The Clock of the Centuries

by Albert Robida

  “He’s a very fine man,” said Palluel. “A superb representative of a strong family. How old is he now?”

  “Still in his 70s.”

  “With all his hair and teeth!”

  “Oh yes, all his teeth! More than his fair share, anyhow. As an officer of the royal guard under Charles X, he was, it appears, famous for his terrible escapades. He still had a position and responsibilities then! After 1830, having handed in his resignation to sulk on his estates and no longer having anything to do, he almost turned Dijon upside down with his dueling, brawling and follies of every sort. I only know all that vaguely, although he’s dying to tell me all about it. In 1840, three-quarters ruined and perhaps a trifle tired, he married a reasonable dowry and expectations. Nothing was left of the dowry or the inheritance after five years but the Dijon house—mortgaged to the hilt, alas. I feel as if I’ve been surrounded by money-lenders and bailiffs ever since I was weaned! At 20, I was alone in life, having inherited numerous debts, and I was glad, in order to earn a crust, to find a job scratching paper in an office—the only thing I was good for. There are families that rise and others that decline. Mine was one of those that fall headlong!”

  “There’s a pork-butcher in my neighborhood called Ronsard,” said Palluel, “who might be a descendant of the great poet. I never pass his shop without sighing.”

  “Personally, I’ve been as philosophical as possible,” Houquetot went on, “arranging my life as simple Houquetot, without a de and without the least marquisate. When I go fishing after office hours, I think about my noble ancestors, looking down on me disdainfully from on high, from the aristocratic corner in which I imagine them enthroned…”

  “My poor Houquetot,” said Robert, nudging the brave fellow, “business is mediocre, as you know, but all the same, I can put 500 francs at your disposal to settle this court order without inconveniencing myself…”

  “Thanks, I can get myself out of it this time. Don’t mention that in front of my father—he’d take advantage!”

  “This is a very special case,” said Palluel. “This prodigal old marquis interests me, and I’ll put my petty purse at your disposition, poor victim. Don’t stand on ceremony; as a poet I make 70 francs a year, but as a playwright I sometimes get serious royalties. I repeat, the case interests me—you’re a true victim of the New Era.”

  “A poor victim weighed down by innumerable troubles,” Houquetot declared, lowering his head piteously, “and I don’t expect them to improve, considering that my father is seriously deranged. I can no longer keep him in the house; he’s been seized by an ardent frenzy, a burning desire for all sorts of escapades—his old life, in a word, which he’s yearning to lead all over again. Until now I’ve managed to keep going, but how can I continue? I’ll soon be buried by the avalanche of legal documents and other nasty things that will rain down on my feeble back and crush me.”

  “On reflection, though,” said Palluel, “I shall stop feeling pity for you! Your family fortune has collapsed, as you say—in that case, it will rise again! You will rise yourself! You will scale the summits again and, in a century or two, there will once again be Houquetots de Mont-Héricourt de Chastelandry—field-marshals in the King’s armies, gentlemen of his Chamber, or counselors in his Privy Councils—in the Château de Chestlandry, which will be restored, like the family, to perfect condition. So rejoice, damn it, rejoice!”

  “A superb vision, I don’t deny—but while waiting, I shall have to fight against squadrons of bailiffs and hordes of creditors. Damn! I remember now—as well as the present ones, there are old creditors—the last ones, who couldn’t collect a sou of their bad debts after 1850. They’ll be reborn too, and will fall upon us! I rejoiced in the new order of things, to be sure, but, by the Devil’s horns—to use one of the oaths of my noble ancestors!—I’ve found nothing in it but torments and disappointments”

  “It will all sort itself out, my friend, in two or three generations—which is but a minute in the life of a family, a very short minute!”

  At that moment the sound of a bell interrupted Houquetot’s lamentations, and he pulled himself together. He recognized the voice of the newcomer in the antechamber and sprang to his feet. “There he is, at last… A thousand excuses, he’s arriving just as it’s time to go!”

  The terrible father of poor Houquetot came into the drawing-room, quite at ease, already offering a polite greeting to Berthe Laforcade, whose hand he kissed gallantly. He was a fine old man, very upright, solidly built and broad-shouldered, squeezed into shape by a corset, wearing a frock-coat cut in an old style with a white carnation in his buttonhole. His entire physiognomy—the hard, bright eyes; the nose like an eagle’s beak; the great moustache a trifle too black for his age—declared him to be a fine specimen of a strong family, with the highly-colored complexion of a true Burgundian.

  “Well, I’ll wager that my son has been telling you that his poor father deserves worse than hanging,” he said, laughing, “and I hope that you at least, dear Madame, didn’t believe a word of it! He’s grumbling still, isn’t he? The lad was my despair as a father; he has certain qualities that I recognize, but combined with the ideas of a petty bourgeois exaggerated to excess! No way to educate him! I see that I didn’t pay enough attention to him in his youth, and I’ve been well punished!”

