"Butdoyougrudgemesuchaverynaturalfeeling?"askedLucien.
　　"Weshouldbearinmindthathedidnothideit,"saidLeonGiraud;
　　"heisstillopenwithus;butIamafraidthathemaycometofeelshyofus."
　　"Andwhy?"Lucienasked.
　　"Wecanreadyourthoughts,"answeredJosephBridau.
　　"Thereisadiabolicalspiritinyouthatwillseektojustifycourseswhichareutterlycontrarytoourprinciples.Insteadofbeingasophistintheory,youwillbeasophistinpractice."
　　"Ah!Iamafraidofthat,"saidd'Arthez."Youwillcarryonadmirabledebatesinyourownmind,Lucien,andtakeupaloftypositionintheory,andendbyblameworthyactions.Youwillneverbeatonewithyourself."
　　"Whatgroundhaveyouforthesecharges?"
　　"Thyvanity,dearpoet,issogreatthatitintrudesitselfevenintothyfriendships!"criedFulgence."Allvanityofthatsortisasymptomofshockingegoism,andegoismpoisonsfriendship."
　　"Oh!dear,"saidLucien,"youcannotknowhowmuchIloveyouall."
　　"Ifyoulovedusasweloveyou,wouldyouhavebeeninsuchahurrytoreturnthemoneywhichwehadsuchpleasureinlending?orhavemadesomuchofit?"
　　"Wedon'tlendhere;wegive,"saidJosephBridauroughly.
　　"Don'tthinkusunkind,dearboy,"saidMichelChrestien;"wearelookingforward.Weareafraidlestsomedayyoumaypreferapettyrevengetothejoysofpurefriendship.ReadGoethe'sTasso,thegreatmaster'sgreatestwork,andyouwillseehowthepoet-herolovedgorgeousstuffsandbanquetsandtriumphandapplause.Verywell,beTassowithouthisfolly.Perhapstheworldanditspleasurestemptyou?Staywithus.Carryallthecravingsofvanityintotheworldofimagination.Transposefolly.Keepvirtuefordailywear,andletimaginationrunriot,insteadofdoing,asd'Arthezsays,thinkinghighthoughtsandlivingbeneaththem."
　　Lucienhunghishead.Hisfriendswereright.
　　"IconfessthatyouarestrongerthanI,"hesaid,withacharmingglanceatthem."MybackandshouldersarenotmadetobeartheburdenofParislife;Icannotstrugglebravely.Wearebornwithdifferenttemperamentsandfaculties,andyouknowbetterthanIthatfaultsandvirtueshavetheirreverseside.Iamtiredalready,Iconfess."
　　"Wewillstandbyyou,"saidd'Arthez;"itisjustinthesewaysthatafaithfulfriendshipisofuse."
　　"ThehelpthatIhavejustreceivedisprecarious,andeveryoneofusisjustaspoorasanother;wantwillsoonovertakemeagain.
　　Chrestien,attheserviceofthefirstthathireshim,candonothingwiththepublishers;Bianchonisquiteoutofit;d'Arthez'sbooksellersonlydealinscientificandtechnicalbooks——theyhavenoconnectionwithpublishersofnewliterature;andasforHoraceandFulgenceRidalandBridau,theirworkliesmilesawayfromthebooksellers.Thereisnohelpforit;Imustmakeupmymindonewayoranother."
　　"Stickbyus,andmakeupyourmindtoit,"saidBianchon."Bearupbravely,andtrustinhardwork."
　　"Butwhatishardshipforyouisdeathforme,"Lucienputinquickly.
　　"Beforethecockcrowsthrice,"smiledLeonGiraud,"thismanwillbetraythecauseofworkforanidlelifeandthevicesofParis."
　　"Wherehasworkbroughtyou?"askedLucien,laughing.
　　"WhenyoustartoutfromParisforItaly,youdon'tfindRomehalf-
　　way,"saidJosephBridau."Youwantyourpeasetogrowreadybutteredforyou."
　　Theconversationendedinajoke,andtheychangedthesubject.
　　Lucien'sfriends,withtheirperspicacityanddelicacyofheart,triedtoeffacethememoryofthelittlequarrel;butLucienknewthenceforwardthatitwasnoeasymattertodeceivethem.Hesoonfellintodespair,whichhewascarefultohidefromsuchsternmentorsasheimaginedthemtobe;andtheSoutherntemperthatrunssoeasilythroughthewholegamutofmentaldispositions,sethimmakingthemostcontradictoryresolutions.
　　Againandagainhetalkedofmakingtheplungeintojournalism;andtimeaftertimedidhisfriendsreplywitha"Mindyoudonothingofthesort!"
