BOOK VII. MODERN TIMES

MADAME CÉRÈS

“Only extreme things are tolerable.”

Count Robert de Montesquiou.

I. MADAME CLARENCE’S DRAWING-ROOM

Madame Clarence, the widow of an exalted functionary of the Republic,

loved to entertain. Every Thursday she collected together some friends

of modest condition who took pleasure in conversation. The ladies who

went to see her, very different in age and rank, were all without

money, and had all suffered much. There was a duchess who looked like a

fortune-teller and a fortune-teller who looked like a duchess. Madame

Clarence was pretty enough to maintain some old _liaisons_, but not to

form new ones, and she generally inspired a quiet esteem. She had a

very pretty daughter, who, since she had no dower, caused some alarm

among the male guests; for the Penguins were as much afraid of

portionless girls as they were of the devil himself. Eveline Clarence,

noticing their reserve and perceiving its cause, used to hand them

their tea with an air of disdain. Moreover, she seldom appeared at the

parties and talked only to the ladies or the very young people. Her

discreet and retiring presence put no restraint upon the conversation,

since those who took part in it thought either that as she was a young

girl she would not understand it, or that, being twenty-five years old,

she might listen to everything.

One Thursday therefore, in Madame Clarence’s drawing-room, the

conversation turned upon love. The ladies spoke of it with pride,

delicacy, and mystery, the men with discretion and fatuity; everyone

took an interest in the conversation, for each one was interested in

what he or she said. A great deal of wit flowed; brilliant apostrophes

were launched forth and keen repartees were returned. But when

Professor Haddock began to speak he overwhelmed everybody.

“It is the same with our ideas on love as with our ideas on everything

else,” said he, “they rest upon anterior habits whose very memory has

been effaced. In morals, the limitations that have lost their grounds

for existing, the most useless obligations, the cruelest and most

injurious restraints, are because of their profound antiquity and the

mystery of their origin, the least disputed and the least disputable as

well as the most respected, and they are those that cannot be violated

without incurring the most severe blame. All morality relative to the

relations of the sexes is founded on this principle: that a woman once

obtained belongs to the man, that she is his property like his horse or

his weapons. And this having ceased to be true, absurdities result from

it, such as the marriage or contract of sale of a woman to a man, with

clauses restricting the right of ownership introduced as a consequence

of the gradual diminution of the claims of the possessor.

“The obligation imposed on a girl that she should bring her virginity

to her husband comes from the times when girls were married immediately

they were of a marriageable age. It is ridiculous that a girl who

marries at twenty-five or thirty should be subject to that obligation.

You will, perhaps, say that it is a present with which her husband, if

she gets one at last, will be gratified; but every moment we see men

wooing married women and showing themselves perfectly satisfied to take

them as they find them.

“Still, even in our own day, the duty of girls is determined in

religious morality by the old belief that God, the most powerful of

warriors, is polygamous, that he has reserved all maidens for himself,

and that men can only take those whom he has left. This belief,

although traces of it exist in several metaphors of mysticism, is

abandoned to-day, by most civilised peoples. However, it still

dominates the education of girls not only among our believers, but even

among our free-thinkers, who, as a rule, think freely for the reason

that they do not think at all.

“Discretion means ability to separate and discern. We say that a girl

is discreet when she knows nothing at all. We cultivate her ignorance.

In spite of all our care the most discreet know something, for we

cannot conceal from them their own nature and their own sensations. But

they know badly, they know in a wrong way. That is all we obtain by our

careful education. . . .”

“Sir,” suddenly said Joseph Boutourlé, the High Treasurer of Alca,

“believe me, there are innocent girls, perfectly innocent girls, and it

is a great pity. I have known three. They married, and the result was

tragical.”

“I have noticed,” Professor Haddock went on, “that Europeans in general

and Penguins in particular occupy themselves, after sport and motoring,

with nothing so much as with love. It is giving a great deal of

importance to a matter that has very little weight.”

“Then, Professor,” exclaimed Madame Crémeur in a choking voice, “when a

woman has completely surrendered herself to you, you think it is a

matter of no importance?”

“No, Madame; it can have its importance,” answered Professor Haddock,

“but it is necessary to examine if when she surrenders herself to us

she offers us a delicious fruit-garden or a plot of thistles and

dandelions. And then, do we not misuse words? In love, a woman lends

herself rather than gives herself. Look at the pretty Madame Pensée. .

. .”

“She is my mother,” said a tall, fair young man.

“Sir, I have the greatest respect for her,” replied Professor Haddock;

“do not be afraid that I intend to say anything in the least offensive

about her. But allow me to tell you that, as a rule, the opinions of

sons about their mothers are not to be relied on. They do not bear

enough in mind that a mother is a mother only because she loved, and

that she can still love. That, however, is the case, and it would be

deplorable were it otherwise. I have noticed, on the contrary, that

daughters do not deceive themselves about their mothers’ faculty for

loving or about the use they make of it; they are rivals; they have

their eyes upon them.”

The insupportable Professor spoke a great deal longer, adding indecorum

to awkwardness, and impertinence to incivility, accumulating

incongruities, despising what is respectable, respecting what is

despicable; but no one listened to him further.

During this time in a room that was simple without grace, a room sad

for the want of love, a room which, like all young girls’ rooms, had

something of the cold atmosphere of a place of waiting about it,

Eveline Clarence turned over the pages of club annuals and prospectuses

of charities in order to obtain from them some acquaintance with

society. Being convinced that her mother, shut up in her own

intellectual but poor world, could neither bring her out or push her

into prominence, she decided that she herself would seek the best means

of winning a husband. At once calm and obstinate, without dreams or

illusions, and regarding marriage as but a ticket of admission or a

passport, she kept before her mind a clear notion of the hazards,

difficulties, and chances of her enterprise. She had the art of

pleasing and a coldness of temperament that enabled her to turn it to

its fullest advantage. Her weakness lay in the fact that she was

dazzled by anything that had an aristocratic air.

When she was alone with her mother she said:

“Mamma, we will go to-morrow to Father Douillard’s retreat.”

II. THE CHARITY OF ST. ORBEROSIA

Every Friday evening at nine o’clock the choicest of Alcan society

assembled in the aristocratic church of St. Maël for the Reverend

Father Douillard’s retreat. Prince and Princess des Boscénos, Viscount

and Viscountess Olive, M. and Madame Bigourd, Monsieur and Madame de La

Trumelle were never absent. The flower of the aristocracy might be seen

there, and fair Jewish baronesses also adorned it by their presence,

for the Jewish baronesses of Alca were Christians.

This retreat, like all religious retreats, had for its object to

procure for those living in the world opportunities for recollection so

that they might think of their eternal salvation. It was also intended

to draw down upon so man noble and illustrious families the benediction

of L. Orberosia, who loves the Penguins. The Reverend Father Douillard

strove for the completion of his task with a truly apostolical zeal. He

hoped to restore the prerogatives of St. Orberosia as the patron saint

of Penguinia and to dedicate to her a monumental church on one of the

hills that dominate the city. His efforts had been crowned with great

success, and for the accomplishing of this national enterprise he had

already united more than a hundred thousand adherents and collected

more than twenty millions of francs.

It was in the choir of St. Maël’s that St. Orberosia’s new shrine,

shining with gold, sparkling with precious stones, and surrounded by

tapers and flowers, had been erected.

The following account may be read in the “History of the Miracles of

the Patron Saint of Alca” by the Abbé Plantain:

“The ancient shrine had been melted down during the Terror and the

precious relics of the saint thrown into a fire that had been lit on

the Place de Grève; but a poor woman of great piety, named Rouquin,

went by night at the peril of her life to gather up the calcined bones

and the ashes of the blessed saint. She preserved them in a jam-pot,

and when religion was again restored, brought them to the venerable

Curé of St. Maëls. The woman ended her days piously as a vendor of

tapers and custodian of seats in the saint’s chapel.”

It is certain that in the time of Father Douillard, although faith was

declining, the cult of St. Orberosia, which for three hundred years had

fallen under the criticism of Canon Princeteau and the silence of the

Doctors of the Church, recovered, and was surrounded with more pomp,

more splendour, and more fervour than ever. The theologians did not now

subtract a single iota from the legend. They held as certainly

established all the facts related by Abbot Simplicissimus, and in

particular declared, on the testimony of that monk, that the devil,

assuming a monk’s form had carried off the saint to a cave and had

there striven with her until she overcame him. Neither places nor dates

caused them any embarrassment. They paid no heed to exegesis and took

good care not to grant as much to science as Canon Princeteau had

formerly conceded. They knew too well whither that would lead.

The church shone with lights and flowers. An operatic tenor sang the

famous canticle of St. Orberosia:

Virgin of Paradise

Come, come in the dusky night

And on us shed

Thy beams of light.

Mademoiselle Clarence sat beside her mother and in front of Viscount

Cléna. She remained kneeling during a considerable time, for the

attitude of prayer is natural to discreet virgins and it shows off

their figures.

The Reverend Father Douillard ascended the pulpit. He was a powerful

orator and could, at once melt, surprise, and rouse his hearers. Women

complained only that he fulminated against vice with excessive

harshness and in crude terms that made them blush. But they liked him

none the less for it.

