announced that the sitting was over. Next the Charbonnels came into
sight at the top of the staircase, and made their way down very
carefully one after the other and each clinging to the balustrade. As
soon as M. Charbonnel saw the colonel he called out: 'He didn't say
much, but he completely shut them up.'
'He hadn't a proper chance,' the colonel whispered when the other
reached him, 'otherwise you would have heard something fine. He wants
warming up.'
However, the soldiers had formed a double line from the Chamber to
the gallery leading to the President's mansion. Then a procession
made its appearance while the drummers beat a salute. At the head
walked two ushers, dressed in black with cocked hats under their arms,
chains about their necks, and swords with steel hilts at their sides.
Then came the President, escorted by two officers. The clerks of
the Chamber and the President's secretary followed. As the President
passed the fair Clorinde he smiled at her like a _homme du monde_,
notwithstanding the pomp of his procession.
'Ah, you are there!' cried M. Kahn, running up with a distracted look.
Though the public were at that time excluded from the 'Salle des Pas
Perdus,' he took them all into it and conducted them to one of the
large glass doors which opened upon the garden. He seemed very much
annoyed. 'I have missed him again!' he cried. 'He slipped out into
the Rue de Bourgogne while I was waiting for him in the Général Foy
gallery. But it really makes no difference; we shall get to know
everything all the same. I have sent Béjuin after Delestang.'
They waited for another ten long minutes. The deputies were all coming
away looking careless and unconcerned. Some of them lingered to light
cigars and others stood in little groups, laughing and shaking hands.
Madame Correur had stepped aside to inspect the 'Laocoon'; and while
the Charbonnels threw back their heads to look at a sea-gull which a
whimsical artist had painted on the frame of a fresco, as though it
were flying out of the picture, the fair Clorinde, standing in front
of the great bronze figure of Minerva, examined the arms and bosom of
the gigantic goddess with an air of interest. Meantime in a corner by
the glass door Colonel Jobelin and M. Kahn were carrying on an animated
conversation in low tones.
'Ah, there's Béjuin!' suddenly exclaimed the latter. Then they all
drew together with an expression of anxiety. M. Béjuin was breathing
heavily. 'Well?' they asked him.
'Well! the resignation has been accepted, and Rougon retires.'
It was a crushing blow. An interval of deep silence followed. However,
Clorinde, who, to employ her nervous fingers, was knotting a corner of
her shawl, caught sight of pretty Madame Bouchard walking slowly along
the garden, upon M. d'Escorailles' arm, with her head inclined over his
shoulder. They had come down before the others, and, taking advantage
of an open door, were now strolling like lovers under the lacework of
fresh young leaves, in the quiet walks usually utilised for serious
meditation. Clorinde beckoned to them.
'The great man has retired!' she said to the smiling young woman.
At this Madame Bouchard abruptly dropped her cavalier's arm, and turned
very pale and grave, while M. Kahn, surrounded by Rougon's alarmed
friends, despairingly raised his arms to heaven, unable to say a single
word.
II
RESIGNATION
In the next morning's _Moniteur_ Rougon's resignation was officially
announced. It was stated that he had resigned for 'reasons of health.'
After his lunch, wishing to set everything in order for his successor,
he went down to the Council of State, and installed himself in the
spacious room hung with crimson and gold, which was assigned to the
President. And there, in front of a large rosewood writing-table, he
began to empty the drawers and classify the papers, which he tied up
in bundles with pieces of pink tape. All at once, however, he rang the
bell, and an usher entered the room--a splendidly built man who had
served in the cavalry.
'Give me a lighted candle,' said Rougon.
Then as the usher was leaving the room, after placing on the table a
small candlestick taken from the mantelpiece, Rougon called him back.
'Admit nobody, Merle,' he said; 'no one at all, you understand?'
'Yes, Monsieur le Président,' replied the usher, closing the door
noiselessly behind him.
A faint smile played over Rougon's face. He turned towards Delestang,
who stood at the other end of the room carefully examining the contents
of several pasteboard boxes. 'Our friend Merle hasn't read the
_Moniteur_ this morning,' he muttered.
Delestang merely shook his head, unable to think of any suitable reply.
