I affected indifference while asking Signor Polizzi the price of the manuscript; and, while awaiting his reply, I offered up a secret prayer that the price might not exceed the amount of ready money at my disposal--already much diminished by the cost of my expensive voyage.Signor Polizzi, however, informed me that he was not at liberty to dispose of the article, inasmuch as it did not belong to him, and was to be sold at auction shortly, at the Hotel des Ventes, with a number of other MSS.and several incunabula.
This was a severe blow to me.It tried to preserve my calmness, notwithstanding, and replied somewhat to this effect:
"You surprise me, Monsieur! Your father, whom I talked with recently at Girgenti, told me positively that the manuscript was yours.You cannot now attempt to make me discredit your father's word.""I DID own the manuscript, indeed," answered Signor Rafael with absolute frankness; "but I do not own it any longer.I sold that manuscript--the remarkable interest of which you have not failed to perceive--to an ******* whom I am forbidden to name, and who, for reasons which I am not at liberty to mention, finds himself obliged to sell his collection.I am honoured with the confidence of my customer, and was commissioned by him to draw up the catalogue and manage the sale, which takes place the 24th of December.Now, if you will be kind enough to give me your address, I shall have the pleasure of sending you the catalogue, which is already in the press.you fill find the 'Legende Doree' described in it as 'No.42.'"I gave my address, and left the shop.
The polite gravity of the son impressed me quite as disagreeably as the impudent buffoonery of the father.I hated, from the bottom of my heart, the tricks of the vile hagglers! It was perfectly evident that the two rascals had a secret understanding, and had only devised this auction-sale, with the aid of a professional appraiser, to force the bidding on the manuscript I wanted so much up to an outrageous figure.I was completely at their mercy.There is one evil in all passionate desires, even the noblest--namely, that they leave us subject to the will of others, and in so far dependent.This reflection made me suffer cruelly; but it did not conquer my longing to won the work of Clerk Alexander.While I was thus meditating, Iheard a coachman swear.And I discovered it was I whom he was swearing at only when I felt the pole of a carriage poke me in the ribs.I started aside, barely in time to save myself from being run over; and whom did I perceive through the windows of the coupe?
Madame Trepof, being taken by two beautiful horses, and a coachman all wrapped up in furs like a Russian Boyard, into the very street I had just left.She did not notice me; she was laughing to herself with that artless grace of expression which still preserved for her, at thirty years, all the charm of her early youth.
"Well, well!" I said to myself, "she is laughing! I suppose she must have just found another match-box."And I made my way back to the Ponts, feeling very miserable.
Nature, eternally indifferent, neither hastened nor hurried the twenty-fourth day of December.I went to the Hotel Bullion, and took my place in Salle No.4, immediately below the high desk at which the auctioneer Boulouze and the expert Polizzi were to sit.
I saw the hall gradually fill with familiar faces.I shook hands with several old booksellers of the quays; but that prudence which any large interest inspires in even the most self-assured caused me to keep silence in regard to the reason of my unaccustomed presence in the halls of the Hotel Bullion.On the other hand, I questioned those gentlemen at the auction sale; and I had teh satisfaction of finding them all interested about matters in no wise related to my affair.
Little by little the hall became thronged with interested or merely curious spectators; and, after half an hour's delay, the auctioneer with his ivory hammer, the clerk with his bundle of memorandum-papers, and the crier, carrying his collection-box fixed to the end of a pole, all took their places on the platform in the most solemn business manner.The attendants ranged themselves at the foot of the desk.The presiding officer having declared the sale open, a partial hush followed.
A commonplace series of Preces dia, with miniatures, were first sold off at mediocre prices.Needless to say, the illuminations of these books were in perfect condition!
The lowness of the bids gave courage to the gathering of second-hand booksellers present, who began to mingle with us, and become more familiar.The dealers in old brass and bric-a-brac pressed forward in their tun, waiting for the doors of an adjoining room to be opened; and the voice of the auctioneer was drowned by the jests of the Auvergnats.
A magnificent codex of the "Guerre des Juifs" revived attention.It was long disputed for."Five thousand francs! five thousand!" called the crier, while the bric-a-brac dealers remained silent with admiration.Then seven or eight antiphonaries brought us back again to low prices.A fat old woman, in a loose gown, bareheaded--a dealer in second-hand goods--encouraged by the size of the books and the low prices bidden, had one of the antiphonaries knocked down to her for thirty francs.
At last the expert Polizzi announced No.42: "The 'Golden Legend';French MS.; unpublished; two superb miniatures, with a starting bid of three thousand francs.""Three thousand! three thousand bid!" yelled the crier.
"Three thousand!" dryly repeated the auctioneer.
There was a buzzing in my head, and, as through a cloud, I saw a host of curious faces all turning towards the manuscript, which a boy was carrying open through the audience.
"Three thousand and fifty!" I said.
I was frightened by the sound of my own voice, and further confused by seeing, or thinking that I saw, all eyes turned on me.
"Three thousand and fifty on the right!" called the crier, taking up my bid.
