another scandal. A frightful tragedy had taken place at Coulonges.
Du Poizat, obstinately intent upon getting the better of his father,
had again one morning knocked at the old miser's door. Five minutes
afterwards the neighbours heard the sound of gun-shots in the house,
accompanied by fearful shrieks. When they made their way inside, they
found the old man stretched at the foot of the staircase with his head
split open. Two discharged guns were lying on the hall floor, and Du
Poizat told them, with a livid face, that his father, upon seeing
him advance towards the staircase, had suddenly shouted, 'Thieves!'
as though he were mad, and had fired upon him twice, almost touching
him with the muzzle of his gun. In proof of this, he even showed them
a bullet-hole in his hat. However, said he, just as his father was
advancing still nearer, he had fallen and broken his skull against
the bottom step. This tragical death, this mysterious, unwitnessed
drama, had given rise to the most unpleasant rumours throughout the
department. The doctors said it was clear that the old man had died of
an attack of apoplexy. Nevertheless, the prefect's enemies insinuated
that he must have given his father a push, and the number of these
enemies increased day by day, owing to the harshness of his rule, which
oppressed Niort as with a reign of terror. Stern and pale, with his
teeth clenched and his hands twitching, Du Poizat had to check the
gossips on their doorsteps with a glance from his fierce grey eyes as
he passed along the streets.
However, another misfortune befell him. He was obliged to remove
Gilquin, who had compromised himself by taking a bribe to procure
a conscript exemption from the service. It was his wont to promise
exemption to peasants' sons on being paid a hundred francs a head.
All that Du Poizat could do for Gilquin in the matter was to save
him from prosecution and then disown him. So far the sub-prefect had
relied entirely upon Rougon, and had tried to make him more and more
responsible for every matter that went wrong. Now, however, he probably
divined something of the minister's critical position, for he came to
Paris without giving him any intimation of his intention to do so. He
felt his own position to be very much shaken, and, fearing the collapse
of the power which he had so largely helped to ruin, he was already on
the look-out for the support of some influential hand. He contemplated
asking permission to change his prefecture in order to escape certain
dismissal. Indeed, since his father's death and Gilquin's knavery,
Niort was becoming quite impossible for him.
'I just met Monsieur Du Poizat in the Faubourg Saint Honoré,' Clorinde
mischievously said to the minister one day. 'Aren't you good friends
now? He seems very bitter against you.'
Rougon avoided making any reply. After being compelled to refuse
several favours to the prefect, he had become conscious of increasing
coldness between them, and they now simply confined themselves to
official intercourse. The desertion was becoming general. Even Madame
Correur had abandoned Rougon. On certain evenings he again experienced
that feeling of loneliness which he had formerly felt in the Rue
Marbeuf when his friends were doubting his star. At the close of his
busy days, amidst the crowd of visitors who besieged his drawing-room,
he felt alone and lost and heart-broken, because his old familiar
friends were not there. And he once more began to feel an overwhelming
craving for the continuous praises of the colonel and M. Bouchard,
for all the vitalising warmth with which his little court had once
encompassed him. He even regretted M. Béjuin's silence. And so he made
an attempt to win his old associates back again, by showing himself
very pleasant and amiable, writing to them and even venturing to call
on them. But the ties were broken, and he could never succeed in
getting them all around him. If he contrived to piece up the links
at one end of the chain, some mischance kept those at the other end
broken; the chain remained imperfect in spite of every endeavour; some
of his old friends were invariably absent. At last they all abandoned
him. This was the death-agony of his power. He, strong as he was, was
bound to those foolish weaklings by the long labour of their common
fortune; and, as each deserted him, a piece of his being seemed to be
ravished away. His strength and abilities remained as it were useless
in this lessening of his importance; his big fists only struck the
empty air. On the day when his shadow alone showed in the sunshine and
he could no longer add to it by an abuse of power and patronage, it
seemed to him as if he held but little room in the world; and he began
to dream of a new incarnation, a resurrection in the shape of some
Jupiter Tonans, with no band at his feet, but ruling by the sole power
of his voice.
