“By what right do you accuse then sun of turning away from us? Are you, then, party to the secrets of destiny? You know, however, that talking about death brings it closer! Beware! If Miellune has some misfortune to deplore tomorrow, the cadavers will rise up to curse you! You are a public danger!”
“We’re all going to perish! It’s the end of the world!” howled the voice, repeating the words in a tragic lamentation, soon drowned out by cries of: “To death! To death!” which surged from the foot of the balcony on which the governor was waving his arms desperately.
A formidable turbulence stirred the crowd, excited by a furious need for murder. “To death! To death!” howled a thousand throats, strangled by fear, and while the governor prudently disappeared, a frightful melee broke out in the square, traversed by savage vociferations and brief cries of pain.
The flames seemed less ardent now; their summits stood out in gray arabesques dancing high in the sky, streaked in places by light transparent patches.
Those who had not yet been felled by their wounds were attacking one another too furiously to notice the gradual emergence of daylight. They did not even hear the loud blasts of trumpets sounding the charge. Without seeking to flee, they tumbled pell-mell beneath the hooves of horses.
It was the Miellune Guard clearing the square. Sabers stabbed bodies lying on the ground and were then lifted up, bloodied, in the fists of the riders.
A fanfare of trumpets brought the troop to form up in front of the façade of the palace. The officers circled the square on their whinnying horses, whose nostrils were flaring at the odor of blood.
The order had been carried out. There were a few wounded, still capable of movement, to be finished off, and then the governor could come out of his palace in total security
Indeed, he appeared at the top of the perron. After having displayed signs of violent irritation against the cadavers, he summoned the officers, to whom he distributed curt orders.
Each of them, taking a few cavalrymen with him, departed in a different direction.
It was a matter of ascertaining, in the fullest and most precise detail, the effects of the cataclysm, in order to discover its cause and combat it with appropriate weapons.
A few hours later, as the midday sun was shining vertically down on Miellune, the officers set foot on the bottom of the perron one by one and went into the palace anxiously.
All of them had recorded similar observations in their notebooks, which they read in turn to the Supreme Council, chaired by the Governor, now clad in a flamboyant red and gold uniform.
At a distance of even kilometers, all around the center of the town, marked by the palace, an uninterrupted line of craters was launching torrents of fire.
“We’re cut off from the rest of the world!” observed the governor, with a gesture of despair, which he immediately repressed in order to ask: “What is the nature of this fire?”
“Of a burning nature, Governor!” replied the longest-serving of the high-ranking officers.
And although the carefully-gathered explanations all indicated ingenious and subtle minds, none could provide the slightest clarification.
The officers were asked to withdraw in order to permit the Council to deliberate in secret.
A scientific discussion was immediately engaged between two famous geologists. One affirmed on his honor as a scientist that only volcanoes could vomit forth fire like that; the other swore to his great gods that the fire in question was descending from the sky in an invisible form to rebound on impact with the earth in terrifying sprays.
They went on thereafter to envisage, hypothetically, the possible consequences of the facts, whose mysterious cause did not exclude the alarming reality. The physician who was the Director of Social Conservation summarized them in a few neat and brief sentences.
“Firstly, Miellune might be destroyed by burial under the lava and various materials projected from the craters.” He cited the example of several towns disappeared in that fashion in various epochs of the world.
“Secondly, assuming that the first danger is averted, Miellune is threatened by being burned at a distance by the simple radiance of the flames.” Calculations, hasty but established on the most serious bases, demonstrated the possibility of this atrocious alternative with exactitude.
“Thirdly, if the volcanoes only launch flames and imponderable fumes and the radiant heat, by reason of the distance from the source of various obstacles susceptible of interrupting its ardor, is tolerable, we’re separated from the rest of the world, and consequently condemned to die of starvation after an interval of variable duration.”
They argued for a long time for and against each of these three hypotheses, supported in such learned fashion.
The third, adjourning death, naturally rallied the unanimity of votes, and a triple salvo of applause greeted the governor’s conclusions, as reasonable as they were optimistic:
“It’s certain that the volcanoes only possess a temporary activity. Our duty is, therefore, to make every effort to gain time. By employing all our strength, we shall act as a prudent administration and be equally worthy of the fatherland and ourselves.”
When the consoling enthusiasm had died down, the governor said: “It’s necessary now to think about the people and make provision against the violence that they are sure to direct against us and against one another, if we give them the leisure.”
“All disorder requires severe repression!” declared an apoplectic old man, whose moustache had whitened on the battlefield. “Thus, last night, we should have calmed the crowd with cannons.”
“The cavalry didn’t spare a single one of the demonstrators,” the governor observed.
“Perhaps so,” the implacable soldier continued—without provoking the slightest emotion, an exclamation of “Murderer!” was uttered by a thin and grim individual sitting at the extremity of the table—“but dying is nothing; everything is in the manner of being killed. Cannons have moralizing effects on a population to which men cannot lay claim, even mounted on horses and armed with sabers. With regard to civilians, a charge is almost a brawl. A salvo of artillery is an execution. That’s a nuance of which it’s salutary not to lose sight.”
