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Updated: May 7, 2025
At the head of the table sat Master Pothier, with a black earthen mug of Norman cider in one hand and a pipe in the other. His budget of law hung on a peg in the corner, as quite superfluous at a free-and-easy at the Fleur-de-Lis. Max Grimeau and Blind Bartemy had arrived in good time for the eel pie.
"Hold Dame La Chance by the foot? It will hold her as fast as a snapping-turtle does a frog. In proof of it, see what Ricard says, page 970; here is the book." Master Pothier opened his tattered volume, and held it up to the dame. She shook her head. "Thanks, I have mislaid my glasses. Do you read, please!" "Most cheerfully, good dame!
A hairy knapsack lay open upon the table near his elbow, disclosing some bundles of dirty papers tied up with red tape, a tattered volume or two of the "Coutume de Paris," and little more than the covers of an odd tome of Pothier, his great namesake and prime authority in the law. Some linen, dirty and ragged as his law papers, was crammed into his knapsack with them.
Zoe affected not to hear her mother's remark, although she knew it all by heart, for it had been dinned into her ears twenty times a day for weeks, and sooth to say, she liked to hear it, and fully appreciated the honors to come from the patronage of the seigneur. Master Pothier pricked up his ears till they fairly raised his wig, at the prospect of a three days wedding at the Crown of France.
This picture of perfect bliss floated before the winking eyes of Master Pothier, and his mouth watered in anticipation of his Eden, not of flowers and trees, but of tables, cups, and platters, with plenty to fill them, and to empty them as well. "A worthy gentleman and a brave officer, I warrant!" said Pothier, as he jogged along.
Colonel Philibert and Master Pothier rode up the broad avenue that led to the Chateau, and halted at the main gate set in a lofty hedge of evergreens cut into fantastic shapes, after the fashion of the Luxembourg. Within the gate a vast and glowing garden was seen all squares, circles, and polygons.
And you consider yourself in the latter category, Master Pothier?" Philibert spoke doubtingly, for a more self-complacent face than his companion's he never saw every wrinkle trembled with mirth; eyes, cheeks, chin, and brows surrounded that jolly red nose of his like a group of gay boys round a bonfire. "Oh, I am content, your Honor!
But what will be said when I show, as I soon shall, that this same jurisprudence continually tries to base property upon equality? What reply can be made? Civil Law as the Foundation and Sanction of Property. Pothier seems to think that property, like royalty, exists by divine right. He traces back its origin to God himself ab Jove principium. He begins in this way:
Had he been here, Le Gardeur would not have spent the day at the Tilly Arms, as we poor habitans do when it is washing-day at home." "Pierre Philibert!" Master Pothier rubbed his hands at this reminder, "I remember him, Jean! A hero like St. Denis! It was he who walked into the Chateau of the Intendant and brought off young De Repentigny as a cat does her kitten."
Master Pothier never fails to find his way to the Crown of France; but won't your Honors take a cup of wine? The day is hot and the road dusty. 'A dry rider makes a wet nag," added the Dame, with a smile, as she repeated an old saying, brought over with the rest of the butin in the ships of Cartier and Champlain.
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