recoiled, clinging to the lady who carried him, and venting cries
of fear. Still the old man did not let go his hold; he continued to
protest his devotion, and it was necessary to release the little hand,
which he held tightly to his lips, from his adoring grasp.
'Go away, take him off!' cried the Emperor impatiently, to the
lady-attendant.
His Majesty had just lost the second game, and the deciding one began.
Rougon, taking the praises which he received in serious earnest,
exerted all his skill. Clorinde was now of opinion that he played too
well, and, just as he was going to pick up his quoits, she whispered in
his ear: 'I hope you do not mean to win.'
Rougon smiled. But all at once a loud bark was heard. It came from
Nero, the Emperor's favourite pointer, which, taking advantage of an
open door, had just bounded into the gallery. His Majesty ordered the
dog to be taken away, and a servant had already caught hold of its
collar when the aged dignitary again sprang forward and exclaimed: 'My
beautiful Nero! my beautiful Nero!'
He almost knelt upon the carpet in order to take the dog in his
tremulous arms. He pressed its head to his breast and kissed it as he
said: 'I beg of you, sire, do not send him away. How handsome he is!'
The Emperor consented that the dog should remain, and the old man went
on with his caresses. Unlike the little prince, Nero showed no sign of
fear, but licked the withered hands that fondled him.
Rougon, meantime, was blundering in his play. He had just thrown a
quoit so clumsily that the leaden disc, faced with cloth, flew into the
corsage of a lady who, with a deal of blushing, drew it from amidst her
lace. The Emperor won the game, and the company delicately gave him to
understand that he had gained a real victory. His Majesty seemed quite
affected by it, and went off with Rougon, chatting to him as though he
wanted to console him for his defeat. They strolled to the end of the
gallery, leaving the body of the room free for a little dance which was
just then being arranged.
The Empress, who had left the private drawing-room, was trying to
relieve the increasing boredom of her guests. She had proposed a game
of 'Consequences,' but it was getting late, and the company seemed to
prefer a dance. All the ladies were now assembled in the Gallery of
the Maps, and a messenger was sent to the smoking-room to summon such
gentlemen as were still hiding there. As the dancers took up their
positions for a quadrille, M. de Combelot obligingly seated himself at
the piano-organ, the handle of which he gravely began to turn.[10]
'Monsieur Rougon,' said the Emperor, 'I have heard some talk of a work
you are engaged upon; a comparison of the English constitution with our
own. I might be able to supply you with some useful documents.'
'Your Majesty is very kind. But I am contemplating another design; a
very great one indeed.'
Rougon, finding his sovereign so kindly disposed, was desirous of
profiting by it, and he thereupon unfolded his plan, his dream of
reclaiming and cultivating the Landes, of clearing several square
leagues of soil, founding a town, and conquering, as it were, a new
country. As he spoke, the Emperor looked at him, and in his eyes,
usually so expressionless, there now shone a glistening light. For a
time, however, he said nothing, merely nodding every now and then. But
when Rougon at last finished, he rejoined: 'Yes, perhaps--it is to be
thought over.' Then, turning towards Clorinde, her husband, and M.
de Plouguern, who stood in a group near at hand, he said: 'Monsieur
Delestang, come and give us your opinion. I have retained the most
pleasant recollection of my visit to your model farm of La Chamade.'
Delestang stepped forward; however, the little group which was
clustering round the Emperor now had to retreat into one of the
window-recesses. A waltz was being danced, and as Madame de Combelot
passed by, reclining in M. La Rouquette's arms, she had just swept
her long train round his Majesty's silk stockings. At the piano M.
de Combelot seemed to be quite enjoying the music he was calling
forth, for he turned the handle more rapidly than ever, swaying his
handsome head, and every now and then glancing towards the body of the
instrument, as though surprised at the deep notes which came from it at
certain turns he gave.
'I have bred some magnificent calves this year, by a fresh crossing of
strains,' said Delestang. 'Unfortunately, when your Majesty visited me,
the stalls and folds were under repair.'
