Butitwasinthepassageknownbythepompoustitleofthe"GlassGallery"thattheoddesttradeswerecarriedon.Herewereventriloquistsandcharlatansofeverysort,andsightsofeverydescription,fromthekindwherethereisnothingtoseetopanoramasoftheglobe.Onemanwhohassincemadesevenoreighthundredthousandfrancsbytravelingfromfairtofairbeganherebyhangingoutasignboard,arevolvingsuninablackboard,andtheinscriptioninredletters:"HereManmayseewhatGodcanneversee.Admittance,twosous."Theshowmanatthedoorneveradmittedonepersonalone,normorethantwoatatime.Onceinside,youconfrontedagreatlooking-glass;andavoice,whichmighthaveterrifiedHoffmannofBerlin,suddenlyspokeasifsomespringhadbeentouched,"Youseehere,gentlemen,somethingthatGodcanneverseethroughalleternity,thatistosay,yourlike.GodhasnotHislike."Andoutyouwent,tooshamefacedtoconfesstoyourstupidity.
　　Voicesissuedfromeverynarrowdoorway,cryingupthemeritsofCosmoramas,viewsofConstantinople,marionettes,automaticchess-
　　players,andperformingdogswhowouldpickyououttheprettiestwomaninthecompany.TheventriloquistFritz-JamesflourishedhereintheCafeBorelbeforehewenttofightandfallatMontmartrewiththeyoungladsfromtheEcolepolytechnique.Here,too,therewerefruitandflowershops,andafamoustailorwhosegold-laceduniformsshonelikethesunwhentheshopswerelightedatnight.
　　Ofamorningthegallerieswereempty,dark,anddeserted;theshopkeeperschattedamongthemselves.Towardstwoo'clockintheafternoonthePalaisbegantofill;atthree,mencameinfromtheBourse,andParis,generallyspeaking,crowdedtheplace.Impecuniousyouth,hungeringafterliterature,tooktheopportunityofturningoverthepagesofthebooksexposedforsaleonthestallsoutsidethebooksellers'shops;themeninchargecharitablyallowedapoorstudenttopursuehiscourseoffreestudies;andinthiswayaduodecimovolumeofsometwohundredpages,suchasSmarraorPierreSchlemihl,orJeanSbogarorJocko,mightbedevouredinacoupleofafternoons.TherewassomethingveryFrenchinthisalmsgiventotheyoung,hungry,starvedintellect.Circulatinglibrarieswerenotasyet;ifyouwishedtoreadabook,youwereobligedtobuyit,forwhichreasonnovelsoftheearlypartofthecenturyweresoldinnumberswhichnowseemwell-nighfabuloustous.
　　Butthepoetryofthisterriblemartappearedinallitssplendoratthecloseoftheday.Womenofthetown,flockinginandoutfromtheneighboringstreets,wereallowedtomakeapromenadeoftheWoodenGalleries.ThithercameprostitutesfromeveryquarterofParisto"dothePalais."TheStoneGalleriesbelongedtoprivilegedhouses,whichpaidfortherightofexposingwomendressedlikeprincessesundersuchandsuchanarch,orinthecorrespondingspaceofgarden;buttheWoodenGallerieswerethecommongroundofwomenofthestreets.
　　ThiswasTHEPalais,awordwhichusedtosignifythetempleofprostitution.Awomanmightcomeandgo,takingawayherpreywhithersoeverseemedgoodtoher.Sogreatwasthecrowdattractedthitheratnightbythewomen,thatitwasimpossibletomoveexceptataslowpace,asinaprocessionoratamaskedball.Nobodyobjectedtotheslowness;itfacilitatedexamination.Thewomendressedinawaythatisneverseennowadays.Thebodicescutextremelylowbothbackandfront;thefantasticalhead-dresses,designedtoattractnotice;hereacapfromthePaysdeCaux,andthereaSpanishmantilla;thehaircrimpedandcurledlikeapoodle's,orsmootheddowninbandeauxovertheforehead;theclose-fittingwhitestockingsandlimbs,revealeditwouldnotbeeasytosayhow,butalwaysattherightmoment——allthispoetryofvicehasfled.Thelicenseofquestionandreply,thepubliccynicisminkeepingwiththehaunt,isnowunknownevenatmasqueradesorthefamouspublicballs.