　　"Itwouldbethetombofthebeautiful,graciousLucienwhomweloveandknow,"saidd'Arthez.
　　"Youwouldnotholdoutforlongbetweenthetwoextremesoftoilandpleasurewhichmakeupajournalist'slife,andresistanceistheveryfoundationofvirtue.Youwouldbesodelightedtoexerciseyourpoweroflifeanddeathovertheoffspringofthebrain,thatyouwouldbeanout-and-outjournalistintwomonths'time.Tobeajournalist——
　　thatistoturnHerodintherepublicofletters.Themanwhowillsayanythingwillendbystickingatnothing.ThatwasNapoleon'smaxim,anditexplainsitself."
　　"Butyouwouldbewithme,wouldyounot?"askedLucien.
　　"Notbythattime,"saidFulgence."Ifyouwereajournalist,youwouldnomorethinkofusthantheOperagirlinallherglory,withheradorersandhersilk-linedcarriage,thinksofthevillageathomeandhercowsandhersabots.Youcouldneverresistthetemptationtopenawitticism,thoughitshouldbringtearstoafriend'seyes.I
　　comeacrossjournalistsintheatrelobbies;itmakesmeshuddertoseethem.Journalismisaninferno,abottomlesspitofiniquityandtreacheryandlies;noonecantraverseitundefiled,unless,likeDante,heisprotectedbyVirgil'ssacredlaurel."
　　Butthemorethesetoffriendsopposedtheideaofjournalism,themoreLucien'sdesiretoknowitsperilsgrewandtemptedhim.Hebegantodebatewithinhisownmind;wasitnotridiculoustoallowwanttofindhimasecondtimedefenceless?Hebethoughthimofthefailureofhisattemptstodisposeofhisfirstnovel,andfeltbutlittletemptedtobeginasecond.How,besides,washetolivewhilehewaswritinganotherromance?Onemonthofprivationhadexhaustedhisstockofpatience.Whyshouldhenotdonoblythatwhichjournalistsdidignoblyandwithoutprinciple?Hisfriendsinsultedhimwiththeirdoubts;hewouldconvincethemofhisstrengthofmind.Someday,perhaps,hewouldbeofusetothem;hewouldbetheheraldoftheirfame!
　　"Andwhatsortofafriendshipisitwhichrecoilsfromcomplicity?"
　　demandedheoneeveningofMichelChrestien;LucienandLeonGiraudwerewalkinghomewiththeirfriend.
　　"Weshrinkfromnothing,"MichelChrestienmadereply."Ifyouweresounluckyastokillyourmistress,Iwouldhelpyoutohideyourcrime,andcouldstillrespectyou;butifyouweretoturnspy,Ishouldshunyouwithabhorrence,foraspyissystematicallyshamelessandbase.Thereyouhavejournalismsummedupinasentence.Friendshipcanpardonerrorandthehastyimpulseofpassion;itisboundtobeinexorablewhenamandeliberatelytrafficsinhisownsoul,andintellect,andopinions."
　　"WhycannotIturnjournalisttosellmyvolumeofpoetryandthenovel,andthengiveupatonce?"
　　"Machiavellimightdoso,butnotLuciendeRubempre,"saidLeonGiraud.
　　"Verywell,"exclaimedLucien;"IwillshowyouthatIcandoasmuchasMachiavelli."
　　"Oh!"criedMichel,graspingLeon'shand,"youhavedoneit,Leon——
　　Lucien,"hecontinued,"youhavethreehundredfrancsinhand;youcanlivecomfortablyforthreemonths;verywell,then,workhardandwriteanotherromance.D'ArthezandFulgencewillhelpyouwiththeplot;youwillimprove,youwillbeanovelist.AndI,meanwhile,willenteroneofthoselupanarsofthought;forthreemonthsIwillbeajournalist.Iwillsellyourbookstosomebooksellerorotherbyattackinghispublications;Iwillwritethearticlesmyself;Iwillgetothersforyou.Wewillorganizeasuccess;youshallbeagreatman,andstillremainourLucien."
　　"Youmustdespisemeverymuch,ifyouthinkthatIshouldperishwhileyouescape,"saidthepoet.
　　"OLord,forgivehim;itisachild!"criedMichelChrestien.
