Prefatory Materials

This is a modified etext created by GutenMark software.   Any comments below about etext preparation refer to the original, and not to this modified version of the etext.  No individuals named below bear responsibility for changes to the text.

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pierre Grassou, by Honore de Balzac

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

Title:  Pierre Grassou

Author:  Honore de Balzac

Translator:  Katharine Prescott Wormeley

Release Date:  June 27, 2005 [EBook #1230]

Language:  English

Character set encoding:  ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIERRE GRASSOU ***

Produced by John Bickers and Dagny

PIERRE GRASSOU

BY

HONORE DE BALZAC

Translated by
Katharine Prescott Wormeley

DEDICATION

To the Lieutenant-Colonel of Artillery, Periollas,
As a Testimony of the Affectionate Esteem of the Author,

De Balzac

PierreGrassou

Whenever you have gone to take a serious look at the exhibition of works of sculpture and painting, such as it has been since the revolution of 1830, have you not been seized by a sense of uneasiness, weariness, sadness, at the sight of those long and over-crowded galleries?  Since 1830, the true Salon no longer exists.  The Louvre has again been taken by assault,—this time by a populace of artists who have maintained themselves in it.

In other days, when the Salon presented only the choicest works of art, it conferred the highest honor on the creations there exhibited.  Among the two hundred selected paintings, the public could still choose:  a crown was awarded to the masterpiece by hands unseen.  Eager, impassioned discussions arose about some picture.  The abuse showered on Delacroix, on Ingres, contributed no less to their fame than the praises and fanaticism of their adherents.  To-day, neither the crowd nor the criticism grows impassioned about the products of that bazaar.  Forced to make the selection for itself, which in former days the examining jury made for it, the attention of the public is soon wearied and the exhibition closes.  Before the year 1817 the pictures admitted never went beyond the first two columns of the long gallery of the old masters; but in that year, to the great astonishment of the public, they filled the whole space.  Historical, high-art, genre paintings, easel pictures, landscapes, flowers, animals, and water-colors,—these eight specialties could surely not offer more than twenty pictures in one year worthy of the eyes of the public, which, indeed, cannot give its attention to a greater number of such works.  The more the number of artists increases, the more careful and exacting the jury of admission ought to be.

The true character of the Salon was lost as soon as it spread along the galleries.  The Salon should have remained within fixed limits of inflexible proportions, where each distinct specialty could show its masterpieces only.  An experience of ten years has shown the excellence of the former institution.  Now, instead of a tournament, we have a mob; instead of a noble exhibition, we have a tumultuous bazaar; instead of a choice selection we have a chaotic mass.  What is the result?  A great artist is swamped.  Decamps’ “Turkish Cafe,” “Children at a Fountain,” “Joseph,” and “The Torture,” would have redounded far more to his credit if the four pictures had been exhibited in the great Salon with the hundred good pictures of that year, than his twenty pictures could, among three thousand others, jumbled together in six galleries.

By some strange contradiction, ever since the doors are open to every one there has been much talk of unknown and unrecognized genius.  When, twelve years earlier, Ingres’ “Courtesan,” and that of Sigalon, the “Medusa” of Gericault, the “Massacre of Scio” by Delacroix, the “Baptism of Henri IV.” by Eugene Deveria, admitted by celebrated artists accused of jealousy, showed the world, in spite of the denials of criticism, that young and vigorous palettes existed, no such complaint was made.  Now, when the veriest dauber of canvas can send in his work, the whole talk is of genius neglected!  Where judgment no longer exists, there is no longer anything judged.  But whatever artists may be doing now, they will come back in time to the examination and selection which presents their works to the admiration of the crowd for whom they work.  Without selection by the Academy there will be no Salon, and without the Salon art may perish.

Ever since the catalogue has grown into a book, many names have appeared in it which still remain in their native obscurity, in spite of the ten or a dozen pictures attached to them.  Among these names perhaps the most unknown to fame is that of an artist named Pierre Grassou, coming from Fougeres, and called simply “Fougeres” among his brother-artists, who, at the present moment holds a place, as the saying is, “in the sun,” and who suggested the rather bitter reflections by which this sketch of his life is introduced, —reflections that are applicable to many other individuals of the tribe of artists.

In 1832, Fougeres lived in the rue de Navarin, on the fourth floor of one of those tall, narrow houses which resemble the obelisk of Luxor, and possess an alley, a dark little stairway with dangerous turnings, three windows only on each floor, and, within the building, a courtyard, or, to speak more correctly, a square pit or well.  Above the three or four rooms occupied by Grassou of Fougeres was his studio, looking over to Montmartre.  This studio was painted in brick-color, for a background; the floor was tinted brown and well frotted; each chair was furnished with a bit of carpet bound round the edges; the sofa, simple enough, was clean as that in the bedroom of some worthy bourgeoise.  All these things denoted the tidy ways of a small mind and the thrift of a poor man.  A bureau was there, in which to put away the studio implements, a table for breakfast, a sideboard, a secretary; in short, all the articles necessary to a painter, neatly arranged and very clean.  The stove participated in this Dutch cleanliness, which was all the more visible because the pure and little changing light from the north flooded with its cold clear beams the vast apartment.  Fougeres, being merely a genre painter, does not need the immense machinery and outfit which ruin historical painters; he has never recognized within himself sufficient faculty to attempt high-art, and he therefore clings to easel painting.