He had a magnificent head, very bald, indeed, but bald after that
precocious fashion which is rather pleasing to women. His bare skull
greatly increased the size of his brow and gave him an expression of
vast intelligence. His clean-shaven, florid, and somewhat squarely cut
face recalled those perfect, pensive countenances which imaginative
painters are wont to confer upon great statesmen.
'Merle is extremely devoted to you,' he remarked after a pause.
Then he lowered his head over the pasteboard box which he was
examining, while Rougon crumpled up a handful of papers, and after
lighting them at the taper threw them into a large bronze vase which
stood at the edge of his table. He watched them burn away.
'Don't touch the boxes at the bottom, Delestang,' he said; 'there are
papers in them that I must examine myself.'
Then, for another quarter of an hour, they both went on with their
respective occupations in silence. It was a very fine day, and the sun
streamed in through three large windows which overlooked the quay.
Through one of them, which was half open, puffs of fresh air from the
Seine were wafted in, occasionally stirring the fringe of the silk
curtains, and rustling the crumpled pieces of paper which lay about the
floor.
'Just look at this,' said Delestang, handing Rougon a letter which he
had found.
Rougon read it and then quietly lighted it at the taper. It was a
letter on a delicate matter. The two men carried on a disjointed
conversation, breaking off every few moments to bury their faces afresh
in the piles of old papers. Rougon thanked Delestang for having come to
help him. He was the only person whom he felt that he could trust to
assist him in this task of washing the dirty linen of his five years'
presidency. They had been friends together in the Legislative Assembly,
where they had sat side by side on the same bench. It was there that
Rougon had taken a genuine fancy to this splendid-looking man, on
finding that he was so delightfully foolish and shallow and proud.
He often used to say with an air of conviction that 'that precious
Delestang would go a long way.' He did what he could to push him on,
gratitude yielding devotion, and he made use of him as a kind of strong
box in which he locked up whatever he could not carry about with him.
'How foolish of me to have kept all these papers!' Rougon murmured, as
he opened a fresh drawer which was crammed quite full.
'Here is a letter from a lady!' said Delestang winking.
At this Rougon broke out into a loud laugh, and his huge chest shook.
He took the letter with a protest. However, as soon as his eyes had
glanced over the first lines, he exclaimed: 'It was little Escorailles
who let this drop here! They are pretty things those letters. With
three lines from a woman, a fellow may go a long way!' Then, as he
burnt the letter, he added: 'Be on your guard against women, Delestang!'
Delestang bent his head again. He was perpetually becoming the victim
of some hazardous passion. In 1851 he had all but ruined his political
prospects. At that time he had been madly infatuated with the wife
of a socialist deputy, and to curry favour with her husband had more
frequently than not voted with the opposition against the Élysée.
The _coup d'état_ of the second of December consequently filled him
with terrible alarm, and he shut himself up for a couple of days in
distraction, overwhelmed, good for nothing, trembling with fear lest he
should be arrested. However, Rougon had helped him out of his awkward
position, advising him not to stand at the ensuing elections and taking
him down to the Élysée, where he succeeded in getting him a place in
the Council of State. Delestang, whose father had been a wine-merchant
at Bercy, was himself a retired attorney and the owner of a model farm
near Sainte-Menehould. He was worth several millions of francs and
lived in a very handsome house in the Rue du Colisée.
'Yes, beware of women,' Rougon repeated, pausing after each word so as
to glance at his papers. 'When a woman does not put a crown on your
head she slips a halter round your neck. At our age a man's heart wants
as carefully looking after as his stomach.'
At this moment a loud noise was heard in the ante-chamber, and Merle's
voice could be recognised refusing admission to some visitor. However,
a little man suddenly rushed into the room, exclaiming, 'I really must
shake hands with my dear friend!'
'Hallo! is it you, Du Poizat?' exclaimed Rougon without rising.
Merle was making sweeping gesticulations to excuse himself, but his
master bade him close the door. Then he quietly said to Du Poizat: 'I
thought you were at Bressuire. So you desert your sub-prefecture as
easily as an old mistress, eh?'