Thereupon the Emperor began to speak slowly and spasmodically of
agriculture, cattle-breeding, and manures. He had entertained great
esteem for Delestang ever since his visit to La Chamade; and was
particularly pleased with the system which the latter had introduced
whereby his farm-hands lived in common, shared certain profits, and
became entitled to old-age pensions. Napoleon and Clorinde's husband
had ideas in common, certain humanitarian principles which enabled them
to grasp each other's thoughts at a word.
'Has Monsieur Rougon spoken to you about his plan?' the Emperor asked.
'Oh, yes!' answered Delestang. 'It is a magnificent scheme, and
affords a chance of experimenting on a very grand scale.'
He evinced genuine enthusiasm. He was greatly interested in
pig-breeding, he said. The best breeds were dying out in France. Then
he remarked that he was perfecting a new plan for the improvement of
meadow-lands; but to make it fully successful, large tracts of country
would be necessary. However, if Rougon should succeed, he would join
him and put his system to trial. Then, all at once he stopped short,
for he had just noticed that his wife's eyes were earnestly fixed
upon him. Ever since he had begun to express his approval of Rougon's
scheme, she had been biting her lips, looking pale and wrathful. 'Come,
my dear,' she said to him, motioning towards the piano-organ.
M. de Combelot's fingers had now grown cramped, and he was opening and
shutting his hands to remove the stiffness. Nevertheless, with the
smile of a martyr he got ready to begin a polka when Delestang hastened
forward and offered to take his place; an offer which he accepted
politely, as though giving up a post of honour. Then Delestang turned
the handle, and the polka began. But somehow the music now sounded
differently; he lacked the chamberlain's flexible, supple wrist.
Rougon, however, was anxious to get some definite expression of opinion
from the Emperor. His Majesty, who really seemed impressed, asked him
if he contemplated establishing some large industrial colonies over
yonder, and added that he should be glad to grant a strip of land,
water supply, and tools to each family. Moreover, he promised to show
Rougon some plans of his own, which he had noted down on paper, for
the establishment of a place of the kind, where the houses would be of
uniform construction, and every want would be provided for.
'Certainly, I quite enter into your Majesty's ideas,' said Rougon,
though, truth to tell, Napoleon's vague socialism made him impatient.
'We can do nothing without your Majesty's assistance and authority. It
will doubtless be necessary to expropriate certain villages, and it
will have to be stated that this is done for the public good. I shall
also have to launch a company to provide the requisite funds. A word
from your Majesty will be necessary----'
The Emperor's eyes grew dim; but he went on nodding. Finally, in an
indistinct voice, he said: 'We will see--we will talk about it.'
Then he walked away, passing with heavy steps through the quadrille
party. Rougon put on a cheerful countenance, as though he felt sure
of obtaining a favourable answer. Clorinde, however, was radiant. By
degrees a report spread among the grave, staid men who did not dance
that Rougon was going to leave Paris, and place himself at the head
of a great undertaking in the south of France. Then they all came to
congratulate him, and he was smiled upon from one end of the gallery
to the other. Not a trace remained of the hostility which had been
shown him when he first arrived. Now that he was voluntarily going
into exile, they all felt that they could shake hands with him without
risk of compromising themselves. This was genuine relief for many of
the guests. M. La Rouquette, quitting the dancing party, discussed the
matter with Chevalier Rusconi, with the delight of a man completely set
at his ease. 'It's the right thing he's doing! He will make a great
success down there!' said the young deputy. 'Rougon is an extremely
able man, but in politics he is deficient in tact.'
Then he waxed quite emotional over the Emperor's kindness. His Majesty,
he said, showed as much regard for his old servants as if they were
old mistresses. He felt affection for them even after the most violent
ruptures. It was some secret softening of the heart, no doubt, that
had prompted him to invite Rougon to Compiègne. And La Rouquette cited
other incidents which did honour to his Majesty's kindness of nature.
He had given four hundred thousand francs to pay the debts of a general
who had been ruined by a ballet girl; he had bestowed eight hundred
thousand upon one of his old accomplices at Strasburg and Boulogne as a
wedding present, and had laid out nearly a million for the benefit of
the widow of a high functionary.
'His purse is at every one's disposal,' he said in conclusion. 'He
only allowed himself to be chosen Emperor in order that he might be
able to benefit his friends. It makes me shrug my shoulders when I
hear Republicans reproaching him for his big civil list.[11] He would
exhaust ten civil lists in doing good. All the money he gets comes back
to France again.'
