by Celso Antonio de Almeida
Marcel’s cloth moved in small, precise circles, coaxing a shine from the leather beneath his hands. The morning bustle of the Boulevard du Temple swirled around him, a chaotic dance of horses, carriages, and hurried Parisians that contrasted sharply with his own stillness.
“You’re quiet today, Marcel,” Henri observed, peering down at the bootblack. “Troubles at home?”
Marcel’s hands paused for a moment before resuming their work. “Nothing out of the ordinary, Monsieur Beaumont. Just thinking about changes.”
Henri raised an eyebrow. “Changes? Do tell.”
“This boulevard,” Marcel gestured with his chin, careful not to disturb his work. “They say it’s to be demolished soon. A grand new square, they’re planning.”
“Ah, yes,” Henri nodded. “The Place du Château-d’Eau, I believe it’s to be called. Progress marches on, my friend.”
Marcel’s brow furrowed. “Progress. That’s a fine word for those who benefit from it. But what of those it leaves behind?”
Henri leaned forward, intrigued. “You fear for your livelihood?”
“Mine, and others like me,” Marcel admitted. “These grand new boulevards, they’re not built for men who polish shoes on street corners.”
A comfortable silence fell between them as Marcel continued his work. In a nearby building, unnoticed by either man, Louis Daguerre adjusted his strange contraption, capturing light and shadow in a way that would change the world.
“You know, Marcel,” Henri mused, breaking the silence, “I’ve been studying the great revolutions of history. The printing press, the steam engine… each brought fear and upheaval, yet each ultimately improved lives.”
Marcel looked up, a spark of interest in his eyes. “And you believe this… this ‘progress’ will do the same?”
Henri shrugged. “It’s the nature of time, my friend. It flows ever forward, carrying us all with it, willing or not.”
As if to punctuate Henri’s words, a horse-drawn omnibus clattered by, a relatively new addition to Paris’s streets. Marcel watched it pass, his expression thoughtful.
“Perhaps you’re right, Monsieur,” he conceded. “But it’s hard not to worry. My Mathilde is with child, you see. Our first.”
Henri’s face softened. “Ah, congratulations! A child… now there’s a revolution that truly changes one’s world.”
Marcel allowed himself a small smile. “Indeed. It makes a man think about the future in ways he never did before.”
“Then think of this,” Henri leaned down, his voice earnest. “The world your child will inherit – yes, it will be different. But it will also be full of wonders we can scarcely imagine. Who knows? Perhaps one day, men will fly through the air like birds!”
Marcel chuckled, shaking his head. “Now you’re spinning tales, Monsieur. Next you’ll tell me they’ll travel to the moon!”
“And why not?” Henri’s eyes twinkled. “After all, just a century ago, the idea of a machine that could capture a moment in time would have seemed like magic. Yet I hear whispers that such a thing is being invented even now.”
Marcel’s hands stilled again. “Truly? A machine that can… what? Draw a picture in an instant?”
“Something like that,” Henri nodded. “Though I imagine it would take more than an instant. Several minutes, at least.”
As they spoke, at that very moment, Daguerre’s machine’s shutter closed. Neither man realized that their conversation, their very existence, had just been etched into history.
Marcel resumed his polishing, mulling over Henri’s words. “A world of wonders,” he murmured. “Perhaps you’re right, Monsieur. Perhaps change isn’t something to fear, but to embrace.”
Henri smiled warmly. “That’s the spirit, my friend. And who knows? Perhaps someday, far in the future, someone will look back on this very moment and marvel at how far we’ve come.”
As Marcel finished his work and Henri prepared to leave, neither could have imagined how true those words were. Their brief interaction, frozen in time by Daguerre’s revolutionary invention, would indeed be marveled at by generations to come.
The Boulevard du Temple continued its busy morning, unaware that a slice of its life had just been captured forever. And as Marcel packed up his supplies, ready to serve his next customer, he felt a small spark of hope for the future – his own, his child’s, and the world’s.
© Celso Antonio de Almeida
Celso Antonio de Almeida is a teacher, journalist, and translator. He lives in the small town of Guareí, in the state of São Paulo, Brazil, with his wife Tatiana, their children Beatrice and Davi, and their dogs Teca and Nina. It’s a good life.
Find out more on Instagram @celso_guarei.
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