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Translated By
Katharine Prescott Wormeley
To the Comtesse Seraphina San Severino, with the
respectful
homage of sincere and deep admiration.
De Balzac.
In Paris, where men of thought and study bear a certain
likeness to
one another, living as they do in a common centre, you must have
met
with several resembling Monsieur Rabourdin, whose acquaintance
we are
about to make at a moment when he is head of a bureau in one of
our
most important ministries. At this period he was forty years
old, with
gray hair of so pleasing a shade that women might at a pinch
fall in
love with it for it softened a somewhat melancholy countenance,
blue
eyes full of fire, a skin that was still fair, though rather
ruddy and
touched here and there with strong red marks; a forehead and
nose a la
Louis XV., a serious mouth, a tall figure, thin, or perhaps
wasted,
like that of a man just recovering from illness, and finally,
a
bearing that was midway between the indolence of a mere idler
and the
thoughtfulness of a busy man. If this portrait serves to depict
his
character, a sketch of this man's dress will bring it still
further
into relief. Rabourdin wore habitually a blue surcoat, a white
cravat,
a waistcoat crossed a la Robespierre, black trousers without
straps,
gray silk stockings and low shoes. Well-shaved, and with his
stomach
warmed by a cup of coffee, he left home at eight in the morning
with
the regularity of clock-work, always passing along the same
streets on
his way to the ministry: so neat was he, so formal, so starched
that
he might have been taken for an Englishman on the road to his
embassy.
From these general signs you will readily discern a family
man,
harassed by vexations in his own household, worried by
annoyances at
the ministry, yet philosopher enough to take life as he found
it; an
honest man, loving his country and serving it, not concealing
from
himself the obstacles in the way of those who seek to do
right;
prudent, because he knew men; exquisitely courteous with women,
of
whom he asked nothing,--a man full of acquirements, affable with
his
inferiors, holding his equals at great distance, and dignified
towards
his superiors. At the epoch of which we write, you would have
noticed
in him the coldly resigned air of one who has buried the
illusions of
his youth and renounced every secret ambition; you would
have
recognized a discouraged, but not disgusted man, one who still
clings
to his first projects,--more perhaps to employ his faculties
than in
the hope of a doubtful success. He was not decorated with any
order,
and always accused himself of weakness for having worn that of
the
Fleur-de-lis in the early days of the Restoration.
The life of this man was marked by certain mysterious
peculiarities.
He had never known his father; his mother, a woman to whom
luxury was
everything, always elegantly dressed, always on pleasure bent,
whose
beauty seemed to him miraculous and whom he very seldom saw,
left him
little at her death; but she had given him that too common
and
incomplete education which produces so much ambition and so
little
ability. A few days before his mother's death, when he was
just
sixteen, he left the Lycee Napoleon to enter as supernumerary
a
government office, where an unknown protector had provided him
with a
place. At twenty-two years of age Rabourdin became
under-head-clerk;
at twenty-five, head-clerk, or, as it was termed, head of the
bureau.
From that day the hand that assisted the young man to start in
life
was never felt again in his career, except as to a single
circumstance; it led him, poor and friendless, to the house of
a
Monsieur Leprince, formerly an auctioneer, a widower said to
be
extremely rich, and father of an only daughter. Xavier Rabourdin
fell
desperately in love with Mademoiselle Celestine Leprince,
then
seventeen years of age, who had all the matrimonial claims of a
dowry
of two hundred thousand francs. Carefully educated by an
artistic
mother, who transmitted her own talents to her daughter, this
young
lady was fitted to attract distinguished men. Tall, handsome,
and
finely-formed, she was a good musician, drew and painted,
spoke
several languages, and even knew something of science,--a
dangerous
advantage, which requires a woman to avoid carefully all
appearance of
pedantry. Blinded by mistaken tenderness, the mother gave the
daughter
false ideas as to her probable future; to the maternal eyes a
duke or
an ambassador, a marshal of France or a minister of State, could
alone
give her Celestine her due place in society. The young lady
had,
moreover, the manners, language, and habits of the great world.
Her
dress was richer and more elegant than was suitable for an
unmarried
girl; a husband could give her nothing more than she now had,
except
happiness. Besides all such indulgences, the foolish spoiling of
the
mother, who died a year after the girl's marriage, made a
husband's
task all the more difficult. What coolness and composure of mind
were
needed to rule such a woman! Commonplace suitors held back in
fear.
Xavier Rabourdin, without parents and without fortune other than
his
situation under government, was proposed to Celestine by her
father.
She resisted for a long time; not that she had any personal
objection
to her suitor, who was young, handsome, and much in love, but
she
shrank from the plain name of Madame Rabourdin. Monsieur
Leprince
assured his daughter that Xavier was of the stock that statesmen
came
of. Celestine answered that a man named Rabourdin would never
be
anything under the government of the Bourbons, etc. Forced back
to his
intrenchments, the father made the serious mistake of telling
his
daughter that her future husband was certain of becoming
Rabourdin "de
something or other" before he reached the age of admission to
the
Chamber. Xavier was soon to be appointed Master of petitions,
and
general-secretary at his ministry. From these lower steps of
the
ladder the young man would certainly rise to the higher ranks of
the
administration, possessed of a fortune and a name bequeathed to
him in
a certain will of which he, Monsieur Leprince, was cognizant. On
this
the marriage took place.
Rabourdin and his wife believed in the mysterious protector to
whom
the auctioneer alluded. Led away by such hopes and by the
natural
extravagance of happy love, Monsieur and Madame Rabourdin spent
nearly
one hundred thousand francs of their capital in the first five
years
of married life. By the end of this time Celestine, alarmed at
the
non-advancement of her husband, insisted on investing the
remaining
hundred thousand francs of her dowry in landed property,
which
returned only a slender income; but her future inheritance from
her
father would amply repay all present privations with perfect
comfort
and ease of life. When the worthy auctioneer saw his
son-in-law
disappointed of the hopes they had placed on the nameless
protector,
he tried, for the sake of his daughter, to repair the secret
loss by
risking part of his fortune in a speculation which had
favourable
chances of success. But the poor man became involved in one of
the
liquidations of the house of Nucingen, and died of grief,
leaving
nothing behind him but a dozen fine pictures which adorned
his
daughter's salon, and a few old-fashioned pieces of furniture,
which
she put in the garret.
Eight years of fruitless expectation made Madame Rabourdin at
last
understand that the paternal protector of her husband must have
died,
and that his will, if it ever existed, was lost or destroyed.
Two
years before her father's death the place of chief of division,
which
became vacant, was given, over her husband's head, to a
certain
Monsieur de la Billardiere, related to a deputy of the Right who
was
made minister in 1823. It was enough to drive Rabourdin out of
the
service; but how could he give up his salary of eight thousand
francs
and perquisites, when they constituted three fourths of his
income and
his household was accustomed to spend them? Besides, if he
had
patience for a few more years he would then be entitled to a
pension.
What a fall was this for a woman whose high expectations at
the
opening of her life were more or less warranted, and one who
was
admitted on all sides to be a superior woman.
Madame Rabourdin had justified the expectations formed of
Mademoiselle
Leprince; she possessed the elements of that apparent
superiority
which pleases the world; her liberal education enabled her to
speak to
every one in his or her own language; her talents were real;
she
showed an independent and elevated mind; her conversation
charmed as
much by its variety and ease as by the oddness and originality
of her
ideas. Such qualities, useful and appropriate in a sovereign or
an
ambassadress, were of little service to a household compelled to
jog
in the common round. Those who have the gift of speaking well
desire
an audience; they like to talk, even if they sometimes weary
others.
To satisfy the requirements of her mind Madame Rabourdin took a
weekly
reception-day and went a great deal into society to obtain
the
consideration her self-love was accustomed to enjoy. Those who
know
Parisian life will readily understand how a woman of her
temperament
suffered, and was martyrized at heart by the scantiness of
her
pecuniary means. No matter what foolish declarations people make
about
money, they one and all, if they live in Paris, must grovel
before
accounts, do homage to figures, and kiss the forked hoof of the
golden
calf. What a problem was hers! twelve thousand francs a year to
defray
the costs of a household consisting of father, mother, two
children, a
chambermaid and cook, living on the second floor of a house in
the rue
Duphot, in an apartment costing two thousand francs a year.
Deduct the
dress and the carriage of Madame before you estimate the
gross
expenses of the family, for dress precedes everything; then see
what
remains for the education of the children (a girl of eight and a
boy
of nine, whose maintenance must cost at least two thousand
francs
besides) and you will find that Madame Rabourdin could barely
afford
to give her husband thirty francs a month. That is the position
of
half the husbands in Paris, under penalty of being thought
monsters.
Thus it was that this woman who believed herself destined to
shine in
the world was condemned to use her mind and her faculties in a
sordid
struggle, fighting hand to hand with an account-book.
Already,
terrible sacrifice of pride! she had dismissed her man-servant,
not
long after the death of her father. Most women grow weary of
this
daily struggle; they complain but they usually end by giving up
to
fate and taking what comes to them; Celestine's ambition, far
from
lessening, only increased through difficulties, and led her,
when she
found she could not conquer them, to sweep them aside. To her
mind
this complicated tangle of the affairs of life was a Gordian
knot
impossible to untie and which genius ought to cut. Far from
accepting
the pettiness of middle-class existence, she was angry at the
delay
which kept the great things of life from her grasp,--blaming
fate as
deceptive. Celestine sincerely believed herself a superior
woman.
Perhaps she was right; perhaps she would have been great under
great
circumstances; perhaps she was not in her right place. Let us
remember
there are as many varieties of woman as there are of man, all of
which
society fashions to meet its needs. Now in the social order, as
in
Nature's order, there are more young shoots than there are
trees, more
spawn than full-grown fish, and many great capacities
(Athanase
Granson, for instance) which die withered for want of moisture,
like
seeds on stony ground. There are, unquestionably, household
women,
accomplished women, ornamental women, women who are exclusively
wives,
or mothers, or sweethearts, women purely spiritual or purely
material;
just as there are soldiers, artists, artisans, mathematicians,
poets,
merchants, men who understand money, or agriculture, or
government,
and nothing else. Besides all this, the eccentricity of events
leads
to endless cross-purposes; many are called and few are chosen is
the
law of earth as of heaven. Madame Rabourdin conceived herself
fully
capable of directing a statesman, inspiring an artist, helping
an
inventor and pushing his interests, or of devoting her powers to
the
financial politics of a Nucingen, and playing a brilliant part
in the
great world. Perhaps she was only endeavouring to excuse to her
own
mind a hatred for the laundry lists and the duty of overlooking
the
housekeeping bills, together with the petty economies and cares
of a
small establishment. She was superior only in those things where
it
gave her pleasure to be so. Feeling as keenly as she did the
thorns of
a position which can only be likened to that of Saint-Laurence
on his
grid-iron, is it any wonder that she sometimes cried out? So, in
her
paroxysms of thwarted ambition, in the moments when her wounded
vanity
gave her terrible shooting pains, Celestine turned upon
Xavier
Rabourdin. Was it not her husband's duty to give her a
suitable
position in the world? If she were a man she would have had the
energy
to make a rapid fortune for the sake of rendering an adored
wife
happy! She reproached him for being too honest a man. In the
mouth of
some women this accusation is a charge of imbecility. She
sketched out
for him certain brilliant plans in which she took no account of
the
hindrances imposed by men and things; then, like all women under
the
influence of vehement feeling, she became in thought as
Machiavellian
as Gondreville, and more unprincipled than Maxime de Trailles.
At such
times Celestine's mind took a wide range, and she imagined
herself at
the summit of her ideas.
When these fine visions first began Rabourdin, who saw the
practical
side, was cool. Celestine, much grieved, thought her husband
narrow-
minded, timid, unsympathetic; and she acquired, insensibly, a
wholly
false opinion of the companion of her life. In the first place,
she
often extinguished him by the brilliancy of her arguments. Her
ideas
came to her in flashes, and she sometimes stopped him short when
he
began an explanation, because she did not choose to lose the
slightest
sparkle of her own mind. From the earliest days of their
marriage
Celestine, feeling herself beloved and admired by her husband,
treated
him without ceremony; she put herself above conjugal laws and
the
rules of private courtesy by expecting love to pardon all her
little
wrong-doings; and, as she never in any way corrected herself,
she was
always in the ascendant. In such a situation the man holds to
the wife
very much the position of a child to a teacher when the latter
cannot
or will not recognize that the mind he has ruled in childhood
is
becoming mature. Like Madame de Stael, who exclaimed in a room
full of
people, addressing, as we may say, a greater man than herself,
"Do you
know you have really said something very profound!" Madame
Rabourdin
said of her husband: "He certainly has a good deal of sense at
times."
Her disparaging opinion of him gradually appeared in her
behavior
through almost imperceptible motions. Her attitude and
manners
expressed a want of respect. Without being aware of it she
injured her
husband in the eyes of others; for in all countries society,
before
making up its mind about a man, listens for what his wife thinks
of
him, and obtains from her what the Genevese term
"pre-advice."
When Rabourdin became aware of the mistakes which love had led
him to
commit it was too late,--the groove had been cut; he suffered
and was
silent. Like other men in whom sentiments and ideas are of
equal
strength, whose souls are noble and their brains well balanced,
he was
the defender of his wife before the tribunal of his own
judgment; he
told himself that nature doomed her to a disappointed life
through his
fault; HIS; she was like a thoroughbred English horse, a
racer
harnessed to a cart full of stones; she it was who suffered; and
he
blamed himself. His wife, by dint of constant repetition,
had
inoculated him with her own belief in herself. Ideas are
contagious in
a household; the ninth thermidor, like so many other
portentous
events, was the result of female influence. Thus, goaded by
Celestine's ambition, Rabourdin had long considered the means
of
satisfying it, though he hid his hopes, so as to spare her
the
tortures of uncertainty. The man was firmly resolved to make his
way
in the administration by bringing a strong light to bear upon
it. He
intended to bring about one of those revolutions which send a
man to
the head of either one party or another in society; but
being
incapable of so doing in his own interests, he merely pondered
useful
thoughts and dreamed of triumphs won for his country by noble
means.
His ideas were both generous and ambitious; few officials have
not
conceived the like; but among officials as among artists there
are
more miscarriages than births; which is tantamount to Buffon's
saying
that "Genius is patience."
Placed in a position where he could study French
administration and
observe its mechanism, Rabourdin worked in the circle where
his
thought revolved, which, we may remark parenthetically, is the
secret
of much human accomplishment; and his labor culminated finally
in the
invention of a new system for the Civil Service of government.
Knowing
the people with whom he had to do, he maintained the machine as
it
then worked, so it still works and will continue to work;
for
everybody fears to remodel it, though no one, according to
Rabourdin,
ought to be unwilling to simplify it. In his opinion, the
problem to
be resolved lay in a better use of the same forces. His plan, in
its
simplest form, was to revise taxation and lower it in a way
that
should not diminish the revenues of the State, and to obtain,
from a
budget equal to the budgets which now excite such rabid
discussion,
results that should be two-fold greater than the present
results. Long
practical experience had taught Rabourdin that perfection is
brought
about in all things by changes in the direction of simplicity.
To
economize is to simplify. To simplify means to suppress
unnecessary
machinery; removals naturally follow. His system, therefore,
depended
on the weeding out of officials and the establishment of a new
order
of administrative offices. No doubt the hatred which all
reformers
incur takes its rise here. Removals required by this
perfecting
process, always ill-understood, threaten the well-being of those
on
whom a change in their condition is thus forced. What
rendered
Rabourdin really great was that he was able to restrain the
enthusiasm
that possesses all reformers, and to patiently seek out a
slow
evolving medium for all changes so as to avoid shocks, leaving
time
and experience to prove the excellence of each reform. The
grandeur of
the result anticipated might make us doubt its possibility if we
lose
sight of this essential point in our rapid analysis of his
system. It
is, therefore, not unimportant to show through his
self-communings,
however incomplete they might be, the point of view from which
he
looked at the administrative horizon. This tale, which is
evolved from
the very heart of the Civil Service, may also serve to show some
of
the evils of our present social customs.
Xavier Rabourdin, deeply impressed by the trials and poverty
which he
witnessed in the lives of the government clerks, endeavored
to
ascertain the cause of their growing deterioration. He found it
in
those petty partial revolutions, the eddies, as it were, of the
storm
of 1789, which the historians of great social movements neglect
to
inquire into, although as a matter of fact it is they which have
made
our manners and customs what they are now.
Formerly, under the monarchy, the bureaucratic armies did not
exist.
The clerks, few in number, were under the orders of a prime
minister
who communicated with the sovereign; thus they directly served
the
king. The superiors of these zealous servants were simply called
head-
clerks. In those branches of administration which the king did
not
himself direct, such for instance as the "fermes" (the public
domains
throughout the country on which a revenue was levied), the
clerks were
to their superior what the clerks of a business-house are to
their
employer; they learned a science which would one day advance
them to
prosperity. Thus, all points of the circumference were fastened
to the
centre and derived their life from it. The result was devotion
and
confidence. Since 1789 the State, call it the Nation if you
like, has
replaced the sovereign. Instead of looking directly to the
chief
magistrate of this nation, the clerks have become, in spite of
our
fine patriotic ideas, the subsidiaries of the government;
their
superiors are blown about by the winds of a power called
"the
administration," and do not know from day to day where they may
be on
the morrow. As the routine of public business must go on, a
certain
number of indispensable clerks are kept in their places, though
they
hold these places on sufferance, anxious as they are to retain
them.
Bureaucracy, a gigantic power set in motion by dwarfs, was
generated
in this way. Though Napoleon, by subordinating all things and
all men
to his will, retarded for a time the influence of bureaucracy
(that
ponderous curtain hung between the service to be done and the
man who
orders it), it was permanently organized under the
constitutional
government, which was, inevitably, the friend of all
mediocrities, the
lover of authentic documents and accounts, and as meddlesome as
an old
tradeswoman. Delighted to see the various ministers
constantly
struggling against the four hundred petty minds of the Elected
of the
Chamber, with their ten or a dozen ambitious and dishonest
leaders,
the Civil Service officials hastened to make themselves
essential to
the warfare by adding their quota of assistance under the form
of
written action; they created a power of inertia and named it
"Report."
Let us explain the Report.
When the kings of France took to themselves ministers, which
first
happened under Louis XV., they made them render reports on
all
important questions, instead of holding, as formerly, grand
councils
of state with the nobles. Under the constitutional government,
the
ministers of the various departments were insensibly led by
their
bureaus to imitate this practice of kings. Their time being
taken up
in defending themselves before the two Chambers and the court,
they
let themselves be guided by the leading-strings of the Report.
Nothing
important was ever brought before the government that a minister
did
not say, even when the case was urgent, "I have called for a
report."
The Report thus became, both as to the matter concerned and for
the
minister himself, the same as a report to the Chamber of
Deputies on a
question of laws,--namely, a disquisition in which the reasons
for and
against are stated with more or less partiality. No real result
is
attained; the minister, like the Chamber, is fully as well
prepared
before as after the report is rendered. A determination, in
whatever
matter, is reached in an instant. Do what we will, the moment
comes
when the decision must be made. The greater the array of reasons
for
and against, the less sound will be the judgment. The finest
things of
which France can boast have been accomplished without reports
and
where decisions were prompt and spontaneous. The dominant law of
a
statesman is to apply precise formula to all cases, after the
manner
of judges and physicians.
Rabourdin, who said to himself: "A minister should have
decision,
should know public affairs, and direct their course," saw
"Report"
rampant throughout France, from the colonel to the marshal, from
the
commissary of police to the king, from the prefects to the
ministers
of state, from the Chamber to the courts. After 1818 everything
was
discussed, compared, and weighed, either in speech or writing;
public
business took a literary form. France went to ruin in spite of
this
array of documents; dissertations stood in place of action; a
million
of reports were written every year; bureaucracy was
enthroned!
Records, statistics, documents, failing which France would have
been
ruined, circumlocution, without which there could be no
advance,
increased, multiplied, and grew majestic. From that day
forth
bureaucracy used to its own profit the mistrust that stands
between
receipts and expenditures; it degraded the administration for
the
benefit of the administrators; in short, it spun those
lilliputian
threads which have chained France to Parisian
centralization,--as if
from 1500 to 1800 France had undertaken nothing for want of
thirty
thousand government clerks! In fastening upon public offices,
like a
mistletoe on a pear-tree, these officials indemnified
themselves
amply, and in the following manner.
The ministers, compelled to obey the princes or the Chambers
who
impose upon them the distribution of the public moneys, and
forced to
retain the workers in office, proceeded to diminish salaries
and
increase the number of those workers, thinking that if more
persons
were employed by government the stronger the government would
be. And
yet the contrary law is an axiom written on the universe; there
is no
vigor except where there are few active principles. Events
proved in
July, 1830, the error of the materialism of the Restoration. To
plant
a government in the hearts of a nation it is necessary to
bind
INTERESTS to it, not MEN. The government-clerks being led to
detest
the administrations which lessened both their salaries and
their
importance, treated them as a courtesan treats an aged lover,
and gave
them mere work for money; a state of things which would have
seemed as
intolerable to the administration as to the clerks, had the
two
parties dared to feel each other's pulse, or had the higher
salaries
not succeeded in stifling the voices of the lower. Thus wholly
and
solely occupied in retaining his place, drawing his pay, and
securing
his pension, the government official thought everything
permissible
that conduced to these results. This state of things led to
servility
on the part of the clerks and to endless intrigues within the
various
departments, where the humbler clerks struggled vainly
against
degenerate members of the aristocracy, who sought positions in
the
government bureaus for their ruined sons.
Superior men could scarcely bring themselves to tread these
tortuous
ways, to stoop, to cringe, and creep through the mire of
these
cloacas, where the presence of a fine mind only alarmed the
other
denizens. The ambitious man of genius grows old in obtaining
his
triple crown; he does not follow in the steps of Sixtus the
Fifth
merely to become head of a bureau. No one comes or stays in
the
government offices but idlers, incapables, or fools. Thus
the
mediocrity of French administration has slowly come about.
Bureaucracy, made up entirely of petty minds, stands as an
obstacle to
the prosperity of the nation; delays for seven years, by its
machinery, the project of a canal which would have stimulated
the
production of a province; is afraid of everything, prolongs
procrastination, and perpetuates the abuses which in turn
perpetuate
and consolidate itself. Bureaucracy holds all things and the
administration itself in leading strings; it stifles men of
talent who
are bold enough to be independent of it or to enlighten it on
its own
follies. About the time of which we write the pension list had
just
been issued, and on it Rabourdin saw the name of an underling
in
office rated for a larger sum than the old colonels, maimed
and
wounded for their country. In that fact lies the whole history
of
bureaucracy.
Another evil, brought about by modern customs, which Rabourdin
counted
among the causes of this secret demoralization, was the fact
that
there is no real subordination in the administration in
Paris;
complete equality reigns between the head of an important
division and
the humblest copying-clerk; one is as powerful as the other in
an
arena outside of which each lords it in his own way.
Education,
equally distributed through the masses, brings the son of a
porter
into a government office to decide the fate of some man of merit
or
some landed proprietor whose door-bell his father may have
answered.
The last comer is therefore on equal terms with the oldest
veteran in
the service. A wealthy supernumerary splashes his superior as
he
drives his tilbury to Longchamps and points with his whip to the
poor
father of a family, remarking to the pretty woman at his side,
"That's
my chief." The Liberals call this state of things Progress;
Rabourdin
thought it Anarchy at the heart of power. He saw how it resulted
in
restless intrigues, like those of a harem between eunuchs and
women
and imbecile sultans, or the petty troubles of nuns full of
underhand
vexations, or college tyrannies, or diplomatic manoeuvrings fit
to
terrify an ambassador, all put in motion to obtain a fee or
an
increase in salary; it was like the hopping of fleas harnessed
to
pasteboard cars, the spitefulness of slaves, often visited on
the
minister himself. With all this were the really useful men,
the
workers, victims of such parasites; men sincerely devoted to
their
country, who stood vigorously out from the background of the
other
incapables, yet who were often forced to succumb through
unworthy
trickery.
All the higher offices were gained through parliamentary
influence,
royalty had nothing to do now with them, and the subordinate
clerks
became, after a time, merely the running-gear of the machine;
the most
important considerations with them being to keep the wheels
well
greased. This fatal conviction entering some of the best
minds
smothered many statements conscientiously written on the secret
evils
of the national government; lowered the courage of many hearts,
and
corrupted sterling honesty, weary of injustice and won to
indifference
by deteriorating annoyances. A clerk in the employ of the
Rothchilds
corresponds with all England; another, in a government office,
may
communicate with all the prefects; but where the one learns the
way to
make his fortune, the other loses time and health and life to
no
avail. An undermining evil lies here. Certainly a nation does
not seem
threatened with immediate dissolution because an able clerk is
sent
away and a middling sort of man replaces him. Unfortunately for
the
welfare of nations individual men never seem essential to
their
existence. But in the long run when the belittling process is
fully
carried out nations will disappear. Every one who seeks
instruction on
this point can look at Venice, Madrid, Amsterdam, Stockholm,
Rome; all
places which were formerly resplendent with mighty powers and
are now
destroyed by the infiltrating littleness which gradually
attained the
highest eminence. When the day of struggle came, all was found
rotten,
the State succumbed to a weak attack. To worship the fool
who
succeeds, and not to grieve over the fall of an able man is the
result
of our melancholy education, of our manners and customs which
drive
men of intellect into disgust, and genius to despair.
What a difficult undertaking is the rehabilitation of the
Civil
Service while the liberal cries aloud in his newspapers that
the
salaries of clerks are a standing theft, calls the items of the
budget
a cluster of leeches, and every year demands why the nation
should be
saddled with a thousand millions of taxes. In Monsieur
Rabourdin's
eyes the clerk in relation to the budget was very much what
the
gambler is to the game; that which he wins he puts back again.
All
remuneration implies something furnished. To pay a man a
thousand
francs a year and demand his whole time was surely to organize
theft
and poverty. A galley-slave costs nearly as much, and does less.
But
to expect a man whom the State remunerated with twelve thousand
francs
a year to devote himself to his country was a profitable
contract for
both sides, fit to allure all capacities.
These reflections had led Rabourdin to desire the recasting of
the
clerical official staff. To employ fewer man, to double or
treble
salaries, and do away with pensions, to choose only young clerks
(as
did Napoleon, Louis XIV., Richelieu, and Ximenes), but to keep
them
long and train them for the higher offices and greatest honors,
these
were the chief features of a reform which if carried out would
be as
beneficial to the State as to the clerks themselves. It is
difficult
to recount in detail, chapter by chapter, a plan which embraced
the
whole budget and continued down through the minutest details
of
administration in order to keep the whole synthetical; but
perhaps a
slight sketch of the principal reforms will suffice for those
who
understand such matters, as well as for those who are wholly
ignorant
of the administrative system. Though the historian's position
is
rather hazardous in reproducing a plan which may be thought
the
politics of a chimney-corner, it is, nevertheless, necessary to
sketch
it so as to explain the author of it by his own work. Were the
recital
of his efforts to be omitted, the reader would not believe
the
narrator's word if he merely declared the talent and the courage
of
this official.
Rabourdin's plan divided the government into three ministries,
or
departments. He thought that if the France of former days
possessed
brains strong enough to comprehend in one system both foreign
and
domestic affairs, the France of to-day was not likely to be
without
its Mazarin, its Suger, its Sully, its de Choiseul, or its
Colbert to
direct even vast administrative departments. Besides,
constitutionally
speaking, three ministries will agree better than seven; and, in
the
restricted number there is less chance for mistaken choice;
moreover,
it might be that the kingdom would some day escape from
those
perpetual ministerial oscillations which interfered with all
plans of
foreign policy and prevented all ameliorations of home rule.
In
Austria, where many diverse united nations present so many
conflicting
interests to be conciliated and carried forward under one crown,
two
statesmen alone bear the burden of public affairs and are
not
overwhelmed by it. Was France less prolific of political
capacities
than Germany? The rather silly game of what are called
"constitutional
institutions" carried beyond bounds has ended, as everybody
knows, in
requiring a great many offices to satisfy the multifarious
ambition of
the middle classes. It seemed to Rabourdin, in the first
place,
natural to unite the ministry of war with the ministry of the
navy. To
his thinking the navy was one of the current expenses of the
war
department, like the artillery, cavalry, infantry, and
commissariat.
Surely it was an absurdity to give separate administrations
to
admirals and marshals when both were employed to one end,
namely, the
defense of the nation, the overthrow of an enemy, and the
security of
the national possessions. The ministry of the interior ought in
like
manner to combine the departments of commerce, police, and
finances,
or it belied its own name. To the ministry of foreign affairs
belonged
the administration of justice, the household of the king, and
all that
concerned arts, sciences, and belles lettres. All patronage
ought to
flow directly from the sovereign. Such ministries necessitated
the
supremacy of a council. Each required the work of two
hundred
officials, and no more, in its central administration offices,
where
Rabourdin proposed that they should live, as in former days
under the
monarchy. Taking the sum of twelve thousand francs a year for
each
official as an average, he estimated seven millions as the cost
of the
whole body of such officials, which actually stood at twenty in
the
budget.
By thus reducing the ministers to three heads he
suppressed
departments which had come to be useless, together with the
enormous
costs of their maintenance in Paris. He proved that an
arrondissement
could be managed by ten men; a prefecture by a dozen at the
most;
which reduced the entire civil service force throughout France
to five
thousand men, exclusive of the departments of war and justice.