While chatting in an undertone after this fashion, La Rouquette
and Chevalier Rusconi continued to watch the Emperor. He was just
completing his round of the gallery. He adroitly threaded his way
through the dancers, silently crossing the clear spaces which their
respect opened out for him. Whenever he passed behind a lady who was
sitting down, he slightly inclined his neck and cast an oblique glance
at her bare shoulders.
'And he has such a mind, too!' said Chevalier Rusconi in a whisper. 'He
is an extraordinary man!'
The Emperor was now quite close to them. For a moment he lingered where
he stood, hesitating and gloomy. Then he seemed inclined to approach
Clorinde, who was looking very merry and beautiful, but she suddenly
fixed her eyes on him so boldly that he seemed frightened, for he
went on again, holding his left arm behind his back, and twisting the
ends of his waxed moustache with his right hand. At last, seeing M.
Beulin-d'Orchère in front of him, he approached him sideways and said:
'You are not dancing.'
The judge confessed that he could not dance, that he had never danced
in his life. Then the Emperor replied encouragingly: 'Oh, that doesn't
matter! That needn't keep you from dancing now.'
Those were his last words for the evening. He quietly made his way to
the door, and disappeared.
'Yes, indeed, he is an extraordinary man,' said M. La Rouquette,
repeating Chevalier Rusconi's phrase. 'They think a great deal of him
abroad, don't they?'
The Chevalier, with diplomatic reserve, nodded vaguely. He admitted,
however, that the eyes of Europe were fixed upon the Emperor. A word
spoken at the Tuileries made neighbouring thrones tremble.
'He is a prince who knows how to hold his tongue,' he added with a
smile, the subtle irony of which escaped the young deputy.
Then they returned to the ladies and invited partners for the next
quadrille. For the last quarter of an hour an aide-de-camp had been
turning the handle of the piano-organ. Both Delestang and M. de
Combelot now sprang forward and offered to take his place. The ladies,
however, cried out: 'Monsieur de Combelot! Monsieur de Combelot! He
does it much the best!'
The chamberlain thanked them for the compliment with a bow, and began
to turn the handle with professional vigour. It was the last quadrille.
Tea had just been served in the private drawing-room. Nero, having
made his appearance from behind a couch, was glutted with sandwiches.
The guests gathered in little groups and chatted familiarly. M. de
Plouguern, who had carried a little cake to a side table, ate it and
sipped his tea, while explaining to Delestang how it was that he, so
well known to hold Legitimist opinions, had come to accept invitations
to Compiègne. The reason was very simple, he said. He could not refuse
his support to a government which rescued France from anarchy. Then he
broke off to say: 'This cake is very nice. I didn't make a very good
dinner this evening.'
His caustic tongue was always ready to wag when he found himself at
Compiègne. He spoke of most of the ladies present with a bluntness
which called blushes to Delestang's face. The only one for whom he
showed respect was the Empress. She was a saint, he said, a woman of
exemplary devotion. He asserted, too, that she was a Legitimist, and
would have recalled Henry V. to the throne had she been free to do so.
Then, for a moment, he dwelt upon the delights of religion. Just as he
was sliding off into an indelicate story, the Empress retired to her
own rooms, followed by Madame de Llorentz. On reaching the threshold of
the salon, she made a low courtesy to the company, who bowed to her in
silence.
The rooms now began to get empty. The remaining guests talked in
louder tones, and exchanged parting shakes of the hand. When Delestang
looked for his wife to go upstairs with her he could not find her.
At last, Rougon, who helped him in his search, discovered Clorinde
sitting with M. de Marsy in the little room where Madame de Llorentz
had so violently upbraided the Count after dinner. The young woman was
laughing loudly. When she saw her husband she rose up. 'Good-evening,
Monsieur le Comte,' she gaily said to Marsy; 'you will see to-morrow,
at the hunt, if I don't win my bet.'