At the beginning of the month of December of that year, a season at which the bourgeois of Paris conceive, periodically, the burlesque idea of perpetuating their forms and figures already too bulky in themselves, Pierre Grassou, who had risen early, prepared his palette, and lighted his stove, was eating a roll steeped in milk, and waiting till the frost on his windows had melted sufficiently to let the full light in.  The weather was fine and dry.  At this moment the artist, who ate his bread with that patient, resigned air that tells so much, heard and recognized the step of a man who had upon his life the influence such men have on the lives of nearly all artists,—the step of Elie Magus, a picture-dealer, a usurer in canvas.  The next moment Elie Magus entered and found the painter in the act of beginning his work in the tidy studio.

“How are you, old rascal?” said the painter.

Fougeres had the cross of the Legion of honor, and Elie Magus bought his pictures at two and three hundred francs apiece, so he gave himself the airs of a fine artist.

“Business is very bad,” replied Elie.  “You artists have such pretensions!  You talk of two hundred francs when you haven’t put six sous’ worth of color on a canvas.  However, you are a good fellow, I’ll say that.  You are steady; and I’ve come to put a good bit of business in your way.”

“Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes,” said Fougeres.  “Do you know Latin?”

“No.”

“Well, it means that the Greeks never proposed a good bit of business to the Trojans without getting their fair share of it.  In the olden time they used to say, ‘Take my horse.’  Now we say, ‘Take my bear.’  Well, what do you want, Ulysses-Lagingeole-Elie Magus?”

These words will give an idea of the mildness and wit with which Fougeres employed what painters call studio fun.

“Well, I don’t deny that you are to paint me two pictures for nothing.”

“Oh! oh!”

“I’ll leave you to do it, or not; I don’t ask it.  But you’re an honest man.”

“Come, out with it!”

“Well, I’m prepared to bring you a father, mother, and only daughter.”

“All for me?”

“Yes—they want their portraits taken.  These bourgeois—they are crazy about art—have never dared to enter a studio.  The girl has a ‘dot’ of a hundred thousand francs.  You can paint all three,—perhaps they’ll turn out family portraits.”

And with that the old Dutch log of wood who passed for a man and who was called Elie Magus, interrupted himself to laugh an uncanny laugh which frightened the painter.  He fancied he heard Mephistopheles talking marriage.

“Portraits bring five hundred francs apiece,” went on Elie; “so you can very well afford to paint me three pictures.”

“True for you!” cried Fougeres, gleefully.

“And if you marry the girl, you won’t forget me.”

“Marry!  I?” cried Pierre Grassou,—“I, who have a habit of sleeping alone; and get up at cock-crow, and all my life arranged—”

“One hundred thousand francs,” said Magus, “and a quiet girl, full of golden tones, as you call ’em, like a Titian.”

“What class of people are they?”

“Retired merchants; just now in love with art; have a country-house at Ville d’Avray, and ten or twelve thousand francs a year.”

“What business did they do?”

“Bottles.”

“Now don’t say that word; it makes me think of corks and sets my teeth on edge.”

“Am I to bring them?”

“Three portraits—I could put them in the Salon; I might go in for portrait-painting.  Well, yes!”

Old Elie descended the staircase to go in search of the Vervelle family.  To know to what extend this proposition would act upon the painter, and what effect would be produced upon him by the Sieur and Dame Vervelle, adorned by their only daughter, it is necessary to cast an eye on the anterior life of Pierre Grassou of Fougeres.

When a pupil, Fougeres had studied drawing with Servin, who was thought a great draughtsman in academic circles.  After that he went to Schinner’s, to learn the secrets of the powerful and magnificent color which distinguishes that master.  Master and scholars were all discreet; at any rate Pierre discovered none of their secrets.  From there he went to Sommervieux’ atelier, to acquire that portion of the art of painting which is called composition, but composition was shy and distant to him.  Then he tried to snatch from Decamps and Granet the mystery of their interior effects.  The two masters were not robbed.  Finally Fougeres ended his education with Duval-Lecamus.  During these studied and these different transformations Fougeres’ habits and ways of life were tranquil and moral to a degree that furnished matter of jesting to the various ateliers where he sojourned; but everywhere he disarmed his comrades by his modesty and by the patience and gentleness of a lamblike nature.  The masters, however, had no sympathy for the good lad; masters prefer bright fellows, eccentric spirits, droll or fiery, or else gloomy and deeply reflective, which argue future talent.  Everything about Pierre Grassou smacked of mediocrity.  His nickname “Fougeres” (that of the painter in the play of “The Eglantine”) was the source of much teasing; but, by force of circumstances, he accepted the name of the town in which he had first seen light.

Grassou of Fougeres resembled his name.  Plump and of medium height, he had a dull complexion, brown eyes, black hair, a turned-up nose, rather wide mouth, and long ears.  His gentle, passive, and resigned air gave a certain relief to these leading features of a physiognomy that was full of health, but wanting in action.  This young man, born to be a virtuous bourgeois, having left his native place and come to Paris to be clerk with a color-merchant (formerly of Mayenne and a distant connection of the Orgemonts) made himself a painter simply by the fact of an obstinacy which constitutes the Breton character.  What he suffered, the manner in which he lived during those years of study, God only knows.  He suffered as much as great men suffer when they are hounded by poverty and hunted like wild beasts by the pack of commonplace minds and by troops of vanities athirst for vengeance.

