French Literature – Children Books – Émile Zola – His Excellency Eugène Rougon – Contents
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Chapter X
A TRIP TO NIORT
Rougon had written to Du Poizat and M. Kahn asking them to spare him the infliction of an official reception at the gates of Niort. He arrived there one Saturday evening a little before seven o’clock, and at once went to the prefecture, with the intention of resting till noon the following day, for he was feeling very tired. After dinner, however, several people called. Doubtless the news of the minister’s arrival had already spread through the town. A small drawing-room near the dining-room was thrown open, and a kind of impromptu reception was organised. Rougon, as he stood between the two windows, was obliged to stifle his yawns and reply as pleasantly as he could to the greetings offered to him.
One of the deputies of the department, the very attorney who had usurped M. Kahn’s position as official candidate, was the first to make his appearance. He arrived quite out of breath, half scared, wearing a frock-coat and coloured trousers, for which he apologised on the ground that he had only just returned on foot from one of his farms, and had been anxious to pay his respects to his excellency as soon as possible. Then a short fat man appeared, wearing a somewhat tight-fitting dress coat and white gloves. There was an air of ceremonious regret about him. He was the mayor’s first assessor, and had just been informed by his servant of Rougon’s arrival. The mayor, he said, would be greatly distressed. He was not expecting his excellency till the following day and was at present at his estate of Les Varades, some six miles off. After the assessor there came a procession of six gentlemen with big feet, big hands, and big heavy faces. The prefect presented them to Rougon as distinguished members of the Statistical Society. Then the head-master of the state college arrived, bringing with him his wife, a charming blonde of eight-and-twenty. She was a Parisienne, and her dresses were the wonder of Niort. She told Rougon somewhat bitterly of her great dislike for provincial life.
M. Kahn, who had dined with the minister and the prefect, was on his side hotly plied with questions respecting the next day’s ceremony. It had been arranged that the party would repair to a spot some two or three miles from the town, in the district known as Les Moulins, where it was intended that the first tunnel on the new line from Niort to Angers should be pierced; and there the Minister of the Interior was to fire the first mine. Rougon, who had assumed a homely good-natured manner, said that he merely wanted to do what he could to honour an old friend’s laborious enterprise. He moreover considered himself to be an adopted son of the department of Deux-Sèvres, which in former days had sent him to the Legislative Assembly. To tell the truth, however, the real object of his journey was in accordance with Du Poizat’s strongly urged advice to display himself, in the plenitude of power, to his old constituents, so as to make sure of their support should it ever become necessary for him to enter the Corps Législatif.
From the windows of the little drawing-room the town could be seen black and slumberous. No further visitors called. The news of the minister’s arrival had come too late in the day. This circumstance, however, gave an additional feeling of triumph to the few zealous ones who had put in an appearance at the prefect’s. They gave no hint of retiring, but seemed quite elated with joy at being the first to meet his excellency in private conversation. The mayor’s assessor repeated in a doleful voice, through which rang a note of jubilation: ‘Mon Dieu! how distressed the mayor will be! And the presiding judge, too, and the public prosecutor and all the other gentlemen!’
Towards nine o’clock, however, it might have been supposed that the whole town was in the ante-room, for a loud tramping of feet was heard there. Then a servant entered the drawing-room and announced that the chief commissary of police desired to pay his respects to his excellency. And it was Gilquin who made his appearance: Gilquin, looking quite gorgeous in evening dress and straw-coloured gloves and kid boots. Du Poizat had given him a place in his department. He bore himself very well, the only traces of his old manner being a somewhat swaggering motion of his shoulders and a marked disinclination to part with his hat, which he persisted in holding against his hip in imitation of a pose which he had studied on a tailor’s fashion-plate. He bowed to Rougon and addressed him with exaggerated humility. ‘I venture to recall myself to the kind recollection of your excellency, whom I had the honour of meeting several times in Paris,’ said he.
Rougon smiled, and he and Gilquin chatted for a few moments. Then the latter made his way into the dining-room, where tea had just been served, and he there found M. Kahn, who was glancing over a list of the guests invited to the next day’s ceremony. In the little drawing-room the conversation had now turned upon the grandeur of the Emperor’s reign. Du Poizat, standing by Rougon’s side, was extolling the Empire, and they bowed to one another as though they were mutually congratulating themselves upon some personal achievement, while the citizens of Niort clustered round, agape with respectful admiration.
‘What clever fellows they are, eh?’ said Gilquin, who was watching the scene through the open doorway.
Then, as he proceeded to pour some rum into his tea, he gave M. Kahn a nudge. Du Poizat, lean and enthusiastic, with his irregular white teeth and feverish, childish face all aglow with triumph, appeared to take Gilquin’s fancy. ‘Ah, you should have seen him when he first arrived in the department,’ said the commissary in a low voice. ‘I was with him. He stamped his feet angrily as he walked along. He no doubt felt a grudge against the people here: and since he’s been prefect, he’s been amusing himself by avenging all his youthful grievances. The townspeople who knew him when he was a poor miserable fellow don’t feel inclined to smile now when they see him go past. He makes a strong prefect; he’s quite cut out for the post. He’s very different from that fellow Langlade, whom he superseded, a mere ladies’ man, as fair as a girl. We came across photographs of ladies in very low dresses even amongst the official papers in his room.’
Then Gilquin paused. He fancied that the wife of the head-master had her eyes on him. And so, desirous of displaying the graces of his person, he bent forward again to speak to M. Kahn. ‘Have you heard of Du Poizat’s meeting with his father?’ he asked. ‘Oh, it was the most amusing thing in the world. The old man, you know, is a retired process-server, who has got a nice little pile together by lending petty sums by the week at high interest; and he now lives like a wolf in an old ruin of a house where he keeps loaded guns in the hall. Well, he had told his son a score of times that he would come to the gallows; and Du Poizat had long dreamt of having his revenge. That, indeed, was one of his reasons for wanting to be prefect here. So one morning he put on his finest uniform, and, under the pretext of making a round, he went and knocked at the old man’s house. Then, after a good quarter of an hour’s parley, the father opened the door, a pale little old man he was, and he gazed with a stupefied look at his son’s gold-laced uniform. Well, now, guess what was the first thing he said, as soon as he discovered that his son had become the prefect! “Don’t send for the taxes any more, Leopold!” Yes, those were his very words. He didn’t show the slightest fatherly emotion. When Du Poizat came back, he was biting his lips, and his face was as white as a sheet. His father’s unruffled tranquillity had quite exasperated him. Ah! he’ll never manage to subdue the old man!’
M. Kahn nodded his head discreetly. He had slipped the list of guests into his pocket, and was now sipping a cup of tea while glancing occasionally into the adjoining room. ‘Rougon is half asleep,’ he said. ‘Those idiots ought to have enough sense to leave him and let him go to bed. I want him to be in good form for to-morrow.’
‘I hadn’t seen him for some time,’ said Gilquin. ‘He has put on more flesh.’ Then, lowering his voice, he continued: ‘They managed it very cleverly, those two fine fellows! They worked some quiet trick or other out of that bomb affair at the Opera which I had warned them of. It came off, as you know; but Rougon pretends that he went to the prefecture and that no one there would believe him. Well, that’s his business, and there’s no occasion to say any more about it. On the day of the affair, Du Poizat stood me a ripping déjeuner at a café on the boulevards. Oh! what a time we had! We went to a theatre in the evening, I think, but I haven’t any very distinct recollection of it, for I slept for two days afterwards.’