He treated in his sermon of the seventh trial of St. Orberosia, who was

tempted by the dragon which she went forth to combat. But she did not

yield, and she disarmed the monster. The orator demonstrated without

difficulty that we, also, by the aid of St. Orberosia, and strong in

the virtue which she inspires, can in our turn overthrow the dragons

that dart upon us and are waiting to devour us, the dragon of doubt,

the dragon of impiety, the dragon of forgetfulness of religious duties.

He proved that the charity of St. Orberosia was a work of social

regeneration, and he concluded by an ardent appeal to the faithful “to

become instruments of the Divine mercy, eager upholders and supporters

of the charity of St. Orberosia, and to furnish it with all the means

which it required to take its flight and bear its salutary fruits.”[11]

[11] Cf. J. Ernest Charles in the “Censeur,” May-August, 1907, p. 562,

col. 2.

After the ceremony, the Reverend Father Douillard remained in the

sacristy at the disposal of those of the faithful who desired

information concerning the charity, or who wished to bring their

contributions. Mademoiselle Clarence wished to speak to Father

Douillard, so did Viscount Cléna. The crowd was large, and a queue was

formed. By chance Viscount Cléna and Mademoiselle Clarence were side by

side and possibly they were squeezed a little closely to each other by

the crowd. Eveline had noticed this fashionable young man, who was

almost as well known as his father in the world of sport. Cléna had

noticed her, and, as he thought her pretty, he bowed to her, then

apologised and pretended to believe that he had been introduced to the

ladies, but could not remember where. They pretended to believe it

also.

He presented himself the following week at Madame Clarence’s, thinking

that her house was a bit fast—a thing not likely to displease him—and

when he saw Eveline again he felt he had not been mistaken and that she

was an extremely pretty girl.

Viscount Cléna had the finest motor-car in Europe. For three months he

drove the Clarences every day over hills and plains, through woods and

valleys; they visited famous sites and went over celebrated castles. He

said to Eveline all that could be said and did all that could be done

to overcome her resistance. She did not conceal from him that she loved

him, that she would always love him, and love no one but him. She

remained grave and trembling by his side. To his devouring passion she

opposed the invincible defence of a virtue conscious of its danger. At

the end of three months, after having gone uphill and down hill, turned

sharp corners, and negotiated level crossings, and experienced

innumerable break-downs, he knew her as well as he knew the fly-wheel

of his car, but not much better. He employed surprises, adventures,

sudden stoppages in the depths of forests and before hotels, but he had

advanced no farther. He said to himself that it was absurd; then,

taking her again in his car he set off at fifty miles an hour quite

prepared to upset her in a ditch or to smash himself and her against a

tree.

One day, having come to take her on some excursion, he found her more

charming than ever, and more provoking. He darted upon her as a storm

falls upon the reeds that border a lake. She bent with adorable

weakness beneath the breath of the storm, and twenty times was almost

carried away by its strength, but twenty times she arose, supple and,

bowing to the wind. After all these shocks one would have said that a

light breeze had barely touched her charming stem; she smiled as if

ready to be plucked by a bold hand. Then her unhappy aggressor,

desperate, enraged, and three parts mad, fled so as not to kill her,

mistook the door, went into the bedroom of Madame Clarence, whom he

found putting on her hat in front of a wardrobe, seized her, flung her

on the bed, and possessed her before she knew what had happened.

The same day Eveline, who had been making inquiries, learned that

Viscount Cléna had nothing but debts, lived on money given him by an

elderly lady, and promoted the sale of the latest models of a motor-car

manufacturer. They separated with common accord and Eveline began again

disdainfully to serve tea to her mother’s guests.

III. HIPPOLYTE CÉRÈS

In Madame Clarence’s drawing-room the conversation turned upon love,

and many charming things were said about it.

“Love is a sacrifice,” sighed Madame Crémeur.

“I agree with you,” replied M. Boutourlé with animation.

But Professor Haddock soon displayed his fastidious insolence.

“It seems to me,” said he, “that the Penguin ladies have made a great

fuss since, through St. Maël’s agency, they became viviparous. But

there is nothing to be particularly proud of in that, for it is a state

they share in common with cows and pigs, and even with orange and lemon

trees, for the seeds of these plants germinate in the pericarp.”

“The self-importance which the Penguin ladies give themselves does not

go so far back as that,” answered M. Boutourlé. “It dates from the day

when the holy apostle gave them clothes. But this self-importance was

long kept in restraint, and displayed itself fully only with increased

luxury of dress and in a small section of society. For go only two

leagues from Alca into the country at harvest time, and you will see

whether women are over-precise or self-important.”

On that day M. Hippolyte Cérès paid his first call. He was a Deputy of

Alca, and one of the youngest members of the House. His father was said

to have kept a dram shop, but he himself was a lawyer of robust

physique, a good though prolix speaker, with a self-important air and a

reputation for ability.

“M. Cérès,” said the mistress of the house, “your constituency is one

of the finest in Alca.”

“And there are fresh improvements made in it every day, Madame.”

“Unfortunately, it is impossible to take a stroll through it any

longer,” said M. Boutourlé.

“Why?” asked M. Cérès.

“On account of the motors, of course.”

“Do not give them a bad name,” answered the Deputy. “They are our great

national industry.”

“I know. The Penguins of to-day make me think of the ancient Egyptians.

According to Clement of Alexandria, Taine tells us—though he misquotes

the text—the Egyptians worshipped the crocodiles that devoured them.

The Penguins to-day worship the motors that crush them. Without a doubt

the future belongs to the metal beast. We are no more likely to go back

to cabs than we are to go back to the diligence. And the long martyrdom

of the horse will come to an end. The motor, which the frenzied

cupidity of manufacturers hurls like a juggernaut’s car upon the

bewildered people and of which the idle and fashionable make a foolish

though fatal elegance, will soon begin to perform its true function,

and putting its strength at the service of the entire people, will

behave like a docile, toiling monster. But in order that the motor may

cease to be injurious and become beneficent we must build roads suited

to its speed, roads which it cannot tear up with its ferocious tyres,

and from which it will send no clouds of poisonous dust into human

lungs. We ought not to allow slower vehicles or mere animals to go upon

those roads, and we should establish garages upon them and foot-bridges

over them, and so create order and harmony among the means of

communication of the future. That is the wish of every good citizen.”

Madame Clarence led the conversation back to the improvements in M.

Cérès’ constituency. M. Cérès showed his enthusiasm for demolitions,

tunnelings, constructions, reconstructions, and all other fruitful

operations.

“We build to-day in an admirable style,” said he; “everywhere majestic

avenues are being reared. Was ever anything as fine as our arcaded

bridges and our domed hotels!”

“You are forgetting that big palace surmounted an immense melon-shaped

dome,” grumbled by M. Daniset, an old art amateur, in a voice of

restrained rage. “I am amazed at the degree of ugliness which a modern

city can attain. Alca is becoming Americanised. Everywhere we are

destroying all that is free, unexpected, measured, restrained, human,

or traditional among the things that are left us. Everywhere we are

destroying that charming object, a piece of an old wall that bears up

the branches of a tree. Everywhere we are suppressing some fragment of

light and air, some fragment of nature, some fragment of the

associations that still remain with us, some fragment of our fathers,

some fragment of ourselves. And we are putting up frightful, enormous,

infamous houses, surmounted in Viennese style by ridiculous domes, or

fashioned after the models of the ‘new art’ without mouldings, or

having profiles with sinister corbels and burlesque pinnacles, and such

monsters as these shamelessly peer over the surrounding buildings. We

see bulbous protuberances stuck on the fronts of buildings and we are

told they are ‘new art’ motives. I have seen the ‘new art’ in other

countries, but it is not so ugly as with us; it has fancy and it has

simplicity. It is only in our own country that by a sad privilege we

may behold the newest and most diverse styles of architectural

ugliness. Not an enviable privilege!”

“Are you not afraid,” asked M. Cérès severely, “are you not afraid that

these bitter criticisms tend to keep out of our capital the foreigners

who flow into it from all arts of the world and who leave millions

behind them?”

“You may set your mind at rest about that,” answered M. Daniset.

“Foreigners do not come to admire our buildings; they come to see our

courtesans, our dressmakers, and our dancing saloons.”

“We have one bad habit,” sighed M. Cérès, “it is that we calumniate

ourselves.”

Madame Clarence as an accomplished hostess thought it was time to

return to the subject of love and asked M. Jumel his opinion of M. Leon

Blum’s recent book in which the author complained. . . .

“. . . That an irrational custom,” went on Professor Haddock, “prevents

respectable young ladies from making love, a thing they would enjoy

doing, whilst mercenary girls do it too much and without getting any

enjoyment out of it. It is indeed deplorable. But M. Leon Blum need not

fret too much. If the evil exists, as he says it does, in our

middle-class society, I can assure him that everywhere else he would

see a consoling spectacle. Among the people, the mass of the people

through town and country, girls do not deny themselves that pleasure.”

“It is depravity!” said Madame Crémeur.

And she praised the innocence of young girls in terms full of modesty

and grace. It was charming to hear her.

Professor Haddock’s views on the same subject were, on the contrary,

painful to listen to.

“Respectable young girls,” said he, “are guarded and watched over.

