i '.i^^LiJu THE COMEDY OF HUMAN LIFE By H. DE BALZAC SCENES FROM PROVINCIAL LIFE A GREAT MAN OF THE PROVINCES IN PARIS BEING THE SECOND PART OF "LOST ILLUSIONS" BALZAC'S NOVELS. Translated by Miss K. P. Wormeley. Already Published: PERE GORIOT. DUCHESSE DE LANGEAIS. RISE AND FALL OF CESAR BIROTTEAU. EUGENIE GRANDET. COUSIN PONS. THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. THE TWO BROTHERS. THE ALKAHEST. MODESTE MIGNON. THE MAGIC SKIN (Peau de Chagrin). COUSIN BETTE. LOUIS LAMBERT. BUREAUCRACY (Les Employes). SERAPHITA. SONS OF THE SOIL. FAME AND SORROW. THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. URSULA. AN HISTORICAL MYSTERY. ALBERT SAVARUS. BALZAC : A MEMOIR. PIERRETTE. THE CHOUANS. LOST ILLUSIONS. A GREAT MAN OF THE PROVINCES IN PARIS. ^ ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers. BOSTON. HONORE D£ BAlZAC TRANS-yi^P FY KATHARINE PRESCOTT WORMELEY A GREAT MAN OF THE PROVINCES IN PARIS ROBERTS BROTHERS 3 SOMERSET STR EET BOSTON 1893 JIU e GIFT OF ^^ Copyright, 1893, By Roberts Brothers. All rights reserved. fflnibfrsttn ^rcss: John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A. TO MONSIEUR VICTOR HUGO. You, monsieur, who, by the privilege of the Raffaelles and the Pitts, were already a great poet at an age when other men are still immature, — you have known, like Chateaubriand and all other true artists, what it is to struggle against Envy am- bushed behind the columns of a newspaper, or lurking in the dark places of journalism. Therefore I desire that your victorious name should help to victory the work I now inscribe to it ; a work which is, in the minds of some, an act of courage, inasmuch as it is a history of plain truth. Think you that journalists would not have found their place, like physicians, marquises, financiers, and notaries, on Moliere's stage? Why then should the " Comedy of Human Life," which castigat ridendo mores, spare such a power when the Parisian press itself spares none? I am happy, monsieur, in being thus enabled to subscribe mvself. Your sincere admirer and friend, DE BALZAC. 79o^^ CONTENTS. PAGE I. First-Fruits of Paris 1 II. The Great Man's Entrance into the Great World 26 III. One Lost Illusion 45 IV. Two Varieties of Publisher 58 V. The First Friend 78 VI. The Brotherhood of Hearts and Minds 89 VII. Externals of Journalism 107 VIII. The Sonnets 118 IX. A Third Variety of Publisher .... 134 X. A Fourth Variety of Publisher . . . 151 XI. Behind the Scenes 167 XII. How Journalism is Done 191 XIII. The Supper 208 XIV. A Last Visit to the Brotherhood . . . 230 XV. The Arcana of Journalism 239 XVI. Ke Dauriat 260 CONTENTS. pagp: I. First-Fruits of Paris 1 II. The Great Man's Entrance into the Great World 26 III. One Lost Illusion 45 IV. Two Varieties of Publisher 58 V. The First Friend 78 VI. The Brotherrood of Hearts and Minds 89 VII. Externals of Journalism 107 VIII. The Sonnets 118 IX. A Third Variety of Publisher .... 134 X. A Fourth Variety of Publisher . . . 151 XI. Behind the Scenes 167 XII. How Journalism is Done 191 XIII. The Supper 208 XIV. A Last Visit to the Brotherhood . . . 230 XV. The Arcana of Journalism 239 XVI. Re Dauriat 260 viii Great Man of the Proviyices. PAGE XVII. Study in the Art of Writing Palin- odes 281 XVIII. Power and Servitude of Journalists 294 XIX. Re-entrance into the Great AVorld . 316 XX. A Fifth Variety of Publisher . . . 337 XXI. Journalistic Blackmailing 348 XXII. Change of Front 365 XXIII. The Fatal Week ........ 383 XXIV. Adieu! 405 > > » > > > > > > A GREAT MAN OF THE PROVINCES IN PARIS. I. FIRST FRUITS OF PARIS. When Lucien Cbardon, otherwise de Rubempre, poet and great man in the provinces, left Angouleme to seek his fame and fortune in Paris under the auspices of Madame de Bargeton and in her compan}', their journey together was not all that might have been expected. Neither he, nor Louise de Bargeton, nor Gentil, her footman, nor Albertine the waiting-maid, ever spoke of the events of that journey, but it can easily be seen how the perpetual presence of servants made it rather an awkward affair for a lover who regarded the matter in the light of an elopement. Lucien, who had never travelled post in his life, was aghast at seeing nearl}' the whole sum on which he counted for a year's support scattered along the road between Angouleme and Paris. Like all those who unite the spontaneity^ of childhood with vigor of intel- lect, he committed the blunder of expressing his naive amazement at the novelt}- of the things he met. A man should have studied a woman thoroughly before he lets 1 2 Crreat Man, hptJie pii \As^ thoughts as they arise. A mistress who is tender and also noble, smiles at child- like impulsiveness and understands it ; but if vanity underlies her affection, she will not forgive a lover for being childish, vain, or petty. Many women are such extravagant worshippers that they insist on making a god of their idol ; while others, who love a man for himself before loving him for then- own sakes, adore his littleness as much as they do his greatness. Lucien had not 3'et discovered that Madame de Bargeton's love was grafted on pride ; he made the great mistake of not explaining to himself certain smiles which flickered on her lips during this journey when, instead of repress- ing his gambols, he gave way to them like a 3'^oung rat escaping from his hole. The travellers stopped before daybreak at the hotel du Gaillard-Bois, rue de I'Echelle. They were both so fatigued that Louise went to bed immediately, but not until she had ordered Lucien to take a room on the floor above her. Lucien also went to bed and slept till four o'clock in the afternoon, at which hour Madame de Bargeton sent to have him wakened and called to dinner. He dressed himself hurriedl}^, seeing how late it was, and found Louise in one of those miserable rooms which are the disgrace of Paris, where, in spite of all the great city's pretensions to elegance, there is not a single hotel in which a traveller can have the comforts of a home. Lucien could scarcely recognize his Louise in that cold, sunless room, with its faded curtains, its miserable tiled floor and shabby vulgar furniture, either old or bought at a bargain. It is a fact that some persons never do have the same aspect or the same value when separated G-reat Man of the ^'P,ro:omces in Paris. 3 from the forms, things, aw,d.piat^(if» wluck-served to frame them. Living personalities have a sort of atmosphere which is needful to them just as the chiaro-scuro of the Dutch interiors is necessar}^ to give life to the figures which the genius of the painters puts into them. Pro- vincials are nearl}' all thus. Moreover, Madame de Bargeton seemed to Lucien more dignified, more thoughtful than she ought to be at a moment when their happiness was about to begin without alio}'. But he had no chance to complain ; for Gentil and Albertine were both in the room serving dinner. The dinner, too, was far from being the abundant, generous meal of the provinces ; the dishes, skimped by careful measurement, came from a neigh- borincr restaurant and were ill-served and meanlv por- tioned. Paris is not liberal in the little things of life to which persons of moderate means are condemned. Lu- cien awaited the end of the dinner to question Louise, in whom he perceived a change that was to him inex- plicable. He was not mistaken. A serious event — for reflections are events in the mental life — had hap- pened while he slept. About two in the afternoon the Baron Sixte du Cha- telet had arrived at the hotel, waked up Albertine, urged his desire to see her mistress, and had waited until Madame de Bargeton had time to dress. Louise, whose curiosit}' was excited b}' this unexpected arrival in Paris of her former admirer, believing that she had carefully concealed her traces, received him about three o'clock. " I have followed 3'ou at the risk of a reprimand from the administration/' he said, " for I foresaw what would 4 G-reat Man of tM "Provinces in Paris. happen^ 'But even if- i Idse nay place, you shall not be lost, — never ! " " What can 3'ou mean? " cried Madame de Bargeton. *'l see too plainl}' that you love Lucien," he said, with a tenderl}^ resigned air ; " for a woman must love a man deepl}' when she acts without reflection, when she forgets the proprieties, — you, who know them so well. Do 3'ou seriously think, my own adored Nais, that you will be received by your cousin, Madame d'Espard, who is at the apex of Parisian social life, or indeed in any salon in Paris, when it comes to be known that 3'ou have fled from Angouleme with a 3'oung man after a duel fought b3^ your husband on his account? Monsieur de Bargeton's removal to 3'our father's house at Escarbas has the look of a separation. In such cases, the husband always begins b3^ fighting for his wife's honor and leaving her free afterwards. Love Monsieur Chardon de Rubempre if 3"ou choose, protect him, make what 3'ou will of him, but don't live together. If an3' one here knew that you had even travelled to Paris with him in the same carriage, 3"0u would be put in the index expurgatorius of the societ3' 3'ou have come to seek. Besides, Nais, don't make such sacrifices to a young man 3'ou have never yet com- pared with others ; whom 3'ou have not subjected to any test ; who may indeed forget 3"ou to-morrow for some Parisian woman whom he thinks more likely than 3'ou to advance his ambitions. I don't wish to do injus- tice to the man 3'ou love, but you must permit me to consider your interests before his and sa3'' to 3'OU : ' Study him ! Know the full bearings of what 3'ou do.' If you find the doors of societ3' shut against Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 5 you, it* the women refuse to receive you, at any rate have tlie satisfaction of being sure that the man for whom you make such sacrifices will always be worth}' of them and comprehend them. Madame d'Espard is all the more prudish and severe because she is herself separated from her husband, — the world does not know why ; but the Navarreins, the Blamont-Chauvrys, the Lenoncourts, all stand by her, the most straight-laced women visit her and treat her with the utmost respect ; in short, the Marquis d'Espard is entirely in the wrong. You will see the truth of what I am telling you the very first time that you visit her. I assure 3'ou that I, with my knowledge of Paris, am able to predict that you will no sooner enter Madame d'Espard's salon than you will hope she may not find out 3'ou are at the hotel du Gail- lard-Bois with the son of an apothecary, — Monsieur de Rubempre, as he calls himself You will have rivals here who are far more astute and scheming than those j'ou had in Angouleme ; they will not fail to discover who 3'ou are, where 3'ou are, whence 3'ou came, and what 3'ou are doing. I see plainl3' that 3'ou have counted on being to a certain extent incognita. But 3'ou are one of those persons for whom an incognito does not exist. You will meet Angouleme everywhere ; for instance, the deputies from the Charente who come to the opening of the Chambers, or the general on furlough, who is now in Paris, — it needs only one person from Angouleme to divulge that your life has something peculiar about it ; you will then be rated as nothing more than Lucien's mistress. If 3'ou should have an3' need of me — for any purpose, no matter what — you will find me at the Re- ceiver-general's, rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honore, not far 6 Gfreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. from Madame d'Espard's bouse. I know the Marechale de Cavigliano, Madame de Serizy, and the President of the Council sufficient!}^ well to present you to them ; but you will meet so many persons of the highest rank at Madame d'Espard's that you will, if you take a judi- cious course now, have no need of me. Far from seeking an entrance into salons, vou will be sought in them." Du Chatelet might have talked on longer and Ma- dame de Bargeton would not have interrupted him. She was struck by the justice of his remarks. The queen of Angouleme had really been counting on her inco(/?iito. "You are right, mj^ dear friend," she said, "but what am I to do ? " " Allow me to find you a suitable suite of furnished apartments," replied Chatelet. " The expense will be less than living at a hotel, and 3'ou will virtuall}' be at home ; if you will take my advice, 30U will sleep there to-night.'* " How did you find out m}' address?" she said. " Your carriage was easilj' recognized ; besides, I was following you. At Sevres, the postilion who left 3'ou there told your address to m}- man. Will you allow me to be 3'our steward? I will write 3'ou a line the moment I have found 3'ou suitable lodgings." ' ' Very good," she said ; "do so." The words seemed almost nothing, but the3^ meant all. The Baron du Chatelet had spoken the language of the world to a woman of the world. He appeared before her in all the elegance of a Parisian toilet ; a well-appointed cabriolet had brought him ; after he left her, Madame de Bargeton walked to the window acci- G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris, 7 clentalh^ reflecting on her position, and she saw the old dand}^ drive awa.y. A few moments later, Lucien, abruptl}^ awakened and hastily dressed, presented him- self before her eyes in his nankeen trousers, shrunken by a 3'ear's washing, and his shabb}' little frock-coat. He was handsome, trul}', but ridiculously dressed. Cover the Apollo Belvedere or the Antinous with the clothes of a porter — would you then perceive the divine creations of Greek and Roman art? The eyes compare before the heart rectifies their hasty mechanical judg- ment. The contrast between Lucien and du Chatelet was too violent not to strike Madame de Bargeton forcibly. When dinner was over, about six o'clock that even- ing, Louise made a sign to Lucien to come and sit beside her on the paltry little sofa covered with yellow- flowered red calico on which she was seated. " Dear Lucien," she said, " do 3'ou not think that if we have committed a folly which will injure us both it would be wise to undo it? We must not, my dear child, live together in Paris, nor let any one suspect we came here in compan}'. Your future depends a great deal on m}^ position, and I must not spoil it at the out- set. So, to-night, I am going to move into lodgings not far from here ; 3'ou must stay on in this hotel ; we shall see each other ever}?" day, and no one can find fault with that." Louise then expounded the laws of the great world to Lucien, who opened his eyes very wide. Without as 3'et knowing that women who get over their follies are get- ting over their love, he did understand that he was no longer the Lucien of Angouleme. Louise now spoke 8 Crreat Man of the Provinces in Pariis, onl}' of herself, her interests, her reputation in society ; though, to excuse this selfishness, she tried to make him believe it was all for his sake. He certainly had no rights over Louise, suddenly transformed back into Madame de Bargeton ; and he now felt, what was far more serious, that he had no power. He could not re- strain the tears from coming into his eyes. " If I am, as 3'ou have so often declared to me, your glory, you are even more than that to me ; 3'Ou are ni}- or\\y hope and all my future," he said. " I believed that if you shared my success you would also share my struggles, and now you are alread}^ separating 3'ourself from me ! " " You are judging me," she said ; " that proves you no longer love me." Lucien looked at her with so piteous an expression that she could not refrain from adding: "Dear child, I will sta}^ if 3'OU demand it; we shall lose all and be without social support ; but, when we are both equally miserable, both rejected b}^ societ}', when failure (for we ought to foresee all) has driven us to Escarbas, you must remember, my dear love, that I foresaw the result, and prated 3'OU at the start to master the world by obeying its laws." "Louise," he answered, clasping her, " it frightens me to see 3'OU so wise. Remember that I am but a child in the world's ways, and that I have alread}' given myself up to your dear will in everything. For myself, I desired to triumph over men and things by sheer strength ; but if I can reach the same result more rapidly by 3'our assist- ance than alone, I shall be glad indeed to owe you all. Forgive me ! I have trusted m3' all to you ; how there- fore can I now help fearing? This separation seems Great Man of the P^^ovinces in Paris, 9 to me the forerunner of desertion ; and desertion would be death." " But, dear Lucien, how little is asked of j'ou," she answered; " merely to sleep here! You can be with me all daj^ and no one will object to that." A few caresses calmed him. In an about an hour Gentil appeared with a note from du Chatelet, in which he told Madame de Bargeton he had found her a suite of rooms in the rue Neuve-de-Luxembourg. She in- quired the situation of the street ; finding it was not far from the rue de I'Echelle, she encouraged Lucien by whispering, "We are neighbors." Two hours later Madame de Bargeton got into the carriage du Chatelet sent for her, and went, accom- panied by Lucien, to her new home. This apartment, one of those which upholsterers furnish and lease to rich deputies or to persons of importance who come to Paris for a short time, was sumptuous but inconvenient. Lucien went back to his little hotel at eleven o'clock having, so far, seen nothing of Paris but the small sec- tion of the rue Saint-Honore which lies between the rue Neuve-de-Luxembourg and the rue de I'Echelle. He went to bed in his miserable little room, comparing it with the magnificent suite Louise was now occupying. He had no sooner left the house than the Baron du Chatelet arrived, on his way from the ministry of For- eign Affairs, in all the splendor of full evening dress. He came to tell Madame de Bargeton of the agreements he had made in her name. Louise was rather uneasy on this point ; the luxury of the rooms frightened her. Provincial customs had in course of time reacted on her own habits and she had grown very careful of expenses ; 10 Crreat Man of the Provinces in Paris, she was in fact so careful that in Paris her ideas would seem sting3\ She had brought nearly twent}^ thousand francs with her in a draft on the Receiver-general, in- tending to make that sum cover all her surplus expenses for four years. Already she began to fear it might not be enough and that she would have to run in debt. Du Chatelet told her that the apartment would onl}' cost her six hundred francs a month. "A mere nothing," he said, observing how she started. " You have a carriage at 3'our command for five hundred francs a month ; and besides that you will have onl}^ j^our toilet to think of I assure 3'ou that a wo- man who goes into the great world, as 3'ou will, cannot do diflTerently. If 3'ou wish to get Monsieur de Barge- ton made a Receiver-general or obtain a place for him in the King's household, 3'OU must not live on a poor scale. Here nothing is ever given except to the rich. It is fortunate for you," he went on, " that you have Gentil to go about with you and Albertine to dress you, for Parisian servants are ruinous ; and with such an in- troduction into societ3^ as you have, 3^ou will seldom eat a meal at home." Madame de Bargeton and the baron talked of Paris. He told her all the news of the day ; the thousand nothings that persons must know under pain of not being Parisian at all. He gave her much advice as to the shops from which she ougiit to suppl3^ herself with what she wanted ; Herbault he named for head-dresses, Juliette for bonnets, and he gave her the name of a dressmaker worth 3^ to take the place of Victorine. In short, he made her feel the necessity of dis-Angoulem- izing herself as soon as possible. Then he departed Crreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 11 with a stroke of polic}' wliich occurred to him at the last moment. '' To-morrow," he said carelessly, " I shall no doubt have a box at one of the theatres, and I will come for you and Monsieur de Rubempre, for I hope you will permit me to do the honors of Paris to both of 3'ou." "He has more generosity' in his nature than I thought," said Madame de Bargeton to herself on findino; Lucien included in the nivitation. In the month of June the ministers never know what to do with their boxes at the theatres ; the ministerial deputies and their constituents are busy with their vin- tage or in getting in their ha}' ; the most exacting ac- quaintances of the ministers are travelling or living in their country-places ; consequently at that time of the year the best boxes at the Parisian theatres are tilled with an anomalous crowd of persons whom the regular attendants never see again, and who give the audito- rium somewhat the appearance of a shabby carpet. Du Chatelet knew that, thanks to this circumstance, he could procure Madame de Bargeton the pleasure all provincials prefer at small expense. The next day, Lucien, for the first time since he had known Louise, was told she was out when he went to see her. Madame de Bargeton had gone to make cer- tain indispensable purchases, and take counsel with the solemn and illustrious authorities in female dress whom du Chatelet had named to her ; for she had written on her arrival to her cousin, the Marquise d'Espard, and wished to be prepared for what might follow. Though Madame de Bargeton had that confidence in herself which comes of long ascendenc}', she was, 12 G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris, nevertheless, singularl}' afraid of seeming provincial. She had tact enough to know that first impressions count for much in the relations between women ; and though she knew she had sufficient capacit}' to put her- self on the level of superior women like Madame d'Espard very soon, she felt the need of friendly good- will at the start, and saw the necessitj^ of not missing any element to success. She felt therefore infinitel}' obliged to du Chatelet for having shown her the means of preparing to enter the great world on equal terms. It so chanced that the Marquise d'Espard was in a position which made her extremely well pleased to be able to do a service to a member of her husband's famil}-. Without apparent cause, the Marquis d'Espard had re- tired from the world ; he paid no attention to his own affairs, nor to political matters, nor to his famil}', nor to his wife. Left mistress of herself, the marquise felt the necessit}' of being supported b}^ the world. She was very glad therefore of an opportunity' to take her hus- band's place in this instance and make herself the pro- tectress of his famil}'. She determined to put some ostentation into her patronage in order to make her husband's neglect the more obvious. No sooner, there- fore, did she receive the note Louise addressed to her than she wrote to " Madame de Bargeton, nee Negre- pelisse," one of those charming missives the style of which is so fascinating that it takes some time to perceive their want of depth. '' She was delighted," she said, " that circumstances should bring into her famih' a person of whom she had so often heard and with whom she ardently desired to become acquainted ; Parisian friendships were not so Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 13 exclusive as to prevent her from wishing to love others ; and if that wish were not fulfilled in this instance, it would be only one more illusion to bury with the rest. She placed herself wholly at the disposal of her cousin, and would have gone to see her at once were it not for a slight indisposition which kept her at home ; but she desired to express how much obliged she was that her cousin had thought of her." During Lucien's first rambling walk along the boule- vards and through the rue de la Paix, he was, like all new-comers, far more interested b}' things than by per- sons. The first things that strike a mind new to Paris are the great masses, the luxury of the shops, the height of the houses, the multitude of carriages, the violent contradiction between extreme luxury and extreme pov- ert}^ Amazed at a crowd of which he had never seen the like, this creature of imagination was conscious of a sense of his own extreme diminution. Persons who receive consideration of any kind in the provinces and meet at every step some proof of their importance, can- not easil}' accustom themselves to this total and sudden loss of value. To be something in one's own neighbor- hood and nothing in Paris, are two states of being which need a transition period ; and those who pass too abruptly from one to the other fall into a species of humiliated depression. To a young poet who wanted an echo to all his sentiments, a confident for all his ideas, a soul to share his every emotion, Paris was likely to be a desert. Lucien, who had sent his humble wardrobe by carrier rather than exhibit to Madame de Bargeton the poverty of his baggage, had not yet fetched the box, marked 14 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. " to be called for," which contained his best blue coat ; so that he felt embarrassed by the meanness, not to say dilapidation, of his clothes when he called to see Madame de Bavgeton at the hour he had been told she would return ; he found with her the Baron du Chatelet, who carried them both to dine with him at the Roclier de Cancale. Lucien, bewildered by the whirl of Paris, could sa}- nothing to his mistress, for they were all three in the carriage, but he pressed her hand, and she replied in an amicable manner to the thoughts he thus expressed. After dinner du Chatelet took his guests to the Vaudeville. Lucien felt much secret discontent at du Chatelet's aspect, and privatel}' cursed the accident which brought him to Paris at that particular time. The baron had put his journe}^ to the score of his ambition ; he hoped, he said, to be appointed secre- tarj^-general of one of the ministries, and to enter the Council of State as master of petitions ; and he had come to Paris to remind the government of the promises made to him, — a man of his pretensions could not re- main a director of taxes ; he would rather be nothing, or become a deputy, or return to diplomac}'. So sa3ing he swelled and magnified himself; and Lucien, vaguely recognizing in the old dand}' the superiority of the man of the world who knows Parisian life, felt especially mortified in owing him a pleasure. Just where the young man and poet felt particularly uneas}- and em- barrassed the man of social life was like a fish in its element. Du Chtitelet smiled at the hesitations, amaze- ments, questions, all the little mistakes into which want of knowledge cast his rival, like the old sea-dogs who Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, 15 laugh at greenhorns before the}- get what are called their sea-legs. However, the pleasure Lucien took in his first glimpse of the sights of Paris compensated for the annoyance his blunders caused him. This evening was remarkable for Lucien's secret repudiation of many of his ideas about provincial life. The circle of his opinions widened, societ}^ took other proportions. The proximity of several pretty Parisian women, elegantly dressed with a certain crisp freshness, led him to notice the old-fashioned look of Madame de Barge ton's gown, though it was rather pretentious ; neither the material, nor the cut, nor the color was in the style of the day. The fashion of her hair, which had lately so fascinated him in Angouleme, now seemed to him in shocking taste compared with the charming arrangement of the heads about him. " Will she always look hke this?" thought he, not knowing that her day had been spent in preparing for a transformation. In the provinces there is neither choice nor compari- sion to be made ; faces that are constantly seen acquire a conventional beaut}'. A woman who is thought pretty in the provinces obtains little or no attention when translated to Paris, for she has onl}' been beautiful by the application of the proverb, " In the countr}' of the blind the one-e3'ed men are kings." Lucien's eyes made the comparison which Louise had made the night before between du Chatelet and himself More- over, at this very moment Louise was allowing herself to make further strange reflections about her lover. Notwithstanding his great beauty, the poor poet had no style. His coat, the sleeves of which were too short, his countrified gloves, his frayed waistcoat, made him 16 Crveat Man of the Provinces in Paris. absolutel}^ ridiculous beside the 3'oung men about them ; Madame de Barge ton thought his whole air pitiable. Du Chatelet, paying her unobtrusive attentions, watch- ing over her with a silent care that betra3'ed a deep sentiment, — du Chatelet, elegant and as much at his ease as an actor who returns to the boards of his own theatre, now regained in two da3's all the ground he had lost in her mind in the last six months. Though commonplace persons will not admit that feelings can change abruptly-, nothing is more certain than that two lovers do diverge from each other far more quickl}- than they come together. A disillusion was beginning for Louise and Lucien about each other, the cause of which was Paris itself. Life was suddenty magnified to the poet's ej'^es, just as societ}^ took a new aspect in those of Louise. For the one, as well as for the other, nothing was needed but some chance accident to snap the ties that united them. The occasion was not long in coming. Meantime, on the evening in question Madame de Bargeton dropped the poet at his hotel and returned to her own rooms accompanied by du Chatelet ; a most unpleasant circumstance to the poor lover. " What will the}^ say about me? " he was thinking as he went up the stairs to his dismal chamber. " That poor lad is certainly extremel}^ dull," said du Chatelet, smiling, as soon as the carriage door was closed. "It is always so with those who have a world of thought in their heart and brain," said Madame de Bargeton. " Men who have many things to express in noble works long meditated despise conversation, — an employment in which the intellect cheapens itself into Grreat Man of the Provinces m Paris. 17 small change," added the proud Negrepelisse, who still found courage to defend Lucien, — less however for Lucien's sake than for her own. "■ I grant you that," said the baron, " but we live with persons, and not with books. M3' dear Nais, I see that there is nothing really between 3'ou and Lucien as yet, and I am delighted. If 3'ou decide to put into your life an interest which you have never had so far, I do entreat you let it not be for a sham man of genius. Suppose 3'ou were mistaken ! suppose that after a time, when 3'ou came to compare him with real talent, with the remarkable men whom you are about to meet, sup- pose you should then discover, dear, beautiful siren, that 3'ou had taken upon 3'our dazzling shoulders and borne to port, not a man with a 13're, but a little rh3'me- ster, without manners, without scope, sill3^ presuming, one who ma3' have intellect enough for THoumeau, but shows a ver3' ordinar3' capacit3' in Paris ! After all, volumes of verse quite as good as Monsieur Chardon's poetr3^ are published weekl3^ in Paris. I implore 3'ou to pause, consider, compare. To-morrow, Frida3', is an opera night," he added as the carriage turned into the rue Neuve-de-Luxembourg. "Madame d' Espard has the box of the Gentlemen of the Bedchamber and will, no doubt, invite you to go with her. To see you in 3'our glory, I shall go to Madame de Serizy's box. They give ' Les Danaides.' " " Adieu," she said. The next da3' Madame de Bargeton endeavored to arrange a suitable morning dress in which to call upon her cousin Madame d'Espard. The weather was cold and she could find nothing better in her old-fashioned 2 18 Grreat Man of the Provinces in Paris, Angouleme wardrobe than a certain green velvet gown trimmed in a rather excessive manner. Lucien, on his side, had felt the necessity of fetching his famous blue tail-coat (with the rest of his baggage sent from An- gouleme by carrier) ; for he was by this time seized with horror at his shabb}^ surtout, and wished to put himself in proper clothes in case lie met Madame d'Espard or was invited to her house unexpectedly. He jumped into a hackney-coach in order to bring his parcels back more expeditiousl3^ In two hours' time he spent four francs, which gave him much to think of as to the finan- cial demands of Parisian life. After arra3ing himself in the superlatives of his wardrobe, he went to the rue Neuve-de-Luxembourg, where, on the threshold of Ma- dame de Bargeton's apartment, he met Gentil in com- pany with a magnificentl}' plumed chasseur. "I was going to 3'our house, monsieur; madame sends you this little note," said Gentil, knowing noth- ing of the formulas of Parisian respect, accustomed as lie was to the easy ways of provincial life. The chas- seur accordinglj' took the poet for a servant. Lucien opened the note, which told him that Madame de Bargeton was spending the da}' with Madame d'Es- pard and would go with her to the Opera at night ; but Lucien, added Louise, was to go there also, for the marquise offered a seat in her box to the young poet to whom she was dehghted to procure that pleasure. " She loves me ! my fears are foolish," thought Lucien; "she wishes to present me to her cousin to-night." He skipped for joy, and resolved to spend his time gayly till the happy evening came. Rushing to the Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, 19 Tuileries he determined to walk about and dream until it was time to go and dine at Very's. Behold him springing, light with happiness and gayety, along the terrace of the Feuillants, examining the promenaders, the prett}' women with their admirers, the elegant young men arm in arm in pairs saluting each other with glances as they passed. What a contrast that terrace presented to the Promenade of Angouleme ! The birds of this magnificent aviary were very different from those of Beaulieu ! Here was a wealth of all the colors of the ornithological families of India and America compared to the gray tones of the birds of Europe. Lucien passed two agonizing hours in the Tuileries ; he had a violent revulsion of feeling, and judged him- self and things as they were. In the first place he did not see a single tail-coat on an}' of these elegant 3'oung men. If he did see a coat of that cut it was sure to be worn b}' some old man of another class or some poor devil, evidentlj^ from the suburbs, or perhaps a shop- man. As soon as he perceived that there were two styles of dress, one for the morning another for the evening, our poet, with his quick perceptions and keen emotions, saw the ugliness of his own apparel and the defects which made his coat ridiculous, with its old- fashioned cut and eccentric color, and its front flaps, limp with use, flapping together ; its buttons, too, were rubbed at the edges, and fatally white lines defined its creases. Then his waistcoat was too short, and the style of it so grotesquel}' provincial that he hurriedly buttoned his coat in order to hide it. And lastl}", as a final blow, he did not see a single pair of nankeen trousers except among the common people ; well-bred 20 Grreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. persons were all wearing charming fancy materials or irreproachably fresh white ones. Besides, all trousers were made with straps and his met the heels of his boots with diflicult}', their bottom edges curling up as if from a violent antipath}'. He wore a white cravat with embroidered ends, worked by his sister, who, liav- ing seen the dandies of Angouleme wearing them, had made him a suppl}'. Not onl3' did no one, except grave personages, old financiers, stern magistrates, wear white cravats in the morning, but poor Lucien beheld, hurry- ing along the pavement of the rue de Rivoli on the out- side of the iron railing, a grocer-bo}' carrying a basket on his head, at whose chin the poet of Angouleme spied two ends of a cravat embroidered by the hand of some adored grisette. At the sight, Lucien received a blow on that organ, still very doubtfully defined, where our sensibihties harbor, and where, ever since emotions have existed, men lay their hands when excessive joy or excessive pain overtakes them. Pray do not call this statement puerile. To the rich who have never known this sort of suffering there must be something mean and incredible in it ; but the anguish of the poor and the unfortunate, from whatever cause it comes, is not less deserving of attention than the crises which revolutionize the lives of the powerful and the privileged of the earth. Besides, is there not as much veal miser}' on the one side as on the other. Change the terms : instead of a coat or a costume more or less desirable, call it the ribbon of an order, a distinction, a title. Those apparentl}' trifling things have made the miser}' of many a brilliant existence. These petty matters are moreover, of enormous importance to those Cfreat Man of the Provinces in Paris, 21 who wish to appear to have what they have not ; often they are their only means of possessing such things later. Lucien felt a cold sweat run down his back in thinking that he would have to appear that evening in his present clothes before the Marquise d'Espard, a relation of the first Gentleman of the Bedchamber, a woman whose house was frequented by the illustrious men of all careers,- - the choicest in France. " I look like the son of an apothecary, nothing better than a shop-boy," he fhought, with rage in his heart as he watched the graceful, elegant young men of the faubourg Saint-Germain, all of whom had a certain air which rendered them alike in the fineness of their lines, the nobilit}' of their carriage and general bearing, while all were individually different by the setting in which they chose to present themselves. Each made the most of his personal advantages by a certain scenic presenta- tion which is quite as well understood and practised among the young men of Paris as among the women. Lucien derived from his mother those precious physical distinctions which now met his eyes ; but in him the gold was in the nugget and not minted. His hair was ill-cut. Instead of raising his chin by a supple whale- bone stock, he felt his face buried in a villanous shirt- collar ; the cravat, offering no resistance, allowed his head to hans;. What woman could have imao-ined his shapely feet in those ignoble countr}^ boots? What young man would have envied that graceful figure hidden by the blue sack he had hitherto believed to be a coat? He saw ravishing studs on dazzling shirts, — his own shirt was grimy ! All these elegant gentlemen were exquisitel}' gloved, — his gloves were those of a 22 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. gendarme ! That youth twirled a cane with a beautiful knob, this other wore a shirt with cuffs held in place by tiny gold buttons ! One, wlio was talking to a woman, played with a charming whip, and the full plaits of his trousers, on which were little splashes of mud, also his clanging spurs and his tightly buttoned overcoat showed that he was about to mount one of two horses held hy a little tiger no bigger than his thumb. Another took from his fob a watch as flat as a five-franc piece, and looked at the hour like a man who was either awaiting or had missed an appointment. Gazing at all these charming externals, the like of which Lucien had never so much as imagined, be became suddenl}^ aware of the world of superfluities, and he trembled to think what an enormous capital was needed to play the part of a man in societ}^ The more he admired the easy, happ}^ air of tliese young men, the more he was conscious of his own awkward air, the air of one who does not know where the path he is follow- ing ends ; who cannot find the Palais-Royal when almost in it ; and who when he asks a passer-bj^ to tell him where the Louvre is, receives for answer, " Why, this is it." Lucien felt himself parted from the world about him by a sort of gulf, and he began to consider how he should cross it, for he firmly resolved to be like this delicate, graceful, refined youth of Paris. All tliese patricians bowed to women divinel}" dressed and di- vinely beautiful, — women for whom Lucien would have been hacked in pieces, like the page of Countess Konigsmark, as the price of a single kiss. In the twilight of his memor}- Louise loomed up, compared Gri^eat Man of the Provinces in Paris, 23 with these sovereigns, as an old woman. He met sev- eral women on this occasion of whom the historv of the nineteenth century will one day speak ; whose mind, beauty, and love-affairs will not be less celebrated than those of the queens of former days. He saw a sublime young woman, Mademoiselle des Touches, better known under the name of Camille Maupin, a writer of emi- nence, as distinguished for her beauty as for the lofti- ness of her mind, whose name was repeated in a low voice by man}' persons, men and women, on the promenade. "Ah ! " thought Lucien, " this is poes3\" What was Madame de Bargeton beside that angel, brilliant with youth and hope and promise, smiling softl}^, yet with a black eye vast as heaven, burning as the sun. She was laughing and talking with Madame Firmiani, one of the most charming women in Paris. A voice cried in Lucien's soul : " Intellect is the lever with which to move the world ; " but another voice cried as loudl}', that the fulcrum of intellect was mone}'. He would not stay amid his ruins, on the stage of his defeat, and he turned to the Palais-Ro3'al, after asking his wa}', for he did not j'et know the topography of tlie neighborhood. Once there he went to Verj^'s and ordered, by waj' of initiation into the pleasures of Paris, a dinner which consoled his despair. A bottle of Bor- deaux, Ostend 03'sters, a fish, a partridge, and some macaroni, with fruit, formed the ne plus ultra of his desires. As he regaled himself on this innocent de- bauch he thought of how he could show his mind before the Marquise d'Espard that evening, and redeem 24 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. the meanness of his clothes by a displa}' of his intel- lectual wealth. From this dream he was awakened by the total of his bill, which took from him fifty francs, a sum on which he had intended to live for some time. The dinner cost him exactly the price of one month's existence in Angouleme. Consequentl}', he closed the door of Very's palace respectfully, reflecting that he might never enter it again. " Eve was right," he said, thinking of his sister as he made his way back to the hotel to get more mone}^, "Paris prices are not those of THoumeau." As he went along he looked with admiration into the tailors' shops, remembering the well-dressed young men he had seen that da}^ " No ! " he cried suddenl}-, " I won't go to Madame d'Espard's in such clothes as these." He ran with the speed of a deer to the hotel du Gail- lard-Bois, rushed to his room, took three hundred francs, and returned to the Palais-Royal, resolved to reclothe himself from head to foot. He had passed boot-makers, linen-shops, hair-dressers, as well as tailors ; in fact, his future elegance was scattered through a dozen shops. The first tailor whose place he entered made him try on as man}" coats as he would, persuading him that they were all of the very last fashion. Lucien issued from the shop in possession of a green coat, white trousers, and a fancy waistcoat, for the sum of two hundred francs. He soon found a pair of boots, equall}' ele- gant, which fitted him exactl}' ; and final)}', after bu}'- ing all that he felt was absoluteh' necessarv, he ordered a hairdresser to come to his hotel, where his various purchases were to be sent at once. Grreat Mem of the Provinces in Paris, 25 At seven o'clock he got into a hackne3^-coach to be driven to the opera, frizzed and cnrled like a little Saint- John in a procession, well waistcoated, well cravatted, but a good deal embarrassed b}^ the sort of sheath into which he had put himself for the first time. 26 Great Ma7i of the Provinces in Paris. II. THE GREAT MAn's ENTRANCE INTO THE GREAT WORLD. When Lucien reached the Opera-house, he followed Madame de Bargeton's instructions, and asked for the box of the Gentlemen of the Bedchamber. At sight of a man whose spick and span elegance made him look like a waiter at a wedding, the box-keeper requested him to show his ticket. " I have none." " Then you cannot enter," was the curt repl3\ " But I belong to Madame d'Espard's part3^" " We know nothing of that," said the box-keeper, exchanging an imperceptible smile with his colleagues. Just then a carriage drew up under the perist3ie. A chasseur, whom Lucien did not recognize, let down the steps of a coupe, from which two women in evening dress descended. Lucien, who did not wish to receive an insolent request from the box-keeper to stand aside, made wa}' for the two ladies. " That lad}' is the Marquise d'Espard whom you pre- tended to know," said the box-keeper, sarcastically. Lucien was dumfounded, all the more because Madame de Bargeton seemed not to recognize him in his new plumage. But when he approached her she smiled and said : — "This is fortunate ; come." Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 27 The men in the box-office were sobered. Lucien fol- lowed Madame de Bargeton, who, as she went up the broad staircase of the Opera-house, presented her Rubempre to Madame d'Espard. The box of the Gen- tlemen of the Bedchamber is the one that stands pro- jected at the lower end of the auditorium ; the occupants can see all, and every one present can see them. Lucien placed himself in a chair behind Madame de Bargeton, glad to remain in the shade. " Monsieur de Rubempre," said the marquise in a flattering tone of voice, " you have come to the Opera- house for the first time, and you ought to have a full view of it. Take this seat ; place yourself in front ; m}' cousin and I will permit it." Lucien obeyed ; the first act was just concluding. " You have emplo3'ed your time well," said Louise, in a low voice, in her surprise at the change which had taken place in Lucien's appearance. Louise herself was not changed. The juxtaposition of a woman in the height of the fashion like jMadame d'Espard was so great an injur3' to her, the brilliant Parisian was such a foil to the imperfections of the pro- vincial beauty, that Lucien, doubl}- enlightened by the brilliant world before him and b}' the elegant creature beside him, saw, alas ! in poor Louise the real woman, the woman such as the Parisians saw her, — tall, thin, pimpled, faded, angular, stiff, affected, pretentious, provincial in speech, and, above all, ill-dressed. The folds of an old Parisian gown will still show taste ; it can be understood and imagined as it once was ; but an old provincial gown is inexplicable, laughable. The dress and the woman were equally devoid of grace or fresh- 28 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, iiess ; the velvet was as dappled and spotted as the complexion. Lucien, ashamed of having loved this bag of bones, reflected that he could take advantage of her next sermon on virtue to leave her. His excellent sight enabled him to see all the opera- glasses turned to this, the most fashionable and aristo- cratic box in the house. The elegant women present were all examining Madame de Bargeton, and smiling to one another as the}" did so. If Madame d'Espard observed these gestures and feminine smiles and knew their cause, she was quite indifferent to them. In the first place, she was well aware that ever}' one would know her companion to be a poor relation from the provinces, a class of persons with whom every Parisian famil}^ is afflicted. Besides, when her cousin had expressed some fears as to her dress, she had reassured her cordially ; per- ceiving that Madame de Bargeton, once properl}' dressed, would fulfil all the other requirements of manner and conduct. Louise might be wanting in the wa3'S of the world, but she possessed the native dignity of a woman of rank, and that nameless something which is called race. The following Monday she would take her revenge and show them Madame de Bargeton in another light. Moreover, after society had learned that this woman Avas her cousin, the marquise knew it would suspend its satire, and wait for further examination to judge of her. Lucien had no conception of the change that could be wrought in Madame de Bargeton's appearance b}' a scarf wound round her throat, a prett}' gown, an ele- gant head-dress, and the advice of Madame d'Espard ; who had, for instance, as the}' went up the stairway, told her cousin not to carry her handkerchief displayed Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 29 in her hand. Good or bad taste is shown by a thou- sand little trifles of that kind, which a clever woman instantly learns, and many women never comprehend. Madame de Bargeton, already very willing to learn, had even more intelligence than she needed to perceive her mistakes. Madame d'Espard, sure that such a pupil w^ould do her honor, did not hold back from advising her. Between the two women a compact was at once formed and cemented by their mutual interests. Ma- dame de Bargeton felt a sudden worship for the idol of the day, whose manners, wit, and surroundings had se- duced, dazzled, and fascinated her. She recognized in Madame d'Espard the occult power of an ambitious grande dame^ and soon told herself that her best means of success la}^ in becoming the satellite of such a planet ; she therefore unreservedh^ admired her. The marquise was alive to this ingenuous adoration ; she was interested in a cousin who seemed to her depend- ent and poor ; she liked to have a pupil to train, and asked nothing better than to turn Madame de Bargeton into a lad3'-companion, a slave who would sing her praises, — a treasure as rare among Parisian women as a devoted critic is in the literary tribe. However, the stir of curiosity became so visible that the new importation could not fail to perceive it ; and Madame d'Espard politely endeavored to turn her off the scent of its real meaning. *' If we have any visitors," she said, " we shall per- haps find out to what we owe the honor of the notice those ladies are bestowing upon us." " I suspect that m}" old gown and my provincial face amuse them," said Madame de Bargeton, laughing. 30 G-reat 3Ian of the Provinces in Paris. a No, it is not 3^ou ; it is something I cannot quite make out," replied Madame d'Espaixl, looking directly at the poet for the first time, and seeming to think him singularl}' dressed. " There 's Monsieur du Chaletet," said Lucien, at this instant raising his finger and pointing to tlie box (that of Madame de Seriz}') where the old beau, much J'eju- venated, was sitting. Madame de Bargeton bit her lips with vexation at Lucien's gesture, and the marquise did not restrain a look and smile of astonishment which said so disdain- fully : "Where does this 3'oung man come from?" that Louise was humiliated in her love, — the most gall- ing of all sensations to a Frenchwoman, and one she never forgives a lover for having caused her. In this social world where little things are made of such impor- tance, a gesture, a word ma}' destro}' a man. The prin- cipal merit of fine manners and the tone of good society is that it oflTers an harmonious whole in which all things are well-blended and nothing salient shocks. Even those who, either from ignorance or from some impulse of thought, do not observe the laws of the science of society, will nevertheless understand that in this har- monious whole a single discord is, as it is in music, a complete negation of the science itself, in which all the conditions ought to be observed to the smallest particu- lar under pain of its ceasing to exist. "Who is that gentleman?" asked the marquise. "Do you already know Madame de Serizy?" "Ah! is that lady the famous Madame de Serizy who has had so many adventures and is received ever}'- where in spite of them ? " Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 31 "An unheard-of thing, my dear," replied the mar- quise; "explicable perhaps, but unexplained. The most important men are friends of hers ; wh}'? no one has ever solved the m3'ster3'. Is that gentleman who is with her now the lion of Angouleme ? " " Monsieur le Baron du Chatelet," said Louise, who gave him in Paris, out of vanity, the title she denied him in Angouleme, " is a man who makes people talk about him. He is a friend and companion of General de Montriveau." " Ah ! " said the marquise, " I never hear that name without thinking of the poor Duchesse de Langeais, who disappeared like a shooting-star. There," she went on, indicating another box, " are Monsieur de Rastignac and Madame de Nucingen, wife of a banker, a business man, a second-hand dealer on a large scale ; a man who has hoisted himself into society b}- his money, and who is said to be little scrupulous in his ways of increasing it. He takes a world of pains to make people believe in his devotion to the Bourbons ; he has made several attempts to be received b}' me. In taking Madame de Langeais' opera-box his wife expected to acquire the poor duchess's grace and wit and vogue, — the fable of the jay in the peacock's feathers ! " " How can Monsieur and Madame de Rastignac, whom we know to have onl}' three thousand francs a year, support their son in Paris?" remarked Lucien to Madame de Bargeton, surprised at the elegance and luxur}^ exhibited in the young man's dress. "It is easy to see that you have just come from An- gouleme," said the marquise, sarcasticall}', without lowering her opera-glass. 32 Great Man of the Pi'ovinces in Paris. Liicien did not understand her ; he was entire!}" ab- sorbed in gazing at the different boxes, where he felt that opinions were being formed on Madame de Barge- ton, and saw the curiosit}" of which he himself was the object. On the other hand, Louise was singularly mortified at the little notice the marquise took of Lucien's beaut}'. ''He cannot be as handsome as I thought him," she said to herself. After that, it was but a step to think him less brilliant. The curtain w^as now down. Du Chatelet had gone to pa}' a visit to the Duchesse de Carigliano, whose box adjoined that of Madame d'Espard, and he now bowed to Madame de Bargeton, who replied by an inclination of her head. A woman of the world sees everything, and the marquise noticed the elegance and style of du Chatelet's clothes. Just then four gentlemen came into Madame d'Espard's box, one after the other ; all four were celebrities in the gay world of Paris. The first was Monsieur de Marsay, a man famous for the passions he had inspired, and personally remarka- ble for a species of girlish beauty, a soft, eflfeminate beauty, counteracted however by a fixed, calm, clear, and rigid glance like that of a tiger ; he was loved, but he terrified those who loved him. Lucien also was handsome ; his glance was soft, but his eyes were so blue and limpid that he seemed to lack the force and power by which so many women are attracted. More- over, nothing as yet had brought the poet into notice and given him confidence, whereas de Marsay had a vigor of mind, a consciousness of pleasing, a style of dress appropriate to his character which crushed all Great 3fan of the Provinces in Paris. 33 rivals who approached him. Imagine what Liicien, stiff and starched in his new clothes, was in such a presence ! De Marsa}' had conquered the right to say impertinent things by the wit and grace of manner with which he accompanied them. The greeting accorded to him by the marquise instantly revealed to Madame de Bargeton his importance. The second visitor was a A^andenesse, — the one who had caused the scandal about Lady Dudley ; a young man of gentle manners, modest and intelligent, whose success in the world was through the opposite qualities to those on which de Marsay relied ; he had been warmly introduced to Madame d'Espard by her cousin Madame de Mortsauf. The third was General de Montriveau, the cause of the flight and death of the Duchesse de Lans^eais. The fourth was Monsieur de Canalis, one of the most illustrious poets of the da}', — a young man still m the dawn of fame, and who, prouder of being a nobleman than a poet, was pretending to ''pay attentions" to Madame d'Espard, the better to conceal his passion for her aunt the Duchesse de Chaulieu. In spite of his many affected graces, the vast ambition which cast him later into the whirlpool of politics was alread}' discernible. His beaut}', almost finical, and his caressing manners scarcel}' disguised even now the profound egotism of his nature and the perpetual scheming for a position that was still prob- lematical ; but the choice he had made of Madame de Chaulieu, a woman over forty years of age, had lately earned for him certain court benefits, the approval of the faubourg Saint-Germain, and the abuse of the lib- eral party, who called him the " poet of the sacrist}'." 3 34 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. Studying the four young men, Madame de Barge ton understood the indifference that the marquise had shown for Lucien. After the conversation began, and each of these clever, acute minds was revealed by remarks which had more sense and more depth than Louise had heard in a month in the provinces, and, above all, after the great poet had uttered a few thrilling words (sig- nificant of the materialism of the day gilded by poesy), Louise understood du Chatelet's warning of the previous evening. Lucien was henceforth nothing. Every one regarded the poor unknown 3'oung fellow with such cruel indifference, he seemed to be there in their midst so like a stranger who did not know their language, that after a while the marquise took pity on him. " Allow me," she said to Canalis, " to present to 3'ou Monsieur de Rubempre. Your position in the literary world is so high that I am sure you will wel- come an aspirant. Monsieur de Rubempre has just arrived from Angouleme ; he needs your introduction to those whose business it is to bring genius to light. He has as 3'et no enemies who can make his fortune by attacking him. It w^ould certainly be a very original thing to enable him to obtain through friendship that which the rest of 3'ou obtain through jealous}'." The four young men all looked at Lucien while the marquise spoke. Though de Marsay was less than six feet from liim, he took up his eyeglass to look him over, then his glances went from Lucien to Madame de Bargeton, and from Madame de Bargeton back to Lucien, uniting them in one sarcastic look which mor- tified them cruell}' ; he examined them as though they were curious animals, then he smiled. That smile G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris, 35 was like the thrust of a dagger to the great man of the provinces. Felix de Vandenesse seemed more charitable, and Armand de Montriveau gave Lucien a look which sounded him to the core. "Madame," said Monsieur de Canalis, bowing, "I will obe}' 3'ou, in spite of the personal interests which prompt us not to do services to rivals, — but you accustom us to miracles."' " Then do me the favor to dine with me on Mon- day next and meet Monsieur de Rubempre ; you can talk at your ease about hterary affairs ; and I will try to catch a few of the tyrants of literature and the noted persons who patronize them, — the author of ' Ourika,' for instance, and some of the young poets with right opinions." "Madame la marquise," said de Marsay, "if 3'ou favor Monsieur de Rubempre for his intellect, I shall do so for his beauty ; I will give him such advice as will make him the happiest dandy in Paris. After that he can be a poet if he likes." Madame de Bargeton thanked her cousin by a look full of gratitude. ''I did not know 3'ou were jealous of men of intel- lect," said Montriveau to de Marsay. "Happiness kills poets, you know." " Is that why Monsieur de Canalis is proposing to be married?" said de Marsa}-, wishing to see how Madame d'Espard would receive the idea. Canalis shrugged his shoulders, and Madame d' Espard, Madame de Chaulieu's niece, began to laugh. Lucien, who felt in his new clothes like one of the Egyptian hermae, was ashamed of having nothing to 36 G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. reply. At last, however, he managed to sa}' to Madame d'Espard in his tender voice : " Your goodness, ma- dame, will oblige me to succeed." Du Chatelet entered the box at this moment, snatch- ing his opportunity to make his friend Montriveau, one of the kings of Paris, present him to the marquise. He bowed to Madame de Bargeton, and begged Madame d'Espard to pardon the libert}- he had taken in invading her box ; he had been so long separated from his comrade Montriveau, — the}' had not seen each other since the}' parted in the desert. " To part in the desert, and meet at the opera ! " said Lucien. " Truly theatrical," said Canalis. Montriveau at once presented the Baron du Chatelet to the marquise, who granted the former secretary of the Imperial princess a reception that was all the more cordial partly because she had seen him well received in three boxes (Madame de Serizy especialh' receiving only those who w^ere properl}' admitted), and also be- cause he had the honor of being one of Montriveau's companions. This last claim was evidently so strong that Madame de Bars-eton observed in the tone and looks and manners of the four gentlemen that the}' admitted du Chatelet as one of themselves without discussion. The dictatorial bearing of du Chatelet in the provinces was thus explained to her. Presently the Baron seemed to see Lucien for the first time, and he made him one of those chilling little bows by which one man slights another and indicates to men of the world the inferior position that he holds in society. The bow was accompanied by a look whicb G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris, 37 seemed to say, "How did he get here?" The look was understood, for de Marsa}' leaned over to Montii- veau and said in his ear, but loud enough for the baron to hear him : " Ask him who that singular young man is ; he looks like the lay figure in a tailor's window." Du Chatelet spoke for a moment in a low voice with his friend Montriveau, as if renewing acquaintance, but really, no doubt, he was cutting his young rival to pieces. Surprised by the readiness of mind and the brilliant cleverness with which these men answered each other, Lucien was bewildered by the wit and epigram, and, especially, the facile flow of their talk and their ease of manner. The luxur}" of clothes and surroundings which had so confounded him in the morning, he now found in ideas and in words. He asked himself b}- what mysterious faculty these men could find at will such piquant reflections and repartees, which he knew that he himself could not have imagined without long medi- tation. Besides, these five men of the world were per- fectly at their ease, not onl}- in their talk, but also in their clothes ; they seemed to wear nothing new and nothing old ; there was nothing resplendent about them, and yet they attracted the eye. Their luxury to-day was that of 3'esterda3' and would be that of to-morrow. Lucien became suddenlv aware that he looked like a man who was handsomely dressed for the first time in his life. "My dear fellow," said de Marsa}- to Felix de Vandenesse, "that little de Rastignac is flying himself like a kite ! there he is with the Marquise de Listomere ; he 's making progress ! I wonder why he keeps his 38 Grreat Man of the Provinces in Paris, opera-glass on us, — possibly he knows monsieur ? " added the dandy, addressing Lucien, but without look- ing at him. " It would be strange," remarked Madame de Barge- ton, '•'• if the name of a man we are all proud of in his native town had not reached him ; his sister lately heard Monsieur de Rubempre read some fine verses at my house." Felix de Vandenesse and de Marsay now took leave of Madame d'Espard and made their way to Madame de Listomere, a sister of Felix. The second act was beginning, and Madame d'Espard, her cousin, and Lucien were presently left alone, — some of the visitors depart- ing to explain Madame de Bargeton to the women who were puzzled by her presence ; others to tell of the arrival of a poet and to laugh at his clothes. Canalis returned to the Duchesse de Chaiilieu, and did not leave her box again. Lucien was thankful for the dispersion caused b}' the rising of the curtahi. All Madame de Bargeton's fears concerning Lucien were increased by the attention her cousin had bestowed on the Baron du Chatelet, which was totall}' different from the protecting politeness she had showed to Lucien. During the second act Madame de Listomere's box continued full of visitors, who seemed to be excited b}' some conversation relating to Madame de Bargeton and Lucien. Eugene de Rastignac was evidentl}" the wit of the party ; he gave the cue to that Parisian laughter which, daily seeking pastures new, hurries to exhaust the present subject and to leave it, old and worn-out, for another. Madame d'Espard herself be- came uneas}' ; but knowing that spite does not long Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 39 leave those it wounds in ignorance of its malice, she awaited the end of the act. When feelings undergo a rcA^ilsion, as was now the case with Lucien, and also with Madame de Bargeton, very strange things can happen in a short space of time ; moral revolutions are produced by laws which work rapidl}'. Louise had constantly in her memory the wise and politic words which du Chatelet had said to her about Lucien as thev drove home from the Vaudeville. Every sentence was a prophec}', and Lucien seemed bent on fulfilling them all. In losing his illusions about Ma- dame de Bargeton, as Madame de Bargeton had lost hers about him, the poor lad, whose fate was something like that of Jean- Jacques Rousseau, imitated the latter in so far as being fascinated by Madame d'Espard and falling in love with her on the spot. Young men, or men who remember the emotions of their youth, will know that this passion was extremel}^ probable and natural. The charming little manners, the choice language, the delicate tones of the voice of this graceful woman, so high in station and so envied, affected the poet as Madame de Bargeton had affected him in Angouleme. The mobility of his character prompted him to desire her powerful influence, — could he but win her, it was his ! he had succeeded in Angou- leme with another woman, why not here ? Involuntarily, and in spite of the magic of the opera, novel as it was to him, his eyes, attracted by this magnificent Celimene, turned to her constantly ; the more he looked at her, the more he longed to look. Madame de Bargeton intercepted one of these spark- ling glances. She began to observe Lucien, and soon 40 G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. saw that he was more intent upon the marquise than upon the pla3\ She would willingly have resigned her- self to be deserted for the fift}' daughters of Danaiis ; but no sooner had a glance, more ambitious, ardent, and significant than the rest, explained to her what was passing in Lucien's mind, than she became jealous, though less for the future than for the past. "He never looked at me like that!" she thought. " Good God ! Chatelet was right." She saw the blunder of her love. When a woman comes to repent of her weakness, she passes, as it were, a sponge over her life and effaces everything. Never- theless, though every movement of Lucien angered her, she continued calm. De Marsay returned between the acts accompanied by Monsieur de Listomere, for the purpose of informing the haughty marquise that the over-dressed 3'outh she had admitted to her box was no more named de Ru- bempre than a Jew was possessed of a Christian name ; Lucien, they told her, was the son of an apothecary named Chardon. Monsieur de Rastignac, who was well-informed about Angouleme, had been, thej^ said, amusing two boxes already at the expense of the mummy whom Madame d'Espard called her cousin, and the precaution that lad}' took to have an apothecary in her train. To this de Marsay added a number of Parisian witticisms, forgotten as soon as said, behind which, however, lurked du Chatelet, the actual worker of this Carthaginian treachery. '' My dear," said Madame d'Espard to Madame de Bargeton, behind her fan, "do pray tell me if your protege is really Monsieur de Rubempre. " Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 41 "He has taken his mother's name!" said Louise, embarrassed. " But what was his father's name?" "Ciiardon! " " Wiiatdidhe do?" " He was a chemist ! " "I felt certain, mj' dear cousin, that those people could not be laughing at you, a lad}^ whom I accept. But I must sa}^ I do not care to have jokes made about my acquaintance with the son of an apothecary. If you are willing, let us leave the theatre together immediatel3\" Madame d'Espard's look and manner became at once supercilious, though Lucien could not imagine in what way he had caused so great a change of countenance. He first thought that his waistcoat was in bad taste (which was true), that the fashion of his coat was ex- aggerated (which was aIso true), and he determined to go the next day to the most celebrated tailor in Paris and obtain the proper clothes in which he might, on the fol- lowing Monday, rival the men he was to meet at Madame d'Espard's dinner. Lost in reflection, he sat during the third act with his eyes fixed on the stage. While ap- parently' looking at the splendid show before him, he was giving himself up to his dream about Madame d'Espard. The sudden coldness of her manner was a violent rebuff to the intellectual ardor with which he plunged into this new emotion, careless of the diffi- culties he perceived and resolving to vanquish them. He came out of his meditation at last to look again at his new idol, but, on turning his head, he saw that he was alone ; he heard a slight noise, the door was clos- 42 G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. ing ; Madame d'Espard had carried off her cousin. Lucien was amazed to the last degree at this abrupt desertion ; but he did not tliink long about it, for the reason that it was utterly inexplicable. When the two women were in their carriage and it was rolling along the rue de Richelieu towards the fau- bourg Saint Honore the marquise said in a tone of re- pressed anger : — ' " M3' dear friend, what are 3'ou thinking of? Pray wait till the son of an apothecary is reall}' famous be- fore 3'ou take him up. The Duchesse de Chaulieu does not yet acknowledge Canalis ; though he is already celebrated, and a gentleman too. That 3'outh is neither 3"our son nor your lover — at least I suppose so? " said the haught3' woman, casting a sharp inquisitive look at her cousin. "How luck3" for me that I kept him at a distance and granted nothing," thought Madame de Bargeton. " Well," resumed the marquise, who took the expres- sion of her cousin's e3'es for an answer, "let him go now, I entreat 3'OU. To dare to assume an illustrious name ! — wh3' that 's an audacit3^ society ought to pun- ish. Of course I admit it is his mother's name ; but pra3' reflect, my dear, that the king alone has the right to confer, by letters-patent, the name of the famil3^ of Rubempre on the son of a daughter of the house. If she made a mesalUance, the favor would be immense, and it would require a fortune, the rendering of great services, and ver3^ high influence to obtain it. Those absurdl3" fine clotlies lie is wearing prove that he is neither rich nor a gentleman ; his face is handsome, but he strikes me as ver3' dull ; he does not know how Great Ma?i of the Provinces m Pains. 43 to carry himself, nor how to talk ; in short, he has never had any social education. How came 3'ou ever to take him up ? " Madame de Bargeton, who now rejected and de- nied Lucien as Lucien had alread}^ rejected and denied her in his own mind, was terribly alarmed lest her cousin should find out the truth of her journey from Angouleme. " Dear cousin," she said. " I am in despair at hav- ing compromised you." " I cannot be compromised," said Madame d'Espard, smiling. " I am thinking onl}' of you." " But 3'ou invited him to dinner on Monda}'." "I shall be ill," said the marquise, quickl}^ ; "you can let him know of it ; I shall give orders that he is not to be admitted under either of his names." Lucien took it into his head to walk about the fo3'er between the two last acts, seeing that everybodj' did so. None of the persons who had come into Madame d'Es- pard's box bowed to him or even appeared to see him, which seemed a most extraordinary thing to the poet of the provinces. Also du Chatelet, whom he tried to join, watched him out of the corner of his eye, and evaded him. Growing more and more convinced b}' the appearance of the men who were walking about the fo3'er that his clothes were ridiculous, Lucien returned to his box and sat in a corner of it, where he staved during the rest of the opera, absorbed partl3' b3' the splendid spectacle of the ballet in the fifth act, partly by the aspect of the boxes along which his e3'es ranged, and partl3^ b3' his own reflections in presence of this great world of Parisian societ3'. 44 G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. (( So this is my kingdom ! " he said to himself; ''this is the world I have to master ! " He went back to his hotel on foot, thinking over all that was said b}^ the persons who had come to Madame d'Espard's box ; over their manners, their gestures, their wa}^ of coming in and going out ; all of which came back into his memory with astonishing accurac3\ Great Mayi of the Proviyices in Paris, 45 III. ONE LOST ILLUSION. The next morning, towards mid-da}', Lucien's first act was to go to Staub the great tailor of that period. From him he obtained, b}* entreat}' and the assurance of cash pa3'ment, a promise that his coat should be ready for the famous Monday. Staub even went so far as to promise him a waistcoat, a pair of trousers, and a charming overcoat for the decisive day. Lucien ordered shirts, handkerchiefs, in short, a complete little outfit at a linen-maker's, and had himself measured for boots and shoes b}' a celebrated boot-maker. He bought a handsome cane at Verdier's, gloves and shirt-buttons from Madame Irlande ; in a word, he did his best to put himself on the level of the greatest dandies. When he had gratified all his fancies, he made his way to the rue Neuve-de-Luxembourg and found that Louise had already- gone out. "Madame dines with Madame d'Espard," said Al- bert ine, " and will not return till late." Lucien dined at a restaurant in the Palais-Royal for forty sous and went to bed early. The next day, Sun- da}', he called to see Louise b}' eleven o'clock, and was told she was not up. At two o'clock he returned. "Madame does not receive," said Albertine ; "but she gave me a little note for you. jj 46 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. " Does not receive ! " exclaimed Lucien, " wh}' I am nobody." " I don't know," said Albertine in a very impertinent tone. Lucien, less surprised at Albertine's behavior than at the fact of receiving a note from Madame de Bargeton, took the missive and read the following disheartening lines as he walked along : — " INIadame d'Espard is indisposed ; she cannot receive you on Monday. I myself am not well, but I am just dressing to go to her and keep her company. I am very sorry for this little disappointment ; but your talents reassure me. I am certain you will succeed without clap-trap assistance." " And no signature! " exclaimed Lucien, who found himself in the Tuileries without knowing he had walked a step. The gift of second sight which some men of talent possess made him suspect the catastrophe of which this chilling note was merel}' the forerunner. Lost in thought he wandered on, looking at the statues in the place Louis XV. The weather was fine. Hand- some carriages passed him in a steady stream, going towards the avenue of the Champs Elysees. He fol- lowed the crowd of pedestrians, and watched the three or four thousand carriages which flock along that fine avenue of a Sunday and make it another Longchamps. Dazzled by the brilliant show of horses, toilets, and liveries, he walked on and on, till he reached the Arc de Triomphe, then unfinished. What were his feehngs when, as he turned to retrace his steps, he saw Ma- dame d'Espard and Madame de Bargeton in an elegant caleche, l)ehind which waved the plumes of the chasseur in green and gold I The stream of carriages went Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 47 slowl}' and then stopped on account of an obstruction. Lucien could see the transformation of Louise ; her old self was not recognizable ; the colors of her toilet were chosen in a way to set off her complexion ; her gown was charming, her hair most becomingly arranged, while a dainty bonnet of exquisite taste was remarkable be- side even that of Madame d'Espard, who controlled the fashion. There is an indefinable way in which a man must wear a hat ; too far back and it gives him a bold look ; too far forward and you think him suspicious ; over to one side and his air is cavalier ; but a well-bred woman may put on her bonnet precisely as she fancies, and she always looks well. Madame de Bargeton had solved that curious problem instantl3\ A belt defined her slender waist. She had already caught the ges- tures and ways of her cousin ; sitting beside her, she played with an elegant vinaigrette fastened to one of the fingers of her right hand b}' a little chain, exhibit- ing thus her slender and well-gloved hand without ap- parently intending it. In short, she had made herself like Madame d'Espard without imitating her ; she was a worthy cousin of the elegant marquise, who seemed to be proud of her pupil. The men and women on the sidewalk gazed at the brilliant equipage which bore the arms of the d'Espards supported by those of the Blamont-Chauvr3'S. Lucien was surprised at the great number of persons who seemed to know the two cousins ; he was ignorant that the whole of Paris, comprised in twent3' salons, already knew of the relationship between Madame d'Espard and Madame de Bargeton. Young men on horseback, among whom Lucien recognized de Marsay and Rastig- 48 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. iiac, joined the caleche of the two ladies to escort it to the Bois. Lucien could easily perceive b}^ their ges- tures that they were complimenting Madame de Barge- ton on her toilet. Madame d'Espard sparkled with grace and health : her illness was evidentl}' a pretext to avoid receiving Lucien ; for, as he did not fail to ob- serve, she had not postponed the dinner to another day. The angr\' poet went towards the caleche, walking slowl3% and when he was within full view of the two women he bowed to them. Madame de Bargeton would not see him ; the marquise looked at him through her e} eglass and did not return his bow. This repudiation by the Parisian aristocracy was by no means the same as that by the sovereigns of Angouleme ; when the latter attempted to wound him the}' admitted his power and considered him a man ; whereas, to Madame d'Espard he actualh^ had no existence. It was not a judgment ; it was a refusal of justice. A cold chill seized the poor poet when de Marsa}^ took up his 636- glass and looked at him ; that done, the Parisian lion dropped the glass in a manner that seemed to Lucien like the fall of the knife of the guillotine. The carriage passed on. Anger and a desire for vengeance took possession of the despised man ; if he could have laid hands on Madame de Bargeton then and there, he would have strangled her ; he would have made himself a Fouquier-Tinville for the delight of send- ing Madame d'Espard to the scaffold ; gladly would he have made de Marsa}' suffer some of those refined tor- tures which savages invent. He saw Canalis go l\y on horseback, elegant as the most winning of poets should be, and bowing right and left to the prettiest women. Great Man of the Pi^ovinces in Paris. 