Rougon glanced after her as her husband led her away on his arm. He
would have liked to accompany them to their door to ascertain what
bet it was that she had spoken of, but M. de Marsy, evincing the
greatest politeness, detained him, and he could not get away. When he
was at last free, instead of going up to his room, he took advantage
of an open door to slip into the park. It was a very dark October
night, without a star or a puff of wind, a black, dead night. Lofty
plantations arose far away like promontories of darkness. He could
scarcely distinguish the paths in front of him. Holding his hat in
his hand, he let the cool night air play on his brow for a moment.
This freshened him like a bath. Then he lingered there looking at a
brightly-lighted window on the left front of the château. The other
windows gradually became black, and this was soon the only gleaming
spot in the sleeping pile. The Emperor was sitting up. And Rougon
fancied he could distinguish his shadow passing across the blind, a
huge head beyond which projected the ends of a long moustache. It was
followed by two other shadows; one very slight, and the other so big
that it shut off all the light. In the latter Rougon clearly recognised
the gigantic silhouette of an agent of the secret police, with whom his
Majesty frequently closeted himself for hours. Then, as the slimmer
shadow again passed before the window, Rougon thought it seemed like
a woman's. However, nothing more appeared, the window glowed in all
quietude, like some large bright eye gazing into the mysterious depths
of the park. Perhaps, thought Rougon, the Emperor was now considering
his scheme for clearing the Landes and founding an industrial centre,
where the extinction of pauperism might be attempted on a large scale.
He knew that Napoleon frequently came to important determinations at
night-time. It was at night that he signed decrees, wrote manifestoes
and dismissed his ministers. But presently Rougon began to smile. He
had recalled a story of the Emperor wearing a blue apron, and hanging
wall-paper at three francs a piece in a room at Trianon, where he
intended to lodge a mistress; and he pictured him now, in the silence
of his study, cutting out woodcuts and sticking them neatly in a
scrap-book.
But all at once Rougon found himself raising his arms and involuntarily
exclaiming aloud: 'Ah! _his_ friends made him!'
Then he hurried back into the château. He was beginning to feel
very cold, especially about the legs, which his knee-breeches left
uncomfortably exposed.
A little before nine o'clock on the following morning Clorinde sent
Antonia, whom she had brought with her, to ask Rougon if she and her
husband might breakfast with him. He had already ordered a cup of
chocolate, but did not touch it till they came. Antonia preceded them,
carrying a large silver salver on which their coffee had been brought
to their bedroom.
'Ah! this will be more cheerful!' exclaimed Clorinde as she entered.
'You have got the sun on your side. You are much better off than we
are.'
Then she began to inspect the suite of rooms. It consisted of an
ante-chamber, on the right of which there was a little room for a
valet. Then there was the guest's bedroom, a spacious apartment hung
with cream-coloured chintz having a pattern of big red flowers. There
was a large square mahogany bedstead and an immense grate in which some
huge logs were blazing.
'Of course! You ought to have complained!' said Rougon. 'I would not
have put up with a room looking on to the courtyard. Ah! if people
don't assert themselves--I was talking to Delestang about it only last
night.'
The young woman shrugged her shoulders and replied: 'Oh! he would raise
no objection if they wanted to lodge me in a garret!'
However, she now wished to examine the dressing-room, all the fittings
of which were of Sèvres porcelain, white and gold, with the Imperial
monogram. Then she went to look out of the window, and a faint cry
of surprise and admiration came from her lips. For leagues in front
of her, the lofty trees of the forest of Compiègne spread out like a
rolling sea, their huge crests rising and falling in gentle billows,
till they faded from sight in the distance. And in the pale sunlight
of that October morning, the forest glowed alternately with gold and
purple, with the splendour of a gorgeously embroidered mantle spread
out from horizon to horizon.
'Come, let us have breakfast!' said Clorinde.
They cleared a table on which were an inkstand and a blotting-pad,
finding it rather amusing to wait upon themselves. The young woman,
who was in a very merry mood, declared that on awaking that morning it
had seemed to her as if she were in an inn, an inn kept by a prince,
at which she had alighted after a long journey through dreamland. This
haphazard kind of breakfast, served upon silver salvers, delighted her
like some adventure in an unknown country.