As soon as he thought himself able to fly on his own wings, Fougeres took a studio in the upper part of the rue des Martyrs, where he began to delve his way.  He made his first appearance in 1819.  The first picture he presented to the jury of the Exhibition at the Louvre represented a village wedding rather laboriously copied from Greuze’s picture.  It was rejected.  When Fougeres heard of the fatal decision, he did not fall into one of those fits of epileptic self-love to which strong natures give themselves up, and which sometimes end in challenges sent to the director or the secretary of the Museum, or even by threats of assassination.  Fougeres quietly fetched his canvas, wrapped it in a handkerchief, and brought it home, vowing in his heart that he would still make himself a great painter.  He placed his picture on the easel, and went to one of his former masters, a man of immense talent,—to Schinner, a kind and patient artist, whose triumph at that year’s Salon was complete.  Fougeres asked him to come and criticise the rejected work.  The great painter left everything and went at once.  When poor Fougeres had placed the work before him Schinner, after a glance, pressed Fougeres’ hand.

“You are a fine fellow,” he said; “you’ve a heart of gold, and I must not deceive you.  Listen; you are fulfilling all the promises you made in the studios.  When you find such things as that at the tip of your brush, my good Fougeres, you had better leave colors with Brullon, and not take the canvas of others.  Go home early, put on your cotton night-cap, and be in bed by nine o’clock.  The next morning early go to some government office, ask for a place, and give up art.”

“My dear friend,” said Fougeres, “my picture is already condemned; it is not a verdict that I want of you, but the cause of that verdict.”

“Well—you paint gray and sombre; you see nature being a crape veil; your drawing is heavy, pasty; your composition is a medley of Greuze, who only redeemed his defects by the qualities which you lack.”

While detailing these faults of the picture Schinner saw on Fougeres’ face so deep an expression of sadness that he carried him off to dinner and tried to console him.  The next morning at seven o’clock Fougeres was at his easel working over the rejected picture; he warmed the colors; he made the corrections suggested by Schinner, he touched up his figures.  Then, disgusted with such patching, he carried the picture to Elie Magus.  Elie Magus, a sort of Dutch-Flemish-Belgian, had three reasons for being what he became,—rich and avaricious.  Coming last from Bordeaux, he was just starting in Paris, selling old pictures and living on the boulevard Bonne-Nouvelle.  Fougeres, who relied on his palette to go to the baker’s, bravely ate bread and nuts, or bread and milk, or bread and cherries, or bread and cheese, according to the seasons.  Elie Magus, to whom Pierre offered his first picture, eyed it for some time and then gave him fifteen francs.

“With fifteen francs a year coming in, and a thousand francs for expenses,” said Fougeres, smiling, “a man will go fast and far.”

Elie Magus made a gesture; he bit his thumbs, thinking that he might have had that picture for five francs.

For several days Pierre walked down from the rue des Martyrs and stationed himself at the corner of the boulevard opposite to Elie’s shop, whence his eye could rest upon his picture, which did not obtain any notice from the eyes of the passers along the street.  At the end of a week the picture disappeared; Fougeres walked slowly up and approached the dealer’s shop in a lounging manner.  The Jew was at his door.

“Well, I see you have sold my picture.”

“No, here it is,” said Magus; “I’ve framed it, to show it to some one who fancies he knows about painting.”

Fougeres had not the heart to return to the boulevard.  He set about another picture, and spent two months upon it,—eating mouse’s meals and working like a galley-slave.

One evening he went to the boulevard, his feet leading him fatefully to the dealer’s shop.  His picture was not to be seen.

“I’ve sold your picture,” said Elie Magus, seeing him.

“For how much?”

“I got back what I gave and a small interest.  Make me some Flemish interiors, a lesson of anatomy, landscapes, and such like, and I’ll buy them of you,” said Elie.

Fougeres would fain have taken old Magus in his arms; he regarded him as a father.  He went home with joy in his heart; the great painter Schinner was mistaken after all!  In that immense city of Paris there were some hearts that beat in unison with Pierre’s; his talent was understood and appreciated.  The poor fellow of twenty-seven had the innocence of a lad of sixteen.  Another man, one of those distrustful, surly artists, would have noticed the diabolical look on Elie’s face and seen the twitching of the hairs of his beard, the irony of his moustache, and the movement of his shoulders which betrayed the satisfaction of Walter Scott’s Jew in swindling a Christian.

Fougeres marched along the boulevard in a state of joy which gave to his honest face an expression of pride.  He was like a schoolboy protecting a woman.  He met Joseph Bridau, one of his comrades, and one of those eccentric geniuses destined to fame and sorrow.  Joseph Bridau, who had, to use his own expression, a few sous in his pocket, took Fougeres to the Opera.  But Fougeres didn’t see the ballet, didn’t hear the music; he was imagining pictures, he was painting.  He left Joseph in the middle of the evening, and ran home to make sketches by lamp-light.  He invented thirty pictures, all reminiscence, and felt himself a man of genius.  The next day he bought colors, and canvases of various dimensions; he piled up bread and cheese on his table, he filled a water-pot with water, he laid in a provision of wood for his stove; then, to use a studio expression, he dug at his pictures.  He hired several models and Magus lent him stuffs.

After two months’ seclusion the Breton had finished four pictures.  Again he asked counsel of Schinner, this time adding Bridau to the invitation.  The two painters saw in three of these pictures a servile imitation of Dutch landscapes and interiors by Metzu, in the fourth a copy of Rembrandt’s “Lesson of Anatomy.”

