CHAPTER VI
It was about five o'clock in the morning when Rougon at last ventured toleave his mother's house. The old woman had gone to sleep on a chair. Hecrept stealthily to the end of the Impasse Saint-Mittre. There was not asound, not a shadow. He pushed on as far as the Porte de Rome. The gatesstood wide open in the darkness that enveloped the slumbering town.Plassans was sleeping as sound as a top, quite unconscious, apparently,of the risk it was running in allowing the gates to remain unsecured.It seemed like a city of the dead. Rougon, taking courage, made his wayinto the Rue de Nice. He scanned from a distance the corners of eachsuccessive lane; and trembled at every door, fearing lest he should seea band of insurgents rush out upon him. However, he reached the CoursSauvaire without any mishap. The insurgents seemed to have vanished inthe darkness like a nightmare.
Pierre then paused for a moment on the deserted pavement, heaving adeep sigh of relief and triumph. So those rascals had really abandonedPlassans to him. The town belonged to him now; it slept like the foolishthing it was; there it lay, dark and tranquil, silent and confident, andhe had only to stretch out his hand to take possession of it. Thatbrief halt, the supercilious glance which he cast over the drowsy place,thrilled him with unspeakable delight. He remained there, alone in thedarkness, and crossed his arms, in the attitude of a great general onthe eve of a victory. He could hear nothing in the distance but themurmur of the fountains of the Cours Sauvaire, whose jets of water fellinto the basins with a musical plashing.
Then he began to feel a little uneasy. What if the Empire shouldunhappily have been established without his aid? What if Sicardot,Garconnet, and Peirotte, instead of being arrested and led away bythe insurrectionary band, had shut the rebels up in prison? A coldperspiration broke out over him, and he went on his way again, hopingthat Felicite would give him some accurate information. He now pushed onmore rapidly, and was skirting the houses of the Rue de la Banne, when astrange spectacle, which caught his eyes as he raised his head, rivetedhim to the ground. One of the windows of the yellow drawing-room wasbrilliantly illuminated, and, in the glare, he saw a dark form, which herecognized as that of his wife, bending forward, and shaking its arms ina violent manner. He asked himself what this could mean, but, unable tothink of any explanation, was beginning to feel seriously alarmed, whensome hard object bounded over the pavement at his feet. Felicite hadthrown him the key of the cart-house, where he had concealed a supplyof muskets. This key clearly signified that he must take up arms. So heturned away again, unable to comprehend why his wife had prevented himfrom going upstairs, and imagining the most horrible things.
He now went straight to Roudier, whom he found dressed and ready tomarch, but completely ignorant of the events of the night. Roudier livedat the far end of the new town, as in a desert, whither no tidings ofthe insurgents' movements had penetrated. Pierre, however, proposedto him that they should go to Granoux, whose house stood on one ofthe corners of the Place des Recollets, and under whose windows theinsurgent contingents must have passed. The municipal councillor'sservant remained for a long time parleying before consenting to admitthem, and they heard poor Granoux calling from the first floor in atrembling voice:
"Don't open the door, Catherine! The streets are full of bandits."
He was in his bedroom, in the dark. When he recognised his two faithfulfriends he felt relieved; but he would not let the maid bring a lamp,fearing lest the light might attract a bullet. He seemed to think thatthe town was still full of insurgents. Lying back on an arm-chair nearthe window, in his pants, and with a silk handkerchief round his head,he moaned: "Ah! my friends, if you only knew!--I tried to go to bed, butthey were making such a disturbance! At last I lay down in my arm-chairhere. I've seen it all, everything. Such awful-looking men; a band ofescaped convicts! Then they passed by again, dragging brave CommanderSicardot, worthy Monsieur Garconnet, the postmaster, and others awaywith them, and howling the while like cannibals!"
Rougon felt a thrill of joy. He made Granoux repeat to him how he hadseen the mayor and the others surrounded by the "brigands."
"I saw it all!" the poor man wailed. "I was standing behind the blind.They had just seized Monsieur Peirotte, and I heard him saying as hepassed under my window: 'Gentlemen, don't hurt me!' They were certainlymaltreating him. It's abominable, abominable."
However, Roudier calmed Granoux by assuring him that the town was free.And the worthy gentleman began to feel quite a glow of martial ardourwhen Pierre informed him that he had come to recruit his services forthe purpose of saving Plassans. These three saviours then took counciltogether. They each resolved to go and rouse their friends, and appointa meeting at the cart-shed, the secret arsenal of the reactionaryparty. Meantime Rougon constantly bethought himself of Felicite's wildgestures, which seemed to betoken danger somewhere. Granoux, assuredlythe most foolish of the three, was the first to suggest that there mustbe some Republicans left in the town. This proved a flash of light,and Rougon, with a feeling of conviction, reflected: "There must besomething of Macquart's doing under all this."
An hour or so later the friends met again in the cart-shed, which wassituated in a very lonely spot. They had glided stealthily from door todoor, knocking and ringing as quietly as possible, and picking up allthe men they could. However, they had only succeeded in collecting someforty, who arrived one after the other, creeping along in the dark, withthe pale and drowsy countenances of men who had been violently startledfrom their sleep. The cart-shed, let to a cooper, was littered with oldhoops and broken casks, of which there were piles in every corner. Theguns were stored in the middle, in three long boxes. A taper, stuck ona piece of wood, illumined the strange scene with a flickering glimmer.When Rougon had removed the covers of the three boxes, the spectaclebecame weirdly grotesque. Above the fire-arms, whose barrels shown witha bluish, phosphorescent glitter, were outstretched necks and heads thatbent with a sort of secret fear, while the yellow light of the tapercast shadows of huge noses and locks of stiffened hair upon the walls.
However, the reactionary forces counted their numbers, and the smallnessof the total filled them with hesitation. They were only thirty-nine alltold, and this adventure would mean certain death for them. A fatherof a family spoke of his children; others, without troubling themselvesabout excuses, turned towards the door. Then, however, two freshconspirators arrived, who lived in the neighbourhood of the TownHall, and knew for certain that there were not more than about twentyRepublicans still at the mayor's. The band thereupon deliberated afresh.Forty-one against twenty--these seemed practicable conditions. So thearms were distributed amid a little trembling. It was Rougon who tookthem from the boxes, and each man present, as he received his gun, thebarrel of which on that December night was icy cold, felt a sudden chillfreeze him to his bones. The shadows on the walls assumed the clumsypostures of bewildered conscripts stretching out their fingers. Pierreclosed the boxes regretfully; he left there a hundred and nine gunswhich he would willingly have distributed; however, he now had to dividethe cartridges. Of these, there were two large barrels full in thefurthest corner of the cart-shed, sufficient to defend Plassans againstan army. And as this corner was dark, one of the gentlemen brought thetaper near, whereupon another conspirator--a burly pork-butcher, withimmense fists--grew angry, declaring that it was most imprudent to bringa light so close. They strongly approved his words, so the cartridgeswere distributed in the dark. They completely filled their pockets withthem. Then, after they had loaded their guns, with endless precautions,they lingered there for another moment, looking at each other withsuspicious eyes, or exchanging glances in which cowardly ferocity wasmingled with an expression of stupidity.
In the streets they kept close to the houses, marching silently andin single file, like savages on the war-path. Rougon had insisted uponhaving the honour of marching at their head; the time had come when hemust needs run some risk, if he wanted to see his schemes successful.Drops of perspiration poured down his forehead in spite of the cold.Nevertheless
he preserved a very martial bearing. Roudier and Granouxwere immediately behind him. Upon two occasions the column came to anabrupt halt. They fancied they had heard some distant sound of fighting;but it was only the jingle of the little brass shaving-dishes hangingfrom chains, which are used as signs by the barbers of Southern France.These dishes were gently shaking to and fro in the breeze. After eachhalt, the saviours of Plassans continued their stealthy march in thedark, retaining the while the mien of terrified heroes. In this mannerthey reached the square in front of the Town Hall. There they formed agroup round Rougon, and took counsel together once more. In the facadeof the building in front of them only one window was lighted. It was nownearly seven o'clock and the dawn was approaching.
After a good ten minutes' discussion, it was decided to advance asfar as the door, so as to ascertain what might be the meaning of thisdisquieting darkness and silence. The door proved to be half open. Oneof the conspirators thereupon popped his head in, but quickly withdrewit, announcing that there was a man under the porch, sitting against thewall fast asleep, with a gun between his legs. Rougon, seeing a chanceof commencing with a deed of valour, thereupon entered first, and,seizing the man, held him down while Roudier gagged him. This firsttriumph, gained in silence, singularly emboldened the little troop, whohad dreamed of a murderous fusillade. And Rougon had to make imperioussigns to restrain his soldiers from indulging in over-boisterousdelight.
They continued their advance on tip-toes. Then, on the left, in thepolice guard-room, which was situated there, they perceived some fifteenmen lying on camp-beds and snoring, amid the dim glimmer of a lanternhanging from the wall. Rougon, who was decidedly becoming a greatgeneral, left half of his men in front of the guard-room with orders notto rouse the sleepers, but to watch them and make them prisoners if theystirred. He was personally uneasy about the lighted window which theyhad seen from the square. He still scented Macquart's hand in thebusiness, and, as he felt that he would first have to make prisoners ofthose who were watching upstairs, he was not sorry to be able to adoptsurprise tactics before the noise of a conflict should impel them tobarricade themselves in the first-floor rooms. So he went up quietly,followed by the twenty heroes whom he still had at his disposal. Roudiercommanded the detachment remaining in the courtyard.
As Rougon had surmised, it was Macquart who was comfortably installedupstairs in the mayor's office. He sat in the mayor's arm-chair,with his elbows on the mayor's writing-table. With the characteristicconfidence of a man of coarse intellect, who is absorbed by a fixed ideaand bent upon his own triumph, he had imagined after the departure ofthe insurgents that Plassans was now at his complete disposal, and thathe would be able to act there like a conqueror. In his opinion thatbody of three thousand men who had just passed through the town wasan invincible army, whose mere proximity would suffice to keep thebourgeois humble and docile in his hands. The insurgents had imprisonedthe gendarmes in their barracks, the National Guard was alreadydismembered, the nobility must be quaking with terror, and the retiredcitizens of the new town had certainly never handled a gun in theirlives. Moreover, there were no arms any more than there were soldiers.Thus Macquart did not even take the precaution to have the gates shut.His men carried their confidence still further by falling asleep, whilehe calmly awaited the dawn which he fancied would attract and rally allthe Republicans of the district round him.
He was already meditating important revolutionary measures; thenomination of a Commune of which he would be the chief, the imprisonmentof all bad patriots, and particularly of all such persons as hadincurred his displeasure. The thought of the baffled Rougons and theiryellow drawing-room, of all that clique entreating him for mercy,thrilled him with exquisite pleasure. In order to while away the time heresolved to issue a proclamation to the inhabitants of Plassans. Fourof his party set to work to draw up this proclamation, and when it wasfinished Macquart, assuming a dignified manner in the mayor's arm-chair,had it read to him before sending it to the printing office of the"Independant," on whose patriotism he reckoned. One of the writers wascommencing, in an emphatic voice, "Inhabitants of Plassans, the hourof independence has struck, the reign of justice has begun----" when anoise was heard at the door of the office, which was slowly pushed open.
"Is it you, Cassoute?" Macquart asked, interrupting the perusal.
Nobody answered; but the door opened wider.
"Come in, do!" he continued, impatiently. "Is my brigand of a brother athome?"
Then, all at once both leaves of the door were violently thrown backand slammed against the walls, and a crowd of armed men, in the midst ofwhom marched Rougon, with his face very red and his eyes starting outof their sockets, swarmed into the office, brandishing their guns likecudgels.
"Ah! the blackguards, they're armed!" shouted Macquart.
He was about to seize a pair of pistols which were lying on thewriting-table, when five men caught hold of him by the throat and heldhim in check. The four authors of the proclamation struggled for aninstant. There was a good deal of scuffling and stamping, and a noiseof persons falling. The combatants were greatly hampered by their guns,which they would not lay aside, although they could not use them. In thestruggle, Rougon's weapon, which an insurgent had tried to wrest fromhim, went off of itself with a frightful report, and filled the roomwith smoke. The bullet shattered a magnificent mirror that reached fromthe mantelpiece to the ceiling, and was reputed to be one of thefinest mirrors in the town. This shot, fired no one knew why, deafenedeverybody, and put an end to the battle.
Then, while the gentlemen were panting and puffing, three other reportswere heard in the courtyard. Granoux immediately rushed to one of thewindows. And as he and the others anxiously leaned out, their faceslengthened perceptibly, for they were in nowise eager for a strugglewith the men in the guard-room, whom they had forgotten amidst theirtriumph. However, Roudier cried out from below that all was right. AndGranoux then shut the window again, beaming with joy. The fact ofthe matter was, that Rougon's shot had aroused the sleepers, who hadpromptly surrendered, seeing that resistance was impossible. Then,however, three of Roudier's men, in their blind haste to get thebusiness over, had discharged their firearms in the air, as a sort ofanswer to the report from above, without knowing quite why they did so.It frequently happens that guns go off of their own accord when they arein the hands of cowards.
And now, in the room upstairs, Rougon ordered Macquart's hands to bebound with the bands of the large green curtains which hung at thewindows. At this, Macquart, wild with rage, broke into scornful jeers."All right; go on," he muttered. "This evening or to-morrow, when theothers return, we'll settle accounts!"
This allusion to the insurrectionary forces sent a shudder to thevictors' very marrow; Rougon for his part almost choked. His brother,who was exasperated at having been surprised like a child by theseterrified bourgeois, who, old soldier that he was, he disdainfullylooked upon as good-for-nothing civilians, defied him with a glance ofthe bitterest hatred.
"Ah! I can tell some pretty stories about you, very pretty ones!"the rascal exclaimed, without removing his eyes from the retired oilmerchant. "Just send me before the Assize Court, so that I may tell thejudge a few tales that will make them laugh."
At this Rougon turned pale. He was terribly afraid lest Macquart shouldblab then and there, and ruin him in the esteem of the gentlemen who hadjust been assisting him to save Plassans. These gentlemen, astounded bythe dramatic encounter between the two brothers, and, foreseeing somestormy passages, had retired to a corner of the room. Rougon, however,formed a heroic resolution. He advanced towards the group, and in a veryproud tone exclaimed: "We will keep this man here. When he has reflectedon his position he will be able to give us some useful information."Then, in a still more dignified voice, he went on: "I will discharge myduty, gentlemen. I have sworn to save the town from anarchy, and Iwill save it, even should I have to be the executioner of my nearestrelative."
One might have thought him some old Roman sacrificing h
is family on thealtar of his country. Granoux, who felt deeply moved, came to press hishand with a tearful countenance, which seemed to say: "I understand you;you are sublime!" And then he did him the kindness to take everybodyaway, under the pretext of conducting the four other prisoners into thecourtyard.
When Pierre was alone with his brother, he felt all his self-possessionreturn to him. "You hardly expected me, did you?" he resumed. "Iunderstand things now; you have been laying plots against me. Youwretched fellow; see what your vices and disorderly life have broughtyou to!"
Macquart shrugged his shoulders. "Shut up," he replied; "go to thedevil. You're an old rogue. He laughs best who laughs last."
Thereupon Rougon, who had formed no definite plan with regard to him,thrust him into a dressing-room whither Monsieur Garconnet retired torest sometimes. This room lighted from above, had no other means ofexit than the doorway by which one entered. It was furnished with a fewarm-chairs, a sofa, and a marble wash-stand. Pierre double-locked thedoor, after partially unbinding his brother's hands. Macquart was thenheard to throw himself on the sofa, and start singing the "Ca Ira" in aloud voice, as though he were trying to sing himself to sleep.
Rougon, who at last found himself alone, now in his turn sat down inthe mayor's arm-chair. He heaved a sigh as he wiped his brow. How hard,indeed, it was to win fortune and honours! However, he was nearing theend at last. He felt the soft seat of the arm-chair yield beneath him,while with a mechanical movement he caressed the mahogany writing-tablewith his hands, finding it apparently quite silky and delicate, like theskin of a beautiful woman. Then he spread himself out, and assumedthe dignified attitude which Macquart had previously affected whilelistening to the proclamation. The silence of the room seemed fraughtwith religious solemnity, which inspired Rougon with exquisite delight.Everything, even the dust and the old documents lying in the corners,seemed to exhale an odour of incense, which rose to his dilatednostrils. This room, with its faded hangings redolent of pettytransactions, all the trivial concerns of a third-rate municipality,became a temple of which he was the god.
Nevertheless, amidst his rapture, he started nervously at every shoutfrom Macquart. The words aristocrat and lamp-post, the threats ofhanging that form the refrain of the famous revolutionary song, the "CaIra," reached him in angry bursts, interrupting his triumphant dream inthe most disagreeable manner. Always that man! And his dream, in whichhe saw Plassans at his feet, ended with a sudden vision of the AssizeCourt, of the judges, the jury, and the public listening to Macquart'sdisgraceful revelations; the story of the fifty thousand francs, andmany other unpleasant matters; or else, while enjoying the softness ofMonsieur Garconnet's arm-chair, he suddenly pictured himself suspendedfrom a lamp-post in the Rue de la Banne. Who would rid him of thatwretched fellow? At last Antoine fell asleep, and then Pierre enjoyedten good minutes' pure ecstasy.
Roudier and Granoux came to rouse him from this state of beatitude.They had just returned from the prison, whither they had taken theinsurgents. Daylight was coming on apace, the town would soon be awake,and it was necessary to take some decisive step. Roudier declared that,before anything else, it would be advisable to issue a proclamation tothe inhabitants. Pierre was, at that moment, reading the one which theinsurgents had left upon the table.
"Why," cried he, "this will suit us admirably! There are only a fewwords to be altered."
And, in fact, a quarter of an hour sufficed for the necessary changes,after which Granoux read out, in an earnest voice: "Inhabitants ofPlassans--The hour of resistance has struck, the reign of order hasreturned----"
It was decided that the proclamation should be printed at the office ofthe "Gazette," and posted at all the street corners.
"Now listen," said Rougon; "we'll go to my house; and in the meantimeMonsieur Granoux will assemble here the members of the municipal councilwho had not been arrested and acquaint them with the terrible events ofthe night." Then he added, majestically: "I am quite prepared to acceptthe responsibility of my actions. If what I have already done appears asatisfactory pledge of my desire for order, I am willing to place myselfat the head of a municipal commission, until such time as the regularauthorities can be reinstated. But, in order, that nobody may accuse meof ambitious designs, I shall not re-enter the Town Hall unless calledupon to do so by my fellow-citizens."
At this Granoux and Roudier protested that Plassans would not beungrateful. Their friend had indeed saved the town. And they recalledall that he had done for the cause of order: the yellow drawing-roomalways open to the friends of authority, his services as spokesman inthe three quarters of the town, the store of arms which had been hisidea, and especially that memorable night--that night of prudence andheroism--in which he had rendered himself forever illustrious. Granouxadded that he felt sure of the admiration and gratitude of the municipalcouncillors.
"Don't stir from your house," he concluded; "I will come and fetch youto lead you back in triumph."
Then Roudier said that he quite understood the tact and modesty of theirfriend, and approved it. Nobody would think of accusing him of ambition,but all would appreciate the delicacy which prompted him to take nooffice save with the consent of his fellow-citizens. That was verydignified, very noble, altogether grand.
Under this shower of eulogies, Rougon humbly bowed his head. "No, no;you go too far," he murmured, with voluptuous thrillings of exquisitepleasure. Each sentence that fell from the retired hosier and the oldalmond-merchant, who stood on his right and left respectively, fellsweetly on his ears; and, leaning back in the mayor's arm-chair, steepedin the odour of officiality which pervaded the room, he bowed to theright and to the left, like a royal pretender whom a _coup d'etat_ isabout to convert into an emperor.
When they were tired of belauding each other, they all three wentdownstairs. Granoux started off to call the municipal council together,while Roudier told Rougon to go on in front, saying that he would joinhim at his house, after giving the necessary orders for guarding theTown Hall. The dawn was now fast rising, and Pierre proceeded to the Ruede la Banne, tapping his heels in a martial manner on the still desertedpavement. He carried his hat in his hand in spite of the bitter cold;for puffs of pride sent all his blood to his head.
On reaching his house he found Cassoute at the bottom of the stairs. Thenavvy had not stirred, for he had seen nobody enter. He sat there, onthe first step, resting his big head in his hands, and gazing fixedly infront of him, with the vacant stare and mute stubbornness of a faithfuldog.
"You were waiting for me, weren't you?" Pierre said to him, taking inthe situation at a glance. "Well, go and tell Monsieur Macquart thatI've come home. Go and ask for him at the Town Hall."
Cassoute rose and took himself off, with an awkward bow. He was goingto get himself arrested like a lamb, to the great delight of Pierre,who laughed as he went upstairs, asking himself, with a feeling of vaguesurprise: "I have certainly plenty of courage; shall I turn out as gooda diplomatist?"
Felicite had not gone to bed last night. He found her dressed in herSunday clothes, wearing a cap with lemon-coloured ribbons, like a ladyexpecting visitors. She had sat at the window in vain; she had heardnothing, and was dying with curiosity.
"Well?" she asked, rushing to meet her husband.
The latter, quite out of breath, entered the yellow drawing-room,whither she followed him, carefully closing the door behind her. He sankinto an arm-chair, and, in a gasping voice, faltered: "It's done; weshall get the receivership."
At this she fell on his neck and kissed him.
"Really? Really?" she cried. "But I haven't heard anything. Oh, mydarling husband, do tell me; tell me all!"
She felt fifteen years old again, and began to coax him and whirl roundhim like a grasshopper fascinated by the light and heat. And Pierre,in the effusion of his triumph, poured out his heart to her. He did notomit a single detail. He even explained his future projects, forgettingthat, according to his theories, wives were good for nothing, and thathis must be kept in compl
ete ignorance of what went on if he wished toremain master. Felicite leant over him and drank in his words. She madehim repeat certain parts of his story, declaring she had not heard; infact, her delight bewildered her so much that at times she seemed quitedeaf. When Pierre related the events at the Town Hall, she burst into afit of laughter, changed her chair three times, and moved the furnitureabout, quite unable to sit still. After forty years of continuousstruggle, fortune had at last yielded to them. Eventually she became somad over it that she forgot all prudence.
"It's to me you owe all this!" she exclaimed, in an outburst of triumph."If I hadn't looked after you, you would have been nicely taken in bythe insurgents. You booby, it was Garconnet, Sicardot, and the others,that had got to be thrown to those wild beasts."
Then, showing her teeth, loosened by age, she added, with a girlishsmile: "Well, the Republic for ever! It has made our path clear."
But Pierre had turned cross. "That's just like you!" he muttered; "youalways fancy that you've foreseen everything. It was I who had the ideaof hiding myself. As though women understood anything about politics!Bah, my poor girl, if you were to steer the bark we should very soon beshipwrecked."
Felicite bit her lip. She had gone too far and forgotten herself-assigned part of good, silent fairy. Then she was seized with oneof those fits of covert exasperation, which she generally experiencedwhen her husband tried to crush her with his superiority. And she againpromised herself, when the right time should arrive, some exquisiterevenge, which would deliver this man into her power, bound hand andfoot.