“I agree,” the governor acquiesced, laconically. “Now, let’s proceed with celerity, and in an orderly manner. What should we do first?”
“Pray,” said a soft voice to the governor’s right.
The Bishop of Miellune was a little old man, trembling all over in his quilted coat, carefully buttoned over his violet soutane. All eyes turned toward him.
“It’s necessary to pray to the Lord and thank him for having deigned to render possible the expiation of our sins...”
“Miellune is counting on you. Pray for her,” said the governor, deferentially. “Permit us, my lord, to devote the present moment to more urgent decision...”
“They have my blessing in advance,” the prelate promised.
“In order not to die, it’s necessary to live, and to live, it’s necessary to eat,” the Director of Social Conservation advanced, authoritatively.
“That’s indispensable,” approved the whole assembly, in chorus.
“For a lapse of time whose duration we can’t determine, we’ll have to count entirely on the provisions of food presently existing in Miellune. The most elementary prudence commands the requisitioning of everything, to the last grain of wheat. Everything that has nutritive value will be locked in warehouses placed under strict guard. Under the supervision of the administration, on a daily basis, each person will be allocated the amount strictly necessary to his alimentation; I propose that the ration should be proportionate to the weight of the beneficiary.”
“In the name of equality, I protest!” said the emaciated interrupter from the extreme left, rising to his feet. “I represent the people! I will not fail in my duty! I protest!”
The most scientific considerations militate in favor of my proposal,” the orator continued, coldly. �
�It’s obvious that a tall fat man requires more nourishment than a small thin one. The most conclusive experiments have proved...”
“What you’re not saying,” the demagogue cut in, “is that your experiments would also have proved that with equal nourishment the fat would get thinner and we, the thin, would get fatter. What! A unique opportunity has presented itself to arrive at the equality that you state to be the goal of your dreams and your efforts, and you intended to perpetuate that age-old injustice?”
“To each according to his needs,” pronounced the governor sententiously.
“Exactly!” snapped the hot-heated egalitarian. “But in the name of liberty and justice you ought to let each person judge his needs. Enough talk of acquired rights that are nothing but the criminal consecration of iniquities and spoliations! Thus, I, whom am thin because I’ve never been able to eat enough to sate my hunger, even in the womb, my mother being too poor...”
“The asceticism of your person is the secret of your empire over the people!” someone put in. “It’s necessary to be thin in order to speak on behalf of the emaciated.”
“The emaciated are more respectable than the stout!”
“We have the same respect for both,” said the governor. “It’s a matter of deciding whether the distribution of food to the inhabitants will be made per head or in proportion to their weight.”
“It’s necessary to adopt the most economical policy,” opined one Council member.
“It’s still us, the children on the people, who are going to pay for the rich!” said the flag-bearer of social equilibrium, indignantly.
“Charity won’t lose any of its rights. All prayers will be said gratuitously,” insinuated the Bishop, whose frail voice was lost in the vehement and bitter argument.
“Let the partisans of the per capita regime raise their hands,” the governor pronounced.
All hands were raised in a movement of perfect unanimity.
“Which doesn’t alter the fact that the rich are still the rich,” groaned the champion of pauperism, not completely satisfied by the integral adoption of his proposal.
“I put to the vote the following motion,” the governor continued. “The members of the Supreme Council may have delivered to them personally the quantities of food that they judge appropriate...”
“I invite the Council to address to the Governor the expression of their gratitude for that idea, whose wisdom and fecund consequences we all appreciate,” put in a zealous supporter of the ruling power. “We have assumed the responsibility of public affairs. We owe it to Miellune! Let us make an engagement of honor to nourish ourselves well. Impotence of the brain always leads to the debilitation of the body. Let us remain strong in the face of destiny!”
Periods of bold lyricism were proffered in the midst of general enthusiasm. It seemed that sight had been lost of the reality of the facts when the representative of the sacrificed classes demanded, on their behalf, posters by means of which the people would be enlightened as to what was happening.
A proclamation was therefore drafted in which appeal was made to the energy and self-composure of everyone. Emphasis was placed on the eminently temporary character of the situation. The governor promised honorific distinctions to those who made themselves illustrious by their zeal and devotion.
The Bishop asked to signal the gratuity of prayers, which was granted to him.
“What about the requisition of foodstuffs?” someone asked.
“It’s better not to make any allusion to that,” the governor opined. “Dissimulations are numerous enough in the advertisement.”
“The people have a right to know everything—we have a duty not to hide anything from them,” protested the champion of plebeian interests. “When do you intend to carry out the requisitions?”
“Immediately! All the operations will be concluded by tomorrow morning,” declared the governor.
“Well, then,” concluded the demagogue, “have no fear of announcing the requisitions frankly and honestly, but make arrangements for the posters not to be made public until tomorrow. Thus, the people won’t be able to complain and the general interest will be safeguarded.”
