CHAPTER VII--THE WISDOM OF THOLOMYÈS

  In the meantime, while some sang, the rest talked together tumultuouslyall at once; it was no longer anything but noise. Tholomyès intervened.

  "Let us not talk at random nor too fast," he exclaimed. "Let us reflect,if we wish to be brilliant. Too much improvisation empties the mind ina stupid way. Running beer gathers no froth. No haste, gentlemen. Let usmingle majesty with the feast. Let us eat with meditation; let us makehaste slowly. Let us not hurry. Consider the springtime; if it makeshaste, it is done for; that is to say, it gets frozen. Excess of zealruins peach-trees and apricot-trees. Excess of zeal kills the grace andthe mirth of good dinners. No zeal, gentlemen! Grimod de la Reynièreagrees with Talleyrand."

  A hollow sound of rebellion rumbled through the group.

  "Leave us in peace, Tholomyès," said Blachevelle.

  "Down with the tyrant!" said Fameuil.

  "Bombarda, Bombance, and Bambochel!" cried Listolier.

  "Sunday exists," resumed Fameuil.

  "We are sober," added Listolier.

  "Tholomyès," remarked Blachevelle, "contemplate my calmness [_moncalme_]."

  "You are the Marquis of that," retorted Tholomyès.

  This mediocre play upon words produced the effect of a stone in a pool.The Marquis de Montcalm was at that time a celebrated royalist. All thefrogs held their peace.

  "Friends," cried Tholomyès, with the accent of a man who had recoveredhis empire, "Come to yourselves. This pun which has fallen from theskies must not be received with too much stupor. Everything which fallsin that way is not necessarily worthy of enthusiasm and respect. The punis the dung of the mind which soars. The jest falls, no matter where;and the mind after producing a piece of stupidity plunges into the azuredepths. A whitish speck flattened against the rock does not prevent thecondor from soaring aloft. Far be it from me to insult the pun! I honorit in proportion to its merits; nothing more. All the most august, themost sublime, the most charming of humanity, and perhaps outside ofhumanity, have made puns. Jesus Christ made a pun on St. Peter, Moseson Isaac, Æschylus on Polynices, Cleopatra on Octavius. And observe thatCleopatra's pun preceded the battle of Actium, and that had it not beenfor it, no one would have remembered the city of Toryne, a Greek namewhich signifies a ladle. That once conceded, I return to my exhortation.I repeat, brothers, I repeat, no zeal, no hubbub, no excess; even inwitticisms, gayety, jollities, or plays on words. Listen to me. I havethe prudence of Amphiaraüs and the baldness of Cæsar. There must be alimit, even to rebuses. _Est modus in rebus_.

  "There must be a limit, even to dinners. You are fond of appleturnovers, ladies; do not indulge in them to excess. Even in the matterof turnovers, good sense and art are requisite. Gluttony chastises theglutton, _Gula punit Gulax_. Indigestion is charged by the good Godwith preaching morality to stomachs. And remember this: each one of ourpassions, even love, has a stomach which must not be filled too full. Inall things the word _finis_ must be written in good season; self-controlmust be exercised when the matter becomes urgent; the bolt must be drawnon appetite; one must set one's own fantasy to the violin, and carryone's self to the post. The sage is the man who knows how, at a givenmoment, to effect his own arrest. Have some confidence in me, for Ihave succeeded to some extent in my study of the law, according tothe verdict of my examinations, for I know the difference between thequestion put and the question pending, for I have sustained a thesis inLatin upon the manner in which torture was administered at Rome at theepoch when Munatius Demens was quæstor of the Parricide; because Iam going to be a doctor, apparently it does not follow that it isabsolutely necessary that I should be an imbecile. I recommend you tomoderation in your desires. It is true that my name is Félix Tholomyès;I speak well. Happy is he who, when the hour strikes, takes a heroicresolve, and abdicates like Sylla or Origenes."

  Favourite listened with profound attention.

  "Félix," said she, "what a pretty word! I love that name. It is Latin;it means prosper."

  Tholomyès went on:--

  "Quirites, gentlemen, caballeros, my friends. Do you wish never to feelthe prick, to do without the nuptial bed, and to brave love? Nothingmore simple. Here is the receipt: lemonade, excessive exercise, hardlabor; work yourself to death, drag blocks, sleep not, hold vigil,gorge yourself with nitrous beverages, and potions of nymphæas; drinkemulsions of poppies and agnus castus; season this with a strict diet,starve yourself, and add thereto cold baths, girdles of herbs, theapplication of a plate of lead, lotions made with the subacetate oflead, and fomentations of oxycrat."

  "I prefer a woman," said Listolier.

  "Woman," resumed Tholomyès; "distrust her. Woe to him who yields himselfto the unstable heart of woman! Woman is perfidious and disingenuous.She detests the serpent from professional jealousy. The serpent is theshop over the way."

  "Tholomyès!" cried Blachevelle, "you are drunk!"

  "Pardieu," said Tholomyès.

  "Then be gay," resumed Blachevelle.

  "I agree to that," responded Tholomyès.

  And, refilling his glass, he rose.