M. Kahn now appeared to find Gilquin’s confidences somewhat alarming, for he got up and left the dining-room. Then the commissary felt quite convinced that the head-master’s wife was certainly gazing at him. So he also went back into the drawing-room and busied himself about her, and ended by bringing her some tea, biscuits and cake. He really carried himself very well; he looked like a gentleman who had been badly brought up, and this appeared to influence the beautiful blonde in his favour.
However, the deputy was now engaged in demonstrating the necessity of having a new church at Niort; the mayor’s assessor asked for a bridge; and the head-master urged the desirability of extending the college buildings, while the six members of the Statistical Society silently nodded approval of everything.
‘Well, we will see about these matters to-morrow, gentlemen,’ said Rougon, whose eyelids were half-closed. ‘I am here for the purpose of inquiring into your needs and doing what I can to satisfy them.’
Ten o’clock was just striking when a servant came into the room and said something to the prefect, who at once whispered a few words in the minister’s ear. The latter then hastened out of the drawing room. He found Madame Correur waiting for him in an adjoining apartment. She was accompanied by a tall, slim girl with a colourless freckled face.
‘So you are in Niort, are you?’ Rougon exclaimed as he joined them.
‘Only since this afternoon,’ replied Madame Correur. ‘We are staying just opposite, on the Place de la Préfecture, at the Hôtel de Paris.’
And then she explained that she had come from Coulonges, where she had been spending a couple of days. But suddenly she paused to direct the minister’s attention to the tall girl beside her. ‘This,’ said she, ‘is Mademoiselle Herminie Billecoq, who has been kind enough to accompany me.’
Herminie Billecoq made a ceremonious bow, and Madame Correur proceeded: ‘I didn’t say anything to you about this expedition of mine, because I thought you might oppose it; but I really couldn’t help going. I was very anxious to see my brother. When I heard of your coming to Niort, I hastened here. We looked out for you and saw you enter the prefecture, but we thought it better to defer our visit till later on. These little towns are much given to malicious scandal!’
Rougon nodded assent. He was indeed thinking that plump Madame Correur with her painted face and bright yellow dress might, to provincial eyes, very well appear to be a compromising person.
‘Well, and did you see your brother?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Madame Correur replied, clenching her teeth; ‘yes, I saw him. Madame Martineau didn’t venture to turn me out of the house. She was burning some sugar over the fire when I went in. Oh, my poor brother! I knew that he was ill, but it gave me quite a shock to see him so emaciated. He has promised that he won’t disinherit me; it would be contrary to his principles. He has made his will; and his property will be divided between me and Madame Martineau. Isn’t that so, Herminie?’
‘Yes, the property is to be divided,’ declared the tall girl. ‘He told you so when you first got there, and repeated it when he saw you away from the door. Oh! there’s no doubt about it; I heard him say so.’
Then Rougon tried to get rid of the two women by saying: ‘Well, I’m delighted to hear it. You will feel much easier now. These family quarrels always get made up. Come, good-night; I’m going to bed now.’
But Madame Correur detained him. She had taken her handkerchief out of her pocket and was dabbing her eyes with it, seemingly affected with sudden grief. ‘Oh, my poor Martineau!’ said she, ‘he was so kind and good, and forgave me with such readiness! I wish you knew how good he is, my dear friend. It is on his account that I have hurried here, to petition you in his favour——’
Her tears prevented her from saying more, and she began to sob. Rougon was at a loss to know what it meant, and looked at the two women in astonishment. Then Mademoiselle Herminie Billecoq also began to cry, but less demonstratively than Madame Correur. She was a very sensitive young person, and was readily affected by another’s grief.
‘Monsieur Martineau has compromised himself in politics,’ she stammered amidst her tears.
Thereupon Madame Correur began to speak with great volubility. ‘You will remember,’ she said, ‘that I hinted my fears to you one day. I had a presentiment of what would happen. Martineau was showing Republican proclivities. At the last election he behaved very wildly, and made the most desperate exertions in favour of the opposition candidate. I was aware of things which I don’t want to mention. However, it was all bound to have a bad result. When I got to the Golden Lion at Coulonges, where we had engaged a room, I questioned the people there, and I learnt a good deal more from them. Martineau has been guilty of all kinds of follies. No one in the neighbourhood would be surprised if he were to be arrested. Every day they expect to see the gendarmes come and take him off. You can imagine what a shock this was to me! And so I thought of you, my dear friend——’
Her utterance was again choked by her sobs. Then Rougon tried to reassure her. He would mention the subject to Du Poizat, he said, and he would stop any proceedings that might have been instituted. ‘I am the master,’ he even added; ‘come, go to bed and sleep quietly.’
But Madame Correur shook her head and twisted her pocket-handkerchief. Her eyes were quite dry now. ‘Ah! you don’t know everything,’ she said. ‘It is a more serious matter than you suppose. He takes Madame Martineau to mass, but stays outside himself and proclaims that he never sets foot in a church; and this causes a dreadful scandal every Sunday. Then, too, he frequents a retired lawyer in the neighbourhood, one of the men of ’48, and can be heard talking to him for hours in the most dreadful way. Suspicious-looking men, too, have often been seen to slip into his garden at night-time, with the intention, no doubt, of receiving directions from him.’
Rougon shrugged his shoulders at each fresh detail, but Mademoiselle Herminie Billecoq, as though shocked by such tolerance, added sharply: ‘And he receives letters with red seals from all sorts of countries. The postman told us that. He didn’t want to speak about it at first, he was quite pale. We had to give him twenty sous. And then, a month ago, Monsieur Martineau left home for a week, without anyone in the neighbourhood having the slightest idea where he went. The landlady of the Golden Lion told us that he hadn’t even taken any luggage with him.’
‘Herminie, I beg of you to be quiet!’ said Madame Correur uneasily. ‘Martineau has got quite sufficient against him as it is. There is no occasion for us to add any more.’
Rougon was now listening and glancing at the two women in turn. He had become very serious. ‘Well, if he has compromised himself so much as that——’ he began, pausing, however, as he fancied that he could detect a fiery gleam igniting in Madame Correur’s troubled eyes. ‘Well, I will do all I can,’ he resumed; ‘but I make no promises.’
‘It is all up with him; it is all up with him!’ exclaimed Madame Correur. ‘I feel quite certain of it. We don’t want to say anything; but if we told all——’ Then in her turn she paused and began to bite her pocket handkerchief. ‘And to think that I hadn’t seen him for twenty years, and have only now just seen him to be parted from him for ever, perhaps! He was so kind, so very kind!’
Herminie, however, gently shrugged her shoulders and made signs to Rougon, as if to tell him that he must excuse a sister’s despair, but that the old attorney was really a great rascal. ‘If I were you,’ she said to Madame Correur, ‘I would tell everything. It will be much the best.’
Then the elder woman seemed to brace herself up for a great effort. ‘You remember,’ she said, lowering her voice, ‘the “Te Deums,” which were sung everywhere, when the Emperor so miraculously escaped being murdered in front of the Opera-house? Well, on the very day when they were singing the “Te Deum” at Coulonges, one of Martineau’s neighbours asked him if he wasn’t going to church, and the wretched man replied, “Why should I go to church, indeed? I don’t care a fig for your Emperor!”‘
‘I don’t care a fig for your Emperor!’ repeated Mademoiselle Herminie Billecoq, with an air of consternation.
