University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.
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 printed papers, files of documents,
rolls of manuscripts, 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 blackingmen
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.”

“Cafés 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 alloted
apartment.