THE RICH MAN'S REFUSAL
When Saniel and Glady reached the street, the rain that had fallen since
morning had ceased, and the asphalt shone clear and glittering like a
mirror.
"The walking is good," Saniel remarked.
"It will rain again," responded Glady, looking at the sky.
"I think not." It was evident that Glady wished to take a cab, but as
none passed he was obliged to walk with Saniel.
"Do you know," he said, "that you have wounded Brigard?"
"I regret it sincerely; but the salon of our friend Crozat is not yet a
church, and I do not suppose that discussion is forbidden there."
"To deny is not to discuss."
"You say that as if you were angry with me."
"Not at all. I am sorry that you have wounded Brigard--nothing more."
"That is too much, because I have a sincere esteem, a real friendship for
you, if you will permit me to say so."
But Glady, apparently, did not desire the conversation to take this turn.
"I think this is an empty cab," he said, as a fiacre approached them.
"No," replied Saniel, "I see the light of a cigar through the
windowpane."
Glady made a slight gesture of impatience that was not lost upon Saniel,
who was expecting some such demonstration.
Rich, and frequenting the society of poor men, Glady lived in dread of
borrowers. It was enough for any man to appear to wish to talk to him
privately to make him believe that he was going to ask for fifty louis or
twenty francs; so often was this the case that every friend or comrade
was an enemy against whom he must defend his purse. And so he lay in
wait as if expecting some one to spring upon him, his eyes open, his ears
listening, and his hands in his pockets. This explains his attitude
toward Saniel, in whom he scented a demand for money, and was the reason
for his attempt to escape by taking a cab. But luck was against him, and
he tried to decline the unspoken request in another way.
"Do not be surprised," he said, with the volubility with which a man
speaks when he does not wish to give his companion a chance to say a
word, "that I was pained to see Brigard take seriously an argument that
evidently was not directed against him."
"Neither against him nor against his ideas."
"I know that; you do not need to defend yourself. But I have so much
friendship, so much esteem and respect for Brigard that everything that
touches him affects me. And how could it be otherwise when one knows his
value, and what a man he is? This life of mediocrity that he lives, in
order to be free, is it not admirable? What a beautiful example!"
"Not every one can follow it."
"You think that one cannot be contented with ten francs a day?"
"I mean that not every one has the chance to make ten francs a day."
The vague fears of Glady became definite at these words. They had walked
down the Rue Ferou and reached the Place St. Sulpice.
"I think that at last I am going to find a cab," he said, precipitately.
But this hope was not realized; there was not a single cab at the
station, and he was forced to submit to the assault from Saniel.
And Saniel began:
"You are compelled to walk with me, and, frankly, I rejoice, because I
wish to talk to you of a serious affair--on which depends my future."
"This is a poor place for serious talk."
"I do not find it so."
"We would better appoint some other time."
"Why should we, since chance has thrown us together here?"
Glady resigned himself to the inevitable, and was as polite as he could
be in the circumstances.
"I await your pleasure," he said in a gracious tone, that was a contrast
to his former one.
Saniel, who was in such a hurry a few moments before, now silently walked
by Glady, whose eyes were on the shining asphalt pavement.
At last he spoke.
"I have told you that my future depends on the affair concerning which I
wish to speak to you. I can tell you all in a few words: If I am not
able to procure three thousand francs within two days, I shall be obliged
to leave Paris, to give up my studies and my work here, and go and bury
myself in my native town and become a plain country doctor."
Glady did not flinch; if he had not foreseen the amount he expected the
demand, and he continued gazing at his feet.
"You know," continued Saniel, "that I am the son of peasants; my father
was marshal in a poor village of Auvergne. At school I gave proof of a
certain aptitude for work above my comrades, and our cure conceived an
affection for me and taught me all he knew. Then he made me enter a
small seminary. But I had neither the docile mind nor the submissive
character that was necessary for this education, and after several years
of pranks and punishments, although I was not expelled, I was given to
understand that my departure would be hailed with delight. I then became
usher in a small school, but without salary, taking board and lodging as
payment. I passed a good examination and was preparing for my degree,
when I left the school owing to a quarrel. I had made some money by
giving private lessons, and I found myself the possessor of nearly eighty
francs. I started for Paris, where I arrived at five o'clock one morning
in June, and where I knew, no one. I had a small trunk containing a few
shirts, which obliged me to take a carriage. I told the coachman to
take me to a hotel in the Latin Quarter. 'Which hotel?' he asked; 'I do
not care,' I answered. 'Do you wish to go to the Hotel du Senat?'
The name pleased me; perhaps it was an omen. He took me to the Hotel du
Senat, where, with what I had left of my eighty francs, I paid a month in
advance. I stayed there eight years."
"That is remarkable."