‘You can understand my alarm now,’ continued the retired boarding-house keeper. ‘As I told you before, no one in the neighbourhood would be the least surprised to see him arrested.’
As she spoke these last words, she fixed her eyes searchingly on Rougon. He made no immediate reply. He seemed to be trying to read her flabby face, her pale eyes, which blinked beneath light and scanty brows. For a moment his gaze rested on her plump white neck. Then he threw out his arms and said: ‘I can do nothing, I assure you. I am not the master.’
And he gave his reasons. He felt certain scruples, he said, about interfering in affairs of this kind. If the law had been invoked, matters would have to take their course. It would even have been better if he had not known Madame Correur, as his friendship for her would tie his hands, for he had sworn never to render certain services to his friends. However, he would inquire into the matter. And he tried to console her, as though her brother were already on his way to some penal settlement. She bent her head, and her sobs shook the big coil of light hair which lay on the nape of her neck. Presently she grew calmer, and as she took leave, she pushed Herminie in front of her, exclaiming: ‘Mademoiselle Herminie Billecoq; but I fancy I have already introduced her to you. Please excuse me, my head is in such a state. She is the young lady for whom we succeeded in obtaining a dowry. The officer who seduced her has not yet been able to marry her on account of the interminable formalities which have to be gone through. Thank his excellency, my dear.’
The tall girl expressed her thanks, blushing, as she did so, like an innocent maiden in whose presence some indelicate remark has been made. Madame Correur let her leave the room before her; then she pressed Rougon’s hand tightly, and, bending towards him, said: ‘I rely upon you, Eugène!’
When the minister returned to the little drawing-room, he found it deserted. Du Poizat had succeeded in getting rid of the deputy, the mayor’s assessor and the six members of the Statistical Society. M. Kahn had also taken his departure, after making an appointment for ten o’clock the next morning. In the dining-room there only remained the head-master’s wife and Gilquin, who were eating little cakes, and chatting about Paris. Gilquin made soft eyes at the lady and talked to her about the races, the picture-shows, and a new piece at the Comédie Française, with the ease of a man to whom all kinds of life were familiar. The head-master, in the meantime, was speaking in a low tone to the prefect about the fourth form professor, who was suspected of Republican proclivities.
However, eleven o’clock struck. The remaining visitors rose and bowed to his excellency, and Gilquin was just about to retire with the head-master and his wife, to the latter of whom he had offered his arm, when Rougon detained him.
‘Monsieur le Commissaire,’ he said, ‘a word with you, I beg.’
When they were alone together, he addressed himself to the commissary and prefect simultaneously: ‘What is this business of Martineau’s?’ he asked. ‘Has the man really compromised himself?’
Gilquin smiled, and Du Poizat proceeded to give a few particulars: ‘I wasn’t thinking of taking any steps in the affair,’ he said. ‘The man has certainly been denounced to me, and I have received letters about him. There is no doubt that he mixes himself up in politics. But there have already been four arrests in the department, and I should have preferred making up my five, which was the number you fixed, by locking up the master of the fourth form at the college here who reads revolutionary books to his pupils.’
‘I have been told of some very serious things,’ said Rougon sternly. ‘His sister’s tears must not be allowed to save this man Martineau, if he is really as dangerous as is alleged. The public safety is at stake.’ Then he turned towards Gilquin. ‘What is your opinion on the matter?’ he asked.
‘I will arrest him in the morning,’ the commissary replied. ‘I know all about the matter. I have seen Madame Correur at the Hôtel de Paris, where I generally dine.’
Du Poizat made no objection. He took a little memorandum-book from his pocket, struck out a name, and wrote another in its place, at the same time recommending the commissary of police to keep his eye upon the master of the fourth form. Rougon accompanied Gilquin to the door. ‘This man Martineau is not very well, I believe,’ he said. ‘Go to Coulonges yourself, and treat him decently.’
Gilquin pulled himself up with an offended air, and setting aside all respect for his excellency, familiarly exclaimed: ‘Do you take me for a mere common policeman? Ask Du Poizat to tell you about the druggist whom I arrested on the day before yesterday. There was a lady with him, but nobody knows it. I always act with the greatest discretion.’
Rougon slept soundly for nine hours. When he opened his eyes the next morning, at about half-past eight, he sent a message for Du Poizat to come to him. The prefect arrived with a cigar in his mouth, and seemed in high spirits. They talked and joked together as they had done in former days, when they had lodged at Madame Correur’s, and had roused each other with playful slaps. However, while the minister was washing, he questioned the prefect about the neighbourhood, asking for particulars of the different officials and their various desires and vanities. He wanted to have a pleasant remark ready for each of them.
‘Oh, don’t worry yourself,’ replied Du Poizat, with a laugh; ‘I will prompt you.’
Then he gave him some information about the different people with whom he would come into contact. Rougon occasionally made him repeat what he said in order to impress it upon his memory. At ten o’clock, M. Kahn made his appearance. They all three had déjeuner together, and finally arranged the details of the ceremony. The prefect would make a speech, as would also M. Kahn. Rougon would follow the latter; but they considered that a fourth speech would be desirable. For a moment they thought of the mayor, but Du Poizat declared that he was a stupid fellow, and advised the selection of the chief surveyor of bridges and highways, to whom the proceedings of the day naturally seemed to point, though M. Kahn was afraid of this official’s spirit of criticism. As they got up from table, M. Kahn took the minister aside to tell him of the points which he hoped he would bring forward in his speech.
It had been arranged that the party should meet at the prefecture at half-past ten. The mayor and his assessor arrived together. The former stammered forth his unbounded regret that he had been absent from Niort on the previous evening, while the latter affectedly hoped that his excellency had slept well, and had quite recovered from his fatigue. Then the President of the Civil Tribunal, the public prosecutor and his two assessors, and the chief surveyor of bridges and highways made their appearance. They were quickly followed by the receiver-general, the comptroller of the direct taxes, and the registrar of the department. Several of these officials were accompanied by their wives. The wife of the head-master of the college, the beautiful blonde, wore a most effective sky-blue dress, and attracted great attention. She begged his excellency to excuse her husband, who had been prevented from coming by an attack of gout, which had seized him soon after his return home on the previous evening. However, other personages were arriving; the colonel of the seventy-eighth regiment of the Line, which was stationed at Niort; the President of the Tribunal of Commerce, the two justices of the peace, the conservator of rivers and forests, accompanied by his three daughters, with various municipal councillors and delegates from the consultative Chamber of Arts and Manufactures, the Statistical Society, and the Council of the Board of Arbitration between employers and employed.
The reception was held in the large drawing-room of the prefecture. Du Poizat made the presentations, and the minister received all the guests with smiling bows as though they were old friends. He exhibited wonderful knowledge about each of them. He spoke to the public prosecutor of a speech lately made by him in the course of a trial for adultery; he asked the comptroller of taxes, in sympathetic tones, after the health of his wife, who had been laid up for the last two months; he detained the colonel of the seventy-eighth for a moment to let him see that he was not unacquainted with the brilliant progress made by his son at Saint Cyr; he talked about boots to a municipal councillor, who owned a great boot-making establishment; while with the registrar, who was an enthusiastic archæologist, he discussed a druidical stone which had been discovered during the previous week. Whenever he hesitated, thinking of the right thing to say, Du Poizat came to his assistance and cleverly prompted him in a whisper.