　　WhenLucien'sintellecthadbeenstimulatedbytheeveningsspentind'Arthez'sgarret,hehadmadesomestudyofthejokesandarticlesinthesmallernewspapers.Hewasatleasttheequal,hefelt,ofthewittiestcontributors;inprivatehetriedsomementalgymnasticsofthekind,andwentoutonemorningwiththetriumphantideaoffindingsomecolonelofsuchlightskirmishersofthepressandenlistingintheirranks.Hedressedinhisbestandcrossedthebridges,thinkingashewentthatauthors,journalists,andmenofletters,hisfuturecomrades,inshort,wouldshowhimrathermorekindnessanddisinterestednessthanthetwospeciesofbooksellerswhohadsodashedhishopes.Heshouldmeetwithfellow-feeling,andsomethingofthekindlyandgratefulaffectionwhichhefoundinthecenacleoftheRuedesQuatre-Vents.Tormentedbyemotion,consequentuponthepresentimentstowhichmenofimaginationclingsofondly,halfbelieving,halfbattlingwiththeirbeliefinthem,hearrivedintheRueSaint-FiacreofftheBoulevardMontmartre.Beforeahouse,occupiedbytheofficesofasmallnewspaper,hestopped,andatthesightofithisheartbegantothrobasheavilyasthepulsesofayouthuponthethresholdofsomeevilhaunt.
　　Nevertheless,upstairshewent,andfoundtheofficesinthelowentresolbetweenthegroundfloorandthefirststory.Thefirstroomwasdivideddownthemiddlebyapartition,thelowerhalfofsolidwood,theupperlatticeworktotheceiling.InthisapartmentLuciendiscoveredaone-armedpensionersupportingseveralreamsofpaperonhisheadwithhisremaininghand,whilebetweenhisteethheheldthepassbookwhichtheInlandRevenueDepartmentrequireseverynewspapertoproducewitheachissue.Thisill-favoredindividual,ownerofayellowcountenancecoveredwithredexcrescences,towhichheowedhisnicknameof"Coloquinte,"indicatedapersonagebehindthelatticeastheCerberusofthepaper.Thiswasanelderlyofficerwithamedalonhischestandasilkskull-caponhishead;hisnosewasalmosthiddenbyapairofgrizzledmoustaches,andhispersonwashiddenascompletelyinanampleblueovercoatasthebodyoftheturtleinitscarapace.
　　"Fromwhatdatedoyouwishyoursubscriptiontocommence,sir?"
　　inquiredtheEmperor'sofficer.
　　"Ididnotcomeaboutasubscription,"returnedLucien.Lookingabouthim,hesawaplacardfastenedonadoor,correspondingtotheonebywhichhehadentered,andreadthewords——EDITOR'SOFFICE,andbelow,insmallerletters,Noadmittanceexceptonbusiness.
　　"Acomplaint,Iexpect?"repliedtheveteran."Ah!yes;wehavebeenhardonMariette.Whatwouldyouhave?Idon'tknowthewhyandwhereforeofityet——Butifyouwantsatisfaction,Iamreadyforyou,"headded,glancingatacollectionofsmallarmsandfoilsstackedinacorner,thearmoryofthemodernwarrior.
　　"Thatwasstillfurtherfrommyintention,sir.Ihavecometospeaktotheeditor."
　　"Nobodyiseverherebeforefouro'clock."
　　"Lookyouhere,Giroudeau,oldchap,"remarkedavoice,"Imakeitelevencolumns;elevencolumnsatfivefrancsapieceisfifty-fivefrancs,andIhaveonlybeenpaidforty;soyouowemeanotherfifteenfrancs,asIhavebeentellingyou."
　　Thesewordsproceededfromalittleweasel-face,pallidandsemi-
　　transparentasthehalf-boiledwhiteofanegg;twoslitsofeyeslookedoutofit,mildblueintint,butappallinglymalignantinexpression;andtheowner,aninsignificantyoungman,wascompletelyhiddenbytheveteran'sopaqueperson.Itwasablood-curdlingvoice,asoundbetweenthemewingofacatandthewheezychokingsofahyena.
　　"Yes,yes,mylittlemilitiaman,"retortedheofthemedal,"butyouarecountingtheheadingsandwhitelines.IhaveFinot'sinstructionstoaddupthetotalsofthelines,andtodividethembythepropernumberforeachcolumn;andafterIperformedthatconcentratingoperationonyourcopy,therewerethreecolumnsless."
　　"Hedoesn'tpayfortheblanks,theJew!Hereckonstheminthoughwhenhesendsupthetotalofhisworktohispartner,andhegetspaidforthemtoo.IwillgoandseeEtienneLousteau,Vernou——"
　　"Icannotgobeyondmyorders,myboy,"saidtheveteran."What!doyoucryoutagainstyourfoster-motherforamatteroffifteenfrancs?
　　youthatturnoutanarticleaseasilyasIsmokeacigar.Fifteenfrancs!why,youwillgiveabowlofpunchtoyourfriends,orwinanextragameofbilliards,andthere'sanendofit!"
　　"Finot'ssavingswillcosthimverydear,"saidthecontributorashetookhisdeparture.
