“There haven’t been so many false documents as you think, Lucien.”
“They made it possible to prove their falsity. Error had been scattered broadcast, and could no longer collect her scattered forces, and finally nothing was left save that which had sequence and continuity. Truth has a faculty of linking facts together which error does not possess. It formed, in the face of insult and impotent hatred, a chain that could not again be broken. We owe the triumph of our cause to the liberty, the licence of the Press.”
“But you are not victorious,” cried Jumage. “Neither are we defeated! Quite the contrary! The opinion of the whole country is against you. I regret to say it, but you and your friends are unanimously execrated, dishonoured, spat upon. We defeated? You are joking. The whole of France is with us.”
“And you are defeated from within. If I took appearances into consideration I might think you victorious, and despair of justice. There are criminals who go unpunished. Prevarication and perjury are publicly approved as praiseworthy actions. I have no hope that the enemies of truth will own themselves vanquished. Such an effort is possible only to the highest type of mind.
“There is very little change in the general state of mind. The ignorance of the public is still almost complete. There have been none of those sudden changes of opinion on the part of the crowd which are so amazing when they occur. Nothing striking or even noticeable has happened. Nevertheless the time is past when a President of the Republic could degrade, to the level of his own soul, justice, the honour of the country, and the alliances of the Republic, the power of whose ministers depended upon their understanding with the enemies of the very institutions of which they were the guardians. A season of brutal hypocrisy when contempt for intelligence and hatred of justice were at one and the same time a popular opinion and a State doctrine. A time when those in power upheld the rioters, when it was a crime to cry ‘Vive la République!” Those days are already remote, as though they had sunk into the limbo of the past and were plunged into the darkness of the age of barbarism.
“They may return. We are divided from them as yet by nothing tangible, nothing apparent or definite. They have faded away like the clouds of the error which created them, and the least breath may yet rekindle their ashes. But even if everything were to conspire to strengthen your cause, you are none the less irretrievably lost. You are conquered from within, and that is the irretrievable defeat. When you are conquered from without, you can continue to resist and hope for revenge. Your ruin is within you. The necessary consequences of your crimes and your errors are at hand in spite of your efforts to prevent them, and with amazement you see the beginning of your downfall. Unjust and violent, you will be destroyed by your own injustice and violence. And the monstrous party of unrighteousness, hitherto inviolable, respected and feared, is falling, breaking asunder of its own weight.
“What does it matter then if legal sanctions are dilatory or lacking? The only true and natural justice is contained in the very consequences of the act, not in external formulae, which are often narrow and sometimes arbitrary. Why complain that the greatest culprits evade the law and retain their despicable honours? That doesn’t matter either, under the present social system, any more than it mattered, in the days of the earth’s infancy, when the great saurians of the primeval oceans were disappearing to make way for creatures more beautiful and of happier instincts, that there still remained stranded, on the slime of the beaches, a few monstrous survivors of a doomed race.”
As Jumage reached the gate of the Luxembourg after his visit to his friend, he met young Goubin.
“I’ve just been to see Bergeret,” he said. “I’m sorry for him; he seems very cast-down and dejected. The Affair has crushed him.”
CHAPTER XV
AT the offices of the Executive Committee in the Rue de Berri, Henri de Brécé, Joseph Lacrisse and Henri Léon were dealing with the business of the day.
“My dear President,” said Joseph Lacrisse to Henri de Brécé. “I want you to find a prefecture for a good Royalist. I am sure you will not refuse when I have told you of my candidate’s qualification. His father, Ferdinand Dellion, an iron-master at Valcombe, is in every way deserving of the King’s favour. He is most careful of the moral and physical well-being of his workmen. He has a dispensary for them, and he sees that they go to Mass on Sundays and send their children to the church schools, and that they vote properly and abstain from trade unions. He is opposed, unfortunately, by the deputy Cothard and ill-supported by the sub-prefect of Valcombe. His son Gustave is one of the most active and energetic members of my Departmental Committee. He was most vigorous in the campaign against the Jews in our city, and was arrested at Auteuil for taking part in the demonstration against Loubet. You simply cannot refuse a prefecture to Gustave Dellion, my dear President!”