"Ah! I was forgetting!" resumed Rougon, "Monsieur Peirotte is amongstthem. Granoux saw him struggling in the hands of the insurgents."
Felicite gave a start. She was just at that moment standing at thewindow, gazing with longing eyes at the house where the receiver oftaxes lived. She had felt a desire to do so, for in her mind the idea oftriumph was always associated with envy of that fine house.
"So Monsieur Peirotte is arrested!" she exclaimed in a strange tone asshe turned round.
For an instant she smiled complacently; then a crimson blush rushedto her face. A murderous wish had just ascended from the depths of herbeing. "Ah! if the insurgents would only kill him!"
Pierre no doubt read her thoughts in her eyes.
"Well, if some ball were to hit him," he muttered, "our business wouldbe settled. There would be no necessity to supercede him, eh? and itwould be no fault of ours."
But Felicite shuddered. She felt that she had just condemned a man todeath. If Monsieur Peirotte should now be killed, she would alwayssee his ghost at night time. He would come and haunt her. So she onlyventured to cast furtive glances, full of fearful delight, at theunhappy man's windows. Henceforward all her enjoyment would be fraughtwith a touch of guilty terror.
Moreover, Pierre, having now poured out his soul, began to perceive theother side of the situation. He mentioned Macquart. How could theyget rid of that blackguard? But Felicite, again fired with enthusiasm,exclaimed: "Oh! one can't do everything at once. We'll gag him, somehow.We'll soon find some means or other."
She was now walking to and fro, putting the arm-chairs in order, anddusting their backs. Suddenly, she stopped in the middle of the room,and gave the faded furniture a long glance.
"Good Heavens!" she said, "how ugly it is here! And we shall haveeverybody coming to call upon us!"
"Bah!" replied Pierre, with supreme indifference, "we'll alter allthat."
He who, the night before, had entertained almost religious venerationfor the arm-chairs and the sofa, would now have willingly stamped onthem. Felicite, who felt the same contempt, even went so far as toupset an arm-chair which was short of a castor and did not yield to herquickly enough.
It was at this moment that Roudier entered. It at once occurred tothe old woman that he had become much more polite. His "Monsieur" and"Madame" rolled forth in delightfully musical fashion. But the otherhabitues were now arriving one after the other; and the drawing-room wasfast getting full. Nobody yet knew the full particulars of the eventsof the night, and all had come in haste, with wondering eyes and smilinglips, urged on by the rumours which were beginning to circulate throughthe town. These gentlemen who, on the previous evening, had left thedrawing-room with such precipitation at the news of the insurgents'approach, came back, inquisitive and importunate, like a swarm ofbuzzing flies which a puff of wind would have dispersed. Some ofthem had not even taken time to put on their braces. They were veryimpatient, but it was evident that Rougon was waiting for some one elsebefore speaking out. He constantly turned an anxious look towardsthe door. For an hour there was only significant hand-shaking, vaguecongratulation, admiring whispering, suppressed joy of uncertain origin,which only awaited a word of enlightenment to turn to enthusiasm.
At last Granoux appeared. He paused for a moment on the threshold,with his right hand pressed to his breast between the buttons of hisfrock-coat; his broad pale face was beaming; in vain he strove toconceal his emotion beneath an expression of dignity. All the othersbecame silent on perceiving him; they felt that something extraordinarywas about to take place. Granoux walked straight up to Rougon, throughtwo lines of visitors, and held out his hand to him.
"My friend," he said, "I bring you the homage of the Municipal Council.They call you to their head, until our mayor shall be restored to us.You have saved Plassans. In the terrible crisis through which we arepassing we want men who, like yourself, unite intelligence with courage.Come--"
At this point Granoux, who was reciting a little speech which he hadtaken great trouble to prepare on his way from the Town Hall to theRue de la Banne felt his memory fail him. But Rougon, overwhelmed withemotion, broke in, shaking his hand and repeating: "Thank you, my dearGranoux; I thank you very much."
He could find nothing else to say. However, a loud burst of voicesfollowed. Every one rushed upon him, tried to shake hands, poured forthpraises and compliments, and eagerly questioned him. But he, alreadyputting on official dignity, begged for a few minutes' delay in orderthat he might confer with Messieurs Granoux and Roudier. Business beforeeverything. The town was in such a critical situation! Then the threeaccomplices retired to a corner of the drawing-room, where, in anundertone, they divided power amongst themselves; the rest of thevisitors, who remained a few paces away, trying meanwhile to lookextremely wise and furtively glancing at them with mingled admirationand curiosity. It was decided that Rougon should take the title ofpresident of the Municipal Commission; Granoux was to be secretary;whilst, as for Roudier, he became commander-in-chief of the reorganisedNational Guard. They also swore to support each other against allopposition.
However, Felicite, who had drawn near, abruptly inquired: "And Vuillet?"
At this they looked at each other. Nobody had seen Vuillet. Rougonseemed somewhat uneasy.
"Perhaps they've taken him away with the others," he said, to ease hismind.
But Felicite shook her head. Vuillet was not the man to let himself bearrested. Since nobody had seen or heard him, it was certain he had beendoing something wrong.
Suddenly the door opened and Vuillet entered, bowing humbly, withblinking glance and stiff sacristan's smile. Then he held out his moisthand to Rougon and the two others.
Vuillet had settled his little affairs alone. He had cut his own sliceout of the cake, as Felicite would have said. While peeping throughthe ventilator of his cellar he had seen the insurgents arrestthe postmaster, whose offices were near his bookshop. At daybreak,therefore, at the moment when Rougon was comfortably seated in themayor's arm-chair, he had quietly installed himself in the postmaster'soffice. He knew the clerks; so he received them on their arrival,told them that he would replace their chief until his return, and thatmeantime they need be in nowise uneasy. Then he ransacked the morningmail with ill-concealed curiosity. He examined the letters, and seemedto be seeking a particular one. His new berth doubtless suited hissecret plans, for his satisfaction became so great that he actually gaveone of the clerks a copy
of the "Oeuvres Badines de Piron." Vuillet, itshould be mentioned, did business in objectionable literature, which hekept concealed in a large drawer, under the stock of heads andreligious images. It is probable that he felt some slight qualms atthe free-and-easy manner in which he had taken possession of the postoffice, and recognised the desirability of getting his usurpationconfirmed as far as possible. At all events, he had thought it well tocall upon Rougon, who was fast becoming an important personage.
"Why! where have you been?" Felicite asked him in a distrustful manner.
Thereupon he related his story with sundry embellishments. According tohis own account he had saved the post-office from pillage.
"All right then! That's settled! Stay on there!" said Pierre, after amoment's reflection. "Make yourself useful."
This last sentence revealed the one great fear that possessed theRougons. They were afraid that some one might prove too useful, anddo more than themselves to save the town. Still, Pierre saw no seriousdanger in leaving Vuillet as provisional postmaster; it was even aconvenient means of getting rid of him. Felicite, however, made a sharpgesture of annoyance.
The consultation having ended, the three accomplices mingled with thevarious groups that filled the drawing-room. They were at last obligedto satisfy the general curiosity by giving detailed accounts of recentevents. Rougon proved magnificent. He exaggerated, embellished, anddramatised the story which he had related to his wife. The distributionof the guns and cartridges made everybody hold their breath. But it wasthe march through the deserted streets and the seizure of the town-hallthat most amazed these worthy bourgeois. At each fresh detail there wasan interruption.
"And you were only forty-one; it's marvellous!"
"Ah, indeed! it must have been frightfully dark!"
"No; I confess I never should have dared it!"
"Then you seized him, like that, by the throat?
"And the insurgents, what did they say?"
These remarks and questions only incited Rougon's imagination the more.He replied to everybody. He mimicked the action. This stout man, in hisadmiration of his own achievements, became as nimble as a schoolboy; hebegan afresh, repeated himself, amidst the exclamations of surprise andindividual discussions which suddenly arose about some trifling detail.And thus he continued blowing his trumpet, making himself more andmore important as if some irresistible force impelled him to turn hisnarrative into a genuine epic. Moreover Granoux and Roudier stood byhis side prompting him, reminding him of such trifling matters as heomitted. They also were burning to put in a word, and occasionallythey could not restrain themselves, so that all three went on talkingtogether. When, in order to keep the episode of the broken mirror forthe denouement, like some crowning glory, Rougon began to describe whathad taken place downstairs in the courtyard, after the arrest of theguard, Roudier accused him of spoiling the narrative by changingthe sequence of events. For a moment they wrangled about it somewhatsharply. Then Roudier, seeing a good opportunity for himself, suddenlyexclaimed: "Very well, let it be so. But you weren't there. So let metell it."
He thereupon explained at great length how the insurgents had awoke, andhow the muskets of the town's deliverers had been levelled at them toreduce them to impotence. He added, however, that no blood, fortunately,had been shed. This last sentence disappointed his audience, who hadcounted upon one corpse at least.
"But I thought you fired," interrupted Felicite, recognising that thestory was wretchedly deficient in dramatic interest.
"Yes, yes, three shots," resumed the old hosier. "The pork-butcherDubruel, Monsieur Lievin, and Monsieur Massicot discharged their gunswith really culpable alacrity." And as there were some murmurs at thisremark; "Culpable, I repeat the word," he continued. "There are quiteenough cruel necessities in warfare without any useless shedding ofblood. Besides, these gentlemen swore to me that it was not their fault;they can't understand how it was their guns went off. Nevertheless, aspent ball after ricocheting grazed the cheek of one of the insurgentsand left a mark on it."
This graze, this unexpected wound, satisfied the audience. Which cheek,right or left, had been grazed, and how was it that a bullet, a spentone, even, could strike a cheek without piercing it? These pointssupplied material for some long discussions.
"Meantime," continued Rougon at the top of his voice, without givingtime for the excitement to abate; "meantime we had plenty to doupstairs. The struggle was quite desperate."
Then he described, at length, the arrival of his brother and the fourother insurgents, without naming Macquart, whom he simply called "theleader." The words, "the mayor's office," "the mayor's arm-chair,""the mayor's writing table," recurred to him every instant, and in theopinion of his audience imparted marvellous grandeur to the terriblescene. It was not at the porter's lodge that the fight was now beingwaged, but in the private sanctum of the chief magistrate of the town.Roudier was quite cast in to the background. Then Rougon at last came tothe episode which he had been keeping in reserve from the commencement,and which would certainly exalt him to the dignity of a hero.
"Thereupon," said he, "an insurgent rushes upon me. I push the mayor'sarm-chair away, and seize the man by the throat. I hold him tightly,you may be sure of it! But my gun was in my way. I didn't want to letit drop; a man always sticks to his gun. I held it, like this, under theleft arm. All of a sudden, it went off--"
The whole audience hung on Rougon's lips. But Granoux, who was openinghis mouth wide with a violent itching to say something, shouted: "No,no, that isn't right. You were not in a position to see things, myfriend; you were fighting like a lion. But I saw everything, while I washelping to bind one of the prisoners. The man tried to murder you; itwas he who fired the gun; I saw him distinctly slip his black fingersunder your arm."
"Really?" said Rougon, turning quite pale.
He did not know he had been in such danger, and the old almondmerchant's account of the incident chilled him with fright. Granoux, asa rule, did not lie; but, on a day of battle, it is surely allowable toview things dramatically.
"I tell you the man tried to murder you," he repeated, with conviction.
"Ah," said Rougon in a faint voice, "that's how it is I heard the bulletwhiz past my ear!"
At this, violent emotion came upon the audience. Everybody gazed atthe hero with respectful awe. He had heard a bullet whiz past his ear!Certainly, none of the other bourgeois who were there could say as much.Felicite felt bound to rush into her husband's arms so as to work upthe emotion to boiling point. But Rougon immediately freed himself,and concluded his narrative with this heroic sentence, which has becomefamous at Plassans: "The shot goes off; I hear the bullet whiz past myear; and whish! it smashes the mayor's mirror."
This caused complete consternation. Such a magnificent mirror, too!It was scarcely credible! the damage done to that looking-glass almostout-balanced Rougon's heroism, in the estimation of the company. Theglass became an object of absorbing interest, and they talked aboutit for a quarter of an hour, with many exclamations and expressions ofregret, as though it had been some dear friend that had been stricken tothe heart. This was the culminating point that Rougon had aimed at, thedenouement of his wonderful Odyssey. A loud hubbub of voices filledthe yellow drawing-room. The visitors were repeating what they had justheard, and every now and then one of them would leave a group to ask thethree heroes the exact truth with regard to some contested incident. Theheroes set the matter right with scrupulous minuteness, for they feltthat they were speaking for history!
At last Rougon and his two lieutenants announced that they were expectedat the town-hall. Respectful silence was then restored, and the companysmiled at each other discreetly. Granoux was swelling with importance.He was the only one who had seen the insurgent pull the trigger andsmash the mirror; this sufficed to exalt him, and almost made him bursthis skin. On leaving the drawing-room, he took Roudier's arm with theair of a great general who is broken down with fatigue. "I've been upfor thirty-six hours," he murmured, "and heave
n alone knows when I shallget to bed!"
Rougon, as he withdrew, took Vuillet aside and told him that the partyof order relied more than ever on him and the "Gazette." He would haveto publish an effective article to reassure the inhabitants and treatthe band of villains who had passed through Plassans as it deserved.
"Be easy!" replied Vuillet. "In the ordinary course the 'Gazette'ought not to appear till to-morrow morning, but I'll issue it this veryevening."
When the leaders had left, the rest of the visitors remained in theyellow drawing-room for another moment, chattering like so manyold women, whom the escape of a canary has gathered together on thepavement. These retired tradesmen, oil dealers, and wholesale hatters,felt as if they were in a sort of fairyland. Never had they experiencedsuch thrilling excitement before. They could not get over their surpriseat discovering such heroes as Rougon, Granoux, and Roudier in theirmidst. At last, half stifled by the stuffy atmosphere, and tired of evertelling each other the same things, they decided to go off and spreadthe momentous news abroad. They glided away one by one, each anxiousto have the glory of being the first to know and relate everything, andFelicite, as she leaned out of the window, on being left alone, sawthem dispersing in the Rue de la Banne, waving their arms in an excitedmanner, eager as they were to diffuse emotion to the four corners of thetown.
It was ten o'clock, and Plassans, now wide awake, was running about thestreets, wildly excited by the reports which were circulating. Those whohad seen or heard the insurrectionary forces, related the most foolishstories, contradicting each other, and indulging in the wildestsuppositions. The majority, however, knew nothing at all about thematter; they lived at the further end of the town, and listened withgaping mouths, like children to a nursery tale, to the stories of howseveral thousand bandits had invaded the streets during the night andvanished before daybreak like an army of phantoms. A few of the mostsceptical said: "Nonsense!" Yet some of the details were very precise;and Plassans at last felt convinced that some frightful danger hadpassed over it while it slept. The darkness which had shrouded thisdanger, the various contradictory reports that spread, all invested thematter with mystery and vague horror, which made the bravest shudder.Whose hand had diverted the thunderbolt from them? There seemed tobe something quite miraculous about it. There were rumours of unknowndeliverers, of a handful of brave men who had cut off the hydra's head;but no one seemed acquainted with the exact particulars, and the wholestory appeared scarcely credible, until the company from the yellowdrawing-room spread through the streets, scattering tidings, everrepeating the same narrative at each door they came to.
It was like a train of powder. In a few minutes the story had spreadfrom one end of the town to the other. Rougon's name flew from mouth tomouth, with exclamations of surprise in the new town, and of praise inthe old quarter. The idea of being without a sub-prefect, a mayor, apostmaster, a receiver of taxes, or authorities of any kind, at firstthrew the inhabitants into consternation. They were stupefied at havingbeen able to sleep through the night and get up as usual, in theabsence of any settled government. Their first stupor over, theythrew themselves recklessly into the arms of their liberators. The fewRepublicans shrugged their shoulders, but the petty shopkeepers, thesmall householders, the Conservatives of all shades, invoked blessingson those modest heroes whose achievements had been shrouded by thenight. When it was known that Rougon had arrested his own brother, thepopular admiration knew no bounds. People talked of Brutus, and thus theindiscretion which had made Pierre rather anxious, really redoundedto his glory. At this moment when terror still hovered over them,the townsfolk were virtually unanimous in their gratitude. Rougon wasaccepted as their saviour without the slightest show of opposition.
"Just think of it!" the poltroons exclaimed, "there were only forty-oneof them!"
That number of forty-one amazed the whole town, and this was theorigin of the Plassans legend of how forty-one bourgeois had made threethousand insurgents bite the dust. There were only a few envious spiritsof the new town, lawyers without work and retired military men ashamedof having slept ingloriously through that memorable night, who raisedany doubts. The insurgents, these sceptics hinted, had no doubt leftthe town of their own accord. There were no indications of a combat,no corpses, no blood-stains. So the deliverers had certainly had a veryeasy task.
"But the mirror, the mirror!" repeated the enthusiasts. "You can't denythat the mayor's mirror has been smashed; go and see it for yourselves."
And, in fact, until night-time, quite a stream of town's-people flowed,under one pretext or another, into the mayor's private office, the doorof which Rougon left wide open. The visitors planted themselves in frontof the mirror, which the bullet had pierced and starred, and they allgave vent to the same exclamation: "By Jove; that ball must have hadterrible force!"
Then they departed quite convinced.
Felicite, at her window, listened with delight to all the rumours andlaudatory and grateful remarks which arose from the town. At that momentall Plassans was talking of her husband. She felt that the two districtsbelow her were quivering, wafting her the hope of approaching triumph.Ah! how she would crush that town which she had been so long in gettingbeneath her feet! All her grievances crowded back to her memory, and herpast disappointments redoubled her appetite for immediate enjoyment.
At last she left the window, and walked slowly round the drawing-room.It was there that, a little while previously, everybody had held outtheir hands to her husband and herself. He and she had conquered; thecitizens were at their feet. The yellow drawing-room seemed to her aholy place. The dilapidated furniture, the frayed velvet, the chandeliersoiled with fly-marks, all those poor wrecks now seemed to her likethe glorious bullet-riddled debris of a battle-field. The plain ofAusterlitz would not have stirred her to deeper emotion.
When she returned to the window, she perceived Aristide wandering aboutthe place of the Sub-Prefecture, with his nose in the air. She beckonedto him to come up, which he immediately did. It seemed as if he had onlybeen waiting for this invitation.
"Come in," his mother said to him on the landing, seeing that hehesitated. "Your father is not here."
Aristide evinced all the shyness of a prodigal son returning home. Hehad not been inside the yellow drawing-room for nearly four years. Hestill carried his arm in a sling.
"Does your hand still pain you?" his mother asked him, ironically.
He blushed as he answered with some embarrassment: "Oh! it's gettingbetter; it's nearly well again now."
Then he lingered there, loitering about and not knowing what to say.Felicite came to the rescue. "I suppose you've heard them talking aboutyour father's noble conduct?" she resumed.
He replied that the whole town was talking of it. And then, as heregained his self-possession, he paid his mother back for her railleryin her own coin. Looking her full in the face he added: "I came to seeif father was wounded."
"Come, don't play the fool!" cried Felicite, petulantly. "If I were youI would act boldly and decisively. Confess now that you made a falsemove in joining those good-for-nothing Republicans. You would be veryglad, I'm sure, to be well rid of them, and to return to us, who are thestronger party. Well, the house is open to you!"
But Aristide protested. The Republic was a grand idea. Moreover, theinsurgents might still carry the day.
"Don't talk nonsense to me!" retorted the old woman, with someirritation. "You're afraid that your father won't have a very warmwelcome for you. But I'll see to that. Listen to me: go back to yournewspaper, and, between now and to-morrow, prepare a number stronglyfavouring the Coup d'Etat. To-morrow evening, when this number hasappeared, come back here and you will be received with open arms."
Then seeing that the young man remained silent: "Do you hear?" sheadded, in a lower and more eager tone; "it is necessary for our sake,and for your own, too, that it should be done. Don't let us have anymore nonsense and folly. You've already compromised yourself enough inthat way."
The young
man made a gesture--the gesture of a Caesar crossing theRubicon--and by doing so escaped entering into any verbal engagement. Ashe was about to withdraw, his mother, looking for the knot in his sling,remarked: "First of all, you must let me take off this rag. It's gettinga little ridiculous, you know!"
Aristide let her remove it. When the silk handkerchief was untied,he folded it neatly and placed it in his pocket. And as he kissed hismother he exclaimed: "Till to-morrow then!"
In the meanwhile, Rougon was taking official possession of the mayor'soffices. There were only eight municipal councillors left; the otherswere in the hands of the insurgents, as well as the mayor and his twoassessors. The eight remaining gentlemen, who were all on a par withGranoux, perspired with fright when the latter explained to them thecritical situation of the town. It requires an intimate knowledge of thekind of men who compose the municipal councils of some of the smallertowns, in order to form an idea of the terror with which these timidfolk threw themselves into Rougon's arms. At Plassans, the mayor hadthe most incredible blockheads under him, men without any ideas of theirown, and accustomed to passive obedience. Consequently, as MonsieurGarconnet was no longer there, the municipal machine was bound to getout of order, and fall completely under the control of the man who mightknow how to set it working. Moreover, as the sub-prefect had left thedistrict, Rougon naturally became sole and absolute master of the town;and thus, strange to relate, the chief administrative authority fellinto the hands of a man of indifferent repute, to whom, on the previousevening, not one of his fellow-citizens would have lent a hundredfrancs.
Pierre's first act was to declare the Provisional Commission "enpermanence." Then he gave his attention to the organisation of thenational guard, and succeeded in raising three hundred men. Thehundred and nine muskets left in the cart-shed were also distributedto volunteers, thereby bringing up the number of men armed by thereactionary party to one hundred and fifty; the remaining one hundredand fifty guards consisted of well-affected citizens and some ofSicardot's soldiers. When Commander Roudier reviewed the little army infront of the town-hall, he was annoyed to see the market-people smilingin their sleeves. The fact is that several of his men had no uniforms,and some of them looked very droll with their black hats, frock-coats,and muskets. But, at any rate, they meant well. A guard was left at thetown-hall and the rest of the forces were sent in detachments to thevarious town gates. Roudier reserved to himself the command of the guardstationed at the Grand'-Porte, which seemed to be more liable to attackthan the others.
Rougon, who now felt very conscious of his power, repaired to the RueCanquoin to beg the gendarmes to remain in their barracks and interferewith nothing. He certainly had the doors of the gendarmerie opened--thekeys having been carried off by the insurgents--but he wanted to triumphalone, and had no intention of letting the gendarmes rob him of any partof his glory. If he should really have need of them he could alwayssend for them. So he explained to them that their presence might tend toirritate the working-men and thus aggravate the situation. The sergeantin command thereupon complimented him on his prudence. When Rougon wasinformed that there was a wounded man in the barracks, he asked to seehim, by way of rendering himself popular. He found Rengade in bed, withhis eye bandaged, and his big moustaches just peeping out from under thelinen. With some high-sounding words about duty, Rougon endeavoured tocomfort the unfortunate fellow who, having lost an eye, was swearingwith exasperation at the thought that his injury would compel him toquit the service. At last Rougon promised to send the doctor to him.
