"I know not how many years of life may still be allotted to me, but in ten years I shall have attained the average length of human life; you shall then be thirty-five years of age; and since a capital doubles itself in ten years, my wealth shall have attained the enormous sum of four or five millions.

"Unless I am stricken down suddenly, you shall therefore, in all probability, attain your complete maturity before entering into possession of these riches. Your sober, modest, industrious habits, contracted in childhood, shall be as a second nature to you; and your knowledge of business will be still more developed by practice. Add to these advantages your uprightness of mind, your strong physical const.i.tution--unimpaired by early excesses--and you will find yourself in the best possible condition to inherit the wealth I have ama.s.sed, as well as to enjoy it according to your own tastes which, I am sure, can be nothing but generous and honorable.

"You may, perhaps, ask why I simply left my capital to multiply by itself, instead of attempting some great financial operation or enjoying the delights of luxury?

"I shall tell you why, my dear child.

"Although my avarice had its origin in a sentiment of paternal foresight, it has now a.s.sumed all the inherent characteristics of a violent pa.s.sion.

"I could, and can still, deprive myself of everything to acc.u.mulate riches upon riches, happy in the thought that it is all for you, and that you will enjoy this gold some day; but to release my hold on any part of my belongings, for any object whatever, or risk anything in financial operations is impossible--no! not while I live! It would be tearing my heart out by the core; for the possession of his treasure is life itself to a miser. Without spending or risking one farthing, I can give myself up in imagination to the most hazardous or magnificent operations. And this is neither a vain desire nor an empty dream. No!

no! with what I possess, those magnificences and splendors are realizable to-day, to-morrow, this very hour, if I choose.

"How then can you expect that a miser should have the courage or will to release his hold on such a talisman? What! for one project, one realized dream, would I sacrifice a thousand projects, a thousand realizable dreams? Besides, is not my son happy as he is? Would he not be the pride of the proudest of fathers? And is it not for him, _for him only_, that I h.o.a.rd up these treasures?

"Had I acted differently, what would have been the result?

"Had I been lavish, my prodigality would have left you in misery; and had I spent my income only, we would doubtless have lived in idleness and enjoyed a few physical joys or vain satisfactions, but what would we have gained?

"Should we have become better? I know not. But at my death I would have left you a reasonable income only, and not sufficient to realize any large and generous undertaking.

"One last word, my dear son, in answer to a reproach you may address my memory.

"Believe me, if you have been left in ignorance of my riches, it was not through a sentiment of dissimulation or distrust of you.

"These were my reasons:

"Had you known of my riches, though you might perhaps have accepted the humble existence I imposed on you without a murmur, you would have accused me in your heart of harshness and egotism; and, who knows, the certainty of future riches might perhaps also have impaired your precious qualities.

"This is not all---forgive me this foolish fear, this apprehension which is so unjust to your excellent heart--but to enjoy your filial affection in all its purity and disinterestedness during my life, it was necessary that you should have no thought of an opulent inheritance after my death.

"Another reason, the gravest of all, perhaps, has led me to conceal my riches--I love you so tenderly, that it would have been impossible for me to see you undergo any privation if you had known that I could provide the most sumptuous existence for you.

"Notwithstanding the apparent contradiction that seems to exist between this sentiment and my avaricious conduct toward you, I hope, my dear child, that you will understand my thought.

"And now, I place myself in spirit face to face with death, which may strike me to-day, to-morrow, or this very hour; and I declare, in this supreme and solemn moment, that I bless you from the depth of my soul, my dear beloved child, you who have given me joy and happiness only in this world.

"Be a hundred times blessed, Louis, my good, affectionate son; be happy according to your merits, and my last wishes will be accomplished.

"Your father, A. RICHARD.

"Written and copied in Paris, February 25, 18--"

CHAPTER XIII.

Louis was deeply moved by the reading of this singular testament, and wept long as he reflected on the eccentricities of his beloved father.

The day was drawing to a close, when he was finally aroused from his grief by a knock at his door and the well known voice of Florestan de Saint-Herem.

Quickly unbolting the door of the gloomy attic chamber, he found himself in his friend's arms, who cried sympathetically:

"Louis! my poor Louis! I know all. The _concierge_ has just told me of your father's death. Ah! what a cruel, frightful accident!"

