CHAPTER V--HIS FRONTIERS

  The gamin loves the city, he also loves solitude, since he has somethingof the sage in him. _Urbis amator_, like Fuscus; _ruris amator_, likeFlaccus.

  To roam thoughtfully about, that is to say, to lounge, is a fineemployment of time in the eyes of the philosopher; particularly in thatrather illegitimate species of campaign, which is tolerably ugly butodd and composed of two natures, which surrounds certain great cities,notably Paris. To study the suburbs is to study the amphibious animal.End of the trees, beginning of the roofs; end of the grass, beginningof the pavements; end of the furrows, beginning of the shops, end ofthe wheel-ruts, beginning of the passions; end of the divine murmur,beginning of the human uproar; hence an extraordinary interest.

  Hence, in these not very attractive places, indelibly stamped bythe passing stroller with the epithet: _melancholy_, the apparentlyobjectless promenades of the dreamer.

  He who writes these lines has long been a prowler about the barriersof Paris, and it is for him a source of profound souvenirs. Thatclose-shaven turf, those pebbly paths, that chalk, those pools,those harsh monotonies of waste and fallow lands, the plants of earlymarket-garden suddenly springing into sight in a bottom, that mixture ofthe savage and the citizen, those vast desert nooks where the garrisondrums practise noisily, and produce a sort of lisping of battle, thosehermits by day and cut-throats by night, that clumsy mill which turnsin the wind, the hoisting-wheels of the quarries, the tea-gardens at thecorners of the cemeteries; the mysterious charm of great, sombre wallssquarely intersecting immense, vague stretches of land inundated withsunshine and full of butterflies,--all this attracted him.

  There is hardly any one on earth who is not acquainted with thosesingular spots, the Glacière, the Cunette, the hideous wall of Grenelleall speckled with balls, Mont-Parnasse, the Fosse-aux-Loups, Aubiers onthe bank of the Marne, Mont-Souris, the Tombe-Issoire, the Pierre-Platede Châtillon, where there is an old, exhausted quarry which no longerserves any purpose except to raise mushrooms, and which is closed, on alevel with the ground, by a trap-door of rotten planks. The campagna ofRome is one idea, the banlieue of Paris is another; to behold nothingbut fields, houses, or trees in what a stretch of country offers us, isto remain on the surface; all aspects of things are thoughts of God. Thespot where a plain effects its junction with a city is always stampedwith a certain piercing melancholy. Nature and humanity both appealto you at the same time there. Local originalities there make theirappearance.

  Any one who, like ourselves, has wandered about in these solitudescontiguous to our faubourgs, which may be designated as the limbos ofParis, has seen here and there, in the most desert spot, at themost unexpected moment, behind a meagre hedge, or in the corner of alugubrious wall, children grouped tumultuously, fetid, muddy,dusty, ragged, dishevelled, playing hide-and-seek, and crowned withcorn-flowers. All of them are little ones who have made their escapefrom poor families. The outer boulevard is their breathing space; thesuburbs belong to them. There they are eternally playing truant. Therethey innocently sing their repertory of dirty songs. There they are, orrather, there they exist, far from every eye, in the sweet light ofMay or June, kneeling round a hole in the ground, snapping marbles withtheir thumbs, quarrelling over half-farthings, irresponsible, volatile,free and happy; and, no sooner do they catch sight of you than theyrecollect that they have an industry, and that they must earn theirliving, and they offer to sell you an old woollen stocking filledwith cockchafers, or a bunch of lilacs. These encounters with strangechildren are one of the charming and at the same time poignant graces ofthe environs of Paris.

  Sometimes there are little girls among the throng of boys,--are theytheir sisters?--who are almost young maidens, thin, feverish, withsunburnt hands, covered with freckles, crowned with poppies and ears ofrye, gay, haggard, barefooted. They can be seen devouring cherries amongthe wheat. In the evening they can be heard laughing. These groups,warmly illuminated by the full glow of midday, or indistinctly seen inthe twilight, occupy the thoughtful man for a very long time, and thesevisions mingle with his dreams.

  Paris, centre, banlieue, circumference; this constitutes all the earthto those children. They never venture beyond this. They can no moreescape from the Parisian atmosphere than fish can escape from thewater. For them, nothing exists two leagues beyond the barriers:Ivry, Gentilly, Arcueil, Belleville, Aubervilliers, Menilmontant,Choisy-le-Roi, Billancourt, Meudon, Issy, Vanvre, Sèvres, Puteaux,Neuilly, Gennevilliers, Colombes, Romainville, Chatou, Asnières,Bougival, Nanterre, Enghien, Noisy-le-Sec, Nogent, Gournay, Drancy,Gonesse; the universe ends there.