loamy and his body seemed to grow flabby and obese. He began to sound
the Emperor's praises in an exaggerated fashion. Napoleon III. was a
man of mighty intelligence, he declared, with a mind of astonishing
depth. Du Poizat and Kahn exchanged a meaning look. But Rougon waxed
still more lavish of his praises, and, speaking of his devotion to his
master, declared with great humility that he had always been proud
of being a mere instrument in the Emperor's hands. He talked on in
this strain till he made Du Poizat, who was of a somewhat irritable
nature, quite impatient, and they began to wrangle. The sub-prefect
spoke with considerable bitterness of all that Rougon and he had done
for the Empire between 1848 and 1851, when they were lodging with
Madame Correur in a condition of semi-starvation. He referred to the
terrible days, especially those of the first year, when they had gone
splashing through the mud of Paris, recruiting partisans for the
Emperor's cause. Later on they had risked their skins a score of times.
And wasn't it Rougon who on the morning of the second of December had
taken possession of the Palais Bourbon at the head of a regiment of
the line? That was a game at which men staked their lives! Yet now
to-day he was being sacrificed and made the victim of a court intrigue.
Rougon, however, protested against this assertion. He was not being
sacrificed--he was resigning for private reasons. And as Du Poizat,
now fully wound up, began to call the folks of the Tuileries a set of
'pigs,' he ended by reducing him to silence by bringing his fist down
upon the rosewood writing-table with a force which made it creak.
'That is all nonsense!' he said.
'You are, indeed, going rather far,' remarked M. Kahn.
Delestang was standing behind the chairs looking very pale. He opened
the door gently to see if any one were listening, but there was nobody
in the ante-chamber excepting Merle, whose back was turned with an
appearance of great discretion. Rougon's observation had made Du
Poizat blush, and quickly cooling down he chewed his cigar in silent
displeasure.
'There is no doubt that the Emperor is surrounded by injudicious
advisers,' Rougon resumed after a pause. 'I ventured to tell him as
much, and he smiled. He even condescended to jest about it, and told me
that my own _entourage_ was no better than his own.'
Du Poizat and Kahn laughed in a constrained fashion. They thought the
reply a very good one.
'But,' continued Rougon in meaning tones, 'I repeat that I am retiring
of my own free will. If any one questions you, who are my friends, on
the matter, you can say that yesterday evening I was quite at liberty
to withdraw my resignation. You can contradict, too, the tittle-tattle
which is being circulated about Rodriguez's affair, out of which
people seem to be making a perfect romance. On this subject no doubt
I disagreed with the majority of the Council of State, and there has
certainly been a deal of friction in the matter which has hastened my
retirement. But I had weightier and earlier reasons than that. For a
long time past I had made up my mind to resign the high position which
I owed to the Emperor's kindness.'
He punctuated this speech with the gesture of the right hand, in which
he constantly indulged when addressing the Chamber. He evidently wished
that what he was saying might be made public. M. Kahn and Du Poizat,
who knew very well the kind of individual they had to deal with, tried
all kinds of stratagems to get at the real truth. They felt quite sure
that 'the great man,' as they familiarly called him between themselves,
had some formidable scheme in his head. So they turned the conversation
on general politics. Rougon then began to scoff at the parliamentary
system, which he called 'the dunghill of mediocrity.' The Chamber,
he declared, enjoyed quite an absurd amount of liberty even now, and
indulged in far too much talk. France required governing, he said, by a
suitably devised machine, with the Emperor at the head, and the great
state-bodies, reduced to the position of mere working gear, below. He
laughed, and his huge chest heaved, as he carried his theory to the
point of exaggeration, displaying the while a scornful contempt for the
imbeciles who demanded powerful rule.
'But,' interposed M. Kahn, 'with the Emperor at the top, and everybody
else at the bottom, matters cannot be very pleasant for any one except
the Emperor.'
'Those who feel bored can take themselves off,' Rougon quietly replied.
He smiled, and then added: 'They can wait till things become amusing,
and then they can come back.'
A long interval of silence followed. M. Kahn began to stroke his
beard contentedly. He had found out what he wanted to know. He had
made a correct guess at the Chamber on the previous afternoon when he
had insinuated that Rougon, finding his influence at the Tuileries
seriously shaken, had taken time by the forelock and resigned.
Rodriguez's business had afforded him a splendid opportunity for
honourable withdrawal.
