The Serapion Brethren, Vol. II

by E. T. A. Hoffmann

Mademoiselle Scuderi handed her the open casket, and when she saw the splendid and valuable stones, and the workmanship of them, she could not repress a loud expression of admiration. She took the bracelets and necklace to the window, letting the sunlight play on the jewels, and holding the beautiful goldsmith's work close to her eyes, so as to see with what wonderful skill each little link of the chains was formed.

She turned suddenly to Mademoiselle Scuderi, and cried, "Do you know, there is only one man who can have done this work--and that is René Cardillac."

René Cardillac was then the cleverest worker in gold in all Paris, one of the most artistic, and at the same time extraordinary men of his day. Short, rather than tall, but broad-shouldered, and of strong and muscular build, Cardillac, now over fifty, had still the strength and activity of a youth. To this vigour, which was to be called unusual, testified also his thick, curling, reddish hair, and his massive, shining face. Had he not been known to be the most upright and honourable of men, unselfish, open, without reserve, always ready to help, his altogether peculiar glance out of his grimly sparkling eyes might have brought him under suspicion of being secretly ill-tempered and wicked. In his art he was the most skilful worker, not only in Paris, but probably in the world at that time. Intimately acquainted with every kind of precious stones, versed in all their special peculiarities, he could so handle and treat them that ornaments which at a first glance promised to be poor and insignificant, came from his workshop brilliant and splendid. He accepted every commission with burning eagerness, and charged prices so moderate as to seem out of all proportion to the work. And the work left him no rest. Day and night he was to be heard hammering in his shop; and often, when a job was nearly finished, he would suddenly be dissatisfied with the form--would have doubts whether some of the settings were tender enough; some little link would not be quite to his mind--in fine, the whole affair would be thrown into the melting-pot, and begun all over again. Thus every one of his works was a real, unsurpassable chef-d'œuvre, which set the person who had ordered it into amazement. But then, it was hardly possible to get the finished work out of his hands. He would put the customer off from one week to another, by a thousand excuses, ay, from month to month. He might be offered twice the price he had agreed upon, but it was useless; he would take no more; and when, ultimately, he was obliged to yield to the customer's remonstrances, and deliver the work, he could not conceal the vexation--nay, the rage--which seethed within him. If he had to deliver some specially valuable and unusually rich piece of workmanship, worth perhaps several thousand francs, he would get into such a condition that he ran up and down like one demented, cursing himself, his work, and every thing and person about him; but should, then, some one come running up behind him, crying, "René Cardillac, would you be so kind as to make me a beautiful necklace for the lady I am going to marry?" or "a pair of bracelets for my girl?" or the like, he would stop in a moment, flash his small eyes upon the speaker, and say, "Let me see what you have got." The latter would take out a little case, and say, "Here are jewels; they are not worth much; only every-day affairs; but in your hands----." Cardillac would interrupt him, snatch the casket from his hands, take out the stones (really not very valuable), hold them up to the light, and cry, "Ho! ho! common stones you say! Nothing of the kind!--very fine, splendid stones! Just see what I shall make of them; and if a handful of Louis are no object to you, I will put two or three others along with them which will shine in your eyes like the sun himself!" The customer would say: "I leave the matter entirely in your hands, Master René; make what charge you please." Whether the customer were a rich burgher or a gallant of quality, Cardillac would then throw himself violently on his neck, embrace him and kiss him, and say he was perfectly happy again, and that the work would be ready in eight days' time. Then he would run home as fast as he could to his work-shop, where he would set to work hammering away; and in eight days' time there would be a masterpiece ready. But as soon as the customer would arrive, glad to pay the moderate price demanded, and take away his prize, Cardillac would become morose, ill-tempered, rude, and insolent. "But consider, Master Cardillac," the customer would say, "to-morrow is my wedding-day." "What do I care?" Cardillac would answer; "what is your wedding-day to me? Come back in a fortnight." "But it is finished!--here is the money; I must have it." "And I tell you that there are many alterations which I must make before I let it leave my hands, and I am not going to let you have it to-day." "And I tell you, that if you don't give me my jewels--which I am ready to pay you for--quietly, you will see me come back with a file of D'Argenson's men." "Now, may the devil seize you with a hundred red-hot pincers, and hang three hundredweight on to the necklace, that it may throttle your bride!" With which he would cram the work into the customer's breast-pocket, seize him by the arm, push him out of the door, so that he would go stumbling all the way downstairs, and laugh like a fiend, out of window, when he saw the poor wretch go limping out, holding his handkerchief to his bleeding nose. It was not easy of explanation neither that Cardillac, when he had undertaken a commission with alacrity and enthusiasm, would sometimes suddenly implore the customer, with every sign of the deepest emotion--with the most moving adjurations, even with sobs and tears--not to ask him to go on with it. Many persons, amongst those most highly considered by the King and nation, had in vain offered large sums for the smallest specimen of Cardillac's work. He threw himself at the King's feet, and supplicated that, of his mercy, he would not command him to work for him; and he declined all orders of Madame de Maintenon's: once, when she wished him to make a little ring, with emblems of the arts on it, which she wanted to give to Racine, he refused with expressions of abhorrence and terror.

