‘There is perhaps a word here and there,’ murmured the Emperor, when the reading was finished. ‘But on the whole, I really don’t see… Do you, gentlemen?’
The ministers all affirmed that they found the chapter quite innocent.
Rougon made no attempt to reply. He seemed to bow to the inevitable. Then, all at once, he returned to the attack, or rather, attacked Delestang himself. For several minutes the two men argued, with curt phrases. The handsome Delestang dug his heels in and became quite scathing; while Rougon got more and more worked up. For the first time, he could feel his authority beginning to collapse under him. Suddenly he rose to his feet and with a ferocious gesture addressed the Emperor.
‘Sire,’ he said, ‘this is most unfortunate. Approval will now be given because Your Majesty in his wisdom thinks the book is not dangerous. But, Sire, I must in all seriousness point out that there would be the direst peril in giving France half the liberties this Jacques asks for… You recalled me to the government in the most terrible circumstances. You told me I was not to try, by untimely moderation, to reassure those who stood trembling. I made myself feared, as you wished me to. I believe I have acted in accordance with your instructions and rendered you the service you expected of me. If any man charges me with being too harsh, if I am reproached with abusing the powers Your Majesty invested in me, such charges, Sire, can only come from one who is opposed to your policy… Well, Sire, let me declare frankly that our society is still in a state of deep unrest. Unfortunately, I have not been able, in just a few weeks, to rid it of the ills that afflict it. Anarchic passions are still swirling in the murky waters of demagoguery. I have no wish to draw unwonted attention to this disease or to exaggerate its horror, but it is my duty to remind you of its existence, in order to put Your Majesty on guard against the generous impulses of his heart. There was a moment when it was possible to hope that the energy of the Sovereign and the solemn will of the Nation had consigned to eternal oblivion those abominable periods of public perversion. But events have shown how grievously mistaken one was. I implore you, Sire, in the name of the Nation, not to relax your powerful grip. It is not in any excess of the prerogatives of power that danger lies, but in the lack of repressive laws. Were you to relax your grip, you would see the dregs of the population seethe up, and you would find yourself overwhelmed at once with revolutionary demands, and even your most redoubtable servants would soon be unable to defend you… I venture to insist on this because the catastrophe that would ensue would be terrifying. Unfettered liberty is impossible in a country that contains a faction determined to ignore the very foundations of a stable social order. Many years must pass before absolute power inspires respect in everyone, wipes from men’s minds the very memory of earlier struggles, and becomes so unquestioned that at last it can be discussed. There can be no salvation for France except in the authoritarian principle rigorously applied. The moment Your Majesty decides to grant the people the most inoffensive of freedoms, he risks the entire future. You cannot have one freedom without a second, then a third, until everything is swept away, institutions and dynasties alike. It is like a relentless machine. The cogwheels catch your fingers, grip your whole hand, seize your arm, crush your body… And, Sire, since I am making so bold as to be utterly frank on this subject, I will add this: parliamentarianism has killed a monarchy, it must not be allowed to kill an Empire. The legislative body already plays far too important a part. It should no longer be involved in the governmental work of the Sovereign, for this would give rise to the most troublesome and deplorable discussions. The recent parliamentary elections proved once again the country’s eternal gratitude, but at the same time they produced five candidatures whose outrageous success should serve as a warning. Today, the main issue is how to prevent the formation of an opposition minority, and, above all, if such a minority does take shape, how to prevent it from acquiring any means to resist your authority more impudently. A silent parliament is a working parliament… As for the press, Sire, it is turning liberty into licence. Since my return to the Ministry, I have read all relevant reports most carefully, and every morning I am sickened. The press has become a receptacle for the foulest concoctions. It foments revolution, it fans the flames of dissent. It will become useful only when we have managed to control it and use it as an instrument of government… I will not discuss the other freedoms — freedom of association, freedom of assembly, freedom to do whatever one likes. These are all respectfully requested in Old Jacques’s Evening Colloquies. Later on, they will be demanded! That is what I fear. I urge Your Majesty to mark what I say: France will need to be ruled with an iron hand for a long time yet.’*
He began to repeat himself, defending his powers with mounting passion. For nearly an hour, he went on like this, sheltering behind the principle of authoritarianism, hiding under it, wrapping himself in it, using his whole armoury of arguments in favour of it. And despite his obvious excitement, he remained cool-headed enough to glance at the faces of the other ministers to assess the effect his words were having. Their faces were pale and expressionless. All at once, he halted.