Du Poizat, who was a slightly built man with a mean-looking face and
very white irregular teeth, shrugged his shoulders as he replied: 'I
arrived in Paris this morning on business, and I did not intend to come
and see you till the evening, when I should have called upon you in the
Rue Marbeuf and have asked you to give me some dinner. But when I read
the _Moniteur_----' Then he broke off, pulled an easy-chair in front of
the writing-table, and seated himself face to face with Rougon. 'Well
now, what's been happening, eh?' he resumed. 'I've come from the depths
of the Deux-Sèvres. I had heard something down there, but I had no idea
of this. Why didn't you write to me?'
Rougon, in his turn, shrugged his shoulders. It was evident that
tidings of his disgrace had reached Du Poizat in the country, and that
he had hastened to Paris to see if he could find a means of securing
stability for his own position. So Rougon gave him a keen glance as
he rejoined: 'I should have written to you this evening. Send in your
resignation, my good fellow.'
'That's all that I wanted to know. Well, I will resign,' replied Du
Poizat quietly.
Then he rose from his seat and began to whistle. As he slowly paced the
room he caught sight of Delestang kneeling on the carpet in the midst
of a litter of pasteboard boxes. He approached and silently shook hands
with him. Then he took a cigar out of his pocket and lighted it at the
candle.
'I may smoke here, I suppose, as you are moving?' he said, again
sitting down in the easy-chair. 'It's good fun is moving!'
Rougon, however, was absorbed in a bundle of papers which he read
with deep attention, sorting them very carefully, burning some and
preserving others. Du Poizat, with his head lolling back, and puffing
light clouds of smoke from between his lips, remained watching him.
They had become acquainted with each other some months before the
Revolution of February, 1848. At that time they were both boarding
with Madame Correur at the Hôtel Vanneau in the Rue Vanneau. Du Poizat
had found himself quite at home there, for he and Madame Correur had
both been born at Coulonges, a little town in the district of Niort.
His father, a process-server, had sent him to study law in Paris,
where he allowed him only a hundred francs a month, although he had
amassed large sums by lending money for short periods at extortionate
interest. The old man's wealth seemed, indeed, so inexplicably great
to his country neighbours that it was said he had discovered a large
treasure in an old chest of drawers upon which he had distrained. From
the outset of the Bonapartist propaganda Rougon had availed himself of
the services of this scraggy youth, who, chafing and fuming, made such
short work of his monthly hundred francs, and they dabbled together
in the most risky undertakings. Later on, when Rougon was desirous of
entering the Legislative Assembly, Du Poizat worked energetically to
secure his election for Deux-Sèvres. Then, after the _coup d'état_,
Rougon in his turn used all his influence on behalf of Du Poizat and
got him appointed sub-prefect at Bressuire. The young man, then barely
thirty years of age, had desired to return in triumph to his own
neighbourhood, where he would be near his father, through whose avarice
he had led a life of torture ever since leaving college.
'And how is your father?' asked Rougon, without raising his eyes.
'Oh, much too well,' answered Du Poizat bluntly. 'He has sent his last
remaining servant away because she ate three pounds of bread a week.
Now he keeps a couple of loaded guns behind his door, and when I go to
see him I have to parley with him over the wall of the yard.'
While talking, Du Poizat leaned forward and poked his fingers into
the bronze vase, where some fragments of paper were lying only
half-consumed. Rougon sharply raised his head as he noticed this. He
had always felt somewhat distrustful of his old lieutenant, whose
irregular white teeth resembled those of a young wolf. In the days when
they had worked together he had always made a point of never allowing
any compromising document to fall into his hands; and now, as he saw
him trying to decipher some words that still remained legible on the
charred fragments, he threw a handful of blazing letters into the vase.
Du Poizat perfectly understood why he did so; however, he merely smiled
and began to joke. 'It's a thorough cleaning you're going in for,' he
said.
Then he took a large pair of scissors and began to use them as tongs.
He raised the letters which were not consumed to the taper in order to
relight them, held up those which had been too tightly crumpled to burn
in the vase, and stirred all the flaming ashes as though he were mixing
a blazing bowl of punch. The red-hot sparks danced about in the vase,
and a cloud of bluish smoke arose and gently curled away towards the
open window. At intervals the candle flickered and then burnt brightly
again with a straight, tall flame.
