Montesquieu (1689–1755). Persian Letters. 1901.
Letter CXXXIIRica to
F
I left without having paid much attention to all this talk; but, finding myself yesterday in that quarter, I entered the same house, and there saw a solemn man, with a long, pale face, who, in the midst of five or six chatterers, seemed sad and thoughtful, until he suddenly burst into the conversation, and said, in a loud voice, “Yes, gentlemen, I am ruined; I have nothing to live on, for I have at present at home two hundred thousand livres in bank notes, and a hundred thousand crowns in money; my situation is frightful; I thought myself rich, and here I am a beggar; if I had only a small estate to which I could retire, I would be sure at least of a livelihood, but I have not as much land as would fill this hat.”
I happened to turn my head to the other side, and saw another man grimacing like one possessed. “Who can be trusted now?” cried he. “There is a traitor, whom I thought so much my friend, that I lent him my money; and he has paid it back! What abominable treachery! Whatever he may do now, in my opinion he will always be disgraced.”
Quite near him was a very ill-dressed man, who, raising his eyes to heaven, said, “God bless the schemes of our ministers! May stocks rise to two thousand livres, and may I see all the lackeys of Paris richer than their masters!” I had the curiosity to ask what he was. “He is a very poor man,” they said, “with a very poor profession: he is a genealogist, and he hopes that his art will become profitable if fortunes continue to be made, and that all the nouveaux
Lastly, I saw a pale, thin man come in, whom I recognized for a Quidnunc before he had got seated; he was not one of those who are sure of victory in face of every reverse, and always predict triumphs and trophies; he was, on the contrary, a weak-kneed brother, whose news was always doleful. “Things have taken a very bad turn for us in Spain,” he said; “we have no cavalry on the frontier, and it is feared that Prince Pio, who has a large force, will fleece the whole of Languedoc.” Opposite me there sat a philosopher in shabby clothes, who held the Quidnunc in contempt, and shrugged his shoulders in proportion as the other grew loud. I approached him, and he whispered to me, “You see how this fop has plagued us for an hour with his fears for Languedoc; and I, who detected yesterday evening a spot in the sun, which, if it increases, may throw nature generally into a state of stagnation—I have not said a word about it.”
P