Under
this plan the clerks of the court were charged with the system
of
loans, and the ministry of the interior with that of
registration and
the management of domains. Thus Rabourdin united in one centre
all
divisions that were allied in nature. The mortgage system,
inheritance, and registration did not pass outside of their own
sphere
of action and only required three additional clerks in the
justice
courts and three in the royal courts. The steady application of
this
principle brought Rabourdin to reforms in the finance system.
He
merged the collection of revenue into one channel, taxing
consumption
in bulk instead of taxing property. According to his ideas,
consumption was the sole thing properly taxable in times of
peace.
Land-taxes should always be held in reserve in case of war; for
then
only could the State justly demand sacrifices from the soil,
which was
in danger; but in times of peace it was a serious political
fault to
burden it beyond a certain limit; otherwise it could never be
depended
on in great emergencies. Thus a loan should be put on the market
when
the country was tranquil, for at such times it could be placed
at par,
instead of at fifty per cent loss as in bad times; in war times
resort
should be had to a land-tax.
"The invasion of 1814 and 1815," Rabourdin would say to his
friends,
"founded in France and practically explained an institution
which
neither Law nor Napoleon had been able to establish,--I mean
Credit."
Unfortunately, Xavier considered the true principles of this
admirable
machine of civil service very little understood at the period
when he
began his labor of reform in 1820. His scheme levied a toll on
the
consumption by means of direct taxation and suppressed the
whole
machinery of indirect taxation. The levying of the taxes was
simplified by a single classification of a great number of
articles.
This did away with the more harassing customs at the gates of
the
cities, and obtained the largest revenues from the remainder,
by
lessening the enormous expense of collecting them. To lighten
the
burden of taxation is not, in matters of finance, to diminish
the
taxes, but to assess them better; if lightened, you increase
the
volume of business by giving it freer play; the individual pays
less
and the State receives more. This reform, which may seem
immense,
rests on very simple machinery. Rabourdin regarded the tax on
personal
property as the most trustworthy representative of general
consumption. Individual fortunes are usually revealed in France
by
rentals, by the number of servants, horses, carriages, and
luxuries,
the costs of which are all to the interest of the public
treasury.
Houses and what they contain vary comparatively but little, and
are
not liable to disappear. After pointing out the means of making
a tax-
list on personal property which should be more impartial than
the
existing list, Rabourdin assessed the sums to be brought into
the
treasury by indirect taxation as so much per cent on each
individual
share. A tax is a levy of money on things or persons under
disguises
that are more or less specious. These disguises, excellent when
the
object is to extort money, become ridiculous in the present day,
when
the class on which the taxes weigh the heaviest knows why the
State
imposes them and by what machinery they are given back. In fact
the
budget is not a strong-box to hold what is put into it, but
a
watering-pot; the more it takes in and the more it pours out
the
better for the prosperity of the country. Therefore, supposing
there
are six millions of tax-payers in easy circumstances (Rabourdin
proved
their existence, including the rich) is it not better to make
them pay
a duty on the consumption of wine, which would not be more
offensive
than that on doors and windows and would return a hundred
millions,
rather than harass them by taxing the thing itself. By this
system of
taxation, each individual tax-payer pays less in reality, while
the
State receives more, and consumers profit by a vast reduction in
the
price of things which the State releases from its perpetual
and
harassing interference. Rabourdin's scheme retained a tax on
the
cultivation of vineyards, so as to protect that industry from
the too
great abundance of its own products. Then, to reach the
consumption of
the poorer tax-payers, the licences of retail dealers were
taxed
according to the population of the neighborhoods in which they
lived.
In this way, the State would receive without cost or
vexatious
hindrances an enormous revenue under three forms; namely, a duty
on
wine, on the cultivation of vineyards, and on licenses, where
now an
irritating array of taxes existed as a burden on itself and
its
officials. Taxation was thus imposed upon the rich without
overburdening the poor. To give another example. Suppose a
share
assessed to each person of one or two francs for the consumption
of
salt and you obtain ten or a dozen millions; the modern
"gabelle"
disappears, the poor breathe freer, agriculture is relieved, the
State
receives as much, and no tax-payer complains. All persons,
whether
they belong to the industrial classes or to the capitalists,
will see
at once the benefits of a tax so assessed when they discover
how
commerce increases, and life is ameliorated in the country
districts.
In short, the State will see from year to year the number of her
well-
to-do tax-payers increasing. By doing away with the machinery
of
indirect taxation, which is very costly (a State, as it were,
within a
State), both the public finances and the individual tax-payer
are
greatly benefited, not to speak of the saving in costs of
collecting.
The whole subject is indeed less a question of finance than a
question
of government. The State should possess nothing of its own,
neither
forests, nor mines, nor public works. That it should be the
owner of
domains was, in Rabourdin's opinion, an administrative
contradiction.
The State cannot turn its possessions to profit and it deprives
itself
of taxes; it thus loses two forms of production. As to the
manufactories of the government, they are just as unreasonable
in the
sphere of industry. The State obtains products at a higher cost
than
those of commerce, produces them more slowly, and loses its tax
upon
the industry, the maintenance of which it, in turn, reduces. Can
it be
thought a proper method of governing a country to manufacture
instead
of promoting manufactures? to possess property instead of
creating
more possessions and more diverse ones? In Rabourdin's system
the
State exacted no money security; he allowed only mortgage
securities;
and for this reason: Either the State holds the security in
specie,
and that embarrasses business and the movement of money; or it
invests
it at a higher rate than the State itself pays, and that is
a
contemptible robbery; or else it loses on the transaction, and
that is
folly; moreover, if it is obliged at any time to dispose of a
mass of
these securities it gives rises in certain cases to terrible
bankruptcy.
The territorial tax did not entirely disappear in Rabourdin's
plan,--
he kept a minute portion of it as a point of departure in case
of war;
but the productions of the soil were freed, and industry,
finding raw
material at a low price, could compete with foreign nations
without
the deceptive help of customs. The rich carried on the
administration
of the provinces without compensation except that of receiving
a
peerage under certain conditions. Magistrates, learned
bodies,
officers of the lower grades found their services honorably
rewarded;
no man employed by the government failed to obtain great
consideration
through the value and extent of his labors and the excellence of
his
salary; every one was able to provide for his own future and
France
was delivered from the cancer of pensions. As a result
Rabourdin's
scheme exhibited only seven hundred millions of expenditures
and
twelve hundred millions of receipts. A saving of five hundred
millions
annually had far more virtue than the accumulation of a sinking
fund
whose dangers were plainly to be seen. In that fund the
State,
according to Rabourdin, became a stockholder, just as it
persisted in
being a land-holder and a manufacturer. To bring about these
reforms
without too roughly jarring the existing state of things or
incurring
a Saint-Bartholomew of clerks, Rabourdin considered that an
evolution
of twenty years would be required.
Such were the thoughts maturing in Rabourdin's mind ever since
his
promised place had been given to Monsieur de la Billardiere, a
man of
sheer incapacity. This plan, so vast apparently yet so simple in
point
of fact, which did away with so many large staffs and so many
little
offices all equally useless, required for its presentation to
the
public mind close calculations, precise statistics, and
self-evident
proof. Rabourdin had long studied the budget under its
double-aspect
of ways and means and of expenditure. Many a night he had lain
awake
unknown to his wife. But so far he had only dared to conceive
the plan
and fit it prospectively to the administrative skeleton; all of
which
counted for nothing,--he must gain the ear of a minister capable
of
appreciating his ideas. Rabourdin's success depended on the
tranquil
condition of political affairs, which up to this time were
still
unsettled. He had not considered the government as permanently
secure
until three hundred deputies at least had the courage to form
a
compact majority systematically ministerial. An administration
founded
on that basis had come into power since Rabourdin had finished
his
elaborate plan. At this time the luxury of peace under the
Bourbons
had eclipsed the warlike luxury of the days when France shone
like a
vast encampment, prodigal and magnificent because it was
victorious.
After the Spanish campaign, the administration seemed to enter
upon an
era of tranquillity in which some good might be accomplished;
and
three months before the opening of our story a new reign had
begun
without any apparent opposition; for the liberalism of the Left
had
welcomed Charles X. with as much enthusiasm as the Right. Even
clear-
sighted and suspicious persons were misled. The moment
seemed
propitious for Rabourdin. What could better conduce to the
stability
of the government than to propose and carry through a reform
whose
beneficial results were to be so vast?
Never had Rabourdin seemed so anxious and preoccupied as he now
did in
the mornings as he walked from his house to the ministry, or at
half-
past four in the afternoon, when he returned. Madame Rabourdin,
on her
part, disconsolate over her wasted life, weary of secretly
working to
obtain a few luxuries of dress, never appeared so bitterly
discontented as now; but, like any wife who is really attached
to her
husband, she considered it unworthy of a superior woman to
condescend
to the shameful devices by which the wives of some officials eke
out
the insufficiency of their husband's salary. This feeling made
her
refuse all intercourse with Madame Colleville, then very
intimate with
Francois Keller, whose parties eclipsed those of the rue
Duphot.
Nevertheless, she mistook the quietude of the political thinker
and
the preoccupation of the intrepid worker for the apathetic
torpor of
an official broken down by the dulness of routine, vanquished by
that
most hateful of all miseries, the mediocrity that simply earns
a
living; and she groaned at being married to a man without
energy.
Thus it was that about this period in their lives she resolved
to take
the making of her husband's fortune on herself; to thrust him at
any
cost into a higher sphere, and to hide from him the secret
springs of
her machinations. She carried into all her plans the
independence of
ideas which characterized her, and was proud to think that she
could
rise above other women by sharing none of their petty prejudices
and
by keeping herself untrammelled by the restraints which
society
imposes. In her anger she resolved to fight fools with their
own
weapons, and to make herself a fool if need be. She saw things
coming
to a crisis. The time was favorable. Monsieur de la
Billardiere,
attacked by a dangerous illness, was likely to die in a few
days. If
Rabourdin succeeded him, his talents (for Celestine did
vouchsafe him
an administrative gift) would be so thoroughly appreciated that
the
office of Master of petitions, formerly promised, would now be
given
to him; she fancied she saw him the king's commissioner,
presenting
bills to the Chambers and defending them; then indeed she could
help
him; she would even be, if needful, his secretary; she would sit
up
all night to do the work! All this to drive in the Bois in a
pretty
carriage, to equal Madame Delphine de Nucingen, to raise her
salon to
the level of Madame Colleville's, to be invited to the great
ministerial solemnities, to win listeners and make them talk of
her as
"Madame Rabourdin DE something or other" (she had not yet
determined
on the estate), just as they did of Madame Firmiani, Madame
d'Espard,
Madame d'Aiglemont, Madame de Carigliano, and thus efface
forever the
odious name of Rabourdin.
These secret schemes brought some changes into the household.
Madame
Rabourdin began to walk with a firm step in the path of DEBT.
She set
up a manservant, and put him in livery of brown cloth with red
pipins,
she renewed parts of her furniture, hung new papers on the
walls,
adorned her salon with plants and flowers, always fresh, and
crowded
it with knick-knacks that were then in vogue; then she, who had
always
shown scruples as to her personal expenses, did not hesitate to
put
her dress in keeping with the rank to which she aspired, the
profits
of which were discounted in several of the shops where she
equipped
herself for war. To make her "Wednesdays" fashionable she gave
a
dinner on Fridays, the guests being expected to pay their return
visit
and take a cup of tea on the following Wednesday. She chose her
guests
cleverly among influential deputies or other persons of note
who,
sooner or later, might advance her interests. In short, she
gathered
an agreeable and befitting circle about her. People amused
themselves
at her house; they said so at least, which is quite enough to
attract
society in Paris. Rabourdin was so absorbed in completing his
great
and serious work that he took no notice of the sudden
reappearance of
luxury in the bosom of his family.
Thus the wife and the husband were besieging the same
fortress,
working on parallel lines, but without each other's
knowledge.
At the ministry to which Rabourdin belonged there flourished,
as
general-secretary, a certain Monsieur Clement Chardin des
Lupeaulx,
one of those men whom the tide of political events sends to
the
surface for a few years, then engulfs on a stormy night, but
whom we
find again on a distant shore, tossed up like the carcass of a
wrecked
ship which still seems to have life in her. We ask ourselves if
that
derelict could ever have held goodly merchandise or served a
high
emprize, co-operated in some defence, held up the trappings of
a
throne, or borne away the corpse of a monarchy. At this
particular
time Clement des Lupeaulx (the "Lupeaulx" absorbed the
"Chardin") had
reached his culminating period. In the most illustrious lives as
in
the most obscure, in animals as in secretary-generals, there is
a
zenith and there is a nadir, a period when the fur is
magnificent, the
fortune dazzling. In the nomenclature which we derive from
fabulists,
des Lupeaulx belonged to the species Bertrand, and was always
in
search of Ratons. As he is one of the principal actors in this
drama
he deserves a description, all the more precise because the
revolution
of July has suppressed his office, eminently useful as it was,
to a
constitutional ministry.
Moralists usually employ their weapons against obstructive
administrations. In their eyes, crime belongs to the assizes or
the
police-courts; but the socially refined evils escape their ken;
the
adroitness that triumphs under shield of the Code is above them
or
beneath them; they have neither eye-glass nor telescope; they
want
good stout horrors easily visible. With their eyes fixed on
the
carnivora, they pay no attention to the reptiles; happily,
they
abandon to the writers of comedy the shading and colorings of
a
Chardin des Lupeaulx. Vain and egotistical, supple and
proud,
libertine and gourmand, grasping from the pressure of debt,
discreet
as a tomb out of which nought issues to contradict the
epitaph
intended for the passer's eye, bold and fearless when
soliciting,
good-natured and witty in all acceptations of the word, a
timely
jester, full of tact, knowing how to compromise others by a
glance or
a nudge, shrinking from no mudhole, but gracefully leaping
it,
intrepid Voltairean, yet punctual at mass if a fashionable
company
could be met in Saint Thomas Aquinas,--such a man as this
secretary-
general resembled, in one way or another, all the mediocrities
who
form the kernel of the political world. Knowing in the science
of
human nature, he assumed the character of a listener, and none
was
ever more attentive. Not to awaken suspicion he was flattering
ad
nauseum, insinuating as a perfume, and cajoling as a woman.
Des Lupeaulx was just forty years old. His youth had long been
a
vexation to him, for he felt that the making of his career
depended on
his becoming a deputy. How had he reached his present position?
may be
asked. By very simple means. He began by taking charge of
certain
delicate missions which can be given neither to a man who
respects
himself nor to a man who does not respect himself, but are
confided to
grave and enigmatic individuals who can be acknowledged or
disavowed
at will. His business was that of being always compromised; but
his
fortunes were pushed as much by defeat as by success. He
well
understood that under the Restoration, a period of continual
compromises between men, between things, between accomplished
facts
and other facts looking on the horizon, it was all-important for
the
ruling powers to have a household drudge. Observe in a family
some old
charwoman who can make beds, sweep the floors, carry away the
dirty
linen, who knows where the silver is kept, how the creditors
should be
pacified, what persons should be let in and who must be kept out
of
the house, and such a creature, even if she has all the vices,
and is
dirty, decrepit, and toothless, or puts into the lottery and
steals
thirty sous a day for her stake, and you will find the masters
like
her from habit, talk and consult in her hearing upon even
critical
matters; she comes and goes, suggests resources, gets on the
scent of
secrets, brings the rouge or the shawl at the right moment,
lets
herself be scolded and pushed downstairs, and the next
morning
reappears smiling with an excellent bouillon. No matter how high
a
statesman may stand, he is certain to have some household
drudge,
before whom he is weak, undecided, disputations with fate,
self-
questioning, self-answering, and buckling for the fight. Such
a
familiar is like the soft wood of savages, which, when rubbed
against
the hard wood, strikes fire. Sometimes great geniuses
illumine
themselves in this way. Napoleon lived with Berthier, Richelieu
with
Pere Joseph; des Lupeaulx was the familiar of everybody. He
continued
friends with fallen ministers and made himself their
intermediary with
their successors, diffusing thus the perfume of the last
flattery and
the first compliment. He well understood how to arrange all the
little
matters which a statesman has no leisure to attend to. He
saw
necessities as they arose; he obeyed well; he could gloss a base
act
with a jest and get the whole value of it; and he chose for
the
services he thus rendered those that the recipients were not
likely to
forget.
Thus, when it was necessary to cross the ditch between the
Empire and
the Restoration, at a time when every one was looking about
for
planks, and the curs of the Empire were howling their devotion
right
and left, des Lupeaulx borrowed large sums from the usurers
and
crossed the frontier. Risking all to win all, he bought up
Louis
XVIII.'s most pressing debts, and was the first to settle nearly
three
million of them at twenty per cent--for he was lucky enough to
be
backed by Gobseck in 1814 and 1815. It is true that Messrs.
Gobseck,
Werdet, and Gigonnet swallowed the profits, but des Lupeaulx
had
agreed that they should have them; he was not playing for a
stake; he
challenged the bank, as it were, knowing very well that the king
was
not a man to forget this debt of honor. Des Lupeaulx was not
mistaken;
he was appointed Master of petitions, Knight of the order of
Saint
Louis, and officer of the Legion of honor. Once on the ladder
of
political success, his clever mind looked about for the means
to
maintain his foothold; for in the fortified city into which he
had
wormed himself, generals do not long keep useless mouths. So to
his
general trade of household drudge and go-between he added that
of
gratuitous consultation on the secret maladies of power.
After discovering in the so-called superior men of the
Restoration
their utter inferiority in comparison with the events which
had
brought them to the front, he overcame their political
mediocrity by
putting into their mouths, at a crisis, the word of command for
which
men of real talent were listening. It must not be thought that
this
word was the outcome of his own mind. Were it so, des Lupeaulx
would
have been a man of genius, whereas he was only a man of talent.
He
went everywhere, collected opinions, sounded consciences, and
caught
all the tones they gave out. He gathered knowledge like a true
and
indefatigable political bee. This walking Bayle dictionary did
not
act, however, like that famous lexicon; he did not report all
opinions
without drawing his own conclusions; he had the talent of a fly
which
drops plumb upon the best bit of meat in the middle of a
kitchen. In
this way he came to be regarded as an indispensable helper
to
statesmen. A belief in his capacity had taken such deep root in
all
minds that the more ambitious public men felt it was necessary
to
compromise des Lupeaulx in some way to prevent his rising
higher; they
made up to him for his subordinate public position by their
secret
confidence.
Nevertheless, feeling that such men were dependent on him,
this
gleaner of ideas exacted certain dues. He received a salary on
the
staff of the National Guard, where he held a sinecure which was
paid
for by the city of Paris; he was government commissioner to a
secret
society; and filled a position of superintendence in the
royal
household. His two official posts which appeared on the budget
were
those of secretary-general to his ministry and Master of
petitions.
What he now wanted was to be made commander of the Legion of
honor,
gentleman of the bed-chamber, count, and deputy. To be elected
deputy
it was necessary to pay taxes to the amount of a thousand
francs; and
the miserable homestead of the des Lupeaulx was rated at only
five
hundred. Where could he get money to build a mansion and
surround it
with sufficient domain to throw dust in the eyes of a
constituency?
Though he dined out every day, and was lodged for the last nine
years
at the cost of the State, and driven about in the minister's
equipage,
des Lupeaulx possessed absolutely nothing, at the time when our
tale
opens, but thirty thousand francs of debt--undisputed property.
A
marriage might float him and pump the waters of debt out of his
bark;
but a good marriage depended on his advancement, and his
advancement
required that he should be a deputy. Searching about him for the
means
of breaking through this vicious circle, he could think of
nothing
better than some immense service to render or some delicate
intrigue
to carry through for persons in power. Alas! conspiracies were
out of
date; the Bourbons were apparently on good terms with all
parties;
and, unfortunately, for the last few years the government had
been so
thoroughly held up to the light of day by the silly discussions
of the
Left, whose aim seemed to be to make government of any kind
impossible
in France, that no good strokes of business could be made. The
last
were tried in Spain, and what an outcry that excited!
In addition to all this, des Lupeaulx complicated matters by
believing
in the friendship of his minister, to whom he had the imprudence
to
express the wish to sit on the ministerial benches. The
minister
guessed at the real meaning of the desire, which simply was that
des
Lupeaulx wanted to strengthen a precarious position, so that he
might
throw off all dependence on his chief. The harrier turned
against the
huntsman; the minister gave him cuts with the whip and
caresses,
alternately, and set up rivals to him. But des Lupeaulx behaved
like
an adroit courtier with all competitors; he laid traps into
which they
fell, and then he did prompt justice upon them. The more he
felt
himself in danger the more anxious he became for an
irremovable
position; yet he was compelled to play low; one moment's
indiscretion,
and he might lose everything. A pen-stroke might demolish his
civilian
epaulets, his place at court, his sinecure, his two offices and
their
advantages; in all, six salaries retained under fire of the
law
against pluralists. Sometimes he threatened his minister as a
mistress
threatens her lover; telling him he was about to marry a rich
widow.
At such times the minister petted and cajoled des Lupeaulx.
After one
of these reconciliations he received the formal promise of a
place in
the Academy of Belles-lettres on the first vacancy. "It would
pay," he
said, "the keep of a horse." His position, so far as it went,
was a
good one, and Clement Chardin des Lupeaulx flourished in it like
a
tree planted in good soil. He could satisfy his vices, his
caprices,
his virtues and his defects.
The following were the toils of his life. He was obliged to
choose,
among five or six daily invitations, the house where he could be
sure
of the best dinner. Every morning he went to his minister's
morning
reception to amuse that official and his wife, and to pet
their
children. Then he worked an hour or two; that is to say, he lay
back
in a comfortable chair and read the newspapers, dictated the
meaning
of a letter, received visitors when the minister was not
present,
explained the work in a general way, caught or shed a few drops
of the
holy-water of the court, looked over the petitions with an
eyeglass,
or wrote his name on the margin,--a signature which meant "I
think it
absurd; do what you like about it." Every body knew that when
des
Lupeaulx was interested in any person or in any thing he
attended to
the matter personally. He allowed the head-clerks to
converse
privately about affairs of delicacy, but he listened to their
gossip.
From time to time he went to the Tuileries to get his cue. And
he
always waited for the minister's return from the Chamber, if
in
session, to hear from him what intrigue or manoeuvre he was to
set
about. This official sybarite dressed, dined, and visited a
dozen or
fifteen salons between eight at night and three in the morning.
At the
opera he talked with journalists, for he stood high in their
favor; a
perpetual exchange of little services went on between them; he
poured
into their ears his misleading news and swallowed theirs; he
prevented
them from attacking this or that minister on such or such a
matter, on
the plea that it would cause real pain to their wives or
their
mistresses.
"Say that his bill is worth nothing, and prove it if you can,
but do
not say that Mariette danced badly. The devil! haven't we all
played
our little plays; and which of us knows what will become of him
in
times like these? You may be minister yourself to-morrow, you
who are
spicing the cakes of the 'Constitutionel' to-day."
Sometimes, in return, he helped editors, or got rid of
obstacles to
the performances of some play; gave gratuities and good dinners
at the
right moment, or promised his services to bring some affair to a
happy
conclusion. Moreover, he really liked literature and the arts;
he
collected autographs, obtained splendid albums gratis, and
possessed
sketches, engravings, and pictures. He did a great deal of good
to
artists by simply not injuring them and by furthering their
wishes on
certain occasions when their self-love wanted some rather
costly
gratification. Consequently, he was much liked in the world of
actors
and actresses, journalists and artists. For one thing, they had
the
same vices and the same indolence as himself. Men who could all
say
such witty things in their cups or in company with a danseuse,
how
could they help being friends? If des Lupeaulx had not been a
general-
secretary he would certainly have been a journalist. Thus, in
that
fifteen years' struggle in which the harlequin sabre of epigram
opened
a breach by which insurrection entered the citadel, des Lupeaulx
never
received so much as a scratch.
As the young fry of clerks looked at this man playing bowls in
the
gardens of the ministry with the minister's children, they
cracked
their brains to guess the secret of his influence and the nature
of
his services; while, on the other hand, the aristocrats in all
the
various ministries looked upon him as a dangerous
Mephistopheles,
courted him, and gave him back with usury the flatteries he
bestowed
in the higher sphere. As difficult to decipher as a
hieroglyphic
inscription to the clerks, the vocation of the secretary and
his
usefulness were as plain as the rule of three to the
self-interested.
This lesser Prince de Wagram of the administration, to whom the
duty
of gathering opinions and ideas and making verbal reports
thereon was
entrusted, knew all the secrets of parliamentary politics;
dragged in
the lukewarm, fetched, carried, and buried propositions, said
the Yes
and the No that the ministers dared not say for themselves.
Compelled
to receive the first fire and the first blows of despair and
wrath, he
laughed or bemoaned himself with the minister, as the case might
be.
Mysterious link by which many interests were in some way
connected
with the Tuileries, and safe as a confessor, he sometimes
knew
everything and sometimes nothing; and, in addition to all
these
functions came that of saying for the minister those things that
a
minister cannot say for himself. In short, with his
political
Hephaestion the minister might dare to be himself; to take off
his wig
and his false teeth, lay aside his scruples, put on his
slippers,
unbutton his conscience, and give way to his trickery. However,
it was
not all a bed of roses for des Lupeaulx; he flattered and
advised his
master, forced to flatter in order to advise, to advise
while
flattering, and disguise the advice under the flattery. All
politicians who follow this trade have bilious faces; and
their
constant habit of giving affirmative nods acquiescing in what is
said
to them, or seeming to do so, gives a certain peculiar turn to
their
heads. They agree indifferently with whatever is said before
them.
Their talk is full of "buts," "notwithstandings," "for myself
I
should," "were I in your place" (they often say "in your
place"),--
phrases, however, which pave the way to opposition.
In person, Clement des Lupeaulx had the remains of a handsome
man;
five feet six inches tall, tolerably stout, complexion flushed
with
good living, powdered head, delicate spectacles, and a worn-out
air;
the natural skin blond, as shown by the hand, puffy like that of
an
old woman, rather too square, and with short nails--the hand of
a
satrap. His foot was elegant. After five o'clock in the
afternoon des
Lupeaulx was always to be seen in open-worked silk stockings,
low
shoes, black trousers, cashmere waistcoat, cambric
handkerchief
(without perfume), gold chain, blue coat of the shade called
"king's
blue," with brass buttons and a string of orders. In the morning
he
wore creaking boots and gray trousers, and the short close
surtout
coat of the politician. His general appearance early in the day
was
that of a sharp lawyer rather than that of a ministerial
officer. Eyes
glazed by the constant use of spectacles made him plainer than
he
really was, if by chance he took those appendages off. To real
judges
of character, as well as to upright men who are at ease only
with
honest natures, des Lupeaulx was intolerable. To them, his
gracious
manners only draped his lies; his amiable protestations and
hackneyed
courtesies, new to the foolish and ignorant, too plainly showed
their
texture to an observing mind. Such minds considered him a
rotten
plank, on which no foot should trust itself.
No sooner had the beautiful Madame Rabourdin decided to
interfere in
her husband's administrative advancement than she fathomed
Clement des
Lupeaulx's true character, and studied him thoughtfully to
discover
whether in this thin strip of deal there were ligneous fibres
strong
enough to let her lightly trip across it from the bureau to
the
department, from a salary of eight thousand a year to twelve
thousand.
The clever woman believed she could play her own game with
this
political roue; and Monsieur des Lupeaulx was partly the cause
of the
unusual expenditures which now began and were continued in
the
Rabourdin household.
The rue Duphot, built up under the Empire, is remarkable for
several
houses with handsome exteriors, the apartments of which are
skilfully
laid out. That of the Rabourdins was particularly well
arranged,--a
domestic advantage which has much to do with the nobleness of
private
lives. A pretty and rather wide antechamber, lighted from
the
courtyard, led to the grand salon, the windows of which looked
on the
street. To the right of the salon were Rabourdin's study and
bedroom,
and behind them the dining-room, which was entered from the
antechamber; to the left was Madame's bedroom and dressing-room,
and
behind them her daughter's little bedroom. On reception days the
door
of Rabourdin's study and that of his wife's bedroom were thrown
open.
The rooms were thus spacious enough to contain a select
company,
without the absurdity which attends many middle-class
entertainments,
where unusual preparations are made at the expense of the
daily
comfort, and consequently give the effect of exceptional effort.
The
salon had lately been rehung in gold-colored silk with
carmelite
touches. Madame's bedroom was draped in a fabric of true blue
and
furnished in a rococo manner. Rabourdin's study had inherited
the late
hangings of the salon, carefully cleaned, and was adorned by the
fine
pictures once belonging to Monsieur Leprince. The daughter of
the late
auctioneer had utilized in her dining-room certain exquisite
Turkish
rugs which her father had bought at a bargain; panelling them on
the
walls in ebony, the cost of which has since become exorbitant.
Elegant
buffets made by Boulle, also purchased by the auctioneer,
furnished
the sides of the room, at the end of which sparkled the
brass
arabesques inlaid in tortoise-shell of the first tall clock
that
reappeared in the nineteenth century to claim honor for the
masterpieces of the seventeenth. Flowers perfumed these rooms so
full
of good taste and of exquisite things, where each detail was a
work of
art well placed and well surrounded, and where Madame
Rabourdin,
dressed with that natural simplicity which artists alone attain,
gave
the impression of a woman accustomed to such elegancies, though
she
never spoke of them, but allowed the charms of her mind to
complete
the effect produced upon her guests by these delightful
surroundings.