　　Itwasanappalling,gayscene.Thedazzlingwhitefleshofthewomen'snecksandshouldersstoodoutinmagnificentcontrastagainstthemen'salmostinvariablysombrecostumes.Themurmurofvoices,thehumofthecrowd,couldbeheardeveninthemiddleofthegardenasasortofdroningbass,interspersedwithfioritureofshrilllaughterorclamorofsomeraredispute.Yousawgentlemenandcelebritiescheekbyjowlwithgallows-birds.Therewassomethingindescribablypiquantabouttheanomalousassemblage;themostinsensibleofmenfeltitscharm,somuchso,that,untiltheverylastmoment,Pariscamehithertowalkupanddownonthewoodenplankslaidoverthecellarswheremenwereatworkonthenewbuildings;andwhenthesqualidwoodenerectionswerefinallytakendown,greatandunanimousregretwasfelt.
　　Ladvocatthebooksellerhadopenedashopbutafewdayssinceintheangleformedbythecentralpassagewhichcrossedthegalleries;andimmediatelyoppositeanotherbookseller,nowforgotten,Dauriat,aboldandyouthfulpioneer,whoopenedupthepathsinwhichhisrivalwastoshine.Dauriat'sshopstoodintherowwhichgaveuponthegarden;Ladvocat's,ontheoppositeside,lookedoutuponthecourt.
　　Dauriat'sestablishmentwasdividedintotwoparts;hisshopwassimplyagreattradewarehouse,andthesecondroomwashisprivateoffice.
　　Lucien,onthisfirstvisittotheWoodenGalleries,wasbewilderedbyasightwhichnonovicecanresist.Hesoonlosttheguidewhobefriendedhim.
　　"Ifyouwereasgood-lookingasyonderyoungfellow,Iwouldgiveyouyourmoney'sworth,"awomansaid,pointingoutLucientoanoldman.
　　Lucienslunkthroughthecrowdlikeablindman'sdog,followingthestreaminastateofstupefactionandexcitementdifficulttodescribe.Importunedbyglancesandwhite-roundedcontours,dazzledbytheaudaciousdisplayofbaredthroatandbosom,hegrippedhisrollofmanuscripttightlylestsomebodyshouldstealit——innocentthathewas!
　　"Well,whatisit,sir!"heexclaimed,thinking,whensomeonecaughthimbythearm,thathispoetryhadprovedtoogreatatemptationtosomeauthor'shonesty,andturning,herecognizedLousteau.
　　"Ifeltsurethatyouwouldfindyourwayhereatlast,"saidhisfriend.
　　Thepoetwasstandinginthedoorwayofashopcrowdedwithpersonswaitingforanaudiencewiththesultanofthepublishingtrade.
　　Printers,paper-dealers,anddesignerswerecatechizingDauriat'sassistantsastopresentorfuturebusiness.
　　LousteaudrewLucienintotheshop."There!thatisFinotwhoeditsmypaper,"hesaid;"heistalkingwithFelicienVernou,whohasabilities,butthelittlewretchisasdangerousasahiddendisease."
　　"Well,oldboy,thereisafirstnightforyou,"saidFinot,comingupwithVernou."Ihavedisposedofthebox."
　　"SoldittoBraulard?"
　　"Well,andifIdid,whatthen?Youwillgetaseat.WhatdoyouwantwithDauriat?Oh,itisagreedthatwearetopushPauldeKock,Dauriathastakentwohundredcopies,andVictorDucangeisrefusingtogivehimhisnext.Dauriatwantstosetupanothermaninthesameline,hesays.YoumustratePauldeKockaboveDucange."
　　"ButIhaveapieceonwithDucangeattheGaite,"saidLousteau.
　　"Verywell,tellhimthatIwrotethearticle.ItcanbesupposedthatIwroteaslashingreview,andyoutoneditdown;andhewilloweyouthanks."
　　"Couldn'tyougetDauriat'scashiertodiscountthisbitofabillforahundredfrancs?"askedEtienneLousteau."WearecelebratingFlorine'shouse-warmingwithasupperto-night,youknow."
　　"Ah!yes,youaretreatingusall,"saidFinot,withanapparenteffortofmemory."Here,Gabusson,"headded,handingBarbet'sbilltothecashier,"letmehaveninetyfrancsforthisindividual——Fillinyourname,oldman."
　　Lousteausignedhisnamewhilethecashiercountedoutthemoney;andLucien,alleyesandears,lostnotasyllableoftheconversation.
