the two brothers-第13章

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hearts　or　minds。　Joseph's　ideas　was；　that　his　brother　loved　tobacco

and　liquors；　Maman　Descoings　loved　her　trey；　his　mother　loved　God；

Desroches　the　younger　loved　lawsuits；　Desroches　the　elder　loved

angling；in　short；　all　the　world；　he　said；　loved　something。　He

himself　loved　the　〃beau　ideal〃　in　all　things；　he　loved　the　poetry　of

Lord　Byron；　the　painting　of　Gericault；　the　music　of　Rossini；　the

novels　of　Walter　Scott。　〃Every　one　to　his　taste；　maman；〃　he　would　say；

〃but　your　trey　does　hang　fire　terribly。〃



〃It　will　turn　up；　and　you　will　be　rich；　and　my　little　Bixiou　as　well。〃



〃Give　it　all　to　your　grandson；〃　cried　Joseph；　〃at　any　rate；　do　what

you　like　best　with　it。〃



〃Hey！　when　it　turns　up　I　shall　have　enough　for　everybody。　In　the　first

place；　you　shall　have　a　fine　atelier；　you　sha'n't　deprive　yourself　of

going　to　the　opera　so　as　to　pay　for　your　models　and　your　colors。　Do

you　know；　my　dear　boy；　you　make　me　play　a　pretty　shabby　part　in　that

picture　of　yours？〃



By　way　of　economy；　Joseph　had　made　the　Descoings　pose　for　his

magnificent　painting　of　a　young　courtesan　taken　by　an　old　woman　to　a

Doge　of　Venice。　This　picture；　one　of　the　masterpieces　of　modern

painting；　was　mistaken　by　Gros　himself　for　a　Titian；　and　it　paved　the

way　for　the　recognition　which　the　younger　artists　gave　to　Joseph's

talent　in　the　Salon　of　1823。



〃Those　who　know　you　know　very　well　what　you　are；〃　he　answered　gayly。

〃Why　need　you　trouble　yourself　about　those　who　don't　know　you？〃



For　the　last　ten　years　Madame　Descoings　had　taken　on　the　ripe　tints　of

a　russet　apple　at　Easter。　Wrinkles　had　formed　in　her　superabundant

flesh；　now　grown　pallid　and　flabby。　Her　eyes；　full　of　life；　were

bright　with　thoughts　that　were　still　young　and　vivacious；　and　might　be

considered　grasping；　for　there　is　always　something　of　that　spirit　in　a

gambler。　Her　fat　face　bore　traces　of　dissimulation　and　of　the　mental

reservations　hidden　in　the　depths　of　her　heart。　Her　vice　necessitated

secrecy。　There　were　also　indications　of　gluttony　in　the　motion　of　her

lips。　And　thus；　although　she　was；　as　we　have　seen；　an　excellent　and

upright　woman；　the　eye　might　be　misled　by　her　appearance。　She　was　an

admirable　model　for　the　old　woman　Joseph　wished　to　paint。　Coralie；　a

young　actress　of　exquisite　beauty　who　died　in　the　flower　of　her　youth；

the　mistress　of　Lucien　de　Rubempre；　one　of　Joseph's　friends；　had　given

him　the　idea　of　the　picture。　This　noble　painting　has　been　called　a

plagiarism　of　other　pictures；　while　in　fact　it　was　a　splendid

arrangement　of　three　portraits。　Michel　Chrestien；　one　of　his

companions　at　the　Cenacle；　lent　his　republican　head　for　the　senator；

to　which　Joseph　added　a　few　mature　tints；　just　as　he　exaggerated　the

expression　of　Madame　Descoings's　features。　This　fine　picture；　which

was　destined　to　make　a　great　noise　and　bring　the　artist　much　hatred；

jealousy；　and　admiration；　was　just　sketched　out；　but；　compelled　as　he

was　to　work　for　a　living；　he　laid　it　aside　to　make　copies　of　the　old

masters　for　the　dealers；　thus　he　penetrated　the　secrets　of　their

processes；　and　his　brush　is　therefore　one　of　the　best　trained　of　the

modern　school。　The　shrewd　sense　of　an　artist　led　him　to　conceal　the

profits　he　was　beginning　to　lay　by　from　his　mother　and　Madame

Descoings；　aware　that　each　had　her　road　to　ruin；the　one　in　Philippe；

the　other　in　the　lottery。　This　astuteness　is　seldom　wanting　among

painters；　busy　for　days　together　in　the　solitude　of　their　studios；

engaged　in　work　which；　up　to　a　certain　point；　leaves　the　mind　free；

they　are　in　some　respects　like　women；their　thoughts　turn　about　the