Thanks to her father, Celestine was able to make society talk of
her
as soon as the rococo became fashionable.
Accustomed as des Lupeaulx was to false as well as real
magnificence
in all their stages, he was, nevertheless, surprised at
Madame
Rabourdin's home. The charm it exercised over this Parisian
Asmodeus
can be explained by a comparison. A traveller wearied with the
rich
aspects of Italy, Brazil, or India, returns to his own land and
finds
on his way a delightful little lake, like the Lac d'Orta at the
foot
of Monte Rosa, with an island resting on the calm waters,
bewitchingly
simple; a scene of nature and yet adorned; solitary, but
well
surrounded with choice plantations and foliage and statues of
fine
effect. Beyond lies a vista of shores both wild and
cultivated;
tumultuous grandeur towers above, but in itself all proportions
are
human. The world that the traveller has lately viewed is here
in
miniature, modest and pure; his soul, refreshed, bids him remain
where
a charm of melody and poesy surrounds him with harmony and
awakens
ideas within his mind. Such a scene represents both life and
a
monastery.
A few days earlier the beautiful Madame Firmiani, one of the
charming
women of the faubourg Saint-Germain who visited and liked
Madame
Rabourdin, had said to des Lupeaulx (invited expressly to hear
this
remark), "Why do you not call on Madame --?" with a motion
towards
Celestine; "she gives delightful parties, and her dinners, above
all,
are--better than mine."
Des Lupeaulx allowed himself to be drawn into an engagement by
the
handsome Madame Rabourdin, who, for the first time, turned her
eyes on
him as she spoke. He had, accordingly, gone to the rue Duphot,
and
that tells the tale. Woman has but one trick, cries Figaro, but
that's
infallible. After dining once at the house of this
unimportant
official, des Lupeaulx made up his mind to dine there often.
Thanks to
the perfectly proper and becoming advances of the beautiful
woman,
whom her rival, Madame Colleville, called the Celimene of the
rue
Duphot, he had dined there every Friday for the last month,
and
returned of his own accord for a cup of tea on Wednesdays.
Within a few days Madame Rabourdin, having watched him
narrowly and
knowingly, believed she had found on the secretarial plank a
spot
where she might safely set her foot. She was no longer doubtful
of
success. Her inward joy can be realized only in the families
of
government officials where for three or four years prosperity
has been
counted on through some appointment, long expected and long
sought.
How many troubles are to be allayed! how many entreaties and
pledges
given to the ministerial divinities! how many visits of
self-interest
paid! At last, thanks to her boldness, Madame Rabourdin heard
the hour
strike when she was to have twenty thousand francs a year
instead of
eight thousand.
"And I shall have managed well," she said to herself. "I have
had to
make a little outlay; but these are times when hidden merit
is
overlooked, whereas if a man keeps himself well in sight before
the
world, cultivates social relations and extends them, he
succeeds.
After all, ministers and their friends interest themselves only
in the
people they see; but Rabourdin knows nothing of the world! If I
had
not cajoled those three deputies they might have wanted La
Billardiere's place themselves; whereas, now that I have invited
them
here, they will be ashamed to do so and will become our
supporters
instead of rivals. I have rather played the coquette, but--it
is
delightful that the first nonsense with which one fools a
man
sufficed."
The day on which a serious and unlooked-for struggle about
this
appointment began, after a ministerial dinner which preceded one
of
those receptions which ministers regard as public, des Lupeaulx
was
standing beside the fireplace near the minister's wife. While
taking
his coffee he once more included Madame Rabourdin among the
seven or
eight really superior women in Paris. Several times already he
had
staked Madame Rabourdin very much as Corporal Trim staked his
cap.
"Don't say that too often, my dear friend, or you will injure
her,"
said the minister's wife, half-laughing.
Women never like to hear the praise of other women; they keep
silence
themselves to lessen its effect.
"Poor La Billardiere is dying," remarked his Excellency the
minister;
"that place falls to Rabourdin, one of our most able men, and to
whom
our predecessors did not behave well, though one of them
actually owed
his position in the prefecture of police under the Empire to a
certain
great personage who was interested in Rabourdin. But, my dear
friend,
you are still young enough to be loved by a pretty woman for
yourself--"
"If La Billardiere's place is given to Rabourdin I may be
believed
when I praise the superiority of his wife," replied des
Lupeaulx,
piqued by the minister's sarcasm; "but if Madame la Comtesse
would be
willing to judge for herself--"
"You want me to invite her to my next ball, don't you? Your
clever
woman will meet a knot of other women who only come here to
laugh at
us, and when they hear 'Madame Rabourdin' announced--"
"But Madame Firmiani is announced at the Foreign Office parties?"
"Ah, but she was born a Cadignan!" said the newly created
count, with
a savage look at his general-secretary, for neither he nor his
wife
were noble.
The persons present thought important matters were being
talked over,
and the solicitors for favors and appointments kept at a
little
distance. When des Lupeaulx left the room the countess said to
her
husband, "I think des Lupeaulx is in love."
"For the first time in his life, then," he replied, shrugging
his
shoulders, as much as to inform his wife that des Lupeaulx did
not
concern himself with such nonsense.
Just then the minister saw a deputy of the Right Centre enter
the
room, and he left his wife abruptly to cajole an undecided vote.
But
the deputy, under the blow of a sudden and unexpected disaster,
wanted
to make sure of a protector and he had come to announce
privately that
in a few days he should be compelled to resign. Thus forewarned,
the
minister would be able to open his batteries for the new
election
before those of the opposition.
The minister, or to speak correctly, des Lupeaulx had invited
to
dinner on this occasion one of those irremovable officials who,
as we
have said, are to be found in every ministry; an individual
much
embarrassed by his own person, who, in his desire to maintain
a
dignified appearance, was standing erect and rigid on his two
legs,
held well together like the Greek hermae. This functionary
waited near
the fireplace to thank the secretary, whose abrupt and
unexpected
departure from the room disconcerted him at the moment when he
was
about to turn a compliment. This official was the cashier of
the
ministry, the only clerk who did not tremble when the
government
changed hands.
At the time of which we write, the Chamber did not meddle
shabbily
with the budget, as it does in the deplorable days in which we
now
live; it did not contemptibly reduce ministerial emoluments, nor
save,
as they say in the kitchen, the candle-ends; on the contrary,
it
granted to each minister taking charge of a public department
an
indemnity, called an "outfit." It costs, alas, as much to enter
on the
duties of a minister as to retire from them; indeed, the
entrance
involves expenses of all kinds which it is quite impossible
to
inventory. This indemnity amounted to the pretty little sum of
twenty-
five thousand francs. When the appointment of a new minister
was
gazetted in the "Moniteur," and the greater or lesser
officials,
clustering round the stoves or before the fireplaces and shaking
in
their shoes, asked themselves: "What will he do? will he
increase the
number of clerks? will he dismiss two to make room for three?"
the
cashier tranquilly took out twenty-five clean bank-bills and
pinned
them together with a satisfied expression on his beadle face.
The next
day he mounted the private staircase and had himself ushered
into the
minister's presence by the lackeys, who considered the money and
the
keeper of money, the contents and the container, the idea and
the
form, as one and the same power. The cashier caught the
ministerial
pair at the dawn of official delight, when the newly
appointed
statesman is benign and affable. To the minister's inquiry as to
what
brings him there, he replies with the bank-notes,--informing
his
Excellency that he hastens to pay him the customary
indemnity.
Moreover, he explains the matter to the minister's wife, who
never
fails to draw freely upon the fund, and sometimes takes all, for
the
"outfit" is looked upon as a household affair. The cashier
then
proceeds to turn a compliment, and to slip in a few politic
phrases:
"If his Excellency would deign to retain him; if, satisfied with
his
purely mechanical services, he would," etc. As a man who
brings
twenty-five thousand francs is always a worthy official, the
cashier
is sure not to leave without his confirmation to the post from
which
he has seen a succession of ministers come and go during a
period of,
perhaps, twenty-five years. His next step is to place himself at
the
orders of Madame; he brings the monthly thirteen thousand
francs
whenever wanted; he advances or delays the payment as requested,
and
thus manages to obtain, as they said in the monasteries, a voice
in
the chapter.
Formerly book-keeper at the Treasury, when that establishment
kept its
books by double entry, the Sieur Saillard was compensated for
the loss
of that position by his appointment as cashier of a ministry. He
was a
bulky, fat man, very strong in the matter of book-keeping, and
very
weak in everything else; round as a round O, simple as
how-do-you-do,
--a man who came to his office with measured steps, like those
of an
elephant, and returned with the same measured tread to the
place
Royale, where he lived on the ground-floor of an old mansion
belonging
to him. He usually had a companion on the way in the person
of
Monsieur Isidore Baudoyer, head of a bureau in Monsieur de
la
Billardiere's division, consequently one of Rabourdin's
colleagues.
Baudoyer was married to Elisabeth Saillard, the cashier's
only
daughter, and had hired, very naturally, the apartments above
those of
his father-in-law. No one at the ministry had the slightest
doubt that
Saillard was a blockhead, but neither had any one ever found out
how
far his stupidity could go; it was too compact to be examined;
it did
not ring hollow; it absorbed everything and gave nothing out.
Bixiou
(a clerk of whom more anon) caricatured the cashier by drawing a
head
in a wig at the top of an egg, and two little legs at the other
end,
with this inscription: "Born to pay out and take in without
blundering. A little less luck, and he might have been lackey to
the
bank of France; a little more ambition, and he could have
been
honorably discharged."
At the moment of which we are now writing, the minister was
looking at
his cashier very much as we gaze at a window or a cornice,
without
supposing that either can hear us, or fathom our secret
thoughts.
"I am all the more anxious that we should settle everything
with the
prefect in the quietest way, because des Lupeaulx has designs
upon the
place for himself," said the minister, continuing his talk with
the
deputy; "his paltry little estate is in your arrondissement; we
won't
want him as deputy."
"He has neither years nor rentals enough to be eligible," said
the
deputy.
"That may be; but you know how it was decided for Casimir
Perier as to
age; and as to worldly possessions, des Lupeaulx does
possess
something,--not much, it is true, but the law does not take
into
account increase, which he may very well obtain; commissions
have wide
margins for the deputies of the Centre, you know, and we cannot
openly
oppose the good-will that is shown to this dear friend."
"But where would he get the money?"
"How did Manuel manage to become the owner of a house in
Paris?" cried
the minister.
The cashier listened and heard, but reluctantly and against
his will.
These rapid remarks, murmured as they were, struck his ear by
one of
those acoustic rebounds which are very little studied. As he
heard
these political confidences, however, a keen alarm took
possession of
his soul. He was one of those simple-minded beings, who are
shocked at
listening to anything they are not intended to hear, or entering
where
they are not invited, and seeming bold when they are really
timid,
inquisitive where they are truly discreet. The cashier
accordingly
began to glide along the carpet and edge himself away, so that
the
minister saw him at a distance when he first took notice of
him.
Saillard was a ministerial henchman absolutely incapable of
indiscretion; even if the minister had known that he had
overheard a
secret he had only to whisper "motus" in his ear to be sure it
was
perfectly safe. The cashier, however, took advantage of an
influx of
office-seekers, to slip out and get into his hackney-coach
(hired by
the hour for these costly entertainments), and to return to his
home
in the place Royale.
While old Saillard was driving across Paris his son-in-law,
Isidore
Baudoyer, and his daughter, Elisabeth, Baudoyer's wife, were
playing a
virtuous game of boston with their confessor, the Abbe Gaudron,
in
company with a few neighbors and a certain Martin Falleix, a
brass-
founder in the fauborg Saint-Antoine, to whom Saillard had
loaned the
necessary money to establish a business. This Falleix, a
respectable
Auvergnat who had come to seek his fortune in Paris with his
smelting-
pot on his back, had found immediate employment with the firm
of
Brezac, collectors of metals and other relics from all chateaux
in the
provinces. About twenty-seven years of age, and spoiled, like
others,
by success, Martin Falleix had had the luck to become the active
agent
of Monsieur Saillard, the sleeping-partner in the working out of
a
discovery made by Falleix in smelting (patent of invention and
gold
medal granted at the exposition of 1825). Madame Baudoyer, whose
only
daughter was treading--to use an expression of old
Saillard's--on the
tail of her twelve years, laid claim to Falleix, a thickset,
swarthy,
active young fellow, of shrewd principles, whose education she
was
superintending. The said education, according to her ideas,
consisted
in teaching him to play boston, to hold his cards properly, and
not to
let others see his game; to shave himself regularly before he
came to
the house, and to wash his hands with good cleansing soap; not
to
swear, to speak her kind of French, to wear boots instead of
shoes,
cotton shirts instead of sacking, and to brush up his hair
instead of
plastering it flat. During the preceding week Elisabeth had
finally
succeeded in persuading Falleix to give up wearing a pair of
enormous
flat earrings resembling hoops.
"You go too far, Madame Baudoyer," he said, seeing her
satisfaction at
the final sacrifice; "you order me about too much. You make me
clean
my teeth, which loosens them; presently you will want me to
brush my
nails and curl my hair, which won't do at all in our business;
we
don't like dandies."
Elisabeth Baudoyer, nee Saillard, is one of those persons who
escape
portraiture through their utter commonness; yet who ought to
be
sketched, because they are specimens of that second-rate
Parisian
bourgeoisie which occupies a place above the well-to-do artisan
and
below the upper middle classes,--a tribe whose virtues are
well-nigh
vices, whose defects are never kindly, but whose habits and
manners,
dull and insipid though they be, are not without a certain
originality. Something pinched and puny about Elisabeth Saillard
was
painful to the eye. Her figure, scarcely over four feet in
height, was
so thin that the waist measured less than twenty inches. Her
small
features, which clustered close about the nose, gave her face a
vague
resemblance to a weasel's snout. Though she was past thirty
years old
she looked scarcely more than sixteen. Her eyes, of porcelain
blue,
overweighted by heavy eyelids which fell nearly straight from
the arch
of the eyebrows, had little light in them. Everything about
her
appearance was commonplace: witness her flaxen hair, tending
to
whiteness; her flat forehead, from which the light did not
reflect;
and her dull complexion, with gray, almost leaden, tones. The
lower
part of the face, more triangular than oval, ended irregularly
the
otherwise irregular outline of her face. Her voice had a rather
pretty
range of intonation, from sharp to sweet. Elisabeth was a
perfect
specimen of the second-rate little bourgeoisie who lectures
her
husband behind the curtains; obtains no credit for her virtues;
is
ambitious without intelligent object, and solely through the
development of her domestic selfishness. Had she lived in the
country
she would have bought up adjacent land; being, as she was,
connected
with the administration, she was determined to push her way. If
we
relate the life of her father and mother, we shall show the sort
of
woman she was by a picture of her childhood and youth.
Monsieur Saillard married the daughter of an upholsterer
keeping shop
under the arcades of the Market. Limited means compelled
Monsieur and
Madame Saillard at their start in life to bear constant
privation.
After thirty-three years of married life, and twenty-nine years
of
toil in a government office, the property of "the
Saillards"--their
circle of acquaintance called them so--consisted of sixty
thousand
francs entrusted to Falleix, the house in the place Royale,
bought for
forty thousand in 1804, and thirty-six thousand francs given in
dowry
to their daughter Elisabeth. Out of this capital about fifty
thousand
came to them by the will of the widow Bidault, Madame
Saillard's
mother. Saillard's salary from the government had always been
four
thousand five hundred francs a year, and no more; his situation
was a
blind alley that led nowhere, and had tempted no one to
supersede him.
Those ninety thousand francs, put together sou by sou, were the
fruit
therefore of a sordid economy unintelligently employed. In fact,
the
Saillards did not know how better to manage their savings than
to
carry them, five thousand francs at a time, to their notary,
Monsieur
Sorbier, Cardot's predecessor, and let him invest them at five
per
cent in first mortgages, with the wife's rights reserved in case
the
borrower was married! In 1804 Madame Saillard obtained a
government
office for the sale of stamped papers, a circumstance which
brought a
servant into the household for the first time. At the time of
which we
write, the house, which was worth a hundred thousand francs,
brought
in a rental of eight thousand. Falleix paid seven per cent for
the
sixty thousand invested in the foundry, besides an equal
division of
profits. The Saillards were therefore enjoying an income of not
less
than seventeen thousand francs a year. The whole ambition of the
good
man now centred on obtaining the cross of the Legion and his
retiring
pension.
Elisabeth, the only child, had toiled steadily from infancy in
a home
where the customs of life were rigid and the ideas simple. A new
hat
for Saillard was a matter of deliberation; the time a coat could
last
was estimated and discussed; umbrellas were carefully hung up by
means
of a brass buckle. Since 1804 no repairs of any kind had been
done to
the house. The Saillards kept the ground-floor in precisely the
state
in which their predecessor left it. The gilding of the
pier-glasses
was rubbed off; the paint on the cornices was hardly visible
through
the layers of dust that time had collected. The fine large rooms
still
retained certain sculptured marble mantel-pieces and ceilings,
worthy
of Versailles, together with the old furniture of the widow
Bidault.
The latter consisted of a curious mixture of walnut
armchairs,
disjointed, and covered with tapestry; rosewood bureaus; round
tables
on single pedestals, with brass railings and cracked marble
tops; one
superb Boulle secretary, the value of which style had not yet
been
recognized; in short, a chaos of bargains picked up by the
worthy
widow,--pictures bought for the sake of the frames, china
services of
a composite order; to wit, a magnificent Japanese dessert set,
and all
the rest porcelains of various makes, unmatched silver plate,
old
glass, fine damask, and a four-post bedstead, hung with curtains
and
garnished with plumes.
Amid these curious relics, Madame Saillard always sat on a
sofa of
modern mahogany, near a fireplace full of ashes and without
fire, on
the mantel-shelf of which stood a clock, some antique
bronzes,
candelabra with paper flowers but no candles, for the
careful
housewife lighted the room with a tall tallow candle always
guttering
down into the flat brass candlestick which held it. Madame
Saillard's
face, despite its wrinkles, was expressive of obstinacy and
severity,
narrowness of ideas, an uprightness that might be called
quadrangular,
a religion without piety, straightforward, candid avarice, and
the
peace of a quiet conscience. You may see in certain Flemish
pictures
the wives of burgomasters cut out by nature on the same pattern
and
wonderfully reproduced on canvas; but these dames wear fine
robes of
velvet and precious stuffs, whereas Madame Saillard possessed
no
robes, only that venerable garment called in Touraine and
Picardy
"cottes," elsewhere petticoats, or skirts pleated behind and on
each
side, with other skirts hanging over them. Her bust was inclosed
in
what was called a "casaquin," another obsolete name for a short
gown
or jacket. She continued to wear a cap with starched wings, and
shoes
with high heels. Though she was now fifty-seven years old, and
her
lifetime of vigorous household work ought now to be rewarded
with
well-earned repose, she was incessantly employed in knitting
her
husband's stockings and her own, and those of an uncle, just as
her
countrywomen knit them, moving about the room, talking, pacing
up and
down the garden, or looking round the kitchen to watch what was
going
on.
The Saillard's avarice, which was really imposed on them in
the first
instance by dire necessity, was now a second nature. When the
cashier
got back from the office, he laid aside his coat, and went to
work in
the large garden, shut off from the courtyard by an iron
railing, and
which the family reserved to itself. For years Elisabeth,
the
daughter, went to market every morning with her mother, and the
two
did all the work of the house. The mother cooked well,
especially a
duck with turnips; but, according to Saillard, no one could
equal
Elisabeth in hashing the remains of a leg of mutton with onions.
"You
might eat your boots with those onions and not know it," he
remarked.
As soon as Elisabeth knew how to hold a needle, her mother had
her
mend the household linen and her father's coats. Always at work,
like
a servant, she never went out alone. Though living close by
the
boulevard du Temple, where Franconi, La Gaite, and
l'Ambigu-Comique
were within a stone's throw, and, further on, the
Porte-Saint-Martin,
Elisabeth had never seen a comedy. When she asked to "see what
it was
like" (with the Abbe Gaudron's permission, be it understood),
Monsieur
Baudoyer took her--for the glory of the thing, and to show her
the
finest that was to be seen--to the Opera, where they were
playing "The
Chinese Laborer." Elisabeth thought "the comedy" as wearisome as
the
plague of flies, and never wished to see another. On Sundays,
after
walking four times to and fro between the place Royale and
Saint-
Paul's church (for her mother made her practise the precepts and
the
duties of religion), her parents took her to the pavement in
front of
the Cafe Ture, where they sat on chairs placed between a railing
and
the wall. The Saillards always made haste to reach the place
early so
as to choose the best seats, and found much entertainment in
watching
the passers-by. In those days the Cafe Ture was the rendezvous
of the
fashionable society of the Marais, the faubourg Saint-Antoine,
and the
circumjacent regions.
Elisabeth never wore anything but cotton gowns in summer and
merino in
the winter, which she made herself. Her mother gave her twenty
francs
a month for her expenses, but her father, who was very fond of
her,
mitigated this rigorous treatment with a few presents. She never
read
what the Abbe Gaudron, vicar of Saint-Paul's and the family
director,
called profane books. This discipline had borne fruit. Forced
to
employ her feelings on some passion or other, Elisabeth became
eager
after gain. Though she was not lacking in sense or
perspicacity,
religious theories, and her complete ignorance of higher
emotions had
encircled all her faculties with an iron hand; they were
exercised
solely on the commonest things of life; spent in a few
directions they
were able to concentrate themselves on a matter in hand.
Repressed by
religious devotion, her natural intelligence exercised itself
within
the limits marked out by cases of conscience, which form a mine
of
subtleties among which self-interest selects its subterfuges.
Like
those saintly personages in whom religion does not stifle
ambition,
Elisabeth was capable of requiring others to do a blamable
action that
she might reap the fruits; and she would have been, like them
again,
implacable as to her dues and dissembling in her actions.
Once
offended, she watched her adversaries with the perfidious
patience of
a cat, and was capable of bringing about some cold and
complete
vengeance, and then laying it to the account of God. Until
her
marriage the Saillards lived without other society than that of
the
Abbe Gaudron, a priest from Auvergne appointed vicar of
Saint-Paul's
after the restoration of Catholic worship. Besides this
ecclesiastic,
who was a friend of the late Madame Bidault, a paternal uncle
of
Madame Saillard, an old paper-dealer retired from business ever
since
the year II. of the Republic, and now sixty-nine years old, came
to
see them on Sundays only, because on that day no government
business
went on.
This little old man, with a livid face blazoned by the red
nose of a
tippler and lighted by two gleaming vulture eyes, allowed his
gray
hair to hang loose under a three-cornered hat, wore breeches
with
straps that extended beyond the buckles, cotton stockings of
mottled
thread knitted by his niece, whom he always called "the
little
Saillard," stout shoes with silver buckles, and a surtout coat
of
mixed colors. He looked very much like those
verger-beadle-bell-
ringing-grave-digging-parish-clerks who are taken to be
caricatures
until we see them performing their various functions. On the
present
occasion he had come on foot to dine with the Saillards,
intending to
return in the same way to the rue Greneta, where he lived on the
third
floor of an old house. His business was that of discounting
commercial
paper in the quartier Saint-Martin, where he was known by the
nickname
of "Gigonnet," from the nervous convulsive movement with which
he
lifted his legs in walking, like a cat. Monsieur Bidault began
this
business in the year II. in partnership with a dutchman
named
Werbrust, a friend of Gobseck.
Some time later Saillard made the acquaintance of Monsieur and
Madame
Transon, wholesale dealers in pottery, with an establishment in
the
rue de Lesdiguieres, who took an interest in Elisabeth and
introduced
young Isadore Baudoyer to the family with the intention of
marrying
her. Gigonnet approved of the match, for he had long employed
a
certain Mitral, uncle of the young man, as clerk. Monsieur and
Madame
Baudoyer, father and mother of Isidore, highly respected
leather-
dressers in the rue Censier, had slowly made a moderate fortune
out of
a small trade. After marrying their only son, on whom they
settled
fifty thousand francs, they determined to live in the country,
and had
lately removed to the neighborhood of Ile-d'Adam, where after a
time
they were joined by Mitral. They frequently came to Paris,
however,
where they kept a corner in the house in the rue Censier which
they
gave to Isidore on his marriage. The elder Baudoyers had an
income of
about three thousand francs left to live upon after establishing
their
son.
Mitral was a being with a sinister wig, a face the color of
Seine
water, lighted by a pair of Spanish-tobacco-colored eyes, cold
as a
well-rope, always smelling a rat, and close-mouthed about
his
property. He probably made his fortune in his own hole and
corner,
just as Werbrust and Gigonnet made theirs in the quartier
Saint-
Martin.
Though the Saillards' circle of acquaintance increased,
neither their
ideas nor their manners and customs changed. The saint's-days
of
father, mother, daughter, son-in-law, and grandchild were
carefully
observed, also the anniversaries of birth and marriage,
Easter,
Christmas, New Year's day, and Epiphany. These festivals were
preceded
by great domestic sweepings and a universal clearing up of the
house,
which added an element of usefulness to the ceremonies. When
the
festival day came, the presents were offered with much pomp and
an
accompaniment of flowers,--silk stockings or a fur cap for
old
Saillard; gold earrings and articles of plate for Elisabeth or
her
husband, for whom, little by little, the parents were
accumulating a
whole silver service; silk petticoats for Madame Saillard, who
laid
the stuff by and never made it up. The recipient of these gifts
was
placed in an armchair and asked by those present for a certain
length
of time, "Guess what we have for you!" Then came a splendid
dinner,
lasting at least five hours, to which were invited the Abbe
Gaudron,
Falleix, Rabourdin, Monsieur Godard, under-head-clerk to
Monsieur
Baudoyer, Monsieur Bataille, captain of the company of the
National
Guard to which Saillard and his son-in-law belonged. Monsieur
Cardot,
who was invariably asked, did as Rabourdin did, namely, accepted
one
invitation out of six. The company sang at dessert, shook hands
and
embraced with enthusiasm, wishing each other all manner of
happiness;
the presents were exhibited and the opinion of the guests asked
about
them. The day Saillard received his fur cap he wore it during
the
dessert, to the satisfaction of all present. At night, mere
ordinary
acquaintances were bidden, and dancing went on till very
late,
formerly to the music of one violin, but for the last six
years
Monsieur Godard, who was a great flute player, contributed
the
piercing tones of a flageolet to the festivity. The cook,
Madame
Baudoyer's nurse, and old Catherine, Madame Saillard's
woman-servant,
together with the porter or his wife, stood looking on at the
door of
the salon. The servants always received three francs on
these
occasions to buy themselves wine or coffee.
This little circle looked upon Saillard and Baudoyer as
transcendent
beings; they were government officers; they had risen by their
own
merits; they worked, it was said, with the minister himself;
they owed
their fortune to their talents; they were politicians. Baudoyer
was
considered the more able of the two; his position as head of a
bureau
presupposed labor that was more intricate and arduous than that
of a
cashier. Moreover, Isidore, though the son of a leather-dresser,
had
had the genius to study and to cast aside his father's business
and
find a career in politics, which had led him to a post of
eminence. In
short, silent and uncommunicative as he was, he was looked upon
as a
deep thinker, and perhaps, said the admiring circle, he would
some day
become deputy of the eighth arrondissement. As Gigonnet listened
to
such remarks as these, he pressed his already pinched lips
closer
together, and threw a glance at his great-niece, Elisabeth.
In person, Isidore was a tall, stout man of thirty-seven,
who
perspired freely, and whose head looked as if he had water on
the
brain. This enormous head, covered with chestnut hair cropped
close,
was joined to the neck by rolls of flesh which overhung the
collar of
his coat. He had the arms of Hercules, hands worthy of Domitian,
a
stomach which sobriety held within the limits of the majestic,
to use
a saying of Brillaet-Savarin. His face was a good deal like that
of
the Emperor Alexander. The Tartar type was in the little eyes
and the
flattened nose turned slightly up, in the frigid lips and the
short
chin. The forehead was low and narrow. Though his temperament
was
lymphatic, the devout Isidore was under the influence of a
conjugal
passion which time did not lessen.
In spite, however, of his resemblance to the handsome Russian
Emperor
and the terrible Domitian, Isidore Baudoyer was nothing more
than a
political office-holder, of little ability as head of his
department,
a cut-and-dried routine man, who concealed the fact that he was
a
flabby cipher by so ponderous a personality that no scalpel
could cut
deep enough to let the operator see into him. His severe
studies, in
which he had shown the patience and sagacity of an ox, and his
square
head, deceived his parents, who firmly believed him an
extraordinary
man. Pedantic and hypercritical, meddlesome and fault-finding,
he was
a terror to the clerks under him, whom he worried in their
work,
enforcing the rules rigorously, and arriving himself with
such
terrible punctuality that not one of them dared to be a moment
late.
Baudoyer wore a blue coat with gilt buttons, a chamois
waistcoat, gray
trousers and cravats of various colors. His feet were large
and
ill-shod. From the chain of his watch depended an enormous bunch
of
old trinkets, among which in 1824 he still wore "American
beads,"
which were very much the fashion in the year VII.
In the bosom of this family, bound together by the force of
religious
ties, by the inflexibility of its customs, by one solitary
emotion,
that of avarice, a passion which was now as it were its
compass,
Elisabeth was forced to commune with herself, instead of
imparting her
ideas to those around her, for she felt herself without equals
in mind
who could comprehend her. Though facts compelled her to judge
her
husband, her religious duty led her to keep up as best she could
a
favorable opinion of him; she showed him marked respect; honored
him
as the father of her child, her husband, the temporal power, as
the
vicar of Saint-Paul's told her. She would have thought it a
mortal sin
to make a single gesture, or give a single glance, or say a
single
word which would reveal to others her real opinion of the
imbecile
Baudoyer. She even professed to obey passively all his wishes.