As the President of the Tribunal of Commerce came into the room and bowed to him, Rougon exclaimed, in an affable voice: ‘Ah! are you alone, Monsieur le Président? At all events I trust that we shall have the pleasure of seeing your wife at the banquet this evening——’
He stopped short, noticing the expression of embarrassment which came over the faces around him. Du Poizat, moreover, nudged his elbow. Then he recollected that the President of the Tribunal of Commerce was living apart from his wife in consequence of certain scandals. He had made a mistake. He had thought that he was addressing the other president, the chief judge of the Civil Tribunal. However, he was in no way disconcerted. He still smiled; and, making no reference to his unfortunate remark, continued, with a shrewd air: ‘I have a pleasant piece of news for you, monsieur. I know that my colleague, the Minister of Justice, has put your name down for the cross of the Legion of Honour. Perhaps I ought not to have mentioned it, but you will keep my secret.’
The President of the Tribunal of Commerce turned quite scarlet. He almost choked with joy. His friends pressed round him to congratulate him, while Rougon made a mental note of this cross—which he had so opportunely thought of bestowing—so that he might not forget to mention the matter to his colleague. It was the betrayed husband that he was decorating. Du Poizat smiled with admiration.
There were now some fifty people in the drawing-room. They still waited on; but the faces of many of them were beginning to show signs of weariness.
‘Time is flying; we might perhaps make a start,’ said the minister.
But the prefect bent towards him, and explained that the deputy, M. Kahn’s former opponent, had not yet arrived. Presently, however, this gentleman made his appearance, perspiring profusely. His watch had stopped, he said, and he had been quite put out of his reckoning. Then, wishing to let the company know of his visit on the previous evening, he went on to remark, in a loud voice: ‘As I was saying to your excellency last night——’ And afterwards he walked off alongside of Rougon and informed him that he intended to return to Paris on the following morning. The Easter recess had terminated on the previous Tuesday, and the Chamber was again sitting. He had considered it his duty, however, to remain for a few days longer at Niort in order to welcome his excellency to the department.
All the guests trooped into the courtyard of the prefecture, where ten carriages, drawn up on either side of the steps, were awaiting them. The minister, the deputy, the prefect and the mayor got into the first barouche. The others installed themselves as hierarchically as they could. There were two more barouches as well as three victorias, and some waggonettes with seats for six or eight persons. The procession formed up in the Rue de la Préfecture, and started off at a gentle trot. The ladies’ ribbons streamed in the air, and here and there their skirts protruded out of the carriages, while the gentlemen’s black hats shone brightly in the sun. The procession had to pass through a considerable section of the town; and, owing to the rough pavement of the narrow streets, the vehicles jolted dreadfully as they passed on with a crash like that of iron. And at every door and every window were townsfolk who bowed in silence while looking for his excellency, and experiencing much surprise when they saw his plain frock-coat beside the prefect’s gold-laced uniform.
On leaving the town, the procession passed along a wide promenade planted with magnificent trees. It was a warm, pleasant, April day, with a clear sky full of sunlight. The road, which was straight and level, lay between gardens gay with blossoming lilacs and apricot trees. Presently, however, cultivated fields spread out, dotted here and there with copses.
‘That’s a spinning mill, isn’t it?’ asked Rougon, towards whom the prefect had just bent. ‘A mill which belongs to you, I believe,’ he continued, addressing the mayor, and calling his attention to a red brick building on the river bank. ‘I have heard of your new system of wool carding. I will try to find time to go and inspect all those wonders.’
Then he began to ask some questions respecting the motive power of the river. In his opinion, said he, hydraulic power, under favourable conditions, possessed enormous advantages. He quite astonished the mayor by the amount of technical knowledge he displayed. Meantime the other carriages followed on in somewhat irregular fashion. Snatches of conversation, bristling with figures, could be heard amidst the jog-trot of the horses. Then a rippling laugh attracted everyone’s attention. It came from the head-master’s wife, whose sun-shade had just flown away and fallen on to a heap of stones.
‘You have a farm about here, haven’t you?’ said Rougon, turning to the deputy with a smile. ‘That’s it on the hill, if I’m not mistaken. What splendid meadows! I know that you interest yourself in cattle-breeding, and won several prizes at the last shows.’
Then they began to talk about cattle. Steeped in the sunshine, the meadows looked like soft green velvet. Wild flowers were springing up all over them. Athwart the curtains of tall poplar trees one had glimpses of charming bits of landscape. However, an old woman leading an ass came along and was obliged to stop at the roadside to let the procession pass. The ass, frightened by the sight of so many carriages with panels gleaming in the sunshine, began to bray; but the gaily dressed ladies and begloved gentlemen remained perfectly serious.
The procession now climbed a slight hill on the left, and then descended again. They had reached the scene of the ceremony. It was a sort of cul-de-sac, a hollow gap walled in by hills on three sides. Nothing broke upon the prospect save the gaping ruins of a couple of windmills. And in this hollow, in the centre of a patch of grass land, a tent of grey canvas, with a wide crimson border, had been set up; its four sides were decorated with trophies of flags. A thousand sight-seers, middle-class folks and peasants whose curiosity had induced them to walk over, had taken up position in the shade on the right-hand side, where one of the hills rose up like an amphitheatre. A detachment of the seventy-eighth regiment was ranged in front of the tent, opposite the Niort firemen, whose fine bearing was much noticed; while a gang of navvies in new blouses, with engineers in frock-coats at their head, stood waiting at the edge of the patch of grass. As soon as the carriages appeared, the Niort Philharmonic Society, composed of amateur instrumentalists, began to play the overture to ‘La Dame Blanche.’
‘Long live his excellency! cried a few persons whose voices were drowned by the sound of the instruments.
Rougon alighted from his carriage, raised his eyes, and looked about the hollow in which he found himself, vexed to find the spot so small, so shut in, for this seemed to detract from the impressiveness of the ceremony. He stood for a moment on the grass, waiting for some one to receive him. At last M. Kahn hastened up. He had left the prefecture immediately after déjeuner, and had just been to examine the mine which his excellency was to fire, to see if all were right. It was he who conducted the minister into the tent; and then the guests followed. There was some little confusion for a moment; and Rougon began to ask for particulars. ‘It is yonder, then, in that cutting, that the tunnel is to commence?’
‘Exactly,’ replied M. Kahn. ‘The first mine has been laid in that reddish rock where your excellency sees a flag flying.’
The hill-side at the end of the hollow had been broken up by picks till its rocky base was disclosed to view. Several uprooted trees were lying about amongst the excavations, and the cutting was strewn with foliage. M. Kahn pointed out the course the line would take. It was marked by a double row of stakes stretching away amid grass and paths and thickets. It was a pretty piece of quiet country that they were going to rip up.
However, the guests and officials had by this time collected in the tent. Some curious sight-seers in the rear were bending forward to glance through the openings, and the instrumentalists of the Philharmonic Society was just finishing the overture to ‘La Dame Blanche.’