　　"Now,wouldnotanybodythinkthathewasRousseauandVoltairerolledinone?"thecashierremarkedtohimselfasheglancedatLucien.
　　"Iwillcomeinagainatfour,sir,"saidLucien.
　　Whiletheargumentproceeded,Lucienhadbeenlookingabouthim.HesawuponthewallstheportraitsofBenjaminConstant,GeneralFoy,andtheseventeenillustriousoratorsoftheLeft,interspersedwithcaricaturesattheexpenseoftheGovernment;buthelookedmoreparticularlyatthedoorofthesanctuarywhere,nodoubt,thepaperwaselaborated,thewittypaperthatamusedhimdaily,andenjoyedtheprivilegeofridiculingkingsandthemostportentousevents,ofcallinganythingandeverythinginquestionwithajest.Thenhesaunteredalongtheboulevards.Itwasanentirelynovelamusement;
　　andsoagreeabledidhefindit,that,lookingattheturretclocks,hesawthehourhandswerepointingtofour,andonlythenrememberedthathehadnotbreakfasted.
　　HewentatonceinthedirectionoftheRueSaint-Fiacre,climbedthestair,andopenedthedoor.
　　Theveteranofficerwasabsent;buttheoldpensioner,sittingonapileofstampedpapers,wasmunchingacrustandactingassentinelresignedly.Coloquintewasasmuchaccustomedtohisworkintheofficeastothefatiguedutyofformerdays,understandingasmuchoraslittleaboutitasthewhyandwhereforeofforcedmarchesmadebytheEmperor'sorders.Lucienwasinspiredwiththeboldideaofdeceivingthatformidablefunctionary.Hesettledhishatonhishead,andwalkedintotheeditor'sofficeasifhewerequiteathome.
　　Lookingeagerlyabouthim,hebeheldaroundtablecoveredwithagreencloth,andhalf-a-dozencherry-woodchairs,newlyreseatedwithstraw.Thecoloredbrickfloorhadnotbeenwaxed,butitwasclean;
　　socleanthatthepublic,evidently,seldomenteredtheroom.Therewasamirrorabovethechimney-piece,andontheledgebelow,amidasprinklingofvisiting-cards,stoodashopkeeper'sclock,smotheredwithdust,andacoupleofcandlestickswithtallowdipsthrustintotheirsockets.Afewantiquenewspaperslayonthetablebesideaninkstandcontainingsomeblacklacquer-likesubstance,andacollectionofquillpenstwistedintostars.Sundrydirtyscrapsofpaper,coveredwithalmostundecipherablehieroglyphs,provedtobemanuscriptarticlestornacrossthetopbythecompositortocheckoffthesheetsastheyweresetup.Headmiredafewratherclevercaricatures,sketchedonbitsofbrownpaperbysomebodywhoevidentlyhadtriedtokilltimebykillingsomethingelsetokeephishandin.
　　Otherworksofartwerepinnedinthecheapsea-greenwall-paper.
　　Theseconsistedofninepen-and-inkillustrationsforLeSolitaire.
　　Theworkhadattainedtosuchanunheard-ofEuropeanpopularity,thatjournalistsevidentlyweretiredofit——"TheSolitarymakeshisfirstappearanceintheprovinces;sensationamongthewomen——TheSolitaryperusedatachateau——EffectoftheSolitaryondomesticanimals——
　　TheSolitaryexplainedtosavagetribes,withthemostbrilliantresults——TheSolitarytranslatedintoChineseandpresentedbytheauthortotheEmperoratPekin——TheMontSauvage,RapeofElodie."——
　　Lucienthoughthiscaricatureveryshocking,buthecouldnothelplaughingatit.——"TheSolitaryunderacanopyconductedin
　　Betweenthewindowandthechimney-piecestoodawriting-table,amahoganyarmchair,andawaste-paperbasketonastripofhearth-rug;
　　thedustlaythickonalltheseobjects.Therewereshortcurtainsinthewindows.Aboutascoreofnewbookslayonthewriting-table,depositedthereapparentlyduringtheday,togetherwithprints,music,snuff-boxesofthe"Charter"pattern,acopyofthenintheditionofLeSolitairethegreatjokeofthemoment,andsometenunopenedletters.
　　Lucienhadtakenstockofthisstrangefurniture,andmadereflectionsofthemostexhaustivekinduponit,when,theclockstrikingfive,hereturnedtoquestionthepensioner.Coloquintehadfinishedhiscrust,andwaswaitingwiththepatienceofacommissionaire,forthemanofmedals,whoperhapswastakinganairingontheboulevard.
