Father Bonneville ventured to tell him that there were difficulties in the way of posting, as we were not furnished with those papers which were sometimes inquired for at post-houses.
“Oh, I will manage that very soon for you,” said our host. “The mayor shall furnish you with the necessary passports.”
“But he knows nothing of us,” replied Father Bonneville.
“He knows me,” replied the other, with a significant nod of his head, “he wont refuse me. It is rather a painful state of things when each man’s life is in another man’s power. There are plenty to misuse the advantage, and I have never seen why I should not employ it to better purposes. The mayor will probably be guillotined in six months. He calculates it will be longer, but I think he makes a mistake. However, he knows I could have him guillotined in six days, and is therefore very compliable.”
“And pray,” said Father Bonneville, with a somewhat rueful smile, “how long do you contemplate keeping your own head where it is?”
“It is hardly worth consideration,” replied the other; “for I say of my head, as a friend of mine said of his house which was likely to fall about his ears, ‘It will last my time.’ In truth it is of very little use to any but myself, or I dare say they would have taken it long ago. The same worthlessness may or may not protect it for a month, a year, or even till these evil times pass away; for you are not to suppose, my good friend, that this state will last for ever. It is a mere irruption of human vanity. We Frenchmen are the vainest people upon earth, the whole nation is vain, and every individual is vain. This vanity makes each man unwilling to see any other a bit higher, richer, or in any respect better off than himself; but there are certain fundamental laws of order which man may overturn for a time, but which always resume their power. The wise rule in the end. Industry and talent raise themselves in spite of resistance, forethought and care produce wealth, and if you were to take every acre of land throughout France, and every louis d’or, and divide them equally amongst the whole people, so that there should not be the difference of a sous, before fifty years had passed you would find the differences all restored, some men rich, other men poor, some men ruling, other men obeying, some enjoying, others laboring. Nay more, my belief is, that within the same time, you would find rank, titles and distinctions restored also.”
Father Bonneville shook his head.
“I am very sure of it,” replied the other, in answer to the doubtful shake. “There are many countries in which a pure democracy might exist—perhaps in England—but certainly not in France. Our very blood is feudal and chivalrous. History, which is the memory of nations, is filled with nothing but feudal and chivalrous facts. We are too light, too vain, too volatile to do without distinction for any length of time, and we have not a sufficient spirit of organization in our character to do without a king in some shape or other. I think it must be an absolute shape; but take my word for it, France will never be forty years at any one time without counts, barons and marquises, dukes, peers, stars and ribbons. You might as well attempt to make us Quakers as real republicans. A lion may perhaps be taught to dance like a monkey for an hour or two, but take my word for it, in the end he will eat his dancing-master; and you might as well attempt to change a lion’s nature as a Frenchman’s. However, you shall have the passports to-morrow, or I do not know the mayor. He is a very excellent person, but has an over-strong regard for the integrity of his neck.”
“I wish I possessed your secret of living so much at ease amidst such scenes, and exercising so much influence over such men,” said Father Bonneville.
“Mystery, mystery!” said our host with a smile. “That is the whole secret. No one knows what I am going to do next. No one knows why I am going to do it. Whenever there is any great question agitated in regard to which I am forced to take a part, I give a full and complete explanation of my views, in terms which not a man who hears me can comprehend. I use the language of the times, the cant words and pet phrases of the multitude, and generally I go one little step before any of the movements I see coming; for where millions of people are running a race, as we are in France, the man who stops even to buckle his shoe is certain to be knocked down and trampled to death. But now I will show you your sleeping place. You will find the beds good. May you never have worse.”