Conservatoire, and music-teachers from the Rue Montmartre. There you

are, monsieur; your head is dressed as that of a man of talent ought
to be. Ossian," he said to the lacquey in livery, "dress monsieur and

show him out. Whose turn next?" he added proudly, gazing round upon
the persons who awaited him.

"Don't laugh, Gazonal," said Leon as they reached the foot of the
staircase, whence his eye could take in the whole of the Place de la

Bourse. "I see over there one of our great men, and you shall compare
his language with that of the barber, and tell me which of the two you

think the most original."
"Don't laugh, Gazonal," said Bixiou, mimicking Leon's intonation.

"What do you suppose is Marius's business?"
"Hair-dressing."

"He has obtained a monopoly of the sale of hair in bulk, as a certain
dealer in comestibles who is going to sell us a pate for three francs

has acquired a monopoly of the sale of truffles; he discounts the
paper of that business; he loans money on pawn to clients when

embarrassed; he gives annuities on lives; he gambles at the Bourse; he
is a stockholder in all the fashion papers; and he sells, under the

name of a certain chemist, an infamous drug which, for his share
alone, gives him an income of thirty thousand francs, and costs in

advertisements a hundred thousand yearly."
"Is it possible!" cried Gazonal.

"Remember this," said Bixiou, gravely. "In Paris there is no such
thing as a small business; all things swell to large proportions, down

to the sale of rags and matches. The lemonade-seller who, with his
napkin under his arm, meets you as you enter his shop, may be worth

his fifty thousand francs a year; the waiter in a restaurant is
eligible for the Chamber; the man you take for a beggar in the street

carries a hundred thousand francs worth of unset diamonds in his
waistcoat pocket, and didn't steal them either."

The three inseparables (for one day at any rate) now crossed the Place
de la Bourse in a way to intercept a man about forty years of age,

wearing the Legion of honor, who was coming from the boulevard by way
of the rue Neuve-Vivienne.

"Hey!" said Leon, "what are you pondering over, my dear Dubourdieu?
Some fine symbolic composition? My dear cousin, I have the pleasure to

present to you our illustriouspainter Dubourdieu, not less celebrated
for his humanitarian convictions than for his talents in art.

Dubourdieu, my cousin Palafox."
Dubourdieu, a small, pale man with melancholy blue eyes, bowed

slightly to Gazonal, who bent low as before a man of genius.
"So you have elected Stidmann in place of--" he began.

"How could I help it? I wasn't there," replied Lora.
"You bring the Academy into disrepute," continued the painter. "To

choose such a man as that! I don't wish to say ill of him, but he
works at a trade. Where are you dragging the first of arts,--the art

those works are the most lasting; bringing nations to light of which
the world has long lost even the memory; an art which crowns and

consecrates great men? Yes, sculpture is priesthood; it preserves the
ideas of an epoch, and you give its chair to a maker of toys and

mantelpieces, an ornamentationist, a seller of bric-a-brac! Ah! as
Chamfort said, one has to swallow a viper every morning to endure the

life of Paris. Well, at any rate, Art remains to a few of us; they
can't prevent us from cultivating it--"

"And besides, my dear fellow, you have a consolation which few artists
possess; the future is yours," said Bixiou. "When the world is

converted to our doctrine, you will be at the head of your art; for
you are putting into it ideas which people will understand--WHEN they

are generalized! In fifty years from now you'll be to all the world
what you are to a few of us at this moment,--a great man. The only

question is how to get along till then."
"I have just finished," resumed the great artist, his face expanding

like that of a man whose hobby is stroked, "an allegorical figure of
Harmony; and if you will come and see it, you will understand why it

should have taken me two years to paint it. Everything is in it! At
the first glance one divines the destiny of the globe. A queen holds a

shepherd's crook in her hand,--symbolical of the advancement of the
races useful to mankind; she wears on her head the cap of Liberty; her

breasts are sixfold, as the Egyptians carved them--for the Egyptians
foresaw Fourier; her feet are resting on two clasped hands which

embrace a globe,--symbol of the brotherhood of all human races; she
tramples cannon under foot to signify the abolition of war; and I have

tried to make her face express the serenity of triumphant agriculture.
I have also placed beside her an enormous curled cabbage, which,

according to our master, is an image of Harmony. Ah! it is not the
least among Fourier's titles to veneration that he has restored the

gift of thought to plants; he has bound all creation in one by the
signification of things to one another, and by their special language.

A hundred years hence this earth will be much larger than it is now."
"And how will that, monsieur, come to pass?" said Gazonal, stupefied

at hearing a man outside of a lunaticasylum talk in this way.
"Through the extending of production. If men will apply The System, it

will not be impossible to act upon the stars."
"What would become of painting in that case?" asked Gazonal.

"It would be magnified."
"Would our eyes be magnified too?" said Gazonal, looking at his two

friends significantly.
"Man will return to what he was before he became degenerate; our six-

feet men will then be dwarfs."
"Is your picture finished?" asked Leon.

"Entirely finished," replied Dubourdieu. "I have tried to see Hiclar,
and get him to compose a symphony for it; I wish that while viewing my

picture the public should hear music a la Beethoven to develop its
ideas and bring them within range of the intellect by two arts. Ah! if

the government would only lend me one of the galleries of the Louvre!"
"I'll mention it, if you want me to do so; you should never neglect an

opportunity to strike minds."
"Ah! my friends are preparing articles; but I am afraid they'll go too

far."
"Pooh!" said Bixiou, "they can't go as far as the future."

Dubourdieu looked askance at Bixiou, and continued his way.
"Why, he's mad," said Gazonal; "he is following the moon in her

courses."
"His skill is masterly," said Leon, "and he knows his art, but

Fourierism has killed him. You have just seen, cousin, one of the
effects of ambition upon artists. Too often, in Paris, from a desire

to reach more rapidly than by natural ways the celebrity which to them
is fortune, artists borrow the wings of circumstance, they think they

make themselves of more importance as men of a specialty, the
supporters of some 'system'; and they fancy they can transform a

clique into the public. One is a republican, another Saint-Simonian;
this one aristocrat, that one Catholic, others juste-milieu, middle

ages, or German, as they choose for their purpose. Now, though
opinions do not give talent, they always spoil what talent there is;

and the poor fellow whom you have just seen is a proof thereof. An
artist's opinion ought to be: Faith in his art, in his work; and his

only way of success is toil when nature has given him the sacred
fire."

"Let us get away," said Bixiou. "Leon is beginning to moralize."
"But that man was sincere," said Gazonal, still stupefied.

"Perfectly sincere," replied Bixiou; "as sincere as the king of
barbers just now."

"He is mad!" repeated Gazonal.
"And he is not the first man driven man by Fourier's ideas," said

Bixiou. "You don't know anything about Paris. Ask it for a hundred
thousand francs to realize an idea that will be useful to humanity,--

the steam-engine for instance,--and you'll die, like Salomon de Caux,
at Bicetre; but if the money is wanted for some paradoxical absurdity,

Parisians will annihilate themselves and their fortune for it. It is
the same with systems as it is with material things. Utterly

impracticable newspapers have consumed millions within the last
fifteen years. What makes your lawsuit so hard to win, is that you