But her
ears were receptive of many things; she thought them over,
weighed and
compared them in the solitude of her mind, and judged so soberly
of
men and events that at the time when our history begins she was
the
hidden oracle of the two functionaries, her husband and father,
who
had, unconsciously, come to do nothing whatever without
consulting
her. Old Saillard would say, innocently, "Isn't she clever,
that
Elisabeth of mine?" But Baudoyer, too great a fool not to be
puffed up
by the false reputation the quartier Saint-Antoine bestowed upon
him,
denied his wife's cleverness all the while that he was making
use of
it.
Elisabeth had long felt sure that her uncle Bidault, otherwise
called
Gigonnet, was rich and handled vast sums of money. Enlightened
by
self-interest, she had come to understand Monsieur des Lupeaulx
far
better than the minister understood him. Finding herself married
to a
fool, she never allowed herself to think that life might have
gone
better with her, she only imagined the possibility of better
things
without expecting or wishing to attain them. All her best
affections
found their vocation in her love for her daughter, to whom she
spared
the pains and privations she had borne in her own childhood;
she
believed that in this affection she had her full share in the
world of
feeling. Solely for her daughter's sake she had persuaded her
father
to take the important step of going into partnership with
Falleix.
Falleix had been brought to the Saillard's house by old Bidault,
who
lent him money on his merchandise. Falleix thought his old
countryman
extortionate, and complained to the Saillards that Gigonnet
demanded
eighteen per cent from an Auvergnat. Madame Saillard ventured
to
remonstrate with her uncle.
"It is just because he is an Auvergnat that I take only
eighteen per
cent," said Gigonnet, when she spoke of him.
Falleix, who had made a discovery at the age of twenty-eight,
and
communicated it to Saillard, seemed to carry his heart in his
hand (an
expression of old Saillard's), and also seemed likely to make a
great
fortune. Elisabeth determined to husband him for her daughter
and
train him herself, having, as she calculated, seven years to do
it in.
Martin Falleix felt and showed the deepest respect for
Madame
Baudoyer, whose superior qualities he was able to recognize. If
he
were fated to make millions he would always belong to her
family,
where he had found a home. The little Baudoyer girl was
already
trained to bring him his tea and to take his hat.
On the evening of which we write, Monsieur Saillard, returning
from
the ministry, found a game of boston in full blast; Elisabeth
was
advising Falleix how to play; Madame Saillard was knitting in
the
chimney-corner and overlooking the cards of the vicar;
Monsieur
Baudoyer, motionless as a mile-stone, was employing his
mental
capacity in calculating how the cards were placed, and sat
opposite to
Mitral, who had come up from Ile-d'Adam for the Christmas
holidays. No
one moved as the cashier entered, and for some minutes he walked
up
and down the room, his fat face contracted with unaccustomed
thought.
"He is always so when he dines at the ministry," remarked
Madame
Saillard; "happily, it is only twice a year, or he'd die of
it.
Saillard was never made to be in the government-- Well, now, I
do
hope, Saillard," she continued in a loud tone, "that you are not
going
to keep on those silk breeches and that handsome coat. Go and
take
them off; don't wear them at home, my man."
"Your father has something on his mind," said Baudoyer to his
wife,
when the cashier was in his bedroom, undressing without any
fire.
"Perhaps Monsieur de la Billardiere is dead," said Elisabeth,
simply;
"and as he is anxious you should have the place, it worries
him."
"Can I be useful in any way?" said the vicar of Saint-Paul's;
"if so,
pray use my services. I have the honor to be known to Madame
la
Dauphine. These are days when public offices should be given
only to
faithful men, whose religious principles are not to be
shaken."
"Dear me!" said Falleix, "do men of merit need protectors
and
influence to get places in the government service? I am glad I
am an
iron-master; my customers know where to find a good
article--"
"Monsieur," interrupted Baudoyer, "the government is the
government;
never attack it in this house."
"You speak like the 'Constitutionel,'" said the vicar.
"The 'Constitutionel' never says anything different from
that,"
replied Baudoyer, who never read it.
The cashier believed his son-in-law to be as superior in
talent to
Rabourdin as God was greater than Saint-Crepin, to use his
own
expression; but the good man coveted this appointment in a
straightforward, honest way. Influenced by the feeling which
leads all
officials to seek promotion,--a violent, unreflecting, almost
brutal
passion,--he desired success, just as he desired the cross of
the
Legion of honor, without doing anything against his conscience
to
obtain it, and solely, as he believed, on the strength of his
son-in-
law's merits. To his thinking, a man who had patiently spent
twenty-
five years in a government office behind an iron railing had
sacrificed himself to his country and deserved the cross. But
all that
he dreamed of doing to promote his son-in-law's appointment in
La
Billardiere's place was to say a word to his Excellency's wife
when he
took her the month's salary.
"Well, Saillard, you look as if you had lost all your friends!
Do
speak; do, pray, tell us something," cried his wife when he came
back
into the room.
Saillard, after making a little sign to his daughter, turned
on his
heel to keep himself from talking politics before strangers.
When
Monsieur Mitral and the vicar had departed, Saillard rolled back
the
card-table and sat down in an armchair in the attitude he
always
assumed when about to tell some office-gossip,--a series of
movements
which answered the purpose of the three knocks given at the
Theatre-
Francais. After binding his wife, daughter, and son-in-law to
the
deepest secrecy,--for, however petty the gossip, their places,
as he
thought, depended on their discretion,--he related the
incomprehensible enigma of the resignation of a deputy, the
very
legitimate desire of the general-secretary to get elected to
the
place, and the secret opposition of the minister to this wish of
a man
who was one of his firmest supporters and most zealous workers.
This,
of course, brought down an avalanche of suppositions, flooded
with the
sapient arguments of the two officials, who sent back and forth
to
each other a wearisome flood of nonsense. Elisabeth quietly
asked
three questions:--
"If Monsieur des Lupeaulx is on our side, will Monsieur
Baudoyer be
appointed in Monsieur de la Billardiere's place?"
"Heavens! I should think so," cried the cashier.
"My uncle Bidault and Monsieur Gobseck helped in him 1814,"
thought
she. "Is he in debt?" she asked, aloud.
"Yes," cried the cashier with a hissing and prolonged sound on
the
last letter; "his salary was attached, but some of the higher
powers
released it by a bill at sight."
"Where is the des Lupeaulx estate?"
"Why, don't you know? in the part of the country where
your
grandfather and your great-uncle Bidault belong, in the
arrondissement
of the deputy who wants to resign."
When her colossus of a husband had gone to bed, Elisabeth
leaned over
him, and though he always treated her remarks as women's
nonsense, she
said, "Perhaps you will really get Monsieur de la
Billardiere's
place."
"There you go with your imaginations!" said Baudoyer; "leave
Monsieur
Gaudron to speak to the Dauphine and don't meddle with
politics."
At eleven o'clock, when all were asleep in the place Royale,
Monsieur
des Lupeaulx was leaving the Opera for the rue Duphot. This
particular
Wednesday was one of Madame Rabourdin's most brilliant evenings.
Many
of her customary guests came in from the theatres and swelled
the
company already assembled, among whom were several celebrities,
such
as: Canalis the poet, Schinner the painter, Dr. Bianchon, Lucien
de
Rubempre, Octave de Camps, the Comte de Granville, the Vicomte
de
Fontaine, du Bruel the vaudevillist, Andoche Finot the
journalist,
Derville, one of the best heads in the law courts, the Comte
du
Chatelet, deputy, du Tillet, banker, and several elegant young
men,
such as Paul de Manerville and the Vicomte de Portenduere.
Celestine
was pouring out tea when the general-secretary entered. Her
dress that
evening was very becoming; she wore a black velvet robe
without
ornament of any kind, a black gauze scarf, her hair smoothly
bound
about her head and raised in a heavy braided mass, with long
curls a
l'Anglaise falling on either side of her face. The charms
which
particularly distinguished this woman were the Italian ease of
her
artistic nature, her ready comprehension, and the grace with
which she
welcomed and promoted the least appearance of a wish on the part
of
others. Nature had given her an elegant, slender figure, which
could
sway lightly at a word, black eyes of oriental shape, able, like
those
of the Chinese women, to see out of their corners. She well knew
how
to manage a soft, insinuating voice, which threw a tender charm
into
every word, even such as she merely chanced to utter; her feet
were
like those we see in portraits where the painter boldly lies
and
flatters his sitter in the only way which does not compromise
anatomy.
Her complexion, a little yellow by day, like that of most
brunettes,
was dazzling at night under the wax candles, which brought out
the
brilliancy of her black hair and eyes. Her slender and
well-defined
outlines reminded an artist of the Venus of the Middle Ages
rendered
by Jean Goujon, the illustrious sculptor of Diane de
Poitiers.
Des Lupeaulx stopped in the doorway, and leaned against the
woodwork.
This ferret of ideas did not deny himself the pleasure of spying
upon
sentiment, and this woman interested him more than any of the
others
to whom he had attached himself. Des Lupeaulx had reached an age
when
men assert pretensions in regard to women. The first white hairs
lead
to the latest passions, all the more violent because they are
astride
of vanishing powers and dawning weakness. The age of forty is
the age
of folly,--an age when man wants to be loved for himself;
whereas at
twenty-five life is so full that he has no wants. At twenty-five
he
overflows with vigor and wastes it with impunity, but at forty
he
learns that to use it in that way is to abuse it. The thoughts
that
came into des Lupeaulx's mind at this moment were melancholy
ones. The
nerves of the old beau relaxed; the agreeable smile, which
served as a
mask and made the character of his countenance, faded; the real
man
appeared, and he was horrible. Rabourdin caught sight of him
and
thought, "What has happened to him? can he be disgraced in any
way?"
The general-secretary was, however, only thinking how the
pretty
Madame Colleville, whose intentions were exactly those of
Madame
Rabourdin, had summarily abandoned him when it suited her to do
so.
Rabourdin caught the sham statesman's eyes fixed on his wife,
and he
recorded the look in his memory. He was too keen an observer not
to
understand des Lupeaulx to the bottom, and he deeply despised
him;
but, as with most busy men, his feelings and sentiments seldom
came to
the surface. Absorption in a beloved work is practically
equivalent to
the cleverest dissimulation, and thus it was that the opinions
and
ideas of Rabourdin were a sealed book to des Lupeaulx. The
former was
sorry to see the man in his house, but he was never willing to
oppose
his wife's wishes. At this particular moment, while he
talked
confidentially with a supernumerary of his office who was
destined,
later, to play an unconscious part in a political intrigue
resulting
from the death of La Billardiere, he watched, though half-
abstractedly, his wife and des Lupeaulx.
Here we must explain, as much for foreigners as for our
own
grandchildren, what a supernumerary in a government office in
Paris
means.
The supernumerary is to the administration what a choir-boy is
to a
church, what the company's child is to the regiment, what
the
figurante is to a theatre; something artless, naive, innocent, a
being
blinded by illusions. Without illusions what would become of any
of
us? They give strength to bear the res angusta domi of arts and
the
beginnings of all science by inspiring us with faith. Illusion
is
illimitable faith. Now the supernumerary has faith in the
administration; he never thinks it cold, cruel, and hard, as it
really
is. There are two kinds of supernumeraries, or hangers-on,--one
poor,
the other rich. The poor one is rich in hope and wants a place,
the
rich one is poor in spirit and wants nothing. A wealthy family
is not
so foolish as to put its able men into the administration. It
confides
an unfledged scion to some head-clerk, or gives him in charge of
a
directory who initiates him into what Bilboquet, that
profound
philosopher, called the high comedy of government; he is spared
all
the horrors of drudgery and is finally appointed to some
important
office. The rich supernumerary never alarms the other clerks;
they
know he does not endanger their interests, for he seeks only
the
highest posts in the administration. About the period of which
we
write many families were saying to themselves: "What can we do
with
our sons?" The army no longer offered a chance for fortune.
Special
careers, such as civil and military engineering, the navy,
mining, and
the professorial chair were all fenced about by strict
regulations or
to be obtained only by competition; whereas in the civil service
the
revolving wheel which turned clerks into prefects,
sub-prefects,
assessors, and collectors, like the figures in a magic lantern,
was
subjected to no such rules and entailed no drudgery. Through
this easy
gap emerged into life the rich supernumeraries who drove
their
tilburys, dressed well, and wore moustachios, all of them as
impudent
as parvenus. Journalists were apt to persecute the tribe, who
were
cousins, nephews, brothers, or other relatives of some minister,
some
deputy, or an influential peer. The humbler clerks regarded them
as a
means of influence.
The poor supernumerary, on the other hand, who is the only
real
worker, is almost always the son of some former clerk's widow,
who
lives on a meagre pension and sacrifices herself to support her
son
until he can get a place as copying-clerk, and then dies leaving
him
no nearer the head of his department than writer of deeds,
order-
clerks, or, possibly, under-head-clerk. Living always in some
locality
where rents are low, this humble supernumerary starts early from
home.
For him the Eastern question relates only to the morning skies.
To go
on foot and not get muddied, to save his clothes, and allow for
the
time he may lose in standing under shelter during a shower, are
the
preoccupations of his mind. The street pavements, the flaggings
of the
quays and the boulevards, when first laid down, were a boon to
him.
If, for some extraordinary reason, you happen to be in the
streets of
Paris at half-past seven or eight o'clock of a winter's morning,
and
see through piercing cold or fog or rain a timid, pale young man
loom
up, cigarless, take notice of his pockets. You will be sure to
see the
outline of a roll which his mother has given him to stay his
stomach
between breakfast and dinner. The guilelessness of the
supernumerary
does not last long. A youth enlightened by gleams by Parisian
life
soon measures the frightful distance that separates him from the
head-
clerkship, a distance which no mathematician, neither
Archimedes, nor
Leibnitz, nor Laplace has ever reckoned, the distance that
exists
between 0 and the figure 1. He begins to perceive the
impossibilities
of his career; he hears talk of favoritism; he discovers the
intrigues
of officials: he sees the questionable means by which his
superiors
have pushed their way,--one has married a young woman who made a
false
step; another, the natural daughter of a minister; this one
shouldered
the responsibility of another's fault; that one, full of talent,
risks
his health in doing, with the perseverance of a mole, prodigies
of
work which the man of influence feels incapable of doing for
himself,
though he takes the credit. Everything is known in a
government
office. The incapable man has a wife with a clear head, who has
pushed
him along and got him nominated for deputy; if he has not
talent
enough for an office, he cabals in the Chamber. The wife of
another
has a statesman at her feet. A third is the hidden informant of
a
powerful journalist. Often the disgusted and hopeless
supernumerary
sends in his resignation. About three fourths of his class leave
the
government employ without ever obtaining an appointment, and
their
number is winnowed down to either those young men who are
foolish or
obstinate enough to say to themselves, "I have been here three
years,
and I must end sooner or later by getting a place," or to those
who
are conscious of a vocation for the work. Undoubtedly the
position of
supernumerary in a government office is precisely what the
novitiate
is in a religious order,--a trial. It is a rough trial. The
State
discovers how many of them can bear hunger, thirst, and penury
without
breaking down, how many can toil without revolting against it;
it
learns which temperaments can bear up under the horrible
experience--
or if you like, the disease--of government official life. From
this
point of view the apprenticeship of the supernumerary, instead
of
being an infamous device of the government to obtain labor
gratis,
becomes a useful institution.
The young man with whom Rabourdin was talking was a poor
supernumerary
named Sebastien de la Roche, who had picked his way on the
points of
his toes, without incurring the least splash upon his boots,
from the
rue du Roi-Dore in the Marais. He talked of his mamma, and dared
not
raise his eyes to Madame Rabourdin, whose house appeared to him
as
gorgeous as the Louvre. He was careful to show his gloves,
well
cleaned with india-rubber, as little as he could. His poor
mother had
put five francs in his pocket in case it became absolutely
necessary
that he should play cards; but she enjoined him to take nothing,
to
remain standing, and to be very careful not to knock over a lamp
or
the bric-a-brac from an etagere. His dress was all of the
strictest
black. His fair face, his eyes, of a fine shade of green with
golden
reflections, were in keeping with a handsome head of auburn
hair. The
poor lad looked furtively at Madame Rabourdin, whispering to
himself,
"How beautiful!" and was likely to dream of that fairy when he
went to
bed.
Rabourdin had noted a vocation for his work in the lad, and as
he
himself took the whole service seriously, he felt a lively
interest in
him. He guessed the poverty of his mother's home, kept together
on a
widow's pension of seven hundred francs a year--for the
education of
the son, who was just out of college, had absorbed all her
savings. He
therefore treated the youth almost paternally; often endeavoured
to
get him some fee from the Council, or paid it from his own
pocket. He
overwhelmed Sebastien with work, trained him, and allowed him to
do
the work of du Bruel's place, for which that vaudevillist,
otherwise
known as Cursy, paid him three hundred francs out of his salary.
In
the minds of Madame de la Roche and her son, Rabourdin was at
once a
great man, a tyrant, and an angel. On him all the poor fellow's
hopes
of getting an appointment depended, and the lad's devotion to
his
chief was boundless. He dined once a fortnight in the rue
Duphot; but
always at a family dinner, invited by Rabourdin himself; Madame
asked
him to evening parties only when she wanted partners.
At that moment Rabourdin was scolding poor Sebastien, the only
human
being who was in the secret of his immense labors. The youth
copied
and recopied the famous "statement," written on a hundred and
fifty
folio sheets, besides the corroborative documents, and the
summing up
(contained in one page), with the estimates bracketed, the
captions in
a running hand, and the sub-titles in a round one. Full of
enthusiasm,
in spite of his merely mechanical participation in the great
idea, the
lad of twenty would rewrite whole pages for a single blot, and
made it
his glory to touch up the writing, regarding it as the element
of a
noble undertaking. Sebastien had that afternoon committed the
great
imprudence of carrying into the general office, for the purpose
of
copying, a paper which contained the most dangerous facts to
make
known prematurely, namely, a memorandum relating to the
officials in
the central offices of all ministries, with facts concerning
their
fortunes, actual and prospective, together with the
individual
enterprises of each outside of his government employment.
All government clerks in Paris who are not endowed, like
Rabourdin,
with patriotic ambition or other marked capacity, usually add
the
profits of some industry to the salary of their office, in order
to
eke out a living. A number do as Monsieur Saillard did,--put
their
money into a business carried on by others, and spend their
evenings
in keeping the books of their associates. Many clerks are
married to
milliners, licensed tobacco dealers, women who have charge of
the
public lotteries or reading-rooms. Some, like the husband of
Madame
Colleville, Celestine's rival, play in the orchestra of a
theatre;
others like du Bruel, write vaudeville, comic operas,
melodramas, or
act as prompters behind the scenes. We may mention among them
Messrs.
Planard, Sewrin, etc. Pigault-Lebrun, Piis, Duvicquet, in their
day,
were in government employ. Monsieur Scribe's head-librarian was
a
clerk in the Treasury.
Besides such information as this, Rabourdin's memorandum
contained an
inquiry into the moral and physical capacities and faculties
necessary
in those who were to examine the intelligence, aptitude for
labor, and
sound health of the applicants for government
service,--three
indispensable qualities in men who are to bear the burden of
public
affairs and should do their business well and quickly. But
this
careful study, the result of ten years' observation and
experience,
and of a long acquaintance with men and things obtained by
intercourse
with the various functionaries in the different ministries,
would
assuredly have, to those who did not see its purport and
connection,
an air of treachery and police espial. If a single page of
these
papers were to fall under the eye of those concerned,
Monsieur
Rabourdin was lost. Sebastien, who admired his chief without
reservation, and who was, as yet, wholly ignorant of the evils
of
bureaucracy, had the follies of guilelessness as well as its
grace.
Blamed on a former occasion for carrying away these papers, he
now
bravely acknowledged his fault to its fullest extent; he related
how
he had put away both the memorandum and the copy carefully in a
box in
the office where no one would ever find them. Tears rolled from
his
eyes as he realized the greatness of his offence.
"Come, come!" said Rabourdin, kindly. "Don't be so imprudent
again,
but never mind now. Go to the office very early tomorrow
morning; here
is the key of a small safe which is in my roller secretary; it
shuts
with a combination lock. You can open it with the word 'sky';
put the
memorandum and your copy into it and shut it carefully."
This proof of confidence dried the poor fellow's tears.
Rabourdin
advised him to take a cup of tea and some cakes.
"Mamma forbids me to drink tea, on account of my chest,"
said
Sebastien.
"Well, then, my dear child," said the imposing Madame
Rabourdin, who
wished to appear gracious, "here are some sandwiches and cream;
come
and sit by me."
She made Sebastien sit down beside her, and the lad's heart
rose in
his throat as he felt the robe of this divinity brush the sleeve
of
his coat. Just then the beautiful woman caught sight of Monsieur
des
Lupeaulx standing in the doorway. She smiled, and not waiting
till he
came to her, she went to him.
"Why do you stay there as if you were sulking?" she asked.
"I am not sulking," he returned; "I came to announce some good
news,
but the thought has overtaken me that it will only add to
your
severity towards me. I fancy myself six months hence almost a
stranger
to you. Yes, you are too clever, and I too experienced,--too
blase, if
you like,--for either of us to deceive the other. Your end is
attained
without its costing you more than a few smiles and gracious
words."
"Deceive each other! what can you mean?" she cried, in a hurt tone.
"Yes; Monsieur de la Billardiere is dying, and from what the
minister
told me this evening I judge that your husband will be appointed
in
his place."
He thereupon related what he called his scene at the ministry
and the
jealousy of the countess, repeating her remarks about the
invitation
he had asked her to send to Madame Rabourdin.
"Monsieur des Lupeaulx," said Madame Rabourdin, with dignity,
"permit
me to tell you that my husband is the oldest head-clerk as well
as the
most capable man in the division; also that the appointment of
La
Billardiere over his head made much talk in the service, and
that my
husband has stayed on for the last year expecting this
promotion, for
which he has really no competitor and no rival."
"That is true."
"Well, then," she resumed, smiling and showing her handsome
teeth,
"how can you suppose that the friendship I feel for you is
marred by a
thought of self-interest? Why should you think me capable of
that?"
Des Lupeaulx made a gesture of admiring denial.
"Ah!" she continued, "the heart of woman will always remain a
secret
for even the cleverest of men. Yes, I welcomed you to my house
with
the greatest pleasure; and there was, I admit, a motive of
self-
interest behind my pleasure--"
"Ah!"
"You have a career before you," she whispered in his ear, "a
future
without limit; you will be deputy, minister!" (What happiness
for an
ambitious man when such things as these are warbled in his ear
by the
sweet voice of a pretty woman!) "Oh, yes! I know you better than
you
know yourself. Rabourdin is a man who could be of immense
service to
you in such a career; he could do the steady work while you were
in
the Chamber. Just as you dream of the ministry, so I dream of
seeing
Rabourdin in the Council of State, and general director. It
is
therefore my object to draw together two men who can never
injure,
but, on the contrary, must greatly help each other. Isn't that
a
woman's mission? If you are friends, you will both rise the
faster,
and it is surely high time that each of you made hay. I have
burned my
ships," she added, smiling. "But you are not as frank with me as
I
have been with you."
"You would not listen to me if I were," he replied, with a
melancholy
air, in spite of the deep inward satisfaction her remarks gave
him.
"What would such future promotions avail me, if you dismiss me
now?"
"Before I listen to you," she replied, with naive Parisian
liveliness,
"we must be able to understand each other."
And she left the old fop to go and speak with Madame de
Chessel, a
countess from the provinces, who seemed about to take leave.
"That is a very extraordinary woman," said des Lupeaulx to
himself. "I
don't know my own self when I am with her."
Accordingly, this man of no principle, who six years earlier
had kept
a ballet-girl, and who now, thanks to his position, made himself
a
seraglio with the pretty wives of the under-clerks, and lived in
the
world of journalists and actresses, became devotedly attentive
all the
evening to Celestine, and was the last to leave the house.
"At last!" thought Madame Rabourdin, as she undressed that
night, "we
have the place! Twelve thousand francs a year and perquisites,
beside
the rents of our farms at Grajeux,--nearly twenty thousand
francs a
year. It is not affluence, but at least it isn't poverty."
If it were possible for literature to use the microscope of
the
Leuwenhoeks, the Malpighis, and the Raspails (an attempt once
made by
Hoffman, of Berlin), and if we could magnify and then picture
the
teredos navalis, in other words, those ship-worms which
brought
Holland within an inch of collapsing by honey-combing her dykes,
we
might have been able to give a more distinct idea of
Messieurs
Gigonnet, Baudoyer, Saillard, Gaudron, Falleix, Transon, Godard
and
company, borers and burrowers, who proved their undermining
power in
the thirtieth year of this century.
But now it is time to show another set of teredos, who burrowed
and
swarmed in the government offices where the principal scenes of
our
present study took place.
In Paris nearly all these government bureaus resemble each
other. Into
whatever ministry you penetrate to ask some slight favor, or to
get
redress for a trifling wrong, you will find the same dark
corridors,
ill-lighted stairways, doors with oval panes of glass like eyes,
as at
the theatre. In the first room as you enter you will find the
office
servant; in the second, the under-clerks; the private office of
the
second head-clerk is to the right or left, and further on is
that of
the head of the bureau. As to the important personage called,
under
the Empire, head of division, then, under the Restoration,
director,
and now by the former name, head or chief of division, he lives
either
above or below the offices of his three or four different
bureaus.
Speaking in the administrative sense, a bureau consists of a
man-
servant, several supernumeraries (who do the work gratis for a
certain
number of years), various copying clerks, writers of bills and
deeds,
order clerks, principal clerks, second or under head-clerk, and
head-
clerk, otherwise called head or chief of the bureau. These
denominational titles vary under some administrations; for
instance,
the order-clerks are sometimes called auditors, or again,
book-
keepers.
Paved like the corridor, and hung with a shabby paper, the
first room,
where the servant is stationed, is furnished with a stove, a
large
black table with inkstand, pens, and paper, and benches, but no
mats
on which to wipe the public feet. The clerk's office beyond is a
large
room, tolerably well lighted, but seldom floored with wood.
Wooden
floors and fireplaces are commonly kept sacred to heads of
bureaus and
divisions; and so are closets, wardrobes, mahogany tables, sofas
and
armchairs covered with red or green morocco, silk curtains, and
other
articles of administrative luxury. The clerk's office contents
itself
with a stove, the pipe of which goes into the chimney, if there
be a
chimney. The wall paper is plain and all of one color, usually
green
or brown. The tables are of black wood. The private
characteristics of
the several clerks often crop out in their method of
settling
themselves at their desks,--the chilly one has a wooden
footstool
under his feet; the man with a bilious temperament has a metal
mat;
the lymphatic being who dreads draughts constructs a
fortification of
boxes on a screen. The door of the under-head-clerk's office
always
stands open so that he may keep an eye to some extent on his
subordinates.
Perhaps an exact description of Monsieur de la Billardiere's
division
will suffice to give foreigners and provincials an idea of
the
internal manners and customs of a government office; the
chief
features of which are probably much the same in the civil
service of
all European governments.
In the first place, picture to yourself the man who is thus
described
in the Yearly Register:--
"Chief of Division.--Monsieur la baron Flamet de la Billardiere
(Athanase-Jean-Francois-Michel) formerly provost-marshal of the
department of the Correze, gentleman in ordinary of the bed-
chamber, president of the college of the department of the
Dordogne, officer of the Legion of honor, knight of Saint Louis
and of the foreign orders of Christ, Isabella, Saint Wladimir,
etc., member of the Academy of Gers, and other learned bodies,
vice-president of the Society of Belles-lettres, member of the
Association of Saint-Joseph and of the Society of Prisons, one of
the mayors of Paris, etc."
The person who requires so much typographic space was at this
time
occupying an area five feet six in length by thirty-six inches
in
width in a bed, his head adorned with a cotton night-cap tied on
by
flame-colored ribbons; attended by Despleins, the King's
surgeon, and
young doctor Bianchon, flanked by two old female relatives,
surrounded
by phials of all kinds, bandages, appliances, and various
mortuary
instruments, and watched over by the curate of Saint-Roch, who
was
advising him to think of his salvation.
La Billardiere's division occupied the upper floor of a
magnificent
mansion, in which the vast official ocean of a ministry was
contained.
A wide landing separated its two bureaus, the doors of which
were duly
labelled. The private offices and antechambers of the heads of
the two
bureaus, Monsieur Rabourdin and Monsieur Baudoyer, were below on
the
second floor, and beyond that of Monsieur Rabourdin were the
antechamber, salon, and two offices of Monsieur de la
Billardiere.
On the first floor, divided in two by an entresol, were the
living
rooms and office of Monsieur Ernest de la Briere, an occult
and
powerful personage who must be described in a few words, for he
well
deserves the parenthesis. This young man held, during the whole
time
that this particular administration lasted, the position of
private
secretary to the minister. His apartment was connected by a
secret
door with the private office of his Excellency. A private
secretary is
to the minister himself what des Lupeaulx was to the ministry
at
large. The same difference existed between young La Briere and
des
Lupeaulx that there is between an aide-de-camp and a chief of
staff.