"I'm much obliged to you, sir," Rengade replied; "but, you know, whatwould do me more good than any quantity of doctor's stuff would be towring the neck of the villain who put my eye out. Oh! I shall know himagain; he's a little thin, palish fellow, quite young."
Thereupon Pierre bethought himself of the blood he had seen on Silvere'shand. He stepped back a little, as though he was afraid that Rengadewould fly at his throat, and cry: "It was your nephew who blinded me;and you will have to pay for it." And whilst he was mentally cursing hisdisreputable family, he solemnly declared that if the guilty person werefound he should be punished with all the rigour of the law.
"No, no, it isn't worth all that trouble," the one-eyed man replied;"I'll just wring his neck for him when I catch him."
Rougon hastened back to the town-hall. The afternoon was employed intaking various measures. The proclamation posted up about one o'clockproduced an excellent impression. It ended by an appeal to the goodsense of the citizens, and gave a firm assurance that order would notagain be disturbed. Until dusk, in fact, the streets presented a pictureof general relief and perfect confidence. On the pavements, the groupswho were reading the proclamation exclaimed:
"It's all finished now; we shall soon see the troops who have been sentin pursuit of the insurgents."
This belief that some soldiers were approaching was so general that theidles of the Cours Sauvaire repaired to the Nice road, in order tomeet and hear the regimental band. But they returned at nightfalldisappointed, having seen nothing; and then a feeling of vague alarmbegan to disturb the townspeople.
At the town-hall, the Provisional Commission had talked so much, withoutcoming to any decision, that the members, whose stomachs were quiteempty, began to feel alarmed again. Rougon dismissed them to dine,saying that they would meet afresh at nine o'clock in the evening. Hewas just about to leave the room himself, when Macquart awoke and beganto pommel the door of his prison. He declared he was hungry, then askedwhat time it was, and when his brother had told him it was five o'clock,he feigned great astonishment, and muttered, with diabolical malice,that the insurgents had promised to return much earlier, and that theywere very slow in coming to deliver him. Rougon, having orderedsome food to be taken to him, went downstairs, quite worried by theearnestness with which the rascal spoke of the return of the insurgents.
When he reached the street, his disquietude increased. The town seemedto him quite altered. It was assuming a strange aspect; shadows weregliding along the footpaths, which were growing deserted and silent,while gloomy fear seemed, like fine rain, to be slowly, persistentlyfalling with the dusk over the mournful-looking houses. The babblingconfidence of the daytime was fatally terminating in groundless panic,in growing alarm as the night drew nearer; the inhabitants were so wearyand so satiated with their triumph that they had no strength left but todream of some terrible retaliation on the part of the insurgents. Rougonshuddered as he passed through this current of terror. He hastened hissteps, feeling as if he would choke. As he passed a cafe on the Placedes Recollets, where the lamps had just been lit, and where the pettycits of the new town were assembled, he heard a few words of terrifyingconversation.
"Well! Monsieur Picou," said one man in a thick voice, "you've heard thenews? The regiment that was expected has not arrived."
"But nobody expected any regiment, Monsieur Touche," a shrill voicereplied.
"I beg your pardon. You haven't read the proclamation, then?"
"Oh yes, it's true the placards declare that order will be maintained byforce, if necessary."
"You see, then, there's force mentioned; that means armed forces, ofcourse."
"What do people say then?"
"Well, you know, folks are beginning to feel rather frightened; they saythat this delay on the part of the soldiers isn't natural, and that theinsurgents may well have slaughtered them."
A cry of horror resounded through the cafe. Rougon was inclined to go inand tell those bourgeois that the proclamation had never announced thearrival of a regiment, that they had no right to strain its meaningto such a degree, nor to spread such foolish theories abroad. But hehimself, amidst the disquietude which was coming over him, was not quitesure he had not counted upon a despatch of troops; and he did, in fact,consider it strange that not a single soldier had made his appearance.So he reached home in a very uneasy state of mind. Felicite, stillpetulant and full of courage, became quite angry at seeing him upset bysuch silly trifles. Over the
dessert she comforted him.
"Well, you great simpleton," she said, "so much the better, if theprefect does forget us! We shall save the town by ourselves. For mypart, I should like to see the insurgents return, so that we mightreceive them with bullets and cover ourselves with glory. Listen tome, go and have the gates closed, and don't go to bed; bustle about allnight; it will all be taken into account later on."
Pierre returned to the town-hall in rather more cheerful spirits. Herequired some courage to remain firm amidst the woeful maunderings ofhis colleagues. The members of the Provisional Commission seemed to reekwith panic, just as they might with damp in the rainy season. They allprofessed to have counted upon the despatch of a regiment, and began toexclaim that brave citizens ought not to be abandoned in such a mannerto the fury of the rabble. Pierre, to preserve peace, almost promisedthey should have a regiment on the morrow. Then he announced, in asolemn manner, that he was going to have the gates closed. This came asa relief. Detachments of the national guards had to repair immediatelyto each gate and double-lock it. When they had returned, several membersconfessed that they really felt more comfortable; and when Pierreremarked that the critical situation of the town imposed upon them theduty of remaining at their posts, some of them made arrangements withthe view of spending the night in an arm-chair. Granoux put on a blacksilk skull cap which he had brought with him by way of precaution.Towards eleven o'clock, half of the gentlemen were sleeping roundMonsieur Garconnet's writing table. Those who still managed to keeptheir eyes open fancied, as they listened to the measured tramp ofthe national guards in the courtyard, that they were heroes and werereceiving decorations. A large lamp, placed on the writing-table,illumined this strange vigil. All at once, however, Rougon, who hadseemed to be slumbering, jumped up, and sent for Vuillet. He had justremembered that he had not received the "Gazette."
The bookseller made his appearance in a very bad humour.
"Well!" Rougon asked him as he took him aside, "what about the articleyou promised me? I haven't seen the paper."
"Is that what you disturbed me for?" Vuillet angrily retorted. "The'Gazette' has not been issued; I've no desire to get myself murderedto-morrow, should the insurgents come back."
Rougon tried to smile as he declared that, thank heaven, nobody would bemurdered at all. It was precisely because false and disquieting rumourswere running about that the article in question would have renderedgreat service to the good cause.
"Possibly," Vuillet resumed; "but the best of causes at the presenttime is to keep one's head on one's shoulders." And he added, withmaliciousness, "And I was under the impression you had killed all theinsurgents! You've left too many of them for me to run any risk."
Rougon, when he was alone again, felt amazed at this mutiny on the partof a man who was usually so meek and mild. Vuillet's conduct seemedto him suspicious. But he had no time to seek an explanation; he hadscarcely stretched himself out afresh in his arm-chair, when Roudierentered, with a big sabre, which he had attached to his belt, clatteringnoisily against his legs. The sleepers awoke in a fright. Granouxthought it was a call to arms.
"Eh? what! What's the matter?" he asked, as he hastily put his blacksilk cap into his pocket.
"Gentlemen," said Roudier, breathlessly, without thinking of takingany oratorical precautions, "I believe that a band of insurgents isapproaching the town."
These words were received with the silence of terror. Rougon alone hadthe strength to ask, "Have you seen them?"
"No," the retired hosier replied; "but we hear strange noises out in thecountry; one of my men assured me that he had seen fires along the slopeof the Garrigues."
Then, as all the gentlemen stared at each other white and speechless,"I'll return to my post," he continued. "I fear an attack. You hadbetter take precautions."
Rougon would have followed him, to obtain further particulars, but hewas already too far away. After this the Commission was by no meansinclined to go to sleep again. Strange noises! Fires! An attack! Andin the middle of the night too! It was very easy to talk of takingprecautions, but what were they to do? Granoux was very near advisingthe course which had proved so successful the previous evening: thatis of hiding themselves, waiting till the insurgents has passed throughPlassans, and then triumphing in the deserted streets. Pierre, however,fortunately remembering his wife's advice, said that Roudier mighthave made a mistake, and that the best thing would be to go and see forthemselves. Some of the members made a wry face at this suggestion;but when it had been agreed that an armed escort should accompany theCommission, they all descended very courageously. They only left a fewmen downstairs; they surrounded themselves with about thirty of thenational guards, and then they ventured into the slumbering town, wherethe moon, creeping over the house roofs, slowly cast lengthened shadows.They went along the ramparts, from one gate to the other, seeing nothingand hearing nothing. The national guards at the various posts certainlytold them that peculiar sounds occasionally reached them from thecountry through the closed gates. When they strained their ears,however, they detected nothing but a distant murmur, which Granoux saidwas merely the noise of the Viorne.
Nevertheless they remained doubtful. And they were about to return tothe town-hall in a state of alarm, though they made a show of shruggingtheir shoulders and of treating Roudier as a poltroon and a dreamer,when Rougon, anxious to reassure them, thought of enabling them toview the plain over a distance of several leagues. Thereupon he led thelittle company to the Saint-Marc quarter and knocked at the door of theValqueyras mansion.
At the very outset of the disturbances Count de Valqueyras had left forhis chateau at Corbiere. There was no one but the Marquis de Carnavantat the Plassans house. He, since the previous evening, had prudentlykept aloof; not that he was afraid, but because he did not care to beseen plotting with the Rougons at the critical moment. As a matterof fact, he was burning with curiosity. He had been compelled to shuthimself up in order to resist the temptation of hastening to the yellowdrawing-room. When the footman came to tell him, in the middle of thenight, that there were some gentlemen below asking for him, he could nothold back any longer. He got up and went downstairs in all haste.
"My dear Marquis," said Rougon, as he introduced to him the membersof the Municipal Commission, "we want to ask a favour of you. Will youallow us to go into the garden of the mansion?"
"By all means," replied the astonished marquis, "I will conduct youthere myself."
On the way thither he ascertained what their object was. At the end ofthe garden rose a terrace which overlooked the plain. A large portion ofthe ramparts had there tumbled in, leaving a boundless prospect to theview. It had occurred to Rougon that this would serve as an excellentpost of observation. While conversing together the members of theCommission leaned over the parapet. The strange spectacle that spreadout before them soon made them silent. In the distance, in the valley ofthe Viorne, across the vast hollow which stretched westward between thechain of the Garrigues and the mountains of the Seille, the rays of themoon were streaming like a river of pale light. The clumps of trees, thegloomy rocks, looked, here and there, like islets and tongues of land,emerging from a luminous sea; and, according to the bends of the Viorneone could now and again distinguish detached portions of the river,glittering like armour amidst the fine silvery dust falling from thefirmament. It all looked like an ocean, a world, magnified by thedarkness, the cold, and their own secret fears. At first the gentlemencould neither hear nor see anything. The quiver of light and of distantsound blinded their eyes and confused their ears. Granoux, though hewas not naturally poetic, was struck by the calm serenity of that winternight, and murmured: "What a beautiful night, gentlemen!"
"Roudier was certainly dreaming," exclaimed Rougon, rather disdainfully.
But the marquis, whose ears were quick, had begun to listen. "Ah!" heobserved in his clear voice, "I hear the tocsin."
At this they all leant over the parapet, holding their breath. And lightand pure as crystal the dist
ant tolling of a bell rose from the plain.The gentlemen could not deny it. It was indeed the tocsin. Rougonpretended that he recognised the bell of Beage, a village fully a leaguefrom Plassans. This he said in order to reassure his colleagues.
But the marquis interrupted him. "Listen, listen: this time it is thebell of Saint-Maur." And he indicated another point of the horizon tothem. There was, in fact, a second bell wailing through the clear night.And very soon there were ten bells, twenty bells, whose despairingtollings were detected by their ears, which had by this time grownaccustomed to the quivering of the darkness. Ominous calls rose from allsides, like the faint rattles of dying men. Soon the whole plain seemedto be wailing. The gentlemen no longer jeered at Roudier; particularlyas the marquis, who took a malicious delight in terrifying them, waskind enough to explain the cause of all this bell-ringing.
"It is the neighbouring villages," he said to Rougon, "banding togetherto attack Plassans at daybreak."
At this Granoux opened his eyes wide. "Didn't you see something justthis moment over there?" he asked all of a sudden.
Nobody had looked; the gentlemen had been keeping their eyes closed inorder to hear the better.
"Ah! look!" he resumed after a short pause. "There, beyond the Viorne,near that black mass."
"Yes, I see," replied Rougon, in despair; "it's a fire they're kindling."
A moment later another fire appeared almost immediately in front ofthe first one, then a third, and a fourth. In this wise red splotchesappeared at nearly equal distances throughout the whole length of thevalley, resembling the lamps of some gigantic avenue. The moonlight,which dimmed their radiance, made them look like pools of blood. Thismelancholy illumination gave a finishing touch to the consternation ofthe Municipal Commission.
"Of course!" the marquis muttered, with his bitterest sneer, "thosebrigands are signalling to each other." And he counted the firescomplacently, to get some idea, he said, as to how many men "the bravenational guard of Plassans" would have to deal with. Rougon endeavouredto raise doubts by saying the villages were taking up arms in order tojoin the army of the insurgents, and not for the purpose of attackingthe town. But the gentlemen, by their silent consternation, madeit clear that they had formed their own opinion, and were not to beconsoled.
"I can hear the 'Marseillaise' now," remarked Granoux in a hushed voice.
It was indeed true. A detachment must have been following the course ofthe Viorne, passing, at that moment, just under the town. The cry, "Toarms, citizens! Form your battalions!" reached the on-lookers in suddenbursts with vibrating distinctness. Ah! what an awful night it was! Thegentlemen spent it leaning over the parapet of the terrace, numbed bythe terrible cold, and yet quite unable to tear themselves away fromthe sight of that plain which resounded with the tocsin and the"Marseillaise," and was all ablaze with signal-fires. They feasted theireyes upon that sea of light, flecked with blood-red flames; and theystrained their ears in order to listen to the confused clamour, till atlast their senses began to deceive them, and they saw and heard the mostfrightful things. Nothing in the world would have induced them to leavethe spot. If they had turned their backs, they would have fancied thata whole army was at their heels. After the manner of a certain classof cowards, they wished to witness the approach of the danger, in orderthat they might take flight at the right moment. Towards morning, whenthe moon had set and they could see nothing in front of them but adark void, they fell into a terrible fright. They fancied they weresurrounded by invisible enemies, who were crawling along in thedarkness, ready to fly at their throats. At the slightest noise theyimagined there were enemies deliberating beneath the terrace, prior toscaling it. Yet there was nothing, nothing but darkness upon which theyfixed their eyes distractedly. The marquis, as if to console them, saidin his ironical way: "Don't be uneasy! They will certainly wait tilldaybreak."
Meanwhile Rougon cursed and swore. He felt himself again giving way tofear. As for Granoux, his hair turned completely white. At last the dawnappeared with weary slowness. This again was a terribly anxious moment.The gentlemen, at the first ray of light, expected to see an army drawnup in line before the town. It so happened that day that the dawn waslazy and lingered awhile on the edge of the horizon. With outstretchednecks and fixed gaze, the party on the terrace peered anxiously into themisty expanse. In the uncertain light they fancied they caught glimpsesof colossal profiles, the plain seemed to be transformed into a lake ofblood, the rocks looked like corpses floating on its surface, and theclusters of trees took the forms of battalions drawn up and threateningattack. When the growing light had at last dispersed these phantoms,the morning broke so pale, so mournful, so melancholy, that even themarquis's spirits sank. Not a single insurgent was to be seen, and thehigh roads were free; but the grey valley wore a gruesomely sad anddeserted aspect. The fires had now gone out, but the bells still rangon. Towards eight o'clock, Rougon observed a small party of men who weremoving off along the Viorne.
By this time the gentlemen were half dead with cold and fatigue. Seeingno immediate danger, they determined to take a few hours' rest. Anational guard was left on the terrace as a sentinel, with orders torun and inform Roudier if he should perceive any band approaching in thedistance. Then Granoux and Rougon, quite worn out by the emotions of thenight, repaired to their homes, which were close together, and supportedeach other on the way.
Felicite put her husband to bed with every care. She called him "poordear," and repeatedly told him that he ought not to give way to evilfancies, and that all would end well. But he shook his head; he feltgrave apprehensions. She let him sleep till eleven o'clock. Then, afterhe had had something to eat, she gently turned him out of doors, makinghim understand that he must go through with the matter to the end.At the town-hall, Rougon found only four members of the Commission inattendance; the others had sent excuses, they were really ill. Panichad been sweeping through the town with growing violence all through themorning. The gentlemen had not been able to keep quiet respecting thememorable night they had spent on the terrace of the Valqueyras mansion.Their servants had hastened to spread the news, embellishing it withvarious dramatic details. By this time it had already become a matter ofhistory that from the heights of Plassans troops of cannibals had beenseen dancing and devouring their prisoners. Yes, bands of witches hadcircled hand in hand round their caldrons in which they were boilingchildren, while on and on marched endless files of bandits, whoseweapons glittered in the moonlight. People spoke too of bells that oftheir own accord, sent the tocsin ringing through the desolate air,and it was even asserted that the insurgents had fired the neighbouringforests, so that the whole country side was in flames.
It was Tuesday, the market-day at Plassans, and Roudier had thought itnecessary to have the gates opened in order to admit the few peasantswho had brought vegetables, butter, and eggs. As soon as it hadassembled, the Municipal Commission, now composed of five members only,including its president, declared that this was unpardonable imprudence.Although the sentinel stationed at the Valqueyras mansion had seennothing, the town ought to have been kept closed. Then Rougon decidedthat the public crier, accompanied by a drummer, should go through thestreets, proclaim a state of siege, and announce to the inhabitantsthat whoever might go out would not be allowed to return. The gates wereofficially closed in broad daylight. This measure, adopted in order toreassure the inhabitants, raised the scare to its highest pitch. Andthere could scarcely have been a more curious sight than that of thislittle city, thus padlocking and bolting itself up beneath the brightsunshine, in the middle of the nineteenth century.
When Plassans had buckled and tightened its belt of dilapidatedramparts, when it had bolted itself in like a besieged fortress atthe approach of an assault, the most terrible anguish passed over themournful houses. At every moment, in the centre of the town, peoplefancied they could hear a discharge of musketry in the Faubourgs. Theyno longer received any news; they were, so to say, at the bottom ofa cellar, in a walled hole, where they were anxious
ly awaitingeither deliverance or the finishing stroke. For the last two daysthe insurgents, who were scouring the country, had cut off allcommunication. Plassans found itself isolated from the rest of France.It felt that it was surrounded by a region in open rebellion, where thetocsin was ever ringing and the "Marseillaise" was ever roaring likea river that has overflowed its banks. Abandoned to its fate andshuddering with alarm the town lay there like some prey which wouldprove the reward of the victorious party. The strollers on the CoursSauvaire were ever swaying between fear and hope according as theyfancied that they could see the blouses of insurgents or the uniformsof soldiers at the Grand'-Porte. Never had sub-prefecture, pent withintumble-down walls, endured more agonising torture.
Towards two o'clock it was rumoured that the Coup d'Etat had failed,that the prince-president was imprisoned at Vincennes, and that Pariswas in the hands of the most advanced demagogues. It was reported alsothat Marseilles, Toulon, Draguignan, the entire South, belonged to thevictorious insurrectionary army. The insurgents would arrive in theevening and put Plassans to the sword.
Thereupon a deputation repaired to the town-hall to expostulate withthe Municipal Commission for closing the gates, whereby they would onlyirritate the insurgents. Rougon, who was losing his head, defended hisorder with all his remaining strength. This locking of the gates seemedto him one of the most ingenious acts of his administration; he advancedthe most convincing arguments in its justification. But the othersembarrassed him by their questions, asking him where were the soldiers,the regiment that he had promised. Then he began to lie, and told themflatly that he had promised nothing at all. The non-appearance of thislegendary regiment, which the inhabitants longed for with such eagernessthat they had actually dreamt of its arrival, was the chief cause of thepanic. Well-informed people even named the exact spot on the high roadwhere the soldiers had been butchered.
At four o'clock Rougon, followed by Granoux, again repaired to theValqueyras mansion. Small bands, on their way to join the insurgents atOrcheres, still passed along in the distance, through the valley of theViorne. Throughout the day urchins climbed the ramparts, and bourgeoiscame to peep through the loopholes. These volunteer sentinels kept upthe terror by counting the various bands, which were taken for so manystrong battalions. The timorous population fancied it could see from thebattlements the preparations for some universal massacre. At dusk, as onthe previous evening, the panic became yet more chilling.
On returning to the municipal offices Rougon and his inseparablecompanion, Granoux, recognised that the situation was growingintolerable. During their absence another member of the Commission haddisappeared. They were only four now, and they felt they were makingthemselves ridiculous by staying there for hours, looking at eachother's pale countenances, and never saying a word. Moreover, they wereterribly afraid of having to spend a second night on the terrace of theValqueyras mansion.
Rougon gravely declared that as the situation of affairs was unchanged,there was no need for them to continue to remain there _en permanence_.If anything serious should occur information would be sent to them. And,by a decision duly taken in council, he deputed to Roudier the carryingon of the administration. Poor Roudier, who remembered that he hadserved as a national guard in Paris under Louis-Philippe, was meantimeconscientiously keeping watch at the Grand'-Porte.
Rougon went home looking very downcast, and creeping along under theshadows of the houses. He felt that Plassans was becoming hostileto him. He heard his name bandied about amongst the groups, withexpressions of anger and contempt. He walked upstairs, reeling andperspiring. Felicite received him with speechless consternation. She,also, was beginning to despair. Their dreams were being completelyshattered. They stood silent, face to face, in the yellow drawing-room.The day was drawing to a close, a murky winter day which imparted amuddy tint to the orange-coloured wall-paper with its large flowerpattern; never had the room looked more faded, more mean, more shabby.And at this hour they were alone; they no longer had a crowd ofcourtiers congratulating them, as on the previous evening. A singleday had sufficed to topple them over, at the very moment when they weresinging victory. If the situation did not change on the morrow theirgame would be lost.
Felicite who, when gazing on the previous evening at the ruins ofthe yellow drawing-room, had thought of the plains of Austerlitz, nowrecalled the accursed field of Waterloo as she observed how mournfuland deserted the place was. Then, as her husband said nothing, shemechanically went to the window--that window where she had inhaled withdelight the incense of the entire town. She perceived numerous groupsbelow on the square, but she closed the blinds upon seeing some headsturn towards their house, for she feared that she might be hooted. Shefelt quite sure that those people were speaking about them.
Indeed, voices rose through the twilight. A lawyer was clamouring in thetone of a triumphant pleader. "That's just what I said; the insurgentsleft of their own accord, and they won't ask the permission of theforty-one to come back. The forty-one indeed! a fine farce! Why, Ibelieve there were at least two hundred."
"No, indeed," said a burly trader, an oil-dealer and a great politician,"there were probably not even ten. There was no fighting or else weshould have seen some blood in the morning. I went to the town-hallmyself to look; the courtyard was as clean as my hand."
Then a workman, who stepped timidly up to the group, added: "There wasno need of any violence to seize the building; the door wasn't evenshut."
This remark was received with laughter, and the workman, thusencouraged, continued: "As for those Rougons, everybody knows that theyare a bad lot."
This insult pierced Felicite to the heart. The ingratitude of thepeople was heartrending to her, for she herself was at last beginning tobelieve in the mission of the Rougons. She called for her husband. Shewanted him to learn how fickle was the multitude.
