French Literature – Children Books – Émile Zola – His Excellency Eugène Rougon – Contents
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Chapter XI
IN COUNCIL AT ST. CLOUD
Rougon had at last succeeded in obtaining the portfolio of Agriculture and Commerce for Delestang. One morning, early in May, he went to the Rue du Colisée to fetch his new colleague, for there was to be a ministerial council at Saint Cloud, where the Court had just gone to reside.
‘What! are you coming with us?’ Rougon exclaimed in surprise, as he saw Clorinde taking her place in the landau which was standing in front of the steps.
‘Yes,’ she answered, with a laugh; ‘yes, I’m going to the council, too.’ Then, when she had arranged the flounces of her long gown of pale cherry-coloured silk, she added, more seriously: ‘I have an appointment with the Empress. I am treasurer of a society for assisting young work-girls in which she is interested.’
In their turn the two men took their places. Delestang sat down by his wife’s side. He had with him a brown morocco portfolio, which he kept upon his knees. Rougon sat opposite Clorinde, and carried nothing. It was nearly half-past nine, and the council was fixed for ten, so the coachman was ordered to drive as quickly as he could. To make a short cut, therefore, he went along the Rue Marbeuf, and thence through the Chaillot district, which the demolishers were already ripping up. There were deserted streets fringed with gardens and wooden shanties, steep winding passages and little neglected squares, planted with sickly-looking trees. It was a strange patch of the great city, a medley of villas and cabins, basking on a hill-side in the bright morning sunshine.
‘How hideous it is here!’ said Clorinde, lying back in the landau.
Then, half-turning, she glanced at her husband, at first gravely, but afterwards, as though she could not help it, she began to smile. Delestang, with his frock coat buttoned round him, was sitting primly erect. His handsome, thoughtful face, and premature baldness, which gave an appearance of great height to his brow, attracted the attention of the passers-by. Clorinde noticed that no one looked at Rougon, whose heavy face seemed to be asleep. Presently, in a sort of maternal manner, she pulled her husband’s left wristband forward a little, as it had slipped back inside his sleeve.
‘What were you doing last night?’ she then asked of the great man, as she saw him yawning behind his fingers.
‘I was working very late,’ he said. ‘There were a lot of tiresome things to see to.’
There was another pause, and Clorinde began to study Rougon. He yielded unresistingly to the slight jolting of the carriage. His frock-coat was strained out of shape by his broad shoulders, and his hat was badly brushed, and bore marks of old rain stains. He reminded Clorinde of a jobber from whom she had bought a horse a month previously, and a smile, with which was mingled a touch of contempt, appeared upon her lips.
‘Well?’ said Rougon, at last, feeling somewhat annoyed by Clorinde’s prolonged scrutiny.
‘Well,’ she replied, ‘I’m looking at you. It isn’t forbidden to do so, is it? You’re not afraid that I shall eat you, are you?’
She spoke these last words with a provoking air, showing her white teeth. Rougon, however, began to joke. ‘I’m too big for that,’ he said; ‘you wouldn’t be able to get me down.’
‘Oh, I don’t know that, if I were very hungry,’ she gravely answered, after apparently considering her appetite.
The landau was now reaching the Porte de la Muette. Here, on emerging from the narrow streets of the Chaillot district, the horizon suddenly spread out over the light verdure of the Bois de Boulogne. It was a lovely morning, and the distant turf was steeped in golden light, while the young leaves on the trees rustled gently in the warm air. They left the deer-park on their right, and took the gravelled avenue leading to Saint Cloud. The landau now rolled on without a jolt, as lightly and softly as a sledge gliding through the snow.
‘How nasty those streets were!’ said Clorinde, as she lolled back. ‘Well, we can breathe here, and talk. Have you any news of our friend Du Poizat?’
‘Yes, he’s very well,’ Rougon replied.
‘And does he still like his department?’
Rougon made a vague gesture, not wishing to give her any definite reply. She was aware, however, that the prefect of Deux-Sèvres was becoming a source of some trouble to him, on account of the severity of his administration. Without pressing the point she next began to talk of M. Kahn, and Madame Correur, and finally, with a touch of mischievous curiosity, she asked Rougon about his visit to Niort. Then she broke off to say: ‘By the way, I met Colonel Jobelin and his cousin Monsieur Bouchard yesterday. We talked about you. Yes, we talked about you.’
Rougon still kept silent, with his shoulders bowed. To rouse him, Clorinde began to speak of the past. ‘Do you remember our pleasant little evenings in the Rue Marbeuf?’ she inquired. ‘Now you are so busy that we can’t get near you. Your friends complain about it. They say that you are forgetting them. I’m always quite frank, you know, and conceal nothing. Well, to tell the truth, they say that you are deserting them, my dear fellow.’
At this moment, the carriage, which had just passed between the two lakes, encountered a brougham on its way back to Paris, and through the window of the latter vehicle a glimpse was caught of a sulky-looking face, which hastily withdrew, as if to avoid the necessity of bowing.
‘Why, it’s your brother-in-law!’ exclaimed Clorinde.
‘Yes, he’s not very well,’ replied Rougon, with a smile. ‘His doctor has ordered him to take morning drives.’
Then he suddenly threw off his reserve, and began to talk freely, while the landau sped along beneath the tall trees of the gently curving avenue.
‘What would you have?’ said he. ‘I can’t give them the moon, however much they may cry for it! Take Beulin-d’Orchère, for instance, his dream is to be Minister of Justice. I have tried to effect the impossible, and have sounded the Emperor on the subject; but I can’t get any answer. I fancy, however, that the Emperor feels afraid of him. Well, that isn’t my fault, is it? Beulin-d’Orchère is first President of the Appeal Court. That really ought to satisfy him for the present. And yet, you see, he actually avoids bowing to me. He’s a fool!’
