Chapter 7

AFTER A CURIOUS ADVENTURE UPON THE PONT NEUF, ISRAEL ENTERS THE PRESENCE

OF THE RENOWNED SAGE, DR. FRANKLIN, WHOM HE FINDS RIGHT LEARNEDLY AND

MULTIFARIOUSLY EMPLOYED.

Following the directions given him at the place where the diligence

stopped, Israel was crossing the Pont Neuf, to find Doctor Franklin,

when he was suddenly called to by a man standing on one side of the

bridge, just under the equestrian statue of Henry IV.

The man had a small, shabby-looking box before him on the ground, with

a box of blacking on one side of it, and several shoe-brushes upon the

other. Holding another brush in his hand, he politely seconded his

verbal invitation by gracefully flourishing the brush in the air.

"What do you want of me, neighbor?" said Israel, pausing in somewhat

uneasy astonishment.

"Ah, Monsieur," exclaimed the man, and with voluble politeness he ran

on with a long string of French, which of course was all Greek to poor

Israel. But what his language failed to convey, his gestures now made

very plain. Pointing to the wet muddy state of the bridge, splashed by

a recent rain, and then to the feet of the wayfarer, and lastly to the

brush in his hand, he appeared to be deeply regretting that a gentleman

of Israel's otherwise imposing appearance should be seen abroad with

unpolished boots, offering at the same time to remove their blemishes.

"Ah, Monsieur, Monsieur," cried the man, at last running up to Israel.

And with tender violence he forced him towards the box, and lifting this

unwilling customer's right foot thereon, was proceeding vigorously to

work, when suddenly illuminated by a dreadful suspicion, Israel,

fetching the box a terrible kick, took to his false heels and ran like

mad over the bridge.

Incensed that his politeness should receive such an ungracious return,

the man pursued, which but confirming Israel in his suspicions he ran

all the faster, and thanks to his fleetness, soon succeeded in escaping

his pursuer.

Arrived at last at the street and the house to which he had been

directed, in reply to his summons, the gate very strangely of itself

swung open, and much astonished at this unlooked-for sort of

enchantment, Israel entered a wide vaulted passage leading to an open

court within. While he was wondering that no soul appeared, suddenly he

was hailed from a dark little window, where sat an old man cobbling

shoes, while an old woman standing by his side was thrusting her head

into the passage, intently eyeing the stranger. They proved to be the

porter and portress, the latter of whom, upon hearing his summons, had

invisibly thrust open the gate to Israel, by means of a spring

communicating with the little apartment.

Upon hearing the name of Doctor Franklin mentioned, the old woman, all

alacrity, hurried out of her den, and with much courtesy showed Israel

across the court, up three flights of stairs to a door in the rear of

the spacious building. There she left him while Israel knocked.

"Come in," said a voice.

And immediately Israel stood in the presence of the venerable Doctor

Franklin.

Wrapped in a rich dressing-gown, a fanciful present from an admiring

Marchesa, curiously embroidered with algebraic figures like a conjuror's

robe, and with a skull-cap of black satin on his hive of a head, the man

of gravity was seated at a huge claw-footed old table, round as the

zodiac. It was covered with printer papers, files of documents, rolls of

manuscript, stray bits of strange models in wood and metal, odd-looking

pamphlets in various languages, and all sorts of books, including many

presentation-copies, embracing history, mechanics, diplomacy,

agriculture, political economy, metaphysics, meteorology, and geometry.

The walls had a necromantic look, hung round with barometers of

different kinds, drawings of surprising inventions, wide maps of far

countries in the New World, containing vast empty spaces in the middle,

with the word DESERT diffusely printed there, so as to span

five-and-twenty degrees of longitude with only two syllables,--which

printed word, however, bore a vigorous pen-mark, in the Doctor's hand,

drawn straight through it, as if in summary repeal of it; crowded

topographical and trigonometrical charts of various parts of Europe;

with geometrical diagrams, and endless other surprising hangings and

upholstery of science.

The chamber itself bore evident marks of antiquity. One part of the

rough-finished wall was sadly cracked, and covered with dust, looked dim

and dark. But the aged inmate, though wrinkled as well, looked neat and

hale. Both wall and sage were compounded of like materials,--lime and

dust; both, too, were old; but while the rude earth of the wall had no

painted lustre to shed off all fadings and tarnish, and still keep fresh

without, though with long eld its core decayed: the living lime and dust

of the sage was frescoed with defensive bloom of his soul.

