On the evening of the day on which he left home, Eusebe arrived at
the railroad-depot. He approached the ticket-office, and said to
the agent,--
“I want to go to Paris.”
“Which class car do you wish, sir?”
“The best.”
“Fifty-four francs,” replied the agent.
Eusebe handed him three louis, and received six francs in return.
“There,” thought Eusebe, “is a clever fellow: it did not take him a
minute to tell how much was coming to me.”
“And now,” he asked, “could you tell me, sir, where I will find the
carriage?”
“The train, you mean.”
“I don’t know. Is that the name of the vehicle that is to transport
me to Paris?” asked Eusebe, timidly.
“Vehicle!” cried the man. “What do you call a vehicle? Your
jesting is ill timed, sir. Here is your car: another time try to be
a little more polite.”
“This man,” said Eusebe to himself, “is not so clever, after all:
he is a fool,--an ignoramus!”
Eusebe’s journey was without incident. Alone in a first-class
_coupé_, he made himself a couch, on the floor, of the cushions,
and, placing his valise under his head for a pillow, he slept
quietly until daylight.
When he awoke, he had passed Orleans. His eyes, half open, glanced
at the country, and a cry of admiration escaped him.
“Oh, what splendid farms! what beautiful fields!” cried he:
“how admirably the land is cultivated! what care, what labor,
is bestowed on it! My father was right: civilization has not
penetrated into the departments of the interior. Fifteen hours
ago, I left the Capelette. What a difference! Why is the soil so
fertile here and so sterile with us? The soil is the same, but
the cultivation is not. Here there are no immense forests, no
uncultivated fields: the country is as populous as our cities.
Laborers abound, and agricultural implements are brought to the
highest state of perfection. What abundance! what riches! Everybody
seems to be happy and contented. How beautiful and grand all this
is!”
At the moment he made these reflections, the train began to slacken
its speed. They approached a station. Eusebe watched attentively
the groups of people who were waiting behind a barrier for the
train to pass, in order that they might, in their turn, pass also.
The noise of the locomotive frightened a cart-horse tied to a post
near by. The poor animal, trembling with fear, snorted and reared
up on his hind legs, when a man, armed with a whip, came out of an
inn and began to strike the beast with all his might. The more he
struck, the more the horse reared and pranced. Finally, breaking
his halter, the animal sprang furiously against the barrier, which
he struck with his head and fell dead. The man cursed like a
carter, which he was.
“Surely,” said Eusebe to himself, “this is a very bad business.
The fault is the man’s, and not the beast’s. If the man had not
left the horse, the horse would not have been frightened. If the
horse had not been frightened, the man would not have struck him;
and if the man had not struck the horse, the animal would not
be dead. This man is perhaps a savage, recently arrived among
civilized people. That, however, I think scarcely probable, since
he speaks with tolerable correctness. Is my father right in saying
that extremes touch, and that the last word of civilization is
perhaps the first of barbarism?”
Eusebe had arrived at this point in his reflections, when two
travellers entered the _coupé_ he occupied. Although it was still
early in September, the two new-comers wore fur caps and overshoes
and thick woollen cloaks, while their faces were half concealed by
immense woollen comforters.
“Upon my word,” said one of them, “the winter is already setting
in: this northwest wind is any thing but agreeable. What do you say
to taking a puff? It will give us an appetite.”
On hearing these words, Eusebe was a prey to the most lively
curiosity. The singular costume of his travelling-companions made
him suspect he had in them two subjects for study, coming from some
distant clime. To judge from their furs, they must have first seen
the light at Moscow. On hearing them talk about “taking a puff,”
he expected to see something new and extraordinary, and prepared
himself to be all eyes and ears, in order to become acquainted with
the customs of the strangers whom chance had thrown in his way.
To the great disappointment of the young man, the traveller took
some cigars out of his pocket and lighted one, after having offered
them to his companion and then to Eusebe, who had refused.
“You do not smoke, young man?”
“No, sir.”
“Bah! How old are you, then?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Twenty-one years old, and you do not smoke! Where the devil do you
come from, my young friend?”
“I come from the Capelette, a domain near Saint-Brice, in Limousin;
I am going to Paris to see the world; and I cannot be your friend,
since I never met you until this morning.”
“Do not get angry, young man. It was not my intention to be rude.”
“I know that,” said Eusebe. “On the contrary, you offered me your
rolls of tobacco, for which I am obliged.”
“Ah! you are from Monsieur de Pourceaugnac’s neighborhood,” said
the other, who until now had remained silent.
“I do not know the gentleman,” replied Eusebe: “my father and I
live a very retired life.”
“Naïve, upon my word!” cried the smoker. “He ought to be framed.
What, young man! you do not know the gayest of Molière’s heroes?”
“I have never been away from the Capelette, sir, and my condition
does not allow me to become acquainted with heroes. I do not even
know where Molière is situated.”
The two travellers burst into a hearty laugh.
“Gentlemen,” said Eusebe, when the hilarity of his neighbors had
ceased, “you amuse yourselves at my expense, because I am ignorant,
which, I think, is any thing but kind of you. You indiscreetly
questioned me; I answered: I might have remained silent. Recollect,
I beg of you, that you meddled with my affairs, and that I have
not concerned myself about yours. I have not asked you whence you
come, where you are going, or who you are. When you laughed at me,
I might have thrown you out of the window; but I did not do it, and
you ought to be thankful.”
“Out of the window! Not so fast, my dear sir.”
“I could certainly have done it,” said Eusebe, with simplicity.
“Pardon me,” said the second traveller. “We do not wish to make
ourselves disagreeable. You are too quick to take offence. I am in
the habit of travelling a great deal. During the last ten years, my
friend and I have been almost always _en route_. Whenever we find
ourselves in company, we ask how _it happens_, where our companions
come from, and where they are going. That helps to while away the
time, and injures no one.”
“And is that all you travel for?” asked Eusebe.
“What an idea! We are travelling clerks: we represent two of the
first houses in Paris.”
“However great my simplicity may be,” replied Eusebe, “I think
there are no first houses in Paris, and, what is more, that there
can be none, since the first on arriving from the north are the
last when one comes from the south.”
They arrived at Paris, and Martin, junior, got out of the car.
With his valise in his hand, Eusebe stepped out of the depot, when
a cabman cried out to him,--
“Here you are, sir! Where shall I drive you to, sir?”
“I don’t know,” replied Eusebe.
“It’s not me that’ll tell you, then.”
“I have not asked you.”
“Eh! do you hear that? Here is a gentleman that don’t know where he
is going.”
“Mind your own business.”
“Bah! you lubber! you haven’t a sou.”
The provincial was about to reply, when the cabman, to whom a
traveller had just made a sign, hurried away.
“These people do not seem to be very familiar with the laws of
hospitality,” thought Eusebe: “they call you to insult you. What
does all this mean?”