49 "My God! gold at any price!" thought Lucien ; " mone}' is the only power before which this world kneels. No," cried his conscience, " not mone}^, fame ; and fame is, work! Work? that is David's word. Good God, why I am here? But I will triumph yet! I will drive along this avenue with chasseurs to m}' carriage ; I will win some Marquise d'Espard N'et.'' Muttering these furious words, he went to dine at Hurbain's for forty sous. The next day, at nine o'clock, he went to see Louise, intending to reproach her for her barbarity. Not onl}' was Madame de Barge ton " not at home " to him, but the porter at the gate refused to allow him to pass up. He then stationed himself in the street and watched till twelve o'clock. At that hour du Chatelet left the house, caught sight of the poet out of the corner of his e3'e, and endeavored to avoid him. Lucien, stung to the quick, pursued his rival ; du Chatelet, feeling himself cornered, turned back and bowed with the evident in- tention of passing on after showing that civilit3'. " Monsieur," said Lucien, " grant me a moment; I have two words to sav to vou. You have shown me some friendship, and I invoke it to ask you a trifling- service. You have just left Madame de Bargeton ; explain to me the cause of my rejection by her and by Madame d'Espard." " Monsieur Chardon," replied du Chatelet, with false kindliness, " do you know wh}' those ladies left you at the Opera?" " No," said the poor poet. "Well, Monsieur de Rastignac has done j'ou a bad turn at the start. That young dand3', being questioned 4 50 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. about 3'ou, declared that 3'our name is not de Rubempre, but Cbardon, that your mother is a monthly' nurse, that 3'our father during his lifetime was apothecar}" at I'Hou- meau, a suburb of Angouleme, and that your sister, a prett}' young woman who ironed shirts admirabl}', was about to marr}- a printer in Angouleme named Sechard. Such is the world ! If 30U come before it you must be discussed. Monsieur de Marsay returned to Madame d'Espard's box to laugh over the affair with her, and the two ladies at once disappeared, feeling that they were compromised in being seen there with j'ou. Don't attempt to see either of them again. Madame de Barge- ton will not be received by her cousin if she continues to know vou. You have ofenius ; revenoe vourself. The world disdains you ; disdain the world. Take i-efuge in a garret ; write masterpieces ; seize power in some wa}', and the world will be at vour feet ; you can then return the bruises it has given you on the very ground where A'ou received them. The more reoard Madame de Bargeton has shown you in the past, the greater the aversion she will now feel to you. That is the way with women's feelings. The question now is not to recover her as a friend, but to avoid making her an enemy. I will show you a means of doing this. She must have written you letters ; send them all back to her ; she will be touched by such an act, which is that of a gentleman ; later, if 3'ou should happen to need her, she will not be hostile. As for me, I have so high an opinion of your future career, that I am already defending you every- where ; and henceforth if I can be of an}- service to you, you will find me ready." Lucien was so dejected, pale, and overcome, that he Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 51 did not return the frigidl}' polite salutation which the old beau bestowed upon him. He returned to his hotel, where he found Staub himself, who had come, less to try on the clothes (which he did ivy on) than to ascertain from the landlady of the " Gaillard-Bois " the financial standing of his customer. Lucien had arrived in a post-chaise ; Madame de Bargeton had brought him back from the tlieatre in her carriage last Thursday evening. So far so good. Staub called Lucien " Monsieur le comte," and took pains to show him with what talent he had brouglit out his handsome shape. " A 3^oung man dressed like that," he said, " ma}' walk in the Tuileries and marr^' a rich Englishwoman in a fortnight." This joke of the German tailor, the perfection of his clothes, the fineness of the cloth, and the grace he be- held in his person as he turned himself about before the glass, did certainly comfort Lucien and make him less gloomy. He told himself, vagueh', that Paris was the capital of chance, and for the time being he believed in chance. Had n't he a volume of poetrj^ and a magni- ficent romance, " The Archer of Charles IX.," in manuscript? Staub promised the overcoat and the rest of the garments for the following da}'. The next morning the boot-maker, the shirt-maker, and the tailor arrived, all with their bills. Lucien, ig- norant of the usual way of getting rid of them, and still under the influence of provincial customs, paid the bills ; but having paid them, he became aware that only three hundred and sixty francs remained out of the two thousand he had brought with him, — and this at the end of a week ! Nevertheless, he dressed himself and went 52 Great llan of the Provinces hi Paris. to walk on the terrace of Les Feiiillants. There he had some success. He was so well-dressed, so handsome, so graceful, that several women looked at him ; and one or two were sufficiently struck by his beauty to turn round and observe him closel}'. Lucien studied the bearing and manners of the 30ung men, and learned his lesson in deportment, all the while thinking of his three hundred and sixty francs. That evening, alone in his room, it occurred to him that he had better clear up the problem of his life at the hotel du Gaillard-Bois, where he always breakfasted in the plainest manner, thinking to economize. He now asked for his bill, with the air of a man who intends moving, and found himself a debtor to the amount of a hundred francs. The next da}^ he rushed to the Latin quarter, recommended to him by David as the least expensive. After a long search he found a miserable furnished lodging-house in tlie rue de Clun}", near the Sorbonne, where he obtained a single room for the price he was willing to give. He paid his bill at once at the hotel du Gaillard-Bois, and installed himself in the hotel Clun}' in the course of the day. After taking possession of his miserable chamber he collected all Madame de Bargeton's letters and made a package of them ; then he laid it before him on the table and set himself to think over the events of that fatal week before beginning to write to her. He did not tell himself that he had been the first to reject his love in his own mind, without a thought of what might become of his Louise in Paris ; he did not see his own faith- lessness ; he saw onl}' his actual position, and he laid the blame on Madame de Bargeton ; instead of sup- Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 53 porting him, she had rained him. He worked himself into a rage, turned bitter, and wrote the following letter, in a paroxysm of anger : — " What thmk you, madame, of a woman who, having taken a fancy to a poor timid youth full of those noble beliefs which in their later years men call illusions, employs all the charms of her coquetry, the subtleness of her mind, and the glorious semblances of love to lead that youth astray ? The flattering promises with which she dazzled him cost her nothing ; she drew him to her ; she took possession of him ; she reproached him at times for his want of faith; she cajoled him. When that youth abandoned his family and followed her blindly, she led him to the shore of a boundless sea ; with a smile she bade him enter a fragile skiff, and then — she pushed him forth, alone and helpless, to the storm ; wishing him good-luck, she sat upon a rock above him and laughed. " That woman is you ; that youth is I. In the hands of that youth a proof exists which can betray the crime of your faithless affection and the favors you now repudiate. You may blush when you meet the youth whom you flung into the waves if the proof that you once held him to your bosom remains in his hands. Therefore, when you open this packet the proof I speak of will be in yours. You are free to forget aU. After indulging the noble hopes to which you pointed, I fall to the realities of misery in the mud of Paris. While you are passing, brilliant and adored, among the grandeurs of the world to the threshold of which you enticed my steps, I shall shiver in the lonely garret to which your hand has cast me. "Perhaps remorse may seize you in the midst of your feasts and pleasures ; perhaps you will then think of him whom you drove into the gulf. W^ell, when that day comes, feel no remorse ! From the depths of his misery that youth offers you the only thing that remains to him, — forgiveness. 54 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. " Yes, madame, thanks to you, nothing does remain to me — nothing ? do I say nothing ? but it is of that the world was made ; genius must follow God. I begin by imitating His mercy ; you need not tremble unless I turn to evil ; then indeed you will be the accomplice of my faults. No ! I pity you because you will no longer be a sharer in the fame to which I go, led on by labor." Having written that emphatic letter, full of the sombre dignit}- which an artist of twenty-one takes pleasure in exaggerating, Lucien's mind reverted to his own family. He saw once more the prett}' rooms David had arranged for him by sacrificing part of his narrow means ; a remembrance of the tranquil, modest, middle-class joys he once had tasted came over him ; visions of his mother, of his sister, of David, were about him ; he saw once more the tears thev shed as he left them to seek his fortune, and he wept ; for he was now alone in Paris, the city of his hopes, without friends, without protection. A few da^'s later Lucien wrote as follows to his sister who was married b}^ that time to David Sechard : — My Dear Eve, — Sisters have the melancholy privilege of sharing more griefs than joys when they are part of the existence of brothers vowed to Art, and I begin to fear I shall continue to be a burden to you. Have I not akeady worn you out, — all of you who have sacrificed yourselves for me? But the memory of the past, full of the joys of home, supports me in the solitude of my present. I fly, like an eagle returning to its nest, across the space that parts me from those true affections, after experiencing the first miseries, the first deceptions of the world of Paris. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 3^ Have your candles blinked ? have the logs on the hearth rolled down ? and has my mother said, " There, Lucien is thinking of us " V and did David answer, " He is battling with men and things " ? Eve, I write this letter for no eye but yours. To you alone do I dare to tell the good and the evil which happen to me, blushing for both, for good is as rare here as evil should be. You are now to hear many things in few words. Madame de Bargeton was ashamed of me ; she deserted, dis- missed, repudiated me on the ninth day after our arrival. When she sees me she turns away her head ; and I, to follow her into society, have spent seventeen hundred and fifty of the two thousand francs which you, my dear ones, obtained for me with such difficulty. " Spent them ! " I hear you say, " on what ? " My poor sister, Paris is a strange whirligig ; a dinner can be had for eighteen sous, but the simplest at a fashionable restaurant costs fifty francs ; there are waistcoats and trousers for four francs forty sous, but good tailors will make none under a hundred francs. People pay a sou to cross a gutter when it rains ; but the slightest distance in a hackney-coach costs thirty-two sous. After living for a time in the fashionable quarter, I have now come to a house in the rue de Cluny, one of the mean- est and gloomiest streets in Paris, squeezed between three churches and the old buildings of the Sorbonne. I occupy a furnished room on the fourth floor of this house, and though it is very du'ty and shabby I pay fifteen francs a month for it. I breakfast on a two-sous roll and a sou's worth of milk, but I dine very well at the restaurant of a man named Flico'^^eaux on the place de la Sorbonne. Until next winter my living will not cost more, at least I hope not, than sixty francs a month, everything included. Therefore my remain- ing two hundred and forty francs will keep me four months. Between now and then I shall surely have sold my novel, " The Archer of Charles IX." and the poems you know of, which I shall call " Daisies." 56 Crreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. Therefore you must not be at all uneasy about me. If the present is mean, and bare, and chilling, the future is blue, and rich, and splendid. Nearly all great men have experienced the vicissitudes which now affect but do not overwhelm me. Plautus, a great comic poet, was a miller's drudge ; Machiavelli wrote " The Prince," at night after laboring in a crowd of other workmen by day. The great Cervantes, who lost an arm at the battle of Lepanto, and was called " the old one-armed " by the scribblers of his time, was forced by lack of a publisher to put an interval of ten years between the first and second parts of his sublime " Don Quixote." We, of our time, are not so badly off as that. Distress and poverty can only touch the unknown men of talent ; the moment they make a name, writers become rich, and I shall be rich. I live by thought ; I pass the greater part of my day in the library of Sainte-Genevieve, where I am gaining the education I still need, without which I could not go far. To-day, therefore, I am almost happy. In a few more days I shall be joyously reconciled to my position. I give myself up through all my waking hours to a toil I love ; material living is secured to me ; I meditate much, I study ; I do not see that I can now be wounded, having renounced society, in which my vanity did suffer for a time. Illustrious men in all ages have lived apart from the world. They are like the birds in a grove, they sing, they charm all Nature, but no eye sees them. Thus will I do — and so doing I shall realize the ambitious plans of my soul. I do not regret Madame de Bargeton. A woman who could act as she has acted does not deserve a thought. Neither do I regret having quitted Angouleme. That woman did well for me when she persuaded me to Paris and cast me upon my own resources. Paris is the home of writers, thinkers, poets. Here, alone, can fame be cultivated ; akeady I feed upon the noble sustenance she garners for the soul in Grreat Man of the Provinces in Pai^is. 57 these days. Here writers find, in the museums, in the col- lections, the living works of all the genius of the past to warm and stimulate their imagination. Here, alone, vast libraries, always open, offer food and information to the mind. In short, there is in Paris, in the air, in every detail of its being, a soul which breathes and impresses itself on all literary creation. We learn more things in half an hour, by merely conversing in a cafe or by spending one evening at the theatre, than in ten years of provincial life. Here, in truth, all things are a drama to the eye, comparison and instruction to the mind. Extreme cheapness, excessive cost, that is Paris, where every bee can find its honey and every soul may assimilate what it needs. Therefore, though I suffer just now, I repent of nothing. On the contrary, a noble future spreads before me and uplifts my heart, wounded for the moment only. Adieu, my dear sister ; do not ex|)ect to hear from me regularly ; one of the peculiarities of Paris is that one does not realize how time flies. Life rushes on with frightful rapidity. I kiss my mother, and David, and you, dear Eve, more tenderly than ever. Your LuciEN. 58 Grreat Man of the Provinces in Paris, IV. TWO VARIETIES OF PUBLISHER. Flicoteaux is a name inscribed on man}' memories. Few students lived in the Latin quarter during the first twelve years of the Restoration who did not frequent that temple of hunger and povert3\ The dinner, com- posed of three dishes, cost eighteen sous, including a decanter of wine or a bottle of beer ; twentj'-two sous with a whole bottle of wine. The cause that undoubt- edly prevented this friend of youth from making a colossal fortune was an item in his prospectus printed in large letters and thus worded : Bread at discre- tion, — in other words, unlimited bread. Man}" a dis- tinguished fame had Flicoteaux for its foster-father. Certainly the heart of more than one famous man must be conscious of a thousand ineffable memories as he passes that well-known shop window, with its little panes, looking on the place de la Sorbonne and the rue Neuve-de-Richelieu, which Flicoteaux II. and III. have respected, even after the July days. These suc- cessors of the first Flicoteaux have had the sense to leave untouched the dingy tints and the respectable elderly air which manifest so deep a disdain for the charlatanism of exteriors, — that novel form of adver- tisement made to the eyes at the expense of the stomach by nearly all the restaurateurs of these days. Instead Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 59 of the stuffed game-birds destined never to be cooked ; instead of those fantastic fishes, such as never swam ; instead of " earl}' vegetables" (which might be called antediluvial), exposed in specious show to entice the corporals and their womenfolk, the honest Flicoteaux exhibited his salad-bowls, patched with man}' a rivet, or heaps of stewed prunes, rejoicing the eyes of the consumer, sure that the word dessert^ delusive on other prospectuses, was a reality at Flicoteaux's. Six-pound loaves cut in four were likewise reassuring as to the bread ad lihitwn. Such w^as the luxury of an establishment which, had it existed in his dav, Moliere would have rendered famous, so mirth-provoking is the sound of an epigram- matic name. Flicoteaux exists ; it will exist so long as students eat to live. Yes, it was and is where they eat, — nothing more nor less than that ; but they eat there as they work elsewhere, with a serious- or joyous diligence according to their characters or their circum- stances. This celebrated establishment consisted, at the time of which we speak, of two long, low, narrow rooms, placed at right angles, and lighted, one from the place de la Sorbonne, the other from the rue Neuve-de- Richelieu. Both were furnished with tables, probably taken from some convent refectory, for their length was monastic ; and the places for the regular customers wej-e marked by napkins rolled up and thrust into num- bered metal rings. Flicoteaux I. changed his table- linen only once a week, but Fhcoteaux 11. changed, it is said, twice a week as soon as he found that competiti^'i was threatening the dynasty. This restaurant was, in fact, a workshop with suitable 60 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. utensils, rather than a hall of festive pleasure ; ever}' one ate his food and departed quicklj-. The waiters came and went without lingering ; all were busy ; all were needed. The viands were not various ; the potato was perpetual. Ireland might not possess a potato ; the root might be lacking everj'where else, but at Flicoteaux's never. For the last thirtj^ years it has flourished there, of that beautiful golden color loved of Titian, with minced-up greenery scattered over it ; such as 3'ou knew it in 1814 3'ou will find it in 1840. The cutlets and the beefsteaks are to the dinner-lists of this establishment what grouse and sturgeon are to those of Very, — extraordinar}" dishes, which must be ordered in the morning. The female of the genus ox prevails and her son abounds under the most ingenuous aspects. When the mackerel and the whiting bear down upon the coasts of France the}' bound thence to Flicoteaux's. There the vicissitudes of agriculture are reflected and the caprices of French seasons. You can learn things there about the phases of nature which the rich and idle and indiflferent have no idea of A student penned in the Latin quarter acquires at Flicoteaux's the most accurate knowledge of times and seasons ; he knows when string-beans and peas do ripen, when cab- bage will scent the hall, what species of salad abounds, and why the beetroot fails. An old calumny, lasting even to the time when Lucien appeared there, attributed the appearance of beefsteaks to a period of mortality among horses. Few Parisian restaurants oflTer a really finer sight. Here you will meet with youth and faith gayly enduring poverty, though grave and ardent, earnest and anxious Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 61 faces are not lacking. Clothes are generall}' neglected. Customers who come well-dressed are remarked upon, for everybody knows what such unwonted apparel sig- nifies, — a mistress expected, a theatre in prospect, or a visit to the upper spheres. Here, it is said, lasting friendships have been formed among students who, later in life became celebrated men ; in fact, an instance of that will be found in this history'. Nevertheless, excepting the young men of the same country neighbor- hood who congregate together at an end of the tables, the diners have, as a general thing, a gravity which does not easily unbend, perhaps because of the catholi- cit}'' of the wine. Those who have cultivated Flicoteaux for any length of time can remember several grave and mysterious personages wrapped in a fog of chilling povert}', who have dined there for two or more years and have then disappeared ; no light on the lives of such Parisian wraiths being ever given to the eyes of their inquisitive co-diners. The friendships started at Flicoteaux's were clinched in the adjoining cafes to the fumes of a spirituous punch or the glow of a half-cup of coffee hallowed by a gloria of some sort. Durinoj the first davs of his installation in the rue de Clun}', Lucien, like other neophytes, was timid and reg- ular in his behavior. After his disastrous trial of fash- ionable life which had swept awaj' his capital, he threw himself into w^ork with that 30uthful ardor that soon succumbs to the difficulties and the amusements offered by Paris to all existences, be they luxurious or poverty- stricken, — difficulties and temptations which can be only resisted by the savage force of real talent or the dogged will of ambition. 62 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. Lucien usually betook himself to Flicoteaux's about half-past four in the afternoon, having observed the advantage of arriving among the first ; the dishes were then more varied, and there was still enough of which- ever he preferred. Like all poetic natures he liked a particular seat, and his choice in this instance was not without discernment. From the first da}' of his attend- ance at Flicoteaux's he had noticed, near the comptoir^ a table at which the faces of the diners and the scraps of their conversation which reached his ears indicated literar}' companionship. Moreover, a sort of instinct told him that by sitting near the coniptoir he would be in closer relations with the heads of the restaurant. Accordingl}' he sat down at a little square table near b}', where he saw two covers laid with clean napkins not in metal rings, intended, no doubt, for transient guests. Directl}' opposite to him sat a pale and thin young man, apparentl}^ as poor as himself, whose fine, worn face re- vealed that hopes relinquished had wearied his mind and left within his soul deep furrows where no seed now could germinate. Lucien felt himself impelled to this unknown man b}' these vestiges of poes}- lingering about him and by an irresistible impulse of sympathy. This 3'oung man, the first person with whom the poet of Angouleme conversed, after exchanging civilities and observations for about a week, was named Etienne Lousteau. Like Lucien, Etienne had left his provincial home, a town in Berr}', about two A'ears earlier. His animated gestures, his burning glance, his curt, succinct speech, betra3'ed at times some bitter knowledge of literary life. Etienne had come from Sancerre with a traged}^ in his pocket, drawn to Paris by the same Great 3Ian of the Provinces in Paris. 63 desires which enticed Lucien, — fame, power, money. At first he dined daih' at Flicoteaux's, soon only now and then. Lncien missed him. When youno; men have met the night before, the interest of their con- versation holds over into that of the next day ; bnt these intervals of absence obliged Lncien to break the ice anew each time the}- met, and retarded an intimac}' which, dnring these first weeks, had made but little progress. B}' questioning the dame du comiitoir Lucien learned that his acquaintance was on the staff of 2^ petit joitrnal^ and wrote the dramatic articles on pieces acted at the Ambigu-Comique, the Gaite, and the Panorama-Dra- matique. This was enough to make him a personage to Lucien, who determined to begin a conversation and make some efforts to obtain a friendship which might be useful to his own career. The journalist was absent two weeks. Lucien did not as 3'et know that Etienne onl\' dined at Flicoteaux's when he had no mone}*, which fact gave him his morose, disillusioned look, and the stiffness which Lucien met with courteous smiles and pleasant words. Nevertheless, such an intimac}' re- quired deliberate thought before it was entered upon ; for this unknown journalist was evidently leading a costly life, mingled with petit verves, cups of coffee, bowls of punch, theatres, and suppers. Now, during his first weeks in the Latin quarter Lucien's behavior was that of a child bewildered by his first experience of Parisian life. After studying the costs of living and calculating his resources, he dared not follow the ways of Etienne, fearing to be again drawn into the blunders he now so deepl3' regretted. Still under the 64 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. influence of his provincial faitlis, his guardian angels, Eve and David, rose before his mind at ever3' evil thought, reminding liim of the hopes the}' had placed upon him, of the happiness of his mother, for which he was accountable, and of all the promises of his genius. He continued therefore to spend his mornings in the library of Sainte-Genevieve stud^'ing histor}' ; where his first researches showed him horrible mistakes in his " Archer of Charles IX." When the librar}' closed he returned to his cold damp bedroom to correct his work, recast it, or reject whole chapters. After dining at Flicoteaux's he wall^ed alono the Passage du Commerce to Blosse's " Literary Cabinet," where he spent his evenings reading contemporary literature, newspapers, periodicals, and volumes of poetry, to keep himself in touch with the intellectual movement of the da}', and returned to his wretched room at midnight having saved the cost of fuel and lights. These readings changed his ideas so completely that he revised the collection of his sonnets upon flowers, his dear "Daisies," and worked over them until scarcely a hundred lines remained the same. At first, therefore, Lucien led the pure and innocent life of those guileless young provincials who think the food provided by Flicoteaux luxurious living compared with that of their famil}' home, who refresh themselves by sauntering slowly along the alleys of the Luxem- bourg, looking obliquely at the prett}' women, with swelling hearts, and who never leave the student quarter, where they devote themselves religiousl}' to work for the sake of their future career. But Lucien, born a poet, soon possessed b}- eager desires, was G-7'eat 3Ian of the Provinces in Paris. 65 powerless against the seductions of theatrical posters. The Theatre- Fraugais the Vaudeville, the Varietes, the Opera-Comique, where he sat in the pit, took some sixty francs out of his pocket. What poet could resist the enjo3'ment of seeing Talma in the parts which he made so famous? The theatre, that first love of all poetic natures, fascinated Lucien ; the actors and the actresses seemed to him imposing personages. He never dreamed of the possibility' of crossing the foot- lights and seeing them familiarl}'. These givers of his delight were to his mind wonderful beings whom the journals ought to treat as one of the great interests of the State. To be a dramatic author, to see his plays acted, — oh, what a dream to nurse ! That dream a few bold spirits, like Casimir Delavigne, had realized ! Such teeming thoughts, such moments as these of belief in himself, followed b}' despair, agitated Lucien's being and kept him in the path of toil and econom}', notwithstanding the low mutterings of more than one importunate desire. Through excess of virtue he for- bade himself to ever enter the Palais-Royal, that place of perdition, where in a single day he had spent fift}' francs at Verj^'s and nearly' five hundred francs in clothes. When he yielded to the temptation of seeing Fleury, Talma, the two Baptistes, or Michot, he stood for five hours in the queue to obtain a seat in the dark gallerj'. Often on such occasions, after waiting two hours, the words " There are no seats left " would echo in the ears of man}' a disappointed student. After the play Lucien returned home with lowered eyes, look- ing at nothing in the streets, crowded at that hour with seduction. A few adventures of extreme simplicity 5 66 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. may have happened to him, such as take a vast place in timid and youthful imaginations. Frightened one day when counting his mone}' at the rapid diminution of his capital, Lucien felt cold chills run down him as the necessity of obtaining a publisher and doing some work for pay came over him. The 3'oung journalist of whom he would fain have made a friend no longer dined at Flicoteaux's. Lucien waited and hoped that something would turn up, but nothing came. In Paris, lucky accidents happen onl}' to those who are much in the world ; the variety of a man's in- tercourse with life increases his chances of success ; luck is alwa3's on the side of numbers. Like a true provin- cial, in whom the sense of prudence long remains, Lucien did not wish to reach a period when a few francs only would remain to him. He resolved to face a publisher. On a cold morning in the month of September he walked along the rue de la Harpe with his manu- scripts under his arm. He went as far as the quai des Augustins, following the sidewalk and looking alternatel}' at the waters of the Seine and the shops of the publishers, as if some guardian angel were ad- vising him to throw himself into the river rather than into literature. After agonizing hesitation, after ex- amining with the deepest attention the faces he could see through the windows or the doors, faces more or less kindl}', cheerful, scowling, J03'0us, or sad, he came upon a house before which the clerks were packing books in haste. Shipments were evidentl}- being made ; the walls were covered with advertisements : — "For sale: The Solitary, by M. le Vicomte d'Arlincourt, third edition. Leonide, by Victor Du- Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 67 cange, 5 vols. 12mo, printed on fine paper, price 12frs. Moral Inductions, b}- Keratry." " They are lucky, those fellows ! " thought Lucien. The advertisement, or rather the poster, a new and original invention of the famous Ladvocat, was then flourishing for the first time on the walls of Paris. The cit}' was soon overrun by the imitators of this novel method of advertising, which brought in quite a reve- nue to the State. Lucien, his heart swelling with ardor and disquietude, Lucien, so great in Angouleme, so lit- tle in Paris, slid along the walls of the houses trying to summon courage to enter that shop, full of clerks, cus- tomers, and publishers. "And perhaps authors," thought Lucien. " I wish to speak to Monsieur Vidal or to Monsieur Porchon," he said to a clerk. He had read the sign in large letters : " Vidal and PoRCHON ; publishing-commissioners for France and foreign countries." "• They are both engaged," said the busy clerk. " I will wait." The poet was left to himself in the shop, where he examined the packages. He sta3'ed there two hours looking at the titles of books, opening the volumes and reading a page of them here or there. At last, he found himself leaning against a glass partition covered with small green curtains, behind which he now suspected that either Porchon or Vidal was ensconced, for he overheard the following conversation : — " Will 3'ou take five hundred copies? If so, I '11 let you have them at five francs and give you a double com- mission." 68 Crreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. " What price does that make them? " " Sixteen sous less." '' Four francs, four sous? " said Vidal or Porchon, to whoever was. making the offer. "Yes," replied the seller. " With time allowance ? " ^' Old screw ! then you '11 pay me in eighteen months with notes at a 3'ear's sight? " " No, paid at once," replied Vidal or Porchon. "What time, nine months ? " asked the writer, or, more probably, his publisher, who was doubtless offering a book. " No, my dear fellow^, one year," replied the buyer. There was silence for a moment. " You are squeezing the blood out of me ! " cried the seller. * '• But do you suppose we shall sell five hundred copies of ' Leonide ' in a year?" replied the publishing-com- missioner to the agent of Victor Ducange. " If books went off as publishers wish, we should be millionnaires, my dear friend ; but they go as the pubhc choose. Walter Scott's novels are selling at eighteen sous a volume, three francs twelve sous the set, and you expect me to sell your trash higher ! If you want me to push the book, make it worth my while. Vidal ! " A stout man left a desk and came forward, putting his pen behind his ear. " On your last journey how man}' Ducange books did you get off ?" asked Porchon. "I sold two hundred of the 'Little Old Man of Calais ; ' but in order to do that I had to come down on two other books which give less commission, — regular nightingales." Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 69 Later, Lucien learned that the nickname " nightin- gale " is applied bj publishers to books which stay perched upon their shelves in the darkest depths of the warehouses. " Besides, you know," continued Vidal, " Picard is preparing to sell novels. We are promised twent}' per cent discount on the trade price in order to make him a success." " Ver}' good, then ; at one year," said the seller, dolefull}', frightened b}' the last remark made, as it were confidentiall}-, between Vidal and Porchon. ' ' Is that settled ? " asked Porchon. " Yes." The selling publisher left the place. Lucien heard Porchon remark to Vidal, "We have three hundred copies alread}' engaged ; pa3'ment is dela3'ed a year ; we can sell the whole batch of the ' Le'onide ' at five francs, pa3'ment in six months and — " ' ' Yes, I see," said Vidal ; ' ' that is fifteen hundred francs clear." " Oh ! I knew he was pressed." " He is losing money ; he pays Ducange four thou- sand francs for two thousand copies." Here Lucien stopped Vidal short b3' showing himself at the door of the glass cage. " Gentlemen," he said to the partners, " I have the honor to wish 3^ou good-morning." The publishers scarceh' returned his salutation. " I am the author of a novel on the historv of France, in the style of Walter Scott ; it is called ' The Archer of Charles IX. ; ' and I propose to 3'ou to publish it." Porchon cast a frigid look at Lucien, and laid his pen 70 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. on his desk. Vidal looked at the author rudely, and replied : — " We are not publishers ; we sell books on commis- sion. We never undertake books on our own account, unless the writers have made a name. Besides, in any case, we deal onlj^ in serious books, histories, com- pendiums." " But my book is serious ; its object is to depict in a true light the struggle of the Catholics who stood for absolute government against the Protestants who wanted a republic." '' Monsieur Vidal ! " called a clerk. Vidal shpped out. " I don't say, monsieur, that 3'our book ma}^ not be a masterpiece," said Porchon, with an uncivil gesture, " but we only concern ourselves with books alread}' printed. Go and see those firms which buy manu- scripts ; there 's Pere Doguereau, rue du Coq, near the Louvre ; he bu3'S novels. If you had come sooner you might have seen PoUet, Doguereau's rival, one of the publishers in the Galeries de Bois ; he has just gone out." " Monsieur, I have a collection of poems — " " Monsieur Porchon ! " called some one. " Poems ! " cried Porchon, angrily ; " whom do 3'ou take me for?" he added with a sneer, disappearing into a wareroom behind him. Lucien crossed the Pont-Neuf a pre^^ to man}' reflec- tions. The facts he had discovered from this commer- cial lingo showed him plainly enough that to such publishers books were like hats to hatters, — goods to buy cheap and sell dear. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 71 " I made a mistake in going there/' thought he ; but he was, all the same, shocked at the brutal and mate- rial aspect under which literature had been shown to him. He presently came to a modest little shop in the rue du Coq, over the door of which was painted, in yellow letters on a green ground, the words : "Doguereau, Pub- lisher." Lucien remembered having seen that name at the bottom of the titlepages of various novels he had opened in Blosse's reading-room. He entered, not without that inward trepidation which all men of imag- ination feel at the prospect of a struggle. He found a singular old man within, — one of the most original figures of the book-trade under the Empire. Doguereau wore a black coat with long square skirts, though the fashion of the da}^ required what were called " cod-fish tails." He had a waistcoat of some common woollen material in squares of divers colors, from the pocket of which depended a steel chain and a brass ke}', which jingled against a pair of huge black breeches. The watch must have been about the size of an onion. This attire was completed by a pair of thick woollen stockings, iron-gray in color, and shoes with silver buckles. The old man was bareheaded, and his gray hair hung down rather poetically' in straggling locks. Pere Doguereau, as Porchon had called him, resembled a professor of belles-lettres as to coat, breeches, and shoes, but his waistcoat, watch, and stockings were those of a shopkeeper. His countenance did not con- tradict this curious combination ; he had the magiste- rial, dogmatic air and the worn face of a professor of rhetoric, and the keen e3'es, the suspicious mouth, the vague uneasiness of a bookseller. 72 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, " Monsieur Doguereau?" said Liicien. " M3'self, monsieur." " I am the author of a novel/' continued Lucien. " You are very young," said the publisher. "But, monsieur, my age has nothing to do with the matter." " True," said the old publisher, taking the manuscript. " Ah, the deuce ! ' The Archer of Charles IX./ — that 's a good title. Well, 3'oung man, tell me your subject in two words." " Monsieur, it is an historical work in the style of Walter Scott, in which the nature of the struggle be- tween the Catholics and the Protestants is shown to be a contest between two systems of government ; a con- test which seriousl}' threatened the throne itself I take the Catholic side." "Hey ! 3'oung man ; wh}', those are reall}' ideas ! Well, I '11 read 3'our book ; I '11 promise 3'ou that. I would rather have a novel in the style of Mrs. Radcliffe ; but if 3"ou are reall3' a worker, if 3'ou have style, construc- tion, ideas, and the art of dramatically presenting your subject, I am not unwilUng to be of use to you. What we want now are reall3^ good manuscripts." " When mav I call asjain?" " I am going into the country this evening, and shall return the day after to-morrow ; by that time I shall have read your work, and if it suits me, we can arrange matters that day." Lucien, finding his new acquaintance so cordial, had the unluck3' idea of pulling out the manuscript of " The Daisies." " Monsieur, I have also a collection of poems." Grreat Man of the Provinces in Paris, 73 '' Ah ! you are a poet, are you? Tlien I don't want your novel," said the old man, holding out the manu- script. " Rh3'mesters always fail when they try prose. Prose can't be mere stuff; it must have something to sa}', and it says it." " But, monsieur, Walter Scott wrote poems." " That's true," said Doguereau, relenting somewhat ; he guessed the povert}' of the young man, and kept the manuscript. " Where do you live? I '11 go and see you." Lucien gave his address without suspecting the old man of any ulterior meaning ; he did not perceive him to be a publisher of the old school, of the days when publishers liked to keep such men as Voltaire and Montesquieu under lock and key in a garret, dying of hunger. " I return by way of the Latin quarter," said the old man, after reading the address ; " I will call." " He's a worthy man," thought Lucien, after leaving old Doguereau. " I have met a friend to youth, — a connoisseur who reall}' knows something. Commend me to that sort of sponsor. I told David that talent would easilj^ make its way in Paris." Lucien went back to his quarters, light-hearted and dreaming of fame. Without thinking further of the sinister words which had reached his ears in the office of Vidal and Porchon, he imagined himself in posses- sion of at least twelve hundred francs. Twelve hundred francs represented one year's sojourn in Paris, — one 3'ear, during which he could prepare new works. How man}' projects were built upon this hope ! How many brilliant reveries he indulged as he saw his living 74 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. secured and himself free to labor. He planned a new abode, arranged his mode of life, a little more and he would even have made purchases for it. He whiled away the time and his impatience in Blosse's reading- room. Two daj's later old Doguereau, greatly- sur- prised at the st3'le Lucien had displayed in a first work, pleased with the exaggeration of the characters which the period of the drama permitted, struck with the ardor of imagination with which the 3'oung author had developed his plot (the old man had not lost his power of appreciation), — old Doguereau, we sa}', came to the house where his embryo Walter Scott was living. He had made up his mind to pay a thousand francs down for the absolute possession of " The Archer of Charles IX." and to bind Lucien in writing to supply him with other works. But when the old fox saw the house he reconsidered his intentions. " A 3'oung man who lives in such a place as this," thought he, "has humble tastes; he loves stud}" and work ; eight hundred francs will be enough to give him." The landlad}', of whom he asked his wa}" to Monsieur Lucien de Rubempre's apartment, replied, " Fourth floor ! " The publisher looked up, saw that the sk}' was above that floor, and thought to himself; — " This .young man is a good-looking fellow ; he is in fact a ver}' handsome man ; if he earns much mone}' he will waste it, he won't work any longer. In our mutual interests I shall offer him six hundred francs, — in read^y monev, not bills." So thinking, he went upstairs and rapped three knocks on Lucien's door, which the 3'oung man opened. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 75 The bareness of the room was depressuig. On the table was a bowl of milk and a two-sous roll. This penury of genius struck old Doguereau. " Ma}' he long keep to these simple habits, this fru- gality, these modest wants," thought he ; then he said aloud : "I am very glad to see you. This is how Jean- Jacques, with whom 3-ou have much in common, lived. In such lodgings as these the fire of genius burns and does great works. This is how men of letters ought to live, instead of junketing in cafes and restaurants, los- ing their time, their talent, and our money." So saying, he sat down. " Young man," he went on, " your novel is not bad. I was once a professor of rhetoric, and I know French history ; there are excellent things in the book ; in short, 3'ou have a future before 3'ou." "Ah! monsieur." "Well, as I told 3'ou, we can do business together. I will buy 3'our novel." Lucien's heart glowed, he palpitated with joy, he was about to enter the literar}^ world, at last he would see himself in print. " I will pay 3'OU four hundred francs, said Doguereau, in a honied tone and looking at Lucien in a way that seemed to indicate an effort at generosity. " A volume? " said Lucien. " The whole book," replied Doguereau, not heeding Lucien's astonishment. " But," he added, ''it will be in read}^ money. You must bind yourself to give me two such books every year for six j^ears. If the first is sold off within six months I will engage to pay 3'ou six hun- dred for the succeeding books. At the rate of two a 3'ear you will earn a hundred francs a month ; that will 76 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. secure 3"our livelihood and 3^011 will be happy. I have authors to whom I pa_y onl^' three hundred francs a novel. I give two hundred francs for a translation from the English. Formerly, such prices would have been exorbitant." "Monsieur, w^e cannot come to any agreement on such terms, and I request 3'ou to return m\' manuscript," said Lucien, cruell3' disappointed. ''There it is," said the old man. "You don't under- stand business, monsieur. In bringing out an author's first work a publisher risks sixteen hundred francs on the printing and the paper. It is easier to make a novel than it is to produce that sum of mone3'. I have a hundred novels now on m3' hands but I have n't a hundred and sixty thousand francs in my cashbox. Alas, I have n't made that sum during all the twent3" 3"ears I have been a publisher. No man can make a fortune b3" bringing out novels. Vidal and Porchon will onl3^ sell them for us on terms which are becoming day after da3^ more extortionate. Where you risk your time I am forced to spend two thousand francs. If I make a mistake, for luibent sua fata libelli, I lose my two thou- sand francs ; while as for 3'ou, vou have only to launch an ode against public stupidity. After thinking over what I have had the honor to sa3^ to 3'ou, you will come and see me, — 3'es, you will come back to me," repeated the publisher, authoritatively, in repl3^ to a gesture of superb disdain from Lucien. "Far from finding other publishers willing to risk two thousand francs on an unknown author, 3'ou will not find even a clerk who would give himself the trouble to read your manuscript. I, who have read it, can show 3"0U a Great Mayi of the Provinces in Paris. 11 good man}' faults of grammar in it." Lucien looked mortified. " When I see you again 3'ou will have lost a hundred francs," added the old man ; "for I shall then give you onl}^ three hundred for that novel." He rose, bowed, and turned to go ; but on the sill of the door he stopped and said : " If you had no talent, no future before 3'ou, if I did not take an interest in studious young men, I should never have proposed to you such liberal terms. A hundred francs a month ! think of it ! However, a novel in a drawer is not a horse in a stable ; it won't eat oats — but then, it does n't provide any ! " Lucien took his manuscript and flung it on the floor crying out, " 1 'd rather burn it ! " " You have the head of a poet," said the old man. Lucien devoured his bread and gulped down his milk and went out. The room was not big enough to con- tain him ; he would have turned and doubled upon him- self like the lion in his cage at the .Jardin des Plantes. 78 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, THE FIRST FRIEND. At the libraiy of Sainte-Genevi^ve, to which Lucien now made his wa}', he had long noticed, and alwaj's in the same corner, a young man about twent^'-five years of age, who seemed to work with a stead}' application which nothing disturbed, — the test of true literary toilers. This young man had evidentl}' been in the habit of coming to the library for some time ; the clerks and the librarian himself showed him attentions ; he was allowed to take out books which, as Lucien noticed, he brought back punctualh^ the next da}'. The poet recognized in this unknown student a brother in penur}^ and hope. Small, thin, and pale, this toiler hid a noble brow beneath a thick black mane of hair, somewhat ill-kept ; his hands were beautiful ; he attracted the eye of even non-observing persons b}' a vague resemblance to the portrait of Bonaparte engraved after Robert Lefebvre. That engraving is a poem of passionate melanchol}', repressed ambition, subdued activit}'. Examine it well. You will find there genius and discretion, shrewdness and grandeur. The e3'es have a soul like the e3'es of a woman. Their glance is eager into space, desirous of difficulties to vanquish. Were the name " Bonaparte'' Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 79 not written beneath it 3'oa still would pause to gaze upon that portrait and contemplate it. The 3'oung man who seemed to embod}' this engraving usually wore trousers a pied in thick-soled shoes ; a frock-coat of common cloth, a black cravat, a waistcoat of gra}' and white cloth, buttoned to the neck, and a cheap hat. His contempt for all unnecessary care in dress was obvious. This noticeable person, marked with the seal which genius stamps upon the forehead of her slaves, Lucien had seen at Flicoteaux's. He was, in fact, the most regular of the customers ; he ate to live, paying no attention to the food, with which he seemed familiar ; he drank water onlv. AYhether in the library or at Flicoteaux's, he manifested in all things a sort of dig- nity which came no doubt from the consciousness that his life was occupied with great things ; this made him, in some degree, inapproachable. His glance was thouo-htful. Meditation inhabited that noble brow, which was fineh' cut. Lucien felt an involuntar}' respect for him. Several times they had mutually glanced at each other as if to speak, when entering or leaving the librar}' or the restaurant, and then refrained as if neither dared to take the step. This silent guest always took his place in a retired corner of the dining- room looking on the place de la Sorbonne. Lucien had, therefore, no opportunity of joining him, though he felt strongly drawn to the young worker who showed so many unspoken signs of superiorit}'. The natures of both, as the}" knew later, were timid and virgin, and subject to those fears which are pleasurable emotions to solitary minds. Without a sudden meeting between them at the moment of Lucien's present disaster per- 80 Great Man of tlu Provinces in Paris. haps the}' would never have come into personal com- munication. But now, as Lucien entered the rue des Gres, he saw the unknown worker returning from Sainte-Genevieve, at an unusual hour. " The library is closed, I do not know why, monsieur," he said. Tears were in Lucien's eyes at the moment. He thanked the student with a gesture more eloquent than words, — one of those gestures which, from 3'outh to youth, open instantly all hearts. They walked on side b}' side along the rue des Gres towards the rue de la Harpe. '' Then I shall go and walk in the Luxembourg," said Lucien. " When we have once come out it is hard to turn back to work." " Yes, we are no longer in the current of our ideas," said the other. " You seem distressed, monsieur." "A strange thing has just happened to me," said Lucien. He related his visit to Vidal and Porchon and that to the old publisher, and told of the proposals the latter had made to him ; he gave his name and added a few words as to his situation. For the last month he had spent sixty francs on food, thirty francs for lodging, twenty at the theatre, ten for the reading-room, — in all a hundred and twenty francs ; and only a hundred and twent}' now remained to him. "Monsieur." said his companion, "your history is mine and that of the thousand or twelve hundred other 3'oung men who annualh' come to Paris from the provinces. But we are not among the most unfortunate. Do you see that theatre?" he said, pointing to the roofs Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 81 of the Odeon. " One da}^ a man of talent came to live in the garret of one of those houses near the theatre. He was sunk in the depths of poverty ; he was married, — an asro-ravation of miserv which has not vet come to you or me, — married to a woman he loved ; addition- all}^ poor (or rich if you choose) in possessing two chil- dren ; overwhelmed with debt, but confident in his pen. He offered the Odeon a comed}' in five acts. It was accepted ; the comedians favored it ; the manager pressed on the rehearsals. The poor author, living in a garret wliich vou can see from here, exhausted his last resources in living through the period required to bring out his play ; his wife took her clothes to the pawn- shop ; the famil}' ate nothing but bread. The day of the last rehearsal, the evening before the first represen- tation, that starving household owed fifty francs to the baker, the milkman, the porter. The author had kept his necessar}' clothes from the pawn-shop, a coat, shirt, trousers, waistcoat and boots. Certain of success, he clasped his wife to his breast, telling her they had seen the last of their troubles. ' There is nothing now against us,' he cried. ' There is fire,' said his wife. 'Look, the theatre is burning ! ' Monsieur, the Ode'on •^as burned. Do not complain, therefore ; 3'ou have neither wife nor children ; you have a hundred and twenty francs in your pocket, and 3'ou owe no man any- thing. That play had a run of a hundred and twenty nights at the Theatre Louvois. The king gave a pen- sion to its author. As Buffon said. Genius is Patience. Patience is that which most resembles, in man, the process which Nature employs in her creations. What is Art, monsieur? It is Nature concentrated." 6 82 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. The two young men were walking about the Luxem- bourg. Lucien soon learned the name, afterwards famous, of the man who was trying to console him. He was Daniel d'Arthez, now among the most illus- trious writers of our da}^, and one of those rare beings wlio, in the beautiful words of the poet, present ^' the harmony of a noble talent with a noble soul." " No one can be a great man cheaply," said d'Arthez in his gentle voice. " Genius waters her work with tears. Talent is a moral being which, like all other beings, is subject to the maladies of childhood. Society rejects undeveloped talent just as nature re- moves her feeble or deformed creations. Whoever wishes to rise above his fellows must be prepared to struggle, and not recoil at difficult}'. A great writer is a mart3'r who does not die, — that 's the whole of it ! You have upon your brow the stamp of genius," con- tinued d'Arthez, casting a look upon his companion which seemed to envelop him, "but, if you have not will within j-our soul, if 3'ou have not angelic patience, if — at whatever distance from attainment the caprices of your fate may fling you — you cannot, like the tor- toise, return along the path towards your Infinite as the tortoise returns to its Ocean, then renounce, renounce to-day this career." "Are you, yourself, expecting tortures?" said Lucien. " Yes, trials of all sorts, — calumny, betrayal, injus- tice of rivals, the trickery, harshness, insolence of publishers. If your work is a fine one, what matters a first loss? " Will you read and judge my work?" said Lucien. (.i Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 83 " Yes," replied d'Arthez. "I live in the rue des Qnatre-Vents, in a house where one of the most illus- trious men and one of the greatest geniuses of our time, a phenomenon of science, Desplein, the great surgeon, endured his martyrdom in strugghng with the first difficulties of life and fame in Paris. The thought of Desplein gives me every night the dose of courage which I need every morning. I live in the very room where he ate, like Rousseau, bread and cherries, — but without Therese. Come there in an hour and I shall be at home." The two poets parted, pressing each others hand with an unspeakable effusion of melancholy tenderness. Lucien went to fetch his manuscript, Daniel d'Arthez to pawn his watch and bu}- two bundles of wood that his new friend might find a fire in his cold room. Lucien was punctual ; he found a house even less decent than the one he lived in, entered through a dark alle}^, at the end of which was the staircase. D'Arthez' room, on the fifth flour, had two wretched windows, between which stood a bookcase in blackened wood, full of ticketed paper boxes. A poor bedstead of painted wood, like those of schoolboys, a bedside table, and two armchairs covered with horsehair stood at the farther end of the room, the walls of which were cov- ered with checked paper stained by time and smoke. A long table piled with papers was placed between the fireplace and one of the windows. Opposite the fire- place was a miserable mahogany bureau. A shabby carpet covered the whole floor ; this necessary luxury lessened the need of fuel. Before the table stood a common office-chair covered with red sheep's-skin, 84 G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris, whitened by wear ; six other shabb}^ chairs completed the furniture. On the fireplace Lncien saw an old card-table candle- stick, with four wax candles, covered with a shade. Later, when he one day asked the meaning of such luxury in the midst of all other symptoms of direst poverty, d'Arthez answered that it was impossible for him to endure the smell of a tallow candle. This Httle circumstance shows the delicacy of his senses, — a sure indication of an exquisite sensibilit}'. The reading lasted seven hours. Daniel listened at- tentivel}', without saying a word or making an observa- tion, — one of the rarest proofs of good taste an author can give. " Well? " said Lucien, laying the manuscript on the fireplace. " You are in a good and noble path," answered the 3'Oung man, soberly, but your work should be done over again. If you do not wish to be a mere imitator of Walter Scott you must make for yourself another style, — for you have imitated him. You begin, like him, with a long conversation to introduce your characters ; when they have talked, you bring in description and action. This juxtaposition, which is necessary to all dramatic art, you employ last. Reverse the order of thino^s. Substitute for those diff'use conversations, which are fine in Scott but colorless with you, de- scriptions, to which our language vividly lends itself. Let dialogue be an expected consequence which crowns your preparation of description and action. Enter at once upon the action. Handle your subject first one way, then another ; grasp it by the head or the tail ; in Great Man of the Pr^ovinces m Paris, 85 short, vary your methods, don't be always the same. Walter Scott is without passion ; either he is ignorant of it, or tlie lij^pocritical morals of his nation forbid him the use of it. To him woman is duty incarnate. With rare exceptions his heroines are absolutely the same ; he has the matter-of-ftict formula for all of them. They proceed from Clarissa Harlowe ; reducing them to one idea he could not help making them of one tj'pe, varied of course, by a more or less vivid coloring. Woman has brought disorder into society through passion. Passion has an infinitude of aspects. Depict passions and you have immense resources, of which this great genius deprived himself that he might be read by the families of prudish England. In France, you find the charming faults and brilliant manners of Catholicism contrasting with the severe and gloom}' figures of Cal- vinism during the most passionate period of our historj'. But each authentic reign, from Charlemagne down, de- mands at least one work, — sometimes four or five ; es- pecially those of Louis XIV., Henri IV., and Frangois I. You might thus write the picturesque history or drama of all France, in which 3-ou could paint the costumes, furniture, houses, homes, private life itself, presenting at the same time the spirit of the age, instead of laborious^ narrating well-known facts. You have a means of being original, by correcting the popular errors which disfigure the memory of so man}' of our kings. Dare, for instance, in this first work of 3'ours, to por- tray the grand and magnificent figure of Catherine, which you have sacrificed to the prejudices which still hover round her. Paint Charles IX. as he was, and not as Protestant writers have made him. At the end 86 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. of ten years' toil and persistence 3'ou will have fame and fortune." It was now nine o'clock. Lucien imitated the secret generosity of his new friend by asking him to dine at Edon's, where he spent twelve francs. During this dinner d'Arth^z revealed the secret of his hopes and studies. He believed in no great, incomparable talent without a deep, a profound metaphysical knowledge. At the present moment he was culling the philosophic riches of ancient and modern times to assimilate them. He wished, like Moliere, to be a deep philosopher before making comedies. He studied the written world and the living world ; the thought and the fact. His friends were naturalists, 3'oung physicians, political writers, and artists, — serious men and studious, all of them full of promise. He lived by writing conscientious articles, poorly paid, for dictionaries, either biographic, encj'clo- pedic, or of natural sciences. He wrote neither more nor less than was necessary for his livelihood while following his real purpose. DArthez was also writing a work of imagination, undertaken solely to study the resources of the French language. This book, still unfinished, he took up and laid aside capriciously, re- serving it for days of great distress. It was a ps3'cho- logical stud}^ of deep import in the form of a novel. Though Daniel unfolded himself modestly he seemed gigantic to Lucien. By the time the}' left the restaurant, at eleven o'clock, Lucien was possessed b}' an ardent friendship for that virtue without vainglory, that roble nature so unconseiousl}' sublime. He did not discuss Daniel's advice, he followed it to the letter. His fine talent, already ripened b}- thought, accepted this criti- Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 87 cism, made for him and not for others, which opened to him the gates of a glorious palace of the imagina- tion. The lips of the provincial were touched with a live coal ; the words of the Parisian toiler found fruit- ful ground in the brain of the Angoiileme poet. Lucien recast his work. Jo3'ful in having met in the desert of Paris a heart which overflowed wiih generous sentiments in harmony with his own, the great man of the provinces did as all other 3'oung fellows who are hungry for affection do ; he fastened like a chronic malady on d'Arthez ; he called for him on his wa}' to the library ; he walked with him in the Luxembourg if the weather were fine ; he accompanied him home in the evening after dining beside him at Flicoteaux's ; in short, he hugged to him as closely as the soldiers of the Grand Army hugged each other on the frozen plains of Russia. During the first days of his acquaintance with Daniel, Lucien noticed with some mortification that his presence caused a cer- tain constraint among the friends who surrounded d'Arthez. The talk of these superior men, of whom Daniel spoke to him with suppressed enthusiasm, often seemed restrained within the limits of a reserve which was not in keeping with their evidenth' ardent friend- ship ; at such times Lucien would take his leave dis- creetl}^ feeling pained b}' the ostracism of which he was the object, and also goaded by the curiosit}" he felt as to these unknown persons, who were called b}' none but their baptismal names. All of them bore upon their foreheads, like d'Arthez, the stamp of some special genius. After certain secret oppositions, privatel}' overcome 88 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. by Daniel, Lucien was at last deemed worthy of admis- sion into this brotherhood of great minds. Henceforth he knew these men, united by the warmest sympathies and by the serious purposes of their intellectual lives, who met nearly every evening at d'Arthez's lodging. The}^ all foresaw in Daniel a great writer ; the}'' consid- ered him their leader ever since the loss of their first head, one of the most extraordinary geniuses of modern times, who, for reasons unnecessar}' to mention here, had returned to his life in the provinces, — a man whom Lucien often heard the others mention under the name of Louis. The reader will easil}' understand the interest and curiosity these various persons roused in the young poet's mind when we mention those who have since, like d'Arthez, achieved fame ; some others failed. (Jreat Man of the Provinces in Paris, 89 VI. THE BROTHERHOOD OP HEARTS AND MINDS. Among those who are still living was Horace Bian- chon, then a pupil at the Hotel-Dieu, since one of the lights of the Ecole cle Paris, and too well known now to make it necessary to describe his person or explain his character and the nature of his mind. Next to him came Leon Giraud, the profound philosopher, the bold theorist, who has probed all systems, expounded them, formulated them, judged them, and laid them at the feet of his idol, HUMANITY, — always grand, even in his er- rors, ennobled by sincerit3\ Intrepid toiler, conscien- tious scholar, he is now th^ leader of a school of social and moral philosophy on which time alone can pronounce judgment. If his convictions have turned his destin}' into regions foreign to those of his comrades, he is none the less their faithful friend. Art was represented b}^ Joseph Bridau, one of the best painters of the New School. Were it not for private troubles, to which his too impressionable nature condemned him, Joseph (whose final word is not 3'et said) might have continued the traditions of the old Italian Masters ; for his drawing is that of Rome and his coloring of Venice. But love has killed him ; it fills not his heart onl}-, but his brain ; it upsets his life and leads him to describe strange zigzags. If his mistress 90 G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. makes him too happy or too miserable Joseph sends to the Exposition either sketches in which the color smothers the design, or pictures, finished under the dis- tress of some imaginary grief, in which the drawing has so absorbed him that the color, which he handles at will, is not distinguishable. He constantly disappoints both the public and his friends. Hoffmann would have adored him for his bold innovations on the field of Art, for his whims, for his fanc}'. When he is quite himself he rouses admiration ; he enjoys it ; and is angrj^ when he receives no praise for his failures, in which the ej^es of his own soul see that which is absent for the eyes of the public. Capricious to the last degree, his friends have often seen him destro}^ a finished picture because he thought it too carefull}' worked up. " Too fiddling," he would sa}', " mere pupil work." Original, and some- times sublime, he has all the troubles and all the enjoy- ments of nervous temperaments in whom a desire for perfection often turns to disease. His spirit is com- panion to that of Sterne, — not, of course, in literary achievement. His sayings, his flashes of thought have unspeakable savor. He is eloquent and knows how to love his friends, though alwa3's with the natural caprice which he puts into his feelings as he does into his work. He was dear to the brotherhood for precisely that which the commonplace world would have called his defects. Next we have Fulgence Ridal, one of the few writers of our day who are highl}^ gifted with the comic view ; a poet IndiflTerent to fame, tossing to the theatres his commonest productions, and keeping in the harem of his own mind, for himself and for his friends, his choi- cest scenes ; asking nothing from the public but the Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 91 necessary money to maintain his independence, and do- ing no more work when that was attained. Lazy, j'et prolific as Rossini, compelled, like all the great comic poets, like Moliere and Rabelais, to consider ever}'- thing on the side of the pro and against the co^itra, he was sceptical, he could laugh and he did laugh at everything. Fulgence Ridal is a great practical phi- losopher ; but his science of society, his genius of ob- serv^ation, his contempt for fame have by no means withered his heart. As active for others as he is in- dolent for himself, when he does make a move it is always for a friend. Not to give the lie to his outward man which is truly Rabelaisian, he neither dislikes good living nor does he seek it ; he is both grave and mirth- ful. His friends used to call him '' the dog of the regiment," and the name suits him well. Three others, quite as remarkable as the four now sketched in profile, were fated to succumb in the battle of life : Mej'raux first, who died after exciting the famous dispute between Cuvier and Geoffroy-Sainte- Hilaire on the great question which divided the scien- tific world between those rival geniuses some months before the death of the one who held to close analytic science, against the pantheism of the other, who still lives and whom Germany reveres. Meyraux was the special friend of Louis Lambert, who was soon to be torn from the world of intellect b}' a premature death. To these two men, each marked for untimeh' death, both to-day obscure in spite of the vast reachings of their knowledge and of their genius, we must add Michel Chrestien, a republican of broad views, who dreamed of a reconstructed Europe, and who in 1830 92 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. counted for much in the moral movement of the Saint- Siraonians. A politician of the stripe of Saint-Just and Danton, but simple and gentle as a girl, full of illusions, full of love, gifted with a melodious voice that would have ravished Mozart, Weber, or Rossini, and sing- ing certain songs of Beranger in a way to intoxicate a heart of poes}', love, and hope, — Michel Chrestien, poor as Lucien, as Daniel, as all his friends, earned his living with the indifference of a Diogenes. He made tables of contents for great works, prospectuses for pub- lishers, keeping silence about his real opinions, as the grave is silent on the secrets of death. This ga}' bohemian of intellect, this great mute statesman, who might perhaps have changed the face of the world, died, a simple soldier, in the cloister of Saint-Merri. The ball of a shopkeeper sent out of life one of the noblest creatures that ever trod the soil of France. Michel Chrestien perished for other doctrines than his own. His ideal federation threatened European aristocracy far more than the republican propaganda ever did ; it was more rational, less wild, than the shocking ideas of indefinite libertj- proclaimed by those young madmen who thought themselves the heirs of the Convention. This noble plebeian was mourned b}' all who knew him ; none have ceased to think, and think often, of this great and hidden statesman. These nine men formed a brotherhood in which es- teem and friendship caused peace and good-will to reign among ideas and doctrines that were utterly- opposed to each other. Daniel d'Arthez, a man of rank from Picard}', held to monarchy with a conviction equal to that of Michel Chrestien for his European federalism. Great Man of the Provinces iyi Paris. 93 Fiilgence Ridal laughed at the philosophical doctrines of Leon Giraud, who himself predicted to d'Arthez the end of Christianity and also of the Family. Michel Chrestien, who believed in the religion of Christ, the divine law-giver of Equalit}-, defended the immortality of the soul against the scalpel of Bianchon the analyst. The}' all argued and discussed, but never disputed. They had no vanit}', being their own audience. They talked of their work and consulted each other with the adorable sincerity of youth. Was it a matter of serious moment? then the opposer abandoned his own views to enter into the thoughts of his friend, — all the more qualified to help because he was impartial in a cause, or in a work, which was foreign to his own ideas. Nearly all these brethren were gentle and tolerant in spirit ; two qualities wliich proved their superiorit}' . Envy, that horrible record-office of hopes deceived, talents miscarried, successes foiled, pretensions wounded, was unknown to them. All, moreover, were following different paths. Thus it was that those who were admitted, like Lu- cien, to this brotherhood felt at their ease. True talent is always frank, hearty, open, never stiff; its wit and epigram delight the mind, and are not directed against self-esteem. When the first emotion of respectful diffi- dence passed off, nothing remained but infinite pleasure in the companionship of these fine 3'oung men. Famil- iarity did not exclude the sense that each had his own value ; every man felt a deep respect for his neighbor ; therefore each, feeling the power within him to be either the benefactor or the one benefited, accepted kindnesses from his neighbor without demur. Their conversations, 94 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. full of charm and never flagging, covered the most varied subjects. Winged like arrows, their words flew to their point, and flew fast. Great external ix)verty and the splendor of intellectual w^ealth>produces a singular con- trast. Among these friends, none thought of the hard realities of life unless to make amicable jokes upon them. One da}' when the cold had set in unexpectedly^ five of d'Arthez' friends, each prompted b}' the same thought, arrived with an armful of wood under their cloaks, as often happens at picnics, where each guest is asked to bring a dish, and they all bring pates. Gifted with that moral beauty which reacts upon form, and which, not less than toil and midnight stud}', gilds 3'oung faces with a tint divine, each of these friends had marked and rather haggard features, which the purit}' of their lives and the fire of thought composed and sanctified. Their foreheads were noticeable for poetic breadth. Their eager, brilliant eyes revealed a life un- stained. The suff'erings of poverty, when felt, were so gayl}' borne, so heartil}' accepted, that the}' did not change the serenity characteristic of the faces of young men who are still guiltless of grave w^-ong, who have not belittled themselves by any of those base compro- mises to which poverty, ill-endured, tempts youth — the longing for success through any means whatever, fair or foul, or the facile compliance with which so many literary men either welcome or pardon treachery. That which makes such friendships among men indis- soluble, and doubles their charm, is a sentiment which can never belong to love, — namely, security. These young men were sure of themselves ; the enemy of one was the enemy of all ; they w^ould have ruined their own Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 95 most urgent interests to obey the sacred solidarity of their souls. Incapable of baseness, each could pro- nounce a formidable " No ! " to every accusation against the others ; he knew he might securel}' defend them. Equals in nobility of heart, equals in strength of feel- ing, they could think all and say all to each other on the common ground of science and of intellect ; hence the candor of their intercourse, the ga3'ety of their speech. Certain of understanding each other, their minds could ramble as the}' pleased ; they kept nothing back, neither their hopes and fears, nor their griefs and joys ; they thought and suffered with open hearts. The precious delicac}" which makes the well-known fable of the " Two Friends" a treasure to fine souls, was ha- bitual with them. Their reluctance to admit an untried new-comer into their sphere can be readily understood. They were too well aware of the happiness and lofti- ness of their intercourse to risk its being troubled by new and unknown elements. This federation of feelings and interests lasted with- out jar or disappointment for twenty years. Death, which first took Louis Lambert, Me3'raux, and Michel Chrestien, alone had power to disperse this noble pleiades. When, in 1832, Michel Chrestien fell, Horace Bianchon, Daniel d'Arthez, Leon Giraud, Joseph Bridau, and Fulgence Ridal went, in spite of the danger of such a step, and recovered his body at Saint-Merri, to pay it their last honor in the face of burning Politics. They took the dear remains to P^re-Lachaise b}' night. Horace Bianchon faced all difficulties and yielded to none ; he im- plored the sanction of the ministers, telling them of his long friendship for the dead Federalist. That burial was 96 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. a scene deep-graven in the memoiy of the friends, and the}^ were few in number, who surrounded the five al- readj' celebrated men who prepared it. As you walk through that beautiful cemeter}', you ma}' see a spot, bought a per2^etuite^ where a grassed grave lies, and at its head a black wooden cross on which is marked a name in scarlet letters, Michel Chrestien. It is the onl}^ monument of its kind. The five friends thought they could best do homage to that simple man b}' such simplicit}'. Here, then, in this cold attic-room, the noblest aspira- tions of feeling were realized. There these brothers in love, all equall}' strong in their different departments of knowledge, all tested as hy fire in the crucible of pov- erty, enlightened each other mutualh^ in simple good faith, telling their every thought, even their worst. Once admitted to the friendship of these choice souls and ac- cepted as an equal, Lucien stood among them for poesy and beauty. He read them his sonnets, and the}' ad- mired them. The}' would ask him for a sonnet as he would ask Michel Chrestien to sing a song. In the desert of Paris Lucien found an oasis in the rue des Quatre-Vents. At the beginning of October, Lucien, having spent his last penny in buying a small supply of wood, was without resources in the midst of his most ardent toil, that of remodelling his book. Daniel d'Arthez burned peat, and bore his poverty heroically ; he never com- plained ; he was careful as an old maid and methodical as a miser. Such courage excited that of Lucien, who, lately admitted to the brotherhood, felt an invincible re- pugnance to speak of his distress. One morning he went Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 97 as far as the rue du Coq to sell " The Archer of Charles IX." to Doguereau, but did not find him. Lucien did not 3^et understand the comprehension of great minds. Each of his new friends was fully able to conceive the weakness of the poetic nature, the depression that must follow the efforts of a soul over-excited b\' the topics it was his mission to reproduce. These men, so strong to bear their own troubles, were tender to those of Lu- cien. Thev discovered liis want of means. After a restful evening of talk, and meditation, and poes}-, of flights with outspread wings through the regions of in- tellect, the future of nations, the domain of histor}', the brotherhood crowned their da}' by an act which will show in its sequel how little Lucien had really under- stood his new friends. "Lucien, my friend," said Daniel, "you did not come to dinner at Flicoteaux's, and we all know why." Lucien could not restrain the tears which came into his e3'es. "You've lacked confidence in us," said Michel Chrestien, " we shall score that up, and — " "We have all," said Bianchon, " found some extra work : I have been taking care of a rich patient for Desplein, d'Arthez got an article to write for the * Encyclopedic ; ' Chrestien was starting one evening to sing in the Champs Elyse'es with a handkerchief and four candles, when he got a pamphlet to write for a man who pretends to be a statesman, and wanted six hun- dred francs' worth of Machiavelli ; Leon Giraud has borrowed fifty francs of his publisher ; Joseph sold some sketches ; and Fulgence got his play acted Sunday to a full house." 7 98 Gri'eat 3Ian of the Proviiices in Paris. "And here are two hundred francs," said Daniel; "accept them, and don't let us have to scold you again ! " "I do believe he wants to hug us," said Chrestien, " as if we had done something extraordinarj' ! " To fully understand Lucien's feelings in the midst of this living encyclopedia of 3'oung minds, all of diverse originality and all equally generous, we must here give the answers which Lucien received the following day from his brother-in-law, his sister, and his mother, in repl}' to a letter written b}' him to his family, — a masterpiece of sensibilit}' and good intentions, but a dreadful cr}' drawn from him by his pecuniary distress. My dear Lucien (wrote David Sechard), — You will find inclosed a draft at ninety days to your order for two hundred francs. You can negotiate it with Monsieur Metivier, paper-maker, rue Serpente, who is our correspondent in Paris. My dear brother, we have absolutely nothing. My wife has taken charge of the printing-office, and does her task with a devotion, a patience, a business activity which make me bless heaven daily for having given me such an angel. She said it was impossible to send you the help you need. But, my dear friend, I think you are in so right a road, and have chosen such noble companions, that you cannot fail of your destiny. Therefore, unknown to Eve, I send you this draft, which I will find means of paying when it falls due. Do not abandon the path you are in ; it is hard, but it will be glorious. I would rather suffer a hundred evils than have you fall into any of those Parisian mud-holes I have known of. Have the com^age to avoid, as you have already done, bad places and bad friends, also heedless minds and a certain class of literary men whom I learned to estimate at their true value Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, 99 during my stay in Paris. Be the worthy emulator of the noble souls of whom you tell me, — d' Arthez, Chrestien, Giraud, who, for the future, will be dear to me also. Such a course cannot fail to be soon rewarded. Adieu, my dearly-beloved brother. Your letter delights my heart, for I did not expect of you such courage. David. My dear Lucien (wrote his sister, less cheerfully), — Your letter made us weep. Tell those noble friends towards whom your guardian angel led you that a mother and a sister pray for them. Yes, their names are engraved upon my heart ; I hope I may some day see them. Here, my dear brother, we are working like laborers. My husband, that great unrecognized soul, whom I love daily more and more as I hourly discover new riches in his heart, has neglected the printing-office, and I know why. Your poverty, and mine, and the mother's cut him to the heart. Our dear David is like Prometheus gnawed by the vulture, a bitter grief with a sharp beak. As for himself, the noble man ! he never thinks of self, and yet he aspires to a fortune — for our sakes ! He spends his whole time in experiments for making paper ; and he has asked me to take his place in managing the printing-office, where he helps me as much as his absorbing occupations will allow. But alas ! I am preg- nant. That event, which might have crowned me with joy, fills me with dread in the situation in which we now are. My mother has renewed her youth, and found streng-th for the fatiguing duties of monthly nursing. If it were not for the anxieties of money, we should be so happy. Old Monsieur Sechard will not give a farthing to his son. David went to see him and tried to borrow a small sum to help you in your present necessity, for your letter distressed him greatly, but the old man said : " I know Lucien ; he '11 have his head turned, and commit follies." 