Madame de Bonmont’s _salon_ had been unusually lively and brilliant
since the victory of the Nationalists in Paris and the election of
Joseph Lacrisse for the ward of the Grandes-Écuries. The widow of the
great Baron received at her house the flower of the new party. An old
Rabbi of the Faubourg St. Antoine believed that the gentle Elisabeth
attracted to herself the enemies of the chosen people by a special
decree of the God of Israel. The hand, he thought, that placed Esther
in the bed of Ahasuerus had been pleased to gather together the chiefs
of the anti-Semites and the princes of the Trublions in the house of
a Jewess. It is true that the Baronne had renounced the faith of her
fathers, but who can fathom the designs of Jehovah! In the eyes of the
artists, who, like Frémont, bethought themselves of the mythological
figures in the palaces of Germany, her sumptuous beauty, the beauty of
a Viennese Erigone, seemed symbolical of the Nationalist vintage.
Her dinners diffused an atmosphere of delight and power, and the
smallest luncheon party at her house had a truly national significance.
Thus, this morning she had gathered together at her table the most
famous defenders of the Church and Army. There was Henri Léon,
Vice-President of the Royalist Committees of the South-West, who had
come to congratulate the Nationalists elected in Paris; Captain de
Chalmot, the son of General Cartier de Chalmot, with his young American
wife, who twittered to such an extent as she expressed her Nationalist
propensities that one would have thought the very birds in their
cages were taking part in our human disputes; Monsieur Tonnellier,
the suspended professor of the fifth form at the Lycée Sully, who,
as every one knows, had been convicted of defending, to his young
pupils, an assault committed upon the person of the President of the
Republic, had been condemned to pay a fine and was forthwith received
in the best society, where he behaved very well, except that he was
rather given to playing upon words; Frémont, an old Communard and an
Inspector of the Fine Arts, who as he grew older became wonderfully
reconciled to bourgeois and capitalist society, assiduously frequenting
the houses of wealthy Jews, the guardians of the treasures of Christian
art, and would gladly have lived under the dictatorship of a horse so
long as he could spend the day caressing, with his delicate hands,
finely wrought _bibelots_ of precious material; and the old Comte
Davant, dyed, waxed and varnished, handsome still, a trifle morose,
who remembered the golden age of the Jews when he supplied the great
financiers with furniture by Riesener and bronzes by Thomyres. When
acting as the Baron’s collector he had gathered together fifteen
millions’ worth of old furniture and objects of art. To-day, ruined
by unfortunate speculation, he lived among the sons, regretting the
fathers, a sad, bitter old man, one of the most insolent of parasites,
insolence, as he well knew, being a parasite’s main passport to favour.
She had also invited Jacques de Cadde, one of the promoters of the
Henry subscription list; Philippe Dellion, Astolphe de Courtrai,
Hugues Chassons des Aigues, President of the Nationalist Committee
of Celle-Saint-Cloud, and Jambe-d’Argent in breeches and waistcoat
of homespun, the white armlet with the golden lilies on his arm, and
a wild shock of hair under his round hat, which, like his chaplet of
olive-stones, he never removed. He was a Montmartre singer, by name
Dupont, who having become a Chouan was received in the best society. He
was taking a snack, with an old flint-gun between his legs, drinking
copiously. Since the Affair a new classification had occurred in
aristocratic French society.
Young Baron Ernest sat facing his mother in the chair set for the
master of the house. The conversation turned on politics.
“You are wrong,” said Jacques de Cadde to Philippe Dellion. “Believe
me, you are wrong not to employ Father François’ move. No one knows
what may happen after the Exhibition and as soon as we begin to hold
public meetings.”
“One thing is certain,” said Astolphe de Courtrai, “and that is if we
want to do well in the elections in twenty months’ time we must prepare
to begin a campaign. I can promise you that I shall be ready, I’m
working hard every day at boxing and single-stick.”
“Who’s your trainer?” asked Dellion.
“Gaudibert. He has brought French boxing to perfection. It’s
astonishing. He has some exquisite foot-work, some _coups de savate_,
quite of his own. He’s a first-class teacher, and understands the
tremendous importance of training.”
“Training is everything,” said Jacques de Cadde.