'And what are people saying?' Rougon at last inquired in order to break
the silence.
'Well, I've only just got here,' said Du Poizat, 'but a little while
ago I heard a gentleman who wore a decoration declaring in a café that
he strongly approved of your retirement.'
'Béjuin was very much affected about it yesterday,' added M. Kahn.
'Béjuin is much attached to you. He's rather slow, but he's very
genuine. Little La Rouquette, too, spoke very properly, and referred to
you in the kindest terms.'
Other names were mentioned as the conversation continued. Rougon
asked direct questions, without showing the least embarrassment, and
extracted full particulars from the deputy, who complaisantly gave him
an exact account of the demeanour of the Corps Législatif towards him.
'This afternoon,' interrupted Du Poizat, who felt somewhat annoyed at
having no information to impart, 'I will take a ramble through Paris,
and to-morrow morning, as soon as I'm out of bed, I will come and tell
you all I have heard.'
'By the way,' cried M. Kahn, with a laugh, 'I forgot to tell you about
Combelot. I never saw a man in greater embarrassment.'
He stopped short on seeing Rougon glance warningly towards Delestang,
who, with his back turned towards them, was at that moment standing on
a chair removing an accumulation of newspapers which had been stored
away atop of a bookcase. M. de Combelot had married one of Delestang's
sisters. Delestang himself, since Rougon had fallen into disfavour,
had felt a little down-hearted on account of his relationship with a
chamberlain; and so, wishing to affect independence, he turned and said
with a smile: 'Why don't you go on? Combelot is an ass. That's the long
and short of it, eh?'
This ready condemnation of his brother-in-law afforded the others much
amusement, and Delestang, noticing his success, continued his attack
even to the extent of falling foul of Combelot's beard, that famous
black beard which had such a reputation among the ladies. Then, as he
threw a bundle of newspapers on to the floor, he said abruptly: 'What
is a source of sorrow to some is a source of joy to others.'
This truism led to M. de Marsy's name being introduced into the
conversation. Rougon bent his head and devoted himself to a searching
examination of a portfolio, leaving his friends to ease their minds.
They spoke of Marsy with all the rageful hostility which politicians
show for an adversary. They revelled in the strongest language,
bringing all kinds of abominable accusations against him, and so
grossly exaggerating such stories which had a foundation of truth
that they became mere lies. Du Poizat, who had known Marsy in former
days, before the Empire, declared that he was kept at that time by
a baroness whose diamonds he had exhausted in three months. M. Kahn
asserted that there was not a single shady affair started in any part
of Paris without Marsy having a hand in it. They encouraged each other
in charges of this kind, and went on from worse to worse. In a mining
affair Marsy had received a bribe of fifteen hundred thousand francs;
during the previous month he had offered a furnished house to little
Florence of the Bouffes Theatre, a trifle for which he had paid six
hundred thousand francs, his share of the profits of a speculation in
Morocco railway stock; finally, not a week ago, a grand scheme for
constructing canals in Egypt, which had been got up by certain tools
of his, had scandalously collapsed, the shareholders discovering that
not a single shovelful of earth had been turned, although they had been
paying out money for a couple of years or so. Then, too, they fell foul
of Marsy's physical appearance, tried to depreciate his good looks, and
even attacked the collection of pictures which he was getting together.
'He's a brigand in the skin of a vaudevillist,' Du Poizat ended by
exclaiming.
Rougon slowly raised his head and fixed his big eyes on the two men.
'You are going it well,' he said. 'Marsy manages his affairs in his own
way, as you manage yours in your way. As regards myself and him, we
don't get on well together, and if ever I have a chance to crush him
I shall avail myself of it without hesitation. But all that you have
been saying doesn't prevent Marsy from being a very clever fellow, and,
if ever the whim takes him, he will only make a mouthful of you two, I
warn you of it.'
Then Rougon, tired of sitting, rose and stretched himself. He gave a
great yawn, as he added: 'And he will do it all the more easily, my
friends, now that I shall no longer be in a position to interfere.'
'Oh, you can lead Marsy a pretty dance if you like,' said Du Poizat,
with a faint smile. 'You have some papers here which he would be
glad to pay a big price for. Those yonder, I mean, the papers in the
Lardenois matter, in which he played such a singular part. There's a
very curious letter from him among them, which I recognise as one that
I brought you myself at the time.'
