Paris in the Twentieth Century (9 page)

Yet
the bookkeeper's reputation for simplicity, not to say stupidity, was
celebrated throughout the offices; stories were told about him that would have
made the Calinos
[16]
of the period turn pale! Nonetheless, his splendid calligraphy and his
exactitude were indisputable virtues; it was on account of the latter, thanks
to his proverbial obtuseness, that he had escaped the two tasks so burdensome
for a clerk: jury duty and National Guard service (these two great
institutions were still functioning in the year of grace 1960).

Here
are the circumstances in which Quinsonnas was removed from the lists of the
former and the roll books of the latter. About a year earlier, fate had placed
his name in the jury pool; the case was an extremely serious one in the Assize
Court and particularly long as well; it had already lasted some eight days,
and only now was there some hope of bringing it to an end; the last witnesses
were being questioned, but Quinsonnas had not been taken into consideration. In
the middle of the session, he stood up and asked the presiding magistrate if
the defendant might be asked one question. Permission was granted, the question
was asked, and the defendant provided an answer.

"In
that case, " said Quinsonnas, very loudly, "it is plain that the
defendant is not guilty. " The effect can be imagined! It is forbidden for
any member of the jury to express an opinion during the course of the interrogation,
on pain of mistrial! Quinsonnas's blunder thus extended the case to yet
another session! And everything had to be started all over again; and since the
incorrigible juror, involuntarily or else naively repeated the error, no
verdict could be reached!

What
could anyone say to the unfortunate Quinsonnas? He was evidently speaking out
despite himself, in the heat of the interrogation; his thoughts got the best of
him. It was an infirmity, but finally, since Justice had to proceed on its
course, he was permanently excused from the jury lists.

The
National Guard was another matter. The first time Quinsonnas was assigned to
sentry duty at the gates of his municipal district, he took his duties seriously;
he stood at attention before his box, his rifle loaded, his finger on the
trigger, ready to fire as if the enemy was about to appear around the corner.
Naturally some people stared at this zealous sentry—more than a few, in fact;
several innocent bystanders smiled. This was not to the fierce National
Guardsman's liking. He arrested one, then two, then three of these idlers; at
the end of his two hours on duty, he had filled the post. His actions nearly
caused a riot.

What
could be said? Quinsonnas was quite within his rights; he claimed to have been
insulted while under arms! The religion of the flag was on his side, and the
incident was inevitably repeated during his next session on duty, and since
neither his zeal nor his susceptibility, both quite honorable, after all, could
be moderated, he was removed from the military roles.

Quinsonnas
may well have passed for an imbecile, yet in this fashion he had managed to
avoid both jury duty and National Guard service. Released from these two social
burdens, Quinsonnas became a model bookkeeper.

For
a month, Michel dictated according to the regulations. His work was easy
enough, but it left him not a moment's freedom; Quinsonnas wrote, sometimes
shooting a remarkably sharp glance at young Dufrénoy when the latter began
declaiming the Ledger's articles in emotional accents.

"What
an odd chap, " he mused; "yet he seems born for better things! I
wonder why he's been put here, being Boutardin's nephew and all? Could it be to
take my place? Impossible—he writes like the cook's cat! Maybe he's really just
the simpleton he seems. I must get to the bottom of this!"

For
his part, Michel indulged in identical reflections: "This Quinsonnas must
be playing a double game. Obviously he's born for better things than making
those F's or those M's. There are times when I can actually hear him laughing
to himself! What's he thinking about?"

Thus
these two comrades of the Ledger observed each other; they did so with a clear,
frank gaze on either side, thereby generating a communicative spark. Such a
situation could not continue without some consequence. Quinsonnas was dying to
ask questions, and Michel to answer them, and one fine day, without knowing
why, in an expansive mood, Michel was led to tell his life story; he did so
excitedly, his words full of feelings that had been repressed too long.
Quinsonnas was very likely moved, for he squeezed his young companion's hand.
"But your father?" he asked.

"Was
a musician. "

"A
musician—was he that Dufrénoy whose last works are among the finest things in
modern music?"

"That
was certainly my father. "

"A
man of genius!" Quinsonnas exclaimed, "a poor man and little known,
my dear boy, yet he was my own master!"

"Your
master!" Michel gaped.

"Yes,
mine!" exclaimed Quinsonnas, brandishing his pen, "to the devil with
scruples!
Io son pittore!
I am a
musician!"

"You're
an artist!"

"Yes,
but not so loud! I'll get myself thanked for it, " Quinsonnas whispered,
quelling the young man's gestures of surprise and delight.

"But..."

"Here
I'm a bookkeeper; the copyist feeds the musician, until..." Here he broke
off, staring hard at Michel.

"Until..."

"Until
the moment I've discovered some practical notion!"

"In
industry!" Michel replied, disappointed.

"No,
my boy, " Quinsonnas replied in a fatherly tone, "in music. "

"In
music?"

"Silence!
Don't question me, it's a secret. I'm going to astound the age. Don't laugh!
Laughter is punishable by death these days; our contemporaries are serious to
the end of time."

"Astound
the age, " the young man repeated quite mechanically.

"That's
my motto, " Quinsonnas answered. "Astound, since I can no longer
beguile. Like you, I was born a century too late; and you must do as I do,
work! Earn your bread, since all of us must achieve that ignoble thing:
digestion! I'll teach you something about life, if you're willing to learn; for
fifteen years I've been feeding my poor self quite meagerly, and it's taken
strong teeth to chew what fate has put in my mouth! But finally, with a strong
pair of jaws, you can get the best of fate! Luckily I fell into a job, of
sorts; I have a good hand, as they say. Lord! If I were to lose an arm, what
would I do? No piano—no Ledger either! Bah, in time I could learn to play with
my feet! I've thought about it. 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 Cit
é
, 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 P
é
reire,
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. "