Complete Works of Emile Zola (410 page)

‘How much did yon get here as President?’ asked M. Kahn; ‘eighty thousand francs?’

Rougon nodded assent.

‘And now you’ll only have your thirty thousand as a senator.’

However, Rougon exclaimed that this change would not affect him at all. He could live upon next to nothing and indulged in no vices; which was perfectly true. He was neither a gambler, nor a glutton, nor a loose liver. His whole ambition, he declared, was to be his own master. Then he reverted to his idea of a farm, where he would be king of all sorts of animals. His ideal life was to wield a whip and be paramount; to be the master, chief both in intelligence and power. Gradually he grew animated and talked of animals as though they had been men, declaring that the mob liked to be driven, and that shepherds directed their flocks by pelting them with stones. His face seemed transfigured, his thick lips protruded scornfully, while his whole expression was instinct with strength and power. While he spoke he brandished a bundle of papers in his clenched fist, and it seemed every now and then as though he were going to throw it at the heads of M. Kahn and Du Poizat, who watched his sudden outburst of excitement with uneasy anxiety.

‘The Emperor has behaved very badly,’ at last muttered Du Poizat.

Then Rougon all at once became quite calm again. His face turned loamy and his body seemed to grow flabby and obese. He began to sound the Emperor’s praises in an exaggerated fashion. Napoléon III. was a man of mighty intelligence, he declared, with a mind of astonishing depth. Du Poizat and Kahn exchanged a meaning look. But Rougon waxed still more lavish of his praises, and, speaking of his devotion to his master, declared with great humility that he had always been proud of being a mere instrument in the Emperor’s hands. He talked on in this strain till he made Du Poizat, who was of a somewhat irritable nature, quite impatient, and they began to wrangle. The sub-prefect spoke with considerable bitterness of all that Rougon and he had done for the Empire between 1848 and 1851, when they were lodging with Madame Correur in a condition of semi-starvation. He referred to the terrible days, especially those of the first year, when they had gone splashing through the mud of Paris, recruiting partisans for the Emperor’s cause. Later on they had risked their skins a score of times. And wasn’t it Rougon who on the morning of the second of December had taken possession of the Palais Bourbon at the head of a regiment of the line? That was a game at which men staked their lives! Yet now to-day he was being sacri­ficed and made the victim of a court intrigue. Rougon, however, protested against this assertion. He was not being sacrificed — he was resigning for private reasons. And as Du Poizat, now fully wound up, began to call the folks of the Tuileries a set of ‘pigs,’ he ended by reducing him to silence by bringing his fist down upon the rosewood writing-table with a force which made it creak.

‘That is all nonsense!’ he said.

‘You are, indeed, going rather far,’ remarked M. Kahn.

Delestang was standing behind the chairs looking very pale. He opened the door gently to see if any one were listening, but there was nobody in the ante-chamber excepting Merle, whose back was turned with an appearance of great discretion. Rougon’s observation had made Du Poizat blush, and quickly cooling down he chewed his cigar in silent displeasure.

‘There is no doubt that the Emperor is surrounded by injudicious advisers,’ Rougon resumed after a pause. ‘I ventured to tell him as much, and he smiled. He even con­descended to jest about it, and told me that my own
entourage
was no better than his own.’

Du Poizat and Kahn laughed in a constrained fashion. They thought the reply a very good one.

‘But,’ continued Rougon in meaning tones, ‘I repeat that I am retiring of my own free will. If any one questions you, who are my friends, on the matter, you can say that yesterday evening I was quite at liberty to withdraw my resignation. You can contradict, too, the tittle-tattle which is being circulated about Rodriguez’s affair, out of which people seem to be making a perfect romance. On this subject no doubt I disagreed with the majority of the Council of State, and there has certainly been a deal of friction in the matter which has hastened my retirement. But I had weightier and earlier reasons than that. For a long time past I had made up my mind to resign the high position which I owed to the Emperor’s kindness.’