　　"Thatisnotall,myfriend,"Etiennecontinued;"Idon'tthankyou,wehaveswornaneternalfriendship.IhavetakenituponmyselftointroducethisgentlemantoDauriat,andyoumustinclinehiseartolistentous."
　　"Whatisonfoot?"askedFinot.
　　"Avolumeofpoetry,"saidLucien.
　　"Oh!"saidFinot,withashrugoftheshoulders.
　　"Youracquaintancecannothavehadmuchtodowithpublishers,orhewouldhavehiddenhismanuscriptintheloneliestspotinhisdwelling,"remarkedVernou,lookingatLucienashespoke.
　　Justatthatmomentagood-lookingyoungmancameintotheshop,gaveahandtoFinotandLousteau,andnoddedslightlytoVernou.ThenewcomerwasEmileBlondet,whohadmadehisfirstappearanceintheJournaldesDebats,witharticlesrevealingcapacitiesoftheveryhighestorder.
　　"Comeandhavesupperwithusatmidnight,atFlorine's,"saidLousteau.
　　"Verygood,"saidthenewcomer."Butwhoisgoingtobethere?"
　　"Oh,FlorineandMatifatthedruggist,"saidLousteau,"andduBruel,theauthorwhogaveFlorinethepartinwhichsheistomakeherfirstappearance,alittleoldfogynamedCardot,andhisson-in-lawCamusot,andFinot,and——"
　　"Doesyourdruggistdothingsproperly?"
　　"Hewillnotgiveusdoctoredwine,"saidLucien.
　　"Youareverywitty,monsieur,"Blondetreturnedgravely."Ishecoming,Lousteau?"
　　"Yes."
　　"Thenweshallhavesomefun."
　　Lucienhadflushedredtothetipsofhisears.BlondettappedonthewindowaboveDauriat'sdesk.
　　"Isyourbusinesslikelytokeepyoulong,Dauriat?"
　　"Iamatyourservice,myfriend."
　　"That'sright,"saidLousteau,addressinghisprotege."Thatyoungfellowishardlyanyolderthanyouare,andheisontheDebats!Heisoneoftheprincesofcriticism.Theyareafraidofhim,Dauriatwillfawnuponhim,andthenwecanputinawordaboutourbusinesswiththepashaofvignettesandtype.Otherwisewemighthavewaitedtilleleveno'clock,andourturnwouldnothavecome.ThecrowdofpeoplewaitingtospeakwithDauriatisgrowingbiggereverymoment."
　　LucienandLousteaufollowedBlondet,Finot,andVernou,andstoodinaknotatthebackoftheshop.
　　"Whatishedoing?"askedBlondetofthehead-clerk,whorosetobidhimgood-evening.
　　"Heisbuyingaweeklynewspaper.Hewantstoputnewlifeintoit,andsetuparivaltotheMinerveandtheConservateur;EymeryhasrathertoomuchofhisownwayintheMinerve,andtheConservateuristooblindlyRomantic."
　　"Ishegoingtopaywell?"
　　"Onlytoomuch——asusual,"saidthecashier.
　　Justashespokeanotheryoungmanentered;thiswasthewriterofamagnificentnovelwhichhadsoldveryrapidlyandmetwiththegreatestpossiblesuccess.Dauriatwasbringingoutasecondedition.
　　Theappearanceofthisoddandextraordinarylookingbeing,sounmistakablyanartist,madeadeepimpressiononLucien'smind.
　　"ThatisNathan,"Lousteausaidinhisear.
　　Nathan,thenintheprimeofhisyouth,cameuptothegroupofjournalists,hatinhand;andinspiteofhislookoffiercepridehewasalmosthumbletoBlondet,whomasyetheonlyknewbysight.
　　Blondetdidnotremovehishat,neitherdidFinot.
　　"Monsieur,Iamdelightedtoavailmyselfofanopportunityyieldedbychance——"
　　"Heissonervousthatheiscommittingapleonasm,"saidFelicieninanasidetoLousteau.
　　"——togiveexpressiontomygratitudeforthesplendidreviewwhichyouweresogoodastogivemeintheJournaldesDebats.Halfthesuccessofmybookisowingtoyou."
　　"No,mydearfellow,no,"saidBlondet,withanairofpatronagescarcelymaskedbygood-nature."Youhavetalent,thedeuceyouhave,andI'mdelightedtomakeyouracquaintance."