Meantime, Delestang gazed in wonder at the quantity of wood which was
burning in the grate. And at last, with his eyes still fixed upon the
flames, he muttered thoughtfully: 'I have been told that they burn
fifteen hundred francs' worth of wood every day at the château. Fifteen
hundred francs' worth! Don't you think it's rather a high figure,
Rougon?'
Rougon, who was slowly sipping his chocolate, just nodded his head by
way of reply. He was disturbed by Clorinde's gay animation. She seemed
that morning all aglow with feverish beauty, her eyes glistening as
with the fire of battle.
'What was the bet you were talking about last night?' Rougon asked
abruptly.
She began to laugh, but as he pressed his question, she replied: 'You
will see presently.'
Then, by degrees, Rougon grew angry, and spoke harshly to the young
woman. It was an outburst of real jealousy, and veiled allusions soon
developed into direct accusations. She had made a perfect exhibition of
herself on the previous evening, he said; she had let M. de Marsy hold
her hand for more than two minutes. Delestang listened to all this,
but, instead of showing any concern, quietly steeped some strips of
toast in his coffee.
'Ah! if I were your husband!' Rougon cried at last.
Clorinde had just risen, and, standing behind Delestang, with her hands
resting on his shoulders, she responded: 'Well, supposing you were my
husband, what then?'
And stooping down, she stirred Delestang's hair with her warm breath,
as she added: 'He would behave properly, wouldn't he, dear, just as you
do?'
Delestang turned his head, and, by way of answer, kissed the hand
that lay on his left shoulder. He looked at Rougon with an expression
of emotion and embarrassment, blinking as though he wished him to
understand that he was really going a little too far. Rougon nearly
called him a fool. However, when Clorinde made a sign to him over her
husband's head, he followed her to the open window, on the handrail of
which she leant. For a moment she remained silent, her eyes fixed on
the far-spreading prospect. Then she abruptly asked him: 'Why do you
want to leave Paris? Don't you care for me any longer? Listen now; I
will be quite steady, and follow your advice, if you will give up that
plan of exiling yourself to that horrid, outlandish place.'
Rougon became very grave at this proposal. He began to dwell on the
great motives which influenced him; besides, it was impossible now, he
said, for him to withdraw. While he was speaking, Clorinde vainly tried
to read the real truth in his face. He seemed quite determined to go.
'Very well, then; you don't care for me any longer,' resumed the young
woman. 'So I am at liberty to follow my own inclinations. Well, you
will see!'
Then she left the window, and once more began to laugh. Delestang, who
still seemed to find the fire a source of great interest, was trying
to calculate how many grates there might be in the château. Clorinde,
however, broke in upon his meditations, saying that she had only just
time to dress, unless she was to miss the hunt. Rougon accompanied
her and her husband into the corridor, a long conventual passage with
a thick green carpet. And as Clorinde went off she amused herself by
reading the names of the guests, which were written on small cards in
wooden frames which hung from the different doors. When she had got to
the very end of the corridor, she turned, and, thinking that Rougon
looked perplexed, as if he wished to call her back, she halted, and for
a moment waited smiling. But he went back into his room, slamming the
door behind him.
The second breakfast was served early that morning. There was much
conversation concerning the weather, which was all that could be wished
for the hunt. There was a good clear light, and the atmosphere was
calm. The Court carriages set out shortly before noon; the meet being
at the King's Well, a large open space where several roads met in the
middle of the forest. The Imperial hunting-train had been waiting
there for more than an hour; the mounted huntsmen in crimson breeches
and great laced hats; the dog-keepers wearing black shoes with silver
buckles to enable them to run with ease among the brushwood; while the
carriages of the guests invited from the neighbouring châteaux were
drawn up in a semicircle in front of the hounds, and in the centre were
groups of ladies and gentlemen all in Court hunting-dress, like figures
out of some old picture of the time of Louis XV. The Emperor and the
Empress did not follow the hunt that day, and as soon as the hounds had
been slipped their Majesties' char-à-bancs turned down a bye-road and
came back to the château. Many others followed this example. Rougon
had at first tried to keep up with Clorinde, but she spurred on her
horse so wildly that he was left behind, and, thereupon, in disgust,
determined to return, infuriated at seeing the young woman galloping
in the distance down a long avenue, with M. de Marsy by her side.