This idea, deemed to be ingenious, was adopted without any discussion.
The session had been long and laborious. The governor declared it lifted. The members of the Council left the palace to return to their respective domiciles. As much because of the prestige with which they had an obligation to surround themselves as the fear of ever-possible aggression, they had themselves escorted by armed soldiers.
In the distance, in the fading daylight, the sinister glare of the flames increased. With that, the anguish appeased by the sight of the sun returned.
On all sides, cries went up, isolated at first and then grouped. As on the previous night, the crowd instinctively flocked toward the governor’s palace.
Soldiers were blocking the streets opening into the square. They resisted he human flood as best they could. Under the pressure, their ranks opened, unmasking cannons, whose work was as terrible as it was rapid.
In the meantime, in the deserted houses, the requisitors removed everything that appeared to them to be edible. The terror was so intense that no one had even thought about hiding their provisions.
As the governor had promised, by dawn, the administrative warehouse contained everything in Miellune that could be suspected of having the slightest nutritional value.
The second appearance of the sun installed in the most pessimistic hearts the definitive hope of life.
Sensations and sentiments carry the seeds of their own reaction, which is manifest sooner or later, in proportion to their exaggeration.
In the town, shaken a few hours earlier as if by the effects of a frightful agony, there was an explosion of delirious joy.
To give themselves courage, those who were still trembling began to heap derision on the volcanoes, terrible only by virtue of the complicity of the night. Some mocked the ephemeral nature of their activity, and everyone ended up observing the decrease of the eruption.
The first posters were put up in the midst of a lively movement of curiosity; their reading provoked ironic shrugs of the shoulders and pitying smiles, so much did their content seem to be in tune with public enthusiasm.
That enthusiasm left no room for the most timid protest against the requisitioning of food, which terror had prevented from attracting attention.
Musicians had the idea of going to fetch their instruments, and, singing to the accompaniment of catchy marches, crowds headed for the warehouses where the first distribution was to take place.
Rich and poor received equal rations eaten by all with similar appetite.
In the square and the streets, under the tender gaze of parents, dancing caused the daughters of the people to swoon in the arms of young representatives of the aristocracy, while opulent heiresses blushed at the unprecedented pleasure of feeling themselves frankly pressed against plebeian breasts.
With nightfall, a vague anxiety came to brush many minds again, but on that third night, in order to humiliate the volcanoes and render them ridiculous, it was decided to bring forward the magnificent firework display promised for the imminent festival of Miellune’s foundation.
Roman candles crackled, nailing fugitive stars in the sky; sunbursts rotated vertiginously, to the applause of the delighted crowd, which launched implausible threats at the volcanoes. Meanwhile, existence reasserted another of its rights; egotism, which is its most general and most absolute manifestation, immediately showed itself under the cover of preoccupations of a material order.
The authorities were asked whether all possible measures had been taken to achieve the best employment of objects of alimentation. Questions multiplied seeking to determine the time for which nourishment was assured.
Demands were not long in being made, formulated by those who now declared themselves to be the victims of the requisitions. To these complaints of spoliation the governor turned a d
eaf ear.
Then, some people offered to buy food with their money. That trafficking could not be officially sanctioned. Nevertheless, a very active commerce was established between the poor, who sold the best part of their rations, only keeping just enough to prevent them from dying of starvation, and the rich, who hid those provisions in the most secret locations in their houses.
The mechanism of social life, momentarily interrupted, resumed its march, driven by all the motives derivative of human nature or born of needs acquired by several centuries passed in a state of advanced civilization.
Hierarchy reformed of its own accord. Imperious characters, who commanded because they liked to be in command, recovered their ascendancy over the weak and the humble, seemingly grateful to those who were saving them the trouble of regulating their own activity.
The terror of the first hours and the releases of the intoxication of being alive had caused religion to be completely forgotten. The words of priests resumed falling from the height of pulpits in violent anathemas against Miellune, which, by its impiety and misconduct, had attracted punishment. Prayers and penances were ordered, to which everyone submitted, some by virtue of authentic faith, others out of vague fear of a possible and perhaps omnipotent God.
During one of the Bishop’s sermons, snow began to fall in thick flakes. The prelate immediately proclaimed it as undeniable proof of celestial intervention. Meekly, the crowd proclaimed the miracle, and gave a harsh beating to an impious individual who insisted that the meteorological phenomenon, frequent enough in winter, was entirely natural.
As if revitalized by a second youth, the administration manifested itself in a recrudescence of fastidious zeal with regard to the public.
Impediments to the satisfaction of a desire fortify that desire with the effort expended in triumphing over those impediments. It is thus that fiancés, in order to obtain the celebration of their union, see their tenderness increased by the multiple steps and formalities necessitated by the application of rules whose origin has long been buried in sanitary forgetfulness.
The quotidian routines of existence functioned with all the regularity desirable by the adherents of the distinctive virtues of banal and puerile sociability obligatory in all small towns.
The Petitpaon Era Page 22