Fraisier opened the seal with a dexterity which proved that his was no ‘prentice hand, and read the following curious document, headed “My Will,” with ever-deepening astonishment:
“On this fifteenth day of April, eighteen hundred and forty-five,
I, being in my sound mind (as this my Will, drawn up in concert
with M. Trognon, will testify), and feeling that I must shortly
die of the malady from which I have suffered since the beginning
of February last, am anxious to dispose of my property, and have
herein recorded my last wishes:—
“I have always been impressed by the untoward circumstances that
injure great pictures, and not unfrequently bring about total
destruction. I have felt sorry for the beautiful paintings
condemned to travel from land to land, never finding some fixed
abode whither admirers of great masterpieces may travel to see
them. And I have always thought that the truly deathless work of a
great master ought to be national property; put where every one of
every nation may see it, even as the light, God’s masterpiece,
shines for all His children.
“And as I have spent my life in collecting together and choosing a
few pictures, some of the greatest masters’ most glorious work,
and as these pictures are as the master left them—genuine
examples, neither repainted nor retouched,—it has been a painful
thought to me that the paintings which have been the joy of my
life, may be sold by public auction, and go, some to England, some
to Russia, till they are all scattered abroad again as if they had
never been gathered together. From this wretched fate I have
determined to save both them and the frames in which they are set,
all of them the work of skilled craftsmen.
“On these grounds, therefore, I give and bequeath the pictures
which compose my collection to the King, for the gallery in the
Louvre, subject to the charge (if the legacy is accepted) of a
life-annuity of two thousand four hundred francs to my friend
Wilhelm Schmucke.
“If the King, as usufructuary of the Louvre collection, should
refuse the legacy with the charge upon it, the said pictures shall
form a part of the estate which I leave to my friend, Schmucke, on
condition that he shall deliver the Monkey’s Head, by Goya, to
my cousin, President Camusot; a Flower-piece, the tulips, by
Abraham Mignon, to M. Trognon, notary (whom I appoint as my
executor): and allow Mme. Cibot, who has acted as my housekeeper
for ten years, the sum of two hundred francs per annum.
“Finally, my friend Schmucke is to give the Descent from the
Cross, Ruben’s sketch for his great picture at Antwerp, to adorn
a chapel in the parish church, in grateful acknowledgment of M.
Duplanty’s kindness to me; for to him I owe it that I can die as a
Christian and a Catholic.”—So ran the will.
“This is ruin!” mused Fraisier, “the ruin of all my hopes. Ha! I begin to believe all that the Presidente told me about this old artist and his cunning.”
“Well?” La Cibot came back to say.
“Your gentleman is a monster. He is leaving everything to the Crown. Now, you cannot plead against the Crown.... The will cannot be disputed.... We are robbed, ruined, spoiled, and murdered!”
“What has he left to me?”
“Two hundred francs a year.”
“A pretty come-down!... Why, he is a finished scoundrel.”
“Go and see,” said Fraisier, “and I will put your scoundrel’s will back again in the envelope.”
While Mme. Cibot’s back was turned, Fraisier nimbly slipped a sheet of blank paper into the envelope; the will he put in his pocket. He next proceeded to seal the envelope again so cleverly that he showed the seal to Mme. Cibot when she returned, and asked her if she could see the slightest trace of the operation. La Cibot took up the envelope, felt it over, assured herself that it was not empty, and heaved a deep sigh. She had entertained hopes that Fraisier himself would have burned the unlucky document while she was out of the room.