This ministerial apprentice decamps when his protector leaves
office,
returning sometimes when he returns. If the minister enjoys the
royal
favor when he falls, or still has parliamentary hopes, he takes
his
secretary with him into retirement only to bring him back on
his
return; otherwise he puts him to grass in some of the
various
administrative pastures,--for instance, in the Court of
Exchequer,
that wayside refuge where private secretaries wait for the storm
to
blow over. The young man is not precisely a government official;
he is
a political character, however; and sometimes his politics are
limited
to those of one man. When we think of the number of letters it
is the
private secretary's fate to open and read, besides all his
other
avocations, it is very evident that under a monarchical
government his
services would be well paid for. A drudge of this kind costs ten
or
twenty thousand francs a year; and he enjoys, moreover, the
opera-
boxes, the social invitations, and the carriages of the
minister. The
Emperor of Russia would be thankful to be able to pay fifty
thousand a
year to one of these amiable constitutional poodles, so gentle,
so
nicely curled, so caressing, so docile, always spick and
span,--
careful watch-dogs besides, and faithful to a degree! But the
private
secretary is a product of the representative government
hot-house; he
is propagated and developed there, and there only. Under a
monarchy
you will find none but courtiers and vassals, whereas under
a
constitutional government you may be flattered, served, and
adulated
by free men. In France ministers are better off than kings or
women;
they have some one who thoroughly understands them. Perhaps,
indeed,
the private secretary is to be pitied as much as women and
white
paper. They are nonentities who are made to bear all things.
They are
allowed no talents except hidden ones, which must be employed in
the
service of their ministers. A public show of talent would ruin
them.
The private secretary is therefore an intimate friend in the
gift of
government-- However, let us return to the bureaus.
Three men-servants lived in peace in the Billardiere division,
to wit:
a footman for the two bureaus, another for the service of the
two
chiefs, and a third for the director of the division himself.
All
three were lodged, warmed, and clothed by the State, and wore
the
well-known livery of the State, blue coat with red pipings
for
undress, and broad red, white, and blue braid for great
occasions. La
Billardiere's man had the air of a gentleman-usher, an
innovation
which gave an aspect of dignity to the division.
Pillars of the ministry, experts in all manners and
customs
bureaucratic, well-warmed and clothed at the State's expense,
growing
rich by reason of their few wants, these lackeys saw
completely
through the government officials, collectively and individually.
They
had no better way of amusing their idle hours than by observing
these
personages and studying their peculiarities. They knew how far
to
trust the clerks with loans of money, doing their various
commissions
with absolute discretion; they pawned and took out of pawn,
bought up
bills when due, and lent money without interest, albeit no clerk
ever
borrowed of them without returning a "gratification." These
servants
without a master received a salary of nine hundred francs a
year; new
years' gifts and "gratifications" brought their emoluments to
twelve
hundred francs, and they made almost as much money by
serving
breakfasts to the clerks at the office.
The elder of these men, who was also the richest, waited upon
the main
body of the clerks. He was sixty years of age, with white hair
cropped
short like a brush; stout, thickset, and apoplectic about the
neck,
with a vulgar pimpled face, gray eyes, and a mouth like a
furnace
door; such was the profile portrait of Antoine, the oldest
attendant
in the ministry. He had brought his two nephews, Laurent and
Gabriel,
from Echelles in Savoie,--one to serve the heads of the bureaus,
the
other the director himself. All three came to open the offices
and
clean them, between seven and eight o'clock in the morning; at
which
time they read the newspapers and talked civil service politics
from
their point of view with the servants of other divisions,
exchanging
the bureaucratic gossip. In common with servants of modern
houses who
know their masters' private affairs thoroughly, they lived at
the
ministry like spiders at the centre of a web, where they felt
the
slightest jar of the fabric.
On a Thursday evening, the day after the ministerial reception
and
Madame Rabourdin's evening party, just as Antoine was trimming
his
beard and his nephews were assisting him in the antechamber of
the
division on the upper floor, they were surprised by the
unexpected
arrival of one of the clerks.
"That's Monsieur Dutocq," said Antoine. "I know him by that
pickpocket
step of his. He is always moving round on the sly, that man. He
is on
your back before you know it. Yesterday, contrary to his usual
ways,
he outstayed the last man in the office; such a thing hasn't
happened
three times since he has been at the ministry."
Here follows the portrait of Monsieur Dutocq, order-clerk in
the
Rabourdin bureau: Thirty-eight years old, oblong face and
bilious
skin, grizzled hair always cut close, low forehead, heavy
eyebrows
meeting together, a crooked nose and pinched lips; tall, the
right
shoulder slightly higher than the left; brown coat, black
waistcoat,
silk cravat, yellowish trousers, black woollen stockings, and
shoes
with flapping bows; thus you behold him. Idle and incapable, he
hated
Rabourdin,--naturally enough, for Rabourdin had no vice to
flatter,
and no bad or weak side on which Dutocq could make himself
useful. Far
too noble to injure a clerk, the chief was also too
clear-sighted to
be deceived by any make-believe. Dutocq kept his place
therefore
solely through Rabourdin's generosity, and was very certain that
he
could never be promoted if the latter succeeded La Billardiere.
Though
he knew himself incapable of important work, Dutocq was well
aware
that in a government office incapacity was no hindrance to
advancement; La Billardiere's own appointment over the head of
so
capable a man as Rabourdin had been a striking and fatal example
of
this. Wickedness combined with self-interest works with a
power
equivalent to that of intellect; evilly disposed and wholly
self-
interested, Dutocq had endeavoured to strengthen his position
by
becoming a spy in all the offices. After 1816 he assumed a
marked
religious tone, foreseeing the favor which the fools of those
days
would bestow on those they indiscriminately called Jesuits.
Belonging
to that fraternity in spirit, though not admitted to its rites,
Dutocq
went from bureau to bureau, sounded consciences by recounting
immoral
jests, and then reported and paraphrased results to des
Lupeaulx; the
latter thus learned all the trivial events of the ministry, and
often
surprised the minister by his consummate knowledge of what was
going
on. He tolerated Dutocq under the idea that circumstances might
some
day make him useful, were it only to get him or some
distinguished
friend of his out of a scrape by a disgraceful marriage. The
two
understood each other well. Dutocq had succeeded Monsieur Poiret
the
elder, who had retired in 1814, and now lived in the pension
Vanquer
in the Latin quarter. Dutocq himself lived in a pension in the
rue de
Beaune, and spent his evenings in the Palais-Royal, sometimes
going to
the theatre, thanks to du Bruel, who gave him an author's ticket
about
once a week. And now, a word on du Bruel.
Though Sebastien did his work at the office for the small
compensation
we have mentioned, du Bruel was in the habit of coming there
to
advertise the fact that he was the under-head-clerk and to draw
his
salary. His real work was that of dramatic critic to a
leading
ministerial journal, in which he also wrote articles inspired by
the
ministers,--a very well understood, clearly defined, and
quite
unassailable position. Du Bruel was not lacking in those
diplomatic
little tricks which go so far to conciliate general good-will.
He sent
Madame Rabourdin an opera-box for a first representation, took
her
there in a carriage and brought her back,--an attention
which
evidently pleased her. Rabourdin, who was never exacting with
his
subordinates allowed du Bruel to go off to rehearsals, come to
the
office at his own hours, and work at his vaudevilles when
there.
Monsieur le Duc de Chaulieu, the minister, knew that du Bruel
was
writing a novel which was to be dedicated to himself. Dressed
with the
careless ease of a theatre man, du Bruel wore, in the
morning,
trousers strapped under his feet, shoes with gaiters, a
waistcoat
evidently vamped over, an olive surtout, and a black cravat. At
night
he played the gentleman in elegant clothes. He lived, for
good
reasons, in the same house as Florine, an actress for whom he
wrote
plays. Du Bruel, or to give him his pen name, Cursy, was working
just
now at a piece in five acts for the Francais. Sebastien was
devoted to
the author,--who occasionally gave him tickets to the
pit,--and
applauded his pieces at the parts which du Bruel told him were
of
doubtful interest, with all the faith and enthusiasm of his
years. In
fact, the youth looked upon the playwright as a great author,
and it
was to Sebastien that du Bruel said, the day after a first
representation of a vaudeville produced, like all vaudevilles,
by
three collaborators, "The audience preferred the scenes written
by
two."
"Why don't you write alone?" asked Sebastien naively.
There were good reasons why du Bruel did not write alone. He
was the
third of an author. A dramatic writer, as few people know, is
made up
of three individuals; first, the man with brains who invents
the
subject and maps out the structure, or scenario, of the
vaudeville;
second, the plodder, who works the piece into shape; and third,
the
toucher-up, who sets the songs to music, arranges the chorus
and
concerted pieces and fits them into their right place, and
finally
writes the puffs and advertisements. Du Bruel was a plodder; at
the
office he read the newest books, extracted their wit, and laid
it by
for use in his dialogues. He was liked by his collaborators on
account
of his carefulness; the man with brains, sure of being
understood,
could cross his arms and feel that his ideas would be well
rendered.
The clerks in the office liked their companion well enough to
attend a
first performance of his plays in a body and applaud them, for
he
really deserved the title of a good fellow. His hand went
readily to
his pocket; ices and punch were bestowed without prodding, and
he
loaned fifty francs without asking them back. He owned a
country-house
at Aulnay, laid by his money, and had, besides the four thousand
five
hundred francs of his salary under government, twelve hundred
francs
pension from the civil list, and eight hundred from the three
hundred
thousand francs fund voted by the Chambers for encouragement of
the
Arts. Add to these diverse emoluments nine thousand francs
earned by
his quarters, thirds, and halves of plays in three different
theatres,
and you will readily understand that such a man must be
physically
round, fat, and comfortable, with the face of a worthy
capitalist. As
to morals, he was the lover and the beloved of Tullia and felt
himself
preferred in heart to the brilliant Duc de Rhetore, the lover
in
chief.
Dutocq had seen with great uneasiness what he called the
liaison of
des Lupeaulx with Madame Rabourdin, and his silent wrath on
the
subject was accumulating. He had too prying an eye not to have
guessed
that Rabourdin was engaged in some great work outside of his
official
labors, and he was provoked to feel that he knew nothing about
it,
whereas that little Sebastien was, wholly or in part, in the
secret.
Dutocq was intimate with Godard, under-head-clerk to Baudoyer,
and the
high esteem in which Dutocq held Baudoyer was the original cause
of
his acquaintance with Godard; not that Dutocq was sincere even
in
this; but by praising Baudoyer and saying nothing of Rabourdin
he
satisfied his hatred after the fashion of little minds.
Joseph Godard, a cousin of Mitral on the mother's side,
made
pretension to the hand of Mademoiselle Baudoyer, not perceiving
that
her mother was laying siege to Falliex as a son-in-law. He
brought
little gifts to the young lady, artificial flowers, bonbons on
New-
Year's day and pretty boxes for her birthday. Twenty-six years
of age,
a worker working without purpose, steady as a girl, monotonous
and
apathetic, holding cafes, cigars, and horsemanship in
detestation,
going to bed regularly at ten o'clock and rising at seven,
gifted with
some social talents, such as playing quadrille music on the
flute,
which first brought him into favor with the Saillards and
the
Baudoyers. He was moreover a fifer in the National Guard,--to
escape
his turn of sitting up all night in a barrack-room. Godard was
devoted
more especially to natural history. He made collections of
shells and
minerals, knew how to stuff birds, kept a mass of curiosities
bought
for nothing in his bedroom; took possession of phials and
empty
perfume bottles for his specimens; pinned butterflies and
beetles
under glass, hung Chinese parasols on the walls, together with
dried
fishskins. He lived with his sister, an artificial-flower maker,
in
the due de Richelieu. Though much admired by mammas this model
young
man was looked down upon by his sister's shop-girls, who had
tried to
inveigle him. Slim and lean, of medium height, with dark circles
round
his eyes, Joseph Godard took little care of his person; his
clothes
were ill-cut, his trousers bagged, he wore white stockings at
all
seasons of the year, a hat with a narrow brim and laced shoes.
He was
always complaining of his digestion. His principal vice was a
mania
for proposing rural parties during the summer season, excursions
to
Montmorency, picnics on the grass, and visits to creameries on
the
boulevard du Mont-Parnasse. For the last six months Dutocq had
taken
to visiting Mademoiselle Godard from time to time, with certain
views
of his own, hoping to discover in her establishment some
female
treasure.
Thus Baudoyer had a pair of henchmen in Dutocq and Godard.
Monsieur
Saillard, too innocent to judge rightly of Dutocq, was in the
habit of
paying him frequent little visits at the office. Young La
Billardiere,
the director's son, placed as supernumerary with Baudoyer,
made
another member of the clique. The clever heads in the offices
laughed
much at this alliance of incapables. Bixiou named Baudoyer,
Godard,
and Dutocq a "Trinity without the Spirit," and little La
Billardiere
the "Pascal Lamb."
"You are early this morning," said Antoine to Dutocq, laughing.
"So are you, Antoine," answered Dutocq; "you see, the
newspapers do
come earlier than you let us have them at the office."
"They did to-day, by chance," replied Antoine, not
disconcerted; "they
never come two days together at the same hour."
The two nephews looked at each other as if to say, in
admiration of
their uncle, "What cheek he has!"
"Though I make two sous by all his breakfasts," muttered
Antoine, as
he heard Monsieur Dutocq close the office door, "I'd give them
up to
get that man out of our division."
"Ah, Monsieur Sebastien, you are not the first here to-day,"
said
Antoine, a quarter of an hour later, to the supernumerary.
"Who is here?" asked the poor lad, turning pale.
"Monsieur Dutocq," answered Laurent.
Virgin natures have, beyond all others, the inexplicable gift
of
second-sight, the reason of which lies perhaps in the purity of
their
nervous systems, which are, as it were, brand-new. Sebastien had
long
guessed Dutocq's hatred to his revered Rabourdin. So that when
Laurent
uttered his name a dreadful presentiment took possession of the
lad's
mind, and crying out, "I feared it!" he flew like an arrow into
the
corridor.
"There is going to be a row in the division," said Antoine,
shaking
his white head as he put on his livery. "It is very certain
that
Monsieur le baron is off to his account. Yes, Madame Gruget,
the
nurse, told me he couldn't live through the day. What a stir
there'll
be! oh! won't there! Go along, you fellows, and see if the
stoves are
drawing properly. Heavens and earth! our world is coming down
about
our ears."
"That poor young one," said Laurent, "had a sort of sunstroke
when he
heard that Jesuit of a Dutocq had got here before him."
"I have told him a dozen times,--for after all one ought to
tell the
truth to an honest clerk, and what I call an honest clerk is one
like
that little fellow who gives us "recta" his ten francs on
New-Year's
day,--I have said to him again and again: The more you work the
more
they'll make you work, and they won't promote you. He doesn't
listen
to me; he tires himself out staying here till five o'clock, an
hour
after all the others have gone. Folly! he'll never get on that
way!
The proof is that not a word has been said about giving him
an
appointment, though he has been here two years. It's a shame! it
makes
my blood boil."
"Monsieur Rabourdin is very fond of Monsieur Sebastien," said Laurent.
"But Monsieur Rabourdin isn't a minister," retorted Antoine;
"it will
be a hot day when that happens, and the hens will have teeth; he
is
too--but mum! When I think that I carry salaries to those
humbugs who
stay away and do as they please, while that poor little La Roche
works
himself to death, I ask myself if God ever thinks of the
civil
service. And what do they give you, these pets of Monsieur le
marechal
and Monsieur le duc? 'Thank you, my dear Antoine, thank you,'
with a
gracious nod! Pack of sluggards! go to work, or you'll bring
another
revolution about your ears. Didn't see such goings-on under
Monsieur
Robert Lindet. I know, for I served my apprenticeship under
Robert
Lindet. The clerks had to work in his day! You ought to have
seen how
they scratched paper here till midnight; why, the stoves went
out and
nobody noticed it. It was all because the guillotine was there!
now-a-
days they only mark 'em when they come in late!"
"Uncle Antoine," said Gabriel, "as you are so talkative this
morning,
just tell us what you think a clerk really ought to be."
"A government clerk," replied Antoine, gravely, "is a man who
sits in
a government office and writes. But there, there, what am I
talking
about? Without the clerks, where should we be, I'd like to know?
Go
along and look after your stoves and mind you never say harm of
a
government clerk, you fellows. Gabriel, the stove in the large
office
draws like the devil; you must turn the damper."
Antoine stationed himself at a corner of the landing whence he
could
see all the officials as they entered the porte-cochere; he knew
every
one at the ministry, and watched their behavior, observing
narrowly
the contrasts in their dress and appearance.
The first to arrive after Sebastien was a clerk of deeds
in
Rabourdin's office named Phellion, a respectable family-man. To
the
influence of his chief he owed a half-scholarship for each of
his two
sons in the College Henri IV.; while his daughter was being
educated
gratis at a boarding school where his wife gave music lessons
and he
himself a course of history and one of geography in the
evenings. He
was about forty-five years of age, sergeant-major of his company
in
the National Guard, very compassionate in feeling and words,
but
wholly unable to give away a penny. Proud of his post, however,
and
satisfied with his lot, he applied himself faithfully to serve
the
government, believed he was useful to his country, and boasted
of his
indifference to politics, knowing none but those of the men in
power.
Monsieur Rabourdin pleased him highly whenever he asked him to
stay
half an hour longer to finish a piece of work. On such occasions
he
would say, when he reached home, "Public affairs detained me;
when a
man belongs to the government he is no longer master of
himself." He
compiled books of questions and answers on various studies for
the use
of young ladies in boarding-schools. These little "solid
treatises,"
as he called them, were sold at the University library under the
name
of "Historical and Geographic Catechisms." Feeling himself in
duty
bound to offer a copy of each volume, bound in red morocco,
to
Monsieur Rabourdin, he always came in full dress to present
them,--
breeches and silk stockings, and shoes with gold buckles.
Monsieur
Phellion received his friends on Thursday evenings, on which
occasions
the company played bouillote, at five sous a game, and were
regaled
with cakes and beer. He had never yet dared to invite
Monsieur
Rabourdin to honor him with his presence, though he would
have
regarded such an event as the most distinguished of his life. He
said
if he could leave one of his sons following in the steps of
Monsieur
Rabourdin he should die the happiest father in the world.
One of his greatest pleasures was to explore the environs of
Paris,
which he did with a map. He knew every inch of Arcueil,
Bievre,
Fontenay-aux-Roses, and Aulnay, so famous as the resort of
great
writers, and hoped in time to know the whole western side of
the
country around Paris. He intended to put his eldest son into
a
government office and his second into the Ecole Polytechnique.
He
often said to the elder, "When you have the honor to be a
government
clerk"; though he suspected him of a preference for the exact
sciences
and did his best to repress it, mentally resolved to abandon the
lad
to his own devices if he persisted. When Rabourdin sent for him
to
come down and receive instructions about some particular piece
of
work, Phellion gave all his mind to it,--listening to every word
the
chief said, as a dilettante listens to an air at the Opera.
Silent in
the office, with his feet in the air resting on a wooden desk,
and
never moving them, he studied his task conscientiously. His
official
letters were written with the utmost gravity, and transmitted
the
commands of the minister in solemn phrases. Monsieur Phellion's
face
was that of a pensive ram, with little color and pitted by the
small-
pox; the lips were thick and the lower one pendent; the eyes
light-
blue, and his figure above the common height. Neat and clean as
a
master of history and geography in a young ladies' school ought
to be,
he wore fine linen, a pleated shirt-frill, a black cashmere
waistcoat,
left open and showing a pair of braces embroidered by his
daughter, a
diamond in the bosom of his shirt, a black coat, and blue
trousers. In
winter he added a nut-colored box-coat with three capes, and
carried a
loaded stick, necessitated, he said, by the profound solitude of
the
quarter in which he lived. He had given up taking snuff, and
referred
to this reform as a striking example of the empire a man
could
exercise over himself. Monsieur Phellion came slowly up the
stairs,
for he was afraid of asthma, having what he called an "adipose
chest."
He saluted Antoine with dignity.
The next to follow was a copying-clerk, who presented a
strange
contrast to the virtuous Phellion. Vimeux was a young man of
twenty-
five, with a salary of fifteen hundred francs, well-made and
graceful,
with a romantic face, and eyes, hair, beard, and eyebrows as
black as
jet, fine teeth, charming hands, and wearing a moustache so
carefully
trimmed that he seemed to have made it the business and
occupation of
his life. Vimeux had such aptitude for work that he despatched
it much
quicker than any of the other clerks. "He has a gift, that young
man!"
Phellion said of him when he saw him cross his legs and have
nothing
to do for the rest of the day, having got through his appointed
task;
"and see what a little dandy he is!" Vimeux breakfasted on a
roll and
a glass of water, dined for twenty sous at Katcomb's, and lodged
in a
furnished room, for which he paid twelve francs a month. His
happiness, his sole pleasure in life, was dress. He ruined
himself in
miraculous waistcoats, in trousers that were tight,
half-tight,
pleated, or embroidered; in superfine boots, well-made coats
which
outlined his elegant figure; in bewitching collars, spotless
gloves,
and immaculate hats. A ring with a coat of arms adorned his
hand,
outside his glove, from which dangled a handsome cane; with
these
accessories he endeavoured to assume the air and manner of a
wealthy
young man. After the office closed he appeared in the great walk
of
the Tuileries, with a tooth-pick in his mouth, as though he were
a
millionaire who had just dined. Always on the lookout for a
woman,--an
Englishwoman, a foreigner of some kind, or a widow,--who might
fall in
love with him, he practised the art of twirling his cane and
of
flinging the sort of glance which Bixiou told him was American.
He
smiled to show his fine teeth; he wore no socks under his boots,
but
he had his hair curled every day. Vimeux was prepared, in
accordance
with fixed principles, to marry a hunch-back with six thousand a
year,
or a woman of forty-five at eight thousand, or an Englishwoman
for
half that sum. Phellion, who delighted in his neat hand-writing,
and
was full of compassion for the fellow, read him lectures on the
duty
of giving lessons in penmanship,--an honorable career, he said,
which
would ameliorate existence and even render it agreeable; he
promised
him a situation in a young ladies' boarding-school. But Vimeux's
head
was so full of his own idea that no human being could prevent
him from
having faith in his star. He continued to lay himself out, like
a
salmon at a fishmonger's, in spite of his empty stomach and the
fact
that he had fruitlessly exhibited his enormous moustache and his
fine
clothes for over three years. As he owed Antoine more than
thirty
francs for his breakfasts, he lowered his eyes every time he
passed
him; and yet he never failed at midday to ask the man to buy him
a
roll.
After trying to get a few reasonable ideas into this foolish
head,
Rabourdin had finally given up the attempt as hopeless. Adolphe
(his
family name was Adolphe) had lately economized on dinners and
lived
entirely on bread and water, to buy a pair of spurs and a
riding-whip.
Jokes at the expense of this starving Amadis were made only in
the
spirit of mischievous fun which creates vaudevilles, for he was
really
a kind-hearted fellow and a good comrade, who harmed no one
but
himself. A standing joke in the two bureaus was the question
whether
he wore corsets, and bets depended on it. Vimeux was
originally
appointed to Baudoyer's bureau, but he manoeuvred to get
himself
transferred to Rabourdin's, on account of Baudoyer's extreme
severity
in relation to what were called "the English,"--a name given by
the
government clerks to their creditors. "English day" means the
day on
which the government offices are thrown open to the public.
Certain
then of finding their delinquent debtors, the creditors swarm in
and
torment them, asking when they intend to pay, and threatening
to
attach their salaries. The implacable Baudoyer compelled the
clerks to
remain at their desks and endure this torture. "It was their
place not
to make debts," he said; and he considered his severity as a
duty
which he owed to the public weal. Rabourdin, on the
contrary,
protected the clerks against their creditors, and turned the
latter
away, saying that the government bureaus were open for
public
business, not private. Much ridicule pursued Vimeux in both
bureaus
when the clank of his spurs resounded in the corridors and on
the
staircases. The wag of the ministry, Bixiou, sent round a
paper,
headed by a caricature of his victim on a pasteboard horse,
asking for
subscriptions to buy him a live charger. Monsieur Baudoyer was
down
for a bale of hay taken from his own forage allowance, and each
of the
clerks wrote his little epigram; Vimeux himself, good-natured
fellow
that he was, subscribed under the name of "Miss Fairfax."
Handsome clerks of the Vimeux style have their salaries on
which to
live, and their good looks by which to make their fortune.
Devoted to
masked balls during the carnival, they seek their luck there,
though
it often escapes them. Many end the weary round by marrying
milliners,
or old women,--sometimes, however, young ones who are charmed
with
their handsome persons, and with whom they set up a romance
illustrated with stupid love letters, which, nevertheless, seem
to
answer their purpose.
Bixiou (pronounce it Bisiou) was a draughtsman, who ridiculed
Dutocq
as readily as he did Rabourdin, whom he nicknamed "the
virtuous
woman." Without doubt the cleverest man in the division or even
in the
ministry (but clever after the fashion of a monkey, without aim
or
sequence), Bixiou was so essentially useful to Baudoyer and
Godard
that they upheld and protected him in spite of his misconduct;
for he
did their work when they were incapable of doing it for
themselves.
Bixiou wanted either Godard's or du Bruel's place as
under-head-clerk,
but his conduct interfered with his promotion. Sometimes he
sneered at
the public service; this was usually after he had made some
happy hit,
such as the publication of portraits in the famous Fualdes case
(for
which he drew faces hap-hazard), or his sketch of the debate on
the
Castaing affair. At other times, when possessed with a desire to
get
on, he really applied himself to work, though he would soon
leave off
to write a vaudeville, which was never finished. A thorough
egoist, a
spendthrift and a miser in one,--that is to say, spending his
money
solely on himself,--sharp, aggressive, and indiscreet, he did
mischief
for mischief's sake; above all, he attacked the weak,
respected
nothing and believed in nothing, neither in France, nor in God,
nor in
art, nor in the Greeks, nor in the Turks, nor in the
monarchy,--
insulting and disparaging everything that he could not
comprehend. He
was the first to paint a black cap on Charles X.'s head on the
five-
franc coins. He mimicked Dr. Gall when lecturing, till he made
the
most starched of diplomatists burst their buttons. Famous for
his
practical jokes, he varied them with such elaborate care that
he
always obtained a victim. His great secret in this was the power
of
guessing the inmost wishes of others; he knew the way to many a
castle
in the air, to the dreams about which a man may be fooled
because he
wants to be; and he made such men sit to him for hours.
Thus it happened that this close observer, who could
display
unrivalled tact in developing a joke or driving home a sarcasm,
was
unable to use the same power to make men further his fortunes
and
promote him. The person he most liked to annoy was young La
Billardiere, his nightmare, his detestation, whom he was
nevertheless
constantly wheedling so as the better to torment him on his
weakest
side. He wrote him love letters signed "Comtesse de M--" or
"Marquise
de B--"; took him to the Opera on gala days and presented him to
some
grisette under the clock, after calling everybody's attention to
the
young fool. He allied himself with Dutocq (whom he regarded as
a
solemn juggler) in his hatred to Rabourdin and his praise of
Baudoyer,
and did his best to support him. Jean-Jaques Bixiou was the
grandson
of a Parisian grocer. His father, who died a colonel, left him
to the
care of his grandmother, who married her head-clerk, named
Descoings,
after the death of her first husband, and died in 1822.
Finding
himself without prospects on leaving college, he attempted
painting,
but in spite of his intimacy with Joseph Bridau, his life-long
friend,
he abandoned art to take up caricature, vignette designing,
and
drawing for books, which twenty years later went by the name
of
"illustration." The influence of the Ducs de Maufrigneuse and
de
Rhetore, whom he knew in the society of actresses, procured him
his
employment under government in 1819. On good terms with des
Lupeaulx,
with whom in society he stood on an equality, and intimate with
du
Bruel, he was a living proof of Rabourdin's theory as to the
steady
deterioration of the administrative hierarchy in Paris through
the
personal importance which a government official may acquire
outside of
a government office. Short in stature but well-formed, with a
delicate
face remarkable for its vague likeness to Napoleon's, thin lips,
a
straight chin, chestnut whiskers, twenty-seven years old,
fair-
skinned, with a piercing voice and sparkling eye,--such was
Bixiou; a
man, all sense and all wit, who abandoned himself to a mad
pursuit of
pleasure of every description, which threw him into a constant
round
of dissipation. Hunter of grisettes, smoker, jester, diner-out
and
frequenter of supper-parties, always tuned to the highest
pitch,
shining equally in the greenroom and at the balls given among
the
grisettes of the Allee des Veuves, he was just as
surprisingly
entertaining at table as at a picnic, as gay and lively at
midnight on
the streets as in the morning when he jumped out of bed, and yet
at
heart gloomy and melancholy, like most of the great comic
players.
Launched into the world of actors and actresses, writers,
artists, and
certain women of uncertain means, he lived well, went to the
theatre
without paying, gambled at Frascati, and often won. Artist by
nature
and really profound, though by flashes only, he swayed to and
fro in
life like a swing, without thinking or caring of a time when the
cord
would break. The liveliness of his wit and the prodigal flow of
his
ideas made him acceptable to all persons who took pleasure in
the
lights of intellect; but none of his friends liked him.