“Still imitating!” said Schinner.  “Ah!  Fougeres can’t manage to be original.”

“You ought to do something else than painting,” said Bridau.

“What?” asked Fougeres.

“Fling yourself into literature.”

Fougeres lowered his head like a sheep when it rains.  Then he asked and obtained certain useful advice, and retouched his pictures before taking them to Elie Magus.  Elie paid him twenty-five francs apiece.  At that price of course Fougeres earned nothing; neither did he lose, thanks to his sober living.  He made a few excursions to the boulevard to see what became of his pictures, and there he underwent a singular hallucination.  His neat, clean paintings, hard as tin and shiny as porcelain, were covered with a sort of mist; they looked like old daubs.  Magus was out, and Pierre could obtain no information on this phenomenon.  He fancied something was wrong with his eyes.

The painter went back to his studio and made more pictures.  After seven years of continued toil Fougeres managed to compose and execute quite passable work.  He did as well as any artist of the second class.  Elie bought and sold all the paintings of the poor Breton, who earned laboriously about two thousand francs a year while he spent but twelve hundred.

At the Exhibition of 1829, Leon de Lora, Schinner, and Bridau, who all three occupied a great position and were, in fact, at the head of the art movement, were filled with pity for the perseverance and the poverty of their old friend; and they caused to be admitted into the grand salon of the Exhibition, a picture by Fougeres.  This picture, powerful in interest but derived from Vigneron as to sentiment and from Dubufe’s first manner as to execution, represented a young man in prison, whose hair was being cut around the nape of the neck.  On one side was a priest, on the other two women, one old, one young, in tears.  A sheriff’s clerk was reading aloud a document.  On a wretched table was a meal, untouched.  The light came in through the bars of a window near the ceiling.  It was a picture fit to make the bourgeois shudder, and the bourgeois shuddered.  Fougeres had simply been inspired by the masterpiece of Gerard Douw; he had turned the group of the “Dropsical Woman” toward the window, instead of presenting it full front.  The condemned man was substituted for the dying woman—same pallor, same glance, same appeal to God.  Instead of the Dutch doctor, he had painted the cold, official figure of the sheriff’s clerk attired in black; but he had added an old woman to the young one of Gerard Douw.  The cruelly simple and good-humored face of the executioner completed and dominated the group.  This plagiarism, very cleverly disguised, was not discovered.  The catalogue contained the following:—

510.  Grassou de Fougeres (Pierre), rue de Navarin, 2.
Death-toilet of a Chouan, condemned to execution in 1809.

Though wholly second-rate, the picture had immense success, for it recalled the affair of the “chauffeurs,” of Mortagne.  A crowd collected every day before the now fashionable canvas; even Charles X. paused to look at it.  “Madame,” being told of the patient life of the poor Breton, became enthusiastic over him.  The Duc d’Orleans asked the price of the picture.  The clergy told Madame la Dauphine that the subject was suggestive of good thoughts; and there was, in truth, a most satisfying religious tone about it.  Monseigneur the Dauphin admired the dust on the stone-floor,—a huge blunder, by the way, for Fougeres had painted greenish tones suggestive of mildew along the base of the walls.  “Madame” finally bought the picture for a thousand francs, and the Dauphin ordered another like it.  Charles X. gave the cross of the Legion of honor to this son of a peasant who had fought for the royal cause in 1799. (Joseph Bridau, the great painter, was not yet decorated.) The minister of the Interior ordered two church pictures of Fougeres.

This Salon of 1829 was to Pierre Grassou his whole fortune, fame, future, and life.  Be original, invent, and you die by inches; copy, imitate, and you’ll live.  After this discovery of a gold mine, Grassou de Fougeres obtained his benefit of the fatal principle to which society owes the wretched mediocrities to whom are intrusted in these days the election of leaders in all social classes; who proceed, naturally, to elect themselves and who wage a bitter war against all true talent.  The principle of election applied indiscriminately is false, and France will some day abandon it.

Nevertheless the modesty, simplicity, and genuine surprise of the good and gentle Fougeres silenced all envy and all recriminations.  Besides, he had on his side all of his clan who had succeeded, and all who expected to succeed.  Some persons, touched by the persistent energy of a man whom nothing had discouraged, talked of Domenichino and said:—

“Perseverance in the arts should be rewarded.  Grassou hasn’t stolen his successes; he has delved for ten years, the poor dear man!”

That exclamation of “poor dear man!” counted for half in the support and the congratulations which the painter received.  Pity sets up mediocrities as envy pulls down great talents, and in equal numbers.  The newspapers, it is true, did not spare criticism, but the chevalier Fougeres digested them as he had digested the counsel of his friends, with angelic patience.

Possessing, by this time, fifteen thousand francs, laboriously earned, he furnished an apartment and studio in the rue de Navarin, and painted the picture ordered by Monseigneur the Dauphin, also the two church pictures, and delivered them at the time agreed on, with a punctuality that was very discomforting to the exchequer of the ministry, accustomed to a different course of action.  But—admire the good fortune of men who are methodical—if Grassou, belated with his work, had been caught by the revolution of July he would not have got his money.

By the time he was thirty-seven Fougeres had manufactured for Elie Magus some two hundred pictures, all of them utterly unknown, by the help of which he had attained to that satisfying manner, that point of execution before which the true artist shrugs his shoulders and the bourgeoisie worships.  Fougeres was dear to friends for rectitude of ideas, for steadiness of sentiment, absolute kindliness, and great loyalty; though they had no esteem for his palette, they loved the man who held it.

