La Fortune des Rougon. English

La Fortune des Rougon. English Page 5

by Émile Zola

  CHAPTER III

  In that closed, sequestered town of Plassans, where class distinctionwas so clearly marked in 1848, the commotion caused by political eventswas very slight. Even at the present day the popular voice sounds veryfaintly there; the middle classes bring their prudence to bear in thematter, the nobility their mute despair, and the clergy their shrewdcunning. Kings may usurp thrones, or republics may be established,without scarcely any stir in the town. Plassans sleeps while Parisfights. But though on the surface the town may appear calm andindifferent, in the depths hidden work goes on which it is curiousto study. If shots are rare in the streets, intrigues consume thedrawing-rooms of both the new town and the Saint-Marc quarter. Until theyear 1830 the masses were reckoned of no account. Even at the presenttime they are similarly ignored. Everything is settled between theclergy, the nobility, and the bourgeoisie. The priests, who are verynumerous, give the cue to the local politics; they lay subterraneanmines, as it were, and deal blows in the dark, following a prudenttactical system, which hardly allows of a step in advance or retreateven in the course of ten years. The secret intrigues of men who desireabove all things to avoid noise requires special shrewdness, a specialaptitude for dealing with small matters, and a patient endurance suchas one only finds in persons callous to all passions. It is thus thatprovincial dilatoriness, which is so freely ridiculed in Paris, is fullof treachery, secret stabs, hidden victories and defeats. These worthymen, particularly when their interests are at stake, kill at home witha snap of the fingers, as we, the Parisians, kill with cannon in thepublic thoroughfares.

  The political history of Plassans, like that of all little towns inProvence, is singularly characteristic. Until 1830, the inhabitantsremained observant Catholics and fervent royalists; even the lowerclasses only swore by God and their legitimate sovereigns. Then therecame a sudden change; faith departed, the working and middle classesdeserted the cause of legitimacy, and gradually espoused the greatdemocratic movement of our time. When the Revolution of 1848 broke out,the nobility and the clergy were left alone to labour for the triumphof Henri V. For a long time they had regarded the accession of theOrleanists as a ridiculous experiment, which sooner or later would bringback the Bourbons; although their hopes were singularly shaken, theynevertheless continued the struggle, scandalised by the defection oftheir former allies, whom they strove to win back to their cause. TheSaint-Marc quarter, assisted by all the parish priests, set towork. Among the middle classes, and especially among the people, theenthusiasm was very great on the morrow of the events of February; theseapprentice republicans were in haste to display their revolutionaryfervour. As regards the gentry of the new town, however, theconflagration, bright though it was, lasted no longer than a fire ofstraw. The small houseowners and retired tradespeople who had had theirgood days, or had made snug little fortunes under the monarchy, weresoon seized with panic; the Republic, with its constant shocks andconvulsions, made them tremble for their money and their life ofselfishness.

  Consequently, when the Clerical reaction of 1849 declared itself, nearlyall the middle classes passed over to the Conservative party. They werereceived with open arms. The new town had never before had such closerelations with the Saint-Marc quarter: some of the nobility even wentso far as to shake hands with lawyers and retired oil-dealers. Thisunexpected familiarity kindled the enthusiasm of the new quarter, whichhenceforward waged bitter warfare against the republican government. Tobring about such a coalition, the clergy had to display marvellous skilland endurance. The nobility of Plassans for the most part lay prostrate,as if half dead. They retained their faith, but lethargy had fallen onthem, and they preferred to remain inactive, allowing the heavens towork their will. They would gladly have contented themselves with silentprotest, feeling, perhaps, a vague presentiment that their divinitieswere dead, and that there was nothing left for them to do but rejointhem. Even at this period of confusion, when the catastrophe of 1848 wascalculated to give them a momentary hope of the return of the Bourbons,they showed themselves spiritless and indifferent, speaking of rushinginto the melee, yet never quitting their hearths without a pang ofregret.

  The clergy battled indefatigably against this feeling of impotence andresignation. They infused a kind of passion into their work: a priest,when he despairs, struggles all the more fiercely. The fundamentalpolicy of the Church is to march straight forward; even though shemay have to postpone the accomplishment of her projects for severalcenturies, she never wastes a single hour, but is always pushing forwardwith increasing energy. So it was the clergy who led the reaction ofPlassans; the nobility only lent them their name, nothing more. Thepriests hid themselves behind the nobles, restrained them, directedthem, and even succeeded in endowing them with a semblance of life. Whenthey had induced them to overcome their repugnance so far as to makecommon cause with the middle classes, they believed themselves certainof victory. The ground was marvellously well prepared. This ancientroyalist town, with its population of peaceful householders and timoroustradespeople, was destined to range itself, sooner or later, on the sideof law and order. The clergy, by their tactics, hastened the conversion.After gaining the landlords of the new town to their side, they evensucceeded in convincing the little retail-dealers of the old quarter.From that time the reactionary movement obtained complete possession ofthe town. All opinions were represented in this reaction; such a mixtureof embittered Liberals, Legitimists, Orleanists, Bonapartists, andClericals had never before been seen. It mattered little, however, atthat time. The sole object was to kill the Republic; and the Republicwas at the point of death. Only a fraction of the people--a thousandworkmen at most, out of the ten thousand souls in the town--stillsaluted the tree of liberty planted in the middle of the square in frontof the Sub-Prefecture.

  The shrewdest politicians of Plassans, those who led the reactionarymovement, did not scent the approach of the Empire until very muchlater. Prince Louis Napoleon's popularity seemed to them a mere passingfancy of the multitude. His person inspired them with but littleadmiration. They reckoned him a nonentity, a dreamer, incapable oflaying his hands on France, and especially of maintaining his authority.To them he was only a tool whom they would make use of, who would clearthe way for them, and whom they would turn out as soon as the hourarrived for the rightful Pretender to show himself.[*] However, monthswent by, and they became uneasy. It was only then that they vaguelyperceived they were being duped: they had no time, however, to take anysteps; the Coup d'Etat burst over their heads, and they were compelledto applaud. That great abomination, the Republic, had been assassinated;that, at least, was some sort of triumph. So the clergy and the nobilityaccepted accomplished facts with resignation; postponing, untillater, the realisation of their hopes, and making amends for theirmiscalculations by uniting with the Bonapartists for the purpose ofcrushing the last Republicans.

  [*] The Count de Chambord, "Henri V."

  It was these events that laid the foundation of the Rougons' fortune.After being mixed up with the various phases of the crisis, they rose toeminence on the ruins of liberty. These bandits had been lying in waitto rob the Republic; as soon as it had been strangled, they helped toplunder it.

  After the events of February 1848, Felicite, who had the keenest scentof all the members of the family, perceived that they were at last onthe right track. So she began to flutter round her husband, goadinghim on to bestir himself. The first rumours of the Revolution that hadoverturned King Louis Philippe had terrified Pierre. When his wife,however, made him understand that they had little to lose and much togain from a convulsion, he soon came round to her way of thinking.

  "I don't know what you can do," Felicite repeatedly said, "but it seemsto me that there's plenty to be done. Did not Monsieur de Carnavant sayto us one day that he would be rich if ever Henri V. should return, andthat this sovereign would magnificently recompense those who had workedfor his restoration? Perhaps our fortune lies in that direction. We mayyet be lucky."

  The Marquis de Carnava
nt, the nobleman who, according to the scandaloustalk of the town, had been on very familiar terms with Felicite'smother, used occasionally to visit the Rougons. Evil tongues assertedthat Madame Rougon resembled him. He was a little, lean, active man,seventy-five years old at that time, and Felicite certainly appeared tobe taking his features and manner as she grew older. It was said thatthe wreck of his fortune, which had already been greatly diminished byhis father at the time of the Emigration, had been squandered on women.Indeed, he cheerfully acknowledged his poverty. Brought up by one ofhis relatives, the Count de Valqueyras, he lived the life of a parasite,eating at the count's table and occupying a small apartment just underhis roof.

  "Little one," he would often say to Felicite, as he patted her onthe cheek, "if ever Henri V. gives me a fortune, I will make you myheiress!"

  He still called Felicite "little one," even when she was fifty yearsold. It was of these friendly pats, of these repeated promises of aninheritance, that Madame Rougon was thinking when she endeavouredto drive her husband into politics. Monsieur de Carnavant had oftenbitterly lamented his inability to render her any assistance. Nodoubt he would treat her like a father if ever he should acquire someinfluence. Pierre, to whom his wife half explained the situation inveiled terms, declared his readiness to move in any direction indicated.

  The marquis's peculiar position qualified him to act as an energeticagent of the reactionary movement at Plassans from the first days of theRepublic. This bustling little man, who had everything to gain from thereturn of his legitimate sovereigns, worked assiduously for their cause.While the wealthy nobility of the Saint-Marc quarter were slumbering inmute despair, fearing, perhaps that they might compromise themselves andagain be condemned to exile, he multiplied himself, as it were, spreadthe propaganda and rallied faithful ones together. He was a weapon whosehilt was held by an invisible hand. From that time forward he paid dailyvisits to the Rougons. He required a centre of operations. His relative,Monsieur de Valqueyras, had forbidden him to bring any of his associatesinto his house, so he had chosen Felicite's yellow drawing-room.Moreover, he very soon found Pierre a valuable assistant. He could notgo himself and preach the cause of Legitimacy to the petty traders andworkmen of the old quarter; they would have hooted him. Pierre, on theother hand, who had lived among these people, spoke their language andknew their wants, was able to catechise them in a friendly way. He thusbecame an indispensable man. In less than a fortnight the Rougons weremore determined royalists than the king himself. The marquis, perceivingPierre's zeal, shrewdly sheltered himself behind him. What was the useof making himself conspicuous, when a man with such broad shoulders waswilling to bear on them the burden of all the follies of a party? Heallowed Pierre to reign, puff himself out with importance and speakwith authority, content to restrain or urge him on, according tothe necessities of the cause. Thus, the old oil-dealer soon became apersonage of mark. In the evening, when they were alone, Felicite usedto say to him: "Go on, don't be frightened. We're on the right track. Ifthis continues we shall be rich; we shall have a drawing-room like thetax-receiver's, and be able to entertain people."

