by G.P.R. James.
Originally published in Harper's New Monthly Magazine (Harper and Brothers) vol.10 #58 (Mar 1855).
Curiosity often leads one into strange places and unpleasant circumstances. I have found it so, and perhaps experienced the evil consequences of indulging that propensity more than most men. Indeed, with me it is rather a passion than a propensity—a passion in certain circumstances quite irresistible. To give it force with me, however, there must be something more than the mere desire of knowing and investigating things secret or concealed from me. All the young people in the world might make love, lawfully or unlawfully, within ten steps of me without exciting the slightest desire on my part to know what they were about. Rogues might rob, plunder, or cheat; politicians lie, swindle, and corrupt; scandal-mongers calumniate and backbite, without inducing me to lend an ear or turn an eye in that direction. But when there is any thing gloomy, any thing awful, any thing terrible to be discovered, or, indeed, attached in any way—real or fanciful—to events or objects brought under my observation, an overpowering desire, an impulse not to be resisted, impels me to probe the matter to the bottom; to trace the circumstances through all their tarnings and windings, although every step be accompanied by pain and terror to myself.
I remember, in the year 1819, when I was detained for some months in Paris on business, I was fond of rambling through the older parts of that very remarkable city, and used frequently to pass through the Rue des Petits Champs. It had at that time a very dingy and somewhat squalid appearance about it; and one house especially seemed more dingy, more squalid, more ancient than the rest. At all events, it was more dirty. The brush of the painter, the trowel of the mason, the saw and chisel of the carpenter, did not seem to have been exercised upon it since it was built. It was a tall house, six stories high at least, and it had an ever-open porte cochère—for that had once been a fashionable street—which gave a view into a small court-yard, round which the great mass of the house arose. The windows upon the five upper stories toward the street were thickly coated and dim with the alternate rains and dust of many years; but there were two windows on the ground floor, or rez-de-chaussée, as they call it, one on each side of the porte cochère, which were a little cleaner; one of them, indeed, tolerably clean. The one displayed an inscription, giving the passing stranger notice that cigars and snuff were to be had within (this inscription, by the way, was written in a crabbed French hand upon a long strip of dingy gray paper much the color of the smoke-begrimed stone of the building), and the other window indicated the profession of those within by a display of somewhat soiled gloves and fly-marked articles of lingerie.
I passed it two or three times a day for at least a week, and every time I passed I looked up at the windows. Nothing, however, was to be seen but the dirt; no face appeared at any dusky pane; no head or hand was protruded to gaze on the passing crowd below or to water a sickly box of mingnonnette which somewhat menaced the heads of the passengers. Gradually I grew interested in that house: it was so lean, so sordid, so woebegone, it looked like one of those men in threadbare black coats and pantaloons with glossy knees, whom we all conclude to have known better days, and who, we imagine—especially if their linen be scanty and somewhat yellow—have ruined themselves by gin or gambling. I began to ask myself curiously what sort of inhabitants that house could contain; to whom it belonged; what were its purposes, its applications.
I rarely saw any one go in or out in the earlier hours of the day; but once or twice, passing about four o'clock, I perceived several men enter in haste, and once a young and pretty girl and an old lady, both en chapeau—then a sign of claims to the rank of gentlewoman—and tolerably well dressed. The interest grew more intense; the house itself appeared to assume a more dingy hue—to look more forlorn and sickly. "I will know what it all means," I said to myself; "I will find out how this place is tenanted. There are things in every great city which no one dreams of but the actors in them. Almost every house has its tragedy and its farce going on within it, while we pass by the door unmoved."
The next time that I went down the street, I quietly turned and entered the porte cochère. On the left hand was a little dingy den, with a door glazed in the upper half, and an inscription thus: "Parlez au Portier." But I had nothing to do with the porter. He was not likely to give me any information, and so I walked on into the court-yard. The aspect of the place was not much improved by nearer inspection. The windows that looked into the court were as dim and dusty, the walls were as black, the window-sills and doors as ancient and colorless as those on the street; and, besides, there was a quantity of long rank grass growing up between the paving-stones, and showing clearly that horses seldom trod and vehicles rolled there. Neither was there any thing apparent to satisfy my curiosity, except where, from a pole stuck out of an upper window, and dangling by a piece of string, was a board with the words, "Chambres garnies à louer."