'That candle looks like a funeral-taper!' said Du Poizat with a grin.
'Ah! it's really a burial, my poor friend. What a lot of skeletons that
require to be reduced to ashes, eh!'
Rougon was about to reply, when a fresh commotion was heard in the
ante-chamber. Merle was a second time refusing admission. As the voices
grew louder, Rougon at last exclaimed: 'Will you kindly see what it is,
Delestang? If I show myself we shall be quite invaded.'
Delestang cautiously opened the door and closed it behind him. But
he popped his head into the room almost immediately afterwards,
exclaiming: 'It's Kahn!'
'Oh, well!' replied Rougon; 'let him come in; but no one else, mind!'
Then he called to Merle and reiterated his orders.
'I beg your pardon, my dear friend,' he said, turning to Kahn, as soon
as the usher had left the room; 'but I am so very busy. Sit down beside
Du Poizat and keep quite still or I shall be obliged to turn you both
out of the room.'
The deputy did not appear in the least offended by Rougon's blunt
reception. He was quite accustomed to those ways. He took an easy-chair
and sat down beside Du Poizat, who was lighting a second cigar. 'It is
getting very warm,' he said, after drawing breath. 'I have just been to
the Rue Marbeuf; I expected to find you at home.'
Rougon made no reply, and there was an interval of silence. The
ex-President crumpled up some papers and threw them into a basket which
he had placed by his side.
'I want to talk to you,' resumed M. Kahn.
'Talk away!' said Rougon; 'I am listening.'
Then the deputy seemed to become suddenly aware of the disorder of the
room. 'What are you doing?' he asked with admirably feigned surprise.
'Are you changing your room?'
His tone seemed so sincere that Delestang actually paused in what he
was doing in order to hand him the _Moniteur_.
'Oh dear! Oh dear!' he cried, as soon as he had glanced at the paper.
'I thought the matter was satisfactorily arranged yesterday evening.
This comes upon me like a thunderbolt. My dear friend----'
He rose and pressed Rougon's hands. The latter looked at him in
silence, while two deep scoffing creases appeared on his heavy face
near his under lip. As Du Poizat seemed quite unmoved, he suspected
that he and Kahn had already met earlier in the morning, and he was
confirmed in this opinion as the deputy had shown no surprise at seeing
the sub-prefect. He surmised that one of the pair had come straight to
the Council of State while the other hastened to the Rue Marbeuf, so
that they might be sure to find him at the one or the other place.
'Well, there is something you want to say to me,' quietly resumed
Rougon. 'What is it?'
'Oh, I won't trouble you about that now, my dear friend!' exclaimed the
deputy. 'You have got sufficient to worry you as it is. I should be
very sorry to bother you with my own troubles at a time like this.'
'Oh, it will be no bother, I assure you. Speak away.'
'Well, then, I wanted to speak to you about that affair of mine, that
confounded grant. I am very glad that Du Poizat is here, as he may be
able to give us information upon certain points.'
Then he explained at great length the exact position which the matter
had reached. It was a scheme for a railway from Niort to Angers, upon
which he had been engaged for the last three years. The projected line
would pass through Bressuire, where he possessed some blast-furnaces,
the value of which it would largely increase. At the present time there
were great difficulties in the way of transport, and the business was
consequently languishing. M. Kahn had some hopes, too, that he would
be able to get some very profitable pickings out of the affair, and so
he had greatly exerted himself in order to obtain the grant. Rougon
had supported him energetically, and the grant had almost been secured
when M. de Marsy, the Minister of the Interior, vexed at having no
share in the affair, which he guessed would afford a superb opportunity
for jobbery, and being also very desirous of doing anything that might
annoy Rougon, had used all his influence to oppose the scheme. With
that audacity of his which made him such a terrible opponent, he had
even just persuaded the Minister of Public Works to offer the grant to
the Western Railway Company, besides circulating a statement that this
company alone could successfully carry out the branch line, for the
satisfactory working of which some substantial guarantee was required.
Thus M. Kahn seemed in great danger of losing all the advantages he
had hoped to gain, and Rougon's fall appeared likely to involve him in
ruin.
'I heard yesterday,' said he, 'that one of the company's engineers
had been instructed to make a survey for the new line. Have you heard
anything of it, Du Poizat?'