  A little party of Conservatives had already been formed at the Rougons'house, and meetings were held every evening in the yellow drawing-roomto declaim against the Republic.

  Among those who came were three or four retired merchants who trembledfor their money, and clamoured with all their might for a wise andstrong government. An old almond-dealer, a member of the MunicipalCouncil, Monsieur Isidore Granoux, was the head of this group. Hishare-lipped mouth was cloven a little way from the nose; his round eyes,his air of mingled satisfaction and astonishment, made him resemble afat goose whose digestion is attended by wholesome terror of the cook.He spoke little, having no command of words; and he only pricked uphis ears when anyone accused the Republicans of wishing to pillage thehouses of the rich; whereupon he would colour up to such a degree asto make one fear an approaching apoplectic fit, and mutter lowimprecations, in which the words "idlers," "scoundrels," "thieves," and"assassins" frequently recurred.

  All those who frequented the yellow drawing-room were not, however,as heavy as this fat goose. A rich landowner, Monsieur Roudier, with aplump, insinuating face, used to discourse there for hours altogether,with all the passion of an Orleanist whose calculations had been upsetby the fall of Louis Philippe. He had formerly been a hosier at Paris,and a purveyor to the Court, but had now retired to Plassans. He hadmade his son a magistrate, relying on the Orleanist party to promote himto the highest dignities. The revolution having ruined all his hopes, hehad rushed wildly into the reaction. His fortune, his former commercialrelations with the Tuileries, which he transformed into friendlyintercourse, that prestige which is enjoyed by every man in theprovinces who has made his money in Paris and deigns to come and spendit in a far away department, gave him great influence in the district;some persons listened to him as though he were an oracle.

  However, the strongest intellect of the yellow drawing-room wascertainly Commander Sicardot, Aristide's father-in-law. Of Herculeanframe, with a brick-red face, scarred and planted with tufts of greyhair, he was one of the most glorious old dolts of the Grande Armee.During the February Revolution he had been exasperated with thestreet warfare and never wearied of referring to it, proclaiming withindignation that this kind of fighting was shameful: whereupon herecalled with pride the grand reign of Napoleon.

  Another person seen at the Rougons' house was an individual with clammyhands and equivocal look, one Monsieur Vuillet, a bookseller, whosupplied all the devout ladies of the town with holy images androsaries. Vuillet dealt in both classical and religious works; he wasa strict Catholic, a circumstance which insured him the custom of thenumerous convents and parish churches. Further, by a stroke of genius hehad added to his business the publication of a little bi-weeklyjournal, the "Gazette de Plassans," which was devoted exclusively tothe interests of the clergy. This paper involved an annual loss of athousand francs, but it made him the champion of the Church, and enabledhim to dispose of his sacred unsaleable stock. Though he was virtuallyilliterate and could not even spell correctly, he himself wrote thearticles of the "Gazette" with a humility and rancour that compensatedfor his lack of talent. The marquis, in entering on the campaign, hadperceived immediately the advantage that might be derived from theco-operation of this insipid sacristan with the coarse, mercenary pen.After the February Revolution the articles in the "Gazette" containedfewer mistakes; the marquis revised them.

  One can now imagine what a singular spectacle the Rougons' yellowdrawing-room presented every evening. All opinions met there to bark atthe Republic. Their hatred of that institution made them agree together.The marquis, who never missed a meeting, appeased by his presence thelittle squabbles which occasionally arose between the commander andthe other adherents. These plebeians were inwardly flattered by thehandshakes which he distributed on his arrival and departure. Roudier,however, like a free-thinker of the Rue Saint-Honore, asserted that themarquis had not a copper to bless himself with, and was disposed to makelight of him. M. de Carnavant on his side preserved the amiable smile ofa nobleman lowering himself to the level of these middle class people,without making any of those contemptuous grimaces which any otherresident of the Saint-Marc quarter would have thought fit under suchcircumstances. The parasite life he had led had rendered him supple. Hewas the life and soul of the group, commanding in the name of unknownpersonages whom he never revealed. "They want this, they don't wantthat," he would say. The concealed divinities who thus watched overthe destinies of Plassans from behind some cloud, without appearing tointerfere directly in public matters, must have been certain priests,the great political agents of the country. When the marquis pronouncedthat mysterious word "they," which inspired the assembly with suchmarvellous respect, Vuillet confessed, with a gesture of pious devotion,that he knew them very well.

  The happiest person in all this was Felicite. At last she had peoplecoming to her drawing-room. It was true she felt a l
ittle ashamed of herold yellow velvet furniture. She consoled herself, however, thinkingof the rich things she would purchase when the good cause should havetriumphed. The Rougons had, in the end, regarded their royalism as veryserious. Felicite went as far as to say, when Roudier was not present,that if they had not made a fortune in the oil business the fault lay inthe monarchy of July. This was her mode of giving a political tinge totheir poverty. She had a friendly word for everybody, even for Granoux,inventing each evening some new polite method of waking him up when itwas time for departure.

  The drawing-room, that little band of Conservatives belonging toall parties, and daily increasing in numbers, soon wielded powerfulinfluence. Owing to the diversified characters of its members, andespecially to the secret impulse which each one received from theclergy, it became the centre of the reactionary movement and spread itsinfluence throughout Plassans. The policy of the marquis, who sank hisown personality, transformed Rougon into the leader of the party. Themeetings were held at his house, and this circumstance sufficed in theeyes of most people to make him the head of the group, and draw publicattention to him. The whole work was attributed to him; he was believedto be the chief artisan of the movement which was gradually bringingover to the Conservative party those who had lately been enthusiasticRepublicans. There are some situations which benefit only persons of badrepute. These lay the foundations of their fortune where men of betterposition and more influence would never dare to risk theirs. Roudier,Granoux, and the others, all men of means and respectability, certainlyseemed a thousand times preferable to Pierre as the acting leaders ofthe Conservative party. But none of them would have consented to turnhis drawing-room into a political centre. Their convictions did not goso far as to induce them to compromise themselves openly; in fact, theywere only so many provincial babblers, who liked to inveigh against theRepublic at a neighbour's house as long as the neighbour was willing tobear the responsibility of their chatter. The game was too risky. Therewas no one among the middle classes of Plassans who cared to play itexcept the Rougons, whose ungratified longings urged them on to extrememeasures.

  In the month of April, 1849, Eugene suddenly left Paris, and came tostay with his father for a fortnight. Nobody ever knew the purpose ofthis journey. It is probable that Eugene wanted to sound his nativetown, to ascertain whether he might successfully stand as a candidatefor the legislature which was about to replace the Constituent Assembly.He was too shrewd to risk a failure. No doubt public opinion appeared tohim little in his favour, for he abstained from any attempt. It was notknown at Plassans what had become of him in Paris, what he was doingthere. On his return to his native place, folks found him less heavy andsomnolent than formerly. They surrounded him and endeavoured to make himspeak out concerning the political situation. But he feigned ignoranceand compelled them to talk. A little perspicacity would have detectedthat beneath his apparent unconcern there was great anxiety with regardto the political opinions of the town. However, he seemed to be soundingthe ground more on behalf of a party than on his own account.

  Although he had renounced all hope for himself, he remained at Plassansuntil the end of the month, assiduously attending the meetings in theyellow drawing-room. As soon as the bell rang, announcing the firstvisitor, he would take up his position in one of the window recesses asfar as possible from the lamp. And he remained there the wholeevening, resting his chin on the palm of his right hand, and listeningreligiously. The greatest absurdities did not disturb his equanimity.He nodded approval even to the wild grunts of Granoux. When anyone askedhim his own opinion, he politely repeated that of the majority. Nothingseemed to tire his patience, neither the hollow dreams of the marquis,who spoke of the Bourbons as if 1815 were a recent date, nor theeffusions of citizen Roudier, who grew quite pathetic when he recountedhow many pairs of socks he had supplied to the citizen king, LouisPhilippe. On the contrary, he seemed quite at his ease in this Tower ofBabel. Sometimes, when these grotesque personages were storming againstthe Republic, his eyes would smile, while his lips retained theirexpression of gravity. His meditative manner of listening, and hisinvariable complacency, had earned him the sympathy of everyone. He wasconsidered a nonentity, but a very decent fellow. Whenever an old oil oralmond dealer failed to get a hearing, amidst the clamour, for some planby which he could save France if he were only a master, he took himselfoff to Eugene and shouted his marvellous suggestions in his ear. AndEugene gently nodded his head, as though delighted with the grandprojects he was listening to. Vuillet, alone, regarded him with asuspicious eye. This bookseller, half-sacristan and half-journalist,spoke less than the others, but was more observant. He had noticedthat Eugene occasionally conversed at times in a corner with CommanderSicardot. So he determined to watch them, but never succeeded inoverhearing a word. Eugene silenced the commander by a wink wheneverVuillet approached them. From that time, Sicardot never spoke of theNapoleons without a mysterious smile.

  Two days before his return to Paris, Eugene met his brother Aristide, onthe Cours Sauvaire, and the latter accompanied him for a short distancewith the importunity of a man in search of advice. As a matter of fact,Aristide was in great perplexity. Ever since the proclamation of theRepublic, he had manifested the most lively enthusiasm for the newgovernment. His intelligence, sharpened by two years' stay at Paris,enabled him to see farther than the thick heads of Plassans. He divinedthe powerlessness of the Legitimists and Orleanists, without clearlydistinguishing, however, what third thief would come and juggle theRepublic away. At all hazard he had ranged himself on the side of thevictors, and he had severed his connection with his father, whom hepublicly denounced as an old fool, an old dolt whom the nobility hadbamboozled.