　　"Nowthatyourreviewhasappeared,Ishallnotseemtobecourtingpower;wecanfeelatease.Willyoudomethehonorandthepleasureofdiningwithmeto-morrow?Finotiscoming——Lousteau,oldman,youwillnotrefuseme,willyou?"addedNathan,shakingEtiennebythehand——"Ah,youareonthewaytoagreatfuture,monsieur,"headded,turningagaintoBlondet;"youwillcarryonthelineofDussaults,Fievees,andGeoffrois!Hoffmannwastalkingaboutyoutoafriendofmine,ClaudeVignon,hispupil;hesaidthathecoulddieinpeace,theJournaldesDebatswouldliveforever.Theyoughttopayyoutremendouslywell."
　　"Ahundredfrancsacolumn,"saidBlondet."Poorpaywhenoneisobligedtoreadthebooks,andreadahundredbeforeyoufindoneworthinterestingyourselfin,likeyours.Yourworkgavemepleasure,uponmyword."
　　"Andbroughthiminfifteenhundredfrancs,"saidLousteauforLucien'sbenefit.
　　"Butyouwritepoliticalarticles,don'tyou?"askedNathan.
　　"Yes;nowandagain."
　　Lucienfeltlikeanembryoamongthesemen;hehadadmiredNathan'sbook,hehadreverencedtheauthorasanimmortal;Nathan'sabjectattitudebeforethiscritic,whosenameandimportancewerebothunknowntohim,stupefiedLucien.
　　"HowifIshouldcometobehaveashedoes?"hethought."Isamanobligedtopartwithhisself-respect?——Prayputonyourhatagain,Nathan;youhavewrittenagreatbook,andthecritichasonlywrittenareviewofit."
　　Thesethoughtssetthebloodtinglinginhisveins.Scarceaminutepassedbutsomeyoungauthor,poverty-strickenandshy,camein,askedtospeakwithDauriat,lookedroundthecrowdedshopdespairingly,andwentoutsaying,"Iwillcomebackagain."TwoorthreepoliticianswerechattingovertheconvocationoftheChambersandpublicbusinesswithagroupofwell-knownpublicmen.TheweeklynewspaperforwhichDauriatwasintreatywaslicensedtotreatofmatterspolitical,andthenumberofnewspaperssufferedtoexistwasgrowingsmallerandsmaller,tillapaperwasapieceofpropertyasmuchindemandasatheatre.OneofthelargestshareholdersintheConstitutionnelwasstandinginthemidstoftheknotofpoliticalcelebrities.Lousteauperformedthepartofciceronetoadmiration;witheverysentenceheutteredDauriatrosehigherinLucien'sopinion.PoliticsandliteratureseemedtoconvergeinDauriat'sshop.Hehadseenagreatpoetprostitutinghismusetojournalism,humiliatingArt,aswomanwashumiliatedandprostitutedinthoseshamelessgallerieswithout,andtheprovincialtookaterriblelessontoheart.Money!Thatwasthekeytoeveryenigma.Lucienrealizedthefactthathewasunknownandalone,andthatthefragileclueofanuncertainfriendshipwashissoleguidetosuccessandfortune.Heblamedthekindandloyallittlecircleforpaintingtheworldforhiminfalsecolors,forpreventinghimfromplungingintothearena,peninhand."IshouldbeaBlondetatthismoment!"heexclaimedwithinhimself.
　　OnlyalittlewhileagotheyhadsatlookingoutoverParisfromtheGardensoftheLuxembourg,andLousteauhadutteredthecryofawoundedeagle;thenLousteauhadbeenagreatmaninLucien'seyes,andnowhehadshrunktoscarcevisibleproportions.Thereallyimportantmanforhimatthismomentwasthefashionablebookseller,bywhomallthesemenlived;andthepoet,manuscriptinhand,feltanervoustremorthatwasalmostlikefear.Henoticedagroupofbustsmountedonwoodenpedestals,paintedtoresemblemarble;Byronstoodthere,andGoetheandM.deCanalis.Dauriatwashopingtopublishavolumebythelast-namedpoet,whomightsee,onhisentranceintotheshop,theestimationinwhichhewasheldbythetrade.UnconsciouslyLucien'sownself-esteembegantoshrink,andhiscourageebbed.HebegantoseehowlargeapartthisDauriatwouldplayinhisdestinies,andwaitedimpatientlyforhimtoappear.