There followed quite a long silence. The Emperor had begun to toy with the paperknife again.
‘The Minister of the Interior paints too black a picture of the state of France,’ said the Minister of State, at last. ‘As I see it, there is no threat to our institutions. There is total order. We can rely on the wisdom of His Majesty. Indeed, the fears of our colleague show a lack of confidence in you, Sire.’
‘Quite so!’ murmured several ministers.
‘I would add’, said the Minister of Foreign Affairs, ‘that France has never enjoyed greater respect among the powers of Europe. Everywhere abroad the firm, sound policy of Your Majesty is admired. The chancelleries of Europe are of the opinion that this country has entered a period of permanent peace and grandeur.’
However, no one ventured to speak against the political programme for which Rougon stood. All eyes were now on Delestang. He realized what was expected of him. He mustered two or three sentences, comparing the Empire to a building.
‘Of course, the authoritarian principle should not be undermined, but we should not systematically close the door on public liberties… The Empire is like a great sanctuary, a huge building, whose indestructible foundations His Majesty has laid with his own hands. Today, His Majesty is working on the walls. But the day must come when, once his task is complete, he will have to think of the crowning element, and it is then…’
‘Never!’ Rougon interrupted violently. ‘It would all come tumbling down.’
The Emperor held up his hand to bring a halt to the discussion. He was smiling. He looked as if he had just woken up from a daydream.
‘Enough, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘We have wandered away from our business… We shall see.’ He rose, adding: ‘Gentlemen, time is getting on. You will lunch at the chateau.’
The meeting was at an end. The ministers pushed back their chairs and rose to their feet, bowing to the Emperor as he slowly withdrew. Then His Majesty turned back.
‘Monsieur Rougon,’ he said softly, ‘could I have a word with you?’
While the Emperor was drawing Rougon into a window recess, Their Excellencies, at the other end of the room, quickly gathered round Delestang. Discreetly, they congratulated him, with winks and knowing smiles. There was a murmur of general approval. The Minister of State, a man with a sharp mind and great experience, was especially flattering. It was a principle of his that the friendship of idiots brings good fortune. Delestang, modest and solemn, acknowledged every compliment with a little bow.
‘No, let’s go somewhere else,’ said the Emperor to Rougon, suddenly deciding to take him to his study, a small room cluttered with piles of books and newspapers. He lit a cigarette, then showed Rougon a scale model of a new field gun, the invention of an officer; it was like a child’s toy. His tone was very friendly, as if to show that the Minister still enjoyed his confidence. All the same, Rougon g
uessed that a serious discussion would ensue, and he preferred to be the first to speak.
‘Sire,’ he said, ‘I know how bitterly people complain to you about me.’
The Emperor simply smiled, without replying. It was quite true, the Court was once again opposed to Rougon. They accused him of abusing his power, of compromising the Empire with his harshness. The most extraordinary stories about him were going round. The Palace corridors were full of rumours and complaints, echoes of which reached the Emperor’s ears every morning.
‘Please take a seat, Monsieur Rougon, please take a seat,’ the Emperor said warmly. Then he sat down himself and went on:
‘People keep telling me about so many things, and I would like to discuss some of them with you… Now, what’s all this about a lawyer who died in Niort, after being arrested? A man called Martineau, I believe.’
Calmly, Rougon gave details. This fellow Martineau was most compromised. He was a republican, whose influence in the department would probably have become very dangerous. He was arrested. Then he died.
