which sounded quite strange amid all the silence and solitude; and
having closed the door with a bang he went on searching a series of
passages and halls. He crossed the Distribution Hall, floored with
marble from the Pyrenees, where his footsteps echoed as though he
had been walking through a church. And an usher having told him that
a deputy he knew, M. de la Villardière, was showing the palace to a
lady and gentleman, he obstinately set about finding him. He hastened
into the severe-looking vestibule known as General Foy's Hall, where
the statues of Mirabeau, Foy, Bailly, and Casimir Périer invariably
command the respectful admiration of country visitors. And, near by,
in the Throne Room, he at last discovered M. de la Villardière, with
a fat lady on one side of him and a fat gentleman on the other, an
influential elector and notary of Dijon and his wife.
'You are wanted,' said M. La Rouquette. 'Quick to your place, eh?'
'Yes, I'll go at once,' replied the deputy. But he could not make his
escape. The fat gentleman had taken his hat off, much impressed by the
magnificence of the hall, with its glittering gilding and mirrored
panels; and he clung firmly to his 'dear deputy,' as he called him,
and would not let him go. He was asking for some explanations of
Delacroix's paintings, the great decorative figures representing the
seas and rivers of France; _Mediterranean Mare, Oceanus, Ligeris,
Rhenus, Sequana, Rhodanus, Garumna, Araris_. These Latin words seemed
to puzzle him.
'_Ligeris_ is the Loire,' M. de la Villardière explained.
The Dijon notary briskly nodded his head to signify that he understood.
Meanwhile his wife was examining the throne, an arm-chair slightly
higher than the others, placed on a broad platform. She stood some
little distance away from it, contemplating it with reverent emotion.
Presently she summoned up sufficient courage to go nearer, and then,
furtively raising its covering, she touched the gilded wood, and felt
the crimson velvet.
However, M. La Rouquette was now scouring the right wing of the palace,
with its interminable corridors and offices and committee-rooms.
He returned by way of the Hall of the Four Columns, where young
deputies dream of fame while gazing at the statues of Brutus, Solon,
and Lycurgus. Then he cut across the large waiting hall, and hastily
skirted a semi-circular gallery, like a sort of low crypt, as dim and
as bare as a church, and lighted, day and night, by gas. Finally, quite
breathless, and dragging after him the little troop of deputies whom
he had gathered together, La Rouquette threw open one of the mahogany
doors decorated with gold stars. M. de Combelot, his hands quite white,
and his beard neatly combed, followed him, M. de la Villardière, having
made his escape from his constituents, came on close behind, and they
all rushed together into the assembly hall where the other deputies
stood erect in their places, furiously shouting and waving their arms
at a member in the tribune who seemed altogether unmoved by their
cries.[22]
'Order! order! order!' they shouted.
'Order! order!' cried M. La Rouquette and his friends, still louder
than the others, though they knew absolutely nothing of what was going
on.
The uproar was frightful. Some deputies were ragefully stamping
their feet, while others kept up a noise like that of a fusillade by
violently rattling the lids of their desks. Screaming and yelping
voices rose, fifelike, amidst others which were gruff and full, and
rumbled on like an organ accompaniment. Every now and then there was a
slight lull in the din, and then jeers could be distinguished in the
subsiding clamour, and some words even were plainly heard.
'It is detestable! intolerable!'
'He must withdraw it!'
'Yes, yes! withdraw it!'
However, the cry that was stubbornly repeated, which ever and ever
went on to the rhythmical stamping of heels was that of 'Order! order!
order!' coming hoarsely, huskily, from a hundred dry throats.
The deputy in the tribune had crossed his arms, and was gazing calmly
at his furious colleagues with barking faces and brandished arms.
Twice, when the tumult seemed to subside, he attempted to continue his
speech, but each time that he opened his mouth there came a renewal of
the tempest, a fresh outburst of frantic rage. The din in the Chamber
was fairly ear-splitting.
