第40章 A LOVER SAVED AND LOST(4)

Though Marie's sight and smell were disagreeably affected,Schmucke's smile and glance disguised these abject miseries by rays of celestial light which actually illuminated their smoky tones and vivified the chaos.The soul of this dear man,which saw and revealed so many things divine,shone like the sun.His laugh,so frank,so guileless at seeing one of his Saint-Cecilias,shed sparkles of youth and gaiety and innocence about him.The treasures he poured from the inner to the outer were like a mantle with which he covered his squalid life.The most supercilious parvenu would have felt it ignoble to care for the frame in which this glorious old apostle of the musical religion lived and moved and had his being.

"Hey!by what good luck do I see you here,dear Madame la comtesse?"he said."Must I sing the canticle of Simeon at my age?"(This idea so tickled him that he laughed immoderately.)"Truly I'm 'en bonne fortune.'"(And again he laughed like a merry child.)"But,ah!"he said,changing to melancholy,"you come for the music,and not for a poor old man like me.Yes,I know that;but come for what you will,Iam yours,you know,body and soul and all I have!"This was said in his unspeakable German accent,a rendition of which we spare the reader.

He took the countess's hand,kissed it and left a tear there,for the worthy soul was always on the morrow of her benefit.Then he seized a bit of chalk,jumped on a chair in front of the piano,and wrote upon the wall in big letters,with the rapidity of a young man,"February 17th,1835."This pretty,artless action,done in such a passion of gratitude,touched the countess to tears.

"My sister will come too,"she said.

"The other,too!When?when?God grant it be before I die!""She will come to thank you for a great service I am now here to ask of you.""Quick!quick!tell me what it is,"cried Schmucke."What must I do?

go to the devil?"

"Nothing more than write the words 'Accepted for ten thousand francs,'and sign your name on each of these papers,"she said,taking from her muff four notes prepared for her by Nathan.

"Hey!that's soon done,"replied the German,with the docility of a lamb;"only I'm sure I don't know where my pens and ink are--Get away from there,Meinherr Mirr!"he cried to the cat,which looked composedly at him."That's my cat,"he said,showing him to the countess."That's the poor animal that lives with poor Schmucke.

Hasn't he fine fur?"

"Yes,"said the countess.

"Will you have him?"he cried.

"How can you think of such a thing?"she answered."Why,he's your friend!"The cat,who hid the inkstand behind him,divined that Schmucke wanted it,and jumped to the bed.

"He's as mischievous as a monkey,"said Schmucke."I call him Mirr in honor of our great Hoffman of Berlin,whom I knew well."The good man signed the papers with the innocence of a child who does what his mother orders without question,so sure is he that all is right.He was thinking much more of presenting the cat to the countess than of the papers by which his liberty might be,according to the laws relating to foreigners,forever sacrificed.

"You assure me that these little papers with the stamps on them--""Don't be in the least uneasy,"said the countess.

"I am not uneasy,"he said,hastily."I only meant to ask if these little papers will give pleasure to Madame du Tillet.""Oh,yes,"she said,"you are doing her a service,as if you were her father.""I am happy,indeed,to be of any good to her--Come and listen to my music!"and leaving the papers on the table,he jumped to his piano.

The hands of this angel ran along the yellowing keys,his glance was rising to heaven,regardless of the roof;already the air of some blessed climate permeated the room and the soul of the old musician;but the countess did not allow the artless interpreter of things celestial to make the strings and the worn wood speak,like Raffaelle's Saint Cecilia,to the listening angels.She quickly slipped the notes into her muff and recalled her radiant master from the ethereal spheres to which he soared,by laying her hand upon his shoulder.

"My good Schmucke--"she said.

"Going already?"he cried."Ah!why did you come?"He did not murmur,but he sat up like a faithful dog who listens to his mistress.

"My good Schmucke,"she repeated,"this is a matter of life and death;minutes can save tears,perhaps blood."

"Always the same!"he said."Go,angel!dry the tears of others.Your poor Schmucke thinks more of your visit than of your gifts.""But we must see each other often,"she said."You must come and dine and play to me every Sunday,or we shall quarrel.Remember,I shall expect you next Sunday.""Really and truly?"

"Yes,I entreat you;and my sister will want you,too,for another day.""Then my happiness will be complete,"he said;"for I only see you now in the Champs Elysees as you pass in your carriage,and that is very seldom."This thought dried the tears in his eyes as he gave his arm to his beautiful pupil,who felt the old man's heart beat violently.

"You think of us?"she said.

"Always as I eat my food,"he answered,--"as my benefactresses;but chiefly as the first young girls worthy of love whom I ever knew."So respectful,faithful,and religious a solemnity was in this speech that the countess dared say no more.That smoky chamber,full of dirt and rubbish,was the temple of the two divinities.

"There we are loved--and truly loved,"she thought.

The emotion with which old Schmucke saw the countess get into her carriage and leave him she fully shared,and she sent him from the tips of her fingers one of those pretty kisses which women give each other from afar.Receiving it,the old man stood planted on his feet for a long time after the carriage had disappeared.

A few moments later the countess entered the court-yard of the hotel de Nucingen.Madame de Nucingen was not yet up;but anxious not to keep a woman of the countess's position waiting,she hastily threw on a shawl and wrapper.