‘Monsieur le ministre,’ suddenly exclaimed a shrill voice which vibrated amidst the silence, ‘it is my privilege to be the first to thank your excellency for having so kindly accepted the invitation which we ventured to address to you. The department of Deux-Sèvres will ever preserve a grateful recollection——’
It was Du Poizat who had begun to speak. He stood some three yards away from Rougon; and at the finish of certain sentences they slightly bowed to one another. The prefect went on speaking for a good quarter of an hour. He reminded the minister of the brilliant fashion in which he had represented the department in the Legislative Assembly. The town of Niort had then inscribed his name in its annals as that of a benefactor, and longed for any occasion upon which it might show its gratitude. Every now and then the prefect’s voice was quite lost in the air, and only his gestures, an even, regular working of his right arm, could be seen; and then the crowd ranged on the hill-side gave their attention to the gold embroidery on his sleeve, which flashed brightly in the sunshine.
Afterwards, however, M. Kahn stepped into the middle of the tent. He had a very deep voice, and seemed to bark out some of his words. The hill-side gave an echo which repeated snatches of sentences upon which he lingered too complacently. He spoke of all the long efforts, studies and toilsome steps which had devolved upon him during nearly four years in his struggle to obtain a new line for the district. Now, every kind of prosperity would rain down upon the department. The fields would be fertilised; the factories would double their output; and commerce would make its way into the humblest villages. To hear him talk, it might have been supposed that Deux-Sèvres was about to become a sort of fairy-land, with rivers of milk and enchanted groves, where tables laden with good things would await every passer-by. All at once, however, he affected an exaggerated modesty. They owed him, said he, no gratitude whatever. He himself could never have carried out such a vast scheme without the high patronage of which he was so proud. Then, turning towards Rougon, he called him ‘the illustrious minister, the promoter and supporter of every useful and noble idea.’ In conclusion, he dwelt upon the financial advantages of the scheme. At the Bourse, he said, people were fighting for the shares. Happy were those who had been able to invest their money in an enterprise with which his Excellency, the Minister of the Interior had been willing to connect his name!
‘Hear! hear!’ cried some of the guests.
The mayor and several of the officials grasped M. Kahn’s hand. He affected to be greatly moved. Outside there were bursts of cheering, and the bandsmen of the Philharmonic Society considered it proper to strike up a quick march. Thereupon the mayor’s assessor sprang forward and sent a fireman to silence them. In the meantime, the chief surveyor of bridges and highways was hesitating and repeating that he had prepared no speech for the occasion. However, as the prefect continued to press him, he gave way. At this M. Kahn seemed very uneasy, and murmured to Du Poizat: ‘You’ve made a mistake. He’s sure to say something nasty.’
The chief surveyor was a tall, lean man, who considered himself endowed with great powers of irony. He spoke slowly, and gave a twist to his mouth every time he delivered himself of one of his epigrammatic thrusts. He commenced his speech by overwhelming M. Kahn with praises. Then the unpleasant remarks began; and he briefly criticised the projected railway with all the contempt of a government engineer for the plans and designs of a private one. He referred to the opposition scheme of the Western Company, which had contemplated carrying the line past Thouars, and he laid stress, without seeming to do so maliciously, upon the fact that the loop in M. Kahn’s plan would benefit the blast-furnaces at Bressuire. There was nothing obviously bitter in what he said, but amidst his pleasant sentences there was many a little stab which could be felt only by the initiated. He became, however, more cruel towards the end of his speech, when he seemed to regret that ‘the illustrious minister’ should have run the risk of compromising himself by countenancing an undertaking whose financial prospects were a source of disquietude to all men of experience. Enormous sums of money would be wanted, he said, as well as the greatest integrity and most perfect disinterestedness. Then, in conclusion, he gave his mouth a twist and spoke in this fashion: ‘That these fears, however, are quite chimerical we can have no doubt, when we see at the head of the undertaking a man whose wealth and high commercial probity are so well known throughout the department.’
A murmur of approval ran through the audience; though a few people glanced at M. Kahn, who with pale lips was endeavouring to smile. Rougon had listened with his eyes half closed, as though he were inconvenienced by the brightness of the light. When he opened them again they were black and stern. His original intention had been to make a very brief speech indeed; but he now felt that he had to defend one of his own band. With three steps he reached the edge of the tent, and there, with a sweeping gesture that seemed to call upon all France to listen to him, he began: ‘Gentlemen, let me in imagination overleap these hills which surround us and embrace the whole empire at one glance, and thus exalt the ceremony which has brought us together by making it a festival of industrial and commercial labour. At this very moment, while I am now addressing you, from the north to the south of the country canals are being excavated, railway lines are being laid down, mountains are being tunnelled, bridges are being built——’
Perfect silence had fallen all around. Not a sound broke upon the speaker’s words save the rustling of the trees or the grating of some river-lock in the distance. The firemen striving to bear themselves as martially as the soldiers beneath the hot sun, cast side-long glances at the minister, without turning their necks. The spectators on the hill-side, however, were taking their ease. Ladies had spread their handkerchiefs on the ground and were sitting on them; and two gentlemen, whom the sun was reaching, had just opened their wives’ parasols. And Rougon’s voice gradually grew louder and louder. He seemed ill at ease in that little hollow. It was as if the narrow valley did not afford him sufficient space for his gesticulations. As he threw his hands energetically in front of him, it seemed as if he desired to sweep away all obstructions and open out a wider horizon. Twice he gazed into the air as if seeking space, but nothing met his eyes on the hill tops save the gutted ruins of the windmills which were splitting in the sun.
He had taken up M. Kahn’s text and was enlarging upon it. It was not, he said, the department of Deux-Sèvres alone that was about to enter upon an era of wonderful prosperity, but the whole of France, thanks to the branch line from Niort to Angers. For ten minutes he recounted the innumerable advantages which would rain down upon the people. He even went so far as to allude to the hand of God. Then he began to reply to what had been said by the chief surveyor, though he in no way discussed it or even referred to it. He simply said the direct opposite of what the surveyor had said, dwelling for a long time upon M. Kahn’s devotion, and praising his great modesty and disinterestedness and nobility of mind. The financial aspect of the matter, he said, caused him no uneasiness whatever; and he smiled and seemed to be sweeping up big piles of gold with a rapid movement of his hands.
An outburst of cheering quite drowned his voice.
‘One word in conclusion, gentlemen,’ he said, after wiping his lips with his handkerchief. That one word lasted for a quarter of an hour. He was growing excited, and went further than he had meant to do. Indeed, in his peroration, while speaking of the grandeur of the reign, and extolling the Emperor’s great ability, he even hinted that his Majesty would bestow his patronage in a special manner upon the branch line from Niort to Angers. It was as if the undertaking had become a State affair.
However, three great bursts of cheers rang out. A flight of crows, skimming aloft across the cloudless sky, took fright with much noisy croaking. Immediately the minister’s speech had finished, the Philharmonic Society had begun to play again, a signal being given from the tent; while all the ladies sprang up, anxious to miss nothing of the ceremony. The guests were smiling around Rougon with delighted faces. The mayor, the public prosecutor, and the colonel of the seventy-eighth infantry were wagging their heads approvingly while listening to the deputy, who expressed his admiration of his excellency in tones which, although subdued, were yet loud enough to reach the minister’s ears. However, it was the chief surveyor of bridges and highways who manifested the greatest enthusiasm. He displayed an extraordinary amount of obsequiousness, and seemed quite thunderstruck by the great man’s magnificent language.
