From the doctor’s house Godefroid made his way to the rue Chanoinesse,
passing along the quai des Augustins, where he hoped to find one of the
shops of the commission-publishers open. He was fortunate enough to do
so, and had a long talk with a young clerk on books of jurisprudence.
When he reached the rue Chanoinesse, he found Madame de la Chanterie and
her friends just returning from high mass; in reply to the look she gave
him Godefroid made her a significant sign with his head.
“Isn’t our dear father Alain here to-day?” he said.
“No,” she replied, “not this Sunday; you will not see him till a week
from to-day--unless you go where he gave you rendezvous.”
“Madame,” said Godefroid in a low voice, “you know he doesn’t intimidate
me as these gentlemen do; I wanted to make my report to him--”
“And I?”
“Oh you! I can tell you all; and I have a great deal to tell. For
my first essay I have found a most extraordinary misfortune; a cruel
mingling of pauperism and the need for luxuries; also scenes of a
sublimity which surpasses all the inventions of our great novelists.”
“Nature, especially moral nature, is always greater than art, just
as God is greater than his creatures. But come,” said madame de la
Chanterie, “tell me the particulars of your first trip into worlds
unknown to you.”
Monsieur Nicolas and Monsieur Joseph (for the Abbe de Veze had remained
a few moments in Notre-Dame) left Madame de la Chanterie alone with
Godefroid, who, being still under the influence of the emotions he had
gone through the night before, related even the smallest details of his
story with the force and ardor and action of a first experience of such
a spectacle and its attendant persons and things. His narrative had
a great success; for the calm and gentle Madame de la Chanterie wept,
accustomed as she was to sound the depths of sorrows.
“You did quite right to send the accordion,” she said.
“I would like to do a great deal more,” said Godefroid; “inasmuch as
this family is the first that has shown me the pleasures of charity, I
should like to obtain for that splendid old man a full return for his
great book. I don’t know if you have confidence enough in my capacity to
give me the means of undertaking such an affair. From information I have
obtained, it will cost nine thousand francs to manufacture an edition
of fifteen hundred copies, and their selling value will be twenty-four
thousand francs. But as we should have to pay off the three thousand
and some hundred francs due to Barbet, it would be an outlay of twelve
thousand francs to risk. Oh! madame, if you only knew what bitter
regrets I feel for having dissipated my little fortune! The spirit of
charity has appeared to me; it fills me with the ardor of an initiate.
I wish to renounce the world, I long to embrace the life of these
gentlemen and be worthy of you. Many a time during the last two days I
have blessed the chance that brought me to this house. I will obey you
in all things until you judge me fit to be one of yours.”
“Then,” said Madame de la Chanterie, after reflecting for a time,
“listen to me, for I have important things to tell. You have been
allured, my child, by the poesy of misfortune. Yes, misfortunes are
often poetical; for, as I think, poesy is a certain effect on the
sensibilities, and sorrows affect the sensibilities,--life is so intense
in grief!”
“Yes, madame, I know that I have been gripped by the demon of
curiosity. But how could I help it? I have not yet acquired the habit of
penetrating to the heart of these great misfortunes; I cannot go among
them with the calmness of your three soldiers of the Lord. But, let me
tell you, it is since I have recovered from that first excitement that I
have chiefly longed to devote myself to your work.”
“Listen to me, my dear angel!” said Madame de la Chanterie, who uttered
the last three words with a gentle solemnity that touched the young
man strangely. “We have forbidden ourselves absolutely,--and we do
not trifle with words here; what is forbidden no longer occupies our
minds,--we have forbidden ourselves to enter into any speculations. To
print a book for sale on the chance of profit is a matter of business,
and any operation of that kind would throw us into all the entanglements
of commerce. Certainly your scheme seems to me feasible,--even
necessary. But do you think it is the first that has offered itself?
A score of times, a hundred times, we have come upon just such ways of
saving families, or firms. What would have become of us if we had taken
part in such affairs? We should be merchants. No, our true partnership
with misfortune is not to take the work into our own hands, but to
help the unfortunate to work themselves. Before long you will meet with
misfortunes more bitter still than these. Would you then do the same
thing,--that is, take the burdens of those unfortunates wholly on
yourself? You would soon be overwhelmed. Reflect, too, my dear child,
that for the last year even the Messieurs Mongenod find our accounts too
heavy for them. Half your time would be taken up in merely keeping our
books. We have to-day over two thousand debtors in Paris, and we must
keep the record of their debts. Not that we ask for payment; we simply
wait. We calculate that if half the money we expect is lost, the other
half comes back to us, sometimes doubled. Now, suppose your Monsieur
Bernard dies, the twelve thousand francs are probably lost. But if you
cure his daughter, if his grandson is put in the way of succeeding, if
he comes, some day, a magistrate, then, when the family is prosperous,
they will remember the debt, and return the money of the poor with
usury. Do you know that more than one family whom we have rescued from
poverty, and put upon their feet on the road to prosperity by loans of
money without interest, have laid aside a portion for the poor, and have
returned to us the money loaned doubled, and sometimes tripled?
Those are our only speculations. Moreover, reflect that what is now
interesting you so deeply (and you ought to be interested in it),
namely, the sale of this lawyer’s book, depends on the value of the
work. Have you read it? Besides, though the book may be an excellent
one, how many excellent books remain one, two, three years without
obtaining the success they deserve. Alas! how many crowns of fame are
laid upon a grave! I know that publishers have ways of negotiating and
realizing profits which make their business the most hazardous to do
with, and the most difficult to unravel, of all the trades of Paris.
Monsieur Joseph can tell you of these difficulties, inherent in the
making of books. Thus, you see, we are sensible; we have experience of
all miseries, also of all trades, for we have studied Paris for many
years. The Mongenods have helped us in this; they have been like torches
to us. It is through them that we know how the Bank of France holds the
publishing business under constant suspicion; although it is one of the
most profitable trades, it is unsound. As for the four thousand francs
necessary to save this noble family from the horrors of penury,--for
that poor boy and his grandfather must be fed and clothed properly,--I
will give them to you at once. There are sufferings, miseries, wants,
which we immediately relieve, without hesitation, without even asking
whom we help; religion, honor, character, are all indifferent to us; but
when it comes to lending money to the poor to assist them in any active
form of industry or commerce, then we require guarantees, with all the
sternness of usurers. So you must, my dear child, limit your enthusiasm
for this unhappy family to finding for the father an honest publisher.
This concerns Monsieur Joseph. He knows lawyers, professors, authors of
works on jurisprudence; I will speak to him, and next Sunday he will be
sure to have some good advice to give you. Don’t feel uneasy; some way
will certainly be found to solve the difficulty. Perhaps it would be
well, however, if Monsieur Joseph were to read the lawyer’s book. If you
think it can be done, you had better obtain the manuscript.”
Godefroid was amazed at the good sense of this woman, whom he had
thought controlled by the spirit of charity only. He took her beautiful
hand and kissed it, saying:--
“You are good sense and judgment too!”
“We must be all that in our business,” she replied, with the soft gaiety
of a real saint.