“Of course,” continued Courtrai. “And Gaudibert has superior methods of
training, a whole system, based on experience. Massage, friction and
dieting followed by plenty of nourishment. His motto is: ‘Keep down
fat, build up muscle.’ And in six months, my friends, he makes you a
first-rate boxer, and gives your punch an elasticity and your kick a
suppleness——”
Madame de Chalmot inquired:
“Can you overthrow this feeble Ministry?”
And at the bare idea of the Waldeck Cabinet she indignantly shook her
pretty head—the head of an infant Samuel.
“Do not distress yourself, madame,” said Lacrisse. “This Ministry will
be replaced by another just like it.”
“Another Ministry of Republican spendthrifts,” said Monsieur
Tonnellier. “France will be ruined.”
“Yes,” said Léon, “another Ministry just like this one. But the new
Ministry will be less unpopular, for it will no longer be the Ministry
of the Affair. We shall need a campaign of at least six weeks with all
our newspapers to make it hateful to the people.”
“Have you been to the Petit Palais, madame?” said Frémont to the
Baronne.
She replied that she had been there and had seen some beautiful caskets
and some pretty dance-engagement books.
“Émile Molinier,” replied the Inspector of Fine Arts, “has organized an
admirable exhibition of French art. The Middle Ages are represented by
the most valuable examples. The eighteenth century takes an honourable
position too, but there is still space to fill up. You, madame, who
possess so many treasures will not refuse us the loan of some of your
masterpieces.”
It is true that the great Baron had left his widow many art treasures.
For him the Comte Davant had ransacked all the provincial châteaux
on the banks of the Somme, Loire and Rhône, and had wrested from
ignorant, needy and whiskered gentlemen portraits of ancestors,
historic furniture, gifts from kings to their mistresses, imposing
souvenirs of the Monarchy, the treasured possessions of the most
illustrious families. In her castle at Montil and her house in the
Avenue Marceau she had examples of the work of the finest French
cabinet-makers and of the greatest wood-carvers of the eighteenth
century: chests of drawers, cabinets for medals, secretaires, clocks
of all descriptions, candlesticks and exquisite faded tapestries. But
although Frémont, and Terremondre before him, had begged her to send
some pieces of furniture, bronzes or hangings to the coming Exhibition,
she had always refused. Vain of her riches and anxious to display
them she had not intended, on this occasion, to lend anything. Joseph
Lacrisse encouraged her in this refusal: “Have nothing to do with their
Exhibition. Your things will be stolen or burned. And who knows if they
will ever succeed in organizing their international fair? It’s better
to have nothing to do with people like that.”
Frémont, who had already been refused on several occasions, persisted:
“You, madame, who possess such beautiful things and are so worthy of
possessing them, show yourself to be what you are, liberal, generous
and patriotic, for patriotism also is involved in this matter. Send to
the Petit Palais your Riesener cabinet decorated with Sèvres in _pâte
tendre_. With such a treasure you need fear no rival, for its equal is
only to be found in England. We will put upon it your porcelain vases,
which belonged to the Grand Dauphin, those two marvellous sea-green
vases mounted in bronze by Caffieri. It will be dazzling!”
The Comte Davant interrupted him:
“The mounts,” he said in a tone of melancholy wisdom, “are not by
Philippe Caffieri. They are marked with a ‘C’ surmounted by a lily.
That is Cressent’s mark. You may not know it, but you cannot deny it.”
“Madame, display your magnificence! Add to this your tapestry by
Leprince, _La Fiancée moscovite_, and you will deserve the gratitude of
the whole nation.”
She was ready to give way. But before consenting she questioned
Lacrisse with a look. He said:
“Lend them your eighteenth-century stuff, as they have none.”
Then, out of deference to the Comte Davant, she asked him what she
should do. He replied:
“Do as you like. I have no advice to give you. It will be all the same
whether you send or do not send your things to the Exhibition. _Rien ne
fait rien_, as my old friend Théophile Gautier used to say.”
“That’s done!” thought Frémont. “I’ll go presently and tell the
Ministry that I’ve managed to secure the Bonmont collection. It’s well
worth the rosette.”
And he smiled to himself. He was no fool, but he did not despise social
distinctions, and it struck him as piquant that a man who had been
imprisoned as a Communard should be made an officer of the Legion of
Honour.
“I must go,” said Lacrisse. “I’ve got to prepare the speech for the
banquet of the Grandes-Écuries next Sunday.”