Rougon went up to the grate in order to throw the papers with which he
had gradually filled his basket into the fire. The bronze vase was no
longer large enough. 'We must deal a stunning blow, and not give a mere
scratch,' he replied, shrugging his shoulders disdainfully. 'Every one
has foolish letters astray in the possession of other people.'
He then lighted the letter just spoken of at the candle, and used it
to set fire to the heap of papers in the grate. He remained squatting
for a moment, whilst watching the blazing pile. Some thick official
documents turned black, and twisted about like sheets of lead; the
letters and memoranda, scrawled over with handwriting, threw up little
tongues of bluish flame, while inside the grate, amidst a swarm of
sparks, half-consumed fragments still remained quite legible.
At this moment the door was thrown wide open, and a laughing voice was
heard exclaiming: 'All right! I will excuse you, Merle. I belong to the
house, and if you don't let me come in this way, I shall go round by
the Council Chamber.'
It was M. d'Escorailles, for whom some six months previously Rougon had
obtained an appointment as auditor at the Council of State. On his arm
hung pretty Madame Bouchard, looking delightfully fresh in a bright
spring toilette.
'Good heavens!' muttered Rougon, 'we've got women here now.'
He did not immediately leave his place by the grate, but still
stooping, grasping the shovel, and pressing down the blazing papers
so as to guard against an accident, he raised his big face with an
air of displeasure. M. d'Escorailles, however, appeared in no way
disconcerted. When he and the young woman had crossed the threshold,
they ceased to smile, and assumed an expression more suited to the
circumstances.
'My dear master,' said Escorailles, 'I bring a friend of yours, who
insists upon coming to express her sorrow. We have seen the _Moniteur_
this morning----'
'Oh, you have seen the _Moniteur_, too,' muttered Rougon, at last
rising erect. Then he caught sight of some one whom he had not
previously noticed. 'Ah, Monsieur Bouchard also!' he exclaimed,
blinking.
It was, indeed, the husband who, silent and dignified, had just entered
the room in the wake of his wife's skirts. M. Bouchard was sixty years
old: his hair was quite white, his eyes were dim, and his face was worn
by twenty-five years of official labour. He did not say a single word,
but took Rougon's hand with an appearance of emotion, and gave it three
vigorous shakes.
'It is really very kind of you all to come and see me,' said Rougon,
'only you will be terribly in my way. However, come here, will you? Du
Poizat, give Madame Bouchard your chair.'
He turned as he spoke, and then saw Colonel Jobelin standing in front
of him. 'What! are you here as well, colonel?' he cried.
As a matter of fact, the door had been left open, and Merle had been
unable to stop the colonel, who had come up the staircase immediately
behind the Bouchards. He was accompanied by his son, a tall lad of
fifteen, a pupil at the Louis-le-Grand College. 'I wanted Auguste
to see you,' he said. 'It is misfortune that reveals true friends.
Auguste, go and give your hand----'
Rougon, however, had sprung towards the ante-room, crying: 'Shut the
door, Merle! What are you thinking about? We shall have all Paris in
here directly!'
With calm face the usher replied: 'It's all because they caught sight
of you, Monsieur le Président.'
Even as he spoke, he was obliged to step back close to the wall,
in order to allow the Charbonnels to pass. They came into the room
abreast, but not arm-in-arm. They were out of breath, and looked
disconsolate and amazed; and they both began to speak at once. 'We have
just seen the _Moniteur_! What dreadful news! How distressed your poor
mother will be! And what a sad position, too, it puts us in ourselves!'
More guileless than the others, the Charbonnels were about to enter
upon their own little affairs at once, but Rougon stopped them. He
shot a bolt, hidden beneath the door lock, and remarked that if any
people wanted to come in now, they would have to break the door open.
Then, observing that none of his visitors showed signs of leaving, he
resigned himself, and tried to finish his task in the midst of these
nine people who were crowding his room. The whole place was now in a
state of chaotic confusion, there being such a litter of portfolios
and papers on the floor that when the colonel and M. Bouchard wanted
to reach a window-recess, they had to exercise the greatest care in
order to avoid trampling upon some important document. All the chairs
were covered with bundles of papers, excepting the one on which Madame
Bouchard was now seated. She was smiling at the gallant speeches of Du
Poizat and M. Kahn; while M. d'Escorailles, unable to find a hassock,
pushed a thick blue portfolio, stuffed with letters, under her feet.