'Yes, indeed,' replied the sub-prefect. 'The survey has already
commenced. They are trying to avoid the detour which you were planning
in order to make the line touch Bressuire, and propose to carry it
straight along past Parthenay and Thouars.'
A gesture of discouragement escaped the deputy. 'It is sheer
persecution!' he exclaimed. 'What harm could it do them to let the line
pass my place? But I will protest and write against their plan. I will
go back with you to Bressuire.'
'No, no; you had better not wait for me,' said Du Poizat with a smile.
'It seems that I have got to resign.'
M. Kahn fell back in his chair, as though overcome by a final
catastrophe. He rubbed his beard with both hands and looked at Rougon
with an air of entreaty. The latter had ceased to examine his papers,
and was leaning on his elbows and listening.
'I suppose,' he said, somewhat roughly, 'that you want my advice? Well,
then, my good friends, just remain quiet and try to keep things as they
are until we get the upper hand. Du Poizat is going to resign, because,
if he didn't, he would be dismissed within a fortnight. As for you,
Kahn, you had better write to the Emperor and use all available means
to prevent the grant being obtained by the Western Railway Company. You
won't get it for yourself at present, but as long as it is not given
to any one else, there is a chance of your winning it later on.' Then,
as the two men nodded, he continued: 'Well, that's all I can do for
you. I am down and you must give me time to pick myself up again. You
don't see me going about with a woe-begone face, do you? Well, I should
be much obliged if you wouldn't look as though you were attending my
funeral. For my part, I am delighted at retiring into private life
again. I shall at last be able to take a little rest.'
He heaved a deep sigh, crossed his arms, and rocked his huge frame
backwards and forwards. M. Kahn said nothing more about his scheme, but
tried to imitate Du Poizat and appear perfectly indifferent. Delestang
had opened some more pasteboard boxes, and worked away so quietly
behind the chairs that the slight rustling noise which he made every
now and then might have been attributed to a troop of mice flitting
across the papers. Meantime the sunlight was travelling over the
crimson carpet and lighting up a corner of the writing-table, paling
the flame of the candle which was still burning there.
A friendly conversation sprang up amongst the men. Rougon, who was
tying up some more bundles of papers, declared that he was really not
cut out for politics, and smiled good-naturedly as his heavy eyelids
drooped, as though with weariness, over his glistening eyes. He would
have liked, he said, to have a large estate to cultivate, fields which
he could dig up at his pleasure, and flocks of animals, horses, cattle,
sheep, and dogs, of which he would be the one absolute monarch. He told
them that in former days, when only a country lawyer at Plassans, his
great pleasure had consisted in setting off in a blouse on a shooting
expedition of several days through the ravines of La Seille, where he
shot eagles. He said that he was a peasant; his grandfather had dug
the soil. Then he assumed the air of a man disgusted with the world.
Power had grown wearisome to him, and he meant to spend the summer in
the country. He declared that he had never felt so light-hearted as he
did that morning, and he gave a mighty shrug of his strong shoulders as
though he had just thrown off some heavy burden.
'How much did you get here as President?' asked M. Kahn; 'eighty
thousand francs?'
Rougon nodded assent.
'And now you'll only have your thirty thousand as a senator.'
However, Rougon exclaimed that this change would not affect him at all.
He could live upon next to nothing and indulged in no vices; which was
perfectly true. He was neither a gambler, nor a glutton, nor a loose
liver. His whole ambition, he declared, was to be his own master. Then
he reverted to his idea of a farm, where he would be king of all sorts
of animals. His ideal life was to wield a whip and be paramount; to be
the master, chief both in intelligence and power. Gradually he grew
animated and talked of animals as though they had been men, declaring
that the mob liked to be driven, and that shepherds directed their
flocks by pelting them with stones. His face seemed transfigured,
his thick lips protruded scornfully, while his whole expression was
instinct with strength and power. While he spoke he brandished a bundle
of papers in his clenched fist, and it seemed every now and then as
though he were going to throw it at the heads of M. Kahn and Du Poizat,
who watched his sudden outburst of excitement with uneasy anxiety.
'The Emperor has behaved very badly,' at last muttered Du Poizat.