The weather was warm; like some old West India hogshead on the wharf,

the whole chamber buzzed with flies. But the sapient inmate sat still

and cool in the midst. Absorbed in some other world of his occupations

and thoughts, these insects, like daily cark and care, did not seem one

whit to annoy him. It was a goodly sight to see this serene, cool and

ripe old philosopher, who by sharp inquisition of man in the street, and

then long meditating upon him, surrounded by all those queer old

implements, charts and books, had grown at last so wondrous wise. There

he sat, quite motionless among those restless flies; and, with a sound

like the low noon murmur of foliage in the woods, turning over the

leaves of some ancient and tattered folio, with a binding dark and

shaggy as the bark of any old oak. It seemed as if supernatural lore

must needs pertain to this gravely, ruddy personage; at least far

foresight, pleasant wit, and working wisdom. Old age seemed in no wise

to have dulled him, but to have sharpened; just as old dinner-knives--so

they be of good steel--wax keen, spear-pointed, and elastic as

whale-bone with long usage. Yet though he was thus lively and vigorous

to behold, spite of his seventy-two years (his exact date at that time)

somehow, the incredible seniority of an antediluvian seemed his. Not the

years of the calendar wholly, but also the years of sapience. His white

hairs and mild brow, spoke of the future as well as the past. He seemed

to be seven score years old; that is, three score and ten of prescience

added to three score and ten of remembrance, makes just seven score

years in all.

But when Israel stepped within the chamber, he lost the complete effect

of all this; for the sage's back, not his face, was turned to him.

So, intent on his errand, hurried and heated with his recent run, our

courier entered the room, inadequately impressed, for the time, by

either it or its occupant.

"Bon jour, bon jour, monsieur," said the man of wisdom, in a cheerful

voice, but too busy to turn round just then.

"How do you do, Doctor Franklin?" said Israel.

"Ah! I smell Indian corn," said the Doctor, turning round quickly on his

chair. "A countryman; sit down, my good sir. Well, what news? Special?"

"Wait a minute, sir," said Israel, stepping across the room towards a

chair.

Now there was no carpet on the floor, which was of dark-colored wood,

set in lozenges, and slippery with wax, after the usual French style.

As Israel walked this slippery floor, his unaccustomed feet slid about

very strangely as if walking on ice, so that he came very near falling.

"'Pears to me you have rather high heels to your boots," said the grave

man of utility, looking sharply down through his spectacles; "don't you

know that it's both wasting leather and endangering your limbs, to wear

such high heels? I have thought, at my first leisure, to write a little

pamphlet against that very abuse. But pray, what are you doing now? Do

your boots pinch you, my friend, that you lift one foot from the floor

that way?"

At this moment, Israel having seated himself, was just putting his right

foot across his left knee.

"How foolish," continued the wise man, "for a rational creature to wear

tight boots. Had nature intended rational creatures should do so, she

would have made the foot of solid bone, or perhaps of solid iron,

instead of bone, muscle, and flesh,--But,--I see. Hold!"

And springing to his own slippered feet, the venerable sage hurried to

the door and shot-to the bolt. Then drawing the curtain carefully across

the window looking out across the court to various windows on the

opposite side, bade Israel proceed with his operations.

"I was mistaken this time," added the Doctor, smiling, as Israel

produced his documents from their curious recesses--"your high heels,

instead of being idle vanities, seem to be full of meaning."

"Pretty full, Doctor," said Israel, now handing over the papers. "I had

a narrow escape with them just now."

"How? How's that?" said the sage, fumbling the papers eagerly.

"Why, crossing the stone bridge there over the _Seen_"--

"_Seine_"--interrupted the Doctor, giving the French

pronunciation.--"Always get a new word right in the first place,

my friend, and you will never get it wrong afterwards."

"Well, I was crossing the bridge there, and who should hail me, but

a suspicious-looking man, who, under pretence of seeking to polish my

boots, wanted slyly to unscrew their heels, and so steal all these

precious papers I've brought you."

"My good friend," said the man of gravity, glancing scrutinizingly upon

his guest, "have you not in your time, undergone what they call hard

times? Been set upon, and persecuted, and very illy entreated by some of

your fellow-creatures?"

"That I have, Doctor; yes, indeed."

"I thought so. Sad usage has made you sadly suspicious, my honest

friend. An indiscriminate distrust of human nature is the worst

consequence of a miserable condition, whether brought about by innocence

or guilt. And though want of suspicion more than want of sense,

sometimes leads a man into harm, yet too much suspicion is as bad as too

little sense. The man you met, my friend, most probably had no artful

intention; he knew just nothing about you or your heels; he simply

wanted to earn two sous by brushing your boots. Those blacking-men

regularly station themselves on the bridge."