The drawers of the writing-table, which had been pushed into a corner
of the room, afforded the Charbonnels a temporary seat where they could
recover their breath, while young Auguste, delighted at finding himself
in the bustle of a removal, poked about till he disappeared behind
the mountain of pasteboard boxes, amid which Delestang had previously
entrenched himself. As the latter threw down the newspapers from the
top of the bookcase, he raised considerable dust, which made Madame
Bouchard cough slightly.
'I don't advise you to stay here amidst all this dirt,' said Rougon,
who was now emptying the boxes which he had asked Delestang to leave
unexamined.
The young woman, however, quite rosy from her fit of coughing, assured
him that she was very comfortable, and that the dust would not harm
her bonnet. Then all the visitors poured forth their condolences. The
Emperor, they declared, must care very little about the real interests
of the country to allow himself to be influenced by men so unworthy
of his confidence. France was suffering a great loss. But it was ever
thus, they said; a man of high intelligence always had every mediocrity
leagued against him.
'Governments have no gratitude,' declared M. Kahn.
'So much the worse for them!' exclaimed the colonel; 'they strike
themselves when they strike those who serve them.'
However, M. Kahn was desirous of having the last word on the subject,
so he turned to Rougon, and said: 'When a man like you falls, it is a
subject for public mourning.'
This met with the approval of all. 'Yes, yes,' they exclaimed, 'for
public mourning, indeed!'
Rougon raised his head upon hearing this fulsome praise. His greyish
cheeks flushed slightly, and his whole face was irradiated by a
suppressed smile of satisfaction. He was as proud of his ability
as a woman is of her beauty, and he liked to receive point-blank
compliments. It was becoming evident, however, that his visitors were
in each other's way. They repeatedly glanced at one another, resolving
to sit one another out, unwilling as they were to say all they desired
in the presence of their companions. Now that the great man had fallen,
they were anxious to know if he had done anything for them while he yet
had the power. The colonel was the first to take an active step. He led
Rougon, who, with a portfolio under his arm, readily followed him, into
one of the window-recesses.
'Have you given me a thought?' he asked with a pleasant smile.
'Yes, indeed. Your nomination as commander of the Legion of Honour
was again promised me four days ago. But, of course, to-day it is
impossible for me to say anything with certainty. I confess to you that
I am afraid my friends will be made to suffer by my fall.'
The colonel's lips trembled with emotion. He stammered that they must
do what they could, and then, turning suddenly round, he called out:
'Auguste!'
The lad was on his hands and knees underneath the desk, trying to
decipher the inscriptions on the batches of documents. However, he
hastened to his father.
'Here's this lad of mine,' resumed the colonel in an undertone. 'I
shall have to find a berth for the young scamp one of these days. I am
counting upon you to help me. I haven't made up my mind yet between the
law and the public service. Give your good friend your hand, Auguste,
so that he may recollect you.'
While this scene was going on, Madame Bouchard, who had begun to bite
her gloves impatiently, had risen from her chair and made her way to
the window on the left, after giving M. d'Escorailles a look which
meant that he was to follow her. Her husband was already there, leaning
upon the cross-bar and gazing out upon the view. The leaves of the tall
chestnut trees in the Tuileries Garden were languidly waving in the
warm sunshine, and the Seine could be seen rolling blue waters, flecked
with golden light, between the Royal and Concorde bridges.
Madame Bouchard suddenly turned round and exclaimed: 'Oh! Monsieur
Rougon, come and look here.'
Thereupon Rougon hastily quitted the colonel, while Du Poizat, who had
followed the young woman, discreetly retired, again joining M. Kahn at
the middle window.
'Do you see that barge full of bricks? It nearly foundered just now,'
said Madame Bouchard.
Rougon looked and obligingly lingered there in the sunshine till M.
d'Escorailles, upon a fresh glance from the young woman, said to him:
'Monsieur Bouchard wants to send in his resignation. We have brought
him here in order that you may try to dissuade him.'
M. Bouchard then explained that he could not endure injustice. 'Yes,
Monsieur Rougon,'he continued, 'I began as a copying-clerk in the
office of the Minister of the Interior, and reached the position of
head clerk without owing either to favour or intrigue. I have been
head clerk since 1847. Well, the post of head of department has been
vacant five times--four times under the Republic and once under the
Empire--and yet the Minister has not once thought of me, though I had
hierarchical rights to the place. Now that you will no longer be able
to fulfil the promise you gave me I think I had better retire.'