Clorinde had lowered her eyes, and her fingers were playing with the tassel of her sun-shade. She now made no attempt to speak, but let Rougon talk on freely.
‘The others,’ said he, ‘are almost as unreasonable. If the colonel and Bouchard complain of me, they do wrong, for I have already done too much for them. I say that for all my friends. I’ve got a dozen mill-stones about my neck! Till they’ve got the very skin off my body they won’t be satisfied!’ He paused for a moment, and then resumed with a good-natured laugh: ‘Well, well, if they really needed something more, I would give it to them. When a man has once opened his hands it is impossible for him to shut them again. In spite of all the unkind things my friends say of me, I spend my time in asking favours of all sorts for them.’
Then he touched Clorinde’s knee to force her to look at him.
‘Well, now, about yourself!’ he continued. ‘I am going to talk to the Emperor this morning. Is there anything that I can ask for you?’
‘No, thank you,’ she answered drily. And as he still persisted in his offers, she grew a little vexed, and accused him of reproaching herself and her husband with the few services he had already rendered them. They would not trouble him in future, said she. ‘I manage my affairs myself now,’ she added. ‘I’m big enough to get on by myself, am I not?’
Meantime the carriage had emerged from the Bois. It was now passing through Boulogne amid the clatter of several heavy carts, which were jolting along the high street. Delestang had been silent ever since the start, keeping his hands upon his morocco portfolio, and apparently absorbed in momentous thoughts. However, he now bent forward and called to Rougon amidst the uproar: ‘Do you think that his Majesty will keep us to déjeuner?’
Rougon made a gesture expressive of doubt. Then he exclaimed: ‘We do generally have déjeuner at the palace when the council is a long one.’
Delestang fell back into his corner, and once more appeared to be absorbed in a very serious reverie. Presently he bent forward again, to ask: ‘Will there be much business before the council this morning?’
‘Perhaps so,’ answered Rougon. ‘But one can never tell beforehand. Several of our colleagues, I fancy, are going to report on certain important matters. For my own part, at any rate, I intend to raise the question of that book about which I am in dispute with the Licensing Committee.'[16]
‘What book is that?’ asked Clorinde eagerly.
‘Oh! an idiotic publication; one of those volumes which are got up for circulation amongst the peasantry. It is called “Friend Jacques’s Evening Chats.” It is a mixture of socialism, witchcraft, and agriculture; and there’s even a chapter on the advantages of trades’ unions. Briefly, it is a very dangerous book!’
The young woman, whose curiosity did not seem quite satisfied, turned to her husband as if to question him.
‘You are over severe, Rougon,’ said Delestang. ‘I have looked at the book, and have found some good matter in it. The chapter on the advantages accruing from the association of labour is very good, I think. I shall be surprised if the Emperor condemns the ideas contained in it.’
Rougon was about to reply hotly, and opened his arms with a gesture of protest. But he suddenly restrained himself, as though he did not want to discuss the matter further. And instead of speaking, he glanced at the country through which they were passing. The landau was now half-way across the bridge of Saint Cloud. Down below, the pale blue river was flowing sleepily, shimmering in the sunshine; the rows of trees along the banks being vigorously reflected in the water. Above and below steam climbed the sky, so whitened by the limpidity of springtide that scarcely a touch of blue could be seen.
When the carriage stopped in the courtyard of the château Rougon alighted first and offered his hand to Clorinde. But the young woman would not avail herself of his proffered support; she sprang lightly to the ground, and as he remained there still holding out his arm for her acceptance, she gently tapped his fingers with her parasol, saying: ‘Didn’t I tell you that I was big enough to manage by myself, now?’
She seemed to have lost all her old respect for her master’s huge hands which she had so often held with disciple-like submission so as to drain away a little of their strength. Doubtless she now fancied that she had weakened him sufficiently, for she no longer displayed as of yore any adorable cajolery. She, in her turn, had acquired influence, and was becoming a power. When Delestang had got out of the carriage, she allowed Rougon to go on before them, and whispered in her husband’s ear: ‘I hope you won’t try to prevent him from getting into a tangle with his “Friend Jacques.” It will give you a good opportunity of not always appearing to say the very same as he does.’
In the entrance-hall, before leaving Delestang, Clorinde gave him a careful glance, and was worried to see one of the buttons of his coat hanging a little loosely. Then, while an usher went to inform the Empress of her arrival, she smilingly watched Rougon and her husband take themselves off.
The ministerial council was held in a room near the Emperor’s private study. In the centre stood a large cloth-covered table surrounded by a dozen arm-chairs. The high windows admitted a bright light from the terrace of the château. When Rougon and Delestang entered the room, they found all their colleagues already assembled there, with the exception of the Minister for Public Works and the Naval and Colonial Minister, who were on leave of absence. The Emperor had not yet made his appearance, and for ten minutes or so the ministers chatted together, standing by the windows and about the table. Two of them had scowling faces, and so cordially detested each other that they never exchanged a word, but all the rest were talking amicably and easily, till serious matters should demand their attention. Paris was just then much interested in an embassy from the extreme east, the members of which wore fantastic costumes, and indulged in the most extraordinary modes of salutation. The Minister for Foreign Affairs related a visit which he had paid to the chief of this embassy on the previous evening; and while speaking with due regard for his position as head of the diplomatic service, he contrived to indulge in some light sarcasm at the envoy’s expense. Then the conversation turned upon more frivolous matters, and the Minister of State[17] furnished some particulars respecting the condition of a ballet girl of the opera-house who had narrowly escaped breaking her leg. However, amidst all this apparent unrestraint the ministers remained alert and distrustful of one another, wording certain of their sentences with extreme care, recalling at times half-uttered words, keeping a watchful look-out even as they smiled, and suddenly becoming serious as soon as they noticed that they were being observed.