  "Yet my mother is an intelligent woman," he would add. "I should neverhave thought her capable of inducing her husband to join a party whosehopes are simply chimerical. They are taking the right course to endtheir lives in poverty. But then women know nothing about politics."

  For his part he wanted to sell himself as dearly as possible. His greatanxiety as to the direction in which the wind was blowing, so that hemight invariably range himself on the side of that party, which, inthe hour of triumph, would be able to reward him munificently.Unfortunately, he was groping in the dark. Shut up in his far awayprovince, without a guide, without any precise information, he feltquite lost. While waiting for events to trace out a sure and certainpath, he preserved the enthusiastic republican attitude which he hadassumed from the very first day. Thanks to this demeanour, he remainedat the Sub-Prefecture; and his salary was even raised. Burning, however,with the desire to play a prominent part, he persuaded a bookseller,one of Vuillet's rivals, to establish a democratic journal, to whichhe became one of the most energetic contributors. Under his impulse the"Independant" waged merciless warfare against the reactionaries. But thecurrent gradually carried him further than he wished to go; he ended bywriting inflammatory articles, which made him shudder when he re-perusedthem. It was remarked at Plassans that he directed a series of attacksagainst all whom his father was in the habit of receiving of an eveningin his famous yellow drawing-room. The fact is that the wealth ofRoudier and Granoux exasperated Aristide to such a degree as to make himforget all prudence. Urged on by his jealous, insatiate bitterness,he had already made the middle classes his irreconcilable enemy,when Eugene's arrival and demeanour at Plassans caused him greatconsternation. He confessed to himself that his brother was a skilfulman. According to him, that big, drowsy fellow always slept with oneeye open, like a cat lying in wait before a mouse-hole. And now here wasEugene spending entire evenings in the yellow drawing-room, and devotinghimself to those same grotesque personages whom he, Aristide, had somercilessly ridiculed. When he discovered from the gossip of the townthat his brother shook hands with Granoux and the marquis, he askedhimself, with considerable anxiety, what was the meaning of it? Could hehimself have been deceived? Had the Legitimists or the Orleanistsreally any chance of success? The thought terrified him. He lost hisequilibrium, and, as f
requently happens, he fell upon the Conservativeswith increased rancour, as if to avenge his own blindness.

  On the evening prior to the day when he stopped Eugene on the CoursSauvaire, he had published, in the "Independant," a terrible articleon the intrigues of the clergy, in response to a short paragraph fromVuillet, who had accused the Republicans of desiring to demolish thechurches. Vuillet was Aristide's bugbear. Never a week passed but thesetwo journalists exchanged the greatest insults. In the provinces,where a periphrastic style is still cultivated, polemics are clothed inhigh-sounding phrases. Aristide called his adversary "brother Judas,"or "slave of Saint-Anthony." Vuillet gallantly retorted by terming theRepublican "a monster glutted with blood whose ignoble purveyor was theguillotine."

  In order to sound his brother, Aristide, who did not dare to appearopenly uneasy, contented himself with asking: "Did you read my articleyesterday? What do you think of it?"

  Eugene lightly shrugged his shoulders. "You're a simpleton, brother,"was his sole reply.

  "Then you think Vuillet right?" cried the journalist, turning pale; "youbelieve in Vuillet's triumph?"

  "I!--Vuillet----"

  He was certainly about to add, "Vuillet is as big a fool as you are."But, observing his brother's distorted face anxiously extended towardshim, he experienced sudden mistrust. "Vuillet has his good points," hecalmly replied.

  On parting from his brother, Aristide felt more perplexed than before.Eugene must certainly have been making game of him, for Vuillet wasreally the most abominable person imaginable. However, he determined tobe prudent and not tie himself down any more; for he wished to have hishands free should he ever be called upon to help any party in stranglingthe Republic.

  Eugene, on the morning of his departure, an hour before getting into thediligence, took his father into the bedroom and had a long conversationwith him. Felicite, who remained in the drawing-room, vainly tried tocatch what they were saying. They spoke in whispers, as if they fearedlest a single word should be heard outside. When at last they quittedthe bedroom they seemed in high spirits. After kissing his father andmother, Eugene, who usually spoke in a drawling tone, exclaimed withvivacity: "You have understood me, father? There lies our fortune. Wemust work with all our energy in that direction. Trust in me."

  "I'll follow your instructions faithfully," Rougon replied. "Only don'tforget what I asked you as the price of my cooperation."

  "If we succeed your demands shall be satisfied, I give you my word.Moreover, I will write to you and guide you according to the directionwhich events may take. Mind, no panic or excitement. You must obey meimplicitly."

  "What have you been plotting there?" Felicite asked inquisitively.

  "My dear mother," Eugene replied with a smile, "you have had toolittle faith in me thitherto to induce me to confide in you my hopes,particularly as at present they are only based on probabilities. Tobe able to understand me you would require faith. However, father willinform you when the right time comes."

  Then, as Felicite assumed the demeanour of a woman who feels somewhatpiqued, he added in her ear, as he kissed her once more: "I take afteryou, although you disowned me. Too much intelligence would be dangerousat the present moment. When the crisis comes, it is you who will have tomanage the business."

  He then quitted the room, but, suddenly re-opening the door, exclaimedin an imperious tone: "Above all things, do not trust Aristide; he is amar-all, who would spoil everything. I have studied him sufficiently tofeel certain that he will always fall on his feet. Don't have anypity; if we make a fortune, he'll know well enough how to rob us of hisshare."

  When Eugene had gone, Felicite endeavoured to ferret out the secret thatwas being hidden from her. She knew her husband too well to interrogatehim openly. He would have angrily replied that it was no business ofhers. In spite, however, of the clever tactics she pursued, she learntabsolutely nothing. Eugene had chosen a good confidant for thosetroubled times, when the greatest discretion was necessary. Pierre,flattered by his son's confidence, exaggerated that passive ponderositywhich made him so impenetrable. When Felicite saw she would not learnanything from him, she ceased to flutter round him. On one point onlydid she remain inquisitive, but in this respect her curiosity wasintense. The two men had mentioned a price stipulated by Pierre himself.What could that price be? This after all was the sole point of interestfor Felicite, who did not care a rap for political matters. She knewthat her husband must have sold himself dearly, but she was burning toknow the nature of the bargain. One evening, when they had gone to bed,finding Pierre in a good humour, she brought the conversation round tothe discomforts of their poverty.

  "It's quite time to put an end to this," she said. "We have been ruiningourselves in oil and fuel since those gentlemen have been coming here.And who will pay the reckoning? Nobody perhaps."

  Her husband fell into the trap, and smiled with complacent superiority."Patience," said he. And with an air of shrewdness he looked into hiswife's eyes and added: "Would you be glad to be the wife of a receiverof taxes?"

  Felicite's face flushed with a joyous glow. She sat up in bed andclapped her old withered little hands like a child.

  "Really?" she stammered. "At Plassans?"

  Pierre, without replying, gave a long affirmative nod. He enjoyed hisconsort's astonishment and emotion.

  "But," she at last resumed, half sitting, "you would have to depositan enormous sum as security. I have heard that our neighbour, MonsieurPeirotte, had to deposit eighty thousand francs with the Treasury."

  "Eh!" said the retired oil-dealer, "that's nothing to do with me; Eugenewill see to that. He will get the money advanced by a banker in Paris.You see, I selected an appointment bringing in a good income. Eugene atfirst made a wry face, saying one must be rich to occupy such posts, towhich influential men were usually nominated. I persisted, however, andhe yielded. To be a receiver of taxes one need not know either Greekor Latin. I shall have a representative, like Monsieur Peirotte, and hewill do all the work."

  Felicite listened to him with rapture.

  "I guessed, however," he continued, "what it was that worried our dearson. We're not much liked here. People know that we have no means, andwill make themselves obnoxious. But all sorts of things occur in atime of crisis. Eugene wished to get me an appointment in another town.However, I objected; I want to remain at Plassans."

  "Yes, yes, we must remain here," the old woman quickly replied. "We havesuffered here, and here we must triumph. Ah! I'll crush them all, thosefine ladies on the Mail, who scornfully eye my woollen dresses! I didn'tthink of the appointment of receiver of taxes at all; I thought youwanted to become mayor."

  "Mayor! Nonsense. That appointment is honorary. Eugene also mentionedthe mayoralty to me. I replied: 'I'll accept, if you give me an incomeof fifteen thousand francs.'"

  This conversation, in which high figures flew about like rockets, quiteexcited Felicite. She felt delightfully buoyant. But at last she put ona devout air, and gravely said: "Come, let us reckon it out. How muchwill you earn?"

  "Well," said Pierre, "the fixed salary, I believe, is three thousandfrancs."

  "Three thousand," Felicite counted.

  "Then there is so much per cent on the receipts, which at Plassans, mayproduce the sum of twelve thousand francs."

  "That makes fifteen thousand."

  "Yes, about fifteen thousand francs. That's what Peirotte earns. That'snot all. Peirotte does a little banking business on his own account.It's allowed. Perhaps I shall be disposed to make a venture when I feelluck on my side."

  "Well, let us say twenty thousand. Twenty thousand francs a year!"repeated Felicite, overwhelmed by the amount.

  "We shall have to repay the advances," Pierre observed.

  "That doesn't matter," Felicite replied, "we shall be richer than manyof those gentlemen. Are the marquis and the others going to share thecake with you?"

  "No, no; it will be all for us," he replied.

  Then, as she continued to importune him with
her questions, Pierrefrowned, thinking that she wanted to wrest his secret from him. "We'vetalked enough," he said, abruptly. "It's late, let us go to sleep. Itwill bring us bad luck to count our chickens beforehand. I haven't gotthe place yet. Above all things, be prudent."