　　"Well,children,"saidavoice,andashort,stoutmanappeared,withapuffyfacethatsuggestedaRomanpro-consul'svisage,mellowedbyanairofgood-naturewhichdeceivedsuperficialobservers."Well,children,hereamI,theproprietoroftheonlyweeklypaperinthemarket,apaperwithtwothousandsubscribers!"
　　"Oldjoker!Theregisterednumberissevenhundred,andthatisoverthemark,"saidBlondet.
　　"Twelvethousand,onmysacredwordofhonor——Isaidtwothousandforthebenefitoftheprintersandpaper-dealersyonder,"headded,loweringhisvoice,thenraisingitagain."Ithoughtyouhadmoretact,myboy,"headded.
　　"Areyougoingtotakeanypartners?"inquiredFinot.
　　"Thatdepends,"saidDauriat."Willyoutakeathirdatfortythousandfrancs?"
　　"It'sabargain,ifyouwilltakeEmileBlondethereonthestaff,andClaudeVignon,Scribe,TheodoreLeclercq,FelicienVernou,Jay,Jouy,Lousteau,and——"
　　"AndwhynotLuciendeRubempre?"theprovincialpoetputinboldly.
　　"——andNathan,"concludedFinot.
　　"Whynotthepeopleoutthereinthestreet?"askedDauriat,scowlingattheauthoroftheMarguerites——"TowhomhaveIthehonorofspeaking?"headded,withaninsolentglance.
　　"Onemoment,Dauriat,"saidLousteau."Ihavebroughtthisgentlemantoyou.Listentome,whileFinotisthinkingoveryourproposals."
　　LucienwatchedthisDauriat,whoaddressedFinotwiththefamiliartu,whichevenFinotdidnotpermithimselftouseinreply;whocalledtheredoubtableBlondet"myboy,"andextendedahandroyallytoNathanwithafriendlynod.Theprovincialpoetfelthisshirtwetwithperspirationwhentheformidablesultanlookedindifferentandillpleased.
　　"Anotherpieceofbusiness,myboy!"exclaimedDauriat."Why,Ihaveelevenhundredmanuscriptsonhand,asyouknow!Yes,gentlemen,I
　　haveelevenhundredmanuscriptssubmittedtomeatthismoment;askGabusson.Ishallsoonbeobligedtostartadepartmenttokeepaccountofthestockofmanuscripts,andaspecialofficeforreadingthem,andacommitteetovoteontheirmerits,withnumberedcountersforthosewhoattend,andapermanentsecretarytodrawuptheminutesforme.ItwillbeakindoflocalbranchoftheAcademie,andtheAcademicianswillbebetterpaidintheWoodenGalleriesthanattheInstitut."
　　"'Tisanidea,"saidBlondet.
　　"Abadidea,"returnedDauriat."Itisnotmybusinesstotakestockofthelucubrationsofthoseamongyouwhotaketoliteraturebecausetheycannotbecapitalists,andthereisnoopeningforthemasbootmakers,norcorporals,nordomesticservants,norofficials,norbailiffs.Nobodycomeshereuntilhehasmadeanameforhimself!Makeanameforyourself,andyouwillfindgoldintorrents.Ihavemadethreegreatmeninthelasttwoyears;andloandbeholdthreeexamplesofingratitude!HereisNathantalkingofsixthousandfrancsforthesecondeditionofhisbook,whichcostmethreethousandfrancsinreviews,andhasnotbroughtinathousandyet.IpaidathousandfrancsforBlondet'stwoarticles,besidesadinner,whichcostmefivehundred——"
　　"Butifallbooksellerstalkedasyoudo,sir,howcouldamanpublishhisfirstbookatall?"askedLucien.BlondethadgonedowntremendouslyinhisopinionsincehehadheardtheamountgivenbyDauriatforthearticlesintheDebats.
　　"Thatisnotmyaffair,"saidDauriat,lookingdaggersatthishandsomeyoungfellow,whowassmilingpleasantlyathim."Idonotpublishbooksforamusement,norrisktwothousandfrancsforthesakeofseeingmymoneybackagain.Ispeculateinliterature,andpublishfortyvolumesoftenthousandcopieseach,justasPanckoukedoesandtheBaudoins.WithmyinfluenceandthearticleswhichIsecure,Icanpushabusinessofahundredthousandcrowns,insteadofasinglevolumeinvolvingacoupleofthousandfrancs.Itisjustasmuchtroubletobringoutanewnameandtoinducethepublictotakeupanauthorandhisbook,astomakeasuccesswiththeTheatresetrangers,VictoiresetConquetes,orMemoiressurlaRevolution,booksthatbringinafortune.Iamnothereasastepping-stonetofuturefame,buttomakemoney,andtofinditformenwithdistinguishednames.