100 Great Ma7i of the Pi'ovinces in Paris. My mother and I, without David's knowledge, have pawned a few things, which my mother will redeem as soon as she earns the money. We have thus collected a hundred francs, which I send you by coach. K I did not answer your first letter d o not be vexed with me, dear friend. We were then sitting up all night, and I was working like a man ; I did not know I had such strength. Madame de Bargeton is a woman without heart or soul ; she owed it to herself, even if she loved you no longer, to protect and help you after tearing you from us and flinging you into that horrible Parisian ocean, where it is only by the mercy of God that you have found true friends amid the flood of men and selfish interests. She is not to be regretted. I have wished you had some devoted woman near you, — another myself ; but now that I know you have such friends, I am satisfied. Spread your wings, my beautiful loved genius ! you will yet be our glory as you are our love. Your Eve. My darling Child, — After all that your sister has said I have only to add my blessing, and tell you that my thoughts and prayers are filled with you, — alas ! to the detri- ment, I fear, of those about me ; in some hearts the absent are always present, — it is so with mine. Your Mother. Thus it happened that Lucieii was able, two days later, to return the loan his friends had so gracefully made him. Never, perhaps, had he felt more inward pride ; and the elation of his self-satisfaction did not escape the searching ej'es of his friends and their delicate sensibilities. " One would think 3'ou had a horror of owing us anything," cried Fulgence. G-reat Man of the Provinces An Paris. 101 "The satisfaction he shows is very serious to 1113' ej^es," said Michel Chrestien ; " it confrms an cbser^^a- tiori I have ah-eady made ; Lucien has a great deal of vanit3\" " He is a poet," said d'Arthez. " Wh}' are you vexed that 1 should have such a nat- ural feeling?" asked Lucien. "We ought to give him credit for not hiding it," said Leon Giraud ; "he is still frank, but I am afraid he will some da}' avoid us." "Why?" asked Lucien. "Because w^e read ^-our heart," replied Joseph Bridau. " You have a diabolical spirit," said Michel Chrestien, " which makes you justify to 3'our own mind a thing quite contrar}^ to our principles ; instead of being a sophist in ideas, 3'ou are a sophist in action." " On what do 3'ou base that charge?" said Lucien. " Your vanit3', m3' dear poet, which is so great that 3'ou bring it into your friendships," said Fulgence. '• All vanit3^ of that kind is shocking egotism, and ego- tism poisons friendship." " Good heavens ! " cried Lucien, " 3'ou don't under- stand how trul3' I love you." "If 3'ou loved us as we love each other, would 3'ou have made such haste and shown such eagerness in pa3'ing back the mone3^ we had so much pleasure in giving 3' on ? " " We never lend here, we give things outright," said Joseph Bridau, brusquel3'. " Don't think us ver3' brutal, dear boy," said Michel Chrestien, '• we are onl3' far-seeing. AVe are afraid the 102 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, dav mav come when vou will prefer to shake us off rr/ther than owe a^^iN'thing to pure friendship. Read Goethe's Tasso, — the finest work of his fine genius ; there you will see how the poet loved brilliant stuffs and festivals, and triumphs, and all that dazzled him. "Well, do 3^ou be Tasso without his folly. If the world and its pleasures call to you, stay here with us. Put into the region of ideas the emotions you would spend upon the vanities of life. Make 3'our actions virtuous ; keep the evil of life for your thoughts ; and beware, as d'Arthez told 3'ou, of thinking right and doing ill." Lucien bowed his head ; he knew his friends were right. " I admit I am not as strong as you all are," he said, with an adorable look. "I have neither the shoulders nor the loins to wrestle with Paris or bear up bravely. Nature has given us different temperaments and dif- ferent faculties ; vou can see as I cannot both sides of vice and virtue. For my part, I am already tired out ; and I tell you so frankly." "We will support 3"0u," said d'Arthez; "that is exactly what faithful friends are made for." "The help I have just received is accidental," con- tinued Lucien ; " we are all poor together. I shall soon be in want again. Chrestien has no influence with publishers ; Bianchon, too, is outside of the business. D'Arthez knows onl3' the scientific houses, or the spe- cialists who have nothing to do with the publication of light literature. Leon, Fulgence and Bridau work in a line of ideas which are leagues awa3' from publishers. No ; I must decide upon a course, — I must find some career." Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. lOS '• Keep to ours and suffer," said Bianclion ; " suffer bravel}' and trust to toil." " What is suffering to you is death to me," said Lu- cien, hastily. " Before the cock crows thrice,'' said Leon Giraud, smilins-, " he will betray the cause of toil and take to indolence and vice." "What has toil done for 3'ou?" asked Lucien, laughing. " Rome is not half-way between Paris and Ital}'," said Joseph Bridau. " You expect your spring peas to ripen read}^ cooked." - "They only do that for the sons of peers of France," said Michel Chrestien. ''As for us, we have to sow them, and water them, but they taste all the better for that." The conversation now turned pleasantly to other sub- jects. These delicate hearts and keen minds tried to make Lucien forget the little quarrel; he had learned, however, that it would be difficult indeed to mislead them. Before long an inward despair took possession of him, but he carefully hid it from the brethren, implaca- ble mentors as they now seemed to him. His Southern nature, which plaj-ed so easil}' upon the ke3'board of sentiments, led him to make various contradictory res- olutions. Several times he dropped hints of entering journaUsm, but when he did so his friends would all cry out : " Beware of that ! " " It would be the grave of the beautiful, poetic Lu- cien whom we know and love," said d'Arthez. " You are not strong enough to resist the alterna- 1 04 G-reat Man of tJie Provinces in Paris. tions of work and pleasure in the life of journalists ; such resistance comes from the very depths of virtue. You would be so deHghted to exercise such power, a power of hfe and death over the works of thought, that 3'ou could make yourself an accomplished journalist in a couple of months. Once a journalist, and 3'ou are proconsul in the republic of letters. He who can say all will do all, — that was Napoleon's own maxim ; and it is easily interpreted." " But I shall always be near 3'ou," said Lucien. " No, indeed," cried Fulgence ; " we shall count for nothing then. When you are a journalist you will think no more of us than a brilliant, idolized opera- girl in her silk-lined carriage thinks of her village, her cows, and her wooden shoes. As it is, you have too many of a journalist's requirements ; you have all his brillianc}^ and suddenness of thought ; 3'Ou would never repress a witt}^ saying, however much it might cut a friend. I know what journalists are ; I see them at the theatre and they shock me. Journalism is hell, — a pit of iniquity, falsehood, treachery, which no one can cross and no one can leave with a pure soul, — unless it be Dante under protection of Virgil's laurel." The more the brotherhood warned him against this course, the more Lucien's desire to know its perils tempted him to risk them ; and he began to discuss the question seriousl}'' with himself: Was it not ridiculous to allow distress to overtake him without attempting in this way to avoid it? His unsuccessful efforts in behalf of his first book made him reluctant to begin another. Besides, how could he live during the time it would take to write it? One month's privation had exhausted his Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 105 supply of patience. Wh}- could not he do nobly what journalists did ignobly, without conscience or dignity? His friends insulted him by their want of trust; he would prove to them his strength of character. Besides, he might soon be able to help them and be the herald of their fame. ' ' What is friendship worth if it shrinks from a man under any circumstances ? " he said one night to Michel Chrestien, having walked home with him in company with Leon Giraud. " Our friendship would shrink from nothing," replied Chrestien. " If you were so unfortunate as to kill your mistress I would help you to hide the crime, and I might perhaps esteem you the more for it ; but if you made yourself a spy I would avoid you with horror, for you would then be deliberately base and infamous, — and that is journalism described in two words. Friendship pardons error, the unreflecting act of passion ; but it ought to be implacable to those who deliberately traffic on their souls, their minds, their thought." "Why cannot I make myself a journalist merel}' to sell my own novels and poems, and give up journalism when I have once made m3'self a name?" " Machiavelli could do that, but. not Lucien de Rubempre," said Leon Giraud. '' Ha! " cried Lucien, "I'll prove to you that I am better than Machiavelli ! " "There!" exclaimed Michel, seizing Leon b}' the shoulder, "you have driven him into it! Lucien," he went on, " you have three hundred francs now ; that is enough to live on comfortably for three months ; well, then, go to work ; write a second novel ; d'Arthez and 106 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. Fulgence will help you with the plot ; you will improve, you have the makings of a novelist in 3'ou. While 3'ou do that I will go m3'self into one of those lupanars of thought ; I '11 make m3'self a journalist for six months and sell 3'our next book to a publisher by attacking his publications ; I '11 write articles and get them written for 3'OU ; we '11 organize a success ; you shall be a great man and still remain our Lucien." ' ' Then 3'ou despise me so much that you think I should fail where you would succeed?" said the poet. ' ' Good God, forgive him ! what a child he is ! " cried Chrestien. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 107 VII. EXTERNALS OP JOURNALISM. LuciEN had, meanwhile, studied the wit and the character of the articles in the petits journaux. Satis- fied that he was fully the equal of the cleverest of their writers, he practised their gymnastics of thought in secret until, at last, he set out one fine morning with the full determination of taking service under some colonel of what we may call the Light Brigade of the Press. He dressed himself in his best, and reflected, as he crossed the bridges, that authors, journalists, writers, in short, his brethren of the pen, would certainl}' be more disinterested and would show him more considera- tion than the two species of publisher who had hitherto crushed his hopes. He could not, he thought, fail to meet with S3'mpath3\ perhaps afi'ection, such as the fraternit}' in the rue Quatre-Vents had already given him. Filled with such thoughts and the emotions of pre- sentiment not yet distrusted, — a species of emotion dear to all men of imagination, — he reached the rue Saint-Fiacre, near the boulevard Montmartre, and stood at last before a house in which were the oflflces of a petit journal, with as much trepidation as a 3'oung man feels on entering a place of ill-repute. Nevertheless, he went up the stairs to the entresol, where the ofitices 108 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, were. In the first room, divided into two equal parts b}' a partition partly of wood and partly of wire grating which reached to the ceiling, he found a one-armed sol- dier, who was holding several reams of paper on his head with his one hand, and the certificate required by the Stamp office between his teeth. This poor man, whose face was yellow and mottled with red spots (which earned him the name of Coloquinte), motioned Lucien to the cerberus of the newspaper, who was behind the partition. This personage was an old officer wearing a decoration, his nose enveloped in a gray moustache, a black silk cap on his head, and he himself buried in an ample blue overcoat, like a tortoise within its shell. " On what day does monsieur wish his subscription to begin? " asked the officer. *' I have not come to subscribe," replied Lucien. The poet looked at the door opposite to the one by which he had entered and read the words : " Editorial Office," and underneath them the further legend, " The public not admitted.'* " A remonstrance, no doubt," resumed the soldier of Napoleon. " Well, yes, we certainly were rather hard on Mariette, — I don't even know why as yet ; but if 3^ou want satisfaction I am ready," he added, glancing at a row of foils and pistols, — a warlike array set up, like a stand of arms, in a corner. " Nothing of the kind, monsieur," said Lucien. " I came to speak to the editor-in-chief." ' ' No one is ever here till four o'clock." " I sa}', old Giroudeau, I 've done eleven columns ; a hundred sous apiece makes fifty-five francs ; and you 've Great 3Ian of the Provinces in Paris, 109 onh' given me fort}- ; therefore, as I was saying, 3-011 still owe me fifteen." These words came from a pinched little face, trans- parent as the half-boiled white of an egg, lighted by a pair of blue e3'es that were terrifying in their malig- nancy', — a face belonging to a thin 3'oung man hidden behind the opaque bod}' of the old officer. The voice rasped Lucien ; it was something between the mewing of cats and the asthmatic strangulation of h^'cnas. " Yes, 3'es, m}' little man," said the officer, '' but 3'ou are counting titles and blank spaces, and I have Finot's orders to add up the total of the lines and divide them b3' the number required for each column. Having per- formed that constricting operation on 3'our cop3' I make 3'ou out three columns short." " Does n't pa3^ for blanks ! the Jew ! — but he counts them to his partner in the price of the whole edition. I shall go and see Etienne Lousteau, Vernou — " "I can't disobey' orders, m3' bo3'," said the officer. '' What nonsense to cr3^ out against 3-our wetnurse for fifteen francs, — 3'ou who can write articles as easil3' as I can smoke a cigar. Treat your friends to one less bowl of punch, or win an extra game of billiards, and that will square you." " Finot is making savings which shall cost him dear," said the journalist, departing. " Monsieur," said Lucien, " I will return at four o'clock." " Bless me," thought the cashier, looking at Lucien ; " one might think him Rousseau or Voltaire." During the discussion, Lucien, standing b3-, had no- ticed on the walls portraits of Benjamin Constant, Gen- 110 G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. era! Fov, and the seventeen illustrious orators of the Liberal part}', mingled with various caricatures against the government. He had looked with special interest at the door of the sanctuar}', where the witty sheet that amused him dail}' and enjoyed the right of ridiculing kings and solemn events and of turning things upside down with a clever saving, was elaborated. He now departed to saunter along the boulevards, — a novel pleasure, but so attractive that the hands of the clocks in the watch-makers' windows pointed to four before he remembered that he had not been to breakfast. Then be rapidly retraced his steps to the rue Saint-Fiacre, ran upstairs, opened the door, and found no one but the one-armed soldier, sitting on the stamped paper and eating a crust of bread ; evi- dently on sentr\'-duty for the newspaper, as in former days in barracks. Seeing him thus employed, the bold thought occurred to Lucien to pass this war}' sentinel. He therefore pulled his hat over his eyes and opened the door of the sanctuar}' as though he had the run of the house. The sacred precincts presented to his eager eyes a round table covered with a green cloth, and six cherry-wood chairs with straw seats that were still good. The brick floor had been colored but not 3'et polished ; still it was clean, a proof that the public did not frequent the place. On the fireplace was a mirror, a common shop-clock covered with dust, two candle- sticks with two tallow candles crookedl}' stuck into them, and a few scattered visitincf-cards. On the table lay a heap of old newspapers round an inkstand adorned with crowquills, on which dried inkspots looked like lacquer. There, too, he saw a number of articles G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. Ill written in an illegible almost hieroglyphic hand, torn across the top b}- the compositors in the printing-room, a sign b}' which to know the pages already set up. Here and there Lucien saw and admired certain clever caricatures drawn on wrapping-paper, no doubt by per- sons who were trying to kill time b}' killing anything else that came to hand. On a sheet of pale-green paper were pinned nine pen-and-ink drawings ridiculing *' The Solitary." — a book then much in vosfue through- out Europe. On the margin of a newspaper Lucien perceived a drawing signed b}' a name that was after- wards to become famous but never illustrious, repre- senting a journalist holding out his hat, and underneath was written : " Finot, my hundred francs? " Between the fireplace and the window was a tall desk, a ma- hogany arm-chair, a waste-paper basket, and a long rug, all covered with a thick layer of dust. The win- dows had small curtains. On the top of the desk la}' about twent}' books, engravings, sheets of music, snuff- boxes a la Charte, the ninth edition of " The Solitary," (the current joke of the day) and a dozen sealed letters. When Lucien had taken an inventor}' of this queer furniture and made his reflections upon it, he went back to the one-armed soldier, intending to question him. Coloquinte had finished his crust and was waiting with the patience of a sentinel for the return of the old oflScer, who was perhaps taking a walk on the boulevard. Just then a woman appeared in the doorway, having announced her cominoj bv the rustle of a dress on the stairwa}' and the light feminine footfall so easily recog- nized. She was rather prett}-. 112 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. " Monsieur," she said to Lucien, " I know why ^'ou praise those bonnets of Mademoiselle Virginie, and I have come to subscribe for a year ; but tell me first what conditions she makes/'' " Madame," replied Lucien, " I do not belong to this ?j newspaper " Ah I " '^ Do ,you subscribe from this date ? '' inquired the one-armed man. "What may madame want?" said the old officer reappearing. The handsome milliner turned to him and they had a conference. When Lucien, growing impatient, re- entered the front room he heard their final words : — "I shall be dehghted, monsieur; Mademoiselle Florentine may come to my shop and choose what she likes. I keep ribbons. So it is all understood, is n't it? You are not to sa}' anything more about Mademoiselle Virginie, — a bungler ! incapable of producing a shape ! whereas I am really an inventor." Here Lucien heard the jingle of coins as thej- fell into a drawer ; then the officer sat down to make up his daily accounts. " Monsieur, I have been here over an hour," said the poet, somewhat displeased. " They have n't come," said the Napoleonic veteran, manifesting a polite regret. " I am not surprised. It is some time since I have seen them. It is the middle of the month, and they onl}' come, those fellows, about pay-day, — the 29th or 30th." " But Monsieur Finot? " said Lucien, who now knew the name of the editor-in-chief. Great Man of the Provinces iyi Paris, 113 " He is at home, rue Feydeau. Coloquintej old man, take him all that has come in to-day when you carry the paper to the printing-office." '' Where is the work of the newspaper realh' done ? " said Lucien, as if speaking to himself. "The newspaper?" said the officer, "the news- paper? — broum ! broum ! Look here, old man, be at the printing-office to-morrow at six, and keep some order among the newsboys, will you? The work of the newspaper, monsieur, is done in the streets, in the writers' houses, in the printing-room between eleven and twelve o'clock at night. In the old days of the Emperor, monsieur, these shops for wasting paper did n't exist. Ha ! he 'd have cleared them out with a corporal's guard; he'd never have let 'em gibe him, like ceux-ci. Ah, well, no use talking ! If m}- nephew finds it profitable to write for the son of T autre — broum ! broum ! wiiat matter ? where 's the harm ? However, to-day subscribers don't seem to be coming in a solid phalanx, so I shall shut up and depart." "Monsieur," said Lucien, " 3'ou seem to me to be well-inforrhed as to the editing of a newspaper?" "Under its financial aspect, broum! broum!" said the old officer, disposing of the phlegm that was in his throat. " According to talent, five or three francs a column, fifty lines of forty letters, no blanks, — that 's what I know. As for the editors and reporters, thej^ are queer scamps, fellows I would n't have kept in my troop ; 3'oung fools who because they can dabble ink over paper affect to despise an old captain of the Im- perial guard, a brevet major, who entered every capital of Europe with Napoleon." 8 114 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, Lucien, feeling himself elbowed towards the door by the soldier of Napoleon, who was all the while brushing his blue coat with the manifest intention of leaving the place, had the courage to make a stand. " I have come to be a writer on the paper," he said, " and I assure 3"ou I have the deepest respect for the captains of the Imperial guard, those men of iron." " Well said, my little civilian," cried the officer, poking Lucien in the ribs. " But what class of writer do you want to be ? " continued the old veteran, slipping past Lucien and down the stairs to the porter's lodge, where he stopped to light his cigar. " If any sub- scribers come, Mere Chollet, take the money and make a note of it. Subscriptions ! always subscriptions ; I know nothing else," he said, turning to Lucien who had followed him. " Finot is m}^ nephew, — the only one of ray familj' who has done an3'thing to help me. There- fore, whoever quarrels with Finot will have to do with old Giroudeau, captain of the dragoons of the Guard, once a plain trooper in the army of the Sambre-et-Meuse, five 3'ears fencing-master to the First Huzzars, Arm}' of Italy. One — two — and the grumbler is in Hades ! " he added, making a pass. " Now, m}* little man, we have different sorts of editors and reporters : there's the edi- tor who edits and gets his pay ; and the editor who edits and does n't get any pa}', — we call him the volunteer ; and besides these, there 's the editor who does n't edit (lucky for him, for he can't make blunders) ; this kind writes, he 's a journalist, he invites us to dinner, he hangs about the theatres, keeps an actress, and makes himself happ}-. Which khid do 3-ou want to be? " " Wh}', the writer who is well paid." Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, 115 " Yes, yon are like all recruits, who want to be mar- shals of France. Now, you take the advice of old Giroudeau, — to the right about, march! better pick rags in the gutter for a living. There 's that 3'oung fellow you saw this morning ; he has earned only fort}' francs this month, and Finot thinks him the wittiest man on the staff; will you do any better? " *' When you enlisted in the Sambre-et-Meuse did no one warn you of danger?" "Of course they did." " Well, I am not afraid." " Very good ; then go and see my nephew Finot, a good fellow, the best of fellows if you can catch him, but sHppery as an eel ; alwaj's on the go. His business, you see, is not to write, but to make others wa-ite, and it seems to me his troopers would rather be dangling after actresses than blotting paper. Oh, 3'es, as I sa}', the}^ are a queer lot ! I have the honor to wish you good-day." So saying the veteran twirled a formidable leaded cane, a weapon worthy of Germanicus, and left Lucien standing on the boulevard as stupefied by this presenta- tion of journalism as he had been by the definite results of literature brought to his knowledge at Vidal and Porchon's. Ten times did Lucien call on Andoche Finot, editor- in-chief, at his house in the rue Fe^'deau, without finding him. If it was earh' morning Finot had not come home ; at mid-da}' Finot was out, breakfasting, it was said, at a certain cafe. At the cafe, whither Lucien betook himself to inquire for the editor with extreme reluctance, Finot had just departed. Finally, 116 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, worn-out and disheartened, Lucien began to regard Finot as an apocrjphal, even fabulous personage ; and he thought his best chance la^^ in watching for Etienne Lousteau at Flicoteaux's. That 3'oung journalist might be able to explain to him the mastery which seemed to hang about the paper on which he was emploj'ed. Since the day, the blessed day, when Lucien had made the acquaintance of Daniel d'Arthez he had changed his seat at Flicoteaux's ; the two friends dined together side by side, talking in a low voice of litera- ture, of subjects to take up, of methods of treatment and development. At this particular time Daniel d'Arthez was correcting the revised manuscript of "The Archer of Charles IX. ; " he had even written some of the finest pages, and a noble preface, which does in fact excel the book, and throws a strong light on the dawning literature of the da}'. One afternoon, just as Lucien was about to sit down in his usual place by Daniel, who had waited for him, he saw Etienne Lousteau in the doorway. Instantly he let go Daniel's hand which he had taken, and told the waiter he would dine in his former place near the coynp- toir. D'Arthez gave Lucien one of those angelic looks in which forgiveness mingled with reproach, and so touched the poet's heart that he cauglit up Daniel's hand once more and pressed it. " It is on a matter of great importance to me ; I will tell 3'ou about it later," he said. Lucien had taken his old place by the time Lousteau was in his. He was the first to bow and open the con- versation, which made such rapid strides that before Lousteau finished his dinner Lucien had gone to his G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 117 lodgings to fetch the manuscript of the "Daisies." The journalist had consented to listen to the sonnets^ and Lucien relied upon that outward show of cordiality to obtain a footing on the newspaper, and perhaps a publisher. As he returned, he noticed the sad look which Daniel, sittmg with his head in his hand, gave him ; but, weary of povert}^ and lashed by ambition, he pretended not to see his true friend, and followed Lousteau. It was towards evening, and the pair, the journalist and the neophyte, seated themselves under the trees in that part of the Luxembourg which lies between the avenue of the Observatoire and the rue de I'Ouest. The latter was then a long, mudd}^ road beside a marsh, and so little frequented that during the Parisian dinner- hour two lovers might safely quarrel there and kiss and make up without fear of being seen. The onl}' person likely to see them was the veteran on guard at the gate of the gardens on the rue de I'Ouest, if he took it into his head to lengthen his monotonous beat by a few rods. Here it was that the two young men established themselves on a wooden bench between two lindens, and Etienne listened to certain sonnets which Lucien selected as specimens of his " Daisies." 118 Great Man of the Provifices in Paris, VIII. THE SONNETS. i^TiENNE Lousteau, who now had, after two years' ap- prenticeship, his foot in the stirrup of journaUsm, and who counted among his friends several of the celebrities of the da}^ was an imposing personage in Lucien's eyes. (I!onsequently, as he unrolled the precious manuscript of his " Daisies," he deemed it wise to make a sort of preamble to the reading of them. "The sonnet, monsieur," he said " is one of the most difficult forms of poesy ; in fact, it has been gener- ally abandoned. No one in France has ever rivalled Petrarch, whose language, infinitely more supple than ours, admits of a play of thought which our positivism (forgive the word) rejects. I have therefore thought it original to make m}' debut by a collection of sonnets. Victor Hugo chose the ode ; Canalis prefers more fugi- tive verse ; Beranger has monopolized song ; Casimir Delavigne, tragedy ; and Lamartine, meditation." "Are you a classicist or a romanticist?" asked Lousteau. Lucien's puzzled expression denoted such absolute ignorance of the then state of things in the republic of letters that Lousteau thought it best to enlighten him. " Mv dear fellow, vou have come into the thick of a Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 119 desperate fight, and 3'ou must immediately choose 3'our side. Literature is, of course, separated into several zones ; but our great men are divided into two hostile camps. The Ko^'alists are the romanticists ; the Lib- erals are the classicists. This divergence of literary opinions is connected in a wa}' with the divergences of political opniion ; consequentl}^ there is war to the death with all weapons, ink in torrents, wit with sharp- ened blade, calumny ground to a point, nicknames fly- ing between the rising lights and the setting ones, — coming fame, and dead glory. By a singular oddit}' the Royalist romanticists demand literary liberty and the revocation of the laws which give conventional forms to literature ; whereas the Liberals want to maintain the unities, the swing of the alexandrine, and the classic tradition. Literary opinions are therefore out of har- mony in each camp with the political opinions of its own side. If you are eclectic 3^ou will have no one with you. Which side will you take? " " Which side is the stronger ?'' "The liberal journals have many more subscribers than the royalist and ministerial journals ; neverthe- less, Canalis succeeds, though he is monarchical and religious and protected b}' court and clerg}'. But son- nets ! pooh, that's literature before the da3's of Boi- leau," said Etienne, seeing that Lucien was frightened at the idea of having to choose between two banners. " Be a romanticist. The romanticists are 3'oung men, the classicists old fogies ; the romanticists are certain to carry the da3\ Now, read on." "Easter Daisies!" read Lucien, choosing the first of the two sonnets which gave the title to the book. 120 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. O Easter-daisy, your harmonious tints Are not contrived to dazzle wearied eyes, But to our souls they speak, in half-veiled hints, That sound the dej)ths of human sympathies. Do not y'our gold and silver symbolize The treasures that we strive so hard to gain ? Is not our life-blood, given to win the prize, Shown in yoiu' petals with the crimson stain i Is it because your tiny flowers were born When Christ, arisen, on that Easter morn Cast love and blessing o'er the sleeping earth. That now, when autumn days are chill and drear. You still recall the season of your birth. With happy hours long past, yet doubly dear ? Lucieii was piqued by Lousteau's absolute immova- bility as he listened to the reading ; he knew nothing as yet of the disconcerting impassibility which comes of the habit of criticism, — a distinguishing mark of journalists wearied with prose and verse and drama. The poet, accustomed to applause, swallowed his disap- pointment, and read the sonnet preferred by Madame de Bargeton and by some of his friends among the brotherhood. " Perhaps this will force some expression from him,'* thought he. The Daisy. My name is Margarita, fairest flower That star-like shines on many a verdant lawn ; And once, in peace and joy, each rosy dawn Beheld me opening to the sun or shower. But now, alas ! a strange and unknown power Consumes my life. Love questions, I reply. Unsought, to me was given a mortal dower r Crreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 121 I read the book of Fate, and reading, die. No more for me are silence and repose ; My heart is plucked by lovers in despair. To find if, haply, love itself be there ; And as the deep-hid secret I disclose I die, robbed of my white-rayed coronet, — The only flower flung down without regret ! When he had finished reading the poet looked at his Aristarehiis. Etienne Lousteau was attentivel}' observing the trees of the adjoining nurser}'. '' Well? " said Lucien. "Well, my dear fellow, go on! I'm listening. Listening without saying a word is praise in Paris." " Have 3'ou had enough? " asked Lucien. " Go on," said the journalist, rather roughl}'. Lucien read the following sonnet ; but he did it with death in his heart, for Lousteau's impenetrable coolness froze him. Had he been a little farther advanced in his literary career he would have known that the silence or roughness of authors under such circumstances betrays their jealousy at a fine work ; just as their admiration proves the pleasure they feel at a gommonplace thing which reassures their vanity. The Camellia. In Nature's poem flowers have each their word *. The rose of love and beauty sings alone ; The violet's soul exhales in tenderest tone ; The lily's one pure simple note is heard. The cold Camellia only, stiff and white, Rose without perf mne, lily without grace, When chilling winter shows his icy face, 122 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. Blooms for a world that vainly seeks delight. Yet, in a theatre, or ball-room light. With alabaster petals opening fair, I gladly see Camellias shining bright Above some stately w man's raven hair, Whose noble form fulfils the heart's desire. Like Grecian marbles warmed by Phidian fire. "What do 3'ou think of ni}^ poor sonnets?" asked Lucien, resolutely. " Do you wish the truth?" said Lousteau. " I am 3'oung enough to love it, and I am so anxious to succeed that I can hear it without anger — but not, perhaps, without despair," replied Lucien. " Well, my dear fellow, the involved st3'le of the first shows work done in Angouleme, which no doubt cost you so much trouble that 3'ou can't bear to give it up ; the second and the third certainl}^ have a Parisian tone ; but read me another," added Lousteau, with a gesture which seemed perfectly charming to the great man of the provinces. Encouraged by the invitation, Lucien proceeded to read, with more confidence than he had yet felt, the sonnet which d'Arth^z and Joseph Bridau preferred, perhaps on account of its color : — The Tulip. I am the Tulip ; from the Hague I came ; So fair am I that e'en the thrifty Dutch Esteem this precious bulb of mine as much As costly diamonds ; such is beauty's fame ! I have a feudal air ; like some proud dame Li ample kirtle stiff and farthingale, I bear, emblazoned, gules on argent pale G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 128 Upon my robes, or purple barred with flame, Woven of sun-rays and the royal dye ; The colors of heaven tell my Maker's name. No garden flower with me can hope to vie In splendid vesture or in gorgeous bloom ; But in my vase-like chalice broad and high. Ungenerous Nature poured no rich perfume. " Well? " said Lucien, after a moment's silence, which seemed to him of interminable length. " M}' dear fellow," said Etienne Lousteau, gravel}', looking down at the boots which Lucien had brought from Angouleme, and wdiich were now pretty nearlj' w^orn-out, " I advise yon to black 3'our boots with 3'our ink and save 3'Our blacking ; make tooth-picks of 3"0iir pens to look as if you had been dining, and find some situation where 3'ou can earn a living. Be a sheriff's clerk if you have the nerve, or a shop-bo3' if there 's strength enough in 3'Our loins, or a soldier if 3'ou love a bass-drum. You have got the stuff of three poets, but before 3'ou succeed you '11 die six times of hunger if you intend to live on the proceeds of 3'our poems. I gather from 3'our rather juvenile discourse that you ex- pect to coin mone3' out of 3'our inkstand. Now mark, I 'm not judging 3-our sonnets, which are far superior to the poetr3' which is choking up the shops of the book- sellers. Those elegant nightingales (which sell for more than other people's poems because of the superfine paper on which they are printed) all come to an end over here on the banks of the Seine, where 3'ou can stud3^ their song if you choose to make an instructive pilgrimage along the quays from old Jerome's booth to the Pont Notre-Dame and the Pont-Royal. You 'II 124 Cfreat Man of the Pro'vinces in Paris. encounter on that short trip the Poetical Essa3'S, Inspi- rations, Exaltations, H^-mns, Songs, Ballads, Odes, — in short, all the coveys hatched for the last seven 3'ears ; muses thick with dust, splashed b}^ the hackney-coaches, and rudel}^ fingered bj^ the quay loungers who look for the illustrations. You say 3'ou don't know any one in Paris ; 3'ou have no access to a newspaper. Your ' Daisies ' will sta}' chastel}" folded as they are ; the}- '11 never blossom to the world in the glor}' of broad mar- gins and adorned with arabesques and tail-pieces such as the great Dauriat, that pubhsher of celebrities, that king of the Galeries de Bois, lavishes. My poor bo}", I came to Paris like you with my soul full of illusions, prompted b}' the love of Art, led by an unconquerable impulse to seek fame. I learned the realities of that career, the struggles for publication, the practical side of poverty. My ardor, long since repressed, my first enthusiasm, concealed the mechanism of the world ; I had to discover it for myself; I had to butt against its machiner}', to be nipped in its hinges, to be greased with its oil, and to hear the clanking of its chains and fl}'- wheels. You are going to see, as I saw, under all the beautiful things of which we dreamed, how men behave from passions and necessities. You will be forced to share in dreadful struggles, man against man, work against work, part}' against part}^ in which you must fight S3'stematically or you will go under. Such unworthy struggles disenchant the soul, deprave the heart, and wear it out to its own loss ; for your efforts will often end in crowning your rival whom you hate, some commonplace talent called, in spite of you, a genius. Literary life is like the stage. Success, snatched or Great Man of the Pi'ovinces in Paris. 126 merited, is applauded by the audience ; the ugliness be- hind the scenes, the supernumeraries, the claqueurs, the scene-shifters, the3- make the play. My dear fellow, you are now among the audience. There is still time ; give up the career before you put your foot on the first step of the throne for which so many ambitions are fighting, and don't dishonor yourself, as I am doing, to live " (a tear moistened Etienne Lousteau's eyes). " Do you know how I live?" he continued, in a savage tone. " The little money my family could give me was soon spent. I was utterly without resources when I got a play accepted at the Theatre-Fran^ais. At the Theatre- Fran(;ais the protection of a prince or the first Gentle- man of the Bedchamber is not sufficient to secure the playing of an accepted piece ; the comedians will only play the plays of those who have some means of injuring their self-love. If you have power to get it said that the leading gentleman wheezes, or the leading lady has an ulcer, no matter where, or that the sou- brette's breath is vile, your play will be acted to-morrow. I don't know whether in two years from now I shall have that power, — it takes too many friends. Mean- time, how and where was I to earn my bread ? that was the question I had to answer when hunger seized me. After many attempts, such as writing a novel which Doguereau bought for two hundred francs (and he did not make much out of it either), I made up my mind that journalism alone would support me. But how could I get into it? I won't tell you now all my useless efforts and entreaties, nor the six dreadful months I spent, working like a galley-slave only to be told that I frightened oflf subscribers, when in fact I was really 126 Great Man of the Provmees m Paris, educating them, — I pass over such affronts. At the present time I am writing the dramatic articles on the boulevard theatres, almost for nothing, in a journal which belongs to Finot, that fat fellow who breakfasts once or twice a month at the Cafe Voltaire — but 30U don't go there ! Finot is the editor-in-chief. I live by selling the tickets which the managers of the theatres give me to pa}^ for my good word, and the books the publishers send me, which I review. Besides this I traffic, after satisfying Finot, in a variet}- of tributes made to me b}- tradesmen for or against whom he lets me write articles. ' Paste of Sultans/ ' Cephalic Oil,' ' Brazilian Mixture ' will all pay twenty or thirty francs for a puff. I am ol3liged to bark at publishers who don't send copies enough to the paper ; Finot keeps two and sells them, and I want two to sell. If a book is likely to sell well and the publisher is stingy he gets pommelled. I know it is base ; but I live by it, and so do a hundred others. Don't think, either, that the political world is a bit better than the literary world ; it is all corruption in both ; every man is either cor- rupted or corrupting. When a publisher has some new and rather important enterprise on hand he pays me for fear I shall attack him. My revenues are always in proportion to the prospectuses. When there are fine lists going among the trade my pocket jingles, and I invite my friends to dinner ; when trade is dull I dine at Flicoteaux's. Actresses pay for puf!s, but the clev- erest of them want criticism ; silence is what they are most afraid of. Consequently a criticism, so written that you can revoke it later, pays better than mere praise, which is forgotten the next day. Controversy, Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 127 m}' dear fellow, controversy is the pedestal of celebrity. By this fine trade, as hired assassin of ideas and reputa- tions, industrial, literarj', and dramatic, I make, say, a hundred and fifty francs a month ; I can manage to sell a novel for five hundred francs, and I am beginning to be thought a dangerous man, a man to propitiate. When, instead of living with Florine at the cost of a druggist who gives himself the airs of a lord, I live in my own house and get upon one of the great papers and have 2l feuilleton, — on that day, my good fellow, Florine will become a great actress. As for me, I don't know what I '11 then become : minister or honest man, all is still possible." (He raised his humiliated face and cast a terrible look of despairing reproach towards the trees.) " And yet I have a tragedy accepted at the Frangais ! I have among mj' papers a noble poem that will die there ! I once was good ! my heart was pure ! and now I live with an actress of the Panorama- Dramatique, — I, who dreamed of noble loves among the best of women ! But, worst of all, if a publisher refuses a book to my paper, I say harm of a work I think beautiful ! " Lucien, moved to tears, seized feienne's hand. " Outside of the literary world," continued the journal- ist, rising and going towards the Avenue de I'Observa- toire, where the two poets walked up and down as if to get more air into their lungs, "there is not a single person who even suspects the horrible od3'ssey through which we must pass to reach what is called, according to merit, vogue, fashion, reputation, distinction, celeb- rity, public favor, — the rounds of the ladder which lead to fame, but can never take its place. Fame, that bril- 128 Grreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. liant moral phenomenon, is made up of a thousand incidents which vary with such rapidit}' that no two men ever reached it b}' the same path. Canalis and Nathan, two men who are now attaining it, are two dissimilar facts, neither of whom can be reproduced. D'Arthez, who is wearing himself out with toil, will come to fame through some mere accident. A long-de- sired reputation is almost alwajs like a prostitute. Yes, literature in its low estate is like some wretched girl shivering in the street ; its secondar}- phase, as it issues from the baser regions of journalism, in which I now am, is that of a kept mistress ; but literature success- ful, fortunate, is a brilliant, insolent courtesan, pa3S taxes to the state, receives the great lords, treats, or ill-treats them, has its liver}', its equipage, and can keep its hungry creditors waiting its convenience. Ah ! those to whom it seemed — to me formerly, to you now, — an angel with radiant wings, draped in a spotless tunic, a palm in one hand, a flaming sword in the other, partly a mj'thical abstraction living at the bottom of a well, parti}' a noble being attaining riches only through the lights of virtue and the efforts of a glorious courage, — what becomes of us when we find it soiled, trampled, violated, thrust into the mud ? There are men of iron brains whose hearts are still warm under the snows of experience, but the}' are rare, rare in that Paris j^ou see before 3'ou," he cried, pointing to the great city as it laj- seething in the sunset. A vision of the brotherhood passed rapidly through Lucien's mind and stirred it ; but a moment more, and Lousteau, continuing his dreadful lamentation, forced him away from all such thoughts. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 129 " Yes, they are rare and far between in that great vat fermenting there ; rare as true lovers in the world of love ; rare as honest fortunes in the world of mone}- ; rare as pure and decent men in journalism. The ex- perience of the man who once told me what I am telhng 3'ou was wasted, as mine no doubt is wasted now on ^'ou. The provinces send us yearly the same if not a growing number of beardless ambitions filled with the same enthusiasms. Their heads high, their hearts elate, the}' rush to the assault of fame, that princess of the Arabian Nights for whom every man considers him- self the prince ! Ah ! few indeed have guessed the enigma. They all drop into the ditch, — into the mud of journalism, into the bog of book-making. Poor beggars, the}' glean, glean, facts for biographical arti- les, or items for the columns of a newspaper, or they write books for prudent publishers who would rather have trash written in a fortnight than masterpieces which take time to place and sell. Poor caterpillars, crushed before the}' can be butterflies ; living in shame and infamy, forced to rend or praise a dawning talent as some pacha of the ' Constitutionnel' or the ' Quo- tidienne ' or the ' Debats ' orders him ; to throttle a good book at a signal from a publisher, at a threat from a jealous comrade, or, worse still, for a dinner ! Those who surmount all obstacles forget the misery of their beginning. I who speak to you, I did, for six months, write articles, in which I put the very flower of my mind, for a wretch who called them his, and who on those specimens of his powers became the editor of a feuilleton. He did not take me as an associate, he did not so much as give me five francs, 9 130 Grreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. but I am forced still to give him my hand and to shake his." " Wh}'?" exclaimed Lucien, haughtily. " Because I may want some day to put a few lines into his paper," replied Lousteau, coldl}'. " Be- lieve me, m}' friend, work is not the secret of success in literature ; that secret is, mark my words, to live bj* the work of others. The owners of newspapers are contractors, we are masons and journeymen. The more commonplace or second-rate a man may be, the sooner he will advance himself; he can swallow toads, he can resign himself to anj'thing, and gratify' the low and pett}' passions of the literary sultans, — like a late- comer from Limoges, Hector Merlin, who used to do politics on a paper of the Right Centre, but now works on ours ; I have seen that fellow pick up the hat of the editor-in-chief. B}' affronting no one he will manage to pass between and be3'ond rival ambitions while the}' are fighting each other. But you, I feel a pity for 3'ou. I see myself in 3'ou, just as I once was ; and I feel sure that in a year or two 3'ou will be what I am now. Per- haps 3'ou will think there is some secret jealousy, some personal interest in the bitter advice I 'm giving 3^ou ; no, it is that of a lost soul who cannot leave the hell he is in. No one else will dare sa3^ to you as I sa3', like Job on his dunghill, with despair in m3' heart : Behold my sores ! " ''I must fight to live," said Lucien, "on this field or elsewhere." " Remember," said Lousteau, "it is a fight without truce if 3'ou have talent ; 3'our best chance would be to have none. Your conscience, pure to-da3', will yield Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 131 to the will of others when 3'ou see 3'our success or failure in their power, — the power of men who with a word could give you life, and will not say it ! For, be- lieve me, the successful writer of the da}^ is harder, more insolent, to a new-comer than the most brutal of publishers. Where the publisher fears onl}^ loss the author dreads a rival ; one cheats you, the other crushes 3'ou. In 3'our ardor to do fine work, my poor bo}', you will turn all the tenderness, sap, and energ}' of 3'our heart into ink and displa3' them in passions, sentiments, fine phrases. Yes, you '11 write rather than act ; 3'ou '11 sing instead of fighting ; you will love and hate and live in your books ; and when you have spent all 3'our riches on 3'Our style, all 3'Our gold and purple on 3'our char- acters, when you are walking the streets of Paris in rags, happ\" in the production of personages called Adolphe, Corinne, Rene or Manon, when you have ruined your own life and your stomach in giving life to your creation, you will see it vilified, betrayed, thrust into obhvion b3' journalists, buried b3^ your best friends. Can 3'Ou await the da3' when 3'our creations shall rise from such oblivion? and at whose call? how? and when ? There is at this moment a noble book, the pia7ito of unbelief, ' Obermann,' which is wandering desolate in the dark corners of the shops ; publishers ironicall3- call it a nightingale ; when will the Easter- morn arise for that book ? Ah ! no one knows. Well, since you are determined to follow literature, tr3^ to find a publisher bold enough to print your ' Daisies.' It does n't matter whether he pays 3'OU or not ; only get them printed. You will then see curious things." This harsh tirade, delivered in the diverse tones of 132 Great Man of the Provinces in Pai^is. the various passions it expressed, fell like an avalanche of snow upon Lucien's heart and turned it cold as ice. He stood motionless and silent for a moment. At last, however, his courage, as if stimulated b}' the horrible picture of these difficulties, burst forth ; he wrung Lousteau's hand and cried out : " I will triumph ! " "Ah!" said the journalist, ''another Christian who goes down into the arena to fight the beasts. My dear fellow, there's a first representation to-night at the Panorama-Dramatique ; it does not begin till eight o'clock ; it is now six. Go home and put on your best clothes ; make yourself the thing. Then come and fetch me. I live in the rue de la Harpe, over the cafe Servel, fourth floor. We will go and see Dauriat first, — for 3'ou do persist, don't 3'ou? Well, then, I '11 make you known to-night to the king of publishers and several journalists. After the theatre we '11 sup together at Florine's, — that 's my mistress, — for our dinner did n't amount to much. You '11 meet Finot, the editor-in-chief and proprietor of the newspaper I am on." " I shall never forget this da}'," said Lucien. " Bring your manuscript and wear your best clothes, — less for Florine than for the publisher." The good-nature of the invitation, following so closely on the bitter cr\' of the poet describing the warfare of literature, touched Lucien as keenly as d'Arthez' earnest and sacred words had touched him almost in the same place. Excited by the prospect of an immediate en- counter with literary men, the youth, inexperienced as he was, had no conception of the reality of the moral evils of which the journalist had warned him. He did not know that he stood at the angle of two distinct G-reat Man of the Frovmces in Paris. 133 paths, two sj'stems, represented by the Brotherhood and by Journalism ; of which one was long and honor- able and sure, and the other strewn with rocks and perilous, crossed by foul gutters in which his conscience must be soiled. Lucien's nature led him to take the shortest way, apparent!}' the most agreeable wa}', and to snatch at decisive and rapid methods. He could see at this moment no difference between the noble friendship of d'Arthez and the ready fellowship of Lousteau. His livel}' mind saw a weapon to his hand in journalism ; he felt himself able to handle it, and he resolved to take it. Dazzled b}' the proposals of his new friend, whose hand grasped his with easy cordiality, how could he know that in the great Press army every man needs friends, as generals need sol- diers? Lousteau, seeing his determination, was merely enlisting him with the intention of using him. The journalist was making his first friend, and Lucien, as he thought, his first protector ; the one wanted to rise from the ranks, the other to enter them. 134 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, IX. A THIRD VARIETY OF PUBLISHER. The would-be recruit ran joj'ously back to his poor lodging, where he dressed himself as carefull}^ as on the fatal da}' when he sought to produce an effect in Ma- dame d'Espard's box ; but b}- this time his clothes sat better on him ; he knew better how to wear them. He now put on his handsome, light- colored, tight-fitting trousers, a pair of boots with tassels (which had cost him forty francs), and his evening coat. A barber was called into curl and perfume and friz his fine and abun- dant blond hair. His forehead assumed a confidence derived from a sense of his value and his coming fu- ture. His delicate feminine hands were carefully at- tended to, and the rosj^ ahnond nails were polished. The rounded whiteness of his throat and chin were well set off by the black satin stock. No handsomer young man ever ran down the hill of the Latin regions. Beau- tiful as a Grecian god, Lucien jumped into a coach and was set down at seven oclock before the door of the house in which was the cafe Servel. The porter invited him to climb four stories, giving him rather complicated topographical directions. Thus instructed he found, not without difficult}', an open door at the end of a long dark passage which gave entrance into a classic garret of the Latin quarter. Poverty' was there, as it was G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 135 with himself in the rue de Cluii}', with d'Arthez, with Chrestien, everywhere ! everywhere^ too, it bore the im- print of the character of the occupant. Here, it w^as malign. A miserable bedstead without curtains, and a strip of carpet beside it, window-curtains yellow with smoke from a chimne}' that would not draw, a Carcel lamp, given by Florine and still escaping the pawn-shop, a tarnished mahogany bureau, a table covered with papers and two or three quill-pens, no books but those brought in the night before, — such were the contents of this room (in which there was nothing of value), to which must be added a shabby collection of broken boots and dilapidated slippers in one corner, in another, cigar-ends, dirty handkerchiefs, shirts in two editions and cravats in three. In short, it was a literar}' bivouac, supplied with little or nothing, of a bareness the mind can scared}' imagine. On the night-table, piled with books read during the morning, shone the scarlet "roll of " Fumade ; " on the mantel-shelf lay a razor, a pair of pistols, and a cigar-case ; crossed foils and a mask were fastened to the wall ; three chairs and two arm- chairs, unworthy of even the poorest lodging-house in this poor street, completed the outfit. This gloom}-, dirty room was t\'pical of a life wdthout peace or dig- nity ; a man slept there, a man worked there in haste, but only of necessity and eager to get awa}'. What a diflference between that C3'nical disorder and the neat and decent poverty of d'Arthez ! This silent counsel wrapped in a memory Lucien did not heed, for Lousteau was ready with a joke to cover the nudity of his squalor. " This is m}^ kennel," he said ; " mj- grand appearance l36 G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. is in the rue de Bond}', in a new apartment which a certain druggist has furnished for Florine ; we are going to inaugurate it to-night." Etienne himself was wearing black trousers and well- polished boots, his coat was buttoned to the chin, and his shirt (Florine probably had another read}' for him) was hidden under its velvet collar ; he brushed his hat carefuU}' to make it look like new. " Shall we start?" said Lucien. "No, not yet; I am waiting for a publisher, for I must have money ; they '11 play, perhaps, and I have n't a farthing ; besides, I want some gloves." Just then a man's step was heard in the passage. "There he is," said Lousteau. "Now you'll see, m}' dear fellow, the form and fashion which providence puts on when it appears to poets. Before contemplat- ing Dauriat, the fashionable publisher, in all his glory, you shall see the publisher of the Quai des Augustins, the turn-a-penny publisher, the dealer in hterary old- iron, a Norman ex-vendor of green-stuffs. Come in, old Tartar ! " " Here am I," said a voice as jangling as a cracked bell. ' ' With money ? " "Money! there's no mone}^ now in the trade," re- plied a young man who entered the room, and looked inquisitively at Lucien. "Well, in the first place, you owe me fifty francs," said Lousteau. " Besides that, here are two copies of ' A Voyage in Egypt,' which they say is fine ; it swarms with engravings, and is sure to sell. Finot has been paid for two articles which I am going to write Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 137 about it. Next, the last two novels of Victor Ducange, illustrious in the Marais ; also, two copies of the second work of a rising young man, Paul de Kock, who writes in the same style ; also, two copies of ' Yseult de Dole,' a very prett}' provincial tale, — one hundred francs retail price for the books, call it fifty. Therefore, my little Barbet, pay me one hundred francs." Barbet looked the books over, examining the edges of the leaves and the bindings carefully. " Oh ! they are all in a perfect state of preservation," cried Lousteau. ^' The ' Vo3'age,' is n't cut, nor the Paul de Kock, nor the Ducange, nor that other book on the chimne3'-piece, ' Observations on Symbolism,' — I '11 throw that in ; m} stical things are such a bore, I'll give it away sooner than see the mites run out of it." ''But," said Lucien, "if you don't read che books, how will you write your articles? " Barbet cast a look of unfeigned astonishment at Lucien ; then he turned his eyes on Lousteau and remarked, with a sneer, "It is plain that monsieur hasn't the misfortune to be a literary man." " No, Barbet, he is n't ; he 's a poet, — a great poet, who will put Canalis, and Delavigne, and Beranger into the shade. He is bound to make his waj', unless he flings himself into the Seine, — and even then, he'll go to Saint-Cloud." " If I might give monsieur a bit of advice," said Barbet, " it would be to let poetry alone and stick to prose. The}' won't take verses any more on the quai." Barbet wore a shabby frock-coat, fastened by one button ; the collar was greasy ; he kept his hat on his head, wore shoes, and under his half-opened waistcoat 138 Crreat Mmi of the Provinces in Paris. a good shirt of coarse linen was visible. His round face, enlivened with two eager e3'es, was not without a certain good-humor ; but his glance had the vague uneasiness of a man accustomed to be asked for mone}', and who has it. He had the appearance, however, of being frank and good-natured, for his shrewdness was well wadded with fat. After being for some 3'ears a clerk, he now had a miserable little shop of his own on the quai, whence he darted on journalists, authors, printers, and bought at a low price the books they obtained as perquisites, gaining in this way as much, perhaps, as fifteen or twenty francs a da3\ Rich b\' saving, he scented the needs of all with whom he had dealings ; he watched their necessities for a good stroke of business, and often discounted for authors the notes the}- received from publishers, charging them fifteen per cent. The next da}' he would purchase from the same publishers, after haggling over the price, cer- tain good books that he needed for his trade, pajing back to them their own notes instead of ready money. He had some education, just enough to make him care- fully avoid poetry and modern novels. He liked small enterprises, useful books, the cop3'right of which did not cost him more than a thousand francs, and which he could put on the market in his own wa}' ; such, for instance, as the " History of France adapted for Chil- dren," " Book-keeping in twenty lessons," " Botany for Young Ladies." Once or twice he had allowed good books to slip through his fingers from his inabilit}' to make up his mind to buy the manuscripts, after making the authors come twent}^ times or more to his shop. When reproached for his cowardice he would show the Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 139 history of a certain celebrated lawsuit culled from the public prints, the copy for which had of course cost him nothing, out of which he had made some two or three thousand francs. Barbet w^as the trembling publisher, living, so to speak, on bread and nuts, who makes few notes, shaves all he can off a bill, hawks his own books about, no one knows where, but manages to place them and get the money for them. He was a terror to printers, who never knew how to manage him ; he would pa}' them under discount and shave their bills, especially if he knew they needed mone^', and then when he had fleeced them to the last penny he never employed them again, fearing reprisals. "Well, well!" said Lousteau, "let us go back to our business — about these books." " Hey, my bo}' ! " said Barbet, familiarly. " I 've at least six thousand volumes now in m}' shop to sell ; and you know very well books are not francs ; the trade is bad just now." " My dear Lucien," said Etienne, "if you were to go into his shop you would find on his counter — a shabby oak thing that came from some auction in a wine-shop — one tallow candle, unsnuffed because that makes it burn longer. By the light of that anomalous gleam you would see empty shelves. A small boy in a blue jacket keeps watch over this nothingness, blow- ing his fingers, stamping his feet or beating his arms like a frozen coachman on his box. Look about 3'ou, and you won't see more books than there are in this room at this moment. No one would ever guess the busmess that is done there." " Here 's a note for a hundred francs at three 140 Qreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. months," interposed Barbet, who could not help smil- ing as he pulled a stamped paper from his pocket, ' ' and I '11 carry oft' 3'our trash. You see, I can't pos- sibly pay any more ready mone}' ; sales are so slow. I thought you wanted something out of me, and as I had n't a sou, I signed this note to oblige you ; for 3^ou know I don't like to give m}' signature." " And do you expect m}- esteem and gratitude for that?" said Lousteau. " Well, feelings won't go far in pacing notes, but I'll accept 3'our esteem all the same," replied Barbet. " But I must have gloves, and the perfumer will cer- tainh' be base enough to refuse 3'our paper," said Lous- teau. " Look here ! I 've a splendid engraving — there, in the top drawer of that bureau ; it is worth eighty francs before lettering and after the article I 've written on it, which is might}' droll, all about Hippocrates re- fusing Artaxerxes' gift. I tell 3^ou, it is a fine plate, which will please all the doctors who refuse the ex- travagant fees of the Parisian satraps. You '11 find a lot more novels under the engraving. Take the whole and give me fort}' francs cash." "Fort}" francs!" exclaimed the publisher, with the screech of a frightened hen. " Twenty at the utmost! and I may lose those," added Barbet. " Let me see the twenty francs," said Lousteau. *' Faith ! I don't know if I 've got tliem," said Bar- bet, rummaging his pockets. "There they are. You are robbing me ; you get the better of me — " " Come, let us be off"," said Lousteau, picking up Lucien's manuscript and making a stroke of ink just beneath the twine that fastened it. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 141 " Have vou arivthino; more?*' asked Barbet. "Nothing, m}' little Shy lock. I'll put you in the way of an excellent bit of business before long (in which 3'ou shall lose a thousand crowns to teach you to rob me in this wa}')," added Etienne in a low voice to Lucien. "But 3'our articles? how can you write them with- out the books?" said Lucien as they drove to the Palais-Roval. "Pooh! 3'Ou don't understand how easil}' that sort of thing is done. As for the ' Voyage in Egypt/ I did open the book and read here and there without cutting the leaves ; I found eleven mistakes in grammar ; I can make a column out of that hy sa3'ing that though the author may have learned the hierogh'phic language of those Eg3'ptian milestones called obelisks, he does n't know his own, and 1 '11 give the blunders, for I wrote them down. I shall then tell him that instead of writ- ing about the natural histor3' and antiquit3', he had better have concerned himself with the future of Eg3'pt, the progress of civilization, the means of uniting it to France which, having once conquered Egypt and then lost it, could still obtain a moral ascendenc3' over it. That gives a chance for a fine patriotic flourish inter- larded with tirades about Marseilles and the Levant and our present commercial interests." " But suppose the author had said all that himself, what would you do? " " Oh, then I should sa3' that instead of boring us with politics, he had better ha^-e written about Art and described the countr3' under its picturesque and terri- torial aspects. There 's a chance for a lament. We 142 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, are overrun with politics, politics here, there, and everNwhere. I regret those charming books of travel which explained the difficulties of navigation and the delights of crossing the Line, in short, what persons who never travel want to know, — all the while laugh- ing, of course, at travellers who make great events of gulls, porpoises, whales, first sight of land, and shoals avoided. Subscribers laugh, and that is all that 's wanted. As for novels, Florine is the greatest reader of novels there is in the world. She tells me what they are about, and I knock off ' an article accordingly. When she is bored by what she calls '• author's phrases,' I give the book a respectful notice, and ask the publisher for another cop}', which he sends me out of gratitude for the puff." " Good God ! and criticism, sacred criticism?" cried Lucien, still imbued with the principles of the brother- hood. "My dear fellow," said Lousteau, "criticism is a brush which vou can't nse on thin material, or it tears it to rags. Well, don't let us talk of the business an}' more. Do you see that mark?" he went on, pointing to the line he had made on the outside sheet of the "Daisies." "It is exactl}' under the twine. If Dauriat reads 3'our manuscript, he will certainly not be able to tie the string in exactl}' the same place. Your manu- script is as good as sealed, and 3'ou will know whether he opens it, — not at all a useless experience for 3'ou. Now, take notice of another thing ; you are not making your entrance into the trade alone and without a sponsor, like other 3'oung fellows who go the round of a dozen publishers none of whom will offer them a chair." Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 148 Lucien alreadj' felt the truth of this assertion. Lousteaii had paid the cabman three francs, to the poet's utter amazement ; such prodigaUt}' on the heels of penur}' seeming incredible to him. The new friends now entered the Galeries de Bois, where Dauriat's great publishing concern called ''The Novelty " reigned supreme. At the period of which we speak the Galeries de Bois of the Palais-Royal were among the most noted of the sights of Paris. It is by no means useless to draw a picture of that ignoble bazaar, which for thirty-six years pla3'ed so great a role in Parisian life that there are few men of forty to whom the following description, incredible to 3'ounger men, will not be of interest. In place of the present cold, lofty, and broad Galerie d'Orleans, a sort of green-house without flowers, there stood in those days a line of wooden barracks, or, to be more exact, plank huts, small, poorl}' roofed and ill- lighted from the court and garden and also from the roof by small sashes, called casements, w^hich were more like the dirty openings of the dance-halls bej'ond the barriers than actual windows. A triple line of booths made two galleries about twelve feet high ; those down the centre faced to each side, and the fetid air which rose from the crowded passage-ways had little chance to escape through the roof, which admitted only a dim light through its dirty casements. These centre booths or cells were thought so valuable, because of the crowds who passed them, that in spite of their narrow space (some being scared}' six feet wide and eight or ten feet long) they brought enormous prices, — some as much as three thousand francs. The side booths, 144 Gi'eat Man of the Provinces m Paris. which were hghted from the court and from the garden, were protected b}' small, green trellises, possibl}' to prevent the crowd outside from demolishing b}' pressure the lath-and-plaster walls which formed the sides of the sheds. Here, therefore, was a space of some two or three feet in width where the most amazing products of a botau}' unknown to science vegetated, mingled with the cast-off scraps of industries that were not less flourisliing. Rose-trees and wastepaper, flowers of rhetoric and flowers of nature, ribbons of all colors, remnants of the fashions, in short, the refuse of the in- terior commerce was there collected. The outer walls of this fantastic palace, towards the court and towards the garden, presented tiie lowest aspect of Parisian shabbiness ; the coloring of the stucco was washed off, the plaster itself was falling, or patched, or scribbled over with grotesque writings. On both sides a nauseous and disgusting approach seemed to warn delicate per- sons from entering these galleries ; and 3-et delicate and refined persons were no more kept away b}' these horri- ble things than princes in fairy-tales recoil from dragons and other obstacles interposed bj' evil genii between them and the princesses. These galleries were, as the Galerie d'Orleans is to-da}', divided b^' passage-wa3'S, from which they were entered by the present porticos, which were begun before the Revolution and left unfinished for want of mone}'. The handsome stone gallery which now leads to the Theatre-Fran^ais was in those days a narrow passage-way of excessive height and so ill-covered that the rain wet it. It was called the Galerie Vitree, to distinguish it from the Galeries de Bois. The roofs of all these miserable Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 145 sheds were in such a bad state that the House of Orleans had a lawsuit with a famous shopkeeper who found his cashmeres and other goods injured during a single night to a large amount of mone}'. The man won his case. A double thickness of tarred cloth served for a covering in some places. The floor of the Galerie Vitree (where Chevet's fortune began), also that of the Galeries de Bois was the soil of Paris, with such other soil added as the boots and shoes of a myriad of pedestrians had imported there. In all weather the feet were forced to stumble among mountains and valleys of hardened mud, constantl}' swept b}' the shopkeepers, but, even so, re- quiring all new-comers to learn a method of manage- ment in order to walk with safet3^ This disgusting mass of mud, these dirty panes of glass thickened by rain and dust, these flat-roofed huts covered outside with ragged cloth, the filth of the out- side walls, in short, this whole assemblage of things, which was like a camp of gypsies, or the barracks at a fair, or the provisional boardings put up in Paris round houses that are building, all this grinning vulgarity was wonderfullj' in keeping with the diflferent trades which swarmed beneath these nasty sheds, — bold, shameless, voluble, and wildly ga}' ; for an incalculable business was done here from the Revolution of 1789 to that of 1830. For twenty years the Bourse was directl}' oppo- site, on the ground- floor of the palace. Rendezvous were given before and after the opening of the exchange in these galleries. Consequenth', public opinion and reputations were made and unmade here, and political and financial aff'airs incessantly discussed. The Paris world of bankers and merchants congregated in the 10 146 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. square of the Palais-Royal, and swarmed into the galleries when it rained. The construction of these wooden buildings, which had sprung up heaven knows how, made them singularly resonant. Bursts of laugh- ter echoed through them ; not a quarrel could take place at one end that the other end did not know what it was about. The place was occupied solely by the shops of booksellers and publishers (poetr3% politics, and prose) and by those of milliners. At night the women of the town appeared there. Novels and books of all kinds, new and old reputations, political plots and counter- plots, the lies of publishers and booksellers all flourished there. There, too, novelties were sold to a public that persisted in not buying them elsewhere. In the course of a single evening thousands of copies have been sold of a pamphlet b}^ Paul- Louis Courier or the "Adven- tures of the Daughter of a King," which, b^^ the hy, was the first shot fired by the House of Orleans at the Charter of Louis XVIII. At the particular period when Lucien first appeared there, a few of the booths had windows with rather ele- gant panes of glass ; these were, of course, on the side booths looking either to the court or the garden. Up to the time when this strange colon}' disappeared under the wand of Fontaine the architect, the booths in the centre were entirely open, supported b}' pillars, like booths at a country fair, and the e3'e could look across and through them to the gallery on the other side. As it was impossible to make fires, the merchants used foot-warmers, which they took care of themselves ; for one piece of carelessness would instantly have wrapped in flames that whole republic of planks dried in the sun, Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 147 with all its inflammable contents of paper, gauze, and muslin. The shops of the milliners were full of wonder- ful bonnets, which seemed to be there less for sale than for show, hansino; by hundreds on iron trees and enliven- ing the galleries with a thousand colors. For twenty years the loungers in the galleries had wondered on what heads those dust}^ bonnets would end their days. Sales- women, for the most part ugly, but brisk, hooked the female sex adroitly in the style and language of mar- ketwomen. One grisette, whose tongue was as free as her e3'es were active, stood on a stool and attacked the passers : " Buy a prett}^ bonnet, madame ! " " Let me sell 3'ou something, monsieur." Their rich and picturesque vocabulary was varied by inflections of the voice, and interspersed with knowing looks and criti- cisms on those who passed them. The publishers and the milliners lived on good terms with each other. In the passage called so gorgeousl}' the Galerie Vitree, the most extraordinary enterprises were carried on. There ventriloquists and charlatans of all kinds had settled themselves, and shows were offered where it was a lottery whether 3'ou saw nothing or the whole world. It was there that a man first established him- self who afterwards made seven or eight hundred thou- sand francs in fairs all over France. His sign was a sun revolving in a black frame, round which were the fol- lowing words in scarlet letters: "Here man ma}' see what God can never see. Entrance two sous." The door-keeper never allowed one person to go in alone, nor more than two at a time. Once in, 3'ou found 3'our- self confronted with a huge mirror. Then a voice, which might have startled even Hoff'mann of Berlin 148 Great Mmi of the Provinces m Paris. himself, went off like a mechanism when the spring is touched, and said: "There, gentlemen, you see that which throughout all eternity God can never see ; namely, 3'our like, — God has no like." You went away ashamed and silent, unwilling to acknowledge 3-our stupidit}'. From all the little doors issued voices of the same nature, inviting 3'ou to visit cosmoramas, views of Con- stantinople, puppet-shows, automatons playing chess, dogs who could pick out the handsomest woman in so- ciet}'. The ventriloquist Fitz-James flourished in the cafe Borel, before he went to die at Montmartre among the pupils of the Ecole Pol3'technique. Here were fruit- erers and bouquet-makers, and a celebrated tailor whose military gold lace shone at night like suns. In the mornings up to half-past two o'clock these galleries were dismal and deserted. The shopkeepers talked among themselves as if at home. The appointments which the Parisian population gave themselves did not begin till about three o'clock, the hour for the Bourse. As soon as the crowd poured in, the gratuitous readings at the booksellers' counters by penniless young men hungry for literature began. The shopmen whose business it was to watch the books thus exposed for sale charitably allowed these poor fellows to turn the leaves. If the book happened to be a 12mo of two hundred pages, like "Smarra,'' "Peter Schlemil," "Jean Sbogar," "Jocko," two visits would enable the reader to devour it. In those davs circulatinoj-libraries did not exist ; it was necessary to buy a book in order to read it ; and this was why novels were sold in numbers that now seem fabulous. There was something indescribably French Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 149 in these mental alms bestowed on 3'outliful, eager, pov- ert3^-stricken intellect. The tragic aspect of this terrible bazaar began to show itself towards evening. Through all the adjacent streets women poured in, who were allowed to walk there unmolested ; from every section of Paris came prostitutes to " do the Palais." The stone galleries belonged to privileged establishments, who paid for the right to expose their creatures, dressed like princesses, between such and such an arch with a corresponding right to the same distance in the garden ; but the Galeries de Bois were the common ground of women of the town, " the Palais/' par excellence, a word which signified in those days the temple of prostitution. Any woman might come there and go awaj', accompanied by her prey, wheresoever it pleased her. They drew such crowds to the Galeries de Bois that every one was com- pelled to walk at a snail's pace as they do in the pro- cession at a masked ball. But this slowness, which annoyed no one, enabled persons to examine each other. The women were all dressed in a stjde and manner that no longer exists ; their gowns were made low to the very middle of their backs, and also very low in front ; their heads were dressed fantastically to attract notice ; some were Norman in style, others Spanish ; the hair of one was curled like a poodle, that of another in smooth, straight bands ; their legs, covered with white stockings, were shown, it would be difficult to say how, but always a propos. All this picturesque infamy is now done awa}^ with. The license of solicitation and answer, that public cynicism so in keeping with the place itself, is no longer to be seen, either there or at masked balls. 150 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. nor in the celebrated public balls which are given in the present clay. The scene was horrible and gay. The white flesh of the shoulders and throats shone and sparkled against the clothing of the men which was usually dark, producing magnificent contrasts. The roll of voices and the noise of steps sent a murmuring sound to the middle of the garden, like the breaking of the waves upon a sandbank. Well-dressed persons and striking-looking men were cheek by jowl with evident gallows-birds. There was something impossible to de- fine, something piquant, about these infamous assem- blages ; even the most insensible men were stirred b}'^ them, — so much so that all Paris came there until the last moment, and walked the wooden planks with which the architect covered the cellars of the new Galerie d'Orleans as he built it. Deep and unanimous regret was felt at the demolition of those disgraceful wooden galleries. Gi'eat Man of the Provhices in Paris. 