"It's all a piece with their mirror," continued the lawyer. "What a fussthey made about that broken glass! You know that Rougon is quite capableof having fired his gun at it just to make believe there had been abattle."
Pierre restrained a cry of pain. What! they did not even believe in hismirror now! They would soon assert that he had not heard a bullet whizpast his ear. The legend of the Rougons would be blotted out; nothingwould remain of their glory. But his torture was not at an end yet.The groups manifested their hostility as heartily as they had displayedtheir approval on the previous evening. A retired hatter, an old manseventy years of age, whose factory had formerly been in the Faubourg,ferreted out the Rougons' past history. He spoke vaguely, with thehesitation of a wandering memory, about the Fouques' property, andAdelaide, and her amours with a smuggler. He said just enough to givea fresh start to the gossip. The tattlers drew closer together and suchwords as "rogues," "thieves," and "shameless intriguers," ascended tothe shutter behind which Pierre and Felicite were perspiring with fearand indignation. The people on the square even went so far as to pityMacquart. This was the final blow. On the previous day Rougon had been aBrutus, a stoic soul sacrificing his own affections to his country; nowhe was nothing but an ambitious villain, who felled his brother to theground and made use of him as a stepping-stone to fortune.
"You hear, you hear them?" Pierre murmured in a stifled voice. "Ah! thescoundrels, they are killing us; we shall never retrieve ourselves."
Felicite, enraged, was beating a tattoo on the shutter with herimpatient fingers.
"Let them talk," she answered. "If we get the upper hand again theyshall see what stuff I'm made of. I know where the blow comes from. Thenew town hates us."
She guessed rightly. The sudden unpopularity of the Rougons was thework of a group of lawyers who were very much annoyed at the importanceacquired by an old illiterate oil-dealer, whose house had been on theverge of bankruptcy. The Saint-Marc quarter had shown no sign of lifefor the last two days. The inhabitants of the old quarter and the newtown alone remained in presence, and the latter had taken advantageof the panic to injure the yellow drawing-room in the minds of th
etradespeople and working-classes. Roudier and Granoux were said tobe excellent men, honourable citizens, who had been led away by theRougons' intrigues. Their eyes ought to be opened to it. Ought notMonsieur Isidore Granoux to be seated in the mayor's arm-chair, in theplace of that big portly beggar who had not a copper to bless himselfwith? Thus launched, the envious folks began to reproach Rougon forall the acts of his administration, which only dated from the previousevening. He had no right to retain the services of the former MunicipalCouncil; he had been guilty of grave folly in ordering the gates to beclosed; it was through his stupidity that five members of the Commissionhad contracted inflammation of the lungs on the terrace of theValqueyras mansion. There was no end to his faults. The Republicanslikewise raised their heads. They talked of the possibility of a suddenattack upon the town-hall by the workmen of the Faubourg. The reactionwas at its last gasp.
Pierre, at this overthrow of all his hopes, began to wonder what supporthe might still rely on if occasion should require any.
"Wasn't Aristide to come here this evening," he asked, "to make it upwith us?"
"Yes," answered Felicite. "He promised me a good article. The'Independant' has not appeared yet--"
But her husband interrupted her, crying: "See! isn't that he who is justcoming out of the Sub-Prefecture?"
The old woman glanced in that direction. "He's got his arm in a slingagain!" she cried.
Aristide's hand was indeed wrapped in the silk handkerchief once more.The Empire was breaking up, but the Republic was not yet triumphant,and he had judged it prudent to resume the part of a disabled man. Hecrossed the square stealthily, without raising his head. Then doubtlesshearing some dangerous and compromising remarks among the groups ofbystanders, he made all haste to turn the corner of the Rue de la Banne.
"Bah! he won't come here," said Felicite bitterly. "It's all up with us.Even our children forsake us!"
She shut the window violently, in order that she might not see or hearanything more. When she had lit the lamp, she and her husband sat downto dinner, disheartened and without appetite, leaving most of their foodon their plates. They only had a few hours left them to take a decisivestep. It was absolutely indispensable that before daybreak Plassansshould be at their feet beseeching forgiveness, or else they mustentirely renounce the fortune which they had dreamed of. The totalabsence of any reliable news was the sole cause of their anxiousindecision. Felicite, with her clear intellect, had quickly perceivedthis. If they had been able to learn the result of the Coup d'Etat,they would either have faced it out and have still pursued their role ofdeliverers, or else have done what they could to efface all recollectionof their unlucky campaign. But they had no precise information; theywere losing their heads; the thought that they were thus risking theirfortune on a throw, in complete ignorance of what was happening, broughta cold perspiration to their brows.
"And why the devil doesn't Eugene write to me?" Rougon suddenly cried,in an outburst of despair, forgetting that he was betraying the secretof his correspondence to his wife.
But Felicite pretended not to have heard. Her husband's exclamationhad profoundly affected her. Why, indeed, did not Eugene write to hisfather? After keeping him so accurately informed of the progress of theBonapartist cause, he ought at least to have announced the triumph ordefeat of Prince Louis. Mere prudence would have counselled thedespatch of such information. If he remained silent, it must be that thevictorious Republic had sent him to join the pretender in the dungeonsof Vincennes. At this thought Felicite felt chilled to the marrow; herson's silence destroyed her last hopes.
At that moment somebody brought up the "Gazette," which had only justappeared.
"Ah!" said Pierre, with surprise. "Vuillet has issued his paper!"
Thereupon he tore off the wrapper, read the leading article, andfinished it looking as white as a sheet, and swaying on his chair.
"Here, read," he resumed, handing the paper to Felicite.
It was a magnificent article, attacking the insurgents with unheard ofviolence. Never had so much stinging bitterness, so many falsehoods,such bigoted abuse flowed from pen before. Vuillet commenced bynarrating the entry of the insurgents into Plassans. The descriptionwas a perfect masterpiece. He spoke of "those bandits, thosevillainous-looking countenances, that scum of the galleys," invading thetown, "intoxicated with brandy, lust, and pillage." Then he exhibitedthem "parading their cynicism in the streets, terrifying the inhabitantswith their savage cries and seeking only violence and murder." Furtheron, the scene at the town-hall and the arrest of the authorities becamea most horrible drama. "Then they seized the most respectable people bythe throat; and the mayor, the brave commander of the nationalguard, the postmaster, that kindly functionary, were--even like theDivinity--crowned with thorns by those wretches, who spat in theirfaces." The passage devoted to Miette and her red pelisse was quite aflight of imagination. Vuillet had seen ten, twenty girls steeped inblood: "and who," he wrote, "did not behold among those monsters someinfamous creatures clothed in red, who must have bathed themselves inthe blood of the martyrs murdered by the brigands along the high roads?They were brandishing banners, and openly receiving the vile caresses ofthe entire horde." And Vuillet added, with Biblical magniloquence, "TheRepublic ever marches on amidst debauchery and murder."
That, however, was only the first part of the article; the narrativebeing ended, the editor asked if the country would any longer tolerate"the shamelessness of those wild beasts, who respected neither propertynor persons." He made an appeal to all valorous citizens, declaring thatto tolerate such things any longer would be to encourage them, andthat the insurgents would then come and snatch "the daughter from hermother's arms, the wife from her husband's embraces." And at last,after a pious sentence in which he declared that Heaven willed theextermination of the wicked, he concluded with this trumpet blast: "Itis asserted that these wretches are once more at our gates; well thenlet each one of us take a gun and shoot them down like dogs. I for mypart shall be seen in the front rank, happy to rid the earth of suchvermin."
This article, in which periphrastic abuse was strung together with allthe heaviness of touch which characterises French provincial journalism,quite terrified Rougon, who muttered, as Felicite replaced the "Gazette"on the table: "Ah! the wretch! he is giving us the last blow; peoplewill believe that I inspired this diatribe."
"But," his wife remarked, pensively, "did you not this morning tell methat he absolutely refused to write against the Republicans? The newsthat circulated had terrified him, and he was as pale as death, yousaid."
"Yes! yes! I can't understand it at all. When I insisted, he went sofar as to reproach me for not having killed all the insurgents. It wasyesterday that he ought to have written that article; to-day he'll getus all butchered!"
Felicite was lost in amazement. What could have prompted Vuillet'schange of front? The idea of that wretched semi-sacristan carrying amusket and firing on the ramparts of Plassans seemed to her one of themost ridiculous things imaginable. There was certainly some determiningcause underlying all this which escaped her. Only one thing seemedcertain. Vuillet was too impudent in his abuse and too ready with hisvalour, for the insurrectionary band to be really so near the town assome people asserted.
"He's a spiteful fellow, I always said so," Rougon resumed, afterreading the article again. "He has only been waiting for an opportunityto do us this injury. What a fool I was to leave him in charge of thepost-office!"
This last sentence proved a flash of light. Felicite started up quickly,as though at some sudden thought. Then she put on a cap and threw ashawl over her shoulders.
"Where are you going, pray?" her husband asked her with surprise. "It'spast nine o'clock."
"You go to bed," she replied rather brusquely, "you're not well; go andrest yourself. Sleep on till I come back; I'll wake you if necessary,and then we can talk the matter over."
She went out with her usual nimble gait, ran to the post-office, andabruptly entered the room where Vuil
let was still at work. On seeing herhe made a hasty gesture of vexation.
Never in his life had Vuillet felt so happy. Since he had been ableto slip his little fingers into the mail-bag he had enjoyed the mostexquisite pleasure, the pleasure of an inquisitive priest about torelish the confessions of his penitents. All the sly blabbing, all thevague chatter of sacristies resounded in his ears. He poked his long,pale nose into the letters, gazed amorously at the superscriptions withhis suspicious eyes, sounded the envelopes just like little abbes soundthe souls of maidens. He experienced endless enjoyment, was titillatedby the most enticing temptation. The thousand secrets of Plassans laythere. He held in his hand the honour of women, the fortunes of men,and had only to break a seal to know as much as the grand vicar at thecathedral who was the confidant of all the better people of the town.Vuillet was one of those terribly bitter, frigid gossips, who worm outeverything, but never repeat what they hear, except by way of dealingsomebody a mortal blow. He had, consequently, often longed to dip hisarms into the public letter-box. Since the previous evening the privateroom at the post-office had become a big confessional full of darknessand mystery, in which he tasted exquisite rapture while sniffing at theletters which exhaled veiled longings and quivering avowals. Moreover,he carried on his work with consummate impudence. The crisis throughwhich the country was passing secured him perfect impunity. If someletters should be delayed, or others should miscarry altogether, itwould be the fault of those villainous Republicans who were scouringthe country and interrupting all communication. The closing of the towngates had for a moment vexed him, but he had come to an understandingwith Roudier, whereby the couriers were allowed to enter and bring themails direct to him without passing by the town-hall.
As a matter of fact he had only opened a few letters, the importantones, those in which his keen scent divined some information which itwould be useful for him to know before anybody else. Then he contentedhimself by locking up in a drawer, for delivery subsequently, suchletters as might give information and rob him of the merit of hisvalour at a time when the whole town was trembling with fear. This piouspersonage, in selecting the management of the post-office as his ownshare of the spoils, had given proof of singular insight into thesituation.
When Madame Rougon entered, he was taking his choice of a heap ofletters and papers, under the pretext, no doubt, of classifying them.He rose, with his humble smile, and offered her a seat; his reddenedeyelids blinking rather uneasily. But Felicite did not sit down; sheroughly exclaimed: "I want the letter."
At this Vuillet's eyes opened widely, with an expression of perfectinnocence.
"What letter, madame?" he asked.
"The letter you received this morning for my husband. Come, MonsieurVuillet, I'm in a hurry."
And as he stammered that he did not know, that he had not seen anything,that it was very strange, Felicite continued in a covertly threateningvoice: "A letter from Paris, from my son, Eugene; you know what I mean,don't you? I'll look for it myself."
Thereupon she stepped forward as if intending to examine the variouspackets which littered the writing table. But he at once bestirredhimself, and said he would go and see. The service was necessarily ingreat confusion! Perhaps, indeed, there might be a letter. In that casethey would find it. But, as far as he was concerned, he swore he had notseen any. While he was speaking he moved about the office turning overall the papers. Then he opened the drawers and the portfolios. Felicitewaited, quite calm and collected.
"Yes, indeed, you're right, here's a letter for you," he cried at last,as he took a few papers from a portfolio. "Ah! those confounded clerks,they take advantage of the situation to do nothing in the proper way."
Felicite took the letter and examined the seal attentively, apparentlyquite regardless of the fact that such scrutiny might wound Vuillet'ssusceptibilities. She clearly perceived that the envelope must have beenopened; the bookseller, in his unskilful way, had used some sealingwax of a darker colour to secure it again. She took care to open theenvelope in such a manner as to preserve the seal intact, so that itmight serve as proof of this. Then she read the note. Eugene brieflyannounced the complete success of the Coup d'Etat. Paris was subdued,the provinces generally speaking remained quiet, and he counselledhis parents to maintain a very firm attitude in face of the partialinsurrection which was disturbing the South. In conclusion he told themthat the foundation of their fortune was laid, if they did not weaken.
Madame Rougon put the letter in her pocket, and sat down slowly, lookinginto Vuillet's face. The latter had resumed his sorting in a feverishmanner, as though he were very busy.
"Listen to me, Monsieur Vuillet," she said to him. And when he raisedhis head: "let us play our cards openly; you do wrong to betray us; somemisfortune may befall you. If, instead of unsealing our letters--"
At this he protested, and feigned great indignation. But she calmlycontinued: "I know, I know your school, you never confess. Come, don'tlet us waste any more words, what interest have you in favouring theCoup d'Etat?"
And, as he continued to assert his perfect honesty, she at last lostpatience. "You take me for a fool!" she cried. "I've read your article.You would do much better to act in concert with us."
Thereupon, without avowing anything, he flatly submitted that he wishedto have the custom of the college. Formerly it was he who had suppliedthat establishment with school books. But it had become known that hesold objectionable literature clandestinely to the pupils; for whichreason, indeed, he had almost been prosecuted at the Correctional PoliceCourt. Since then he had jealously longed to be received back into thegood graces of the directors.
Felicite was surprised at the modesty of his ambition, and told him so.To open letters and risk the galleys just for the sake of selling a fewdictionaries and grammars!
"Eh!" he exclaimed in a shrill voice, "it's an assured sale of four orfive thousand francs a year. I don't aspire to impossibilities like somepeople."
She did not take any notice of his last taunting words. No more was saidabout his opening the letters. A treaty of alliance was concluded, bywhich Vuillet engaged that he would not circulate any news or take anystep in advance, on condition that the Rougons should secure him thecustom of the college. As she was leaving, Felicite advised him not tocompromise himself any further. It would be sufficient for him to detainthe letters and distribute them only on the second day.
"What a knave," she muttered, when she reached the street, forgettingthat she herself had just laid an interdict upon the mail.
She went home slowly, wrapped in thought. She even went out of herway, passing along the Cours Sauvaire, as if to gain time and ease forreflection before going in. Under the trees of the promenade she metMonsieur de Carnavant, who was taking advantage of the darkness toferret about the town without compromising himself. The clergy ofPlassans, to whom all energetic action was distasteful, had, since theannouncement of the Coup d'Etat, preserved absolute neutrality. In thepriests' opinion the Empire was virtually established, and they awaitedan opportunity to resume in some new direction their secular intrigues.The marquis, who had now become a useless agent, remained onlyinquisitive on one point--he wished to know how the turmoil wouldfinish, and in what manner the Rougons would play their role to the end.
"Oh! it's you, little one!" he exclaimed, as soon as he recognizedFelicite. "I wanted to see you; your affairs are getting muddled!"
"Oh, no; everything is going on all right," she replied, in anabsent-minded way.
"So much the better. You'll tell me all about it, won't you? Ah! I mustconfess that I gave your husband and his colleagues a terrible frightthe other night. You should have seen how comical they looked on theterrace, while I was pointing out a band of insurgents in every clusterof trees in the valley! You forgive me?"
"I'm much obliged to you," said Felicite quickly. "You should have madethem die of fright. My husband is a big sly-boots. Come and see me somemorning, when I am alone."
Then she turned away, as thoug
h this meeting with the marquis haddetermined her. From head to foot the whole of her little personbetokened implacable resolution. At last she was going to revengeherself on Pierre for his petty mysteries, have him under her heel, andsecure, once for all, her omnipotence at home. There would be a finescene, quite a comedy, indeed, the points of which she was alreadyenjoying in anticipation, while she worked out her plan with all thespitefulness of an injured woman.
She found Pierre in bed, sleeping heavily; she brought the candle nearhim for an instant, and gazed with an air of compassion, at his bigface, across which slight twitches occasionally passed; then she satdown at the head of the bed, took off her cap, let her hair fall loose,assumed the appearance of one in despair, and began to sob quite loudly.
"Hallo! What's the matter? What are you crying for?" asked Pierre,suddenly awaking.
She did not reply, but cried more bitterly.
"Come, come, do answer," continued her husband, frightened by this mutedespair. "Where have you been? Have you seen the insurgents?"
She shook her head; then, in a faint voice, she said: "I've just comefrom the Valqueyras mansion. I wanted to ask Monsieur de Carnavant'sadvice. Ah! my dear, all is lost."
Pierre sat up in bed, very pale. His bull neck, which his unbuttonednight-shirt exposed to view, all his soft, flabby flesh seemed to swellwith terror. At last he sank back, pale and tearful, looking like somegrotesque Chinese figure in the middle of the untidy bed.
"The marquis," continued Felicite, "thinks that Prince Louis hassuccumbed. We are ruined; we shall never get a sou."
Thereupon, as often happens with cowards, Pierre flew into a passion. Itwas the marquis's fault, it was his wife's fault, the fault of allhis family. Had he ever thought of politics at all, until Monsieur deCarnavant and Felicite had driven him to that tomfoolery?
"I wash my hands of it altogether," he cried. "It's you two who areresponsible for the blunder. Wasn't it better to go on living onour little savings in peace and quietness? But then, you were alwaysdetermined to have your own way! You see what it has brought us to."
He was losing his head completely, and forgot that he had shown himselfas eager as his wife. However, his only desire now was to vent hisanger, by laying the blame of his ruin upon others.
"And, moreover," he continued, "could we ever have succeeded withchildren like ours? Eugene abandons us just at the critical moment;Aristide has dragged us through the mire, and even that big simpletonPascal is compromising us by his philanthropic practising among theinsurgents. And to think that we brought ourselves to poverty simply togive them a university education!"
Then, as he drew breath, Felicite said to him softly: "You areforgetting Macquart."
"Ah! yes; I was forgetting him," he resumed more violently than ever;"there's another whom I can't think of without losing all patience! Butthat's not all; you know little Silvere. Well, I saw him at my mother'sthe other evening with his hands covered with blood. He has put somegendarme's eye out. I did not tell you of it, as I didn't want tofrighten you. But you'll see one of my nephews in the Assize Court. Ah!what a family! As for Macquart, he has annoyed us to such an extent thatI felt inclined to break his head for him the other day when I had a gunin my hand. Yes, I had a mind to do it."
Felicite let the storm pass over. She had received her husband'sreproaches with angelic sweetness, bowing her head like a culprit,whereby she was able to smile in her sleeve. Her demeanour provoked andmaddened Pierre. When speech failed the poor man, she heaved deep sighs,feigning repentance; and then she repeated, in a disconsolate voice:"Whatever shall we do! Whatever shall we do! We are over head and earsin debt."
"It's your fault!" Pierre cried, with all his remaining strength.
The Rougons, in fact, owed money on every side. The hope of approachingsuccess had made them forget all prudence. Since the beginning of 1851they had gone so far as to entertain the frequenters of the yellowdrawing-room every evening with syrup and punch, and cakes--providing,in fact, complete collations, at which they one and all drank to thedeath of the Republic. Besides this, Pierre had placed a quarter ofhis capital at the disposal of the reactionary party, as a contributiontowards the purchase of guns and cartridges.
"The pastry-cook's bill amounts to at least a thousand francs," Feliciteresumed, in her sweetest tone, "and we probably owe twice as much tothe liqueur-dealer. Then there's the butcher, the baker, thegreengrocer----"
Pierre was in agony. And Felicite struck him a final blow by adding: "Isay nothing of the ten thousand francs you gave for the guns."
"I, I!" he faltered, "but I was deceived, I was robbed! It was thatidiot Sicardot who let me in for that by swearing that the Napoleonistswould be triumphant. I thought I was only making an advance. But the olddolt will have to repay me my money."
"Ah! you won't get anything back," said his wife, shrugging hershoulders. "We shall suffer the fate of war. When we have paid offeverything, we sha'n't even have enough to buy dry bread with. Ah! it'sbeen a fine campaign. We can now go and live in some hovel in the oldquarter."
This last phrase had a most lugubrious sound. It seemed like the knellof their existence. Pierre pictured the hovel in the old quarter, whichhad just been mentioned by Felicite. 'Twas there, then, that he woulddie on a pallet, after striving all his life for the enjoyment of easeand luxury. In vain had he robbed his mother, steeped his hands in thefoulest intrigues, and lied and lied for many a long year. The Empirewould not pay his debts--that Empire which alone could save him. Hejumped out of bed in his night-shirt, crying: "No; I'll take my gun; Iwould rather let the insurgents kill me."
"Well!" Felicite rejoined, with great composure, "you can have that doneto-morrow or the day after; the Republicans are not far off. And thatway will do as well as another to make an end of matters."
Pierre shuddered. It seemed as if some one had suddenly poured a largepail of cold water over his shoulders. He slowly got into bed again, andwhen he was warmly wrapped up in the sheets, he began to cry. Thisfat fellow easily burst into tears--gently flowing, inexhaustibletears--which streamed from his eyes without an effort. A terriblereaction was now going on within him. After his wrath he became asweak as a child. Felicite, who had been waiting for this crisis, wasdelighted to see him so spiritless, so resourceless, and so humbledbefore her. She still preserved silence, and an appearance of distressedhumility. After a long pause, her seeming resignation, her mutedejection, irritated Pierre's nerves.
"But do say something!" he implored; "let us think matters overtogether. Is there really no hope left us?"
"None, you know very well," she replied; "you explained the situationyourself just now; we have no help to expect from anyone; even ourchildren have betrayed us."
"Let us flee, then. Shall we leave Plassans to-night--immediately?"
"Flee! Why, my dear, to-morrow we should be the talk of the whole town.Don't you remember, too, that you have had the gates closed?"
A violent struggle was going on in Pierre's mind, which he exerted tothe utmost in seeking for some solution; at last, as though he feltvanquished, he murmured, in supplicating tones: "I beseech you, do tryto think of something; you haven't said anything yet."
Felicite raised her head, feigning surprise; and with a gesture ofcomplete powerlessness she said: "I am a fool in these matters. I don'tunderstand anything about politics, you've told me so a hundred times."
And then, as her embarrassed husband held his tongue and lowered hiseyes, she continued slowly, but not reproachfully: "You have not kept meinformed of your affairs, have you? I know nothing at all about them, Ican't even give you any advice. It was quite right of you, though; womenchatter sometimes, and it is a thousand times better for the men tosteer the ship alone."
