THE HILLS OF THE JURA
oxygen, which acts as a further preservative against cholera. For
the rest, do not be anxious; at its worst, in Paris, the disease does
not kill even one man in three hundred; that is not a bad gamble.
Paris is infected with chlorine and camphor. For the present, I do
nothing but read and write in our room, read and write in the
libraries. It is a little annoying for you, I admit; it is not all I had
led you to expect; but in everything one must always begin at the
beginning. Besides, this should not last as much as six months. If
at the end of that time we see that I am good for nothing, I shall
become a compositor and corrector once again, which I can always
do whenever I wish. I shall get away with the slight humiliation
o f hearing myself called an author who has failed, for I am at
present placed between these alternatives— to work at becoming
an author, or to die of hunger, or to become a printer once again.
The last hardly tempts me, the second even less; for lack o f any
thing better, I am left with the first choice; what would I not do
to avert death and the cholera? I am indifferently pleased with
Paris, and Fallot’s intention, as well as mine, is to leave it as early
as we can; Besan9on calls us, one as much as the other.
I embrace you, my dear Parents,
Your son, P. J. Proudhon.’The two friends did not succeed in departing together for
Besangon, since Fallot was stricken by cholera, and Proudhon
became his nurse.
Fallot did not die, but his illness depleted both his funds and
his ability to earn more. In these circumstances it was impossible
for Proudhon to continue accepting his generosity, and he began
to tramp through Paris from one printing house to the next, seek
ing £a few lines to compose, a few galleys to read.’ He had no suc
cess, and in the end reconciled himself to the necessity of touring
the provinces and of leaving Fallot to convalesce as best he could.
Fallot remained in Paris, gaining eventually some little success
in the scholastic world. Though he and Proudhon continued to
correspond, they never met again, and Fallot died in 1836. Their
common life in Paris seems to have taken the ardour out o f their
friendship, and Fallot’s later letters lack the enthusiasm of dis
covery that was evident in the high days o f 1831 and 1832, while,
in maturing, Proudhon himself grew away from the influence of
his early mentor. Nevertheless, a great deal of feeling remained,