“What a misfortune it is that Fougeres has the vice of painting!” said his comrades.

But for all this, Grassou gave excellent counsel, like those feuilletonists incapable of writing a book who know very well where a book is wanting.  There was this difference, however, between literary critics and Fougeres; he was eminently sensitive to beauties; he felt them, he acknowledged them, and his advice was instinct with a spirit of justice that made the justness of his remarks acceptable.  After the revolution of July, Fougeres sent about ten pictures a year to the Salon, of which the jury admitted four or five.  He lived with the most rigid economy, his household being managed solely by an old charwoman.  For all amusement he visited his friends, he went to see works of art, he allowed himself a few little trips about France, and he planned to go to Switzerland in search of inspiration.  This detestable artist was an excellent citizen; he mounted guard duly, went to reviews, and paid his rent and provision-bills with bourgeois punctuality.

Having lived all his life in toil and poverty, he had never had the time to love.  Poor and a bachelor, until now he did not desire to complicate his simple life.  Incapable of devising any means of increasing his little fortune, he carried, every three months, to his notary, Cardot, his quarterly earnings and economies.  When the notary had received about three thousand francs he invested them in some first mortgage, the interest of which he drew himself and added to the quarterly payments made to him by Fougeres.  The painter was awaiting the fortunate moment when his property thus laid by would give him the imposing income of two thousand francs, to allow himself the otium cum dignitate of the artist and paint pictures; but oh! what pictures! true pictures! each a finished picture! chouette, Koxnoff, chocnosoff!  His future, his dreams of happiness, the superlative of his hopes—do you know what it was?  To enter the Institute and obtain the grade of officer of the Legion of honor; to side down beside Schinner and Leon de Lora, to reach the Academy before Bridau, to wear a rosette in his buttonhole!  What a dream!  It is only commonplace men who think of everything.

Hearing the sound of several steps on the staircase, Fougeres rubbed up his hair, buttoned his jacket of bottle-green velveteen, and was not a little amazed to see, entering his doorway, a simpleton face vulgarly called in studio slang a “melon.”  This fruit surmounted a pumpkin, clothed in blue cloth adorned with a bunch of tintinnabulating baubles.  The melon puffed like a walrus; the pumpkin advanced on turnips, improperly called legs.  A true painter would have turned the little bottle-vendor off at once, assuring him that he didn’t paint vegetables.  This painter looked at his client without a smile, for Monsieur Vervelle wore a three-thousand-franc diamond in the bosom of his shirt.

Fougeres glanced at Magus and said:  “There’s fat in it!” using a slang term then much in vogue in the studios.

Hearing those words Monsieur Vervelle frowned.  The worthy bourgeois drew after him another complication of vegetables in the persons of his wife and daughter.  The wife had a fine veneer of mahogany on her face, and in figure she resembled a cocoa-nut, surmounted by a head and tied in around the waist.  She pivoted on her legs, which were tap-rooted, and her gown was yellow with black stripes.  She proudly exhibited unutterable mittens on a puffy pair of hands; the plumes of a first-class funeral floated on an over-flowing bonnet; laces adorned her shoulders, as round behind as they were before; consequently, the spherical form of the cocoa-nut was perfect.  Her feet, of a kind that painters call abatis, rose above the varnished leather of the shoes in a swelling that was some inches high.  How the feet were ever got into the shoes, no one knows.

Following these vegetable parents was a young asparagus, who presented a tiny head with smoothly banded hair of the yellow-carroty tone that a Roman adores, long, stringy arms, a fairly white skin with reddish spots upon it, large innocent eyes, and white lashes, scarcely any brows, a leghorn bonnet bound with white satin and adorned with two honest bows of the same satin, hands virtuously red, and the feet of her mother.  The faces of these three beings wore, as they looked round the studio, an air of happiness which bespoke in them a respectable enthusiasm for Art.

“So it is you, monsieur, who are going to take our likenesses?” said the father, assuming a jaunty air.

“Yes, monsieur,” replied Grassou.

“Vervelle, he has the cross!” whispered the wife to the husband while the painter’s back was turned.

“Should I be likely to have our portraits painted by an artist who wasn’t decorated?” returned the former bottle-dealer.

Elie Magus here bowed to the Vervelle family and went away.  Grassou accompanied him to the landing.

“There’s no one but you who would fish up such whales.”

“One hundred thousand francs of ’dot’!”

“Yes, but what a family!”

“Three hundred thousand francs of expectations, a house in the rue Boucherat, and a country-house at Ville d’Avray!”

“Bottles and corks! bottles and corks!” said the painter; “they set my teeth on edge.”

“Safe from want for the rest of your days,” said Elie Magus as he departed.

That idea entered the head of Pierre Grassou as the daylight had burst into his garret that morning.

While he posed the father of the young person, he thought the bottle-dealer had a good countenance, and he admired the face full of violent tones.  The mother and daughter hovered about the easel, marvelling at all his preparations; they evidently thought him a demigod.  This visible admiration pleased Fougeres.  The golden calf threw upon the family its fantastic reflections.

“You must earn lots of money; but of course you don’t spend it as you get it,” said the mother.

“No, madame,” replied the painter; “I don’t spend it; I have not the means to amuse myself.  My notary invests my money; he knows what I have; as soon as I have taken him the money I never think of it again.”