“Oh,” sighed the Baronne, “I shouldn’t trouble to do that. It’s not
necessary, you extemporize so wonderfully.”
“Besides, my dear fellow,” said Jacques de Cadde, “it’s not a difficult
matter to address electors.”
“Not difficult exactly,” said the chosen candidate, “but delicate. Our
enemies complain that we have no programme. That is not true, we have
a programme, but——”
“Pheasant shooting, that’s the programme, messieurs,” said
Jambe-d’Argent.
“But the elector,” continued Joseph Lacrisse, “is of a more complex
nature than one would at first suppose. For instance, I’ve been
elected to the Grandes-Écuries by the Monarchists, of course, and
by the Bonapartists, and also by the—what shall I call them?—by
the Republicans who are sick of the Republic but who still remain
Republicans. That is a state of mind not infrequently met with in
Paris among the small tradespeople. Thus the pork-butcher who presides
over my Committee shouts in my face: ‘I’ve done with the Republic of
the Republicans. If I could, I’d blow it up, even if I had to blow up
with it; but for your Republic, Monsieur Lacrisse, I would lay down my
life for it.’ Doubtless there are points on which we all agree. For
instance: ‘Rally round the flag.’ ‘No attacks on the Army!’ ‘Down with
the traitors in the pay of the foreigner who work to the undoing of our
national defence!’ There we are on common ground.”
“Then there is also anti-Semitism,” said Henri Léon.
“Anti-Semitism,” replied Joseph Lacrisse, “is very popular in the
Grandes-Écuries because there are so many rich Jews in the ward who
are on our side.”
“And the anti-masonic campaign!” cried Jacques de Cadde, who was
religious.
“All of us in the Grandes-Écuries are agreed to fight the Freemasons,”
replied Joseph Lacrisse. “The church-goers reproach them for not being
Catholics. The Nationalist Socialists reproach them for not being
anti-Semites, and all our meetings adjourn to the cry of ‘Down with the
Freemasons!’ to which Citizen Bissolo yells: ‘Down with the Cassocks!’
Immediately he is knocked on the head, thrown down, trampled upon by
our friends and dragged off to the police-station by the police. The
spirit of the Grandes-Écuries is excellent, but there are false ideas
which we shall have to eliminate. The small shopkeeper does not yet
understand that the Monarchy alone will bring him any happiness. He
does not yet feel that in bowing to the will of the Church he increases
his own stature. The shopkeeper’s mind has been poisoned by bad books
and bad newspapers. He is against the abuses of the clergy and the
intrusion of priests into politics. Many of my electors call themselves
anti-clerical.”
“Really?” cried Madame de Bonmont, saddened and surprised.
“Madame,” said Jacques de Cadde, “it is the same in the provinces.
And I call that being against religion. Anti-clericalism spells
anti-religion.”
“We must not attempt to disguise the fact,” Lacrisse continued. “We
have still a great deal to do. And how? This is what we have to find
out.”
“As far as I am concerned,” said Jacques de Cadde, “I am in favour of
violent measures.”
“What measures?” asked Henri Léon.
There was a moment’s silence, and Henri Léon continued:
“We have had prodigious successes—but so had Boulanger, and he wore
himself out.”
“He was worn out,” said Lacrisse. “But we need not fear that we shall
be worn out in the same way. The Republicans, who put up a very good
defence against him, are defending themselves very badly against us.”
“Besides,” said Léon, “it is not our enemies that I fear; it’s our
friends. We have friends in the Chamber. And what are they doing?
They haven’t even provided us with a nice little ministerial crisis
complicated by a nice little presidential crisis.”
“That would have been desirable,” said Lacrisse, “but it wasn’t
possible. If it had been possible Méline would have done it. We must be
just. Méline does what he can.”
“Then,” said Léon, “we must wait patiently until the Republicans of the
Senate and the Chamber make way for us. Is that your opinion, Lacrisse?”
“Ah,” sighed Jacques de Cadde, “I regret the days when we cracked one
another’s heads. Those were the good old days.”
“They may return,” said Henri Léon.
“Do you think they will?”
“Yes, by Jove, if we bring them back!”
“True!”
“We have numbers on our side, as General Mercier said. Let us act.”
“Hurrah for Mercier!” cried Jambe-d’Argent.
“Let us act,” repeated Henri Léon. “And let us lose no time about it.