“A prefecture,” murmured Brécé, turning over his register, “a prefecture? We’ve only got Guéret and Draguignan left. Will you have Guéret?”
Joseph Lacrisse smiled imperceptibly as he replied:
“My dear President, Gustave Dellion is my collaborator. When the time is ripe he will proceed under my orders to the forcible suppression of Worms-Clavelin. It is only fair that he should take his place.”
With his eyes glued to the register, Henri de Brécé declared the thing to be impossible. Worms-Clavelin’s successor was already chosen. Monseigneur had appointed Jacques de Cadde, one of the first to subscribe to the Henry subscription-lists.
Lacrisse objected to Jacques de Cadde, saying that he was a stranger to the department. Henri de Brécé retorted that one did not dispute the King’s orders, and the discussion was growing somewhat heated when Henri Léon, astride a chair, put out his hand and remarked in a peremptory tone:
“Worms-Clavelin’s successor will be neither Jacques de Cadde nor Gustave Dellion. It will be Worms-Clavelin.”
Lacrisse and Brécé protested.
“It will be Worms-Clavelin,” repeated Henri Léon. “Worms-Clavelin, who will not await your arrival on the scenes to fly the royal standards from the roof of the prefecture, and whom the Minister of the Interior appointed by the King will have notified by telephone of his retention at the head of the departmental administration.”
“Worms-Clavelin prefect under the monarchy!” said Brécé disdainfully. “I don’t seem to see him.”
“It would be a shocking thing, of course,” replied Henri Léon. “But if the Chevalier de Clavelin is appointed prefect there is nothing more to be said. Don’t let us have any illusions, the King won’t bestow all the plums on us. Ingratitude is the first duty of a sovereign, and no Bourbon has ever yet been found lacking in that respect. I say this to the praise of the House of France.
“Do you really think the King will govern with the white carnation, the cornflower and the rose of France, and take his ministers from the Jockey Club and from Puteaux, or make Christiani Grand Master of the Ceremonies? If so, you are vastly mistaken. The rose of France, the cornflower and the white carnation will be left on the ground, in the modest shade beloved of the violet. Christiani will be set at liberty, nothing more. People will look askance at him for staving in Loubet’s hat. Of course!
Once deposed, Loubet, who at present is nothing but a low Panamist, will be a predecessor when we have replaced him. The King will sit in his armchair at the Auteuil races and he will then consider that Christiani created a regrettable precedent and will bear him a grudge for doing so. Even we ourselves, we who are plotting for him, will become suspect; conspirators are not liked at Court. I am telling you this to save you from bitter disappointment. The secret of happiness is to live without illusions. As far as I am concerned, if my services are forgotten or despised, I shall not complain. Politics isn’t a matter of sentiment; I realize only too well what His Majesty will be forced to do when we have set him upon the throne of his fathers. Before rewarding gratuitous devotion, a good King pays for the services which have been sold to him. Don’t make any mistake about t
hat! The greatest honours and the most lucrative positions will be given to the Republicans. The trimmers alone will form a third of our political personnel, and will receive their pay before we do. And that is only fair. Gromance, the old Chouan who went over to the Republic under Méline, explains his position very clearly when he tells us: ‘You have lost me a seat in the Senate, therefore you owe me one in the House of Peers.’ He’ll get it, and after all he deserves it. But the reward of the trimmers will be as nothing to that of the faithful Republicans who reserve their treachery for the supreme moment. Those are they who will get the portfolios and gold-laced coats, the titles and endowments. Do you know where to look for our Premier and half our Peerage at the present moment? Don’t look for them in our Royalist Committees where we hourly run the risk of being arrested like so many thieves, nor in the wandering Court of our young and handsome Prince in his cruel exile. You will find them in the ante-chambers of the Radical ministers, in the drawing-rooms of the Elysée and in every institution in the pay of the Government. Have you never heard of Talleyrand and Fouché? Have you read no history, not even the works of Monsieur Imbert de Saint-Amand? It was not an émigré but a regicide who was appointed Minister of the