He punctuated this speech with the gesture of the right hand, in which he constantly indulged when addressing the Chamber. He evidently wished that what he was saying might be made public. M. Kahn and Du Poizat, who knew very well the kind of individual they had to deal with, tried all kinds of stratagems to get at the real truth. They felt quite sure that ‘the great man,’ as they familiarly called him between themselves, had some formidable scheme in his head. So they turned the conversation on general politics. Rougon then began to scoff at the parliamentary system, which he called ‘the dunghill of mediocrity.’ The Chamber, he declared, enjoyed quite an absurd amount of liberty even now, and indulged in far too much talk. France required governing, he said, by a suitably devised machine, with the Emperor at the head, and the great state-bodies, reduced to the position of mere working gear below. He laughed, and his huge chest heaved, as he carried his theory to the point of exaggeration, displaying the while a scornful contempt for the imbeciles who demanded powerful rule.

‘But,’ interposed M. Kahn, ‘with the Emperor at the top, and everybody else at the bottom, matters cannot be very pleasant for any one except the Emperor.’

‘Those who feel bored can take themselves off,’ Rougon quietly replied. He smiled, and then added: ‘They can wait till things become amusing, and then they can come back.’

A long interval of silence followed. M. Kahn began to stroke his beard contentedly. He had found out what he wanted to know. He had made a correct guess at the Chamber on the previous afternoon when he had insinuated that Rougon, finding his influence at the Tuileries seriously shaken, had taken time by the forelock and resigned. Rodriguez’s business had afforded him a splendid opportunity for honourable withdrawal.

‘And what are people saying?’ Rougon at last inquired in order to break the silence.

‘Well, I’ve only just got here,’ said Du Poizat, ‘but a little while ago I heard a gentleman who wore a decoration declaring in a café that he strongly approved of your re­tirement.’

‘Béjuin was very much affected about it yesterday,’ added M. Kahn. ‘Béjuin is much attached to you. He’s rather slow, but he’s very genuine. Little La Rouquette, too, spoke very properly, and referred to you in the kindest terms.’

Other names were mentioned as the conversation con­tinued. Rougon asked direct questions, without showing the least embarrassment, and extracted full particulars from the deputy, who complaisantly gave him an exact account of the demeanour of the Corps Législatif towards him.

‘This afternoon,’ interrupted Du Poizat, who felt some­what annoyed at having no information to impart, ‘I will take a ramble through Paris, and to-morrow morning, as soon as I’m out of bed, I will come and tell you all I have heard.’

‘By the way,’ cried M. Kahn, with a laugh, ‘I forgot to tell you about Combelot. I never saw a man in greater embarrassment.’

He stopped short on seeing Rougon glance warningly towards Delestang, who, with his back turned towards them, was at that moment standing on a chair removing an accu­mulation of newspapers which had been stored away atop of a bookcase. M. de Combelot had married one of Delestang’s sisters. Delestang himself, since Rougon had fallen into disfavour, had felt a little down-hearted on account of his relationship with a chamberlain; and so, wishing to affect independence, he turned and said with a smile: ‘Why don’t you go on? Combelot is an ass. That’s the long and short of it, eh?’

This ready condemnation of his brother-in-law afforded the others much amusement, and Delestang, noticing his success, continued his attack even to the extent of falling foul of Combelot’s beard, that famous black beard which had such a reputation among the ladies. Then, as he threw a bundle of newspapers on to the floor, he said abruptly: ‘What is a source of sorrow to some is a source of joy to others.’

This truism led to M. de Marsy’s name being introduced into the conversation. Rougon bent his head and devoted himself to a searching examination of a portfolio, leaving his friends to ease their minds. They spoke of Marsy with all the rageful hostility which politicians show for an adversary. They revelled in the strongest language, bringing all kinds of abominable accusations against him, and so grossly exagge­rating such stories which had a foundation of truth that they became mere lies. Du Poizat, who had known Marsy in former days, before the Empire, declared that he was kept at that time by a baroness whose diamonds he had exhausted in three months. M. Kahn asserted that there was not a single shady affair started in any part of Paris without Marsy having a hand in it. They encouraged each other in charges of this kind, and went on from worse to worse. In a mining affair Marsy had received a bribe of fifteen hundred thousand francs; during the previous month he had offered a furnished house to little Florence of the Bouffes Theatre, a trifle for which he had paid six hundred thousand francs, his share of the profits of a speculation in Morocco railway stock; finally, not a week ago, a grand scheme for constructing canals in Egypt, which had been got up by certain tools of his, had scandalously collapsed, the shareholders discovering that not a single shovelful of earth had been turned, although they had been paying out money for a couple of years or so. Then, too, they fell foul of Marsy’s physical appearance, tried to depreciate his good looks, and even attacked the collection of pictures which he was getting together.