And, above all, let us be careful not to allow ourselves to get cold
feet. Nationalism must be swallowed hot. As long as it is boiling it’s
a cordial. Cold, it’s a drug.”
“What do you mean—a drug?” demanded Lacrisse severely.
“A salutary drug, an efficacious remedy, a good medicine, but one that
the patient will not swallow willingly nor with pleasure. We must not
let the mixture settle. Shake the bottle before pouring out the dose,
according to the precept of the wise chemist. At the present moment our
Nationalist mixture, which has been well shaken, is of a beautiful
pink colour, pleasant to look upon and of a slightly acid flavour which
pleases the palate. If we let the bottle rest, the mixture will lose
much of its colour and flavour. A sediment will form. The best will go
to the bottom. The monarchical and clerical ingredients which enter
into its composition will stick to the bottom, and the wily patient
will leave three-quarters of it in the bottle. Shake it up, gentlemen,
shake it up.”
“What did I tell you?” cried young Cadde.
“It is easy to say ‘shake it up,’ but it must be done at the right
time, otherwise you run the risk of upsetting the electors,” objected
Lacrisse.
“Oh,” said Léon, “of course, if you are thinking of your re-election!”
“Who said I was thinking of it? I’m not!”
“You are right, one mustn’t meet trouble so much more than half-way.”
“What? Trouble? You think my electors will change their minds?”
“On the contrary, I fear they will not. They were discontented and
they have elected you. They will be discontented again in four years’
time, and then it will be with you. Would you like a word of advice,
Lacrisse?”
“Go on.”
“You were elected by two thousand votes.”
“Two thousand three hundred and nine.”
“Two thousand three hundred and nine. You cannot please two thousand
three hundred and nine people. But you mustn’t think only of the
quantity, you must think of the quality too. You have among your
electors a fair number of anti-clerical Republicans, small shopkeepers
and clerks. They are not the most intelligent.”
Lacrisse, who had become an earnest person, replied slowly and
thoughtfully:
“I will explain. They are Republicans, but, above all, they are
patriots. They voted for a patriot whose ideas did not coincide with
theirs, who did not think as they did on matters which they thought
of secondary importance. Their conduct is perfectly honourable and I
suppose you do not hesitate to approve of it.”
“Certainly I approve of it, but, between ourselves, we may confess that
they are not particularly bright.”
“Not very bright!” replied Lacrisse bitterly. “Not very bright! I will
not say that they are as bright as——” He searched his brain for the
name of a brilliant man, but either he could not find one among his
friends or his ungrateful memory refused the name he sought, or perhaps
a natural malevolence caused him to reject each name that came into
his mind. He did not finish his sentence, remarking rather crossly,
“Anyway, I can’t see what’s the good of railing at them.”
“I’m not railing at them. I only say they are less intelligent than
your Monarchist and Catholic electors who worked for you with the good
Fathers. Well, your interest as well as your duty is to work for them,
first of all because they think as you do, and also because you don’t
hoodwink the good Fathers, while one does hoodwink fools.”
“That’s a mistake, a profound mistake!” cried Joseph Lacrisse. “Anyone
can see, my dear fellow, that you don’t know the electors. But I know
them! Fools are not more easily hoodwinked than others. They delude
themselves, it’s true, and they delude themselves at every moment; but
one doesn’t hoodwink them.”
“Yes, yes, one does, only one must know how to set about it.”
“Don’t you believe it!” replied Lacrisse, with sincerity. Then, on
second thoughts, “Anyhow, I don’t want to hoodwink them.”
“Who’s asking you to? You must satisfy them. And you can do that easily
enough. You don’t see enough of Father Adéodat. He’s a good adviser,
and so moderate! He will tell you, with his shrewd smile, his hands
tucked into his sleeves, ‘Keep your majority. Content them. We shall
not take offence at an occasional vote on the indefeasibility of the
rights of man and the citizen, or even against the clergy thrusting
themselves into the Government. At public meetings think of your
Republican electors, and think of us in the Committees. It is there,
in peace and silence, that good work is done. That the greater part of
the Council occasionally shows itself to be anti-clerical is an evil
that we can bear with patience. But it is important that the large
Committees should be profoundly religious. They will be more powerful
than the Council itself; because an active compact minority is always
worth more than a lifeless, confused majority.’