Police by Louis XVIII in 1815. Our young King is certainly not so clever as Louis XVIII, but we must not think him devoid of intelligence. That would be disrespectful and, perhaps, too severe. When he is King he will realize the necessities of the situation. All the chiefs of the Republican party who are not slain, exiled, transported or incorruptible will have to be regarded, otherwise they will oppose him in a great and powerful party, and Méline himself will become a savage enemy. And since I have mentioned Méline, Brécé, tell me yourself, which would be most advantageous to the royal cause — that your father should preside over the peers, or Méline, Duc de Remiremont, Prince des Voges, with the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honour, Knight of the Lily and Saint Louis? There can be no possible doubt. Duc Méline would bring far more adherents to the crown than the Duc de Brécé. Must I, then, teach you the A B C of restorations?
“All we shall get will be the titles and positions rejected by the Republicans. Our gratuitous devotion will be taken for granted. They will have no fear of displeasing us; they will feel assured that we shall remain inoffensive malcontents. It will never for a moment enter their heads that we might form an Opposition.
“Well, they will be mistaken. We shall be obliged to oppose them, and we shall do so. It will be profitable, and it won’t be difficult. Of course we shall not ally ourselves with the Republicans. That would be in execrable taste, and our loyalty would forbid such a thing. We cannot be less Royalist than the King, but we can be more so. Monsiegneur le Duc d’Orléans is no democrat, we must do him that justice. He does not interest himself in the conditions of the working-classes. He dates from before the Revolution. Nevertheless, although he dines in knee-breeches and a Breton waistcoat, with all his orders round his neck, he will turn Liberal when his ministers are Liberals. There is nothing to prevent us from becoming ‘Ultras.’ We shall pull to the right while the Republicans pull to the left; we shall become dangerous and they will treat us properly. And who can say whether the ‘Ultras’ will not be the means of saving the monarchy? We have already an incomparable army to-day which is more religious than the clergy. We have an incomparable bourgeoisie, anti-Semites every one of them, who think as men thought in the Middle Ages. Louis XVIII was not so fortunate. If they will give me the post of Minister of the Interior, with such admirable elements as these I’ll guarantee to make the monarchy last ten years. After that it will be the turn of Socialism. But ten years is a good lease of life.”.
Having thus spoken, Henri Léon lit a cigar. Still harping on the same theme, Joseph Lacrisse begged Henri de Brécé to see if he had not a good prefecture to dispose of; but the President repeated as before that he had nothing but Guéret and Draguignan.
“It will have to be Draguignan then,” said Joseph Lacrisse with a sigh. “Gustave Dellion will not be best pleased, but I must make him see it’s a foot in the stirrup.”
CHAPTER XVI
THE Baronne de Bonmont had invited all the titled landowners and the big manufacturers and financiers of the district to a charity fête which she was giving on the 29th of the month, in the famous Château de Montil which Bernard de Paves, Grand Master of Artillery in the reign of Louis XII, had built in 1508 for Nicolette de Vaucelles, his fourth wife, and which had been bought by Baron Jules after the French loan of 1871. She had been tactful enough to send no invitation to the Jewish landowners, although she had friends and relations among them. After the death of her husband she was baptized, and had now been five years naturalized. She was wholly devoted to her religion and country. Like her brother Wallstein, of Vienna, she was careful to distinguish herself from her former co-religionists by a sincere anti-Semitism. She was quite unambitious, however, and her natural inclination was for the pleasures of domestic life. She would have been satisfied with a modest position among the Christian aristocracy of France, if her son had not urged her to “make a splash.” It was the little Baron Ernest who had induced her to get in with the Brécés; it was he who had inscribed the entire aristocracy of the province on the list of the guests invited to the projected fête. It was he who brought the little Duchesse de Mausac to Montil to take part in the play. As she was given to remarking, she was of good enough birth to sup with circus-riders and drink with grooms.