‘He’s a brigand in the skin of a vaudevillist,’ Du Poizat ended by exclaiming.

Rougon slowly raised his head and fixed his big eyes on the two men. ‘You are going it well,’ he said. ‘Marsy manages his affairs in his own way, as you manage yours in your way. As regards myself and him, we don’t get on well together, and if ever I have a chance to crush him I shall avail myself of it without hesitation. But all that you have been saying doesn’t prevent Marsy from being a very clever fellow, and, if ever the whim takes him, he will only make a mouthful of you two, I warn you of it.’

Then Rougon, tired of sitting, rose and stretched himself. He gave a great yawn, as he added: ‘And he will do it all the more easily, my friends, now that I shall no longer be in a position to interfere.’

‘Oh, you can lead Marsy a pretty dance if you like,’ said Du Poizat, with a faint smile. ‘You have some papers here which he would be glad to pay a big price for. Those yonder, I mean, the papers in the Lardenois matter, in which he played such a singular part. There’s a very curious letter from him among them, which I recognise as one that I brought you myself at the time.’

Rougon went up to the grate in order to throw the papers with which he had gradually filled his basket into the fire. The bronze vase was no longer large enough. ‘We must deal a skinning blow, and not give a mere scratch,’ he replied, shrugging his shoulders disdainfully. ‘Every one has foolish letters astray in the possession of other people.’

He then lighted the letter just spoken of at the candle, and used it to set fire to the heap of papers in the grate. He remained squatting for a moment, whilst watching the blaz­ing pile. Some thick official documents turned black, and twisted about like sheets of lead; the letters and memoranda, scrawled over with handwriting, threw up little tongues of bluish flame, while inside the grate, amidst a swarm of sparks, half-consumed fragments still remained quite legible.

At this moment the door was thrown wide open, and a laughing voice was heard exclaiming: ‘All right! I will excuse you, Merle. I belong to the house, and if you don’t let me come in this way, I shall go round by the Council Chamber.’

It was M. d’Escorailles, for whom some six months previously Rougon had obtained an appointment as auditor at the Council of State. On his arm hung pretty Madame Bouchard, looking delightfully fresh in a bright spring toilette.

‘Good heavens!’ muttered Rougon, ‘we’ve got women here now.’

He did not immediately leave his place by the grate, but still stooping, grasping the shovel, and pressing down the blazing papers so as to guard against an accident, he raised his big face with an air of displeasure. M. d’Escorailles, however, appeared in no way disconcerted. When he and the young woman had crossed the threshold, they ceased to smile, and assumed an expression more suited to the circumstances.

‘My dear master,’ said Escorailles, ‘I bring a friend of yours, who insists upon coming to express her sorrow. We have seen the
Moniteur
this morning — ‘

‘Oh, you have seen the
Moniteur,
too,’ muttered Rougon, at last rising erect. Then he caught sight of some one whom he had not previously noticed. ‘Ah, Monsieur Bouchard also!’ he exclaimed, blinking.

It was, indeed, the husband who, silent and dignified, had just entered the room in the wake of his wife’s skirts. M. Bou­chard was sixty years old: his hair was quite white, his eyes were dim, and his face was worn by twenty-five years of official labour. He did not say a single word, but took Rougon’s hand with an appearance of emotion, and gave it three vigorous shakes.

‘It is really very kind of you all to come and see me,’ said Rougon, ‘only you will be terribly in my way. However, come here, will you? Du Poizat, give Madame Bouchard your chair.’

He turned as he spoke, and then saw Colonel Jobelin standing in front of him. ‘What! are you here as well, colonel?’ he cried.

As a matter of fact, the door had been left open, and Merle had been unable to stop the colonel, who had come up the staircase immediately behind the Bouchards. He was accompanied by his son, a tall lad of fifteen, a pupil at the Louis-le-Grand College. ‘I wanted Auguste to see you,’ he said. ‘It is misfortune that reveals true friends. Auguste, go and give your hand — ‘

Rougon, however, had sprung towards the ante-room, crying: ‘Shut the door, Merle! What are you thinking about? We shall have all Paris in here directly!’