little　events　of　life；　and　they　contrive　to　get　at　their　hidden

meaning。



Joseph　had　bought　one　of　those　magnificent　chests　or　coffers　of　a　past

age；　then　ignored　by　fashion；　with　which　he　decorated　a　corner　of　his

studio；　where　the　light　danced　upon　the　bas…reliefs　and　gave　full

lustre　to　a　masterpiece　of　the　sixteenth　century　artisans。　He　saw　the

necessity　for　a　hiding…place；　and　in　this　coffer　he　had　begun　to

accumulate　a　little　store　of　money。　With　an　artist's　carelessness；　he

was　in　the　habit　of　putting　the　sum　he　allowed　for　his　monthly

expenses　in　a　skull；　which　stood　on　one　of　the　compartments　of　the

coffer。　Since　his　brother　had　returned　to　live　at　home；　he　found　a

constant　discrepancy　between　the　amount　he　spent　and　the　sum　in　this

receptacle。　The　hundred　francs　a　month　disappeared　with　incredible

celerity。　Finding　nothing　one　day；　when　he　had　only　spent　forty　or

fifty　francs；　he　remarked　for　the　first　time：　〃My　money　must　have　got

wings。〃　The　next　month　he　paid　more　attention　to　his　accounts；　but　add

as　he　might；　like　Robert　Macaire；　sixteen　and　five　are　twenty…three；

he　could　make　nothing　of　them。　When；　for　the　third　time；　he　found　a

still　more　important　discrepancy；　he　communicated　the　painful　fact　to

Madame　Descoings；　who　loved　him；　he　knew；　with　that　maternal；　tender；

confiding；　credulous；　enthusiastic　love　that　he　had　never　had　from　his

own　mother；　good　as　she　was；a　love　as　necessary　to　the　early　life　of

an　artist　as　the　care　of　the　hen　is　to　her　unfledged　chickens。　To　her

alone　could　he　confide　his　horrible　suspicions。　He　was　as　sure　of　his

friends　as　he　was　of　himself；　and　the　Descoings；　he　knew；　would　take

nothing　to　put　in　her　lottery。　At　the　idea　which　then　suggested　itself

the　poor　woman　wrung　her　hands。　Philippe　alone　could　have　committed

this　domestic　theft。



〃Why　didn't　he　ask　me；　if　he　wanted　it？〃　cried　Joseph；　taking　a　dab　of

color　on　his　palette　and　stirring　it　into　the　other　colors　without

seeing　what　he　did。　〃Is　it　likely　I　should　refuse　him？〃



〃It　is　robbing　a　child！〃　cried　the　Descoings；　her　face　expressing　the

deepest　disgust。



〃No；〃　replied　Joseph；　〃he　is　my　brother；　my　purse　is　his：　but　he　ought

to　have　asked　me。〃



〃Put　in　a　special　sum；　in　silver；　this　morning；　and　don't　take

anything　out；〃　said　Madame　Descoings。　〃I　shall　know　who　goes　into　the

studio；　and　if　he　is　the　only　one；　you　will　be　certain　it　is　he。〃



The　next　day　Joseph　had　proof　of　his　brother's　forced　loans　upon　him。

Philippe　came　to　the　studio　when　his　brother　was　out　and　took　the

little　sum　he　wanted。　The　artist　trembled　for　his　savings。



〃I'll　catch　him　at　it；　the　scamp！〃　he　said；　laughing；　to　Madame

Descoings。



〃And　you'll　do　right：　we　ought　to　break　him　of　it。　I；　too；　I　have

missed　little　sums　out　of　my　purse。　Poor　boy！　he　wants　tobacco；　he's

accustomed　to　it。〃



〃Poor　boy！　poor　boy！〃　cried　the　artist。　〃I'm　rather　of　Fulgence　and

Bixiou's　opinion：　Philippe　is　a　dead…weight　on　us。　He　runs　his　head

into　riots　and　has　to　be　shipped　to　America；　and　that　costs　the　mother

twelve　thousand　francs；　he　can't　find　anything　to　do　in　the　forests　of

the　New　World；　and　so　he　comes　back　again；　and　that　costs　twelve

thousand　more。　Under　pretence　of　having　carried　two　words　of　Napoleon

to　a　general；　he　thinks　himself　a　great　soldier　and　makes　faces　at　the

Bourbons；　meantime；　what　does　he　do？　amuse　himself；　travel　about；　see

foreign　countries！　As　for　me；　I'm　not　duped　by　his　misfortunes；　he

doesn't　look　like　a　man　who　fails　to　get　the　best　of　things！　Somebody

finds　him　a　good　place；　and　there　he　is；　leading　the　life　of　a