Besides, men do not, as a rule, pursue them much, either through

probity, or from a fear of grave responsibilities, or because the

seduction of a young girl would not be to their credit. Even then we do

not know what really takes place, for the reason that what is hidden is

not seen. This is a condition necessary to the existence of all

society. The scruples of respectable young girls could be more easily

overcome than those of married women if the same pressure were brought

to bear on them, and for this there are two reasons: they have more

illusions, and their curiosity has not been satisfied. Women, for the

most part, have been so disappointed by their husbands that they have

not courage enough to begin again with somebody else. I myself have

been met by this obstacle several times in my attempts at seduction.”

At the moment when Professor Haddock ended his unpleasant remarks,

Mademoiselle Eveline Clarence entered the drawing-room and listlessly

handed about tea with that expression of boredom which gave an oriental

charm to her beauty.

“For my part,” said Hippolyte Cérès, looking at her, “I declare myself

the young ladies’ champion.”

“He must be a fool,” thought the girl.

Hippolyte Cérès, who had never set foot outside of his political world

of electors and elected, thought Madame Clarence’s drawing-room most

select, its mistress exquisite, and her daughter amazingly beautiful.

His visits became frequent and he paid court to both of them. Madame

Clarence, who now liked attention, thought him agreeable. Eveline

showed no friendliness towards him, and treated him with a hauteur and

disdain that he took for aristocratic behaviour and fashionable

manners, and he thought all the more of her on that account. This busy

man taxed his ingenuity to please them, and he sometimes succeeded. He

got them cards for fashionable functions and boxes at the Opera. He

furnished Mademoiselle Clarence with several opportunities of appearing

to great advantage and in particular at a garden party which, although

given by a Minister, was regarded as really fashionable, and gained its

first success in society circles for the Republic.

At that party Eveline had been much noticed and had attracted the

special attention of a young diplomat called Roger Lambilly who,

imagining that she belonged to a rather fast set, invited her to his

bachelor’s flat. She thought him handsome and believed him rich, and

she accepted. A little moved, almost disquieted, she very nearly became

the victim of her daring, and only avoided defeat by an offensive

measure audaciously carried out. This was the most foolish escapade in

her unmarried life.

Being now on friendly terms with Ministers and with the President,

Eveline continued to wear her aristocratic and pious affectations, and

these won for her the sympathy of the chief personages in the

anti-clerical and democratic Republic. M. Hippolyte Cérès, seeing that

she was succeeding and doing him credit, liked her still more. He even

went so far as to fall madly in love with her.

Henceforth, in spite of everything, she began to observe him with

interest, being curious to see if his passion would increase. He

appeared to her without elegance or grace, and not well bred, but

active, clear-sighted, full of resource, and not too great a bore. She

still made fun of him, but he had now won her interest.

One day she wished to test him. It was during the elections, when

members of Parliament were, as the phrase runs, requesting a renewal of

their mandates. He had an opponent, who, though not dangerous at first

and not much of an orator, was rich and was reported to be gaining

votes every day. Hippolyte Cérès, banishing both dull security and

foolish alarm from his mind, redoubled his care. His chief method of

action was by public meetings at which he spoke vehemently against the

rival candidate. His committee held huge meetings on Saturday evenings

and at three o’clock on Sunday afternoons. One Sunday, as he called on

the Clarences, he found Eveline alone in the drawing-room. He had been

chatting for about twenty or twenty-five minutes, when, taking out his

watch, he saw that it was a quarter to three. The young girl showed

herself amiable, engaging, attractive, and full of promises. Cérès was

fascinated, but he stood up to go.

“Stay a little longer,” said she in a pressing and agreeable voice

which made him promptly sit down again.

She was full of interest, of abandon, curiosity, and weakness. He

blushed, turned pale, and again got up.

Then, in order to keep him still longer, she looked at him out of two

grey and melting eyes, and though her bosom was heaving, she did not

say another word. He fell at her feet in distraction, but once more

looking at his watch, he jumped up with a terrible oath.

“D—! a quarter to four! I must be off.”

And immediately he rushed down the stairs.

From that time onwards she had a certain amount of esteem for him.

IV. A POLITICIAN’S MARRIAGE

She was not quite in love with him, but she wished him to be in love

with her. She was, moreover, very reserved with him, and that not

solely from any want of inclination to be otherwise, since in affairs

of love some things are due to indifference, to inattention, to woman’s

instinct, to traditional custom and feeling, to a desire to try one’s

power, and to satisfaction at seeing its results. The reason of her

prudence was that she knew him to be very much infatuated and capable

of taking advantage of any familiarities she allowed as well as of

reproaching her coarsely afterwards if she discontinued them.

As he was a professed anti-clerical and free-thinker, she thought it a

good plan to affect an appearance of piety in his presence and to be

seen with prayer-books bound in red morocco, such as Queen Marie

Leczinska’s or the Dauphiness Marie Josephine’s “The Last Two Weeks of

Lent.” She lost no opportunity, either, of showing him the

subscriptions that she collected for the endowment of the national cult

of St. Orberosia. Eveline did not act in this way because she wished to

tease him. Nor did it spring from a young girl’s archness, or a spirit

of constraint, or even from snobbishness, though there was more than a

suspicion of this latter in her behaviour. It was but her way of

asserting herself, of stamping herself with a definite character, of

increasing her value. To rouse the Deputy’s courage she wrapped herself

up in religion, just as Brunhild surrounded herself with flames so as

to attract Sigurd. Her audacity was successful. He thought her still

more beautiful thus. Clericalism was in his eyes a sign of good form.

Cérès was re-elected by an enormous majority and returned to a House

which showed itself more inclined to the Left, more advanced, and, as

it seemed, more eager for reform than its predecessor. Perceiving at

once that so much zeal was but intended to hide a fear of change, and a

sincere desire to do nothing, he determined to adopt a policy that

would satisfy these aspirations. At the beginning of the session he

made a great speech, cleverly thought out and well arranged, dealing

with the idea that all reform ought to be put off for a long time. He

showed himself heated, even fervid; holding the principle that an

orator should recommend moderation with extreme vehemence. He was

applauded by the entire assembly. The Clarences listened to him from

the President’s box and Eveline trembled in spite of herself at the

solemn sound of the applause. On the same bench the fair Madame Pensée

shivered at the intonations of his virile voice.

As soon as he descended from the tribune, Cérès, even while the

audience were still clapping, went without a moment’s delay to salute

the Clarences in their box. Eveline saw in him the beauty of success,

and as he leaned towards the ladies, wiping his neck with his

handkerchief and receiving their congratulations with an air of modesty

though not without a tinge of self-conceit, the young girl glanced

towards Madame Pensée and saw her, palpitating and breathless, drinking

in the hero’s applause with her head thrown backwards. It seemed as if

she were on the point of fainting. Eveline immediately smiled tenderly

on M. Cérès.

The Alcan deputy’s speech had a great vogue. In political “spheres” it

was regarded as extremely able. “We have at last heard an honest

pronouncement,” said the chief Moderate journal. “It is a regular

programme!” they said in the House. It was agreed that he was a man of

immense talent.

Hippolyte Cérès had now established himself as leader of the radicals,

socialists, and anti-clericals, and they appointed him President of

their group, which was then the most considerable in the House. He thus

found himself marked out for office in the next ministerial

combination.

After a long hesitation Eveline Clarence accepted the idea of marrying

M. Hippolyte Cérès. The great man was a little common for her taste.

Nothing had yet proved that he would one day reach the point where

politics bring in large sums of money. But she was entering her

twenty-seventh year and knew enough of life to see that she must not be

too fastidious or show herself too difficult to please.

Hippolyte Cérès was celebrated; Hippolyte Cérès was happy. He was no

longer recognisable; the elegance of his clothes and deportment had

increased tremendously. He wore an undue number of white gloves. Now

that he was too much of a society man, Eveline began to doubt if it was

not worse than being too little of one. Madame Clarence regarded the

engagement with favour. She was reassured concerning her daughter’s

future and pleased to have flowers given her every Thursday for her

drawing-room.

The celebration of the marriage raised some difficulties. Eveline was

pious and wished to receive the benediction of the Church. Hippolyte

Cérès, tolerant but a free-thinker, wanted only a civil marriage. There

were many discussions and even some violent scenes upon the subject.

The last took place in the young girl’s room at the moment when the

invitations were being written. Eveline declared that if she did not go

to church she would not believe herself married. She spoke of breaking

off the engagement, and of going abroad with her mother, or of retiring

into a convent. Then she became tender, weak, suppliant. She sighed,

and everything in her virginal chamber sighed in chorus, the holy-water

font, the palm-branch above her white bed, the books of devotion on

their little shelves, and the blue and white statuette of St. Orberosia

chaining the dragon of Cappadocia, that stood upon the marble

mantelpiece. Hippolyte Cérès was moved, softened, melted.

Beautiful in her grief, her eyes shining with tears, her wrists girt by

a rosary of lapis lazuli and, so to speak, chained by her faith, she

suddenly flung herself at Hippolyte’s feet, and dishevelled, almost

dying, she embraced his knees.

He nearly yielded.

“A religious marriage,” he muttered, “a marriage in church, I could

make my constituents stand that, but my committee would not swallow the

matter so easily. . . . Still I’ll explain it to them . . . toleration,

social necessities . . . . They all send their daughters to Sunday

school . . . . But as for office, my dear I am afraid we are going to

drown all hope of that in your holy water.”

