Part 28

Then he suddenly threw off his reserve, and began to talk freely, while the landau sped along beneath the tall trees of the gently curving avenue.

'What would you have?' said he. 'I can't give them the moon, however much they may cry for it! Take Beulin-d'Orchère, for instance, his dream is to be Minister of Justice. I have tried to effect the impossible, and have sounded the Emperor on the subject; but I can't get any answer. I fancy, however, that the Emperor feels afraid of him. Well, that isn't my fault, is it? Beulin-d'Orchère is first President of the Appeal Court. That really ought to satisfy him for the present. And yet, you see, he actually avoids bowing to me. He's a fool!'

Clorinde had lowered her eyes, and her fingers were playing with the tassel of her sun-shade. She now made no attempt to speak, but let Rougon talk on freely.

'The others,' said he, 'are almost as unreasonable. If the colonel and Bouchard complain of me, they do wrong, for I have already done too much for them. I say that for all my friends. I've got a dozen mill-stones about my neck! Till they've got the very skin off my body they won't be satisfied!' He paused for a moment, and then resumed with a good-natured laugh: 'Well, well, if they really needed something more, I would give it to them. When a man has once opened his hands it is impossible for him to shut them again. In spite of all the unkind things my friends say of me, I spend my time in asking favours of all sorts for them.'

Then he touched Clorinde's knee to force her to look at him.

'Well, now, about yourself!' he continued. 'I am going to talk to the Emperor this morning. Is there anything that I can ask for you?'

'No, thank you,' she answered drily. And as he still persisted in his offers, she grew a little vexed, and accused him of reproaching herself and her husband with the few services he had already rendered them. They would not trouble him in future, said she. 'I manage my affairs myself now,' she added. 'I'm big enough to get on by myself, am I not?'

Meantime the carriage had emerged from the Bois. It was now passing through Boulogne amid the clatter of several heavy carts, which were jolting along the high street. Delestang had been silent ever since the start, keeping his hands upon his morocco portfolio, and apparently absorbed in momentous thoughts. However, he now bent forward and called to Rougon amidst the uproar: 'Do you think that his Majesty will keep us to _déjeuner_?'

Rougon made a gesture expressive of doubt. Then he exclaimed: 'We do generally have _déjeuner_ at the palace when the council is a long one.'

Delestang fell back into his corner, and once more appeared to be absorbed in a very serious reverie. Presently he bent forward again, to ask: 'Will there be much business before the council this morning?'

'Perhaps so,' answered Rougon. 'But one can never tell beforehand. Several of our colleagues, I fancy, are going to report on certain important matters. For my own part, at any rate, I intend to raise the question of that book about which I am in dispute with the Licensing Committee.'[16]

'What book is that?' asked Clorinde eagerly.

'Oh! an idiotic publication; one of those volumes which are got up for circulation amongst the peasantry. It is called "Friend Jacques's Evening Chats." It is a mixture of socialism, witchcraft, and agriculture; and there's even a chapter on the advantages of trades' unions. Briefly, it is a very dangerous book!'

The young woman, whose curiosity did not seem quite satisfied, turned to her husband as if to question him.

'You are over severe, Rougon,' said Delestang. 'I have looked at the book, and have found some good matter in it. The chapter on the advantages accruing from the association of labour is very good, I think. I shall be surprised if the Emperor condemns the ideas contained in it.'

Rougon was about to reply hotly, and opened his arms with a gesture of protest. But he suddenly restrained himself, as though he did not want to discuss the matter further. And instead of speaking, he glanced at the country through which they were passing. The landau was now half-way across the bridge of Saint Cloud. Down below, the pale blue river was flowing sleepily, shimmering in the sunshine; the rows of trees along the banks being vigorously reflected in the water. Above and below steam climbed the sky, so whitened by the limpidity of springtide that scarcely a touch of blue could be seen.

When the carriage stopped in the courtyard of the château Rougon alighted first and offered his hand to Clorinde. But the young woman would not avail herself of his proffered support; she sprang lightly to the ground, and as he remained there still holding out his arm for her acceptance, she gently tapped his fingers with her parasol, saying: 'Didn't I tell you that I was big enough to manage by myself, now?'

She seemed to have lost all her old respect for her master's huge hands which she had so often held with disciple-like submission so as to drain away a little of their strength. Doubtless she now fancied that she had weakened him sufficiently, for she no longer displayed as of yore any adorable cajolery. She, in her turn, had acquired influence, and was becoming a power. When Delestang had got out of the carriage, she allowed Rougon to go on before them, and whispered in her husband's ear: 'I hope you won't try to prevent him from getting into a tangle with his "Friend Jacques." It will give you a good opportunity of not always appearing to say the very same as he does.'