"Bead this, Florestan," said Louis, with tears in his eyes, giving his friend the testament left by his father, "and you will understand my bitter grief."

Saint-Herem took the paper and, seating himself by the window, read it to the end.

"Do you think I can now blame his avarice?" asked Louis, when his friend had finished. "Was not his only aim to enrich me, to place me in a position to gain more wealth, or to make a generous use of the possessions he left me? He imposed the hardest privations on himself that he might h.o.a.rd up treasures for me!"

"Nothing surprises me on the part of a miser," returned Florestan.

"They are capable of great things--and this applies to all who are a prey to that powerful and prolific pa.s.sion."

"Don't exaggerate, Florestan."

"This may seem a paradox to you, but there is nothing more true. We have always been stupidly unjust to misers," went on Florestan, with growing enthusiasm. "The genius and zeal they display in inventing inconceivable, impossible economies is prodigious. Altars should be raised in their honor! Thanks to their wise, obstinate parsimony, they possess a wonderful knack of turning everything into gold; careful saving of matches, picking up stray pins, a centime carefully invested; in fact, the most trifling of economies bring in returns. And yet, the world denies the existence of alchemists, the inventors of the philosophical stone! Once more, I repeat it, do they not turn into gold what is nothing in other hands!"

"You are right enough on that score," laughed Louis.

"On that and on all other scores," rejoined Florestan, seriously.

"Now, my dear fellow, follow well my comparison; it is worthy of my most brilliant days of rhetoric! Take a dry, sterile land, and dig a well into it; what happens? The smallest springs, the thinnest stream of subterranean water, the invisible tears of the earth, evaporated or lost until then without profit to anyone, will concentrate, drop by drop, into the bottom of this well; little by little the water will increase and rise, the reservoir will fill; then, if a beneficent hand spreads this salutary spray liberally, verdure and blossoms will appear as if by enchantment on that hitherto unfruitful, desolate soil. Now, Louis, is not my comparison good? Is not the miser's hidden treasure like this deep well, where, thanks to his obstinate and courageous savings, riches acc.u.mulate drop by drop, forming a reservoir from which may spring luxury, splendors, magnificence and prodigalities of all sorts?"

"My dear Florestan," said Louis, drawn from his grief by his friend's enthusiasm, "though my judgment of my father's conduct may have been influenced by filial affection, your course of reasoning on the subject of economy proves that I was not far wrong, at least."

"You are indeed right, Louis; for if we take a philosophical view of avarice, the miser is still more admirable."

"This appears less just."

"Do you not admit that, sooner or later, these riches, so laboriously ama.s.sed by the miser, will almost inevitably shower magnificences of all sorts; for the proverb says: _A miserly father makes a prodigal son_."

"I admit that prodigality is the usual dispenser of these long-h.o.a.rded treasures; but where do you see philanthropy in that?"

"Where do I see it? Why, in everything! Do not the consequences of luxury and magnificence bring ease and comfort to the hundreds of families that weave silks and laces, chisel gold and silver, carve precious stones, build palaces, sculpture the ebony of furniture, varnish carriages, breed thoroughbred horses, and cultivate rare flowers? Have not artists, architects, musicians, singers, _danseuses_, all that is art, pleasure, poetry, enchantment, a large share of the gold shower that produces these wonders? And does not this gold shower spring from that magical reservoir so slowly and perseveringly filled by the miser? Therefore, without the miser, we should have no reservoir, no gold shower, and none of the marvels which this sparkling, beneficent dew alone can produce--Now, let us look at the miser from a catholic point of view--"

"Look at the miser from a catholic point of view!" echoed Louis, in astonishment.

"That is exactly where he is truly admirable," rejoined Saint-Herem, imperturbably.

"I confess that this theory seems to me difficult to sustain."

"On the contrary, it is most simple. Is not abnegation one of the greatest virtues known?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Well, my dear Louis, I defy you to cite me a monastic order whose members practice the renouncement of worldly pleasures more absolutely and sincerely than the miser. And his renouncement is truly the more heroic, because he has within his grasp all the delights and enchantments of soul, mind and senses, and possesses the incredible courage to refuse them all. There is strength, there is the triumph of an energetic will."

"But you must take into consideration that avarice almost invariably stifles all other pa.s.sions, and the renunciation is less difficult to a miser than to another. In depriving himself, he satisfies his predominant pa.s.sion."