However, Rougon did not yet feel that his position was seriously
threatened. He treated with disdain the bites that scarcely touched
his heels. He went on governing with stern decision, unpopular and
solitary. His great reliance was on the Emperor. His only weakness was
his credulity. Each time that he saw his Majesty he found him kindly
disposed and amiable, ever preserving his impenetrable smile; and the
Emperor invariably renewed his expressions of confidence, and repeated
the instructions which he had so frequently given before. This seemed
quite sufficient to Rougon. His sovereign could have no thought of
sacrificing him.
His feeling of security led him to venture on a deep stroke of policy.
To silence his enemies and place his authority on a firmer footing than
ever, he sent in his resignation couched in the most dignified terms.
He spoke of the complaints which were being circulated against him,
and asserted that he had strictly obeyed the Emperor's commands, but
at the same time he felt the need of his Majesty's undoubted approval
before further continuing his labours for the public weal. Moreover, he
undisguisingly championed a stern policy, posed as the representative
of merciless repression. The Court was at Fontainebleau at the time,
and the resignation having been despatched, Rougon awaited the result
with the confidence of a cool gamester. All the recent scandals, the
tragedy at Coulonges, the perquisition at the convent of the Sisters of
the Holy Family, would be blotted out, he thought. At any rate, if he
were destined to fall, he wished to fall boldly like the strong man he
was.
On the day when the minister's fate was to be decided, it so happened
that a bazaar was held at the Orangery in the Tuileries gardens in
support of an orphanage which the Empress patronised. All the palace
circle and the high officials would certainly attend out of respect
for their Majesties. And Rougon resolved that he also would go and
show them his unruffled face. It was quite a piece of bravado, this
idea of boldly confronting the people who cast furtive glances at him,
of thus exhibiting his contemptuous unconcern amidst their hostile
whispers. Towards three o'clock, while he was giving a final order
to his chief subordinate, his valet came to tell him that a lady and
gentleman particularly wished to see him in his private rooms. The card
which the servant brought bore the names of the Marquis and Marchioness
d'Escorailles.
The two old people, whom the valet, deceived by their almost shabby
appearance, had left in the dining-room, rose ceremoniously when Rougon
appeared. He hastened to lead them into the drawing-room, feeling some
emotion at their presence and also a thrill of disquietude. However, he
spoke of their arrival in Paris as an unexpected pleasure, and tried
to appear as amiable as possible. But the Marquis and his wife remained
cold and stiff and sullen.
'Monsieur,' at length said the Marquis, 'you will excuse, I hope, the
step we have considered it necessary to take. It concerns our son
Jules. We wish him to retire from the administration; we ask you to
keep him no longer about you.' Then, as the minister looked at him with
extreme surprise, he added: 'Young people are not to be depended upon.
We have twice written to Jules telling him our reasons, and desiring
him to send in his resignation. As he has not obeyed our instructions,
we at last determined to come ourselves. This is the second time,
monsieur, that we have come to Paris in thirty years.'
Then Rougon began to protest. Jules had the most promising future
before him, said he; they would simply ruin his career. But the
Marchioness made a gesture of impatience, and began to explain her
reasons with more animation than her husband had shown. 'It is not for
us, Monsieur Rougon, to judge you,' said she, 'but there are certain
traditions in our family. Jules must not be mixed up in any abominable
persecution of the Church. Everyone at Plassans is amazed already. We
should embroil ourselves with the whole nobility of the neighbourhood.'
Rougon at once understood what was amiss. He was going to reply, but
the Marchioness silenced him with an imperious gesture.
'Let me finish!' she said. 'Our son entered the public service in spite
of our protests. You know what grief we felt at seeing him take office
under an illegitimate government. It was all I could do to keep his
father from cursing him. However, our house has been in mourning ever
since, and when we receive our friends, the name of our son is never
mentioned. We had sworn that we would trouble ourselves about him no
longer; but there are limits to everything, and it is intolerable that
an Escorailles should be mixed up with the enemies of our holy faith.
You hear me, do you not, monsieur?'