"How sorry I am then that I knocked over his box, and then ran away.

But he didn't catch me."

"How? surely, my honest friend, you--appointed to the conveyance of

important secret dispatches--did not act so imprudently as to kick over

an innocent man's box in the public streets of the capital, to which you

had been especially sent?"

"Yes, I did, Doctor."

"Never act so unwisely again. If the police had got hold of you, think

of what might have ensued."

"Well, it was not very wise of me, that's a fact, Doctor. But, you see,

I thought he meant mischief."

"And because you only thought he _meant_ mischief, _you_ must

straightway proceed to _do_ mischief. That's poor logic. But think over

what I have told you now, while I look over these papers."

In half an hour's time, the Doctor, laying down the documents, again

turned towards Israel, and removing his spectacles very placidly,

proceeded in the kindest and most familiar manner to read him a paternal

detailed lesson upon the ill-advised act he had been guilty of, upon the

Pont Neuf; concluding by taking out his purse, and putting three small

silver coins into Israel's hands, charging him to seek out the man that

very day, and make both apology and restitution for his unlucky mistake.

"All of us, my honest friend," continued the Doctor, "are subject to

making mistakes; so that the chief art of life, is to learn how best to

remedy mistakes. Now one remedy for mistakes is honesty. So pay the man

for the damage done to his box. And now, who are you, my friend? My

correspondents here mention your name--Israel Potter--and say you are an

American, an escaped prisoner of war, but nothing further. I want to

hear your story from your own lips."

Israel immediately began, and related to the Doctor all his adventures

up to the present time.

"I suppose," said the Doctor, upon Israel's concluding, "that you desire

to return to your friends across the sea?"

"That I do, Doctor," said Israel.

"Well, I think I shall be able to procure you a passage."

Israel's eyes sparkled with delight. The mild sage noticed it, and

added: "But events in these times are uncertain. At the prospect of

pleasure never be elated; but, without depression, respect the omens of

ill. So much my life has taught me, my honest friend."

Israel felt as though a plum-pudding had been thrust under his nostrils,

and then as rapidly withdrawn.

"I think it is probable that in two or three days I shall want you to

return with some papers to the persons who sent you to me. In that case

you will have to come here once more, and then, my good friend, we will

see what can be done towards getting you safely home again."

Israel was pouring out torrents of thanks when the Doctor interrupted

him.

"Gratitude, my friend, cannot be too much towards God, but towards man,

it should be limited. No man can possibly so serve his fellow, as to

merit unbounded gratitude. Over gratitude in the helped person, is apt

to breed vanity or arrogance in the helping one. Now in assisting you

to get home--if indeed I shall prove able to do so--I shall be simply

doing part of my official duty as agent of our common country. So you

owe me just nothing at all, but the sum of these coins I put in your

hand just now. But that, instead of repaying to me hereafter, you can,

when you get home, give to the first soldier's widow you meet. Don't

forget it, for it is a debt, a pecuniary liability, owing to me. It will

be about a quarter of a dollar, in the Yankee currency. A quarter of a

dollar, mind. My honest friend, in pecuniary matters always be exact as

a second-hand; never mind with whom it is, father or stranger, peasant

or king, be exact to a tick of your honor."

"Well, Doctor," said Israel, "since exactness in these matters is so

necessary, let me pay back my debt in the very coins in which it was

loaned. There will be no chance of mistake then. Thanks to my Brentford

friends, I have enough to spare of my own, to settle damages with the

boot-black of the bridge. I only took the money from you, because I

thought it would not look well to push it back after being so kindly

offered."

"My honest friend," said the Doctor, "I like your straightforward

dealing. I will receive back the money."

"No interest, Doctor, I hope," said Israel.

The sage looked mildly over his spectacles upon Israel and replied: "My

good friend, never permit yourself to be jocose upon pecuniary matters.

Never joke at funerals, or during business transactions. The affair

between us two, you perhaps deem very trivial, but trifles may involve

momentous principles. But no more at present. You had better go

immediately and find the boot-black. Having settled with him, return

hither, and you will find a room ready for you near this, where you will

stay during your sojourn in Paris."

"But I thought I would like to have a little look round the town, before

I go back to England," said Israel.

"Business before pleasure, my friend. You must absolutely remain in your

room, just as if you were my prisoner, until you quit Paris for Calais.

Not knowing now at what instant I shall want you to start, your keeping

to your room is indispensable. But when you come back from Brentford

again, then, if nothing happens, you will have a chance to survey this

celebrated capital ere taking ship for America. Now go directly, and pay

the boot-black. Stop, have you the exact change ready? Don't be taking

out all your money in the open street."