  When the lamp was extinguished, Felicite could not sleep. With her eyesclosed she built the most marvellous castles in the air. Those twentythousand francs a year danced a diabolical dance before her in thedarkness. She occupied splendid apartments in the new town, enjoyed thesame luxuries as Monsieur Peirotte, gave parties, and bespattered thewhole place with her wealth. That, however, which tickled her vanitymost was the high position that her husband would then occupy. He wouldpay their state dividends to Granoux, Roudier, and all those people whonow came to her house as they might come to a cafe, to swagger and learnthe latest news. She had noticed the free-and-easy manner in which thesepeople entered her drawing-room, and it had made her take a dislike tothem. Even the marquis, with his ironical politeness, was beginningto displease her. To triumph alone, therefore, to keep the cakefor themselves, as she expressed it, was a revenge which she fondlycherished. Later on, when all those ill-bred persons presentedthemselves, hats off, before Monsieur Rougon the receiver of taxes,she would crush them in her turn. She was busy with these thoughts allnight; and on the morrow, as she opened the shutters, she instinctivelycast her first glance across the street towards Monsieur Peirotte'shouse, and smiled as she contemplated the broad damask curtains hangingin the windows.

  Felicite's hopes, in becoming modified, had grown yet more intense. Likeall women, she did not object to a tinge of mystery. The secret objectthat her husband was pursuing excited her far more than the Legitimistintrigues of Monsieur de Carnavant had ever done. She abandoned, withoutmuch regret, the calculations she had based on the marquis's successnow that her husband declared he would be able to make large profitsby other means. She displayed, moreover, remarkable prudence anddiscretion.

  In reality, she was still tortured by anxious curiosity; she studiedPierre's slightest actions, endeavouring to discover their meaning.What if by chance he were following the wrong track? What if Eugene weredragging them in his train into some break-neck pit, whence they wouldemerge yet more hungry and impoverished? However, faith was dawningon her. Eugene had commanded with such an air of authority that sheultimately came to believe in him. In this case again some unknown powerwas at work. Pierre would speak mysteriously of the high personages whomtheir eldest son visited in Paris. For her part she did not know whathe could have to do with them, but on the other hand she was unable toclose her eyes to Aristide's ill-advised acts at Plassans. Thevisitors to her drawing-room did not scruple to denounce the democraticjournalist with extreme severity. Granoux muttered that he was abrigand, and Roudier would three or four times a week repeat toFelicite: "Your son is writing some fine articles. Only yesterday heattacked our friend Vuillet with revolting scurrility."

  The whole room joined in the chorus, and Commander Sicardot spoke ofboxing his son-in-law's ears, while Pierre flatly disowned him. The poormother hung her head, restraining her tears. For an instant she feltan inclination to burst forth, to tell Roudier that her dear child,in spite of his faults, was worth more than he and all the others puttogether. But she was tied down, and did not wish to compromise theposition they had so laboriously attained. Seeing the whole town sobitter against Aristide, she despaired of his future, thinking he washopelessly ruining himself. On two occasions she spoke to him insecret, imploring him to return to them, and not to irritate the yellowdrawing-room any further. Aristide replied that she did not understandsuch matters; that she was the one who had committed a great blunder inplacing her husband at the service of the marquis. So she had to abandonher son to his own courses, resolving, however that if Eugene succeededshe would compel him to share the spoils with the poor fellow who washer favourite child.

  After the departure of his eldest son, Pierre Rougon pursued hisreactionary intrigues. Nothing seemed to have changed in the opinions ofthe famous yellow drawing-room. Every evening the same men came to joinin the same propaganda in favour of the establishment of a monarchy,while the master of the house approved and aided them with as much zealas in the past. Eugene had left Plassans on May 1. A few days later,the yellow drawing-room was in raptures. The gossips were discussing theletter of the President of the Republic to General Oudinot, in whichthe siege of Rome had been decided upon. This letter was regarded as abrilliant victory, due to the firm demeanour of the reactionary party.Since 1848 the Chambers had been discussing the Roman question; but ithad been reserved for a Bonaparte to stifle a rising Republic by an actof intervention which France, if free, would never have countenanced.The marquis declared, however, that one could not better promote thecause of legitimacy, and Vuillet wrote a superb article on the matter.The enthusiasm became unbounded when, a month later, Commander Sicardotentered the Rougons' house one evening and announced to the companythat the French army was fighting under the walls of Rome. Then, whileeverybody was raising exclamations at this news, he went up to Pierre,and shook hands with him in a significant manner. And when he had takena seat, he began to sound the praises of the President of the Republic,who, said he, was the only person able to save France from anarchy.

  "Let him save it, then, as quickly as possible," interrupted themarquis, "and let him then understand his duty by restoring it to itslegitimate masters."

  Pierre seemed to approve this fine retort, and having thus givenproof of his ardent royalism, he ventured to remark that Prince LouisBonaparte had his entire sympathy in the matter. He thereupon exchangeda few short sentences with the commander, commending the excellentintentions of the President, which sentences one might have thoughtprepared and learnt beforehand. Bonapartism now, for the first time,made its entry into the yellow drawing-room. It is true that since theelection of December 10 the Prince had been treated there with a certainamount of consideration. He was preferred a thousand times to Cavaignac,and the whole reactionary party had voted for him. But they regardedhim rather as an accomplice than a friend; and, as such, they distrustedhim, and even began to accuse him of a desire to keep for himselfthe chestnuts which he had pulled out of the fire. On that particularevening, however, owing to the fighting at Rome, they listened withfavour to the praises of Pierre and the commander.

  The group led by Granoux and Roudier already demanded that the Presidentshould order all republican rascals to be shot; while the marquis,leaning against the mantelpiece, gazed meditatively at a faded rose onthe carpet. When he at last lifted his head, Pierre, who had furtivelywatched his countenance as if to see the effect of his words, suddenlyceased speaking. However, Monsieur de Carnavant merely smiled andglanced at Felicite with a knowing look. This rapid by-play was notobserved by the other people. Vuillet alone remarked in a sharp tone:

  "I would rather see your Bonaparte at London than at Paris. Our affairswould get along better then."

  At this the old oil-dealer turned slightly pale, fearing that he hadgone too far. "I'm not anxious to retain 'my' Bonaparte," he said, withsome firmness; "you know where I would send him to if I were the master.I simply assert that the expedition to Rome was a good stroke."

  Felicite had followed this scene with inquisitive astonishment. However,she did not speak of it to her husband, which proved that she adopted itas the basis of secret study. The marquis's smile, the significance ofwhich escaped her, set her thinking.

  From that day forward, Rougon, at distant intervals, whenever theoccasion offered, slipped in a good word for the President of theRepublic. On such evenings, Commander Sicardot acted the part of awilling accomplice. At the same time, Clerical opinions still reignedsupreme in the yellow drawing-room. It was more particularly inthe following year that this group of reactionaries gained decisiveinfluence in the town, thanks to the retrograde movement which was goingon at Paris. All those anti-Liberal laws which the country called "theRoman expedition at home" definitively secured the triumph of the
Rougonfaction. The last enthusiastic bourgeois saw the Republic tottering, andhastened to rally round the Conservatives. Thus the Rougons' hour hadarrived; the new town almost gave them an ovation on the day when thetree of Liberty, planted on the square before the Sub-Prefecture, wassawed down. This tree, a young poplar brought from the banks of theViorne, had gradually withered, much to the despair of the republicanworking-men, who would come every Sunday to observe the progress ofthe decay without being able to comprehend the cause of it. A hatter'sapprentice at last asserted that he had seen a woman leave Rougon'shouse and pour a pail of poisoned water at the foot of the tree. Itthenceforward became a matter of history that Felicite herself got upevery night to sprinkle the poplar with vitriol. When the tree was deadthe Municipal Council declared that the dignity of the Republic requiredits removal. For this, as they feared the displeasure of the workingclasses, they selected an advanced hour of the night. However, theconservative householders of the new town got wind of the littleceremony, and all came down to the square before the Sub-Prefecture inorder to see how the tree of Liberty would fall. The frequenters of theyellow drawing-room stationed themselves at the windows there. When thepoplar cracked and fell with a thud in the darkness, as tragically rigidas some mortally stricken hero, Felicite felt bound to wave a whitehandkerchief. This induced the crowd to applaud, and many responded tothe salute by waving their handkerchiefs likewise. A group of peopleeven came under the window shouting: "We'll bury it, we'll bury it."

  They meant the Republic, no doubt. Such was Felicite's emotion, thatshe almost had a nervous attack. It was a fine evening for the yellowdrawing-room.

  However, the marquis still looked at Felicite with the same mysterioussmile. This little old man was far too shrewd to be ignorant of whitherFrance was tending. He was among the first to scent the coming of theEmpire. When the Legislative Assembly, later on, exhausted its energiesin useless squabbling, when the Orleanists and the Legitimists tacitlyaccepted the idea of the Coup d'Etat, he said to himself that thegame was definitely lost. In fact, he was the only one who saw thingsclearly. Vuillet certainly felt that the cause of Henry V., which hispaper defended, was becoming detestable; but it mattered little to him;he was content to be the obedient creature of the clergy; his entirepolicy was framed so as to enable him to dispose of as many rosaries andsacred images as possible. As for Roudier and Granoux, they lived ina state of blind scare; it was not certain whether they really had anyopinions; all that they desired was to eat and sleep in peace; theirpolitical aspirations went no further. The marquis, though he had biddenfarewell to his hopes, continued to come to the Rougons' as regularly asever. He enjoyed himself there. The clash of rival ambitions amongthe middle classes, and the display of their follies, had become anextremely amusing spectacle to him. He shuddered at the thought of againshutting himself in the little room which he owed to the beneficence ofthe Count de Valqueyras. With a kind of malicious delight, he kept tohimself the conviction that the Bourbons' hour had not yet arrived. Hefeigned blindness, working as hitherto for the triumph of Legitimacy,and still remaining at the orders of the clergy and nobility, thoughfrom the very first day he had penetrated Pierre's new course of action,and believed that Felicite was his accomplice.

  One evening, being the first to arrive, he found the old lady alonein the drawing-room. "Well! little one," he asked, with his smilingfamiliarity, "are your affairs going on all right? Why the deuce do youmake such mysteries with me?"