“That, my dear Lacrisse, is what Father Adéodat will tell you. He is
admirably patient and serene. When our friends come and tell him with
a shudder: ‘Oh, Father, what fresh abominations the Freemasons are
preparing! Compulsory University training for office; Article 7; the
law relating to associations! Horrible!’—the good Father smiles and
says nothing. He says nothing, but this is what he thinks: ‘We’ve been
through worse than this. We went through ’89 and ’93, the suppression
of religious communities and the sale of Church property. And does
anyone imagine that in former days, under the most Christian Monarchy,
we kept or increased our property without effort or struggle? If
so, they know very little of French history. Our rich abbeys, our
towns and villages, our serfs, our meadows and mills, our woods and
our ponds, our justice and our jurisdiction—powerful enemies, lords,
bishops and kings were incessantly striving to dispossess us of them.
We had to defend by force or before the courts a field or a road one
day, the next a castle or a gibbet. To preserve our riches from the
cupidity of secular power we had continually to produce those ancient
charters of Clotaire and Dagobert, which the impious knowledge taught
in the Government schools to-day calls forgeries. We pleaded for ten
centuries against the king’s servants. We have only been pleading
thirty years against the justice of the Republic. And the people think
we are growing weary! No, we are neither frightened nor discouraged. We
have money and property. It is the inheritance of the poor. To keep and
multiply it we count on two aids that will not fail us: the protection
of God and the impotence of Parliament.’
“Such are the thoughts which take shape beneath the shining pate of
Father Adéodat. Lacrisse, you were Father Adéodat’s candidate; you are
his chosen one. Go and see him. He is a great politician and will give
you good advice. He will teach you how to satisfy the pork-butcher
who is a Republican and how to charm the umbrella-maker who is a
Freethinker. Go and see Father Adéodat, see him again and again.”
“I have spoken with him several times,” said Lacrisse. “He is certainly
very clever. These good Fathers have grown rich with surprising
rapidity. They do a great deal of good in the ward.”
“A great deal of good,” repeated Henri Léon. “The whole of the enormous
quadrilateral between the Rue des Grandes-Écuries, the riding-school,
Baron Golsberg’s hôtel and the outer boulevard belongs to them. They
are working patiently at a gigantic scheme. They have undertaken to
erect, in the heart of Paris, in your ward, my dear fellow, another
Lourdes, an immense basilica which will draw millions of pilgrims
yearly. In the meanwhile they are covering their huge holdings with
house-property.”
“I know that,” said Lacrisse.
“I know it too,” put in Frémont. “I know their architect, a man called
Florimond, an extraordinary fellow. You know the good Fathers are
organizing pilgrimages in France and abroad. Florimond, with his long
hair and flowing beard, accompanies the pilgrims on their visits to
the cathedrals. He’s got the head of a master-mason of the thirteenth
century. He gazes at the spires and belfries with ecstatic eyes.
He explains arches in tierce-point and Christian symbolism to the
ladies. He shows them Mary, the flower of the tree of Jesse, at the
heart of the great rose windows. Tearfully, with sighs and prayers,
he calculates the resistance of the walls. At the table d’hôte, where
monks and pilgrims sit together, his face and hands, still grey with
the dust of the old stones which he has embraced, bear witness to the
faith of the Catholic artisan. He tells them his dream: ‘That I, a
humble workman, may bring my stone to the building of the new sanctuary
that will last as long as the world.’ Then he goes back to Paris and
builds mean houses, tenement houses, with bad mortar and hollow bricks
laid on edge, miserable buildings that won’t last twenty years.”
“But,” said Léon, “they are not required to last twenty years. They are
the houses of the Grandes-Écuries of which I was speaking just now, and
will one day give place to the great basilica of St. Anthony and its
dependencies, a whole religious city that will spring up in the next
fifteen years. Before fifteen years have elapsed the good Fathers will
own the whole quarter of Paris that has elected our friend Lacrisse.”
Madame de Bonmont rose, taking the Comte Davant’s arm.
“You understand, I don’t like parting with my things. Articles loaned
run risks. It makes one so anxious. But if it is in the national
interest—the country before all. You and Monsieur Frémont will choose
what should be exhibited.”
“All the same,” said Jacques de Cadde, as they left the table, “you are
wrong, Dellion, not to try Father François’ expedient.”
Coffee was served in the small drawing-room.