　　Atthisconjuncturetherustleofadresssoundedonthestair,andthelightunmistakablefootstepofawomanonthethreshold.Thenewcomerwaspassablypretty.SheaddressedherselftoLucien.
　　"Sir,"shesaid,"IknowwhyyoucryupMlle.Virginie'shatssomuch;
　　andIhavecometoputdownmynameforayear'ssubscriptioninthefirstplace;buttellmeyourconditions——"
　　"Iamnotconnectedwiththepaper,madame."
　　"Oh!"
　　"AsubscriptiondatingfromOctober?"inquiredthepensioner.
　　"Whatdoestheladywanttoknow?"askedtheveteran,reappearingonthescene.
　　Thefairmillinerandtheretiredmilitarymanweresoondeepinconverse;andwhenLucien,beginningtolosepatience,camebacktothefirstroom,heheardtheconclusionofthematter.
　　"Why,Ishallbedelighted,quitedelighted,sir.Mlle.Florentinecancometomyshopandchooseanythingshelikes.Ribbonsareinmydepartment.Soitisallquitesettled.YouwillsaynomoreaboutVirginie,abotcherthatcannotdesignanewshape,whileIhaveideasofmyown,Ihave."
　　Lucienheardasoundasofcoinsdroppingintoacashbox,andtheveteranbegantomakeuphisbooksfortheday.
　　"Ihavebeenwaitinghereforanhour,sir,"Lucienbegan,lookingnotalittleannoyed.
　　"And'they'havenotcomeyet!"exclaimedNapoleon'sveteran,civillyfeigningconcern."Iamnotsurprisedatthat.ItissometimesinceI
　　haveseen'them'here.Itisthemiddleofthemonth,yousee.Thosefinefellowsonlyturnuponpaydays——the29thorthe30th."
　　"AndM.Finot?"askedLucien,havingcaughttheeditor'sname.
　　"HeisintheRueFeydeau,that'swherehelives.Coloquinte,oldchap,justtakehimeverythingthathascomeinto-daywhenyougowiththepapertotheprinters."
　　"Whereisthenewspaperputtogether?"Luciensaidtohimself.
　　"Thenewspaper?"repeatedtheofficer,ashereceivedtherestofthestampmoneyfromColoquinte,"thenewspaper?——broum!broum!——Mindyouareroundattheprinters'bysixo'clockto-morrow,oldchap,tosendofftheporters.——Thenewspaper,sir,iswritteninthestreet,atthewriters'houses,intheprinting-officebetweenelevenandtwelveo'clockatnight.IntheEmperor'stime,sir,theseshopsforspoiledpaperwerenotknown.Oh!hewouldhaveclearedthemoutwithfourmenandacorporal;theywouldnothavecomeoverHIMwiththeirtalk.Butthatisenoughofprattling.Ifmynephewfindsitworthhiswhile,andsolongastheywriteforthesonoftheOtherbroum!broum!——
　　afterall,thereisnoharminthat.Ah!bytheway,subscribersdon'tseemtometobeadvancinginserriedcolumns;Ishallleavemypost."
　　"Youseemtoknowallaboutthenewspaper,sir,"Lucienbegan.
　　"Fromabusinesspointofview,broum!broum!"coughedthesoldier,clearinghisthroat."Fromthreetofivefrancspercolumn,accordingtoability——Fiftylinestoacolumn,fortyletterstoaline;noblanks;thereyouare!Asforthestaff,theyarequeerfish,littleyoungsterswhomIwouldn'ttakeonforthecommissariat;andbecausetheymakeflytracksonsheetsofwhitepaper,theylookdown,forsooth,onanoldCaptainofDragoonsoftheGuard,thatretiredwithamajor'srankafterenteringeveryEuropeancapitalwithNapoleon."
　　ThesoldierofNapoleonbrushedhiscoat,andmadeasifhewouldgoout,butLucien,swepttothedoor,hadcourageenoughtomakeastand.
　　"Icametobeacontributorofthepaper,"hesaid."Iamfullofrespect,Ivowanddeclare,foracaptainoftheImperialGuard,thosemenofbronze——"
　　"Wellsaid,mylittlecivilian,thereareseveralkindsofcontributors;whichkinddoyouwishtobe?"repliedthetrooper,bearingdownonLucien,anddescendingthestairs.Atthefootoftheflighthestopped,butitwasonlytolightacigarattheporter'sbox.
　　"Ifanysubscriberscome,youseethemandtakenoteofthem,MotherChollet——Simplysubscribers,neverknowanythingbutsubscribers,"headded,seeingthatLucienfollowedhim."Finotismynephew;heistheonlyoneofmyfamilythathasdoneanythingtorelievemeinmyposition.SowhenanybodycomestopickaquarrelwithFinot,hefindsoldGiroudeau,CaptainoftheDragoonsoftheGuard,thatsetoutasaprivateinacavalryregimentinthearmyoftheSambre-et-Meuse,andwasfencing-masterforfiveyearstotheFirstHussars,armyofItaly!