  "I'm not hiding anything from you," Felicite replied, somewhatperplexed.

  "Come, do you think you can deceive an old fox like me, eh? My dearchild, treat me as a friend. I'm quite ready to help you secretly. Comenow, be frank!"

  A bright idea struck Felicite. She had nothing to tell; but perhaps shemight find out something if she kept quiet.

  "Why do you smile?" Monsieur de Carnavant resumed. "That's the beginningof a confession, you know. I suspected that you must be behind yourhusband. Pierre is too stupid to invent the pretty treason you arehatching. I sincerely hope the Bonapartists will give you what I shouldhave asked for you from the Bourbons."

  This single sentence confirmed the suspicions which the old woman hadentertained for some time past.

  "Prince Louis has every chance, hasn't he?" she eagerly inquired.

  "Will you betray me if I tell you that I believe so?" the marquislaughingly replied. "I've donned my mourning over it, little one. I'msimply a poor old man, worn out and only fit to be laid on the shelf.It was for you, however, that I was working. Since you have been able tofind the right track without me, I shall feel some consolation in seeingyou triumph amidst my own defeat. Above all things, don't make any moremysteries. Come to me if you are ever in trouble."

  And he added, with the sceptical smile of a nobleman who has lost caste:"Pshaw! I also can go in for a little treachery!"

  At this moment the clan of retired oil and almond dealers arrived.

  "Ah! the dear reactionaries!" Monsieur de Carnavant continued in anundertone. "You see, little one, the great art of politics consists inhaving a pair of good eyes when other people are blind. You hold all thebest cards in the pack."

  On the following day, Felicite, incited by this conversation, desiredto make sure on the matter. They were then in the first days of the year1851. For more than eighteen months, Rougon had been in the habit ofreceiving a letter from his son Eugene regularly every fortnight. Hewould shut himself in the bedroom to read these letters, which he thenhid at the bottom of an old secretaire, the key of which he carefullykept in his waistcoat pocket. Whenever his wife questioned him abouttheir son he would simply answer: "Eugene writes that he is going onall right." Felicite had long since thought of laying hands on her son'sletters. So early on the morning after her chat with the marquis, whilePierre was still asleep, she got up on tiptoes, took the key of thesecretaire from her husband's waistcoat and substituted in its placethat of the chest of drawers, which was of the same size. Then, as soonas her husband had gone out, she shut herself in the room in her turn,emptied the drawer, and read all the letters with feverish curiosity.

  Monsieur de Carnavant had not been mistaken, and her own suspicions wereconfirmed. There were about forty letters, which enabled her to followthe course of that great Bonapartist movement which was to terminate inthe second Empire. The letters constituted a sort of concise journal,narrating events as they occurred, and drawing hopes and suggestionsfrom each of them. Eugene was full of faith. He described Prince LouisBonaparte to his father as the predestined necessary man who alone couldunravel the situation. He had believed in him prior even to his returnto France, at a time when Bonapartism was treated as a ridiculouschimera. Felicite understood that her son had been a very active secretagent since 1848. Although he did not clearly explain his position inParis, it was evident that he was working for the Empire, underthe orders of personages whose names he mentioned with a sort offamiliarity. Each of his letters gave information as to the progress ofthe cause, to which an early denouement was foreshadowed; and usuallyconcluded by pointing out the line of action that Pierre should pursueat Plassans. Felicite could now comprehend certain words and acts ofher husband, whose significance had previously escaped her; Pierre wasobeying his son, and blindly following his recommendations.

  When the old woman had finished reading, she was convinced. Eugene'sentire thoughts were clearly revealed to her. He reckoned upon makinghis political fortune in the squabble, and repaying his parents the debthe owed them for his education, by throwing them a scrap of the prey assoon as the quarry was secured. However small the assistance his fathermight render to him and to the cause, it would not be difficult to gethim appointed receiver of taxes. Nothing would be refused to one wholike Eugene had steeped his hands in the most secret machinations. Hisletters were simply a kind attention on his part, a device to preventthe Rougons from committing any act of imprudence, for which Felicitefelt deeply grateful. She read certain passages of the letters twiceover, notably those in which Eugene spok
e, in vague terms, of "a finalcatastrophe." This catastrophe, the nature or bearings of which shecould not well conceive became a sort of end of the world for her. Godwould range the chosen ones on His right hand and the damned on Hisleft, and she placed herself among the former.

  When she succeeded in replacing the key in her husband's waistcoatpocket on the following night, she made up her mind to employ the sameexpedient for reading every fresh letter that arrived. She resolved,likewise, to profess complete ignorance. This plan was an excellent one.Henceforward, she gave her husband the more assistance as she appearedto render it unconsciously. When Pierre thought he was working aloneit was she who brought the conversation round to the desired topic,recruiting partisans for the decisive moment. She felt hurt at Eugene'sdistrust of her. She wanted to be able to say to him, after the triumph:"I knew all, and so far from spoiling anything, I have secured thevictory." Never did an accomplice make less noise or work harder. Themarquis, whom she had taken into her confidence, was astounded at it.

  The fate of her dear Aristide, however, continued to make her uneasy.Now that she shared the faith of her eldest son, the rabid articles ofthe "Independant" alarmed her all the more. She longed to convert theunfortunate republican to Napoleonist ideas; but she did not know howto accomplish this in a discreet manner. She recalled the emphasis withwhich Eugene had told them to be on their guard against Aristide. Atlast she submitted the matter to Monsieur de Carnavant, who was entirelyof the same opinion.

  "Little one," he said to her, "in politics one must know how to lookafter one's self. If you were to convert your son, and the 'Independant'were to start writing in defence of Bonapartism, it would deal the partya rude blow. The 'Independant' has already been condemned, its titlealone suffices to enrage the middle classes of Plassans. Let dearAristide flounder about; this only moulds young people. He does notappear to me to be cut out for carrying on the role of a martyr for anylength of time."

  However, in her eagerness to point out the right way to her family,now that she believed herself in possession of the truth, Felicite evensought to convert her son Pascal. The doctor, with the egotism of ascientist immersed in his researches, gave little heed to politics.Empires might fall while he was making an experiment, yet he would nothave deigned to turn his head. He at last yielded, however, to certainimportunities of his mother, who accused him more than ever of livinglike an unsociable churl.

  "If you were to go into society," she said to him, "you would get somewell-to-do patients. Come, at least, and spend some evenings in ourdrawing-room. You will make the acquaintance of Messieurs Roudier,Granoux, and Sicardot, all gentlemen in good circumstances, who will payyou four or five francs a visit. The poor people will never enrich you."

  The idea of succeeding in life, of seeing all her family attain tofortune, had become a form of monomania with Felicite. Pascal, in orderto be agreeable to her, came and spent a few evenings in the yellowdrawing-room. He was much less bored there than he had apprehended. Atfirst he was rather stupefied at the degree of imbecility to whichsane men can sink. The old oil and almond dealers, the marquis and thecommander even, appeared to him so many curious animals, which hehad not hitherto had an opportunity of studying. He looked with anaturalist's interest at their grimacing faces, in which he discernedtraces of their occupations and appetites; he listened also to theirinane chatter, just as he might have tried to catch the meaning ofa cat's mew or a dog's bark. At this period he was occupied withcomparative natural history, applying to the human race the observationswhich he had made upon animals with regard to the working of heredity.While he was in the yellow drawing-room, therefore, he amused himselfwith the belief that he had fallen in with a menagerie. He establishedcomparisons between the grotesque creatures he found there and certainanimals of his acquaintance. The marquis, with his leanness and smallcrafty-looking head, reminded him exactly of a long green grasshopper.Vuillet impressed him as a pale, slimy toad. He was more considerate forRoudier, a fat sheep, and for the commander, an old toothless mastiff.But the prodigious Granoux was a perpetual cause of astonishment to him.He spent a whole evening measuring this imbecile's facial angle. When heheard him mutter indistinct imprecations against those blood-suckersthe Republicans, he always expected to hear him moan like a calf; andhe could never see him rise from his chair without imagining that he wasabout to leave the room on all fours.

  "Talk to them," his mother used to say in an undertone; "try and make apractice out of these gentlemen."

  "I am not a veterinary surgeon," he at last replied, exasperated.

  One evening Felicite took him into a corner and tired to catechisehim. She was glad to see him come to her house rather assiduously.She thought him reconciled to Society, not suspecting for a moment thesingular amusement that he derived from ridiculing these rich people.She cherished the secret project of making him the fashionable doctorof Plassans. It would be sufficient if men like Granoux and Roudierconsented to give him a start. She wished, above all, to impart tohim the political views of the family, considering that a doctor hadeverything to gain by constituting himself a warm partisan of the regimewhich was to succeed the Republic.

  "My dear boy," she said to him, "as you have now become reasonable,you must give some thought to the future. You are accused of being aRepublican, because you are foolish enough to attend all the beggarsof the town without making any charge. Be frank, what are your realopinions?"

  Pascal looked at his mother with naive astonishment, then with a smilereplied: "My real opinions? I don't quite know--I am accused of being aRepublican, did you say? Very well! I don't feel at all offended. Iam undoubtedly a Republican, if you understand by that word a man whowishes the welfare of everybody."

  "But you will never attain to any position," Felicite quicklyinterrupted. "You will be crushed. Look at your brothers, they aretrying to make their way."

  Pascal then comprehended that he was not called upon to defend hisphilosophic egotism. His mother simply accused him of not speculatingon the political situation. He began to laugh somewhat sadly, and thenturned the conversation into another channel. Felicite could neverinduce him to consider the chances of the various parties, nor to enlistin that one of them which seemed likely to carry the day. However, hestill occasionally came to spend an evening in the yellow drawing-room.Granoux interested him like an antediluvian animal.