Jambe-d’Argent, the Chouan singer, sat down at the piano. He had
just added to his repertoire a few Royalist songs dating from the
Restoration, which he thought would make a hit in fashionable
drawing-rooms. He sang to the tune of _La Sentinelle_:
“Au champ d’honneur frappé d’un coup mortel,
Le preux Bayard, dans l’ardeur qui l’enflamme,
Fier de périr pour le sol paternel,
Avec ivresse exhalait sa grande âme:
Ah! sans regret je puis mourir,
Mon sort, dit-il, sera digne d’envie,
Puisque jusqu’au dernier soupir,
Sans reproche j’ai pu servir
Mon roi, ma belle et ma patrie.”
Chassons des Aigues, the President of the Nationalist Committee of
Action, went up to Joseph Lacrisse.
“Come now, my dear Councillor, are we really doing anything on the
fourteenth of July?”
“The Council,” replied Lacrisse gravely, “cannot organize any
demonstration of opinion. That is not within its province, but if
spontaneous demonstrations occur——”
“Time passes and the danger increases,” replied Chassons des Aigues,
who was expecting to be expelled from his Club, and against whom a
charge of swindling had been lodged with a magistrate. “We must act.”
“Don’t get excited,” said Lacrisse. “We have the men and we have the
money.”
“We have the money,” repeated Chassons des Aigues thoughtfully.
“With men and money one wins elections,” continued Lacrisse. “In twenty
months we come into power, and we shall remain in power for twenty
years.”
“Yes, but until then—” sighed Chassons des Aigues, whose pensive eyes
gazed anxiously into the vague future.
“Until then,” replied Lacrisse, “we shall canvass the provinces. We
have begun already.”
“It would be better to bring things to a head at once,” declared
Chassons des Aigues in accents of deep conviction. “We cannot allow
this treacherous Government time to disorganize the Army and paralyse
the national defence.”
“That is obvious,” said Jacques de Cadde. “Now, follow my reasoning
carefully. Our cry is ‘Long live the Army!’”
“Rather!” said young Dellion.
“Let me speak. Our cry is ‘Long live the Army!’ It is our rallying
cry. If the Government begins to replace the Nationalist generals by
Republicans, we shall no longer be able to shout ‘Long live the Army!’”
“Why?” asked young Dellion.
“Because then we should be shouting ‘_Vive la République!_’ That’s
plain enough.”
“There is no fear of that,” said Joseph Lacrisse. “The spirit among the
officers is excellent. If the Ministry of Treason succeeds in placing
one Republican out of ten in the high command, it will be the end of
all things.”
“That will be unpleasant,” said Jacques de Cadde, “for then we shall be
forced to cry ‘Hurrah for nine-tenths of the Army!’ And that’s too long
for a slogan.”
“Be easy!” said Lacrisse. “When we shout ‘Hurrah for the Army!’
everybody knows that we mean ‘Hurrah for Mercier!’”
Jambe-d’Argent, at the piano, sang:
“Vive le Roi! Vive le Roi!
De nos vieux marins c’est l’usage,
Aucun d’eux ne pensait à soi,
Tout en succombant au naufrage,
Chacun criait avec courage:
Vive le Roi!”
“All the same,” said Chassons des Aigues, “the fourteenth of July is
a good day to begin the row. There will be a crowd in the streets,
an electrified crowd, returning from the review, and cheering the
regiments as they pass! With method, one could do a great deal on that
day, we could stir the inarticulate masses.”
“You are wrong,” said Henri Léon. “You don’t understand the psychology
of crowds. The good Nationalist returning from the review has a baby in
his arms, and is dragging another brat by the hand. His wife is with
him, carrying wine, bread and ham in a basket. You try to stir up a man
with his two kids and his wife carrying the family lunch! And then,
don’t you see, the masses are inspired by very simple associations of
ideas. You won’t get them to riot on a holiday. To crowds, the strings
of lamps and the Bengal lights suggest cheerful and pacific ideas. They
see a square of Chinese lanterns in front of the cafés, and a gallery
decked with bunting for the musicians, and all they think about is
dancing. If you want to see riots in the streets you must choose the
psychological moment.”
“I don’t understand,” said Jacques de Cadde.
“Well, you must try to understand,” said Henri Léon.
“Do you think I’m a blockhead?”
“What an idea!”