Rougon bowed. He did not even think of smiling at the old lady's pious
fibs. She and her husband once more stood before him proud and haughty
and disdainful, as in the old days when he had prowled about Plassans
pinched with hunger. If anyone else had used such language to him, he
would certainly have had them turned out by the lackeys. But now he
felt wounded, distressed, shrunken as it were. He again thought of his
youth of sordid poverty, and for a moment could almost have fancied
that he was wearing his old worn-down shoes once more. However, he
promised that he would use his influence with Jules to make him conform
with his parents' wishes; and then alluding to the reply which he was
awaiting from the Emperor he just added: 'It is quite possible, madame,
that your son will be restored to you this very evening.'
When he was alone again, Rougon felt a thrill of fear. That old couple
had succeeded in disturbing his hitherto unruffled placidity. He now
hesitated about going to the bazaar where all eyes would read his
perturbation on his face. He felt ashamed, however, of this childish
fear, and so passed through his study on his way out. Then he asked
Merle if anything had come for him.
'No, your excellency,' respectfully replied the usher, who had been on
the look-out all the morning.
The Orangery in the Tuileries Gardens, where the bazaar was being
held, had been sumptuously decorated for the occasion. Crimson velvet
hangings with fringes of gold concealed the walls, and transformed
the huge bare gallery into a lofty gala hall. Towards one end on the
left, large curtains, also of crimson velvet, were stretched across
the gallery, cutting off a portion of it. They were, however, looped
up with bands ornamented with huge golden tassels so as to afford
free communication between the chief section of the hall, where the
stalls were ranged on either side, and the smaller division where a
refreshment counter had been fitted up. The floor was strewn with fine
sand; and in each corner stood majolica pots containing rare plants.
In the middle of the square space formed by the stalls there was a low
circular settee upholstered in velvet and with a very sloping back;
and from the centre of it a huge column of flowers shot up, a sheaf
of stems amongst which drooped roses, carnations, and verbenas, like
a shower of dazzling drops. On the terrace overlooking the Seine, in
front of the folding glass-doors, which had been thrown wide open, some
grave-looking ushers in black dress coats glanced at the cards of the
_invités_ as they arrived.
The lady patronesses did not expect many people before four o'clock.
Erect behind their stalls in the great hall they waited for customers
to arrive. Their wares were spread out on long tables covered with
crimson cloth. There were several stalls of Parisian and Chinese fancy
goods; two of children's toys; a florist's kiosk crammed full of roses;
and, lastly, inside a tent, a lucky-wheel, like those to be seen at
the fairs in the Parisian suburbs. The stall-holders, in low-necked
theatre dresses, assumed all the persuasive graces of shopkeepers, the
seductive smiles of _modistes_ trying to palm off old-fashioned goods,
and they modulated their voices alluringly, as they prattled and puffed
their wares. They made themselves quite familiar with everyone who came
to purchase of them. A Princess presided over one of the toy stalls,
and in front of her, on the opposite side of the hall, a Marchioness
sold purses which had cost twenty-nine sous for twenty francs a-piece.
These two were rivals, each seeking to make a larger sum of money than
the other. They seized hold of customers, called out to the men, and
asked the most shameless prices; and, after bargaining as greedily
as thievish butchers, they would throw in the tips of their fingers
or a glimpse of their bosoms to turn the scale and complete some
remunerative transaction. Charity was, of course, their excuse.
Little by little the hall gradually filled. Gentlemen calmly halted and
examined the stall-holders, as though the latter formed part of the
goods for sale. Fashionably dressed young fellows crowded round certain
stalls, laughing and flirting, while the lady-sellers flitted from one
to another with inexhaustible complacence, offering all their wares in
turn with the same charming expression. It seemed quite an enjoyment
to them. Sales by auction could be heard proceeding, interrupted by
joyous peals of laughter, amid the low tramping over the sanded floor.
The crimson hangings softened the bright light from the lofty windows,
and diffused a ruddy glow, which here and there set a pinky touch on
the stall-holders' bare necks and shoulders. And in the space between
the stalls six other ladies, a baroness, two bankers' daughters, and
the wives of three high officials, threaded their way among the public
with light baskets hanging from their necks. These darted upon each new
arrival, crying cigars and matches.
