Scenes from a Courtesans Life | Page 5

himself in rubbishy articles which his
conscience regards, sooner or later, as so many evil actions. He started,
like Lousteau or Vernou, to be a great writer; he finds himself a feeble
scrivener. Hence it is impossible to honor too highly men whose
character stands as high as their talent --men like d'Arthez, who know
how to walk surefooted across the reefs of literary life.
Lucien could make no reply to Blondet's flattery; his wit had an
irresistible charm for him, and he maintained the hold of the corrupter
over his pupil; besides, he held a position in the world through his
connection with the Comtesse de Montcornet.
"Has an uncle left you a fortune?" said Finot, laughing at him.
"Like you, I have marked some fools for cutting down," replied Lucien
in the same tone.
"Then Monsieur has a review--a newspaper of his own?" Andoche
Finot retorted, with the impertinent presumption of a chief to a
subordinate.
"I have something better," replied Lucien, whose vanity, nettled by the
assumed superiority of his editor, restored him to the sense of his new
position.
"What is that, my dear boy?"
"I have a party."
"There is a Lucien party?" said Vernou, smiling

"Finot, the boy has left you in the lurch; I told you he would. Lucien is
a clever fellow, and you never were respectful to him. You used him as
a hack. Repent, blockhead!" said Blondet.
Blondet, as sharp as a needle, could detect more than one secret in
Lucien's air and manner; while stroking him down, he contrived to
tighten the curb. He meant to know the reasons of Lucien's return to
Paris, his projects, and his means of living.
"On your knees to a superiority you can never attain to, albeit you are
Finot!" he went on. "Admit this gentleman forthwith to be one of the
great men to whom the future belongs; he is one of us! So witty and so
handsome, can he fail to succeed by your quibuscumque viis? Here he
stands, in his good Milan armor, his strong sword half unsheathed, and
his pennon flying!--Bless me, Lucien, where did you steal that smart
waistcoat? Love alone can find such stuff as that. Have you an address?
At this moment I am anxious to know where my friends are domiciled;
I don't know where to sleep. Finot has turned me out of doors for the
night, under the vulgar pretext of 'a lady in the case.'"
"My boy," said Lucien, "I put into practice a motto by which you may
secure a quiet life: Fuge, late, tace. I am off."
"But I am not off till you pay me a sacred debt--that little supper, you
know, heh?" said Blondet, who was rather too much given to good
cheer, and got himself treated when he was out of funds.
"What supper?" asked Lucien with a little stamp of impatience.
"You don't remember? In that I recognize my prosperous friend; he has
lost his memory."
"He knows what he owes us; I will go bail for his good heart," said
Finot, taking up Blondet's joke.
"Rastignac," said Blondet, taking the young dandy by the arm as he
came up the room to the column where the so-called friends were
standing. "There is a supper in the wind; you will join us--unless," he

added gravely, turning to Lucien, "Monsieur persists in ignoring a debt
of honor. He can."
"Monsieur de Rubempre is incapable of such a thing; I will answer for
him," said Rastignac, who never dreamed of a practical joke.
"And there is Bixiou, he will come too," cried Blondet; "there is no fun
without him. Without him champagne cloys my tongue, and I find
everything insipid, even the pepper of satire."
"My friends," said Bixiou, "I see you have gathered round the wonder
of the day. Our dear Lucien has revived the Metamorphoses of Ovid.
Just as the gods used to turn into strange vegetables and other things to
seduce the ladies, he has turned the Chardon (the Thistle) into a
gentleman to bewitch--whom? Charles X.!--My dear boy," he went on,
holding Lucien by his coat button, "a journalist who apes the fine
gentleman deserves rough music. In their place," said the merciless
jester, as he pointed to Finot and Vernou, "I should take you up in my
society paper; you would bring in a hundred francs for ten columns of
fun."
"Bixiou," said Blondet, "an Amphitryon is sacred for twenty-four hours
before a feast and twelve hours after. Our illustrious friend is giving us
a supper."
"What then!" cried Bixiou; "what is more imperative than the duty of
saving a great name from oblivion, of endowing the indigent
aristocracy with a man of talent? Lucien, you enjoy the esteem of the
press of which you were