　　ThemanuscriptsforwhichIgiveahundredthousandfrancspaymebetterthanworkbyanunknownauthorwhoaskssixhundred.IfIamnotexactlyaMaecenas,Ideservethegratitudeofliterature;Ihavedoubledthepricesofmanuscripts.IamgivingyouthisexplanationbecauseyouareafriendofLousteau'smyboy,"addedDauriat,clappingLucienontheshoulderwithodiousfamiliarity."IfIweretotalktoalltheauthorswhohaveamindthatIshouldbetheirpublisher,Ishouldhavetoshutupshop;Ishouldpassmytimeveryagreeablynodoubt,buttheconversationswouldcosttoomuch.Iamnotrichenoughyettolistentoallthemonologuesofself-conceit.
　　Nobodydoes,exceptinclassicaltragediesonthestage."
　　TheterribleDauriat'sgorgeousraimentseemedintheprovincialpoet'seyestoaddforcetotheman'sremorselesslogic.
　　"Whatisitabout?"hecontinued,addressingLucien'sprotector.
　　"Itisavolumeofmagnificentpoetry."
　　Atthatword,DauriatturnedtoGabussonwithagestureworthyofTalma.
　　"Gabusson,myfriend,"hesaid,"fromthisdayforward,whenanybodybeginstotalkofworksinmanuscripthere——Doyouhearthat,allofyou?"hebrokeinuponhimself;andthreeassistantsatonceemergedfromamongthepilesofbooksatthesoundoftheiremployer'swrathfulvoice."Ifanybodycomesherewithmanuscripts,"hecontinued,lookingatthefinger-nailsofawell-kepthand,"askhimwhetheritispoetryorprose;andifhesayspoetry,showhimthedooratonce.Versesmeanreversesinthebooktrade."
　　"Bravo!wellput,Dauriat,"criedthechorusofjournalists.
　　"Itistrue!"criedthebookseller,stridingabouthisshopwithLucien'smanuscriptinhishand."Youhavenoidea,gentlemen,oftheamountofharmthatByron,Lamartine,VictorHugo,CasimirDelavigne,Canalis,andBerangerhavedonebytheirsuccess.Thefameofthemhasbroughtdownaninvasionofbarbariansuponus.IknowTHIS:thereareathousandvolumesofmanuscriptpoetrygoingtheroundofthepublishersatthismoment,thingsthatnobodycanmakeheadnortailof,storiesinversethatbegininthemiddle,likeTheCorsairandLara.Theysetuptobeoriginal,forsooth,andindulgeinstanzasthatnobodycanunderstand,anddescriptivepoetryafterthepatternoftheyoungermenwhodiscoveredDelille,andimaginethattheyaredoingsomethingnew.Poetshavebeenswarminglikecockchafersfortwoyearspast.Ihavelosttwentythousandfrancsthroughpoetryinthelasttwelvemonth.YouaskGabusson!Theremaybeimmortalpoetssomewhereintheworld;Iknowofsomethatarebloomingandrosy,andhavenobeardsontheirchinsasyet,"hecontinued,lookingatLucien;"butinthetrade,youngman,thereareonlyfourpoets——
　　Beranger,CasimirDelavigne,Lamartine,andVictorHugo;asforCanalis——heisapoetmadebysheerforceofwritinghimup."
　　Lucienfeltthathelackedthecouragetoholduphisheadandshowhisspiritbeforealltheseinfluentialpersons,whowerelaughingwithalltheirmight.Heknewverywellthatheshouldlookhopelesslyridiculous,andyethefeltconsumedbyafiercedesiretocatchthebooksellerbythethroat,toruffletheinsolentcomposureofhiscravat,tobreakthegoldchainthatglitteredontheman'schest,tramplehiswatchunderhisfeet,andtearhiminpieces.Mortifiedvanityopenedthedoortothoughtsofvengeance,andinwardlyhesworeeternalenmitytothatbookseller.Buthesmiledamiably.
　　"Poetryislikethesun,"saidBlondet,"givinglifealiketoprimevalforestsandtoantsandgnatsandmosquitoes.Thereisnovirtuebuthasavicetomatch,andliteraturebreedsthepublisher."