M. de Marsy, erect in his place, with his hand upon the button of his
bell, was ringing a continuous summons to silence amidst the hurricane.
His long pale face remained perfectly calm. For a moment even he ceased
to ring; quietly drew down his wristbands, and then applied himself to
his bell again. A faint, sceptical smile, which was almost habitual to
him, played round his thin lips, and whenever the shouters grew weary
he contented himself with repeating 'Gentlemen, allow me, allow me!'
At last he obtained comparative silence; and then he resumed: 'I call
upon the member in the tribune to explain the words he just made use
of.'
Thereupon the deputy in question, bending forward, with his hands
resting on the edges of the tribune, repeated his words, emphasising
them by a determined movement of the chin. 'I said that what took place
on the second of December[23] was a crime----' He was not allowed to
proceed further. The storm broke out afresh. A deputy with flushed
cheeks called him a murderer. Another applied such a filthy term to
him that the shorthand writers smiled and refrained from reporting it.
There was a cross-fire of exclamations which mingled together. However,
M. La Rouquette could be heard repeating in his shrill voice: 'He is
insulting the Emperor! He is insulting France!'
M. de Marsy made a dignified gesture and then sat down. 'I call the
speaker to order,' he said.
A long interval of agitation followed. This was no longer the drowsy
Corps Législatif which five years previously had voted a credit of
400,000 francs for the Prince Imperial's baptism. On a bench to the
left were four deputies who applauded the language which had been
used by their colleague in the tribune. There were now five of them
who attacked the Empire.[24] They were already shaking it by their
continued efforts, refusing to recognise it or to vote for it, with an
obstinate persistency which was destined to gradually rouse the whole
country against it. These five deputies kept erect, tiny group though
they were, amidst an overwhelming majority; and they replied to the
threats and fists and clamorous browbeating of their colleagues without
the least sign of discouragement, steadfast and fervent as they were in
their desire for revenge.
The very hall itself, echoing with all the feverish excitement, seemed
to have been changed. The tribune beneath the President's desk had
been set up again. The cold marbles and pompous columns round the
amphitheatre appeared to gather warmth from all the ardent oratory;
while the light that streamed from the ceiling window set the long
tiers of crimson velvet seats ablaze amid the tempests of momentous
debates. The massive presidential desk, with its severe panels,
acquired life from the irony and impertinence of M. de Marsy, who with
the slim figure of a worn-out man of pleasure showed like a thin line
against the _bas relief_ behind him. And only the symbolical statues of
Public Order and Liberty, in their niches between the pairs of columns,
preserved inanimate countenances and pupil-less stony eyes. However,
that which more than anything else imparted increased life to the hall
was the much larger number of spectators, all excitedly leaning forward
and eagerly following the discussions. The upper tier of seats had
now been revived, and the newspaper reporters had a special gallery
to themselves. High aloft, near the heavily gilded cornice, numbers
of heads were craned forward, a swarming, invading throng, which
occasionally made the uneasy deputies glance aloft, as though they
fancied they could hear the rushing tramp of the populace on some day
of insurrection.
However, the member in the tribune was still waiting for an opportunity
to continue. 'Gentlemen, to resume my argument,' he said, amidst the
noise which still rolled on. Then he paused, and in a louder voice,
which made itself heard above the tumult, he exclaimed: 'If the Chamber
refuses to hear me, I shall leave the tribune with a protest.'
'Go on! Go on!' cried several deputies; and a thick husky voice growled
out the words: 'Go on; we shall know how to answer you.' Then, all at
once, there was complete silence. From all the seats and galleries,
deputies and spectators craned their heads forward to look at Rougon,
who had just made this observation. He sat in the front row with
his elbows resting on the marble tablet before him. His broad bent
back remained motionless save when now and then he slightly swayed
his shoulders. His face was buried in his hands and could not be
seen; however, he was listening. His _début_ was awaited with great
curiosity, for he had not yet spoken since he had been appointed a
minister without portfolio. He probably divined that many eyes were
fixed on him, for at last he turned his head and glanced round the
Chamber. Opposite to him, in the ministers' gallery, sat Clorinde, in
a violet dress, with her elbows resting on the red velvet balustrade.