‘Then it was a mere sprain?’ said Delestang, who took a great interest in the ladies of the ballet.
‘Yes, a sprain,’ replied the Minister of State. ‘The poor girl will simply have to keep her room for a fortnight. However, she feels very much ashamed of herself for having fallen.’
A slight stir now caused the ministers to turn, and they all bowed. The Emperor had just entered the room. He stood for a moment leaning upon the back of his arm-chair. Then, in his low deliberate voice, he asked: ‘Is she better?’
‘Much better, sire,’ replied the minister, bowing again. ‘I heard about her this morning.’
At a sign from the Emperor, the members of the council took their seats round the table. There were nine of them. Some of them spread out papers, while the others sat back in their chairs and began to examine their nails. There was silence for a while. The Emperor seemed unwell; and with lifeless face he slowly twisted the waxed ends of his long moustache. Then, as no one spoke, he appeared to recollect something and remarked: ‘Gentlemen, the session of the Corps Législatif is about to end——’
The budget, which the Chamber had just voted in five days, was the first subject which engaged the attention of the council. The Minister of Finance mentioned the desires which the reporter of the Chamber had expressed. For the first time, indeed, the Chamber had indulged in criticism, and its reporter had asked that the sinking fund regulations might be properly carried out, and that the government would in future content itself with the supplies as voted, without constantly applying for supplementary credits. Moreover, some members of the Chamber had complained of the little weight which was attached to their observations by the Council of State, and one of them had even gone so far as to claim for the Corps Législatif the right to prepare the budget.
‘In my opinion,’ said the Finance Minister, concluding his remarks, ‘there is no ground whatever for such claims. The government always observes the greatest desire for economy in preparing its budgets, and so true is this that the Committee of the Chamber had no end of trouble to effect a paltry saving of a couple of millions of francs. Still, I think it would perhaps be advisable to postpone the application for three supplementary votes of credit which we contemplated making. A transfer of funds will provide us with the necessary money for the time being, and matters can be put straight later on.'[18]
The Emperor nodded assent. However, he hardly seemed to be listening to what was said. There was a blank, listless look about his eyes, as he sat gazing at the bright light which was streaming through the middle window in front of him. There came another interval of silence. All the ministers followed the Emperor in nodding their approval, and for a moment or two only a slight rustling could be heard. The Minister of Justice and Keeper of the Seals was turning over some leaves of manuscript. At last when he had consulted his colleagues with a glance, he began: ‘Sire, I have brought with me a memorandum relating to the creation of a new nobility. As yet it consists merely of some rough notes, which I thought it would be advisable to put before the council before proceeding any further in the matter, in order that I may profit by any hint——’
‘Yes, yes; read it,’ interrupted the Emperor. ‘You are quite right.’
Then he turned so as to look at the minister while the latter read the memorandum. He seemed more animated now; a yellow light had come into his grey eyes.
The Court was at that time extremely interested in this scheme for a new nobility. The government had begun by submitting to the Corps Législatif a bill which punished with fine and imprisonment anyone who might assume any title of nobility without being entitled to do so. It was a question of giving official sanction to the old titles, and of thus preparing the way for new ones. However, this bill had given rise to a heated discussion in the Chamber. Some deputies, though enthusiastically devoted to the empire, had protested that a nobility could not exist in a democratic state; and, when a division was taken, twenty-three votes had been given against the bill. The Emperor, however, still clung to his dream; and he himself had suggested some very comprehensive ideas to the Minister of Justice.
The memorandum commenced by some historical references. Then the projected scheme was detailed at length. Titles were to be conferred for different kinds of public service, so as to make the new honours accessible to all deserving citizens, a democratic arrangement which seemed to fill the minister with great enthusiasm. Then a draft of the proposed decree was set out, and when the minister came to the second clause of it he raised his voice and read on very slowly: ‘The title of Count shall be conferred upon the following persons after five years’ service in their respective functions or dignities, or after we may have bestowed upon them the grand cross of the Legion of Honour: namely, our ministers and the members of our Privy Council, the cardinals, marshals, admirals, senators, and ambassadors, and such of the generals of division as shall have held a chief command in the field.’
The minister paused for a moment, and cast a questioning glance at the Emperor as if to ask whether he had omitted anyone. His Majesty reflected, with his head slightly inclined towards his left shoulder.
‘I think we must include the Presidents of the Corps Législatif and the Council of State,’ he said, after a pause.
The Minister of Justice nodded approbation, and hastily made a note on the margin of his manuscript. Just as he was about to resume his reading, he was interrupted by the Minister for Public Education and Worship, who wanted to call attention to an omission.
‘The archbishops——’ he began.
‘Excuse me,’ interrupted the Minister of Justice drily, ‘the archbishops are to be merely barons. Let me read the whole of the decree.’
However, his papers had got mixed, and he spent some time in looking for the next leaf. Rougon, who sat there with his elbows spread out and his thick neck sinking between his broad peasant shoulders, was faintly smiling; and, as he turned round, he caught sight of his neighbour, the Minister of State, the last scion of an old Norman family, likewise indulging in a quiet smile of contempt. A significant glance passed between them. The parvenu and the nobleman were evidently of the same way of thinking.