"I would wager," said Madame de Maintenon, "therefore, that even if I were to send for Cardillac, to find out, at least, for whom he had made those ornaments, he would somehow evade coming, for fear that I should give him an order; nothing will induce him to work for me. Yet he does seem to have been rather less obstinate of late, for I hear he is working more than ever, and allows his customers to take away their jewelry at once, though he does so with deep annoyance, and turns away his face when he hands them over."

Mademoiselle Scuderi, who was exceedingly anxious that the jewels which came into her possession in such an extraordinary manner should be restored to their owner as speedily as possible, thought that this wondrous René Cardillac should be informed at once that no work was required of him, but simply his opinion as to certain stones. The Marquise agreed to this; he was sent for, and he came into the room in a very brief space, almost as if he had been on the way when sent for.

When he saw Mademoiselle Scuderi, he appeared perplexed, like one confronted with the unexpected, who, for the time, loses sight of the calls of courtesy; he first of all made a profound reverence to her, and then turned, in the second place, to the Marquise. Madame de Maintenon impetuously asked him if the jewelled ornaments--to which she pointed as they lay sparkling on the dark-green cover of the table--were his workmanship. Cardillac scarcely glanced at them, and, fixedly staring in her face, he hastily packed the necklace and bracelets into their case, and shoved them away with some violence. Then he said, with an evil smile gleaming on his red face, "The truth is, Madame la Marquise, that one must know René Cardillac's handiwork very little to suppose, even for a moment, that any other goldsmith in the world made those. Of course, I made them." "Then," continued the Marquise, "say whom you made them for." "For myself alone," he answered. "You may think this strange," he continued, as they both gazed at him with amazement, Madame de Maintenon incredulous, and Mademoiselle Scuderi all anxiety as to how the matter was going to turn out, "but I tell you the truth, Madame la Marquise. Merely for the sake of the beauty of the work, I collected some of my finest stones together, and worked for the enjoyment of so doing, more carefully and diligently than usual. Those ornaments disappeared from my workshop a short time since, in an incomprehensible manner." "Heaven be thanked!" cried Mademoiselle Scuderi, her eyes sparkling with joy. With a smile she sprang up from her seat, and going up to Cardillac quickly and actively as a young girl, she laid her hands on his shoulder, saying, "Take back your treasure, Master René, which the villains have robbed you of!" And she circumstantially related how the ornaments had come into her possession.

Cardillac listened in silence, with downcast eyes, merely from time to time uttering a scarcely audible "Hm! Indeed! Ah! Ho, ho!" sometimes placing his hands behind his back, again stroking his chin and cheeks. When she had ended, he appeared to be struggling with strange thoughts which had come to him during her story, and seemed unable to come to any decision satisfactory to himself. He rubbed his brow, sighed, passed his hand over his eyes--perhaps to keep back tears. At last he seized the casket (which Mademoiselle Scuderi had been holding out to him), sunk slowly on one knee, and said: "Esteemed lady! Fate destined this casket for you; and I now feel, for the first time, that I was thinking of you when I was at work upon it--nay, was making it expressly for you. Do not disdain to accept this work, and to wear it; it is the best I have done for a very long time." "Ah! Master René," said Mademoiselle Scuderi, jesting pleasantly, "how think you it would become me at my age to bedeck myself with those beautiful jewels?--and what should put it in your mind to make me such a valuable present? Come, come! If I were as beautiful and as rich as the Marquise de Fontange, I should certainly not let them out of my hands; but what have my withered arms, and my wrinkled neck, to do with all that splendour?"

Cardillac had risen, and said, with wild looks, like a man beside himself, still holding the casket out towards her, "Do me the mercy to take it, Mademoiselle! You have no notion how profound is the reverence which I bear in my heart for your excellences, your high deserts. Do but accept my little offering, as an attempt, on my part, to prove to you the warmth of my regard."

As Mademoiselle Scuderi was still hesitating, Madame de Maintenon took the casket from Cardillac's hands, saying, "Now, by heaven, Mademoiselle, you are always talking of your great age. What have you and I to do with years and their burden? You are like some bashful young thing who would fain long for forbidden fruit, if she could gather it without hands or fingers. Do not hesitate to accept this good Master René's present, which thousands of others could not obtain for money or entreaty."

As she spoke she continued to press the casket on Mademoiselle Scuderi; and now Cardillac sank again on his knees, kissed her dress, her hands, sighed, wept, sobbed, sprang up, and ran off in frantic haste, upsetting chairs and tables, so that the glass and porcelain crashed and clattered together.