Rougon tried to soothe him. The post, said he, had not yet been
bestowed upon any one else, and even if he did not get it this time,
it would only be a chance lost; a chance which would certainly present
itself again on some future occasion. Then he grasped Madame Bouchard's
hands and complimented her in a paternal fashion. Her husband's house
had been the first thrown open to him on his arrival in Paris, and it
was there that he had met the colonel, who was the head clerk's cousin.
Later on, when M. Bouchard had inherited his father's property and had
been smitten, at fifty-four years of age, with a sudden desire to get
married, Rougon had acted as witness on behalf of Madame Bouchard, then
Adèle Desvignes, a well brought up young lady of a respectable family
at Rambouillet. The head clerk had been anxious to marry a young lady
from the provinces, because he made a point of having a steady wife.
However, the fair and adorable little Adèle, with her innocent blue
eyes, had in less than four years proved to be a great deal worse than
a mere flirt.
'There, now, don't distress yourself,' said Rougon, who was still
holding her hands in his big fists. 'You know very well that I will do
my best for you.'
Then he took M. d'Escorailles aside, and told him that he had written
that morning to his father to tranquillise him. The young auditor must
remain quietly in his place. The Escorailles family was one of the
oldest in Plassans, where it was treated with the utmost respect; and
Rougon, who in former days had often dragged his worn-down boots past
the old Marquis's house, took a pride in protecting and assisting the
young man. The family retained an enthusiastic devotion for Henri V.,
though it allowed its heir to serve the Empire. This was one of the
inevitable consequences of the wickedness of the times.
Meanwhile, at the middle window, which they had opened to obtain
greater privacy, Kahn and Du Poizat were talking together, while gazing
out upon the distant roofs of the Tuileries, which looked blue in the
haze of the sunlight. They were sounding each other, dropping a few
words, and then lapsing into intervals of silence. Rougon, they agreed,
was too impulsive. He ought not to have allowed himself to be irritated
by that Rodriguez question, which might have been very easily settled.
Then M. Kahn, gazing blankly into the distance, murmured as though he
were speaking to himself: 'A man knows when he falls, but never knows
whether he will rise again.'
Du Poizat pretended not to hear; but, after a long pause, he said: 'Oh!
he's a very clever fellow.'
Then the deputy abruptly turned, and, looking the sub-prefect full in
the face, spoke to him very rapidly: 'Between ourselves, I am afraid
for him. He plays with fire. We are his friends, of course, and there
can be no thought of our abandoning him. But I must say that he has
thought very little about us in this matter. Take my own case, for
instance. I have matters of enormous importance on my hands, and he
has placed them in utter jeopardy by this sudden freak of his. He
would have no right to complain--would he, now?--if I were to knock
at somebody else's door; for, you know, it is not I alone who suffer,
there are all the townsfolk as well.'
'Yes, well, go and knock at some other door,' said Du Poizat, with a
smile.
At this the deputy, in a sudden outburst of anger, let the truth escape
him. 'But is it possible? This confounded fellow spoils you with
everybody else. When you belong to his band, every one else fights shy
of you.'
Then he calmed down, sighed, and looked out towards the Arc de
Triomphe, which could be seen rising in a greyish mass out of the green
expanse of the Champs Élysées. 'Well, well,' he continued softly, 'I'm
as faithful as a dog myself.'
For the last moment or two the colonel had been standing behind the two
men. 'Fidelity is the road to honour,' said he in his military voice.
Then, as Du Poizat and Kahn made room for him, he added: 'Rougon is
contracting a debt to us to-day. Rougon no longer belongs to himself.'
This remark met with the warmest approval. It was certainly quite
true that Rougon no longer belonged to himself. What was more, it
was necessary that he should be distinctly told so in order that he
might know what it behoved him to do. Then the three friends chatted
in whispers, forming plans and fortifying each other with hope. At
intervals they turned and cast a glance into the big room to make sure
that no one was monopolising the great man for too long a time.
The great man was now gathering up the portfolios, while still talking
to Madame Bouchard. The Charbonnels were wrangling in the corner where
they had remained silent and ill at ease ever since their arrival. They
had twice attempted to get hold of Rougon, but had been anticipated by
the colonel and the young woman. Now, at last, M. Charbonnel pushed his
wife towards the ex-President.
'This morning,' she stammered, 'we received a letter from your
mother----'