"Doctor," said Israel, "I am not so simple."

"But you knocked over the box."

"That, Doctor, was bravery."

"Bravery in a poor cause, is the height of simplicity, my friend.--Count

out your change. It must be French coin, not English, that you are to

pay the man with.--Ah, that will do--those three coins will be enough.

Put them in a pocket separate from your other cash. Now go, and hasten

to the bridge."

"Shall I stop to take a meal anywhere, Doctor, as I return? I saw

several cookshops as I came hither."

"Cafes and restaurants, they are called here, my honest friend. Tell

me, are you the possessor of a liberal fortune?"

"Not very liberal," said Israel.

"I thought as much. Where little wine is drunk, it is good to dine out

occasionally at a friend's; but where a poor man dines out at his own

charge, it is bad policy. Never dine out that way, when you can dine in.

Do not stop on the way at all, my honest friend, but come directly back

hither, and you shall dine at home, free of cost, with me."

"Thank you very kindly, Doctor."

And Israel departed for the Pont Neuf. Succeeding in his errand thither,

he returned to Dr. Franklin, and found that worthy envoy waiting his

attendance at a meal, which, according to the Doctor's custom, had been

sent from a neighboring restaurant. There were two covers; and without

attendance the host and guest sat down. There was only one principal

dish, lamb boiled with green peas. Bread and potatoes made up the rest.

A decanter-like bottle of uncolored glass, filled with some uncolored

beverage, stood at the venerable envoy's elbow.

"Let me fill your glass," said the sage.

"It's white wine, ain't it?" said Israel.

"White wine of the very oldest brand; I drink your health in it, my

honest friend."

"Why, it's plain water," said Israel, now tasting it.

"Plain water is a very good drink for plain men," replied the wise man.

"Yes," said Israel, "but Squire Woodcock gave me perry, and the other

gentleman at White Waltham gave me port, and some other friends have

given me brandy."

"Very good, my honest friend; if you like perry and port and brandy,

wait till you get back to Squire Woodcock, and the gentleman at White

Waltham, and the other friends, and you shall drink perry and port and

brandy. But while you are with me, you will drink plain water."

"So it seems, Doctor."

"What do you suppose a glass of port costs?"

"About three pence English, Doctor."

"That must be poor port. But how much good bread will three pence

English purchase?"

"Three penny rolls, Doctor."

"How many glasses of port do you suppose a man may drink at a meal?"

"The gentleman at White Waltham drank a bottle at a dinner."

"A bottle contains just thirteen glasses--that's thirty-nine pence,

supposing it poor wine. If something of the best, which is the only sort

any sane man should drink, as being the least poisonous, it would be

quadruple that sum, which is one hundred and fifty-six pence, which is

seventy-eight two-penny loaves. Now, do you not think that for one man

to swallow down seventy-two two-penny rolls at one meal is rather

extravagant business?"

"But he drank a bottle of wine; he did not eat seventy-two two-penny

rolls, Doctor."

"He drank the money worth of seventy-two loaves, which is drinking the

loaves themselves; for money is bread."

"But he has plenty of money to spare, Doctor."

"To have to spare, is to have to give away. Does the gentleman give much

away?"

"Not that I know of, Doctor."

"Then he thinks he has nothing to spare; and thinking he has nothing to

spare, and yet prodigally drinking down his money as he does every day,

it seems to me that that gentleman stands self-contradicted, and

therefore is no good example for plain sensible folks like you and me to

follow. My honest friend, if you are poor, avoid wine as a costly

luxury; if you are rich, shun it as a fatal indulgence. Stick to plain

water. And now, my good friend, if you are through with your meal, we

will rise. There is no pastry coming. Pastry is poisoned bread. Never

eat pastry. Be a plain man, and stick to plain things. Now, my friend, I

shall have to be private until nine o'clock in the evening, when I shall

be again at your service. Meantime you may go to your room. I have

ordered the one next to this to be prepared for you. But you must not be

idle. Here is Poor Richard's Almanac, which, in view of our late

conversation, I commend to your earnest perusal. And here, too, is a

Guide to Paris, an English one, which you can read. Study it well, so

that when you come back from England, if you should then have an

opportunity to travel about Paris, to see its wonders, you will have all

the chief places made historically familiar to you. In this world, men

must provide knowledge before it is wanted, just as our countrymen in

New England get in their winter's fuel one season, to serve them the

next."

So saying, this homely sage, and household Plato, showed his humble

guest to the door, and standing in the hall, pointed out to him the one

which opened into his allotted apartment.