‘Ah, here it is!’ exclaimed the Minister of Justice at last. ‘Clause III. The title of baron shall be conferred, firstly, upon such members of the Corps Législatif as shall have been honoured three times with the confidence of their fellow-citizens; secondly, upon members of the Council of State of eight years’ standing; thirdly, upon the first president and the public prosecutor of the Supreme Court, upon the first president and public prosecutor of the Exchequer Court, upon the generals of division and vice admirals, upon the archbishops and ministers-plenipotentiary, after five years’ service in their respective offices, or if they have attained the rank of commander in the Legion of Honour——’
And so the minister read on. The first presidents and public prosecutors of the appeal courts, the generals of brigade and rear-admirals, the bishops, and even the mayors of the chief cities of first-class prefectures, were in their turn all to be made barons, but on condition that they had served in their respective offices for ten years.
‘Then everybody will be a baron,’ murmured Rougon.
At this some of his colleagues, who affected to consider him a very ill-bred man, assumed grave expressions, so as to make him understand that they thought his remark in very bad taste. The Emperor, however, did not seem to have heard.
‘Well, gentlemen, what do you think of the scheme?’ his Majesty asked, when the keeper of the seals had finished his perusal.
They all hesitated, waiting as it were for a more direct question.
‘Monsieur Rougon,’ resumed the Emperor, ‘what is your opinion?’
‘Well, sire,’ replied the Minister of the Interior, with his quiet smile, ‘I cannot say that I think very favourably of it. It is exposed to the greatest of all dangers, that is to say, to ridicule. I am afraid that all those barons will merely raise a laugh. I say nothing about more serious matters, such as the sentiment of equality which is so much in the ascendant at the present time, or the vanity which such a system would tend to develop——’
But when he had got thus far he was interrupted by the Minister of Justice, who seemed greatly put out, and began to defend himself as though a personal attack had been made upon him. He said that he was a middle-class man himself, and the son of a middle-class father, and was quite incapable of attempting anything to impair the principles of equality held by modern society. The new nobility was going to be a ‘democratic nobility,’ and this expression ‘democratic nobility’ seemed to convey his idea so perfectly that he repeated it several times over. Then Rougon briefly replied, still smiling and unruffled. But the Minister of Justice, a little lean, dark man, at last began to indulge in somewhat offensive personalities. The Emperor meantime held himself aloof from the dispute, and with a slight swaying of the shoulders, again gazed at the sunlight streaming through the window in front of him. However, when the voices of the others finally grew so loud as to interfere with his sense of dignity, he murmured: ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen.’ And after a pause, he added: ‘Monsieur Rougon is perhaps right. The scheme is not quite ripe yet. We shall have to consider if it cannot be put upon another basis. We can see to that later on.’
Then the council took some minor matters in hand. The newspaper Le Siècle became the subject of a deal of talk, for it had just published an article which had given great offence at Court. A week never passed without those about the Emperor entreating him to suppress this journal, which was the only Republican organ still in existence. His Majesty, however, was personally inclined to be indulgent towards the press, and often amused himself, in the secrecy of his study, by writing long articles in reply to the attacks which were made upon his government. An unacknowledged dream of his was to have a newspaper of his own, in which he might publish manifestoes and engage in polemical discussions. However, he that day decided that a warning should be addressed to the Siècle.
Their excellencies now thought that the council was over, as was evident from the manner in which they sat on the very edges of their chairs. Indeed, the Minister for War, a general who looked very much bored, and who had not spoken a word during the whole sitting, had already taken his gloves from his pocket, when Rougon leant heavily on the table.
‘Sire,’ he said, ‘I desire to speak to the council of a conflict which has arisen between the licensing committee and myself with respect to a book which has been presented for authorisation.’
The other ministers thereupon ensconced themselves in their chairs again. The Emperor turned towards Rougon and with a nod authorised him to continue.
Rougon then entered into details. He no longer smiled, his good-natured expression had quite vanished. He leant over the table, and, sweeping the cloth as it were with a regular mechanical movement of his right hand, he stated that he had determined to preside at one of the recent meetings of the committee in order to stimulate the zeal of its members. ‘I pointed out to them,’ said he, ‘the views of the government as to the improvements it was desirable for them to effect in the important branch of the public service with which they are entrusted. The colportage system,[19] I told them, would be a source of grave danger if it were allowed to become a weapon in the hands of the revolutionists, and should prove a means of reviving political discussions and ill-will. So it is the duty of the committee, I said, to reject all publications which might foment afresh such passions as are unsuited to the present time. It ought, on the other hand, to encourage those healthy works which teach the worship of God, the love of one’s country, and gratitude to one’s Sovereign.’
The other ministers, although very cross at being thus detained in council, felt constrained to bow approvingly on hearing these last words.
‘The number of pernicious books increases every day,’ continued Rougon. ‘They form a rising flood against which we cannot take sufficiently energetic steps for protecting our country. Out of every dozen books that are published, eleven and a half are only fit to be thrown into the fire. That is the average. Never before have wicked sentiments, subversive theories, and anti-social monstrosities of all kinds, found so many exponents. I am occasionally compelled to read certain publications; well, I tell you——’
At this moment the Minister for Public Education ventured on an interruption. ‘Novels,’ he began.
‘I never read novels,’ retorted Rougon drily.
His colleague made a gesture of virtuous protest, and rolled his eyes in a shocked sort of way, as though he also repudiated all reading of novels. Then he explained himself, saying: ‘I merely wanted to remark that novels are an especially poisonous food offered to the unhealthy curiosity of the people.’