"What else could I do? I knew Latin and Greek as well as any man in
France, but as far as anything else was concerned I was as ignorant as a
schoolmaster. The same day I tried to make use of what I knew, and I
went to a publisher of classic books, of whom I had heard my professor of
Greek literature speak. After questioning me he gave me a copy of Pindar
to prepare with Latin notes, and advanced me thirty francs, which lasted
me a month. I came to Paris with the desire to work, but without having
made up my mind what to do. I went wherever there were lectures, to the
Sorbonne, to the College de France, to the Law School, and to the School
of Medicine; but it was a month before I came to a decision. The
subtleties of law displeased me, but the study of medicine, depending
upon the observation of facts, attracted me, and I decided to become a
doctor."
"A marriage of reason."
"No, a marriage for love. Because, if I had consulted reason, it would
have told me that to marry medicine when one has nothing--neither family
to sustain you nor relatives to push you--would be to condemn yourself to
a life of trials, of battles, and of misery. My student life was happy;
I worked hard, and by giving lessons in Latin I had enough to eat. When
I received as house-surgeon six, eight, nine hundred francs, I thought it
a large fortune, and I would have remained in this position for the rest
of my life if I had been able to do so, but when I took my degree of
doctor I was obliged to leave the hospital. The possessor of several
thousand francs, I should have followed rigorously my dream of ambition.
While attending the mistress of one of my comrades I made the
acquaintance of an upholsterer, who suggested that he should furnish an
apartment for me, and that I might pay him later. I yielded to
temptation. Remember, I had passed eight years in the Hotel du Senat,
and I knew nothing of Paris life. A home of my own! My own furniture,
and a servant in my anteroom! I should be somebody! My upholsterer
could have installed me in his own quarter of Paris, and perhaps could
have obtained some patients for me among his customers, who are rich and
fashionable. But he did not do this, probably concluding that with my
awkward appearance I would not be a success with such people. When you
are successful it is original to be a peasant--people find you clever;
but before success comes to you it is a disgrace. He furnished me an
apartment in a very respectable house in the Rue Louis-le-Grand. When I
went into it I had debts to the amount of ten thousand francs behind me,
the interest on this sum, the rent of two thousand four hundred francs,
not a sou in my pocket, not a relative--"
"That was courageous."
"I did not know that in Paris everything is accomplished through
influence, and I imagined that an intelligent man could make his way
without assistance. I was to learn by experience. When a new doctor
arrives anywhere his brother doctors do not receive him with much
sympathy. 'What does this intruder want?' 'Are there not enough of us
already?' He is watched, and the first patient that he loses is made use
of as an example of his ignorance or imprudence, and his position becomes
uncomfortable. The chemists of my quarter whom I called upon did not
receive me very warmly; they made me feel the distance that separates an
honorable merchant from a beggar, and I was given to understand that they
could patronize me only on condition that I ordered the specialties that
they wished to profit by--iron from this one and tar from that. On
commencing to practise I had as patients only the people of the quarter,
whose principle was never to pay a doctor, and who wait for the arrival
of a new one in order that they may be rid of the old one and this sort
is numerous everywhere. It happened that my concierge was from Auvergne
like myself, and he considered it his duty to make me give free
attendance to all those from our country that he could find in the
quarter and everywhere else, so that I had the patriotic satisfaction of
seeing all the charcoal-dealers from Auvergne sprawling in my beautiful
armchairs. Finally, by remaining religiously at home every Sunday in
summer, while the other doctors were away, by rising quickly at night
every time my bell rang, I was able to acquire a practice among a class
of people who were more reasonable and satisfactory. I obtained a prize
at the Academy. At the same time I delivered, at a moderate price,
lectures in anatomy at schools on the outskirts of the city; I gave
lessons; I undertook all the anonymous work of the book trade and of
journalism that I could find. I slept five hours a day, and in four
years I had decreased my debt seven thousand francs. If my upholsterer
wished to be paid I could have it arranged, but that was not his
intention. He wishes to take his furniture that is not worn out, and to
keep the money that he has received. If I do not pay these three
thousand francs in a few days I shall be turned into the street. To tell
the truth, I shall soon have a thousand francs, but those who owe it to
me are not in Paris, or will pay in January. Behold my situation! I am
desperate because there is no one to whom I can apply; those whom I have
asked for money have not listened to me; I have told you that I have no
relatives, and neither have I any friends--perhaps because I am not
amiable. And then I thought of you. You know me. You know that people
say I have a future before me. At the end of three months I shall be a
doctor in the hospitals; my competitors admit that I shall not miss
admission; I have undertaken some experiments that will, perhaps, give me
fame. Will you give me your hand?"
Glady extended it toward him. "I thank you for having applied to me; it
is a proof of confidence that touches me." He pressed the hand that he
had taken with some warmth. "I see that you have divined the sentiments
of esteem with which you have inspired me."
Saniel drew a long breath.
"Unfortunately," continued Glady, "I cannot do what you desire without
deviating from my usual line of conduct. When I started out in life I
lent to all those who appealed to me, and when I did not lose my friends
I lost my money. I then took an oath to refuse every one. It is an oath
that I cannot break. What would my old friends say if they learned that
I did for a young man what I have refused to do for them?"
"Who would know it?"
"My conscience."
They had reached the Quai Voltaire, where fiacres were stationed.
"At last here are some cabs," Glady said. "Pardon me for leaving you,
but I am in a hurry."