To give a complete idea of the stamp of truth impressed on this great work, it will suffice to extract the report of the reception supposed to have been provided by Oscar:—
“Today, Monday, the 25th day of November 1822, after a meeting held yesterday in the Rue de la Cerisaie, hard by the Arsenal, at the house of Madame Clapart, the mother of the new pupil, by name Oscar Husson, we, the undersigned, declare that the breakfast far surpassed our expectations. It included radishes (red and black), gherkins, anchovies, butter, and olives as introductory hors-d’oeuvres; of a noble rich broth that bore witness to a mother’s care, inasmuch as we recognized in it a delicious flavor of fowl; and by the courtesy of the founder of the feast we were, in fact, informed that the trimmings of a handsome cold dish prepared by Madame Clapart had been judiciously added to the stock concocted at home with such care as is known only in private kitchens.
“Item, the aforementioned cold fowl, surrounded by a sea of jelly, the work of the aforenamed mother.
“Item, an ox-tongue, aux tomates, on which we proved ourselves by no means au-tomata.
“Item, a stew of pigeons of such flavor as led us to believe that angels had watched over the pot.
“Item, a dish of macaroni flanked by cups of chocolate custard.
“Item, dessert, consisting of eleven dishes, among which, in spite of the intoxication resulting from sixteen bottles of excellent wine, we discerned the flavor of an exquisitely and superlatively delicious preserve of peaches.
“The wines of Roussillon and of the Côte du Rhône quite outdid those of Champagne and Burgundy. A bottle of Maraschino, and one of Kirsch, finally, and in spite of delicious coffee, brought us to such a pitch of oenological rapture, that one of us—namely, Master Hérisson—found himself in the Bois de Boulogne when he believed he was still on the Boulevard du Temple; and that Jacquinaut, the gutter-jumper, aged fourteen, spoke to citizens’ wives of fifty-seven, taking them for women on the street; to which all set their hand.
“Now, in the statutes of our Order there is a law strictly observed, which is, that those who aspire to the benefits and honors of the profession of the law shall restrict the magnificence of their ‘welcome’ to the due proportion with their fortune, inasmuch as it is a matter of public notoriety that no man with a private income serves Themis, and that all clerks are kept short of cash by their fond parents; wherefore, it is with great admiration that we here record the munificence of Madame Clapart, widow after her first marriage of Monsieur Husson, the new licentiate’s father, and declare that it was worthy of the cheers we gave her at the dessert; to which all set their hand.”
This rigmarole had already taken in three newcomers, and three real breakfasts were duly recorded in this imposing volume.
On the day when a neophyte first made his appearance in the office, the boy always laid the archives on the desk in front of his seat, and the clerks chuckled as they watched the face of the new student while he read these grotesque passages. Each in turn, inter pocula, had been initiated into the secret of this practical joke, and the revelation, as may be supposed, filled them with the hope of mystifying other clerks in the future.
So, now, my readers can imagine the countenances of the four clerks and the boy, when Oscar, now in his turn the practical joker, uttered the words, “Bring out the Book.”
Ten minutes later, a handsome young man came in, well grown and pleasant looking, asked for Monsieur Desroches, and gave his name at once to Godeschal.
“I am Frédéric Marest,” said he, “and have come to fill the place of third clerk here.”
“Monsieur Husson,” said Godeschal, “show the gentleman his seat, and induct him into our ways of work.”
Next morning the new clerk found the Book lying on his writing-pad; but after reading the first pages, he only laughed, gave no invitation, and put the book aside on his desk.
“Gentlemen,” said he, as he was leaving at five o’clock, “I have a cousin who is managing-clerk to Maître Léopold Hannequin, the notary, and I will consult him as to what I should do to pay my footing.”
“This looks badly,” cried Godeschal. “Our sucking magistrate is no greenhorn.”
“Oh! we will lead him a life!” said Oscar.
Next afternoon, at about two o’clock, Oscar saw a visitor come in, and recognized in Hannequin’s head-clerk Georges Marest.
“Why, here is Ali Pasha’s friend!” said he, in an airy tone.
“What? you here, my lord, the Ambassador?” retorted Georges, remembering Oscar.
“Oh, ho! then you are old acquaintances?” said Godeschal to Georges.
“I believe you! We played the fool in company,” said Georges, “above two years ago.—Yes, I left Crottat to go to Hannequin in consequence of that very affair.”
“What affair?” asked Godeschal.
“Oh, a mere nothing,” replied Georges, with a wink at Oscar. “We tried to make game of a Peer of France, and it was he who made us look foolish.—And now, I hear you want to draw my cousin.”
“We do not draw anything,” said Oscar with dignity. “Here is our charter.” And he held out the famous volume at a page where sentence of excommunication was recorded against a refractory student, who had been fairly driven out of the office for stinginess in 1788.
“Still, I seem to smell game,” said Georges, “for here is the trail,” and he pointed to the farcical archives. “However, my cousin and I can afford it, and we will give you a feast such as you never had, and which will stimulate your imagination when recording it here.—Tomorrow, Sunday, at the Rocher de Cancale, two o’clock. And I will take you afterwards to spend the evening with Madame la Marquise de las Florentinas y Cabirolos, where we will gamble, and you will meet the elite of fashion. And so, gentlemen of the lower Court,” he went