‘Would your excellency do me the honour to follow me?’ now asked M. Kahn, whose fat face was perspiring with pleasure.
The concluding part of the ceremony was at hand. His excellency was about to fire the first mine. Orders had just been given to the gang of navvies in new blouses. The men preceded the minister and M. Kahn into the cutting and drew themselves up in two lines at the far end. Then a foreman who held a piece of lighted rope presented it to Rougon. The officials, who had remained in the tent, craned their heads forward. Everyone waited anxiously. The Philharmonic Society was still playing.
‘Will it make very much noise?’ the head-master’s wife inquired, with an uneasy smile, of one of the public prosecutor’s assessors.
‘That depends upon the nature of the rock,’ hastily interposed the President of the Tribunal of Commerce, who at once entered upon various mineralogical explanations.
‘I shall stuff up my ears,’ murmured the eldest of the three daughters of the conservator of rivers and forests.
Rougon felt that he was looking very foolish, standing in the midst of all these people with the burning rope in his hand. Up above, on the hill crests, the ruined windmills were creaking louder than ever in the warm sunlight. Then he hastened to light the fuse, the end of which, lying between two stones, was pointed out to him by the foreman. One of the navvies immediately blew a long blast on a horn, and all the gang hurried off, while M. Kahn hastily pulled his excellency back into the tent, manifesting much anxious solicitude for his safety.
‘Well, why doesn’t it go off?’ stammered the registrar, who was blinking nervously, and would very much have liked to close his ears, as the ladies were doing.
The explosion did not take place for a couple of minutes. It had been considered prudent to have a very long fuse. The expectation of the company turned almost to anguish; every eye was fixed upon the red rock; some spectators fancied they could see it moving, and timid ones expressed a fear of being struck by the fragments. At last there was a low reverberation, and the rock split, while a number of fragments, twice the size of a man’s fist, shot up into the air amidst the smoke. Then everybody went away; and on all sides one could hear the same question repeated, ‘Don’t you smell the powder?’
In the evening the prefect gave a dinner, which the officials and functionaries attended. For the ball which followed he had issued five hundred invitations. It was a splendid affair. The great drawing-room was decorated with evergreens; and in each corner a small chandelier had been fixed, making with the central one five chandeliers in all, whose tapers flooded the room with brilliant light. Niort could remember no such scene of magnificence. The light that streamed from the six windows quite illuminated the Place de la Préfecture, where more than two thousand inquisitive sight-seers had gathered together, straining their eyes in their eagerness to catch a glimpse of the dancers. The orchestra also could be so distinctly heard that children got up galops on the footways. From nine o’clock the ladies were fanning themselves, refreshments were being carried round, and quadrilles were following upon waltzes and polkas. In ceremonious fashion Du Poizat stood by the door, smilingly receiving the late arrivals.
‘Doesn’t your excellency dance?’ the head-master’s wife boldly asked of Rougon. She had just arrived, and was wearing a dress of tarlatan, spangled with gold stars.
Rougon excused himself, with a smile. He was standing in front of one of the windows, surrounded by a group of guests, and, while joining in a conversation on the desirability of a new land survey, he kept on glancing outside. In the bright light which the candles cast upon the houses on the opposite side of the square, he had just caught sight of Madame Correur and Mademoiselle Herminie Billecoq at one of the windows of the Hôtel de Paris. They were standing there, leaning and watching the ball, as though they were in a box at a theatre. Their faces glistened, and every now and then their bare throats rippled with laughter as some amusing incident attracted their notice.
However, the head-master’s wife had gone all round the drawing-room, looking somewhat disconsolate, and never heeding the admiration which her sweeping train excited among the younger men. She was evidently looking for some one, as she thus stepped smilingly and languidly along.
‘Hasn’t Monsieur le Commissaire central arrived?’ she at last asked Du Poizat, who was inquiring after her husband’s health. ‘I promised him a waltz.’
‘Oh, he’s sure to come,’ the prefect answered. ‘I am surprised that he is not here already. He had to go away on official business to-day; but he told me that he would be back by six o’clock.’
After the déjeuner at the prefecture, about noon, Gilquin had set out from Niort on horseback to go and arrest notary Martineau. Coulonges was some twelve miles away. He calculated upon arriving there at two o’clock, and upon being able to get away by four, or perhaps a little later, which would leave him plenty of time to attend the banquet, to which he had been invited. Consequently, he did not hurry his horse, but jogged along, while reflecting that he would make the running at the ball in the evening with that pretty blonde, the head-master’s wife, whose only fault in his eyes was that she was rather too slim. When he reached Coulonges, he dismounted at the Golden Lion, where a corporal and two gendarmes ought to have been waiting for him. By arranging matters in this way, he had anticipated that his arrival would not be noticed; and he could hire a carriage, he thought, and carry the notary off without any of the neighbours being any the wiser. The gendarmes, however, were not there. Gilquin waited for them till five o’clock, swearing, and drinking grog, and looking at his watch every quarter of an hour. He should never be able to get back to Niort in time for the banquet, he muttered. He was just having his horse saddled, when the corporal at last made his appearance, followed by his two men. There had been some misunderstanding.
‘Well, well, don’t waste time in apologising!’ cried the commissary angrily. ‘We’ve got no time for that! It’s already a quarter-past five. Let us get hold of our man as quickly as possible. We must be on our way back in another ten minutes.’
Generally speaking, Gilquin was a good-natured individual. He prided himself upon the urbanity with which he discharged his official duties. That day he had even arranged an elaborate scheme, by which he hoped to spare Madame Correur’s brother any violent emotion. It had been his intention to enter the house alone, while the gendarmes waited with the carriage near the garden-gate, in a little lane which looked on to the open country. But his three hours’ waiting at the Golden Lion had so exasperated him that he forgot all these fine precautions. He walked through the village, and rang loudly at the street-door of the notary’s house. One of the gendarmes was posted at this door, and the other was directed to go round and keep a watch on the garden-wall. The corporal went in with the commissary. Ten or a dozen scared villagers watched them from a distance.
The servant who opened the door was seized with childish terror at the sight of the uniforms, and rushed away, crying at the top of her voice: ‘Madame! Madame! Madame!’
A short plump woman, whose face maintained an expression of perfect calm, came slowly down the staircase.
‘Madame Martineau, I presume?’ said Gilquin rapidly. ‘I have a painful duty to perform, madame. I have come to arrest your husband.’
Madame Martineau clasped her short hands, while her pale lips began to quiver. But she uttered no cry. She remained standing on the bottom step, blocking the way with her skirts. Then she asked Gilquin to show her his warrant, and required explanations, doing all she could to cause a delay.
‘Be careful! He’ll slip through our fingers if we don’t mind,’ the corporal murmured in the commissary’s ear.
Madame Martineau probably heard this remark, for she looked at the two men with her calm eyes, and said: ‘Come upstairs, gentlemen.’
She went up in front of them and took them into a room, in the middle of which stood M. Martineau in his dressing gown. Upon hearing the servant’s cries of alarm he had risen from the arm-chair in which he spent most of his time. He was very tall; his hands seemed quite dead; his face was as pale as wax; and only his eyes—dark, soft, and yet determined eyes—appeared to retain any life. Madame Martineau pointed to him in silence.