  In the meantime, events were moving. The year 1851 was a year of anxietyand apprehension for the politicians of Plassans, and the cause whichthe Rougons served derived advantage from this circumstance. The mostcontradictory news arrived from Paris; sometimes the Republicans werein the ascendant, sometimes the Conservative party was crushing theRepublic. The echoes of the squabbles which were rending the LegislativeAssembly reached the depths of the provinces, now in an exaggerated, nowin an attenuated form, varying so greatly as to obscure the vision ofthe most clear-sighted. The only general feeling was that a denouementwas approaching. The prevailing ignorance as to the nature of thisdenouement kept timid middle class people in a terrible state ofanxiety. Everybody wished to see the end. They were sick of uncertainty,and would have flung themselves into the arms of the Grand Turk, if hewould have deigned to save France from anarchy.

  The marquis's smile became more acute. Of an evening, in the yellowdrawing-room, when Granoux's growl was rendered indistinct by fright, hewould draw near to Felicite and whisper in her ear: "Come, little one,the fruit is ripe--but you must make yourself useful."

  Felicite, who continued to read Eugene's letters, and knew thata decisive crisis might any day occur, had already often felt thenecessity of making herself useful, and reflected as to the manner inwhich the Rougons should employ themselves. At last she consulted themarquis.

  "It all depends upon circumstances," the little old man replied. "If thedepartment remains quiet, if no insurrection occurs to terrify Plassans,it will be difficult for you to make yourselves conspicuous and renderany services to the new government. I advise you, in that case, toremai
n at home, and peacefully await the bounties of your son Eugene.But if the people rise, and our brave bourgeois think themselves indanger, there will be a fine part to play. Your husband is somewhatheavy--"

  "Oh!" said Felicite, "I'll undertake to make him supple. Do you thinkthe department will revolt?"

  "To my mind it's a certainty. Plassans, perhaps, will not make astir; the reaction has secured too firm a hold here for that. But theneighbouring towns, especially the small ones and the villages, havelong been worked by certain secret societies, and belong to the advancedRepublican party. If a Coup d'Etat should burst forth, the tocsin willbe heard throughout the entire country, from the forests of the Seilleto the plateau of Sainte-Roure."

  Felicite reflected. "You think, then," she resumed, "that aninsurrection is necessary to ensure our fortune!"

  "That's my opinion," replied Monsieur de Carnavant. And he added, with aslightly ironical smile: "A new dynasty is never founded excepting uponan affray. Blood is good manure. It will be a fine thing for the Rougonsto date from a massacre, like certain illustrious families."

  These words, accompanied by a sneer, sent a cold chill throughFelicite's bones. But she was a strong-minded woman, and the sight ofMonsieur Peirotte's beautiful curtains, which she religiously viewedevery morning, sustained her courage. Whenever she felt herselfgiving way, she planted herself at the window and contemplated thetax-receiver's house. For her it was the Tuileries. She had determinedupon the most extreme measures in order to secure an entree into the newtown, that promised land, on the threshold of which she had stood withburning longing for so many years.

  The conversation which she had held with the marquis had at last clearlyrevealed the situation to her. A few days afterwards, she succeeded inreading one of Eugene's letters, in which he, who was working for theCoup d'Etat, seemed also to rely upon an insurrection as the means ofendowing his father with some importance. Eugene knew his departmentwell. All his suggestions had been framed with the object of placingas much influence as possible in the hands of the yellow drawing-roomreactionaries, so that the Rougons might be able to hold the town at thecritical moment. In accordance with his desires, the yellow drawing-roomwas master of Plassans in November, 1851. Roudier represented the richcitizens there, and his attitude would certainly decide that of theentire new town. Granoux was still more valuable; he had the MunicipalCouncil behind him: he was its most powerful member, a fact whichwill give some idea of its other members. Finally, through CommanderSicardot, whom the marquis had succeeded in getting appointed as chiefof the National Guard, the yellow drawing-room had the armed forces attheir disposal.

  The Rougons, those poor disreputable devils, had thus succeededin rallying round themselves the instruments of their own fortune.Everyone, from cowardice or stupidity, would have to obey them and workin the dark for their aggrandisement. They simply had to fear thoseother influences which might be working with the same object asthemselves, and might partially rob them of the merit of victory. Thatwas their great fear, for they wanted to reserve to themselves the roleof deliverers. They knew beforehand that they would be aided rather thanhindered by the clergy and the nobility. But if the sub-prefect, themayor, and the other functionaries were to take a step in advance and atonce stifle the insurrection they would find themselves thrown into theshade, and even arrested in their exploits; they would have neither timenor means to make themselves useful. What they longed for was completeabstention, general panic among the functionaries. If only all regularadministration should disappear, and they could dispose of the destiniesof Plassans for a single day, their fortune would be firmly established.

  Happily for them, there was not a man in the government service whoseconvictions were so firm or whose circumstances were so needy as tomake him disposed to risk the game. The sub-prefect was a man of liberalspirit whom the executive had forgetfully left at Plassans, owing, nodoubt, to the good repute of the town. Of timid character and incapableof exceeding his authority, he would no doubt be greatly embarrassed inthe presence of an insurrection. The Rougons, who knew that he was infavour of the democratic cause, and who consequently never dreaded hiszeal, were simply curious to know what attitude he would assume. As forthe municipality, this did not cause them much apprehension. The mayor,Monsieur Garconnet, was a Legitimist whose nomination had been procuredby the influence of the Saint-Marc quarter in 1849. He detested theRepublicans and treated them with undisguised disdain; but he was tooclosely united by bonds of friendship with certain members of thechurch to lend any active hand in a Bonapartist Coup d'Etat. The otherfunctionaries were in exactly the same position. The justices of thepeace, the post-master, the tax-collector, as well as Monsieur Peirotte,the chief receiver of taxes, were all indebted for their posts tothe Clerical reaction, and could not accept the Empire with any greatenthusiasm. The Rougons, though they did not quite see how they mightget rid of these people and clear the way for themselves, neverthelessindulged in sanguine hopes on finding there was little likelihood ofanybody disputing their role as deliverers.

  The denouement was drawing near. In the last few days of November, asthe rumour of a Coup d'Etat was circulating, the prince-president wasaccused of seeking the position of emperor.

  "Eh! we'll call him whatever he likes," Granoux exclaimed, "provided hehas those Republican rascals shot!"

  This exclamation from Granoux, who was believed to be asleep, causedgreat commotion. The marquis pretended not to have heard it; but allthe bourgeois nodded approval. Roudier, who, being rich, did not fear toapplaud the sentiment aloud, went so far as to declare, while glancingaskance at Monsieur de Carnavant, that the position was no longertenable, and that France must be chastised as soon as possible, nevermind by what hand.

  The marquis still maintained a silence which was interpreted asacquiescence. And thereupon the Conservative clan, abandoning the causeof Legitimacy, ventured to offer up prayers in favour of the Empire.

  "My friends," said Commander Sicardot, rising from his seat, "only aNapoleon can now protect threatened life and property. Have no fear,I've taken the necessary precautions to preserve order at Plassans."

  As a matter of fact the commander, in concert with Rougon, hadconcealed, in a kind of cart-house near the ramparts, both a supply ofcartridges and a considerable number of muskets; he had also taken stepsto secure the co-operation of the National Guard, on which he believedhe could rely. His words produced a very favourable impression.On separating for the evening, the peaceful citizens of the yellowdrawing-room spoke of massacring the "Reds" if they should dare to stir.

  On December 1, Pierre Rougon received a letter from Eugene which he wentto read in his bedroom, in accordance with his prudent habit. Feliciteobserved, however, that he was very agitated when he came out again.She fluttered round the secretaire all day. When night came, she couldrestrain her impatience no longer. Her husband had scarcely fallenasleep, when she quietly got up, took the key of the secretaire fromthe waistcoat pocket, and gained possession of the letter with as littlenoise as possible. Eugene, in ten lines, warned his father that thecrisis was at hand, and advised him to acquaint his mother with thesituation of affairs. The hour for informing her had arrived; he mightstand in need of her advice.

  Felicite awaited, on the morrow, a disclosure which did not come. Shedid not dare to confess her curiosity; but continued to feign ignorance,though enraged at the foolish distrust of her husband, who, doubtless,considered her a gossip, and weak like other women. Pierre, withthat marital pride which inspires a man with the belief in his ownsuperiority at home, had ended by attributing all their past ill-luck tohis wife. From the time that he fancied he had been conducting mattersalone everything seemed to him to have gone as he desired. He haddecided, therefore, to dispense altogether with his consort's counsels,and to confide nothing to her, in spite of his son's recommendations.

  Felicite was piqued to such a degree that she would have upset the wholeaffair had she not desired the triumph as ardently as Pierre. So shecontinued
to work energetically for victory, while endeavouring to takeher revenge.

  "Ah! if he could only have some great fright," thought she; "if he wouldonly commit some act of imprudence! Then I should see him come to me andhumbly ask for advice; it would be my turn to lay down the law."

  She felt somewhat uneasy at the imperious attitude Pierre wouldcertainly assume if he were to triumph without her aid. On marrying thispeasant's son, in preference to some notary's clerk, she had intended tomake use of him as a strongly made puppet, whose strings she would pullin her own way; and now, at the decisive moment, the puppet, in hisblind stupidity, wanted to work alone! All the cunning, all the feverishactivity within the old woman protested against this. She knew Pierrewas quite capable of some brutal resolve such as that which he had takenwhen he compelled his mother to sign the receipt for fifty thousandfrancs; the tool was indeed a useful and unscrupulous one; but she feltthe necessity for guiding it, especially under present circumstances,when considerable suppleness was requisite.

  The official news of the Coup d'Etat did not reach Plassans until theafternoon of December 3--a Thursday. Already, at seven o'clock in theevening, there was a full meeting in the yellow drawing-room. Althoughthe crisis had been eagerly desired, vague uneasiness appeared on thefaces of the majority. They discussed events amid endless chatter.Pierre, who like the others was slightly pale, thought it right, as anextreme measure of prudence, to excuse Prince Louis's decisive act tothe Legitimists and Orleanists who were present.

