Certainly that's one thing that would astound
the age..."
Michel
couldn't keep from laughing.
"Don't
laugh, wretch, it's forbidden chez Casmodage! Look, I have a face that can
break stones and an expression that would freeze the Tuileries pond in
midsummer. I suppose you've heard how some American philanthropists thought up
the idea of throwing their prisoners into round cells so as to deny them even
the distraction of corners? Well, my boy, this society of ours is as round as
those American jails! A man can gloom away his whole life—"
"But,
Monsieur, " Michel interrupted, "it seems to me there's something
cheerful about you—"
"Not
here! Once I'm home, that's different. You come and see me! I'll play you some
music—real music! The old kind!"
"Whenever
you like, " Michel answered, delighted. "But I'd have to get some
time off..."
"Fine!
I'll say you need dictation lessons. But no more of these subversive
conversations here! I'm a cog, you're a cog! Let's do our cog work and get back
to the litanies of Holy Accountancy!" "Petty Cash, " Michel
intoned. "Petty Cash, " Quinsonnas repeated. And their labor began
again. From this day on, young Dufrénoy's existence was noticeably altered; he
had a friend; he talked; he could be understood, happy as a mute who has
regained the use of his tongue. The
Ledger's
summits no longer seemed deserted peaks, and he had no difficulty breathing at
such altitudes. Soon the two comrades indulged in the most intimate forms of
address.
Quinsonnas
shared with Michel all the acquisitions of his experience, and Michel, during
his sleepless nights, brooded upon the disappointments of this world; each
morning he returned to the offices inflamed by his thoughts of the night
before and poured out his thoughts to the musician, who failed to keep him
silent. Soon the Ledger was no longer under discussion. "You're going to
make us commit some terrible error, " Quinsonnas kept saying, "and
we'll be thrown out!"
"But
I have to talk, " Michel answered.
"All
right, " Quinsonnas said to him one day, "you come and have dinner at
my place tonight, with my friend Jacques Aubanet. "
"At
your place! But we have to get permission..."
"I've
got it. Where were we?"
"Liquidations,
" Michel intoned.
"Liquidations,
" Quinsonnas repeated.
As
soon as the bank closed, the two friends headed for Quinsonnas's residence, in
the Rue Grange-aux-Belles; they walked arm in arm, Michel exulting in his
freedom, his steps those of a conqueror.
It
is a good distance from Casmodage and Co. to the Rue Grange-aux-Belles; but
lodgings were hard to find in a capital too small for its five million
inhabitants; enlarging public squares, opening avenues, and multiplying
boulevards threatened to leave little room for private dwellings. Which
justified this bromide of the period: in Paris there are no longer houses, only
streets!
Some
neighborhoods offered no lodging whatever to inhabitants of the capital,
specifically the Ile de la Cité, where
there was room only for the Bureau of Commerce, the Palace of Justice, the
Prefecture of Police, the cathedral, the morgue—in other words, the means of
being declared bankrupt, guilty, jailed, buried, and even rescued. Public
buildings had driven out houses.
That
accounted for the high cost of present-day lodgings; the Imperial Real Estate
Corporation was gradually seizing all of Paris, in collusion with the
government-controlled Building Company, and yielded magnificent dividends. This
corporation, founded by two skillful financiers of the nineteenth century, the
brothers Péreire,
now also owned many of the chief cities of France, Lyons, Marseilles, Bordeaux,
Nantes, Strasbourg, Lille, which it had gradually rebuilt. Its shares, which
had split five times, were still quoted on the Bourse at 4, 450 francs.
Poorer
people reluctant to live far from the center of town therefore had to live high
up; what they gained in proximity they lost in elevation—a matter of fatigue,
henceforth, and not of time.
Quinsonnas
lived in a twelfth-floor walk-up, an old apartment house which would have been
greatly improved by elevator service. But once he was at home, the musician
found himself no worse for wear.
When
they reached the Rue Grange-aux-Belles, he dashed up the huge spiral staircase.
"Don't think about it—just keep climbing, " he panted to Michel, who
was following just behind him. "We'll get there eventually—nothing is
eternal in this world, not even stairs. There!" he gasped, flinging open
his door after a breathtaking ascent.
He
pushed the young man into his "apartments, " a single room some
fourteen meters square. "No vestibule!" he observed. "That's for
people who want to keep other people waiting, and since most visitors and
salespeople seem a good deal less eager to climb twelve flights than to walk
down them, I do without; I've also done without a living room, which would have
made the lack of a dining room too obvious. "
"It
looks fine to me, " said Michel, once he had caught his breath.
"At
least the air is as fresh as the ammonia of Paris mud permits. "
"It
only seems small at first glance, " said Michel.
"And
at second, but it'll do. "
"Besides,
it's so well arranged, " Michel continued, laughing.
"Well
now, you old darling, " Quinsonnas remarked to an elderly woman who came
in just then, "is dinner on the way? We'll be three starving guests
tonight. "
"On
its way, Monsieur Quinsonnas, " replied the crone, "but you know I
couldn't set the table—there is no table!"
"We'll
do without, " Michel exclaimed, rather enjoying the prospect of dining on
his lap.
"What
do you mean, we'll do without!" interjected Quinsonnas. "Can you
suppose I'd invite friends to dinner without having a table to serve it
on?"
"I
don't see...," began Michel, glancing dubiously around the room, which
indeed contained neither table, nor bed, nor armoire, nor commode, nor chair.
Not one piece of furniture, except for a good- sized piano.
"You
don't see...," repeated Quinsonnas. "Well now! What about industry,
that kind mother, and mechanics, that fine young lady, are you forgetting
them? Here is the table as requested.
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