　　"Andthejournalist,"saidLousteau.
　　Dauriatburstoutlaughing.
　　"Whatisthisafterall?"heasked,holdingupthemanuscript.
　　"AvolumeofsonnetsthatwillputPetrarchtotheblush,"saidLousteau.
　　"Whatdoyoumean?"
　　"JustwhatIsay,"answeredLousteau,seeingtheknowingsmilethatwentroundthegroup.Luciencouldnottakeoffencebuthechafedinwardly.
　　"Verywell,Iwillreadthem,"saidDauriat,witharegalgesturethatmarkedthefullextentoftheconcession."Ifthesesonnetsofyoursareuptothelevelofthenineteenthcentury,Iwillmakeagreatpoetofyou,myboy."
　　"Ifhehasbrainstoequalhisgoodlooks,youwillrunnogreatrisks,"remarkedoneofthegreatestpublicspeakersoftheday,adeputywhowaschattingwiththeeditoroftheMinerve,andawriterfortheConstitutionnel.
　　"Famemeanstwelvethousandfrancsinreviews,andathousandmorefordinners,General,"saidDauriat."IfM.BenjamindeConstantmeanstowriteapaperonthisyoungpoet,itwillnotbelongbeforeImakeabargainwithhim."
　　AtthetitleofGeneral,andthedistinguishednameofBenjaminConstant,thebookseller'sshoptooktheproportionsofOlympusfortheprovincialgreatman.
　　"Lousteau,Iwantawordwithyou,"saidFinot;"butIshallseeyouagainlater,atthetheatre——Dauriat,Iwilltakeyouroffer,butonconditions.Letusstepintoyouroffice."
　　"Comein,myboy,"answeredDauriat,allowingFinottopassbeforehim.Then,intimatingtosometenpersonsstillwaitingforhimthathewasengaged,helikewisewasabouttodisappearwhenLucienimpatientlystoppedhim.
　　"Youarekeepingmymanuscript.WhenshallIhaveananswer?"
　　"Oh,comebackinthreeorfourdays,mylittlepoet,andwewillsee."
　　LousteauhurriedLucienaway;hehadnottimetotakeleaveofVernouandBlondetandRaoulNathan,nortosaluteGeneralFoynorBenjaminConstant,whosebookontheHundredDayswasjustabouttoappear.
　　Lucienscarcelycaughtaglimpseoffairhair,arefinedoval-shapedface,keeneyes,andthepleasant-lookingmouthbelongingtothemanwhohadplayedthepartofaPotemkintoMme.deStaelfortwentyyears,andnowwasatwarwiththeBourbons,ashehadbeenatwarwithNapoleon.Hewasdestinedtowinhiscauseandtodiestrickentoearthbyhisvictory.
　　"Whatashop!"exclaimedLucien,ashetookhisplaceinthecabbesideLousteau.
　　"TothePanorama-Dramatique;looksharp,andyoushallhavethirtysous,"EtienneLousteaucalledtothecabman——"Dauriatisarascalwhosellsbookstotheamountoffifteenorsixteenhundredthousandfrancseveryyear.HeisakindofMinisterofLiterature,"Lousteaucontinued.Hisself-conceithadbeenpleasantlytickled,andhewasshowingoffbeforeLucien."DauriatisjustasgraspingasBarbet,butitisonawholesalescale.Dauriatcanbecivil,andheisgenerous,buthehasagreatopinionofhimself;asforhiswit,itconsistsinafacultyforpickingupallthathehears,andhisshopisacapitalplacetofrequent.YoumeetallthebestmenatDauriat's.Ayoungfellowlearnsmorethereinanhourthanbyporingoverbooksforhalf-a-scoreofyears.Peopletalkaboutarticlesandconcoctsubjects;youmaketheacquaintanceofgreatorinfluentialpeoplewhomaybeusefultoyou.Youmustknowpeopleifyoumeantogetonnowadays——Itisallluck,yousee.Andasforsittingbyyourselfinacorneralonewithyourintellect,itisthemostdangerousthingofall."
　　"Butwhatinsolence!"saidLucien.
　　"Pshaw!weallofuslaughatDauriat,"saidEtienne."Ifyouareinneedofhim,hetramplesuponyou;ifhehasneedoftheJournaldesDebats,EmileBlondetsetshimspinninglikeatop.Oh,ifyoutaketoliterature,youwillseeagoodmanyqueerthings.Well,whatwasI
　　tellingyou,eh?"