‘Doubtless,’ replied the Minister of the Interior; ‘but there are other works quite as dangerous. I am speaking of those cheap treatises which disseminate among the peasantry and the working-classes a heap of false social and economic science, the most evident effect of which is to seriously disturb weak brains. A work of the kind to which I am alluding, “Friend Jacques’s Evening Chats,” has just been submitted to the committee for consideration. It is the story of a sergeant who comes back to his native village and holds discussions with the school-master every Sunday evening in the presence of a score of labourers. Each discussion is upon a different subject, such as new systems of cultivation, trades unions, and the great part which the producer plays in society. I have read this book, to which one of the clerks called my attention, and it seems to me to be all the more dangerous since it veils its baleful theories beneath a pretended admiration for the imperial institutions. No one can be deceived by it, however; it is clearly the production of a demagogue. And so I was extremely surprised when I heard some members of the committee speak of it in eulogistic terms. I have discussed certain passages of it with them, but apparently without convincing them. The author, they have assured me, has even offered a copy of the book for your Majesty’s acceptance. On that account, sire, I thought it right, before taking any active steps, to ask for your opinion and that of the council.’
So saying Rougon fixed his glance on the Emperor, whose shifty eyes at last settled on a paper-knife which was lying on the table in front of him. His Majesty took up the knife and began to turn and twist it while murmuring: ‘Yes, yes, “Friend Jacques’s Evening Chats——”‘
Then, without committing himself any further, he glanced to the right and left of the table. ‘You have perhaps seen the book, gentlemen. I should be very glad to know——’
Then he stopped again. The ministers glanced furtively at one another, each hoping that his neighbour would speak and express an opinion. The silence, however, continued unbroken, and the feeling of constraint increased. It seemed clear that none of them had even known of the existence of the book. At last the Minister for War took it upon himself to express by a gesture the general ignorance which prevailed of the publication in question.
The Emperor twisted his moustaches, showing no sign of haste. ‘Well, Monsieur Delestang, have you anything to say?’ he eventually inquired.
Delestang was restlessly moving on his chair, as though a prey to some inward struggle. This direct question seemed to decide him; however, before speaking, he glanced involuntarily towards Rougon. ‘I have had the book in my hands, sire,’ he said.
He checked himself, feeling that Rougon’s big grey eyes were fixed upon him; but then, observing the Emperor’s satisfaction, he began to speak again, though his lips could be seen quivering slightly. ‘I regret that I find myself in disagreement with my friend and colleague the Minister of the Interior. Certainly the publication in question might be less sweeping in some parts and insist more than it does upon that prudent deliberation with which all really useful progress must be accomplished. Still, “Friend Jacques’s Evening Chats” seems to me to have been conceived with most excellent intentions. The hopes which are expressed in it for the future evince no hostility to imperial institutions. On the contrary, indeed, they are what the legitimate expansion of our institutions may lead us to expect.’
He paused again. Notwithstanding the care which he had taken to turn towards the Emperor, he could not shake off the consciousness that Rougon was sitting on the other side of the table, leaning on his elbows and looking at him, pale with surprise. Generally speaking, Delestang’s views were identical with those of the great man. And so the latter had a momentary hope that a word from him might bring back his erring disciple.
‘Well, now,’ he exclaimed with a frown, ‘I’ll just give you an example. I’m sorry I haven’t brought the book with me, but I can give you the substance of a chapter which I remember very well. Jacques is speaking of two beggars who go through the village soliciting alms from door to door, and, in reply to a question from the school-master, he asserts that he will show the peasants a way by which they will never have a single poor person among them. Then follows a very elaborate system for the extinction of pauperism. It contains the whole communistic theory. Surely the Minister for Agriculture and Commerce cannot approve of that chapter.’
Delestang summoned up all his courage and looked Rougon boldly in the face. ‘You are going too far in saying the whole communistic theory,’ he replied. ‘It merely struck me as being an ingenious exposition of the principles of combination.’ He had been searching in his portfolio as he spoke. ‘I have got the book here,’ he added.
Then he began to read the chapter under discussion. He read it in a low monotonous voice, and his wise-looking face assumed an expression of extraordinary gravity at certain passages. The Emperor listened with an air of deep attention. He seemed to particularly appreciate the more touching portions, in which the author made his peasants speak in a strain of childish stupidity. Meanwhile the ministers were quite delighted. What an amusing affair! There now was Rougon abandoned by Delestang, whom he had brought into the ministry solely that he might have some one to rely upon amidst the unexpressed hostility of his other colleagues. The latter were often indignant with him for his constant arrogation of power, that craving for authority which impelled him to treat them as though they were mere clerks, while he himself assumed the position of his Majesty’s private adviser and right-hand man. And now he was on the point of finding himself completely isolated! This fellow, Delestang, thought the others, was a man to be well received.
‘There are perhaps one or two words——’ muttered the Emperor, when Delestang had finished his perusal; ‘but, really, taking it altogether, I don’t see anything—eh, gentlemen?’
‘It is quite innocent,’ chorused the ministers.
Rougon made no reply to his Majesty, but seemed to bend his shoulders. When he returned to the charge, he singled out Delestang for his attack. For several minutes a contest went on between them in short sentences. Handsome Delestang grew warlike, and indulged in cutting remarks, while Rougon’s anger also gradually rose. He for the first time felt his authority giving way beneath him. And springing all at once to his feet, he addressed himself to the Emperor with vehement gestures.
‘Sire,’ he said, ‘it is a petty matter, and the book will be authorised, since your Majesty in your wisdom declares there is no danger in it. But I must warn you, sire, that it would be perilous to confer on France one half of the liberties which are claimed by this “Friend Jacques.” You summoned me to power under terrible circumstances. You told me that I was not to attempt, by any untimely moderation, to reassure those who were quaking with alarm. In accordance with your commands, sire, I have made myself feared. I believe that I have obeyed your slightest instructions and have rendered you the services you expected of me. If any one should accuse me of excessive severity or of abusing the power with which your Majesty has entrusted me, such an accusation could only come from an adversary of your Majesty’s policy. Believe me when I tell you that society is as deeply disturbed as ever it was. In the few weeks that I have been in office, it has unfortunately been impossible for me to heal the diseases which are preying upon it. Anarchical passions are still fermenting among the lower strata of the people.