Incapable of
checking a witty saying, he would scarify his two neighbors
before a
dinner was half over. In spite of his skin-deep gayety, a
secret
dissatisfaction with his social position could be detected in
his
speech; he aspired to something better, but the fatal demon
hiding in
his wit hindered him from acquiring the gravity which imposes
on
fools. He lived on the second floor of a house in the rue de
Ponthieu,
where he had three rooms delivered over to the untidiness of
a
bachelor's establishment, in fact, a regular bivouac. He often
talked
of leaving France and seeking his fortune in America. No wizard
could
foretell the future of this young man in whom all talents
were
incomplete; who was incapable of perseverance, intoxicated
with
pleasure, and who acted on the belief that the world ended on
the
morrow.
In the matter of dress Bixiou had the merit of never being
ridiculous;
he was perhaps the only official of the ministry whose dress did
not
lead outsiders to say, "That man is a government clerk!" He
wore
elegant boots with black trousers strapped under them, a
fancy
waistcoat, a becoming blue coat, collars that were the
never-ending
gift of grisettes, one of Bandoni's hats, and a pair of
dark-colored
kid gloves. His walk and bearing, cavalier and simple both, were
not
without grace. He knew all this, and when des Lupeaulx summoned
him
for a piece of impertinence said and done about Monsieur de
la
Billardiere and threatened him with dismissal, Bixiou replied,
"You
will take me back because my clothes do credit to the ministry";
and
des Lupeaulx, unable to keep from laughing, let the matter pass.
The
most harmless of Bixiou's jokes perpetrated among the clerks was
the
one he played off upon Godard, presenting him with a butterfly
just
brought from China, which the worthy man keeps in his collection
and
exhibits to this day, blissfully unconscious that it is only
painted
paper. Bixiou had the patience to work up the little masterpiece
for
the sole purpose of hoaxing his superior.
The devil always puts a martyr near a Bixiou. Baudoyer's
bureau held
the martyr, a poor copying-clerk twenty-two years of age, with
a
salary of fifteen hundred francs, named Auguste-Jean-Francois
Minard.
Minard had married for love the daughter of a porter, an
artificial-
flower maker employed by Mademoiselle Godard. Zelie Lorrain, a
pupil,
in the first place, of the Conservatoire, then by turns a
danseuse, a
singer, and an actress, had thought of doing as so many of
the
working-women do; but the fear of consequences kept her from
vice. She
was floating undecidedly along, when Minard appeared upon the
scene
with a definite proposal of marriage. Zelie earned five hundred
francs
a year, Minard had fifteen hundred. Believing that they could
live on
two thousand, they married without settlements, and started with
the
utmost economy. They went to live, like dove-turtles, near
the
barriere de Courcelles, in a little apartment at three hundred
francs
a year, with white cotton curtains to the windows, a Scotch
paper
costing fifteen sous a roll on the walls, brick floors well
polished,
walnut furniture in the parlor, and a tiny kitchen that was
very
clean. Zelie nursed her children herself when they came, cooked,
made
her flowers, and kept the house. There was something very
touching in
this happy and laborious mediocrity. Feeling that Minard truly
loved
her, Zelie loved him. Love begets love,--it is the abyssus
abyssum of
the Bible. The poor man left his bed in the morning before his
wife
was up, that he might fetch provisions. He carried the flowers
she had
finished, on his way to the bureau, and bought her materials on
his
way back; then, while waiting for dinner, he stamped out her
leaves,
trimmed the twigs, or rubbed her colors. Small, slim, and wiry,
with
crisp red hair, eyes of a light yellow, a skin of dazzling
fairness,
though blotched with red, the man had a sturdy courage that made
no
show. He knew the science of writing quite as well as Vimeux. At
the
office he kept in the background, doing his allotted task with
the
collected air of a man who thinks and suffers. His white
eyelashes and
lack of eyebrows induced the relentless Bixiou to name him "the
white
rabbit." Minard--the Rabourdin of a lower sphere--was filled
with the
desire of placing his Zelie in better circumstances, and his
mind
searched the ocean of the wants of luxury in hopes of finding an
idea,
of making some discovery or some improvement which would bring
him a
rapid fortune. His apparent dulness was really caused by the
continual
tension of his mind; he went over the history of Cephalic Oils
and the
Paste of Sultans, lucifer matches and portable gas, jointed
sockets
for hydrostatic lamps,--in short, all the infinitely little
inventions
of material civilization which pay so well. He bore Bixiou's
jests as
a busy man bears the buzzing of an insect; he was not even
annoyed by
them. In spite of his cleverness, Bixiou never perceived the
profound
contempt which Minard felt for him. Minard never dreamed of
quarrelling, however,--regarding it as a loss of time. After a
while
his composure tired out his tormentor. He always breakfasted
with his
wife, and ate nothing at the office. Once a month he took Zelie
to the
theatre, with tickets bestowed by du Bruel or Bixiou; for Bixiou
was
capable of anything, even of doing a kindness. Monsieur and
Madame
Minard paid their visits in person on New-Year's day. Those who
saw
them often asked how it was that a woman could keep her husband
in
good clothes, wear a Leghorn bonnet with flowers, embroidered
muslin
dresses, silk mantles, prunella boots, handsome fichus, a
Chinese
parasol, and drive home in a hackney-coach, and yet be virtuous;
while
Madame Colleville and other "ladies" of her kind could scarcely
make
ends meet, though they had double Madame Minard's means.
In the two bureaus were two clerks so devoted to each other
that their
friendship became the butt of all the rest. He of the bureau
Baudoyer,
named Colleville, was chief-clerk, and would have been head of
the
bureau long before if the Restoration had never happened. His
wife was
as clever in her way as Madame Rabourdin in hers. Colleville,
who was
son of a first violin at the opera, fell in love with the
daughter of
a celebrated danseuse. Flavie Minoret, one of those capable
and
charming Parisian women who know how to make their husbands
happy and
yet preserve their own liberty, made the Colleville home a
rendezvous
for all our best artists and orators. Colleville's humble
position
under government was forgotten there. Flavie's conduct gave such
food
for gossip, however, that Madame Rabourdin had declined all
her
invitations. The friend in Rabourdin's bureau to whom Colleville
was
so attached was named Thuillier. All who knew one knew the
other.
Thuillier, called "the handsome Thuillier," an ex-Lothario, led
as
idle a life as Colleville led a busy one. Colleville,
government
official in the mornings and first clarionet at the
Opera-Comique at
night, worked hard to maintain his family, though he was not
without
influential friends. He was looked upon as a very shrewd
man,--all the
more, perhaps, because he hid his ambitions under a show of
indifference. Apparently content with his lot and liking work,
he
found every one, even the chiefs, ready to protect his brave
career.
During the last few weeks Madame Colleville had made an evident
change
in the household, and seemed to be taking to piety. This gave
rise to
a vague report in the bureaus that she thought of securing some
more
powerful influence than that of Francois Keller, the famous
orator,
who had been one of her chief adorers, but who, so far, had
failed to
obtain a better place for her husband. Flavie had, about this
time--
and it was one of her mistakes--turned for help to des
Lupeaulx.
Colleville had a passion for reading the horoscopes of famous
men in
the anagram of their names. He passed whole months in
decomposing and
recomposing words and fitting them to new meanings. "Un Corse
la
finira," found within the words, "Revolution Francaise"; "Eh,
c'est
large nez," in "Charles Genest," an abbe at the court of Louis
XIV.,
whose huge nose is recorded by Saint-Simon as the delight of the
Duc
de Bourgogne (the exigencies of this last anagram required
the
substitution of a z for an s),--were a never-ending marvel
to
Colleville. Raising the anagram to the height of a science,
he
declared that the destiny of every man was written in the words
or
phrase given by the transposition of the letters of his names
and
titles; and his patriotism struggled hard to suppress the
fact--signal
evidence for his theory--that in Horatio Nelson, "honor est a
Nilo."
Ever since the accession of Charles X., he had bestowed much
thought
on the king's anagram. Thuillier, who was fond of making
puns,
declared that an anagram was nothing more than a pun on letters.
The
sight of Colleville, a man of real feeling, bound almost
indissolubly
to Thuillier, the model of an egoist, presented a difficult
problem to
the mind of an observer. The clerks in the offices explained it
by
saying, "Thuillier is rich, and the Colleville household
costly." This
friendship, however, consolidated by time, was based on feelings
and
on facts which naturally explained it; an account of which may
be
found elsewhere (see "Les Petits Bourgeois"). We may remark in
passing
that though Madame Colleville was well known in the bureaus,
the
existence of Madame Thuillier was almost unknown there.
Colleville, an
active man, burdened with a family of children, was fat, round,
and
jolly, whereas Thuillier, "the beau of the Empire" without
apparent
anxieties and always at leisure, was slender and thin, with a
livid
face and a melancholy air. "We never know," said Rabourdin,
speaking
of the two men, "whether our friendships are born of likeness or
of
contrast."
Unlike these Siamese twins, two other clerks, Chazelle and
Paulmier,
were forever squabbling. One smoked, the other took snuff, and
the
merits of their respective use of tobacco were the origin of
ceaseless
disputes. Chazelle's home, which was tyrannized over by a
wife,
furnished a subject of endless ridicule to Paulmier; whereas
Paulmier,
a bachelor, often half-starved like Vimeux, with ragged clothes
and
half-concealed penury was a fruitful source of ridicule to
Chazelle.
Both were beginning to show a protuberant stomach; Chazelle's,
which
was round and projecting, had the impertinence, so Bixiou said,
to
enter the room first; Paulmier's corporation spread to right and
left.
A favorite amusement with Bixiou was to measure them quarterly.
The
two clerks, by dint of quarrelling over the details of their
lives,
and washing much of their dirty linen at the office, had
obtained the
disrepute which they merited. "Do you take me for a Chazelle?"
was a
frequent saying that served to end many an annoying
discussion.
Monsieur Poiret junior, called "junior" to distinguish him
from his
brother Monsieur Poiret senior (now living in the Maison
Vanquer,
where Poiret junior sometimes dined, intending to end his days
in the
same retreat), had spent thirty years in the Civil Service.
Nature
herself is not so fixed and unvarying in her evolutions as was
Poiret
junior in all the acts of his daily life; he always laid his
things in
precisely the same place, put his pen in the same rack, sat down
in
his seat at the same hour, warmed himself at the stove at the
same
moment of the day. His sole vanity consisted in wearing an
infallible
watch, timed daily at the Hotel de Ville as he passed it on his
way to
the office. From six to eight o'clock in the morning he kept the
books
of a large shop in the rue Saint-Antoine, and from six to
eight
o'clock in the evening those of the Maison Camusot, in the rue
des
Bourdonnais. He thus earned three thousand francs a year,
counting his
salary from the government. In a few months his term of service
would
be up, when he would retire on a pension; he therefore showed
the
utmost indifference to the political intrigues of the bureaus.
Like
his elder brother, to whom retirement from active service had
proved a
fatal blow, he would probably grow an old man when he could no
longer
come from his home to the ministry, sit in the same chair and
copy a
certain number of pages. Poiret's eyes were dim, his glance weak
and
lifeless, his skin discolored and wrinkled, gray in tone and
speckled
with bluish dots; his nose flat, his lips drawn inward to the
mouth,
where a few defective teeth still lingered. His gray hair,
flattened
to the head by the pressure of his hat, gave him the look of
an
ecclesiastic,--a resemblance he would scarcely have liked, for
he
hated priests and clergy, though he could give no reasons for
his
anti-religious views. This antipathy, however, did not prevent
him
from being extremely attached to whatever administration
happened to
be in power. He never buttoned his old green coat, even on the
coldest
days, and he always wore shoes with ties, and black
trousers.
No human life was ever lived so thoroughly by rule. Poiret kept
all
his receipted bills, even the most trifling, and all his
account-
books, wrapped in old shirts and put away according to their
respective years from the time of his entrance at the ministry.
Rough
copies of his letters were dated and put away in a box, ticketed
"My
Correspondence." He dined at the same restaurant (the Sucking
Calf in
the place du Chatelet), and sat in the same place, which the
waiters
kept for him. He never gave five minutes more time to the shop
in the
rue Saint Antoine than justly belonged to it, and at half-past
eight
precisely he reached the Cafe David, where he breakfasted and
remained
till eleven. There he listened to political discussions, his
arms
crossed on his cane, his chin in his right hand, never saying a
word.
The dame du comptoir, the only woman to whom he ever spoke
with
pleasure, was the sole confidant of the little events of his
life, for
his seat was close to her counter. He played dominoes, the only
game
he was capable of understanding. When his partners did not
happen to
be present, he usually went to sleep with his back against
the
wainscot, holding a newspaper in his hand, the wooden file
resting on
the marble of his table. He was interested in the buildings
going up
in Paris, and spent his Sundays in walking about to examine
them. He
was often heard to say, "I saw the Louvre emerge from its
rubbish; I
saw the birth of the place du Chatelet, the quai aux Fleurs and
the
Markets." He and his brother, both born at Troyes, were sent in
youth
to serve their apprenticeship in a government office. Their
mother
made herself notorious by misconduct, and the two brothers had
the
grief of hearing of her death in the hospital at Troyes,
although they
had frequently sent money for her support. This event led them
both
not only to abjure marriage, but to feel a horror of children;
ill at
ease with them, they feared them as others fear madmen, and
watched
them with haggard eyes.
Since the day when he first came to Paris Poiret junior had
never gone
outside the city. He began at that time to keep a journal of his
life,
in which he noted down all the striking events of his day. Du
Bruel
told him that Lord Byron did the same thing. This likeness
filled
Poiret junior with delight, and led him to buy the works of
Lord
Byron, translated by Chastopalli, of which he did not understand
a
word. At the office he was often seen in a melancholy attitude,
as
though absorbed in thought, when in fact he was thinking of
nothing at
all. He did not know a single person in the house where he
lived, and
always carried the keys of his apartment about with him. On
New-Year's
day he went round and left his own cards on all the clerks of
the
division. Bixiou took it into his head on one of the hottest of
dog-
days to put a layer of lard under the lining of a certain old
hat
which Poiret junior (he was, by the bye, fifty-two years old)
had worn
for the last nine years. Bixiou, who had never seen any other
hat on
Poiret's head, dreamed of it and declared he tasted it in his
food; he
therefore resolved, in the interests of his digestion, to
relieve the
bureau of the sight of that amorphous old hat. Poiret junior
left the
office regularly at four o'clock. As he walked along, the sun's
rays
reflected from the pavements and walls produced a tropical heat;
he
felt that his head was inundated,--he, who never perspired!
Feeling
that he was ill, or on the point of being so, instead of going
as
usual to the Sucking Calf he went home, drew out from his desk
the
journal of his life, and recorded the fact in the following
manner:--
"To-day, July 3, 1823, overtaken by extraordinary perspiration, a
sign, perhaps, of the sweating-sickness, a malady which prevails
in Champagne. I am about to consult Doctor Haudry. The disease
first appeared as I reached the highest part of the quai des
Ecoles."
Suddenly, having taken off his hat, he became aware that
the
mysterious sweat had some cause independent of his own person.
He
wiped his face, examined the hat, and could find nothing, for he
did
not venture to take out the lining. All this he noted in his
journal:--
"Carried my hat to the Sieur Tournan, hat-maker in the rue Saint-
Martin, for the reason that I suspect some unknown cause for this
perspiration, which, in that case, might not be perspiration, but,
possibly, the effect of something lately added, or formerly done,
to my hat."
Monsieur Tournan at once informed his customer of the presence
of a
greasy substance, obtained by the trying-out of the fat of a pig
or
sow. The next day Poiret appeared at the office with another
hat, lent
by Monsieur Tournan while a new one was making; but he did not
sleep
that night until he had added the following sentence to the
preceding
entries in his journal: "It is asserted that my hat contained
lard,
the fat of a pig."
This inexplicable fact occupied the intellect of Poiret junior
for the
space of two weeks; and he never knew how the phenomenon was
produced.
The clerks told him tales of showers of frogs, and other
dog-day
wonders, also the startling fact that an imprint of the head
of
Napoleon had been found in the root of a young elm, with
other
eccentricities of natural history. Vimeux informed him that one
day
his hat--his, Vimeux's--had stained his forehead black, and that
hat-
makers were in the habit of using drugs. After that Poiret paid
many
visits to Monsieur Tournan to inquire into his methods of
manufacture.
In the Rabourdin bureau was a clerk who played the man of
courage and
audacity, professed the opinions of the Left centre, and
rebelled
against the tyrannies of Baudoyer as exercised upon what he
called the
unhappy slaves of that office. His name was Fleury. He
boldly
subscribed to an opposition newspaper, wore a gray hat with a
broad
brim, red bands on his blue trousers, a blue waistcoat with
gilt
buttons, and a surtout coat crossed over the breast like that of
a
quartermaster of gendarmerie. Though unyielding in his opinions,
he
continued to be employed in the service, all the while
predicting a
fatal end to a government which persisted in upholding religion.
He
openly avowed his sympathy for Napoleon, now that the death of
that
great man put an end to the laws enacted against "the partisans
of the
usurper." Fleury, ex-captain of a regiment of the line under
the
Emperor, a tall, dark, handsome fellow, was now, in addition to
his
civil-service post, box-keeper at the Cirque-Olympique. Bixiou
never
ventured on tormenting Fleury, for the rough trooper, who was a
good
shot and clever at fencing, seemed quite capable of extreme
brutality
if provoked. An ardent subscriber to "Victoires et Conquetes,"
Fleury
nevertheless refused to pay his subscription, though he kept and
read
the copies, alleging that they exceeded the number proposed in
the
prospectus. He adored Monsieur Rabourdin, who had saved him
from
dismissal, and was even heard to say that if any misfortune
happened
to the chief through anybody's fault he would kill that person.
Dutocq
meanly courted Fleury because he feared him. Fleury, crippled
with
debt, played many a trick on his creditors. Expert in legal
matters,
he never signed a promissory note; and had prudently attached
his own
salary under the names of fictitious creditors, so that he was
able to
draw nearly the whole of it himself. He played ecarte, was the
life of
evening parties, tossed off glasses of champagne without wetting
his
lips, and knew all the songs of Beranger by heart. He was proud
of his
full, sonorous voice. His three great admirations were
Napoleon,
Bolivar, and Beranger. Foy, Lafitte, and Casimir Delavigne he
only
esteemed. Fleury, as you will have guessed already, was a
Southerner,
destined, no doubt, to become the responsible editor of a
liberal
journal.
Desroys, the mysterious clerk of the division, consorted with
no one,
talked little, and hid his private life so carefully that no one
knew
where he lived, nor who were his protectors, nor what were his
means
of subsistence. Looking about them for the causes of this
reserve,
some of his colleagues thought him a "carbonaro," others an
Orleanist;
there were others again who doubted whether to call him a spy or
a man
of solid merit. Desroys was, however, simple and solely the son
of a
"Conventionel," who did not vote the king's death. Cold and
prudent by
temperament, he had judged the world and ended by relying on no
one
but himself. Republican in secret, an admirer of Paul-Louis
Courier
and a friend of Michael Chrestien, he looked to time and
public
intelligence to bring about the triumph of his opinions from end
to
end of Europe. He dreamed of a new Germany and a new Italy. His
heart
swelled with that dull, collective love which we must call
humanitarianism, the eldest son of deceased philanthropy, and
which is
to the divine catholic charity what system is to art, or
reasoning to
deed. This conscientious puritan of freedom, this apostle of
an
impossible equality, regretted keenly that his poverty forced
him to
serve the government, and he made various efforts to find a
place
elsewhere. Tall, lean, lanky, and solemn in appearance, like a
man who
expects to be called some day to lay down his life for a cause,
he
lived on a page of Volney, studied Saint-Just, and employed
himself on
a vindication of Robespierre, whom he regarded as the successor
of
Jesus Christ.
The last of the individuals belonging to these bureaus who
merits a
sketch here is the little La Billardiere. Having, to his
great
misfortune, lost his mother, and being under the protection of
the
minister, safe therefore from the tyrannies of Baudoyer, and
received
in all the ministerial salons, he was nevertheless detested by
every
one because of his impertinence and conceit. The two chiefs
were
polite to him, but the clerks held him at arm's length and
prevented
all companionship by means of the extreme and grotesque
politeness
which they bestowed upon him. A pretty youth of twenty-two, tall
and
slender, with the manners of an Englishman, a dandy in dress,
curled
and perfumed, gloved and booted in the latest fashion, and
twirling an
eyeglass, Benjamin de la Billardiere thought himself a charming
fellow
and possessed all the vices of the world with none of its
graces. He
was now looking forward impatiently to the death of his father,
that
he might succeed to the title of baron. His cards were printed
"le
Chevalier de la Billardiere" and on the wall of his office hung,
in a
frame, his coat of arms (sable, two swords in saltire, on a
chief
azure three mullets argent; with the motto; "Toujours
fidele").
Possessed with a mania for talking heraldry, he once asked the
young
Vicomte de Portenduere why his arms were charged in a certain
way, and
drew down upon himself the happy answer, "I did not make them."
He
talked of his devotion to the monarchy and the attentions the
Dauphine
paid him. He stood very well with des Lupeaulx, whom he thought
his
friend, and they often breakfasted together. Bixiou posed as
his
mentor, and hoped to rid the division and France of the young
fool by
tempting him to excesses, and openly avowed that intention.
Such were the principal figures of La Billardiere's division
of the
ministry, where also were other clerks of less account, who
resembled
more or less those that are represented here. It is difficult
even for
an observer to decide from the aspect of these strange
personalities
whether the goose-quill tribe were becoming idiots from the
effects of
their employment or whether they entered the service because
they were
natural born fools. Possibly the making of them lies at the door
of
Nature and of the government both. Nature, to a civil-service
clerk
is, in fact, the sphere of the office; his horizon is bounded on
all
sides by green boxes; to him, atmospheric changes are the air of
the
corridors, the masculine exhalations contained in rooms
without
ventilators, the odor of paper, pens, and ink; the soil he
treads is a
tiled pavement or a wooden floor, strewn with a curious litter
and
moistened by the attendant's watering-pot; his sky is the
ceiling
toward which he yawns; his element is dust. Several
distinguished
doctors have remonstrated against the influence of this second
nature,
both savage and civilized, on the moral being vegetating in
those
dreadful pens called bureaus, where the sun seldom penetrates,
where
thoughts are tied down to occupations like that of horses who
turn a
crank and who, poor beasts, yawn distressingly and die
quickly.
Rabourdin was, therefore, fully justified in seeking to reform
their
present condition, by lessening their numbers and giving to each
a
larger salary and far heavier work. Men are neither wearied nor
bored
when doing great things. Under the present system government
loses
fully four hours out of the nine which the clerks owe to the
service,
--hours wasted, as we shall see, in conversations, in gossip,
in
disputes, and, above all, in underhand intriguing. The reader
must
have haunted the bureaus of the ministerial departments before
he can
realize how much their petty and belittling life resembles that
of
seminaries. Wherever men live collectively this likeness is
obvious;
in regiments, in law-courts, you will find the elements of the
school
on a smaller or larger scale. The government clerks, forced to
be
together for nine hours of the day, looked upon their office as
a sort
of class-room where they had tasks to perform, where the head of
the
bureau was no other than a schoolmaster, and where the
gratuities
bestowed took the place of prizes given out to proteges,--a
place,
moreover, where they teased and hated each other, and yet felt
a
certain comradeship, colder than that of a regiment, which
itself is
less hearty than that of seminaries. As a man advances in life
he
grows more selfish; egoism develops, and relaxes all the
secondary
bonds of affection. A government office is, in short, a
microcosm of
society, with its oddities and hatreds, its envy and its
cupidity, its
determination to push on, no matter who goes under, its
frivolous
gossip which gives so many wounds, and its perpetual spying.
At this moment the division of Monsieur de la Billardiere was
in a
state of unusual excitement, resulting very naturally from the
event
which was about to happen; for heads of divisions do not die
every
day, and there is no insurance office where the chances of life
and
death are calculated with more sagacity than in a government
bureau.
Self-interest stifles all compassion, as it does in children,
but the
government service adds hypocrisy to boot.
The clerks of the bureau Baudoyer arrived at eight o'clock in
the
morning, whereas those of the bureau Rabourdin seldom appeared
till
nine,--a circumstance which did not prevent the work in the
latter
office from being more rapidly dispatched than that of the
former.
Dutocq had important reasons for coming early on this
particular
morning. The previous evening he had furtively entered the study
where
Sebastien was at work, and had seen him copying some papers
for
Rabourdin; he concealed himself until he saw Sebastien leave
the
premises without taking any papers away with him. Certain,
therefore,
of finding the rather voluminous memorandum which he had
seen,
together with its copy, in some corner of the study, he
searched
through the boxes one after another until he finally came upon
the
fatal list. He carried it in hot haste to an autograph-printing
house,
where he obtained two pressed copies of the memorandum, showing,
of
course, Rabourdin's own writing. Anxious not to arouse
suspicion, he
had gone very early to the office and replaced both the
memorandum and
Sebastien's copy in the box from which he had taken them.
Sebastien,
who was kept up till after midnight at Madame Rabourdin's party,
was,
in spite of his desire to get to the office early, preceded by
the
spirit of hatred. Hatred lived in the rue
Saint-Louis-Saint-Honore,
whereas love and devotion lived far-off in the rue du Roi-Dore
in the
Marais. This slight delay was destined to affect Rabourdin's
whole
career.
Sebastien opened his box eagerly, found the memorandum and his
own
unfinished copy all in order, and locked them at once into the
desk as
Rabourdin had directed. The mornings are dark in these offices
towards
the end of December, sometimes indeed the lamps are lit till
after ten
o'clock; consequently Sebastien did not happen to notice the
pressure
of the copying-machine upon the paper. But when, about half-past
nine
o'clock, Rabourdin looked at his memorandum he saw at once the
effects
of the copying process, and all the more readily because he was
then
considering whether these autographic presses could not be made
to do
the work of copying clerks.
"Did any one get to the office before you?" he asked.
"Yes," replied Sebastien,--"Monsieur Dutocq."
"Ah! well, he was punctual. Send Antoine to me."
Too noble to distress Sebastien uselessly by blaming him for
a
misfortune now beyond remedy, Rabourdin said no more. Antoine
came.
Rabourdin asked if any clerk had remained at the office after
four
o'clock the previous evening. The man replied that Monsieur
Dutocq had
worked there later than Monsieur de la Roche, who was usually
the last
to leave. Rabourdin dismissed him with a nod, and resumed the
thread
of his reflections.
"Twice I have prevented his dismissal," he said to himself,
"and this
is my reward."
This morning was to Rabourdin like the solemn hour in which
great
commanders decide upon a battle and weigh all chances. Knowing
the
spirit of official life better than any one, he well knew that
it
would never pardon, any more than a school or the galleys or the
army
pardon, what looked like espionage or tale-bearing. A man
capable of
informing against his comrades is disgraced, dishonored,
despised; the
ministers in such a case would disavow their own agents. Nothing
was
left to an official so placed but to send in his resignation and
leave
Paris; his honor is permanently stained; explanations are of no
avail;
no one will either ask for them or listen to them. A minister
may well
do the same thing and be thought a great man, able to choose the
right
instruments; but a mere subordinate will be judged as a spy, no
matter
what may be his motives. While justly measuring the folly of
such
judgment, Rabourdin knew that it was all-powerful; and he knew,
too,
that he was crushed. More surprised than overwhelmed, he now
sought
for the best course to follow under the circumstances; and with
such
thoughts in his mind he was necessarily aloof from the
excitement
caused in the division by the death of Monsieur de la
Billardiere; in
fact he did not hear of it until young La Briere, who was able
to
appreciate his sterling value, came to tell him. About ten
o'clock, in
the bureau Baudoyer, Bixiou was relating the last moments of the
life
of the director to Minard, Desroys, Monsieur Godard, whom he
had
called from his private office, and Dutocq, who had rushed in
with
private motives of his own. Colleville and Chazelle were
absent.
Bixiou [standing with his back to the stove and holding up the
sole of
each boot alternately to dry at the open door]. "This morning,
at half-
past seven, I went to inquire after our most worthy and
respectable
director, knight of the order of Christ, et caetera, et caetera.
Yes,
gentlemen, last night he was a being with twenty et caeteras,
to-day
he is nothing, not even a government clerk. I asked all
particulars of
his nurse. She told me that this morning at five o'clock he
became
uneasy about the royal family. He asked for the names of all
the
clerks who had called to inquire after him; and then he said:
'Fill my
snuff-box, give me the newspaper, bring my spectacles, and
change my
ribbon of the Legion of honor,--it is very dirty.' I suppose you
know
he always wore his orders in bed. He was fully conscious,
retained his
senses and all his usual ideas. But, presto! ten minutes later
the
water rose, rose, rose and flooded his chest; he knew he was
dying for
he felt the cysts break. At that fatal moment he gave evident
proof of
his powerful mind and vast intellect. Ah, we never rightly
appreciated
him! We used to laugh at him and call him a booby--didn't
you,
Monsieur Godard?"
Godard. "I? I always rated Monsieur de la Billardiere's
talents higher
than the rest of you."
Bixiou. "You and he could understand each other!"
Godard. "He wasn't a bad man; he never harmed any one."
Bixiou. "To do harm you must do something, and he never did
anything.
If it wasn't you who said he was a dolt, it must have been
Minard."
Minard [shrugging his shoulders]. "I!"
Bixiou. "Well, then it was you, Dutocq!" [Dutocq made a
vehement
gesture of denial.] "Oh! very good, then it was nobody. Every
one in
this office knew his intellect was herculean. Well, you were
right. He
ended, as I have said, like the great man that he was."
Desroys [impatiently]. "Pray what did he do that was so great?
he had
the weakness to confess himself."