I then determined to go into the little glove-shop on the rez-de-chaussée and make inquiries, for by this time my fancy was excited to a high pitch, and I was resolved my curiosity should be satisfied. I found within a little old shriveled Frenchwoman, the very pink of politeness, and, of course, as the great preliminary, I bought a pair of gloves. All Frenchwomen love to talk when they have nothing else to do, and often whatever else they have to do; and thus I and Madame were soon in full conversation. I was not very ceremonious in bringing her to the point; for asking all sorts of impertinent questions is perfectly polite in France, if it be done in a polite manner; and I soon obtained sufficient information to stimulate my curiosity still farther. I found that the house was used as a boarding-house, and the old lady informed me that it contained "une société charmante," and, moreover, "table d'hôte excellente." There I found several young artists of whom the great world had never heard, and never will; several clerks in second-rate shops and warehouses; several ladies who gave lessons in various arts and accomplishments; and a number of others, whose occupations my informant did not pause to particularize, either lodged and boarded, or took their meals. She, moreover, assured me that if I were looking for such a place, I could not find a better in Paris.
This last observation gave point to my purpose. I had often longed to know—to see and examine with my own eyes—how the people whom nobody knows, live in Paris, and I determined, without giving up my other lodging, to hire a room in the Rue des Petits Champs. It was a foolish idea—an extravagant one in some respects; but I was impelled to it by sensations I could not resist—sensations which I knew always mastered me in the end, and against which, therefore, there was no use of struggling. The Boodhists say that a man who wishes to overcome his faults and passions must take them one by one, like a man counting a rosary or string of beads; but I never could get over that first one, which has so often put me in painful situations.
Well, I walked straight in from the glove-shop to the porter's den, and began to chaffer about board and lodging. I am plain enough in my apparel, God knows; but the man eyed me all over, and then was all civility and attention. He would have the honor of conducting me immediately to "Madame," he said. She would be charmed to show me all the vacant rooms. There was an "appartement delicieux au premier," and "sur le grand escalier," and another nearly equally good "sur le petit escalier," but he counseled the former. It was more suited to the position of "Monsieur."
Madame was as courteous as the porter. She was a great tall strapping Flemish lady, very good-looking, though of large dimensions, and she instantly hurried with her keys, giving sundry orders to sundry maids as she went to show me the vacant rooms. Sagaciously she took me to the worst before the best. She took me up the "petit escalier," narrow and crooked, lighted principally by borrowed lights. Up three flights of steps she led me to a small dingy room, out of which the clothes and effects of an occupying tenant had not yet been removed. There was a trunk in a corner, a cravat over the back of a chair, and a pallet, paints, and brushes on the table. She explained, however, that the monsieur would be out in two or three days, "pauvre jeune homme!"
As I had lost more breath in going up than I should like to lose three or four times a day, I declined that chamber, and explained the reason. She then led me down to the floor below, where she showed me the counterpart room, and enlarged upon the excellent society which I should have around me there. One apartment was occupied by "Madame —," an excellent old lady of good family, who had condescended to be governess to the only daughter of the "Duc de Quatrevingts Tourelles," and was now living on an annuity she received from the family. Then she pointed to the very next door to that which she intended for my entrance, telling me, with a very knowing look, that there lodged a "charmante demoiselle-belle comme une ange," who gave drawing and painting lessons to young ladies. "Une personne charmante," she said, looking as cunning as possible all the time, "mais sage, très sage;" and then she laughed, fit to kill herself, at the very idea of there being such a thing as female virtue on the earth.
However, neither the neighborhood of the old lady, nor that of the young one, proved temptation enough. It was-still too high. In short, I was resolved to see the apartment upon the ground esealier, which the porter had mentioned, and thither at length the good dame led me. She had to conduct me to the floor below, where she pointed out the salle à manger, or dining-hall, upon a good large vestibule, with the grand escalier running down to the ground floor. At the distance of some ten steps from the door of this dinning-room was on either side another large door, and one of these she opened, rushed in, put back the blinds, and then, after a quick glance round at what she considered the grandeur of the "pièce," she fixed her eyes upon me to see how I would be struck.