‘I do not wish to lay this festering wound bare to you, or to exaggerate its horror, but it is my duty to remind you of its existence, so that I may put your Majesty on your guard against the generous impulses of your own heart. For a moment it was possible to hope that the energy of the sovereign and the solemnly expressed will of the nation had swept all abominable periods of public baseness away without possibility of revival. Events, however, have shown what a mournful error this was. In the name of the country, sire, I beseech you not to draw back your powerful hand. The danger does not lie in the possession of excessive authority, but in the absence of repressive laws. If you should draw back your hand, sire, you would see the scum of the people bubbling up, you would at once find yourself overwhelmed by revolutionary demands, and your most energetic servants would soon be at a loss how to defend you. I venture to press this upon you strongly, for the dangers of the morrow would be terrible.
‘Liberty without restraint is impossible in a country where there exists a faction which is obstinately bent upon denying the fundamental basis of the government. Many long years must elapse before your Majesty’s absolute power is accepted by all, before it effaces from men’s memories the recollection of old struggles, and passes so far beyond the pale of discussion that it may be discussed without danger. And outside the principle of despotic power, vigorously exercised, there is no safety for France. On the day when your Majesty may consider it your duty to restore to the nation the most harmless of its liberties, on that day your Majesty will be committed to everything. One liberty cannot be granted without a second; and then comes a third one, and everything is swept away, both institutions and dynasties! It is like an implacable, devouring piece of machinery. First, the tip of the finger is caught, then the hand is drawn in, then the arm, and finally the whole body is ground to pieces.
‘And, sire, since I have ventured to express myself so freely on this matter, I will make this further remark. Parliamentary rule once destroyed a French monarchy; do not let us allow it to destroy an empire. The Corps Législatif ventures to interfere too much as it is. Do not allow it any share in directing the sovereign’s policy. To do so would only give rise to the most vehement and deplorable discussions. The last general elections have once again testified to the country’s gratitude, but none the less, no fewer than five candidates were elected whose disgraceful success ought to serve as a warning. To-day the all-important question is to prevent the formation of an opposition minority; and, what is still more important, is to take care not to provide it—if by chance it should come into existence—with weapons which might enable it to contend against the constituted authority with yet greater impudence than now. A parliament which holds its tongue is a parliament which does some work.
‘As for the press, sire, it is turning liberty into license. Since I entered the ministry I have read the reports carefully, and every morning I am filled with fresh disgust. The press is the receptacle of nauseous leaven of every kind. It foments revolutions, it is an ever-burning fire which serves to kindle great conflagrations. It will only become useful when we have brought it under our authority and can use its influence as an instrument of government. At present I say nothing of other forms of liberty, such as the liberty of combination, of public meeting, or of doing anything a man likes. These, however, are all respectfully asked for in “Friend Jacques’s Evening Chats.” Later on they will be demanded. That is what I am afraid of. I hope that your Majesty will fully understand me. It is necessary that France should for a long time yet feel the weight of a hand of iron.’
He went on in this strain for a long time, defending, with increasing energy, the way in which he had used his authority, sheltering himself beneath the principle of plenary power, wrapping himself round with it, covering himself with it, as it were, like a man who would avail himself of his armour to the fullest extent possible. And in spite of his apparent excitement, he retained sufficient coolness to keep a watch on his colleagues and to note the effect of his words on their pale, fixed faces. Then all at once he abruptly ceased speaking.
There was a rather long interval of silence. The Emperor had again begun to play with his paper-knife.
‘His Excellency the Minister of the Interior takes too black a view of the situation,’ at length said the Minister of State. ‘In my opinion nothing threatens our institutions. Order is perfectly maintained. We can trust with confidence to his Majesty’s great wisdom. Indeed, it is a lack of such confidence to show fear——’
‘Certainly, certainly,’ murmured several voices.
‘I will add,’ said the Minister for Foreign Affairs, ‘that France has never been more respected by Europe than she is now. Everywhere abroad his Majesty’s firm and dignified policy is regarded with admiration. The opinion of the chancelleries is that our country has entered for good upon an era of peace and greatness.’
However, none of the ministers cared to attack the political programme defended by Rougon. They all looked at Delestang, who understood what was expected of him. He began to speak, and compared the empire to an edifice.
‘The principle of authority ought certainly not to be shaken,’ said he, ‘but there is no necessity for systematically shutting the door upon every public liberty. The empire is like some great place of refuge, some vast and magnificent edifice whose indestructible foundations have been laid by his Majesty with his own hands. He is still engaged in raising its walls; but the day will come when his task will be finished, and he will have to think of how he can crown his edifice, and it is then——’
‘Never!’ interrupted Rougon violently. ‘The whole thing will topple down!’
The Emperor stretched out his hand to stop the discussion. He was smiling, and seemed to be awaking from a reverie. ‘Well, well,’ he said; ‘we are getting away from current affairs. We will see about all this later on.’ Then, having risen from his seat, he added: ‘It is late, gentlemen; you must have déjeuner at the château.’
The council was now at an end. The ministers pushed back their chairs and stood up and bowed to the Emperor, who was slowly retiring. All at once, however, his Majesty turned and muttered: ‘A word with you, Monsieur Rougon, I beg.’