At these words she stood up grave, generous, resigned, conquered also

in her turn.

“My dear, I insist no longer.”

“Then we won’t have a religious marriage. It will be better, much

better not.”

“Very well, but be guided by me. I am going to try and arrange

everything both to your satisfaction and mine.”

She sought the Reverend Father Douillard and explained the situation.

He showed himself even more accommodating and yielding than she had

hoped.

“Your husband is an intelligent man, a man of order and reason; he will

come over to us. You will sanctify him. It is not in vain that God has

granted him the blessing of a Christian wife. The Church needs no pomp

and ceremonial display for her benedictions. Now that she is

persecuted, the shadow of the crypts and the recesses of the catacombs

are in better accord with her festivals. Mademoiselle, when you have

performed the civil formalities come here to my private chapel in

costume with M. Cérès. I will marry you, a observe the most absolute

discretion. I will obtain the necessary dispensations from the

Archbishop as well as all facilities regarding the banns,

confession-tickets, etc.”

Hippolyte, although he thought the combination a little dangerous,

agreed to it, a good deal flattered, at bottom.

“I will go in a short coat,” he said.

He went in a frock coat with white gloves and varnished shoes, and he

genuflected.

“Politeness demands. . . .”

V. THE VISIRE CABINET

The Cérès household was established with modest decency in a pretty

flat situated in a new building. Cérès loved his wife in a calm and

tranquil fashion. He was often kept late from home by the Commission on

the Budget and he worked more than three nights a week at a report on

the postal finances of which he hoped to make a masterpiece. Eveline

thought she could twist him round her finger, and this did not

displease him. The bad side of their situation was that they had not

much money; in truth they had very little. The servants of the Republic

do not grow rich in her service as easily as people think. Since the

sovereign is no longer there to distribute favours, each of them takes

what he can, and his depredations, limited by the depredations of all

the others, are reduced to modest proportions. Hence that austerity of

morals that is noticed in democratic leaders. They can only grow rich

during periods of great business activity and then they find themselves

exposed to the envy of their less favoured colleagues. Hippolyte Cérès

had for a long time foreseen such a period. He was one of those who had

made preparations for its arrival. Whilst waiting for it he endured his

poverty with dignity, and Eveline shared that poverty without suffering

as much as one might have thought. She was in close intimacy with the

Reverend Father Douillard and frequented the chapel of St. Orberosia,

where she met with serious society and people in a position to render

her useful services. She knew how to choose among them and gave her

confidence to none but those who deserved it. She had gained experience

since her motor excursions with Viscount Cléna, and above all she had

now acquired the value of a married woman.

The deputy was at first uneasy about these pious practices, which were

ridiculed by the demagogic newspapers, but he was soon reassured, for

he saw all around him democratic leaders joyfully becoming reconciled

to the aristocracy and the Church.

They found that they had reached one of those periods (which often

recur) when advance had been carried a little too far. Hippolyte Cérès

gave a moderate support to this view. His policy was not a policy of

persecution but a policy of tolerance. He had laid its foundations in

his splendid speech on the preparations for reform. The Prime Minister

was looked upon as too advanced. He proposed schemes which were

admitted to be dangerous to capital, and the great financial companies

were opposed to him. Of course it followed that the papers of all views

supported the companies. Seeing the danger increasing, the Cabinet

abandoned its schemes, its programme, and its opinions, but it was too

late. A new administration was already ready. An insidious question by

Paul Visire which was immediately made the subject of a resolution, and

a fine speech by Hippolyte Cérès, overthrew the Cabinet.

The President of the Republic entrusted the formation of a new Cabinet

to this same Paul Visire, who, though still very young, had been a

Minister twice. He was a charming man, spending much of his time in the

green-rooms of theatres, very artistic, a great society man, of amazing

ability and industry. Paul Visire formed a temporary ministry intended

to reassure public feeling which had taken alarm, and Hippolyte Cérès

was invited to hold office in it.

The new ministry, belonging to all the groups in the majority,

represented the most diverse and contrary opinions, but they were all

moderate and convinced conservatives.[12] The Minister of Foreign

Affairs was retained from the former cabinet. He was a little dark man

called Crombile, who worked fourteen hours a day with the conviction

that he dealt with tremendous questions. He refused to see even his own

diplomatic agents, and was terribly uneasy, though he did not disturb

anybody else, for the want of foresight of peoples is infinite and that

of governments is just as great.

[12] As this ministry exercised considerable influence upon the

destinies of the country and of the world, we think it well to give

its composition: Minister of the Interior and Prime Minister, Paul

Visire; Minister of Justice, Pierre Bouc; Foreign Affairs, Victor

Crombile; Finance, Terrasson; Education, Labillette; Commerce, Posts

and Telegraphs, Hippolyte Cérès; Agriculture, Aulac; Public Works,

Lapersonne; War, General Débonnaire; Admiralty, Admiral Vivier des

Murènes.

The office of Public Works was given to a Socialist, Fortuné

Lapersonne. It was then a political custom and one of the most solemn,

most severe, most rigorous, and if I may dare say so, the most terrible

and cruel of all political customs, to include a member of the

Socialist party in each ministry intended to oppose Socialism, so that

the enemies of wealth and property should suffer the shame of being

attacked by one of their own party, and so that they could not unite

against these forces without turning to some one who might possibly

attack themselves in the future. Nothing but a profound ignorance of

the human heart would permit the belief that it was difficult to find a

Socialist to occupy these functions. Citizen Fortuné Lapersonne entered

the Visire cabinet of his own free will and without any constraint; and

he found those who approved of his action even among his former

friends, so great was the fascination that power exercised over the

Penguins!

General Débonnaire went to the War Office. He was looked upon as one of

the ablest generals in the army, but he was ruled by a woman, the

Baroness Bildermann, who, though she had reached the age of intrigue,

was still beautiful. She was in the pay of a neighbouring and hostile

Power.

The new Minister of Marine, the worthy Admiral Vivier des Murènes, was

generally regarded as an excellent seaman. He displayed a piety that

would have seemed excessive in an anti-clerical minister, if the

Republic had not recognised that religion was of great maritime

utility. Acting on the instruction of his spiritual director, the

Reverend Father Douillard, the worthy Admiral had dedicated his fleet

to St. Orberosia and directed canticles in honour of the Alcan Virgin

to be composed by Christian bards. These replaced the national hymn in

the music played by the navy.

Prime Minister Visire declared himself to be distinctly anticlerical

but ready to respect all creeds; he asserted that he was a sober-minded

reformer. Paul Visire and his colleagues desired reforms, and it was in

order not to compromise reform that they proposed none; for they were

true politicians and knew that reforms are compromised the moment they

are proposed. The government was well received, respectable people were

reassured, and the funds rose.

The administration announced that four new ironclads would be put into

commission, that prosecutions would be undertaken against the

Socialists, and it formally declared its intention to have nothing to

do with any inquisitorial income-tax. The choice of Terrasson as

Minister of Finance was warmly approved by the press. Terrasson, an old

minister famous for his financial operations, gave warrant to all the

hopes of the financiers and shadowed forth a period of great business

activity. Soon those three udders of modern nations, monopolies, bill

discounting, and fraudulent speculation, were swollen with the milk of

wealth. Already whispers were heard of distant enterprises, and of

planting colonies, and the boldest put forward in the newspapers the

project of a military and financial protectorate over Nigritia.

Without having yet shown what he was capable of, Hippolyte Cérès was

considered a man of weight. Business people thought highly of him. He

was congratulated on all sides for having broken with the extreme

sections, the dangerous men, and for having realised the

responsibilities of government.

Madame Cérès shone alone amid the Ministers’ wives. Crombile withered

away in bachelordom. Paul Visire had married money in the person of

Mademoiselle Blampignon, an accomplished, estimable, and simple lady

who was always ill, and whose feeble health compelled her to stay with

her mother in the depths of a remote province. The other Ministers’

wives were not born to charm the sight, and people smiled when they

read that Madame Labillette had appeared at the Presidency Ball wearing

a headdress of birds of paradise. Madame Vivier des Murènes, a woman of

good family, was stout rather than tall, had a face like a beef-steak

and the voice of a newspaper-seller. Madame Débonnaire, tall, dry, and

florid, was devoted to young officers. She ruined herself by her

escapades and crimes and only regained consideration by dint of

ugliness and insolence.

Madame Cérès was the charm of the Ministry and its tide to

consideration. Young, beautiful, and irreproachable, she charmed alike

society and the masses by her combination of elegant costumes and

pleasant smiles.

Her receptions were thronged by the great Jewish financiers. She gave

the most fashionable garden parties in the Republic. The newspapers

described her dresses and the milliners did not ask her to pay for

them. She went to Mass; she protected the chapel of St. Orberosia from

the ill-will of the people; and she aroused in aristocratic hearts the

hope of a fresh Concordat.

With her golden hair, grey eyes, and supple and slight though rounded

figure, she was indeed pretty. She enjoyed an excellent reputation and

she was so adroit, and calm, so much mistress of herself, that she

would have preserved it intact even if she had been discovered in the

very act of ruining it.

The session ended with a victory for the cabinet which, amid the almost

unanimous applause of the House, defeated a proposal for an

inquisitorial tax, and with a triumph for Madame Cérès who gave parties

in honour of three kings who were at the moment passing through Alca.