151 X. A FOURTH VARIETY OF PUBLISHER. Ladvocat, the publisher, had lateh' established him- self at the corner of the passage which divided the two galleries, opposite to the establishment of Dauriat, a 3'oung man now forgotten, but a daring fellow, who cleared the way along which his rival subsequently ad- vanced to fortune. Dauriat's shop was at the angle of the passage and gallery looking towards the garden ; that of Ladvocat was towards the court. Dauriat's place was divided into two unequal parts ; one a ware- room for his publications, the other a sort of office. Lucien who was in this scene for the first time at night, was bewildered by its strange aspects, which provincials and indeed all 3'oung men are unable to resist. He soon lost his companion in the crowd. " If you were as handsome as that fellow, I 'd give 3'ou something in return," said one of the women to an old man, pointing to Lucien. Lucien turned as shamefaced as a blind man's dog, and he followed the torrent in a state of excitement and bewilderment impossible to describe. Harassed b}^ the glances of the women, dazzled by their white shoulders and their bold throats, he clasped his manuscript ana held it close, fearing, poor innocent, that some of therj would steal it. 152 Great Man of the Provinces m Paris. ' ' What is it, monsieur ? " he cried, feeling himself seized by the arm, and fancying that his poems might have attracted some author. Turning round, he saw Lousteau, who laughed and said : — " I knew 3'ou would end by coming this way." The poet was in front of Dauriat's wareroom, into which Lousteau now took him. The place was full of persons, all waiting their turn to speak with the sultan of publishers. Printers, paper-makers, designers, were clustering about the clerks and questioning them as to the business they had in hand or were meditating. " There 's Finot, the editor of my paper," said Lou- steau ; " he is talking with a young man who has talent, Felicien Vernou ; a little scoundrel as dangerous as a secret disease." "Well, you've got a first representation, old man," said Finot, coming up to Lousteau, with Vernou ; " but I 've disposed of the box." " You Ve sold it to Braulard? " " Suppose I have? You can easily get a place. What have you come to see Dauriat about? I have agreed that we will push Paul de Kock ; Dauriat has taken five hundred copies. Victor Ducange refused him a novel ; so Dauriat wants, he says, to set up a new author in the same style. You are to write up Paul de Kock over Ducange." " But Ducange and I have a play together at the Gaite," said Lousteau. " Then tell him I wrote the article, — let him suppose I made it savage and you softened it ; he '11 owe you thanks for that." '' Can't you manage to get Dauriat's clerk to cash G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 153 me this little note for a hundred francs?" said Etienne to Finot ; ' ' you know ! we are to sup together tc-night to inaugurate Florine's new apartment." "Ah, yes, true ; you treat us/' said Finot, as if he were making an effort of memory. " Look here, Gabus- son," said the editor, taking Barbet's note and handing it to the cashier, " give monsieur ninety' francs for me. Endorse the note, old man." Lousteau took the cashiers pen while the latter counted out the mone}', and endorsed the note. Lucien, all ej'es and ears, lost not a sj'llable of the conver- sation. "But that's not all, m}- dear friend," continued Etienne, " and I shall not say 'thank you' either, for there 's friendship to the death between you and me of course. I want to present this gentleman to Dauriat, and 3'ou must make him willing to listen to us." " What 's in the wind?" asked Finot. " A collection of poems," replied Lucien. " Oh ! " exclaimed Finot, shrugging his shoulders. " I take it that monsieur has not had much to do with publishers as yet," remarked Vernou, looking at Lucien, " or he would hide his manuscript in the deepest re- cesses of his own room." At this moment a handsome young man, named Emile Blondet, who had just made his mark b}' articles of great public import in the " Journal des Debats," entered the place, shook hands with Finot and Lousteau, and bowed slightly to Vernou. " Come and sup with us to-night at Florine's," Lou- steau said to him. " So be it," said Blondet ; " who 's to be there? " 154 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. "Well, Florine and Matifat," said Lousteau, "and Du Bruel, who gives Florine the role for her first ap- pearance to-night, and a little old fellow named Cardot, and liis son-in-law Camusot ; also Finot." " Does the druggist do things in st3-le? " " He won't drug us I hope," remarked Lucien. " Monsieur is wittjV said Blondet looking gravely at Lucien ; " will he be there, too, Lousteau? " "Yes." " Then we shall have some fun." Lucien reddened to the tips of his ears. " How long before I can see you, Dauriat ? " said Blondet, rapping on the window, which was high up in the partition between the office and the shop. " I '11 be with you directly," said a voice. " Good," said Lousteau to his protege ; " that young man, almost as 3'oung as you are, is on the ' Debats.' He 's among the princes of criticism ; everybod}" fears him ; Dauriat will come and fawn upon him, and we shall have a good chance to speak to the pacha of vignettes and printers. If it had n't been for this we might have waited till eleven o'clock before our turn came to see him ; see how the crowd increases." Lucien and Lousteau followed Blondet, Finot, and Vernou, and together they made a little group at the farther end of the shop. " What is Dauriat about?" said Blondet to Gabus- son, the head-clerk, who came forward to speak to him. " He is buj'ing a broken-down weeklj^ paper, which he wants to revive in order to check the influence of the ' Minerve,' which is too exclusivel}' for Eymery, and the ' Conservateur,' which is blindlj' romanticist." Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 155 u Does he pay a good price for it ? " "As usual, — more ttiau it is wortli," replied the cashier. Just then a young man who had latel}^ published a fine novel, which had sold rapidl}' and won immediate success (the second edition being now under wa}'), en- tered the place. The appearance of this young man, endowed with that peculiar, fantastic air and manner which characterizes the artistic nature, struck Lucien powerfull3\ " Here 's Nathan," said Lousteau in Lucien's ear. In spite of the almost savage pride expressed in his countenance, then in its first youth, Nathan approached the journalists hat in hand, and placed himself humbly before Blondet, whom he as yet knew only by sight. Blondet and Finot kept their hats on their heads. "Monsieur," began Nathan, addressing Blondet, " I am most happy in the opportunity which chance affords me — " " He is so agitated he talks pleonasms," whispered Vernou to Lousteau. " — to express m}" gratitude for the fine review 3'ou were so good as to give me in the ' Journal des Debats.' More than half of the success of my book is owing to you.'' " No, no, my dear friend, no ! " said Blondet, with a protecting manner only slightly masked by kindliness. "You have talent, and I'm dehghted, the devil take me, to make your acquaintance." " As your article has alread}^ appeared I shall not be thought to curry favor ; I maj' feel at my ease with you. Will you do me the honor and the pleasure of dining 156 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris „ with me to-morrow ? Finot will be there ; Lousteau, old man, 30U won't refuse me ? " added Nathan, grasp- ins^ Lonsteau's hand. "Ah! vou have chosen a noble course, monsieur," he continued, addressing Blondet ; " 3'ou are following the Dussaults, Fievees, Geoffro3'S. Hoffmann spoke of 3'ou to Claude Vignon, his pupil, a friend of mine, to whom he said that the ' Journal des Debats' would live long with such articles as 3'ours. The3' must pa3' 3'ou enormousl3' for them." " A hundred francs a column," replied Blondet, "and that's a small price when one has to read so man3'' books in order to find one, like 3'ours, that is worth reviewing. Your work gave me great pleasure, on m3'' word of honor." " And it helped him to earn fifteen hundred francs," said Lousteau to Lucien. "But 3^ou write chiefl3' on political subjects, don't you?" said Nathan. *' As occasion off'ers," replied Blondet. Lucien had admired Nathan's book, he revered the writer as a demi-god, and was therefore, fledgling that he was, stupefied at the man's abasement before this critic, whose name and influence were unknown to him. " Shall I ever come to that? must a man abdicate his own self-respect?" thought he. "Put on 3'our hat, Nathan ! 3'ou have written a fine book, and that critic has onl3^ made an article on it." Such thoughts lashed the blood in his veins. As he stood there he saw num- berless timid 3'oung men, need3' authors, all anxious to speak to Dauriat, but who, seeing the shop full and des- pairing of getting an audience, turned and went out, remarking sadl3^, " I will call again." Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, 157 Two or three public men were talking of the convo- cation of the Chambers and of politics among a knot of celebrities in national affairs. The weekl}- journal for which Dauriat was now negotiating had the right to discuss politics. In those da^'s this was rare ; a news- paper was a privilege as much run after as a theatre. One of the influential stockholders of the " Constitu- tionnel " happened to form one of this group. Lousteau had certainly acquitted himself well in his office of cicerone, for, at every word, Dauriat was magnified in Lucien's mind as politics and literature were seen to converge upon him. But the sight of a fine writer prostrating his talent before a journalist, humiliating Art, as woman was humiliated and prostituted beneath those shameless galleries, was a terrible education to the provincial poet. Money ! j'es, money was the ke}' to the whole enigma. Lucien felt himself alone, help- less, clinging only hj the weak thread of an uncertain friendship to success and fortune. He accused his true and far-seeing friends in the brotherhood of having painted this world in false colors ; he blamed them for having dissuaded him from flinging himself into the arena, pen in hand. " I might by this time have been another Blondet ! " thou2;ht he. Lousteau himself, who had lately cried in his ears in the gardens like a wounded eagle, Lousteau, whom he had thought so great, was now dwarfed ; one man alone seemed to him important, — this fashionable publisher, who was literally the means by which all these lives existed. The poet, as he stood there, manuscript in hand, was conscious of a trepidation that resembled 158 Great Man of the Proviiices in Paris, fear. In the centre of the shop our poet noticed sev- eral busts on wooden pedestals painted to resemble marble, — one of B3^ron, one of Goethe, and one of Canalis, from whom Dauriat was desirous of obtainino; a volume. Gradually he began to lose the sense of his own value ; his courage weakened. He foresaw the influence that this Dauriat was to exercise over his destin}', and he nervously awaited his appearance. " Well, m}' friends/' said a fat and oily little man, with a face like that of a Roman pro-consul, softened, however, b}" a good-humored expression which beguiled superficial minds, "behold me the proprietor of the onl}' weekl}' paper that could be purchased, with a list of two thousand subscribers." ' ' Nonsense ! the Stamp-Office rates them at seven hundred ; and that 's over the mark," said Blondet. " On mv sacred word of honor there are twelve hundred. I make it two thousand," added Dauriat, lowering his voice, "because of those printers and paper-makers over there. — I thought 3'ou knew better than that," he said aloud. " Do 3'ou want partners? " asked Finot. " That depends," replied Dauriat. " Will you take a third at forty thousand francs ? " ' ' All right, if you '11 agree to put the men I want on the staff, — Emile Blondet here present, Claude Vignon, Scribe, Theodore Leclercq, Feli^ien Vernou, Jay, Jou}^, Lousteau — " " And why not Lucien de Rubempre? " said the poet of the provinces, boldly. '' — and Nathan," concluded Finot. " Yes, and why not every bod}^ who is walking about? " Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 159 said the publisher, frowning, and addressing the author of the "Daisies." "To whom have I the honor of speaking?" he said, with an impertinent air. '' One moment, Dauriat," interposed Lousteau. "I brought monsieur to see you. Wliile Plnot is thinking over your proposal, let me have a word with you." Lucien's shirt felt wet upon his back as he saw the cold, displeased look of this formidable padishah of publishers, who had greeted all the writers present with an air of familiar contempt. "Is it some new affair, my bo}'?" asked Dauriat ; " you know very well I have got eleven hundred m.anu- scripts now on hand. Yes, gentlemen," he cried, " positively eleven hundred, — ask Gabusson. T shall soon need a staff of clerks to register them, and another staff of readers to examine them ; there '11 be meetings to vote on their merits, with ballots, and a secretary to report results ; a sort of annex to the Academic Fran- 9aise, in which the academicians shall be better paid in the Galeries de Bois than they are at the Institute." " A good idea," said Blondet. "A bad idea," retorted Dauriat. " I have no inten- tion of examining the lucubrations of such of you as start in literature because you can't be anything else, — neither bootmakers, nor corporals, nor servants, nor sheriffs, nor magistrates, nor capitalists of any kind. No one is admitted here unless his reputation is made. If you are celebrated 3'ou shall have floods of gold, not otherwise. I have made three men famous durinaf the last two 3'ears and thej' are all three ungrateful. There 's Nathan, who wants six thousand francs for the second edition of his book, which has cost me three 160 Grreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. thousand francs in reviews, and hasn't yet brought me in a thousand. I paid for Blondet's two articles one thousand francs and a dinner which cost five hundred — " "But, monsieur, if all publishers said that, how would a first book ever get published? " asked Lucien, in whose e3'es Blondet had a sudden fall in value when he learned the price Dauriat had paid for the articles in the "Debats." "That doesn't concern me," replied Dauriat with a murderous glance at the handsome 3'outh, who was smiling at him agreeably. " For my part, I don't pub- lish books on which I risk two thousand francs to make two thousand. I speculate in literature. I publish forty volumes of ten thousand copies each, as Panc- kouke and the Beaudouins do. M}^ name and the re- views I procure make it a matter of hundreds of thousands of francs, instead of merely two thousand for a single volume. It would give me more trouble to push a new author and his book than it does to bring out the 'Theatres Etrangers,' ' Victoires et Conquetes/ or the ' Memoires sur la Revolution,' all of which brought in a fortune. I 'm not here to be made a step- ping-stone to future fame, but to make mone}^ and pay mone}^ to celebrated men. The manuscript that I buy for a hundred thousand francs is less dear than that an unknown author asks six hundred for. Though I 'm not altogether a Mecsenas I have a right to the grati- tude of literature. I have already more than doubled the price of manuscripts. I give 3'ou this information because 3'Ou are a friend of Lousteau, my little man," said Dauriat slapping the poet on the shoulder with an Great Man of the Provinces in Payns. 161 odious gesture of familiarit3\ " If I were to talk with all the authors w^ho want me to be their publisher I should have to shut up shop, for m}- whole time would be spent in conversation, agreeable perhaps, but much too costly. I 'm not rich enough to listen to the mono- logues of vanity. No one ever does that except on the stage in the classic tragedies.'' The luxury of this terrible Dauriat's apparel enforced, to the eyes of a provincial poet, the cruel logic of his words. " What has he got there to publish?" said Dauriat to Lousteau. " A volume of fine verses." Hearing this replj' Dauriat turned to Gabusson with a gesture worthy of Talma. " Gabusson, my friend, from this day forth if any one comes here to offer me manuscripts — Now listen to this, all the rest of you," he said, addressing three clerks who appeared from behind the piles of books on hearing the choleric voice of their master, who was looking at his nails and well-shaped hands, — " remember, when any one brings a manuscript you are to ask if it is prose or verse. If it is verse, send him away, get rid of him ; verses are the ruin of the trade." " Bravo! well said, Dauriat ! " cried all the journalists. " It is true," said the publisher, walking up and down the shop with Lucien's manuscript in his hand. " You don't know, gentlemen, what evils Lord B^Ton's suc- cess and Victor Hugo's, Lamartine's, Casimir De- lavigne's, and Beranger's have produced. Their fame has brought down upon us a horde of barbarians. I 11 162 Great Man of the Provinces iii Paris, am positive there are thousands of poems in the hands of publishers at this very moment beginning in the middle, and without head or tail, lilie 'The Corsair' and ' Lara.' Young men rush into incomprehensible strophes and call it originalit}', and dash off descriptive poems, and think they are making a new school, when they are only reviving Delille. For the last two years poets have swarmed like cockchafers ; I lost twent}' thousand francs on them last 3'ear ! — ask Gabusson. There may be immortal poets in the world ; I know some fresh and rosy ones that don't 3'et shave ; but to the publishing trade, 3'oung man," he said turning to Lucien, " there are but four poets : Beranger, Casimir Delavigne, Lamartine, and Victor Hugo ; as for Ca- nalis ! — he 's a poet made by reviewers." Lucien had not the nerve to pull himself up and show pride before those men of influence who were all laugh- ing heartil}', — he felt he should onl}" cover himself with ridicule ; but all the same a violent longing seized him to spring at the throat of that publisher and destroy the insulting perfection of his cravat, and break the chain that glittered on his waistcoat. His infuriated self- love opened a door in his mind to vengeance, and he swore a deadlv enmitv to that man on whom he smiled. "Poetry is like the sun, which starts the growth of primeval forests and begets flies and gnats," said Blon- det. " There is no virtue that is n't lined with a vice. Literature begets publishers." "And journalists," said Lousteau. Dauriat burst out laughing. " What is this anyhow ? " he said tapping the manuscript. G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 163 "A collection of sonnets that would make Petrarch ashamed," replied Lonsteau. " How do 3'ou intend that remark?" asked Dauriat. " As most persons would," answered Lousteau, see- ing a sly smile on the lips of those present. Lucien could not be angry, but he sweated under his harness. ^'Well, I '11 read it," said Dauriat, with a royal gesture, meant to show the full importance of this concession. " If 3'our sonnets are up to the level of the nineteenth century, I '11 make a great poet of you, my little man." " If his talent is equal to his beauty you won't run great risks," said one of the most famous orators of the Chamber, who was standing near, conversing with a reporter for the ' ' Constitutionnel " and the editor of the "Minerve." "General," said Dauriat, " fame is only made by twelve thousand francs' worth of newspaper articles and three thousand francs' worth of dinners ; ask the author of ' Le Solitaire,' whether that's not so. If Monsieur Benjamin Constant will consent to write an article on this young poet, I will not hesitate to come to terms with him." As the great man of the provinces heard the title "General" and the name of the illustrious Benjamin Constant, the shabby shop took on the proportions of Olympus. " Lousteau, I want to speak to 3'ou," said Finot ; "but we shall meet at the theatre. Dauriat, I'll take 3'our offer on certain conditions. Come into jour office.'' "Very good, come on, my boy," said Dauriat, motion- 164 Crreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. ing Finot to precede him, and making the gesture of a bus}^ man to a dozen others who were trj'ing to speak to him ; he was just disappearing when Lucien, losing patience, stopped him. "You have my manuscript," he said ; "when am I to have an answer ? " " Well, my little poet, you may come back in three or four days, and I '11 see about it." Lucien was dragged away by Lousteau, who would not give him time to bow to Vernou, or Blondet, or Raoul Nathan, or General Foy, or Benjamin Constant, whose work on the Hundred Days had just appeared. Lucien had scarcely time to see that refined fair head, with its oval face and spiritual eyes and charming mouth, — the face of the man who for twent}^ j-ears was the Potemkin of Madame de Stael, who made war upon the Bourbons after making it on Napoleon, and was destined to die horrified at his victor3\ " What a place that is ! " cried Lucien as he took his place in a cab beside Lousteau. " Panorama-Dramatique, — and as fast as you can ; thirty sous for j'our fare ! " called Etienne to the cab- man. " Yes ; Dauriat is a rascal who sells from fifteen to sixteen hundred thousand francs' worth of books yearly ; you might call him the minister of literature," said Lousteau, whose vanity was pleasantly tickled, and who now posed as instructor to Lucien. " His cu- pidity, quite equal to that of Barbet, is on a grand scale. Dauriat has his own wa3S, however ; he can be generous, but he is always vain. As for his mind, that 's made up of what he hears around him ; his shop is a very good place to frequent ; j-ou can get into con- G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 165 versation there with the leading men of the day. A young man can learn more there, my dear fellow, in one hour than he can in hanging over books for a year. There they discuss articles and start new topics, and a man can attach himself to celebrated or influential persons who may be very useful to him. It is most important in these days to make connections. All is mere chance, as you can see by this time. The most dangerous thing is to have an intellect kept hidden in a corner." " But that fellow is so impertinent," said Lucien. "Pooh! we all laugh at Dauriat," replied Etienne. " If you have need of him he '11 trample j'ou underfoot ; but he needs the 'Journal des Debats,' and Emile Blon- det twirls him like a top. Oh I if 3'ou are determined to enter literature you '11 see many such things. What did I tell you?" " Yes, you were right," answered Lucien, "but I suffered in that shop more cruell}' than I expected, even after what you said." "Then why do you put yourself in the way of such suffering? I tell you that the things that cost us our life, the subjects which tear our brains through studious nights, the fields of thought we toil among, the work we build and cement with our blood, are to publishers merely a paying or a non-paying venture. They sell or they don't sell your work, — that 's the whole problem to them. A book to them is only a risk of capital. The finer the book, the less chance it has of selling. All superior minds are above the masses ; their success depends therefore on the necessary time it takes for their work to be appreciated. No publisher is willing 166 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. to wait for that. The book of to-day must be sold to- morrow. Publishers will refuse books of real substance which advance slowlj^ to high appreciation." " D'Arthez was right ! " cried Lucien. "Do you know d'Arthez? " said Lousteau. " There I is nothing more dangerous than solitar}' minds that ex- pect, as that poor fellow does, to bring the world to their feet. B}^ fanaticizing their 3'oung imaginations with a belief that merely flatters their inward sense of power, such foolish awaiters of posthumous glory are prevented from bestirring themselves at an age when movement is possible and profitable. I 'm for Mohammed's system : after ordering the mountain to come to him he cried out, ' If 3'ou don't come to me, I '11 go to 3'ou.' ^' This sail}', in which reason was the incisive force, made Lucien hesitate in mind between the system of laborious and submissive poverty inculcated b}' the brotherhood and the doctrine of aggression which Lousteau expounded to him. The poet of Angouleme kept silence after that until they reached the boulevard du Temple. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 167 XI. BEHIND THE SCENES. The Panorama-Dramatique, the site of which is now occupied b}^ a private house, was then a charming- theatre standing opposite to the rue Chariot on the boulevard du Temple, which failed of success under two managements, although Bouffe, an actor who inherited Potier's fame, made his first appearance there ; also Florine, who, five 3'ears later, became a noted actress. Theatres, like men, are doomed sometimes to fatalit}'. The Panorama-Dramatique was forced into competition with the Ambigu, the Gaite, the Porte-Saint-Martin, and the vaudeville theatres ; it was unable to withstand their intrigues, the restrictions placed upon its privi- leges, and the lack of good pla3's. Authors are afraid of displeasing successful theatres by working for a new establishment the future of which is doubtful. How- ever, at the present moment the management was counting on a new piece, a sort of comic melodrama bj^ a 3'oung author, the collaborator of several celebrities, named Du Bruel, who claimed that he bad written this pla}' alone. It was brought out for the first appearance of Florine, until then a subordinate actress at the Gaite, where for the last 3'ear she had played insignificant roles successfully', without, however, obtaining a good l68 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. engagement. The Panorama had therefore abducted her from its rival. Another actress, named Coralie, was also to make her first appearance on this occasion. When the two young men arrived Lucien was as- tonished by a new example of the power of the press. " Monsieur is with me," said Etienne to a door- keeper, who bowed low. " You will find it hard to get a seat," said the head- doorkeeper ; "there is nothing available but the man- ager's box." Etienne and Lousteau lost some time in wandering through the corridors and negotiating with the box- openers. ' ' Let us go into the green-room and speak to the manager," said Lousteau ; " he will take us into his box. I '11 present you to Florine, the heroine of the evening." At a sign from Lousteau the porter of the stalls took a small key and opened a hidden door made in a wall. Lucien followed his friend and passed instantly from the brilliantly lighted corridor to a dark hole, which, in nearly every theatre, is the means of communication between the auditorium and the part called in general terms, "behind the scenes." After mounting a few damp stairs the provincial poet entered the latter region, where the strangest sight awaited him. The narrow- ness of the passage-ways, the enormous height of the roof, the lamplighters' ladders, the various decorations horrible to behold near-by, the whitened actors, their singular garments made of the commonest materials, the scene-shifters with greasy jackets, the hanging ropes, the stage manager walking about with his hat on his head, the waiting supernumeraries, the scenery sus- Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 169 pended over-head, the fire-buckets and the firemen, — in short, the whole assemblage of things absurd, dismal, dirty, hideous, and tawdr}^ was so little like what Lu- cien had seen from his seat in the theatre that his amazement was uncontrollable. A good, old-fashioned melodrama, called " Bertram," was just ending, — a play adapted from a tragedy by Maturin, greatly admired by Nodier, Lord Byron, and Walter Scott, but wholly without success on the French stage. " Don't let go my arm unless 3'ou wish to fall through some trap, or receive a forest on your head, or knock over a palace, or carry off a cottage," said Lousteau. " Is Florine in her dressing-room, my beauty? " he said to an actress who was waiting her cue to go upon the stage. ' ' Yes, my love ; and thank you for what you said about me ; you are so much nicer since Florine joined us." "Take care! don't miss your entrance effect, ni}^ dear," said Lousteau. '•' Rush on, hands up ! sa}' it well : ' Pause, wretched man ! ' The house is full, receipts immense." Lucien was amazed to see the actress collect herself and then rush on, exclaiming : " Pause, wretched man ! " in tones of horror. She was no longer the same woman. " So this is the theatre ! " he said to Lousteau. ''Just the same thing as the pubhshing concern in the Galeries de Bois, or literature in a newspaper office, — a regular cook-shop," responded his new friend. Nathan appeared. " Whom have you come to see ? " asked Lousteau. 170 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. "I'm doing the lesser theatres for the 'Gazette,' till I get something better," replied Nathan. " Then come to supper to-night, and say good things for Florine in return," said Loustcau. " At your service," answered Nathan. " You know she lives now in the rue de Bond v." " Who is that handsome young man, m}' little Lou- steau?" said the actress, coming oft* the stage. " Ah, m}' dear, a great poet ! a man who is going to be celebrated. Monsieur Nathan, as 3'ou are to sup together allow me to present Monsieur Lucien de Rubempre." " You bear a distinguished name, monsieur," said Nathan to Lucien. " Lucien, Monsieur Raoul Nathan," added Lousteau. "Ah, monsieur," said Lucien, "I was reading 3-ou only two days ago, and I cannot understand how, hav- ing written such a novel and such poems, you could be so humble to that journalist." " I shall wait till you have published 3-our first book before answering 3'ou," said Nathan, with a meaning smile. " Bless me ! ultras and liberals shaking hands ! " cried Felicien Vernou, coming upon the trio. " In the morning m3' opinions are those of my jour- nal," said Nathan ; " but at night I think as I please." " Etienne," said Vernou, " Finot came with me, and he wants vou — ah ! here he is." " Look liere ! there is n't a seat left," said Finot. " There 's always one in our hearts for 3'OU," said the actress, giving the editor-in-chief an agreeable smile. " So, so, my little Florville, 3'ou have got over your G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 171 love-affair, have you ? I thought 3'ou were carried off by a Russian prince." "Nobody carries off women now-a-da3's," said la Florville, the actress who had just declaimed, "Pause, wretched man!" "We stayed ten days at Saint- Mande, and the prince paid a proper indemnity to the management. And the management," she added, laugh- ing, " is now praying God for more Russian princes ; indemnities are receipts without costs." "And you, little one," said Finot to a prett}' peas- ant-girl who was listening to them, '• where did you get those diamond earrings ? Have you captured an Indian rajah?" " No, onl}' a man who sells blacking, an Englishman ; and he is gone already ! It is not so easy to get hold, like Florine and Corahe, of millionnaire shop-keepers tired of their homes ; are n't they luck}-, those two? " "You'll miss your entrance, Florville," cried Lousteau. "If you want to make a stroke," said Nathan, "in- stead of screaming like a fur}-, ' He is saved ! ' go on calmly and walk to the footlights and say in a chest voice, ' He is saved,' — just as Talma says, ' O patria,' in Tancredi. Come, go along," he added, pushing her. " It is too late," said Vernou ; " she lost her chance." "What did she do? just hear the applause!" said Lousteau. " She went down on her knees and showed her bosom ; that 's her great resource," said the widow of the blacking. " The manager has given us his box ; you'll find me there," said Finot to Etienne. 172 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. Lousteau then took Lucien behind the stage and through a labyrinth of corridors and stairwaj^s until, accompanied by Nathan and Vernou, the}' reached a small room on the third floor. " Good-evening, gentlemen," said Florine. "Mon- sieur," she added, turning to a short, stout man, who stood in a corner, ' ' these are the arbiters of my fate ; m}' future is in their hands ; nevertheless, I hope the}' will be under our table to-morrow morning, — if Mon- sieur Lousteau has forgotten nothing." "Forgotten! no! you will have Blondet of the 'Debats,' " said Etienne, — " Blondet himself, the true Blondet, — Blondet, I tell you ! " "Oh, my little Lousteau, I '11 kiss 3'ou for that," cried the actress, throwing her arms round the journalist's neck. At this demonstration, Matifat, the stout man in the corner, looked serious. At sixteen, Florine was thin. Her beaut}', like a flower-bud full of promise, could onl}' please artists who prefer sketches to pictures. This charming actress had a delicacy of feature which characterized her and gave her a likeness to Goethe's Mignon. Matifat, a rich druggist in the rue des Lom- bards, had supposed that a little actress of a boulevard theatre would not be expensive. Instead of that she had cost him in eleven months over sixt}- thousand francs. Nothing had, as yet, seemed more extraor- dinar}" to Lucien than the spectacle of that respectable shopkeeper planted like a Hermes in this ten-foot dress- ing-room ; which was hung with a prett}' paper, fur- nished with a ps3'che-glass, a sofa, two chairs, a carpet, a fireplace, and full of closets. A waiting-maid was Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 173 putting the last touches to the actress's dress, which was Spanish. The piece was a complicated drama, in which Florine pla3ed the part of a countess. "In five years that o-irl will be the handsomest ac- tress in Paris," said Nathan to Vernou. " Ah, mj dear loves," said Florine to the three jour- nalists, " be good to me to-morrow. In the first place, I have engaged carriages to-night, for3'Ou will all go home as drunk as Csesar. Matifat has wines, — oh ! such wines ! worthy of Louis XVIII., and he has hired the cook of the Prussian minister.'" " We expect enormous things in meeting monsieur," said Nathan. ' ' He knows he is entertaining the most dangerous men in Paris," replied Florine. Matifat looked at Lucien uneasil}^, for the 3'oung man's beaut}' roused his jealous}*. " But here is some one I don't know," said Florine, looking at the poet. " Which of you has brought the Apollo Belvedere from Florence? Monsieur is as charming as a figure of Girodet." "Mademoiselle," said Lousteau, "Monsieur Lucien de Rubempre is a poet from the provinces. Forgive me for not presenting him, but you are so beautiful this evening that you have made me forget matter-of-fact and empty civility." "Is he rich enough to write poetry?" asked Florine. " Poor as Job," replied Lucien. " How tempting for us ! " exclaimed the actress. Du Bruel, the author of the piece in which Florine was about to make her debut, now came hastily into the room. He was a short, slender young man, wearing a 174 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. frock-coat ; and his general air was something between a government official, a broker, and a property owner. " My dear little Florine, are 3'ou sure 3^ou know 3'our part, he}^ ? No break-down of memory, j^ou know. Be careful about that scene in the second act ; it needs to be incisive, sarcastic. Mind 3'ou say, *I do not love 3'ou,' in the wa}^ we agreed on." " Why doj'on take parts in which there are sentences like that ? " said Matifat. A general laugh followed this inquiry of the worths- druggist. " What does that matter to 3'ou if I don't sa3' it to S^^ou, old stupid ? " said the actress. " Oh ! he 's the J03' of m3' life with his stupidities," she added, turning to the others. ' '■ On the word of an honest girl I would pa3'^ him in kind if it would n't ruin me." ''Yes, but 3-0U will look at me when 3^ou say it, just as 3'Ou have been doing when 3^ou learned 3'our part, and I don't like it," persisted Matifat. '' Ver3' good, then I '11 look at my little Lousteau," said the actress. A bell rang in the corridors. " There, go awa3^ all of you," said Florine, " and let me read over m3" part and try to understand it." Lucien and Lousteau were the last to leave the room. Lousteau kissed Florine's shoulders, and Lucien heard her say, — "Impossible to-night; that old stupid has told his wife he was going into the countr3\" "Isn't she prett3'?" said Etienne to Lucien. "Yes, m3^ dear fellow; but — Matifat?" cried Lucien. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 175 "He}', m}' dear bo}', \o\\ don't know anything as 3'et of Parisian life," replied Lousteau. "There are things one is forced to put up with. It is the same as being the lover of a married woman, that's all." Etienne and Lucien now went to one of the prosce- nium boxes on the ground-floor, where they found the manager of the theatre and Finot. Matifat was in the box directly opposite, with a friend of his, — a silk mercer named Camusot, who " protected " Coralie, and a sturdj^, little old man, his father-in-law. The three tradesmen polished their opera glasses and looked at the pit, the tumultuous excitement of which seemed to make them uneasy. The boxes presented the usual queer society which appears at a first repre- sentation, — journalists and their mistresses ; old habi- tues who never miss a first night ; persons of good societ}' who like such emotions. In a box on the first tier with his family was the minister of finance, who had given Du Bruel a place in his bureau, where the maker of plays received the salary and perquisites of a sinecure. Lucien, in the short period since his dinner, had gone from one astonishment to another. Literarv life, which for the last two months had seemed to him so povert3'-stricken in his own experience, — so barren, so horrible in Lousteau's room ; so humble and yet so insolent in the Galeries du Bois, — now took on a strange magnificence under divers singular aspects. This jumble of things noble and base ; these compro- mises with conscience ; this mingling of superiority and meanness, treacher}' and pleasure, grandeur and servi- tude, bewildered him as though he were gazing at some unnatural, unheard-of show. 176 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. ^' Do 3'ou think this pla}^ of Dii Bruel's will stand you in money ? " asked Finot of the manager. '^Well, it is a play with a plot in which Dn Bruel has tried to be Beaumarchais. The boulevard public does n't like that style ; it wants to be convulsed with emotions. Intellect is never appreciated here. Ever}'- thing depends to-night on Florine and Coralie, who are reall}^ ravishing in grace and beaut}'. They are wear- ing very short skirts, and they do a Spanish dance which ma}' carry the public off its feet. This represen- tation is about the same as a game of chance. If the newspapers give me a few lively articles and make it a success, I may get two or three hundred thousand francs out of the piece." "Ah ! I see ; it will only be a succes d'estime in any case," said Finot. "There's an organized cabal from the three other boulevard theatres, who will hiss the play anyhow ; but I have taken measures to balk it. I have paid the claqueurs who are sent against me, and they'll hiss stupidly. Those two shopkeepers over there have each, m order to secure a triumph to Coralie and Florine, taken a hundred tickets and given them to acquaint- ances who will applaud enough to silence the cabal. The claqueurs^ paid twice over, will let themselves be drowned ; and that always has a good effect on the public." " Two hundred tickets ! — what precious men ! " ex- claimed Finot. " Yes ; if I had two other actresses as handsomely kept as Florine and Coralie I should feel secure." For the last two hours everything to Lucien's ears Great Ma-ti of the Provinces in Paris. 177 had turned on money. At the theatre as with the pub- lishers, with the publishers as with the newspapers, there was no thought of art or fame. These blows of the great pendulum of Money striking on his head and on his heart tortured him. While the orchestra pla3'ed the overture he could not help contrasting the applause and hisses of the excited audience with the calm, pure scenes of poes}' and aspiration he had known in David's printing-room, where together the two poets had visions of the marvels of art, the noble triumphs of genius, the white wings of Fame. Then he remembered his even- ings with the brotherhood, and tears filled his eyes. "What is the matter?" said Lousteau, noticing them. "I see poesy in the gutter," he answered. " He}', my dear fellow, full of illusions still ! " "But must a man crawl on his bell}' and submit to those fat Matifats and Camusots, as actresses submit to journalists, and we submit to publishers?" " Look here, 3'oung one," whispered Lousteau, with a motion towards Finot. "You see that clumsy fel- low, without mind or talent, but grasping ; resolved on making money b}' any means, and clever at that. You saw him in Dauriat's shop cut me off ten per cent on that note of Barbet's, with an air as if he were doing me a favor? Well, that fellow has letters from several dawning men of genius who go down on their knees to him to get a hundred francs." Disgust choked Lucien's heart as he remembered the drawing he had seen on the green table of the newspaper office, and its legend, "Finot, my hundred francs ! " 12 178 Gi^eat Man of the Provinces in Paris. " I 'd rather die ! " he said. " You 'd better live," replied Lousteau. When the curtain rose the manager left the box to give certain orders behind the scenes. " My dear Etienne," said Finot, as soon as the man- ager was out of hearing, " I've arranged with Dauriat, and I'm to have a third in the weekly paper. The agreement is thirty thousand francs down on condition that I am made editor-in-chief and director. It is a splendid affair. Blondet tells me the gOA^ernment are preparing restrictive laws against the f)i'ess, and none but existing newspapers will escape them. Six months hence it will cost a million to start a new paper. I have therefore clinched the bargain, though I don't own at the present moment more than ten thousand francs. Now, listen to me. If you can get Matifat to buy half my share — that is, one sixth — for thirty thousand francs, I '11 make over to 3'ou the whole man- agement as editor-in-chief of my '- petit journal' and two hundred and fift}' francs a month. You shall be my locum-tenens. Of course I shall still direct the paper and keep all m}' interests in it, but without ap- pearing to do so. All articles will be paid to you at the rate of a hundred sous a column ; therefore 3'ou can make 3'ourself a bonus of fifteen francs by pacing onlj' three francs, and profiting b}' the gratuitous editing. That will be at least four hundred and fifty francs a month. I must be master, and free to attack or de- fend men or matters as I choose ; but 3'ou may satisfy' all your friendships and hatreds, as long as 3'ou don't interfere with m}' polic}'. I may be ministerial or ultra; I am not sure as 3'et : but I mean to keep in hand all Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 179 my liberal connections. I tell 3'ou this frankly because 3'ou're a good fellow and I can trust 30U. Perhaps I'll let 3'ou do the Chambers for that other paper I am on, for I doubt if I can keep them. Now, set Florine on this bit of jockeying ; tell her to press the button hard on her druggist ; I am allowed only forty-eight hours to give up the arrangement if I find I can't pos- sibly raise the money. Dauriat has sold the other third to his printer and paper-maker. He gets his own third for nothing, and ten thousand francs to boot, for the whole concern cost him only fifty thousand. In a 3^ear from now it will be worth two hundred thousand to the court to buy us out, if the king has, as the}' say he has, the good sense to intend to buy up the press." " You are a lucky fellow ! " cried Lousteau. "If you had gone through the wretchedness that I have you wouldn't say that," replied Finot. "And eyen now I 'm the yictim of a misfortune that can't be remedied. I am the son of a hat-maker who still sells hats in the rue du Coq. Nothing but a revolution can ever put me sociall}' where I ought to be. One of two things I must have, — either a general social upset, or a way to make millions. Of the two I don't know bilt what a revolution is easiest. If I had a name like that of 3'our friend here m}- career would be made. Hush ! here 's the manager. Adieu ! " added Finot, rising ; " I must go to the opera ; and I ma}', perhaps, have a duel on hand to-morrow. I have written and signed with an 'F.' a thundering' article against two daoiseuses who each has a general for her friend. I have attacked and raided the opera." " Oh, nonsense ! " said the manager. 180 Grreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. ^'Yes, the theatres are all getting so sting}^," re- plied Finot. "One tries to cut me down in boxes; another refuses to subscribe for the usual fifty copies. I have given m}' ultimatum to the opera : I insist on a hundred subscriptions and four boxes for mj^self. If they accept, my paper will have eight hundred sub- scribers to supply and one thousand who pay ; and I know where I can get two hundred more subscriptions. We shall be twelve hundred by January — " "You'll end b}' ruining all of us," said the manager. " You ! 3'ou need n't complain, with your ten subscrip- tions. Did n't I get two good articles for 3'ou into the ' Constitutionnel ' ? " " Oh, I 'm not finding fault ! " cried the manager. "Well, good-night!" said Finot. "Lousteau, let me have an answer to-morrow at the Frangais, where there 's a first representation ; I can't write the article myself, so you ma}^ do it and have m}^ box. I give 3'ou the preference ; you 've worked 3-ourself to death for me, and I'm grateful. Felicien Vernou offers to pay twenty thousand francs, and give up all salary and emoluments for one year, for a third of the paper ; but I have refused ; I want to remain sole master of it. Adieu ! " " Knave ! " muttered Lucien to Lousteau. ''Yes, a gallows-bird, who'll make his wa}^ all the same," replied Etienne, indifi'erent as to whether he were heard or not bv the shrewd fellow who was clos- ing the door of the box. " He? " said the manager ; " he '11 be a millionnaire, and win general respect, and probably friends." "Good God!" cried Lucien; "what a cave of Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 181 iniquity ! Lousteau," he continued, dropping his voice and looking at Florine, who was casting her glances at them, "you are surel}' not going to defile that charm- ing girl with such a negotiation ? " " She'll succeed. You don't know the cleverness and devotion of those dear creatures," replied Lousteau. "They redeem their faults and wipe out all their wrong-doings by the intensity of their love when they do love," said the manager. " The genuine love of an actress is all the finer from the contrast it makes to her surroundings." **It is hke finding in the mud a diamond worthy of the proudest crown on earth," added Lousteau. "But," said the director presently', "do you notice Coralie ? She is n't thinking of what she 's about. Your handsome friend here has turned her head. She's missing her effects. There, that 's the second time she has failed to hear the prompter. Monsieur, I do beg of 3'ou, sit out of sight in this corner. I shall go and tell Coralie 3'ou have gone." " No, no ! " said Lousteau ; " tell her that monsieur will be at the supper to-night, and she can do what she likes with him. If 3'ou tell her that, she '11 play like Mademoiselle Mars." The manager departed. " M}' dear friend," said Lucien, "is it possible that 3'ou have no scruple in asking Mademoiselle Florine to get thirt3' thousand francs out of that druggist for a half share of a whole which Finot has just bought at that price ? — " Lousteau would not leave Lucien the time to finish his sentence. 182 Great 3Ian of the Provinces in Paris, *' Where do 3'ou come from, my lad? That druggist is n't a man, he is only a purse." ' ' But 3'our own conscience ? " " Conscience, my dear fellow, is a stick we take to beat our neighbor with ; nobody ever uses it on him- self. What the devil are you quarrelling with ? Chance has done for 3'ou in one day a miracle you might have waited years for ; and here 3'ou are finding fault with its methods ! You ! who seem to me to have a mind, and the independence of ideas which all intellectual adventurers must have in the world we live in, — you, to dabble in scruples like a nun who confesses to eating an egg with concupiscence ! If Florine succeeds I shall be editor-in-chief; I shall earn a fixed sum of two hun- dred and fift3^ francs a month ; I shall take the great theatres and leave the vaudevilles to Vernou ; and you shall put 3'our foot in the stirrup by taking m3" present place in the Boulevard theatres. You will earn three francs a column and write one a da3' ; thirt3' a month will give 3'Ou ninet3' francs ; you will have sixt3' francs' worth of books to sell to Barbet ; and 3^ou can get ten tickets monthl3', forty in all, from each of the theatres, which 3'Ou will sell to a theatrical Barbet (I '11 intro- duce him to you). All this will give you two hundred francs a month. Besides which, if you '11 make yourself useful to Finot he will put a hundred-franc article of 3^ours into his weekl3' paper, — always supposing 3'ou displa3' talent, for there the articles have to be signed ; no dashing off things an3'how as in the little papers. That will give 3'ou, at the least, three hundred francs a month. M3' dear fellow, there are men of genius in Paris, like that poor d'Arth^z who dines ever3^ da3' at Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 183 Flicoteaux's, who can't earn three hundred francs a month at the end of ten 3'ears. You will make at least four thousand francs a year with 3'our pen, not counting what 3'ou ma}' get from publishers. Now a subprefect gets a salarj' of onl}' three thousand francs, and his life is as dull as ditch-water in its petty round. I won't sa}' anything about the pleasure of going to the theatre without pa3'ing for it, because that soon gets to be a bore ; but 3'Ou will have a footing behind the scenes of four theatres. Be severe and witt3' for a couple of months and 3'ou '11 be overrun with attentions of all kinds from the actresses ; their lovers will court 3'Ou, and 3'ou '11 never have to dine at Flicoteaux's, — except on da3's when 3-ou happen to be low in cash and nobody has asked you to dinner. At five o'clock this afternoon in the Luxembourg, you did n't know where to la}' your head, and 3'OU are now on the eve of becoming one of the hundred privileged persons who give opin- ions to France. In three days, provided we succeed, 3'OU will be able with thirt3' sarcasms, printed at the rate of three a da3', to make a man curse his life and wish he was never born ; you can get mortgages of pleasure on all the actresses of the four theatres ; you can break down a good pla3' and send all Paris to applaud a bad one. If Dauriat refuses to publish your ' Daisies,' 3'Ou can bring him cringing to your feet and make him bu}' them for two thousand francs. Use 3'our talent and get two or three articles in two or three journals which threaten some of Dauriat's speculations, a book for instance on which he counts, and 3'ou '11 have him climbing the stairs to your garret and hanging round there like a clematis. As for your novel, the publishers. 184 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. who now turn you out of doors more or less civilly, will stand in line to catch 3'ou, and that very manuscript old Doguereau cheapened to four hundred francs they'll be glad enough to get at four thousand. Such are the benefits of journalism. For this reason it behooves us to keep new-comers out ; it needs not only great talent but also great luck to get within its precincts. You 've had that luck in one afternoon, and now you are quar- relling with it ! Just see ! if you and I had not hap- pened to meet to-day at Flicoteaux's you might have cooled your heels for 3'ears, or died of hunger, like d'Arthez, in a garret. By the time d'Arthez is as learned as Bayle and as fine a writer as Rousseau we shall have made our fortunes and shall be masters of him and his fame ; Finot will be a deput}', and the proprietor of one of the great newspapers ; and we shall be that which we have made ourselves, — either peers of France or prisoners for debt in Sainte-Pelagie." "And Finot will sell his great newspaper to which- ever political part}' will give him most mone}', just as he sells puff's to Madame Bastienne and disparages Mademoiselle Virginie, declaring that the bonnets of the former are better than those of the latter, whom he cried up last week ! " cried Lucien, remembering the scene he had witnessed in Finot's oflSce. "You're a simpleton, my dear fellow," said Lous- teau, sharph^ " Three years ago Finot was utterly down at heel, dined at Tabar's for eighteen sous, wrote prospectuses for ten francs, and how his coat held on his back was a mystery as impenetrable as the Immacu- late Conception. Finot now has in his sole right a news- paper worth a hundred thousand francs. Counting G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 185 subscriptions paid without copies, and real subscriptions, and indirect taxes (as you may call them) levied by his uncle, he makes twenty thousand francs a year ; he dines sumptuously every day ; for the last month he has set up a cabriolet ; and now here he is at the head of a weekly paper, getting one sixth of the property for nothing, with five hundred francs a month salary, to which he *11 add a thousand more for work he '11 get done gratis and make his partners pay him for. You '11 be one of the first ; for if Finot consents to pay you fifty francs a page 3'ou '11 be only too glad to write him three articles for nothing. When you are in a like posi- tion 3'ou will be able to judge of Finot, and not till then ; a man can't be judged except by iiis equals in condition. You have at this moment a fine opening, provided you blindly obey orders and attack when Finot says, " Attack ! " and praise when he says, " Praise ! " When you have a vengeance of your own against any one all you have to do is to say to me, ' Lousteau, I want that man smashed,' and we can put into our own little paper any day and every day something that will kill your enemy. And if the matter is of real importance to you, Finot would get an article into one of the great journals which have ten or twelve thousand subscribers." " Do you think that Florine will be able to make her druggist accept the scheme?" asked Lucien, dazzled. "Of course I do. Here's the interlude, and I'll go round and see her now and try to get the thing done to-night. When I have once explained the matter to Florine, she'll act with my intelhgence and her own to boot." "And that respectable old shopkeeper sitting over 186 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. there with his mouth wide open admiring Florine is to have thirty thousand francs extracted from him ! " "That's another piece of nonsense. One would sup- pose we were robbing him," cried Lousteau. " M3' dear friend, if the administration buys that journal, as it will, in six months the druggist will have lift}' thou- sand francs for his thirt}' thousand. Besides, Matifat doesn't care for the journal; what he is thinking of is Florine's interests. When it is known that Matifat and Camusot (for they will share the venture) are part proprietors of a weekh' review, all the other journals will have friendly articles about Florine and Coralie. Florine is certain to become celebrated ; she may get an engagement for twelve thousand francs at one of the other theatres, and Matifat can save the monev he now spends in gifts and dinners to journalists. You don't yet know men or business." "Poor man ! " said Lucien ; " and he thinks himself happy." " He'll be sawn in two with arguments," said Lous- teau, laughing, " till he shows Florine the signed agree- ment for the purchase of Finot's sixth. The ver}^ next da}' I shall be editor-in-chief, and earning a thousand francs a month. That 's the end of all ni}^ miseries ! " cried Florine's lover joyouslj'. He went off leaving Lucien stupefied, swept onward by a whirlwind of thought, lost in a vision of life as it really is. He had seen in the Galeries de Bois the secrets of publishers, and the methods b}' which literary fame was cooked ; he had passed behind the scenes of a theatre and learned on what foundations dramatic glory rested ; and he perceived with a poet's insight Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 187 the hidden' side of consciences, — the wheels within wheels, the material mechanism of all things in this Parisian life. He envied Lousteau's happiness as he watched his mistress on the stage ; already' he had half forg-otten Matifat. He sat there alone for an im- perceptible time, — possibl}^ not more than five min- utes, and 3'et it was an eternity ! Ardent thoughts inflamed his soul, while his senses were kindled b}' the sisht of those actresses with wanton eves and rousfed cheeks and dazzling shoulders, dressed voluptuously with shortened skirts, showing their legs in red stock- ings with green clocks in a wa}' to put the whole pit in a ferment. Two corruptions marched side b}' side on parallel lines, like two sheets of water striving, after an inundation, to meet again. The}' threatened to over- whelm the poet sitting in the corner of the box, his arms on the red velvet cushion before him, his hands hanging down, his e3'es fixed on the curtain now low- ered, and he himself all the more accessible to the en- chantments of this life before him, because it shone like the dazzle of fireworks upon the dark and gloom}^ background of his toilsome, obscure, and monotonous life. Suddenly through an aperture in the folds of the curtain an eye met his with a flood of loving light. Waking from his torpor, he recognized Coralie ; then he lowered his head and looked at Camusot, who was sitting directly opposite. The latter was a stout, thick man, — a silk mercer in the rue des Bourdonnais ; one of the judges of the Courts of Commerce ; the father of four children ; married to a second wife ; and w^orth about eight}- thousand francs a 3-ear ; but with it all fift}'- 188 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. six 3'ears of age, a mop of gvay hair on his head, and the unctuous look of a man who means to make the most of the time that remains to him, and lose no chance of enjoyment after a long life spent in submitting to the indignities of shopkeeping. That forehead, the color of fresh butter, those rosy, monastic cheeks, seemed scarcel}' broad euough to contain the expansion of his superlative delight. Camusot was alone, without his wife, and he listened with undisguised satisfaction while Coralie was applauded to the echo. Coralie represented the united vanities of this rich tradesman ; with her he could fanc}' himself one of the lords of the olden time. At this particular moment he felt he counted for more than half in the actress's success, aud he had all the more reason for thiuking so because he had paid for it. His conduct was sanctioned by tlie presence of his father-in-law, Cardot, — a little old man with white hair and lively ej^es, but respectable in appearance. Lucien felt a violent repugnance come over him. He remem- bered the pure and exalted love he had felt for Madame de Bargeton ; the love of poets wrapped its white wings round him ; a thousand memories, with their blue hori- zons, surrounded the once great man of Angouleme, who now sank back into a state of dreamy thought. The curtain rose ; Florine and Coralie were on the stage together. "My dear, he doesn't care a straw for you ! " said Florine, in a low voice, while Coralie was making one of her speeches. Lucien could not help laughiug, and looked at Cora- lie. That 3'OUHg woman — one of the most charmiug and delightful actresses in Paris ; the rival of Madame Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 189 Perrin and Mademoiselle Fleuriet, whom she resembled, and whose fate ought to have been hers — belonged to the class of women who possess the faculty of fascinat- ing men at will. Her face was of the noblest Jewish type, — that long, oval face of pure, fair ivorj', with lips as scarlet as a pomegranate, and a chin as delicate as the edge of a cup. Beneath the eyelids, with their curving lashes, burned eyes of jet, from which could come languishing or sparkling glances as occasion offered. Those ej'es, sunken in an olive circle, were surmounted b}' arched black brows. On the Ivor}' fore- head, crowned by bands of ebon}' on which the lights were glancing, sat enthroned a wealth of thought which seemed to be that of genius. And yet, like many other actresses, Coralie, without wit, in spite of her green- room repartee, without education beyond her boudoir experience, had no talent except the intelligence of the senses and the perceptions of an affectionate woman. But who could think of her mental qualities when she dazzled the e3^e with her round and polished arms, her tapering, slender fingers, her beautiful shoulders, and that bosom sung b}' the Song of Songs, with the mo- bile, curving throat, and those adorabl}" graceful legs en- cased in red silk stockings ? These beauties, all of them truh^ Oriental, were placed in still higher relief b}' the conventional Spanish costume of our theatres. Coralie was the delight of the audience, who clasped in fancy that prett}' waist so trigl}' tightened in her basque, or followed with their ej'es the undulations of the skirt as it betrayed ever}' movement of the hips. There came a moment when Lucien, observing how this creature played for him alone, — thinking no more of Camusot 190 G'7'eat Man of the Provinces in Paris. than the bo}'s in the galleiy thought of a bit of apple- peel, — placed sensual love above pure love, enjoj'ment above emotion, and the demon of lust whispered in his soul atrocious thoughts. "I do not know what love, and luxury, and wine, and the jo3^s of matter are," he said to himself. " I have lived b}' thought and not by act. A man who describes all should know all. This is my first grand supper, my first debauch in a strange, new world ; why should I not taste for once those celebrated pleasures in which the seigneurs lived with wantons in the olden time? If it were only to compare them with the true, pure love of nobler regions, ought 1 not to understand the joys, the perfections, the trans- ports, the resources, the delicacies of the love of cour- tesans and actresses? And is there not, after all, a poes}^ of the senses? Two months ago such women seemed to me enchantresses guarded by dragons ; yet here is one whose beaut}' far surpasses tliat of Florine, for which I envied Lousteau. Why not profit by her fancy when the greatest lords would spend a treasure to buy her? Ambassadors themselves, when they once put foot into these gulfs, think neither of the past nor of the future. I should be a fool to have more deli- cacy than princes, especially now when I love no other woman." Lucien had forgotten Camusot. After manifesting to Lousteau the utmost disgust for the odious partner- ship, he fell into the same ditch ; he floated on a desire, impelled by the Jesuitism of passion. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 191 XIL HOW JOURNALISM IS DONE. " CoRALiE is crazy about 3011," said Lousteau re-en- tering the box. '' Your beauty, worthy of Greek mar- ble, is turning all heads behind the scenes. You are lucky, my dear fellow. At eighteen, and after to-night's success, Coralie could make sixty thousand francs a year out of her beauty. She is still well-behaved. Her mother sold her three years ago for sixty thousand francs ; the girl has never had anything but annoyance out of it, and she longs for happiness. She took to the stage in despair ; she hated de Marsa}', her first lover, and when she got rid of him, for the king of the dandies soon let her go, she took that solid old Camusot, whom she does n't love ; but he is like a father to her ; she puts up with him and lets him love her. She has already refused \Qvy rich proposals, and keeps to Camu- sot, who never worries her. You will realh' be her first love. It seems she was shot through the heart at the first sight of you. Florine has gone to her dressing- room to reason with her, for she has taken what she calls your coldness so to heart. The play will fail if she forgets her part, and then, good-by to the engage- ment at the Gymnase which Camusot has almost ob- tained for her." 192 Crreat Man of the Proviiices in Paris. " You don't say so? — poor girl ! " said Lucien, whose every vanity was tickled bj- the words and who felt his heart expanding with self-conceit. " More events have happened to me, mj^ dear Lousteau, within the last two months than in all the previous years of m}- life put together." And he thereupon related to his new friend the be- trayal of his love for Madame de Barge ton, and his hatred against the Baron Sixte du Chatelet. " Bless me ! the paper wants a bete-noire, and he'll just do for us. That baron is an old beau of the Em- pire who has made himself a ministerialist ; I know all about him, he '11 suit us to a t. I have often seen j^our great lad}', too, in Madame d'Espard's box at the Opera ; the baron is usuall}^ there, making love to 3'our ex-mistress, who is as dry as a cuttle-fish. I have just got a message from Finot to sa}' that one of the staff, that little scamp Hector Merlin, has left the paper in the lurch because his blanks were not paid for, and the^^ want copy. Finot is hun'ying to write an article against the opera, and he wants more. Look here, my dear fellow, get something ready on the play here ; look, listen, and think it up. As for me, I '11 go into the director's room and see what I can cook up into three columns." " So this is how newspapers are made, is it?" said Lucien. " Yes, invariably," replied Lousteau. " For the ten months I 've been in journalism the}' are always short of copy by eight in the evening." That slang typographical word, " copy," means the manuscript from which the type is set up ; perhaps be- Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 193 cause authors are supposed to send onl}^ a cop}' of their writing ; or it ma}' be an ironical use of the Latin word co2na (abundance), for copy is /always lacking. " The grand plan which is never realized is to have several issues ready in advance," said Lousteau. "It is ten o'clock now, and there's hardly a column written. 1 '11 find Vernou and Nathan, and get them to lend us a dozen or so of epigrams on the deputies, or Chan- cellor Crusoe^ — any one, friends or foes ; for at such times one has to murder one's father if necessary ; we are like pirates who load their guns with doubloons rather than surrender. Make your article witty and it may advance you a good stride in Finot's opinion ; he is grateful on speculation. That's the best and most solid form of acknowledgment, — except, of course, a pawn-broker's receipt." " Good heavens ! what sort of men are journalists? " cried Lucien, " how can they sit down at any minute and write off* witty things ? " " Precisely as you light a lamp — till the oil gives out." As Lousteau opened the door to leave the box the manager and Du Bruel entered it. " Monsieur," said the author of the play to Lucien, " can I say to Coralie that you will go with her to sup- per? if not, my play will fail. The poor girl really does not know what she is about ; she is likely to cry where she ought to laugh, and laugh where she ought to cry. You can save my piece ; and it is not anything unpleasant that is asked of you." ' ' Monsieur, I am not in the habit of putting up with rivals," answered Lucien. ' ' Don't say that to Coralie," interposed the manager ; 13 194 Crreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. " she is just the sort of girl to turn Camusot out of doors and ruin herself for you.. That worth}- old silk- mercer, who owns the ' Cocon-d'Or/ gives her two thousand francs a month, and paj's for all her dresses and her claqueurs.'" " As 3'our promise does not commit me to anything, go, and save 3'Our piece," said Lucien, with the air of a sultan. " Yes, but don't look as if you wished to rebuff that charming girl," said Du Bruel, deprecatingly. " Well, so be it ! " cried the poet. " 1 see that I am destined to write the article on your phw and to smile on 3-our young actress." The author disappeared, and Coralie was soon after seen to be acting delightfuU}'. Bouffe, who was pla^'- ing the part of an old alcalde, in which he showed for the first time his wonderful talent for making up and imitating old age, came forward amid thunders of ap- plause to sa}' : '^Gentlemen, the play we have the honor to present to you this evening is bj' Messieurs Raoul and de Cursy." "Well, well, so Nathan is in it!" exclaimed Lous- teau. " I wondered wh}' he was here." "Coralie! Coralie!" cried the house; while from the box where the three shopkeepers were sitting came a thundering voice calling, "Florine, too ! " '' Florine and Coralie ! " cried a number of voices. The curtain rose and Bouffe appeared leading the two actresses, to whom Matifat and Camusot flung wreaths. Coralie picked up hers and held it out to Lucien. As for Lucien, the two hours spent in the theatre were like a dream. The work of fascination had begun Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, 195 behind the scenes, odious as those siuTOundings were. The poet, still innocent, had breathed the air of license and of lust. Among those dirt}' passages, choked with machinery and hung with smoking lamps, lurks a pestilence which kills the soul. Life cannot continue real or saintly there. Serious things are laughed at, impossible things seem true. The whole scene acted like a narcotic on Lucien, and Coralie completed its ef- fect by plunging him into a species of joyous intoxica- tion. The great chandelier was extinguished. No one remained in the auditorium but the door-openers, who were making a curious noise by moving the little benches and closing the box-doors. The footlights, blown out like candles, were exhaling a nasty smell. The curtain was drawn up ; a lantern hung from the roof. The firemen began their rounds with the watchmen. The fairy-land of the stage, the gorgeous spectacle of the boxes filled with beautiful women, the dazzling lights, and the splendid magic of decorations and bril- liant costumes were now succeeded by cold obscurity, noisomeness, vacancy. It was horrible. " Are you coming ? " called Lousteau from the stage. Lucien was in a state of indescribable bewilderment. " Jump down here ! " cried the journalist. With one bound Lucien was on the stage. He scarcely recognized Florine and Coralie without their gay clothes, wrapped in cloaks and wadded mantles, their heads covered with bonnets tied on b}' black veils, and resembling butterflies returning to the condition of larvae. '' Will you do me the honor to give me your arm," said Coralie, trembling. 196 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. " Willi ngh'," said Lucien, who now felt the giiTs heart beating beside him like that of a bird when caught in the hand. The actress, pressing against him, was like a cat rubbing against her master's leg with soft satisfaction. " We are to sup together," she said. All four, Florine and Lousteau, Coralie and Lucien, left the theatre and found two hackney-coaches before the actors' entrance, which opened on the rue des Fosses-du-Temple. Coralie made Lucien get into one in which Camusot and his father-in-law Cardot were already seated. She offered a place to Du Bruel. The manager had departed in the other coach with Florine, Matifat and Lousteau. " These hackne3--coaches are odious," said Coralie. " Why don't you have a carriage of 3'our own?" re- marked Du Bruel. "Why, indeed?" she cried in a pet. " I don't want to say why before Monsieur Cardot, who rules his son- in-law. Would you believe that Monsieur Cardot, such a little old man ! only gives Florentine five hun- dred francs a month, to pay her rent and her living and her finery. That old Marquis de Rochegude, who has six hundred thousand francs a year, has been offer- ing me a coupe for the last two months. But I 'm an artist, not a cocotteP " You shall have a carriage the day after to-morrow, mademoiselle," said Camusot graciously; "you never asked me for it before." " Ask ? is it likely I should ask for it? When a man loves a woman he should n't let her paddle through the mud and risk breaking her ankles in the gutters." Crreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 197 As she said the words, in a sharp tone which cut Camusot to the heart, CoraUe shpped her hand into that of Lucien and pressed it. She was silent after that, and seemed absorbed in one of those dreams of enjoy- ment which compensate these poor creatures for past troubles and all their man}' griefs, and develop in their souls a poesy of whicli otlier women, who are happily protected from these violent extremes, know nothing. " You ended b}- playing as well as Mademoiselle Mars," said Du Brnel. '•Yes," said Camusot, "mademoiselle seemed up- set in the beginning ; but after the middle of the second act she was magnificent. She made half your success." " And I half hers," said Du Bruel. " You don't either of you know what 3'ou are talking about," she said in a high voice. The actress profited by a moment's darkness to carr}- Lucien's hand to her lips, moistening it with tears as she kissed it. Lucien was moved to the very mar- row of his bones. The human feeling of the courtesan who loves has a greatness in it which brings her back among the angels. " Monsieur is to write the article," said Du Bruel to Camusot, alluding to Lucien. " He will make a charm- ing paragraph on our dear Coralie." "Oh, yes, do us that service, monsieur," cried Camu- sot, in the tone of a man on his knees before Lucien ; " 3'OU will find me at j'our service now and always." " Do leave him his independence," cried the actress, " he shall write what he chooses. Papa Camusot, buy me carriages, but not flattery." " You shall have that without price," replied Lu- 198 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. cien, politely. " I have never yet written for the newspapers, and I don't know their customs ; you will inspire the virgin effort of my pen." " That 's odd," said Du Bruel. " Here we are at the rue de Bond}"," said Cardot, who had been silenced and cast down b}^ Coralie's attack. " If I have the first fruits of 3'our pen, 3'ou have those of m}' heart," said Coralie, during the brief mo- ment when Lucien and she w^ere alone together in the earn a Of e. Coralie went to join Florine in her bedroom, and put on the dress she had alread}' sent there. Lucien was unprepared for the luxury which rich merchants who are determined to enjoy life heap upon their mistresses. Though Matifat, whose fortune was nothing like as large as that of his friend Camusot, was said to do things in a rather skimping wa}', Lucien found a din- ing-room artistically decorated, furnished in green cloth studded with gold nails, lighted by handsome lamps, and full of flowering plants ; also a salon, hung in yel- low silk with brown trimmings, in which the furniture was of the newest fashion ; there was also a chande- lier b}^ Thomire, a carpet of Persian pattern, and a clock, candelabra, and a fireplace all in the best taste. Matifat had left these arrangements to Grindot, a 3'oung architect who had built him a house, and who, knowing the destination of these rooms, had bestowed some special care upon them. Matifat, always the shopkeeper, was cautious in touching certain articles ; he seemed to have the total of the bill before his ej'es, and looked around at these magnificences as if they were jewels imprudentl}" taken out of their cases. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 199 " This is what I shall have to do for Florentine," was the thouoht that could be read in Pere Cardot's little e3es. Liicien suddenly understood wh}' it was that the squalor of Lousteau's garret did not disturb that journal- ist. Secretly king of these revels, Etienne enjoyed the fine things as his own. He stood before the fireplace talking with Du Bruel and the manager as though he were master of the house. "Copy! copy!" cried Finot, suddenly rushing in upon them. " There's nothing in the box. The com- positors have got m}' article on the Opera, but the}' '11 soon have finished it." ''We'll be ready," said Etienne. ''There 's a table and a fire in Florine's boudoir. If Monsieur Matifat will kindly give us ink and paper we can write the ar- ticles while Florine and Coralie are dressing." Cardot, Camusot, and Matifat disappeared, eager to find all the writers wanted. Just then one of the pret- tiest danseuses of the da}', named Tullia, darted into the room. " M}' dear child ! " she said to Finot, " your hundred subscriptions are granted. The}' are not to cost tlie management anything ; they are saddled on the singers and the orchestra and the corps de hcdlet. Your paper is so witty we none of us complain. You are to have your four boxes. I have come to tell you instantly. And here 's the monev for the first three months," she added, holding out a couple of bank-bills. " Now, don't attack me." "Good heavens!" cried Finot, "I must suppress that article, and I have n't anything to take its place." 200 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. ''■ What an exquisite ^.9«s that was, m}' divine Lais ! " cried Blondet, who followed the dciJiseuse with Nathan, Vernou, and Claude Vignon, whom he had brought with him. " Staj' to supper with us, dear love, or I'll crush 30U like the butterflj- that 3'ou are ! Being a danseuse, jou can't excite an}' jealousies here ; and as for beauty, 3'ou and Florine and Coralie have too much sense to be rivals." " Mj* dear fellows," cried Finot, "save me! You, Du Bruel, Nathan, Blondet, ^ implore you to save me ! I must have five columns ! " " I can do two with the pla}'," said Lucien. '^ And I one," said Lousteau. " Well, then, Nathan, Vernou, Du Bruel, fill up the rest with witticisms. This good Blondet I know will grant me the two little half-columns on the first page. I must go straight to the printing office and stop m}' Opera article. How luck}^, Tulha, you kept the carriage ! " "Yes, but the duke is in it with the German minister." " Let's invite the duke and the minister to supper," said Nathan. "A German alvvavs drinks well and listens well. We'll tell him a lot of queer stories and he'll write them to his court ! " cried Blondet. " Who is the most dignified among us? for that per- son must go down and invite them up. Come, Du Bruel, you are a bureaucrat ; give your arm to TuUia and go and fetch the Due de Rhetore and the German minister. Good gracious, TuUia, how handsome you are to-night ! " Great Man of the Provmces in Paris. 201 "That will make us thirteen!" said Matifat, turn- ing pale. " No, fourteen ! " said Florentine, overhearing him as she entered the room. "I have come to look after Milord Cardot." "Besides," said Lousteau, " Blondet has brought Claude Vignon." " I brought him here to drink ! " said Blondet, pick- ing up an inkstand. " Come, all of 3'ou, have wit enough to pay for the fifty-six bottles of wine we are going to absorb. Above all, stir up Du Bruel ; he 's a vaudevillist, and he 's capable of spicy things when driven to a point." Lucien, inspired with a desire to show oflf his facul- ties before such a remarkable set. of men, wrote his first newspaper article on a round table in Florine's boudoir, b}" the light of the crimson wax- candles which were lighted for him by Matifat. Panorama-Dramatique. First Representation of " The Alcalde in Difficulties ; " Im- hroglio in three Acts. First Appearance of Mademoiselle Florine. Mademoiselle Coralie. Bouffe. They enter, leave the stage, talk, walk, search for some- thing, find nothing ; all is uproar. The Alcalde has lost his daughter, but finds his night-cap. But, lo ! the night-cap does not fit him ; it must be the night-cap of a thief ! Where is the thief? Again they enter, pass in and out, talk, w^alk, and search more than ever. The Alcalde ends by f nding a man without his daughter, and his daughter without a man, which is satisfying to the magistrate, but not at all so to the public. 