‘I regret to say, sir,’ began Gilquin, ‘that I have a painful duty to perform.’
When he had explained his errand, the notary nodded but did not speak. A slight quiver, however, shook the dressing-gown which covered his attenuated limbs. At last, with great politeness, he replied: ‘Very well, gentlemen, I will follow you.’
Then he began to walk about the room, putting in order several articles, which were lying on different pieces of furniture. For instance, he moved a parcel of books to another place. Then he asked his wife for a clean shirt. The trembling which was affecting him had now become more pronounced. Madeline Martineau, seeing him totter, followed him with outstretched arms, ready to catch him should he fall, just as one follows a little child.
‘Come, sir, make haste!’ repeated Gilquin.
The notary took another couple of turns round the room, and then suddenly snatched at the air with his hands, and let himself fall into an arm-chair, distorted and stiffened by a paralytic seizure. At this his wife shed big silent tears.
Gilquin took out his watch. ‘Confound it all!’ he cried. It was half-past five, and he felt that he must now relinquish all hope of being back at Niort in time for the dinner at the prefecture. It would take at least another half hour to get this man into a carriage. He tried to console himself with the thought that at any rate he would not miss the ball, and just then he recollected that the head-master’s wife had promised him the first waltz.
‘He’s shamming,’ the corporal now whispered to Gilquin. ‘Shall I lift him on to his feet?’ And without waiting for a reply, he stepped up to the notary and advised him not to attempt to deceive justice. Martineau, however, was as rigid as a corpse; his eyes were closed and his lips pinched. Thereupon the corporal lost his temper, and indulged in strong language, till at last he laid his heavy hand on the collar of the notary’s dressing-gown. But at this Madame Martineau, who had hitherto remained passive, energetically pushed him aside, and planted herself in front of her husband, clenching her fists with an air of devoted resolution.
‘He’s shamming, I tell you!’ the corporal repeated.
Gilquin shrugged his shoulders. He had made up his mind to carry the notary off whether he were dead or alive. ‘Send one of your men to get the carriage from the Golden Lion,’ he said to the corporal. ‘I have spoken to the landlord about one.’
When the corporal had left the room, Gilquin stepped up to the window, and looked complacently at the apricot trees which were blossoming in the garden. He was growing quite absorbed in his thoughts, when he felt a touch upon his shoulder. Madame Martineau stood behind him. Her cheeks were quite dry now, and she spoke in a calm steady voice. ‘You mean a carriage for yourself, don’t you?’ she asked. ‘You surely can’t think of dragging my husband to Niort, in his present state.’
‘I have a painful duty to perform, madame—’ Gilquin began for the third time.
‘But it is a crime! You will kill him!’ Madame Martineau interrupted. ‘You have not been ordered to kill him, have you?’
‘I am acting under orders,’ Gilquin replied in a rougher tone, for he wished to curtail the entreaties which he thought were coming.
But a gleam of desperate anger flashed across Madame Martineau’s plump face, and her eyes glanced round the room, as though she were trying to discover some possible means of saving her husband. However, she calmed herself by an effort, and reverted to her previous demeanour, like a strong-minded woman who realises that tears can be of no service.
‘God will punish you, sir,’ she quietly said, after a short pause, during which she had kept her eyes fixed on Gilquin.
Then, without a tear or entreaty she turned to lean over the chair in which her husband lay dying. Gilquin had merely smiled.
Just at this moment the corporal, who had gone in person to the Golden Lion, came back to say that the landlord asserted he had not got a vehicle of any sort. The arrest of the notary, who was extremely popular in the neighbourhood, must have been noised abroad, and the landlord was doubtless concealing his conveyances; for two hours previously, when the commissary had questioned him on the subject, he had promised to let him have an old brougham which he let out for drives in the neighbourhood.
‘Go and search the inn!’ cried Gilquin, enraged by this fresh obstacle. ‘Search every house in the village! Do they think they will have a game with us? And be quick, I have an engagement to keep, and have no time to spare. I give you a quarter of an hour.’
The corporal hurried off again, taking his men with him; and each went in a different direction. Three-quarters of an hour passed, however, and then another quarter, and then another. At the end of an hour and a half one of the gendarmes returned with a very long face. All his searching had been futile. Gilquin, who had grown feverishly excited, kept rushing about and looking out of the window into the twilight. The ball would certainly begin without him, he reflected, and the head-master’s wife would consider him guilty of great discourtesy. Each time that he went past the notary’s chair he almost choked with anger. Never had any criminal caused him so much trouble as that man who lay there perfectly motionless, becoming ever paler and colder.
It was past seven o’clock when the corporal returned with a beaming countenance. He had at last discovered the landlord’s old brougham, concealed in a shed half a mile from the village. The horse was harnessed and between the shafts, and it was the animal’s snorting which had enabled him to discover it. However, when the vehicle was at the door, it became necessary to dress M. Martineau, and this took a very long time. His wife very slowly and deliberately put him on some clean white stockings and a clean white shirt. Then she dressed him in black from head to foot; black trousers, frock-coat and waistcoat. She would not allow the gendarmes to render her the slightest assistance. The notary quietly yielded to her touch. A lamp had been lighted, and Gilquin stood tapping his hands together impatiently, while the corporal remained perfectly still, his three-cornered hat casting a huge shadow upon the ceiling.
‘Come, come, haven’t you done now?’ Gilquin repeated.
For the last five minutes Madame Martineau had been searching in a drawer. At last she produced a pair of black gloves which she put into her husband’s pocket. ‘I hope, sir,’ she said, ‘that you will allow me to come in the carriage. I should much like to go with my husband.’
‘That is impossible,’ replied Gilquin roughly.
She restrained herself instead of pressing her request. ‘At any rate,’ she said, ‘you will allow me to follow him?’
‘The roads are free to every one,’ answered the commissary, ‘but you won’t be able to get a vehicle, as there are none in the neighbourhood.’
At this Madame Martineau shrugged her shoulders slightly, and left the room to give an order. Ten minutes afterwards a gig drew up in front of the door, behind the brougham. It was now necessary to get the notary downstairs. The two gendarmes carried him, while his wife supported his head. Whenever the dying man uttered the slightest groan, Madame Martineau imperiously ordered the gendarmes to stop, which they did, notwithstanding the angry glances of the commissary. In this way they halted for a moment on each successive step. The notary looked like a corpse in their arms, and he was quite unconscious when they seated him in the carriage.
‘Half-past eight!’ exclaimed Gilquin angrily, looking at his watch for the last time. ‘Confound it all! I shall never get there!’
There was no doubt about that. He would be fortunate if he arrived before the ball was half over. However, he sprang on his horse with an oath and ordered the coachman to drive as fast as he could. The brougham led the way, the gendarmes riding at each side of it; then, a few yards behind, followed the commissary, and the corporal, and last of all came the gig with Madame Martineau. The night air was very sharp. The little cortège passed over the long grey road through all the sleeping country, accompanied by a rumbling of wheels and the monotonous footfalls of the horses. Not a word was spoken during the journey. Gilquin was thinking of what he should say when he met the head-master’s wife. Every now and then, however, Madame Martineau sprang to her feet in the gig, fancying that she heard a death-rattle, but she could scarcely distinguish the brougham as it rolled on before her through the black night.