VI. THE SOFA OF THE FAVOURITE

The Prime Minister invited Monsieur and Madame Cérès to spend a couple

of weeks of the holidays in a little villa that he had taken in the

mountains, and in which he lived alone. The deplorable health of Madame

Paul Visire did not allow her to accompany her husband, and she

remained with her relatives in one of the southern provinces.

The villa had belonged to the mistress of one of the last Kings of

Alca: the drawing-room retained its old furniture, and in it was still

to be found the Sofa of the Favourite. The country was charming; a

pretty blue stream, the Aiselle, flowed at the foot of the hill that

dominated the villa. Hippolyte Cérès loved fishing; when engaged at

this monotonous occupation he often formed his best Parliamentary

combinations, and his happiest oratorical inspirations. Trout swarmed

in the Aiselle; he fished it from morning till evening in a boat that

the Prime Minister readily placed at is disposal.

In the mean time, Eveline and Paul Visire sometimes took a turn

together in the garden, or had a little chat in the drawing-room.

Eveline, although she recognised the attraction that Visire had for

women, had hitherto displayed towards him only an intermittent and

superficial coquetry, without any deep intentions or settled design. He

was a connoisseur and saw that she was pretty. The House and the Opera

had deprived him of all leisure, but, in a little villa, the grey eyes

and rounded figure of Eveline took on a value in his eyes. One day as

Hippolyte Cérès was fishing in the Aiselle, he made her sit beside him

on the Sofa of the Favourite. Long rays of gold struck Eveline like

arrows from a hidden Cupid through the chinks of the curtains which

protected her from the heat and glare of a brilliant day. Beneath her

white muslin dress her rounded yet slender form was outlined in its

grace and youth. Her skin was cool and fresh, and had the fragrance of

freshly mown hay. Paul Visire behaved as the occasion warranted, and

for her part, she was opposed neither to the games of chance or of

society. She believed it would be nothing or a trifle; she was

mistaken.

“There was,” says the famous German ballad, “on the sunny side of the

town square, beside a wall whereon the creeper grew, a pretty little

letter-box, as blue as the corn-flowers, smiling and tranquil.

“All day long there came to it, in their heavy shoes, small

shop-keepers, rich farmers, citizens, the tax-collector and the

policeman, and they put into it their business letters, their invoices,

their summonses their notices to pay taxes, the judges’ returns, and

orders for the recruits to assemble. It remained smiling and tranquil.

“With joy, or in anxiety, there advanced towards it workmen and farm

servants, maids and nursemaids, accountants, clerks, and women carrying

their little children in their arms; they put into it notifications of

births, marriages, and deaths, letters between engaged couples, between

husbands and wives, from mothers to their sons, and from sons to their

mothers. It remained smiling and tranquil.

“At twilight, young lads and young girls slipped furtively to it, and

put in love-letters, some moistened with tears that blotted the ink,

others with a little circle to show the place to kiss, all of them very

long. It remained smiling and tranquil.

“Rich merchants came themselves through excess of carefulness at the

hour of daybreak, and put into it registered letters, and letters with

five red seals, full of bank notes or cheques on the great financial

establishments of the Empire. It remained smiling and tranquil.

“But one day, Gaspar, whom it had never seen, and whom it did not know

from Adam, came to put in a letter, of which nothing is known but that

it was folded like a little hat. Immediately the pretty letter-box fell

into a swoon. Henceforth it remains no longer in its place; it runs

through streets, fields, and woods, girdled with ivy, and crowned with

roses. It keeps running up hill and down dale; the country policeman

surprises it sometimes, amidst the corn, in Gaspar’s arms kissing him

upon the mouth.”

Paul Visire had recovered all his customary nonchalance. Eveline

remained stretched on the Divan of the Favourite in an attitude of

delicious astonishment.

The Reverend Father Douillard, an excellent moral theologian, and a man

who in the decadence of the Church has preserved his principles, was

very right to teach, in conformity with the doctrine of the Fathers,

that while a woman commits a great sin by giving herself for money, she

commits a much greater one by giving herself for nothing. For, in the

first case she acts to support her life, and that is sometimes not

merely excusable but pardonable, and even worthy of the Divine Grace,

for God forbids suicide, and is unwilling that his creatures should

destroy themselves. Besides, in giving herself in order to live, she

remains humble, and derives no pleasure from it a thing which

diminishes the sin. But a woman who gives herself for nothing sins with

pleasure and exults in her fault. The pride and delight with which she

burdens her crime increase its load of moral guilt.

Madame Hippolyte Cérès’ example shows the profundity of these moral

truths. She perceived that she had senses. A second was enough to bring

about this discovery, to change her soul, to alter her whole life. To

have learned to know herself was at first a delight. The γυῶθί σεαυτὸν

of the ancient philosophy is not a precept the moral fulfilment of

which procures any pleasure, since one enjoys little satisfaction from

knowing one’s soul. It is not the same with the flesh, for in it

sources of pleasure may be revealed to us. Eveline immediately felt an

obligation to her revealer equal to the benefit she had received, and

she imagined that he who had discovered these heavenly depths was the

sole possessor of the key to them. Was this an error, and might she not

be able to find others who also had the golden key? It is difficult to

decide; and Professor Haddock, when the facts were divulged (which

happened without much delay as we shall see), treated the matter from

an experimental point of view, in a scientific review, and concluded

that the chances Madame C— would have of finding the exact equivalent

of M. V— were in the proportion of 305 to 975008. This is as much as to

say that she would never find it. Doubtless her instinct told her the

same, for she attached herself distractedly to him.

I have related these facts with all the circumstances which seemed to

me worthy of attracting the attention of meditative and philosophic

minds. The Sofa of the Favourite is worthy of the majesty of history;

on it were decided the destinies of a great people; nay, on it was

accomplished an act whose renown was to extend over the neighbouring

nations both friendly and hostile, and even over all humanity. Too

often events of this nature escape the superficial minds and shallow

spirits who inconsiderately assume the task of writing history. Thus

the secret springs of events remain hidden from us. The fall of Empires

and the transmission of dominions astonish us and remain

incomprehensible to us, because we have not discovered the

imperceptible point, or touched the secret spring which when put in

movement has destroyed and overthrown everything. The author of this

great history knows better than anyone else his faults and his

weaknesses, but he can do himself this justice—that he has always kept

the moderation, the seriousness, the austerity, which an account of

affairs of State demands, and that he has never departed from the

gravity which is suitable to a recital of human actions.

VII. THE FIRST CONSEQUENCES

When Eveline confided to Paul Visire that she had never experienced

anything similar, he did not believe her. He had had a good deal to do

with women and knew that they readily say these things to men in order

to make them more in love with them. Thus his experience, as sometimes

happens, made him disregard the truth. Incredulous, but gratified all

the same, he soon felt love and something more for her. This state at

first seemed favourable to his intellectual faculties. Visire delivered

in the chief town of his constituency a speech full of grace, brilliant

and happy, which was considered to be a masterpiece.

The re-opening of Parliament was serene. A few isolated jealousies, a

few timid ambitions raised their heads in the House, and that was all.

A smile from the Prime Minister was enough to dissipate these shadows.

She and he saw each other twice a day, and wrote to each other in the

interval. He was accustomed to intimate relationships, was adroit, and

knew how to dissimulate; but Eveline displayed a foolish imprudence:

she made herself conspicuous with him in drawing-rooms, at the theatre,

in the House, and at the Embassies; she wore her love upon her face,

upon her whole person, in her moist glances, in the languishing smile

of her lips, in the heaving of her breast, in all her heightened,

agitated, and distracted beauty. Soon the entire country knew of their

intimacy. Foreign Courts were informed of it. The President of the

Republic and Eveline’s husband alone remained in ignorance. The

President became acquainted with it in the country, through a misplaced

police report which found its way, it is not known how, into his

portmanteau.

Hippolyte Cérès, without being either very subtle, or very

perspicacious, noticed that there was something different in his home.

Eveline, who quite lately had interested herself in his affairs, and

shown, if not tenderness, at least affection, towards him, displayed

henceforth nothing but indifference and repulsion. She had always had

periods of absence, and made prolonged visits to the Charity of St.

Orberosia; now, she went out in the morning, remained out all day, and

sat down to dinner at nine o’clock in the evening with the face of a

somnambulist. Her husband thought it absurd; however, he might perhaps

have never known the reason for this; a profound ignorance of women, a

crass confidence in his own merit, and in his own fortune, might

perhaps have always hidden the truth from him, if the two lovers had

not, so to speak, compelled him to discover it.

When Paul Visire went to Eveline’s house and found her alone, they used

to say, as they embraced each other; “Not here! not here!” and

immediately they affected an extreme reserve. That was their invariable

rule. Now, one day, Paul Visire went to the house of his colleague

Cérès, with whom he had an engagement. It was Eveline who received him,

the Minister of Commerce being delayed by a commission.

“Not here!” said the lovers, smiling.

They said it, mouth to mouth, embracing, and clasping each other. They

were still saying it, when Hippolyte Cérès entered the drawing-room.

Paul Visire did not lose his presence of mind. He declared to Madame

Cérès that he would give up his attempt to take the dust out of her

eye. By this attitude he did not deceive the husband, but he was able

to leave the room with some dignity.

