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The Highest Bidder

The Highest Bidder image
Parent Issue
Day
28
Month
May
Year
1897
Copyright
Public Domain
OCR Text

It was at Brussels, in the auction rooms at the c omer of the streets Leopold and Wiertz, that the iucident happened. My friend was an Englishmau, jut he had lived long in the country and had acquired a taste for the Belgian arts that seemed almost native, and that made Mm something of a collector. The sale at the rooms was to be very similar to a sale at Sotheby's, and the catalogue referred to original mannscripts and first editions and to a hundred things loved by the curioso. My f riend was present in the hope of securing Borne early engravings, and I was with him as part of the idlenesa of a holiday. We were early, and while waiting the time of the sale we looked togetber at the catalogue, and he entertained me with talk of this and that eutry. ' 'This nurnber should be interesting, " he said, pointing to a line on the first page, "the love letters of Guitine, onr poet of love. Keats' letters, you remem ber, were sold in London not long ago, and one of your verse makers wrote a lamenting sonnet. Guitine was not so great a poet as Keats, but his passion for Jetta Teterol was as wildly spoken as the other's for Fanny Brawne. Your verse maker was right. It is hard that because a man has given part of hissonl to the world the world should want the whole. But the curious are innocent of modesty, and - yes, the number ehould be interesting. " "There w-ill be a fight for the letters, you think?" I said. "Ye.s, probably. Guitine has something of a vogne just now. The women are discovering that he wrote as in their best hours they think. And indeed it was a tender, womanly muse. The little man standing by the table - him with the glasses, I mean - will, I think, get them. He is a professor at the university, anddoubtless meditates an article in one of the reviews. Himself without sentiment, he will criticise their sentiment. Already he has written more than one unkind thing about the Guitine moráis. The letters will give him yet a new text. ' ' for a moment or two I looked at the professor's hard, thin face and synipathized with the dead poet. then as the auctioneer mouuted to his place auc commenced the day's sale I turned my eyes to one and auother in the room. Mostly the crowd was of men, dealers or chance buyers, but here and there were woinen with the usual catalogue and pencil, and among them was one whose dress and manner interested me even to curiosity. Near to us she stood, lmpatiently buttoning and unbuttoning a-glovc, and I saw that she was pretty but sornevvhat too well dressed anc somewhat too freely jeweled. "Doyouknow," I asked my f riend, "who is the girl to our right?" He looked and slightly shrugged his shoulders and said: "Yes, she is Marie Carbara, one of the actresses at the new theater. She is only a minor actress, trat you see her cloak and the brooch clasping it. They are all alive, these pretty singers and dancers. All love the sunshine and the butterfly life. What brings Marie here I do not know, nor what makes her so angry with her glove. The boudoir wants a picture, perhaps. That was very little for the Louis vases. Ah, here are the Guitine letters. They will fetch more. " The auotioneer spoke of the poet aud of his love for Jetta Teterol and of bis writings to her. Again I looked arouud the room to one and another. Many seemed little interested in the bundie of yellosv sheets, but a few seemed likely bidders. The professor was listening to the auotioueer's words and smiling as one aruused. Other inen, who knew less than the professor, were listening with more humility. The girl Marie had ceased to play with her glove and held one hand lightly in the other. At the girl I looked longer than at the men. She had au earuestness of expression that was pretty to see, au earnestuess that presently gave me an idea. "It is not a picture that has brought Mademoiselle Carbara here, " I said to my friend. It is these letters. Look a her." "She is certainly coucerned for them Perhaps youareright, " he replied. "A I said, the womeu are beginning to reac and to love Guitine, and - yes, perhap you are right. Still, my man speak first, and he is not likely soon to giv ia." The professor moved his glasses for ward a little and said, "Ten francs,' and the bidding commenced. "Twen tv, " said the girl Marie. And I notice (he pleasautness of her voice aud wa glad my idea had not beeu