
"Never, oh, never!" exclaimed Dom Diégo, clasping his hands in admiration, "although the confections of my country are considered the finest in the world."
Nor was there, indeed, anything more captivating ormore beautiful than this third stall, where was displayed in cups or porcelain dishes everything that the most refined epicureans could imagine in preserves, confections, and sweetmeats. In one place, crystallised sugar enveloped sparkling stalactites of the most beautiful fruits; in another, pyramids of all kinds, variegated with the brightest colours,—red with lozenges of rose, green with frozen pistachios shading into tints of lemon; farther on, oranges, limes, cedras, all covered with a snowy coating of sugar. Again, transparent jellies, made from Rouen apples, and currant jellies from Bar, shone with the prismatic brilliancy of ruby and topaz. Still farther, wide slabs of nougat from Marseilles, white as fresh cream, served as pedestals for columns of chocolate made in Bayonne, and apricot paste from Montpellier. Boxes of preserved fruit from Touraine, as fresh as if they had just been gathered, and in their gorgeous colouring resembling Florentine mosaics, charmed the eyes of the beholder.
A young and pretty woman, a niece of Dr. Gasterini, presided at this exhibition of sweets, and welcomed her uncle with an amiable smile.