The apartment consisted of a little anteroom about twelve feet square, and beyond that a good large bedroom, with a bed in an alcove or recess, having a closet for clothes at each end. This alcove was on the left hand side, and no great calculation was needed to show me that it and the two closets, which occupied the whole length of the wall of the room, abutted upon the dining-hall. Just opposite the door by which I entered were two large windows, looking out into the court-yard, and affording so much light that I was surprised to perceive on the side opposite the bed another small window of an oblong shape, about three feet in width by two in height, perched up at the top of the wall just under the cornice. This was soon explained, however, for when I pointed it out to Madame, she not only informed me that it was what is called a borrowed light, to enable people to see their way upon the petit escalier, but dragged me up again, crying, "Tenez, Monsieur; je vais vous faire voir," and then took a great deal of pains to convince me that it was impossible for any one passing up or down that staircase to see into my room, for although it was so high up in the wall of the chamber, it was on a level with the feet of the passengers. This perfectly satisfied me, and I engaged the apartment, paid a small sum as earnest, and promised to move in the next day. This promise I faithfully fulfilled, but in the mean time did not give up my apartments in the Rue d'Antin, which, for a longer residence, suited me much better. In fact I went there merely from curiosity to see how people live. Madame assisted me with the greatest politeness in making all my little arrangements, changed the place of this piece of furniture and that, and as I was very courteous to her, spoke French, and paid her a small compliment now and then, I seemed to rise high in her good graces.
After all was arranged, as we had raised some dust in our manœuvres, she invited me down to her little salon while the garçon swept the room and waxed the floors, and passing through the dining-hall, she led me to a neat sitting-room beyond, where I found two ladies already in occupation and one gentleman. I was introduced in form, and soon settled rightly who and what my new companions were. The first was an elderly lady—about sixty-five—with a somewhat pretentious air, and a certain degree of minauderie, to say nothing of rouge and a wig; and she I settled in my own mind was the admirable lady of good family who still enjoyed a little annuity from the family of the Duke de Quatrevingts Tourelles. The other lady was the pretty girl I had seen once going into the porte cochère, and a mighty pretty girl she was, especially without her bonnet, with her black hair as smooth and glossy as a raven's wing, and her full black eyes deeply shaded, but replete with a soft, tender light. This was, of course, the young lady who gave lessons in painting, etc., to other young ladies. The gentleman who sat by her side seemed not at all insensible to her beauty, and their conersation was carried on in low and evidently very intimate tones, with glances of the eye, and looks of intelligence, which left no doubt of the quality of their friendship. He was a young, pale, rather haggard-looking man, but with good features and a fine person. His beard and hair were wild, and in this respect corresponded well with the expression of his eyes, which had a quick, eager, impetuous flash in them that savored a little of frenzy—whether of that which we are told assists the poet's eye in rolling or not, I can not say—but to me it looked a little unsettled and unsafe. When I was introduced to him and his fair companion, those eyes fixed upon me eagerly, but he seemed soon to settle in his own mind that I had not the qualities of a rival—I believe it was a glance at my drab gaiters which decided the question—and after that he was civil and courteous enough.
In the mean while I heard Madame informing the old lady that I was vieux garçon, but a charming, excellent man; and after a while, when I had a little private conversation with her, she told me that "pauvre Monsieur L— was madly in love with Mademoiselle Elise, but, poor people, what could they do? He had not a sou, and could not sell his pictures, and she was forced to live by her teaching." She whispered in the most profound confidence a little bit of scandal in regard to the extent of their intimacy; but enjoined secrecy, inasmuch as such a suspicion would ruin the prospects of the young lady, observing very properly that it was none of her business—she was not bound to play duenna to every lady who did her the honor of boarding in her house.