　　One,two,andthemanthathadanycomplaintstomakewouldbeturnedoffintothedark,"headded,makingalunge."Nowwriters,myboy,areindifferentcorps;thereisthewriterwhowritesanddrawshispay;thereisthewriterwhowritesandgetsnothingavolunteerwecallhim;and,lastly,thereisthewriterwhowritesnothing,andheisbynomeansthestupidest,forhemakesnomistakes;hegiveshimselfoutforaliteraryman,heisonthepaper,hetreatsustodinners,heloafsaboutthetheatres,hekeepsanactress,heisverywelloff.Whatdoyoumeantobe?"
　　"Themanthatdoesgoodworkandgetsgoodpay."
　　"Youareliketherecruits.TheyallwanttobemarshalsofFrance.
　　TakeoldGiroudeau'swordforit,andturnrightabout,indouble-
　　quicktime,andgoandpickupnailsinthegutterlikethatgoodfellowyonder;youcantellbythelookofhimthathehasbeeninthearmy——Isn'titashamethatanoldsoldierwhohaswalkedintothejawsofdeathhundredsoftimesshouldbepickingupoldironinthestreetsofParis?Ah!GodA'mighty!'twasashabbytricktodeserttheEmperor——Well,myboy,theindividualyousawthismorninghasmadehisfortyfrancsamonth.Areyougoingtodobetter?And,accordingtoFinot,heisthecleverestmanonthestaff."
　　"WhenyouenlistedintheSambre-et-Meuse,didtheytalkaboutdanger?"
　　"Rather."
　　"Verywell?"
　　"Verywell.GoandseemynephewFinot,agoodfellow,asgoodafellowasyouwillfind,ifyoucanfindhim,thatis,forheislikeafish,alwaysonthemove.Inhiswayofbusiness,thereisnowriting,yousee,itissettingotherstowrite.Thatsortlikegallivantingaboutwithactressesbetterthanscribblingonsheetsofpaper,itseems.Oh!theyarequeercustomers,theyare.HopeImayhavethehonorofseeingyouagain."
　　Withthatthecashierraisedhisformidableloadedcane,oneofthedefendersofGermainicus,andwalkedoff,leavingLucieninthestreet,asmuchbewilderedbythispictureofthenewspaperworldashehadformerlybeenbythepracticalaspectsofliteratureatMessrs.
　　VidalandPorchon'sestablishment.
　　TenseveraltimesdidLucienrepairtotheRueFeydeauinsearchofAndocheFinot,andtentimeshefailedtofindthatgentleman.Hewentfirstthinginthemorning;Finothadnotcomein.Atnoon,Finothadgoneout;hewasbreakfastingatsuchandsuchacafe.Atthecafe,inanswertoinquiriesofthewaitress,madeaftersurmountingunspeakablerepugnance,LucienheardthatFinothadjustlefttheplace.Lucien,atlengthtiredout,begantoregardFinotasamythicalandfabulouscharacter;itappearedsimplertowaylayEtienneLousteauatFlicoteaux's.Thatyouthfuljournalistwould,doubtless,explainthemysteriesthatenvelopedthepaperforwhichhewrote.
　　Sincetheday,ahundredtimesblessed,whenLucienmadetheacquaintanceofDanield'Arthez,hehadtakenanotherseatatFlicoteaux's.Thetwofriendsdinedsidebyside,talkinginloweredvoicesofthehigherliterature,ofsuggestedsubjects,andwaysofpresenting,openingup,anddevelopingthem.AtthepresenttimeDanield'ArthezwascorrectingthemanuscriptofTheArcherofCharlesIX.Hereconstructedwholechapters,andwrotethefinepassagesfoundtherein,aswellasthemagnificentpreface,whichis,perhaps,thebestthinginthebook,andthrowssomuchlightontheworkoftheyoungschoolofliterature.OnedayitsohappenedthatDanielhadbeenwaitingforLucien,whonowsatwithhisfriend'shandinhisown,whenhesawEtienneLousteauturnthedoor-handle.LucieninstantlydroppedDaniel'shand,andtoldthewaiterthathewoulddineathisoldplacebythecounter.D'ArthezgaveLucienaglanceofdivinekindness,inwhichreproachwaswrappedinforgiveness.Theglancecutthepoettothequick;hetookDaniel'shandandgraspeditanew.
　　"Itisanimportantquestionofbusinessforme;Iwilltellyouaboutitafterwards,"saidhe.