Then as the Emperor took Rougon into the embrasure of one of the windows, the other ministers thronged round Delestang at the farther end of the room. They congratulated him in subdued tones, with nods and becks and wreathed smiles, quite a buzzing of murmured praise. The Minister of State, a man of very shrewd mind and great experience, was particularly flattering. He had an idea that it was lucky to have a shallow-pated fellow for a friend. Meantime, Delestang bowed with grave modesty to all the compliments lavished upon him.
‘After all,’ said the Emperor to Rougon, ‘I won’t speak to you here, come along with me,’ and he thereupon took him into his own study, a rather small room, where the furniture was littered with books and newspapers. Then, having lighted a cigarette, he showed Rougon a small model of a new cannon lately invented by an officer. The little weapon looked like a child’s toy. His Majesty affected a very kindly tone, and tried to convince the minister that he still possessed his favour. Rougon, however, divined that an explanation of some sort was coming, and he wanted to have the first word.
‘Sire,’ he began, ‘I am well aware of the violence with which I am attacked by those who surround your Majesty.’
The Emperor smiled without saying anything. It was true, however, that the Court had again put itself in opposition to Rougon. He was now accused of abusing his power, and of compromising the empire by his harshness. The most extraordinary tales were circulated about him, and the corridors of the palace were full of complaints and stories, which echoed every morning in the Emperor’s study.
‘Be seated, Monsieur Rougon, be seated,’ his Majesty at last said, in a good-natured way. And then, taking a seat himself, he continued: ‘People are always dinning things into my ears. So it is, perhaps, best that I should quietly talk them over with you. What is this affair of a notary at Niort, who died after being arrested? A Monsieur Martineau, I think?’
Rougon quietly entered into particulars. This Martineau, he said, was a man who had very gravely compromised himself; a Republican whose influence in the department might have led to great danger. He had been arrested, and he had since died.
‘Yes, that’s just it,’ replied the Emperor; ‘that’s the tiresome part of the matter. The opposition papers have got hold of the story, and relate it in a very mysterious fashion, and with a reticence which is calculated to have a most deplorable effect. I am much distressed about it, Monsieur Rougon.’
However, he said no more on that subject, but sat for a few moments puffing at his cigarette.
‘You have been down to Deux-Sèvres lately, and you were present at some ceremony there, were you not?’ he presently continued. ‘Are you quite sure of Monsieur Kahn’s financial stability?’
‘Oh, quite so!’ exclaimed Rougon. And he launched into a series of explanatory details. M. Kahn, said he, was supported by a very rich English company. The shares of the railway from Niort to Angers were at a premium at the Bourse. The undertaking had very fine prospects before it.
The Emperor, however, seemed incredulous. ‘I have heard a certain amount of fear expressed,’ he said. ‘You can understand that it would be very unfortunate for your name to be mixed up with a catastrophe. However, since you tell me that there is no reason for fear——’ Then he again broke off and passed to a third subject. ‘Now, about the prefect of Deux-Sèvres. He is very unpopular, people tell me. He appears to have thrown everything into confusion down there. I hear, too, that he is the son of a retired process-server, whose strange vagaries are the talk of the whole department. This Monsieur du Poizat is a friend of yours, I believe?’
‘One of my best friends, sire.’
As the Emperor now rose from his seat, Rougon also got up. The former went to a window, and then came back again, puffing out a little cloudlet of smoke.
‘You have a good many friends, Monsieur Rougon,’ he said, with a meaning look.
‘Yes, sire; a great many,’ the minister frankly replied.
Evidently enough, the Emperor had hitherto merely repeated the gossip of the château, the accusations made by those who surrounded him. He was doubtless acquainted, however, with other stories, matters which were unknown to the Court, but of which he had learnt from his private agents, and in which he took a yet livelier interest, for he revelled in the spy system, in the secret manœuvring of the police. He looked at Rougon for a moment, while a vague smile played about his face. Then, in a confidential tone, and with a somewhat playful air, he said: ‘Oh, I know a good many things; more, perhaps, than I care to know. Here is another little matter, now; you have taken in your offices a young man, a colonel’s son, who has not obtained a bachelor’s diploma. It is not a matter of any importance, I am aware of that; but if you only knew all the fuss that is made about such things! Little things like these put everybody’s back up. It is really very bad policy on your part.’
Rougon made no reply. His Majesty had not finished. He opened his lips as though he were going to say something, but it was apparently something that he found rather difficult to express, for he hesitated for a moment or two. At last he stammered: ‘I won’t say anything to you about that usher, one of your protégés named Merle, I think. But he gets drunk and behaves insolently; and both the public and the clerks complain of him. All this is very annoying, very annoying indeed.’ Then he raised his voice, and concluded somewhat bluntly: ‘You have too many friends, Monsieur Rougon. All these people do you harm. It would be rendering you a service to make you quarrel with them. Well, at any rate let me have the resignation of Monsieur du Poizat, and promise me that you will abandon all the others.’
Rougon had remained quite impassive. He now bowed, and replied in a deep, meaning voice: ‘On the contrary, sire, I ask your Majesty for the ribbon of officer of the Legion of Honour for the prefect of Deux-Sèvres. And I have several other favours to solicit.’ Then he took a memorandum-book from his pocket, and continued: ‘Monsieur Béjuin begs that your Majesty will be graciously pleased to visit his cut-glass works at Saint-Florent, when you go to Bourges. Colonel Jobelin desires an appointment in the Imperial Palaces. The usher Merle calls your Majesty’s attention to the fact that he has gained the military medal, and desires a tobacco-agency for one of his sisters.’
‘Is that all?’ asked the Emperor, who had begun to smile again. ‘You are a magnificent patron. Your friends ought to worship you.’