I never believe any tales of scandal, much less mere insinuation—I would rather not believe them, and so I do not—and in the present case they only served to make me take an interest in the two young people, who seemed to be in an unhappy but not unusual predicament; and as I was placed at dinner next to Monsieur L—, I contrived to get tolerably intimate with him in a short time. His fair friend sat just opposite, so that he had something to feast his eyes upon while he talked to me. The dinner was really very good to the taste. What it was composed of I do not know—who ever does know the composition of a French dinner? But after it was over, I asked my new acquaintance to join me in my apartment, and partake of a very fine bottle of Clos de Vougeaut, of which I had brought a store with me. He said he would come in a few minutes, and I saw him soon after walk across the court with Mademoiselle Elise, who parted from him at the door. He then returned and joined me in my rooms, and I could not help perceiving that he was very sad. The wine did not seem to cheer him much, and though Frenchmen are generally very facile in talking of their own affairs, he did not even approach the subject of his. To lead the way, and really with a kindly feeling toward him, I started the topic of painting, alluded to his profession as an artist, and expressed a wish to see some of his productions. He entered with enthusiasm into matters of art, and after a long disquisition, promised to bring me some of his drawings on the following morning. This he did not fail to do, and I found that they really had merit, though not that commanding merit which insures success. They were mere sketches, but vigorous and artistical, and I thought I could not spend a few Napoleons better than in buying some to hang up in my library at home. I selected six, and asked him to fix the price. He did so, naming a very moderate sum, and I paid him immediately in gold. I shall not easily forget his look or manner when I laid the four Napoleons down upon the table. He gazed at them and sighed, and seemed to hesitate whether ho should take them up or not. Then pointing to them with his hand, he said, in a sort of cynical tone, "Tenez, Monsieur; I recollect the time when to have sold half-a-dozen of my sketches for four Napoleons in one morning would have filled my heart with hope and expectation—I should have seen fame, and wealth, and honor before me, and the gratification of all my brightest hopes. But now—I have so often had such gleams, and so often seen them vanish the next instant, that they are to me like the handfuls of couscousou which the Moors give to a man whom they have impaled, to keep him just living on in his agony till he rots upon the stake."
There was something so unutterably sad in his whole tone, that his words touched me to the heart; and I was just thinking what I could do to serve, or say to comfort him, when he snatched up the money and ran out of the room.
He did not dine at the table that day, and I could see that Mademoiselle Elise was somewhat uneasy and absent, till a gentleman with large mustache—an officer of the Swiss Guard, I believe—who had been added to our party, drew her notice and her conversation by some little gallant attentions. During the evening I just caught a glimpse of Monsieur L— passing down the stairs, and feeling rather unwell I retired to rest earlier than usual. I could not sleep, however. The borrowed light, which I have mentioned as just facing the alcove in which I lay, disturbed me. There was a perpetually-burning lantern on those stairs, and people passed up at all sorts of hours; but it was the dull glare of that square eye of light at the top of the wall, forever looking at me as I lay, that annoyed me most. Half an hour—an hour, passed without any one going up or coming down; but still I lay awake, looking at that dull glare. There were cobwebs and dust enough to dim it, beyond doubt; but that only added to the annoyance. At length ten o'clock struck by the pendule in the dining-hall, and shortly after I heard somebody rustling up the petit escalier. The lantern hung on the opposite side of the stairs, so that I had the advantage of seeing their shadows—at least the lower parts of their shadows—as they passed up or down—a sort of ombre chinoise. It was that of Madame —, the elderly pensionary of the Quatrevingts Tourelles family, which now passed. I am sure of that. There was the immensely extensive amplitude of gown, and the little foot—very neat and well preserved—raised, to go up the step in sight, like that of an antelope in a coat of arms. But her shadow passed away like the rest. I could hear that she made a pause at the door of her room. I imagined her fumbling for her key in her pocket. She applied it audibly to the key-hole, and then went in and closed the door.
Another hour passed, and still I could not close my eyes. Then I heard a step in the court-yard below, and then there was a quiet footstep again upon the petit escalier. At the same time there was a light step in the room overhead, crossing the floor in a direction that seemed to lead from the window toward the door. In the day time, what with sounds inside the house and out, I had never yet distinguished a sound in that up-stairs room, and I did not remember having heard one even that night till then. But now it was distinct, and the moment after I saw a pair of men's boots cross the borrowed light. I listened with all my ears. The steps stopped at one of the doors on the flight above. I could not hear the door opened, but a minute or two after I am sure I heard the murmur of voices, and I think I heard sobs.
"Imprudent young people!" I thought; and felt the full force and necessity of the prayer, "Lead us not into temptation!" Unhappily, it is we who are always seeking it ourselves. Whoever was the visitor, he staid but a few moments, and I heard him mount farther up the stairs. He certainly went to the room of Monsieur L—. Half an hour after I was sound asleep.