202 Crreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. Quiet is restored. The Alcalde wishes to interrogate the man. He seats himself in a chair of state and arranges his sleeves, — the sleeves of an Alcalde. Spain is the only country where they have alcaldes appended to enormous sleeves, and wearing ruffs about their necks which, on the stage of Paris, are more than half their functions. This Alcalde, who trots about with the short steps of a wheezy old fellow, is Bouffe, — Bouffe, the successor of Potier, a young actor who plays old men so w^ell that he makes the oldest old men laugh. There 's a future of a hundred old fellows in that bald head, that quivering voice, those trem- bling, spindling legs which bear the body of a Geronte. He is so old, this young actor, that he frightens you ; you are afraid you '11 catch his oldness like a contagious disease. But what an admirable Alcalde ! what a capital uneasy smile ! what important silliness ! what stupid dignity ! what judicial irresolution ! How able he is to perceive that all things are alternately false and true ! how fitted to be the minister of a constitutional king ! In reply to each question of the Alcalde the mysterious man interro- gates the Alcalde. Bouffe replies, and the result is that, questioned by answers, the Alcalde ends by clearing up everything himself. This eminently comic scene, redolent of Moliere, delighted the audience. Everybody on the stage appeared to be perfectly satisfied, but I myself am wholly unable to tell you what was true or what was false, what was clear or what was cloudy. And why ? The daughter of the Alcalde was there, — a true Aiidalu- sian, a Spaniard with Spanish eyes, Spanish complexion, Spanish waist and walk ; a Spaniard from head to foot, her dagger in her garter, her love in her eyes, her cross on a ribbon at her throat. At the close of the first act some one asked me how the piece was going, and I answered : " She has red stockings with green clocks, a tiny foot in varnished shoes, and the handsomest leg in Andalusia ! " Ah ! that Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 203 daughter of the Alcalde ! she makes one's mouth water ; she fills a man with msane desires ; you want to spring upon the stage and offer her your heart and a cottage, or thu'ty thousand francs a year and your pen. This Andalusian girl is the handsomest actress in Paris. Coralie, since we have to name her, — Coralie is fitted to be either countess or gri- sette ; it is difficult to know in which character she would please us best. She can be what she chooses to be ; she is born capable of doing all things. What more can be said of an actress of the Boulevards ? In the second act a Spanish lady arrives from Paris, with chiselled fe§itures and murderous eyes. I asked some one near me who she was and whence she came, and I was told she was Mademoiselle Florine, who had come from the wings. But no ; impossible to believe it ! There was too much fire in her movements, too much fury in her love. This rival of the daughter of the Alcalde was the wife of a grandee wrapped in the mantle of Almaviva, in which, by the bye, there was stuff enough to furnish a hundred of our great boulevard seigneurs. Though Florine did not wear red stockings with green clocks, or varnished shoes, she wore a mantilla, and a veil which she manoeuvred charmingly, like the great lady that she is. The tigress became a cat. At the first incisive words the two beauties said to each other, I saw a whole drama of jealousy. But in spite of that, matters were nearly arranged, when the stupidity of the Alcalde again embroiled everything. The whole crowd of torch-bearers and valets, and figaros and grandees, alcaldes, and girls and women, set out once more to search, and go and come, and turn and twist about. The plot thickens, and I let it thicken ; for the two women — the jealous Florine and the happy Coralie — have caught me again in the folds of their basques and their mantillas; the points of their pretty little feet are in my eyes. However, the third act came and I had not disgraced my- self ; the commissary of police had not interfered ; the audi- 204 Great Man of tlie Provinces in Paris. ence were not scandalized ; and I consequently shall believe henceforth in the strength of those public and religious morals about which the Chamber of Deputies is just now so much concerned that you might suppose there was no morality in France. I began to perceive that the play was about a man who loved two women without being loved by either ; or it may be that they both loved him and he did not love them ; neither did he like the Alcalde, or else the Alcalde did not like him ; but, whichever way it all was, he was a noble grandee who loved some one, himself or God for want of a better, and he made himself a monk. That is all I can tell you about the piece, and if you want to know more, you must go to the Panorama-Dramatique. I have told you enough to show that you must go there once to make ac- quaintance with those adorable red stockings and green clocks, those tiny feet so full of promises, those eyes that filter sun-rays, once to learn the coquetry of the Parisian dis- guised as an Andalusian, and of the Andalusian disguised as a Parisian ; and you must go a second time to really enjoy the play, which will make you die of laughing over a slobbering old man in the guise of a lover. The play has had a double success. The author, whose collaborator is one of our distinguished poets, has aimed at success with a beauty in each hand ; he kept his audience in a tumult of pleasure throughout ; in fact, the legs of those beauties seemed as witty as the author ; and yet when they left the stage the audience thought the dialogue not a whit less witty, — a triumphant proof of the excellence of the play. The author's name was announced amid applause which must have made the architect of the building anxious ; but the author, accustomed to the upheaval of that Vesuvius which sits beneath the chandelier, did not tremble ; it was Mon- sieur de Cursy. As for the two actresses, they danced the famous bolero of Seville which found favor with the fathers of the faith in the olden time, and is still permitted by the censor in spite of the indecency of the attitudes. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 205 While Lucien was writing these cohimns, which pro- duced a revohition in journalism b}^ introducing a new and perfectly original style of comment, Lousteau was making use of the poet's confidences in an article under the general head of Manners and Customs, entitled " The Ex-Beau." It began as follows : — * " The Beau of the Empire is always a long, slender man, well preserved, who wears corsets and the cross of the Legion of honor. His name is, let us say, Potelet, and in order to curry favor with the court of to-day the baron of the Empire bestows upon himself a du, — du Potelet, — ready, however, to be once more Potelet in case of a revolution. He is a man of two careers (like his name) ; he now pays court to the faubourg Saint-Germain, after holding office as the glorious, useful, and fascinating train-bearer of the sister of the man whom propriety forbids me to name. Though du Potelet is now anxious to deny his service to the Imperial Highness, he still sings the songs of his former benefactress." The article was a tissue of the silly personalities which were in vogue in those days, — a style improved upon later, more especially b}^ the " Figaro." Lousteau invented a fable in which a great lady to whom the baron was paying court was compared to a cuttle-fish. The ex-beau was likened to a heron ; and the loves of the heron, who vainly endeavored to swallow the cuttle- fish, which broke in three when he let it drop, was provo- cative of laughter even to those v/ho did not know the two persons held up to ridicule. The joke, which was carried on subsequently through several numbers, made a great commotion in the faubourg Saint-Germain, and was one of the thousand and one causes of the restric- tions laid soon after on the Press. 206 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. In about an hour Blondet, Lonsteau, and Lncien re- turned to the salon, where they found the other guests : the duke, the minister, the four women, the three mer- chants, the manager of the theatre, Finot (who had re- turned), and the three authors. A printer's bo}', wearing a paper cap, had come to fetch copy for the paper. "■ Here, go back and give the compositors these ten francs, and tell them to wait," said Finot. " If you send them that money, monsieur, they'll get drunk, and then good-bye to the paper." "The common-sense of that bov actually frightens me," remarked Finot. Just then the three writers returned with their articles Blondet's was an extremely clever diatribe against the romanticists ; Lousteau's made every one laugh, though the Due de Rhetore advised him to slip in a compliment to the Marquise d'Espard, in order not to antagonize the faubourg Saint-Germain. " And 3'ou," said Finot, addressing Lucien, " let us hear what 3'ou have written." When Lucien, trembling with fear, had finished read- ing, the salon rang with applause, the actresses kissed him, the tradesmen in their delight almost squeezed the breath out of him ; Du Bruel seized his hand with a tear in his eye, and the manager asked him to dinner. " As Monsieur de Chateaubriand has already called Victor Hugo ' the sublime child,'" said Blondet, "I can only say of you that you were born a man of wit, heart, and stj'le." " Monsieur is on our paper," said Finot, with a grati- fied nod at Lousteau, and the shrewd glance of one who makes the most of an advantage. '' Here, carry off all Great Man of the Proviyices in Paris. 207 this copy," he said to the apprentice. *' That's all the}^ need. The paper may be a little veneered, but it will be a fine number," added Finot, turning to the group of writers, vvho were taking Lucien's measure covertly. '' He seems to have talent,"' said Blondet. " That article was good," responded Claude Vignon. " Come ! to supper ! " cried Matifat. The duke gave his arm to Florine, Coralie took Lu- cien's, and Tullia sat between Blondet and the Ger- man minister. '' I don't understand why 3'ou attack Madame de Bargeton and the Baron du Chatelet," said the duke. " I hear the baron is just made Prefect of the Charente and Master of petitions." " Madame de Bargeton abandoned Lucien as if he were of no account," said Lousteau. " Such a fine young man ! " exclaimed the minister. 208 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. XIII. THE SUPPER. The supper, served on new plate and Sevres china and double damask, exhaled an atmosphere of substan- tial magnificence. Chevet supplied the viands ; the wines were chosen b}^ the famous dealer on the Quai Saint-Bernard, an intimate friend of Camusot, Matifat, and Cardot. Lucien, who saw the details of Parisian luxur}' for the first time, went from one surprise to an- other ; but he had now learned to conceal his amaze- ment, like the man of wit, heart, and style that Blondet had proclaimed him. As the}^ crossed the salon Coralie whispered to Florine, " Do please make Camusot so drunk that he will be forced to sta}- and sleep here to-night." "Then you have captured 3'our journalist ? " said Florine. " No, m}' dear, but I love him," replied Coralie with a prett}^ little motion of her shoulders. The words echoed in Lucien's ear, brought there b}^ the fifth capital sin. Coralie was charmingl}' well- dressed ; her toilet brought into relief her special beauties ; for all beautiful women have certain points which particularly belong to them. Her gown, like that of Florine, was of a new material not 3'et placed upon the market, called " mousseline de sole;" the Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 209 first specimens of which had been sent to Camusot, one of the largest biij-ers from the L^^ons manufacturers. Love and dress, the decoration and fragrance of women- kind, were added to the seductions of the happ}' Coralie. Pure, sincere love, a first love in short, albeit in the form of one of those fantastic frenzies which seize upon these poor creatures, added to the admiration caused by Lucien's extreme beauty, gave intelligence to Coralie's heart. " I would love 3'ou ill and ugly ! " she said in his ear as thev sat down to table. What words to a poet ! Camusot disappeared from Lucien's ken, and he saw only Coralie. Lives there a man, all enjoyment, all sensation, sickened of provincial monotony, allured b}' the vortex of Paris, wear}' of poverty, galled by his enforced continence, hating his monkish life in the rue de Clun}', his toil without result, who could have turned his back on this gay festival? Lucien had one foot in the net of Coralie's beauty, the other in the bird-lime of journalism. After long and fruitless waiting about the rue du Sentier, he was here, in the heart of the Press, as it supped and drank and joked like the hearty good fellow that he found it. Moreover he had just been avenged for his rankling wound b}' an article that on the morrow would stab two hearts he had longed, ineflfectuallj^ to fill with the pain and wrath the}' had made him suffer. Looking at Lousteau he thought to himself: "There, indeed, is a true friend ; " not imagining that even then Lousteau was dreading him as a rival. Lucien had made the mistake of putting forth all his cleverness. A commonplace article would have answered the purpose. Blondet 14 210 Girtat Man of the Provinces in Paris. counteracted any effect of the jealous}' Lousteau was be- ginning to feel by telling Finot he must make terms with a talent as good as that. This advice influenced Lousteau's conduct ; he resolved to remain Lucien's friend, and arrange with Finot to secure the services of the dangerous new-comer by keeping him dependent and needy. It was a plan rapidly laid and understood to its fullest extent between the two men, and ex- pressed in whispered sentences : " He has talent ; he '11 be exacting." — " Let him try it ! " "I am always afraid of supping with French jour- nalists," said the German minister, with calm and digni- fied bonhomie, looking at Blondet, whom he had alread}" met in the salon of the Comtesse de Mont- cornet. " There is a saying of Bluchers which it seems your mission to justif}'." " What saying? " asked Nathan. *' When Blucher reached the hei2:hts of Montmartre with Saacken in 1814, — pardon me, gentlemen, for re- minding 3'ou of so fatal a da}^, — Saacken, who was a boor, exclaimed, ' Now we shall burn Paris ! ' ' Mind you don't,' said Blucher, ^ France is to die of that can- cer,' — pointing to the city, sweltering and smoking at their feet in the valley of the Seine. I thank God that there are no newspapers in my countr}-," continued the minister after a pause. "I have not 3'et recovered from my fright at that little printer's devil who was here just now in his paper-cap, and the abnormal com- mon-sense of his ten 3'ears. I fancy I am now to sup with lions and panthers, who will do me the favor to cushion their claws." " It is quite certain," said Blondet, " that we are in a Great Man of the P^'ovinees in Paris. 211 position to sa}' and prove to all Europe that j'our Ex- cellencj' has vomited a serpent this evening, with which you have almost poisoned Mademoiselle Tullia, the prettiest of our danseuses. Various comments on Eve and the first and the last sin might be made on that ; but don't be uneasy, you are here as our guest." " It would make a funny article," said Finot. "It might contain scientific dissertations on all the serpents found in the human heart and bod}', including those of the diplomatic bod}'," said Lousteau. " Preserved in this flask of cherry-brandy," said Vernou. " So that 3'ou ma}^ see and believe in them yourself," said Claude Vignon to the diplomatist. " Gentlemen, don't show your claws so soon," said the Due de Rhetore. " The power and influence of journalism is still in its dawn," said Finot. " The newspaper is now a babe, but it will grow. Ten years hence everything will be subjected to publicity. Thought will illumine every- thing and — " " — blast everything," said Blondet, interrupting him. " A witty saying, that 's all," remarked Vignon parenthetically. " It will make kings," continued Lousteau. "And unmake kingdoms," said the diplomatist. " Consequentl}'," said Blondet, " if the press did not exist, it ought never to be invented ; but here it is, — we live by it." "And 3'ou will die of it," said the minister. "Do 3'ou not see that the enlightenment of the masses, sup- posing that you do enlighten them, will make the 212 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. grandeur of the individual more difficult, and that if 3'ou sow the power of reasoning in the minds of the lower classes you will reap revolt, and be yourselves its first victims ? What is it they smash in Paris when there 's a riot ? • ' " The street-lamps," said Nathan ; " but we are too humble a pre}^ ; at the worst they '11 only crack us." " You are too witty a people to allow any form of government, no matter what it is, the time to develop," said the minister. " Otherwise, your pens would at- tempt to reconquer the Europe your swords could not retain." "Newspapers are an evil, undoubtedly," said Claude Vignon ; "an evil that might be utilized, but govern- ments insist on fighting it. A struggle must come. Who will get the worst of it? — that's the question." "The government," said Blondet ; " I am tired of shouting that. Intellect is the ruling power in France, and journalism has not only all the intelligence of the best minds, but it has the hypocrisy of Tartufe as well." "Blondet, Blondet," said Finot, "that's going too far ; remember there are subscribers present." *' Yes, you are owner of one of those venom reservoirs, and you ought to be afraid ; as for me I scorn the trade, though I live b}^ it." ' ' Blondet is right," said Claude Vignon. " Journalism, instead of being, as it ought to be, a priesthood, has be- come an engine of parties ; being an engine, it is now an article of commerce, and, like all other forms of com- merde, it regards neither law nor gospel. All journalism is, as Blondet sa3^s, a trade, where they sell to the Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 213 public the words of the color and stripe the public want. If there were a newspaper for hunchbacks it would declare night and morning the beauty-, goodness, and necessity of hunchbacks. A newspaper is no longer written to enlighten public opinion, but to cajole it. Within a given time all papers will end hy being base, hj'pocritical liars, — murderers if you please ; for they will kill ideas, theories, men, and live b}^ that alone. And they '11 have every apparent reason on their side ; the evil will be done and no one will be guilt}'. I, Vignon, you, Lousteau, Blondet, Finot, will be Platos, Aristides, Catos, Plutarch's men, — all of us innocent, and able to wash our hands of infamy. Napoleon gave the reason of that phenomenon, moral or immoral as 5'ou choose to call it, in a wonderful saying which his studies of the Convention taught him : ' Collective crimes involve no one.' A newspaper may be guilty of the most atrocious conduct, but no journalist considers that he is personall}' soiled by it." " The authorities will make repressive laws," said Du Bruel. ' ' The}' are preparing them already." " Pooh ! what can laws do against French wit, the most subtle of all dissolvents," said Nathan. "Ideas can only be neutralized by ideas," continued Vignon. " Terror, despotism alone can stifle French genius ; and even so, our language is well-fitted for allusion and double-meaning. The more repressive the laws may be, the more vehemently French wit will burst forth, like steam from the throttle of an engine. Jour- nalism will have a thousand methods of evasion. If the king has done well and the paper is anti-royalist, it gives all praise to the ministry, and vice versa. If 214 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. the paper invents an infamous calumny, it has been told it by others. If the individual complains, the paper will get off on the score of public privilege. If dragged before the courts, it will complain that no one had asked for retraction ; ask, and it will turn the whole matter into a scoff and call it a trifle. It will scout at a victim that gets the better of it. It will con- trive to say that Monsieur Such-a-one is a thief, while professedly proving him the most honest man in the kingdom ; and in course of time it will make its dailv readers believe whatever it may choose to put into their minds. It is never wrong. Nothing that displeases it can possibly be patriotic. It will use religion to rap religion, the Charter to rap the king ; it will scoff at the law if the law annoys it, and praise it when it serves an}^ popular passion. To gain subscribers, a newspaper will do anything, — serve up its own father raw with the salt of its atticisms rather than not amuse and interest the public. It is like the actor putting the ashes of his son in the urn that he ma}^ cvy more naturallv — " " In short, it is the People in daily print," cried Blondet, interrupting Vignon. " Yes, the h3'pocritical people, devoid of all generous ideas," replied Vignon, — "a people that will banish greatness from its bosom as Athens banished Aristides. Mark mj^ words, we shall see newspapers, managed at first b}^ men of honor, falling later under the control of inferior men who will have the elasticit}' and resistance of india-rubber, which great souls lack, or into the hands of tradesmen who have the money to support the pens. Why, you can see it already. Ten years hence Great Mmi of the Provinces in Paris. 215 eveiT youngster out of college will think himself a great man ; he *11 jump into the columns of the news- paper and knock out his predecessors and take their places. Napoleon was right enough in wishing to muzzle the press ! And I will bet that if the opposi- tion papers were to make a government themselves they would attack it with the same reasons and the same articles the}' now fulminate against the king, the ver}' moment that their own government refused them an3'thing, no matter what. The more concessions are made to newspapers, the more exacting those papers will become. Successful journalists will be constantly' succeeded b}' poor and hungry journahsts. The evil is incurable ; it is getting more and more malignant, more and more dangerous ; and the greater the evil, the more it will be tolerated, until the day w^hen confusion shall overtake journahsm as it did Babj'lon. We all know, such as we are, that the press practises a baser ingrati- tude than that of kings, a dirtier business in schemes and speculations than the vilest commerce, and sucks our brains out to brew its dail}- alcohol every morning ; and 3'et we all write for it, like laborers who work a mine of quicksilver and know they "11 die of it. Look at that man over there, bv Coralie — what's his name? Lucien ! — he is handsome, he is a poet, and what is better, for him at least, he has wit ; well, he '11 enter one of those places of ill-fame called newspapers, he '11 fling his finest ideas into it, he '11 dr^* up his brain, he '11 corrupt his soul, he '11 commit those anonymous im- famies which take the place, in the war of minds, of plots, pillage, incendiarism, and the way-laying of guerrilla warfare. When he has, like a thousand 216 G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris, others, spent a fine talent in the service of the pro- prietors, those sellers of poison will let him die of hun- ger if thirsty, or of thirst if hungry." " Thank you," said Finot. " But, my God ! " added Vignon, " I knew all that ; I 'm in the galleys myself, and the arrival of a new prisoner gives me pleasure. Blondet and I are much abler than Messrs. So-and-so who are speculating on our talents, but we shall alwa3's be worsted by them. We have a heart within our intellect, and we lack the ferocious selfishness of the men who are getting the best of us. We are lazy, contemplative, meditative, judicial ; the}' suck our brains and accuse us of idleness — " " I expected 3'ou to be much more amusing," cried Florine. " Florine is right," said Blondet; "let us leave the cure of public evils to those humbugs the statesmen. As Charlet sa3's : ' Don't spit into the vintage.' " " Do you know how Vignon strikes me?" said Lous- teau, with a sign towards Lucien ; " like one of those stout women in the rue du Pelican who say to the schoolboys, ' My little fellows, you are too young to come here.' " This sally made everybody laugh ; but Coralie liked it. The three tradesmen were eating and drinking as they listened. "In what nation can you find such a mixture of so much good and so much evil?" said the minister to the Due de Rhetore. " Ah, gentlemen ! you are prodi- gals who somehow don't ruin 3'ourselves." Thus, b}' the blessing of chance, no warning was lack- Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 217 ing to Lucien as he stood on the brink of the precipice down which he was about to fall. D'Arthez had set the poet's feet in the noble path of toil by awakening those emotions before which all obstacles disappear. Lons- teau himself had tried to warn him from the gulf, for a seltish reason, by revealing journalism and literature in their practical aspects. Lucien had not been willing to believe in such corruption ; but he now heard jour- nalists themselves proclaiming their own vice ; he saw them ripping up their own foster-mother to predict the future. During this evening he was made to see things as they are. Instead of being filled with horror at this sight of the very core of the Parisian corruption Blucher had so well defined, he enjoyed the brilliant scene to intoxication. These remarkable men, in the poUshed armor of their vice and the shining helmets of their analyses, he thought far superior to the grave and sober members of the brotherhood. Besides, he was tasting the first delights of wealth ; he was under the spell of luxur}^, the influence of choice food ; his vola- tile instincts were all awakened ; he drank for the first time the rarest wine ; he made acquaintance with the delicacies of Parisian cookery ; he saw a diplomatist, with a duke and his mistress, mingling with journalists and admiring their dangerous power ; he felt a horrible craving to rule this societ}' of kings, and he felt wnthin him the power of mastering it. Besides all this, there was Coralie, whom he had made happ}^ with a few words ; he examined her in the dazzling light of that festive table, through the fumes of the viands and the mists of drunkenness, and she seemed to him sub- hme ; love had made her beautiful ! She was, in fact, 218 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. the prettiest, even the handsomest, actress of her daj*. The brotherhood — that assemblage of noble intellects — was rejected under a temptation so complete on all sides. Lucien's vanity as an author had been flattered b}' able judges ; he had been praised b}' future rivals. The success of his article and the conquest of Coralie were triumphs which might have turned a head less 3'oung than his. Daring this discussion the whole company had eaten well and drunk enormously. Lousteau, who was sit- ting next to Camusot, filled up his neighbor's glass from time to time with kirsch, mingling it with the wine, and inciting the old tradesman to drink. This manoeuvre was so adroitl}' done that Camusot did not notice it ; he thought himself, in his own way, as clever as the journalists. As the wine circulated more freel}', the speeches and jests became sharper and more mali- cious. The diplomatist — a man of great good sense — made a sign to the duke and Tullia as soon as he heard the first warnings of the grotesque condition in which these men of wit and intellect ended their orgies, and the}^ all three quietl}' disappeared. As soon as Camusot had completel}^ lost his head, Coralie and Lucien, who had made love to each other during supper like children of fifteen, slipped down the stairs and jumped into a hackney-coach. As Camusot was under the table, Matifat supposed that he had gone too, and he therefore left the rest of his guests smoking, drinking, laughing, arguing, and followed Florine. Daylight overtook the disputants, or rather Blondet alone, a hardened drinker, w4io proposed the health of the rosy-fingered Dawn to the sleepers round him. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 219 Lucien had never before been present at an orgy ; he was still in full possession of his senses as he went downstairs, but the air overcame him ; his intoxication was hideous. Coralie and her maid were obliged to almost carr}^ him up the stairs of the handsome house in which the actress lived, — rue de Vendome. On the staircase, Lucien, almost insensible, was ignobl}- ill. "Quick, Berenice! " cried Coralie ; "some tea ! make some tea ! " "It is nothing; it is the air," said Lucien; "and besides, I never drank so much." " Poor bo}' ! he's as innocent as a lamb," said Bere- nice, a stout and verj' ugl}' Norman peasant-woman. Finally Lucien was put half-unconscious into Cora- lie's bed, — the actress, aided by Berenice, having un- dressed him with the care and tenderness of a mother, while he still kept saying: "It is nothing; it is the air. Thank 3-ou, mamma ! " 'He calls rae mamma!" cried Coralie, kissing his hair. " What pleasure to love such an angel ! Where did you find him? I never thought a man could be as handsome as a girl," said Berenice. "Did the porter see us, or anybody?" said Coralie. "No," said Berenice ; " I let 3'ou in myself." " Victoire knows nothing?" "No, nothing," replied Berenice. At five o'clock in the following afternoon Lucien opened his eyes in that chamber of luxurv, — all pink and white ; a world full of marvellous and coquettish charm, which surpassed anything the poet had imagined. Coralie was dressing. She was to play her Andalusian 220 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. part again that evening, and was obliged to be at the theatre at seven o'clock. She had contemplated her poet as he slept, feeding upon this new-born love, which united the senses with the heart, and the heart with the senses, exalting both. This exaltation, making them two in sense, one in love, was to her an absolution. Kneeling thus beside the bed, happy in the con- sciousness of love within her, the actress felt herself sanctified. This delight was broken in upon by Berenice. " Camusot is coming in ; he knows you are at home ! " she cried. Lucien sprang up, anxious with natural generosit}' not to injure Coralie. Berenice drew aside a curtain and showed him into a dressing-room, where she and her mistress hastily put his clothes. As Camusot en-, tered, Lucien's boots caught Coralie's ej'e. Berenice had put them before the fire to warm, after privately polishing them. Both maid and mistress had over- looked their accusing presence. Coralie flung herself into a low chair, and told Camusot to take the armchair opposite. The old man, who adored her, looked at the boots, and dared not raise his eyes to his mistress. " Ouoht I to take offence at those boots and let her go ? " he thought. " It is a small thing to be angry about. Boots may be anywhere. These had better be at the bootmaker's, or walking the boulevards on a man's legs. But here, even without legs, they throw doubts on fidelit}'. I am fift}- 3'ears old, — yes, that is true ; better be blind, like love itself.'' That weak and cowardly monologue had no excuse. The boots were not like the boots of the present day, Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 221 which a preoccupied man might easil}' overlook ; they were such as the fashion of the period required, — high boots, very elegant with tassels, and highly poHshed, which reflected the articles about them like a mirror. They could not but strike the eyes of the worthy shop- keeper ; and, let us own, the}- struck his heart. " AVhat is the matter?" said Coralie. ''Nothing," he answered, "Ring the bell," she said, smiling at his cowardice. ^' Berenice," she added as the woman entered, "don't forget to take those boots to my dressing-room to-night, and bring a button-hook ; for I suppose I shall have to wear the cursed things." "Your boots? are those your boots?" said Camusot, who breathed again. "Whose did you suppose they were?" she asked with a haughty look. " Old fool ! I hope j'ou don't sup- pose — Oh ! he did suppose it ! " she added to Bere'nice. " I play the part of a man in that piece of Berthier's, and I never wore a man's dress before. The bootmaker of the theatre brought me those things to learn to walk in boots while he makes me a pair to measure. He put them on, but thev hurt me so I had to take them off." " Don't put them on again if they hurt you," said Camusot, who had himself suffered more from the boots than his mistress. " Mademoiselle cried, they hurt her so," said Berenice ; '^ and I tell her she ought to have them made of soft morocco. But the management is so mean ! Monsieur, you might order her a pair." "Yes, of course," said Camusot. "Are you only just up, mademoiselle? " 222 G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris, " Just this minute ; I did n't get home till six o'clock, after hunting eveiywhere for 3'ou. You made me keep my hackney-coach seven whole hours ! That 's what you call tender attentions ! — forgetting me for the bot- tles ! I ought to take care of myself, now that I have to pla}' in the Alcalde ever}' night ; I don't want to fall behind that young man's article." "He is handsome, that 3'oung fellow, isn't he?" said Camusot. " Do you think so? I don't like men of that kind, — they are too much like women ; the}' don't know how to make love like you old business men. You are so bored without it.*' "Does monsieur dine with madame?" asked Berenice. " No, my mouth is parched." "Ha! you were finely fuddled last night, papa Camusot ; I don't like men who get drunk — " " Do you want to give that young man a present? " said Camusot. " Yes, I prefer to pay them in money rather than do as Florine does. Come, go away, bad old soul that one can't help loving, or else give me a carriage ; for I can't afford to lose my time." " You shall have the carriage to-morrow in time for the manager's dinner at the Rocher de Cancale. They don't play the new piece Sunday." " Come, I am going to get some dinner," said Coralie, carrying him off. Soon after, Lucien was let out of the dressing-room bv Berenice. ' ' Stay here," she said ' ' Coralie will return alone. Great Man of the Provinces m Paris. 223 She is ready to give up Camiisot and send him off, if you wish it ; but, dear child of her heart, 3'ou are too kind, I 'm sure, to ruin her. She told me she was quite decided to give up everything and leave this paradise to live in your garret. Ah ! that envious lot about her, the}' told her 3'ou had neither bite nor sup, and lived in a garret in the Latin quarter ! I should follow, that 's certain, and do 3'our cooking. But, monsieur, you have too much sense to let her commit such a foil}'. Don't you see ? — the old one has only the shell, but you are the darling of her heart, the god she gives her soul to. If vou onlv knew how ojood and sweet mv Coralie is when ft «. ar excellence^ — a tiger with two hands tearing everything to bits, as if his pens were Hterall}' insane." " He 's a destructive," said Lucien. ''What talent has he? " "Wit; he is what 3'ou ma}* call an article writer. His stock in trade is articles, and nothing but articles. Felicien is incapable of conceiving a work as a whole, of marshalling forces, and leading his personages through a plot which begins, tangles, and finally ends in some climax. He has ideas, but he does n't know how to deal with facts ; his heroes are either philo- sophical or liberal Utopians ; his st3-le is labored, his inflated sentences collapse if a critic sticks a pin into them. For that reason he is dreadfully afraid of the newspapers, like all those who need the puff and hum- bug of praise to keep them floating." "You are talking articles 3'our3elf," said Lucien, laughing. " Yes, but this is the kind we think, m}' dear fellow ; we don't write them." "Ah! you are getting to be editor-in-chief," said Lucien. " Where shall I set you down? " asked Lousteau. " At Coralie's." " Ha ! so we are in love? " said Lousteau. "A ofreat mistake ! Make Coralie what I make Florine, a pro- vider, but keep foot-loose yourself and take 3'our swing." " You'd damn a saint," said Lucien, laughing. " Well. 3'ou can't damn devils," replied Lousteau. The brilliant, flippant tone of his new friend, the way 244 Great Man of tlie Provinces in Paris, in which he looked at life, mingling paradox with the practical maxims of a Parisian Machiavelli, influenced Lucien unconsciousl}'. In theory, the poet saw the danger of such thoughts, but he knew them to be use- ful in practice. When the}' reached the Boulevard du Temple the two friends agreed to meet again between four and five o'clock at the newspaper office, where, no doubt, Hector Merlin would appear. Lucien was, in truth, caught b}' the pleasures of this love of courtesans who fasten their grapnels to all the most sensitive regions of a man's nature ; he was thirsty for Parisian enjoyments ; he loved the opulent, magnificent, easj' life the actress now made him feel was to be his own in her house. He found her with Camu- sot, both wild with joy. The offer of an engagement after Easter had been made by the Gymnase, the con- ditions of which, succinctly drawn up, much surpassed their hopes. " We owe this triumph to 3'ou," said Camusot as Lucien entered. ' ' Yes, indeed ! " cried Coralie, " if it had n't been for him the ' Alcalde ' would have fallen flat. Without that article I should have staj-ed on the Boulevards for six years." And she flung her arms round Lucien's neck in presence of Camusot. The eff'usion of her action had something indescribabh^ soft in its rapidity and abandonment. She loved ! Like all men in moments of great pain, Camusot lowered his ej'es to the ground, and as he did so he noticed on the seam of Lucien's boots the thread of color used by the best bootmakers, — a dark yellow, shining against the polished black of Grreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 245 the leather. The peculiar color of this thread had caught his attention during his monologue on the inexplicable appearance of boots in front of Coralie's fireplace. He had read in black letters printed on the white kid lining the name of a famous bootmaker of the period, — Gaj, rue de la Michodiere. "Monsieur," he said to Lucien, " 3'our boots are ver}' handsome." '' Everything is handsome about him," said Coralie. " I should be glad to employ your bootmaker," con- tinued Camusot. "• Oh! " said Coralie, " how vulgar it is to ask the addresses of a man's trades-people ! Are 3'ou going to wear 3'oung men's boots and make 3'ourself a dand3'? NO; no, keep to your own st3'le, which suits a stead3' man with a wife and children and a mistress." " Still, if monsieur would be good enough to take off one of his boots he would do me a service," said Camu- sot, obstinatel3'. " I could not put it on again without a button-hook," said Lucien, flushing. "Berenice can fetch one ; there are plent3' here," said Camusot, with jeering eves. " Papa Camusot," said Coralie, giving him a glance of the bitterest contempt; " have the courage of 3-our suspicions. Come, say all 3'ou think. Monsieur's boots are just like mine, are not the3'? — I forbid 3'Ou to take off your boots," she said to Lucien. '' Yes, Monsieur Camusot, 3'es, those boots are precisel3" those which 3'ou saw before m3' fire the other da3' and Monsieur de Rubempre was hidden in m3' dressing-room and waiting for them, having passed the night here. That 's what 246 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 3^011 're thinking, lie}' ? Well, think it ! It is the truth I have deceived you. What of that? I choose to do so." She sat down without anger or embarrassment and looked at Camusot and Lucien, who dared not look at each other. " I do not believe what you tell me to believe," said Camusot at last. '' Do not jest ; I was wrong to be so suspicious." " Either I am an infamous strumpet who has taken a momentary fancy to monsieur, or I am a poor miser- able creature who feels, for the first time, the true love every woman longs for. In either case you must leave me, or take me as I am," she said, with a masterful gesture which crushed the old man. ''Is it true? " said Camusot, who saw b}' their faces that neither Lucien nor Coralie felt it was a joke, and who longed to be deceived. '' I love mademoiselle," said Lucien. Hearing those words said with emotion, Coralie again flung her arms round her poet's neck, pressed him to her heart, and turned to Camusot as if to call his attention to her attitude. " Poor Musot ! " she said ; '' take back what you have given me. I want nothing more from vou. I love this one madl}', — not for his mind but for his beaut3\ I prefer poverty w^ith him to millions with 3'ou." Camusot fell into an armchair, put his head in his hands, and was silent. " Shall we go awa}'?" she asked fiercel3\ Cold chills ran down Lucien's back as he saw him- self saddled with a woman, an actress, a household. " Stay here and keep all, Coralie," said Camusot in Great Man of the Provinces m Paris. 247 a trembling, sorrowful voice, which came from his soul. "I do not wish to take anything back, though there is over sixt}' thousand francs' worth of furniture in these rooms ; but no, I could never bear the thought of m}' Coralie in povert}'. Whatever monsieur's talents may be he cannot support you. Ah ! this is what we old men must expect ! Coralie, leave me the right to come and see you sometimes ; I ma}' be useful to 3'ou. Beside, it will be impossible to live without you." The gentleness of the unfortunate man, dispossessed of all at the very moment he felt himself most happ}^ touched Lucien keenly-, but not Coralie. "Yes, come as often as 3'Ou like, m}' poor Musot," she said. " I shall lovej'ou all the more if I don't de- ceive 3'ou." Camusot seemed satisfied in not being driven from his terrestrial paradise, where, no doubt, he was now to suffer much ; but alreadv he looked forward to a re- turn into all his rights, relying on the chances of Pari- sian life and the seductions it would offer to Lucien. The shrewd old merchant felt that sooner or later so handsome a youth would allow himself infidelities, and he resolved to remain on good terms with the pair in order to watch Lucien and help to destro}' him in Coralie's estimation. Such baseness of passion alarmed Lucien. Camusot invited them to dinner at Very's in the Palais-Royal and the}' accepted. "Oh, what happiness!" cried Coralie as soon as Camusot had departed. " No more garret in the quar- tier Latin ; you '11 live here with me ; we shall never be parted. To save appearances, you can take a room m the rue Chariot, and ' vogue la galere ! ' " 248 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. She began to dance her Spanish fandango with a vim which showed the ardor of her passion. " I can earn five hundred francs a month by working hard," said Lucien. " And I get as much as that at the Panorama, with- out counting extras. Camusot will always pa}^ for my clothes, he is so fond of me. With fifteen hundred francs a month we shall live like Croesuses." " But the horses and carriage, and the coachman? " said Berenice. " Oh, I '11 run in debt," cried Coralie ; and she be- gan to dance a jig with Lucien. ''Well, I shall have to accept Finot's proposals," said Lucien. '' Ver}' good," replied Coralie. " I '11 dress, and drive you to the office, and wait in the carriage for you on the boulevard." Lucien sat down on the sofa, watched the actress as she dressed herself, and gave himself up to serious re- flections. He would much rather have given up Coralie than be saddled with the obligations of such a mar riage ; but as he looked at her, so handsome, so well- made, so attractive, he was carried awa}' b}' the picturesque aspects of this bohemian life and cast his glove in the face of Fortune. Berenice was ordered to see to the removal of all his things from the rue de Clun}' ; and then the triumphant and happ3' Coralie carried off" her beloved poet and drove across all Paris to the rue Saint-Fiacre. Lucien climbed the staircase and entered with authority the ding}' office in which he had so latel}' stood as a petitioner. Coloquinte was still staggering under the weight of the stamped paper, and Crreat Man of the Provinces in Paris, 249 old Giroucleau again began to tell him hypocritically that no one had 3'et come. " But the editors must be somewhere to do the work of the paper," said Lucien. " Probably, but the editing is none of my business," said the late captain of the Imperial Guard, resuming the verification of his vouchers with his everlasting " Broum — broum." Just then, as luck, whether for good or evil, would have it, Finot came in to tell Giroudeau of his pre- tended abdication as editor-in-chief, and to caution him to watch over his interests just the same. " No diplomac}^ with monsieur, he is on the paper," said Finot to his uncle, taking Lucien's hand and shaking it cordiall3\ " Ha ! monsieur is on the paper, is he? " cried Girou- deau, surprised at his nephew's friendliness. " Well, monsieur, you had n't much trouble in getting there." " I want to see that you get your rights, and prevent 3'our being fooled b}^ Lousteau," said Finot, giving Lucien a knowing look. " Monsieur is to have three francs a column," he continued, addressing his uncle, " for ever^^thing he brings in, including his theatre reports." " You never gave such terms to an}' one before," said Giroudeau, looking at Lucien with an air of astonishment. "He is to have the four Boulevard theatres, and 3'ou '11 see that his boxes are not Jilched, and that his tickets are punctuall}' given to him. I advise 3'ou, how- ever, to have them sent to your own house," he added, turnins: to Lucien. " Monsieur agrees to do, outside of 250 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. his critical work, ten variet}^ articles of about two columns for fift}^ francs a month for one year. Does that suit 3'ou ? " " Yes/' said Lucien, now forced by circumstances to accept all terms. "Uncle," said Finot to the cashier, "write out a memorandum of this agreement, and we '11 sign it as we come downstairs." " Who is the gentleman ? " asked Giroudeau, rising and pulhng off his black silk cap. " Monsieur Lucien de Rubempre, writer of the ar- ticle on the ' Alcalde,' " said Finot. '^ Young man," cried the old soldier, tapping Lucien's forehead, " 3'ou 've a mine of gold there. I 'm not literary, but I've read 3'our article with pleasure. I said at once. ' Ha, ha ! there 's gayety for you ! That will bring us subscribers ! ' and I was right ; fifty came in that da3^" " Is my agreement with Etienne Lousteau copied in duplicate and read}' for signature ? " asked Finot. " Yes," said Giroudeau. "Then date the one I now make with Monsieur de Rubempre yesterday, so that Lousteau will be held un- der both." Finot took the arm of his new associate with an air of comradeship which completel}' beguiled the poet, and led him up the staircase, sa3lng : " Now, 3'our position is defined. I '11 present you myself to my editorial staff. To-niojlit Lousteau shall introduce vou at the different theatres. You can earn a hundred and fifty francs a month on the little paper Lousteau now edits ; so I advise 3'ou to keep well with him. The rascal won't like it that I have tied his hands in regard Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 251 to you, but you 've got talent, and 1 don't want you to be at the mercy of his caprices. Between ourselves, 3'ou may bring me two sheets a month for m}" weekly paper, and I '11 pay you two hundred francs for them. Don't speak of this arrangement to an}^ one ; I should be made the victim of a hundred vanities wounded b}' 3'our advent. Make four articles of vour two sheets ; sign two with 3'our own name, and two with a pseudon3^ra, so as not to seem to take the bread out of other people's mouths. You owe3'our position to Blondct and Vignon, who think 3'ou have a future. Therefore don't spoil 3'our prospects. Above al], distrust your friends. Serve me well, and I will serve 30U. You will have forty francs' worth of boxes and tickets to sell, and sixty francs' worth of books to realize. That and tlie paper will give vou four hundred and fiftv a month. With 3'Our capacit3' 3'ou can easih' get two hundred more from publishers, who will gladly pa3- for articles and prospec- tuses. But 3'ou belong to me, remember that. I shall rel3^ on you." Lucien pressed Finot's hand in a transport of jo3\ " We had better not seem to be intimate," said Finot, as the3" reached the door of a garret room at the end of a long passage on the fifth floor of the house. Lucien now saw Lousteau, Felicien Vernou, Hector Merlin, and two others whom he did not know, sitting round a table covered with green cloth before a good fire, smoking and laughing. The table was heaped with papers, an inkstand was there for use full of ink, and sev- eral rather bad pens, which the writers used neverthe- less. It dawned on the new journalist's mind that here was the place w^here the new^spaper was fabricated. 252 Great Man of tJie Provinces in Paris, " Gentlemen," said Finot, " the object of this meet- ing is to install our dear Lousteau in m}^ place as editor- in-chief, a place I am obliged to give up. But though my outward opinions must undergo a transformation in order to become editor-in-chief of the weekly journal, the principles of which are known to 3'ou, j^et m}^ con- victions are the same, and we shall alwaj's remain friends. I am wholl}' yours, as 3'ou are wholly mine. Circumstances var}', principles are fixed. Principles are the pivot on which revolve the hands of the poli- tical barometer." The staff roared with laughter. " Who taught 3'ou that sentence? " asked Lousteau. " Blondet," replied Finot. " Wind, rain, tempest, set fair," said Merlin ; "we '11 go through them all together." " Well," said Finot, " there's no need to flounder in metaphor. All those who have articles to bring me will find Finot. Monsieur here," he added, presenting Lucien, "is one of you. I have made an agreement with him, Lousteau." Every one present complimented Finot on his rise and prospects. "Here 3'ou are astride of us all and of others," said one of the two men unknown to Lucien. "You'll be Janus." " Not Janot, I hope," said Vernou. "You'll let us stab our hUes-noiresf^^ " As much as 3'ou like," said Finot. "Ah! b3^ the bye," said Lousteau, "Monsieur Cha- telet is savasje. We mustn't let him off for a week." " What has happened ? " asked Lucien. Great Ma7i of the Provinces m Paris, 253 "He came here and demanded satisfaction," replied Vernou. " Tlie ex-imperial beau fell into the hands of old GiroudeaUj who, with superior coolness, pointed out Philippe Bridau as the writer of the article. Philippe told the baron to name time and weapons, and there the matter rested. We are now engaged in composing excuses to the baron for to-morrow's issue. Every sen- tence is a stab." ''Bite him hard, and he'll come and see me," said Finot. " I '11 then do him a service by softening you off. He is on terms with the government, and we may hook something there, — a sub-professorship or a to- bacco license. We are lucky to have touched him on the raw. Which of you will write me a solid article on Nathan for my new paper? " "Give it to Lucien," said Lousteau. ''Hector and Vernou can do others in their respective journals." "Adieu, gentlemen! We shall meet again at Bar- bin's," said Finot, laughing. Lucien received man}" compliments on his admission into the formidable ranks of journalism, and Lousteau assured those present that he was a man on whom they might depend. "Lucien invites you en masse,^' he said, "to sup with his mistress, Coralie." " Coralie has an engagement at the Gymnase," said Lucien. "Good! Then it is understood, gentlemen, that we shall all push Coralie, hey? Put a few lines about her in your different papers, and speak of her talent ; say the managers of the Gymnase have shown tact and judgment, — will it do to say they ai'e intelligent?" 254 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. "Yes, say intelligent," said Merlin. "Frederic has a play with Scribe there." " Ver}' good ! Then the manager of the Gj'mnase is the most intelligent, perspicacious, and far-seeing of directors," said Vernon. " Look here, don't write 3'our articles about Nathan until we have agreed on what is to be said. I'll tell you why," said Lousteau, hastil}'. "We must be use- ful to our new comrade. He has two books to pul)- lish, — a novel, and a volume of sonnets. By dint of reviews, he ought to be a great poet in three months' time. Let us use his sonnets (he calls them 'Daisies') to smash the Odes, Ballads, Meditations, and all the rest of the romantic poems." " It would be queer, though, if the sonnets were poor stuff," said Vernon. " What do you think of 3'our sonnets, Lucien?" "Yes, what do 3'ou really think of them?" said one of the writers whom Lucien did not know. "Gentlemen," said Lousteau, " they are good, — on my word of honor." " Then I'm satisfied," said Vernon. " I'll be only too glad to trip up those sacrist}' poets ; they bore me to death." " Well, if Dauriat refuses the ' Daisies,' we '11 all hit him with article after article against Nathan." " But how will Nathan like that? " asked Lucien. The five journalists burst out laughing. " He will be delighted," said Vernou. " You'll soon see how we manage matters." " So monsieur is really one of us?" remarked the second journalist whom Lucien did not know. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 255 "Yes, 5'es, Frederic; come, no pranks! You see, Liicien," said Etienne to tlie new recruit, " how frankly we treat you, and you are not to shrink back when occasion comes. AVe all love Nathan, but we are goino- to attack him ; 3'ou '11 understand it all before long. Now, let's divide up the theatres. Frederic, do you want the Frangais and the Odeon? " " If these gentlemen consent," replied Fre'deric. The}^ all nodded ; but Lucien saw the envy in their ej'es. "I keep the Opera, les Italiens and the Opera- Comique," said Vernou. " Very good ! and Hector takes the vaudeville the- atres," said Lousteau. "And I, am I to have none?" said the other man whom Lucien did not know. "Hector will let you have the Varie'te's, and Lucien tJie Porte-Saint-Martin," replied Etienne. " Give him the Porte-Saint-Martin, Lucien ; he is crazy about Fanny Beaupre ; and you can take the Cirque- Olympique in exchange. As for me, I have Bobino, the Funambules, and Madame Saqui. What is ready for to-morrow's issue ? " "Nothing." "Nothing!" "Nothing." " Gentlemen, 3-ou must be brilliant for my first num- ber. You must devise something. The Baron du Chatelet and his cuttlefish can't last much longer ; the author of ' The Solitary ' is worn to rags." " The fact is, we want more victims," said Frederic. " Suppose we take the virtuous men of the Right," 256 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. cried Loustean ; " it is easy enough to turn them into ridicule." " Let us begin with a series of portraits of the min- isterial orators," said Hector Merlin. " Do it 3'ourself," said Lousteau ; " 3'ou know them ; the}^ belong to your side, and you can satisfy some intestine hatreds. Stick your claws into Beugnot, S3'rieys de Mayrinhac, and others. The articles may as well be ready in advance ; we sha'n't be so har- rassed at the last moment." "• We might invent a few cases of refusals to bur}', with more or less aggravating circumstances," said Merhn. "No, don't let us tread in the tracks of the great constitutional papers ; they have their church pigeon- holes full of canards.^'' " Canards? " said Lucien. " We call a fact that seems true, but is invented for an item when times are dull, a canard,''' said Hector. '' The canard was a discover^' of Benjamin Franklin, the man who invented lightning-rods, canards, and re- publics. That journalist hoaxed the Encyclopedists so famously that Raynal, in his ' Philosophical History of the West Indies,' mentions two of his canards as au- thentic facts." " I never heard of that," said Vernou. "What were they?" " The story of the Englishman who sold a negress who had saved his life, after making her a mother to increase her value ; and the noble pleading of the girl by which she won her cause. When Franklin came to Paris he acknowledged these canards to Monsieur Great Man of the Provijices in Paris. 257 Necker, to the great confusion of the French philoso- phers, — that 's how the new world has twice corrupted the old.'' ^' Newspapers regard all things as true which are in any way probable/' said Lousteau ; "that's our start- ing-point." " Criminal justice does the same," said Vernou. "Well, adieu till to-night, at nine o'clock, here," said Merlin. They all rose, shook hands, and the session ended with ever}' sign of the most friendly regard. ' ' What did 3'ou sa}' or do to Finot to make him have an agreement with you himself, "' said Etienne to Lucien as they went downstairs. '' You are the only one he has bound to him in that waj'." "I? nothing ; he proposed it," said Lucien. " Well, have any arrangements with him you like, I am willing ; we shall only be the stronger, you and I." On the ground-floor the}' encountered Finot, who took Lousteau aside into the inner office. " Sign the agreement now so that the new editor may think it was done yesterday," said Giroudeau, presenting to the new journalist a stamped paper. As Lucien read over the agreement he heard a rather sharp discussion going on between Etienne and Finot as to the proceeds of the journal. Etienne wanted his full share of the percentages imposed by Finot. There must have been a satisfactory compromise, however, for they both came out soon after on cordial terms. " Meet me at eight o'clock, Galeries de Bois, at Dauriat's," said Etienne to Lucien as they parted. A young man had meantime come in with the timid, 17 258 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. anxious air Lucien himself had worn in that office but a short while ago. The fledged journalist now felt a secret pleasure in observing how Giroudeau practised the same little tricks on the new-comer with which the old campaigner had fooled him ; his new interests made him thoroughly understand the necessity of this per- formance, which placed an insurmountable barrier be- tween all new-comers and the garret of the elect. "There is not mone}- enough as it is to pay all the writers," he remarked to Giroudeau. " And if there were more of you, there would be still less for each," replied the veteran ; " and what then? " The old soldier twirled his loaded cane and marched off, clearing his throat, " Broum — broum," and seeming not a little astonished when he saw Lucien jump into the elegant equipage which was waiting for him at the corner of the boulevard. "You are the military in these days, we are the civilians," he said to him. " I declare to 3'ou," said Lucien to Coralie, " those vouns: men seem to me the best fellows in the world. Here I am, a journalist, with the certainty of earning six liundred francs a month if I work like a horse ; but I shall sell m}^ two books and write others, and these friends are going to organize me a success ! So I say with you, Coralie, vogue la galere ! " " You '11 succeed, my own ; but don't be as good and kind as 3'ou are handsome, or 3'ou '11 come to grief. Be bad with men ; that 's the best wa}." Coralie and Lucien went to drive in the Bois de Boulogne, where they again met the Marquise d'Espard, Madame de Barge ton, and the Baron du Chatelet. G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 259 Madame de Bargeton looked at Lucien with a courteous air which might have passed for a bow. Camusot had ordered the best of dinners at Very's. CoraUe, knowing that she was rid of him, was so charm- ing to the poor shopkeeper that he could not remem- ber when he had ever seen her, during the fourteen months of their connection, so gracious and so attractive. "Yes, 3'es," he said to himself, "I'll stay by her aiiyhoic.^^ He offered her secretly an investment in the Funds to the amount of six thousand francs a year if she would consent to remain his mistress, agreeing to shut his eyes to her relations with Lucien. " Betra}' that angel ! wh}^ look at him, you poor old fellow, and think what you are ! " cried Coralie, mo- tioning towards the poet, whom Camusot had persuaded to drink till he was slightly light-headed. Camusot looked, and resolved to await the moment when povert}' would again give him the woman it had once before delivered to him. " I will be your friend only," he said, kissing her forehead. 260 Great Mmi of the Provinces in Paris. XVI. RE DAURIAT. LuciEN left Coralie and Camusot to go to the Gal- eries de Bois. What a change his initiation into the mysteries of journalism had produced in his mind ! He now mingled without timidity among the crowd that was flowing through the galleries ; he assumed a look of insolence because he had a mistress, and he entered Dauriat's shop with a free and easy air because he was a journalist. There he found a distinguished companj' . He offered his hand to Blondet, Nathan, Finot, in fact to all the men of literature with whom he had frater- nized for the last week ; he thought himself a person- age, and hugged the belief that he was able to surpass his comrades ; the slight exhilaration of the wine he had taken helped him wonderfully ; he was witty and bril- liant, and showed that he could swim with the current. Nevertheless, Lucien did not gather in all the spoken or unspoken approbation on which he counted. He observed signs of jealousy among these men, — less un- easy, perhaps, than curious to know what exact place this newly imported talent would hold, and how large a share of the profits of the press it would swallow up. Finot, who thought Lucien a mine to work, and Lou- steau, who considered he had rights over him, were the only ones who cordially smiled upon the poet. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 261 Lousteau, having already assumed the bearing of an editor-in-chief, rapped sharply on the glass partition between the wareroora and the office. " In a moment, my friend," answered the publisher, putting his head over the green curtains and recognizing the new editor. The moment lasted an hour, after which Lucien and his friend were admitted to the sanctuary. '' Well, have you thought about our friend's poems? " said Lousteau. "Of course I have," replied Dauriat, leaning majes- ticallv back in his armchair. " I have looked them over, and I made a man of great taste, a good judge, read them, for I myself do not pretend to understand poetry. My good friend, I buy fame ready-made, as the Englishman buys love. You are as great a poet as you are handsome. On the word of an honest man, — remark, I don't say on the word of a publisher, — your sonnets are mao;nificent : thev are not labored, which is rare when a writer has imagination and fanc}' both. Moreover, you know how to rhyme, one of the gifts of the new school. Your ' Daisies,' are a fine collection ; but the matter would be a small one for me ; I have time for none but great enterprises. My conscience won't let me publish 3'our sonnets, for I could not do them justice ; there is not mone}' enough in them to pa}^ the costs of a great success. Besides, 3'ou won't keep to poetry ; the book, in an}' case, would be an isolated one. You are 3'oung, 3'oung man ! you have brought me the everlasting collection of first verses such as all men of letters write when the3' leave college ; they all think an immense deal of their poems then, and laugh 262 G-reat Man of the Provinces i7i Paris. at them afterwards. Your friend Lousteaii must have plenty of his early poems put away among his old socks. Have n't you some 3'ou once believed in, Lousteau?" asked Dauriat, with a si}' look at Etienne. "If not, how could I write prose?" replied the editor. " Well, 3'ou see it is so, though he never mentioned it to me ; but he knows the difficulties of publishing. For me," he went on in a flattering tone, " the question is not whether these sonnets show poetic talent ; 3'ou have merit, and a great deal of merit ; if I were begin- ning my career as a publisher I should doubtless commit the mistake of publishing 3'ou. But I now know better ; I have sleeping-partners and associates who would not hear of it ; I lost more than twenty thousand francs last 3'ear on poems, and the}^ would n't listen to m3' printing any more. But the real question to m3' mind is not that. I admit that you are a true poet, but will 3'OU be a prolific one ; will 3'ou hatch out sonnets regu- larly? Can I have ten volumes; will 3'OU make it an enterprise? Of course not; you are a delightful prose- writer ; 3'OU have too much sense to spoil 3'our prose style with verse ; 3'ou will soon be earning thirt3^ thou- sand francs a year in journalism, and 3'ou would n't be such a fool as to barter that for the three thousand francs that you will scarceh' make anyhow out of your strophes and cantos and dithyrambs — " " You know, Dauriat, that Monsieur de Rubempre is now on the paper," said Lousteau. "Yes," answered Dauriat. "I've read his article; and it is for his own sake that I refuse to publish his 'Daisies.' Yes, monsieur, I shall give you more Great Man of the Provinces m Paris. 263 mone}' during the next six months for the articles I shall ask vou to write for me than vou could ever earn by unsalable poems." '' But fame? " cried Lucien. Dauriat and Lousteau laughed. " Good heavens ! " said Lousteau, " he still keeps to illusions ! " " Fame,'* replied Dauriat, " means ten 3'ears of per- sistent toil and waiting with an equal chance of a hun- dred thousand francs loss or gain to the publisher. If you find fools who are willing to print your poems you will respect me a year from now, when 3'ou have seen what the result will be." "Have you the manuscript here?" said Lucien, coldl}'. " Yes, here it is, m}' 3'oung friend," replied Dauriat, whose manners to Lucien were singularh' softened. Lucien took the parcel without noticing the condition of the string, so convinced was he that Dauriat had read the sonnets. He left the office without seeming either disappointed or displeased. Dauriat accompanied the two friends into the outer room, talking of his own weekly journal and Lousteau's daih'. Lucien held the bundle of manuscript carelessly in his hand. " Do you think Dauriat has read, or got any one to read your sonnets?" whispered Lousteau. "Yes," said Lucien. " Look at the fastening." Lucien then perceived that the string and the ink line were exactly together. "Which of my sonnets did you particularly like? " he said, pale with anger, to the publisher. 264 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. (( The}^ are all remarkable, my friend," replied Dau- riat, " but the one to the ' Dais}^,' is delightful ; the clos- ing thought is so delicate, so refined ; it was that which convinced me that your prose writings will have great success. I at once recommended 3^ou to Finot for the paper. Write us articles, and we will paj^ handsomelj' for them. You see, it is all very well to dream of fame, but don't neglect the solid thing ; take the bird in hand. When 3^ou are rich you can write poems." The poet darted out into the gallerj^ to avoid an ex- plosion ; he was furious. " Come, come," said Lousteau, who followed him, " be calm ; accept men for what they are, — means to your hand. Do you want to revenge 3'ourself ? " " At an}' cost," replied the poet. " Here's a cop}' of Nathan's book which Dauriat has just given me ; the second edition comes out to-morrow. Read the book and dash off an article that will demolish it. Felicien Vernou can't endure Nathan, whose success injures, he thinks, the chances of his forth-coming novel. One of the manias of a little mind like his is that there's no room under the sun for two successes. He '11 get your article into the great daily he is on." " But what can I say against the book? It is fine," cried Lucien. "Ah, ga! my dear fellow, do learn your business," said Lousteau, laughing. " The book, whether a masterpiece or not, is to become under your pen a piece of stupidity, or a dangerous, unhealthy work." "But how?" " Change its merits into defects." " I am not capable of such a performance." Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, 265 " My clear friend, a journalist is an acrobat ; 3'oa must get accustomed to tlae inconveniences of the pro- fession. Now I 'm a kind-hearted fellow mj'self, and this is the way I manage under similar circumstances. Pay attention to what I sa}', young one ! Begin by calling it a fine work, and you can amuse 30urself hy saying just what 3'ou think about that. The readers will say, ' Come, this critic has no jealousy, he '11 be impartial.' After that the}' '11 regard what you say as conscientious. Having thus obtained the readers' re- spect, 3'ou go on to regret the necessity of blaming the new school into which such books are about to lead French literature. . France, 3'Ou will sa}^ should guide the intelligence of the whole world ; until to-day French writers have, from age to age, maintained that ascend- ency, and have held Europe to the path of analysis and philosophical research b}^ the power of their style and the originality of form the}' have given to ideas. Here you stick in, to please the bourgeoisie, a panegyric on Voltaire and Rousseau, or Diderot, Montesquieu, and Buffon. You explain how relentless the French lan- guage is ; how it spreads like a varnish over thought. You set up axioms, such as: 'A great French writer is always a great man ; he is compelled by his lan- guage to be perpetually thinking ; it is not so with other countries,' etc. You prove that proposition b}' comparing Rabener, a satirical German moralist, with la Bruyere. There is nothing which gives a more solid base to criticism than a few remarks about an unknown foreign author. Kant, for instance, is Cousin's pedes- tal. Once on that ground 3'ou get off a saying which sums up and explains to fools the system of our men 266 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. of genius of the last centuiy ; 3^ou call their literature the ' literature of ideas.' Armed with that sa3'ing, you can fling the illustrious dead at the heads of all living authors. You explain how in these da3'S there is growing up a literature which abuses the use of dialogue (the easiest form of writing), and of description, which relieves both author and reader of the necessity of think- ing. You compare the novels of Voltaire, Diderot Sterne, Lesage, so solid, so incisive, with the modern novel, where everything is presented in scenes and images, and which has been over-dramatized by Walter Scott. In a style of that kind, you sa}', there is no room for creative talent. The Walter Scott romance is, you remark, a st3'le, not a S3'stem. You attack the fatal modern st3'le in which ideas are diluted and run to a thread, — a st3'le attainable b3'^ the commonest intel- lect, and with which anv one can be an author at the smallest cost ; a style on which 3'ou fasten the name of ' imaginar3^ literature.' At this point you turn the argument against Nathan and show that he is a mere imitator, and has onl3' the external appearance of genius. The fine, compact form of the eighteenth cen- tur3^ is lacking in his work, he substitutes events for sentiments. His action is not life ; his scenes offer no ideas. Throw out a lot of sentences like that, and the public will catch them up. In spite of the great merits of this book, it seems to 30U dangerous, even fatal. It opens the Temple of Fame to the million ; 3-ou see in the distance an army of pett3' writers who will hasten to imitate this novel style. Here 3'ou can launch out into bitter lamentations on the decadence of taste, and 3'OU can slip in praise of Messrs. Etienne, Jouy, Great Man of tJie Provinees in Paris. 267 Tissot, Gosse, Duval, Jay, Benjamin Constant, Aignan, Baour-Lormian, Villemain, the ballet-dancers of the Napoleonic liberals, under whose protection Vernon's paper lives. You point to that glorious phalanx, re- sisting the invasion of the romanticists, holding firml}' to ideas and rules of language, against mere images and gabble, maintaining the great Voltaireau school against the English and German innovations, just as the seven- teen orators of the Left struggle for the nation against the ultras of the Right. Under cover of tliose names, revered b}- the majority of Frenchmen (who will alwa3's be for the Opposition part}-) you can crush Nathan, whose work, in many respects so fine, opens the wa}- to a rush of literature without ideas. From that point, you see, it is no question of Nathan and his book, but of France and her glory. The duty of all honest and courageous pens is to firmly oppose such foreign im- portations. There, you flatter and please subscribers. The French reader is too intellio;ent to be misled. If publishers, by means to which you will not allude, jug- gle a success, the real public soon judges for itself and corrects the mistakes of the five hundred fools who compose the literary vanguard. You then say that hav- ing had the good fortune to sell oflT the first edition of this book, the publisher is verj^ audacious in producing a second, and you regret that so able a man understands the instincts of the French people so little. There's your outline : salt it with a little wit, season it with a touch of vinegar, and Dauriat is fried brown on the grid- iron. But don't forget to pit}' Nathan for a passing mistake, and say that if he abandons this style he may become one of the greatest lights of modern literature. " 268 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, Lucien listened in stupefaction. As Lousteau spoke the scales fell from his eyes ; he beheld literaiy truths he had never once suspected. '' What you sa}'," he cried, " is true ; it is just ! " " If it were not, 3'ou couldn't batter down Nathan's book," replied Lousteau. " Now 3'ou 've learnt, my bo}', the first style of article we employ to demolish a work. That's the pick-axe style. But there are plenty of others; jou'll learn them in time. When 3'ou are obliged to speak well of a man 3^ou don't like, — for proprietors and editors-in-chief are sometimes under compulsion, — 3'Ou string out a lot of negations : that 's what we call the ' article de fonds.' You put the title of the book at the head of the article ; then 3'ou begin with general reflections, in which you hark back to the Greeks and Romans if 3'ou like, after which 3'OU end up b3^ saying, ' These considerations bring us to the book of Monsieur Such-a-one, which will form the subject of a second article.' Of course the second article is never written. It is smothered between two promises. In this case 3'OU are not writing against Nathan, but against Dauriat ; therefore you want the pick-axe st3'le. If a work is realh^ good the pick does n't do it any harm, but if the book is bad it goes to the core of it : in the first case it onh* harms the publisher ; in the second it does good service to the public. These st3'les of liter- ary criticism are used also for political criticism." Etienne's cruel lesson opened man3' cells in Lu- cien's imagination ; he began to understand the trade thoroughly. " Let us go to the oflSce," said Lousteau ; "we shall find our friends there, and we can agree on a cavalry Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 269 charge against Nathan. It will make them laugh, you '11 see." When the}^ reached the rue Saint-Fiacre they went straight to the garret where the paper was concocted, and Lucien was mucli surprised and gratified to see the alacrity with which his comrades agreed to demolish Nathan's book. Hector MerUn took a shp of paper and wrote the following notice, which he immediately carried off to his newspaper : — "A second edition of Monsieur Nathan's book is an- nounced. We intended to say nothing of that work ; but this appearance of success will oblige us to publish an ar- ticle, less upon the book itself than upon the tendencies of our rising literature." At the head of the witticisms for the next day's issue, Lousteau put the following item in his own paper : — " Dauriat is about to publish a second edition of Monsieur Nathan's book. He apparently forgets the legal proverb, ' Non bis in idem.' All honor to rash courage." iStienne's lesson was like a torch to Lucien, whose desire to avenge himself on Dauriat took the place in his soul of conscience and inspiration. Three days later, during which time he did not leave Coralie's chamber, where he worked beside the fire, waited on by Berenice, and caressed in his moments of weariness b}' the attentive and silent Coralie, Lucien produced a fair copy of a three-columned criticism, in which he had really risen to a surprising height. It was nine o'clock at night. He ran to the oftice, fonnd his associates, and read them his article. They listened attentively. 270 Great Man of the Pi'ovinces in Paris. Felicien said not a word, but he took the cop}" and rushed downstairs. " AVhat's the matter with him?" cried Lucien. "He has carried your article to his printing room," said Hector Merlin. " It is fine ; there 's not a word to take out nor a line to add." " It w^as only necessary to show you the wa}'," said Lousteau. "I'd like to see Nathan's face when he reads that to-morrow," said one of the journalists, on whose face beamed a gentle satisfaction. " One had better be your friend," remarked Merlin. "Then you reallj' think it good?" asked Lucien, eagerl}'. " Blondet and Vignon won't like it," said Lousteau. " Here's a little article," said Lucien, addressing his editor-in-chief, " which I have written for 3'ou ; if you approve it I can suppl}' a series in the same st3'le." "Read it," said Lousteau. Lucien thereupon read them one of those delightful articles which subsequenth' made a fortune for the "petit journal," — articles in two columns sketching the minor details of Parisian life, — a face, a type, an ordinar}' event, or some salient singularit}'. This first specimen, entitled "Les Passants de Paris," was writ- ten in the new and original method b}' which thought is struclv out from the clash of words, while the chiming of adverbs and adjectives awakens attention. This ar- ticle was as different from the sober and earnest article on Nathan as " Les Lettres Persanes " differ from "L'Esprit des Lois." " You are a born journalist," said Lousteau. " That fthaTT go in to-morrow^ ; write aa many more as jqii Eke.'' — Xh. ea ! "" 3aM Merlin. '^*lo von know Daurint: is foriocis at the two . _ - we showed him in his shoD. I Ve just come fcom there. 5^ fiiiminaual oaths ami cursed Fmot for having soL^ ^ . « tie jommaL As fer me. I took him aside and wiiispered in his etu: : * Those ■• Daisies *' will cost jon dear. Why did yon give the cold sho older to a man of talent whom the newspap«as have snapped '^ ; ^ * •'Daariat wiii oe anziliila:-': . ' yonr artieie waen ne reads it in to-morrows paper." said Loustean to Lncien. ••Now yon see what joiimalism. is. don't yoa? And^ by the bye. yocir other vengeance h on the way. The Baron dii Chatelet came here tliis morning and asked for yoor address. The ex-beaii has n"t any nerve : he is in despair. Have n*t yon seen to-day s paper ? There was another article aboat him. '^ery fanny, headed. • Fnneral of the Heron wept hj the Cutiielish*" Madame de Bargeton goes by the name of the ' Cuttlelish ' in society, and Chatelet is called ' Baron Heron.* "" Lncien took the paper and conld not help ^ugriing as he read the article which was written hv Vernoi. •'They *R soon capitulate/' said Hector 3' Lucien did his share joyously of the jokes anti Lesser articles required tor the morr»:>w's paper, the company meanwhile smokiuu and talking, rt _ the sdventures of the day. the tbibles of comrades, or some new detail of their hves. This conversation, which was eminently sarcastic, wittv. and iU-natured. ijave Lucien a kev to the Inner Ute and morals of literature. *• Come. Lucien.** said Lousteau. *' while thev are 272 Great Ma7i of the Proimices in Paris. setting up the paper I'll take a turn with you and pre- sent you to the managers, and usher you behind the scenes of your four theatres ; after that we "11 go and frolic with Florine and Coralie at the Panorama- Dramatique." Arm in arm they went from theatre to theatre, at each of which Lucien was enthroned as critic, compli- mented b}' the managers, and ogled by the actresses, who all knew b}' this time that a single article of his had given Coralie and Florine such importance that one was eno^aojed at the Gvmnase for twelve thousand francs a year, and the other at the Panorama for eight thousand. It was, in fact, a series of small ovations, which magnified Lucien in his own eyes and gave him the measure of his new power. B\' eleven o'clock the two friends reached the Panorama-Dramatique, where Lucien assumed an air of eas}' superioritj' which did marvels. Nathan was there ; he held out his hand to Lucien, who took it and pressed it. "Ah Qa ! m}- masters!" said Nathan, looking at the pair, " I hear 3'ou are trying to bury me ! " " Wait till to-morrow, mv dear fellow, and vou '11 see then how Lucien has laid hold of you ! I give 3'ou my word of honor 3'ou '11 be satisfied. When a criticism is as deep and serious as that is it does a book great service." Lucien was scarlet with shame. "Is it very severe?" asked Nathan. " It is serious," replied Lousteau. "Oh, then, there's no harm done," said Nathan. " Hector Merlin said at the Vaudeville tliat I was un- mercifully cut up." Great 3Ian of the Provinces in Paris. 