Sardanapalus　with　a　ballet…girl；　and　guzzling　the　funds　of　his

journal；　that　costs　the　mother　another　twelve　thousand　francs！　I　don't

care　two　straws　for　myself；　but　Philippe　will　bring　that　poor　woman　to

beggary。　He　thinks　I'm　of　no　account　because　I　was　never　in　the

dragoons　of　the　Guard；　but　perhaps　I　shall　be　the　one　to　support　that

poor　dear　mother　in　her　old　age；　while　he；　if　he　goes　on　as　he　does；

will　end　I　don't　know　how。　Bixiou　often　says　to　me；　'He　is　a　downright

rogue；　that　brother　of　yours。'　Your　grandson　is　right。　Philippe　will

be　up　to　some　mischief　that　will　compromise　the　honor　of　the　family；

and　then　we　shall　have　to　scrape　up　another　ten　or　twelve　thousand

francs！　He　gambles　every　night；　when　he　comes　home；　drunk　as　a

templar；　he　drops　on　the　staircase　the　pricked　cards　on　which　he　marks

the　turns　of　the　red　and　black。　Old　Desroches　is　trying　to　get　him

back　into　the　army；　and；　on　my　word　on　honor；　I　believe　he　would　hate

to　serve　again。　Would　you　ever　have　believed　that　a　boy　with　such

heavenly　blue　eyes　and　the　look　of　Bayard　could　turn　out　such　a

scoundrel？〃







CHAPTER　V



In　spite　of　the　coolness　and　discretion　with　which　Philippe　played　his

trifling　game　every　night；　it　happened　every　now　and　then　that　he　was

what　gamblers　call　〃cleaned　out。〃　Driven　by　the　irresistible　necessity

of　having　his　evening　stake　of　ten　francs；　he　plundered　the　household；

and　laid　hands　on　his　brother's　money　and　on　all　that　Madame　Descoings

or　Agathe　left　about。　Already　the　poor　mother　had　had　a　dreadful

vision　in　her　first　sleep：　Philippe　entered　the　room　and　took　from　the

pockets　of　her　gown　all　the　money　he　could　find。　Agathe　pretended　to

sleep；　but　she　passed　the　rest　of　the　night　in　tears。　She　saw　the

truth　only　too　clearly。　〃One　wrong　act　is　not　a　vice；〃　Madame

Descoings　had　declared；　but　after　so　many　repetitions；　vice　was

unmistakable。　Agathe　could　doubt　no　longer；　her　best…beloved　son　had

neither　delicacy　nor　honor。



On　the　morrow　of　that　frightful　vision；　before　Philippe　left　the　house

after　breakfast；　she　drew　him　into　her　chamber　and　begged　him；　in　a

tone　of　entreaty；　to　ask　her　for　what　money　he　needed。　After　that；　the

applications　were　so　numerous　that　in　two　weeks　Agathe　was　drained　of

all　her　savings。　She　was　literally　without　a　penny；　and　began　to　think

of　finding　work。　The　means　of　earning　money　had　been　discussed　in　the

evenings　between　herself　and　Madame　Descoings；　and　she　had　already

taken　patterns　of　worsted　work　to　fill　in；　from　a　shop　called　the

〃Pere　de　Famille；〃an　employment　which　pays　about　twenty　sous　a　day。

Notwithstanding　Agathe's　silence　on　the　subject；　Madame　Descoings　had

guessed　the　motive　of　this　desire　to　earn　money　by　women's…work。　The

change　in　her　appearance　was　eloquent：　her　fresh　face　had　withered；

the　skin　clung　to　the　temples　and　the　cheek…bones；　and　the　forehead

showed　deep　lines；　her　eyes　lost　their　clearness；　an　inward　fire　was

evidently　consuming　her；　she　wept　the　greater　part　of　the　night。　A

chief　cause　of　these　outward　ravages　was　the　necessity　of　hiding　her

anguish；　her　sufferings；　her　apprehensions。　She　never　went　to　sleep

until　Philippe　came　in；　she　listened　for　his　step；　she　had　learned　the

inflections　of　his　voice；　the　variations　of　his　walk；　the　very

language　of　his　cane　as　it　touched　the　pavement。　Nothing　escaped　her。

She　knew　the　degree　of　drunkenness　he　had　reached；　she　trembled　as　she

heard　him　stumble　on　the　stairs；　one　night　she　picked　up　some　pieces

of　gold　at　the　spot　where　he　had　fallen。　When　he　had　drunk　and　won；

his　voice　was　gruff　and　his　cane　dragged；　but　when　he　had　lost；　his

step　had　something　sharp；　short　and　angry　about