The Lesser Bourgeoisie by Honoré de Balzac (tools of titans ebook .txt) 📖

replied Phellion; "detached thoughts imply the idea of a very great number of subjects on which the author lets his pen stray without the pretension of presenting a whole."

"You will of course sign them?" said la Peyrade.

"Oh, no!" replied Phellion, alarmed. "I could not put myself on exhibition in that way."

"Your modesty, which by the bye I understand and approve, settles the matter," said la Peyrade. "Thoughts are a subject altogether individual, which imperatively require to be personified by a name. You must be conscious of this yourself. 'Divers Thoughts by Monsieur Three-Stars' says nothing to the public."

Seeing that Phellion was about to make objections, Thuillier, who was in a hurry to begin his fight with la Peyrade, cut the matter short rather sharply.

"My dear Phellion," he said, "I beg your pardon for not being able to enjoy the pleasure of your conversation any longer, but we have to talk, la Peyrade and I, over a matter of much importance, and in newspaper offices this devilish time runs away so fast. If you are willing, we will postpone the question to another day. Madame Phellion is well, I trust?"

"Perfectly well," said the great citizen, rising, and not appearing to resent his dismissal. "When does your first number appear?" he added; "it is eagerly awaited in the arrondissement."

"To-morrow I think our confession of faith will make its appearance," replied Thuillier, accompanying him to the door. "You will receive a copy, my dear friend. We shall meet again soon, I hope. Come and see us, and bring that manuscript; la Peyrade's point of view may be a little arbitrary."

With this balm shed upon his wound, Phellion departed, and Thuillier rang the bell for the porter.

"Could you recognize the gentlemen who has just gone out the next time you see him?" asked Thuillier.

"Oh, yes, m'sieu, his round ball of a head is too funny to forget; besides, it is Monsieur Phellion; haven't I opened the door to him hundreds of times?"

"Well, whenever he comes again neither I nor Monsieur de la Peyrade will be here. Remember that's a positive rule. Now leave us."

"The devil!" cried la Peyrade, when the two partners were alone, "how you manage bores. But take care; among the number there may be electors. You did right to tell Phellion you would send him a copy of the paper; he has a certain importance in the quarter."

"Well," said Thuillier, "we can't allow our time to be taken up by all the dull-heads who come and offer their services. But now you and I have to talk, and talk very seriously. Be seated and listen."

"Do you know, my dear fellow," said la Peyrade, laughing, "that journalism is making you into something very solemn? 'Be seated, Cinna,'--Caesar Augustus couldn't have said it otherwise."

"Cinnas, unfortunately, are more plentiful than people think," replied Thuillier.

He was still under the goad of the promise he had made to Brigitte, and he meant to fulfil it with cutting sarcasm. The top continued the whirling motion imparted to it by the old maid's lash.

La Peyrade took a seat at the round table. As he was puzzled to know what was coming, he endeavored to seem unconcerned, and picking up the large scissors used for the loans which all papers make from the columns of their brethren of the press, he began to snip up a sheet of paper, on which, in Thuillier's handwriting, was an attempt at a leading article, never completed.

Though la Peyrade was seated and expectant, Thuillier did not begin immediately; he rose and went toward the door which stood ajar, with the intention of closing it. But suddenly it was flung wide open, and Coffinet appeared.

"Will monsieur," said Coffinet to la Peyrade, "receive two ladies? They are very well-dressed, and the young one ain't to be despised."

"Shall I let them in?" said la Peyrade to Thuillier.

"Yes, since they are here," growled Thuillier; "but get rid of them as soon as possible."

Coffinet's judgment on the toilet of the two visitors needs revision. A woman is well-dressed, not when she wears rich clothes, but when her clothes present a certain harmony of shapes and colors which form an appropriate and graceful envelope to her person. Now a bonnet with a flaring brim, surmounted by nodding plumes, an immense French cashmere shawl, worn with the awkward inexperience of a young bride, a plaid silk gown with enormous checks and a triple tier of flounces with far too many chains and trinkets (though to be just, the boots and gloves were irreproachable), constituted the apparel of the younger of these ladies. As for the other, who seemed to be in the tow of her dressy companion, she was short, squat, and high-colored, and wore a bonnet, shawl, and gown which a practised eye would at once have recognized as second hand. Mothers of actresses are always clothed by this very economical process. Their garments, condemned to the service of two generations, reverse the order of things, and go from descendants to ancestors.

Advancing two chairs, la Peyrade inquired, "To whom have I the honor of speaking?"

"Monsieur," said the younger visitor, "I am a dramatic artist, and as I am about to make my first appearance in this quarter, I allow myself to hope that a journal of this locality will favor me."

"At what theatre?" asked la Peyrade.

"The Folies, where I am engaged for the Dejazets."

"The Folies?" echoed la Peyrade, in a tone that demanded an explanation.

"Folies-Dramatiques," interposed the agreeable Madame Cardinal, whom the reader has doubtless recognized.