  “I was just about to go,” said Houquetot. “I was no longer expecting you…”

  “It’s not yet 11! I ran into an old friend and I was caught up in talking about the good times that are going to return, for which we are waiting impatiently!”

  “I think I know his old friend,” Houquetot said to Palluel in a low voice. “I was presented with a jeweler’s invoice the other day and a bill for flowers sent to the Délassements-Comiques,17 where the old friend is currently appearing in the chorus…”

  “My grandfather is like you. Monsieur de Chastelandry,” said Robert Laforcade. “Time isn’t going quickly enough for him.”

  “Ah!” exclaimed the marquis. “That’s because we’re both men of the belle époque; we’re bound to be in sympathy!”

  “Hmm! Hmm!” said the grandfather, shaking his head as if he were choking.

  “Good times, the belle époque!” Chastelandry went on, warming to his subject. “None of your inventions, each more far-fetched than the next! I see that your politics are as ridiculous as your ideas, doubtless made by machine! I saw that as soon as I came back, and I don’t want anything to do with your steam, your lightning in iron wires, your great ministries, of which there are 12 every three months, your electorate that is made to shout ‘Long live the Emperor! Long live the King! Long live the Republic! Long live the Prefect!’ simply by pressing a button. I don’t want anything to do with your hideous factories, which will soon require the Heavens to be cleaned out. I can’t wait for all that to be over and done with! What about you, Monsieur Laforcade?”

  “Where the Devil have I seen that fellow before?” murmured the grandfather, without answering.

  “Here,” Robert told him. “Monsieur de Chastelandry has been here before, as you well know.”

  “No, not here—before.”

  “It’s quite possible that we’ve met before,” said the marquis, as he turned to draw the astonished Palluel aside. “My dear sir, I have a great favor to ask of you. Are you in finance?”

  “On the contrary, Monsieur le Marquis, on the contrary!” Palluel replied, laughing. “I’m in literature…but tell me, all the same.”

  “In literature—I congratulate you and I congratulate our contemporaries. I thought you were…no matter! You’re probably familiar with these money men: bankers, financiers, tax-gatherers—whose trade is doing business at the expense of others, such as we men of the sword…or the pen: an instrument that I honor, sir when it I not wielded by one of those infamous caricaturists who are multiplying like flies! You’re not one of those, are you? Yours is the pen of a poet, not that of a political pamphleteer…”

  “Which I brandi
sh!” cried Palluel. “The pen of a poet, Monsieur, but also that of a political journalist…”

  “Politics is diabolical!”

  “That depends on the party, Monsieur!”

  “Returned to Earth at a bad time, I have only seen bad ones.”

  “We shall change all that. Mine will be good, and you can only approve of it! It might be sufficient to quote you my motto, presently that of all progressive men, which is: Backwards, society, backwards!”

  “You’ve hit the nail on the head, sir! That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard since I returned to the mundane world! I shall, therefore, open myself up to you. We seem to have come back, not to our sheep but to those who have sheared them—do you, perchance, know of some worthy and honest money-lender who might have funds available at some percentage or other? You see that I’m quite ready to make him a good offer at my expense—a matter of gold. When France, having gone astray, finds herself back at the crossroads of the great and beautiful highway that she followed for centuries, before hurling herself into the ruts and ditches in which we are presently floundering, when we have recovered all our tranquility, our security, etc., etc…”

  “Monsieur, that’s the very idea of the article on which I’m currently working—do go on!”

  “Well, personally, I expect to recover my family’s wealth: my Château de Chastelandry, slightly dilapidated, like all the rest; my town house; my farms, my houses… I’ll give you a taste of the excellent wine that I produce on my hills. Do you catch get my meaning? All of that will come back to me in the good time of which we were just speaking, but it’s necessary to wait, alas, for the fortunate moment, and I need, while waiting, to meet a brave and honest money-lender who will give me, on any terms he wishes, a serious advance, secured against my property! In case you don’t know, I’m seriously embarrassed for the moment—seriously embarrassed, I admit—and it annoys me not to be able to maintain my status, and, most of all, that of my son, who has fallen far too low!”

  “I shall do my best, Monsieur le Marquis, to find you one, but it’s very difficult—these money men are harsh and hard; they sense that their reign is coming to an end, and even—note this consequence of the new march of time—foresee that a host of businesses, long since liquidated by these same financiers, will re-emerge into light of day, with their dispossessed victims demanding payment and reparation!”

  “All the more reason to do a little sure business…”

  The marquis was interrupted by grandfather Laforcade, who had just looked him up and down. “We’ve definitely met before,” he said.

  “The pleasure must have been entirely mine, Monsieur,” the marquis replied, graciously, while whispering in Palluel’s ear: “This old man is beginning to bore me…”

  “Yes. I can’t quite remember, because you’ve changed.”

  “Not as much as you,” replied the marquis, standing up straight.

  “Wait—it’s coming back to me. No, a vague memory, rapid as a lightning-flash…but…”

  “Indeed,” said the marquis, “looking at you closely, it also seems to me…”

  “Try to remember yourself… It’s coming back to me… There’s a connection between us, I felt it immediately….in the Jardin Turc, under Charles X… An old quarrel, I think!”