Bixiou. "Yes, monsieur, he received the holy sacraments. But
do you
know what he did in order to receive them? He put on his uniform
as
gentleman-in-ordinary of the Bedchamber, with all his orders,
and had
himself powdered; they tied his queue (that poor queue!) with a
fresh
ribbon. Now I say that none but a man of remarkable character
would
have his queue tied with a fresh ribbon just as he was dying.
There
are eight of us here, and I don't believe one among us is
capable of
such an act. But that's not all; he said,--for you know all
celebrated
men make a dying speech; he said,--stop now, what did he say?
Ah! he
said, 'I must attire myself to meet the King of Heaven,--I, who
have
so often dressed in my best for audience with the kings of
earth.'
That's how Monsieur de la Billardiere departed this life. He
took upon
himself to justify the saying of Pythagoras, 'No man is known
until he
dies.'"
Colleville [rushing in]. "Gentlemen, great news!"
All. "We know it."
Colleville. "I defy you to know it! I have been hunting for it
ever
since the accession of His Majesty to the thrones of France and
of
Navarre. Last night I succeeded! but with what labor! Madame
Colleville asked me what was the matter."
Dutocq. "Do you think we have time to bother ourselves with
your
intolerable anagrams when the worthy Monsieur de la Billardiere
has
just expired?"
Colleville. "That's Bixiou's nonsense! I have just come from
Monsieur
de la Billardiere's; he is still living, though they expect him
to die
soon." [Godard, indignant at the hoax, goes off grumbling.]
"Gentlemen! you would never guess what extraordinary events
are
revealed by the anagram of this sacramental sentence" [he pulls
out a
piece of paper and reads], "Charles dix, par la grace de Dieu,
roi de
France et de Navarre."
Godard [re-entering]. "Tell what it is at once, and don't keep
people
waiting."
Colleville [triumphantly unfolding the rest of the paper]. "Listen!
"A H. V. il cedera;
De S. C. l. d. partira;
Eh nauf errera,
Decide a Gorix.
"Every letter is there!" [He repeats it.] "A Henry cinq cedera
(his
crown of course); de Saint-Cloud partira; en nauf (that's an
old
French word for skiff, vessel, felucca, corvette, anything you
like)
errera--"
Dutocq. "What a tissue of absurdities! How can the King cede his
crown
to Henry V., who, according to your nonsense, must be his
grandson,
when Monseigneur le Dauphin is living. Are you prophesying
the
Dauphin's death?"
Bixiou. "What's Gorix, pray?--the name of a cat?"
Colleville [provoked]. "It is the archaeological and
lapidarial
abbreviation of the name of a town, my good friend; I looked it
out in
Malte-Brun: Goritz, in Latin Gorixia, situated in Bohemia or
Hungary,
or it may be Austria--"
Bixiou. "Tyrol, the Basque provinces, or South America. Why
don't you
set it all to music and play it on the clarionet?"
Godard [shrugging his shoulders and departing]. "What utter nonsense!"
Colleville. "Nonsense! nonsense indeed! It is a pity you don't
take
the trouble to study fatalism, the religion of the Emperor
Napoleon."
Godard [irritated at Colleville's tone]. "Monsieur Colleville,
let me
tell you that Bonaparte may perhaps be styled Emperor by
historians,
but it is extremely out of place to refer to him as such in
a
government office."
Bixiou [laughing]. "Get an anagram out of that, my dear fellow."
Colleville [angrily]. "Let me tell you that if Napoleon
Bonaparte had
studied the letters of his name on the 14th of April, 1814, he
might
perhaps be Emperor still."
Bixiou. "How do you make that out?"
Colleville [solemnly]. "Napoleon Bonaparte.--No, appear not at Elba!"
Dutocq. "You'll lose your place for talking such nonsense."
Colleville. "If my place is taken from me, Francois Keller
will make
it hot for your minister." [Dead silence.] "I'd have you to
know,
Master Dutocq, that all known anagrams have actually come to
pass.
Look here,--you, yourself,--don't you marry, for there's 'coqu'
in
your name."
Bixiou [interrupting]. "And d, t, for de-testable."
Dutocq [without seeming angry]. "I don't care, as long as it
is only
in my name. Why don't you anagrammatize, or whatever you call
it,
'Xavier Rabourdin, chef du bureau'?"
Colleville. "Bless you, so I have!"
Bixiou [mending his pen]. "And what did you make of it?"
Colleville. "It comes out as follows: D'abord reva bureaux,
E-u,--(you
catch the meaning? et eut--and had) E-u fin riche; which
signifies
that after first belonging to the administration, he gave it up
and
got rich elsewhere." [Repeats.] "D'abord reva bureaux, E-u fin
riche."
Dutocq. "That IS queer!"
Bixiou. "Try Isidore Baudoyer."
Colleville [mysteriously]. "I sha'n't tell the other anagrams
to any
one but Thuillier."
Bixiou. "I'll bet you a breakfast that I can tell that one myself."
Colleville. "And I'll pay if you find it out."
Bixiou. "Then I shall breakfast at your expense; but you won't
be
angry, will you? Two such geniuses as you and I need never
conflict.
'Isidore Baudoyer' anagrams into 'Ris d'aboyeur d'oie.'"
Colleville [petrified with amazement]. "You stole it from me!"
Bixiou [with dignity]. "Monsieur Colleville, do me the honor
to
believe that I am rich enough in absurdity not to steal my
neighbor's
nonsense."
Baudoyer [entering with a bundle of papers in his hand].
"Gentlemen, I
request you to shout a little louder; you bring this office into
such
high repute with the administration. My worthy coadjutor,
Monsieur
Clergeot, did me the honor just now to come and ask a question,
and he
heard the noise you are making" [passes into Monsieur Godard's
room].
Bixiou [in a low voice]. "The watch-dog is very tame this
morning;
there'll be a change of weather before night."
Dutocq [whispering to Bixiou]. "I have something I want to say
to
you."
Bixiou [fingering Dutocq's waistcoat]. "You've a pretty
waistcoat,
that cost you nothing; is that what you want to say?"
Dutocq. "Nothing, indeed! I never paid so dear for anything in
my
life. That stuff cost six francs a yard in the best shop in the
rue de
la Paix,--a fine dead stuff, the very thing for deep
mourning."
Bixiou. "You know about engravings and such things, my dear
fellow,
but you are totally ignorant of the laws of etiquette. Well, no
man
can be a universal genius! Silk is positively not admissible in
deep
mourning. Don't you see I am wearing woollen? Monsieur
Rabourdin,
Monsieur Baudoyer, and the minister are all in woollen; so is
the
faubourg Saint-Germain. There's no one here but Minard who
doesn't
wear woollen; he's afraid of being taken for a sheep. That's
the
reason why he didn't put on mourning for Louis XVIII."
[During this conversation Baudoyer is sitting by the fire in
Godard's
room, and the two are conversing in a low voice.]
Baudoyer. "Yes, the worthy man is dying. The two ministers are
both
with him. My father-in-law has been notified of the event. If
you want
to do me a signal service you will take a cab and go and let
Madame
Baudoyer know what is happening; for Monsieur Saillard can't
leave his
desk, nor I my office. Put yourself at my wife's orders; do
whatever
she wishes. She has, I believe, some ideas of her own, and wants
to
take certain steps simultaneously." [The two functionaries go
out
together.]
Godard. "Monsieur Bixiou, I am obliged to leave the office for
the
rest of the day. You will take my place."
Baudoyer [to Bixiou, benignly]. "Consult me, if there is
any
necessity."
Bixiou. "This time, La Billardiere is really dead."
Dutocq [in Bixiou's ear]. "Come outside a minute." [The two go
into
the corridor and gaze at each other like birds of ill-omen.]
Dutocq [whispering]. "Listen. Now is the time for us to
understand
each other and push our way. What would you say to your being
made
head of the bureau, and I under you?"
Bixiou [shrugging his shoulders]. "Come, come, don't talk nonsense!"
Dutocq. "If Baudoyer gets La Billardiere's place Rabourdin
won't stay
on where he is. Between ourselves, Baudoyer is so incapable that
if du
Bruel and you don't help him he will certainly be dismissed in
a
couple of months. If I know arithmetic that will give three
empty
places for us to fill--"
Bixiou. "Three places right under our noses, which will
certainly be
given to some bloated favorite, some spy, some pious
fraud,--to
Colleville perhaps, whose wife has ended where all pretty women
end--
in piety."
Dutocq. "No, to YOU, my dear fellow, if you will only, for
once in
your life, use your wits logically." [He stopped as if to study
the
effect of his adverb in Bixiou's face.] "Come, let us play
fair."
Bixiou [stolidly]. "Let me see your game."
Dutocq. "I don't wish to be anything more than
under-head-clerk. I
know myself perfectly well, and I know I haven't the ability,
like
you, to be head of a bureau. Du Bruel can be director, and you
the
head of this bureau; he will leave you his place as soon as he
has
made his pile; and as for me, I shall swim with the tide
comfortably,
under your protection, till I can retire on a pension."
Bixiou. "Sly dog! but how to you expect to carry out a plan
which
means forcing the minister's hand and ejecting a man of
talent?
Between ourselves, Rabourdin is the only man capable of taking
charge
of the division, and I might say of the ministry. Do you know
that
they talk of putting in over his head that solid lump of
foolishness,
that cube of idiocy, Baudoyer?"
Dutocq [consequentially]. "My dear fellow, I am in a position
to rouse
the whole division against Rabourdin. You know how devoted
Fleury is
to him? Well, I can make Fleury despise him."
Bixiou. "Despised by Fleury!"
Dutocq. "Not a soul will stand by Rabourdin; the clerks will
go in a
body and complain of him to the minister,--not only in our
division,
but in all the divisions--"
Bixiou. "Forward, march! infantry, cavalry, artillery, and
marines of
the guard! You rave, my good fellow! And I, what part am I to
take in
the business?"
Dutocq. "You are to make a cutting caricature,--sharp enough
to kill a
man."
Bixiou. "How much will you pay for it?"
Dutocq. "A hundred francs."
Bixiou [to himself]. "Then there is something in it."
Dutocq [continuing]. "You must represent Rabourdin dressed as
a
butcher (make it a good likeness), find analogies between a
kitchen
and a bureau, put a skewer in his hand, draw portraits of
the
principal clerks and stick their heads on fowls, put them in
a
monstrous coop labelled 'Civil Service executions'; make him
cutting
the throat of one, and supposed to take the others in turn. You
can
have geese and ducks with heads like ours,--you understand!
Baudoyer,
for instance, he'll make an excellent turkey-buzzard."
Bixiou. "Ris d'aboyeur d'oie!" [He has watched Dutocq
carefully for
some time.] "Did you think of that yourself?"
Dutocq. "Yes, I myself."
Bixiou [to himself]. "Do evil feelings bring men to the same
result as
talents?" [Aloud] "Well, I'll do it" [Dutocq makes a motion
of
delight] "--when" [full stop] "--I know where I am and what I
can rely
on. If you don't succeed I shall lose my place, and I must make
a
living. You are a curious kind of innocent still, my dear
colleague."
Dutocq. "Well, you needn't make the lithograph till success
is
proved."
Bixiou. "Why don't you come out and tell me the whole truth?"
Dutocq. "I must first see how the land lays in the bureau; we
will
talk about it later" [goes off].
Bixiou [alone in the corridor]. "That fish, for he's more a
fish than
a bird, that Dutocq has a good idea in his head--I'm sure I
don't know
where he stole it. If Baudoyer should succeed La Billardiere it
would
be fun, more than fun--profit!" [Returns to the office.]
"Gentlemen, I
announce glorious changes; papa La Billardiere is dead, really
dead,--
no nonsense, word of honor! Godard is off on business for
our
excellent chief Baudoyer, successor presumptive to the
deceased."
[Minard, Desroys, and Colleville raise their heads in amazement;
they
all lay down their pens, and Colleville blows his nose.] "Every
one of
us is to be promoted! Colleville will be under-head-clerk at the
very
least. Minard may have my place as chief clerk--why not? he is
quite
as dull as I am. Hey, Minard, if you should get twenty-five
hundred
francs a-year your little wife would be uncommonly pleased, and
you
could buy yourself a pair of boots now and then."
Colleville. "But you don't get twenty-five hundred francs."
Bixiou. "Monsieur Dutocq gets that in Rabourdin's office;
why
shouldn't I get it this year? Monsieur Baudoyer gets it."
Colleville. "Only through the influence of Monsieur Saillard.
No other
chief clerk gets that in any of the divisions."
Paulmier. "Bah! Hasn't Monsieur Cochin three thousand? He
succeeded
Monsieur Vavasseur, who served ten years under the Empire at
four
thousand. His salary was dropped to three when the King
first
returned; then to two thousand five hundred before Vavasseur
died. But
Monsieur Cochin, who succeeded him, had influence enough to get
the
salary put back to three thousand."
Colleville. "Monsieur Cochin signs E. A. L. Cochin (he is
named Emile-
Adolphe-Lucian), which, when anagrammed, gives Cochineal. Now
observe,
he's a partner in a druggist's business in the rue des Lombards,
the
Maison Matifat, which made its fortune by that identical
colonial
product."
Baudoyer [entering]. "Monsieur Chazelle, I see, is not here;
you will
be good enough to say I asked for him, gentlemen."
Bixiou [who had hastily stuck a hat on Chazelle's chair when
he heard
Baudoyer's step]. "Excuse me, Monsieur, but Chazelle has gone to
the
Rabourdins' to make an inquiry."
Chazelle [entering with his hat on his head, and not seeing
Baudoyer].
"La Billardiere is done for, gentlemen! Rabourdin is head of
the
division and Master of petitions; he hasn't stolen HIS
promotion,
that's very certain."
Baudoyer [to Chazelle]. "You found that appointment in your
second
hat, I presume" [points to the hat on the chair]. "This is the
third
time within a month that you have come after nine o'clock. If
you
continue the practice you will get on--elsewhere." [To Bixiou,
who is
reading the newspaper.] "My dear Monsieur Bixiou, do pray leave
the
newspapers to these gentlemen who are going to breakfast, and
come
into my office for your orders for the day. I don't know what
Monsieur
Rabourdin wants with Gabriel; he keeps him to do his private
errands,
I believe. I've rung three times and can't get him." [Baudoyer
and
Bixiou retire into the private office.]
Chazelle. "Damned unlucky!"
Paulmier [delighted to annoy Chazelle]. "Why didn't you look
about
when you came into the room? You might have seen the elephant,
and the
hat too; they are big enough to be visible."
Chazelle [dismally]. "Disgusting business! I don't see why we
should
be treated like slaves because the government gives us four
francs and
sixty-five centimes a day."
Fleury [entering]. "Down with Baudoyer! hurrah for
Rabourdin!--that's
the cry in the division."
Chazelle [getting more and more angry]. "Baudoyer can turn off
me if
he likes, I sha'n't care. In Paris there are a thousand ways
of
earning five francs a day; why, I could earn that at the Palais
de
Justice, copying briefs for the lawyers."
Paulmier [still prodding him]. "It is very easy to say that;
but a
government place is a government place, and that plucky
Colleville,
who works like a galley-slave outside of this office, and who
could
earn, if he lost his appointment, more than his salary, prefers
to
keep his place. Who the devil is fool enough to give up his
expectations?"
Chazelle [continuing his philippic]. "You may not be, but I
am! We
have no chances at all. Time was when nothing was more
encouraging
than a civil-service career. So many men were in the army that
there
were not enough for the government work; the maimed and the halt
and
the sick ones, like Paulmier, and the near-sighted ones, all had
their
chance of a rapid promotion. But now, ever since the Chamber
invented
what they called special training, and the rules and regulations
for
civil-service examiners, we are worse off than common soldiers.
The
poorest places are at the mercy of a thousand mischances because
we
are now ruled by a thousand sovereigns."
Bixiou [returning]. "Are you crazy, Chazelle? Where do you find
a
thousand sovereigns?--not in your pocket, are they?"
Chazelle. "Count them up. There are four hundred over there at
the end
of the pont de la Concorde (so called because it leads to the
scene of
perpetual discord between the Right and Left of the Chamber);
three
hundred more at the end of the rue de Tournon. The court, which
ought
to count for the other three hundred, has seven hundred parts
less
power to get a man appointed to a place under government than
the
Emperor Napoleon had."
Fleury. "All of which signifies that in a country where there
are
three powers you may bet a thousand to one that a government
clerk who
has no influence but his own merits to advance him will remain
in
obscurity."
Bixiou [looking alternately at Chazelle and Fleury]. "My sons,
you
have yet to learn that in these days the worst state of life is
the
state of belonging to the State."
Fleury. "Because it has a constitutional government."
Colleville. "Gentlemen, gentlemen! no politics!"
Bixiou. "Fleury is right. Serving the State in these days is
no longer
serving a prince who knew how to punish and reward. The State
now is
EVERYBODY. Everybody of course cares for nobody. Serve
everybody, and
you serve nobody. Nobody is interested in nobody; the government
clerk
lives between two negations. The world has neither pity nor
respect,
neither heart nor head; everybody forgets to-morrow the service
of
yesterday. Now each one of you may be, like Monsieur Baudoyer,
an
administrative genius, a Chateaubriand of reports, a Bossouet
of
circulars, the Canalis of memorials, the gifted son of
diplomatic
despatches; but I tell you there is a fatal law which interferes
with
all administrative genius,--I mean the law of promotion by
average.
This average is based on the statistics of promotion and the
statistics of mortality combined. It is very certain that on
entering
whichever section of the Civil Service you please at the age
of
eighteen, you can't get eighteen hundred francs a year till you
reach
the age of thirty. Now there's no free and independent career
in
which, in the course of twelve years, a young man who has gone
through
the grammar-school, been vaccinated, is exempt from military
service,
and possesses all his faculties (I don't mean transcendent ones)
can't
amass a capital of forty-five thousand francs in centimes,
which
represents a permanent income equal to our salaries, which are,
after
all, precarious. In twelve years a grocer can earn enough to
give him
ten thousand francs a year; a painter can daub a mile of canvas
and be
decorated with the Legion of honor, or pose as a neglected
genius. A
literary man becomes professor of something or other, or a
journalist
at a hundred francs for a thousand lines; he writes
"feuilletons," or
he gets into Saint-Pelagie for a brilliant article that offends
the
Jesuits,--which of course is an immense benefit to him and makes
him a
politician at once. Even a lazy man, who does nothing but make
debts,
has time to marry a widow who pays them; a priest finds time to
become
a bishop "in partibus." A sober, intelligent young fellow, who
begins
with a small capital as a money-changer, soon buys a share in
a
broker's business; and, to go even lower, a petty clerk becomes
a
notary, a rag-picker lays by two or three thousand francs a
year, and
the poorest workmen often become manufacturers; whereas, in
the
rotatory movement of this present civilization, which
mistakes
perpetual division and redivision for progress, an unhappy
civil
service clerk, like Chazelle for instance, is forced to dine
for
twenty-two sous a meal, struggles with his tailor and bootmaker,
gets
into debt, and is an absolute nothing; worse than that, he
becomes an
idiot! Come, gentlemen, now's the time to make a stand! Let us
all
give in our resignations! Fleury, Chazelle, fling yourselves
into
other employments and become the great men you really are."
Chazelle [calmed down by Bixiou's allocution]. "No, I thank
you"
[general laughter].
Bixiou. "You are wrong; in your situation I should try to get
ahead of
the general-secretary."
Chazelle [uneasily]. "What has he to do with me?"
Bixiou. "You'll find out; do you suppose Baudoyer will
overlook what
happened just now?"
Fleury. "Another piece of Bixiou's spite! You've a queer
fellow to
deal with in there. Now, Monsieur Rabourdin,--there's a man for
you!
He put work on my table to-day that you couldn't get through
within
this office in three days; well, he expects me to have it done
by four
o'clock to-day. But he is not always at my heels to hinder me
from
talking to my friends."
Baudoyer [appearing at the door]. "Gentlemen, you will admit
that if
you have the legal right to find fault with the chamber and
the
administration you must at least do so elsewhere than in this
office."
[To Fleury.] "What are you doing here, monsieur?"
Fleury [insolently]. "I came to tell these gentlemen that
there was to
be a general turn-out. Du Bruel is sent for to the ministry,
and
Dutocq also. Everybody is asking who will be appointed."
Baudoyer [retiring]. "It is not your affair, sir; go back to
your own
office, and do not disturb mine."
Fleury [in the doorway]. "It would be a shameful injustice
if
Rabourdin lost the place; I swear I'd leave the service. Did you
find
that anagram, papa Colleville?"
Colleville. "Yes, here it is."
Fleury [leaning over Colleville's desk]. "Capital! famous!
This is
just what will happen if the administration continues to play
the
hypocrite." [He makes a sign to the clerks that Baudoyer is
listening.] "If the government would frankly state its
intentions
without concealments of any kind, the liberals would know what
they
had to deal with. An administration which sets its best
friends
against itself, such men as those of the 'Debats,'
Chateaubriand, and
Royer-Collard, is only to be pitied!"
Colleville [after consulting his colleagues]. "Come, Fleury,
you're a
good fellow, but don't talk politics here; you don't know what
harm
you may do us."
Fleury [dryly]. "Well, adieu, gentlemen; I have my work to do
by four
o'clock."
While this idle talk had been going on, des Lupeaulx was
closeted in
his office with du Bruel, where, a little later, Dutocq joined
them.
Des Lupeaulx had heard from his valet of La Billardiere's death,
and
wishing to please the two ministers, he wanted an obituary
article to
appear in the evening papers.
"Good morning, my dear du Bruel," said the semi-minister to
the head-
clerk as he entered, and not inviting him to sit down. "You have
heard
the news? La Billardiere is dead. The ministers were both
present when
he received the last sacraments. The worthy man strongly
recommended
Rabourdin, saying he should die with less regret if he could
know that
his successor were the man who had so constantly done his work.
Death
is a torture which makes a man confess everything. The minister
agreed
the more readily because his intention and that of the Council
was to
reward Monsieur Rabourdin's numerous services. In fact, the
Council of
State needs his experience. They say that young La Billardiere
is to
leave the division of his father and go to the Commission of
Seals;
that's just the same as if the King had made him a present of
a
hundred thousand francs,--the place can always be sold. But I
know the
news will delight your division, which will thus get rid of him.
Du
Bruel, we must get ten or a dozen lines about the worthy late
director
into the papers; his Excellency will glance them over,--he reads
the
papers. Do you know the particulars of old La Billardiere's
life?"
Du Bruel made a sign in the negative.
"No?" continued des Lupeaulx. "Well then; he was mixed up in
the
affairs of La Vendee, and he was one of the confidants of the
late
King. Like Monsieur le Comte de Fontaine he always refused to
hold
communication with the First Consul. He was a bit of a 'chouan';
born
in Brittany of a parliamentary family, and ennobled by Louis
XVIII.
How old was he? never mind about that; just say his loyalty
was
untarnished, his religion enlightened,--the poor old fellow
hated
churches and never set foot in one, but you had better make him
out a
'pious vassal.' Bring in, gracefully, that he sang the song of
Simeon
at the accession of Charles X. The Comte d'Artois thought very
highly
of La Billardiere, for he co-operated in the unfortunate affair
of
Quiberon and took the whole responsibility on himself. You know
about
that, don't you? La Billardiere defended the King in a
printed
pamphlet in reply to an impudent history of the Revolution
written by
a journalist; you can allude to his loyalty and devotion. But be
very
careful what you say; weigh your words, so that the other
newspapers
can't laugh at us; and bring me the article when you've written
it.
Were you at Rabourdin's yesterday?"
"Yes, monseigneur," said du Bruel, "Ah! beg pardon."
"No harm done," answered des Lupeaulx, laughing.
"Madame Rabourdin looked delightfully handsome," added du
Bruel.
"There are not two women like her in Paris. Some are as clever
as she,
but there's not one so gracefully witty. Many women may even
be
handsomer, but it would be hard to find one with such variety
of
beauty. Madame Rabourdin is far superior to Madame Colleville,"
said
the vaudevillist, remembering des Lupeaulx's former affair.
"Flavie
owes what she is to the men about her, whereas Madame Rabourdin
is all
things in herself. It is wonderful too what she knows; you can't
tell
secrets in Latin before HER. If I had such a wife, I know I
should
succeed in everything."
"You have more mind than an author ought to have," returned
des
Lupeaulx, with a conceited air. Then he turned round and
perceived
Dutocq. "Ah, good-morning, Dutocq," he said. "I sent for you to
lend
me your Charlet--if you have the whole complete. Madame la
comtesse
knows nothing of Charlet."
Du Bruel retired.
"Why do you come in without being summoned?" said des
Lupeaulx,
harshly, when he and Dutocq were left alone. "Is the State in
danger
that you must come here at ten o'clock in the morning, just as I
am
going to breakfast with his Excellency?"
"Perhaps it is, monsieur," said Dutocq, dryly. "If I had had
the honor
to see you earlier, you would probably have not been so willing
to
support Monsieur Rabourdin, after reading his opinion of
you."
Dutocq opened his coat, took a paper from the left-hand
breast-pocket
and laid it on des Lupeaulx's desk, pointing to a marked
passage. Then
he went to the door and slipped the bolt, fearing interruption.
While
he was thus employed, the secretary-general read the opening
sentence
of the article, which was as follows:
"Monsieur des Lupeaulx. A government degrades itself by openly
employing such a man, whose real vocation is for police diplomacy.
He is fitted to deal with the political filibusters of other
cabinets, and it would be a pity therefore to employ him on our
internal detective police. He is above a common spy, for he is
able to understand a plan; he could skilfully carry through a dark
piece of work and cover his retreat safely."
Des Lupeaulx was succinctly analyzed in five or six such
paragraphs,--
the essence, in fact, of the biographical portrait which we gave
at
the beginning of this history. As he read the words the
secretary felt
that a man stronger than himself sat in judgment on him; and he
at
once resolved to examine the memorandum, which evidently reached
far
and high, without allowing Dutocq to know his secret thoughts.
He
therefore showed a calm, grave face when the spy returned to
him. Des
Lupeaulx, like lawyers, magistrates, diplomatists, and all whose
work
obliges them to pry into the human heart, was past being
surprised at
anything. Hardened in treachery and in all the tricks and wiles
of
hatred, he could take a stab in the back and not let his face
tell of
it.
"How did you get hold of this paper?"
Dutocq related his good luck; des Lupeaulx's face as he
listened
expressed no approbation; and the spy ended in terror an account
which
began triumphantly.
"Dutocq, you have put your finger between the bark and the
tree," said
the secretary, coldly. "If you don't want to make powerful
enemies I
advise you to keep this paper a profound secret; it is a work of
the
utmost importance and already well known to me."
So saying, des Lupeaulx dismissed Dutocq by one of those
glances that
are more expressive than words.
"Ha! that scoundrel of a Rabourdin has put his finger in
this!"
thought Dutocq, alarmed on finding himself anticipated; "he
has
reached the ear of the administration, while I am left out in
the
cold. I shouldn't have thought it!"
To all his other motives of aversion to Rabourdin he now added
the
jealousy of one man to another man of the same calling,--a
most
powerful ingredient in hatred.
When des Lupeaulx was left alone, he dropped into a
strange
meditation. What power was it of which Rabourdin was the
instrument?
Should he, des Lupeaulx, use this singular document to destroy
him, or
should he keep it as a weapon to succeed with the wife? The
mystery
that lay behind this paper was all darkness to des Lupeaulx, who
read
with something akin to terror page after page, in which the men
of his
acquaintance were judged with unerring wisdom. He admired
Rabourdin,
though stabbed to his vitals by what he said of him. The
breakfast-
hour suddenly cut short his meditation.
"His Excellency is waiting for you to come down," announced
the
minister's footman.
The minister always breakfasted with his wife and children and
des
Lupeaulx, without the presence of servants. The morning meal
affords
the only moment of privacy which public men can snatch from
the
current of overwhelming business. Yet in spite of the
precautions they
take to keep this hour for private intimacies and affections, a
good
many great and little people manage to infringe upon it.
Business
itself will, as at this moment, thrust itself in the way of
their
scanty comfort.
"I thought Rabourdin was a man above all ordinary petty
manoeuvres,"
began the minister; "and yet here, not ten minutes after La
Billardiere's death, he sends me this note by La Briere,--it is
like a
stage missive. Look," said his Excellency, giving des Lupeaulx a
paper
which he was twirling in his fingers.
Too noble in mind to think for a moment of the shameful
meaning La
Billardiere's death might lend to his letter, Rabourdin had
not
withdrawn it from La Briere's hands after the news reached him.
Des
Lupeaulx read as follows:--
"Monseigneur,--If twenty-three years of irreproachable services
may claim a favor, I entreat your Excellency to grant me an
audience this very day. My honor is involved in the matter of
which I desire to speak."
"Poor man!" said des Lupeaulx, in a tone of compassion which
confirmed
the minister in his error. "We are alone; I advise you to see
him now.
You have a meeting of the Council when the Chamber rises;
moreover,
your Excellency has to reply to-day to the opposition; this is
really
the only hour when you can receive him."
Des Lupeaulx rose, called the servant, said a few words, and
returned
to his seat. "I have told them to bring him in at dessert," he
said.