The breakfast hour in that house was not very exactly fixed like the dinner hour; and when I went in I found Mademoiselle Elise seated, with the officer of the Swiss Guard on the opposite side of the table saying pretty things to her. I was hardly supplied with a cup of coffee, when Monsieur L— appeared at the door. He paused, gazed in for an instant, and I could see his wild eyes flash fire. He calmed himself, advanced, sat down without speaking, took one mouthful of coffee, and cut a long French roll in two. By the time that feat was accomplished, the officer had finished his breakfast, and rising, with a low bow to Mademoiselle, quitted the room. Still Monsieur L— did not speak—no, not one word—and then he started up, and was making toward the door. But Elise could not bear it any longer, and she cried, "Charles! Charles!" He paused an instant, and she joined him at the other end of the room. I did not listen, but a casual glance of the eye that way showed me eager conversation and the gesture of entreaty and expostulation upon her part—upon his, an averted eye, a gloomy brow, a gnawing of the nether lip. At last he said a few words; and exclaiming, "Attend—attend!" to my great surprise, Elise ran up to me, and laying her hand almost familiarly upon my arm, she said, "Would Monsieur confer a great favor upon her, and change seats with her that day at dinner, excusing the great liberty she was taking in making such a request?"
She was so pretty, and she said it so prettily, that if it had been a desire to sit with my back to the stove or at an open window, I could not have refused her; and I replied, "Certainly. I shall be but too happy to concur in any arrangement that gives you pleasure."
We three were now the only persons in the room—for the garçon had gone away with dirty plates—and what we said was quite aloud. Elise brought her lover back to the table, and I thought it better to leave them alone together. "Jealousy," I said, as I walked up the stairs; and after pondering a short time upon the curious perversities of love, I went out to transact some business.
By the dexterous arrangement which Elise had made, by the aid of my concurrence, she was placed next to Monsieur L—, and I next to the officer of the Swiss Guard. Poor man! he looked quite disconcerted when he came in and found how the pieces had been altered on the board—his queen mated, and he himself in check. The game, however, was not quite up with him—at least he seemed to think so—and he said several things to Mademoiselle Elise across the table—all very pretty in their way, but all very insignificant. They fell short of their mark, however; for some Elise did not hear, some she would not hear, and the rest she did not seem to attend to.
"This is atonement," thought I; and, taking a little interest in the game that was played, when my fair young friend and her lover retired into the sanctum of Madame, I walked in after them, and engaged the elders in conversation, that the younger ones might have their conference all to themselves. Nevertheless, from time to time I caught a few words of what was passing between Monsieur L— and his companion, as they sat in a corner engaged in very eager and animated discussion.
I tried to divine what it was all about; and perhaps I was not wrong in thinking that, like two fish caught in a net, the meshes of which were formed of passion and poverty, they were struggling to find some means of getting out, but still found themselves entangled.
At length there came a long, and, as it seemed to me, a solemn and gloomy pause; and then Monsieur L—, bending down his head, said something in a whisper to his beautiful friend.
She did not raise her eyes, but answered, in a low but distinct tone, "Soit (so be it); mais c'est mourir de faim (but it is to die of hunger)."
Again Monsieur L— bent down his head, and added something in as low a tone as before. She gave a quick, almost painful start; then suddenly a light, almost like that of joy, beamed in her eyes, and laying her hand upon his arm, she repeated more than once, "Soit—Soit! It is the only resource. We may be happy at length."
After some more conversation, which I did not overhear, she rose, and, taking Madame apart, conversed with her for several minutes, during which time I could see several significant shakes of the head, as the eyes of the two turned from one to another of the company present, and at length fixed upon myself.
All this time, Monsieur L— had been looking down at his thumb nails, which he had been diligently cleaning and polishing with a pen-knife. A moment after, Elise was by his side again; and during the whole of the evening her spirits were excessive—unnaturally so, it seemed to me, for her countenance was not of a very joyous cast, and I had always thought that there was a degree of habitual melancholy—not gloom—in its expression.
As I left the room that evening, Madame followed me, and when we were alone, told me she had a message to deliver me from Mademoiselle Elise. "She is going to be married to-morrow," she said, "quite in secret, la pauvrette, and she wishes you to accompany her to the church and the mairie—but you are not to say a word of it to any one; for you and I are the only persons to know it in the house."
What could I do?—nothing but consent; and therefore, the following morning, Madame and myself, Monsieur L— and Elise, set out at an early hour, and I saw her united to her lover forever. It was indeed forever!