“You can say it if you think so; you won’t annoy me. I don’t pretend
to be an intellectual. Besides, I’ve noticed that the clever men fight
against our ideas and beliefs, that they want to destroy all that we
cherish. So I should be exceedingly sorry to be what is called a clever
man. I’d rather be a fool and think what I think and believe what I
believe.”
“And you are quite right,” said Léon. “We have only to remain what we
are. And if we are not fools we must behave as if we are. It is folly
that succeeds best in this world. The clever men are the fools. They
don’t get anywhere.”
“What you say is very true,” cried Jacques de Cadde.
Jambe-d’Argent sang:
“Vive le Roi! ce cri de ralliement
Des vrais Français est le seul qui soit digne.
Vive le Roi! de chaque régiment
Que ces trois mots soient la seule consigne.”
“All the same,” said Chassons des Aigues, “you are wrong, Lacrisse, to
reject revolutionary measures; they are the best.”
“Children!” said Henri Léon. “We have only one means of action, one
only, but it is certain, powerful and efficacious. It is the Affair.
The Affair gave us birth; we Nationalists must not forget that. We
have grown and prospered through the Affair. It alone has fed us and
feeds us still. Thence comes our food and our drink; thence we derive
the staff of our being. If, uprooted from the soil, it withers and
dies, we shall languish and fade out of existence.
“We can pretend to uproot it, but in reality we shall cherish it
carefully, nourish it and water it. The public is an ass; moreover, it
is disposed in our favour. When it sees us digging and scraping and
hoeing round the plant it will think we are doing our best to uproot it
completely, and it will love and bless us for our zeal. It will never
dream that we may be lovingly cultivating it. It has flowered anew in
the very middle of the Exhibition, and this simple-minded people does
not see that it is our care that has achieved this result.”
Jambe-d’Argent sang:
“Puisqu’ici notre général
Du plaisir nous donn’ le signal,
Mes amis, poussons à la vente;
Si nous voulons bien le r’mercier,
Chantons, soldat, comme officier:
Moi,
Jarnigoi!
Je suis soldat du Roi.
J’m’en pique, j’m’en flatte et j’m’en vante.”
“That’s a very pretty song,” murmured the Baronne, with half-closed
eyes.
“Yes,” said Jambe-d’Argent, shaking back his rough mane, “it’s called
_Cadet-Buteux enrégimenté, ou le Soldat du Roi_. It’s a little
masterpiece. It was a bright idea of mine to unearth some of these old
Royalist songs of the Restoration.
“Moi,
Jarnigoi!
Je suis soldat du Roi.”
Then, suddenly bringing down his huge hand on the tail-piece of the
piano, where he had laid his chaplet and his medals, he exclaimed:
“_Nom de Dieu!_ Lacrisse, don’t touch my rosary. It has been blessed by
our Holy Father the Pope!”
“All the same,” said Chassons des Aigues, “we ought to have a
manifestation in the streets. The streets are ours, and the people
ought to know it. Let’s go to Longchamps on the 14th.”
“I’m on,” said Jacques de Cadde.
“So am I,” cried Dellion.
“Your manifestations are idiotic,” said the little Baron, who until
then had been silent. He was rich enough to refrain from belonging to
any political party. “Nationalism is beginning to bore me,” he added.
“Ernest!” said the Baronne with the gentle severity of a mother.
“It’s true,” went on Ernest, “your manifestations bore me to death.”
Young Dellion, who owed him money, and Chassons des Aigues, who wanted
to borrow some, carefully avoided any direct reply. Chassons tried to
smile, as though charmed by his wit, and Dellion half assented.
“I don’t deny it, but what doesn’t bore one to death?”
This inspired Ernest with profound reflections, and after a moment’s
silence he said, with a genuine accent of sincerity:
“You are right, everything bores one.” And he continued, thoughtfully:
“Take motor-cars, for instance. They break down just when you don’t
want them to. Not that one minds being late, for all the fun one gets
where one is going; but I was hung up five hours the other day between
Marville and Boulay. Do you know that part of the country? It is just
before you get to Dreux. Not a house, not a tree, not a dip in the
ground to be seen; nothing but flat, yellow, open country all round,
with a silly-looking sky stuck on top of it all like a bell-glass. One
grows old in such localities. Never mind, I’m going to try a different
make, seventy kilometres an hour, and runs as smoothly.... Will you
come with me, Dellion? I’m starting to-night.”