Hippolyte Cérès was thunderstruck. Eveline’s conduct appeared

incomprehensible to him; he asked her what reasons she had for it.

“Why? why?” he kept repeating continually, “why?”

She denied everything, not to convince him, for he had seen them, but

from expediency and good taste, and to avoid painful explanations.

Hippolyte Cérès suffered all the tortures of jealousy. He admitted it

to himself, he kept saying inwardly, “I am a strong man; I am clad in

armour; but the wound is underneath, it is in my heart,” and turning

towards his wife, who looked beautiful in her guilt, he would say:

“It ought not to have been with him.”

He was right—Eveline ought not to have loved in government circles.

He suffered so much that he took up his revolver, exclaiming: “I will

go and kill him!” But he remembered that a Minister of Commerce cannot

kill his own Prime Minister, and he put his revolver back into his

drawer.

The weeks passed without calming his sufferings. Each morning he

buckled his strong man’s armour over his wound and sought in work and

fame the peace that fled from him. Every Sunday he inaugurated busts,

statues, fountains, artesian wells, hospitals, dispensaries, railways,

canals, public markets, drainage systems, triumphal arches, and

slaughter houses, and delivered moving speeches on each of these

occasions. His fervid activity devoured whole piles of documents; he

changed the colours of the postage stamps fourteen times in one week.

Nevertheless, he gave vent to outbursts of grief and rage that drove

him insane; for whole days his reason abandoned him. If he had been in

the employment of a private administration this would have been noticed

immediately, but it is much more difficult to discover insanity or

frenzy in the conduct of affairs of State. At that moment the

government employees were forming themselves into associations and

federations amid a ferment that was giving alarm both to the Parliament

and to public feeling. The postmen were especially prominent in their

enthusiasm for trade unions.

Hippolyte Cérès informed them in a circular that their action was

strictly legal. The following day he sent out a second circular

forbidding all associations of government employees as illegal. He

dismissed one hundred and eighty postmen, reinstated them, reprimanded

them—and awarded them gratuities. At Cabinet councils he was always on

the point of bursting forth. The presence of the Head of the State

scarcely restrained him within the limits of the decencies, and as he

did not dare to attack his rival he consoled himself by heaping

invectives upon General Débonnaire, the respected Minister of War. The

General did not hear them, for he was deaf and occupied himself in

composing verses for the Baroness Bildermann. Hippolyte Cérès offered

an indistinct opposition to everything the Prime Minister proposed. In

a word, he was a madman. One faculty alone escaped the ruin of his

intellect: he retained his Parliamentary sense, his consciousness of

the temper of majorities, his thorough knowledge of groups, and his

certainty of the direction in which affairs were moving.

VIII. FURTHER CONSEQUENCES

The session ended calmly, and the Ministry saw no dangerous signs upon

the benches where the majority sat. It was visible, however, from

certain articles in the Moderate journals, that the demands of the

Jewish and Christian financiers were increasing daily, that the

patriotism of the banks required a civilizing expedition to Nigritia,

and that the steel trusts, eager in the defence of our coasts and

colonies, were crying out for armoured cruisers and still more armoured

cruisers. Rumours of war began to be heard. Such rumours sprang up

every year as regularly as the trade winds; serious people paid no heed

to them and the government usually let them die away from their own

weakness unless they grew stronger and spread. For in that case the

country would be alarmed. The financiers only wanted colonial wars and

the people did not want any wars at all. It loved to see its government

proud and even insolent, but at the least suspicion that a European war

was brewing, its violent emotion would quickly have reached the House.

Paul Visire was not uneasy. The European situation was in his view

completely reassuring. He was only irritated by the maniacal silence of

his Minister of Foreign Affairs. That gnome went to the Cabinet

meetings with a portfolio bigger than himself stuffed full of papers,

said nothing, refused to answer all questions, even those asked him by

the respected President of the Republic, and, exhausted by his

obstinate labours, took a few moments’ sleep in his arm-chair in which

nothing but the top of his little black head was to be seen above the

green tablecloth.

In the mean time Hippolyte Cérès became a strong man again. In company

with his colleague Lapersonne he formed numerous intimacies with ladies

of the theatre. They were both to be seen at night entering fashionable

restaurants in the company of ladies whom they over-topped by their

lofty stature and their new hats, and they were soon reckoned amongst

the most sympathetic frequenters of the boulevards. Fortuné Lapersonne

had his own wound beneath his armour. His wife, a young milliner whom

he carried off from a marquis, had gone to live with a chauffeur. He

loved her still, and could not console himself for her loss, so that

very often in the private room of a restaurant, in the midst of a group

of girls who laughed and ate crayfish, the two ministers exchanged a

look full of their common sorrow and wiped away an unbidden tear.

Hippolyte Cérès, although wounded to the heart, did not allow himself

to be beaten. He swore that he would be avenged.

Madame Paul Visire, whose deplorable health forced her to live with her

relatives in a distant province, received an anonymous letter

specifying that M. Paul Visire, who had not a half-penny when he

married her, was spending her dowry on a married woman, E— C—, that he

gave this woman thirty-thousand-franc motor-cars, and pearl necklaces

costing twenty-five thousand francs, and that he was going straight to

dishonour and ruin. Madame Paul Visire read the letter, fell into

hysterics, and handed it to her father.

“I am going to box your husband’s ears,” said M. Blampignon; “he is a

blackguard who will land you both in the workhouse unless we look out.

He may be Prime Minister, but he won’t frighten me.”

When he stepped off the train M. Blampignon presented himself at the

Ministry of the Interior, and was immediately received. He entered the

Prime Minister’s room in a fury.

“I have something to say to you, sir!” And he waved the anonymous

letter.

Paul Visire welcomed him smiling.

“You are welcome, my dear father. I was going to write to you. . . .

Yes, to tell you of your nomination to the rank of officer of the

Legion of Honour. I signed the patent this morning.”

M. Blampignon thanked his son-in-law warmly and threw the anonymous

letter into the fire.

He returned to his provincial house and found his daughter fretting and

agitated.

“Well! I saw your husband. He is a delightful fellow. But then, you

don’t understand how to deal with him.”

About this time Hippolyte Cérès learned through a little scandalous

newspaper (it is always through the newspapers that ministers are

informed of the affairs of State) that the Prime Minister dined every

evening with Mademoiselle Lysiane of the Folies Dramatiques, whose

charm seemed to have made a great impression on him. Thenceforth Cérès

took a gloomy joy in watching his wife. She came in every evening to

dine or dress with an air of agreeable fatigue and the serenity that

comes from enjoyment.

Thinking that she knew nothing, he sent her anonymous communications.

She read them at the table before him and remained still listless and

smiling.

He then persuaded himself that she gave no heed to these vague reports,

and that in order to disturb her it would be necessary to enable her to

verify her lover’s infidelity and treason for herself. There were at

the Ministry a number of trustworthy agents charged with secret

inquiries regarding the national defence. They were then employed in

watching the spies of a neighbouring and hostile Power who had

succeeded in entering the Postal and Telegraphic service. M. Cérès

ordered them to suspend their work for the present and to inquire

where, when, and how, the Minister of the Interior saw Mademoiselle

Lysiane. The agents performed their missions faithfully and told the

minister that they had several times seen the Prime Minister with a

woman, but that she was not Mademoiselle Lysiane. Hippolyte Cérès asked

them nothing further. He was right; the loves of Paul Visire and

Lysiane were but an alibi invented by Paul Visire himself, with

Eveline’s approval, for his fame was rather inconvenient to her, and

she sighed for secrecy and mystery.

They were not shadowed by the agents of the Ministry of Commerce alone.

They were also followed by those of the Prefect of Police, and even by

those of the Minister of the Interior, who disputed with each other the

honour of protecting their chief. Then there were the emissaries of

several royalist, imperialist, and clerical organisations, those of

eight or ten blackmailers, several amateur detectives, a multitude of

reporters, and a crowd of photographers, who all made their appearance

wherever these two took refuge in their perambulating love affairs, at

big hotels, small hotels, town houses, country houses, private

apartments, villas, museums, palaces, hovels. They kept watch in the

streets, from neighbouring houses, trees, walls, stair-cases, landings,

roofs, adjoining rooms, and even chimneys. The Minister and his friend

saw with alarm all round their bed room, gimlets boring through doors

and shutters, and drills making holes in the walls. A photograph of

Madame Cérès in night attire buttoning her boots was the utmost that

had been obtained.

Paul Visire grew impatient and irritable, and often lost his good

humour and agreeableness. He came to the cabinet meetings in a rage and

he, too, poured invectives upon General Débonnaire—a brave man under

fire but a lax disciplinarian—and launched his sarcasms at against the

venerable admiral Vivier des Murènes whose ships went to the bottom

without any apparent reason.

Fortuné Lapersonne listened open-eyed, and grumbled scoffingly between

his teeth:

“He is not satisfied with robbing Hippolyte Cérès of his wife, but he

must go and rob him of his catchwords too.”

These storms were made known by the indiscretion of some ministers and

by the complaints of the two old warriors, who declared their intention

of flinging their portfolios at the beggar’s head, but who did nothing

of the sort. These outbursts, far from injuring the lucky Prime

Minister, had an excellent effect on Parliament and public opinion, who

looked on them as signs of a keen solicitude for the welfare of the

national army and navy. The Prime Minister was the recipient of general

approbation.