wroug "Thirty, " said a man to my left "Thirty, " replied the auctioneer. "Yes, it is afight, "said my friend as ten by ten the offer rose, "but be tween our two people only. The other i an agent and will presently reach hi limit. Indeed, already he seems to hav reached it. " "Two hundred, " said the girl. "And ten, "said the professor. "Two hundred and fifty, " said the girl, her cheeks flushing a little. "Three hundred, " said the professor, his mouth hardening. The third bidder had become silent, and the right was uow clearly between the two. Át the end of a table the girl stood, looking earnestly to the auctionei and the bundie of letters beforehim; at the other the man, looking angrily at the girl. Witbiü me was a hope that ae, and not he, would be the last to peak. "Four hundred. " "Five hundred. " "Six bundred." There was a ruovement of interest in he room. The offers were not large - a icture had jnst before been aold for everal tbousands, but they eeemed arge for the few sheets of faded writing. 'bey carne, too, the one more quickly ollowing another than in the other ales. There wasnodelay of oalculation ud doubt. The exciternent of those who watched was very natural. "A thousand. " "Fifteen hundred. " "Carbara wins," said my friend. 'The. professor will go btit little highr. How augry the man looks. " "Two thonsand. " "Two thousand five hundred," said he girl. "Two thousand five hundred," said ;he auotioneer and waited for an advance. "Two thousand five hundred," he repeated, looking questioningly at the professor. A shake of the head was the reply, and people knew that the fight was over. With an assnmption of indifïerence the professor moved hls glasses vet more forward and bogan anew to turn ;he pages of his catalogue. "Two thousand five hundred," said the anetioneer again, and iu a moment after the sale was finished. Jetta Teterol's letters had passed to Maiie Carbara, and Jetta Teterol had beeu dead 100 years. One of the assistants took the bundie ;o carry it to a side room, and the aucioneer begau to speak of the next nmnjer, and again, as if in impatience, the girl feil to buttoning and unbuttoning ]er glove. But snddenly, still in impa:ience, she ceased, and, putting out her aands, said: "Pardon, but if I may I will have them now. Will you give them me, please? Here are notes for the amount - two of a thousand and one of five huudr$d. There is no objection?" "There is no objectibn," replied the auctioneer smilingly. "It is not quite usual, but there can be no objection. " Then to his clerk he said: "Take the notes, please, and give Mlle. Carbara the letters. Mlle. Carbara we all know and admire. Certainly she may have them." As the girl took the bundie and loosened the string which bound it there was probablynone in the room who was not gazing at her. Most, like rnyself, were amazed at her eagerness. One or two were a little contemptuous. The professor was resentfully frowning. Nearer to her than sorne I stood, and so better than some I can teil what in the next minutes she said and did. There were perhaps 20 or 30 letters. The uppermost one she unfolded and read. Quickly from beginning to end she read it, then placed it again with the rest, then said, as if to herself: "His heart is a suspended harp, which, if one touches it, responds, " and then looked irresolutely from side to side. But little time did she so stand. "Pardon, " she said and stepped past the man next to her, and "Pardon" again and stepped past me to the room corner, where was a dully burning fire. As I moved to give her space I began to understand what dow she would do and wondered and watched. First she took the letter she had read and glanced at it again, and then with sudden movement thrust it aruong the coals. Then, one by one, she took the others and dropped thein, so that one by one they touched the flame and were alight. Then, when the last yellow sheet had burned to blackness, with her foot she crushed it and the rest to powder, then smiled and turned toward the door. There had been silence during the time - it was but a minute or two that this was doing - and now as she stepped across the floor there was whispering only. But as she neared the door men began to nnderstand what she had done and tbey had seen. There had been sentiment, there had been poetry in the action. The spirit had been the spirit of love. A sudden noise of clappings filled the roorn. For a moment she paused as if startled, then smiled and bowed and

Article

Subjects
Ann Arbor Argus
Old News