  “Wait,” said the marquis. “The Jardin Turc, a quarrel…I remember too…no, it’s gone…an altercation…”

  “Some insolence…”

  “It’s quite possible—but be more precise if you please!”

  “I can’t. It’s all vague and confused; I only know one thing, and that’s that we were enemies. How? Why? I don’t know—but it will come back to me…yes, it will come back to me…”

  Houquetot and Robert interposed themselves in order to calm the grandfather, who was becoming agitated, rolling his frenzied eyes and striking his forehead as if that might make the memory he sought emerge more easily. Chastelandry drew Palluel aside, bringing him back to the question of the desired loan. Then, as it was getting late, Houquetot talked about leaving and went in search of his father’s cloak.

  “Will we still find a coach for hire?” asked the marquis.

  “We’ll content ourselves with an omnibus,” said his son, modestly. “We have to economize.”

  CHAPTER X

  First And Very Serious Financial

  And Industrial Disruptions

  For months the Bourse had been plunged into an extraordinary state of unease, into a sort of torpor worse than any that the dealers could remember. Passers-by in the Rue Vivienne, during the afternoon hours, sometimes stopped in bewilderment in front of the terrible monument—whose columns, by virtue of what they sheltered, had incited an excessive hatred of columns, of Roman architecture and even of the old Romans themselves (who had, after all merited that hated for a thousand other reasons). There were as many people there as in the old days of booming business: the same black formicary seething in the temple, its members jostling one another beneath the peristyle and overflowing from the colonnade on to the steps, all the way to the gate.

  There was the same swarm and the same chaos as before, but without gestures and—which was much more extraordinary—without vociferations: no shouting, no offers, no barbaric questions in unfamiliar languages, no Caribbean roars; without, in short, the usual immense and savage, which communicated such a strong impression of the solidity of the monument’s roof. There was the same swarm, but it was slow, bleak and silent. The black multitude stirred as its members circulated and ran back and forth with a distracted air, scarcely sustaining a constant hum of muted whispers, which added away into a mere mysterious murmur behind the columns or on the stairways.

  Important things were happening. The Place de Paris was suffering a crisis whose like had never been seen before, even in the heyday of speculation and the times of famous crashes. Never in the history of brokerage, had such a malaise made itself felt in the world of finance; never had such a glacial squall blown over the summits of the great bank, setting the richest houses and the most massive fortunes trembling, and making the faces of certain millionaires white and miserable.

  The crisis had been preceded by long months of vague uncertainty, of anxiety building gradually into a state of feverish obsession. The progression of things since the commencement of the New Era, as is expectable, had given rise to certain inversions of habit in the Bourse, like everywhere else. The index was depressed; the lugubrious brokers were all but silent; the big financiers, whose florid faces—like those of ogres who have dined well—had formerly worn triumphant smiles, now wandered around beneath the colonnade with bleak eyes and long faces.

  And here, suddenly reappearing among them, were the dispossessed: former boursiers expelled after large-scale disasters without having made their fortunes, who had found themselves among the wrecked rather than the wreckers—and these frisky individuals, rubbing their hands, were the only excited and cheerful people at the funeral celebration that the Bourse had become.

  To enlighten ourselves as to the reasons for this extraordinary change in the general appearance of the important gentlemen wandering like lost souls in the edifice in question, it is sufficient to listen to a few conversations and to read a few of the posters stuck to the columns. Yes, times have changed; the people of the former era never had occasion to read such things.

  BANQUE MOBILIÈRE

  Meeting of former shareholders and bond-holders notice

  All persons having formerly owned shares or bonds in the company founded in the name of Banque Mobilière, with a capital of 450 millions, are requested to present themselves at the General Meeting to be held on the 15th of this month, following the verification of their entitlement to a pro rata share in its restored activity.

  RECONVERSION OF FORMER STATE FUNDS

  2½, 3, and 4½ to 5%

  Enough of conversions onerous for stockholders, operations which are more like extortion! This time, the bearers of bonds may present themselves at the
cashiers’ offices without fear. 5% bonds will be repaid immediately. No deductions.

  SUMMONS TO THE CASH-DESKS

  Shareholders in the General Company of South-Western Steelworks are informed that a restitution of two-thirds of their stock investment will be made to them from the 15 to the 25 of next month, with the remaining third to follow.

  CALL FOR BEARERS OF DEPRECIATED STOCKS

  The Official Receiver asks the bearers to register their entitlements with the least possible delay. This is not an appeal for funds—quite the reverse.

  GENERAL MEETING

  Of the former shareholders of United Oil, Central Forges and Glassworks, Metallurgical Bank, High-Life Soaps, Electrical Tramways of Gadhamés, Boileries and Distillers, Giganticorama, Starchworks, etc., etc.

  15th inst., at the Bank:

  Inspection of old issues, verification of capital and distribution to title-holders.