But they heard the roaring of the sea."
Thomas the Rhymer.
CHAPTER VIII
Some Results of listening to Poetry
(1)
Mathieu Pourcelles had now definitely become a nuisance to the habitués of that old-established house of entertainment, the Hôtel du Faisan et de la Constitution at Abbeville. To the patron indeed he was more than a nuisance; he was a source of frenzy. But since Mathieu's elder brother, the notary, was the patron's creditor to the extent of some two thousand francs, the patron had to suffer him, and all the clients of the Faisan had to suffer him too—unless they removed their custom to another hostelry. And this, to be exact, was what they were gradually doing, for there are limits even to the patience of a decent citizen who has for years played his nightly little game of draughts at the same tavern and does not favour changes.
It shall briefly be revealed what was the matter with Mathieu Pourcelles. He was a poet. Nor was he a good poet; nay, not even an indifferent poet. But his muse was both prolific and patriotic, giving birth to some abortion at almost every public event, and though all good citizens of Abbeville were properly interested in such occurrences as, say, the repeal of the Law of the Maximum, they preferred a plain newspaper account of it to Mathieu's rhythmical rendering. Yet if they showed undue restiveness under the poet's outpourings it was just conceivable that, seeing the subject of his verse, they might be suspected of 'incivisme.' And thus there was little help for them.
On a certain evening, then, in April 1795, Mathieu entered the Faisan a little earlier than usual. In his hand was a fresh, untumbled manuscript. Several citizens incontinently rose, paid their scores, and went out. The patron cast an agonised look at their retreating backs, and one full of venom at Mathieu's. The poet, a lanky personage, sat down, gave the smallest possible order for refreshments, and, after scandalously few preliminaries and a marked absence of any kind of encouragement, unrolled his manuscript.
"I have here, fellow-citizens, some verses which I should like to submit to your valued judgment." Such was Mathieu's formula to-night. "These verses deal with the present situation of the arms of our beloved country, being, in fact, an 'Ode on the Peace recently concluded between the glorious Republic and Prussia.'"
All present resigned themselves, except one man who ostentatiously buried himself in a news-sheet. Mathieu, than whom was no happier mortal at that moment between the English Channel and the Pyrenees, began joyfully to roll forth his periods and his execrable rhymes. And, weedy though he was of aspect, his own outpourings soon began increasingly to inflate his not inconsiderable voice, so that presently the room rang with his bellowings, and the table before him jumped as he pounded it.
Among all his unwilling listeners he had none a tenth part as interested as a small, tired-looking boy who sat, a spoon in his hand, at a table some distance away. With him was a neat man of forty who, in the midst of his own repast, attended to his small companion's wants. Since the opening of Mathieu's performance the child had more or less neglected his meal to listen with an attention distinctly strained, his eyes anxiously fixed on the orator. Nor did Mathieu fail, after a while, to observe the flattering behaviour of his youngest auditor, and at last broke off and apostrophised him, trusting, he said, that his young friend would profit by these lessons, and remember them in years to come.