However, Madame de Combelot met with particular success. She was the
flower girl, and sat on a high seat in the rose-crammed kiosk, a carved
and gilded affair which looked like a great pigeon-cote. She was
dressed in a tight-fitting rose-coloured dress, the corsage of which
was very low. And she wore no jewellery, but simply the regulation
bunch of violets nestling on her bosom. To make herself as much like a
genuine flower-girl as possible, it had occurred to her to tie up her
bouquets in public, holding the wire between her teeth and twisting it
round a full-blown rose, a bud, and three leaves, which she sold at
prices ranging from one to ten louis, according to the appearance of
her customers. And her bouquets were in such demand that she could not
make them quickly enough, while every now and then she pricked herself
in her haste and quickly sucked the blood from her fingers.
In the canvas tent opposite the flower stall pretty Madame Bouchard
presided over the lucky-wheel. She was wearing a charming blue
peasant-costume, high waisted and with a _fichu_-shaped bodice; indeed
almost a disguise which gave her quite the appearance of a vendor of
cakes and gingerbread. She also affected a pretty lisp and a guileless
air which was very original. Over the lucky-wheel were displayed the
different prizes; some hideous trifles in leather, glass, and china,
worth four or five sous a-piece. And every few moments, whenever there
was a lack of patrons, Madame Bouchard called out, in her pretty
innocent voice, which suggested some simple Susan fresh from her
village: 'Try your luck, gentlemen! Only twenty sous a time! Try your
luck, gentlemen!'
The refreshment room, which, like the larger hall, had its floor sanded
and its corners decorated with rare plants, was furnished with little
round tables and cane-seated chairs. It had been made to resemble a
café as much as possible. At one end, behind a massive counter, were
three ladies who fanned themselves while waiting for orders. Decanters
of _liqueurs_, plates of cakes and sandwiches, sweetmeats, cigars
and cigarettes, were set out in front of them, recalling the kind of
display which one sees at the buffets of questionable dancing saloons.
Every few moments the lady in the middle, a dark and petulant Countess,
rose and bent forward to pour out a glass of something or other,
seeming quite bewildered amidst all those decanters, and dashing her
bare arms about at the risk of breaking everything. It was Clorinde,
however, who was the real queen of the buffet. It was she who handed
the customers the refreshments they ordered, when they sat down at the
little tables. She looked like Juno masquerading as a waiting-maid.
She wore a yellow satin robe slashed slant-wise with black satin, a
dazzling, extraordinary arrangement which suggested a blazing star with
a comet's tail sweeping after it. Her bodice was cut very low, and
she sailed about majestically amidst the cane-seated chairs, carrying
her glasses on a pewter tray with all the serenity of a goddess. Her
bare elbows brushed against the men's shoulders, and her bosom showed
conspicuously as she bent down to take their orders, evincing no haste
as she did so, but answering every one with a smile, apparently quite
at her ease. When the refreshments had been consumed, she received in
her queenly hand the silver and copper coins tendered in payment, and,
with a gesture that had already become familiar to her, dropped them
into a bag hanging from her waist.
At last M. Kahn and M. Béjuin came into the buffet and sat down. The
former jocosely rapped the zinc table at which he installed himself
just as he might have done at a café, and called: 'Two beers, madame.'
Clorinde hastened up, served the two glasses of beer, and then remained
standing near the table, to snatch a little rest, as just then there
happened to be very few customers. And while she wiped her fingers on
which some beer had trickled, M. Kahn noticed the peculiar brightness
of her eyes, the expression of triumph with which her whole face shone.
He blinked at her for a moment, and then asked: 'When did you get back
from Fontainebleau?'
'This morning,' she replied.
'You've seen the Emperor, then, I suppose? Well, what is the news?'
Clorinde smiled, compressed her lips in a peculiar fashion, and then in
her turn looked at M. Kahn. The latter thereupon noticed that she was
wearing an eccentric ornament which he had never seen before. It was a
dog-collar encircling her bare neck; a real dog-collar of black velvet,
with buckle, ring and bell. The bell was of gold, and a pearl tinkled
inside it. Upon the collar there were two names in letters of diamonds,
oddly twisted and interlaced. And from the ring a thick gold chain fell
over her bosom, and then rose again, ending in a gold plate fastened to
her right arm, on which were these words: _I belong to my master_.