She gazed at him with her wonted tranquil boldness. For a moment their
eyes met, but they exchanged no smile of recognition. It was as though
they had been perfect strangers. Then Rougon reverted to his previous
position, burying his face in his hands, and again listening to the
opposition deputy.
'Gentlemen,' said the latter, 'I resume my argument. The liberties
conceded by the decree of the twenty-fourth of November are perfectly
illusory. We are still far away from the principles of '89 which are so
ostentatiously inscribed at the head of the Imperial Constitution. If
the government persists in arming itself with exceptional laws, if it
continues to force its own candidates upon the country, if it refuses
to free the press from arbitrary control, if, in a word, it still keeps
France at its mercy, all the seeming concessions which it may make will
be lying ones----'
At this the President intervened. 'I cannot permit the speaker to use
such a term,' he said.
'Hear, hear!' cried the deputies on the right.
The deputy in the tribune took up his phrase again and softened it. He
now strove to be more temperate in his language, speaking in carefully
rounded periods of great purity of style, which fell from his lips
with a solemn rhythm. But M. de Marsy angrily objected to almost every
expression he used. And then the deputy launched out into abstract
oratory, vague sentences overladen with long words, which so veiled
his real thoughts that the President was obliged to leave him alone.
However, all at once the orator returned to his old manner.
'To resume what I was saying. My friends and myself refuse to vote
the first paragraph of the address in answer to the speech from the
throne----'
'We can get on very well without you!' cried a voice; at which loud
laughter sped along the benches.
'We shall not vote in favour of the first paragraph of the address,'
quietly continued the representative of the opposition, 'unless our
amendment is adopted. We cannot join in returning exaggerated thanks to
the Chief of the State when so many restrictions are imposed. Liberty
is indivisible. It cannot be cut up into fragments and distributed in
rations like alms.'
At this fresh shouts arose from every part of the Chamber.
'Your liberty is license!'
'Don't talk about alms! You yourself are begging an unwholesome
popularity!'
'You'd be cutting off heads if you had your way!'
'Our amendment,' continued the deputy in the tribune, as though he had
heard nothing of these cries, 'asks for the repeal of the Public Safety
Act, the liberty of the press, freedom of elections----'
Here there was another outbreak of laughter. One member exclaimed,
loud enough to be heard by his neighbours: 'Ah, my fine fellow, you'll
get nothing of all that!' and another made mocking comments on every
sentence that dropped from the speaker's lips. The greater number,
however, by way of amusing themselves, punctuated their colleague's
sentences by stealthily rapping their paper-knives on their desks,
thus producing a rattling sound something like a roll of kettledrums,
which quite drowned the speaker's voice. Nevertheless, he struggled
on to the end. Drawing himself up, he thundered forth his concluding
words in such wise as to be heard above all the uproar. 'Yes, we are
revolutionists, if by revolutionists you mean men of progress, resolved
upon winning liberty. Refuse the people liberty, and one day the people
will seize it!'
Then he descended from the tribune, amidst a fresh outburst. The
deputies were no longer laughing like a lot of school-boys. They had
risen to their feet, turning towards the left, and again shouting:
'Order! order!' The member of the opposition, who had regained his
place, remained standing among his friends. There was a deal of
surging, and the majority seemed inclined to throw themselves on those
five men who stood there so defiantly with pale faces. M. de Marsy,
however, angrily rang his bell, glancing as he did so at the gallery,
where several ladies were drawing back with an appearance of alarm.
'Gentlemen,' he said, 'it is scandalous.' And then, silence being
restored, he continued in a loud and keenly authoritative voice: 'I do
not wish to call the hon. member a second time to order. I will content
myself with saying that it is disgraceful in the extreme to proffer
from this tribune menaces which dishonour it.'[25]
A triple burst of applause greeted these words from the President.