It was half-past ten when they reached Niort. The commissary, to avoid passing through the town, directed the driver of the brougham to go round by the ramparts. When they reached the gaol, they had to ring loudly. As soon as the gatekeeper saw the white, stiffened prisoner they were bringing him, he went off to rouse the governor. The latter, who was not very well, soon made his appearance in his slippers. And when he saw Martineau, he became quite angry, and absolutely refused to receive a man in such a condition. Did they take the gaol for an hospital? he asked them.
‘The man has been arrested, and what do you expect us to do with him?’ cried Gilquin, losing his temper at this fresh impediment.
‘Whatever you like, monsieur le commissaire, except bring him here,’ replied the governor. ‘I again tell you that I refuse to receive him. I won’t take such a responsibility upon myself.’
Madame Martineau had profited by this discussion to get into the brougham with her husband. And she now proposed that he should be taken to the hotel.
‘Very well, to the hotel or the devil, or wherever you like!’ cried Gilquin. ‘I’ve had quite enough of him! Take him along!’
He conformed sufficiently to his duty, however, to accompany the notary to the Hôtel de Paris, which Madame Martineau herself fixed upon. The Place de la Préfecture was now becoming empty, and only some children were left playing on the footways; while the middle-class couples slowly disappeared into the darkness of the neighbouring streets. However, the bright glow from the six windows of the prefecture still made the square almost as light as day. The band’s brass instruments were blaring, and the ladies’ bare shoulders and curled chignons could be seen between the open curtains, circling round the room. As the notary was being carried to the first floor, Gilquin raised his head and caught sight of Madame Correur and Mademoiselle Billecoq, who were still gazing at the festivities. The elder lady, however, must have noticed her brother, for, leaning out so far as to risk a fall, she made an energetic sign to Gilquin to come upstairs. He did so.
Towards midnight the ball at the prefecture reached its zenith. The doors of the dining-room, where a cold supper had been laid, had just been thrown open. The ladies, with hot, flushed faces, fanned themselves as they stood up and ate, amidst a deal of gay laughter. Others were still dancing, unwilling to lose a single quadrille, and contenting themselves with glasses of syrup and water, which gentlemen brought to them. The room was full of a hazy glitter of women’s hair and skirts and braceleted arms. There seemed to be too much gold, too much music, and too much heat; and Rougon, who felt half suffocated, was glad indeed to make his escape on being discreetly summoned by Du Poizat.
Madame Correur and Mademoiselle Herminie Billecoq were waiting for him in the small adjoining salon where he had seen them on the previous evening. They were both crying bitterly.
‘My poor brother! my poor Martineau!’ stammered Madame Correur, while wiping her tears away with her handkerchief. ‘Ah! I felt sure that you could do nothing for him. Oh, why couldn’t you have saved him?’
Rougon was going to say something, but she would not give him time.
‘He has been arrested to-day,’ she continued. ‘I have just seen him. Oh dear! oh dear!’
‘Don’t distress yourself,’ replied Rougon, at last. ‘The matter shall be looked into, and I hope that we shall be able to obtain his release.’
Thereupon Madame Correur ceased dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. She looked at Rougon and exclaimed in her natural voice: ‘But he is dead!’ Then again she relapsed into a disconsolate tone and buried her face in her handkerchief. ‘Oh dear! Oh dear! my poor, poor Martineau!’
Dead! A sudden tremor passed through Rougon’s body. He could not find a word to say. For the first time he became conscious of a pit before him, a dark gloomy pit into which he was being gradually driven. To think that the man was dead! He had never intended that anything of that kind should happen. Things had gone too far.
‘Alas! yes, the poor dear man is dead,’ said Mademoiselle Herminie Billecoq, with a deep, long-drawn sigh. ‘It seems that they refused to receive him at the gaol. Then, when we saw him arriving at the hotel in such a pitiable condition, madame went down and insisted upon being admitted, saying that she was his sister. A sister may surely claim to receive her brother’s last breath. That is what I said to that hussy of a Madame Martineau, who threatened to turn us out of the room. But we forced her to let us remain by the bedside. Mon Dieu! it was soon all over. The death agony only lasted an hour. The poor man was lying on the bed dressed all in black. Anyone would have thought that he was a notary just going to a marriage. And he died out just like a candle-flame, with a little twist of his face. He couldn’t have had much pain.’
‘And then—would you believe it?—Madame Martineau actually tried to pick a quarrel with me,’ cried Madame Correur. ‘I don’t know what she was driving at, but she spoke about my brother’s property, and accused me of having given him the last stroke. I said to her, “If I had been there, madame, I would never have allowed him to be taken away, I would have let the gendarmes hew me in pieces sooner!” And they should have hewn me in pieces sooner! I told you so, didn’t I, Herminie?’
‘Yes, yes, indeed,’ said the tall girl.
‘Well, I know my tears won’t bring him to life again,’ continued Madame Correur; ‘but I’m crying because I can’t help it. Oh, my poor Martineau!’
Rougon felt very ill at ease. He drew back his hands which Madame Correur had grasped. Still he could not think of anything to say, shocked as he was by the story of this death which seemed so abominable to him.
‘Look!’ exclaimed Herminie, who was standing in front of the window, ‘you can see the room from here in this bright light. It is the third window to the left, on the first floor. There is a light behind the curtains.’
However, Rougon dismissed them, while Madame Correur in return apologised for having troubled him, calling him her friend, and saying that her first impulse had been to come and tell him the fatal news.
‘It is a very annoying business,’ Rougon whispered to Du Poizat, when he returned to the ball-room, with his face still pale.
‘It is all that idiot Gilquin’s doing!’ replied the prefect, shrugging his shoulders.
The ball was still going on merrily. In the dining-room, a part of which could be seen through the open door, the mayor’s assessor was stuffing the three daughters of the conservator of rivers and forests with sweetmeats; while the colonel of the seventy-eighth was drinking punch and listening attentively to the cutting remarks of the chief surveyor of bridges and highways, who was munching sugared almonds. M. Kahn, near the door, was repeating to the President of the Civil Tribunal the speech which he had delivered in the afternoon on the advantages of the new railway line; and round them stood a group of grave-faced men, the comptroller of taxes, the two justices of the peace, and the delegates from the consultative Chamber of Agriculture and the Statistical Society, all with gaping mouths. Then around the ball-room, in the glow of the chandeliers, the dancers revolved to the music of a waltz, which the band blared forth. The son of the receiver-general was dancing with the mayor’s sister; one of the public prosecutor’s assessors was with a girl in blue; and the other with a girl in pink. But one couple excited particular admiration, that composed of the commissary of police and the head-master’s wife, who slowly revolved in a close embrace. Gilquin had hurried off to array himself irreproachably in black dress-coat, patent-leather boots and white gloves, and the beautiful blonde, having forgiven him for his tardy arrival, was now nestling against his shoulder, with languishing eyes. Gilquin threw his chest forward, and brought the motion of his hips into strong prominence, a vulgarism which seemed to delight the spectators as if it had been something very tasteful. And as the pair revolved round the room they all but came into collision with Rougon, who had to step back to the very wall to let them pass him in a whirling cloud of tarlatan, spangled with golden stars.
< < < Chapter IX
Chapter XI > > >
French Literature – Children Books – Émile Zola – His Excellency Eugène Rougon – Contents
Copyright holders – Public Domain Book
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