To the congratulations of the various groups and of notable personages,

he replied with simple firmness: “Those are my principles!” and he had

seven or eight Socialists put in prison.

The session ended, and Paul Visire, very exhausted, went to take the

waters. Hippolyte Cérès refused to leave his Ministry, where the trade

union of telephone girls was in tumultuous agitation. He opposed it

with an unheard of violence, for he had now become a woman-hater. On

Sundays he went into the suburbs to fish along with his colleague

Lapersonne, wearing the tall hat that never left him since he had

become a Minister. And both of them, forgetting the fish, complained of

the inconstancy of women and mingled their griefs.

Hippolyte still loved Eveline and he still suffered. However, hope had

slipped into his heart. She was now separated from her lover, and,

thinking to win her back, he directed all his efforts to that end. He

put forth all his skill, showed himself sincere, adaptable,

affectionate, devoted, even discreet; his heart taught him the

delicacies of feeling. He said charming and touching things to the

faithless one, and, to soften her, he told her all that he had

suffered.

Crossing the band of his trousers upon his stomach.

“See,” said he, “how thin I have got.”

He promised her everything he thought could gratify a woman, country

parties, hats, jewels.

Sometimes he thought she would take pity on him.

She no longer displayed an insolently happy countenance. Being

separated from Paul, her sadness had an air of gentleness. But the

moment he made a gesture to recover her she turned away fiercely and

gloomily, girt with her fault as if with a golden girdle.

He did not give up, making himself humble, suppliant, lamentable.

One day he went to Lapersonne and said to him with tears in his eyes:

“Will you speak to her?”

Lapersonne excused himself, thinking that his intervention would be

useless, but he gave some advice to his friend.

“Make her think that you don’t care about her, that you love another,

and she will come back to you.”

Hippolyte, adopting this method, inserted in the newspapers that he was

always to be found in the company of Mademoiselle Guinaud of the Opera.

He came home late or did not come home at all, assumed in Eveline’s

presence an appearance of inward joy impossible to restrain, took out

of his pocket, at dinner, a letter on scented paper which he pretended

to read with delight, and his lips seemed as in a dream to kiss

invisible lips. Nothing happened. Eveline did not even notice the

change. Insensible to all around her, she only came out of her lethargy

to ask for some louis from her husband, and if he did not give them she

threw him a look of contempt, ready to upbraid him with the shame which

she poured upon him in the sight of the whole world. Since she had

loved she spent a great deal on dress. She needed money, and she had

only her husband to secure it for her; she was so far faithful to him.

He lost patience, became furious, and threatened her with his revolver.

He said one day before her to Madame Clarence:

“I congratulate you, Madame; you have brought up your daughter to be a

wanton hussy.”

“Take me away, Mamma,” exclaimed Eveline. “I will get a divorce!”

He loved her more ardently than ever. In his jealous rage, suspecting

her, not without probability, of sending and receiving letters, he

swore that he would intercept them, re-established a censorship over

the post, threw private correspondence into confusion, delayed

stock-exchange quotations, prevented assignations, brought about

bankruptcies, thwarted passions, and caused suicides. The independent

press gave utterance to the complaints of the public and indignantly

supported them. To justify these arbitrary measures, the ministerial

journals spoke darkly of plots and public dangers, and promoted a

belief in a monarchical conspiracy. The less well-informed sheets gave

more precise information, told of the seizure of fifty thousand guns,

and the landing of Prince Crucho. Feeling grew throughout the country,

and the republican organs called for the immediate meeting of

Parliament. Paul Visire returned to Paris, summoned his colleagues,

held an important Cabinet Council, and proclaimed through his agencies

that a plot had been actually formed against the national

representation, but that the Prime Minister held the threads of it in

his hand, and that a judicial inquiry was about to be opened.

He immediately ordered the arrest of thirty Socialists, and whilst the

entire country was acclaiming him as its saviour, baffling the

watchfulness of his six hundred detectives, he secretly took Eveline to

a little house near the Northern railway station, where they remained

until night. After their departure, the maid of their hotel, as she was

putting their room in order, saw seven little crosses traced by a

hairpin on the wall at the head of the bed.

That is all that Hippolyte Cérès obtained as a reward of his efforts.

IX. THE FINAL CONSEQUENCES

Jealousy is a virtue of democracies which preserves them from tyrants.

Deputies began to envy the Prime Minister his golden key. For a year

his domination over the beauteous Madame Cérès had been known to the

whole universe. The provinces, whither news and fashions only arrive

after a complete revolution of the earth round the sun, were at last

informed of the illegitimate loves of the Cabinet. The provinces

preserve an austere morality; women are more virtuous there than they

are in the capital.

Various reasons have been alleged for this: Education, example,

simplicity of life. Professor Haddock asserts that this virtue of

provincial ladies is solely due to the fact that the heels of their

shoes are low. “A woman,” said he, in a learned article in the

“Anthropological Review”, “a woman attracts a civilized man in

proportion as her feet make an angle with the ground. If this angle is

as much as thirty-five degrees, the attraction becomes acute. For the

position of the feet upon the ground determines the whole carriage of

the body, and it results that provincial women, since they wear low

heels, are not very attractive, and preserve their virtue with ease.”

These conclusions were not generally accepted. It was objected that

under the influence of English and American fashions, low heels had

been introduced generally without producing the results attributed to

them by the learned Professor; moreover, it was said that the

difference he pretended to establish between the morals of the

metropolis and those of the provinces is perhaps illusory, and that if

it exists, it is apparently due to the fact that great cities offer

more advantages and facilities for love than small towns provide.

However that may be, the provinces began to murmur against the Prime

Minister, and to raise a scandal. This was not yet a danger, but there

was a possibility that it might become one.

For the moment the peril was nowhere and yet everywhere. The majority

remained solid; but the leaders became stiff and exacting. Perhaps

Hippolyte Cérès would never have intentionally sacrificed his interests

to his vengeance. But thinking that he could henceforth, without

compromising his own fortune, secretly damage that of Paul Visire, he

devoted himself to the skilful and careful preparation of difficulties

and perils for the Head of the Government. Though far from equalling

his rival in talent, knowledge, and authority, he greatly surpassed him

in his skill as a lobbyist. The most acute parliamentarians attributed

the recent misfortunes of the majority to his refusal to vote. At

committees, by a calculated imprudence, he favoured motions which he

knew the Prime Minister could not accept. One day his intentional

awkwardness provoked a sudden and violent conflict between the Minister

of the Interior, and his departmental Treasurer. Then Cérès became

frightened and went no further. It would have been dangerous for him to

overthrow the ministry too soon. His ingenious hatred found an issue by

circuitous paths. Paul Visire had a poor cousin of easy morals who bore

his name. Cérès, remembering this lady, Celine Visire, brought her into

prominence, arranged that she should become intimate with several

foreigners, and procured her engagements in the music-halls. One summer

night, on a stage in the Champs Elysées before a tumultuous crowd, she

performed risky dances to the sounds of wild music which was audible in

the gardens where the President of the Republic was entertaining

Royalty. The name of Visire, associated with these scandals, covered

the walls of the town, filled the newspapers, was repeated in the cafés

and at balls, and blazed forth in letters of fire upon the boulevards.

Nobody regarded the Prime Minister as responsible for the scandal of

his relatives, but a bad idea of his family came into existence, and

the influence of the statesman was diminished.

Almost immediately he was made to feel this in a pretty sharp fashion.

One day in the House, on a simple question, Labillette, the Minister of

Religion and Public Worship, who was suffering from an attack of liver,

and beginning to be exasperated by the intentions and intrigues of the

clergy, threatened to close the Chapel of St. Orberosia, and spoke

without respect of the National Virgin. The entire Right rose up in

indignation; the Left appeared to give but a half-hearted support to

the rash Minister. The leaders of the majority did not care to attack a

popular cult which brought thirty millions a year into the country. The

most moderate of the supporters of the Right, M. Bigourd, made the

question the subject of a resolution and endangered the Cabinet.

Luckily, Fortuné Lapersonne, the Minister of Public Works, always

conscious of the obligations of power, was able in the Prime Minister’s

absence to repair the awkwardness and indecorum of his colleague, the

Minister of Public Worship. He ascended the tribune and bore witness to

the respect in which the Government held the heavenly Patron of the

country, the consoler of so many ills which science admitted its

powerlessness to relieve.

When Paul Visire, snatched at last from Eveline’s arms, appeared in the

House, the administration was saved; but the Prime Minister saw himself

compelled to grant important concessions to the upper classes. He

proposed in Parliament that six armoured cruisers should be laid down,

and thus won the sympathies of the Steel Trust; he gave new assurances

that the income tax would not be imposed, and he had eighteen

Socialists arrested.

He was soon to find himself opposed by more formidable obstacles. The

Chancellor of the neighbouring Empire in an ingenious and profound

speech upon the foreign relations of his sovereign, made a sly allusion

to the intrigues that inspired the policy of a great country. This

reference, which was received with smiles by the Imperial Parliament,

was certain to irritate a punctilious republic. It aroused the national

susceptibility, which directed its wrath against its amorous Minister.

The Deputies seized upon a frivolous pretext to show their

dissatisfaction. A ridiculous incident, the fact that the wife of a

subprefect had danced at the Moulin Rouge, forced the minister to face

a vote of censure, and he was within a few votes of being defeated.