After the ceremony was over, we all separated, and went upon our different errands, to all appearance as if nothing extraordinary had happened. There were no smart clothes, no bridal toilet—nothing but a pair of white gloves here and there, which were put in the pocket as soon as used; and doubtless the scholars of poor Elise entertained not the slightest suspicion that day that her heart was full of emotions which almost rent it in twain. At least, when the whole party assembled at dinner at the table-d'hôte, no one could have discovered from her face or manner that there was the slightest agitation within. She was peculiarly calm indeed, and I thought I had never seen her looking more beautiful. The greatest liar, I do believe, on earth is the human countenance.
Well, the day passed by; and, at my usual early hour, I retired to rest. Sleep I certainly did not get for some time. That great yellow eye on the opposite wall, which I have already mentioned, would keep looking at me.
About eleven o'clock I heard some noise in the room above—there were footsteps, and people speaking; and it seemed to me that some one was carrying or moving a heavy object of some kind across the room, and set it down with a curious sort of clang near about the centre. Then all was still, and I fell asleep. I could not have slept much more than an hour, I suppose, and had been dreaming of I know not what—but of something frightful, when I started up with a feeling of terror upon me. The first thing I heard distinctly was a sort of staggering step overhead, and then the rattle and fall of something made of iron—at least so I judged, by the sound it made. Then some one seemed to try and open a door; and-then came a heavy fall.
I was very much alarmed, but I knew not what to do. The sounds were evidently in Elise's room, but there was nothing to indicate positively that any thing had gone amiss. There had been no cry—no shriek—nothing, in fact, which might not be attributed to some little, ordinary accident. Nevertheless, [ could not divest my mind of the idea that something had gone amiss; and although I would not take the liberty of going up to the door of two newly-married people, I lay awake for some ten minutes, with my ear bent eagerly to catch the lightest sound. There was none, however. It was another organ which, at the end of that time, confirmed my fears, and induced me to rise. I perceived a smell of fire in the house, distinct, though not very strong; and partly dressing myself, and casting on my dressing-gown, I ran out of the room. In the vestibule I found Madame coming forth from her room, and a waiter running up the stairs from below.
"Don't you smell fire?" I cried.
"Mais oui, mais oui!" answered the lady, and ran farther up, with the agility of a cat. We all stopped at the door of Elise's room, for there was a light smoke issuing through the cracks. We knocked—we tried to open—but all was still, and the door fast locked. There was no time to be lost, however; the waiter put his strong shoulder to the door—which, like the rest of the house, was old, and not very sound—and he and I together contrived to drive it in.
The man fell staggering in with his own weight, but instantly drew back; and the fumes of charcoal which issued forth almost suffocated me and Madame. For her part, she began to shriek with all her might, and by that means soon brought a number of people out of their rooms with lights. At all risks I made a rush at the window, and threw it open, holding my breath till I got out again.
And now let me describe the appearance of that room, when, after various little incidents not worthy of detail, we were at length able to enter and look about us.
The first object that met the eye was a large iron brasier, mounted on three long legs, which had been knocked over, and had scattered the lighted charcoal, that had previously filled it, over the floor. That floor was of old polished oak, and had been burned in several places by the pieces from the brasier, producing the smell of fire which I had perceived. Between the brasier and the door, but much nearer to the latter, lay Monsieur L—, in his night-dress. His face was considerably contorted, and it seemed evident that he had made an effort to open the door, and in staggering across the room, had knocked over the brasier and its contents. I lifted his arm; it was quite flaccid, but there was no breath came from his lips, and his face was the face of death. With a sad heart I walked across to the little alcove in which Elise's bed was placed, and drew back the curtain which shaded it. There she lay; and but that she was deadly pale, one might have thought her in a tranquil sleep. If her there was no contortion of features—no disturbance of limbs. One arm lay across her bosom, the other was stretched easily by her side. Her eyes were closed—her lips partly open, showing the pearl-like teeth within—and nothing indicated death but the wax-like hue of the skin, and the awful stillness of the whole form.
Some means were tried to recall the unhappy pair to life, but all without effect; and thus passed away two of this earth's children, who had impatiently bartered for an hour's happiness the life below—let us humbly hope not the life above.
Oh, that mess of pottage, that mess of pottage! We are all of us more or less Esaus in this world.