“I’ve always been told,” cried old Vervelle, “that artists were baskets with holes in them.”

“Who is your notary—if it is not indiscreet to ask?” said Madame Vervelle.

“A good fellow, all round,” replied Grassou.  “His name is Cardot.”

“Well, well! if that isn’t a joke!” exclaimed Vervelle.  “Cardot is our notary too.”

“Take care! don’t move,” said the painter.

“Do pray hold still, Antenor,” said the wife.  “If you move about you’ll make monsieur miss; you should just see him working, and then you’d understand.”

“Oh! why didn’t you have me taught the arts?” said Mademoiselle Vervelle to her parents.

“Virginie,” said her mother, “a young person ought not to learn certain things.  When you are married—well, till then, keep quiet.”

During this first sitting the Vervelle family became almost intimate with the worthy artist.  They were to come again two days later.  As they went away the father told Virginie to walk in front; but in spite of this separation, she overheard the following words, which naturally awakened her curiosity.

“Decorated—thirty-seven years old—an artist who gets orders—puts his money with our notary.  We’ll consult Cardot.  Hein!  Madame de Fougeres! not a bad name—doesn’t look like a bad man either!  One might prefer a merchant; but before a merchant retires from business one can never know what one’s daughter may come to; whereas an economical artist—and then you know we love Art—Well, we’ll see!”

While the Vervelle family discussed Pierre Grassou, Pierre Grassou discussed in his own mind the Vervelle family.  He found it impossible to stay peacefully in his studio, so he took a walk on the boulevard, and looked at all the red-haired women who passed him.  He made a series of the oddest reasonings to himself:  gold was the handsomest of metals; a tawny yellow represented gold; the Romans were fond of red-haired women, and he turned Roman, etc.  After two years of marriage what man would ever care about the color of his wife’s hair?  Beauty fades,—but ugliness remains!  Money is one-half of all happiness.  That night when he went to bed the painter had come to think Virginie Vervelle charming.

When the three Vervelles arrived on the day of the second sitting the artist received them with smiles.  The rascal had shaved and put on clean linen; he had also arranged his hair in a pleasing manner, and chosen a very becoming pair of trousers and red leather slippers with pointed toes.  The family replied with smiles as flattering as those of the artist.  Virginie became the color of her hair, lowered her eyes, and turned aside her head to look at the sketches.  Pierre Grassou thought these little affectations charming, Virginie had such grace; happily she didn’t look like her father or her mother; but whom did she look like?

During this sitting there were little skirmishes between the family and the painter, who had the audacity to call pere Vervelle witty.  This flattery brought the family on the double-quick to the heart of the artist; he gave a drawing to the daughter, and a sketch to the mother.

“What! for nothing?” they said.

Pierre Grassou could not help smiling.

“You shouldn’t give away your pictures in that way; they are money,” said old Vervelle.

At the third sitting pere Vervelle mentioned a fine gallery of pictures which he had in his country-house at Ville d’Avray—Rubens, Gerard Douw, Mieris, Terburg, Rembrandt, Titian, Paul Potter, etc.

“Monsieur Vervelle has been very extravagant,” said Madame Vervelle, ostentatiously.  “He has over one hundred thousand francs’ worth of pictures.”

“I love Art,” said the former bottle-dealer.

When Madame Vervelle’s portrait was begun that of her husband was nearly finished, and the enthusiasm of the family knew no bounds.  The notary had spoken in the highest praise of the painter.  Pierre Grassou was, he said, one of the most honest fellows on earth; he had laid by thirty-six thousand francs; his days of poverty were over; he now saved about ten thousand francs a year and capitalized the interest; in short, he was incapable of making a woman unhappy.  This last remark had enormous weight in the scales.  Vervelle’s friends now heard of nothing but the celebrated painter Fougeres.

The day on which Fougeres began the portrait of Mademoiselle Virginie, he was virtually son-in-law to the Vervelle family.  The three Vervelles bloomed out in this studio, which they were now accustomed to consider as one of their residences; there was to them an inexplicable attraction in this clean, neat, pretty, and artistic abode.  Abyssus abyssum, the commonplace attracts the commonplace.  Toward the end of the sitting the stairway shook, the door was violently thrust open by Joseph Bridau; he came like a whirlwind, his hair flying.  He showed his grand haggard face as he looked about him, casting everywhere the lightning of his glance; then he walked round the whole studio, and returned abruptly to Grassou, pulling his coat together over the gastric region, and endeavouring, but in vain, to button it, the button mould having escaped from its capsule of cloth.

“Wood is dear,” he said to Grassou.

“Ah!”

“The British are after me” (slang term for creditors) “Gracious! do you paint such things as that?”

“Hold your tongue!”

“Ah! to be sure, yes.”

The Vervelle family, extremely shocked by this extraordinary apparition, passed from its ordinary red to a cherry-red, two shades deeper.

“Brings in, hey?” continued Joseph.  “Any shot in your locker?”

“How much do you want?”

“Five hundred.  I’ve got one of those bull-dog dealers after me, and if the fellow once gets his teeth in he won’t let go while there’s a bit of me left.  What a crew!”

“I’ll write you a line for my notary.”

“Have you got a notary?”

“Yes.”

“That explains to me why you still make cheeks with pink tones like a perfumer’s sign.”

Grassou could not help coloring, for Virginie was sitting.