According to general opinion, Paul Visire had never been so weak, so

vacillating, or so spiritless, as on that occasion.

He understood that he could only keep himself in office by a great

political stroke, and he decided on the expedition to Nigritia. This

measure was demanded by the great financial and industrial corporations

and was one which would bring concessions of immense forests to the

capitalists, a loan of eight millions to the banking companies, as well

as promotions and decorations to the naval and military officers. A

pretext presented itself; some insult needed to be avenged, or some

debt to be collected. Six battleships, fourteen cruisers, and eighteen

transports sailed up the mouth of the river Hippopotamus. Six hundred

canoes vainly opposed the landing of the troops. Admiral Vivier des

Murènes’ cannons produced an appalling effect upon the blacks, who

replied to them with flights of arrows, but in spite of their fanatical

courage they were entirely defeated. Popular enthusiasm was kindled by

the newspapers which the financiers subsidised, and burst into a blaze.

Some Socialists alone protested against this barbarous, doubtful, and

dangerous enterprise. They were at once arrested.

At that moment when the Minister, supported by wealth, and now beloved

by the poor, seemed unconquerable, the light of hate showed Hippolyte

Cérès alone the danger, and looking with a gloomy joy at his rival, he

muttered between his teeth, “He is wrecked, the brigand!”

Whilst the country intoxicated itself with glory, the neighbouring

Empire protested against the occupation of Nigritia by a European

power, and these protests following one another at shorter and shorter

intervals became more and more vehement. The newspapers of the

interested Republic concealed all causes for uneasiness; but Hippolyte

Cérès heard the growing menace, and determined at last to risk

everything, even the fate of the ministry, in order to ruin his enemy.

He got men whom he could trust to write and insert articles in several

of the official journals, which, seeming to express Paul Visire’s

precise views, attributed warlike intentions to the Head of the

Government.

These articles roused a terrible echo abroad, and they alarmed the

public opinion of a nation which, while fond of soldiers, was not fond

of war. Questioned in the House on the foreign policy of his

government, Paul Visire made a re-assuring statement, and promised to

maintain a face compatible with the dignity of a great nation. His

Minister of Foreign Affairs, Crombile, read a declaration which was

absolutely unintelligible, for the reason that it was couched in

diplomatic language. The Minister obtained a large majority.

But the rumours of war did not cease, and in order to avoid a new and

dangerous motion, the Prime Minister distributed eighty thousand acres

of forests in Nigritia among the Deputies, and had fourteen Socialists

arrested. Hippolyte Cérès went gloomily about the lobbies, confiding to

the Deputies of his group that he was endeavouring to induce the

Cabinet to adopt a pacific policy, and that he still hoped to succeed.

Day by day the sinister rumours grew in volume, and penetrating amongst

the public, spread uneasiness and disquiet. Paul Visire himself began

to take alarm. What disturbed him most were the silence and absence of

the Minister of Foreign Affairs. Crombile no longer came to the

meetings of the Cabinet. Rising at five o’clock in the morning, he

worked eighteen hours at his desk, and at last fell exhausted into his

waste-paper basket, from whence the registrars removed him, together

with the papers which they were going to sell to the military attachés

of the neighbouring Empire.

General Débonnaire believed that a campaign was imminent, and prepared

for it. Far from fearing war, he prayed for it, and confided his

generous hopes to Baroness Bildermann, who informed the neighbouring

nation, which, acting on her information, proceeded to a rapid

mobilization.

The Minister of Finance unintentionally precipitated events. At the

moment, he was speculating for a fall, and in order to bring about a

panic on the Stock Exchange, he spread the rumour that war was now

inevitable. The neighbouring Empire, deceived by this action, and

expecting to see its territory invaded, mobilized its troops in all

haste. The terrified Chamber overthrew the Visire ministry by an

enormous majority (814 votes to 7, with 28 abstentions). It was too

late. The very day of this fall the neighbouring and hostile nation

recalled its ambassador and flung eight millions of men into Madame

Cérès’ country. War became universal, and the whole world was drowned

in a torrent of blood.

THE ZENITH OF PENGUIN CIVILIZATION

Half a century after the events we have just related, Madame Cérès died

surrounded with respect and veneration, in the eighty-ninth year of her

age. She had long been the widow of a statesman whose name she bore

with dignity. Her modest and quiet funeral was followed by the orphans

of the parish and the sisters of the Sacred Compassion.

The deceased left all her property to the Charity of St. Orberosia.

“Alas!” sighed M. Monnoyer, a canon of St. Maël, as he received the

pious legacy, “it was high time for a generous benefactor to come to

the relief of our necessities. Rich and poor, learned and ignorant are

turning away from us. And when we try to lead back these misguided

souls, neither threats nor promises, neither gentleness nor violence,

nor anything else is now successful. The Penguin clergy pine in

desolation; our country priests, reduced to following the humblest of

trades, are shoeless, and compelled to live upon such scraps as they

can pick up. In our ruined churches the rain of heaven falls upon the

faithful, and during the holy offices they can hear the noise of stones

falling from the arches. The tower of the cathedral is tottering and

will soon fall. St. Orberosia is forgotten by the Penguins, her

devotion abandoned, and her sanctuary deserted. On her shrine, bereft

of its gold and precious stones, the spider silently weaves her web.”

Hearing these lamentations, Pierre Mille, who at the age of

ninety-eight years had lost nothing of his intellectual and moral

power, asked, the canon if he did not think that St. Orberosia would

one day rise out of this wrongful oblivion.

“I hardly dare to hope so,” sighed M. Monnoyer.

“It is a pity!” answered Pierre Mille. “Orberosia is a charming figure

and her legend is a beautiful one. I discovered the other day by the

merest chance, one of her most delightful miracles, the miracle of Jean

Violle. Would you like to hear it, M. Monnoyer?”

“I should be very pleased, M. Mille.”

“Here it is, then, just as I found it in a fifteenth-century manuscript

“Cécile, the wife of Nicolas Gaubert, a jeweller on the Pont-au-Change,

after having led an honest and chaste life for many years, and being

now past her prime, became infatuated with Jean Violle, the Countess de

Maubec’s page, who lived at the Hôtel du Paon on the Place de Grève. He

was not yet eighteen years old, and his face and figure were

attractive. Not being able to conquer her passion, Cécile resolved to

satisfy it. She attracted the page to her house, loaded him with

caresses, supplied him with sweetmeats and finally did as she wished

with him.

“Now one day, as they were together in the jeweller’s bed, Master

Nicholas came home sooner than he was expected. He found the bolt

drawn, and heard his wife on the other side of the door exclaiming, ‘My

heart! my angel! my love!’ Then suspecting that she was shut up with a

gallant, he struck great blows upon the door and began to shout ‘Slut!

hussy! wanton! open so that I may cut off your nose and ears!’ In this

peril, the jeweller’s wife besought St. Orberosia, and vowed her a

large candle if she helped her and the little page, who was dying of

fear beside the bed, out of their difficulty.

“The saint heard the prayer. She immediately changed Jean Violle into a

girl. Seeing this, Cécile was completely reassured, and began to call

out to her husband: ‘Oh! you brutal villain, you jealous wretch! Speak

gently if you want the door to be opened.’ And scolding in this way,

she ran to the wardrobe and took out of it an old hood, a pair of

stays, and a long grey petticoat, in which she hastily wrapped the

transformed page. Then when this was done, ‘Catherine, dear Catherine,’

said she, loudly, ‘open the door for your uncle; he is more fool than

knave, and won’t do you any harm.’ The boy who had become a girl,

obeyed. Master Nicholas entered the room and found in it a young maid

whom he did not know, and his wife in bed. ‘Big booby,’ said the latter

to him, ‘don’t stand gaping at what you see, just as I had come to bed

because had a stomach ache, I received a visit from Catherine, the

daughter of my sister Jeanne de Palaiseau, with whom we quarrelled

fifteen years ago. Kiss your niece. She is well worth the trouble.’ The

jeweller gave Violle a hug, and from that moment wanted nothing so much

as to be alone with her a moment, so that he might embrace her as much

as he liked. For this reason he led her without any delay down to the

kitchen, under the pretext of giving her some walnuts and wine, and he

was no sooner there with her than he began to caress her very

affectionately. He would not have stopped at that if St. Orberosia had

not inspired his good wife with the idea of seeing what he was about.

She found him with the pretended niece sitting on his knee. She called

him a debauched creature, boxed his ears, and forced him to beg her

pardon. The next day Violle resumed his previous form.”

Having heard this story the venerable Canon Monnoyer thanked Pierre

Mille for having told it, and, taking up his pen, began to write out a

list of horses that would win at the next race meeting. For he was a

book-maker’s clerk.

In the mean time Penguinia gloried in its wealth. Those who produced

the things necessary for life, wanted them; those who did not produce

them had more than enough. “But these,” as a member of the Institute

said, “are necessary economic fatalities.” The great Penguin people had

no longer either traditions, intellectual culture, or arts. The

progress of civilisation manifested itself among them by murderous

industry, infamous speculation, and hideous luxury. Its capital

assumed, as did all the great cities of the time, a cosmopolitan and

financial character. An immense and regular ugliness reigned within it.

The country enjoyed perfect tranquillity. It had reached its zenith.