　　LucienwasinhisoldplacebythetimethatLousteaureachedthetable;asthefirstcomer,hegreetedhisacquaintance;theysoonstruckupaconversation,whichgrewsolivelythatLucienwentoffinsearchofthemanuscriptoftheMarguerites,whileLousteaufinishedhisdinner.Hehadobtainedleavetolayhissonnetsbeforethejournalist,andmistookthecivilityofthelatterforwillingnesstofindhimapublisher,oraplaceonthepaper.WhenLuciencamehurryingbackagain,hesawd'Arthezrestinganelbowonthetableinacorneroftherestaurant,andknewthathisfriendwaswatchinghimwithmelancholyeyes,buthewouldnotseed'Arthezjustthen;hefeltthesharppangsofpoverty,thegoadingsofambition,andfollowedLousteau.
　　InthelateafternoonthejournalistandtheneophytewenttotheLuxembourg,andsatdownunderthetreesinthatpartofthegardenswhichliesbetweenthebroadAvenuedel'ObservatoireandtheRuedel'Ouest.TheRuedel'Ouestatthattimewasalongmorass,boundedbyplanksandmarket-gardens;thehouseswereallattheendnearesttheRuedeVaugirard;andthewalkthroughthegardenswassolittlefrequented,thatatthehourwhenParisdines,twoloversmightfalloutandexchangetheearnestofreconciliationwithoutfearofintruders.Theonlypossiblespoil-sportwasthepensionerondutyatthelittleirongateontheRuedel'Ouest,ifthatgray-headedveteranshouldtakeitintohisheadtolengthenhismonotonousbeat.
　　There,onabenchbeneaththelime-trees,EtienneLousteausatandlistenedtosample-sonnetsfromtheMarguerites.
　　EtienneLousteau,afteratwo-years'apprenticeship,wasonthestaffofanewspaper;hehadhisfootinthestirrup;hereckonedsomeofthecelebritiesofthedayamonghisfriends;altogether,hewasanimposingpersonageinLucien'seyes.Wherefore,whileLucienuntiedthestringabouttheMarguerites,hejudgeditnecessarytomakesomesortofpreface.
　　"Thesonnet,monsieur,"saidhe,"isoneofthemostdifficultformsofpoetry.Ithasfallenalmostentirelyintodisuse.NoFrenchmancanhopetorivalPetrarch;forthelanguageinwhichtheItalianwrote,beingsoinfinitelymorepliantthanFrench,lendsitselftoplayofthoughtwhichourpositivismpardontheuseoftheexpression
　　rejects.Soitseemedtomethatavolumeofsonnetswouldbesomethingquitenew.VictorHugohasappropriatedtheold,Canaliswriteslighterverse,Berangerhasmonopolizedsongs,CasimirDelavignehastakentragedy,andLamartinethepoetryofmeditation."
　　"Areyoua'Classic'ora'Romantic'?"inquiredLousteau.
　　Lucien'sastonishmentbetrayedsuchcompleteignoranceofthestateofaffairsintherepublicofletters,thatLousteauthoughtitnecessarytoenlightenhim.
　　"Youhavecomeupinthemiddleofapitchedbattle,mydearfellow;
　　youmustmakeyourdecisionatonce.Literatureisdivided,inthefirstplace,intoseveralzones,butourgreatmenarerangedintwohostilecamps.TheRoyalistsare'Romantics,'theLiberalsare'Classics.'Thedivergenceoftasteinmattersliteraryanddivergenceofpoliticalopinioncoincide;andtheresultisawarwithweaponsofeverysort,double-edgedwitticisms,subtlecalumniesandnicknamesaoutrance,betweentherisingandthewaningglory,andinkisshedintorrents.TheoddpartofitisthattheRoyalist-Romanticsareallforlibertyinliterature,andforrepealinglawsandconventions;
　　whiletheLiberal-Classicsareformaintainingtheunities,theAlexandrine,andtheclassicaltheme.Soopinionsinpoliticsoneithersidearedirectlyatvariancewithliterarytaste.Ifyouareeclectic,youwillhavenooneforyou.Whichsidedoyoutake?"
　　"Whichisthewinningside?"
　　"TheLiberalnewspapershavefarmoresubscribersthantheRoyalistandMinisterialjournals;still,thoughCanalisisforChurchandKing,andpatronizedbytheCourtandtheclergy,hereachesotherreaders——Pshaw!sonnetsdatebacktoanepochbeforeBoileau'stime,"
　　saidEtienne,seeingLucien'sdismayattheprospectofchoosingbetweentwobanners."BeaRomantic.TheRomanticsareyoungmen,andtheClassicsarepedants;theRomanticswillgaintheday."