　　"Yes,youwereright,"saidLucien."MyexperienceinthatshopwasevenmorepainfulthanIexpected,afteryourprogramme."
　　"Whydoyouchoosetosuffer?Youfindyoursubject,youwearoutyourwitsoveritwithtoilingatnight,youthrowyourverylifeintoit:
　　andafterallyourjourneyingsinthefieldsofthought,themonumentrearedwithyourlife-bloodissimplyagoodorabadspeculationforapublisher.Yourworkwillselloritwillnotsell;andtherein,forthem,liesthewholequestion.Abookmeanssomuchcapitaltorisk,andthebetterthebook,thelesslikelyitistosell.Amanoftalentrisesabovethelevelofordinaryheads;hissuccessvariesindirectratiowiththetimerequiredforhisworktobeappreciated.
　　Andnopublisherwantstowait.To-day'sbookmustbesoldbyto-morrow.Actingonthissystem,publishersandbooksellersdonotcaretotakerealliterature,booksthatcallforthehighpraisethatcomesslowly."
　　"D'Arthezwasright,"exclaimedLucien.
　　"Doyouknowd'Arthez?"askedLousteau."Iknowofnomoredangerouscompanythansolitaryspiritslikethatfellowyonder,whofancythattheycandrawtheworldafterthem.Allofusbeginbythinkingthatwearecapableofgreatthings;andwhenonceayouthfulimaginationisheatedbythissuperstition,thecandidateforposthumoushonorsmakesnoattempttomovetheworldwhilesuchmovingoftheworldisbothpossibleandprofitable;heletsthetimegoby.IamforMahomet'ssystem——ifthemountaindoesnotcometome,Iamforgoingtothemountain."
　　Thecommon-sensesotrenchantlyputinthissallyleftLucienhaltingbetweentheresignationpreachedbythebrotherhoodandLousteau'smilitantdoctrine.HesaidnotawordtilltheyreachedtheBoulevardduTemple.
　　ThePanorama-Dramatiquenolongerexists.Adwelling-housestandsonthesiteoftheoncecharmingtheatreintheBoulevardduTemple,wheretwosuccessivemanagementscollapsedwithoutmakingasinglehit;andyetVignol,whohassincefallenheirtosomeofPotier'spopularity,madehisdebutthere;andFlorine,fiveyearslateracelebratedactress,madeherfirstappearanceinthetheatreoppositetheRueCharlot.Play-houses,likemen,havetheirvicissitudes.ThePanorama-Dramatiquesufferedfromcompetition.Themachinationsofitsrivals,theAmbigu,theGaite,thePorteSaint-Martin,andtheVaudeville,togetherwithaplethoraofrestrictionsandascarcityofgoodplays,combinedtobringaboutthedownfallofthehouse.NodramaticauthorcaredtoquarrelwithaprosperoustheatreforthesakeofthePanorama-Dramatique,whoseexistencewas,tosaytheleast,problematical.Themanagementatthismoment,however,wascountingonthesuccessofanewmelodramaticcomedybyM.duBruel,ayoungauthorwho,afterworkingincollaborationwithdiverscelebrities,hadnowproducedapieceprofessedlyentirelyhisown.Ithadbeenspeciallycomposedfortheleadinglady,ayoungactresswhobeganherstagecareerasasupernumeraryattheGaite,andhadbeenpromotedtosmallpartsforthelasttwelvemonth.ButthoughMlle.
　　Florine'sactinghadattractedsomeattention,sheobtainednoengagement,andthePanoramaaccordinglyhadcarriedheroff.Coralie,anotheractress,wastomakeherdebutatthesametime.
　　Lucienwasamazedatthepowerwieldedbythepress."Thisgentlemaniswithme,"saidEtienneLousteau,andthebox-officeclerksbowedbeforehimasoneman.
　　"Youwillfinditnoeasymattertogetseats,"saidthehead-clerk.
　　"Thereisnothingleftnowbutthestagebox."
　　Acertainamountoftimewaswastedincontroversieswiththebox-
　　keepersinthelobbies,whenEtiennesaid,"Letusgobehindthescenes;wewillspeaktothemanager,hewilltakeusintothestage-
　　box;andbesides,IwillintroduceyoutoFlorine,theheroineoftheevening."
　　AtasignfromEtienneLousteau,thedoorkeeperoftheorchestratookoutalittlekeyandunlockedadoorinthethicknessofthewall.