'Is that a present?' softly asked M. Kahn, pointing to the ornament.
Clorinde nodded assent, still keeping her lips compressed with a
cunning, sensual expression. She had desired this servitude and she
paraded it with shameless serenity, as though she felt honoured by a
sovereign's choice, an object of envy to every other woman. When she
had made her appearance with this collar round her neck, on which the
keen eyes of rivals fancied they could decipher an illustrious name
interlaced with her own, every woman present had understood the truth,
and had exchanged significant glances with her acquaintances.
However, business in the refreshment room was suddenly becoming brisk.
'A glass of beer, madame, please,' said a fat gentleman wearing a
decoration--a general--as he looked at Clorinde smiling.
When she had brought the beer, two deputies asked her for some
Chartreuse. A crowd was now pouring into the buffet, and orders were
given on all sides for liqueurs, lemonade, biscuits, and cigars. And
the men, while staring at Clorinde, repeated in whispers the various
stories which were current. For her part she turned her neck in all
serenity, the better indeed to show her dog-collar and the heavy gold
chain which tinkled as she moved. That she had been a queen of the
left hand imparted additional piquancy to her present assumption of
the part of a waiting-maid, who, answering every one's beck and call,
dragged statuesque feet--which had been passionately kissed by august
moustaches--over the floor of a mock café, amongst pieces of lemon-peel
and biscuit-crumbs.
'It's really quite amusing,' the young woman said, as she came back and
stood by M. Kahn. 'One of the gentlemen actually gave me a pinch just
now! But I didn't say anything. What would have been the good? It's all
for the sake of the poor, isn't it?'
M. Kahn motioned to her to stoop, and when she had done so, he
whispered: 'Well, what about Rougon?'
'Hush! You'll know everything soon,' she replied, in equally low tones.
'I have sent him an invitation card, and I am expecting his arrival.'
Then, as M. Kahn wagged his head, she added, with animation: 'Yes, yes,
I know him, I'm sure he'll come. And besides he knows nothing of what
has happened.'
M. Kahn and M. Béjuin then began to look out anxiously for Rougon's
appearance. They could see the whole of the large hall through the
opening in the curtains. The crowd there was increasing every minute.
On the circular settee several men were lounging with their knees
crossed and their eyes sleepily closed, while a continual flow of
visitors brushed against their feet as it streamed past. The heat was
becoming excessive; and the hubbub grew ever louder in the roseate
haze that floated over the forest of black silk hats. Every few
moments, too, the grating, rattling sound of the lucky-wheel could be
heard.
Madame Correur, who had just arrived, was going slowly round the
stalls. She looked very fat, in her gown of grenadine striped white and
mauve; and there was a shrewd expression on her face, the calculating
air of the customer who looks about her with the intention of making
some advantageous bargain. There were plenty of such to be made, she
said, at these charitable bazaars, for the ladies often did not know
the value of their wares. However, she never bought anything of such
stall-holders as were friends of her own, for they always tried to take
advantage of her. When she had been all round the hall, moving the
different goods about, examining them and putting them back in their
places again, she returned to a stall where some fancy articles in
leather were displayed for sale, and here she remained for fully ten
minutes turning everything over with an air of perplexity. At last,
she carelessly took up a Russian leather pocket-book, on which she had
really cast her eyes a quarter of an hour previously.
'How much?' she asked.
The stall-holder, a tall, fair, young woman, who was joking with two
gentlemen, scarcely turned as she replied: 'Fifteen francs.'
The pocket-book was worth at least twenty. These ladies, who contended
with each other in wresting extravagant prices from the men, generally
sold their goods to visitors of their own sex at cost price, actuated
in the matter by a sort of freemasonry. Madame Correur, however, laid
the pocket-book on the stall again, and put on an expression of alarm.
'Oh, it is too expensive,' she said. 'I want something for a present,
but I don't wish to give more than ten francs. Have you got anything
nice for ten francs?'