She said this with such refined irony that her husband did not detectthat she was deriding him. He simply felt profound remorse. And, all ofa sudden, he burst out into a confession. He spoke of Eugene's letters,explained his plans, his conduct, with all the loquacity of a man
whois relieving his conscience and imploring a saviour. At every momenthe broke off to ask: "What would you have done in my place?" or elsehe cried, "Isn't that so? I was right, I could not act otherwise." ButFelicite did not even deign to make a sign. She listened with all thefrigid reserve of a judge. In reality she was tasting the most exquisitepleasure; she had got that sly-boots fast at last; she played with himlike a cat playing with a ball of paper; and he virtually held out hishands to be manacled by her.
"But wait," he said hastily, jumping out of bed. "I'll give you Eugene'scorrespondence to read. You can judge the situation better then."
She vainly tried to hold him back by his night-shirt. He spread out theletters on the table by the bed-side, and then got into bed again, andread whole pages of them, and compelled her to go through them herself.She suppressed a smile, and began to feel some pity for the poor man.
"Well," he said anxiously, when he had finished, "now you knoweverything. Do you see any means of saving us from ruin!"
She still gave no answer. She appeared to be pondering deeply.
"You are an intelligent woman," he continued, in order to flatter her,"I did wrong in keeping any secret from you; I see it now."
"Let us say nothing more about that," she replied. "In my opinion, ifyou had enough courage----" And as he looked at her eagerly, she brokeoff and said, with a smile: "But you promise not to distrust me anymore? You will tell me everything, eh? You will do nothing withoutconsulting me?"
He swore, and accepted the most rigid conditions. Felicite then got intobed; and in a whisper, as if she feared somebody might hear them, sheexplained at length her plan of campaign. In her opinion the townmust be allowed to fall into still greater panic, while Pierre was tomaintain an heroic demeanour in the midst of the terrified inhabitants.A secret presentiment, she said, warned her that the insurgents werestill at a distance. Moreover, the party of order would sooner or latercarry the day, and the Rougons would be rewarded. After the role ofdeliverer, that of martyr was not to be despised. And she argued sowell, and spoke with so much conviction, that her husband, surprised atfirst by the simplicity of her plan, which consisted in facing it out,at last detected in it a marvellous tactical scheme, and promised toconform to it with the greatest possible courage.
"And don't forget that it is I who am saving you," the old womanmurmured in a coaxing tone. "Will you be nice to me?"
They kissed each other and said good-night. But neither of them slept;after a quarter of an hour had gone by, Pierre, who had been gazing atthe round reflection of the night-lamp on the ceiling, turned, and in afaint whisper told his wife of an idea that had just occurred to him.
"Oh! no, no," Felicite murmured, with a shudder. "That would be toocruel."
"Well," he resumed, "but you want to spread consternation among theinhabitants! They would take me seriously, if what I told you shouldoccur." Then perfecting his scheme, he cried: "We might employ Macquart.That would be a means of getting rid of him."
Felicite seemed to be struck with the idea. She reflected, seemed tohesitate, and then, in a distressful tone faltered: "Perhaps you areright. We must see. After all we should be very stupid if we wereover-scrupulous, for it's a matter of life and death to us. Let me doit. I'll see Macquart to-morrow, and ascertain if we can come toan understanding with him. You would only wrangle and spoil all.Good-night; sleep well, my poor dear. Our troubles will soon be ended,you'll see."
They again kissed each other and fell asleep. The patch of light on theceiling now seemed to be assuming the shape of a terrified eye, thatstared wildly and fixedly upon the pale, slumbering couple who reekedwith crime beneath their very sheets, and dreamt they could see a rainof blood falling in big drops which turned into golden coins as theyplashed upon the floor.
On the morrow, before daylight, Felicite repaired to the town-hall,armed with instructions from Pierre to seek an interview with Macquart.She took her husband's national guard uniform with her, wrapped in acloth. There were only a few men fast asleep in the guard-house. Thedoorkeeper, who was entrusted with the duty of supplying Macquart withfood, went upstairs with her to open the door of the dressing-room,which had been turned into a cell. Then quietly he came down again.
Macquart had now been kept in the room for two days and two nights. Hehad had time to indulge in lengthy reflections. After his sleep, hisfirst hours had been given up to outbursts of impotent rage. Goaded bythe idea that his brother was lording it in the adjoining room, he hadfelt a great longing to break the door open. At all events he wouldstrangle Rougon with his own hands, as soon as the insurgents shouldreturn and release him. But, in the evening, at twilight, he calmeddown, and gave over striding furiously round the little room. He inhaleda sweet odour there; a feeling of comfort relaxed his nerves. MonsieurGarconnet, who was very rich, refined, and vain, had caused this littleroom to be arranged in a very elegant fashion; the sofa was soft andwarm; scents, pomades, and soaps adorned the marble washstand, and thepale light fell from the ceiling with a soft glow, like the gleams ofa lamp suspended in an alcove. Macquart, amidst this perfumed soporificatmosphere fell asleep, thinking that those scoundrels, the rich, "werevery fortunate, all the same." He had covered himself with a blanketwhich had been given to him, and with his head and back and armsreposing on the cushions, he stretched himself out on the couch untilmorning. When he opened his eyes, a ray of sunshine was gliding throughthe opening above. Still he did not leave the sofa. He felt warm, andlay thinking as he gazed around him. He bethought himself that he wouldnever again have such a place to wash in. The washstand particularlyinterested him. It was by no means hard, he thought, to keep oneselfspruce when one had so many little pots and phials at one's disposal.This made him think bitterly of his own life of privation. The ideaoccurred to him that perhaps he had been on the wrong track. Thereis nothing to be gained by associating with beggars. He ought to haveplayed the scamp; he should have acted in concert with the Rougons.
Then, however, he rejected this idea. The Rougons were villains who hadrobbed him. But the warmth and softness of the sofa, continued to workupon his feelings, and fill him with vague regrets. After all, theinsurgents were abandoning him, and allowing themselves to be beatenlike idiots. Eventually he came to the conclusion that the Republic wasmere dupery. Those Rougons were lucky! And he recalled his own bootlesswickedness and underhand intrigues. Not one member of the family hadever been on his side; neither Aristide, nor Silvere's brother, norSilvere himself, who was a fool to grow so enthusiastic about theRepublic and would never do any good for himself. Then Macquartreflected that his wife was dead, that his children had left him, andthat he would die alone, like a dog in some wretched corner, without acopper to bless himself with. Decidedly, he ought to have sold himselfto the reactionary party. Pondering in this fashion, he eyed thewashstand, feeling a strong inclination to go and wash his hands with acertain powder soap which he saw in a glass jar. Like all lazy fellowswho live upon their wives or children, he had foppish tastes. Althoughhe wore patched trousers, he liked to inundate himself with aromaticoil. He spent hours with his barber, who talked politics, and brushedhis hair for him between their discussions. So, at last, the temptationbecame too strong, and Macquart installed himself before the washstand.He washed his hands and face, dressed his hair, perfumed himself, infact went through a complete toilet. He made use in turn of all thebottles, all the various soaps and powders; but his greatest pleasurewas to dry his hands with the mayor's towels, which were so soft andthick. He buried his wet face in them, and inhaled, with delight, allthe odour of wealth. Then, having pomaded himself, and smelling sweetlyfrom head to foot, he once more stretched himself on the sofa, feelingquite youthful again, and disposed to the most conciliatory thoughts. Hefelt yet greater contempt for the Republic since he had dipped his noseinto Monsieur Garconnet's phials. The idea occurred to him that therewas, perhaps, still time for him to make peace with his brother. Hewondered what he might well ask in return for playing the traitor. Hisrancour against th
e Rougons still gnawed at his heart; but he was in oneof those moods when, lying on one's back in silence, one is apt to admitstern facts, and scold oneself for neglecting to feather a comfortablenest in which one may wallow in slothful ease, even at the cost ofrelinquishing one's most cherished animosities. Towards evening Antoinedetermined to send for his brother on the following day. But when, inthe morning, he saw Felicite enter the room he understood that his aidwas wanted, so he remained on his guard.
The negotiations were long and full of pitfalls, being conducted oneither side with infinite skill. At first they both indulged in vaguecomplaints, then Felicite, who was surprised to find Macquart almostpolite, after the violent manner in which he had behaved at her house onthe Sunday evening, assumed a tone of gentle reproach. She deploredthe hatred which severed their families. But, in truth, he had socalumniated his brother, and manifested such bitter animosity towardshim, that he had made poor Rougon quite lose his head.
"But, dash it, my brother has never behaved like a brother to me,"Macquart replied, with restrained violence. "Has he ever given meany assistance? He would have let me die in my hovel! When he behaveddifferently towards me--you remember, at the time he gave me two hundredfrancs--I am sure no one can reproach me with having said a singleunpleasant word about him. I said everywhere that he was a verygood-hearted fellow."
This clearly signified: "If you had continued to supply me with money,I should have been very pleasant towards you, and would have helped you,instead of fighting against you. It's your own fault. You ought to havebought me."
Felicite understood this so well that she replied: "I know you haveaccused us of being hard upon you, because you imagine we are incomfortable circumstances; but you are mistaken, my dear brother; we arepoor people; we have never been able to act towards you as our heartswould have desired." She hesitated a moment, and then continued: "If itwere absolutely necessary in some serious contingency, we might perhapsbe able to make a sacrifice; but, truly, we are very poor, very poor!"
Macquart pricked up his ears. "I have them!" he thought. Then, withoutappearing to understand his sister-in-law's indirect offer, he detailedthe wretchedness of his life in a doleful manner, and spoke of hiswife's death and his children's flight. Felicite, on her side, referredto the crisis through which the country was passing, and declared thatthe Republic had completely ruined them. Then from word to word shebegan to bemoan the exigencies of a situation which compelled onebrother to imprison another. How their hearts would bleed if justicerefused to release its prey! And finally she let slip the word"galleys!"
"Bah! I defy you," said Macquart calmly.
But she hastily exclaimed: "Oh! I would rather redeem the honour of thefamily with my own blood. I tell you all this to show you that we shallnot abandon you. I have come to give you the means of effecting yourescape, my dear Antoine."
They gazed at each other for a moment, sounding each other with a look,before engaging in the contest.
"Unconditionally?" he asked, at length.
"Without any condition," she replied.
Then she sat down beside him on the sofa, and continued, in a determinedvoice: "And even, before crossing the frontier, if you want to earn athousand-franc note, I can put you in the way of doing so."
There was another pause.
"If it's all above board I shall have no objection," Antoine muttered,apparently reflecting. "You know I don't want to mix myself up with yourunderhand dealings."
"But there are no underhand dealings about it," Felicite resumed,smiling at the old rascal's scruples. "Nothing can be more simple: youwill presently leave this room, and go and conceal yourself in yourmother's house, and this evening you can assemble your friends and comeand seize the town-hall again."
Macquart did not conceal his extreme surprise. He did not understand itat all.
"I thought," he said, "that you were victorious."
"Oh! I haven't got time now to tell you all about it," the old womanreplied, somewhat impatiently. "Do you accept or not?"
"Well, no; I don't accept--I want to think it over. It would be verystupid of me to risk a possible fortune for a thousand francs."
Felicite rose. "Just as you like my dear fellow," she said, coldly. "Youdon't seem to realise the position you are in. You came to my house andtreated me as though I were a mere outcast; and then, when I am kindenough to hold out a hand to you in the hole into which you havestupidly let yourself fall, you stand on ceremony, and refuse to berescued. Well, then, stay here, wait till the authorities come back. Asfor me, I wash my hands of the whole business."
With these words she reached the door.
"But give me some explanations," he implored. "I can't strike a bargainwith you in perfect ignorance of everything. For two days past I havebeen quite in the dark as to what's going on. How do I know that you arenot cheating me?"
"Bah! you're a simpleton," replied Felicite, who had retraced her stepsat Antoine's doleful appeal. "You are very foolish not to trust yourselfimplicitly to us. A thousand francs! That's a fine sum, a sum that onewould only risk in a winning cause. I advise you to accept."
He still hesitated.
"But when we want to seize the place, shall we be allowed to enterquietly?"
"Ah! I don't know," she said, with a smile. "There will perhaps be ashot or two fired."
He looked at her fixedly.
"Well, but I say, little woman," he resumed in a hoarse voice, "youdon't intend, do you, to have a bullet lodged in my head?"
Felicite blushed. She was, in fact, just thinking that they would berendered a great service, if, during the attack on the town-hall, abullet should rid them of Antoine. It would be a gain of a thousandfrancs, besides all the rest. So she muttered with irritation: "What anidea! Really, it's abominable to think such things!"
Then, suddenly calming down, she added:
"Do you accept? You understand now, don't you?"
Macquart had understood perfectly. It was an ambush that they wereproposing to him. He did not perceive the reasons or the consequencesof it, and this was what induced him to haggle. After speaking of theRepublic as though it were a mistress whom, to his great grief, he couldno longer love, he recapitulated the risks which he would have to run,and finished by asking for two thousand francs. But Felicite abidedby her original offer. They debated the matter until she promised toprocure him, on his return to France, some post in which he wouldhave nothing to do, and which would pay him well. The bargain was thenconcluded. She made him don the uniform she had brought with her. Hewas to betake himself quietly to aunt Dide's, and afterwards, towardsmidnight, assemble all the Republicans he could in the neighbourhood ofthe town-hall, telling them that the municipal offices were unguarded,and that they had only to push open the door to take possession of them.Antoine then asked for earnest money, and received two hundred francs.Felicite undertook to pay the remaining eight hundred on the followingday. The Rougons were risking the last sum they had at their disposal.
When Felicite had gone downstairs, she remained on the square for amoment to watch Macquart go out. He passed the guard-house, quietlyblowing his nose. He had previously broken the skylight in thedressing-room, to make it appear that he had escaped that way.
"It's all arranged," Felicite said to her husband, when she returnedhome. "It will be at midnight. It doesn't matter to me at all now. Ishould like to see them all shot. How they slandered us yesterday in thestreet!"
"It was rather silly of you to hesitate," replied Pierre, who wasshaving. "Every one would do the same in our place."
That morning--it was a Wednesday--he was particularly careful about histoilet. His wife combed his hair and tied his cravat, turning him aboutlike a child going to a distribution of prizes. And when he was ready,she examined him, declared that he looked very nice, and that he wouldmake a very good figure in the midst of the serious events that werepreparing. His big pale face wore an expression of grave dignity andheroic determination. She accompanied him to the first la
nding, givinghim her last advice: he was not to depart in any way from his courageousdemeanour, however great the panic might be; he was to have the gatesclosed more hermetically than ever, and leave the town in agonies ofterror within its ramparts; it would be all the better if he were toappear the only one willing to die for the cause of order.
What a day it was! The Rougons still speak of it as of a glorious anddecisive battle. Pierre went straight to the town-hall, heedless of thelooks or words that greeted him on his way. He installed himself therein magisterial fashion, like a man who did not intend to quit the place,whatever might happen. And he simply sent a note to Roudier, to advisehim that he was resuming authority.
"Keep watch at the gates," he added, knowing that these lines mightbecome public: "I myself will watch over the town and ensure thesecurity of life and property. It is at the moment when evil passionsreappear and threaten to prevail that good citizens should endeavour tostifle them, even at the peril of their lives." The style, and the veryerrors in spelling, made this note--the brevity of which suggested thelaconic style of the ancients--appear all the more heroic. Not one ofthe gentlemen of the Provisional Commission put in an appearance. Thelast two who had hitherto remained faithful, and Granoux himself,even, prudently stopped at home. Thus Rougon was the only member of theCommission who remained at his post, in his presidential arm-chair, allthe others having vanished as the panic increased. He did not evendeign to issue an order summoning them to attend. He was there, and thatsufficed, a sublime spectacle, which a local journal depicted later onin a sentence: "Courage giving the hand to duty."
During the whole morning Pierre was seen animating the town-hall withhis goings and comings. He was absolutely alone in the large, emptybuilding, whose lofty halls reechoed with the noise of his heels. Allthe doors were left open. He made an ostentatious show of his presidencyover a non-existent council in the midst of this desert, and appearedso deeply impressed with the responsibility of his mission that thedoorkeeper, meeting him two or three times in the passages, bowed to himwith an air of mingled surprise and respect. He was seen, too, at everywindow, and, in spite of the bitter cold, he appeared several timeson the balcony with bundles of papers in his hand, like a busy manattending to important despatches.
Then, towards noon, he passed through the town and visited theguard-houses, speaking of a possible attack, and letting it beunderstood, that the insurgents were not far off; but he relied, hesaid, on the courage of the brave national guards. If necessary theymust be ready to die to the last man for the defence of the good cause.When he returned from this round, slowly and solemnly, after the mannerof a hero who has set the affairs of his country in order, and now onlyawaits death, he observed signs of perfect stupor along his path; thepeople promenading in the Cours, the incorrigible little householders,whom no catastrophe would have prevented from coming at certain hoursto bask in the sun, looked at him in amazement, as if they did notrecognize him, and could not believe that one of their own set, a formeroil-dealer, should have the boldness to face a whole army.
In the town the anxiety was at its height. The insurrectionists wereexpected every moment. The rumour of Macquart's escape was commentedupon in a most alarming manner. It was asserted that he had been rescuedby his friends, the Reds, and that he was only waiting for nighttime inorder to fall upon the inhabitants and set fire to the four corners ofthe town. Plassans, closed in and terror-stricken, gnawing at its ownvitals within its prison-like walls, no longer knew what to imagine inorder to frighten itself. The Republicans, in the face of Rougon'sbold demeanour, felt for a moment distrustful. As for the newtown--the lawyers and retired tradespeople who had denounced the yellowdrawing-room on the previous evening--they were so surprised thatthey dared not again openly attack such a valiant man. They contentedthemselves with saying "It was madness to brave victorious insurgentslike that, and such useless heroism would bring the greatest misfortunesupon Plassans." Then, at about three o'clock, they organised adeputation. Pierre, though he was burning with desire to make a displayof his devotion before his fellow-citizens, had not ventured to reckonupon such a fine opportunity.
He spoke sublimely. It was in the mayor's private room that thepresident of the Provisional Commission received the deputation from thenew town. The gentlemen of the deputation, after paying homage to hispatriotism, besought him to forego all resistance. But he, in a loudvoice, talked of duty, of his country, of order, of liberty, and variousother things. Moreover, he did not wish to compel any one to imitatehim; he was simply discharging a duty which his conscience and his heartdictated to him.
"You see, gentlemen, I am alone," he said in conclusion. "I will takeall the responsibility, so that nobody but myself may be compromised.And if a victim is required I willingly offer myself; I wish tosacrifice my own life for the safety of the inhabitants."
A notary, the wiseacre of the party, remarked that he was running tocertain death.
"I know it," he resumed solemnly. "I am prepared!"
The gentlemen looked at each other. Those words "I am prepared!" filledthem with admiration. Decidedly this man was a brave fellow. The notaryimplored him to call in the aid of the gendarmes; but he replied thatthe blood of those brave soldiers was precious, and he would not haveit shed, except in the last extremity. The deputation slowly withdrew,feeling deeply moved. An hour afterwards, Plassans was speaking ofRougon as of a hero; the most cowardly called him "an old fool."
Towards evening, Rougon was much surprised to see Granoux hasten tohim. The old almond-dealer threw himself in his arms, calling him"great man," and declaring that he would die with him. The words "I amprepared!" which had just been reported to him by his maid-servant,who had heard it at the greengrocer's, had made him quite enthusiastic.There was charming naivete in the nature of this grotesque, timorousold man. Pierre kept him with him, thinking that he would not be ofmuch consequence. He was even touched by the poor fellow's devotion, andresolved to have him publicly complimented by the prefect, in order torouse the envy of the other citizens who had so cowardly abandoned him.And so both of them awaited the night in the deserted building.
At the same time Aristide was striding about at home in an uneasymanner. Vuillet's article had astonished him. His father's demeanourstupefied him. He had just caught sight of him at the window, in a whitecravat and black frock-coat, so calm at the approach of danger that allhis ideas were upset. Yet the insurgents were coming back triumphant,that was the belief of the whole town. But Aristide felt some doubtson the point; he had suspicions of some lugubrious farce. As he did notdare to present himself at his parents' house, he sent his wife thither.And when Angele returned, she said to him, in her drawling voice: "Yourmother expects you; she is not angry at all, she seems rather to bemaking fun of you. She told me several times that you could just putyour sling back in your pocket."
Aristide felt terribly vexed. However, he ran to the Rue de la Banne,prepared to make the most humble submission. His mother was contentto receive him with scornful laughter. "Ah! my poor fellow," said she,"you're certainly not very shrewd."
"But what can one do in a hole like Plassans!" he angrily retorted. "Onmy word of honour, I am becoming a fool here. No news, and everybodyshivering! That's what it is to be shut up in these villainous ramparts.Ah! If I had only been able to follow Eugene to Paris!"
Then, seeing that his mother was still smiling, he added bitterly:"You haven't been very kind to me, mother. I know many things, I do. Mybrother kept you informed of what was going on, and you have never givenme the faintest hint that might have been useful to me."
"You know that, do you?" exclaimed Felicite, becoming serious anddistrustful. "Well, you're not so foolish as I thought, then. Do youopen letters like some one of my acquaintance?"
"No; but I listen at doors," Aristide replied, with great assurance.
This frankness did not displease the old woman. She began to smileagain, and asked more softly: "Well, then, you blockhead, how is it youdidn't rally to us sooner?"
"Ah! that's where it is," the young man said, with some embarrassment."I didn't have much confidence in you. You received such idiots: myfather-in-law, Granoux, and the others!--And then, I didn't want to gotoo far. . . ." He hesitated, and then resumed, with some uneasiness:"To-day you are at least quite sure of the success of the Coup d'Etat,aren't you?"
"I!" cried Felicite, wounded by her son's doubts; "no, I'm not sure ofanything."
"And yet you sent word to say that I was to take off my sling!"
"Yes; because all the gentlemen are laughing at you."
Aristide remained stock still, apparently contemplating one of theflowers of the orange-coloured wall-paper. And his mother felt suddenimpatience as she saw him hesitating thus.
"Ah! well," she said, "I've come back again to my former opinion; you'renot very shrewd. And you think you ought to have had Eugene's lettersto read? Why, my poor fellow you would have spoilt everything, withyour perpetual vacillation. You never can make up your mind. You arehesitating now."
"I hesitate?" he interrupted, giving his mother a cold, keen glance."Ah! well, you don't know me. I would set the whole town on fire if itwere necessary, and I wanted to warm my feet. But, understand me, I'veno desire to take the wrong road! I'm tired of eating hard bread, and Ihope to play fortune a trick. But I only play for certainties."
He spoke these words so sharply, with such a keen longing for success,that his mother recognised the cry of her own blood.
"Your father is very brave," she whispered.
"Yes, I've seen him," he resumed with a sneer. "He's got a fine look onhim! He reminded me of Leonidas at Thermopylae. Is it you, mother, whohave made him cut this figure?"
And he added cheerfully, with a gesture of determination: "Well, so muchthe worse! I'm a Bonapartist! Father is not the man to risk the chanceof being killed unless it pays him well."
"You're quite right," his mother replied; "I mustn't say anything; butto-morrow you'll see."