The members of the majority cried 'bravo!' and again rattled their
paper-knives, but this time in approbation. The opposition deputy
wanted to say something in reply, but his friends restrained him.
Then the tumult gradually subsided till there only remained a buzz of
private conversation.
'I now call upon His Excellency Monsieur Rougon,' resumed M. de Marsy
in a quiet tone.
A thrill, a sigh of satisfaction as it were, ran through the Chamber,
followed by earnest attention. With slouching gait Rougon had
ponderously made his way into the tribune. He did not at first turn
his eyes upon his audience, but laid a bundle of notes in front of
him, pushed the glass of sugared water out of his way, and stretched
his hands over the narrow mahogany table as though he were taking
possession of it. Then at last, leaning against the President's desk
behind him, he raised his face. He did not seem to grow any older. His
square brow, his large well-shaped nose and his long cheeks, on which
not a wrinkle showed, still had a pale rosy tint, the fresh complexion
of some country notary. It was only his thick hair that had undergone
any change. It had begun to grizzle and grow thinner about his temples,
exposing his big ears. With eyes half-closed he glanced round the
Chamber as if looking for some one; then his glance encountered the
attentive face of Clorinde, who was leaning forward, and he began to
speak in a heavy laborious way.
'We too are revolutionists, if by that term is meant men of progress
who are resolved to restore to the country, piece by piece, every
reasonable liberty----'
'Hear! hear!'
'What government, gentlemen, has ever surpassed the Empire in according
a generous measure of liberal reform, such as the alluring programme
you have heard sketched out? It is not necessary that I should refute
the speech of the honourable member who has just spoken. It will be
sufficient to prove to you that the Emperor with his genius and noble
heart has forestalled the demands of the most bitter opponents of his
rule. Yes, gentlemen, of his own accord, our sovereign has restored to
the nation the power with which it entrusted him during a period of
public danger. A magnificent spectacle of which there are few parallels
in history! Oh! we can easily understand the discomfiture experienced
by certain lawless individuals. They are reduced to attack our
intentions, to carp at the measure of liberty which has been restored.
But you have fully understood and appreciated, gentlemen, the great act
of the twenty-fourth of November. In the first paragraph of the address
it has been your desire to express to the Emperor your deep gratitude
for his magnanimity and his confidence in the discretion of the Corps
Législatif. To adopt the amendment which has been proposed to you would
be a gratuitous insult. I will even say, an act of baseness. Consult
your own consciences, gentlemen, and ask yourselves whether you do not
feel that you are free. Liberty has been granted whole and entire--that
I formally guarantee.'
A prolonged outburst of applause here interrupted him. He had gradually
drawn to the edge of the tribune, and now, bending forward with his
right arm outstretched, he raised his voice which rang out with
wonderful power. Behind him, M. de Marsy sat back listening and smiling
vaguely like a connoisseur admiring some brilliant tour de force. And
amidst the loud cheering of the Chamber, deputies kept bending forward,
whispering or looking surprised with lips compressed. Clorinde's arms
rested listlessly on the crimson velvet balustrade, but she seemed very
serious.
Rougon continued. 'To-day,' he said, 'the hour for which we were all so
impatiently waiting has at length struck. There is no longer any danger
in making prosperous France free France also. The anarchical passions
are dead. The energy of the Sovereign and the solemn determination of
the people have for ever annihilated all abominable epochs of public
perversity. Liberty became possible on the day when the faction which
had so obstinately ignored the fundamental bases of sound government
was defeated; and for this reason the Emperor has deemed fit to lay
aside the stern strong hand, to decline excessive prerogatives as a
useless burden, rightly considering his rule to be so unassailable
that discussion may be freely allowed. And he has not shunned promises
for the future, he will carry out his task of enfranchisement to the
end, giving back one liberty after another at such times as shall
seem fitting to his wisdom. Henceforth it is a programme of continual
progress that it will be our duty to support in this assembly.'