In the entrance-hall, before leaving Delestang, Clorinde gave him a careful glance, and was worried to see one of the buttons of his coat hanging a little loosely. Then, while an usher went to inform the Empress of her arrival, she smilingly watched Rougon and her husband take themselves off.

The ministerial council was held in a room near the Emperor's private study. In the centre stood a large cloth-covered table surrounded by a dozen arm-chairs. The high windows admitted a bright light from the terrace of the château. When Rougon and Delestang entered the room, they found all their colleagues already assembled there, with the exception of the Minister for Public Works and the Naval and Colonial Minister, who were on leave of absence. The Emperor had not yet made his appearance, and for ten minutes or so the ministers chatted together, standing by the windows and about the table. Two of them had scowling faces, and so cordially detested each other that they never exchanged a word, but all the rest were talking amicably and easily, till serious matters should demand their attention. Paris was just then much interested in an embassy from the extreme east, the members of which wore fantastic costumes, and indulged in the most extraordinary modes of salutation. The Minister for Foreign Affairs related a visit which he had paid to the chief of this embassy on the previous evening; and while speaking with due regard for his position as head of the diplomatic service, he contrived to indulge in some light sarcasm at the envoy's expense. Then the conversation turned upon more frivolous matters, and the Minister of State[17] furnished some particulars respecting the condition of a ballet girl of the opera-house who had narrowly escaped breaking her leg. However, amidst all this apparent unrestraint the ministers remained alert and distrustful of one another, wording certain of their sentences with extreme care, recalling at times half-uttered words, keeping a watchful look-out even as they smiled, and suddenly becoming serious as soon as they noticed that they were being observed.

'Then it was a mere sprain?' said Delestang, who took a great interest in the ladies of the ballet.

'Yes, a sprain,' replied the Minister of State. 'The poor girl will simply have to keep her room for a fortnight. However, she feels very much ashamed of herself for having fallen.'

A slight stir now caused the ministers to turn, and they all bowed. The Emperor had just entered the room. He stood for a moment leaning upon the back of his arm-chair. Then, in his low deliberate voice, he asked: 'Is she better?'

'Much better, sire,' replied the minister, bowing again. 'I heard about her this morning.'

At a sign from the Emperor, the members of the council took their seats round the table. There were nine of them. Some of them spread out papers, while the others sat back in their chairs and began to examine their nails. There was silence for a while. The Emperor seemed unwell; and with lifeless face he slowly twisted the waxed ends of his long moustache. Then, as no one spoke, he appeared to recollect something and remarked: 'Gentlemen, the session of the Corps Législatif is about to end----'

The budget, which the Chamber had just voted in five days, was the first subject which engaged the attention of the council. The Minister of Finance mentioned the desires which the reporter of the Chamber had expressed. For the first time, indeed, the Chamber had indulged in criticism, and its reporter had asked that the sinking fund regulations might be properly carried out, and that the government would in future content itself with the supplies as voted, without constantly applying for supplementary credits. Moreover, some members of the Chamber had complained of the little weight which was attached to their observations by the Council of State, and one of them had even gone so far as to claim for the Corps Législatif the right to prepare the budget.

'In my opinion,' said the Finance Minister, concluding his remarks, 'there is no ground whatever for such claims. The government always observes the greatest desire for economy in preparing its budgets, and so true is this that the Committee of the Chamber had no end of trouble to effect a paltry saving of a couple of millions of francs. Still, I think it would perhaps be advisable to postpone the application for three supplementary votes of credit which we contemplated making. A transfer of funds will provide us with the necessary money for the time being, and matters can be put straight later on.'[18]

The Emperor nodded assent. However, he hardly seemed to be listening to what was said. There was a blank, listless look about his eyes, as he sat gazing at the bright light which was streaming through the middle window in front of him. There came another interval of silence. All the ministers followed the Emperor in nodding their approval, and for a moment or two only a slight rustling could be heard. The Minister of Justice and Keeper of the Seals was turning over some leaves of manuscript. At last when he had consulted his colleagues with a glance, he began: 'Sire, I have brought with me a memorandum relating to the creation of a new nobility. As yet it consists merely of some rough notes, which I thought it would be advisable to put before the council before proceeding any further in the matter, in order that I may profit by any hint----'

'Yes, yes; read it,' interrupted the Emperor. 'You are quite right.'

Then he turned so as to look at the minister while the latter read the memorandum. He seemed more animated now; a yellow light had come into his grey eyes.

The Court was at that time extremely interested in this scheme for a new nobility. The government had begun by submitting to the Corps Législatif a bill which punished with fine and imprisonment anyone who might assume any title of nobility without being entitled to do so. It was a question of giving official sanction to the old titles, and of thus preparing the way for new ones. However, this bill had given rise to a heated discussion in the Chamber. Some deputies, though enthusiastically devoted to the empire, had protested that a nobility could not exist in a democratic state; and, when a division was taken, twenty-three votes had been given against the bill. The Emperor, however, still clung to his dream; and he himself had suggested some very comprehensive ideas to the Minister of Justice.