He did not press her, but swore that she would soon have reason to beproud of him; and then he took his departure, while Felicite, feelingher old preference reviving, said to herself at the window, as shewatched him going off, that he had the devil's own wit, that she wouldnever have had sufficient courage to let him leave without setting himin the right path.
And now for the third time a night full of anguish fell upon Plassans.The unhappy town was almost at its death-rattle. The citizens hastenedhome and barricaded their doors with a great clattering of iron boltsand bars. The general feeling seemed to be that, by the morrow, Plassanswould no longer exist, that it would either be swallowed up by the earthor would evaporate in the atmosphere. When Rougon went home to dine, hefound the streets completely deserted. This desolation made him sad andmelancholy. As a result of this, when he had finished his meal, hefelt some slight misgivings, and asked his wife if it were necessary tofollow up the insurrection that Macquart was preparing.
"Nobody will run us down now," said he. "You should have seen thosegentlemen of the new town, how they bowed to me! It seems to me quiteunnecessary now to kill anybody--eh? What do you think? We shall featherour nest without that."
"Ah! what a nerveless fellow you are!" Felicite cried angrily. "It wasyour own idea to do it, and now you back out! I tell you that you'llnever do anything without me! Go then, go your own way. Do you think theRepublicans would spare you if they got hold of you?"
Rougon went back to the town-hall, and prepared for the ambush. Granouxwas very useful to him. He despatched him with orders to the differentposts guarding the ramparts. The national guards were to repair to thetown-hall in small detachments, as secretly as possible. Roudier, thatbourgeois who was quite out of his element in the provinces, and whowould have spoilt the whole affair with his humanitarian preaching, wasnot even informed of it. Towards eleven o'clock, the court-yard of thetown-hall was full of national guards. Then Rougon frightened them; hetold them that the Republicans still remaining in Plassans were aboutto attempt a desperate _coup de main_, and plumed himself on having beenwarned in time by his secret police. When he had pictured the bloodymassacre which would overtake the town, should these wretches get theupper hand, he ordered his men to cease speaking, and extinguish alllights. He took a gun himself. Ever since the morning he had been livingas in a dream; he no longer knew himself; he felt Felicite behind him.The crisis of the previous night had thrown him into her hands, and hewould have allowed himself to be hanged, thinking: "It does not matter,my wife will come and cut me down." To augment the tumult, and prolongthe terror of the slumbering town, he begged Granoux to repair to thecathedral and have the tocsin rung at the first shots he might hear. Themarquis's name would open the beadle's door. And then, in darkness anddismal silence, the national guards waited in the yard, in a terriblestate of anxiety, their eyes fixed on the porch, eager to fire, asthough they were lying in wait for a pack of wolves.
In the meantime, Macquart had spent the day at aunt Dide's house.Stretching himself on the old coffer, and lamenting the loss of MonsieurGarconnet's sofa, he had several times felt a mad inclination to breakinto his two hundred francs at some neighbouring cafe. This money wasburning a hole in his waistcoat pocket; however, he whiled away his timeby spending it in imagination. His mother moved about, in her stiff,automatic way, as if she were not even aware of his presence. During thelast few days her children had been coming to her rather frequently,in a state of pallor and desperation, but she departed neither from hertaciturnity, nor her stiff, lifeless expression. She knew nothing ofthe fears which were throwing the pent-up town topsy-turvy, she was athousand leagues away from Plassans, soaring into the one constantfixed idea which imparted such a blank stare to her eyes. Now and again,however, at this particular moment, some feeling of uneasiness, somehuman anxiety, occasionally made her blink. Antoine, unable to resistthe temptation of having something nice to eat, sent her to get a roastchicken from an eating-house in the Faubourg. When it was set on thetable: "Hey!" he said to her, "you don't often eat fowl, do you? It'sonly for those who work, and know how to manage their affairs. As foryou, you always squandered everything. I bet you're giving all yoursavings to that little hypocrite, Silvere. He's got a mistress, the slyfellow. If you've a hoard of money hidden in some corner, he'll ease youof it nicely some day."
Macquart was in a jesting mood, glowing with wild exultation. The moneyhe had in his pocket, the treachery he was preparing, the convictionthat he had sold himself at a good price--all filled him with theself-satisfaction characteristic of vicious people who naturallybecame merry and scornful amidst their evil practices. Of all his talk,however, aunt Dide only heard Silvere's name.
"Have you seen him?" she asked, opening her lips at last.
"Who? Silvere?" Antoine replied. "He was walking about among theinsurgents with a tall red girl on his arm. It will serve him right ifhe gets into trouble."
The grandmother looked at him fixedly, then, in a solemn voice,inquired: "Why?"
"Eh! Why, he shouldn't be so stupid," resumed Macquart, feeling somewhatembarrassed. "People don't risk their necks for the sake of ideas. I'vesettled my own little business. I'm no fool."
But aunt Dide was no longer listening to him. She was murmuring: "He hadhis hands covered with blood. They'll kill him like the other one. Hisuncles will send the gendarmes after him."
"What are you muttering there?" asked her son, as he finished pickingthe bones of the chicken. "You know I like people to accuse me tomy face. If I have sometimes talked to the little fellow about theRepublic, it was only to bring him round to a more reasonable way ofthinking. He was dotty. I love liberty myself, but it mustn't degenerateinto license. And as for Rougon, I esteem him. He's a man of courage andcommon-sense."
"He had the gun, hadn't he?" interrupted aunt Dide, whose wandering mindseemed to be following Silvere far away along the high road.
"The gun? Ah! yes; Macquart's carbine," continued Antoine, after castinga glance at the mantel-shelf, where the fire-arm was usu
ally hung. "Ifancy I saw it in his hands. A fine instrument to scour the countrywith, when one has a girl on one's arm. What a fool!"
Then he thought he might as well indulge in a few coarse jokes. AuntDide had begun to bustle about the room again. She did not say a word.Towards the evening Antoine went out, after putting on a blouse, andpulling over his eyes a big cap which his mother had bought for him.He returned into the town in the same manner as he had quitted it, byrelating some nonsensical story to the national guards who were on dutyat the Rome Gate. Then he made his way to the old quarter, where hecrept from house to house in a mysterious manner. All the Republicans ofadvanced views, all the members of the brotherhood who had not followedthe insurrectionary army, met in an obscure inn, where Macquart had madean appointment with them. When about fifty men were assembled, he made aspeech, in which he spoke of personal vengeance that must be wreaked,of a victory that must be gained, and of a disgraceful yoke that must bethrown off. And he ended by undertaking to deliver the town-hall overto them in ten minutes. He had just left it, it was quite unguarded,he said, and the red flag would wave over it that very night if they sodesired. The workmen deliberated. At that moment the reaction seemed tobe in its death throes. The insurgents were virtually at the gates ofthe town. It would therefore be more honourable to make an effort toregain power without awaiting their return, so as to be able to receivethem as brothers, with the gates wide open, and the streets and squaresadorned with flags. Moreover, none of those present distrusted Macquart.His hatred of the Rougons, the personal vengeance of which he spoke,could be taken as guaranteeing his loyalty. It was arranged that each ofthem who was a sportsman and had a gun at home should fetch it, andthat the band should assemble at midnight in the neighbourhood ofthe town-hall. A question of detail very nearly put an end to theirplans--they had no bullets; however, they decided to load their weaponswith small shot: and even that seemed unnecessary, as they were toldthat they would meet with no resistance.
Once more Plassans beheld a band of armed men filing along close to thehouses, in the quiet moonlight. When the band was assembled in front ofthe town-hall, Macquart, while keeping a sharp look-out, boldly advancedto the building. He knocked, and when the door-keeper, who had learnthis lesson, asked what was wanted, he uttered such terrible threats,that the man, feigning fright, made haste to open the door. Both leavesof it swung back slowly, and the porch then lay open and empty beforethem, while Macquart shouted in a loud voice: "Come on, my friends!"
That was the signal. He himself quickly jumped aside, and as theRepublicans rushed in, there came, from the darkness of the yard, astream of fire and a hail of bullets, which swept through the gapingporch with a roar as of thunder. The doorway vomited death. Thenational guards, exasperated by their long wait, eager to shake off thediscomfort weighing upon them in that dismal court-yard, had fired avolley with feverish haste. The flash of the firing was so bright, that,through the yellow gleams Macquart distinctly saw Rougon taking aim. Hefancied that his brother's gun was deliberately levelled at himself,and he recalled Felicite's blush, and made his escape, muttering: "Notricks! The rascal would kill me. He owes me eight hundred francs."
In the meantime a loud howl had arisen amid the darkness. The surprisedRepublicans shouted treachery, and fired in their turn. A national guardfell under the porch. But the Republicans, on their side, had threedead. They took to flight, stumbling over the corpses, stricken withpanic, and shouting through the quiet lanes: "Our brothers are beingmurdered!" in despairing voices which found no echo. Thereupon thedefenders of order, having had time to reload their weapons, rushed intothe empty square, firing at every street corner, wherever the darknessof a door, the shadow of a lamp-post, or the jutting of a stone madethem fancy they saw an insurgent. In this wise they remained there tenminutes, firing into space.
The affray had burst over the slumbering town like a thunderclap. Theinhabitants in the neighbouring streets, roused from sleep by thisterrible fusillade, sat up in bed, their teeth chattering with fright.Nothing in the world would have induced them to poke their noses out ofthe window. And slowly, athwart the air, in which the shots had suddenlyresounded, one of the cathedral bells began to ring the tocsin with soirregular, so strange a rhythm, that one might have thought the noise tobe the hammering of an anvil or the echoes of a colossal kettle struckby a child in a fit of passion. This howling bell, whose sound thecitizens did not recognise, terrified them yet more than the reports ofthe fire-arms had done; and there were some who thought they heard anendless train of artillery rumbling over the paving-stones. They laydown again and buried themselves beneath their blankets, as if theywould have incurred some danger by still sitting up in bed in theirclosely-fastened rooms. With their sheets drawn up to their chins, theyheld their breath, and made themselves as small as possible, while theirwives, by their side, almost fainted with terror as they buried theirheads among the pillows.
The national guards who had remained at the ramparts had also heard theshots, and thinking that the insurgents had entered by means of somesubterranean passage, they ran up helter-skelter, in groups of fiveor six, disturbing the silence of the streets with the tumult of theirexcited rush. Roudier was one of the first to arrive. However, Rougonsent them all back to their posts, after reprimanding them severelyfor abandoning the gates of the town. Thrown into consternation bythis reproach--for in their panic, they had, in fact, left the gatesabsolutely defenceless--they again set off at a gallop, hurrying throughthe streets with still more frightful uproar. Plassans might well havethought that an infuriated army was crossing it in all directions. Thefusillade, the tocsin, the marches and countermarches of the nationalguards, the weapons which were being dragged along like clubs, theterrified cries in the darkness, all produced a deafening tumult,such as might break forth in a town taken by assault and given overto plunder. It was the final blow of the unfortunate inhabitants, whoreally believed that the insurgents had arrived. They had, indeed, saidthat it would be their last night--that Plassans would be swallowed upin the earth, or would evaporate into smoke before daybreak; and now,lying in their beds, they awaited the catastrophe in the most abjectterror, fancying at times that their houses were already tottering.
Meantime Granoux still rang the tocsin. When, in other respects, silencehad again fallen upon the town, the mournfulness of that ringing becameintolerable. Rougon, who was in a high fever, felt exasperated by itsdistant wailing. He hastened to the cathedral, and found the door open.The beadle was on the threshold.
"Ah! that's quite enough!" he shouted to the man; "anybody would thinkthere was some one crying; it's quite unbearable."
"But it isn't me, sir," replied the beadle in a distressed manner. "It'sMonsieur Granoux, he's gone up into the steeple. I must tell you that Iremoved the clapper of the bell, by his Reverence's order, preciselyto prevent the tocsin from being sounded. But Monsieur Granoux wouldn'tlisten to reason. He climbed up, and I've no idea what he can be makingthat noise with."
Thereupon Rougon hastily ascended the staircase which led to the bells,shouting: "That will do! That will do! For goodness' sake leave off!"
When he had reached the top he caught sight of Granoux, by the lightof the moon which glided through an embrasure; the ex almond dealer wasstanding there hatless, and dealing furious blows with a heavy hammer.He did so with a right good will. He first threw himself back, then tooka spring, and finally fell upon the sonorous bronze as if he wantedto crack it. One might have thought he was a blacksmith striking hotiron--but a frock-coated blacksmith, short and bald, working in a wildand awkward way.
Surprise kept Rougon motionless for a moment at the sight of thisfrantic bourgeois thus belabouring the bell in the moonlight. Thenhe understood the kettle-like clang which this strange ringer haddisseminated over the town. He shouted to him to stop, but Granoux didnot hear. Rougon was obliged to take hold of his frock-coat, and thenthe other recognising him, exclaimed in a triumphant voice: "Ah! you'veheard it. At first I tried to knock the bell wit
h my fists, but thathurt me. Fortunately I found this hammer. Just a few more blows, eh?"
However, Rougon dragged him away. Granoux was radiant. He wiped hisforehead, and made his companion promise to let everybody know in themorning that he had produced all that noise with a mere hammer. Whatan achievement, and what a position of importance that furious ringingwould confer upon him!
Towards morning, Rougon bethought himself of reassuring Felicite. Inaccordance with his orders, the national guards had shut themselves upin the town-hall. He had forbidden them to remove the corpses, under thepretext that it was necessary to give the populace of the old quarter alesson. And as, while hastening to the Rue de la Banne, he passed overthe square, on which the moon was no longer shining, he inadvertentlystepped on the clenched hand of a corpse that lay beside the footpath.At this he almost fell. That soft hand, which yielded beneath hisheel, brought him an indefinable sensation of disgust and horror. Andthereupon he hastened at full speed along the deserted streets, fancyingthat a bloody fist was pursuing him.
"There are four of them on the ground," he said, as he entered hishouse.
He and his wife looked at one another as though they were astonished attheir crime.
The lamplight imparted the hue of yellow wax to their pale faces.
"Have you left them there?" asked Felicite; "they must be found there."
"Of course! I didn't pick them up. They are lying on their backs. Istepped on something soft----"
Then he looked at his boot; its heel was covered with blood. While hewas putting on a pair of shoes, Felicite resumed:
"Well! so much the better! It's over now. People won't be inclined torepeat that you only fire at mirrors."
The fusillade which the Rougons had planned in order that they mightbe finally recognised as the saviours of Plassans, brought the wholeterrified and grateful town to their feet. The day broke mournfullywith the grey melancholy of a winter-morning. The inhabitants, hearingnothing further, ventured forth, weary of trembling beneath theirsheets. At first some ten or fifteen appeared. Later on, when a rumourspread that the insurgents had taken flight, leaving their dead inevery gutter, Plassans rose in a body and descended upon the town-hall.Throughout the morning people strolled inquisitively round the fourcorpses. They were horribly mutilated, particularly one, which had threebullets in the head. But the most horrible to look upon was the bodyof a national guard, who had fallen under the porch; he had received acharge of the small shot, used by the Republicans in lieu of bullets,full in the face; and blood oozed from his torn and riddled countenance.The crowd feasted their eyes upon this horror, with the avidity forrevolting spectacles which is so characteristic of cowards. The nationalguard was freely recognised; he was the pork-butcher Dubruel, the manwhom Roudier had accused on the Monday morning of having fired withculpable eagerness. Of the three other corpses, two were journeymenhatters; the third was not identified. For a long while gaping groupsremained shuddering in front of the red pools which stained thepavement, often looking behind them with an air of mistrust, as thoughthat summary justice which had restored order during the night by forceof arms, were, even now, watching and listening to them, ready to shootthem down in their turn, unless they kissed with enthusiasm the handthat had just rescued them from the demagogy.
The panic of the night further augmented the terrible effect producedin the morning by the sight of the four corpses. The true history ofthe fusillade was never known. The firing of the combatants, Granoux'shammering, the helter-skelter rush of the national guards through thestreets, had filled people's ears with such terrifying sounds that mostof them dreamed of a gigantic battle waged against countless enemies.When the victors, magnifying the number of their adversaries withinstinctive braggardism, spoke of about five hundred men, everybodyprotested against such a low estimate. Some citizens asserted that theyhad looked out of their windows and seen an immense stream of fugitivespassing by for more than an hour. Moreover everybody had heard thebandits running about. Five hundred men would never have been able torouse a whole town. It must have been an army, and a fine big army too,which the brave militia of Plassans had "driven back into the ground."This phrase of their having been "driven back into the ground," firstused by Rougon, struck people as being singularly appropriate, for theguards who were charged with the defence of the ramparts swore by allthat was holy that not a single man had entered or quitted the town,a circumstance which tinged what had happened with mystery, evensuggesting the idea of horned demons who had vanished amidst flames, andthus fairly upsetting the minds of the multitude. It is true the guardsavoided all mention of their mad gallops; and so the more rationalcitizens were inclined to believe that a band of insurgents had reallyentered the town either by a breach in the wall or some other channel.Later on, rumours of treachery were spread abroad, and people talked ofan ambush. The cruel truth could no longer be concealed by the men whomMacquart had led to slaughter, but so much terror still prevailed,and the sight of blood had thrown so many cowards into the arms of thereactionary party, that these rumours were attributed to the rage ofthe vanquished Republicans. It was asserted, on the other hand, thatMacquart had been made prisoner by Rougon, who kept him in a damp cell,where he was letting him slowly die of starvation. This horrible talemade people bow to the very ground whenever they encountered Rougon.
Thus it was that this grotesque personage, this pale, flabby,tun-bellied citizen became, in one night, a terrible captain, whomnobody dared to ridicule any more. He had steeped his foot in blood.The inhabitants of the old quarter stood dumb with fright before thecorpses. But towards ten o'clock, when the respectable people of the newtown arrived, the whole square hummed with subdued chatter. People spokeof the other attack, of the seizure of the mayor's office, in which amirror only had been wounded; but this time they no longer pooh-poohedRougon, they spoke of him with respectful dismay; he was indeed a hero,a deliverer. The corpses, with open eyes, stared at those gentlemen, thelawyers and householders, who shuddered as they murmured that civil warhad many cruel necessities. The notary, the chief of the deputationsent to the town-hall on the previous evening, went from group to group,recalling the proud words "I am prepared!" then used by the energeticman to whom the town owed its safety. There was a general feeling ofhumiliation. Those who had railed most cruelly against the forty-one,those, especially, who had referred to the Rougons as intriguers andcowards who merely fired shots in the air, were the first to speak ofgranting a crown of laurels "to the noble citizen of whom Plassans wouldbe for ever proud." For the pools of blood were drying on the pavement,and the corpses proclaimed to what a degree of audacity the party ofdisorder, pillage, and murder had gone, and what an iron hand had beenrequired to put down the insurrection.
Moreover, the whole crowd was eager to congratulate Granoux, and shakehands with him. The story of the hammer had become known. By an innocentfalsehood, however, of which he himself soon became unconscious, heasserted that, having been the first to see the insurgents, he had setabout striking the bell, in order to sound the alarm, so that, but forhim, the national guards would have been massacred. This doubled hisimportance. His achievement was declared prodigious. People spoke of himnow as "Monsieur Isidore, don't you know? the gentleman who soundedthe tocsin with a hammer!" Although the sentence was somewhat lengthy,Granoux would willingly have accepted it as a title of nobility; andfrom that day forward he never heard the word "hammer" pronouncedwithout imagining it to be some delicate flattery.
While the corpses were being removed, Aristide came to look at them. Heexamined them on all sides, sniffing and looking inquisitively attheir faces. His eyes were bright, and he had a sharp expression ofcountenance. In order to see some wound the better he even lifted up theblouse of one corpse with the very hand which on the previous day hadbeen suspended in a sling. This examination seemed to convince him andremove all doubt from his mind. He bit his lips, remained there for amoment in silence, and then went off for the purpose of hastening theissue of the "Independant," f
or which he had written a most importantarticle. And as he hurried along beside the houses he recalled hismother's words: "You will see to-morrow!" Well, he had seen now; it wasvery clever; it even frightened him somewhat.
In the meantime, Rougon's triumph was beginning to embarrass him. Alonein Monsieur Garconnet's office, hearing the buzzing of the crowd, hebecame conscious of a strange feeling, which prevented him from showinghimself on the balcony. That blood, in which he had stepped, seemed tohave numbed his legs. He wondered what he should do until the evening.His poor empty brain, upset by the events of the night, soughtdesperately for some occupation, some order to give, or some measure tobe taken, which might afford him some distraction. But he could thinkabout nothing clearly. Whither was Felicite leading him? Was it reallyall finished now, or would he still have to kill somebody else? Thenfear again assailed him, terrible doubts arose in his mind, and healready saw the ramparts broken down on all sides by an avenging armyof the Republicans, when a loud shout: "The insurgents! The insurgents!"burst forth under the very windows of his room. At this he jumped up,and raising a curtain, saw the crowd rushing about the square in a stateof terror. What a thunderbolt! In less than a second he pictured himselfruined, plundered, and murdered; he cursed his wife, he cursed the wholetown. Then, as he looked behind him in a suspicious manner, seekingsome means of escape, he heard the mob break out into applause, utteringshouts of joy, making the very glass rattle with their wilddelight. Then he returned to the window; the women were waving theirhandkerchiefs, and the men were embracing each other. There were someamong them who joined hands and began to dance. Rougon stood therestupefied, unable to comprehend it all, and feeling his head swimming.The big, deserted, silent building, in which he was alone, quitefrightened him.
When he afterwards confessed his feelings to Felicite, he was unable tosay how long his torture had lasted. He only remembered that a noise offootsteps, re-echoing through the vast halls, had roused him from hisstupor. He expected to be attacked by men in blouses, armed with scythesand clubs, whereas it was the Municipal Commission which entered, quiteorderly and in evening dress, each member with a beaming countenance.Not one of them was absent. A piece of good news had simultaneouslycured all these gentlemen. Granoux rushed into the arms of his dearpresident.
"The soldiers!" he stammered, "the soldiers!"
A regiment had, in fact, just arrived, under the command of ColonelMasson and Monsieur de Bleriot, prefect of the department. Thegunbarrels which had been observed from the ramparts, far away in theplain, had at first suggested the approach of the insurgents. Rougon wasso deeply moved on learning the truth, that two big tears rolled downhis cheeks. He was weeping, the great citizen! The Municipal Commissionwatched those big tears with most respectful admiration. But Granouxagain threw himself on his friend's neck, crying:
"Ah! how glad I am! You know I'm a straightforward man. Well, we wereall of us afraid; it is not so, gentlemen? You, alone, were great,brave, sublime! What energy you must have had! I was just now saying tomy wife: 'Rougon is a great man; he deserves to be decorated.'"
Then the gentlemen proposed to go and meet the prefect. For a momentRougon felt both stunned and suffocated; he was unable to believein this sudden triumph, and stammered like a child. However, he drewbreath, and went downstairs with the quiet dignity suited to thesolemnity of the occasion. But the enthusiasm which greeted thecommission and its president outside the town-hall almost upset hismagisterial gravity afresh. His name sped through the crowd, accompaniedthis time by the warmest eulogies. He heard everyone repeat Granoux'savowal, and treat him as a hero who had stood firm and resolute amidstuniversal panic. And, as far as the Sub-Prefecture, where the commissionmet the prefect, he drank his fill of popularity and glory.
