I
Although it was not yet ten o'clock, the employees were pouring in
like waves through the great doorway of the Ministry of Marine, having
come in haste from every corner of Paris, for the first of the year was
approaching, the time for renewed zeal--and for promotions. A noise of
hurrying footsteps filled the vast building, which was as tortuous as a
labyrinth, and honeycombed with inextricable passages, pierced by
innumerable doors opening into the various offices.
Each one entered his particular room, pressed the hands of his
colleagues who had already arrived, threw off his coat, put on his office
jacket, and seated himself before the table, where a pile of papers
awaited him. Then they went for news into the neighbouring offices. They
asked whether their chief had arrived, if he was in an agreeable humour,
and if the day's mail was a heavy one.
The clerk in charge of "general matter," M. César Cachelin, an old
non-commissioned officer of the marine infantry, who had become
chief-clerk by priority of office, registered in a big book all the
documents as they were brought in by the messenger. Opposite him the
copying-clerk, old father Savon, a stupid old fellow, celebrated
throughout the whole ministry for his conjugal misfortunes, copied in a
slow hand a dispatch from the chief, sitting with his body held sidewise
and his eyes askew, in the stiff attitude of the careful copyist.
M. Cachelin, a big man, whose short, white hair stood up like a brush
on his head, talked all the time while performing his daily work:
"Thirty-two dispatches from Toulon. That port gives us as much as any four
others put together."
Then he asked the old man Savon the question he put to him every
morning:
"Well, father Savon, how is Madame?"
The old man, without stopping his work, replied: "You know very well.
Monsieur Cachelin, that subject is a most painful one to me."
Then the chief clerk laughed as he laughed every day at hearing the
same phrase.
The door opened and M. Maze entered. He was a handsome, dark young
fellow dressed with an exaggerated elegance, who thought his position
beneath his dignity, and his person and manners above his position. He
wore large rings, a heavy gold watch chain, a monocle (which he discarded
while at work), and he made a frequent movement of his wrists in order to
bring into view his cuffs ornamented with great shining buttons.
At the door he asked: "Much work to-day?" M. Cachelin replied: "It is
always Toulon which keeps sending in. One can easily see that the first
of the year is at hand, from the way they are hustling down there."
But another employee, a great joker, always in high spirits, appeared
in his turn and said laughing:
"We are not hustling at all, are we?" Then taking out his watch he
added: "Seven minutes to ten and every man at his post! By George, what
do you think of that? and I'll wager anything that his Dignity M. Lesable
arrived at nine o'clock--at the same hour as our illustrious chief."
The chief-clerk ceased writing, put his pen behind his ear, and leaning
his elbow on the desk said: "Oh! there is a man for you! If he does
not succeed, it will not be for want of trying."
M. Pitolet, seating himself on the corner of the table and swinging his
leg, replied:
"But he will succeed, papa Cachelin; he will succeed, you may be sure. I
will bet you twenty francs to a sou that he will be chief within ten
years."
M. Maze, who rolled a cigarette while warming his calves before the
fire, said:
"Pshaw! for my part I would rather remain all my life on a salary of
twenty-four hundred francs than wear myself to a skeleton the way he is
doing."
Pitolet turned on his heels and said in a bantering tone: "But that
does not prevent you, my dear fellow, from being here on this twentieth
of December before ten o'clock."
The other shrugged his shoulders with an air of indifference. "Hang it
all! I do not want everybody to walk over my head, either! Since you
come here to see the sun rise, I am going to do it, too, however much I
may deplore your officiousness. From doing that to calling the chief 'dear
master,' as Lesable does, and staying until half past six and then
carrying work home with you is a long way. Besides, I am in society and I
have other demands upon my time."
M. Cachelin had ceased his registering and begun to dream, his eyes
fixed on vacancy. At last he asked: "Do you believe that he will get an
increase again this year?"
Pitolet cried: "I will bet you ten to one he gets it. He is not wearing
himself out for nothing."
And so they talked of the eternal question of promotion which for a
month had excited the whole hive of clerks from the ground floor to the
roof.
They calculated chances, computed figures, compared their various
claims to promotion, and waxed indignant over former injustices. These
discussions lasted from morning until evening, and the next day were begun
all over again, with the same reasons, the same arguments, the same
words.
A new clerk entered, a little, pale, sick-looking man, M. Boissel, who
lived as in a romance of Alexandre Dumas, _père._ Everything with him was
an extraordinary adventure, and he recounted every morning to his friend
Pitolet his strange encounters of the previous evening, imaginary scenes
enacted in his house, strange cries uttered in the street which caused him
to open his window at half past three in the morning. Every day he had
separated combatants, stopped runaway horses, rescued women from danger;
and although of a deplorably weak constitution he talked unceasingly, in a
slow and satisfied tone, of exploits accomplished by his strong arm.
As soon as he understood that they were talking of Lesable he declared:
"Some day I will give that little pup his deserts; and if he ever walks
over my head. I'll give him something that will prevent him from trying
again."
Maze, continuing to smoke, sneered: "You would do well, then, to begin
at once, for I hear on good authority that you are to be set aside this
year for Lesable."
Boissel raised his hand. "I swear that if--" The door opened once more,
and a dapper little man wearing the side-whiskers of an officer of marine
or lawyer, and a high, stiff collar, who spoke his words rapidly as though
he could not take the time to finish what he had to say, entered quickly
with a preoccupied manner. He shook hands all around with the air of a man
who had no leisure for dallying, and approaching the chief-clerk said: "My
dear Cachelin, will you give me the Chapelou papers, rope yarn, Toulon
A. T. V., 1875?"
The clerk rose, reached for a portfolio above his head, took out a
package of sealed documents wrapped in blue linen, and presenting them
said: "There, M. Lesable; you remember the chief took three dispatches
from their package yesterday."
"Yes, I have them. Thanks," and the young man went out hurriedly.
Hardly had he gone when Maze ejaculated:
"Well! what an air! One would swear he was already chief."