‘Yes, that’s just the point, he died. That is what is so unfortunate,’ said the Emperor. ‘Hostile newspapers have seized on the fact. They describe it as something mysterious and sinister. Their accounts have had a deplorable effect… It’s all very unfortunate, Monsieur Rougon.’
He paused for a few seconds, drawing on his cigarette.
‘I believe you went down to the Deux-Sèvres recently, to attend a ceremony… Are you confident that Monsieur Kahn is financially sound?’
‘Absolutely!’ Rougon cried.
He offered further details. Monsieur Kahn had the backing of a very wealthy English company. The Niort–Angers railway company’s shares were riding high on the stock market. The whole operation was brilliantly conceived. But the Emperor remained unconvinced.
‘People have expressed grave reservations to me,’ he murmured. ‘You understand, of course, how unfortunate it would be if your name became mixed up in a stock market crash… But, of course, if you assure me that there is no question of that…’
He left this second subject and moved on to a third.
‘It’s the same story with the Prefect of the Deux-Sèvres,’ he said. ‘He’s very unpopular, I’m told. Apparently he has turned the whole department upside down. He also appears to be the son of a former bailiff whose eccentric behaviour is the talk of the department… I believe Monsieur Du Poizat is a friend of yours?’
‘A good friend, sir.’
The Emperor stood up. Rougon followed suit. The Emperor went to the window, then returned, puffing thin jets of smoke.
‘You have a lot of friends, Monsieur Rougon,’ he said pointedly.
‘I have indeed, Sire, very many,’ Rougon replied, bluntly.
So far the Emperor had merely been repeating Court gossip, charges brought by members of his entourage. But he must know other things, unknown at Court, brought to his attention by his secret agents; and he was much more interested in these. The Emperor loved spying and all underground police work. For a moment he looked at Rougon with an ambiguous smile. Then, in a confidential tone, as if rather enjoying himself, he said:
‘I’m kept well informed, in fact rather more than I’d like… Take, for instance, another little detail. In your office you have taken on a young man, the son of a colonel. Yet he could never get through his baccalauréat. It’s rather trivial, I know, but if you knew what a lot of chatter these things give rise to… These little things put everybody’s back up. It’s very bad policy.’
Rougon did not reply. His Majesty had not finished yet. He opened his mouth, but he could not find the right words. What he wanted to say seemed to embarrass him. He hesitated before grasping the nettle. At last he said haltingly:
‘I won’t mention that commissioner, one of your protégés. Merle’s the name, isn’t it? The man drinks, he’s rude, both the general public and your own officials complain about him… All that is very unfortunate, very unfortunate indeed.’
Then, raising his voice, he concluded:
‘You have too many friends, Monsieur Rougon. They do you harm. You would be doing yourself a great favour if you brought them to heel… Listen, do this for me: dismiss that man Du Poizat and promise to drop the others.’
Rougon had remained impassive. With a bow, he said in a very considered manner:
‘Sire, on the contrary, I wish to ask you to award the Legion of Honour, Officer class, to the Prefect of the Deux-Sèvres… And I have a number of other favours to ask…’
From his pocket he drew a notebook, and continued:
‘Monsieur Béjuin begs Your Majesty to favour him with a visit to the Saint-Florent cut-glass works, when you are in Bourges… Colonel Jobelin seeks a post in one of the Imperial palaces… The commissioner you mention, Merle, wishes to remind us of his award of the military medal, and he requests a tobacco licence for one of his sisters…’
‘Is that all?’ the Emperor asked, smiling once more. ‘You are indeed very devoted to your friends. They must worship you.’
‘No, Sire, they do not worship me, they support me,’ said Rougon bluntly.
This declaration seemed to make a great impression on the Emperor. Rougon had just revealed the whole secret of his loyalty. If he did not use his credit, it would vanish; and, despite all the scandals, despite the discontent and betrayals of his little gang, this was all he had, he had nothing else to rely on for support, he was obliged to keep them all satisfied if he was to maintain his standing. The more he got for his friends, the bigger and less deserved those favours looked, the stronger he was. Rougon now added respectfully, and with great emphasis:
‘With all my heart, for the sake of the greatness of your reign, I trust Your Majesty will keep round him those devoted servants who originally assisted him to restore the Empire.’