  "There is talk of an appeal to the people," he said; "the nation willthen be free to choose whatever government it likes. The president is aman to retire before our legitimate masters."

  The marquis, who had retained his aristocratic coolness, was the onlyone who greeted these words with a smile. The others, in the enthusiasmof the moment, concerned themselves very little about what might follow.All their opinions foundered. Roudier, forgetting the esteem which as aformer shopkeeper he had entertained for the Orleanists, stopped Pierrerather abruptly. And everybody exclaimed: "Don't argue the matter. Letus think of preserving order."

  These good people were terribly afraid of the Republicans. There had,however been very little commotion in the town on the announcement ofthe events in Paris. People had collected in front of the notices postedon the door of the Sub-Prefecture; it was also rumoured that a fewhundred workmen had left their work and were endeavouring to organiseresistance. That was all. No serious disturbance seemed likely to occur.The course which the neighbouring towns and rural districts might takeseemed more likely to occasion anxiety; however, it was not yet knownhow they had received the news of the Coup d'Etat.

  Granoux arrived at about nine o'clock, quite out of breath. He had justleft a sitting of the Municipal Council which had been hastily summonedtogether. Choking with emotion, he announced that the mayor, MonsieurGarconnet, had declared, while making due reserves, that he wasdetermined to preserve order by the most stringent measures. However,the intelligence which caused the noisiest chattering in the yellowdrawing-room was that of the resignation of the sub-prefect. Thisfunctionary had absolutely refused to communicate the despatches of theMinister of the Interior to the inhabitants of Plassans; he had justleft the town, so Granoux asserted, and it was thanks to the mayor thatthe messages had been posted. This was perhaps the only sub-prefect inFrance who ever had the courage of his democratic opinions.

  Although Monsieur Garconnet's firm demeanour caused the Rougonssome secret anxiety, they rubbed their hands at the flight of thesub-prefect, which left the post vacant for them. It was decided on thismemorable evening that the yellow drawing-room party should accept theCoup d'Etat and openly declare that it was in favour of accomplishedfacts. Vuillet was commissioned to write an article to that effect, andpublish it on the morrow in the "Gazette." Neither he nor the marquisraised any objection. They had, no doubt, received instructions from themysterious individuals to whom they sometimes made pious allusions. Theclergy and the nobility were already resigned to the course of lendinga strong hand to the victors, in order to crush their common enemy, theRepublic.

  While the yellow drawing-room was deliberating on the evening inquestion, Aristide was perspiring with anxiety. Never had gambler,staking his last louis on a card, felt such anguish. During the day theresignation of his chief, the sub-prefect, had given him much matter forreflection. He had heard him repeat several times that the Coup d'Etatmust prove a failure. This functionary, endowed with a limited amount ofhonesty, believed in the final triumph of the democracy, though hehad not the courage to work for that triumph by offering resistance.Aristide was in the habit of listening at the doors of theSub-Prefecture, in order to get precise information, for he felt that hewas groping in the dark, and clung to the intelligence which he gleanedfrom the officials. The sub-prefect's opinion struck him forcibly; buthe remained perplexed. He thought to himself: "Why does the fellow goaway if he is so certain that the prince-president will meet with acheck?" However, as he was compelled to espouse one side or the other,he resolved to continue his opposition. He wrote a very hostile articleon the Coup d'Etat, and took it to the "Independant" the same eveningfor the following morning's issue. He had corrected the proofs of thisarticle, and was returning home somewhat calmed, when, as he passedalong the Rue de la Banne, he instinctively raised his head and glancedat the Rougons' windows. Their windows were brightly lighted up.

  "What can they be plotting up there?" the journalist asked himself, withanxious curiosity.

  A fierce desire to know the opinion of the yellow drawing-room withregard to recent events then assailed him. He credited this group ofreactionaries with little intelligence; but his doubts recurred, he wasin that frame of mind when one might seek advice from a child. Hecould not think of entering his father's home at that moment, after thecampaign he had waged against Granoux and the others. Nevertheless, hewent upstairs, reflecting what a singular figure he would cut if he weresurprised on the way by anyone. On reaching the Rougons' door, he couldonly catch a confused echo of voices.

  "What a child I am," said he, "fear makes me stupid." And he was goingto descend again, when he heard the approach of his mother, who wasabout to show somebody out. He had barely time to hide in a dark cornerformed by a little staircase leading to the garrets of the house. TheRougons' door opened, and the marquis appeared, followed by Felicite.Monsieur de Carnavant usually left before the gentlemen of the new towndid, in order no doubt to avoid having to shake hands with them in thestreet.

  "Eh! little one," he said on the landing, in a low voice, "these men aregreater cowards than I should have thought. With such men France willalways be at the mercy of whoever dares to lay his hands upon her!"And he added, with some bitterness, as though speaking to himself: "Themonarchy is decidedly becoming too honest for modern times. Its day isover."

  "Eugene announced the crisis to his father," replied Felicite. "PrinceLouis's triumph seems to him certain."

  "Oh, you can proceed without fear," the marquis replied, as he descendedthe first steps. "In two or three days the country will be well boundand gagged. Good-bye till to-morrow, little one."

  Felicite closed the door again. Aristide had received quite a shock inhis dark corner. However, without waiting for the marquis to reach thestreet, he bounded down the staircase, four steps at a time, rushedoutside like a madman, and turned his steps towards the printing-officeof the "Independant." A flood of thoughts surged through his mind. Hewas enraged, and accused his family of having duped him. What! Eugenekept his parents informed of the situation, and yet his mother had nevergiven him any of his eldest brother's letters to read, in order that hemight follow the advice given therein! And it was only now he learnt bychance that his eldest brother regarded the success of the Coup d'Etatas certain! This circumstance, moreover, confirmed certain presentimentswhich that idiot of a sub-prefect had prevented him from obeying. He wasespecially exasperated against his father, whom he had thought stupidenough to be a Legitimist, but who revealed himself
as a Bonapartist atthe right moment.

  "What a lot of folly they have allowed me to perpetrate," he muttered ashe ran along. "I'm a fine fellow now. Ah! what a lesson! Granoux is morecapable than I."

  He entered the office of the "Independant" like a hurricane, andasked for his article in a choking voice. The article had already beenimposed. He had the forme unlocked and would not rest until he hadhimself destroyed the setting, mixing the type in a furious manner, likea set of dominoes. The bookseller who managed the paper looked at himin amazement. He was, in reality, rather glad of the incident, as thearticle had seemed to him somewhat dangerous. But he was absolutelyobliged to have some copy, if the "Independant" was to appear.

  "Are you going to give me something else?" he asked.

  "Certainly," replied Aristide.

  He sat down at the table and began a warm panegyric on the Coup d'Etat.At the very first line, he swore that Prince Louis had just saved theRepublic; but he had hardly written a page before he stopped and seemedat a loss how to continue. A troubled look came over his pole-cat face.

  "I must go home," he said at last. "I will send you this immediately.Your paper can appear a little later, if necessary."

  He walked slowly on his way home, lost in meditation. He was againgiving way to indecision. Why should he veer round so quickly? Eugenewas an intelligent fellow, but his mother had perhaps exaggerated thesignificance of some sentence in his letter. In any case, it would bebetter to wait and hold his tongue.

  An hour later Angele called at the bookseller's, feigning deep emotion.

  "My husband has just severely injured himself," she said. "He jammed hisfour fingers in a door as he was coming in. In spite of his sufferings,he has dictated this little note, which he begs you to publishto-morrow."

  On the following day the "Independant," made up almost entirely ofmiscellaneous items of news, appeared with these few lines at the headof the first column:

  "A deplorable accident which has occurred to our eminent contributorMonsieur Aristide Rougon will deprive us of his articles for sometime. He will suffer at having to remain silent in the present gravecircumstances. None of our readers will doubt, however, the good wisheswhich he offers up with patriotic feelings for the welfare of France."

  This burlesque note had been maturely studied. The last sentence mightbe interpreted in favour of all parties. By this expedient, Aristidedevised a glorious return for himself on the morrow of battle, in theshape of a laudatory article on the victors. On the following day heshowed himself to the whole town, with his arm in a sling. His mother,frightened by the notice in the paper, hastily called upon him, buthe refused to show her his hand, and spoke with a bitterness whichenlightened the old woman.

  "It won't be anything," she said in a reassuring and somewhat sarcastictone, as she was leaving. "You only want a little rest."

  It was no doubt owing to this pretended accident, and the sub-prefect'sdeparture, that the "Independant" was not interfered with, like most ofthe democratic papers of the departments.

  The 4th day of the month proved comparatively quiet at Plassans. In theevening there was a public demonstration which the mere appearanceof the gendarmes sufficed to disperse. A band of working-men came torequest Monsieur Garconnet to communicate the despatches he had receivedfrom Paris, which the latter haughtily refused to do; as it retiredthe band shouted: "Long live the Republic! Long live the Constitution!"After this, order was restored. The yellow drawing-room, aftercommenting at some length on this innocent parade, concluded thataffairs were going on excellently.

  The 5th and 6th were, however, more disquieting. Intelligence wasreceived of successive risings in small neighbouring towns; thewhole southern part of the department had taken up arms; La Palud andSaint-Martin-de-Vaulx had been the first to rise, drawing after themthe villages of Chavanos, Nazeres, Poujols, Valqueyras and Vernoux. Theyellow drawing-room party was now becoming seriously alarmed. It feltparticularly uneasy at seeing Plassans isolated in the very midst of therevolt. Bands of insurgents would certainly scour the country and cutoff all communications. Granoux announced, with a terrified look, thatthe mayor was without any news. Some people even asserted that blood hadbeen shed at Marseilles, and that a formidable revolution had broken outin Paris. Commander Sicardot, enraged at the cowardice of the bourgeois,vowed he would die at the head of his men.

