The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard [20]
for me to receive amateurs. I am going to show you the chef-d'oeuvre of Monrealese; yes, Excellence, his chef-d'oeuvre! An Adoration of Shepherds! It is the pearl of the whole Sicilian school!"
I: "Later on I will be glad to see the chef-d'oeuvre; but let us first talk about the business which brings me here."
His little quick bright eyes watched my face curiously; and I perceived, with anguish, that he had not the least suspicion of the purpose of my visit.
A cold sweat broke out over my forehead; and in the bewilderment of my anxiety I stammered out something to this effect:
"I have come from Paris expressly to look at a manuscript of the Legende Doree, which you informed me was in your possession."
At these words he threw up his arms, opened his mouth and eyes to the widest possible extent, and betrayed every sign of extreme nervousness.
"Oh! the manuscript of the 'Golden Legend!' A pearl, Excellence! a ruby, a diamond! Two miniatures so perfect that they give one the feeling of glimpses of Paradise! What suavity! Those colours ravished from the corollas of flowers make a honey for the eyes! Even a Sicilian could have done no better!"
"Let me see it, then," I asked; unable to conceal either my anxiety or my hope.
"Let you see it!" cried Polizzi. "But how can I, Excellence? I have not got it any longer! I have not got it!"
And he seemed determined to tear out his hair. He might indeed have pulled every hair in his head out of his hide before I should have tried to prevent him. But he stopped of his own accord, before he had done himself any grievous harm.
"What!" I cried out in anger--"what! you make me come all the way from Paris to Girgenti, by promising to show me a manuscript, and now, when I come, you tell me you have not got it! It is simply infamous, Monsieur! I shall leave your conduct to be judged by all honest men!"
Anybody who could have seen me at that moment would have been able to form a good idea of the aspect of a furious sheep.
"It is infamous! it is infamous!" I repeated, waving my arms, which trembled from anger.
Then Michel-Angelo Polizzi let himself fall into a chair in the attitude of a dying hero. I saw his eyes fill with tears, and his hair--until then flamboyant and erect upon his head--fall down in limp disorder over his brow.
"I am a father, Excellence! I am a father!" he groaned, wringing his hands.
He continued, sobbing:
"My son Rafael--the son of my poor wife, for whose death I have been mourning fifteen years--Rafael, Excellence, wanted to settle at Paris; he hired a shop in the Rue Lafitte for the sale of curiosities. I gave him everything precious which I had--I gave him my finest majolicas; my most beautiful Urbino ware; my masterpieces of art; what paintings, Signor! Even now they dazzle me with I see them only in imagination! And all of them signed! Finally, I gave him the manuscript of the 'Golden Legend'! I would have given him my flesh and my blood! An only son, Signor! the son of my poor saintly wife!"
"So," I said, "while I--relying on your written word, Monsieur--was travelling to the very heart of Sicily to find the manuscript of the Clerk Alexander, the same manuscript was actually exposed for sale in a window in the Rue Lafitte, only fifteen hundred yards from my house?"
"Yes, it was there! that is positively true!" exclaimed Signor Polizzi, suddenly growing calm again; "and it is there still--at least I hope it is, Excellence."
He took a card from a shelf as he spoke, and offered it to me, saying,
"Here is the address of my son. Make it known to your friends, and you will oblige me. Faience and enameled wares; hangings; pictures. He has a complete stock of objects of art--all at the fairest possible prices--and everything authentic, I can vouch for it, upon my honour! Go and see him. He will show you the manuscript of the 'Golden Legend.' Two miniatures miraculously fresh in colour!"
I was feeble enough to take the card he held out to me.
The fellow was taking further advantage of my
I: "Later on I will be glad to see the chef-d'oeuvre; but let us first talk about the business which brings me here."
His little quick bright eyes watched my face curiously; and I perceived, with anguish, that he had not the least suspicion of the purpose of my visit.
A cold sweat broke out over my forehead; and in the bewilderment of my anxiety I stammered out something to this effect:
"I have come from Paris expressly to look at a manuscript of the Legende Doree, which you informed me was in your possession."
At these words he threw up his arms, opened his mouth and eyes to the widest possible extent, and betrayed every sign of extreme nervousness.
"Oh! the manuscript of the 'Golden Legend!' A pearl, Excellence! a ruby, a diamond! Two miniatures so perfect that they give one the feeling of glimpses of Paradise! What suavity! Those colours ravished from the corollas of flowers make a honey for the eyes! Even a Sicilian could have done no better!"
"Let me see it, then," I asked; unable to conceal either my anxiety or my hope.
"Let you see it!" cried Polizzi. "But how can I, Excellence? I have not got it any longer! I have not got it!"
And he seemed determined to tear out his hair. He might indeed have pulled every hair in his head out of his hide before I should have tried to prevent him. But he stopped of his own accord, before he had done himself any grievous harm.
"What!" I cried out in anger--"what! you make me come all the way from Paris to Girgenti, by promising to show me a manuscript, and now, when I come, you tell me you have not got it! It is simply infamous, Monsieur! I shall leave your conduct to be judged by all honest men!"
Anybody who could have seen me at that moment would have been able to form a good idea of the aspect of a furious sheep.
"It is infamous! it is infamous!" I repeated, waving my arms, which trembled from anger.
Then Michel-Angelo Polizzi let himself fall into a chair in the attitude of a dying hero. I saw his eyes fill with tears, and his hair--until then flamboyant and erect upon his head--fall down in limp disorder over his brow.
"I am a father, Excellence! I am a father!" he groaned, wringing his hands.
He continued, sobbing:
"My son Rafael--the son of my poor wife, for whose death I have been mourning fifteen years--Rafael, Excellence, wanted to settle at Paris; he hired a shop in the Rue Lafitte for the sale of curiosities. I gave him everything precious which I had--I gave him my finest majolicas; my most beautiful Urbino ware; my masterpieces of art; what paintings, Signor! Even now they dazzle me with I see them only in imagination! And all of them signed! Finally, I gave him the manuscript of the 'Golden Legend'! I would have given him my flesh and my blood! An only son, Signor! the son of my poor saintly wife!"
"So," I said, "while I--relying on your written word, Monsieur--was travelling to the very heart of Sicily to find the manuscript of the Clerk Alexander, the same manuscript was actually exposed for sale in a window in the Rue Lafitte, only fifteen hundred yards from my house?"
"Yes, it was there! that is positively true!" exclaimed Signor Polizzi, suddenly growing calm again; "and it is there still--at least I hope it is, Excellence."
He took a card from a shelf as he spoke, and offered it to me, saying,
"Here is the address of my son. Make it known to your friends, and you will oblige me. Faience and enameled wares; hangings; pictures. He has a complete stock of objects of art--all at the fairest possible prices--and everything authentic, I can vouch for it, upon my honour! Go and see him. He will show you the manuscript of the 'Golden Legend.' Two miniatures miraculously fresh in colour!"
I was feeble enough to take the card he held out to me.
The fellow was taking further advantage of my