The Emperor’s smile had vanished. He took a few steps, pensive, gazing into space; he seemed to have grown pale, and to give a slight shudder. His mystical nature was prone to sudden violent presentiments. He broke the conversation off inconclusively. Once more he seemed very friendly. Indeed, referring again to the discussion which had just taken place in the Council of Ministers, now that he could speak without getting too involved, he seemed to take Rougon’s side. The country was certainly not ready for greater freedoms. For a long time yet, a firm hand was needed to ensure the consistency of governmental action, and avoid weakness. He wound up by assuring Rougon of his absolute confidence, giving him a free hand to act as he saw fit, and confirming all his previous instructions. Nevertheless, Rougon thought it necessary to insist:
‘Sire,’ he said, ‘I cannot remain at the mercy of malicious gossip. I need to feel that my position is secure, if I am to carry out the difficult task with which you have entrusted me.’
‘Monsieur Rougon,’ was the Emperor’s reply, ‘there is no need to worry, I am on your side.’
With these words, he broke off the interview and walked to the door. Rougon followed him out. They had to make their way through several rooms in order to reach the dining room. But just before they went in, the Emperor turned round and led Rougon aside into a corner.
‘So,’ he suddenly said in a whisper, ‘you don’t approve of the system of nobility the Minister of Justice has proposed? I would really have liked to see you in favour of the plan. Think about it!’
Then, without waiting for a reply, he added in his phlegmatic way:
‘No hurry. I can wait. Ten years, if necessary.’
After lunch, which lasted barely half an hour, the ministers adjourned to a small sitting room close by, where coffee was served, and here they remained for a little while, standing round the Emperor, chatting. With all the self-assurance of a woman used to the company of politicians, Clorinde, whom the Empress had also kept back, now suddenly appeared, looking for her husband. She shook hands with several of the ministers. They all fussed round her and the conversation changed, but the Emperor was so gallant to Clorinde, and st
ood so close to her, craning his neck and squinting at her, that the gentlemen thought it tactful to draw discreetly to one side. Four of them, then three others, went outside onto the terrace. Only two stayed in the drawing room, for propriety’s sake. Cloaking his usual haughtiness with an air of affability, the Minister of State had led Delestang onto the terrace, where he pointed out the landmarks of Paris, in the distance. And there in the sunlight stood Rougon too, absorbed in the spectacle of the great city laid out on the horizon, like so much bluish mist, beyond the huge green expanse of the Bois de Boulogne.
Clorinde was at her loveliest. Badly dressed as usual, with her trailing gown of pale cerise silk, she looked as if she had thrown her clothes on in a hurry, prompted by some sudden whim. Laughing and waving her arms, she seemed to be offering her whole body to the Emperor. She had made a great impression on him at a ball at the Ministry of the Navy. She had gone as the Queen of Hearts, with diamond hearts round her neck, wrists, and knees, and since that evening had seemed to remain one of the Emperor’s special lady friends, becoming very flirtatious whenever His Majesty deigned to find her beautiful.
‘Look, Monsieur Delestang,’ the Minister of State was saying to his colleague, out on the terrace, ‘over there to the left, isn’t that blue of the Panthéon dome extraordinary?’
While the husband marvelled, the Minister of State managed to peer curiously through the open windows into the drawing room. The Emperor was bending forward and talking right into Clorinde’s face, while she, laughing loudly, was leaning back, as if to escape him. It was just possible to see His Majesty’s profile, a long ear, a big red nose, fleshy lips lost under a quivering moustache, and, fleetingly, a cheek and an eye that seemed to burn with desire, with the sensual hunger of a man intoxicated by the scent of a woman. Clorinde, provocatively seductive while resisting with barely perceptible movements of her head, fanned with every breath and laugh the fire she had so skilfully started.