  "Glory to wine! _Nunc te, Bacche, canam!_ Pardon me ladies; that isSpanish. And the proof of it, señoras, is this: like people, like cask.The arrobe of Castille contains sixteen litres; the cantaro of Alicante,twelve; the almude of the Canaries, twenty-five; the cuartin of theBalearic Isles, twenty-six; the boot of Tzar Peter, thirty. Longlive that Tzar who was great, and long live his boot, which was stillgreater! Ladies, take the advice of a friend; make a mistake in yourneighbor if you see fit. The property of love is to err. A loveaffair is not made to crouch down and brutalize itself like an Englishserving-maid who has callouses on her knees from scrubbing. It is notmade for that; it errs gayly, our gentle love. It has been said, erroris human; I say, error is love. Ladies, I idolize you all. O Zéphine, OJoséphine, face more than irregular, you would be charming were you notall askew. You have the air of a pretty face upon which some one hassat down by mistake. As for Favourite, O nymphs and muses! one daywhen Blachevelle was crossing the gutter in the Rue Guérin-Boisseau,he espied a beautiful girl with white stockings well drawn up, whichdisplayed her legs. This prologue pleased him, and Blachevelle fellin love. The one he loved was Favourite. O Favourite, thou hast Ionianlips. There was a Greek painter named Euphorion, who was surnamed thepainter of the lips. That Greek alone would have been worthy to paintthy mouth. Listen! before thee, there was never a creature worthy of thename. Thou wert made to receive the apple like Venus, or to eat it likeEve; beauty begins with thee. I have just referred to Eve; it is thouwho hast created her. Thou deservest the letters-patent of the beautifulwoman. O Favourite, I cease to address you as 'thou,' because I passfrom poetry to prose. You were speaking of my name a little while ago.That touched me; but let us, whoever we may be, distrust names. They maydelude us. I am called Félix, and I am not happy. Words are liars. Letus not blindly accept the indications which they afford us. It wouldbe a mistake to write to Liège 2 for corks, and to Pau for gloves. MissDahlia, were I in your place, I would call myself Rosa. A flower shouldsmell sweet, and woman should have wit. I say nothing of Fantine; sheis a dreamer, a musing, thoughtful, pensive person; she is a phantompossessed of the form of a nymph and the modesty of a nun, who hasstrayed into the life of a grisette, but who takes refuge in illusions,and who sings and prays and gazes into the azure without very wellknowing what she sees or what she is doing, and who, with her eyes fixedon heaven, wanders in a garden where there are more birds than are inexistence. O Fantine, know this: I, Tholomyès, I am an illusion; butshe does not even hear me, that blond maid of Chimeras! as for the rest,everything about her is freshness, suavity, youth, sweet morning light.O Fantine, maid worthy of being called Marguerite or Pearl, you are awoman from the beauteous Orient. Ladies, a second piece of advice: donot marry; marriage is a graft; it takes well or ill; avoid that risk.But bah! what am I saying? I am wasting my words. Girls are incurableon the subject of marriage, and all that we wise men can say will notprevent the waistcoat-makers and the shoe-stitchers from dreamingof husbands studded with diamonds. Well, so be it; but, my beauties,remember this, you eat too much sugar. You have but one fault, O woman,and that is nibbling sugar. O nibbling sex, your pretty little whiteteeth adore sugar. Now, heed me well, sugar is a salt. All salts arewithering. Sugar is the most desiccating of all salts; it sucks theliquids of the blood through the veins; hence the coagulation, and thenthe solidification of the blood; hence tubercles in the lungs, hencedeath. That is why diabetes borders on consumption. Then, do not crunchsugar, and you will live. I turn to the men: gentlemen, make conquest,rob each other of your well-beloved without remorse. Chassez across.In love there are no friends. Everywhere where there is a pretty womanhostility is open. No quarter, war to the death! a pretty woman is a_casus belli_; a pretty woman is flagrant misdemeanor. All the invasionsof history have been determined by petticoats. Woman is man's right.Romulus carried off the Sabines; William carried off the Saxon women;Cæsar carried off the Roman women. The man who is not loved soars likea vulture over the mistresses of other men; and for my own part, to allthose unfortunate men who are widowers, I throw the sublime proclamationof Bonaparte to the army of Italy: "Soldiers, you are in need ofeverything; the enemy has it."

  Tholomyès paused.

  "Take breath, Tholomyès," said Blachevelle.

  At the same moment Blachevelle, supported by Listolier and Fameuil,struck up to a plaintive air, one of those studio songs composed ofthe first words which come to hand, rhymed richly and not at all, asdestitute of sense as the gesture of the tree and the sound of the wind,which have their birth in the vapor of pipes, and are dissipated andtake their flight with them. This is the couplet by which the groupreplied to Tholomyès' harangue:--

  "The father turkey-cocks so grave Some money to an agent gave, That master good Clermont-Tonnerre Might be made pope on Saint Johns' day fair. But this good Clermont could not be Made pope, because no priest was he; And then their agent, whose wrath burned, With all their money back returned."

  This was not calculated to calm Tholomyès' improvisation; he emptied hisglass, filled, refilled it, and began again:--

  "Down with wisdom! Forget all that I have said. Let us be neither prudesnor prudent men nor prudhommes. I propose a toast to mirth; be merry.Let us complete our course of law by folly and eating! Indigestion andthe digest. Let Justinian be the male, and Feasting, the female! Joy inthe depths! Live, O creation! The world is a great diamond. I am happy.The birds are astonishing. What a festival everywhere! The nightingaleis a gratuitous Elleviou. Summer, I salute thee! O Luxembourg! OGeorgics of the Rue Madame, and of the Allée de l'Observatoire! Opensive infantry soldiers! O all those charming nurses who, while theyguard the children, amuse themselves! The pampas of America would pleaseme if I had not the arcades of the Odéon. My soul flits away into thevirgin forests and to the savannas. All is beautiful. The flies buzz inthe sun. The sun has sneezed out the humming bird. Embrace me, Fantine!"

  He made a mistake and embraced Favourite.