273 "Let him say so, but wait," said Lucien, escaping to Coralie's dressing-room in tlie wake of the actress as she left the stage in her bewitching Spanish costume. The next morning as Lucien and Coralie were break- fasting they heard a cabriolet in the somewhat solitary street, the horse of which had the step of a thorough- bred as he was pulled up before the door. Lucien saw from the window a fine English horse, and Dauriat in the act of throwing the reins to his groom before getting out. "It is the publisher," said Lucien to his mistress. '• Let him wait," said Coralie to Berenice. Lucien smiled at the quiet assurance of the young o;irl, who so instantly identified herself with his interests, and he rushed to kiss her with true effusion ; her native wit had explained to her the whole matter. This prompt appearance of the overbearing pub- lisher, the sudden humility of the prince of charlatans, was caused b}' circumstances which are now almost entirel}'^ forgotten, so completely has the business of publishing been transformed within the last fifteen 3'ears. From 1816 to 1827, the period at which read- ing-rooms (established in the first instance for the reading of newspapers) undertook to provide their sub- scribers with new books, and the pressure of the fiscal laws on the press led to the invention of advertisements, publishers had no other means of announcing their publications than b}' articles inserted in the feuilletons or other parts of the daily papers. Up to 1822 French newspapers were printed on such ver}' small sheets that the great journals were hardly larger than what are called the '' little journals," now. To resist the 18 274 Great 3Ian of the Provinces in Paris, t3Tanny and exactions of the journalists, Dauriat and Ladvocat liad invented a system of posters, with which to catch the attention of all Paris, and on which were displayed, in fantastic type and coloring, vignettes and even lithographs, which made the poster a poem to the eye and often a deception to the purse of the amateur. These posters finalh^ became so original that one of those maniacs called ' ' collectors " possesses an un- broken series of them. This method of advertising, confined at first to shop windows and the booths along the boulevards, though it afterwards spread elsewhere, was partly abandoned after the introduction of adver- tisements. Nevertheless, the old poster will always continue to exist, especially since they have found away to plaster the walls with them. The advertisement, within the reach of moderate finances, which has now converted the fourth page of all newspapers into a fer- tile field for speculators, was born of the severity of the stamp duty, the post-office, and the bonds for the license. These exactions were first imposed during the ministrv of Monsieur de Villele, who might at that time have kihed the newspapers by cheapening and vulgariz- ing them ; instead of which he created a privileged class among them by rendering the foundation of others al- most impossible. In 1821, therefore, newspapers had really a power of life and death over the conceptions of thought and the enterprises of publishers. An article inserted among the ''Paris Items" announcing a new book was horribly expensive. Intrigues were so compli- cated in the newspaper offices, and at night on the battle- field of the press-rooms about the hour when the clicker decided the admission or rejection of such or such an Great 3Ian of the Provinces in Paris. 275 article, that the powerful publishers kept a literar}^ man in their pa}' to write the little items they needed, in which it was essential to put many ideas into few words. These obscure journalists (who were not paid unless the items were inserted) were often obliged to remain all night in the press-room to make sure of the insertion of either some fine article (obtained heaven knows how!) or those little items contained in a few lines, which were called in after years " reclames." In the present day all the habits and ways of literature and of publishing-houses are so much changed that many persons will regard as fabulous this statement of the immense efforts, solicitations, meannesses, and intrigues which the necessit}^ of obtaining these "reclames," forced on publishers, authors, and other seekers after fame. Dinners, cajoleries, gifts, were all eraplo3'ed in the seduction of journalists. Here is an anecdote which will show the power of these articles. A book b}' Monsieur de Chateaubriand on the last of the Stuarts was perched on a publisher's shelves in the condition of a " nightins-ale." A sino;le arti- cle written b}' a young man in the "Journal des Debats " sold the whole edition in a week ! At a period when, in order to read a book it was necessary to buy it, ten thousand copies were often put forth in one edition of certain liberal works much praised by the journals of the Opposition ; but then, it is true, Belgian piracy did not exist. The preparatoiy shots of Lucien's friends and Lucien's own article would have the effect of stop- ping the sale of the second edition of Nathan's book. Nathan could suffer onl}' in his pride ; he had nothing to lose for he had alread}' been paid for his work ; but 276 Great Man of the Proviyices in Paris, Dauriat was likely to lose thirty thousand francs. In fact, the whole business of his publishing-house may be summed up in the following commercial estimate : one ream of blank paper is worth fifteen francs ; printed, it is worth, according to success, five francs or three hundred francs. A single article, for or against, often decided, in those days, this financial question. Dauriat, who had five hundred reams at this instant for sale, rushed to propitiate Lucien. The late sultan became a slave. After waiting some time restlessly and making as much noise as he could while parleying with Be'renice, he at last obtained an audience with Lucien. The arrogant publisher assumed the smiling air of courtiers as they enter the royal presence, mingled however with a certain self-sufficienc}' and jollit}'. '' Don't disturb 3'ourselves, m}' dear loves ! " he said. " Ah, how charming ! 3'ou make me think of a pair of turtle-doves. Who would suppose, mademoiselle, that this man who has the look of a young girl could be a tiger with steel claws, ready to tear our reputations to pieces? My dear fellow," he continued, sitting down beside Lucien, — "Mademoiselle, I am Dauriat," he said, interrupting himself. The publisher thought best to fire his name as a pistol- shot, finding Coralie not cordial. "Monsieur, have you breakfasted? will you keep us company?" said the actress. "Why, yes; we shall talk better at table," replied Dauriat. " Besides, b}- accepting your breakfast I shall have the right to ask you to dinner with my friend Lu- cien, — for we must be friends now, close friends, as the hand to the glove." Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 211 " Berenice ! bring oysters, lemons, fresli butter, and champagne," said Co'ralie. " You are too clever a man not to know what brink's me here," said Dauriat, looking at Lucien. " You have come to buy ray sonnets? " " Precisely," replied Dauriat. " First of all, let us lay down our arms on both sides." He pulled an elegant portfolio from his pocket, took out tliree bank-bills of a thousand francs each, laid them on a plate, and offered them to Lucien, with a courtier like air, saying as he did so : — " Is that satisfactory to. monsieur? " "Yes," said the poet, who felt suddenly plunged into a nameless beatitude at the sight of such an unhoped- for sum. He contained himself, but he was sorely tempted to sing and dance ; he believed in Aladdin's lamp, in wizards, — in short, he believed in his own genius. " So, then, the ''Daisies,' are mine; " said the pub- lisher ; " but you will never attack any of my publications ? " "The 'Daisies,' are 3'ours, but I cannot pledge ni}" pen ; that belongs to my friends, as theirs to me." " But you are now one of ni}^ authors. All m}^ authors are mj' friends. You certainh' will agree not to injure my business without giving me due notice so that I may evade the attack." "Yes, certainl}', I will promise that." " To your coming fame ! " said Dauriat, raising his glass. " I see you have read the ' Daisies,' " said Lucien. Dauriat was not disconcerted. 278 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. "M3\young friend,'^ he said, "to buy your poems without knowing them is tlie finest flattery a publisher can offer you. In six months 3'ou will be a great poet ; you will have articles written upon you ; every one will fear you ; I shall have no difficulty in selling 3'our book. It is not I who have changed, it is 3^ou ; last week your poems were no more to me than cabbage-leaves, to-day your position makes them daughters of Pieria." " At any rate," said Lucien, made adorabl3' imperti- nent and satirical by the sultanic pleasure of possess- ing a beautiful mistress and the certainty of success, "if3'ou have not read m3^ sonnets 3'Ou have certainl3^ read m3^ article.'* " Yes, my friend ; otherwise do 3^ou suppose I should be here? It is, unfortunately, ver3' fine, that dreadful article. Ah ! 3'ou have immense talent, 3'oung one. Take m3' advice, make the most of your vogue," he said, hiding under an appearance of friendliness the extreme impertinence of his words. " But have 3'ou seen the paper? have you read your own article?" " Not 3'et," said Lucien, " though it is the first time I ever printed a serious bit of prose ; Hector has proba- bl3' sent the paper to m3' rooms in the rue Chariot." "Here, read it!" said Dauriat, imitating Talma in " Manlius." Lucien took the sheet, but Coralie snatched it from him. "To me the first-fruits of 3'our pen!" she cried, laughing. Dauriat was throusfhout extremelv flatterins^ and courtier-like ; he feared Lucien, and he therefore invited him with Coralie to a grand dinner he was giving to Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 279 journalists at the close of the week. Then he carried off the manuscript of the "Daisies," telling his poet as he did so to come whenever he liked to the Galeries de Bois and sign the agreement which he would have ready. Faithful to the regal airs b}- which he endeav- ored to impose on shallow minds and to pass for a Mecaenas rather than a publisher, he left the three thou- sand francs without taking a receipt, refusing Lucien's offer of one with a careless gesture, and kissing Coralie's hand gallanth' as he departed. "Well, dear love, how many of those little rags would 3'ou have had if you'd stayed in a hole in the rue de Cluny, plodding in that old library of Sainte- Genevieve? " said Coralie, to whom Lucien had related his whole previous existence. " Those little friends of yours in the rue des Quatre-Vents strike me as simpletons." The brotherhood were simpletons ! and Lucien laughed as he heard this judgment pronounced ! He had read his printed article ; he had tasted the ineffable jo}' of authors, that first enjoyment of self-love whicli never but once bewitches the soul. Reading and re-read- ins: his article he himself saw more clearlv tlie drift and bearing of it. Print is to manuscript what the theatre is to women ; it brings into a strong light both beauties and defects ; it injures as much as it embellishes ; a defect catches the eye even more vividly than a fine thought. Lucien, quite intoxicated with success, gave no thought to Nathan, — Nathan was onl}^ a stepping- stone. Lucien swam in joy ; he was rich, success was his ! For a lad who had latel}' gone humbly down the steps of Beaulieu, returning to FHoumeau and the 280 Gircat Man of the Provinces in Paris. Postel garret, where he and his whole famity had lived on twelve hundred francs a year, the sum which Dauriat had given him was like the mines of Potosi. Memor}', still vivid though the perpetual enjoyments of his Parisian life were soon to efface it, recalled to his mind his beautiful, noble sister Eve, her husband David, and his own poor mother. Under this influence he sent Berenice at once to the coach office with a package of five hundred francs addressed to his mother. To him and to Coralie this repa3'ment seemed a fine action. The actress kissed her Lucien, calling him a model son and brother, and loading him with caresses ; for it is noticeable that acts which they consider gener- ous delight these kind creatures, who carry their own hearts in their hands. " Now that we have got our dinners secured for a time," she cried, "we'll make a bit of a carnival, — you've worked hard enough." Grreat Man of the Provinces in Paris, 281 XVII. A STUDY IN THE ART OF WRITING PALINODES. CoRALiE, who was bent, womanlike, on exhibiting the beauty of a man whom eveiy other woman would envy her, took Lucien to Staub's, for she did not think him sufficiently well dressed. From there the lovers drove to the Bois, returning to dine with Madame du Val-Noble, where Lucien found Rastignac, Bixiou, des Lupeaulx, Finot, Blondet, Vignon, the Baron de Nu- cingen, Beaudenord, Philippe Bridau, Conti, the great musician, — all artists or speculators; men who seek to balance great labor bj^ great emotions. Thej' re- ceived Lucien cordiall3\ Lucien, confident in himself, displayed his wit as if it were not his stock in trade, and was at once proclaimed " un homme fort," — the favorite praise of the day among these semi-comrades. "We ought to wait and see what there reall}' is in him," remarked Theodore Gaillard, a poet patronized by the court, who was just now considering the estab- lishment of a little royalist journal called later " Le Reveil." After dinner the two journalists accompanied their mistresses to the Opera, where Merlin had a box, and the whole company followed them. Lucien thus re- appeared triumphantly on the very ground where some 282 Grreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. months earlier he had fallen so heavil3\ He walked about the fo3'er arm in arm with Merlin and Blondet, and stared at the dandies who had formerly ignored him. Chatelet was under his feet ! De Marsa}', Van- denesse, Manerville, the lions of societ}', exchanged a few insolent looks with him. Undoubtedl}' the hand- some and now elegant Lucien had been discussed in Madame d'Espard's box, where Rastignac paid a long visit, for Madame de Bargeton and the marquise turned their opera glasses on Coralie. Did Lucien's presence rouse regrets in the heart of Madame de Bargeton? That thought absorbed the i)oet's mind. Beholding once more the Corinne of Angouleme, a desire for re- venge again shook his soul, as it did on the day he was forced to endure the contempt of that woman and her cousin in the Champs Elj'sees. '^ Did you bring a talisman with 3'ou from your prov- ince ? " said Blondet to Lucien some days later, coming in about eleven o'clock, before the latter was up. ''His beauty," went on Blondet, turning to Coralie and kissing her on the forehead, " is making ravages from garret to cellar, from the highest to the lowest. I have come with a request, my dear fellow ! " pressing the poet's hand. "Madame la Comtesse de Montcornet wishes that I should present you to her. You won't, I am sure, refuse such a charming young woman, at whose house 3^ou will meet the pick of the great world " " If Lucien is nice," said Coralie, " he won't go and see your countess. Why should he run after the great world? He 'd be bored to death." "Do you want to keep him locked up? Are 3'ou jealous of well-bred women?" asked Blondet. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 283 "Yes," cried Coralie ; "they are worse than we are." "How do you know that, my little pet?" said Blondet. "By their husbands," she answered. " Yon forget I once had de Marsay for six months." "Do you think, my dear," said Blondet, "that I am particularl}^ anxious to present so handsome a man as 3'ours to Madame de Montcornet? If 3'ou are op- posed to it, let us consider that nothing has been said. But the matter, as I take it, is less about women than to make truce with Lucien on account of a poor devil his paper is tormenting. The Baron du Chatelet is fool enough to take those articles to heart. The Marquise d'Espard, Madame de Bargeton, and the friends of Madame de Montcornet feel for ' The Heron,' and I have promised to reconcile Laura and Petrarch." "Ah!" cried Lucien, whose veins glowed with fresh blood as he felt the intoxicating delight of gratified vengeance ; "so, then, I reall}^ have them under foot? You make me reverence mj^ pen, adore my friends, worship the might}' power of the Press. I myself have not written an article on ' The Heron ' and his loves ; but I will, — yes ! " he cried, seizing Blondet round the waist, "I will go to your Madame de Montcornet as soon as that couple have felt the weight of this flimsy little thing." He seized the pen with which he had written the article on Nathan, and flourished it. " To- morrow I '11 launch two columns at their heads ; and after that we '11 see about it ! Don't be uneas}', Cora- lie ; it is not love, but vengeance, and I mean it shall be complete ! " 284 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. '^ There 's a man for you ! " exclaimed Blondet. " If 3'ou onl}^ knew, Lucien, how rare it is to meet with an outburst like that in this blase Paris, 3-ou would appre- ciate yourself. You are a daring scamp," he said (or rather he used a still stronger expression) ; " 3'ou are in the path that leads to power." "And he '11 get there," said Coralie. *' He has alread}' gone a good distance in six weeks." *' Yes ; and when there 's onh' a step between him and some great success he ma}' stand on my body," said Coralie. "You love as in the Golden Age," said Blondet. " Lucien, I compliment you on your great article. It is full of new things. You are a past master already." Lousteau now came in with Hector Merlin and Ver- non. Lucien w^as immensely flattered at being the object of such attentions. Felicien brought him a hun- dred francs for his article. The journal felt the neces- sit}^ of at once rewarding such a piece of work and securing the writer to its interests. Coralie, seeing this procession of journalists, had sent to the Cadran-Bleu, the nearest restaurant, and ordered breakfast ; and she presenth' invited them into the dining-room. In the middle of the repast, when the champagne was mounting to all heads, the true reason of the visit of these comrades was made apparent. " Lucien, 3'Ou don't want to make an enemy of Nathan," said Lousteau. " Nathan is a journalist ; he has friends ; he '11 pla}^ 3'Ou some ugl}' trick when 3'our first book is published. We saw him this morning, and he is much cut up. You '11 have to write another article and squirt a lot of praise in his face." Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 285 *• What ! after my article against his book ? " cried Lucien. Blondet, Merlin, Yernou, and Lousteau all interrupted Lucien with a burst of laughter. "You have invited him to supper here for the daj- after to-morrow ! " said Blondet. "Your article," said Lousteau, "wasn't signed. Felicien, who is n't as green as 3'ou, took good care to put a C. to it ; and you can in future sign all your letters so in his paper, which you know is pure Left. Felicien had the delicacy not to compromise your fu- ture opinions. At Hector's shop, where it is all Right Centre, you can sign with an L. These precautions are onh' for attacks ; we sign our own names to praises." "The signatures don't trouble me," said Lucien, " but I don't see anything to say in favor of the book." "Did you really think what you wrote?" asked Hector. " Yes," replied Lucien. '^ Ah ! my dear bo}', I thought you stronger than that," said Blondet. "On xi\y word of honor, looking at that forehead of yours, I endowed you with the omnipotence of great minds, all strongly enough con- stituted to judge of everything under its double aspect. In literature, as you '11 find out, every idea has its ob- verse and its inverse ; no one can take upon himself to sav which is the wronoj side. All is bilateral in the domain of thought. Ideas are dual. Janus is the myth of criticism, and the s3'mbol of genius. There's nothing triangular but God. That which makes Mo- liere and Corneille so incomparably great is the faculty of making Alceste say, ' Yes/ and Phillnte, Octave, 286 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. and Cinna, ' No.' Rousseau, in his ' Nouvelle He- loise,' has written a letter for and a letter against duelling, and I '11 defy an}- one to sa}^ what was his real opinion. Which of us can judge between Clarissa and Lovelace, Hector and Achilles ? Who is Homer's hero ? What did Richardson realfy mean? Criticism ought to consider works under all aspects. We are, in fact, reporters." " Do you care so very much for what 3'ou have writ- ten? " said Vernou, with a satirical air. " We salesmen of phrases live by our trade. When you want to do fine work and make a book that will last, 3'ou can put 3'our thoughts and 3'our soul into it, cling to it and fight for it ; but as for these little articles, read to-da3' and forgotten to-morrow, the3' are worth nothing but the mone3^ the3^ bring. If you attach importance to such trash you might as well make the sign of the cross and pra3' to the Holy Spirit to help 3'ou write a prospectus." They all seemed astonished to find that Lucien had scruples, and the3' set about reducing them to rags, under pretence of investing him with the toga virilis of journalism. " Do you know how Nathan consoles himself for your article ? " said Lousteau. " How should I know ? " "He cried out: ' Pooh! such little articles are soon forgotten ; a great work lives.' But all the same he '11 come to your supper and grovel at 3'our feet, and kiss youi- claws, and declare you are a great man." " That will be queer," said Lucien. " Queer ! " said Blondet, "it is necessar3'.*' Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, 287 " Well, I consent, my friends," said Lucien, who was slightly tipsy ; " but how am I to set about it?" '' Write three fine columns for Merlin's paper and refute 3'ourself," said Lousteau. " We have just told Nathan, after enjoying his wrath, that he '11 soon be thank- ful to us for stirring up a controversy that will sell his book in a week. Just now he thinks you a sp}' and a scoundrel ; day after to-morrow he '11 call you a great man, a Plutarch man, a strong mind. He '11 embrace 3'ou as a friend. Dauriat has been here, and 3'ou have his three thousand francs ; that trick is played and won. Now, then, get back Nathan's respect and friendship. You did not want to injure any one but the publisher. We never attack and immolate any but our enemies. If it concerned a rival, or an inconvenient talent which we wanted to neutralize, that 's another thing ; but Nathan is a friend. Blondet attacked him in the ' Mercure ' for the pleasure of replying in the ' Debats ; ' as a result, the first edition of the book sold rapidly." " But my friends, on the word of an honest man, I am incapable of writing praise of that book." " You shall have another hundred francs," said Mer- lin. " Nathan has already brought you in ten louis, without counting an article you can write for Finot's weekl}', for which Dauriat will be glad enough to pay you a hundred francs, — total, twent\' louis ! " '' But what am I to say? " persisted Lucien. '' I '11 tell you how to manage it, my bo}'," said Blondet, reflecting. " Env}-, you'll say, which fastens on all fine works as a worm on the best fruits, has endeavored to undermine this book. In order to find defects the critic was forced to invent theories and set up two lit- 288 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. eratures, — the literature of ideas, and the literature of images. Start from that, and sa}' that the highest reach of literar}^ art is to infuse ideas into images. In tr3ing to prove that the visible should be poetical you can re- gret that our language is so stubborn towards poes}^ and refer to the blame cast b}^ foreigners on the ^05/- tivisiin of our st3'le ; that will give 3'ou a chance to praise M. de Canalis and Nathan for the service they have done to France in loosening the conventional bonds of the language. Knock over 3'our other argu- ment by showing the progress of this century as com- pared with the eighteenth. Invent the word ' prog- v.^'ress ' (capital bamboozlement for the bourgeoisie). Our 3'oung literature is done by pictures, — representations, in which all forms are mingled : comed3^, drama, de- scription, character, dialogue, — woven together b3' some interesting plot. The novel, which requires sentiment, style, and realit3', is the greatest of all modern literary creations. It succeeds comed3', which, under our pres- ent manners and customs, is no longer possible, the old laws being so changed. It contains both the fact and the idea in its presentations, which require the wit of la Bruyere and his incisive morality, also a treatment of characters like that of Moliere, and the grand machinery of Shakspeare, with his painting of the most delicate shades of passion, — that unique treasure left to us b3^ our forefathers. Thus the novel is far superior to the cold mathematical discussions and dr3' analysis of tlie eighteenth centur3\ The novel, 3'Ou can sa3' epigram- maticall3', is an entertaining epic. Cite Corinne, and bolster 3'ourself up with Madame de Stael. The eigh- teenth centur3' brought forth the problems which the Great Mayi of the Provinces m Paris. 289 nineteenth is called upon to solve ; and it solves them by realities, but realities which live and move and have their being ; it allows for the play of passion, an element ignored by Voltaire, — here a tirade against Voltaire. As for Rousseau, he only dressed up arguments and doctrines. Julie and Claire are mere lay-figures, with- out flesh or blood. You can enlarge on this theme and sa}' that we owe our young and original literatures to the Peace and to the Bourbons, — for the article is to go into a Right Centre paper. Ridicule all makers of systems. Bring in somewhere an indignant flourish. ' Our contemporar}',' you can say, ' has put forth many errors and false arguments ; and with what purpose? to depreciate a fine work, to deceive the public, and lead to the conclusion that a book that is selling well has no sale ! Proh pudor ! ' That honest oath will arouse the reader. Enlarge here on the decadence of criticism. And then wind up with a dictum : ' There is but one literature in the present day, — that of amusing books. Nathan has struck out a new vein ; he understands his epoch and supplies its needs. The need of this epoch is dramatic work. Drama is the longing of a centurj' in which politics have been a perpetual pantomime. Have n't we seen in twenty years,' you can say, 'the Revolution, the Directory, the Empire, the Restoration?' Besides this article you can put something into Finot's weekly paper next Saturday, signed De Rubempre in big letters. Only, in this last article you must sa}' : ' It is the mission of great works to arouse discussion. This week such a journal has said thus and so about Monsieur Nathan's book and such another has vigor- ously* refuted its attack.' You criticise both critics, C. 19 290 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. and L., and you give me a little compliment, in passing, on my article in the ' Debats ' when the book first came out ; after that you end b}' declaring that Nathan's work is the finest of our epoch. Thus you '11 have made four hundred francs out of your week, besides the satisfaction of having written a good deal of truth on both sides. Intelhgent readers will agree with C. or with L. or with Rubempre, — perhaps with all three. Mythology, which is certainly one of the greatest of human inventions, puts Truth at the bottom of a well ; consequently buckets are necessary to draw it up, and you 've provided the public with three ! There 30U are, m}^ boy ; now, march ! " Lucien was bewildered. Blondet kissed him on both cheeks, remarking : " Now I must go to m}' shop.*' They all went oflf to their various " shops." To these hommes forts their newspaper was onl}^ a shop. They were to meet again that evening in the Galeries de Bois, where Lucien was to sign his agreement with Dauriat. Florine and Lousteau, Lucien and Corahe, Blondet and Finot, were engaged to dine in the Palais-Royal with Du Bruel. " The}^ are right," cried Lucien, when he was alone with Coralie. " Men ought to be strong enough to use all means to their ends. Four hundred francs for three articles ! Doguereau would scarcel}' give me that for a book which cost me two years of hard work." " Write criticisms and get 3'our fun out of it," said Coralie, "and never mind the rest. Don't I dress as an Andalusian to-night, and a Bohemian to-morrow, and a man the next da}' ? Do as I do ; bow and scrape for their money, and let 's live happy." Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, 291 Lncien, a lover of paradox, set his wit astride of that capricious mnle, the son of Pegasus and Balaam's ass. He galloped over the fields of thought as he drove through the Bois with Coralie, and discovered new and orisiinal beauties in Blondet's theme. He dined as the happy dine ; he signed his treaty with Dauriat, b}' which he 3ielded all rights in tlie "Daisies," and saw no danger in doing so ; then he made a trip to the office, scribbled off two columns, and returned to the rue de Vendome. The next morning he found that the ideas of the night before had germinated in his head, as it always happens with young minds full of sap, when their faculties have been but little used. Lucien en- joyed the pleasure of thinking over his article, and he gave himself up to it with ardor. As he wrote, thoughts arose which gave birth to contradictions. He was witty and satirical ; he even rose to some original conceptions about sentiment and reality in literature. In order to praise the book, he called up his earliest impressions of Nathan's work as he had read it in Blosse's reading- room. Ingenious and subtle, he slid from the former savage and bitter criticism of a satirist into the senti- ments of a poet, ending his article with a few final phrases swung majesticall}', like an urn of incense wav- ing its fragrance towards an altar. "A hundred francs, Coralie ! " he cried, showing her the eight sheets of paper written while she was dressing. Being much in the vein, he wrote with hasty pen the terrible article he had mentioned to Blondet against du Chatelet and Madame de Bargeton. He tasted during this morning one of the keenest personal pleasures of a 292 Qreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. journalist, — that of pointing an epigram, polishing the cold steel which is to sheath itself in the heart of a victim, and carving the handle to please the readers. The public admires the careful workmanship ; it takes no thought of the malice ; it is ignorant that the blade of a saying sharpened by vengeance will rankle in the self-love of a mind stabbed knowingl}' in its tenderest place. That horrible pleasure, essentially solitary and savage, enjoxed without witnesses, is like a duel with an absent adversar}'', who is killed from a distance by a crow-quill, as if the journalist had reall}' the fantastic power granted to the possessor of a talisman in Eastern tales. Epigram is the essence of hatred, of hatred de- rived from all the worst passions of mankind, just as love is the concentration of all its virtues. Hence, all writers are witt}' when the}' avenge themselves, for the reason that there are none who do not find enjoyment in it. In spite of the facility and commonness of this faculty in France, ever}' exhibition of it is alwa3's wel- comed. Lucien's article was calculated to put, and did actual!}' put, his reputation for malignant sarcasm high. It went to the depths of two hearts : it grievously wounded Madame de Bargeton, his ex-Laure, and the Baron du Chatelet, his rival. " Come, let us go and drive in the Bois," said Cora- lie. " The horses are harnessed ; I hear them pawing ; you must n't kill yourself." " Let us take the article on Nathan to Hector's office. I tell you what it is," said Lucien ; " a newspaper is like Achilles' lance, which cures the wounds it makes." The lovers started, and showed themselves in all their splendor to the eyes of that Paris which had so Great 3Ian of the Provinces in Paris. 293 lately rejected Liicien, who was now beginning to oc- cupy its mind. To occup^^ the mind of Paris after we have once understood its vastness and the difficult}' of becoming anything whatever in the great city is enough to turn the head of any man with intoxicating enjoy- ment, and it now turned Lucien's. "Dear," said the actress, "we will drive round to the tailor's and hurry your clothes ; you might try them on if they are read}'. If you are going among your fine ladies, I am determined you shall outdo that monster de Marsay and little Rastignac, and those Ajuda-Pintos and Maxime de Trailles, and Yandenesses, and all the other dandies. Remember that Coralie is your mis- tress ; but you won't play me any tricks, will you ? " 294 Crreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. XVIII. POWER AND SERVITUDE OF JOURNALISTS. Two days later, — that is, on the evening before the supper wliich Coralie and Lucien were to give to their friends, — the Anabigu-Comique produced a new play, of which it was Lucien's business to render an account. After their dinner, Lucien and Coralie went on foot from the rue de Vendome to the Panorama-Dramatique by the Boulevard-du-Temple and past the cafe Turc, which in those daj's was a favorite promenade. Lucien heard his luck and Coralie's beauty commented on. Some said Coralie was the handsomest woman in Paris ; others declared that Lucien was worthy of her. The poet felt in his element. This life was his true life. The brotherhood were far out of sight; those great souls he had so much admired two months earlier now seemed, when he thought of them, to be almost sill}', with their notions and their Puritanism. The word " simpleton," so heedlessly uttered by Coralie, had ger- minated in Lucien's mind, and was already bearing fruit. He put Coralie into her dressing-room, and sauntered with the air of a sultan behind the scenes, where all the actresses welcomed him with ardent glances and flattering words. ^ " I must go to the Ambigu and attend to my busi- ness," he said. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, 295 "When he reached the Ambigu the house was full ; there was not a single place for him. Lucien went be- hind the scenes and complained bitterlj^ The sub- manager, who did not 3^et know him, told him the}^ had sent two boxes to his paper, and that was all the}' could do. ' ' I shall speak of the pla}^ according to what I see of it," said Lucien, angril3\ " How stupid 30U are !" said an actress to the sub- manager ; " that is Coralie's lover." The sub-manager at once turned to Lucien and said : *' Monsieur, I will speak to tlie director." Thus the smallest matters onlj^ proved to Lucien the immensity of the power of the newspaper press, and encouraged his vanitj'. The director came and obtained permission from the Due de Rhetore and Tullia, who were in a proscenium box, to put a gentleman with them. The duke readil}' consented as soon as he knew it was Lucien. " You have reduced two persons to a state of miser}'," said the duke. " I mean the Baron du Chatelet and Madame de Bargeton." " What will become of them to-morrow, then? " said Lucien. "Until now my friends have only skirmished about them, but I, myself, have fired a red-hot cannon- ball to-night. To-morrow 3'ou will understand wh}' we have ridiculed Potelet. The article is entitled ' Potelet in 1811 to Potelet in 1821.' Chatelet is the type of men who renounce their benefactors and rail}' to the Bourbons. After I have made m3^self more felt I shall go to Madame de Montcornet's." Lucien then began a livety conversation with the 296 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. young duke, brimming over with wit ; he was anxious to prove to this great seigneur how grossly Mesdames d'Espard' and de Bargeton were mistaken in despising him ; but he gave himself awa}^ a little by trying to establish his right to the name of de Rubempre when the Due de Rhetore maliciously called him Chardon. " You ought," said the duke, '^ to become a royalist. You have show^n yourself a man of brilliant wit ; now be a man of sound good sense. The only way to obtain a decree from the king which will restore to you the name and title of your maternal ancestors is to ask it as a reward for services actually done b}' you to the Chateau. The liberals will never make you a count. I assure you the Restoration will end by getting the better of the press, — the only power it has to fear. It ought to have been muzzled earlier ; but it will be soon. Make the most of its last days of freedom to get yourself feared. Before long a name and title will have more power and influence in France than talent. If you are wise now, you can have all, — mind, nobiht}', beauty, and your future secured. Don't remain a hberal one moment longer than is necessary to make good terms with royalism." The duke asked Lucien to accept an invitation to dinner which the German minister, whom he had met at Florine's, intended to send him. Lucien was instantly won over by the duke's arguments and charmed to per- ceive that the doors of salons from which he had felt himself forever banished might still open to him. He admired the power of thought. The Press and intellect were really the means which moved society. It dawned on Lucien's mind that Lousteau might some day repent Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 297 having opened to him the gates of tlie temple ; he him- self could see the necessity of opposing barriers to the ambitions which led men from the provinces to Paris. He asked himself what greeting he would now give to a poet who should fling himself into his arms as he had done into Lousteau's. The 3'oung duke watched the signs of Lucien's medi- tation, and was not mistaken as to the cause of it ; he had revealed to that ambitious mind, a mind without fixed will but not without desire, a whole political horizon ; just as the journalists, like Satan on the pin- nacle of the temple, had shown him the literary world and its riches at his feet. Lucien could not know that a little conspiracy existed against him among those great people whom he was then wounding in the news- papers, and that the Due de Rhetore was concerned in it. The 3'oung duke had alarmed the society in which Madame de Bargeton moved b}" an account of Lucien's cleverness and success among journalists. He was asked b}^ Madame de Bargeton to sound Lucien and was hoping to meet him that evening, as he did, at the Ambigu-Comique. Neither society nor journalists were profound ; they were not concerned with deep-laid plans ; in fact they had no plans at all ; their Machia- velianism extended onl}', so to speak, from da}- to da}', and consisted merely in being ready for an3'thing, ready to profit by evil as well as good. The young duke had perceived at Florine's supper Lucien's main character- istics ; he now caught him by his vanities, and made his first essa}' in diplomacy b}^ tempting him. When the piece was over Lucien rushed to the rue Saint-Fiacre to write his article upon it. He made it, 298 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. intentionally, harsh and cutting ; and took pleasure in thus trying his power. The melodrama was better than that of the Panorama-Dramatique ; but he wanted to see if he could, as he had been told, kill a good pla}^ and make a poor one successful. The next day, when breakfasting with Coralie, he unfolded his paper and was not a little astonished to read, after the article on Madame de Bargeton and du Chatelet, his criticism on the Ambigu so softened durhig the night that although the witt}' analysis was retained, a favorable instead of an unfavorable verdict came out of it. The article would evidentl}' benefit the receipts of the theatre. His wrath was indescribable, and he determined, as he said, to sa}' two words to Lousteau. He felt he was already a necessar}^ person, and he vowed not to let himself be ruled and managed like a nobody. To establish his power once for all, he wrote the article in which he summed up and balanced all the opinions put forth on Nathan's book, signed it with his name, and sent it to Dauriat and Finot's weekly journal. Then, as he felt his hand was in, he wrote another of his '' varietj' " articles for Lousteau's paper. During their first effer- vescence 3^oung journalists dash off articles with actual love for the work, and give awa}^, imprudently, all their flowers- The next evening the manager of the Panorama- Dramatique gave the first representation of a vaudeville, so as to leave Coralie and Florine free. After supper cards were to be pla^-ed. Lousteau came for Lucien's article on the vaudeville, which was written in advance, Lucien having seen the rehearsal of it, so that there might be no anxiety as to the make-up of the next daj^'s paper. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 299 After Lucien bad read him his charming little "variet}'" article on some Parisian peculiarit}' (such articles made the fortune of the paper), Lousteau kissed him on both ej'es, and called him a journalistic providence. "Then wh}' do you amuse yourself b}' changing the meaning of my articles?" demanded Lucien, who had written the brilliant article for no other purpose than to give additional force to his complaint. " I? " exclaimed Lousteau. " If 3'ou did n't, who did change my article ? " " M}^ dear fellow," said Lousteau, laughing, "3'ou are not yet posted in the business ! The Ambigu takes twent}' subscriptions, of which only nine are served, — to the manager, the leader of the orchestra, the sub- manager, the mistresses of all of them, and the three proprietors of the theatre. In this way each of the three boulevard theatres pays eight hundred francs to the paper. There is as much more to be got out of the boxes the}' give to Finot, without counting the subscrip- tions of actors and authors. That scoundrel Finot makes at least eight thousand francs a year out of the boulevard theatres alone. You can judge by the little theatres what he makes out of the great ones. Now, don't 3'ou understand? we are expected to be indulgent." " I understand that I am not free to write what I think." "Pooh! what matter, if 3'our nest is feathered?" cried Lousteau. " What grievance have j^ou got against the theatre ? You must have some reason for murder- ing that pla3\ Murdering for murder's sake injures the paper. When a journal strikes a blow for justice only 300 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. it produces no effect. Come, what was it? Did the manager neglect you?" " He did not keep a seat for me." " Ver}^ good ! " said Lousteau. "I'll show him 3'our article, and tell him how I softened it ; 3'ou '11 find 3'our- self better off than if it had appeared as written. Ask him to-morrow for j-our tickets ; he '11 sign 3'ou forty blanks a month, and I'll take you to a man with whom you can arrange to sell them. He '11 bu}^ them all at fift3' per cent discount on the theatre price. We do the same trade with tickets that we do with books. The man is another Barbet ; he is the head of the claque. His house is not far from here ; let us go there now ; there 's time enough." " But, my dear Lousteau, Finot is doing an infamous business in levying such indirect taxes on thought. Sooner or later — " " Bless me ! where do 3'ou come from?" cried Lous- teau, interrupting him. "For whom and what do 3"0u take Finot? Beneath his false good-humor, beneath that Turcaret air of his, beneath his ignorance and his stolidity, he has all the shrewdness of the hatter from w4iom he was born. Did n't 3'ou see in that office of his an old soldier of the Empire ? That 's his uncle ; and the uncle is not onl3^ an honest man, but he has the luck to pass for a fool. He is the scapegoat in all pecuniary transactions. In Paris an ambitious man is rich if he has beside him and devoted to him a henchman who is willing to be a scapegoat. In journalism as well as in politics there are a multitude of cases in which the leaders must never appear. If Finot ever becomes a political personage his uncle will be his secretar3% and Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 301 will receive for him the contributions levied in the pub- lic offices on any important matter. Giroudeau, whom you 'd take at first sight for a fool, has preciselj^ the sly shrewdness which makes him an unfathomable ally. He is always on duty ; he prevents us from being tormented and overwhelmed by clamors, protests, jealousies, ap- peals. I don't believe there 's his like on an}' other paper." ^ He plan's his part well," said Lucien ; " I've seen him at work." Etienne and Lucien went to the rue du Faubourg-du- Temple, where the editor-in-chief stopped before a fine- looking house. "Is Monsieur Braulard at home?" he asked the porter. " What ! " exclaimed Lucien, " do you call the chief of the claqueurs monsieur? " " My dear fellow, Braulard has property worth twenty thousand francs a year ; he has all the dramatic authors of the boulevard in his clutches ; they have an account with him as if he were a banker. Authors' tickets and complimentary tickets are sold, and Braulard sells them. Try statistics (a very useful science if not abused): fifty complimentary tickets every night from each of the boulevard theatres make two hundred and fifty tickets daily ; they are worth, sa}'', forty sous apiece ; Braulard pa3's one hundred and twent3'-five francs to the authors, and runs his chance of getting as much more. Thus, you see, authors' tickets alone bring him in four thousand francs a month, — a total of forty- eight thousand a year. But let us suppose a loss of half, for he can't alwa3's sell his tickets." 802 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, "Why not?" " Because persons who pa}' for their seats at the box- offices have as much right as those who hold the com- phmentar}' tickets, which are never for reserved places ; and the theatre keeps all its choice places. Then there 's fine weather and bad weather. But sa}' that Braulard earns about tliirt}' thousand francs under that head. Then he has his claqueurs ; that's another in- dustrj'. Florine and Coralie pa}' tribute to him ; if they did n't they would n't be applauded at their entrances and exits." Lousteau gave these explanations in a low voice as they went up the stairs. " Paris is a queer world," said Lucien, finding greed and self-interest squatting in every corner. A neat servant-woman ushered the two journalists into Monsieur Braulard's room. The ticket-dealer, who was seated in an office chair before a large roller-desk, rose when he saw Lousteau. He was wrapped in a gray camlet dressing-gown, with trousers a pied and red slippers, exactly like a physician or a lawyer. Lu- cien saw at once that he was a specimen of the rich self-made man of the people, — common in feature, with shrewd gray eyes; the hands of a clapper; a complexion over which debauches had passed like rain on a roof; grizzly hair, and a rather thick voice. " You have come, of course, for Mademoiselle Flo- rine, and your friend for Mademoiselle Coralie," he said. " I know you very well, monsieur," he went on, addressing Lucien. '* Don't be uneasy. I have bought the business at the Gymnase. I '11 look after your mis- tress and warn her if there 's any cabal against her." Great 3Ian of the Provinces in Paris. 303 *' That 's not to be refused, m}' dear Braulard," said Lousteau. "But we have come about our newspaper tickets at the boulevard theatres, — I as editor-in- chief, and Monsieur de Rubempre as reporter at each theatre." " Ah, 3-es ! I heard that Finot had sold the paper. In fact, I knew all about the affair. He 's getting on, Finot is. I give a dinner for him at the end of the week, and I shall be very glad if 3'ou will do me the honor and pleasure of being present with your spouses. There '11 be plent}' of fun and racket. We shall have Adele Dupuis, Ducange, Frederic Du Petit-Mere, and Mademoiselle Millot, m}' mistress. We'll laugh much, and drink more." " I hear Ducange has lost his suit ; he must be hard-up." " I 've lent him ten thousand francs ; the success of his ' Calas ' will pay me back ; I 'm warming it up ! Ducange is a clever fellow ; he has got it in him." (Lucien thouglit he was dreaming when he heard a man of this stamp weighing the talents of authors.) " Coralie has greath' improved," continued Braulard, addressing him with the air of a competent judge. "If she 's a good girl I '11 support her secretl v when the}' get up their cabal against her, as they are sure to do, on her first appearance at the G3mnase. Listen: I'll put a number of men in the galleries to smile at her and give little murmurs of satisfaction, which always start applause. That 's a trick which fixes attention on an actress. I like Coralie ; she pleases me ; yon ought to be satisfied with her ; she has feelings. Ha ! I can make any one fail I please ! " 304 Great Man of the Provmces in Paris. " But let us settle this business of the tickets first," said Lousteau. " Veiy good ! I '11 go to monsieur's house and get them eveiy month. He is a friend of 3'ours, and I '11 treat him as I do you. You sa}' you have five theatres, monsieur ; they '11 give you thirt3' tickets ; that will be something like sevent3'-five francs a month. Do 3'ou want an advance ? " said the ticket-dealer, turning to his desk and taking out a pile of money. " No, no ! " said Lousteau ; " we '11 keep this resource for a rain}' day." "Monsieur," continued Braulard, addressing Lucien, "I'll go round to Coralie in a day or two and settle about the rest." Lucien had been looking, not without surprise, at Braulard's office ; in it were books, engravings, and suitable furniture. As thej' passed out through the salon he saw that everything was well chosen, — neither mean nor tawdry nor too luxurious. The dining-room seemed to be the most ornate of the rooms, and he re- marked upon it. "Braulard is gastronomical," said Lousteau, laugh- ing ; " his dinners, famous in dramatic literature, are in keeping with his funds." " I have good wines," said Braulard modestly. "Ah ! here are my hands ! " he cried, hearing gruff voices and shuffling steps on the staircase. As Lucien and Lousteau passed out, they met the evil-smelling brigade of claqueurs and street ticket- sellers, — fellows in caps, ragged trousers, and thread- bare coats ; with hangdog faces, bluish, greenish, bloated, wizened, long beards, and e3'es both wheedling Great 3Ian of the Provinces in Paris, 305 and savage, — a horrible population which lives and swarms on the boulevards of Paris ; selling in the morning trinkets and chains and such things for twentj'-five sous apiece, and appearing at night under the chandeliers to ply their other trade of clapping to order, — a population which adapts itself to all the miry needs of Paris. "These are the Romans who applaud Nero!" said Lousteau, laughing; " the}' make the fame of dramatic authors and actresses ! Seen at close quarters, that fame doesn't seem much better than ours, does it?" "It is difficult to have any illusions about anything in Paris," replied Lucien. "All is taxed, sold, coined, — even success ! " The guests at Lucien's supper were Dauriat, the manager of the Panorama, Matifat and Florine, Camu- sot, Lousteau, Finot, Nathan, Hector Merlin and Ma- dame du Yal-Noble, Felicien Vernou, Blondet, Vignon, Philippe Bridau and Mariette, Giroudeau, Cardot and Florentine, and Bixiou. He had invited his friends of the brotherhood. Tullia, the danseuse, who was said to favor Du Bruel, was also of the part}', but without her duke ; also the proprietors of the newspapers on which Nathan, Vignon, Merlin, and Vernou were em- ployed. Altogether there were thirty guests, Coralie's dining-room not being large enough to hold more. Towards eight o'clock, when the chandeliers were lighted, and the furniture, hangings, and flowers all wore the festal air which gives to Parisian luxury the atmosphere of a dream, Lucien was conscious of an indefinable sense of happiness, of gratified vanity and hope, as he saw himself master of this dazzhng scene ; 20 306 G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. but he never once asked himself b}- what means nor by whose hand this faivy wand had touched him. Florine and Corahe, dressed with all the excessive luxury and artistic magnifice.-ice of actresses, smiled on the poet of the provinces like two angels sent to open for him the gates of the Paradise of Dreams. He was dreaming now. In a few short months his life had so utterly changed, he had passed so rapidly from the extreme of misery to the extreme of opulence that momentary doubts did come to him, as tlie}- do to sleepers who while dreaming know themselves asleep. Nevertheless, his eyes, open to all this beautiful realit}^ expressed a confidence in his position which env}' would have called fatuit3\ He himself had changed. His healthy color had paled ; a look of langour was in the moist expres- sion of his e3'es ; but his beaut}' gained by it. The consciousness of power and his own strength shone from a face now enlightened bj' love and experience. He had come front to front with the literar}' world and societj', and he believed he could walk through both a conqueror. To this poet, who never reflected until the burden of misfortune was upon him, the present seemed to be without a care. Success had filled the sails of his bark ; at his orders lav the instruments he needed for his projects, — a fine house, a mistress for whom all Paris envied him, a carriage and horses, and an incal- culable sum of mone}^ in his desk ! His soul, his heart, his mind were, one and all, metamorphosed ; he thought no more of doubting methods in presence of such glo- rious results. All this will seem so plainh' insecure to persons of experience who know Parisian life that it is only neces- Great Man of the Provhices in Paris. 307 saiy to indicate the fragile basis on which the material happiness of the actress and her poet rested. Without involving himself in an}' pa3'ment, Camusot had re- quested the tradesmen who supplied Coralie to let her have all she wanted on credit for at least three months. The horses, servants and household went on as if bv enchantment for these two children eager for enjoy- ment, and who did enjoy ever3'thing to the full. Coralie now caught Lucien by the hand and led him, alone, before the compan}' arrived, into the festive scene of the dining-room, set out with a splendid silver service, candelabra bearing forty wax-lights, and the regal delicacies of a dessert arranged by Chevet. Lu- cien kissed Coralie on the forehead and pressed her to his heart. '' I shall succeed, my child," he cried, " and I will reward you for all your love and all 3'our devotion." " Pooh ! " she said, " are you satisfied?" " I should be hard to please if I were not." " That smile is all I want," she answered, gliding her lips to his lips with a serpent-like motion. When the}' returned to the salon they found Florine, Lousteau, Matifat, and Camusot, arranging the card- tables. Lucien's friends were arriving, — for all these people now styled themselves his friends. They played from nine o'clock till midnight. Happily for him, Lu- cien did not know how to play an}' game ; but Lousteau lost a thousand francs and borrowed them of Lucien, who felt himself obliged to oblige his friend. About ten o'clock Michel Chrestien, Fulgence Ridal, and Joseph Bridau arrived. Lucien, who went to talk with them in a corner, thought they looked rather cold and serious, 308 Great Man of tlie Provinces iii Paris, not to sa}" constrained. D'Arthez could not come ; he was just finishing his book. Leon Giraud was busy with the first number of his review. The brotherhood had sent its three artists, who, the}' thought, would seem less out of their element than the rest at a rollicking supper. "Well, my friends," said Lucien, assuming a little tone of superiorit}', '' you '11 see now that ' paltry wit ' can prove good polic3\" " I don't ask anything better than to be mistaken," said Chrestien. ' ' Are you living with Coralie till you can do bet- ter?" asked Fulgence. " Yes," said Lucien, trying to look unconscious. " Coralie had a poor old shopkeeper who was fond of her, but she dismissed him. I 'm better off than your brother Philippe," he added, looking at Joseph Bridau ; " he can't manage Mariette." " In short," said Fulgence, '' you are now a man like the rest of them, and will make your wa}." " A man who will alwaj^s be the same toj'ou in what- ever position he may be," replied Lucien. Michel and Fulgence looked at each other, exchang- ing smiles which Lucien saw ; and he saw, too, how ridiculous that speech had made him. " Coralie is adorably beautiful ! " cried Joseph Bridau. " What a picture could be made of her ! " " And she is good," said Lucien. " I tell you she is angelic. You shall paint her portrait ; take her, if 3'ou like, for the model of your Venetian brought to the senator b}' an old woman." " All women who love are angelic," said Michel. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 309 Just then Raoul Nathan rushed up to Lucien in a frenzy of friendship, caught his hands and wrung them : — " My good friend," he cried, '• not onl}- are you a great man, but you have a heart, which is much more rare in these days than genius. You are faithful to your friends. I am yours for hfe and death ; I shall never forget what you have done for me this week." Lucien, at the summit of delight in finding himself thus adulated by a man whom Fame was already crowning, looked at his three friends of the brother- hood with a fresh air of superiority. Nathan's effusion was due to the fact that Merlin had shown him a proof of the article on his book which would appear the next day. " I only consented to write the attack in order that I might reply to it," whispered Lucien in Nathan's ear ; "I am with you heartily." He returned to his friends, delighted with a circum- stance which seemed to justify the speech at which they had smiled. " I am now in a position to be useful to d'Arthez, when his book comes out," he said. "That alone is enough to keep me in journalism." " Are you free in it? " asked Michel. " As free as a man can be when he is indispensable," replied Lucien. Towards midnight they sat down to table and the actual festivities began. The talk was much freer than it had l>een at Matifat's, for no one suspected or re- membered the opposition of feeling and opinion on the part of the three members of the brotherhood. These 310 G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. yoLing minds, so depraved by the habit of writing for and against both things and men, now came into con- flict with each other, flinging to and fro among them the terrible maxims of moral law to which journalism was then giving birth. Claude Vignon, who wished to maintain the august and dignified character of criti- cism, complained of the tendenc}' of the minor papers towards personalities, and declared that before long- writers would bring their own selves into disrepute. Lousteau, Merlin, and Finot, thereupon openly defended the S3'stem, called in journalistic slang blague^ — a word for which there is no equivalent in any other language, meaning a combination of smartness, humbug, satire, vim, gossip, falsehood, invention, and tlie written " gift of the gab ; " this the}- maintained was a touch- stone by which to recognize real talent. " Those who come safe out of that trial are strong men," said Lousteau. " Besides," said Merlin, " ovations to great men need, like the Roman triumphs, a chorus of insults." " Ha ! " said Lucien, " all those who are attacked will believe in their triumph." "Are you thinking of number one? " cried Finot. '^ Yes, 3'our sonnets ! " said Michel Chrestien, — "is that how the}' are to reach the fame of Petrarch?" " Faciamus experimentum in anima vili,^^ replied Lucien, smiling. " I'11-luck to those whom newspapers do not discuss, and on whom journalists cast no garlands at their start. They '11 stay like saints in their niches, where no one pays them the least attention," said Vernou. " It is success that kills in France," said Finot ; " we Grreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 311 are all so jealous of each other that we try to forget and make the public forget the other man's triumph." " It is true that contention is the life of literature," said Claude Vignon. "As in nature, where it results from two principles which contend," cried Fulgence Ridal, " the triumph of the one over the other is death." " And the same in politics," added Michel Chrestien. "We have just proved it," said Lousteau. "Dauriat will sell two tliousand copies of Xathan's book this week. Why? The book has been attacked, and is well defended." " An article like this," said Merlin, taking the proof out of his pocket, " is certain to sell a whole edition." "Read it," said Daariat. "I'm a publisher wher- ever I am, even at supper." Merlin read Lucien's article ; ever}" one applauded. '•' Could that article have been written without the first ? " asked Lousteau. Dauriat drew from his pocket a proof of Lucien's third article and read it aloud. Finot listened atten- tively to what was destined for the second number of his weekly paper, and, in his quality as editor-in-chief, he exaggerated his praise. " If Bossuet had lived in our centur}'," he cried, " could he have written better? " "No," said Merlin ; " but if Bossuet were living now he 'd be a journalist." "To Bossuet the Second!" said Claude Vignon, lifting his glass and bowing ironicallj' to Lucien. '• To my Christopher Columbus ! " said Lucien, bow- ing to Dauriat. 312 G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paj-is. '' Bravo ! " cried Nathan. "Is it a surname? " said Merlin nialiciouslj^ with a glance at Finot and Lucien. " If you go on in this way," said Dauriat, "these gentlemen," with a sign towards Camusot and Matifat, " cannot follow 3'ou. Wit is like cotton, — if you spin it too fine it breaks ; so said Bonaparte." "At any rate, gentlemen," said Lousteau, "we our- selves are the witnesses of a trul}' surprising, unheard- of event in journalism, — I mean the rapidit}' with which our friend here has been transformed from a provincial to a journalist." "He was born a newspaper man," said Dauriat. " M}' sons," said Finot, rising, with a bottle of cham- pagne in his hand, " we have all promoted and en- couraged the start of our young Amphitrj'on, and he has, T may sa}^ surpassed our expectations. I propose to baptize him journalist in due form." " Crown him with roses, — the emblem of his double conquest ! " said Bixiou, with a bow to Coralie. Coralie made a sign to Berenice, who fetched a quan- tity of old artifical flowers from the actress's bedroom. A wreath of roses was soon made, and the rest of the flowers were seized and grotesquely put on by those who were most drunk, while Finot, the head-priest, poured champagne upon the handsome blond head of the poet, and pronounced the sacramental words : " In the name of Pen, Ink, and Paper, I pronounce thee journalist. May thy articles sit easy on thee ! " " And be paid without deduction of blanks," added Merhn. At this moment Lucien saw the saddened faces of Grreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 313 Michel Chrestien, Fulgence, and Joseph Bridau, who took their hats and left the room amid a shower of imprecations. " Queer Christians ! " said Merlin. " Fulgence used to be a good fellow," said Lousteau, 'but they have perverted his moral sense." " Who have ? " asked Claude Vignon. " A lot of serious 3'oung men who meet in a philo- sophical-religious hole in the rue des Quatre-Vents, where the}" bother themselves about the general mean- ing of humanit}'," answered Blondet. "Oh! oh! oh!" " The}^ are trying to find out if it turns in a circle or is making progress," went on Blondet. " The}' have been dreadfully troubled of late about the straight line and the curved line ; they think the Biblical triangle a contradiction, and they have got some new prophet, I don't know who he is, who has pronounced in favor of the spiral." " Men might invent far more dangerous nonsense," cried Lucien, wishing to defend the brotherhood. "You think such theories nonsense," said Felicien Vernou, " but there comes a time when they are trans- muted into pistol-shots and guillotines." "They have n't got farther as yet," said Bixiou, " than exploded ideas, and picking up dead men like Vico, Saint-Simon, and Fourier. But I'm terribly afraid they '11 turn my poor Joseph Bridau's head." " They have led my old coUege friend and compatriot Horace Bianchon to give me the cold shoulder," said Lousteau. " Is n't their visible head Daniel d'Arthez," said 314 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. Nathan, "a small 3^oung fellow whom they expect to swallow us all up one of these da3's? " " He is a man of genius! " cried Lucien. " Not worth this glass of sherry to me," said Claude Vignon, laughing. From this point of the feast each man began to un- bosom himself to his neighbor. When clever men arrive at this point and give up, so to speak, the key of their hearts, it is verv certain that drunkenness has them in hand. An hour later all these guests, who were now the best friends in the world, told each other the}" were great men, strong men, men to wliom the future belonged. Lucien, as master of the revels, had retained a certain amount of lucidity of mind ; he listened to all these sophisms, which completed the work of his demoralization. " M}^ children," said Finot, " the Liberal press must put new life into its onslaughts ; nothing can be said just now against the government; and that's a bad look-out for the Opposition. Which of 3'ou will under- take to write a pamphlet demanding the re-establish- ment of the laws of primogeniture? That will give us a chance to declaim against the secret schemes of the court. It shall be well paid." "I will," said Hector Merlin; " those are mv poli- tical opinions." "Your part}' will say you compromise it. No; do you write the pamphlet, Vernou ; Dauriat will publish it; we'll all keep the secret." " What will 3'ou pay for it?" asked Vernou. " Six hundred francs. Sign it ' Comte C .' " " Ver}' good ! " said Vernou. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 315 " That's taking the canard into politics with a ven- geance," said Lousteau. " It is onl}' attributing intentions to the government, and unchaining pubhc opinion to give it warning," said Finot. "Well," said Claude Vignon, "I shall never get over my astonishment at a government allowing a parcel of scamps like us to direct public ideas and opinions." " If the ministry commits the foil}' of rising to that bait, and comes down into the arena, we can march it round with drums beating ; if it gets angr}' we can em- bitter the question and get the populace angry too. A newspaper risks nothing, where the powers that be haA^e everything to lose." " France is a cipher until the day when journalism is suppressed," continued Claude Vignon. "You are en- croaching hour by hour," he added, addressing Finot. "You are Jesuits, without their faith, their fixed pur^ pose, their discipline, and their union." The party now returned to the card-tables ; the lights of dawn soon paled the candles. " Your friends from the rue des Quatre- Vents were as gloomy as condemned criminals," said Coralie to her lover the next day. "They were judges, not criminals," said Lucien. "Pooh! judges are much more amusing," responded Coralie. 316 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. XIX. RE-ENTRANCE INTO THE GREAT WORLD. LuciEN lived for a month with his time entirel}' taken up by suppers, breakfasts, dinners, and other festivi- ties, — carried onward b}' the resistless current of pleas- ures and eas}' employments. He reflected no longer. The power of reflection in the midst of the complica- tions of life is the unmistakable sign of a strong will, which poets, or feeble natures, or purely spiritual minds, cannot counterfeit. Like most journalists, Lucien lived from day to day, spending his money as he earned it, paj'ing no heed to the periodic payment of his ex- penses, — that crushing necessity of these Bohemian lives. His dress and its accessories rivalled those of the greatest dandies. Coralie delighted, like all such fanatics, in adorning her idol. She ruined herself in giving her dear poet all that elegant outfit of superflu- ities he had so coveted during his first walk in the Tiii- leries. Lucien now had wondrous canes, a charming e3^eglass, diamond buttons, clasps for his morning cra- vats, rings a la chevaliere, and marvellous waistcoats in sufficient number to enable him to match his colors as he pleased. He was a full-blown dand}'. The day on which he accepted an invitation from the German diplomatist and appeared in the great world, his transformation excited a sort of envy among the Great Man of the Provinces iyi Paris. 317 young men who were present, — men who took the right of the road in the kingdom of fashion ; such as de Marsav, Vandenesse, Ajuda-Pinto, Rastignac, Maxime de Trailles, the Due de Maufrigneuse, Beau- denord, Manerville, etc. Men in fashionable life are jealous of each other with the jealousy of women. The Comtesse de Montcornet and the Marquise d'P2spard, for whom the dinner was given, had Lucien between them, and overwhelmed him with flatteries. " Wh}' did you abandon societj^" asked the mar- quise, " when it was so ready to welcome you? I have a quarrel with you on my own account. You owed me a visit, and I have never yet received it. I saw 3'ou the other night at the Opera, but you did not deign to look at me." " Your cousin, madame, had so positively dismissed me — " "You don't understand women," said Madame d'Es- pard, interrupting him. " You have wounded the most angelic heart and the noblest soul I know. You are ignorant of all that Louise was tr3'ing to do for 3'ou, and how delicatel}' and wisely she was proceeding — Oh, 3'es, she certainl}- would have succeeded ! " added the marquise, replying to a mute denial from Lucien. "Her husband is now dead, as he was sure to die, of indigestion. You cannot suppose that she would ever have been willing to become Madame Chardon. But the title of Comtesse de Rubempre was well worth ob- taining. Love is a great vanit}', which needs to be harmonized with all the other vanities, especially in marriage. If I had loved you to extremes, — that is to say, to the length of marrying you, — I confess I should 818 G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. not like to be called Madame Chardon. You must see that. Now that vou have learned the difficulties of life in Paris, you know how man}' turnings and windings we must all make to reach our object. You surely admit that the favor Louise wished to obtain for 3'ou — an unknown 3'oung man without fortune — was an almost impossible one; she could not, therefore, neglect a single precaution. You men have great intelligence, but we women, when we love, have more than the cleverest man. My cousin intended to employ that ridiculous Chatelet — I can't help laughing over your articles about him," she said, interrupting herself Lucien did not know what to think. Initiated into the treachery and trickerj^ of journalism, he was wholly ignorant of the same vices in society ; in spite of his native perspicacity he was to be roughl}' taught them. "Is it possible, madame," he said, his curiosity keenl}^ excited, 'Hhat 'The Heron' is not under 3'our protection ? " ' ' In societ}' we are forced to be polite even to our enemies, and to seem to be amused b}' bores ; and we sometimes appear to sacrifice our friends in order to do them better service. You are still very new to life. How can you, who attempt to write, remain so ignorant of the ever3--day deceits of the world ? If m}^ cousin seemed to sacrifice 3'ou to ' The Heron,' it was neces- sary in order to profit b^' his influence in 3'Our behalf ; for the baron stands extremel3' well with the present ministry. We have tried to show him that up to a cer- tain point 3'our attacks will be useful to him, in order to reconcile him with 3'ou hereafter. The ministr3' con- sole him for your persecutions because, as des Lupeaulx Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 319 told them, while the liberal press turns clu Chatelet to ridicule, it will let the government alone." " Monsieur Blondet has led me to hope for the pleas- ure of seeing 3'ou at my house," said the Comtesse de Montcornet, when Madame d'Espard left Lucien to his reflections. ''You will meet a few artists, a few writers, and a woman who has the strongest desire to meet you, — Mademoiselle des Touches; a very rare talent among our sex, and one to whose house you ought to go. Mademoiselle des Touches, or Camille Maupin, if 3'ou prefer her pseudonym, has one of the most remark- able salons in Paris. She is immensely rich. They have told her you are as handsome as you are witt}', and she is dying to see you." Lucien could only express himself in thanks and look at Blondet with envious e3'es. There was as much dif- ference between a woman of the st3'le and quality of the Comtesse de Montcornet and Coralie as between Coralie and a mere girl of the streets. This countess — 3'oung, beautiful, and clever — had the peculiar fair- ness of Northern women for her distinguishing beaut}'. Her mother was born Princess of Scherbellof; conse- quentl}' the minister had shown her the most respectful attentions before dinner. B3' this time the marquise had finished the disdainful sucking of a chicken-wing. " My poor Louise," she resumed to Lucien, " had so much regard for you ! I was in her confidence as to the fine future she dreamed of She would have borne man}' things, but not the contempt you showed in re- turning her letters. We women forgive cruelties, — the}' are often a sign of confidence ; but indifference, no ! 