His neighbor was not disconcerted, and, quietly putting his hands into his pockets, replied:
“Well, what of it? I don’t object. Republic or anything else, I don’t care about it. What I want, Monsieur, is to know my government. I have seen Charles X and I stood by him; I have seen Louis Philippe and I stood by him; I have seen Napoleon III, and I stood by him; but I have never seen the Republic.”
Patissot, still serious, replied:
“It is represented by its President.”
“Well, let them show him to me,” the other grunted.
Patissot shrugged his shoulders.
“Everybody can see him—he is not concealed in a wardrobe.”
But suddenly the stout man grew angry:
“Pardon me, Monsieur, he cannot be seen. I have tried more than a hundred times, Monsieur. I have posted myself near the Élysée; he did not come out. A passerby told me that he was playing billiards in the café opposite. I went into the café opposite. He was not there. They promised me that he would go to Melan for the meeting. I went to Melan and I did not see him. I got tired finally. I have never seen Gambetta, either, and I don’t know a single deputy.”
He became excited.
“A government, Monsieur, ought to show itself. It is made for that, for nothing else. People ought to know that on a certain day, at a certain hour, the government will pass through a certain street. In that way people can see it and be satisfied.”
Patissot, quieted, rather liked these statements.
“It is true,” said he, “that people would prefer to know those who govern them.”
The gentleman replied in a softer tone:
“Do you know how I should manage the festival myself? Well, Monsieur, I should have a procession with gilded cars, like the sacred chariots of kings, and I should take the members of the government, from the President down to the deputies, through Paris in them, all day long. In that way everybody would know by sight at least, the persons of the State.”
But one of the street-boys near the coachman turned around, saying:
“And the fat ox, where would you put him?”
A laugh ran through the two benches. Patissot understood the objection, and murmured:
“That, perhaps, would not be dignified.”
The gentleman, after reflecting, agreed.
“Well, then,” said he, “I should place them on view somewhere so that everybody could see them without putting themselves out; on the Triumphal Arc de l’Étoile, for instance, and I should make the whole population file before them. That would lend great character to the event.”
But the boy again turned around and asked:
“Would it need a telescope to see their faces?”
The gentleman did not reply; he continued:
“It is like the distribution of flags! There ought to be some pretext, some organization, perhaps a little war; and then the standards could be presented to the troops as a recompense. I had an idea of which I wrote to the minister; but he has not deigned to reply to me. As they have chosen the date of the taking of the Bastile, an imitation of that might be made; they ought to have built a Bastile in cardboard, painted by a scene-painter, and concealing the whole Column of July within the walls. Then, Monsieur, the troop should make an assault and capture the citadel. That would have been a fine spectacle, and a lesson at the same time, to see the army itself overthrow the ramparts of tyranny. Then they ought to set the sham Bastile on fire; and amid the flames should appear the column, with the Genius of Liberty, symbol of a new order and of the freedom of the people.”
Everybody on the omnibus top listened this time, finding these ideas excellent. An old man said:
“That is a great thought, Monsieur, and one which does you honor. It is to be regretted that the government has not adopted it.”
A young man declared that they ought to have the poems of Barbier recited by actors in the streets, to teach the people art and liberty simultaneously.
This proposition excited great enthusiasm. Everybody wished to talk; their brains were exalted. A street-organ passing by droned out a bar of the “Marseillaise”; a workingman chanted the words, and everyone in chorus shouted the refrain. The lofty nature of the song and its stirring rhythm fired the coachman, whose flogged horses were galloping. Monsieur Patissot bawled at the top of his lungs, slapping his thighs, and the inside passengers, terrified, wondered what kind of tempest had burst over their heads.
They stopped singing after a time, and Monsieur Patissot, judging his neighbor to be a man well able to take the initiative, consulted him on the preparations which he expected to make.
“Lanterns and flags are all very well,” said Patissot, “but I would like something better.”
The other reflected a long time, but found nothing to suggest. So Monsieur Patissot, in despair of finding any novelty, bought three flags and four lanterns.
VII
A Sad Story
To recover from the fatigues of the celebration, Monsieur Patissot conceived the plan of passing the following Sunday tranquilly ensconced somewhere in communication with nature.
Desiring a fine view, he chose the terrace of Saint-Germain. He set out after breakfast and, when he had visited the museum of prehistoric curiosities—as a matter of duty, for he understood nothing about them—he stood struck with admiration before that great promenade, from which in the distance are seen Paris, the surrounding region, all the plains, villages, woods, ponds, towns even, and that great bluish serpent with innumerable undulations, that gentle and adorable river which touches the heel of France—the Seine!
In the background, made blue by light mists, he distinguished, at an incredible distance, little places like white spots, on the slopes of the green hills. And musing that on these almost invisible points men like himself lived, suffered, and toiled, he reflected for the first time on the smallness of the world. He said to himself that, in space, other points still more imperceptible,