‘No, they do not worship me, sire, they support me,’ Rougon replied with his blunt frankness.
This retort seemed to make a deep impression upon the Emperor. Rougon had just revealed to him the whole secret of his fidelity. On the day when he might allow his credit to stagnate, on that day his credit would be killed; and in spite of scandal, in spite of the discontent and treason of his hand, it was his only possession and support, and he was obliged to keep it sound and healthful, if he himself wished to remain unshattered. The more he got for his friends—the greater and the less deserved the favours that he lavished on them—the stronger he became himself.
He added very respectfully, and in a very meaning tone: ‘For the glory of your Majesty’s reign, I hope from the bottom of my heart that your Majesty may long preserve about you the devoted servants who helped you to restore the empire.’
The Emperor no longer smiled. He took a few steps about the room, with downcast eyes and pensive air. He seemed also to have turned pale and to be trembling slightly. Presentiments occasionally affected his mystical nature with great force. And to obviate the necessity of any immediate determination, he decided to drop the subject. He again assumed a kindly demeanour; and, referring to the discussion which had taken place at the council, seemed even inclined to think that Rougon was right, now that he could speak freely without any danger of irrevocably committing himself. The country, said he, was certainly not yet ripe for liberty. For a long time to come an energetic hand would be necessary to guide matters with resolution and firmness. Then he concluded by once more assuring the minister of his entire confidence. He gave him full liberty of action, and confirmed all his previous instructions. Rougon, however, thought it necessary to add another word on the subject.
‘Sire,’ he said, ‘I could never allow myself to be at the mercy of malevolent gossip. I stand in need of stability if I am to accomplish the great task for which I am now responsible.’
‘Monsieur Rougon,’ replied the Emperor, ‘go on fearlessly; I am with you.’
Then, bringing the conversation to a close, he stepped towards the door, followed by the minister. They both went out and crossed several apartments on their way to the dining-room. Just as they were reaching it, the Emperor turned round and again took Rougon aside. ‘You don’t approve, then,’ he asked, in an undertone, ‘of that scheme for a new nobility? I should have been very glad to see you support it. Study the matter.’ Then, without waiting for a reply, he added with that quiet stubbornness which formed part of his character:[20] ‘There’s no hurry, however. I will wait; for ten years, if it be necessary.’
After déjeuner, which lasted scarcely half an hour, the ministers went into a small adjoining drawing-room where coffee was served. They remained there chatting for a little time, standing round the Emperor. However, Clorinde, whom the Empress had kept with her all this time, came to look for her husband, with the easy manner of a woman who mixed freely with politicians. She shook hands with several of the ministers. They all clustered round her, and the subject of conversation was changed. However, his Majesty began to pay the young woman such marked attention, and kept so close to her, that their excellencies thought it discreet to take themselves off by degrees. Opening one of the glass doors which led on to the terrace of the château, four of them went outside, and these were speedily followed by three others. Only two remained in the room to keep up an appearance of propriety. The Minister of State, with a pleasant, cheery expression upon his aristocratic face, had taken Delestang in tow, and was pointing out Paris from the terrace. Rougon, likewise standing in the sunshine, also became absorbed in the spectacle of the great city looming like a mass of bluish cloud on the horizon beyond the great green carpet of the Bois de Boulogne.
That morning, Clorinde was looking very beautiful. Clumsily dressed, as usual, with her gown of pale cherry-coloured silk dragging over the floor, she appeared to have slipped into her things in all haste, as if goaded on by some strong desire. She laughed with the Emperor, and her whole demeanour was very free and unreserved. She had made a conquest of his Majesty at a ball given by the Naval Minister which she had attended in the character of the Queen of Hearts, wearing diamond hearts about her neck and her wrists and her knees; and ever since that evening she had remained on very friendly terms with Napoleon, jesting playfully whenever he condescended to compliment her upon her beauty.
‘Look, Monsieur Delestang,’ the Minister of State was saying to his colleague on the terrace, ‘see yonder on the left, what a wonderfully soft blue hue there is about the dome of the Panthéon.’
Then, while Delestang gazed admiringly at the prospect, the Minister of State cast furtive glances into the little drawing-room through the open window. The Emperor was bending forward, and was speaking with his lips close to the young woman’s face, while she threw herself back with tightly strained breast as though to escape him. Nothing could be seen of his Majesty from outside save an indistinct profile, the tip of an ear, a long red nose, and a heavy mouth half-buried beneath a quivering moustache. His cheek and eyes were glowing, whilst Clorinde, who looked irritatingly fascinating, gently swayed her head like a coy young shepherdess.
In spite of all the unpleasantness at the council, Rougon returned to Paris with Delestang and Clorinde. On the journey home the young woman appeared anxious to make her peace with him. She no longer manifested that nervous restlessness which in the morning had impelled her to choose disagreeable subjects of conversation, but even occasionally looked at Rougon with an air of smiling compassion. When the landau, passing through the Bois de Boulogne, now steeped in sunshine, rolled gently alongside the lakes, she murmured with a sigh of enjoyment: ‘What a lovely day it is!’ Then, after a moment’s reverie, she said to her husband: ‘Tell me, is your sister, Madame de Combelot, still in love with the Emperor?’
‘Henriette is mad!’ replied Delestang, shrugging his shoulders.
But Rougon intervened: ‘Yes, indeed, she’s still in love,’ said he: ‘people assert that she actually threw herself at his Majesty’s feet one day. He raised her and advised her to be patient.’
‘Ah, yes, indeed,’ cried Clorinde gaily, ‘She’ll have a long time to wait!’
< < < Chapter X
Chapter XII > > >
French Literature – Children Books – Émile Zola – His Excellency Eugène Rougon – Contents
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