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would have been extremely astonished had she been aware of the
reflections that had just been occupying his mind。 He went a short distance
on the highway； then finding； to the right； a road that led to Cormeilles； he
took it； but soon struck into a path that wound through the woods。 He was
sorry to leave a spot that spoke vividly to his heart； and even more so to
his imagination。 He seated himself on the turf； in the midst of a grove of
oaks； around him stretched a blooming heath。 Through an opening in the
grove； he could see Saint… Germain； its forests； and the Seine glittering in
the sunshine； with the two bridges of Maisons Lafitte spanning it with
their arches。 Through another opening he caught a glimpse； to his left； of
the proud bastions of Mont…Valerien； and； in the distance； Paris； the Arc de
l'Etoile； the gilt dome of the Invalides； and the smoke of the factories
rising slowly in the air； then by turns remaining stiff and motionless； or
being swept away by the wind。
The place was retired； solitary； very still。 No sound was to be heard
save the singing of a lark； and at intervals the melancholy cry of a peacock。
Abel Larinski was overcome by a mysterious emotion； he felt a
voluptuous languor steal through his veins。 He watched the smoke over
Paris； and he saw floating in it an ethereal form whose face was partly
concealed by a red hood。 It smiled on him； and he read in this smile a
promise of all the joys of the land of Canaan。
He turned away his eyes； partially closing them； and there appeared
another form to himin truth； very different from the first。 It was that of a
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man whom he had known intimately； of a man whom he had deeply loved。
In vain the lark sang aloud； in vain the peacock wailed Abel Larinski no
longer heard them。 He was thinking of a certain Samuel Brohl； he was
reviewing in his mind all the history of this Samuel； a man who never had
had a secret from him。 This history was quite as sad a one as that of Abel
Larinski； but much less brilliant； much less heroic。 Samuel Brohl prided
himself neither on being a patriot nor a paladin； his mother had not been a
noble woman with the smile of an angel； and the thought never had
occurred to him of fighting for any cause or any person。 He was not a Pole；
although born in a Polish province of the Austrian Empire。 His father was
a Jew； of German extraction； as indicated by his name； which signifies a
place where one sinks in the mire； a bog； swamp； or something of that
nature； and he kept a tavern in a wretched little market…town near the
eastern frontier of Galiciaa forlorn tavern； a forlorn tavern… keeper。
Although always on the alert to sell adulterated brandy to his neighbour；
and to seize the opportunity to lend him money on usury； he did not thrive：
he was a coward of whose timidity every one took advantage to make him
disgorge his ill…gotten gains。 His creed consisted in three doctrines： he
firmly believed that the arts of lying well； of stealing well； and of
receiving a blow in the face without apparently noticing it； were the most
useful arts to human life； but； of the three； the last was the only one that he
practised successfully。 His intentions were good； but his intellect deficient。
This arrant rogue was only a petty knave that any one could dupe。
Abel Larinski transported himself； in thought； to the tavern in which
Samuel Brohl had spent his first youth； and which was as familiar to him
as though he had lived there himself。 The smoky hovel rose before him： he
could smell the odour of garlic and tallow； he could see the drunken
guestssome seated round the long table； others lying under itthe damp
and dripping walls； and the rough； dirty ceiling。 He remembered a panel in
the wainscoting against which a bottle had been broken； in the heat of
some dispute； it had left a great stain of wine that resembled a human face。
He remembered； too； the tavern…keeper； a little man with a dirty； red beard；
whose demeanour was at once timid and impudent。 He saw him as he went
and came； then saw him suddenly turn； lift the end of his caftan and wipe
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his cheek on it。 What had happened？ An insolvent debtor had spit in his
face； he bore it smilingly。 This smile was more repulsive to Count Abel
than the great stain that resembled a human face。
〃Children should be permitted to choose their fathers；〃 he thought。
And yet this poor Samuel Brohl came very near living as happy and
contented in the paternal mire as a fish in water。 Habit and practice
reconcile one even to dirt； and there are people who eat and digest it。 What
made Samuel Brohl think of reading Shakespeare？ Poets are corrupters。
The way it happened was this。 Samuel had picked up； somewhere； a
volume which had dropped from a traveller's pocket。 It was a German
translation of /The Merchant of Venice/。 He read it； and did not understand
it； he reread it； and ended by understanding it。 It produced a wild
confusion of ideas in his mind； he thought that he was becoming insane。
Little by little； the chaos became less tumultuous； order began to reign；
light to dawn。 Samuel Brohl felt that he had had a film over his eyes； and
that it was now removed。 He saw things that he never had seen before； and
he felt joy mingled with terror。 He learned /The Merchant of Venice/ by
heart。 He shut himself up in the barn； so that he might cry out with
Shylock： 〃Hath not a Jew eyes？ hath not a Jew hands； organs； dimensions；
senses； affections； passions？ If you prick us； do we not bleed？ If you tickle
us； do we not laugh？ if you poison us； do we not die？ and if you wrong us；
shall we not revenge？〃 He repeated； too； with Lorenzo：
〃Sit； Jessica。 Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with
patines of bright gold。 There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st
But in his motion like an angel sings； Still quiring to the young…eyed
cherubins： Such harmony is in immortal souls； But whilst this muddy
vesture of decay Doth grossly