Monsieur de Bleriot and Colonel Masson had entered the town alone,leaving their troops encamped on the Lyons road. They had lostconsiderable time through a misunderstanding as to the direction takenby the insurgents. Now, however, they knew the latter were at Orcheres;and it would only be necessary to stop an hour at Plassans, justsufficient time to reassure the population and publish the cruelordinances which decreed the sequestration of the insurgents' property,and death to every individual who might be taken with arms in hishands. Colonel Masson smiled when, in accordance with the orders of thecommander of the national guards, the bolts of the Rome Gate were drawnback with a great rattling of rusty old iron. The detachment on dutythere accompanied the prefect and the colonel as a guard of honour.As they traversed the Cours Sauvaire, Roudier related Rougon's epicachievements to the gentlemen--the three days of panic that hadterminated with the brilliant victory of the previous night. When thetwo processions came face to face therefore, Monsieur de Bleriot quicklyadvanced towards the president of the Commission, shook hands with him,congratulated him, and begged him to continue to watch over the townuntil the return of the authorities. Rougon bowed, while the prefect,having reached the door of the Sub-Prefecture, where he wished to takea brief rest, proclaimed in a loud voice that he would not forget tomention his brave and noble conduct in his report.
In the meantime, in spite of the bitter cold, everybody had come totheir windows. Felicite, leaning forward at the risk of falling out,was quite pale with joy. Aristide had just arrived with a number of the"Independant," in which he had openly declared himself in favour of theCoup d'Etat, which he welcomed "as the aurora of liberty in order andof order in liberty." He had also made a delicate allusion to theyellow drawing-room, acknowledging his errors, declaring that "youth ispresumptuous," and that "great citizens say nothing, reflect in silence,and let insults pass by, in order to rise heroically when the day ofstruggle comes." He was particularly pleased with this sentence. Hismother thought his article extremely well written. She kissed her dearchild, and placed him on her right hand. The Marquis de Carnavant, wearyof incarcerating himself, and full of eager curiosity, had likewise cometo see her, and stood on her left, leaning on the window rail.
When Monsieur de Bleriot offered his hand to Rougon on the square belowFelicite began to weep. "Oh! see, see," she said to Aristide. "He hasshaken hands with him. Look! he is doing it again!" And casting a glanceat the windows, where groups of people were congregated, she added: "Howwild they must be! Look at Monsieur Peirotte's wife, she's bitingher handkerchief. And over there, the notary's daughter, and MadameMassicot, and the Brunet family, what faces, eh? how angry they look!Ah, indeed, it's our turn now."
She followed the scene which was being acted outside the Sub-Prefecturewith thrills of delight, which shook her ardent, grasshopper-like figurefrom head to foot. She interpreted the slightest gesture, invented wordswhich she was unable to catch, and declared that Pierre bowed very wellindeed. She was a little vexed when the prefect deigned to speak to poorGranoux, who was hovering about him fishing for a word of praise. Nodoubt Monsieur de Bleriot already knew the story of the hammer, for theretired almond-dealer turned as red as a young girl, and seemed tobe saying that he had only done his duty. However, that which angeredFelicite still more was her husband's excessive amiability in presentingVuillet to the authorities. Vuillet, it is true, pushed himself forwardamongst them, and Rougon was compelled to mention him.
"What a schemer!" muttered Felicite. "He creeps in everywhere. Howconfused my poor dear husband must be! See, there's the colonel speakingto him. What can he be saying to him?"
"Ah! little one," the marquis replied with a touch of irony, "he iscomplimenting him for having closed the gates so carefully."
"My father has saved the town," Aristide retorted curtly. "Have you seenthe corpses, sir?"
Monsieur de Carnavant did not answer. He withdrew from the window, andsat down in an arm-chair, shaking his head with an air of some disgust.At that moment, the prefect having taken his departure, Rougon cameupstairs and threw himself upon his wife's neck.
"Ah! my dear!" he stammered.
He was unable to say more. Felicite made him kiss Aristide after tellinghim of the superb article which the young ma
n had inserted in the"Independant." Pierre would have kissed the marquis as well, he wasdeeply affected. However, his wife took him aside, and gave him Eugene'sletter which she had sealed up in an envelope again. She pretended thatit had just been delivered. Pierre read it and then triumphantly held itout to her.
"You are a sorceress," he said to her laughing. "You guessed everything.What folly I should have committed without you! We'll manage our littleaffairs together now. Kiss me: you're a good woman."
He clasped her in his arms, while she discreetly exchanged a knowingsmile with the marquis.
CHAPTER VII
It was not until Sunday, the day after the massacre at Sainte-Roure,that the troops passed through Plassans again. The prefect and thecolonel, whom Monsieur Garconnet had invited to dinner, once moreentered the town alone. The soldiers went round the ramparts andencamped in the Faubourg, on the Nice road. Night was falling; the sky,overcast since the morning, had a strange yellow tint, and illuminedthe town with a murky light, similar to the copper-coloured glimmerof stormy weather. The reception of the troops by the inhabitants wastimid; the bloodstained soldiers, who passed by weary and silent, inthe yellow twilight, horrified the cleanly citizens promenading onthe Cours. They stepped out of the way whispering terrible stories offusillades and revengeful reprisals which still live in the recollectionof the region. The Coup d'Etat terror was beginning to make itself felt,an overwhelming terror which kept the South in a state of tremor formany a long month. Plassans, in its fear and hatred of the insurgents,had welcomed the troops on their first arrival with enthusiasm; but now,at the appearance of that gloomy taciturn regiment, whose men were readyto fire at a word from their officers, the retired merchants and eventhe notaries of the new town anxiously examined their consciences,asking if they had not committed some political peccadilloes which mightbe thought deserving of a bullet.
The municipal authorities had returned on the previous evening in acouple of carts hired at Sainte-Roure. Their unexpected entry was devoidof all triumphal display. Rougon surrendered the mayor's arm-chairwithout much regret. The game was over; and with feverish longing he nowawaited the recompense for his devotion. On the Sunday--he had not hopedfor it until the following day--he received a letter from Eugene.Since the previous Thursday Felicite had taken care to send her sonthe numbers of the "Gazette" and "Independant" which, in special secondeditions had narrated the battle of the night and the arrival of theprefect at Plassans. Eugene now replied by return of post that thenomination of a receivership would soon be signed; but added that hewished to give them some good news immediately. He had obtained theribbon of the Legion of Honour for his father. Felicite wept with joy.Her husband decorated! Her proud dream had never gone as far as that.Rougon, pale with delight, declared they must give a grand dinner thatvery evening. He no longer thought of expense; he would have thrown hislast fifty francs out of the drawing-room windows in order to celebratethat glorious day.
"Listen," he said to his wife; "you must invite Sicardot: he has annoyedme with that rosette of his for a long time! Then Granoux and Roudier;I shouldn't be at all sorry to make them feel that it isn't their pursesthat will ever win them the cross. Vuillet is a skinflint, but thetriumph ought to be complete: invite him as well as the small fry. I wasforgetting; you must go and call on the marquis in person; we will seathim on your right; he'll look very well at our table. You know thatMonsieur Garconnet is entertaining the colonel and the prefect. That isto make me understand that I am nobody now. But I can afford to laugh athis mayoralty; it doesn't bring him in a sou! He has invited me, butI shall tell him that I also have some people coming. The others willlaugh on the wrong side of their mouths to-morrow. And let everythingbe of the best. Have everything sent from the Hotel de Provence. We mustoutdo the mayor's dinner."
Felicite set to work. Pierre still felt some vague uneasiness amidst hisrapture. The Coup d'Etat was going to pay his debts, his son Aristidehad repented of his faults, and he was at last freeing himself fromMacquart; but he feared some folly on Pascal's part, and was especiallyanxious about the lot reserved for Silvere. Not that he felt the leastpity for the lad; he was simply afraid the matter of the gendarme mightcome before the Assize Court. Ah! if only some discriminating bullet hadmanaged to rid him of that young scoundrel! As his wife had pointed outto him in the morning, all obstacles had fallen away before him; thefamily which had dishonoured him had, at the last moment, worked for hiselevation; his sons Eugene and Aristide, those spend-thrifts, the costof whose college life he had so bitterly regretted, were at last payinginterest on the capital expended for their education. And yet thethought of that wretched Silvere must come to mar his hour of triumph!
While Felicite was running about to prepare the dinner for the evening,Pierre heard of the arrival of the troops and determined to go and makeinquiries. Sicardot, whom he had questioned on his return, knew nothing;Pascal must have remained to look after the wounded; as for Silvere, hehad not even been seen by the commander, who scarcely knew him. Rougontherefore repaired to the Faubourg, intending to make inquiries thereand at the same time pay Macquart the eight hundred francs which he hadjust succeeded in raising with great difficulty. However, when he foundhimself in the crowded encampment, and from a distance saw the prisonerssitting in long files on the beams in the Aire Saint-Mittre, guarded bysoldiers gun in hand, he felt afraid of being compromised, and so slunkoff to his mother's house, with the intention of sending the old womanout to pick up some information.
When he entered the hovel it was almost night. At first the only personhe saw there was Macquart smoking and drinking brandy.
"Is that you? I'm glad of it," muttered Antoine. "I'm growing deucedcold here. Have you got the money?"
But Pierre did not reply. He had just perceived his son Pascal leaningover the bed. And thereupon he questioned him eagerly. The doctor,surprised by his uneasiness, which he attributed to paternal affection,told him that the soldiers had taken him and would have shot him, hadit not been for the intervention of some honest fellow whom he did notknow. Saved by his profession of surgeon, he had returned to Plassanswith the troops. This greatly relieved Rougon. So there was yet anotherwho would not compromise him. He was evincing his delight by repeatedhand-shakings, when Pascal concluded in a sorrowful voice: "Oh! don'tmake merry. I have just found my poor grandmother in a very dangerousstate. I brought her back this carbine, which she values very much; Ifound her lying here, and she has not moved since."
Pierre's eyes were becoming accustomed to the dimness. In the fastfading light he saw aunt Dide stretched, rigid and seemingly lifeless,upon her bed. Her wretched frame, attacked by neurosis from the hour ofbirth, was at length laid prostrate by a supreme shock. Her nerves hadso to say consumed her blood. Moreover some cruel grief seemed to havesuddenly accelerated her slow wasting-away. Her pale nun-like face,drawn and pinched by a life of gloom and cloister-like self-denial, wasnow stained with red blotches. With convulsed features, eyes that glaredterribly, and hands twisted and clenched, she lay at full length in herskirts, which failed to hide the sharp outlines of her scrawny limbs.Extended there with lips closely pressed she imparted to the dim roomall the horror of a mute death-agony.
Rougon made a gesture of vexation. This heart-rending spectacle was verydistasteful to him. He had company coming to dinner in the evening, andit would be extremely inconvenient for him to have to appear mournful.His mother was always doing something to bother him. She might justas well have chosen another day. However, he put on an appearance ofperfect ease, as he said: "Bah! it's nothing. I've seen her like that ahundred times. You must let her lie still; it's the only thing that doesher any good."
Pascal shook his head. "No, this fit isn't like the others," hewhispered. "I have often studied her, and have never observed suchsymptoms before. Just look at her eyes: there is a peculiar fluidity, apale brightness about them which causes me considerable uneasiness. Andher face, how frightfully every muscle of it is distorted!"
Then bending ov
er to observe her features more closely, he continuedin a whisper, as though speaking to himself: "I have never seen such aface, excepting among people who have been murdered or have died fromfright. She must have experienced some terrible shock."
"But how did the attack begin?" Rougon impatiently inquired, at a lossfor an excuse to leave the room.
Pascal did not know. Macquart, as he poured himself out another glassof brandy, explained that he had felt an inclination to drink a littleCognac, and had sent her to fetch a bottle. She had not been longabsent, and at the very moment when she returned she had fallen rigid onthe floor without uttering a word. Macquart himself had carried her tothe bed.
"What surprises me," he said, by way of conclusion, "is, that she didnot break the bottle."
The young doctor reflected. After a short pause he resumed: "I heard twoshots fired as I came here. Perhaps those ruffians have been shootingsome more prisoners. If she passed through the ranks of the soldiers atthat moment, the sight of blood may have thrown her into this fit. Shemust have had some dreadful shock."
Fortunately he had with him the little medicine-case which he had beencarrying about ever since the departure of the insurgents. He triedto pour a few drops of reddish liquid between aunt Dide's closely-setteeth, while Macquart again asked his brother: "Have you got the money?"
"Yes, I've brought it; we'll settle now," Rougon replied, glad of thisdiversion.
Thereupon Macquart, seeing that he was about to be paid, began to moan.He had only learnt the consequence of his treachery when it was toolate; otherwise he would have demanded twice or thrice as much. And hecomplained bitterly. Really now a thousand francs was not enough. Hischildren had forsaken him, he was all alone in the world, and obliged toquit France. He almost wept as he spoke of his coming exile.
"Come now, will you take the eight hundred francs?" said Rougon, who wasin haste to be off.
"No, certainly not; double the sum. Your wife cheated me. If she hadtold me distinctly what it was she expected of me, I would never havecompromised myself for such a trifle."
Rougon laid the eight hundred francs upon the table.
"I swear I haven't got any more," he resumed. "I will think of youlater. But do, for mercy's sake, get away this evening."
Macquart, cursing and muttering protests, thereupon carried the tableto the window, and began to count the gold in the fading twilight. Thecoins tickled the tips of his fingers very pleasantly as he let themfall, and jingled musically in the darkness. At last he paused for amoment to say: "You promised to get me a berth, remember. I want toreturn to France. The post of rural guard in some pleasant neighbourhoodwhich I could mention, would just suit me."
"Very well, I'll see about it," Rougon replied. "Have you got the eighthundred francs?"
Macquart resumed his counting. The last coins were just clinking when aburst of laughter made them turn their heads. Aunt Dide was standing upin front of the bed, with her bodice unfastened, her white hair hangingloose, and her face stained with red blotches. Pascal had in vainendeavoured to hold her down. Trembling all over, and with her armsoutstretched, she shook her head deliriously.
"The blood-money! the blood-money!" she again and again repeated. "Iheard the gold. And it is they, they who sold him. Ah! the murderers!They are a pack of wolves."
Then she pushed her hair aback, and passed her hand over her brow, asthough seeking to collect her thoughts. And she continued: "Ah! I havelong seen him with a bullet-hole in his forehead. There were alwayspeople lying in wait for him with guns. They used to sign to me thatthey were going to fire. . . . It's terrible! I feel some one breakingmy bones and battering out my brains. Oh! Mercy! Mercy! I beseech you;he shall not see her any more--never, never! I will shut him up. I willprevent him from walking out with her. Mercy! Mercy! Don't fire. It isnot my fault. If you knew----"
She had almost fallen on her knees, and was weeping and entreating whileshe stretched her poor trembling hands towards some horrible visionwhich she saw in the darkness. Then she suddenly rose upright, and hereyes opened still more widely as a terrible cry came from her convulsedthroat, as though some awful sight, visible to her alone, had filled herwith mad terror.
"Oh, the gendarme!" she said, choking and falling backwards on the bed,where she rolled about, breaking into long bursts of furious, insanelaughter.
Pascal was studying the attack attentively. The two brothers, who feltvery frightened, and only detected snatches of what their mother said,had taken refuge in a corner of the room. When Rougon heard the wordgendarme, he thought he understood her. Ever since the murder of herlover, the elder Macquart, on the frontier, aunt Dide had cherished abitter hatred against all gendarmes and custom-house officers, whom shemingled together in one common longing for vengeance.
"Why, it's the story of the poacher that she's telling us," hewhispered.
But Pascal made a sign to him to keep quiet. The stricken woman hadraised herself with difficulty, and was looking round her, with astupefied air. She remained silent for a moment, endeavouring torecognise the various objects in the room, as though she were in somestrange place. Then, with a sudden expression of anxiety, she asked:"Where is the gun?"
The doctor put the carbine into her hands. At this she raised a lightcry of joy, and gazed at the weapon, saying in a soft, sing-song,girlish whisper: "That is it. Oh! I recognise it! It is all stained withblood. The stains are quite fresh to-day. His red hands have left marksof blood on the butt. Ah! poor, poor aunt Dide!"
Then she became dizzy once more, and lapsed into silent thought.
"The gendarme was dead," she murmured at last, "but I have seen himagain; he has come back. They never die, those blackguards!"
Again did gloomy passion come over her, and, shaking the carbine, sheadvanced towards her two sons who, speechless with fright, retreated tothe very wall. Her loosened skirts trailed along the ground, as she drewup her twisted frame, which age had reduced to mere bones.
"It's you who fired!" she cried. "I heard the gold. . . . Wretched womanthat I am! . . . I brought nothing but wolves into the world--a wholefamily--a whole litter of wolves! . . . There was only one poor lad,and him they have devoured; each had a bite at him, and their lips arecovered with blood. . . . Ah! the accursed villains! They have robbed,they have murdered. . . . And they live like gentlemen. Villains!Accursed villains!"
She sang, laughed, cried, and repeated "accursed villains!" in strangelysonorous tones, which suggested a crackling of a fusillade. Pascal, withtears in his eyes, took her in his arms and laid her on the bedagain. She submitted like a child, but persisted in her wailing cries,accelerating their rhythm, and beating time on the sheet with herwithered hands.
"That's just what I was afraid of," the doctor said; "she is mad. Theblow has been too heavy for a poor creature already subject, as she is,to acute neurosis. She will die in a lunatic asylum like her father."
"But what could she have seen?" asked Rougon, at last venturing to quitthe corner where he had hidden himself.
"I have a terrible suspicion," Pascal replied. "I was going to speak toyou about Silvere when you came in. He is a prisoner. You must endeavourto obtain his release from the prefect, if there is still time."
The old oil-dealer turned pale as he looked at his son. Then, rapidly,he responded: "Listen to me; you stay here and watch her. I'm too busythis evening. We will see to-morrow about conveying her to the lunaticasylum at Les Tulettes. As for you, Macquart, you must leave thisvery night. Swear to me that you will! I'm going to find Monsieur deBleriot."
He stammered as he spoke, and felt more eager than ever to get out intothe fresh air of the streets. Pascal fixed a penetrating look on themadwoman, and then on his father and uncle. His professional instinctwas getting the better of him, and he studied the mother and the sons,with all the keenness of a naturalist observing the metamorphosis ofsome insect. He pondered over the growth of that family to which hebelonged, over the different branches growing from one parent stock,whose sap carri
ed identical germs to the farthest twigs, which bent indivers ways according to the sunshine or shade in which they lived. Andfor a moment, as by the glow of a lightning flash, he thought he couldespy the future of the Rougon-Macquart family, a pack of unbridled,insatiate appetites amidst a blaze of gold and blood.
Aunt Dide, however, had ceased her wailing chant at the mention ofSilvere's name. For a moment she listened anxiously. Then she broke outinto terrible shrieks. Night had now completely fallen, and the blackroom seemed void and horrible. The shrieks of the madwoman, who wasno longer visible, rang out from the darkness as from a grave. Rougon,losing his head, took to flight, pursued by those taunting cries, whosebitterness seemed to increase amidst the gloom.
As he was emerging from the Impasse Saint-Mittre with hesitating steps,wondering whether it would not be dangerous to solicit Silvere's pardonfrom the prefect, he saw Aristide prowling about the timber-yard. Thelatter, recognising his father, ran up to him with an expression ofanxiety and whispered a few words in his ear. Pierre turned pale, andcast a look of alarm towards the end of the yard, where the darkness wasonly relieved by the ruddy glow of a little gipsy fire. Then they bothdisappeared down the Rue de Rome, quickening their steps as though theyhad committed a murder, and turning up their coat-collars in order thatthey might not be recognised.
"That saves me an errand," Rougon whispered. "Let us go to dinner. Theyare waiting for us."
When they arrived, the yellow drawing-room was resplendent. Felicitewas all over the place. Everybody was there; Sicardot, Granoux, Roudier,Vuillet, the oil-dealers, the almond-dealers, the whole set. Themarquis, however, had excused himself on the plea of rheumatism;and, besides, he was about to leave Plassans on a short trip. Thosebloodstained bourgeois offended his feelings of delicacy, and moreoverhis relative, the Count de Valqueyras, had begged him to withdraw frompublic notice for a little time. Monsieur de Carnavant's refusal vexedthe Rougons; but Felicite consoled herself by resolving to make a moreprofuse display. She hired a pair of candelabra and ordered severaladditional dishes as a kind of substitute for the marquis. The table waslaid in the yellow drawing-room, in order to impart more solemnity tothe occasion. The Hotel de Provence had supplied the silver, the china,and the glass. The cloth had been laid ever since five o'clock in orderthat the guests on arriving might feast their eyes upon it. At eitherend of the table, on the white cloth, were bouquets of artificial roses,in porcelain vases gilded and painted with flowers.
When the habitual guests of the yellow drawing-room were assembledthere they could not conceal their admiration of the spectacle. Severalgentlemen smiled with an air of embarrassment while they exchangedfurtive glances, which clearly signified, "These Rougons are mad,they are throwing their money out of the window." The truth was thatFelicite, on going round to invite her guests, had been unable to holdher tongue. So everybody knew that Pierre had been decorated, and thathe was about to be nominated to some post; at which, of course, theypulled wry faces. Roudier indeed observed that "the little black womanwas puffing herself out too much." Now that "prize-day" had come thisband of bourgeois, who had rushed upon the expiring Republic--each onekeeping an eye on the other, and glorying in giving a deeper bite thanhis neighbour--did not think it fair that their hosts should have allthe laurels of the battle. Even those who had merely howled by instinct,asking no recompense of the rising Empire, were greatly annoyed to seethat, thanks to them, the poorest and least reputable of them all shouldbe decorated with the red ribbon. The whole yellow drawing-room ought tohave been decorated!
"Not that I value the decoration," Roudier said to Granoux, whom he haddragged into the embrasure of a window. "I refused it in the time ofLouis-Philippe, when I was purveyor to the court. Ah! Louis-Philippe wasa good king. France will never find his equal!"
Roudier was becoming an Orleanist once more. And he added, with thecrafty hypocrisy of an old hosier from the Rue Saint-Honore: "But you,my dear Granoux; don't you think the ribbon would look well in yourbutton-hole? After all, you did as much to save the town as Rougon did.Yesterday, when I was calling upon some very distinguished persons, theycould scarcely believe it possible that you had made so much noise witha mere hammer."
Granoux stammered his thanks, and, blushing like a maiden at her firstconfession of love, whispered in Roudier's ear: "Don't say anythingabout it, but I have reason to believe that Rougon will ask the ribbonfor me. He's a good fellow at heart, you know."
The old hosier thereupon became grave, and assumed a very affablemanner. When Vuillet came and spoke to him of the well-deserved rewardthat their friend had just received, he replied in a loud voice, so asto be heard by Felicite, who was sitting a little way off, that "menlike Rougon were an ornament to the Legion of Honour." The booksellerjoined in the chorus; he had that morning received a formal assurancethat the custom of the college would be restored to him. As forSicardot, he at first felt somewhat annoyed to find himself no longerthe only one of the set who was decorated. According to him, none butsoldiers had a right to the ribbon. Pierre's valour surprised him.However, being in reality a good-natured fellow, he at last grew warmer,and ended by saying that the Napoleons always knew how to distinguishmen of spirit and energy.