  On Sunday the 7th the terror reached a climax. Already at six o'clockthe yellow drawing-room, where a sort of reactionary committee sat _enpermanence_, was crowded with pale, trembling men, who conversed inundertones, as though they were in a chamber of death. It had beenascertained during the day that a column of insurgents, about threethousand strong, had assembled at Alboise, a big village not more thanthree leagues away. It was true that this column had been ordered tomake for the chief town of the department, leaving Plassans on its left;but the plan of campaign might at any time be altered; moreover, itsufficed for these cowardly cits to know that there were insurgents afew miles off, to make them feel the horny hands of the toilers alreadytightened round their throats. They had had a foretaste of the revolt inthe morning; the few Republicans at Plassans, seeing that they wouldbe unable to make any determined move in the town, had resolved to jointheir brethren of La Palud and Saint-Martin-de-Vaulx; the first grouphad left at about eleven o'clock, by the Porte de Rome, shouting the"Marseillaise" and smashing a few windows. Granoux had had one broken.He mentioned the circumstance with stammerings of terror.

  Meantime, the most acute anxiety agitated the yellow drawing-room. Thecommander had sent his servant to obtain some information as to theexact movements of the insurgents, and the others awaited this man'sreturn, making the most astonishing surmises. They had a full meeting.Roudier and Granoux, sinking back in their arm-chairs, exchanged themost pitiable glances, whilst behind them moaned a terror-stricken groupof retired tradesmen. Vuillet, without appearing over scared, reflectedupon what precautions he should take to protect his shop and person; hewas in doubt whether he should hide himself in his garret or cellar,and inclined towards the latter. For their part Pierre and the commanderwalked up and down, exchanging a word ever and anon. The old oil-dealerclung to this friend Sicardot as if to borrow a little courage fromhim. He, who had been awaiting the crisis for such a long time, nowendeavoured to keep his countenance, in spite of the emotion which wasstifling him. As for the marquis, more spruce and smiling than usual, heconversed in a corner with Felicite, who seemed very gay.

  At last a ring came. The gentlemen started as if they had heard agun-shot. Dead silence reigned in the drawing-room when Felicite went toopen the door, towards which their pale, anxious faces were turned. Thenthe commander's servant appeared on the threshold, quite out of breath,and said abruptly to his master: "Sir, the insurgents will be here in anhour."

  This was a thunderbolt. They all started up, vociferating, and raisingtheir arms towards the ceiling. For several minutes it was impossibleto hear one's self speak. The company surrounded the messenger,overwhelming him with questions.

  "Damnation!" the commander at length shouted, "don't make such a row. Becalm, or I won't answer for anything."

  Everyone sank back in his chair again, heaving long-drawn sighs. Theythen obtained a few particulars. The messenger had met the column at LesTulettes, and had hastened to return.

  "There are at least three thousand of them," said he. "They are marchingin battalions, like soldiers. I thought I caught sight of some prisonersin their midst."

  "Prisoners!" cried the terrified bourgeois.

  "No doubt," the marquis interrupted in his shrill voice. "I'veheard that the insurgents arrest all persons who are known to haveconservative leanings."

  This information gave a finishing touch to the consternation of theyellow drawing-room. A few bourgeois got up and stealthily made for thedoor, reflecting that they had not too much time before them to gain aplace of safety.

  The announcement of the arrests made by the Republicans appeared tostrike Felicite. She took
the marquis aside and asked him: "What dothese men do with the people they arrest?"

  "Why, they carry them off in their train," Monsieur de Carnavantreplied. "They no doubt consider them excellent hostages."

  "Ah!" the old woman rejoined, in a strange tone.

  Then she again thoughtfully watched the curious scene of panic aroundher. The bourgeois gradually disappeared; soon there only remainedVuillet and Roudier, whom the approaching danger inspired with somecourage. As for Granoux, he likewise remained in his corner, his legsrefusing to perform their office.

  "Well, I like this better," Sicardot remarked, as he observed the flightof the other adherents. "Those cowards were exasperating me at last.For more than two years they've been speaking of shooting all theRepublicans in the province, and to-day they wouldn't even fire ahalfpenny cracker under their noses."

  Then he took up his hat and turned towards the door.

  "Let's see," he continued, "time presses. Come, Rougon."

  Felicite, it seemed, had been waiting for this moment. She placedherself between the door and her husband, who, for that matter, was notparticularly eager to follow the formidable Sicardot.

  "I won't have you go out," she cried, feigning sudden despair. "I won'tlet you leave my side. Those scoundrels will kill you."

  The commander stopped in amazement.

  "Hang it all!" he growled, "if the women are going to whine now--Comealong, Rougon!'

  "No, no," continued the old woman, affecting increase of terror, "hesha'n't follow you. I will hang on to his clothes and prevent him."

  The marquis, very much surprised at the scene, looked inquiringly atFelicite. Was this really the woman who had just now been conversing somerrily? What comedy was she playing? Pierre, meantime, seeing that hiswife wanted to detain him, deigned a determination to force his way out.

  "I tell you you shall not go," the old woman reiterated, as she clungto one of his arms. And turning towards the commander, she said to him:"How can you think of offering any resistance? They are three thousandstrong, and you won't be able to collect a hundred men of any spirit.You are rushing into the cannon's mouth to no purpose."

  "Eh! that is our duty," said Sicardot, impatiently.

  Felicite burst into sobs.

  "If they don't kill him, they'll make him a prisoner," she continued,looked fixedly at her husband. "Good heavens! What will become of me,left alone in an abandoned town?"

  "But," exclaimed the commander, "we shall be arrested just the same ifwe allow the insurgents to enter the town unmolested. I believe thatbefore an hour has elapsed the mayor and all the functionaries will beprisoners, to say nothing of your husband and the frequenters of thisdrawing-room."

  The marquis thought he saw a vague smile play about Felicite's lips asshe answered, with a look of dismay: "Do you really think so?"

  "Of course!" replied Sicardot; "the Republicans are not so stupid asto leave enemies behind them. To-morrow Plassans will be emptied of itsfunctionaries and good citizens."

  At these words, which she had so cleverly provoked, Felicite releasedher husband's arms. Pierre no longer looked as if he wanted to go out.Thanks to his wife, whose skilful tactics escaped him, however, andwhose secret complicity he never for a moment suspected, he had justlighted on a whole plan of campaign.

  "We must deliberate before taking any decision," he said to thecommander. "My wife is perhaps not wrong in accusing us of forgettingthe true interests of our families."

  "No, indeed, madame is not wrong," cried Granoux, who had been listeningto Felicite's terrified cries with the rapture of a coward.

  Thereupon the commander energetically clapped his hat on his head, andsaid in a clear voice: "Right or wrong, it matters little to me. I amcommander of the National Guard. I ought to have been at the mayor'sbefore now. Confess that you are afraid, that you leaven me to actalone. . . . Well, good-night."

  He was just turning the handle of the door, when Rougon forciblydetained him.

  "Listen, Sicardot," he said.

  He drew him into a corner, on seeing Vuillet prick up his big ears. Andthere he explained to him, in an undertone, that it would be a good planto leave a few energetic men behind the insurgents, so as to restoreorder in the town. And as the fierce commander obstinately refused todesert his post, Pierre offered to place himself at the head of such areserve corps.

  "Give me the key of the cart-shed in which the arms and ammunition arekept," he said to him, "and order some fifty of our men not to stiruntil I call for them."

  Sicardot ended by consenting to these prudent measures. He entrustedPierre with the key of the cart-shed, convinced as he was of theinexpediency of present resistance, but still desirous of sacrificinghimself.

  During this conversation, the marquis had whispered a few words inFelicite's ear with a knowing look. He complimented her, no doubt, onher theatrical display. The old woman could not repress a faint smile.But, as Sicardot shook hands with Rougon and prepared to go, she againasked him with an air of fright: "Are you really determined to leaveus?"

  "It is not for one of Napoleon's old soldiers to let himself beintimidated by the mob," he replied.

  He was already on the landing, when Granoux hurried after him, crying:"If you go to the mayor's tell him what's going on. I'll just run hometo my wife to reassure her."

  Then Felicite bent towards the marquis's ear, and whispered withdiscreet gaiety: "Upon my word, it is best that devil of a commandershould go and get himself arrested. He's far too zealous."

  However, Rougon brought Granoux back to the drawing-room. Roudier, whohad quietly followed the scene from his corner, making signs in supportof the proposed measures of prudence, got up and joined them. When themarquis and Vuillet had likewise risen, Pierre began:

  "Now that we are alone, among peaceable men, I propose that we shouldconceal ourselves so as to avoid certain arrest, and be at liberty assoon as ours again becomes the stronger party."

  Granoux was ready to embrace him. Roudier and Vuillet breathed moreeasily.

  "I shall want you shortly, gentlemen," the oil-dealer continued, withan important air. "It is to us that the honour of restoring order inPlassans is reserved."

  "You may rely upon us!" cried Vuillet, with an enthusiasm whichdisturbed Felicite.

  Time was pressing. These singular defenders of Plassans, who hidthemselves the better to protect the town, hastened away, to burythemselves in some hole or other. Pierre, on being left alone withhis wife, advised her not to make the mistake of barricading herselfindoors, but to reply, if anybody came to question her, that he, Pierre,had simply gone on a short journey. And as she acted the simpleton,feigning terror and asking what all this was coming to, he repliedabruptly: "It's nothing to do with you. Let me manage our affairs alone.They'll get on all the better."

  A few minutes later he was rapidly threading his way along the Rue dela Banne. On reaching the Cours Sauvaire, he saw a band of armed workmencoming out of the old quarter and singing the "Marseillaise."

  "The devil!" he thought. "It was quite time, indeed; here's the townitself in revolt now!"

  He quickened his steps in the direction of the Porte de Rome. Coldperspiration came over him while he waited there for the dilatory keeperto open the gate. Almost as soon as he set foot on the high road, heperceived in the moonlight at the other end of the Faubourg the columnof insurgents, whose gun barrels gleamed like white flames. So it wasat a run that he dived into the Impasse Saint-Mittre, and reached hismother's house, which he had not visited for many a long year.

 

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