The programme of the fête included a performance of Joconde by society amateurs, a fair in the park, a Venetian fête on the lake, and illuminations.
It was already the 17th. The preparations were proceeding hurriedly, amidst extreme confusion. The little company of actors were rehearsing their play in the long Renaissance gallery, the panels of whose ceiling bore, in an ingenious variety of design, the peacock of Bernard de Paves tied by the foot to the lute of Nicolette de Vaucelles.
Monsieur Germaine was accompanying the singers on the piano, while in the park the carpenters were putting together the framework of the booths with great blows of their mallets. Largillière, from the Opéra-Comique, was acting as stage manager.
“Your turn, Duchess.”
Monsieur Germaine’s hands, stripped of their rings, excepting one that remained on his thumb, struck a chord.
“La, la.”
But, taking the glass handed her by young Bonmont, the Duchess cried:
“Let me drink my cocktail first.”
When she had finished, Largillière repeated: “Come, Duchess.”
“Tout me seconde,
Je l’ai prévu....”
And Monsieur Germaine’s hands, despoiled of gold and gems save for an amethyst on the thumb, once more struck a chord. But the Duchess did not sing. She was staring with interest at the accompanist.
“My dear Germaine, I am lost in admiration! You have grown a bust and hips! I congratulate you! You’ve really done something! While as for me — look!” She drew her hands down over her cloth costume. “I’ve got rid of all that!” She made a half-turn. “Nothing left! It’s all gone! And in the meantime you’ve been growing them! Now that’s really funny! But there’s no harm in it. One thing makes up for another.”
But René Chartier, who was playing Joconde, was standing motionless with his neck extended like a stove-pipe, thinking only of the velvet and pearls of his voice, which was deep and just a little gloomy. He grew impatient at last, remarking coldly:
“We shall never be in time; it’s deplorable!”
“Let us start from the quartette,” said Largillière.
“Tout me seconde,
Je l’ai prévu;
Pauvre Joconde!
Il est vaincu.”
“Come along, Monsieur Quatrebarbe.”
Monsieur Gérard Quatrebarbe was the son of the diocesan architect. Since he had broken the windows of Mayer, the bootmaker, who was supposed to be a Jew, he was received everywhere in society. He had a good voice but he missed his cues, and René
Chartier cast furious glances at him.
“You are not in your place, Duchess,” said Largillière.
“No, I dare say not!” replied the Duchess.
René Chartier went up to young Bonmont and whispered in his ear:
“For goodness’ sake don’t give the Duchess any more cocktails, she will spoil everything.”
Largillière was grumbling too; the choruses were confused and unimpressive. However, they attacked the trio.
“Monsieur Lacrisse, you are not in your place.” Joseph Lacrisse was not in his place, and it is only fair to say that it was not his fault. Madame de Bonmont was perpetually enticing him into corners and murmuring to him:
“Tell me you love me still; if you don’t still love me I feel I shall die!”
She also asked him for news of the plot, and as the latter was not going on at all well the question irritated him. He was annoyed with her, too, because she had not given any money to the cause. He strode off stiffly to join the chorus, while René Chartier sang as though he meant it:
“Dans un délire extreme On veut fuir ce qu’on aime.”
Young Bonmont went up to his mother.
“Don’t trust Lacrisse, mother.”
She started. Then, in a tone of affected indifference:
“What do you mean? He is very serious, more serious than is usual at his age. He is occupied with important matters. He—”
Complete Works of Anatole France Page 174