“Hold!” said Clamens. “Do you see this expanse of asphaltum, which
extends from where we stand to the Chaussée d’Antin?”
“Yes,” replied Eusebe: “it is the Boulevard des Italiens.”
“Just so. Well, all humanity is represented in this narrow space,
which is hardly more extensive than your father’s garden. Take a
seat, and observe, and in one hour you will know Paris as well as
if you had made it; and Paris is the universe. The other cities
of the world, such as Bordeaux, Lyons, London, Berlin, Rome, and
St. Petersburg, are rivers for which Paris is the sea. Every
variety of the human species flows hither, to roll and writhe, like
furious waves, in that sublime tempest which we call life. You
wish to investigate this billowy mass. You will find nothing there
but froth and foam, or you will drown yourself for want of that
life-preserver which is called experience.”
“Better to drown oneself at once than to die of weariness on a rock
whence nothing but a void is visible; but, indeed, it seems to me
we are employing very large words to speak of very small things.”
“Ah,” rejoined Clamens, “there is nothing insignificant in this
world. A drop of water may save a man; three may kill him; a
hundred will fill a gutter; a thousand will form a rivulet.
Multiply ten times these numbers by themselves, and you will have
a torrent which may inundate France. Men are like drops of water.
Look at them separately, and you see nothing terrible; but when,
by a mysterious free-masonry, they assemble and arrange themselves
according to their vices, their merits, their passions, or their
aspirations, they can convulse society to its very centre.”
“What is one to do in the midst of such a tumult?” inquired Eusebe.
“Laugh,” responded the poet; “laugh, so that you may not weep; turn
to account the vices of one class and the virtues of another, and
close your eyes to what the morrow may bring forth.”
“Admitting the justness of this theory,” said Eusebe, “it seems to
me very difficult to gain a sufficient knowledge of men to enable
one to profit by their merits or weaknesses.”
“One knows everybody else better than one knows one’s self. Do you
see that gentleman who is walking before us? He is dressed like a
prince, dines at the best tables, and denies himself nothing. Four
years ago, he arrived at Paris in _sabots_. Now he is in debt for
his boots,--which explains the whole mystery. That fellow would
refuse the pension of a Councillor of State: he gains more by
borrowing.”
“I understand, then, that he has a confirmed vice. But what
advantage can you draw from his peculiar defect?”
“I borrow money of him.”
Eusebe was inclined to think that Clamens was quizzing him, as Paul
Buck had quizzed Bonnaud on the railroad; but the poet did not give
him time to determine whether this suspicion was justifiable.
“I borrow money of him,” continued Clamens, “and he loans it
because he appreciates better than anybody else the necessity
of having it. Adroit himself in chasing up twenty-franc pieces,
he thinks he has in me a promising pupil. Then his loans to me
serve as an excuse to his conscience. If he strips others, he
considers that I strip him, and, therefore, concludes that,
instead of practising the trade of a sharper, he is only making
an application of the _lex talionis_. The man is not exactly a
dangerous character; but he has ten thousand _confrères_, who prey
upon forty thousand fools, and their mode of life operates to the
detriment of a hundred thousand poor devils, who perish from hunger
or find their way to the galleys. I suppose that the term ‘usurer’
represents to your mind a miserly old man in a brown overcoat and a
black silk cap?”
“There is in my native province,” replied Eusebe, “an old man named
Gardet, who is said to be very grinding on the poor who borrow
money from him; and it is a fact that this creature is attired
nearly as you say, with the exception of the black silk cap. In a
number of books that I have read during the past two years, the
usurer is always described as dressed in that style.”
“It is an error. Now-a-days, the evil-doer is young. That is one of
the most curious characteristics of our age. The young men gamble
at the Bourse, while the old devote their attention to trade. The
young men keep the women; the old conceal themselves in their
closets. It is a sad thing to contemplate; but such is nevertheless
the case. _Revenons à nos moutons._ Those two young dandies before
us, who balance their canes with such an air, count hardly fifty
years between them; yet they are the most unmerciful Jews in Paris.”
“But,” interrupted Eusebe, “I thought you were a Jew.”
“I am an Israelite,” responded Clamens, rather hastily,--“which is
not at all the same thing. Such as you see them, that fashionable
youth and his dazzling friend have ruined many people. At this
moment, they are not merely promenading, as you might perhaps
suppose: they are seeking custom. Have you need of money?”
“My friend,” said Eusebe, “you know that I am quite a barbarian,
and ignorant of many features of Parisian life. Do me the favor,
then,--if I do not try your patience,--to define more exactly the
profession of these men.”
“That is easy enough. These fellows have comprehended the fact that
the want of money is the complaint of almost everybody, and they
have undertaken to supply the needful by founding a loan-and-trust
company,--which would be quite philanthropic if the premium were
not cent. per cent. For example: they loan on security five hundred
francs for six months; at the expiration of that time they receive
one thousand for their five hundred.”
“Why a thousand?”
“For the interest of the money advanced for six months.”
“If they make that much, they ought to lend the money for a year:
they would then have no need to give any at all.”
“An original idea! I must communicate it to them.”
“You know these persons, then?”
“They are my friends.”
“You astonish me!”
“Let us understand each other. I am not _procureur-impérial_. Their
conduct does not concern me. Let them continue to dupe fools: that
is an affair between their consciences and human stupidity. For
myself, I have always found them very agreeable: they have often
proved serviceable in lending me money.”
“At cent. per cent.?”
“At nothing per cent.”
“Then they are not such usurers as you wish to represent.”
“They go further in that direction than I care to say; but not
with me. Why? The day is approaching when their fortunes will be
made. They will abandon their business, keep their carriages,
maintain mistresses, marry heiresses, and endeavor to make a figure
in society. But there is one thing they cannot purchase,--social
esteem. They count upon me to help them in that particular and set
them in a favorable light before the public.”
“Sad! sad!” murmured Eusebe.
“No matter: such is the world.”
“Well, then I would rather not make its acquaintance,” rejoined
Eusebe.
“You are wrong. You ought to learn many curious things which it is
important that you should know. The first thing to do is to learn
the vices of the times, so as to be able to avoid them.”
“I would prefer knowing what they are to scrutinizing them too
closely,” responded the provincial. “A thousand thanks to you, my
dear Clamens, for wishing to be my guide. But I feel that I am too
feeble to seek an object by paths so perilous. You know the mud of
all the ruts, the briers of all the bushes: you will reach your
object, no doubt. But what could I do, simple and artless as I am,
pursuing such dangerous ways? Let each one take his own road. You
may advance, confident of the future; I will return to the joys I
already know.”
“What do you call your joys?”
“The woman I love, and the poets of whom I spoke to you last
evening.”
“Alas! my friend,” said Clamens, “such joys will not last. Woman
is a bell that will not always ring. As to the poets, their charms
will not prove so enduring as those of your mistress,--since we
have but three. The most bitter sadness characterizes these three
great geniuses. The first died out of heart: he will dishearten
you. The second lived in exile, where every thing was mournful.
The third, disgusted with the ingratitude of his contemporaries,
imposed silence upon the harmonious orchestra of his soul, to sit
down, in despair, by the wayside, and play the clarionet.”