“Retirement!” thought I; “that may be exactly what would suit me at this moment,” and I drew near to listen.
“Find me a purchaser with seventy francs,” ejaculated the old man, “and I'll close with him.”
“What is it, Monsieur?” said I, bowing civilly to both.
“A 'quatorzième,' sir,” said the clerk, interposing, that he might earn his commission, in the event of a deal. “A quatorzième; and I am bound to say one of the best in this quarter of Paris. It takes in the Rue de la Chuine, the Place de la Boucherie, with a very large sweep of the Boulevard Mont Parnasse.”
“A quatorzième!” cried I, in amazement; “I never heard of any one living so high up. Are there really houses in Paris fourteen stories high?”
They both burst into a fit of laughter as I said this, and it was some time ere the clerk could recover his gravity sufficiently to reply; at last he said, “I perceive that Monsieur is a stranger to Paris and its ways, or he would know that a quatorzième is not an apartment fourteen stories high, but an individual who holds himself always in readiness at the dining-hours of his neighborhood, to make the fourteenth at any table, where, by accident, the unlucky number of thirteen should be assembled,—a party which every well-informed person would otherwise scruple to sit down with. This, sir, is a quatorzième; and here is a gentleman desirous of disposing of his interest in such an enviable property.”
To my question as to what were the necessary qualifications, they both answered in a kind of duet, by volubly recapitulating that nothing was needed but a suit of black, and clean gloves; unobtrusive demeanor and a moderate appetite being the certain recommendations to a high professional success. I saw the chief requirement well,—to eat little, and to talk less; to come in with the soup, and go out with the salad; never to partake of an entrée, nor drink save the “ordinaire:” these were the duties; the reward was ten francs. “It used to be a Napoleon, Monsieur,” said the old mau, wiping his eyes. “In the time of Charles the Tenth it was always a Napoleon; but these 'canailles' nowadays have no reverence for anything; I have known even the ministry dine thirteen on a Friday,—to be sure, the king was fired at two days afterwards for it; but nothing can teach them.”
The old gentleman grew most communicative on the subject of his “walk,” which he was only abandoning in consequence of the rheumatism, and the difficulty of ascending to dinner-parties on a high elevation. He depicted with enthusiasm the enjoyments of a profession that demanded, as he observed, so little previous study, was removed from all the vicissitudes of commerce, pleasant in practice, and remunerative in pay. He also insinuated the possible advantages to a young and handsome man, who could scarcely fail to secure a good marriage, by observing a discreet and decorous demeanor; and, in fact, he represented his calling in such a light as at least to give me the liveliest curiosity to enter upon it for a brief space, and while meditating what future steps I should take in life.
That same afternoon I saw myself announced at the porter's window of a very shabby-looking house in the Rue de la Forge as “Monsieur de Corneille,”—the “de” being advised by my predecessor,—“Quatorzième prêt à toute heure,” and thus opened my professional career. I was told that it was all important in my vocation that I should not be seen much abroad in the world. There should be a certain mysteriousness about me, when I appeared at a dinner-table, that might permit the host to speak of me—to strangers—as his old friend the Baron de So-and-so, who rarely ventured out even to dine with him. In fact, I should be as guarded against publicity as though I were a royal personage. This was not a hard condition at the time, since I was desirous of escaping notice. I passed all my mornings, therefore, in writing—sometimes memorials to a minister, sometimes statements for the press; now, they were letters to the banker at Guajuaqualla, or to Don Estaban, or to the great firm at the Havannah. The cost of postage deterred me from despatching most of them, but I continued to write them, as though to feed the cravings of my hope. When evening drew nigh, I abandoned the desk for the toilet; and having arrayed myself in most austere black, waited for the summons which should invite me to some unknown feast. I have often perused records of the early struggles of a professional life,—the nervous vacillations between hope and fear which haunt him who watches day after day, for some time, that he is not forgotten of the world; the fretful jealousies of the fortunate rival; the sad depression over his own failures; the eager watching lest the footfall on the stairs stop not at his door, and the wearisome sinking of the heart as the sounds die away in the distance, and leave him to the silence of his own despair. If I had not to feel the corroding regrets of him who has toiled long and ardently for the attainment of a knowledge that now lies in rust, unused, unasked for, unwanted, I had to learn what are his tortures who waits till the world call him.
There I sat in all my “bravery.” What a contrast between my sleek exterior and the half-famished creature within! Sometimes my impatience would break out into a fit of passion, in which I railed at the old knave who had entrapped me, at fortune that deserted me, at myself, who had grown indolent, and void of enterprise. Sometimes I became almost stupid by long reflection, and would sit to a late hour of the night, unconscious of everything; and sometimes I would actually laugh outright at the absurdity of my assumed calling, wondering how I ever could have been fool enough to embrace it.