University of Virginia Library

7. THE
SEXAGENARIAN,
A SKETCH OF CHARACTER.

7. THE
SEXAGENARIAN.

There he goes,—in his long russet surtout,
—sweeping down yonder gravel walk beneath
the trees, like a yellow leaf in Autumn, wafted
along by a fitful gust of wind. Now he pauses;—now
seems to be whirled round in an
eddy,—and now rustles and brushes onward
again. He is talking to himself in an undertone
as usual; and flourishes a pinch of snuff
between his fore-finger and his thumb,—ever
and anon drumming on the cover of his box by
way of emphasis, with a sound like the tap of
a wood-pecker. He always takes a morning

walk in the garden,—in fact, I may say he passes
a greater part of the day there, either
strolling up and down the gravel walks, or sitting
on a rustic bench in one of the leafy arbors.
He always wears that same dress, too;
at least, I have never seen him in any other;—
a bell-crowned hat,—a frilled bosom, and
white dimity vest, soiled with snuff,—light nankeen
smalls,—and, over all, that long and flowing
surtout of russet-brown circassian, hanging
in wrinkles round his slender body, and toying
with his thin rakish legs. Such is his constant
garb, morning and evening; and it gives him a
cool and breezy look even in the heat of a
noon-day in August.

The personage, sketched in the preceding
paragraph, is Monsieur D'Argentville, a sexagenarian,
with whom I became acquainted
during my residence at the Maison de Santé
of Auteuil. I found him there, and left him
there. No body knew when he came,—he had
been there from time immemorial; nor when he
was going away,—for he himself did not know;
—nor what ailed him,—for though he was
always complaining, yet he grew neither better

nor worse, never consulted the physician,
and ate voraciously three times a day. At table
he was rather peevish, troubled his neighbors
with his elbows, and uttered the monosyllable
pish! rather oftener than good-breeding
and a due deference to the opinions of others
seemed to justify. As soon as he seated himself
at table he breathed into his tumbler, and
wiped it out with a napkin; then wiped his
plate, his spoon, his knife and fork, in succession,
and each with great care. After this he
placed the napkin under his chin, by way of
bib and tucker, and, these preparations being
completed, gave full swing to an appetite,
which was not inappropriately denominated,
by one of our guests, une faim canine.

The old gentleman's weak side was an affectation
of youth and gallantry. Though
“written down old, with all the characters of
age,” yet at times he seemed to think himself
in the hey-day of life; and the assiduous court
he paid to a fair Countess, who was passing
the summer at the Maison de Santé, was the
source of no little merriment to all but himself.
He loved, too, to recall the golden age of his

amours; and would discourse with prolix eloquence,
and a faint twinkle in his watery eye,
of his bonnes fortunes in times of old, and the
rigors, that many a fair dame had suffered on
his account. Indeed, his chief pride seemed to
be to make his hearers believe, that he had
been a dangerous man in his youth, and was
not yet quite safe.

As I also was a peripatetic of the garden,
we encountered each other at every turn. At
first our conversation was limited to the usual
salutations of the day; but ere long our casual
acquaintance ripened into a kind of intimacy.
Step by step I won my way,—first into his society,—then
into his snuff-box,—and then into
his heart. He was a great talker, and he found
in me, what he found in no other inmate of the
house,—a good listener, who never interrupted
his long stories, nor contradicted his opinions.
So he talked down one alley and up another,—
from breakfast till dinner,—from dinner till
midnight;—at all times and in all places, when
he could catch me by the button, till at last he
had confided to my ear all the important and
unimportant events of a life of sixty years.

Monsieur D'Argentville was a shoot from
a wealthy family of Nantes. Just before the
Revolution he went up to Paris to study law at
the University; and like many other wealthy
scholars of his age, was soon involved in the
intrigues and dissipation of the metropolis. He
first established himself in the Rue de l'Université;
but a roguish pair of eyes, at an opposite
window, soon drove from the field such
heavy tacticians as Hugues Doneau and Gui
Coquille. A flirtation was commenced in due
form; and a flag of truce, offering to capitulate,
was sent in the shape of a billet-doux. In the
mean time he regularly amused his leisure
hours by blowing kisses across the street with
an old pair of bellows. One afternoon, as he
was occupied in this way, a tall gentleman
with whiskers stepped into the room, just as he
had charged the bellows to the muzzle. He
muttered something about an explanation—his
sister—marriage—and the satisfaction of a gentleman!
Perhaps there is no situation in life so
awkward to a man of real sensibility, as that
of being awed into matrimony or a duel by the
whiskers of a tall brother. There was but one

alternative; and the next morning a placard at
the window of the Bachelor of Love, with the
words “Furnished Appartment to let,” showed
that the former occupant had found it convenient
to change lodgings.

He next appeared in the Chaussée-d'Antin,
where he assiduously prepared himself for future
exigencies, by a course of daily lessons in
the use of the small-sword. He soon after
quarrelled with his best friend, about a little
actress on the Boulevard, and had the satisfaction
of being jilted, and then run through the
body at the Bois de Boulogne. This gave him
new eclat in the fashionable world; and consequently
he pursued pleasure with a keener
relish than ever. He next had the grande passion,
and narrowly escaped marrying an heiress
of great expectations, and a countless number
of chateaux. Just before the catastrophe,
however, he had the good fortune to discover,
that the lady's expectations were limited to his
own pocket, and that as for her chateaux, they
were all Chateaux en Espagne.

About this time his father died; and the
hopeful son was hardly well established in his

inheritance, when the Revolution broke out.
Unfortunately he was a firm upholder of the
divine right of kings, and had the honor of being
among the first of the proscribed. He narrowly
escaped the guillotine by jumping on
board a vessel bound for America, and arrived
at Boston with only a few francs in his pocket;
but as he knew how to accommodate himself
to circumstances, he continued to live along
by teaching fencing and French, and keeping
a dancing-school and a milliner.

At the restoration of the Bourbons he returned
to France; and from that time to the
day of our acquaintance had been engaged in
a series of vexatious law-suits, in the hope of
recovering a portion of his property, which had
been entrusted to a friend for safe keeping, at
the commencement of the Revolution. His
friend, however, denied all knowledge of the
transaction, and the assignment was very difficult
to prove. Twelve years of unsuccessful
litigation had completely soured the old gentleman's
temper, and made him peevish and
misanthropic; and he had come to Auteuil,
merely to escape the noise of the city, and to

brace his shattered nerves with pure air and
quiet amusements. There he idled the time
away, sauntering about the garden of the Maison
de Santé, talking to himself, when he could
get no other listener, and occasionally reinforcing
his misanthropy with a dose of the Maxims
of La Rochefoucauld, or a visit to the
scene of his duel in the Bois de Bologne.

Poor Monsieur D'Argentville! What a
miserable life he led—or rather dragged on
from day to day!—A petulant, broken-down
old man, who had outlived his fortune, and his
friends, and his hopes,—yea, every thing but
the sting of bad passions, and the recollection
of a life ill-spent!—Whether he still walks the
earth, or slumbers in its bosom, I know not;
but a lively recollection of him will always
mingle with my reminiscences of Auteuil.