　　Theword"pedant"wasthelatestepithettakenupbyRomanticjournalismtoheapconfusionontheClassicalfaction.
　　Lucienbegantoread,choosingfirstofallthetitle-sonnets.
　　EASTERDAISIES.
　　Thedaisiesinthemeadows,notinvain,Inredandwhiteandgoldbeforeoureyes,Havewrittenanidyllforman'ssympathies,Andsethisheart'sdesireinlanguageplain.
　　GoldstamenssetinsilverfiligraneRevealthetreasureswhichweidolize;
　　AndallthecostofstrugglefortheprizeIssymboledbyasecretblood-redstain.
　　WasitbecauseyourpetalsonceuncurledWhenJesusroseuponafairerworld,Andfromwingsshakenforaheav'nwardflightShedgrace,thatstillasautumnreappearsYoubloomagaintotellofdeaddelight,Tobringusbackthefloweroftwentyyears?
　　LucienfeltpiquedbyLousteau'scompleteindifferenceduringthereadingofthesonnet;hewasunfamiliarasyetwiththedisconcertingimpassibilityoftheprofessionalcritic,weariedbymuchreadingofpoetry,prose,andplays.Lucienwasaccustomedtoapplause.Hechokeddownhisdisappointmentandreadanother,afavoritewithMme.deBargetonandwithsomeofhisfriendsintheRuedesQuatre-Vents.
　　"Thisone,perhaps,willdrawawordfromhim,"hethought.
　　THEMARGUERITE.
　　IamtheMarguerite,fairandtallIgrewInvelvetmeadows,'midtheflowersastar.
　　Theysoughtmeformybeautynearandfar;
　　Mydawn,Ithought,shouldbeforevernew.
　　Butnowanallunwished-forgiftIrue,AfatalrayofknowledgeshedtomarMyradiantstar-crowngrownoracular,ForImustspeakandgiveananswertrue.
　　Anendofsilenceandofquietdays,TheLoverwithtwowordsmycounselprays;
　　Andwhenmysecretfrommyheartisreft,Whenallmysilverpetalsscatteredlie,Iamtheonlyflowerneglectedleft,Castdownandtroddenunderfoottodie.
　　Attheend,thepoetlookedupathisAristarchus.EtienneLousteauwasgazingatthetreesinthePepiniere.
　　"Well?"askedLucien.
　　"Well,mydearfellow,goon!Iamlisteningtoyou,amInot?ThatfactinitselfisasgoodaspraiseinParis."
　　"Haveyouhadenough?"Lucienasked.
　　"Goon,"theotheransweredabruptlyenough.
　　Lucienproceededtoreadthefollowingsonnet,buthisheartwasdeadwithinhim;Lousteau'sinscrutablecomposurefrozehisutterance.Ifhehadcomealittlefurtherupontheroad,hewouldhaveknownthatbetweenwriterandwritersilenceorabruptspeech,undersuchcircumstances,isabetrayalofjealousy,andoutspokenadmirationmeansasenseofreliefoverthediscoverythattheworkisnotabovetheaverageafterall.
　　THECAMELLIA.
　　InNature'sbook,ifrightlyunderstood,Therosemeanslove,andredforbeautyglows;
　　Apure,sweetspiritinthevioletblows,Andbrightthelilygleamsinlowlihood.
　　Butthisstrangebloom,bysunandwindunwooed,Seemstoexpandandblossom'midthesnows,Alilysceptreless,ascentlessrose,Fordaintylistlessnessofmaidenhood.
　　YetattheoperahousethepetalstraceFormodestyafittingaureole;
　　Analabasterwreathtolay,methought,Induskyhairo'ersomefairwoman'sfaceWhichkindlesev'nsuchlovewithinthesoulAssculpturedmarbleformsbyPhidiaswrought.
　　"Whatdoyouthinkofmypoorsonnets?"Lucienasked,comingstraighttothepoint.
　　"Doyouwantthetruth?"
　　"Iamyoungenoughtolikethetruth,andsoanxioustosucceedthatI
　　canhearitwithouttakingoffence,butnotwithoutdespair,"repliedLucien.
　　"Well,mydearfellow,thefirstsonnet,fromitsinvolvedstyle,wasevidentlywrittenatAngouleme;itgaveyousomuchtrouble,nodoubt,thatyoucannotgiveitup.ThesecondandthirdsmackofParisalready;butreadusonemoresonnet,"headded,withagesturethatseemedcharmingtotheprovincial.
　　Encouragedbytherequest,Lucienreadwithmoreconfidence,choosingasonnetwhichd'ArthezandBridaulikedbest,perhapsonaccountofitscolor.