320 Grreat Mayi of the Provinces in Paris. Indifference is like polar ice ; it stifles everj^thing. Well, you must fidmit 3'OU lost 3'our future b}^ 3'our own fault. Wh}^ did you break awa}'? Even if 3'ou were rather disdainfully^ treated, you had your fortune to make, your name to recover. Louise was thinking of all that." " Then whv not have told me?" asked Lucien. * ' Good heavens ! it was I m3'self who advised her not to do so. Come, between ourselves, I will tell 3"ou that, seeing 3'ou so unused to societ3^, I feared 3'ou, — I feared that your inexperience, 3'our heedless ardor, might destroy or disarrange her plans. Can 3'ou now remember what 3^ou were then? Admit that if 3'our double of that da3' were here now 3'ou would feel as I did then ; there is no resemblance between him and 3'OU. That was the onl3' wrong we were guilt3' of; but there is not one man in a thousand wlio unites a great talent with so marvellous an aptitude for social adapta- tion as 3'OU have shown. You are indeed a surprising exception. You made the transformation so rapidh', 3'Ou caught our Parisian air and manner so easih^, that I did not recognize 3'Ou in the Bois a month ago." Lucien listened to this great lady with pleasure in- expressible. She said these flattering words with a simple, confiding, piquant air ; she seemed so interested in his welfare that he thought it was another phase of his luck, like that of his first evening at the Panorama- Dramatique. Ever since that happ3' evening the world had smiled upon him ; he beheved that he possessed, in virtue of his 3'outh, a talismanic power, and he resolved to test the marquise, — determined in his own mind not to let her fool him. G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 321 ' ' May I ask, maclame, what those phiiis were that are now chimerical?" he said. "Louise wished to obtain a decree from the king giving you the right to bear the name and title of de Rubempre. She wished to bury Chardon. That first favor, easily obtainable then, but which your present political opinions have made almost impossible now, would have been a fortune to you. You treat these ideas as flimsy and frivolous ; but we know life ; we know how solid are the advantages of a title when borne by a handsome and elegant young man. Present to an English beauty, or indeed to any heiress, ' Mon- sieur Chardon,' or ' Monsieur le Comte de Rubempre'/ and 3'ou will see the difference in the welcome. The count may be deep in debt, but all hearts are open to him ; his beaut}^, set in the light of his title, is like a diamond well mounted. ' Monsieur Chardon ' would not even be noticed. We have not created these ideas ; they reign supreme everywhere, — even among the bourgeoisie. You are turning your back on fortune. Look at that charming 3'oung man over there, — the Vicomte Felix de Vandenesse ; he is one of the private secretaries of the king. The king is extremely fond of young men of talent, and that particular one was not much better equipped when he came from his province than 3'ou were, and you have ten times his mind ; but you have no name, — no famil}' ! You know des Lu- peaulx, don't you? Well, his own name is a good deal like 3'ours ; it is Chardin. He would not sell his little farm of des Lupeaulx for a million. He will be Comte des Lupeaulx before long, and his grandson will be- come a great seigneur. If you continue in your present 21 322 Grreat Mayi of the Provinces in Paris, mistaken course 3^ou will certainly fail. See how much wiser Monsieur Emile Blondet is than 3'ou ! He is on a paper which supports power ; all the powers of the day look favorably upon him ; he can mingle safel}^ among liberals because he is known to have sound views ; he deliberately chose his opinions and his pro- tectors. That pretty young woman on the other side of you was a Demoiselle de Troisville, with two peers of France and two deputies in her family. She made a rich marriage on account of her name ; she receives everybod}', has great influence, and will move the whole political world for that little Monsieur Blondet ! What can a Coralie do for j'ou? Help 3'ou to make debts, and wear 3'ourself out with pleasures in a few years from now. You place your affections badly, and you arrange your life ill, — that is what the woman whom you take pleasure in wounding said to me the other night at the Opera. While deploring the misuse you are making of your talents and 3'our beautiful youth, she was not thinking of herself, but of 3'Ou." ^' Ah ! if that were true, madame ! " exclaimed Lucien. " Pra3", wh3' should 30U doubt m3^ word ? " said the marquise, casting a cold and haughty look on Lucien, which annihilated him. He was so confused that he said nothing, and the offended marquise said no more. This piqued him ; but he felt that he had done a clumsy thing, and he resolved to repair it. He turned to Madame de Mont- cornet and began to speak of Blondet, praising his merits as a writer. This was very well received by the countess, who invited him to a small part3'' at her house, asking him if it would give him pleasure to Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 323 meet Madame de Bargeton, who, in spite of her recent mourning, would be there. It was not a large part}^ ; merely the meeting of a few friends. "Madame la marquise thinks the wrong was all on my side," said Lucien ; " therefore it is her cousin who must say if she will meet me." " Stop those ridiculous attacks the papers are mak- ing on her, which compromise her with a man she de- spises, and you can soon make your peace with her. I am told 3'ou think she cast you off ; I can only sa}' I have seen her grieving over your desertion. Is it true that she left the provinces with you, and for you?" Lucien looked at the countess, not daring to answer. " How can 3'ou distrust a woman who has made such sacrifices for 3'ou ? " went on Madame de Montcornet. " Besides, beautiful and intelligent as she is, she de- serves to be loved under all circunstances. Madame de Bargeton cared less for you than for vour talents. Believe me, women love intellect before they love beauty ; " and she glanced at Blondet. In the house of the ambassador Lucien saw plainly the differences existing between the great world and the questionable world in which he had been living of late. The two aspects of magnificence had no likeness and no point of contact. The loftiness and the arrange- ment of the rooms of this hotel, one of the handsomest in the faubourg Saint-Germain ; the ancient gilding and breadth of the decoration, the sober richness of the accessories, all were strange and novel to him ; but the habit he had now acquired of accepting luxur}' kept him from seeming astonished. His manner was there- fore as far removed from assurance and conceit as it 324 Great Mmi of the Proviyices in Paris. was from obsequiousness or servility. The poet was good form, and pleased those who had no reason to be hostile to him ; but the fashionable young men, whose jealousy was roused by his sudden return among them with his success and his beauty, had such reason. As the compan}' left the table Lucien offered his arm to Madame d'Espard, and she accepted it. Eugene de Rastignac, seeing that the marquise had rather courted the poet, came up to him on the strength of their being- compatriots, and reminded him of their first meeting at Madame du Val-Noble's. The young noble seemed in- clined to all}' himself with the great man of the prov- inces, — inviting him to breakfast some morning, and offering to introduce him to several of the 3'oung men of fashion. Lucien accepted these proposals. " The dear Blondet will be there," said Rastignac. The minister now joined a group composed of the Marquis de Ronquerolles, the Due de Rhetore, de Mar- say, General Montriveau, Rastignac, and Lucien. " Ver}^ well done," he said to Lucien, with the Ger- man heartiness under which lay a dangerous slyness, "•I am glad you have made peace with Madame d'Espard. She is delighted withj'ou ; and we all know," he added, looking at the men around him, " how diffi- cult it is to please her." "Yes, but she adores intellect," said Rastignac; " and my compatriot has plenty of that for sale." '' He '11 soon find out what a bad traflJic he is making of it," said Blondet, quickly ; " then he '11 turn and be one of us." A chorus began around Lucien on this theme. The older men threw out a few serious remarks in a despotic Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 325 tone ; the 3'oiinger ones jested frankly about the liberals. " I am quite sure," said Blondet, " that he tossed up, heads or tails, for Left or Right. But now he must make a deliberate choice." Lucien began to laugh, remembering his scene in the Luxembourg with Lousteau. " He chose one Etienne Lousteau for showman," went on Blondet, — " the bull}' of a pett^^ paper, who sees a five-franc-piece in ever}' column , and whose whole political creed consists in looking for the return of Napoleon and (which strikes me as even more idi- otic) for the gratitude and patriotism of the gentlemen of the Left. As a Rubempre, Lucien's sentiments ought to be aristocratic ; as a journalist he ought to be on the side of power, or he will never be a Rubempre nor a secretary-general." Lucien, who was now invited by the minister to take a hand at whist, excited the utmost astonishment when he declared that he did not know the game. "My dear friend," whispered Rastignac, "come early on the morning of the da}' 3'ou breakfast with me, and I will teach you the game ; you dishonor our native town of Angouleme, and I assure you, in the words of Monsieur de Talleyrand, that if you don't know whist 3'ou are preparing for yourself a miserable old age." Des Lupeaulx was announced, — a Master of peti- tions, in favor with the ministr}' and doing it certain secret services ; a shrewd, ambitious man who quietly pushed himself ever3'where. He bowed to Lucien, whom he had alreadv met at Madame du Val-Noble's, with a semblance of friendship which deceived him. 326 G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris, Finding the young journalist in such societjs this man, who made friends out of policy, perceived that Lucien was likely to have as much success in society as he had had in literature. He approached the poet through his ambition, overwhelmed him with professions and proofs of interest, in a way to give himself the tone of an old friend, and thus deceived Lucien as to the value of his words and promises. It was one of des Lupeaulx's principles to thoroughly understand the individuals he wanted to get rid of if he found them rivals. Thus Lucien was outwardly well received by every one. He felt what he owed to the Due de Rhetore, to the German minister, to Madame d'Espard, and to Madame de Montcornet He went up to these ladies and talked to each for a few moments before taking leave, displaying his wit as he did so. ' ' What conceit ! " said des Lupeaulx to the marquise as Lucien left the room. '' He will be rotten before he is ripe." remarked de Marsa}', smiling. " You must have some secret reason, madame, for thus turning his head." Lucien found Coralie in her carriage, which was wait- mg for him in the courtyard. He was touched by such attention, and told her all about his evening. To his great astonishment, the actress approved of the new ideas that were beginning to amble through his head ; she strong^ advised him to enroll himself under the ministerial banner. " You have nothing but hard knocks to get from the liberals," she said ; " the}- are all conspirators, — they killed the Due de Berr3\ Can they overturn the gov- ernment? No! You'll never get on through them; Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 327 whereas, if you belong to the other side, you will be Comte de Rubempre. You can then do services and be made a peer of France and marry a rich woman. Be an ultra. Besides, it is good style," she added, using the word which to her was the highest of all argu- ments. " The Val-Noble, with whom I dined to-day, tells me that Theodore Gaillard is really going to start his little roj'alist paper, called ' Le Re veil,' so as to parry the malice of your paper and the ' Miroir,' and thrust back. According to him. Monsieur de Villele and his party will be in the ministrj- before the year is out. Profit b}' all this, and get in with them now be- fore the}' come to power. But don't sa}^ anything about it to Etienne or to 3^our other friends ; the}' would very likely play you false about it." A week later Lucien presented himself in Madame de Montcornet's salon, where he was seized with a vio- lent agitation on seeing once more the woman he had loved sincerely, and whose feelings he had lately lace- rated. Louise was metamorphosed. She was now what she would always have been had she ncA'cr lived in the provinces, — a great lady. Her mourning gar- ments had a choiceness and grace about them which were not those of an unhappy widow. Lucien believed that he counted for something in the coquetry of her appearance, and he was not mistaken. But he had now, like an ogre, tasted young flesh. He remained the whole evening undecided in his feelings, between the beautiful, loving, and seductive Coralie, and the faded, haughty, and exacting Louise. He could not decide on his course. Should he sacrifice the actress to the great lady ? This sacrifice Madame de Bargeton, 328 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, who felt her love renewed on again seeing Lucien now so brilliant and so handsome, expected and awaited throughout that evening. She had her pains for naught. Her insinuating words, her coquettish man- ner, had no result, and she left the salon that night with an irrevocable desire for vengeance in her heart. *' Well, dear Lucien," she had said when they met, with a kindliness of manner that was full of Parisian grace and nobilit}^, " 3^ou were to have been my glory, but you have made me your first victim. I forgive you, my child, for I know that there is always a remnant of love in such a vengeance." By these words, said with an air of regal kindness, Madame de Bargeton recovered her position. Lucien, who believed he was absolutely in the right, suddenly felt that she had put him in the wrong. No mention was made of the terrible letter in which he had broken away from her, nor of the causes of the rupture. Women of the world have a marvellous talent for diminishing their wrong-doings by pleasant words ; the}' efl^ace them with a smile, or by a question which pretends surprise. They remember nothing, the}^ explain all, the}^ ques- tion, comment, amplify, pla}- amazement, quarrel, and end up by getting rid of their evil deeds, as they wash out spots with soap and water. You know the spots were there, and very black ; but behold ! they are gone, and all is white and innocent. As for you, you may think yourself lucky if some unpardonable crime has not been affixed to you. In a moment Lucien and Louise had returned to their old ilkisions about each other ; but Lucien, intoxicated with satis- fied vanity, intoxicated with Coralie, who made his life Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 329 so easy for him, did not reply definitely to a question which Madame de Bargetou put to him with a flicker of hesitation : — *'Are 3'ou happy?" A melancholy "no" would have made his fortune. He thought himself witty and wise in explaining Cora- lie ; he said he was loved for himself, and that ought to make him happ}'. Madame de Bargeton bit her lips, and the matter ended there. Madame d'Espard pres- entl}' came up to them with Madame de Montcornet. Lucien felt himself the hero of the evening. He was petted, flattered, and caressed by the three women, who twisted him round their fingers with infinite adroitness. His success in this great and brilliant world was, he felt, nothing short of his former success in journalism. The beautiful Mademoiselle des Touches, so celebrated under the name of Camille Maupin, to whom Mesdames d'Espard and Bargeton presented Lucien, invited him to one of her Wednesday dinners, and seemed much taken by his now famous beaut3\ Lucien tried to prove to her that he was even more intellectual than hand- some. Mademoiselle des Touches expressed her admi- ration with the naive rapture and charming affectation of friendship which is so taking to those who do not know the real shallowness of Parisian societ}', where the habit and the continual need of amusement render novelt}' the one thing sought for. " If I pleased her as much as she pleases me," re- marked Lucien to Rastignac and de Marsa}', ' ' we could epitomize the novel." " You both know too well how to write them to wish to act them," replied Rastignac. " Can authors love 330 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. authors? There must always come a moment when they sa}' sharp things to each other." "It wouldn't be a bad dream," said de Marsay. "That charming woman is thirty, to be sure, but she has nearly eighty thousand francs a year. She is ador- ably capricious, and her style of beauty lasts. Coralie is a little goose, m}' dear fellow ! only useful to get 3'our hand in, — for of course a man can't remain without a mistress ; but if you don't make some distinguished conquest in society, the actress will be an injury to 3'ou in the long run. I advise 3'ou to supplant Conti, who is just going to sing with Camille Maupin. Ever since the world began, poetr}- has had precedence of music." But as Lucien listened to the singing of Mademoiselle des Touches and Conti, such schemes flew awa}^ " Conti sings too well," he said to des Lupeaulx. Lucien returned to Madame de Bargeton, who took him into anotlier room, where they found Madame d'Espard. " Well, don't you intend to take an interest in him and assist him?" said Louise to her cousin. " Monsieur Chardon must first put himself in a posi- tion to be assisted witliout injury to his protectors," said the marquise, in a tone that was both gentle and impertinent. " If he wishes to obtain the letters-patent which will enable him to resign the unfortunate name of his father for that of his mother, he certainly ought to belong to our party." " In two months' time I shall be able to do so," said Lucien. "Very good!" said the marquise, "when that time comes I will see my father and uncle, who belong to Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 331 the king's household ; the}' will speak of 3'ou to the chancellor." The diplomatist and the two women had readily divined Lucien's weakest spot. The poet, enraptured with all these aristocratic splendors, felt unspeakabl}' mortified at the sound of his own name (Chardon), especially as he listened to the sonorous names prefaced by titles with which other men were announced. This pain was renewed wherever he went for the next few da3'S. More- over, his sensations were equally disagreeable on re- turning to the scenes of his daily work after spending his evenings in the great world, whither he went in suitable stvle with Coralie's carriage and servants. He learned to ride on horseback, and galloped beside the equipages of Madame d'Espard, Mademoiselle des Touclies, and Madame de Montcornet, in the Bois, — a privilege he had so much coveted on his first arrival in Paris. Finot was enchanted to procure for such a useful reporter a permit to the Opera, where Lucien now spent many of his evenings ; for he belonged henceforth to the special world of elegance which frequented it. The poet returned the attentions of Rastignac and his other fashionable friends by a breakfast ; but he committed the blunder of giving it at Coralie's ; for he was too young, too much of a poet, too confiding, to suspect the importance of shades of conduct. An actress, kind and good but without education, could not teach him life. The provincial youth proved conclu- sively to these j^oung men that Coralie was supporting him, — a state of things of which they were jealous, while each condemned it. Rastignac was the one to 332 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. make the bitterest jokes against it that very evening, and 3'et he maintained himself in society in precisely the same wa}^ ; onl}', he kept up appearances and was able therefore to treat the accusation as calumnv. Lucien had now learned whist ; and play speedily be- came a passion with him. Coralie, eager to avoid all rivalry, was far from disapproving Lucien's course ; she encouraged his dissipations with the blindness of a single-minded sentiment, which sees only the present, and sacrifices all, CA^en the future, to the enjoj^ment of the moment. The characteristics of a true affection are frequently like those of childhood, — absence of reflec- tion, imprudence, heedless improvidence, laughter, and tears. At this period there flourished a society of 3'oung men called viveurs, who were rich or poor and all aimless prodigals, — men who lived with extraordinary reckless- ness ; intrepid eaters, but more intrepid drinkers. All were spendthrifts ; mingling much wild jesting with an existence which was not so foolish as it was crazy ; the}" recoiled before no impossibilit}^, and gloried in their misdeeds, which were, however, restrained within certain limits. So much originalit}' was developed in their pranks that it was usuall}' impossible not to for- give them. No fact proclaims more distinctly' the idle- ness of mind to which the Restoration had condemned the vouth of France. Youns; men who did not know in what way to expend their vigor, not onlj' flung them- selves into journalism, into conspiracies, into literature, into art, but also dissipated in strange excesses the superabounding sap and power of young France. If it toiled, that glorious 3'outh craved pleasure and su- Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 333 premacy ; if it followed an art, it wanted treasures ; if it were idle, its passions demanded exercise ; but what- ever path it took it wanted a career, a place, an aim ; and the public policy gave it none. These viveurs were nearly all endowed with eminent faculties. Some lost those faculties in the aimless life to which they were condemned ; others resisted. The most celebrated among them, the most brilliantly capable, Eugene de Rastignac, ended by entering, thanks to de Marsay, a serious career in which he has distinguished himself. The pranks and diversions to which these young men devoted themselves became so famous that many of the vaudevilles of the day were based upon them. Lucien, introduced by Blondet to this dissipated company, sparkled in its midst next after Bixiou, one of the most mischievous minds and inexhaustible satirists of the day. During the whole of this winter, therefore, Lucien's life was one long inebriation, interrupted only by the sort of journalistic work that was easy to him. He continued the series of his Variet3" articles, and did at times make strenuous efforts, producing a few fine crit- icisms carefully thought out. But study was excep- tional ; the poet never applied himself unless constrained by necessity. Breakfasts, dinners, pleasure-parties of all kinds, evenings in societ}', and play, took nearly all his time, and Coralie consumed the rest. Lucien never allowed himself to think of the morrow. He saw his so-called friends behaving just as he did, — spending their money as they got it, and careless of the future. Once admitted into journalism and literature on a footing of equality, Lucien perceived the enormous o34 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. difficulties lie would liave to couquer if he endeavored to rise. All were willing to have him as an equal ; no one would consent to his becoming their superior. In- sensibl}', therefore, he renounced the desire for literary fame, and contented himself with thinking that political good fortune was easier to acquire. "Political intrigue rouses fewer opposing passions than talent ; its quiet, concealed proceedings excite no attention," du Chatelet said to him one day. (Lucien and the baron were by this time reconciled.) " Intrigue is, in fact, superior to talent, because it makes some- thing out of nothing : whereas the resources of talent are for the most part spent in making a man unhappy." Lucien continued his way through this life of ease and luxur}-, w^here the morrow trod upon the heels of yesterda}' in the middle of some orgy. He was still assiduous in societ}' ; he courted Madame de Bargeton, the Marquise d'Espard, the Comtesse de Montcornet, and he never missed a single party given by Mademoi- selle des Touches. He went to these parties before some gay supper or after some dinner of authors or publishers ; the demands of Parisian conversation and the excitement of pla}' absorbed the remaining ideas and strength which his excesses left him. Soon he no longer had the clear lucidity of mind, the coolness ne- cessary to observe the facts about him and to employ the tact which those who advance on sufferance must display at ever}' moment ; he was no longer able to distinguish the moments when Madame de Bargeton's feelings moved her towards him or withdrew her from him wounded ; he could not see when she pardoned him, nor when she again condemned him. G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 335 Chatelet saw plainly the chances that still remained to his rival, and he became his friend in order to en- courage the dissipation which was blunting his energies. Rastignac, who was jealous of his compatriot and found the baron a surer and more useful all}' than Lucien, assisted Chatelet. He had reconciled the ex-beau and the poet at a magnificent supper given b}' him at the Rocher de Cancale. Lucien, who habitually went home in the earl}' morning and did not rise till mid-day, found in Coralie a love that was alwa3S the same. Thus the mainspring of his will, weakened by idleness and the failure of resolutions made in moments when he saw his position in its true light, became at last unstrung, re- sponding only to the severest pressure of necessit}'. The gentle, tender Coralie, after rejoicing that Lu- cien was amused, after encouraging his dissipation as a means to the duration of his attachment and the ties that bound him to her, even she had the courage to advise her lover not to neglect his work. Several times she warned him that he had earned almost nothing during his month. Lover and mistress both were fright- fully in debt. The fifteen hundred francs received from the sale of the "Daisies" (five hundred having gone to his sister, and a thousand being lent to Lous- teau) and the first five hundred which Lucien earned were swallowed up at once. In three months his ar- ticles onl}" brought him a thousand francs, though he thought he had been working desperately. But b}' this time Lucien had adopted the agreeable principles of the viveurs as to debts. It is to be remarked that certain trul}' poetic natures with weak wills, ab- sorbed in sentiment and in rendering their sensations 336 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. hy images, are essentially deficient in the moral sense which ought to accompany all observation. Poets pre- fer to receive impressions themselves rather than enter into the souls of others and study the mechanism of their feelings. Thus Lucien never asked what became of those viveurs who disappeared, nor the cause of their disappearance ; he saw nothing of the fate of the so- called friends, some of whom had had propert}^, others positive hopes, others, again, undoubted talent, while many had had intrepid faith in their own destin}-, and a fixed determination to take all chances in their favor. Lucien adopted Blondet's axioms as the rule of his future: "All things come outright;" "Nothing can injure those who have nothing;" "We have nothing to lose but what we seek;" "Swim with the current and it must take you somewhere ; " "A man of intel- lect who has a footing in societ}' can make his fortune when he will." Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 337 XX. A FIFTH VARIETY OF PUBLISHER. This winter, full of pleasures and dissipations, was employed hy Theodore Gaillaid and Hector Merlin in finding capital with which to start their " Reveil," the first number of which appeared in March, 1822. The affair was managed at the house of Madame du Val- Noble. That witt}' and elegant courtesan exercised a marked influence over bankers, men of rank, and the writers of the royalist party, who were accustomed to meet in her salon and discuss certain matters which could not be touched on elsewhere. Hector Merlin, to whom the editorship-in-chief of the "Reveil" had been promised, was to have Lucien, now his intimate friend, for his right-hand man, and the latter w^as also offered the feuilleton of one of the ministerial journals. This change of front in Lucien's position was silently arranged while the pleasures and amusements of his life were going on. This child fancied himself a great poli- tician bj- concealing for the present his theatrical somer- sault, and he counted much on obtaining ministerial bounties which would pay his debts and put an end to Coralie's secret anxieties. The actress, always smiling, 22 338 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. hid her troubles from him ; but Berenice boldly warned him that they were heav}'. Like all poets, this great man, still in embryo, was extremely pitiful over such distress, and promised to work harder ; but he forgot the promise almost as soon as it was made, and drowned his feelings in a debauch. When Coralie saw the cloud on her lover's brow she scolded Berenice, and assured Lucien that she could settle all. Madame d'Espard and Madame de Bargeton were awaiting Lucien's public conversion to ask the ministry, through du Chatelet, for the decree which should grant Lucien the much-desired change of name, — at least they said they were. Lucien had promised to dedicate his " Daisies" to Madame d'Espard, who seemed much flat- tered by a distinction which authors have since made rare, now that the}' have come to be a power in the world. When Lucien went to Dauriat and asked wh}^ his book did not appear, the publisher gave him several excel- lent reasons for not as yet putting it in tj'pe. He had such and such a work on hand which took all his time. A new volume b}' Canalis was just coming out, and it was better not to come in contact with it ; Monsieur de Lamartine's second "Meditations" were in press, and two important collections of poems ought not to appear at the same time. . . . Besides, an author ought to trust to the business faculty of his publisher. Nevertheless, Lucien's needs became so pressing that he was forced to have recourse to Finot, who made him a few advances on his articles. When at night, after supper, the poet-journalist would sometimes explain his situation to his friends the viveurs, they drowned his scruples in floods of iced champagne and merriment. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 339 "Debts! was there ever a strong-minded man who had no debts? Debts represented satisfied wants, ex- acting vices. No man ever forced his way onward until the iron hand of necessit}' was upon him." "To great men belongs the gratitude of pawn- shops ! " cried Blondet. " To will all is to owe all," said Bixiou. "No," said des Lepeaulx, "to owe all is to have all." The viveurs managed to prove to this mere child that his debts would be the golden spur with which to goad the liorses that drew the chariot of his fortunes. Look at Csesar with his forty millions of debt, and Fred- erick II. receiving a ducat a month from his father ! and all the famous and corrupting examples of great men shown in their vices, — never in the omnipotence of their courage and their conceptions ! At last, however, Coralie's furniture and horses and carriage were attached by several creditors, whose bills amounted to four thousand francs. When Lucien went to Lousteau to ask for the thousand francs he had lent him, Lousteau showed him documents which proved that matters were as bad at Florine's as they were at Coralie's ; but he offered out of gratitude to put him in the wa}' of finding a publisher for his "Archer of Charles IX." "How did Florine get into such trouble?" asked Lucien. " Matifat took fright," replied Lousteau. " We have lost him ; but if Florine chooses, he can be made to pay dear for his treachery. I'll tell you about it later." 340 Great Man of the Provijices iyi Paris. Three daj's after Lucien had made this fruitless ap- peal to Lousteau, the lovers were breakfasting sadly beside the JBre in their beautiful bedroom, and Berenice was cooking eggs on a plate, for the cook and the coachman and the other servants had all departed. They could not sell their furniture, for it was now at- tached. Not a single article of gold or silver, or of any intrinsic value, remained to them ; all were represented b}' pawn-tickets, forming a small octavo volume that was highly instructive. Berenice had kept back two forks and two spoons. The little dailj" journal was of inesti- mable value to Lucien and Coralie by keeping quiet the tailor, the dressmaker, and milliner, who feared to displease a journalist so long as he was able to write down their establishments. Lousteau came in as they sat there, crjing out, " Hurrah for ' The Archer of Charles IX ! ' I 've just sold off a hundred francs' worth of books ; let's divide, my children ! " So saying, he gave fifty francs to Coralie, and sent Berenice out to get a better breakfast. "Yesterday Hector Merlin and I dined with some publishers, and we paved the way for your novel with knowing; insinuations. It is true vou have Dauriat already ; but Dauriat is niggardly ; he won't give more than four thousand francs for two thousand copies, and 3'ou ought to get six thousand. We talked to our new publishers cleverly, and set 3'ou above Walter Scott. Yes, 3'ou had splendid novels in your pouch. You were not offering a single book, but an enterprise ; not one novel, but a series ! That word ' series ' did the busi- ness. So don't forget that you have got in your port- Grreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 341 folio an historical series, — 'La Grande Mademoiselle, or France under Louis XIV. ; ^ ' Cotillon L, or the First Days of Louis XV. ; ' ' The Queen and the Car- dinal, a picture of Paris during the Fronde ; ' and 'The Son of Concini, or Richelieu's Intrigue.' All those novels are to be announced on the cover. We call that manoeuvre striking success in the eye. Keep those fine titles on the cover and they soon be(;ome known, and you are reallv more famous for the books vou don't write than for those you have written. The ' In Press ' is another literarj' dodge. Come, let's be happy ! here's the champagne. I tell 3'ou, Lucien, those publishers opened their e3'es as wide as saucers. Why, where are j^our saucers ? " " Seized ! " said Coralie. " I see ; and I resume," said Lousteau. " Publishers will believe in all those manuscripts if they see one. The}^ alwaj's want to see a manuscript, and pretend to read it. Let 'em have their fancy. They don't really read the books, or the}' wouldn't publish what they do ! Hector and I gave the impression that you might con- sider an offer of five thousand francs for three thousand copies in two editions. Give me the manuscript of ' The Archer ; ' and the day after to-morrow we are to break- fast with the publishers, and then we '11 get the whip hand of them." " Who are they?" asked Lucien. "Two partners — good fellows, pretty fair in busi- ness — named Fendant and Cavalier. One was a clerk with Vidal and Porchon, the other was the clever- est hand on the Quai des Augustins. The}^ set up in business about a year ago. After losing a little money 342 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, on translations of English novels, they now want to experiment with the indigenous thing. It is said that the}' are carrying on the business with other' people's capital ; but it does n't signify to you whom the money belongs to as long as you get some of it." The next day but one the two journalists went to breakfast in the rue Serpente, Lucien's old quarter, where Lousteau still kept his miserable room in the rue de la Harpe. Lucien, who came to fetch his friend, found that den in precisely the same state as it was on the evening of his first introduction to literar}' life ; but he no longer felt surprised at it ; he had been initiated since then into the vicissitudes of a journalist's life, and there was nothing he did not comprehend. The great man of the provinces had received, gambled, and lost the pay of man}' an article, together with the desire to write them. He had written more than one column by the various tricky processes which Lousteau had de- scribed to him as they made their way from the rue de la Harpe to the Palais-Royal on that memorable first evening. Fallen now into the power of Barbet and Braulard, he trafficked in books and theatre tickets ; and he was long past recoiling at any praises or any attacks he was ordered to make. Even at this moment he was rejoicing at getting all he could out of Lousteau before it was known that he had turned his back upon the liberals, and would now attack them all the more knowingly because he had studied them in their midst. On tlie other hand, Lousteau was secretl}' receiving, to Lucien's disadvantage, a sum of five hundred francs in cash from Fendant and Cavalier, under the name of commission, for having obtained this future Walter Great Man of the Pj'ovinces in Paris. 343 Scott for the publishers who were in quest of a French Scott. The firm of Fendant and Cavalier was one of those publishing houses which are established without any capital whatever. A great many of that kind existed in those days, and will continue to exist so long as printers and paper-makers consent to give credit to publishers for the length of time required to play seven or eight games of what are called "publications." Then as now, works were bought from authors with notes payable in six, nine, or twelve months. The publishers paid their printers and their paper-makers in the same way ; so that they had in their hands for a whole year, gratis, as man}^, perhaps, as a dozen or twenty works. Supposing two or three of these to be a success, the proceeds of the successful books paid for the unsuccess- ful ones, and thus they balanced each other, book for book. If the works were all doubtful ; or if, by ill luck, the publishers got hold of only good books which could not be sold until they were read and appreciated b}^ the true public ; or if their notes falling due were too heavy on them, — the}'' went into voluntary bankruptcy, and sent in their schedules with perfect indifference, being prepared in advance for this result. The chances, how- ever, were in their favor, and they plaj'ed upon the great green table of speculation with the money of others and not their own. Fendant and Cavalier were publishers of this descrip- tion. Cavalier contributed his wits to the business, and Fendant his industr}'. They possessed a common fund of a few thousand francs, — savings scraped together by their mistresses, — out of which the}^ had given them- 344 G-7'eat Man of the Provinces in Paris, selves each a salaiy, which they spent very scrupulously on dinners to journalists and authors, and at theatres, where, as they said, their business was done. This particular pair of semi-swindlers were held to be clever men. Fendant was more trick}^ than Cavalier. True to his name, Cavalier travelled ; Fendant sta3'ed in Paris and managed the business. The partnership was what it usually is between two publishers, — a duel. The firm occupied the ground-floor of one of the old mansions in the rue Serpente, — their office being at the farther end of several large salons converted into warerooms. Thej^ had already published a number of novels ; such as the " Tour du Nord," the " Marchand de Benares," "Takeli," and the novels of Gait, an English author who had no success in France. The fame of Walter Scott attracted the attention of French publishers to English literary products ; so much so that the}^ meditated another Norman conquest. They sought for other Walter Scotts, just as, later, the French people looked for asphalts on stony ground, bitumen in marshes, and profits from projected rail- wa3'S. One of the greatest follies of Parisian com- merce is to expect the duplication of success, when, in fact, it goes b}' contraries. Success kills success, — in Paris especiall}^ So, beneath the title of " Strelitz, or Russia a Hun- dred Years ago," Fendant and Cavalier bravely added in large letters, " in the st34e of Walter Scott." They were thirsting for a success ; a good book would help to float their stagnant bales ; they were, moreover, lured by the hope of getting articles into the papers, which was the grand condition of a good sale in those Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 345 daj's ; for it is rare that a book is ever bought on its own unassisted merits ; it is ahnost always published and sold for reasons quite foreign to them. Fendant and Cavalier saw in Lucien a journalist, and in his book a manufactured article, the first sale of which would tide them over a period when notes were due. The two journalists found the partners in their office, the agreement ready, the notes signed. Such prompti- tude delighted Lucien. Fendant was a small, spare man with a dangerous cast of countenance, — that of a Kalmuck Tartar ; small, low forehead, flattened nose, pinched lips, with keen little black eyes, irregular out- line of face, a rough skin, and a voice like a cracked bell, — in short, all the outward and visible signs of a consummate rascal ; but he compensated for these dis- advantages by the honey of his discourse ; he reached his ends b}' talk. Cavalier, a bachelor, a plain-dealing man, and more like the conductor of a diligence than a publisher, had hair of washy fairness, a red face, the heavy build and the eternal gabble of a commercial traveller. " We shall not have much discussion," said Fendant, addressing Lucien and Lousteau ; "I have read the work ; it is very literar}^, and suits us so well that I have already sent the manuscript to the printers. The agreement is drawn up on the stipulated terms, and we always keep strictly to conditions. Our notes are for six, nine, and twelve months ; you will have no dif- ficulty in discounting them, and we will refund 3'ou the discount. We reserve to ourselves the right to give another title to the book, for we do not like that of 346 Crreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. ' The Archer of Charles IX. ; ' it does not sufficiently excite the curiosit}^ of readers ; there are several kings named Charles ; and in the middle ages there were great numbers of archers. Now, if you had made it ' The Soldier of Napoleon,' well and good ; but ' The Archer of Charles IX ! ' why, Cavalier would be obliged to give a lecture on the history of France for every cop}' he sells in the provinces ! " "If 3'ou onW knew the persons we have to deal with ! " cried Cavalier. " ' The Saint Bartholomew ' would be a better name," continued Fendant. " ^Catherine de Medicis, or France under Charles IX./ would be more like Walter Scott," said Cavalier. " Well, we can make up our minds when the work is printed," said Fendant. "Whatever a^ou like," said Lucien, "provided the name suits me." The agreement read, signed, and the duplicates ex- changed, Lucien put the notes in his pocket with unal- lo3^ed satisfaction. Then all four went up to Fendant's apartment, where the}^ were regaled on the vulgarest of breakfasts, — oysters, beefsteaks, kidneys stewed in champagne, and cheese ; but these dishes were accom- panied with exquisite wines, due to Cavalier, who knew a traveller in the wine trade. Just as they were sitting down to table, the printer to whom the novel was en- trusted astonished Lucien by bringing him the proof of his two first sheets. " We want to get on fast," said Fendant ; "we ex- pect great things of 3'our book, and we are devilishly in want of a success." Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 347 The breakfast, begun at twelve o'clock, was not over till five. "Where shall I get these notes discounted?" said Lucien to Lousteau as they walked away. " We had better see Barbet,'" replied Etienne. 348 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. XXI. JOURNALISTIC BLACKMAILING. The two friends, rather heated with wine, walked down towards the Quai des Augustins. " CoraUe is immensel}^ surprised at Florine's loss. Florine did not tell her till 3'esterda3', and then she laid it all to 3'ou ; she seemed bitter enough to wish to leave you," said Lucien to Lousteau. "That's true," said Lousteau, who suddenly threw away his prudence and unbosomed himself to Lucien. " My friend, — for you are m}^ friend, Lucien ; you lent me a thousand francs, and have onl}' asked me for them once, — beware of \^\fxy. If I had never plaj^ed I should be prosperous now. I owe eveiy man and God and the devil too. The sheriff is at mj- heels at this moment. When I go to the Palais-Royal I am forced to double ever so many dangerous capes." "Doubling a cape" means, in the language of the viveurs of Paris, turning out of 3'our wa}', taking a circuitous path, to avoid either passing the house of a creditor or meeting him. Lucien, who no longer went with absolute indifference through all the streets, knew the manoeuvre, but had never before heard its name. " Do you owe a great deal?" " No, — a trifle," replied Lousteau ; " three thousand francs would clear me. I have tried to pull up ; I have Great Man of the Provmces in Paris. 349 stopped playing ; and I have even, in order to pa}- m}' debts, done a little chantage^ " What is chantage? ^^ asked Lucien, who had never heard the word. " Chantage is an invention of the English press ; they call it • blackmailing.' Those who practise it are so placed that the}' can influence newspapers. The pro- prietor of a paper, or an editor-in-chief is supposed to know nothing about it. There is alwa3's some one on hand, — a Giroudeau or a Philippe Bridau. Those hire- lings find a man who, for some reason or other, wants to escape notice. A great many persons have peccadilloes on their consciences that are ver}" original. There are lots of queer fortunes in Paris obtained in waj's that are more or less legal or illegal, — often by criminal manoeuvres which furnish uncommonl}' amusing stories ; such, for instance, as that of Fouche's gendarmerie sur- rounding the spies of the minister himself and not being in the secret of the forging of the English bank- notes, were just on the point of seizing the minister's own clandestine printers ; or the history of Prince Galathione's diamond ; or the Maubreuil affair, and the Pombreton will case, etc. The blackmailer obtains certain evidence, — an important document, perhaps, — and he asks for an interview with the rich man. If the man who is compromised will not pay a certain sum, the blackmailer lets him know that the newspaper press is all ready to divulge his secret. The rich man is frightened ; he negotiates ; and the trick is played. Perhaps you have some risky enterprise on hand which ma}' fail if the newspapers get wind of it. A chanteur is sent to you with an offer to buy ofl" the articles. 350 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. There are ministers of state to whom chanteurs are sent, and who stipulate with them that the paper may attack their poUtical acts, but not their personal doings. There are others who will sometimes give themselves up on condition that their mistresses shall not be at- tacked. Des Lupeaulx — that fine Master of petitions — is constantly negotiating in this waj' with journalists. The fellow has made himself a wonderful position in the centre of power by just such relations. He is both an agent of the press and the ambassador of the minis- ters ; he works upon all fears and self-loves ; he plays the same game in politics, and bu3's the silence of the papers as to some loan, or some concession desirable to be made without publicity ; here those Ij'nxes, the liberal bankers, get a share of the spoils. You 3'ourself did a little chantage with Dauriat ; he gave 3'ou three thousand francs not to write down Nathan, and called it buying 3'our ' Daisies.' In the eighteenth century-, when journalism was in swaddling-clothes, chantage was done b}' means of pamphlets, the destruction of which was bought by favorites and great seigneurs. The inventor of blackmailing was Aretino, a very great Italian of the fifteenth centur}', who made kings precisel}' as the journals of the present day make actresses." " What did you do against Matifat to get 3'our three thousand francs ? " "I had Florine attacked in six papers, and Florine complained to Matifat. Matifat begged Braulard to find out the cause of those attacks. Braulard was fooled b}^ Finot, for I was doing the chantage., and he told the druggist that you were demolishing Florine Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 351 in the interests of Coralie. Giroucleau then told Mati- fat confidentially that it could all be manaored if he would sell his sixth of the weekly paper to Finot for ten thousand francs. Finot was to give me three thousand in case of success. Matifat was just about to conclude the affair, glad enough to recover ten thousand of his thirty thousand, which he thought as good as lost ; for Florine had begun to tell him the paper was doing badly. But the manager of the Panorama-Dramatique had some notes he wanted to negotiate, and in order to get Matifat to take them he told him of the crick that Finot was playing him. Matifat, who has a shrewd business head, saw the whole affair. He left Florine, kept his sixth, and is now laughing in his sleeve at us. Finot and I howled in despair. We had had the ill luck to tackle a man who did n't reall}' love his mistress, — a miserable fellow without heart or soul. Unhappilj' his business isn't one that the press can touch. You can't criticise a druggist as you would bonnets, or fashions, or theatres, or matters of art. Cocoa and pepper and pigments, or tinctures or opium, can't be depreciated in value by a newspaper article. Florine is in a dreadful state. The Panorama-Dramatique closes to-morrow, and she has no engagement." " Coralie makes her first appearance at the Gymnase in the course of a few days," said Lucien ; "perhaps she can help Florine." "Never!" said Lousteau. "Coralie hasn't much mind, but she is not such a fool as to give herself a rival. No ; our affairs are well-nigh ruined. But Finot is in such a worry to get back his sixth." 352 Great Mmi of the Provinces in Paris, u Why ? " "Because the business is an excellent one. He has a chance to sell out the paper for three hundred thou- sand francs. Finot would get a third, plus a commis- sion paid by his partners, which latter he will have to share with des Lupeaulx. So I 'm going to propose to him a bit of chantage ^ '"''Chantage seems to be ' Your mone}' or your life ! * " "Better still," said Lousteau ; " it is 'Your money or 3'our honor ! ' Onk last week one of the little jour- nals, to whose proprietor a credit had been refused, stated that a watch set in diamonds belonging to a notability of the town had been found in the possession of a soldier of the^royal guard, and the facts were prom- ised in another number. The notability hastened to invite the editor-in-chief to dinner. The editor-in-chief certainl}' gained something, but contemporaneous history has lost a choice anecdote. Whenever you see the press in pursuit of men in power, you may be sure that behind it all there is some discount denied, some service they refuse to render. Blackmailing in relation to private life is what rich Englishmen are most afraid of; it is a large item in the revenues of the British press, which is infinitel3' more depraved than ours. We are mere chil- dren at it. In Pjigland the}' will pay five or six thou- sand francs for a compromising letter merely to sell it back to the writer." "How are 3'ou going to pinch Matifat?" said Lucien. " M3' dear fellow," said Lousteau, " that old villain has written the queerest letters to Florine, — spelling, grammar, thoughts, intensel}^ comic ! JNIatifat is des- Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 353 perately afraid of his wife. We can, without naming him or giving him any chance to lay hold of us, attack him in the veiy bosom of his lares and penates, where he thinks himself safe. Imai^ine his fury when he sees the first number of a little tale entitled ' The Loves of a Druggist,' after he has been dul}' informed that acci- dent had put into the hands of such and such a news- paper a series of his letters, in which he calls ' Cupid ' Cuhid, and writes ' never ' nefer. There 's enough in that eminently funn}' correspondence to keep subscrib- ers rushing in for a fortnight. He will also be threat- ened with an anonymous letter to his wife putting her on the scent. The question is, will Florine let herself appear to be persecuting Matifat? Siie still has prin- ciples, — that is, hopes. Perhaps she wants to keep the letters for herself and make her own profit out of them. She is sly; she's my pupil. But if Finot makes her a suitable present, or holds out the hope of an engagement, she will give me the letters, which 1 shall deliver to Finot, — for a consideration. Finot will then deliver the correspondence to his uncle, and Giroudeau will bring Matifat to terms." This confidence sobered Lucien. His first thought was that he had very dangerous friends ; then he re- flected that he had better not break away from them ; because if Madame d'Espard, Madame de Barge ton, and du Chatelet failed him, he might want their terrible assistance. B}' this time Lucien and Lousteau had reached the miserable shop of Barbet on the qua3^ ''Barbet," said Etienne, " here are notes of Fendant and Cavalier for five thousand francs, at six, nine, and twelve months ; will 3'ou discount them ? " 23 354 Great 3Ian of the Provinces in Paris, " I '11 take them for three thousand ! '' said Barbet, with imperturbable calmness. " Three thousand francs ! " cried Lucien. "You won't get as much anywhere else," remarked Barbet. ' ' That firm will fail within three months ; but I know the}' have some good solid works, with a sure but slow sale which they can't wait for. I can bu}' the whole and pay them in their own notes. In that wa}' I get the books for two thousand francs less than cost." "Are 3'ou willing to lose two thousand francs? " said Etienne to Lucien. " No I " cried Lucien, horrified at this first rebuff. "You are wrong," replied Etienne. "You can't negotiate their paper anywhere," said Barbet. "Your book is Fendant and Cavalier's last throw in the game. They can't print it except by agreeing to leave the copies in the hands of the print- ers ; and a success would only save them for six months; sooner or later, the}' are bound to burst up. Those men do more tippling than bookselling. As for me, their notes would be a means of doing a stroke of business, and that is wh}' I offei' you more than you can get from the regular brokers, who consider onl}- the value of each signature. It is the business of brokers to know if all three signatures would each give thirty per cent in case of failure. Here you have onl}^ two signatures, and neither is worth ten per cent." The two friends looked at each other surprised to hear from the lips of such a cub an analj'sis which gave in a few words the very essence of discounting. "Come, no preaching, Barbet," said Lousteau. " To what broker had we better go ? " G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 355 " Old Chaboisseaii, quai Saint-Michel ; he does busi- ness for Fendant and Cavalier. If you refuse mj^ pro- posal, you had better see him. But I warn you you '11 come back to me, and then I won't give more than two thousand five hundred." Etienne and Lucien went to the quai Saint-Michel to a small house up an alle}^, and found Chaboisseau on the second floor, in an apartment most originally fur- nished. This irregular banker, who was, however, a millionnaire, was fond of the Grecian style. The cor- nice of the room was Grecian. The bed, standing lengthways against the wall, as in the background of a picture by David, was exquisitely pure in form, and classically draped in purple stuffs of the Empire period, when everything was imitated from Grecian art. The chairs, tables, lamps, candlesticks — in fact, all the accessories — had the delicate, fragile, but elegant grace of the antique. These airy mythological sur- roundings formed a curious contrast to the habits and wa3's of the broker. It is observable that the most fantastic of human beings are among the men who are given to the business of handling money. Being able to possess all, and consequently sated and sick of it all, they will take the greatest pains to find some escape from their satiet3\ Whoever will study this class of men will usually find some mania, some spot in their hearts, about which they are sensitive. Chaboisseau appeared to be intrenched in antiquity as in a fortified camp. He was a little man with powdered hair, wearing a greenish coat, nut-colored waistcoat, and black breeches terminating in mottled stockings and shoes that creaked. 356 G-7'eat Man of the Provinces in Paris. He took the notes, examined them, and returned them to Lucien, gravel}'. "Messrs. Fendant and Cavalier are charming fel- lows, — young men full of intelligence ; but at this moment I have no mone}'," he said in a gentle voice. " M}^ friend won't make difficulties about the dis- count," said £tienne. "I could not take those notes on an}^ terms," said the little old man, whose words cut short Lousteau's suggestion as the knife of a guillotine cuts off the head of a man. The two friends retired. As they crossed the ante- chamber, to which point Chaboisseau had prudently conducted them, Lucien suddenl}^ spied among a heap of second-hand books which the broker, once a pub- lisher, had evidently just bought, the great work of the architect Ducerceau on the royal palaces and celebrated chateaus of France, the designs of which are given in this book with extreme care and exactness. "" Will 3'ou let me have this book?" asked Lucien. "Yes," said the broker, becoming a bookseller. "What price?" " Fifty francs." " That is dear, but I want the book ; still I can onlj'- pay you with these notes which you refuse to take." "You have one there for five hundred francs at six months ; I '11 take that," said Chaboisseau, who no doubt owed Fendant and Cavalier some small balance on account. The two friends returned to the Greek chamber, where Chaboisseau made out a little memorandum of six per cent interest and six per cent commission ; in Great 3Ian of the Proviyices in Paris. 357 all, a deduction of thirt}' francs. This he added to the sum of fifty for the Ducerceau, and took from his desk, which was full of coin, four hundred and twent}' francs. "Ah, 9a! Monsieur Chaboisseau ! those notes are either all good or all bad ; why won't you discount the rest?" "I am not discounting notes; I am pa3'ing m^'self for a sale," said the old man. Etienne and Lucien were still laughing over Chabois- seau, without understanding him, when the\' reached Dauriat's, where Lousteau requested Gabusson to tell them of a good broker. The two friends took a cabrio- let b}^ the hour and drove to the faubourg Poissonniere, armed with a letter of introduction which Gabusson gave them to what he called "the queerest of human beings." " If Samanon won't take 3'our notes," added Gabus- son, " no one will." Second-hand dealer in books on the first floor, ditto for coats on the second floor, vendor of prohibited en- gravings on the third, Samanon was a money-lender on all. None of the personages introduced into HoflTmann's novels, not one of Walter Scott's infernal misers, can compare with what social and Parisian human nature had allowed itself to create in this man, — if, indeed, Samanon is a man. Lucien could not repress a gesture of horror at the aspect of that withered old creature, whose bones seemed trying to pierce through his thor- oughly tanned hide, which was blotched with numerous green and 3'ellow spots, like a picture of Titian or Paul Veronese seen near b}'. One e3'e was motionless and 358 Qreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. stony, the other sharp and shinhig. The miser, who appeared to employ the dead eye when discounting, and the other when selling his obscene pictures, wore a small, flat wig of a black bordering on rust}', beneath which his white hair bristled ; his yellow forehead had a threatening aspect ; his cheeks were sunken squarely from the line of the jaws ; the teeth, still white, showed behind his lips, like those of a horse when it yawns. The contrast between the eyes and the strange grimacing of that mouth gave him an almost ferocious air ; the hairs of his beard, hard and sharp, must surely have pricked like pins. A ragged old coat which had reached the stage of tinder, a faded black cravat worn to threads by his beard, and exposing a neck as wrinkled as a turkey's, showed little desire on the miser's part to modify a sin- ister countenance b}' the advantages of dress. The two journalists found this man seated in a dirt}^ oflace employed in gumming labels on the backs of a pile of old books bought apparently at auction. Lucien and Lousteau, after exchanging a glance full of ques- tions innumerable excited by the mere existence of such a being, presented Gabusson's letter and the notes of Messrs. Fendant and Cavalier. While Samanon was reading them another person entered the dark and dingy place. This was a well-known man, of distin- guished intellect, dressed in an old frock coat which seemed to have been cut out of zinc, so solidified was it by an accretion of many foreign substances. "I want my coat, m^' black trousers, and my satin waistcoat," he said to Samanon, holding out to him a numbered card. As soon as Samanon had pulled the brass handle of G-reat Man of the Provinces in JParis. 359 a bell, a woman, who seemed to be Norman by her fresh and rosy complexion, came down the stairs. " Lend monsieur his clothes," he said, pointing to the distinguished author. " There is some pleasure in dealing with you ; but one of your friends brought me a little young man who brutally tricked me." "Tricked him/ oh! oh!" said the author to the two journalists, pointing to Samanon with an irresis- tibl}^ comic gesture. The great writer gave, like the lazzaroni who redeem their best clothes on feast-days from the pawn-shops, thirt}' sous into the 3XII0W, wrinkled hand of the broker, who dropped them into the drawer of his desk. "This is a singular business for 3'ou ! " said Lou- steau to the new-comer, whom he knew, — a victim of opium, who lived absorbed in contemplation in a palace of enchantment, and either would not or could not any longer use his creative powers. " Samanon lends more on such articles than the pawn- brokers do ; and he has, moreover, the awful charitj' of letting 3'ou take out 3'our clothes if there comes a neces- sity to wear them," was the answer. '^I am going to dine at the Kellers' to-night with m\' mistress. It is easier for me to get thirt}' sous to borrow my clothes than two hun- dred francs to redeem them ; so I fetch m}' dress suit, which for the last six months has brought in something like a hundred francs to this charitable usurer. Samanon has alreadv devoured mv librarv, book bv book." "And sou b}' sou," said Lousteau, laughing. " I '11 give you fifteen hundred francs for those notes ! " said Samanon to Lucien. Lucien gave a jump as if the broker had thrust a red- 360 G-reat Man of the Provinces of Paris. hot skewer through his head. Samanon looked the notes over carefully and examhied the dates. "And even then," said the usurer, " I must first see Fendant, who ought to secure them with books. You are not worth much," he added, looking at Lucien ; " 3^ou are living on Coralie, and your furniture is attached." Lousteau looked at Lucien, who seized his notes and darted from the shop to the boulevard, crying out, "He's the devil!" There he turned and contemplated that miserable shop, so pitiable and debased with its shelves of shabby, dirty books, and the poet asked himself: — " What business is done there?" At that instant the great unknown, who was destined to take part ten years later in the vast but baseless enterprise of the Saint-Simonians, came out of the house extremely well dressed, smiled at the two jour- nalists, and accompanied them as far as the passage des Panoramas, where he stopped to complete his toilet by having his boots blacked. " When you see Samanon enter the shop of a pub- lisher, a paper-maker, or a printer, you may know the}' are lost," said the author to the journalists. " Samanon is the undertaker who has come to take a measure for the coffin." "You won't get your notes discounted now?" said Etienne to Lucien. "If Samanon refuses," said the stranger, "no one will accept ; he is the ultima ratio. Gigonnet, de Palma, Werbrust, Gobseck, and other crocodiles who float in the Parisian money market, and with whom, Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 361 sooner or later, all men with fortunes to make or un- make have to do, employ him as their scout." " If you can't discount your notes at fifty per cent," said Etienne, " there 's another thing you can do." "What is that?" asked Lucien. "Give them to Coralie, and let her ask Camusot to cash them. Oh! you don't like to, hey?" continued Lousteau, as Lucien gave a bound. "What childish- ness ! How can you let such nonsense outweigh your future?" " I shall carry these four hundred francs to Coralie, at anv rate," said Lucien. "That's another folly!" cried Lousteau. "Four hundred francs will do no good where you want four thousand. Better keep out enough to get drunk on if you lose, and pla}' the rest." "That's good advice," said the stranger. The}' were ten feet from Frascati's, and the words had a magnetic charm. The two friends went up the stairs and began to play. At first they won three thousand francs ; then lost to five hundred ; then went up to three thousand seven hundred. Here they dropped again to five francs ; then went up to two thousand ; risked them, double or quits, on the even number ; the even number had not passed for five rounds, and they punted the whole sum ; the uneven came out. Lucien and Lousteau rushed down the staircase of that famous resort, having wasted two hours in destructive emo- tions. The}^ had kept back one hundred francs. On the steps of that well-known little portico, with its two columns supporting the tin canopy which man}' an eye has contemplated in hope and in despair, Lousteau said, 362 Great Man of the Provinces in Payns. as he noticed Lucien's burning glance, "Don't let us spend more than fifty francs for supper." They turned back. In one hour the}^ had three thou- sand francs. These the}' punted on the red, which had passed five times, thinking to reverse their former ill luck. Black issued. It was then six o'clock. " We can dine for twent3'-five francs," said Lucien. This new attempt was a brief one ; the twentj-five francs were lost in ten turns. Lucien fiung his last twent3'-five frantically on the number of his own age and won. Nothing can describe the trembling of his hand as he took the rake and drew in the coins which the banker threw him one b}^ one. He gave ten louis to Lousteau, saying : " Get awa}^ to Very's ! " Lousteau understood him and went to order dinner. Lucien, left alone, placed his thirty remaining louis on the red and won. Emboldened by the secret voice to which all gamblers listen, he left the whole sum on the red and won again. His stomach became like a fur- nace. Not listening this time to the voice, he put his twelve hundred francs on the black and lost. He then felt within him that delicious sensation which suc- ceeds the dreadful agitations of gamblers when, having nothing more to lose, they leave the flaming palace of their spasmodic dream. He rejoined Lousteau at Ver3''s, where he hurled himself (to use La Fontaine's expression) into cooker^", and drowned his cares in wine. At nine o'clock he was so completely drunk that he could not understand why his porter in the rue de Vendome told him to go to the rue de la Lune. "Mademoiselle Coralie has moved to the address written on this paper," explained the porter. Great Man of the Proviiices in Paris. 368 Lucien, too drunk to be surprised b}- an3'thing, got back into the hackney-coach which had brought him, and ordered the man to drive to the rue de la Lune, making jokes to himself* as he went along on that attractive name. During that morning the failure of the Panorama- Dramatique had become known. Coralie, much fright- ened, hastened to get permission of her creditors to sell the furniture to old Cardot, who was willing to put Florentine into the apartment. Coralie paid off every- thing, and satisfied the owner of the house. While this operation, which she called her "grand washing da}-," went on, Berenice was furnishing with a few indispen- sable articles a little apartment of three rooms on the fourth floor of a house in the rue de la Lune, which was close to Coralie's new theatre, the Gymnase. Here she awaited Lucien, having saved from the shipwreck her love and twelve hundred francs in money. Lucien, still intoxicated, related all his troubles to Coralie and Berenice. "You did right, my angel," said Coralie. " Be're- nice can make Braulard take those notes." The next day Coralie outdid herself in love and ten- derness, as if to compensate her lover with the best treasures of her heart for the indigence of this new home. She glowed with beauty ; her hair escaped from the white silk foulard twisted round it ; her eves were laughing ; her words as gay as the beams of the rising sun which came through the windows as if to gild their poverty. The room, which was quite decent, had a pale-green paper with a red border ; there were two mirrors, — one OA^er the fireplace, another over the 364 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. bureau. A cheap carpet, bought b}^ Berenice with iier own savings, hid the bare brick floor. The clothes of the lovers were put awaj' in a wardrobe with a glass door and in the bureau. The mahogany furniture was covered with a blue cotton stuff. Berenice had saved from the shipwreck a clock and two vases, four pairs of forks and spoons, and six silver teaspoons. The dining- room, which was next to the bedroom, was hke that of a clerk living on a salary of twelve hundred francs. The kitchen was on the other side of the landing. Berenice had a bedroom upstairs in the garret. The rent was onl}' three hundred francs. This miserable house had no porte-cochere ; the porter's lodge was in an angle of the entrance, where, through a small sash- window, he kept watch over the seventeen different tenants of the house. This beehive was what notaries call a productive investment. Lucien saw a secretary, an armchair, pens, paper, and ink, all read}' for him. The gayety of Berenice, who counted on the engage- ment at the Gymnase, that of Coralie, who was stud3'ing her part, tied with a light-blue ribbon, drove awaj' the anxiet}' and the sadness of the now sober poet. "Provided no one finds out about our fall,'' he said, " we shall come out of it all right. After all, we have four thousand five hundred francs to the fore ! I shall negotiate those notes, and I am going to make the most of my new position on the royalist newspapers. To- morrow we inau2;urate the ' Reveil.' I now understand journalism thoroughl}-. You '11 see I shall make my mark ! " Coralie, who saw only love in these words, kissed the lips that said them. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 365 XXII. CHANGE OF FRONT. At this instant, when Berenice had drawn the table before the fire, and served a modest breakfast consisting of scrambled eggs, two cutlets, and coffee and cream, a knock was heard on the door. Three sincere friends — Daniel d'Arthez, Leon Giraud, and Michel Chrestien — appeared to the astonished ej'es of Lucien, who, deeply touched by their visit, begged them to stay and share his breakfast. ''No," said d'Arthez, "we have come on a more serious matter than mere consolation. We know all, for we have been to the rue de Vendome. You know ra}^ political opinions, Lucien. Under any other cir- cumstances I should rejoice to see you adopting my convictions ; but in the situation where you have placed yourself by writing for the liberal journals, you cannot pass into the ranks of the ultras without injuring your character and perhaps destroying 3'our future. We have come to beg 3'ou, in the name of our friendship, weakened though it has been lately, not to sully 3'our- self in this wa}'. You have attacked the Right, the Romanticists, and the government ; 3'ou cannot now defend either the Romanticists, the government, or the Right." " The reasons that actuate me are those of a higher 366 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. order of thought," said Lucien. "The end will jus- tify all." " Perhaps you do not fully understand the situation," said Leon Giraud. "The government, the court, the Bourbons, the absolutist party, — call it, if you prefer a comprehensive expression, the system opposed to the constitutional system, — which is divided into many divergent fractions as regards the means of smothering the Revolution, is of one mind as to the necessity of curbing the press. The 'Reveil,' the ' Foudre,' the ' Drapeau Blanc,' were all started for the express purpose of replying to the calumnies, insults, and sar- casms of the liberal press, — which," he added, making a parenthesis, " I do not approve of; and this degra- dation of our sacred mission is precisely what is leading us to publish a grave and dignified paper, the respect- able and worthy influence of which will be felt before long, — well, this ministerialist and royalist artillery- in which you are about to enlist is onlj' a first attempt at reprisals, undertaken to give back thrust for thrust and wound for wound. What do 3'ou think will be the end of it, Lucien? The majority' of subscribers are with the Left. In journalism, as in war, victory is on the side of the big battalions. You will be the scoundrels, the liars, the enemies of the people ; the other side will be the defenders of the nation, honorable men, mart3'rs ; though more hypocritical, it ma}' be, more treacherous, than you. All this will only increase the pernicious influence of the press, b}^ legitimatizing its already odious methods. Insults and personalities will become its acknowledged right, adopted to swell sub- scriptions and sanctioned by reciprocal custom. When Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 367 the evil becomes obvious to its fullest extent, restric- tive and prohibitory laws and the censorship — first imposed after the assassination of the Due de Berry, and withdrawn since the opening of the Chambers — will return. Do yon know what the French people will think of all this? The}' will listen to the insinuations of the liberal press ; they will believe that the Bourbons mean to attack and overthrow the material results of the Revolution, and the}' will rise in their might some da}" and overthrow the Bourbons. Not only are you now soihng your name, your life, but you are putting yourself on the losing side. You are too young ; too new to the ways of the press ; you don't know enough of the secret springs and passwords ; you have already excited too much jealousy to stand the hue and cry they '11 make against you in the liberal journals. You '11 be swept away by the fury of parties, which are still in the paroxysms of fever ; only, their fever has passed from the brutal actions of 1815 and 1816 into the ideas and wordy struggles of the Chambers and the license of the press." "My friends," said Lucien, "I am not the feather- weight, the poet you take me for. Whatever happens politically, I shall have won an advantage which no triumph of the liberal party could ever give me. By the time that triumph is yours," he added to Michel Chrestien, "my future will be secure." "We shall cut off — your hair," said Chrestien, laughing. "I shall have children by that time," said Lucien; "and if you cut off my head, theirs will be on their shoulders." 368 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. The three friends did not take his meaning ; they had no means of knowing that his intercourse with the great world had developed to the highest degree his pride of birth and all the aristocratic vanities. The poet saw, not without some reason, a great fortune in his beaut}' and his talents when supported b}- the name and title of Comte de Rubempre. Madame d'Espard, Madame de Bargeton, and Madame de Montcornet held him b}' that thread as a child holds a cockchafer. Lucien was fl3ing in a given circle. The words, " He is one of us ; he thinks rightly," said three days earlier in the salon of Mademoiselle des Touches, and followed b}" the congratulations on his conversion of the Dues de Lenoncourt, de Navarreins, and de Grandlieu, of Rastignac, Blondet, the beautiful Duchesse de Mau- frigneuse, the Comte d'Esgrignon, all persons of the highest influence in the ro3'alist party, had completely turned his head. " Then there 's no more to be said," replied D'Arthez, sadl3\ " You will find it harder than most men to keep yourself pure and retain 3'our self-respect. I know 3'ou, Lucien ; you will suffer deepl3' when you see 3'ourself despised b3' the very persons to whom you are sacri- ficing yourself" The three friends bade him good-by, but the3' did not ofl"er him their hands. Lucien sat silent and thoughtful for some minutes after their departure. "Come, don't think of those ninnies any more," said Coralie, springing on his knee, and throwing her beautiful 3'oung arms about his neck. " The3^ take life seriousl3% and life is fun. Besides, 3'ou'll soon be Comte Lucien de Rubempre. I'll go and bewitch the Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 369 chancellor if you like. I know how to catch that liber- tine of a des Lupeaulx and make him get your ordi- nance signed. Did n't I tell you that if you ever wanted a stepping-stone to reach 3'our ends you should have my dead bod}'? " The next day Lucien's name appeared as one of the contributors to the " Reveil." The name was announced in the prospectus as a conquest, and scattered broad- cast in a hundred thousand copies. Lucien went to the great inaugural banquet, which lasted nine hours, at Roberts's, next door to Frascati's. The entire chorus of the royalist press were present, — Martainville, Auger, Destains, and a crowd of authors still living who in those da3's did (in the consecrated phrase) "religion and monarchy." " We are going to give it to them, those liberals ! " said Hector Merlin. "Gentlemen," said Nathan, who had enrolled him- self under the new banner, thinking that he had better have the authorities for than asainst him in a theatrical enterprise he was then contemplating, " if we do make w^ar upon them, let us make it seriously' ; don't fire powder only ! Attack all the classic and liberal writers without distinction of age or sex ; make them all run the gauntlet of our satire, — and no quarter ! " "But let us be honorable, and turn our backs on presents, tickets, bribes from publishers. Let us make a Restoration in journalism." ''Pooh!" said Martainville; '•' Justem et tenacetn ^yropositi virum I Let us be implacable and withering ! I '11 take Lafayette and show him for what he is, — Harlequin the First ! " 24 370 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. "And I," said Lucien, "will take the heroes of the ' Constitutionnel/ Sergent Mercier, the complete works of Monsieur de Jouy, and the illustrious orators of the Left." War to the death was resolved, and unanimously voted at one o'clock in the morning by editors and staff, whose ideas and divergences were b\' that time drowned in a bowl of flaming punch. "Well, we've had a famous religious and monar- chical debauch ! " said one of the noted writers among the romanticists as the party separated. This now historic saying, repeated by a publisher who was present at the dinner, appeared the next da3' in the " Miroir/' where the revelation was attributed to Lucien. This defection was the signal for a terrible uproar in the liberal newspapers. Lucien became their bete-noire, and he was inveighed against in the crudest manner. The misfortunes of his sonnets were brought up, and the public were informed that Dauriat preferred to lose the monej- he had paid for them rather than risk their publication. Lucien was called " the poet sans poems." One morning, in the ver}' journal in which he had made his brilliant first appearance, the hapless great man read the following lines, written exclusively for him, for the public, of course, could not understand their meaning : — " If the publisher Dauriat persists in not publishing the sonnets of our French Petrarch, we shall act as generous enemies and open our columns to these poems, which must be piquant, judging by the one we here present." G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 371 This was a parody on one of bis sonnets, maliciousl}'' entitled "The Thistle " (Chardon), and ending with the line : — " And asses only come to share the feast ! " As he read this terrible attack, the poet wept hot tears . Vernon, in his paper, talked of Lucien's passion for play, and mentioned "The Archer of Charles IX." as an anti-national work in which the author took the side of the Catholic throat-cutters against the Calvinist vic- tims. In the shoit course of one week the attack became bitter. Lucien relied on his friend Lousteau, to whom he had lent a thousand francs, and with whom he had certain secret agreements. But Lousteau was now Lucien's sworn enemy ; we must here relate wh}'. For the last three months Nathan had been in love with Florine ; but he did not know how to get her away from Lousteau, who was wholl}' dependent on her. In the distress and despair to which the actress was re- duced by the failure of the Panorama and the loss of her engagement, together with the loss of Matifat, Nathan went to see Coralie, and asked her to get Florine a part in a pla}' of his that was soon to be brought out at the Gvmnase. Then he curried favor with Florine on the strength of obtaining for her this engagement. Florine, led b}- ambition, yielded. She had had sufficient time to fathom Lousteau. Nathan was an ambitious man both in literature and politics, — a man whose energ}^ was equal to his desires ; whereas Lousteau's vices had now destroyed his w-ill. The actress, determined to recover her dashing appearance, 372 Grreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. gave Nathan Matifat's letters, which the druggist was made to buy for that sixth of the paper which Finot had been so anxious to obtain. Florine then moved into a fine apartment in the rue Hauteville, and took Nathan openly in face of the whole journalistic and theatrical world as her protector. Lousteau was so terribl}' overcome by this event that he wept at the close of a dinner which his friends had given to console him. They all agreed that Nathan had pla^'ed his own game. Some of them, like Finot and Vernou, had long known the dramatist's passion for Florine ; but every one declared that Lucien had jockeyed the affair at the G^'mnase, and in so doing had betrayed Lousteau's confidence and the sacred laws of friendship. The spirit of party, the}' said, and the desire to serve his new royalist friends, was at the bottom of it. "Nathan was carried away by the logic of passion; but that ' great man of the provinces,' as Blondet calls him, onlj^ thinks of selfish gain," cried Bixiou. Thus the destruction of Lucien — that intruder, that little scamp who expected to outdo every one — was unanimously resolved upon and carefully planned. Vernou, who hated Lucien, agreed not to let him up. Finot accused Lucien of preventing him from making fifty thousand francs by betra3'ing the secret of Matifat's letters to Nathan. Florine, in order to propitiate Finot, made Nathan sell him the sixth of the paper for fifteen thousand francs ; but Lousteau, of course, lost his three thousand, and he never forgave Lucien that blow to his pocket. The wounds of self-love become incurable when the oxide of silver gets into them. No words can describe, no representations picture, G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 373 the rage of writers when their self-love is wounded, nor the energy which takes possession of them when the poisoned arrows of sarcasm pierce their own skins. Those whose spirit of resistance is roused by the attack succumb quickl}'. Calm men, able to bear in mind that the injurious article is certain to drop into the gulf of oblivion, are those who display trjae literary courage. So at first sight the weak will seem strong, but their strength is of short duration. During the first fort- night Lucien rained a storm of articles in the rovalist papers, where he shared the work of criticism with Hector Merlin. Every day he fired his wit from the ramparts of the " Reveil," aided therein by Martainville, the only one of his new friends who served him without some hidden purpose of his own, and who was not in the secret of agreements between the journalists of both sides, either at Dauriat's in the Galeries de Bois, or behind the scenes of a theatre, after drinking at some revel. When Lucien went to the foj^er of the Vaudeville he was no longer treated as a friend ; none but the men of his new party shook hands with him, though Nathan, Hector Merlin, and Theodore Gaillard, fraternized openly with Finot, Vernou, Lou'steau, and others of their set who went b}' the name of '' good fellows." At the time of which we write, the fover of the Vaudeville was the headquarters of literar}' scandal, — a sort of boudoir frequented bj' the men of all parties, political magnates, and magistrates. On one occasion the judge of a court, wlio had reprimanded a colleague for sweeping the green-room with his robe, was seen robe to robe with the rebuked lawyer in the foyer of the Vaudeville. Finot 374 Crreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. was there eveiy evening. Lousteau had ended by shaking hands with Nathan. When Lucien had the time and the calmness, he studied the behavior of his enemies, and recognized — unhappy lad! — their im- placable coldness to him. In those days party spirit engendered hatreds that were far more bitter, than they are to- da}'. To-day the springs of everything are less taut ; criticism, after slashing a man's book, shakes hands with him ; the victim is forced to embrace his scarifier under fear of the rod of ridicule. If he refuses, a writer is held to be poor company-, — ungracious, eaten up with vanit}', unapproachable, ill-natured, rancorous. To-da}-, when an author gets a stab in the back, when he just escapes a trap laid for him b}' a devilish hypocris}', or becomes the victim of some treachery, he hears his enemies wishing him "good-evening," and claiming his respect, possibly his friendship. All is excusable and justifiable now that virtue has been transformed into vice, and certain vices set up as virtues. The leaders of opposite opinions speak to each other in dulcet tones and cour- teous phrases. But in these other times of which we speak it required some courage for certain ro3'alist writers and some liberal writers to meet in the same theatre. Hateful provocations were given. Glances were loaded like pistols ; a single spark was often enough to produce a quarrel. Imprecations could be heard on the entrance of men who were particular)}' obnoxious to either side ; for there were then but two parties, — royalists and liberals (romanticists and clas- sicists), — one hatred in two forms ; a hatred which fully explained the scaffolds of the Convention. