A Start in Life [16]
poet could
scarcely call hair. This man, of wan complexion, seemed timorous, but
withal tyrannical.
In this dreary apartment, which faced the north and had no other
outlook than to a vine on the opposite wall and a well in the corner
of the yard, Madame Clapart bore herself with the airs of a queen, and
moved like a woman unaccustomed to go anywhere on foot. Often, while
thanking Pierrotin, she gave him glances which would have touched to
pity an intelligent observer; from time to time she would slip a
twelve-sous piece into his hand, and then her voice was charming.
Pierrotin had never seen Oscar, for the reason that the boy was always
in school at the time his business took him to the house.
Here is the sad story which Pierrotin could never have discovered,
even by asking for information, as he sometimes did, from the portress
of the house; for that individual knew nothing beyond the fact that
the Claparts paid a rent of two hundred and fifty francs a year, had
no servant but a charwoman who came daily for a few hours in the
morning, that Madame Clapart did some of her smaller washing herself,
and paid the postage on her letters daily, being apparently unable to
let the sum accumulate.
There does not exist, or rather, there seldom exists, a criminal who
is wholly criminal. Neither do we ever meet with a dishonest nature
which is completely dishonest. It is possible for a man to cheat his
master to his own advantage, or rake in for himself alone all the hay
in the manger, but, even while laying up capital by actions more or
less illicit, there are few men who never do good ones. If only from
self-love, curiosity, or by way of variety, or by chance, every man
has his moment of beneficence; he may call it his error, he may never
do it again, but he sacrifices to Goodness, as the most surly man
sacrifices to the Graces once or twice in his life. If Moreau's faults
can ever be excused, it might be on the score of his persistent
kindness in succoring a woman of whose favors he had once been proud,
and in whose house he was hidden when in peril of his life.
This woman, celebrated under the Directory for her liaison with one of
the five kings of that reign, married, through that all-powerful
protection, a purveyor who was making his millions out of the
government, and whom Napoleon ruined in 1802. This man, named Husson,
became insane through his sudden fall from opulence to poverty; he
flung himself into the Seine, leaving the beautiful Madame Husson
pregnant. Moreau, very intimately allied with Madame Husson, was at
that time condemned to death; he was unable therefore to marry the
widow, being forced to leave France. Madame Husson, then twenty-two
years old, married in her deep distress a government clerk named
Clapart, aged twenty-seven, who was said to be a rising man. At that
period of our history, government clerks were apt to become persons of
importance; for Napoleon was ever on the lookout for capacity. But
Clapart, though endowed by nature with a certain coarse beauty, proved
to have no intelligence. Thinking Madame Husson very rich, he feigned
a great passion for her, and was simply saddled with the impossibility
of satisfying either then or in the future the wants she had acquired
in a life of opulence. He filled, very poorly, a place in the Treasury
that gave him a salary of eighteen hundred francs; which was all the
new household had to live on. When Moreau returned to France as the
secretary of the Comte de Serizy he heard of Madame Husson's pitiable
condition, and he was able, before his own marriage, to get her an
appointment as head-waiting-woman to Madame Mere, the Emperor's
mother. But in spite of that powerful protection Clapart was never
promoted; his incapacity was too apparent.
Ruined in 1815 by the fall of the Empire, the brilliant Aspasia of the
Directory had no other resources than Clapart's salary of twelve
scarcely call hair. This man, of wan complexion, seemed timorous, but
withal tyrannical.
In this dreary apartment, which faced the north and had no other
outlook than to a vine on the opposite wall and a well in the corner
of the yard, Madame Clapart bore herself with the airs of a queen, and
moved like a woman unaccustomed to go anywhere on foot. Often, while
thanking Pierrotin, she gave him glances which would have touched to
pity an intelligent observer; from time to time she would slip a
twelve-sous piece into his hand, and then her voice was charming.
Pierrotin had never seen Oscar, for the reason that the boy was always
in school at the time his business took him to the house.
Here is the sad story which Pierrotin could never have discovered,
even by asking for information, as he sometimes did, from the portress
of the house; for that individual knew nothing beyond the fact that
the Claparts paid a rent of two hundred and fifty francs a year, had
no servant but a charwoman who came daily for a few hours in the
morning, that Madame Clapart did some of her smaller washing herself,
and paid the postage on her letters daily, being apparently unable to
let the sum accumulate.
There does not exist, or rather, there seldom exists, a criminal who
is wholly criminal. Neither do we ever meet with a dishonest nature
which is completely dishonest. It is possible for a man to cheat his
master to his own advantage, or rake in for himself alone all the hay
in the manger, but, even while laying up capital by actions more or
less illicit, there are few men who never do good ones. If only from
self-love, curiosity, or by way of variety, or by chance, every man
has his moment of beneficence; he may call it his error, he may never
do it again, but he sacrifices to Goodness, as the most surly man
sacrifices to the Graces once or twice in his life. If Moreau's faults
can ever be excused, it might be on the score of his persistent
kindness in succoring a woman of whose favors he had once been proud,
and in whose house he was hidden when in peril of his life.
This woman, celebrated under the Directory for her liaison with one of
the five kings of that reign, married, through that all-powerful
protection, a purveyor who was making his millions out of the
government, and whom Napoleon ruined in 1802. This man, named Husson,
became insane through his sudden fall from opulence to poverty; he
flung himself into the Seine, leaving the beautiful Madame Husson
pregnant. Moreau, very intimately allied with Madame Husson, was at
that time condemned to death; he was unable therefore to marry the
widow, being forced to leave France. Madame Husson, then twenty-two
years old, married in her deep distress a government clerk named
Clapart, aged twenty-seven, who was said to be a rising man. At that
period of our history, government clerks were apt to become persons of
importance; for Napoleon was ever on the lookout for capacity. But
Clapart, though endowed by nature with a certain coarse beauty, proved
to have no intelligence. Thinking Madame Husson very rich, he feigned
a great passion for her, and was simply saddled with the impossibility
of satisfying either then or in the future the wants she had acquired
in a life of opulence. He filled, very poorly, a place in the Treasury
that gave him a salary of eighteen hundred francs; which was all the
new household had to live on. When Moreau returned to France as the
secretary of the Comte de Serizy he heard of Madame Husson's pitiable
condition, and he was able, before his own marriage, to get her an
appointment as head-waiting-woman to Madame Mere, the Emperor's
mother. But in spite of that powerful protection Clapart was never
promoted; his incapacity was too apparent.
Ruined in 1815 by the fall of the Empire, the brilliant Aspasia of the
Directory had no other resources than Clapart's salary of twelve