'You, yourself, were the minister of the fiercest oppression!'
interrupted one of the five deputies on the left, indignantly rising
from his seat. And another passionately added: 'The purveyors for
Cayenne and Lambessa have no right to speak in the name of liberty!'
An outburst of murmurs followed. Several deputies, who did not quite
catch what was said, bent forward and questioned their neighbours.
M. de Marsy pretended not to have heard, and contented himself with
threatening to call all interrupters to order.
'I have just been reproached----' Rougon resumed; but shouts now rose
from the right and prevented him from continuing.
'No, no! Don't reply!'
'Such insults are unworthy of your notice!'
Rougon pacified the Chamber by a gesture, and with his big fists
resting on the edge of the tribune, he turned to the left with the
expression of a wild boar at bay. 'I will not reply,' he calmly said.
What had gone before was merely the exordium of his speech. Although
he had stated that he did not intend to refute the assertions of the
deputy of the left, he now entered upon a minute discussion. He began
by clearly stating the whole of his opponent's arguments; enumerating
them with an air of fairness and candour which had an immense effect;
for it was as though he disdained these arguments and could destroy
them by a breath. However, as he went on, he appeared to forget them
entirely, and, without replying to any of them, he attacked the weakest
with indescribable violence and quite overwhelmed it beneath a flood
of words. Applause burst forth, he triumphed. His huge body seemed to
fill the tribune; his shoulders swayed in rhythm with his periods.
His oratory was of a mediocre, inartistic order, bristling with legal
points and trite commonplaces, which he bellowed forth in thundering
tones. He shouted and brandished trivialities; and his only real
oratorical gift was his immense, inexhaustible fund of breath, which
enabled him to pour forth magniloquent sentences for hours together,
careless of what they might contain.
After he had spoken for an hour without a break, he gulped down a
mouthful of water, and panted a little while rearranging his notes in
front of him.
'Take a rest!' cried several deputies.
But he did not feel at all tired, and wanted to finish. 'What is it,
gentlemen, that is asked of you?' he resumed.
'Hush! Hush!'
Every face was now again fixed on him with silent straining attention.
At certain bursts of his oratory the Chamber quivered from one end to
the other, as though a gale had swept through it.
'What is asked of you, gentlemen, is that you should repeal the Public
Safety Act. I will not now recall the ever-accursed hour which made
that act a needful weapon. It was necessary to reassure the country, to
save France from a fresh cataclysm. To-day the weapon is sheathed. The
government, which invariably used it with the greatest prudence--I will
even say with the greatest moderation----'
'Quite true!'
'The government now only uses it in certain altogether exceptional
cases. It inconveniences no one except those sectaries who still
cherish the guilty madness of wishing for the return of the basest days
of our history. Search through our towns, search through our villages,
everywhere you will find peace and prosperity. Inquire of all orderly
citizens, and you will not find one who feels in any way oppressed
by those exceptional laws which are imputed to us as great crimes.
I repeat that, in the paternal hands of the government, they simply
continue to shield society against all hateful attempts, the success of
which, moreover, is henceforth impossible. Honest, well-disposed men
have no occasion to trouble themselves about their existence. Leave
them to their slumber, until our Sovereign shall feel justified in
doing away with them himself. But what else is asked of you, gentlemen?
Freedom of elections, the liberty of the press, every kind of liberty
that can be imagined. Ah! Let me pause for a moment to glance at the
great things which the Empire has already accomplished. All around me,
wherever I turn my eyes, I see public liberties increasing and bearing
splendid fruits. I feel the profoundest emotion. France, once fallen so
low, is now fast recovering, and giving to the world the example of a
nation winning its own freedom by its good behaviour. The days of trial
are now over. There is no longer any question of a dictatorship, or of
despotism. We are all workers in the cause of liberty----'
'Bravo! bravo!'