The memorandum commenced by some historical references. Then the projected scheme was detailed at length. Titles were to be conferred for different kinds of public service, so as to make the new honours accessible to all deserving citizens, a democratic arrangement which seemed to fill the minister with great enthusiasm. Then a draft of the proposed decree was set out, and when the minister came to the second clause of it he raised his voice and read on very slowly: 'The title of Count shall be conferred upon the following persons after five years' service in their respective functions or dignities, or after we may have bestowed upon them the grand cross of the Legion of Honour: namely, our ministers and the members of our Privy Council, the cardinals, marshals, admirals, senators, and ambassadors, and such of the generals of division as shall have held a chief command in the field.'

The minister paused for a moment, and cast a questioning glance at the Emperor as if to ask whether he had omitted anyone. His Majesty reflected, with his head slightly inclined towards his left shoulder.

'I think we must include the Presidents of the Corps Législatif and the Council of State,' he said, after a pause.

The Minister of Justice nodded approbation, and hastily made a note on the margin of his manuscript. Just as he was about to resume his reading, he was interrupted by the Minister for Public Education and Worship, who wanted to call attention to an omission.

'The archbishops----' he began.

'Excuse me,' interrupted the Minister of Justice drily, 'the archbishops are to be merely barons. Let me read the whole of the decree.'

However, his papers had got mixed, and he spent some time in looking for the next leaf. Rougon, who sat there with his elbows spread out and his thick neck sinking between his broad peasant shoulders, was faintly smiling; and, as he turned round, he caught sight of his neighbour, the Minister of State, the last scion of an old Norman family, likewise indulging in a quiet smile of contempt. A significant glance passed between them. The parvenu and the nobleman were evidently of the same way of thinking.

'Ah, here it is!' exclaimed the Minister of Justice at last. 'Clause III. The title of baron shall be conferred, firstly, upon such members of the Corps Législatif as shall have been honoured three times with the confidence of their fellow-citizens; secondly, upon members of the Council of State of eight years' standing; thirdly, upon the first president and the public prosecutor of the Supreme Court, upon the first president and public prosecutor of the Exchequer Court, upon the generals of division and vice admirals, upon the archbishops and ministers-plenipotentiary, after five years' service in their respective offices, or if they have attained the rank of commander in the Legion of Honour----'

And so the minister read on. The first presidents and public prosecutors of the appeal courts, the generals of brigade and rear-admirals, the bishops, and even the mayors of the chief cities of first-class prefectures, were in their turn all to be made barons, but on condition that they had served in their respective offices for ten years.

'Then everybody will be a baron,' murmured Rougon.

At this some of his colleagues, who affected to consider him a very ill-bred man, assumed grave expressions, so as to make him understand that they thought his remark in very bad taste. The Emperor, however, did not seem to have heard.

'Well, gentlemen, what do you think of the scheme?' his Majesty asked, when the keeper of the seals had finished his perusal.

They all hesitated, waiting as it were for a more direct question.

'Monsieur Rougon,' resumed the Emperor, 'what is your opinion?'

'Well, sire,' replied the Minister of the Interior, with his quiet smile, 'I cannot say that I think very favourably of it. It is exposed to the greatest of all dangers, that is to say, to ridicule. I am afraid that all those barons will merely raise a laugh. I say nothing about more serious matters, such as the sentiment of equality which is so much in the ascendant at the present time, or the vanity which such a system would tend to develop----'

But when he had got thus far he was interrupted by the Minister of Justice, who seemed greatly put out, and began to defend himself as though a personal attack had been made upon him. He said that he was a middle-class man himself, and the son of a middle-class father, and was quite incapable of attempting anything to impair the principles of equality held by modern society. The new nobility was going to be a 'democratic nobility,' and this expression 'democratic nobility' seemed to convey his idea so perfectly that he repeated it several times over. Then Rougon briefly replied, still smiling and unruffled. But the Minister of Justice, a little lean, dark man, at last began to indulge in somewhat offensive personalities. The Emperor meantime held himself aloof from the dispute, and with a slight swaying of the shoulders, again gazed at the sunlight streaming through the window in front of him. However, when the voices of the others finally grew so loud as to interfere with his sense of dignity, he murmured: 'Gentlemen, gentlemen.' And after a pause, he added: 'Monsieur Rougon is perhaps right. The scheme is not quite ripe yet. We shall have to consider if it cannot be put upon another basis. We can see to that later on.'