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 375 Lucien, now transformed into a royalist and a furious romanticist, from the liberal and violent Voltairean un- der which guise he had made his first appearance, found himself beneath the weight of all the enmities which hung above the head of the man most abhorred b}' the liberals of the da}', namel}', Martainville, the founder of " Le Drapeau Blanc," and the only man who really stood by him and liked him. This support was an injury to Lucien. Parties are ungrateful to their scouts ; the}' willingly abandon their forlorn hopes. In politics above all it is necessary to keep with the rank and file of the army. One of the chief injuries the little jour- nals did to Lucien was the malicious coupling of his name with that of Martainville. It was this that really threw them into each other's arms. Their friendship, real or artificial, earned them two spiteful articles written by Felicien Vernou, who was bitterly jealous of Lucien's success in the great world, having heard some rumor of his approaching rise in rank, — a rumor which soon spread among his former comrades. The poet's treachery was then still more bit- terly denounced, and embellished with aggravating cir- cumstances. Lucien was called the Little Judas, and Martainville the Great Judas ; for, as will be remem- bered, he was accused, rightly or wrongly, of having betrayed the Pont du Pecq to the allied armies. Lucien remarked with a laugh to des Lupeaulx that as for him he had often betrayed the 2^01^s asinorum. Lucien's luxury, hollow as it was and resting on expectations, was another oflTence ; his enemies could not forgive him his carriage (for to their minds he still rolled in it), nor his splendors of the rue de Vendome. They all felt 376 Crreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. instinctivelj" that a man so 3'oung, handsome, brilliant, and corrupted bj'them, must succeed in his new career, and the}' used all means to overthrow him. Some days before Coralie was to make her first appearance at the Gj'mnase, Lucien went arm in arm with Hector Merlin to the fo3'er of the Vaudeville. Merlin scolded his friend for having helped Nathan in the Florine affair. "You have made mortal enemies of Lousteau and Nathan both," he said. " I gave you sound advice and you would not profit b}' it. You have given away praises and done a benefit, and you will be cruell}' punished for a kind action. Florine and Coralie can never continue on good terms together after they come on the same stage ; one will alwa3's be wanting to get the better of the other. Y^ou have onl}- our journals to protect Coralie. Nathan, besides his advantage as the writer of plan's, can control the liberal papers in theatri- cal matters ; he has been much longer in journalism than 3'ou have." This speech was an echo of certain secret fears which had found their wa}' into Lucien's mind. He did not find either in Nathan or in Theodore Gaillard the frank- ness and confidence to which he thought he had a rioht. But how could he complain, being so recentl3' con- verted? Gaillard alarmed him b3' hinting that new- comers must give proofs of sincerity for a long time before the part3' could trust them. The poet became aware of a jealous3^ within the lines of the ministerial and ro3'alist journals which he had never once thought of, — the jealous3' of men when a new-comer appears to share the cake before them ; giving them a likeness to Great Man of the Provinces m Paris. 377 dogs over a bone : the same growls, the same attitudes, the same nature. These writers were all pulling secret wires to injure each other's standing with the authori- ties. Lukewarmness was a common accusation ; to get rid of a competitor there was no perfidy they would not commit. The liberals had not this special cause of intestine struggle, because they were far removed from power and public patronage. The more he saw of this inextricable network of ambitions, the less courage Lucien had to draw his sword and cut the meshes, although he knew very well he had not the patience to disentangle them. He could never have been the Aretino, the Beaumarchais, the Freron of his day ; he simply clung to his one desire, — to obtain his letters- patent, — feeling well assured that such a restoration of name and title would bring him a good marriage. His future would then depend onl}' on some fortunate chance which his personal gifts would further. But, unluckily for him, Lousteau knew his secret and how to wound him mortall}' ; and it happened that on this evening when Merlin and Lucien had come toofether to the Vaudeville, Etienne had prepared for the latter a fatal trap in which the lad was fated to be caught. "Here's our handsome Lucien," said Finot, drag- ging des Lupeaulx, with whom he was talking, up to Lucien, whose hand he took with a specious show of friendship. " I don't know an instance of such success as his. In Paris fortune is of two kinds : material fortune, — money, which all the world can pick up; and moral fortune, — connections, position, access to a society inapproachable b}' some, no matter what their material fortune may be. Now, mj- friend — " 378 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. " Our friend ! " said des Lnpeaulx, with a flattering look at Lucien. " Our friend, '^ resumed Finot, patting Lucien's hand, " has made a brilhant record in this last respect. Lu- cien has greater means, more talent, more wit, than all his detractors put together, — and beaut}- to boot. His old friends can't forgive him his successes ; the}- ascribe them to luck." "Such luck," said des Lnpeaulx, " does n't come to fools or weaklings. Can Bonaparte's career be called luck ? There were twenty generals above him wanting to command the arm}- of Italy, just as there are a hun- dred young men at this moment who long to visit Mademoiselle des Touches, whom I hear, my dear fel- low," — he added, tapping Lucien on the shoulder, — " the world gives you for a wife. Ah ! you are in high favor! Madame d'Espard, Madame de Bargeton, and Madame de Montcornet are distracted about you. You are going to-night to Madame Firmiani's soiree, are you not? and to-morrow to the Duchesse de Grandlieu's rout?" " Yes," said Lucien. " Allow me to present to you a young banker. Mon- sieur du Tillet, a man like yourself, who has made a fine fortune in a short time." Lucien and du Tillet bowed and entered into conver- sation ; the banker asked Lucien to dinner. Finot and des Lnpeaulx, two men of equal calibre, and who knew each other sufficiently well to always remain friends, walked away, leaving Lucien, Merlin, du Tillet, and Nathan conversing, and seated themselves on one of the sofas of the foyer. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 379 "My dear friend," said Finot to des Lnpeanlx, " tell me the truth. Is Liicien reall}^ and truly protected by great influeiK3e? He has become the hete-noire of m}' staff of writers ; and before I give in to their conspira- cies I want to know from you wiietlier I had better stand b}^ him and serve him, or let him go." Here des Lupeaulx and Finot looked at each other during a momentar}' pause with significant attention. " You don't suppose," said des Lupeaulx, " that the Marquise d'Espard, du Chatelet, and Madame de Barge- ton have forgiven Lucien's attacks ? No ; the}' have drawn him into the royalist party merely to silence him. They are all trying to find some pretext for getting out of the promises with which they have lured him. If 3'ou can find a way you would do them the greatest service, which would not be forgotten. Lucien might have made terms with his worst eneni}', Madame de Bargeton, in the beginning, by stopping those attacks on conditions all women like to be forced into. He is young and handsome, and he had it in his power to make her present hatred love. He would then have been Comte de Rubempre ; the ' Cuttle-fish' would have got him an appointment in the Household, or a sinecure of some kind. Lucien would have made a charming reader to Louis XVIII. . or librarian somewhere, or Master of petitions. But the little fool missed his chance. Perhaps that is really the thing she won't now forgive. Instead of imposing conditions as he might have done, he has now to submit to them. Cora- lie has ruined him. If she were not his mistress, he would have wanted Madame de Bargeton again, and he would have had her." 380 G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris, "So we ma}' as well knock him over?" said Fiiiot. " How will 3'ou do it?" asked des Lupeaulx, indif- ferenth", determined to get some credit for this service from the Marquise d'Espard. "There's a signed agreement which obliges Lucien to write a certain number of articles for my paper. He '11 do them all the more readily because he has n't a penn}'. If the Keeper of the Seals were stung b}' some sharp article, and made to think that Lucien wrote it, he would declare him unworth}- of the king's kindness. There is some such scheme on hand ; and in order to make this great man of the provinces lose his head entirelv, Coralie is to be attacked. He will see his mistress hissed and left without a part. If the letters- patent are not granted, we can make the most of that, and talk of his aristocratic pretensions and his father the apothecary. Lucien's courage is only skin-deep ; he'll give in, and go back whence he came. Nathan has made Florine sell me that sixth of mj' journal which Matifat owned. I have bought out the paper-maker, so that Dauriat and I are now the sole proprietors. We can manage, you and I, to turn the paper into the ser- vice of the court. I protected Nathan and Florine in order to get my sixth ; the^^ have let me have it, and I must make them some return. But before deciding on any course, I wanted to know from you exactly what Lucien's chances are." "Ha, ha!" laughed des Lupeaulx, "I like men of vour sort ! " " Well, can you get Florine a permanent situation?" said Finot to the Master of petitions. " Yes ; but you must rid us of Lucien. De Marsay Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 381 and Rastignac both declare they cannot stand him any longer." "Sleep in peace," said Finot ; "Lucien won't be able to get an article into any of the papers in defence of himself and Coralie except Martainville's. One paper against all is helpless." " I will give you a raw spot in the Keeper of the Seals ; but be sure you let me see the article before you publish it." So saying, des Lupeaulx left the theatre. Finot went over to Lucien ; and in the good-natured, kindly tone by which so man}' persons were taken in, he declared that in spite of Lucien's change of opinion he could not give up the articles that were due to him ; for his part, he liked a man who was bold enough to make such a change. Lucien and he would continue to meet in the world, and there were alwa3's a thousand little services they could do each other. Lucien needed a trusty man in the liberal party to attack the ministerialists or the royalists who gave him trouble. ''If they play you false, what will 3'ou do?" said Finot, ending his discourse. " If some minister, think- ing he has you by the halter of apostacy, no longer fears you, and sends you to the right-about, you'll want a few dogs to bite his calves. Well, it is war to the knife between you and Lousteau, who demands your head ; and you and Vernou don't speak. I am the only real friend left to you. It is a rule with me to live on good terms with men who are really strong-minded. You will be able to do for me in the world you are now entering the equivalent of the services I shall do for you in the press. Meantime, business before all ! Send 382 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. me the articles agreed upon ; make them purely lite- rary", and then the}" won't compromise you with 3"0ur new friends." Lucien saw nothing but friendship mingled with shrewd calculations of self-interest in these proposals of Finot, whose flatter^', together with that of des Lupeaulx, had put him in high good-humor. He thanked Finot ! Gfreat Man of the Provinces in Paris, 388 XXIII. THE FATAL WEEK. In the lives of ambitious men and all those who can only succeed by the help of men and things, and by a line of conduct carefully planned, followed, and con- sistentl}^ maintained, there comes a cruel moment when some strange power, I know not what, subjects them to harsh trials. All things fail them at once ; on all sides the threads of life are broken or suddenly en- tangled ; misfortunes appear at every point. When a man loses his head in the midst of this moral confusion he is lost. Those who are able to resist the first revolt of circumstances, who stiffen themselves to let the whirlwind pass, who by some mighty effort can escape into the safety of a higher sphere, are the really strong- minded of the earth. Every man, unless he is born rich, has what we must call his fatal week. For Na- poleon that week was the retreat from Moscow. This cruel moment now came to Lucien. He had been too luck}^ ; everything had succeeded for him so far, in the world and in literature. Yes, he had been too lucky ; he was now to see men and things turning against him. The first blow was the sharpest and cruellest of all ; it struck him where he thought he was invulnerable, — in his heart and in his love. Coralie might not be 384 Gi'eat Man of the Provinces in Paris. intelligent ; but she was gifted with a noble soul and the faculty of bringing it into view b}- those inspira- tional movements which are the sign of a great actress. This strange phenomenon, unless it becomes habitual by long practice, is subject to the caprices of tempera- ment, and often to an innate modestv which controls young actresses. Inwardly ingenuous and timid, out- wardly bold and free as a comedian must be, Coralie, full of her love, experienced a reaction of her woman's heart under the mask of her profession. The art of representing feelings — that splendid falsity ! — had not yet triumphed over the nature within her. She felt ashamed of giving to the public that which belonged onl}' to her love. Besides, she had the weakness of all true women ; though she felt she had the power of commanding the stage, she wanted the evidence of suc- cess. Afraid of facing an audience which might not sym- pathize with her, she trembled every time she went upon the stage, and the coldness of the public would have paralj'zed her. This terrible emotion made every new part as alarming to her as a first appearance. Applause gave her a sort of intoxication, useless to her self love, but absolutel}' indispensable for her courage. A mur- mur of disapprobation, or even the silence of an inat- tentive audience, lessened her faculties. A full and interested house, kindly and admiring glances, electri- fied them. She then put herself into communication with the best qualities of the souls before her, and felt the power of moving and exciting them. This twofold condition is indicative of the nervous temperament and constitution of genius, and it also plainly shows the delicac}' of nature and the tenderness of this poor child. Great Man of the Proviyices in Paris. 385 Lucien bad ended by comprehending and appreciating the treasures of that heart ; he saw how triilj" his mis- tress was still a 3'oung girl. Unfitted for the wiliness of an actress, Coralie was incapable of defending herself against the rivahy and green-room manoeuvres of Florine, — a woman as dan- gerous and depraved as her friend was simple and generous. Parts had to seek Coralie ; she was too proud to court authors and submit to their dishonor- able conditions, or yield to the first journalist who threatened her with his pen and his love. Talent, already so rare in the amazing art of the comedian, is onl}' one condition of success. Talent is even injurious for a long time unless accompanied by a certain genius for intrigue which was wholly lacking to Coralie. Fore- seeing the sufferings his friend must endure on her first appearance at the Gymnase, Lucien desired at any cost to secure her triumph. The money which remained from the sale of their furniture, that which he had earned by his articles, all went in the cost of costumes, the arrangement of her dressing-room, and the many expenses of a first appearance. A few days before the crucial night, Lucien took a humiliating step, to wliich his love induced him. He took the notes of Fendant and Cavalier and went to the Cocon-d'Or, in the rue des Bourbonnais, to ask Camusot to cash them. The poet was not yet so corrupted that he could calmly make this appeal. Many an anguish he left upon the wa}-, paving it with dreadful thoughts as he said to himself alternately : ''I will ! " "I will not ! " Nevertheless, he did enter the little cold, dark oflEice, 25 386 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. lighted only from an inner court, where sat, not the lover of Coralie, the jovial, idle libertine, the easily fooled Camusot whom he knew, but the grave father of a familj^, the wily merchant, powdered with virtue, and masked b}' the judicial prudery of a magistrate in the commercial courts ; protected, too, by his dignity as master of the establishment, and surrounded b}- clerks, cashiers, and all the paraphernalia of a great trade. Lucien trembled from head to foot as he approached him ; for the worth}' merchant gave him the insolently indifferent look he had already seen in the eyes of the mone3'-changers. " Here are some notes; and I should be under the greatest obligations if 3'ou would take them from me, monsieur," he said, standing before the merchant, who remained seated. "You have taken something from me, monsieur," said Camusot ; " I do not forget it." Lucien explained Coralie's position in a low voice, stooping close to the merchant, who could hear the palpitating heart of the humbled poet. It was not Camusot's intention or desire that Coralie should fail. While listening he examined the signatures to the notes and smiled ; he was a judge in the commercial court, and he knew the standing of those publishers. Nevertheless, he gave Lucien the four thousand five hundred francs, on condition that he signed a receipt for " Value received in silks." Lucien went at once to Braulard, and arranged matters so carefully with him that Coralie's success seemed secure. Braulard promised to come, and did come, to the last rehearsal, to arrange the points at Great Man of the Pi^ovinces in Paris. 387 which his "Romans" should open their batteries and produce a triumph. Lucien carried the rest of his money to Coralie, conceahng from her his appeal to Camusot. This relief eased the anxieties of the poor girl and Berenice, who b}^ this time had no means of supplying the household. Martainville, one of the men of that day who best understood theatrical matters, had come to the house several times to hear Coralie recite her part. Lucien obtained a promise of favorable articles from several of the dramatic critics of the ro3'alist press, and had no suspicion of danger. But the evening before the one on which Coralie was to make her debut at the Gj^m- nase, an event happened that was terrible in its effect on Lucien's mind. D'Arthez's book had appeared. The editor-in-chief of Hector Merlin's paper gave it to Lucien to review, considering him the man best fitted for the purpose. He owed his reputation for this class of work to the articles he had written on Nathan. A number of per- sons were in the office at the time, nearly all the edi- torial staff were present, and Martainville had come in to settle some point in the general warfare declared b}' the ro3'alist journals against the liberal journals. Nathan, Merlin, and other contributors to the " Reveil " were talking excitedl}^ of the dangerous influence of Leon Giraud's semi-weekh' paper, — an influence all the more pernicious, the}- said, because its language was prudent, judicious, and moderate. The}' talked of the brotherhood in the rue des Quatre-Vents, and called it a Convention. The royalist journals had already decided on a systematic war to the death against these 388 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, dangerous opponents, who became, in fact, the promul- gators of " the Doctrine," — that fatal sect which over- threw the Bourbons after the da}^ when a contemptible vengeance led the most brilhant of the ro3'alist writers to ally himself with it. D'Arthez, whose absolutist opin- ions were not known, was included in this anathema against the brotherhood, and the publication of his book afforded the opportunity- of making a first victim. It was to be, as the classic sa3ing is, "slashed to bits." Lucien refused to write the article. This refusal caused a violent commotion among the important men of the ro3'alist part^^ who were present. The}^ declared plainly that Lucien, as a new convert, had no choice ; if it did not suit him to belong to the party of religion and monarchy, he could return to his former camp. Merlin and Martainville took him aside, and pointed out that he would simply deliver over Coralie to the attacks which the liberal journals were sure to make upon her, without the powerful defence of the royaUst journals to protect her. As it was, her first appearance at the Gymnase would certainl}' give rise to a violent discussion, which would give her the notoriety all ac- tresses sigh for. "You don't understand the matter," said Martain- ville, "but I do. She will play for the next three months under the cross-fire of our articles, and can then earn thirty thousand francs in the provinces during her holida}'. For a scruple — and such scruples will alwaj's prevent 3'ou from becoming anything in politics — you will destroy Coralie and your own future, and throw awa}' your means of living." Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 389 Lucieii saw himself forced to choose between Coralie and d'Arthez ; his mistress was lost unless he strangled his friend in the columns of the ro^'alist newspapers. The poor poet went home with death in his soul. He sat down beside the fire in his bedroom and read the book, one of the finest in modern literature. Tear after tear fell upon the pages. He hesitated long ; but at last he wrote a scoffing article, such as he well knew how to write, taking the book as children take a beautiful bird to pluck and martyrize it. His terrible witicisms were of a nature to blast the book. Heading it once more, his better feelino-s rose aoain. He rushed throuoli Paris at midnight and reached d 'Arthez's lodgings, saw in the window the chaste and humble light" he had so often looked at with an admiration deserved b}' the noble constancy of that true, great man. He had scarcely- strength to go up the stairs, and stood for a few mo- ments motionless on the landing. At last, impelled by his guardian angel, he knocked, entered, and found d'Arthez reading without a fire. " Your book is sublime ! " cried Lucien, with tears in his e3'es, " and I am ordered to attack it." " Poor child, your bread is bitter," said d'Arthez. *' I came to ask forgiveness. Keep the secret of this visit ; let me go back to hell and to the business of devils. Perhaps we can succeed in nothing until we turn our hearts to stone." " Alwa3's the same ! " said d'Arthez. ''Do 3'ou think me base? No, d'Arthez, I am only a child mad with love ; " and he explained his position. " Let me see the article," said d'Arthez, moved by all that Lucien told him of Coralie. 390 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. Lucien gave liim the manuscript. D'Arthez read it, and could not repress a smile. "" What a fatal use of intellect! " he cried ; but he checked himself on seeing Lucien, lying in a chair, overwhelmed with genuine 'sorrow. " Will you let me correct it?" asked d'Arthez. ''I will return it to you to-morrow. Sarcasm dishonors a book, but grave and sober criticism is sometimes a benefit. I will make 3'our article more honorable both to 3'ou and to me. Besides, no one knows ni}' faults as well as I do m3'self." " In a barren, wear}' land we sometimes find a fruit to slake our thirst ; I have found one," said Lucien weeping, as he threw himself into d'Arthez's arms and kissed him. " I feel as if I had given you my con- science and should get it back some day." " I consider periodical repentance a great hj^pocris}'," said d'Arthez, solemnly; "repentance then becomes a premium given to wrong-doing. Repentance is a virgin act due from our souls to God ; a man who repents again and again becomes a S3'cophant. I fear that 3'ou see onl3' absolutions in 3'our repentance." The words were like a thunderbolt to Lucien, who walked back SI0WI3' to his home. The next day he took his article (which d'Arthez had returned to him remodelled) to the paper ; but from that day forth he was overcome by a melancholy he could not alwa3's conceal. When the evening of Coralie's debut came, and he saw the Gymnase crowded, he went through all the terrible emotions of a first appearance, aggravated in his case by the anxieties of his love. All his vanities Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 391 were at stake ; he looked at the faces in the audience as a prisoner examines those of judge and jiny ; a single murmur made him shudder, a trifling incident on the stage, Coralie's entrances and exits, the slightest in- flections of her voice, agitated him inconceivabl}'. The piece in which she pla3'ed was one of those that fall, and then recover. It fell. When Coralie went on the stage she was not applauded, and she felt the coldness of the pit. In the boxes there was no applause except that of Camusot, which was stopped b}^ persons stationed in the balcon}^ and galleries calling, "Hush! hush!" The galleries also stopped the claqueurs each time that thej delivered salvos, which were evidentlj' forced. Mar- tainville applauded courageousl}^ and the h3'pocritical Florine, Nathan, and Merlin did likewise. But the play failed. After it was over a crowd pressed into Coralie's dressing-room ; but the consolations oflfered onl}' aggravated her distress. She returned home in despair ; more for Lucien than for herself. "We were betrayed by Braulard," he said. Coralie was struck to the heart and attacked with fever. The next day it was impossible for her to pla}' ; she saw herself stopped short in her career. Lucien hid the newspapers and went into the dining-room to read them. All the critics attributed the failure of the piece to Coralie ; she had presumed too much upon her powers ; she had charmed the Boulevards, it was true, but she was out of place at the G3'mnase ; she had been led on b}^ a laudable ambition, no doubt, but she had not rightly estimated her capacit}', and had moreover misunderstood her part. The criticisms Lucien now read on Coralie were written with the same hypocrisy 392 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. as his articles on Nathan. A rage like that of Milo of Cortona, when lie felt his hands caught in the oak he had cleft himself, seized upon Lucien ; he turned livid ; his so-called friends gave Coralie, in the kindest phraseolog} , the most treacherous advice. They ad- vised her to pla}- certain parts which they knew to be unsuited to her talents. Such were the articles of the roj'alist press inspired by Nathan. As for the liberal journals, they were full of the scorn and trenchant criti- cism Lucien himself had practised in their columns. Coralie heard sobs, and springhig from her bed she ran to Lucien, saw the papers, seized them, and read them. After reading them, she went back to her bed and was silent. Florine was in the conspirac}' ; she foresaw the re- sult, and had learned Coralie's part, having Nathan for a teacher. The management of the Gymnase was desirous of keeping the play upon the stage, and there- fore proposed to give Florine Coralie's part. The di- rector came to see the poor girl, and found her ill and depressed ; but when he told her, before Lucien, that Florine knew the part and would play it, for it was Im- possible, he said, not to give the piece that evening, she sprang up and jumped from her bed, crying out : " I will play the part myself! " Then she fainted on the floor. Florine played the part and made her reputation b}' it, for the piece was redeemed. All the newspapers gave her an ovation, and she became from that day the great actress that we all know her, Florine's triumph exasperated Lucien to the last degree. Cfreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 393 a A miserable creature, whose bread you 3'ourself put into her mouth ! " he cried. " If the G3'mnase chooses, it may buy back 3'our engagement. I shall be Comte de Rubempre, I shall make a fortune, and I will marry you." "What nonsense ! " said Coralie, with a pallid glance. "Nonsense?" cried Lucien ; "I tell 3'ou in a few davs you shall live in a fine house, and have your car- riage, and I will write 3'ou a role." He took two thousand francs and rushed to Fras- cati's. The unhappy man was there for seven hours, pursued b3' furies, though calm and cold outwardly. During that da3^ and part of the night he had the most diverse vicissitudes ; he won as much as thirt3^ thou- sand francs, and left the place without a penny. When he reached home he found Finot waiting to speak to him about his " little articles." Lucien committed the great mistake of complaining to him. "Ah ! all is not couleur de rose!" said Finot. " You made 3'our right-about-face so abruptly that it is no wonder you lost the support of the liberal press, which is twice as powerful as the ministerial and royalist press. No one ought ever to go from one camp to the other without having made himself a good bed where he can take his comfort for the losses he is sure to meet with. But, in an3^ case, a sensible man goes to see his friends and explain his reasons, and take some advice on his change of front. His friends ma3' pity him, but they will still be comrades (as we are with Nathan and Merlin), and give and take mutual services. Wolves don't eat each other. But instead of that, vou have been as innocent as a lamb. You '11 be forced to show 394 Grreat Man of the Provinces in Paris. your teeth to your new friends if you expect to get bite or sup out of them. Thej- are sacrificing you now to Nathan. Besides this, I hear there 's a great outcry and scandal in another quarter about your article against d'Arthez. Marat is a saint compared to 3'ou. When your book comes out, it will be attacked and perhaps destroyed. By the bye, where is that book ? " " Here are the last sheets of it," said Lucien, showing a packet of proofs. "All the articles in the ministerial and ultra papers against that little d'Arthez that are not signed are attributed to you. The pin- pricks in the 'Re veil' against the fraternit}' in the rue des Quatre- Vents are very amusing, and all the more so because they bring blood. But there is a grave and serious political coterie behind that paper of L6on Giraud's, — a coterie of men to whom power will belong, sooner or later." " I have not set foot in the ' Reveil ' office for the last week ! " exclaimed Lucien. " Well, think about m}^ little articles. Write me fift}' at once, and I '11 pay for them in a lump ; but they must have the color of my paper." Finot then went on to tell Lucien in a casual way about a joke the}^ were getting off on the Keeper of the Seals, — an anecdote, he said, that was going the rounds of the salons. To repair his losses at pla}", Lucien set to work upon the articles. In spite of his depression, he recovered much of the vigor and freshness of his mind, and wrote thirt}' of two columns each. After the}^ were finished he went to Dauriat's, knowing that he should find Finot there, and wishing to give him the articles privately ; Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 395 moreover, he wanted to make the pubhsher explain him- self as to the non-publication of the " Daisies." He found the place full of his enemies. Complete silence reigned as soon as he entered ; all conversations ceased. Feel- ing himself thus shoved back to the lower ranks of journalism, Lucien's courage rose. He said to him- self, as he had said to Lousteau in the alley of the Luxembourg, — '' 1 will succeed! " Dauriat was neither patronizing nor kind. He was surly, and stood on his rights. He should bring out the " Daisies" when it suited him ; he was waiting till Lucien's position gave them a chance of success ; be- sides, he had bought the sole right to the poems. When Lucien objected that Dauriat was bound by the nature of the contract to bring out the book, the publisher maintained the contrary, and declared that he could not be held legally to an enterprise he thought a bad one ; he alone was the judge of that. Besides, there was one way of settling the matter which ever}" court would admit : Lucien might, if he liked, return the three thou- sand francs, take back his book, and sell it to some ro3'alist publisher. Lucien withdrew, more annoyed b}^ Dauriat's mode- rate tone than he had been b}* his pompous impertinence at their first meeting. He saw plainly that the "Daisies " would never be published until he had either the auxil- iar}' force of some powerful connections or had become a power in himself. The poet walked slowlj'' home- ward, — a prey to a disheartenment which would have led him to suicide could action have followed thought. He found Coralie in bed pale and suffering. 396 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. " Get her a part, or she will die ! " said Berenice, while Lucien was dressing to go to the rue du Mont-Blanc, where Mademoiselle des Touches was to give a great part}', at which he was sure to meet des Lupeaulx, Claude Vignon, Blondet, Madame d'Espard, and Ma- dame de Bargeton. The party was given for Conti, the famous composer, who possessed one of the most beautiful voices ever heard off the stage. Cinti-Damoreau, Pasta, Garcia, Levasseur, and two or three other voices celebrated in the great world, were also present. Lucien slipped round to the side of the room where Madame d'Espard, her cousin, and Madame de Montcornet were seated. The unhapp}^ 3'Oiiiig man assumed a gay, contented, happy manner ; he talked and laughed with all the ease of his splendid da3's ; he was determined not to seem to have need of the world. He dwelt on the services he was now doing to the royalist party, — proved, he said, by the cries of hatred the liberals were sending after him. "You will be well compensated, my friend," said Madame de Bargeton, with a gracious smile. " Go to the chancellor's office the day after to-morrow with ' The Heron ' and des Lupeaulx, and obtain 3'our letters- patent. The Keeper of the Seals is to take the papers to the chateau ; but there is to be a council, and he will not be back till late. Still, if I know the result in the course of the evening, I will send to you. Where do you live ? " " I will go to you," said Lucien, ashamed to say that he lived in the rue de la Lune. ^'The Dues de Lenoncourt and Navarreins spoke of you to the king," said Madame d'Espard. "The}' Great Man of the Provinces in Pa7'is. 397 assured him that 3'ou were devoting 3'our talents ab- sohitely and unreservedly to the ro3'alist cause, and that some great reward should be given to compensate you for the persecutions of the liberal part}' ; and they rep- resented that the name and title of de Rubempre, to which you have a right through your mother, would receive new lustre through you. The king told his Highness the Keeper of the Seals that he might bring him the papers authorizing the Sieur Lucien Chardon to bear the name and title of Comte de Rubempre in his quality as grandson, through his mother, of the last count." Lucien was moved to a gratitude which would have softened the feelings of a woman less deeplj' wounded than Louise de Bargeton. Emboldened by his coming success, and b}^ the flattering distinctions which Made- moiselle des Touches showed to him, he stayed on till two o'clock in the morning, in order to speak to his hostess in private. He had learned in the offices of the royalist journals that Mademoiselle des Touches was secretl}' collaborating in a pla^' about to be produced for the great marvel of the moment, the little Fay. When the salons were empt}' he led Mademoiselle des Touches to a sofa in the boudoir, and told her in so touching a manner the misfortunes that had fallen upon Coralie and himself that she promised to have the leading part in her pla^' assigned to Coralie. The morning after this part}', while Coralie, made happy by the promise of a part, was breakfasting with her poet, Lucien sat reading Lousteau's paper, in which was an epigrammatic version of the anecdote said to be current on his Highness the Keeper of the Seals 398 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, and his wife. The blackest spite la}^ hidden beneath its incisive wit. The king was cleverl}^ exhibited and ridiculed in a wa}^ that the law could not touch. The following is the tale which the liberal press endeavored to represent as a fact, but which reallj' only swelled the number of its witt}' calumnies. The passion of Louis XVIII. for gallant and per- fumed correspondence, well spiced with madrigals and epigram, was called the last expression of love, now growing doctrinaire ; he was passing, the}^ said, from fact to idea. The famous mistress (so cruelly attacked by Beranger under the name of Octavie) was becoming much alarmed. Their correspondence languished. The more wit and brillianc}' Octavie displa3'ed, the colder and stiffer grew the king. Octavie at last discovered the cause of her loss of favor ; her power was threatened b}' the spiciness and muskiness of a new correspondence latel}' begun with the wife of the Keeper of the Seals. This excellent woman was known to be incapable of writing a note ; she was evidentl}' only the responsible editor of some vaulting ambition. Who, therefore, could it be who was hiding beneath her petticoat? After various secret manoeuvres, Octavie discovered that the king was really corresponding with his minis- ter. Her plans were laid at once. B3' the help of a faithful friend, she contrived that the minister should be detained at the Chambers b}" a storm}' debate, during which time she revealed the deception to the king, and roused his mortified vanity. Louis XVIII. flew into a passion of Bourbonian anger against Octavie, and de- clared that what she told him was false. Octavie pro- posed immediate proof, and persuaded him to write a Great Man of the Provmces in Paris, 399 note which required an answer on the spot. The luck- less woman, taken b}' surprise, sent to the Chambers for her husband ; but he was then in the middle of a speech ; the wife was forced to reply, with much toiling and moihng and all the wit she could muster. ^'^ Your Keeper of the Seals can improve it for 3'ou," cried Octavie, laughing at the king's discomfiture. Though a lie from beginning to end, the article was extremely irritating to the Keeper of the Seals, his wife, and the King. Des Lupeaulx (Finot always kept his secret ) was said to have invented the stor}'. The spiteful but witt}' article was a joy to the liberals and also to the partisans of Monsieur. Lucien laughed heartily over it, regarding the tale as nothing more than a ver}' amusing canard. One of his own articles ap- peared in the same paper. The next day he went as directed to join des Lupeaulx and du Chatelet. The Baron was desirous of thanking His Highness on his own account. He had just been named councillor of State on special service, and made count with a promise of the prefecture of the Charente as soon as the present prefect had completed the time necessar}' to retire on a full pension. The Corate du Chatelet (for the du was duly inserted in the ordinance) took Lucien in his carriage and treated him as an equal. The persecution of the liberals had reallj- been a pedestal for him ; without Lucien's articles he might not have been accepted so quickh'. Des Lupeaulx was already at the ministr}', in the office of the secretarv-sjeneral. That functionarv no sooner caught sight of Lucien than he gave a start of aston- ishment. 400 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. " I am amazed, monsieur, that 3'oii venture to present yourself here, " he said to the surprised and stupefied Lucien. " His Highness has torn up your ordinance. He wished to know the author of the shameless article published 3'esterday ; here is a cop}- of the paper, " continued the secretary, holding out the sheet, in which Lucien's own article appeared. "You claim to be a royalist and to be doing services to the royalist cause, and yet 3'ou are collaborating with that infamous paper, which insults the ministers, embarrasses the Centres, and is forcing them into an abvss ! You breakfast on the ' Corsaire,' ' Miroir,' ' Constitutionnel,' and ' Courrier ; ' you dine off the ' Quotidienne' and the • Reveil ; ' and you sup with Martainville, the most formidable antagonist of the ministr}^ who is forcing the King into absolutism, which will bring on a revolution just as surely as though he flung himself into the arms of the Left. You may be a very witt}^ journalist, but you will never be anything else. The minister has denounced you to the King, who in his anger blamed the Due de Navarreins for ever mentioning 3'ou to him. You have made 3'ourself powerful enemies, all the more bitter because they were favorable to 3'ou. That which is natural in an enemy is shameful in a friend." ^' M3' dear fellow, you have behaved like a child," said des Lupeaulx ; "you have compromised Madame d'Espard and Madame de Bargeton, who had answered for your sincerit3'. The3' must be furious. The duke of course has blamed the marquise, and the marquise her cousin. You had better not go and see them at present. Wait awhile." Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 401 "Here comes His Highness,'* said the secretar}'- general ; "• I request 3'ou to leave the room, monsieur." Lucien found himself on the place Vendome, as bewildered as a man who has just been knocked down by a crushing blow on the head. He walked home along the boulevards trying to form a judgment on his life. He saw himself the foot-ball of jealous, grasping, and treacherous men. What was he in this world of ambitions? A child running after pleasures and the enjoyments of vanity ; a poet, without deep reflection, going from light to light like a butterfly, with no fixed plan, the slave of circumstances, thinking well and acting ill. His conscience was a pitiless judge. And now — he had no monev ; he felt himself exhausted with life and sorrow ; his articles were set aside for those of Nathan or Merlin. Thus thinking, he walked he knew not whither ; presently his e3'e caught, in the window of a reading-room, his own name on a poster, " By Monsieur Lucien Chardon de Rubempre " beneath the strange, odd title of a book to him unknown. His book was out, and he knew nothing of it ! — not a paper had mentioned it ! He stood before the window, with hanging arms, quite motionless, not perceiving a group of elegant 3'oung men, among them Rastignac, de Marsay, and others of his acquaintance. Neither did he notice Michel Chrestien and Leon Giraud, who came up to him. "Are you Monsieur Chardon?" said Michel in a tone that made Lucien's ver^' entrails resound like the striking of a chord. " Do not you know me ? " he answered, turning pale. Michel spat in his face. 26 402 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. '"' That is your fee for your articles against d'Artliez. If every man, on his own behalf or on that of his friends, did as I have done, the press would become what it ought to be, — a priesthood, self-respecting and re- spected." Lucien staggered ; he leaned against Rastignac, say- ing to him and to de Marsay : " Gentlemen, you can- not refuse to be my seconds. But first I will make the matter equal." So saying he struck Michel a blow in the face which took him unawares ; the dandies and Michel's friends threw themselves between the two men, that there might be no public struggle. Rastignac took posses- sion of Lucien and carried him to his own house, rue Taitbout, close to the scene of this affair, which took place on the boulevard de Gand, at the dinner hour. This fortunately prevented the collecting of the usual crowd in such a case. De Marsaj* followed, and together they forced Lucien to come and dine with them ga3'l3' at the Cafe Anglais, where they drank much. '' Are you good with swords? " asked de Marsay. " I never had one in m^' hands." "" Pistols? " said Rastignac. " I never in my life fired a pistol." " Then you 've luck on your side ; you '11 be a terrible antagonist ; 3'ou 'II kill your man," said de Marsa^'. Lucien fortunate!}' found Coralie in bed and asleep when he got home. The actress had been called on to play unexpectedly in a little piece, and she had won much genuine applause that was not paid for. This success, which was quite unexpected b}^ her enemies, G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 403 determined the manager to give Coralie the leading part in Camille Maupin's pla}'. He bad ended by discovering the cause of her failure on her first appear- ance. Provoked hy the intrigues of Florine and Nathan against an actress whom he himself thought well of, the manager promised Coralie the protection of the directors. At five o'clock in the morning Rastignac came to fetch Lucien. " M}' good fellow, your rooms are in keeping with your street," he said, by way of greeting. " Let us be first on the ground ; it is good style, and we owe those men a good example." "This is the programme," said de Marsay, as the hackne3^-coach was rolling along the faubourg Saint- Denis : "You fight with pistols, at twent3'-tive paces, walking as 3'ou please towards each other up to fifteen paces. You have each five steps to take, and three shots to fire, not more. Whatever happens, 3'ou are bound to go no farther with the affair. We load 3'our adversary's pistols, and liis seconds load 3'ours. The weapons were chosen b3' all four seconds at a gun- smith's. I promise 3'ou we've helped 3'our luck, — the3' are cavalry pistols." As for Lucien, life had become to him a bad dream, and he was quite indifferent whether he lived or died. Courage of the sort peculiar to suicide gave him, there- fore, a fine appearance of braver3' iu the e3'es of the spectators of this duel. He stood still, without advanc- ing from his place. This indifference was considered a piece of cool calculation. The3' all thought the poet proved himself " a strong man." 404 G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. Michel Chrestien advanced to his limit. The two men fired simultaneous!}', for the insults were regarded as equal. At the first shot, Chrestien's ball grazed Lucien's chin, while Lucien's went ten feet over his ad- versaria's head. At the second shot, Michel's ball went through the collar of Lucien's coat, which was fortu- natel}^ wadded. At the third, Lucien received a ball in the breast and fell. "Is he dead?" asked Michel. " No," said the surgeon ; "he '11 get over it." " So much the worse ! " replied Michel. " Oh, yes, so much the worse ! " repeated Lucien, burstinfy into tears. B}^ mid-da}' the unhapp}' lad was in his own bed ; it had taken five hours and ii^nite care to get him there. Though his condition was without immediate danger, it required the utmost precaution ; fever might set in, and produce very serious complications. Coralie stifled her own despair and grief During all the time he was in danger, she nursed hy da}', and sat up at night with Berenice studying her parts. Lucien's danger lasted two months. Often the poor girl played some role which needed gayety while she was saying in her heart : "Perhaps my dear Lucien is dying at this moment ! " Great 3fan of the Provinces in Paris. 405 xxiy. ADIEU ! During his illness Lucien was attended b}' Bianchon. He owed his life to the devotion of that friend, griev- ously offended, but to whom d'Arthez had confided the fact of Lucien's visit to him, defending, as far as pos- sible, the unfortunate poet. In a lucid moment, for Lucien had a nervous fever of extreme gravity, Bian- chon, who suspected d'Arthez of some generosity, ques- tioned his patient as to the real facts, and Lucien told him that he had never written any article against d 'Arthez's book except the grave and serious criticism corrected by d'Arthez himself, and published in Hector Merlin's paper. At the end of the first month, Fendant and Cavalier went into bankruptcy. Bianchon told Coralie that she must conceal this frightful blow from Lucien. The much-talked-of novel, "The Archer of Charles IX.," published under a sensational name, had no success whatever. To get a little money for himself before their failure, Fendant, unknown to Cavalier, had sold the work in a block to a petty bookseller who had sent it about b}' peddlers. It was now adorning the para- pets of the bridges and quays of Paris. Barbet, on the Quai des Augustins, who had previously taken quite a number of copies, found himself out of pocket to a con- 406 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, siderable sum by this sudden abatement of their value. He had not foreseen it, for he beheved in Lucien's tal- ent, and had rashl}^ purchased two hundred copies at four francs and a half apiece, which would now bring only half a franc. Alarmed by such a loss, Barbet took an heroic measure : he put away his copies with the ob- stinacy of a miser, saw his competitors selling theirs for almost nothing, and in 1824, when two articles b}' Leon Giraud called attention to the real merit of the book and to d'Arthez's fine preface, Barbet sold his two hundred copies for ten francs apiece. In spite of ever}- endeavor on the part of Coralie and Berenice, they were unable to prevent Hector Merlin from gaining access to Lucien during his illness, and through him the poor poet was made to drink the bitter cup to the dregs. Martainville, the only friend now faithful to Lucien, wrote a fine article in favor of the book ; but the exasperation of all parties, liberals and ro3'alists, was such against the editor-in-chief of the " Drapeau Blanc," the " Oriflamme," and " Aristarque,*' that his efl^orts did Lucien more harm than good. After this, Coralie, Berenice, and Bianchon shut Lucien's door with a firm hand asjainst all his so-called friends, but they could not shut it against the sheriff. The failure of Fendant and Cavalier made the amount of their notes irrecoverable b}' a third part}^ in virtue of a provision in the commercial code. Lucien was there- fore sued by Camusot. When Coralie read that name attached to the papers, she saw at once the painful and humiliating step her poet — to her so angelic — had taken for her sake. Her love was increased tenfold, and she made no eflTort to soften Camusot. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 407 When, after the usual legal preliminaries, the sheriff's officers came to arrest Lucien, the}^ found him in bed, and they hesitated to remove so sick a man. Before obtaining an order from the court to place their prisoner in one of the hospitals, they went to see Camusot, in whose suit they were acting. Camusot went instantl}" to the rue de la Lune. Coralie was called downstairs to see him, and returned bringing papers which released Lucien and declared him solvent. How had she ob- tained them? What promise had she made? She maintained a gloomy silence, but death was in her face as she came up the stairs. Coralie pla3'ed in Camille Maupin's piece, and contributed much to the success of that illustrious woman. The creation of this role was the last sparkle of her lamp. At the twentieth representation, just as Lucien, recovering, was beginning to move about and eat, and to talk of working, Coralie fell ill ; an inward grief was preying upon her. Berenice alwaj's believed that to save Lucien she had promised to return to Camusot. The actress had the mortification of seeing her role given to Florine. Nathan had declared war against the Gj'mnase unless Florine succeeded her. B3' playing her part to the last instant rather than have it taken from it b}" her rival, Coralie had gone beyond her strength. The Gymnase had made her some advances on her pay during Lucien's illness, and there was nothing more to come to her. Lucien himself, with the best intentions, was still unable to work ; moreover, he was forced to nurse Coralie to relieve Berenice. The poor household was now reduced to dire distress ; yet 408 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. even here they found a friend in Bianchon, — a clever and devoted physician, who gave them a credit at the chemist's. But soon their situation became known to the owner of the house in which they Uved, and to the tradesmen who supplied them. Their furniture was seized. The tailor and the dressmaker, no longer fearing the jour- nalist, sued them. No one would give them credit except the chemist and the charcutier^ where the cheap- est parts of pork are sold. Lucien and Berenice and the poor sick girl lived for a week soleh' on scraps of pork cooked in the various ingenious ways known to char- cutiers. Such food, inflammatory in its nature, aggra- vated Coralie's illness. Lucien, driven by this miser}-, went to find Lousteau and ask him for the thousand francs that former friend, that traitor, owed him. In the midst of all his wretchedness, this was the step that cost him most. Lousteau no longer dared to go to the rue de la Harpe ; his creditors pursued him, and he slept about in the rooms of his friends, hunted like a hare. Lucien at last found his fatal sponsor in the literary world at Flicoteaux's. Etienne was dining at the ver}^ table where Lucien had met him, to his sorrow, on the day he left d'Arthez's side. Lousteau offered him some dinner, and Lucien accepted ! When, as they left Flicoteaux's, Claude Vignon (who dined there that day), Lousteau, Lucien, and the great writer who had changed his coat at Samanon's, wished to go to the cafe Voltaire for a cup of coffee, they had not thirty sous among them when they emptied the coppers from their pockets. They walked about the gardens of the Luxem- G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. 409 bourg hoping to meet some publisher the}^ knew. It did so happen that a famous printer of that da}' came towards them, and of him Lousteau asked and obtained forty francs. Lousteau divided the sum into four equal parts, and each took one. Misery had quenched all pride, all sensitiveness, in Lucien ; he wept before his three companions as he told them his situation. But each had a drama of his own as cruelly horrible as his ; and when their conditions were all made known, Lucien beheld himself the least unhappy of the four. Thus all were craving to forget their sorrows, and their thoughts, which doubled those sorrows. Lousteau rushed to the Palais-Roval and o-ambled the nine francs that remained to him. The illustrious writer went to a vile, contami- nated house to plunge into pleasures still more danger- ous. Vignon turned to the Petit Rocher de Cancale, meaning to drink two bottles of Bordeaux, and abdicate both mind and memor}'. Lucien left him at the door of that restaurant, refusing to go in. The grasp which the great man of the provinces gave to the hand of the only journalist who had not been hostile to him was accompanied b}' a spasm of the heart. '.' What shall I do?" he cried. "Ah ! " said the great critic, " in this world we must go with the crowd. Your book is a fine one ; but it has made men jealous of 3'ou, Your struggle will be long and difficult. Genius is a horrible disease ; every writer bears in his heart a monster, like a tapeworm in the stomach, devouring the feelings as soon as they unfold. Which will conquer, — the disease or the man? Surely the man must be great indeed to keep his balance be- tween his genius and his nature. Talent grows, the 410 Crreat Man of the Provinces in Paris, heart withers. Short of being a colossus, or of having the shoulders of a Hercules, he must end without a heart or without a brain. You are frail and deli- cate, 3"ou will succumb," he added, turning in to the restaurant. Lucien walked on meditating that dreadful judgment, th^ truth of which glared like a flame upon his literary life. " Money ! mone}' ! " cried a voice within him. He went home and drew three notes of a thousand francs each to his own order, payable at one, two, and three months' sight, and signed them with a wonderful imitation of David Sechard's signature ; then, on the following da}', he took them to Metivier, the paper- maker, David's correspondent in the rue Serpente, who discounted them without hesitation. Lucien wrote a few lines to his brother-in-law telling him what he had done, and promising, of course, to obtain the money in time to meet the notes. His debts and Coralie's paid, there remained three hundred francs, which Lucien placed with Berenice, telling her not to give him a penny if he asked for it ; he was afraid the desire to gamble might seize upon him. The unhapp3' man, inspired by cold ftuy, gloomy, taciturn, wrote his wittiest articles b}' the glimmer of a lamp as he watched by Coralie. Searching for ideas, his e3"es rested on that loved creature, white as por- celain, beautiful with the beaut}' of the dying, smiling with pallid lips to him, gazing upon him with the bril- liant eyes of women who die of grief as much as of ill- ness. Lucien sent his articles to tlie papers ; but as he could not go to the offices himself to worrj' or to entreat Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 411 the editors-in-chief, thev were not inserted. When, at last, he was forced to go, Theodore Gaillard, who had made him some advances, and who, at a later period, profited b}' the literary diamonds he thns obtained, received him coldly. " Mind what you are about, my dear fellow," he said to him; "you are losing 3'our wit; don't let 3'ourself down ; you want more sparkle and liveliness." "That little Lucien had nothing but liis novel and those first articles in his pouch," cried Vernou, Merlin, and all the others who liated him, when the}' talked him over at Dauriat's or in the foyer of the Vaudeville ; "he sends us wretched stuff!" To have nothing in his pouch — that hallowed phrase of journalistic slang — is a sovereign judgment, from which it is difficult to appeal when once pro- nounced. That saying, hawked about everywhere, killed Lucien professional!}-, though Lucien did not know it, for by that time his troubles were greater than he could bear. In the midst of his crushinfi: toil he was sued by Metivier for David Sechard's notes. He had recourse to Camusot's experience, and Coralie's old lover was generous enough to protect him. This dreadful condition of things lasted two months, — two terrible months crowded with legal forms, notifications, summonses, injunctions ; all of which Lucien, by Camu- sot's advice, referred to Desroches the lawyer, a friend of Bixiou, Blondet, and des Lupeaulx. At the beginning of the month of August, Bianchon told Lucien that Coralie was doomed, and had but a few days more to live. Berenice and Lucien spent those fatal days in weeping, unable to conceal their anguish 412 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. from that poor girl whose despair at dying was all for Lueien. B}^ a strange return upon herself, Coralie re- quested Lucien to fetch a priest. She wanted to be pardoned by the Church and to die in peace. She made a Christian end, and her repentance was sincere. This dying scene, this death, took from Lucien the last remnants of his strength and courage. He sat in utter abandonment at the foot of Coralie's bed, never ceasing to gaze at her till her eyes were turned b}^ the hand of death. It was then five in the morning. A bird came and lighted on the flower-pots outside the window and warbled a few notes. Berenice, on her knees, kissed the dying hand which grew cold beneath her tears. Eleven sous were on the chimne3'-piece. Lucien went out, driven b}' despair, which told him to ask alms in the street to bury his mistress, or fling himself at the feet of Madame d'Espard, the Comte du Chatelet, Madame de Bargeton, Mademoiselle des Touches, or even that terrible man of fashion de Mar- sa}'. No pride, no strength, remained to him. To get this money he would even have enlisted. He walked along with the sinking, disordered gait of a hopeless being until he came to the house of Camille Maupin, which he entered, without the least thought of his dis- ordered clothes, and asked to see her. " Mademoiselle went to bed at three in the morning, and no one can disturb her until she rings " said the footman. "At what hour does she ring?" " Never before ten o'clock." Lucien asked for paper, and then wrote one of those awful letters in which a beggar of qualit}- shrinks from Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, 413 nothing. One evening, not so long ago, he had doubted the possibiUty of such debasement when Lousteau told him of the entreaties made to Finot bj- young writers ; and now his own pen went beyond the limits he had then thought so impossible. Returning, half imbecile, along the boulevard, little knowing what a masterpiece of dreadful power despair had dictated to him, he met Barbet. " Barbet, five hundred francs ! " he said, holding out his hand. "No, two hundred," replied the publisher. " Ah ! you have a heart ! " "Yes, but I have also a business. You have made me lose a great deal of money," he added, after relating the failure of Fendant and Cavalier; "will you help me earn some?" Lucien shuddered. " You are a poet; you ought to know how to make all kinds of verses," continued Barbet. " Just now I am in want of some ribald songs to mix in with other songs taken from different authors, and so escape being sued for piracy. I want to make a prett}^ little collec- tion and sell it for ten sous. If you will send me to- morrow ten good drinking-songs, or something smutt}', you know, I '11 pa}- you two hundred francs on the spot." Lucien went home. Coralie la}' rigid on a flock bed, wrapped in a common sheet which Berenice was sewing up. The peasant-w^oman had lighted four candles at the corners of the bed. From Coralie's face shone forth that flower of beaut}" which speaks in so clear a voice to the living, expressing absolute peace. She was like 414 Great Man of the Provinces i7i Paris, those innocent young girls who die of anaemic mala- dies. It seemed as though her violet lips would part and murmur Lucien's name, — that name which, joined to that of God, had taken her last breath. Lucien told Berenice to order from the Pompes Funfebres a funeral costing two hundred francs, including services in the humble church of Bonne-Nouvelle. As soon as Berenice had left the house, the poet drew his table beside the body of his love, and wrote the ten songs ordered, with lively thoughts to popular airs. He went through tortures before he could begin them ; but he ended by coercing his mind to the service of necessit}', and wrote as if he were not suffering. Already he jus- tified Claude Vignon's terrible dictum on the separation of heart and brain. What a night was this in which the unhappy lad sought poes}' to offer it to ribakby, writing b}' the light of the tapers, beside the priest who pra3ed for Coralie ! In the morning he finished his last song, and set it to an air in vogue. Berenice and the priest believed him mad as they heard him sing these dreadful verses : — " Dear comrades, a song with a moral Is ever a tiresome thing ; For why should we seek after wisdom When Folly alone is our king V Besides, any chorus will do When we drink with a vagabond crew ; Epicurus declares this is true. No room for the car of Apollo When the chariot of Bacchus we follow. For good or for evil We laugh and we quaff, we quaff and we laugh, And let the rest go to the devil ! Great Man of the Proviiices in Paris. 415 " Hippocrates promised long living To him who the goblet should drain ; What matter if one leg be striving To follow the other in vain, Provided the hand can fill up, And spill not a drop from the cup ! Provided good fellows are here Who have drunk with us many a year Of good and of evil, Yet still laugh and quaff, and still quaff and laugh, And send all the rest to the devil ! " If any man ask where we come from 'T is easy enough to reply, But clever indeed were the prophet Who could tell where we go when we die. Light-hearted and gay, let us trust The powers above, — since we must ! It is certain we die ; While we live let us fly From trouble and evil, By laughing and quaffing, by quaffing and laughing ; The rest may all go the devil ! " As the poet was singing this horrible last couplet, Bianchon and d'Arthez entered. Lucien now fell back into a paroxj'sm of anguish ; he shed torrents of tears, and was quite unable to cop}' his songs for the printer. When, amid his sobs, he was able to explain his situa- tion to his friends, tears were in the eyes of all who heard him. '' This," said d'Arthez, " wipes out many a fault." " Happy those who find hell here below ! " said the priest, gravely. 416 Great Mem of the Provinces in Paris, That spectacle of the beautiful dead girl smiling at eternit}^ ; her lover earning her funeral with ribakUy ; Barbet paj^ing for her grave ; the four candles round the actress whose scarlet stockings with their green clocks had lately- made a whole house palpitate ; the priest who had pardoned her returning to his church to sa}' a mass for one so loved, — ah ! these grandeurs, these infamies, these sorrows, crushed b}' the hand of necessity, overcame the great doctor and the great writer, and they sat down speechless, unable to say a word ! Just then a footman came in to announce Mademoiselle dcs Touches. That noble woman under- stood the whole scene. She went eagerl}' to Lucien, grasped his hand, and left two notes of a thousand francs within it. " Too late ! " he said, giving her a look like that of a d34ng man. D'Arthez, Bianchon, and Mademoiselle des Touches left him after soothing his despair with gentle words ; but the springs of life seemed broken in him. At mid-day the brotherhood, all but Michel Chrestien (who, however, had been told that Lucien was not as culpable as he had seemed), were assembled in the little church of Bonne-Nouvelle, together with Berenice and Mademoiselle des Touches, two supernumeraries from the Gymnase, Coralie's dresser, and the unhappy Camusot. All the men accompanied the coffin to Pere- Lachaise. Camusot, who wept bitterl}', swore solemnl}' to Lucien that he would buy the piece of ground in per- petuity, and place a little column on the grave bearing the words, " Coralie : Died, aged nineteen years, August, 1822." Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 417 Liicien remained alone until the sun went down upon that hill from which his e3'es could see all Paris. " By whom shall I now be loved?" he asked himself. "My true friends despise me. Whatever I had done, whatever I was, seemed good and noble to her who is lying there ! I have no one left but my sister, and David, and my mother ! What are the}' thinking of me now?" When he returned to the house in the rue de la Lune his suffering was so great on seeing the empt}' rooms that he went to live in a wretched furnished lodging in the same street. The two thousand francs of Made- moiselle des Touches, added to the sale of the furniture, paid all debts. Berenice and Lucien had a hundred francs left on which the^^ lived for two months, — two months which Lucien passed in morbid despair. He could neither write nor think ; he abandoned himself to his sorrow. Berenice pitied him. " If 3'ou wished to go back to 3'our own town, how could you get there? " she said one da}', replying to an exclamation of Lucien's. He was thinking of his sister and mother and David. " On foot ! " he said. " But you must eat and sleep on the way; 3'ou could n't do with less than twent}' francs." " I will get them," he answered. He took his coats and his fine linen, keeping only the merest necessaries, and went to Samanon, who gave him fifty francs for his whole wardrobe. He entreated the usurer to give him enough to enable him to take the dihgence, but Samanon was inflexible. In his rage and disappointment, Lucien rushed, hot-foot, to Frascati's, 27 418 G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. risked the whole sum, and left without a penny. When he returned to his miserable chamber he asked Berenice to give him a shawl of Coralie's. Something in his e3'es told the kindl}' woman, to whom he had admitted his loss at pla}', the thought that was in his mind, — he meant to hang himself. "Are 3'ou mad, monsieur?" she said. "Go and walk about the streets and come back at midnight ; I will earn 3'our monej" ; but don't go near the qua3's ! " Lucien went, as he was told, and walked about the boulevards, stupid with grief, gazing at the equipages, at the pedestrians, — feeling himself an atom, alone, in that great crowd whirled onward by the lash of a thou- sand self-interests. His thoughts went back to the shores of the Charente ; he felt a thirst for family joys ; a flash of strength, such as often deceives these femi- nine natures, came to him ; he would not give up the game without discharging his heart into the heart of David Sechard, and taking counsel with the three angels who remained to him. As he walked idl3' through the streets he noticed Berenice, dressed in her best, stand- ing talking to a man at the mudd3' corner of the Boule- vard Bonne-Nouvelle. "What are 3'ou doing?" Lucien said to her, struck b3' a horrible suspicion. "There are 3'our twenty francs," she said, putting the mone3' in his hand ; " the3' ma3' cost dear, but they will take 3^ou home." She disappeared before Lucien could see which wa3' she went. It must be said to his credit that the money burned his hand and he wished to return it ; but he was forced to keep it as a last stigma of his life in Paris. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 419 On the morrow Lucien obtained his passport, bought a holly stick, and got into a public conveyance on the place de la rue d'P^nfer, which took him for ten sous to Lonjumeau. The first night he slept in the stable of a farmhouse six miles beyond Arpojon. When he reached Orleans he was very weary and almost worn-out ; but a boatman took him for three francs down the river to Tours, during which trip he spent two francs for food. It took him five days to walk from Tours to Poitiers. Beyond Poitiers he had onl}^ five francs left ; still, he collected all his strength, and continued his way. Over- taken b}' night, he resolved to bivouac by the roadside, when he saw a carriage mounting the hill behind him. Unseen b\' the postilion, the travellers, or the footman, who was sitting on the box, he was able to get on be- hind between two trunks, which protected him from being jolted off and enabled him to sleep. Awakened b}' the sun, which struck his e3'es, and by the sound of voices, he recognized Mansle, the little town where, eighteen months earlier, he had gone with David to await Madame de Bargeton, his heart full of love and hope and joy. Seeing himself covered with dust and surrounded by an inquisitive crowd of pos- tilions and others, he was aware that his position was suspicious. He jumped to the ground, and was about to speak when the sight of the travellers getting out of their carriage stopped the words in his throat. The}' were the new prefect of the Charente, Comte Sixte du Chatelet, and his wife, Louise de Bargeton. " If we had onlj^ known of the companion whom acci- dent has given to us ! " said the countess. " Pray get in with us, monsieur ! " 420 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. Lucien bowed colcll}' to the couple, with a glance both humble and threatening. He turned abruptl}' into a cross road, and went to a farmhouse, where he obtained a breakfast of bread and milk, and could rest and delibe- rate in silence on his future. But not for Ions;. He had only three francs left ; and the author of the '•' Daisies," driven by the fever within him, again pushed on. He walked along the banks of the river, examining the scener}', which grew more and more picturesque. At last, about mid-day, he came upon a sheet of water overhung with willows, and forming a tiny lake. He stopped to contemplate the cool and shad}' grove and peaceful water, the rural charm of which affected his soul. A house, close to a mill on an arm of the rivei-, showed its thatched roof covered with sedum among the trees. The simple front of the little building was overrun with jessamine, honeysuckle, and the wild hop ; all about it were the brilliant flowers of the phlox, and splendid plants of a succulent nature. Ducks were swimming in a pond of transparent water between two currents which sent the water humming through the sluices. The mill-wheel made a clacking sound. Seated on a rustic bench before the house, Lucien saw a stout and cheery housewife knitting, and watching a child that was teasing the chickens. "My good woman," said Lucien, coming forward, "I am very tired; I am fevered; I have but three francs ; would you feed me on bread and milk and let me sleep in the barn for a week? I want time to write to m}' friends, and they will send me money, or come and fetch me here." Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 421 *'To be sure I will," she said, "if my husband will let me. Hey ! little man ! " The miller came out, looked at Lucien, and took his pipe out of his mouth to say: "Three francs, one week ! we might as well take you for nothing." " Perhaps I shall end as a miller's drudge ! " thought the poet, looking at the exquisite scenerj^ before he la}' down on the bed the good wife made for him, where he slept a sleep that frightened his hosts. "Courtois, go and see if that young man is dead or living. It is fourteen hours since he went to sleep, and I am afraid to look," said the miller's wife about ten o'clock of the next da3\ "I think," said the miller, as he finished spreading his nets to catch some fish, — "I think that prettj' fellow is probabl}' some slip of an actor not worth a groat ! " "What makes you think that, little man?" asked his wife. " Damn it! he isn't a prince, nor a minister, nor a deput}', nor a bishop ! then wh}' are his hands as white as those of a man who does nothing ? " "It is very surprising that hunger doesn't wake him up," said the miller's wife, who was getting some break- fast ready for the guest whom chance had sent her. "An actor!" she went on. "Goodness! where can he be going? There is no fair at Angouleme just now." Neither the miller nor his wife had any notion that besides the actor, prince, and bishop, there is another man, both prince and actor, a man clothed with a glorious priesthood, — a Poet, who seems to have 422 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris, nothing to do, but who reigns above the humanity whom it is his mission to reveal. " I don't know what else he can be," said Courtois. " Do 3'ou think there is any danger in keeping him ? " " Pooh ! thieves don't sleep like that ; we should have been robbed hours ago." " 1 am neither a prince, nor a thief, nor a bishop, nor an actor," said Lucien sadh', coming into the room, through the window of wliich he had doubtless heard the colloquy between husband and wife. ^' I am a poor, weary man ; I walked from Paris here. My name is Lucien de Rubempre, the son of Monsieur Chardon, the predecessor of Postel, the apothecary at I'Houmeau. M}' sister is married to David Sechard, printer, on the place du Mfirier, Angouleme." " Look here ! " said the miller ; "is n't that printer the son of the old fox who lives at Marsac?" " Yes," replied Lucien. "A queer kind of father he is ! " continued Courtois. " He has let his son be ruined, they sa}', and all his goods sold, when the old wretcli has two hundred thou- sand francs in property, not to speak of the cash he 's got hid away somewhere ! " When bod}^ and soul have both been broken in a long and painful struggle, the moment when their strength gives wa}' is followed either b}'^ death or by a collapse of life resembling death, but from which those natures which are capable of resistance find strength to rise. Lucien, who was in a crisis of this sort, seemed about to succumb altogether when he heard this news, vague as it was, of a catastrophe having happened to David Sechard, his brother-in-law. Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 423 -" Oh, sister ! " he cried, "what have I done? My God ! I am a wicked man ! " He fell upon a wooden bench, pale as death and nerveless. The goodwife brought him a cup of milk, which she forced him to drink ; but he begged the miller to help him to his bed, for he thought his last hour had come. With the phantom of Death before his eyes, his poetic mind was seized with religious thoughts. He asked to see a priest, that he might con- fess himself and receive the sacraments. Such expres- sions, uttered in the feeble voice of a handsome 3'outh, touched Madame Courtois deepl}^ "Look here, little man!" she said to her husband, "get on 3'our horse and go and fetch Monsieur Marron, the doctor at Marsac ; he '11 find out what 's the matter with that 3'oung man, who seems to me in a bad way ; and perhaps 3'ou can bring back the vicar. I dare sa3^ the3' '11 know more than you do about that printer in Angouleme, for 3'ou know Postel is Monsieur Marron's son-in-law." Courtois departed. His wife, imbued, like all countr3' folk, with the idea that sick people must eat, gave Lucien food. He took no notice of her, but abandoned himself wholl3' to a passionate remorse, which brought him out of his previous depression b3^ the revulsion caused b3' that moral blister. The Courtois mill is about three miles from Marsac, which is the market town of the canton, half wa3^ be- tween Mansle and Angouleme ; therefore the good miller soon returned with the doctor and the priest. These persons had heard of Lucien's intimac3' with Madame de Bargeton ; and as the whole department 424 G-reat Man of the Provinces in Paris. of the Charente was talking at this moment about the marriage of that lad}' and her return to Angouleme with her husband, the new prefect, Comte Sixte du Chatelet, when the worthy pair found that Lucien was at the miller's house, the}' naturally felt inquisitive to discover wh}' the widow of Monsieur de Bargeton had not married the young man she had taken away with her, and whether he had now come back to help his brother-in-law, David Sechard. Curiosity as well as humanit}^ brought them at once to Lucien's assistance. Consequentlv, two hours after Courtois's departure, the poet heard on the cobblestone pavement round the mill the wheels of the shabby chaise of the country doctor. The two Messieurs Marron came together, — the doctor being the nephew of the priest, and both were well acquainted with the father of David Sechard. When the doctor had examined his patient, and duly felt his pulse and looked at his tongue, he smiled at the miller's wife to dispel her uneasiness. '' Madame Courtois," he said, " I have no doubt you have some good wine in 3'our cellar, and a good eel in your fish-pond ; serve them to your patient ; there is nothing; the matter with him but exhaustion. When he gets over that, he '11 soon be about." "Ah, monsieur! " said Lucien, " my illness is not of the body, but the mind ; and these good people told me a piece of news about the troubles that have come upon my sister, Madame Sechard, that has almost killed me. In God's name, if you know anything about David Sechard's affairs, tell me ! " ^'I think he is now in prison," replied the doctor. " His father has refused to help him." Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. 425 " In prison ! " cried Lucien. " Why ! " "For notes which he owed in Paris, and had no doubt forgotten ; for he seems not to know what he is about," replied Monsieur Marron. " Leave me, I beg of you, with monsieur le cure," said Lucien, whose face changed visibly. The doctor, with the miller and his wife, left the room. AVhen Lucien was alone with the old priest, he cried out vehemently: "I deserve the death I feel approaching, monsieur. I am a wretch who can only fling himself into the arms of religion. It is I, mon- sieur, I, who am the torturer of my sister and brother ; for David Sechard has been a brother to me. I drew the notes which David has not been able to pay. I have ruined him. In the horrible distress to which I have been brought, I forgot this crime. When I was sued for the mone}- in Paris by the man who cashed the notes, I thought it was paid by a rich man, a million- naire, to whom I appealed ; but it seems now as if he did nothing about it." Lucien then related all his troubles. When he had ended his poem, with a feverish apostrophe truly worthy of a poet, he entreated the priest to go to Angouleme and make inquiries of his sister. Eve, and his mother, Madame Chardon, as to the actual state of things, that he might know if there were any possibilit}' of remedy- ing them. "Until 3'our return, monsieur," he said, weeping hot tears, "I shall live. If my mother, if my sister, if David, do not repulse me, I shall not die." The eloquence of the 3'outh, the tears of this startling repentance, the sight of that pale and handsome face 426 Great Man of the Provinces in Paris. half-dying with despair, the tale of these misfortunes which were greater than human strength could bear, excited the pity and the interest of the priest. "In the provinces as in Paris, monsieur," he said, "we must never believe more than half we hear. Do not be too alarmed by news which, at this distance from Angouleme, may be quite erroneous. Old Sechard, our neighbor at Marsac, has latel}' gone to Angouleme, probably to settle his son's affairs. I will m3'^self go there, and then return here and let 3'ou know whether your famil}', after your confession and repentance, which will help me to plead j^our cause, will receive you." The priest did not know that for the last eighteen months Lucien had repented so often that his repent- ance, violent as it was, had no other value than that of a scene admirably pla3^ed, and still pla3'ed in absolute good faith. [We already know of the return of the prodigal brother, the further injuries he did his famih^, his effort at suicide, and his meeting with the so-called abbe, Don Carlos Herrera.^] The rest of Lucien's history belongs to the domain of the " Scenes from Parisian Life." 1 Lost Illusions. Eve and David. (D THE END. 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