"When do you appear?" asked la Peyrade.

"Next week, monsieur,--a fairy piece in which I play five parts."

"You'll encourage her, monsieur, won't you?" said Madame Cardinal, in a coaxing voice; "she's so young, and I can certify she works day and night."

"Mother!" said Olympe, with authority, "the public will judge me; all I want is that monsieur will kindly promise to notice my debut."

"Very good, mademoiselle," said la Peyrade in a tone of dismissal, beginning to edge the pair to the door.

Olympe Cardinal went first, leaving her mother to hurry after her as best she could.

"At home to no one!" cried Thuillier to the office-boy as he closed the door and slipped the bolt. "Now," he said, addressing la Peyrade, "we will talk. My dear fellow," he went on, starting with irony, for he remembered to have heard that nothing was more confusing to an adversary, "I have heard something that will give you pleasure. I know now why MY pamphlet was seized."

So saying, he looked fixedly at la Peyrade.

"Parbleu!" said the latter in a natural tone of voice, "it was seized because they chose to seize it. They wanted to find, and they found, because they always find the things they want, what the king's adherents call 'subversive doctrine.'"

"No, you are wrong," said Thuillier; "the seizure was planned, concocted, and agreed upon before publication."

"Between whom?" asked la Peyrade.

"Between those who wanted to kill the pamphlet, and the wretches who were paid to betray it."

"Well, in any case, those who paid," said la Peyrade, "got mighty little for their money; for, persecuted though it was, I don't see that your pamphlet made much of a stir."

"Those who sold may have done better?" said Thuillier with redoubled irony.

"Those who sold," returned la Peyrade, "were the cleverer of the two."

"Ah, I know," said Thuillier, "that you think a great deal of cleverness; but allow me to tell you that the police, whose hand I see in all this, doesn't usually throw its money away."

And again he looked fixedly at la Peyrade.

"So," said the barrister, without winking, "you have discovered that the police had plotted in advance the smothering of your pamphlet?"

"Yes, my dear fellow; and what is more, I know the actual sum paid to the person who agreed to carry out this honorable plot."

"The person," said la Peyrade, thinking a moment,--"perhaps I know the person; but as for the money, I don't know a word about that."

"Well, I can tell you the amount. It was twenty-five--thousand--francs," said Thuillier, dwelling on each word; "that was the sum paid to Judas."

"Oh! excuse me, my dear fellow, but twenty-five thousand francs is a good deal of money. I don't deny that you have become an important man; but you are not such a bugbear to the government as to lead it to make such sacrifices. Twenty-five thousand francs is as much as would ever be given for the suppression of one of those annoying pamphlets about the Civil list. But our financial lucubrations didn't annoy in that way; and such a sum borrowed from the secret-service money for the mere pleasure of plaguing you, seems to me rather fabulous."

"Apparently," said Thuillier, acrimoniously, "this honest go-between had some interest in exaggerating my value. One thing is very sure; this monsieur had a debt of twenty-five thousand francs which harassed him much; and a short time before the seizure this same monsieur, who had no means of his own, paid off that debt; and unless you can tell me where else he got the money, the inference I think is not difficult to draw."

It was la Peyrade's turn to look fixedly at Thuillier.

"Monsieur Thuillier," he said, raising his voice, "let us get out of enigmas and generalities; will you do me the favor to name that person?"

"Well, no," replied Thuillier, striking his hand upon the table, "I shall not name him, because of the sentiments of esteem and affection which formerly united us; but you have understood me, Monsieur la Peyrade."

"I ought to have known," said the Provencal, in a voice changed by emotion, "that in bringing a serpent to this place I should soon be soiled by his venom. Poor fool! do you not see that you have made yourself the echo of Cerizet's calumny?"

"Cerizet has nothing to do with it; on the contrary, he has told me the highest good of you. How was it, not having a penny the night before,--and I had reason to know it,--that you were able to pay Dutocq the round sum of twenty-five thousand francs the next day?"

La Peyrade reflected for a moment.

"No," he said, "it was not Dutocq who told you that. He is not a man to wrestle with an enemy of my strength without a strong interest in it. It was Cerizet; he's the infamous calumniator, from whose hands I wrenched the lease of your house near the Madeleine,--Cerizet, whom in kindness, I went to seek on his dunghill that I might give him the chance of honorable employment; that is the wretch, to whom a benefit is only an encouragement to treachery. Tiens! if I were to tell you what that man is I should turn you sick with disgust; in the sphere of infamy he has discovered worlds."

This time Thuillier made an able reply.

"I don't know anything about Cerizet except through you," he said; "you introduced him to me as a manager, offering every guarantee; but, allowing him to be blacker than the devil, and supposing that this communication comes from him, I don't see, my friend, that all that makes YOU any the whiter."

"No doubt I was to blame," said la Peyrade, "for putting such a man into relations with you; but we wanted some one who understood journalism, and that value he really had