“Take Nature as you find her,” said the great painter, going on with his lecture.  “Mademoiselle is red-haired.  Well, is that a sin?  All things are magnificent in painting.  Put some vermillion on your palette, and warm up those cheeks; touch in those little brown spots; come, butter it well in.  Do you pretend to have more sense than Nature?”

“Look here,” said Fougeres, “take my place while I go and write that note.”

Vervelle rolled to the table and whispered in Grassou’s ear:—

“Won’t that country lout spoilt it?”

“If he would only paint the portrait of your Virginie it would be worth a thousand times more than mine,” replied Fougeres, vehemently.

Hearing that reply the bourgeois beat a quiet retreat to his wife, who was stupefied by the invasion of this ferocious animal, and very uneasy at his co-operation in her daughter’s portrait.

“Here, follow these indications,” said Bridau, returning the palette, and taking the note.  “I won’t thank you.  I can go back now to d’Arthez’ chateau, where I am doing a dining-room, and Leon de Lora the tops of the doors—masterpieces!  Come and see us.”

And off he went without taking leave, having had enough of looking at Virginie.

“Who is that man?” asked Madame Vervelle.

“A great artist,” answered Grassou.

There was silence for a moment.

“Are you quite sure,” said Virginie, “that he has done no harm to my portrait?  He frightened me.”

“He has only done it good,” replied Grassou.

“Well, if he is a great artist, I prefer a great artist like you,” said Madame Vervelle.

The ways of genius had ruffled up these orderly bourgeois.

The phase of autumn so pleasantly named “Saint Martin’s summer” was just beginning.  With the timidity of a neophyte in presence of a man of genius, Vervelle risked giving Fougeres an invitation to come out to his country-house on the following Sunday.  He knew, he said, how little attraction a plain bourgeois family could offer to an artist.

“You artists,” he continued, “want emotions, great scenes, and witty talk; but you’ll find good wines, and I rely on my collection of pictures to compensate an artist like you for the bore of dining with mere merchants.”

This form of idolatry, which stroked his innocent self-love, was charming to our poor Pierre Grassou, so little accustomed to such compliments.  The honest artist, that atrocious mediocrity, that heart of gold, that loyal soul, that stupid draughtsman, that worthy fellow, decorated by royalty itself with the Legion of honor, put himself under arms to go out to Ville d’Avray and enjoy the last fine days of the year.  The painter went modestly by public conveyance, and he could not but admire the beautiful villa of the bottle-dealer, standing in a park of five acres at the summit of Ville d’Avray, commanding a noble view of the landscape.  Marry Virginie, and have that beautiful villa some day for his own!

He was received by the Vervelles with an enthusiasm, a joy, a kindliness, a frank bourgeois absurdity which confounded him.  It was indeed a day of triumph.  The prospective son-in-law was marched about the grounds on the nankeen-colored paths, all raked as they should be for the steps of so great a man.  The trees themselves looked brushed and combed, and the lawns had just been mown.  The pure country air wafted to the nostrils a most enticing smell of cooking.  All things about the mansion seemed to say:

“We have a great artist among us.”

Little old Vervelle himself rolled like an apple through his park, the daughter meandered like an eel, the mother followed with dignified step.  These three beings never let go for one moment of Pierre Grassou for seven hours.  After dinner, the length of which equalled its magnificence, Monsieur and Madame Vervelle reached the moment of their grand theatrical effect,—the opening of the picture gallery illuminated by lamps, the reflections of which were managed with the utmost care.  Three neighbours, also retired merchants, an old uncle (from whom were expectations), an elderly Demoiselle Vervelle, and a number of other guests invited to be present at this ovation to a great artist followed Grassou into the picture gallery, all curious to hear his opinion of the famous collection of pere Vervelle, who was fond of oppressing them with the fabulous value of his paintings.  The bottle-merchant seemed to have the idea of competing with King Louis-Philippe and the galleries of Versailles.

The pictures, magnificently framed, each bore labels on which was read in black letters on a gold ground:

Rubens
Dance of fauns and nymphs

Rembrandt
Interior of a dissecting room.  The physician van Tromp
instructing his pupils.

In all, there were one hundred and fifty pictures, varnished and dusted.  Some were covered with green baize curtains which were not undrawn in presence of young ladies.

Pierre Grassou stood with arms pendent, gaping mouth, and no word upon his lips as he recognized half his own pictures in these works of art.  He was Rubens, he was Rembrandt, Mieris, Metzu, Paul Potter, Gerard Douw!  He was twenty great masters all by himself.

“What is the matter?  You’ve turned pale!”

“Daughter, a glass of water! quick!” cried Madame Vervelle.  The painter took pere Vervelle by the button of his coat and led him to a corner on pretence of looking at a Murillo.  Spanish pictures were then the rage.

“You bought your pictures from Elie Magus?”

“Yes, all originals.”

“Between ourselves, tell me what he made you pay for those I shall point out to you.”

Together they walked round the gallery.  The guests were amazed at the gravity in which the artist proceeded, in company with the host, to examine each picture.

“Three thousand francs,” said Vervelle in a whisper, as they reached the last, “but I tell everybody forty thousand.”

“Forty thousand for a Titian!” said the artist, aloud.  “Why, it is nothing at all!”

“Didn’t I tell you,” said Vervelle, “that I had three hundred thousand francs’ worth of pictures?”

“I painted those pictures,” said Pierre Grassou in Vervelle’s ear, “and I sold them one by one to Elie Magus for less than ten thousand francs the whole lot.”

