During my last visit to Paris I was taken to see the pictures in the Louvre.On my word of honor, they are mere screen-painting,--no depth, no atmosphere; the painters were actually afraid to put colors on their canvas.And it is they who talk of overturning our ancient school of art! Ah, bah!--""Our old masters," replied Balthazar, "studied the combination of colors and their endurance by submitting them to the action of sun and rain.You are right enough, however; the material resources of art are less cultivated in these days than formerly."Madame Claes was not listening to the conversation.The notary's remark that porcelain dinner-services were now the fashion, gave her the brilliant idea of selling a quantity of heavy silver-ware which she had inherited from her brother,--hoping to be able thus to pay off the thirty thousand francs which her husband owed.
"Ha! ha!" Balthazar was saying to Pierquin when Madame Claes's mind returned to the conversation, "so they are discussing my work in Douai, are they?""Yes," replied the notary, "every one is asking what it is you spend so much money on.Only yesterday I heard the chief-justice deploring that a man like you should be searching for the Philosopher's stone.Iventured to reply that you were too wise not to know that such a scheme was attempting the impossible, too much of a Christian to take God's work out of his hands; and, like every other Claes, too good a business man to spend your money for such befooling quackeries.Still, I admit that I share the regret people feel at your absence from society.You might as well not live here at all.Really, madame, you would have been delighted had you heard the praises showered on Monsieur Claes and on you.""You acted like a faithful friend in repelling imputations whose least evil is to make me ridiculous," said Balthazar."Ha! so they think me ruined? Well, my dear Pierquin, two months hence I shall give a fete in honor of my wedding-day whose magnificence will get me back the respect my dear townsmen bestow on wealth."Madame Claes colored deeply.For two years the anniversary had been forgotten.Like madmen whose faculties shine at times with unwonted brilliancy, Balthazar was never more gracious and delightful in his tenderness than at this moment.He was full of attention to his children, and his conversation had the charms of grace, and wit, and pertinence.This return of fatherly feeling, so long absent, was certainly the truest fete he could give his wife, for whom his looks and words expressed once more that unbroken sympathy of heart for heart which reveals to each a delicious oneness of sentiment.
Old Lemulquinier seemed to renew his youth; he came and went about the table with unusual liveliness, caused by the accomplishment of his secret hopes.The sudden change in his master's ways was even more significant to him than to Madame Claes.Where the family saw happiness he saw fortune.While helping Balthazar in his experiments he had come to share his beliefs.Whether he really understood the drift of his master's researches from certain exclamations which escaped the chemist when expected results disappointed him, or whether the innate tendency of mankind towards imitation made him adopt the ideas of the man in whose atmosphere he lived, certain it is that Lemulquinier had conceived for his master a superstitious feeling that was a mixture of terror, admiration, and selfishness.The laboratory was to him what a lottery-office is to the masses,--organized hope.
Every night he went to bed saying to himself, "To-morrow we may float in gold"; and every morning he woke with a faith as firm as that of the night before.
His name proved that his origin was wholly Flemish.In former days the lower classes were known by some name or nickname derived from their trades, their surroundings, their physical conformation, or their moral qualities.This name became the patronymic of the burgher family which each established as soon as he obtained his freedom.Sellers of linen thread were called in Flanders, "mulquiniers"; and that no doubt was the trade of the particular ancestor of the old valet who passed from a state of serfdom to one of burgher dignity, until some unknown misfortune had again reduced his present descendant to the condition of a serf, with the addition of wages.The whole history of Flanders and its linen-trade was epitomized in this old man, often called, by way of euphony, Mulquinier.He was not without originality, either of character or appearance.His face was triangular in shape, broad and long, and seamed by small-pox which had left innumerable white and shining patches that gave him a fantastic appearance.He was tall and thin; his whole demeanor solemn and mysterious; and his small eyes, yellow as the wig which was smoothly plastered on his head, cast none but oblique glances.
The old valet's outward man was in keeping with the feeling of curiosity which he everywhere inspired.His position as assistant to his master, the depositary of a secret jealously guarded and about which he maintained a rigid silence, invested him with a species of charm.The denizens of the rue de Paris watched him pass with an interest mingled with awe; to all their questions he returned sibylline answers big with mysterious treasures.Proud of being necessary to his master, he assumed an annoying authority over his companions, employing it to further his own interests and compel a submission which made him virtually the ruler of the house.Contrary to the custom of Flemish servants, who are deeply attached to the families whom they serve, Mulquinier cared only for Balthazar.If any trouble befell Madame Claes, or any joyful event happened to the family, he ate his bread and butter and drank his beer as phlegmatically as ever.