Rougon and Aristide consequently had an enthusiastic reception; on theirarrival all hands were held out to them. Some of the guests went sofar as to embrace them. Angele sat on the sofa, by the side of hermother-in-law, feeling very happy, and gazing at the table with theastonishment of a gourmand who has never seen so many dishes at once.When Aristide approached, Sicardot complimented his son-in-law upon hissuperb article in the "Independant." He restored his friendship tohim. The young man, in answer to the fatherly questions which Sicardotaddressed to him, replied that he was anxious to take his little familywith him to Paris, where his brother Eugene would push him forward; buthe was in want of five hundred francs. Sicardot thereupon promisedhim the money, already foreseeing the day when his daughter would bereceived at the Tuileries by Napoleon III.
In the meantime, Felicite had made a sign to her husband. Pierre,surrounded by everybody and anxiously questioned about his pallor, couldonly escape for a minute. He was just able to whisper in his wife's earthat he had found Pascal and that Macquart would leave that night. Thenlowering his voice still more he told her of his mother's insanity, andplaced his finger on his lips, as if to say: "Not a word; that wouldspoil the whole evening." Felicite bit her lips. They exchanged a lookin which they read their common thoughts: so now the old woman would nottrouble them any more: the poacher's hovel would be razed to the ground,as the walls of the Fouques' enclosure had been demolished; and theywould for ever enjoy the respect and esteem of Plassans.
But the guests were looking at the table. Felicite showed the gentlementheir seats. It was perfect bliss. As each one took his spoon, Sicardotmade a gesture to solicit a moment's delay. Then he rose and gravelysaid: "Gentlemen, on behalf of the company present, I wish to expressto our host how pleased we are at the rewards which his courage andpatriotism have procured for him. I now see that he must have acted upona heaven-sent inspiration in remaining here, while those beggars weredragging myself and others along the high roads. Therefore, I heartilyapplaud the decision of the government. . . . Let me finish, you canthen congratulate our friend. . . . Know, then, that our friend, besidesbeing made a chevalier of the Legion of Honour, is also to be appointedto a receiver of taxes."
There was a cry of surprise. They had expected a small post. Some ofthem tried to force a smile; but, aided by the sight of the table, thecompliments again poured forth profusely.
Sicardot once more begged for silence. "Wait one moment," he resumed;"I have not finished. Just one word. It is probable that our friend willremain among us, owing to the death of Monsieur Peirotte."
Whilst the guests burst out into exclamations, Felicite felt a keen painin her heart. Sicardot had already told her that the receiver had beenshot; but at the mention of that sudden and shocking death, just as theywere starting on that
triumphal dinner, it seemed as if a chilling gustswept past her face. She remembered her wish; it was she who had killedthat man. However, amidst the tinkling music of the silver, the companybegan to do honour to the banquet. In the provinces, people eatvery much and very noisily. By the time the _releve_ was served, thegentlemen were all talking together; they showered kicks upon thevanquished, flattered one another, and made disparaging remarks aboutthe absence of the marquis. It was impossible, they said, to maintainintercourse with the nobility. Roudier even gave out that the marquishad begged to be excused because his fear of the insurgents had givenhim jaundice. At the second course they all scrambled like hounds atthe quarry. The oil-dealers and almond-dealers were the men who savedFrance. They clinked glasses to the glory of the Rougons. Granoux, whowas very red, began to stammer, while Vuillet, very pale, was quitedrunk. Nevertheless Sicardot continued filling his glass. For her partAngele, who had already eaten too much, prepared herself some sugar andwater. The gentlemen were so delighted at being freed from panic, andfinding themselves together again in that yellow drawing-room, round agood table, in the bright light radiating from the candelabra andthe chandelier--which they now saw for the first time without itsfly-specked cover--that they gave way to most exuberant folly andindulged in the coarsest enjoyment. Their voices rose in the warmatmosphere more huskily and eulogistically at each successive dish tillthey could scarcely invent fresh compliments. However, one of them, anold retired master-tanner, hit upon this fine phrase--that the dinnerwas a "perfect feast worthy of Lucullus."
Pierre was radiant, and his big pale face perspired with triumph.Felicite, already accustoming herself to her new station in life, saidthat they would probably rent poor Monsieur Peirotte's flat until theycould purchase a house of their own in the new town. She was alreadyplanning how she would place her future furniture in the receiver'srooms. She was entering into possession of her Tuileries. At onemoment, however, as the uproar of voices became deafening, she seemed torecollect something, and quitting her seat she whispered in Aristide'sear: "And Silvere?"
The young man started with surprise at the question.
"He is dead," he replied, likewise in a whisper. "I was there when thegendarme blew his brains out with a pistol."
Felicite in her turn shuddered. She opened her mouth to ask her sonwhy he had not prevented this murder by claiming the lad; but abruptlyhesitating she remained there speechless. Then Aristide, who had readher question on her quivering lips, whispered: "You understand, I saidnothing--so much the worse for him! I did quite right. It's a goodriddance."
This brutal frankness displeased Felicite. So Aristide had his skeleton,like his father and mother. He would certainly not have confessed soopenly that he had been strolling about the Faubourg and had allowed hiscousin to be shot, had not the wine from the Hotel de Provence and thedreams he was building upon his approaching arrival in Paris, madehim depart from his habitual cunning. The words once spoken, heswung himself to and fro on his chair. Pierre, who had watched theconversation between his wife and son from a distance, understood whathad passed and glanced at them like an accomplice imploring silence. Itwas the last blast of terror, as it were, which blew over the Rougons,amidst the splendour and enthusiastic merriment of the dinner. True,Felicite, on returning to her seat, espied a taper burning behind awindow on the other side of the road. Some one sat watching MonsieurPeirotte's corpse, which had been brought back from Sainte-Roure thatmorning. She sat down, feeling as if that taper were heating her back.But the gaiety was now increasing, and exclamations of rapture rangthrough the yellow drawing-room when the dessert appeared.
At that same hour, the Faubourg was still shuddering at the tragedywhich had just stained the Aire Saint-Mittre with blood. The return ofthe troops, after the carnage on the Nores plain, had been marked by themost cruel reprisals. Men were beaten to death behind bits of wall, withthe butt-ends of muskets, others had their brains blown out in ravinesby the pistols of gendarmes. In order that terror might impose silence,the soldiers strewed their road with corpses. One might have followedthem by the red trail which they left behind.[*] It was a long butchery.At every halting-place, a few insurgents were massacred. Two were killedat Sainte-Roure, three at Ocheres, one at Beage. When the troops wereencamped at Plassans, on the Nice road, it was decided that one moreprisoner, the most guilty, should be shot. The victors judged it wiseto leave this fresh corpse behind them in order to inspire the townwith respect for the new-born Empire. But the soldiers were now weary ofkilling; none offered himself for the fatal task. The prisoners, thrownon the beams in the timber-yard as though on a camp bed, and boundtogether in pairs by the hands, listened and waited in a state of weary,resigned stupor.
[*] Though M. Zola has changed his place in his account of the insurrection, that account is strictly accurate in all its chief particulars. What he says of the savagery both of the soldiers and of their officers is confirmed by all impartial historical writers.--EDITOR.
At that moment the gendarme Rengade roughly opened a way for himselfthrough the crowd of inquisitive idlers. As soon as he heard that thetroops had returned with several hundred insurgents, he had risenfrom bed, shivering with fever, and risking his life in the cold, darkDecember air. Scarcely was he out of doors when his wound reopened, thebandage which covered his eyeless socket became stained with blood,and a red streamlet trickled over his cheek and moustache. He lookedfrightful in his dumb fury with his pale face and blood-stained bandage,as he ran along closely scrutinising each of the prisoners. He followedthe beams, bending down and going to and fro, making the bravest shudderby his abrupt appearance. And, all of a sudden: "Ah! the bandit, I'vegot him!" he cried.
He had just laid his hand on Silvere's shoulder. Silvere, crouching downon a beam, with lifeless and expressionless face, was looking straightbefore him into the pale twilight, with a calm, stupefied air. Eversince his departure from Sainte-Roure, he had retained that vacantstare. Along the high road, for many a league, whenever the soldiersurged on the march of their captives with the butt-ends of their rifles,he had shown himself as gentle as a child. Covered with dust, thirstyand weary, he trudged onward without saying a word, like one of thosedocile animals that herdsmen drive along. He was thinking of Miette. Heever saw her lying on the banner, under the trees with her eyes turnedupwards. For three days he had seen none but her; and at this verymoment, amidst the growing darkness, he still saw her.
Rengade turned towards the officer, who had failed to find among thesoldiers the requisite men for an execution.
"This villain put my eye out," he said, pointing to Silvere. "Hand himover to me. It's as good as done for you."
The officer did not reply in words, but withdrew with an air ofindifference, making a vague gesture. The gendarme understood that theman was surrendered to him.
"Come, get up!" he resumed, as he shook him.
Silvere, like all the other prisoners, had a companion attached to him.He was fastened by the arm to a peasant of Poujols named Mourgue, a manabout fifty, who had been brutified by the scorching sun and thehard labour of tilling the ground. Crooked-backed already, his handshardened, his face coarse and heavy, he blinked his eyes in a stupidmanner, with the stubborn, distrustful expression of an animal subjectto the lash. He had set out armed with a pitchfork, because his fellowvillagers had done so; but he could not have explained what had thusset him adrift on the high roads. Since he had been made a prisonerhe understood it still less. He had some vague idea that he was beingconveyed home. His amazement at finding himself bound, the sight of allthe people staring at him, stupefied him still more. As he only spokeand understood the dialect of the region, he could not imagine what thegendarme wanted. He raised his coarse, heavy face towards him with aneffort; then, fancying he was being asked the name of his village, hesaid in his hoarse voice:
"I come from Poujols."
A burst of laughter ran through the crowd, and some voices cried:"Release the peasant."
"Bah!
" Rengade replied; "the more of this vermin that's crushed thebetter. As they're together, they can both go."
There was a murmur.
But the gendarme turned his terrible blood-stained face upon theonlookers, and they slunk off. One cleanly little citizen went awaydeclaring that if he remained any longer it would spoil his appetite fordinner. However some boys who recognised Silvere, began to speak of "thered girl." Thereupon the little citizen retraced his steps, in order tosee the lover of the female standard-bearer, that depraved creature whohad been mentioned in the "Gazette."
Silvere, for his part, neither saw nor heard anything; Rengade had toseize him by the collar. Thereupon he got up, forcing Mourgue to risealso.
"Come," said the gendarme. "It won't take long."
Silvere then recognised the one-eyed man. He smiled. He must haveunderstood. But he turned his head away. The sight of the one-eyed man,of his moustaches which congealed blood stiffened as with sinister rime,caused him profound grief. He would have liked to die in perfect peace.So he avoided the gaze of Rengade's one eye, which glared from beneaththe white bandage. And of his own accord he proceeded to the end ofthe Aire Saint-Mittre, to the narrow lane hidden by the timber stacks.Mourgue followed him thither.
The Aire stretched out, with an aspect of desolation under the sallowsky. A murky light fell here and there from the copper-coloured clouds.Never had a sadder and more lingering twilight cast its melancholy overthis bare expanse--this wood-yard with its slumbering timber, so stiffand rigid in the cold. The prisoners, the soldiers, and the mob alongthe high road disappeared amid the darkness of the trees. The expanse,the beams, the piles of planks alone grew pale under the fading light,assuming a muddy tint that vaguely suggested the bed of a dried-uptorrent. The sawyers' trestles, rearing their meagre framework in acorner, seemed to form gallows, or the uprights of a guillotine. Andthere was no living soul there excepting three gipsies who showed theirfrightened faces at the door of their van--an old man and woman, and abig girl with woolly hair, whose eyes gleamed like those of a wolf.
Before reaching the secluded path, Silvere looked round him. Hebethought himself of a far away Sunday when he had crossed the wood-yardin the bright moonlight. How calm and soft it had been!--how slowly hadthe pale rays passed over the beams! Supreme silence had fallen from thefrozen sky. And amidst this silence, the woolly-haired gipsy girl hadsung in a low key and an unknown tongue. Then Silvere remembered thatthe seemingly far-off Sunday was only a week old. But a week ago he hadcome to bid Miette farewell! How long past it seemed! He felt as thoughhe had not set foot in the wood-yard for years. But when he reached thenarrow path his heart failed him. He recognised the odour of the grass,the shadows of the planks, the holes in the wall. A woeful voice rosefrom all those things. The path stretched out sad and lonely; it seemedlonger to him than usual, and he felt a cold wind blowing down it. Thespot had aged cruelly. He saw that the wall was moss-eaten, that theverdant carpet was dried up by frost, that the piles of timber had beenrotted by rain. It was perfect devastation. The yellow twilight felllike fine dust upon the ruins of all that had been most dear to him. Hewas obliged to close his eyes that he might again behold the lane green,and live his happy hours afresh. It was warm weather; and he wasracing with Miette in the balmy air. Then the cruel December rains fellunceasingly, yet they still came there, sheltering themselves beneaththe planks and listening with rapture to the heavy plashing of theshower. His whole life--all his happiness--passed before him like aflash of lightning. Miette was climbing over the wall, running tohim, shaking with sonorous laughter. She was there; he could see her,gleaming white through the darkness, with her living helm of ink-blackhair. She was talking about the magpies' nests, which are so difficultto steal, and she dragged him along with her. Then he heard the gentlemurmur of the Viorne in the distance, the chirping of the belatedgrasshoppers, and the blowing of the breeze among the poplars inthe meadows of Sainte-Claire. Ah, how they used to run! How well heremembered it! She had learnt to swim in a fortnight. She was a pluckygirl. She had only had one great fault: she was inclined to pilfering.But he would have cured her of that. Then the thought of their firstembraces brought him back to the narrow path. They had always ended byreturning to that nook. He fancied he could hear the gipsy girl's songdying away, the creaking of the last shutters, the solemn striking ofthe clocks. Then the hour of separation came, and Miette climbed thewall again and threw him a kiss. And he saw her no more. Emotion chokedhim at the thought: he would never see her again--never!
"When you're ready," jeered the one-eyed man; "come, choose your place."
Silvere took a few more steps. He was approaching the end of the path,and could see nothing but a strip of sky in which the rust-colouredlight was fading away. Here had he spent his life for two years past.The slow approach of death added an ineffable charm to this pathwaywhich had so long served as a lovers' walk. He loitered, bidding a longand lingering farewell to all he loved; the grass, the timber, the stoneof the old wall, all those things into which Miette had breathed life.And again his thoughts wandered. They were waiting till they should beold enough to marry: Aunt Dide would remain with them. Ah! if they hadfled far away, very far away, to some unknown village, where thescamps of the Faubourg would no longer have been able to come and castChantegreil's crime in his daughter's face. What peaceful bliss! Theywould have opened a wheelwright's workshop beside some high road. Nodoubt, he cared little for his ambitions now; he no longer thoughtof coachmaking, of carriages with broad varnished panels as shiny asmirrors. In the stupor of his despair he could not remember why hisdream of bliss would never come to pass. Why did he not go away withMiette and aunt Dide? Then as he racked his memory, he heard the sharpcrackling of a fusillade; he saw a standard fall before him, its staffbroken and its folds drooping like the wings of a bird brought down by ashot. It was the Republic falling asleep with Miette under the red flag.Ah, what wretchedness! They were both dead, both had bleeding wounds intheir breasts. And it was they--the corpses of his two loves--that nowbarred his path of life. He had nothing left him and might well diehimself. These were the thoughts that had made him so gentle, solistless, so childlike all the way from Sainte-Roure. The soldiersmight have struck him, he would not have felt it. His spirit no longerinhabited his body. It was far away, prostrate beside the loved ones whowere dead under the trees amidst the pungent smoke of the gunpowder.
But the one-eyed man was growing impatient; giving a push to Mourgue,who was lagging behind, he growled: "Get along, do; I don't want to behere all night."
Silvere stumbled. He looked at his feet. A fragment of a skull laywhitening in the grass. He thought he heard a murmur of voices fillingthe pathway. The dead were calling him, those long departed ones, whosewarm breath had so strangely perturbed him and his sweetheart duringthe sultry July evenings. He recognised their low whispers. They wererejoicing, they were telling him to come, and promising to restoreMiette to him beneath the earth, in some retreat which would provestill more sequestered than this old trysting-place. The cemetery, whoseoppressive odours and dark vegetation had breathed eager desire into thechildren's hearts, while alluringly spreading out its couches of rankgrass, without succeeding however in throwing them into one another'sarms, now longed to imbibe Silvere's warm blood. For two summers past ithad been expecting the young lovers.
"Is it here?" asked the one-eyed man.
Silvere looked in front of him. He had reached the end of the path. Hiseyes fell on the tombstone, and he started. Miette was right, that stonewas for her. _"Here lieth . . . Marie . . . died . . . "_ She wasdead, that slab had fallen over her. His strength failing him, he leantagainst the frozen stone. How warm it had been when they sat in thatnook, chatting for many a long evening! She had always come that way,and the pressure of her foot, as she alighted from the wall, had wornaway the stone's surface in one corner. The mark seemed instinct withsomething of her lissom figure. And to Silvere it appeared as if somefatalism attached to all these objects--as if the ston
e were thereprecisely in order that he might come to die beside it, there where hehad loved.
The one-eyed man cocked his pistols.
Death! death! the thought fascinated Silvere. It was to this spot,then, that they had led him, by the long white road which descends fromSainte-Roure to Plassans. If he had known it, he would have hastened onyet more quickly in order to die on that stone, at the end of thenarrow path, in the atmosphere where he could still detect the scent ofMiette's breath! Never had he hoped for such consolation in his grief.Heaven was merciful. He waited, a vague smile playing on is face.
Mourgue, meantime, had caught sight of the pistols. Hitherto he hadallowed himself to be dragged along stupidly. But fear now overcame him,and he repeated, in a tone of despair: "I come from Poujols--I come fromPoujols!"
Then he threw himself on the ground, rolling at the gendarme's feet,breaking out into prayers for mercy, and imagining that he was beingmistaken for some one else.
"What does it matter to me that you come from Poujols?" Rengademuttered.
And as the wretched man, shivering and crying with terror, and quiteunable to understand why he was going to die, held out his tremblinghands--his deformed, hard, labourer's hands--exclaiming in his patoisthat he had done nothing and ought to be pardoned, the one-eyed man grewquite exasperated at being unable to put the pistol to his temple, owingto his constant movements.
"Will you hold your tongue?" he shouted.
Thereupon Mourgue, mad with fright and unwilling to die, began to howllike a beast--like a pig that is being slaughtered.
"Hold your tongue, you scoundrel!" the gendarme repeated.
And he blew his brains out. The peasant fell with a thud. His bodyrolled to the foot of a timber-stack, where it remained doubled up. Theviolence of the shock had severed the rope which fastened him to hiscompanion. Silvere fell on his knees before the tombstone.
It was to make his vengeance the more terrible that Rengade had killedMourgue first. He played with his second pistol, raising it slowly inorder to relish Silvere's agony. But the latter looked at him quietly.Then again the sight of this man, with the one fierce, scorching eye,made him feel uneasy. He averted his glance, fearing that he might diecowardly if he continued to look at that feverishly quivering gendarme,with blood-stained bandage and bleeding moustache. However, as he raisedhis eyes to avoid him, he perceived Justin's head just above the wall,at the very spot where Miette had been wont to leap over.
Justin had been at the Porte de Rome, among the crowd, when the gendarmehad led the prisoners away. He had set off as fast as he could by way ofthe Jas-Meiffren, in his eagerness to witness the execution. The thoughtthat he alone, of all the Faubourg scamps, would view the tragedy athis ease, as from a balcony, made him run so quickly that he twice felldown. And in spite of his wild chase, he arrived too late to witness thefirst shot. He climbed the mulberry tree in despair; but he smiled whenhe saw that Silvere still remained. The soldiers had informed him ofhis cousin's death, and now the murder of the wheelwright brought hishappiness to a climax. He awaited the shot with that delight which thesufferings of others always afforded him--a delight increased tenfold bythe horror of the scene, and a feeling of exquisite fear.
Silvere, on recognising that vile scamp's head all by itself above thewall--that pale grinning face, with hair standing on end--experienced afeeling of fierce rage, a sudden desire to live. It was the last revoltof his blood--a momentary mutiny. He again sank down on his knees,gazing straight before him. A last vision passed before his eyes inthe melancholy twilight. At the end of the path, at the entrance of theImpasse Saint-Mittre, he fancied he could see aunt Dide standing erect,white and rigid like the statue of a saint, while she witnessed hisagony from a distance.
At that moment he felt the cold pistol on his temple. There was a smileon Justin's pale face. Closing his eyes, Silvere heard the long-departeddead wildly summoning him. In the darkness, he now saw nothing saveMiette, wrapped in the banner, under the trees, with her eyes turnedtowards heaven. Then the one-eyed man fired, and all was over; the lad'sskull burst open like a ripe pomegranate; his face fell upon the stone,with his lips pressed to the spot which Miette's feet had worn--thatwarm spot which still retained a trace of his dead love.
And in the evening at dessert, at the Rougons' abode, bursts of laughterarose with the fumes from the table, which was still warm with theremains of the dinner. At last the Rougons were nibbling at thepleasures of the wealthy! Their appetites, sharpened by thirty yearsof restrained desire, now fell to with wolfish teeth. These fierce,insatiate wild beasts, scarcely entering upon indulgence, exulted atthe birth of the Empire--the dawn of the Rush for the Spoils. The Coupd'Etat, which retrieved the fortune of the Bonapartes, also laid thefoundation for that of the Rougons.
Pierre stood up, held out his glass, and exclaimed: "I drink to PrinceLouis--to the Emperor!"
The gentlemen, who had drowned their jealousies in champagne, rose in abody and clinked glasses with deafening shouts. It was a fine spectacle.The bourgeois of Plassans, Roudier, Granoux, Vuillet, and all theothers, wept and embraced each other over the corpse of the Republic,which as yet was scarcely cold. But a splendid idea occurred toSicardot. He took from Felicite's hair a pink satin bow, which she hadplaced over her right ear in honour of the occasion, cut off a stripof the satin with his dessert knife, and then solemnly fastened itto Rougon's button-hole. The latter feigned modesty, and pretended toresist. But his face beamed with joy, as he murmured: "No, I beg you, itis too soon. We must wait until the decree is published."
"Zounds!" Sicardot exclaimed, "will you please keep that! It's an oldsoldier of Napoleon who decorates you!"
The whole company burst into applause. Felicite almost swooned withdelight. Silent Granoux jumped up on a chair in his enthusiasm, wavinghis napkin and making a speech which was lost amid the uproar. Theyellow drawing-room was wild with triumph.
But the strip of pink satin fastened to Pierre's button-hole was notthe only red spot in that triumph of the Rougons. A shoe, with ablood-stained heel, still lay forgotten under the bedstead in theadjoining room. The taper burning at Monsieur Peirotte's bedside, overthe way, gleamed too with the lurid redness of a gaping wound amidstthe dark night. And yonder, far away, in the depths of the AireSaint-Mittre, a pool of blood was congealing upon a tombstone.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends