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ingenuousness in his tones that set these writers； the hope of young
France； in a roar。 〃So far our blasphemies have been uttered over our
cups； we have passed our judgments on life while drunk； and taken men
and affairs in an after…dinner frame of mind。 We were innocent of
action； we were bold in words。 But now we are to be branded with the
hot iron of politics； we are going to enter the convict's prison and
to drop our illusions。 Although one has no belief left； except in the
devil； one may regret the paradise of one's youth and the age of
innocence； when we devoutly offered the tip of our tongue to some good
priest for the consecrated wafer of the sacrament。 Ah； my good
friends； our first peccadilloes gave us so much pleasure because the
consequent remorse set them off and lent a keen relish to them； but
nowadays〃
〃Oh！ now；〃 said the first speaker； 〃there is still left〃
〃What？〃 asked another。
〃Crime〃
〃There is a word as high as the gallows and deeper than the Seine；〃
said Raphael。
〃Oh； you don't understand me； I mean political crime。 Since this
morning； a conspirator's life is the only one I covet。 I don't know
that the fancy will last over to…morrow； but to…night at least my
gorge rises at the anaemic life of our civilization and its railroad
evenness。 I am seized with a passion for the miseries of retreat from
Moscow； for the excitements of the Red Corsair； or for a smuggler's
life。 I should like to go to Botany Bay； as we have no Chartreaux left
us here in France； it is a sort of infirmary reserved for little Lord
Byrons who； having crumpled up their lives like a serviette after
dinner； have nothing left to do but to set their country ablaze； blow
their own brains out； plot for a republic or clamor for a war〃
〃Emile；〃 Raphael's neighbor called eagerly to the speaker； 〃on my
honor； but for the revolution of July I would have taken orders； and
gone off down into the country somewhere to lead the life of an
animal； and〃
〃And you would have read your breviary through every day。〃
〃Yes。〃
〃You are a coxcomb！〃
〃Why； we read the newspapers as it is！〃
〃Not bad that； for a journalist！ But hold your tongue； we are going
through a crowd of subscribers。 Journalism； look you； is the religion
of modern society； and has even gone a little further。〃
〃What do you mean？〃
〃Its pontiffs are not obliged to believe in it any more than the
people are。〃
Chatting thus； like good fellows who have known their De Viris
illustribus for years past； they reached a mansion in the Rue Joubert。
Emile was a journalist who had acquired more reputation by dint of
doing nothing than others had derived from their achievements。 A bold；
caustic； and powerful critic； he possessed all the qualities that his
defects permitted。 An outspoken giber； he made numberless epigrams on
a friend to his face； but would defend him； if absent； with courage
and loyalty。 He laughed at everything； even at his own career。 Always
impecunious； he yet lived； like all men of his calibre； plunged in
unspeakable indolence。 He would fling some word containing volumes in
the teeth of folk who could not put a syllable of sense into their
books。 He lavished promises that he never fulfilled； he made a pillow
of his luck and reputation； on which he slept； and ran the risk of
waking up to old age in a workhouse。 A steadfast friend to the gallows
foot； a cynical swaggerer with a child's simplicity； a worker only
from necessity or caprice。
〃In the language of Maitre Alcofribas； we are about to make a famous
troncon de chiere lie；〃 he remarked to Raphael as he pointed out the
flower…stands that made a perfumed forest of the staircase。
〃I like a vestibule to be well warmed and richly carpeted；〃 Raphael
said。 〃Luxury in the peristyle is not common in France。 I feel as if
life had begun anew here。〃
〃And up above we are going to drink and make merry once more； my dear
Raphael。 Ah！ yes；〃 he went on； 〃and I hope we are going to come off
conquerors； too； and walk over everybody else's head。〃
As he spoke； he jestingly pointed to the guests。 They were entering a
large room which shone with gilding and lights； and there all the
younger men of note in Paris welcomed them。 Here was one who had just
revealed fresh powers； his first picture vied with the glories of
Imperial art。 There； another； who but yesterday had launched forth a
volume； an acrid book filled with a sort of literary arrogance； which
opened up new ways to the modern school。 A sculptor； not far away；
with vigorous power visible in his rough features； was chatting with
one of those unenthusiastic scoffers who can either see excellence
anywhere or nowhere； as it happens。 Here； the cleverest of our
caricaturists； with mischievous eyes and bitter tongue； lay in wait
for epigrams to translate into pencil strokes； there； stood the young
and audacious writer； who distilled the quintessence of political
ideas better than any other man； or compressed the work of some
prolific writer as he held him up to ridicule； he was talking with the
poet whose works would have eclipsed all the writings of the time if
his ability had been as strenuous as his hatreds。 Both were trying not
to say the truth while they kept clear of lies； as they exchanged
flattering speeches。 A famous musician administered soothing
consolation in a rallying fashion； to a young politician who had just
fallen quite unhurt； from his rostrum。 Young writers who lacked style
stood beside other young writers who lacked ideas； and authors of
poetical prose by prosaic poets。
At the sight of all these incomplete beings； a simple Saint Simonian；
ingenuous enough to believe in his own doctrine； charitably paired
them off； designing； no doubt； to convert them into monks of his
order。 A few men of science mingled in the conversation； like nitrogen
in the atmosphere； and several vaudevillistes shed rays like the
sparking diamonds that give neither light nor heat。 A few paradox…
mongers； laughing up their sleeves at any folk who embraced their
likes or dislikes in men or affairs； had already begun a two…edged
policy； conspiring against all systems； without committing themselves
to any side。 Then there was the self…appointed critic who admires
nothing； and will blow his nose in the middle of a cavatina at the
Bouffons； who applauds before any one else begins； and contradicts
every one who says what he himself was about to say； he was there
giving out the sayings of wittier men for his own。 Of all the
assembled guests； a future lay before some five； ten or so should
acquire a fleeting renown； as for the rest； like all mediocrities；
they might apply to themselves the famous falsehood of Louis XVIII。；
Union and oblivion。
The anxious jocularity of a man who is expending two thousand crowns
sat on their host。 His eyes turned impatiently towards the door from
time to time； seeking one of his guests who