Then the council took some minor matters in hand. The newspaper _Le Siècle_ became the subject of a deal of talk, for it had just published an article which had given great offence at Court. A week never passed without those about the Emperor entreating him to suppress this journal, which was the only Republican organ still in existence. His Majesty, however, was personally inclined to be indulgent towards the press, and often amused himself, in the secrecy of his study, by writing long articles in reply to the attacks which were made upon his government. An unacknowledged dream of his was to have a newspaper of his own, in which he might publish manifestoes and engage in polemical discussions. However, he that day decided that a warning should be addressed to the _Siècle_.

Their excellencies now thought that the council was over, as was evident from the manner in which they sat on the very edges of their chairs. Indeed, the Minister for War, a general who looked very much bored, and who had not spoken a word during the whole sitting, had already taken his gloves from his pocket, when Rougon leant heavily on the table.

'Sire,' he said, 'I desire to speak to the council of a conflict which has arisen between the licensing committee and myself with respect to a book which has been presented for authorisation.'

The other ministers thereupon ensconced themselves in their chairs again. The Emperor turned towards Rougon and with a nod authorised him to continue.

Rougon then entered into details. He no longer smiled, his good-natured expression had quite vanished. He leant over the table, and, sweeping the cloth as it were with a regular mechanical movement of his right hand, he stated that he had determined to preside at one of the recent meetings of the committee in order to stimulate the zeal of its members. 'I pointed out to them,' said he, 'the views of the government as to the improvements it was desirable for them to effect in the important branch of the public service with which they are entrusted. The _colportage_ system,[19] I told them, would be a source of grave danger if it were allowed to become a weapon in the hands of the revolutionists, and should prove a means of reviving political discussions and ill-will. So it is the duty of the committee, I said, to reject all publications which might foment afresh such passions as are unsuited to the present time. It ought, on the other hand, to encourage those healthy works which teach the worship of God, the love of one's country, and gratitude to one's Sovereign.'

The other ministers, although very cross at being thus detained in council, felt constrained to bow approvingly on hearing these last words.

'The number of pernicious books increases every day,' continued Rougon. 'They form a rising flood against which we cannot take sufficiently energetic steps for protecting our country. Out of every dozen books that are published, eleven and a half are only fit to be thrown into the fire. That is the average. Never before have wicked sentiments, subversive theories, and anti-social monstrosities of all kinds, found so many exponents. I am occasionally compelled to read certain publications; well, I tell you----'

At this moment the Minister for Public Education ventured on an interruption. 'Novels,' he began.

'I never read novels,' retorted Rougon drily.

His colleague made a gesture of virtuous protest, and rolled his eyes in a shocked sort of way, as though he also repudiated all reading of novels. Then he explained himself, saying: 'I merely wanted to remark that novels are an especially poisonous food offered to the unhealthy curiosity of the people.'

'Doubtless,' replied the Minister of the Interior; 'but there are other works quite as dangerous. I am speaking of those cheap treatises which disseminate among the peasantry and the working-classes a heap of false social and economic science, the most evident effect of which is to seriously disturb weak brains. A work of the kind to which I am alluding, "Friend Jacques's Evening Chats," has just been submitted to the committee for consideration. It is the story of a sergeant who comes back to his native village and holds discussions with the school-master every Sunday evening in the presence of a score of labourers. Each discussion is upon a different subject, such as new systems of cultivation, trades unions, and the great part which the producer plays in society. I have read this book, to which one of the clerks called my attention, and it seems to me to be all the more dangerous since it veils its baleful theories beneath a pretended admiration for the imperial institutions. No one can be deceived by it, however; it is clearly the production of a demagogue. And so I was extremely surprised when I heard some members of the committee speak of it in eulogistic terms. I have discussed certain passages of it with them, but apparently without convincing them. The author, they have assured me, has even offered a copy of the book for your Majesty's acceptance. On that account, sire, I thought it right, before taking any active steps, to ask for your opinion and that of the council.'

So saying Rougon fixed his glance on the Emperor, whose shifty eyes at last settled on a paper-knife which was lying on the table in front of him. His Majesty took up the knife and began to turn and twist it while murmuring: 'Yes, yes, "Friend Jacques's Evening Chats----"'

Then, without committing himself any further, he glanced to the right and left of the table. 'You have perhaps seen the book, gentlemen. I should be very glad to know----'

Then he stopped again. The ministers glanced furtively at one another, each hoping that his neighbour would speak and express an opinion. The silence, however, continued unbroken, and the feeling of constraint increased. It seemed clear that none of them had even known of the existence of the book. At last the Minister for War took it upon himself to express by a gesture the general ignorance which prevailed of the publication in question.

The Emperor twisted his moustaches, showing no sign of haste. 'Well, Monsieur Delestang, have you anything to say?' he eventually inquired.

Delestang was restlessly moving on his chair, as though a prey to some inward struggle. This direct question seemed to decide him; however, before speaking, he glanced involuntarily towards Rougon. 'I have had the book in my hands, sire,' he said.