“Prove it to me,” said the bottle-dealer, “and I double my daughter’s ‘dot,’ for if it is so, you are Rubens, Rembrandt, Titian, Gerard Douw!”

“And Magus is a famous picture-dealer!” said the painter, who now saw the meaning of the misty and aged look imparted to his pictures in Elie’s shop, and the utility of the subjects the picture-dealer had required of him.

Far from losing the esteem of his admiring bottle-merchant, Monsieur de Fougeres (for so the family persisted in calling Pierre Grassou) advanced so much that when the portraits were finished he presented them gratuitously to his father-in-law, his mother-in-law and his wife.

At the present day, Pierre Grassou, who never misses exhibiting at the Salon, passes in bourgeois regions for a fine portrait-painter.  He earns some twenty thousand francs a year and spoils a thousand francs’ worth of canvas.  His wife has six thousand francs a year in dowry, and he lives with his father-in-law.  The Vervelles and the Grassous, who agree delightfully, keep a carriage, and are the happiest people on earth.  Pierre Grassou never emerges from the bourgeois circle, in which he is considered one of the greatest artists of the period.  Not a family portrait is painted between the barrier du Trone and the rue du Temple that is not done by this great painter; none of them costs less than five hundred francs.  The great reason which the bourgeois families have for employing him is this:—

“Say what you will of him, he lays by twenty thousand francs a year with his notary.”

As Grassou took a creditable part on the occasion of the riots of May 12th he was appointed an officer of the Legion of honor.  He is a major in the National Guard.  The Museum of Versailles felt it incumbent to order a battle-piece of so excellent a citizen, who thereupon walked about Paris to meet his old comrades and have the happiness of saying to them:—

“The King has given me an order for the Museum of Versailles.”

Madame de Fougeres adores her husband, to whom she has presented two children.  This painter, a good father and a good husband, is unable to eradicate from his heart a fatal thought, namely, that artists laugh at his work; that his name is a term of contempt in the studios; and that the feuilletons take no notice of his pictures.  But he still works on; he aims for the Academy, where, undoubtedly, he will enter.  And—oh! vengeance which dilates his heart!—he buys the pictures of celebrated artists who are pinched for means, and he substitutes these true works of arts that are not his own for the wretched daubs in the collection at Ville d’Avray.

There are many mediocrities more aggressive and more mischievous than that of Pierre Grassou, who is, moreover, anonymously benevolent and truly obliging.

ADDENDUM

The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy.

Bridau, Joseph
The Purse
A Bachelor’s Establishment
A Distinguished Provincial at Paris
A Start in Life
Modeste Mignon
Another Study of Woman
Letters of Two Brides
Cousin Betty
The Member for Arcis

Cardot (Parisian notary)
The Muse of the Department
A Man of Business
Jealousies of a Country Town
The Middle Classes
Cousin Pons

Grassou, Pierre
A Bachelor’s Establishment
Cousin Betty
The Middle Classes
Cousin Pons

Lora, Leon de
The Unconscious Humorists
A Bachelor’s Establishment
A Start in Life
Honorine
Cousin Betty
Beatrix

Magus, Elie
The Vendetta
A Marriage Settlement
A Bachelor’s Establishment
Cousin Pons

Schinner, Hippolyte
The Purse
A Bachelor’s Establishment
A Start in Life
Albert Savarus
The Government Clerks
Modeste Mignon
The Imaginary Mistress
The Unconscious Humorists

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pierre Grassou, by Honore de Balzac

*** End of this Project gutenberg EBOOK Pierre Grassou ***

***** This file should be named 1230.txt or 1230.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
http://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/3/1230/

Produced by John Bickers and Dagny

Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed.

Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the Project gutenberg-tm concept and trademark.  Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research.  They may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically anything with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.

*** Start:  Full license ***

The full Project gutenberg license
please read this before you distribute or use this work

To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at http://gutenberg.net/license).

Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works

1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.  If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B.  “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark.  It may only be used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation” or pglaf), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United States.

1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.

1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg-tm License.

1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.net), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided that

- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to
the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”

- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License.  You must require such a user to return or
destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
Project Gutenberg-tm works.

- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
of receipt of the work.

- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.

1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, disclaimer of damages — Except for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees.  You agree that you have no REMEDIES for NEGLIGENCE, STRICT liability, BREACH of WARRANTY or BREACH of CONTRACT Except those provided in paragraph F3.  You agree that the Foundation, the trademark owner, and any DISTRIBUTOR under this agreement will not be LIABLE to you for ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE or INCIDENTAL damages even if you give notice of the POSSIBILITY of such damage.

1.F.3.  LIMITED right of replacement or refund — If you discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘as-is’ with no other warranties of any kind, EXPRESS or implied, including but not limited to warranties of MERCHANTIBILITY or FITNESS for any purpose.

1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.  If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6.  INDEMNITY — You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do or cause to occur:  (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.

Section 2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm

Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm’s goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.  To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.

Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit 501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue Service.  The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at http://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.

The Foundation’s principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s web site and official page at http://pglaf.org

For additional contact information:
Dr. Gregory B. Newby
Chief Executive and Director
gbnewby@pglaf.org

Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To send donations or determine the status of compliance for any particular state visit http://pglaf.org

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other ways including including checks, online payments and credit card donations.  To donate, please visit:  http://pglaf.org/donate

Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works.

Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:

http://www.gutenberg.net

This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.