Like all other ministers under the Restoration, this
particular
minister was a man without youth. The charter granted by Louis
XVIII.
had the defect of tying the hands of the kings by compelling
them to
deliver the destinies of the nation into the control of the
middle-
aged men of the Chamber and the septuagenarians of the peerage;
it
robbed them of the right to lay hands on a man of statesmanlike
talent
wherever they could find him, no matter how young he was or
how
poverty-stricken his condition might be. Napoleon alone was able
to
employ young men as he chose, without being restrained by
any
consideration. After the overthrow of that mighty will, vigor
deserted
power. Now the period when effeminacy succeeds to vigor presents
a
contrast that is far more dangerous in France than in other
countries.
As a general thing, ministers who were old before they entered
office
have proved second or third rate, while those who were taken
young
have been an honor to European monarchies and to the republics
whose
affairs they have directed. The world still rings with the
struggle
between Pitt and Napoleon, two men who conducted the politics of
their
respective countries at an age when Henri de Navarre,
Richelieu,
Mazarin, Colbert, Louvois, the Prince of Orange, the Guises,
Machiavelli, in short, all the best known of our great men,
coming
from the ranks or born to a throne, began to rule the State.
The
Convention--that model of energy--was made up in a great measure
of
young heads; no sovereign can ever forget that it was able to
put
fourteen armies into the field against Europe. Its policy, fatal
in
the eyes of those who cling to what is called absolute power,
was
nevertheless dictated by strictly monarchical principles, and
it
behaved itself like any of the great kings.
After ten or a dozen years of parliamentary struggle, having
studied
the science of politics until he was worn down by it, this
particular
minister had come to be enthroned by his party, who considered
him in
the light of their business man. Happily for him he was now
nearer
sixty than fifty years of age; had he retained even a vestige
of
juvenile vigor he would quickly have quenched it. But,
accustomed to
back and fill, retreat and return to the charge, he was able to
endure
being struck at, turn and turn about, by his own party, by
the
opposition, by the court, by the clergy, because to all such
attacks
he opposed the inert force of a substance which was equally soft
and
consistent; thus he reaped the benefits of what was really
his
misfortune. Harassed by a thousand questions of government, his
mind,
like that of an old lawyer who has tried every species of case,
no
longer possessed the spring which solitary minds are able to
retain,
nor that power of prompt decision which distinguishes men who
are
early accustomed to action, and young soldiers. How could it
be
otherwise? He had practised sophistries and quibbled instead
of
judging; he had criticised effects and done nothing for causes;
his
head was full of plans such as a political party lays upon
the
shoulders of a leader,--matters of private interest brought to
an
orator supposed to have a future, a jumble of schemes and
impractical
requests. Far from coming fresh to his work, he was wearied out
with
marching and counter-marching, and when he finally reached the
much
desired height of his present position, he found himself in a
thicket
of thorny bushes with a thousand conflicting wills to
conciliate. If
the statesmen of the Restoration had been allowed to follow out
their
own ideas, their capacity would doubtless have been criticised;
but
though their wills were often forced, their age saved them
from
attempting the resistance which youth opposes to intrigues, both
high
and low,--intrigues which vanquished Richelieu, and to which, in
a
lower sphere, Rabourdin was to succumb.
After the rough and tumble of their first struggles in
political life
these men, less old than aged, have to endure the additional
wear and
tear of a ministry. Thus it is that their eyes begin to weaken
just as
they need to have the clear-sightedness of eagles; their mind is
weary
when its youth and fire need to be redoubled. The minister in
whom
Rabourdin sought to confide was in the habit of listening to men
of
undoubted superiority as they explained ingenious theories
of
government, applicable or inapplicable to the affairs of France.
Such
men, by whom the difficulties of national policy were never
apprehended, were in the habit of attacking this minister
personally
whenever a parliamentary battle or a contest with the secret
follies
of the court took place,--on the eve of a struggle with the
popular
mind, or on the morrow of a diplomatic discussion which divided
the
Council into three separate parties. Caught in such a
predicament, a
statesman naturally keeps a yawn ready for the first sentence
designed
to show him how the public service could be better managed. At
such
periods not a dinner took place among bold schemers or financial
and
political lobbyists where the opinions of the Bourse and the
Bank, the
secrets of diplomacy, and the policy necessitated by the state
of
affairs in Europe were not canvassed and discussed. The minister
has
his own private councillors in des Lupeaulx and his secretary,
who
collected and pondered all opinions and discussions for the
purpose of
analyzing and controlling the various interests proclaimed
and
supported by so many clever men. In fact, his misfortune was
that of
most other ministers who have passed the prime of life; he
trimmed and
shuffled under all his difficulties,--with journalism, which at
this
period it was thought advisable to repress in an underhand way
rather
than fight openly; with financial as well as labor questions;
with the
clergy as well as with that other question of the public lands;
with
liberalism as with the Chamber. After manoeuvering his way to
power in
the course of seven years, the minister believed that he could
manage
all questions of administration in the same way. It is so
natural to
think we can maintain a position by the same methods which
served us
to reach it that no one ventured to blame a system invented
by
mediocrity to please minds of its own calibre. The Restoration,
like
the Polish revolution, proved to nations as to princes the true
value
of a Man, and what will happen if that necessary man is wanting.
The
last and the greatest weakness of the public men of the
Restoration
was their honesty, in a struggle in which their adversaries
employed
the resources of political dishonesty, lies, and calumnies, and
let
loose upon them, by all subversive means, the clamor of the
unintelligent masses, able only to understand revolt.
Rabourdin told himself all these things. But he had made up
his mind
to win or lose, like a man weary of gambling who allows himself
a last
stake; ill-luck had given him as adversary in the game a sharper
like
des Lupeaulx. With all his sagacity, Rabourdin was better versed
in
matters of administration than in parliamentary optics, and he
was far
indeed from imagining how his confidence would be received; he
little
thought that the great work that filled his mind would seem to
the
minister nothing more than a theory, and that a man who held
the
position of a statesman would confound his reform with the
schemes of
political and self-interested talkers.
As the minister rose from table, thinking of Francois Keller,
his wife
detained him with the offer of a bunch of grapes, and at that
moment
Rabourdin was announced. Des Lupeaulx had counted on the
minister's
preoccupation and his desire to get away; seeing him for the
moment
occupied with his wife, the general-secretary went forward to
meet
Rabourdin; whom he petrified with his first words, said in a low
tone
of voice:--
"His Excellency and I know what the subject is that occupies
your
mind; you have nothing to fear"; then, raising his voice, he
added,
"neither from Dutocq nor from any one else."
"Don't feel uneasy, Rabourdin," said his Excellency, kindly,
but
making a movement to get away.
Rabourdin came forward respectfully, and the minister could
not evade
him.
"Will your Excellency permit me to see you for a moment in
private?"
he said, with a mysterious glance.
The minister looked at the clock and went towards the window,
whither
the poor man followed him.
"When may I have the honor of submitting the matter of which I
spoke
to your Excellency? I desire to fully explain the plan of
administration to which the paper that was taken belongs--"
"Plan of administration!" exclaimed the minister, frowning,
and
hurriedly interrupting him. "If you have anything of that kind
to
communicate you must wait for the regular day when we do
business
together. I ought to be at the Council now; and I have an answer
to
make to the Chamber on that point which the opposition raised
before
the session ended yesterday. Your day is Wednesday next; I could
not
work yesterday, for I had other things to attend to; political
matters
are apt to interfere with purely administrative ones."
"I place my honor with all confidence in your Excellency's
hands,"
said Rabourdin gravely, "and I entreat you to remember that you
have
not allowed me time to give you an immediate explanation of the
stolen
paper--"
"Don't be uneasy," said des Lupeaulx, interposing between the
minister
and Rabourdin, whom he thus interrupted; "in another week you
will
probably be appointed--"
The minister smiled as he thought of des Lupeaulx's enthusiasm
for
Madame Rabourdin, and he glanced knowingly at his wife.
Rabourdin saw
the look, and tried to imagine its meaning; his attention was
diverted
for a moment, and his Excellency took advantage of the fact to
make
his escape.
"We will talk of all this, you and I," said des Lupeaulx, with
whom
Rabourdin, much to his surprise, now found himself alone. "Don't
be
angry with Dutocq; I'll answer for his discretion."
"Madame Rabourdin is charming," said the minister's wife,
wishing to
say the civil thing to the head of a bureau.
The children all gazed at Rabourdin with curiosity. The poor
man had
come there expecting some serious, even solemn, result, and he
was
like a great fish caught in the threads of a flimsy net; he
struggled
with himself.
"Madame la comtesse is very good," he said.
"Shall I not have the pleasure of seeing Madame here some
Wednesday?"
said the countess. "Pray bring her; it will give me
pleasure."
"Madame Rabourdin herself receives on Wednesdays," interrupted
des
Lupeaulx, who knew the empty civility of an invitation to the
official
Wednesdays; "but since you are so kind as to wish for her, you
will
soon give one of your private parties, and--"
The countess rose with some irritation.
"You are the master of my ceremonies," she said to des
Lupeaulx,--
ambiguous words, by which she expressed the annoyance she felt
with
the secretary for presuming to interfere with her private
parties, to
which she admitted only a select few. She left the room without
bowing
to Rabourdin, who remained alone with des Lupeaulx; the latter
was
twisting in his fingers the confidential letter to the minister
which
Rabourdin had intrusted to La Briere. Rabourdin recognized
it.
"You have never really known me," said des Lupeaulx. "Friday
evening
we will come to a full understanding. Just now I must go and
receive
callers; his Excellency saddles me with that burden when he has
other
matters to attend to. But I repeat, Rabourdin, don't worry
yourself;
you have nothing to fear."
Rabourdin walked slowly through the corridors, amazed and
confounded
by this singular turn of events. He had expected Dutocq to
denounce
him, and found he had not been mistaken; des Lupeaulx had
certainly
seen the document which judged him so severely, and yet des
Lupeaulx
was fawning on his judge! It was all incomprehensible. Men of
upright
minds are often at a loss to understand complicated intrigues,
and
Rabourdin was lost in a maze of conjecture without being able
to
discover the object of the game which the secretary was
playing.
"Either he has not read the part about himself, or he loves my wife."
Such were the two thoughts to which his mind arrived as he
crossed the
courtyard; for the glance he had intercepted the night before
between
des Lupeaulx and Celestine came back to his memory like a flash
of
lightning.
Rabourdin's bureau was during his absence a prey to the
keenest
excitement; for the relation between the head officials and the
clerks
in a government office is so regulated that, when a
minister's
messenger summons the head of a bureau to his Excellency's
presence
(above all at the latter's breakfast hour), there is no end to
the
comments that are made. The fact that the present unusual
summons
followed so closely on the death of Monsieur de la Billardiere
seemed
to give special importance to the circumstance, which was made
known
to Monsieur Saillard, who came at once to confer with
Baudoyer.
Bixiou, who happened at the moment to be at work with the
latter, left
him to converse with his father-in-law and betook himself to
the
bureau Rabourdin, where the usual routine was of course
interrupted.
Bixiou [entering]. "I thought I should find you at a white heat!
Don't
you know what's going on down below? The virtuous woman is done
for!
yes, done for, crushed! Terrible scene at the ministry!"
Dutocq [looking fixedly at him]. "Are you telling the truth?"
Bixiou. "Pray, who would regret it? Not you, certainly, for
you will
be made under-head-clerk and du Bruel head of the bureau.
Monsieur
Baudoyer gets the division."
Fleury. "I'll bet a hundred francs that Baudoyer will never be
head of
the division."
Vimeux. "I'll join in the bet; will you, Monsieur Poiret?"
Poiret. "I retire in January."
Bixiou. "Is it possible? are we to lose the sight of those
shoe-ties?
What will the ministry be without you? Will nobody take up the
bet on
my side?"
Dutocq. "I can't, for I know the facts. Monsieur Rabourdin
is
appointed. Monsieur de la Billardiere requested it of the
two
ministers on his death-bed, blaming himself for having taken
the
emoluments of an office of which Rabourdin did all the work; he
felt
remorse of conscience, and the ministers, to quiet him, promised
to
appoint Rabourdin unless higher powers intervened."
Bixiou. "Gentlemen, are you all against me? seven to one,--for
I know
which side you'll take, Monsieur Phellion. Well, I'll bet a
dinner
costing five hundred francs at the Rocher de Cancale that
Rabourdin
does not get La Billardiere's place. That will cost you only a
hundred
francs each, and I'm risking five hundred,--five to one against
me! Do
you take it up?" [Shouting into the next room.] "Du Bruel, what
say
you?"
Phellion [laying down his pen]. "Monsieur, may I ask on what
you base
that contingent proposal?--for contingent it is. But stay, I am
wrong
to call it a proposal; I should say contract. A wager
constitutes a
contract."
Fleury. "No, no; you can only apply the word 'contract' to
agreements
that are recognized in the Code. Now the Code allows of no
action for
the recovery of a bet."
Dutocq. "Proscribe a thing and you recognize it."
Bixiou. "Good! my little man."
Poiret. "Dear me!"
Fleury. "True! when one refuses to pay one's debts, that's
recognizing
them."
Thuillier. "You would make famous lawyers."
Poiret. "I am as curious as Monsieur Phellion to know what
grounds
Monsieur Bixiou has for--"
Bixiou [shouting across the office]. "Du Bruel! Will you bet?"
Du Bruel [appearing at the door]. "Heavens and earth,
gentlemen, I'm
very busy; I have something very difficult to do; I've got to
write an
obituary notice of Monsieur de la Billardiere. I do beg you to
be
quiet; you can laugh and bet afterwards."
Bixiou. "That's true, du Bruel; the praise of an honest man is
a very
difficult thing to write. I'd rather any day draw a caricature
of
him."
Du Bruel. "Do come and help me, Bixiou."
Bixiou [following him]. "I'm willing; though I can do such
things much
better when eating."
Du Bruel. "Well, we will go and dine together afterwards. But
listen,
this is what I have written" [reads] "'The Church and the
Monarchy are
daily losing many of those who fought for them in
Revolutionary
times.'"
Bixiou. "Bad, very bad; why don't you say, 'Death carries on
its
ravages amongst the few surviving defenders of the monarchy and
the
old and faithful servants of the King, whose heart bleeds under
these
reiterated blows?'" [Du Bruel writes rapidly.] "'Monsieur le
Baron
Flamet de la Billardiere died this morning of dropsy, caused by
heart
disease.' You see, it is just as well to show there are hearts
in
government offices; and you ought to slip in a little flummery
about
the emotions of the Royalists during the Terror,--might be
useful,
hey! But stay,--no! the petty papers would be sure to say the
emotions
came more from the stomach than the heart. Better leave that
out. What
are you writing now?"
Du Bruel [reading]. "'Issuing from an old parliamentary stock
in which
devotion to the throne was hereditary, as was also attachment to
the
faith of our fathers, Monsieur de la Billardiere--'"
Bixiou. "Better say Monsieur le Baron de la Billardiere."
Du Bruel. "But he wasn't baron in 1793."
Bixiou. "No matter. Don't you remember that under the Empire
Fouche
was telling an anecdote about the Convention, in which he had to
quote
Robespierre, and he said, 'Robespierre called out to me,
"Duc
d'Otrante, go to the Hotel de Ville."' There's a precedent for
you!"
Du Bruel. "Let me just write that down; I can use it in a
vaudeville.
--But to go back to what we were saying. I don't want to put
'Monsieur
le baron,' because I am reserving his honors till the last, when
they
rained upon him."
Bixiou. "Oh! very good; that's theatrical,--the finale of
the
article."
Du Bruel [continuing]. "'In appointing Monsieur de la
Billardiere
gentleman-in-ordinary--'"
Bixiou. "Very ordinary!"
Du Bruel. "'--of the Bedchamber, the King rewarded not only
the
services rendered by the Provost, who knew how to harmonize
the
severity of his functions with the customary urbanity of the
Bourbons,
but the bravery of the Vendean hero, who never bent the knee to
the
imperial idol. He leaves a son, who inherits his loyalty and
his
talents.'"
Bixiou. "Don't you think all that is a little too florid? I
should
tone down the poetry. 'Imperial idol!' 'bent the knee!' damn it,
my
dear fellow, writing vaudevilles has ruined your style; you
can't come
down to pedestrial prose. I should say, 'He belonged to the
small
number of those who.' Simplify, simplify! the man himself was
a
simpleton."
Du Bruel. "That's vaudeville, if you like! You would make your
fortune
at the theatre, Bixiou."
Bixiou. "What have you said about Quiberon?" [Reads over du
Bruel's
shoulder.] "Oh, that won't do! Here, this is what you must say:
'He
took upon himself, in a book recently published, the
responsibility
for all the blunders of the expedition to Quiberon,--thus
proving the
nature of his loyalty, which did not shrink from any
sacrifice.'
That's clever and witty, and exalts La Billardiere."
Du Bruel. "At whose expense?"
Bixiou [solemn as a priest in a pulpit]. "Why, Hoche and
Tallien, of
course; don't you read history?"
Du Bruel. "No. I subscribed to the Baudouin series, but I've
never had
time to open a volume; one can't find matter for vaudevilles
there."
Phellion [at the door]. "We all want to know, Monsieur Bixiou,
what
made you think that the worthy and honorable Monsieur Rabourdin,
who
has so long done the work of this division for Monsieur de
la
Billardiere,--he, who is the senior head of all the bureaus, and
whom,
moreover, the minister summoned as soon as he heard of the
departure
of the late Monsieur de la Billardiere,--will not be appointed
head of
the division."
Bixiou. "Papa Phellion, you know geography?"
Phellion [bridling up]. "I should say so!"
Bixiou. "And history?"
Phellion [affecting modesty]. "Possibly."
Bixiou [looking fixedly at him]. "Your diamond pin is loose,
it is
coming out. Well, you may know all that, but you don't know the
human
heart; you have gone no further in the geography and history of
that
organ than you have in the environs of the city of Paris."
Poiret [to Vimeux]. "Environs of Paris? I thought they were
talking of
Monsieur Rabourdin."
Bixiou. "About that bet? Does the entire bureau Rabourdin bet
against
me?"
All. "Yes."
Bixiou. "Du Bruel, do you count in?"
Du Bruel. "Of course I do. We want Rabourdin to go up a step
and make
room for others."
Bixiou. "Well, I accept the bet,--for this reason; you can
hardly
understand it, but I'll tell it to you all the same. It would be
right
and just to appoint Monsieur Rabourdin" [looking full at
Dutocq],
"because, in that case, long and faithful service, honor, and
talent
would be recognized, appreciated, and properly rewarded. Such
an
appointment is in the best interests of the administration."
[Phellion, Poiret, and Thuillier listen stupidly, with the look
of
those who try to peer before them in the darkness.] "Well, it is
just
because the promotion would be so fitting, and because the man
has
such merit, and because the measure is so eminently wise and
equitable
that I bet Rabourdin will not be appointed. Yes, you'll see,
that
appointment will slip up, just like the invasion from Boulogne,
and
the march to Russia, for the success of which a great genius
has
gathered together all the chances. It will fail as all good and
just
things do fail in this low world. I am only backing the devil's
game."
Du Bruel. "Who do you think will be appointed?"
Bixiou. "The more I think about Baudoyer, the more sure I feel
that he
unites all the opposite qualities; therefore I think he will be
the
next head of this division."
Dutocq. "But Monsieur des Lupeaulx, who sent for me to borrow
my
Charlet, told me positively that Monsieur Rabourdin was
appointed, and
that the little La Billardiere would be made Clerk of the
Seals."
Bixiou. "Appointed, indeed! The appointment can't be made and
signed
under ten days. It will certainly not be known before New-Year's
day.
There he goes now across the courtyard; look at him, and say if
the
virtuous Rabourdin looks like a man in the sunshine of favor. I
should
say he knows he's dismissed." [Fleury rushes to the window.]
"Gentlemen, adieu; I'll go and tell Monsieur Baudoyer that I
hear from
you that Rabourdin is appointed; it will make him furious, the
pious
creature! Then I'll tell him of our wager, to cool him
down,--a
process we call at the theatre turning the Wheel of Fortune,
don't we,
du Bruel? Why do I care who gets the place? simply because if
Baudoyer
does he will make me under-head-clerk" [goes out].
Poiret. "Everybody says that man is clever, but as for me, I
can never
understand a word he says" [goes on copying]. "I listen and
listen; I
hear words, but I never get at any meaning; he talks about
the
environs of Paris when he discusses the human heart and" [lays
down
his pen and goes to the stove] "declares he backs the devil's
game
when it is a question of Russia and Boulogne; now what is there
so
clever in that, I'd like to know? We must first admit that the
devil
plays any game at all, and then find out what game; possibly
dominoes"
[blows his nose].
Fleury [interrupting]. "Pere Poiret is blowing his nose; it
must be
eleven o'clock."
Du Bruel. "So it is! Goodness! I'm off to the secretary; he
wants to
read the obituary."
Poiret. "What was I saying?"
Thuillier. "Dominoes,--perhaps the devil plays dominoes."
[Sebastien
enters to gather up the different papers and circulars for
signature.]
Vimeux. "Ah! there you are, my fine young man. Your days of
hardship
are nearly over; you'll get a post. Monsieur Rabourdin will
be
appointed. Weren't you at Madame Rabourdin's last night? Lucky
fellow!
they say that really superb women go there."
Sebastien. "Do they? I didn't know."
Fleury. "Are you blind?"
Sebastien. "I don't like to look at what I ought not to see."
Phellion [delighted]. "Well said, young man!"
Vimeux. "The devil! well, you looked at Madame Rabourdin
enough, any
how; a charming woman."
Fleury. "Pooh! thin as a rail. I saw her in the Tuileries, and
I much
prefer Percilliee, the ballet-mistress, Castaing's victim."
Phellion. "What has an actress to do with the wife of a
government
official?"
Dutocq. "They both play comedy."
Fleury [looking askance at Dutocq]. "The physical has nothing
to do
with the moral, and if you mean--"
Dutocq. "I mean nothing."
Fleury. "Do you all want to know which of us will really be
made head
of this bureau?"
All. "Yes, tell us."
Fleury. "Colleville."
Thuillier. "Why?"
Fleury. "Because Madame Colleville has taken the shortest way
to it--
through the sacristy."
Thuillier. "I am too much Colleville's friend not to beg you,
Monsieur
Fleury, to speak respectfully of his wife."
Phellion. "A defenceless woman should never be made the
subject of
conversation here--"
Vimeux. "All the more because the charming Madame Colleville
won't
invite Fleury to her house. He backbites her in revenge."
Fleury. "She may not receive me on the same footing that she
does
Thuillier, but I go there--"
Thuillier. "When? how?--under her windows?"
Though Fleury was dreaded as a bully in all the offices, he
received
Thuillier's speech in silence. This meekness, which surprised
the
other clerks, was owing to a certain note for two hundred
francs, of
doubtful value, which Thuillier agreed to pass over to his
sister.
After this skirmish dead silence prevailed. They all wrote
steadily
from one to three o'clock. Du Bruel did not return.
About half-past three the usual preparations for departure,
the
brushing of hats, the changing of coats, went on in all the
ministerial offices. That precious thirty minutes thus employed
served
to shorten by just so much the day's labor. At this hour the
over-
heated rooms cool off; the peculiar odor that hangs about the
bureaus
evaporates; silence is restored. By four o'clock none but a few
clerks
who do their duty conscientiously remain. A minister may know
who are
the real workers under him if he will take the trouble to walk
through
the divisions after four o'clock,--a species of prying, however,
that
no one of his dignity would condescend to.
The various heads of divisions and bureaus usually encountered
each
other in the courtyards at this hour and exchanged opinions on
the
events of the day. On this occasion they departed by twos and
threes,
most of them agreeing in favor of Rabourdin; while the old
stagers,
like Monsieur Clergeot, shook their heads and said, "Habent sua
sidera
lites." Saillard and Baudoyer were politely avoided, for nobody
knew
what to say to them about La Billardiere's death, it being
fully
understood that Baudoyer wanted the place, though it was
certainly not
due to him.
When Saillard and his son-in-law had gone a certain distance
from the
ministry the former broke silence and said: "Things look badly
for
you, my poor Baudoyer."
"I can't understand," replied the other, "what Elisabeth was
dreaming
of when she sent Godard in such a hurry to get a passport for
Falleix;
Godard tells me she hired a post-chaise by the advice of my
uncle
Mitral, and that Falleix has already started for his own part of
the
country."
"Some matter connected with our business," suggested Saillard.
"Our most pressing business just now is to look after Monsieur
La
Billardiere's place," returned Baudoyer, crossly.
They were just then near the entrance of the Palais-Royal on
the rue
Saint-Honore. Dutocq came up, bowing, and joined them.
"Monsieur," he said to Baudoyer, "if I can be useful to you in
any way
under the circumstances in which you find yourself, pray command
me,
for I am not less devoted to your interests than Monsieur
Godard."
"Such an assurance is at least consoling," replied Baudoyer;
"it makes
me aware that I have the confidence of honest men."
"If you would kindly employ your influence to get me placed in
your
division, taking Bixiou as head of the bureau and me as
under-head-
clerk, you will secure the future of two men who are ready to
do
anything for your advancement."
"Are you making fun of us, monsieur?" asked Saillard, staring
at him
stupidly.
"Far be it from me to do that," said Dutocq. "I have just come
from
the printing-office of the ministerial journal (where I carried
from
the general-secretary an obituary notice of Monsieur de la
Billardiere), and I there read an article which will appear
to-night
about you, which has given me the highest opinion of your
character
and talents. If it is necessary to crush Rabourdin, I'm in a
position
to give him the final blow; please to remember that."
Dutocq disappeared.
"May I be shot if I understand a single word of it," said
Saillard,
looking at Baudoyer, whose little eyes were expressive of
stupid
bewilderment. "I must buy the newspaper to-night."
When the two reached home and entered the salon on the
ground-floor,
they found a large fire lighted, and Madame Saillard,
Elisabeth,
Monsieur Gaudron and the curate of Saint-Paul's sitting by it.
The
curate turned at once to Monsieur Baudoyer, to whom Elisabeth
made a
sign which he failed to understand.
"Monsieur," said the curate, "I have lost no time in coming in
person
to thank you for the magnificent gift with which you have
adorned my
poor church. I dared not run in debt to buy that beautiful
monstrance,
worthy of a cathedral. You, who are one of our most pious and
faithful
parishioners, must have keenly felt the bareness of the high
altar. I
am on my way to see Monseigneur the coadjutor, and he will, I am
sure,
send you his own thanks later."
"I have done nothing as yet--" began Baudoyer.
"Monsieur le cure," interposed his wife, cutting him short. "I
see I
am forced to betray the whole secret. Monsieur Baudoyer hopes
to
complete the gift by sending you a dais for the coming
Fete-Dieu. But
the purchase must depend on the state of our finances, and
our
finances depend on my husband's promotion."
"God will reward those who honor him," said Monsieur
Gaudron,
preparing, with the curate, to take leave.
"But will you not," said Saillard to the two ecclesiastics,
"do us the
honor to take pot luck with us?"
"You can stay, my dear vicar," said the curate to Gaudron;
"you know I
am engaged to dine with the curate of Saint-Roch, who, by the
bye, is
to bury Monsieur de la Billardiere to-morrow."
"Monsieur le cure de Saint-Roch might say a word for us,"
began
Baudoyer. His wife pulled the skirt of his coat violently.
"Do hold your tongue, Baudoyer," she said, leading him aside
and
whispering in his ear. "You have given a monstrance to the
church,
that cost five thousand francs. I'll explain it all later."
The miserly Baudoyer make a sulky grimace, and continued
gloomy and
cross for the rest of the day.
"What did you busy yourself about Falleix's passport for? Why
do you
meddle in other people's affairs?" he presently asked her.
"I must say, I think Falleix's affairs are as much ours as
his,"
returned Elisabeth, dryly, glancing at her husband to make him
notice
Monsieur Gaudron, before whom he ought to be silent.
"Certainly, certainly," said old Saillard, thinking of his
co-
partnership.
"I hope you reached the newspaper office in time?" remarked
Elisabeth
to Monsieur Gaudron, as she helped him to soup.
"Yes, my dear lady," answered the vicar; "when the editor read
the
little article I gave him, written by the secretary of the
Grand
Almoner, he made no difficulty. He took pains to insert it in
a
conspicuous place. I should never have thought of that; but this
young
journalist has a wide-awake mind. The defenders of religion can
enter
the lists against impiety without disadvantage at the present
moment,
for there is a great deal of talent in the royalist press. I
have
every reason to believe that success will crown your hopes. But
you
must remember, my dear Baudoyer, to promote Monsieur Colleville;
he is
an object of great interest to his Eminence; in fact, I am
desired to
mention him to you."
"If I am head of the division, I will make him head of one of
my
bureaus, if you want me to," said Baudoyer.
The matter thus referred to was explained after dinner, when
the
ministerial organ (bought and sent up by the porter) proved to
contain
among its Paris news the following articles, called items:--
"Monsieur le Baron de la Billardiere died this morning, after a
long and painful illness. The king loses a devoted servant, the
Church a most pious son. Monsieur de la Billardiere's end has
fitly crowned a noble life, consecrated in dark and troublesome
times to perilous missions, and of late years to arduous civic
duties. Monsieur de la Billardiere was provost of a department,
where his force of character triumphed over all the obstacles that
rebellion arrayed against him. He subsequently accepted the
difficult post of director of a division (in which his great
acquirements were not less useful than the truly French affability
of his manners) for the express purpose of conciliating the
serious interests that arise under its administration. No rewards
have ever been more truly deserved than those by which the King,
Louis XVIII., and his present Majesty took pleasure in crowning a
loyalty which never faltered under the usurper. This old family
still survives in the person of a single heir to the excellent man
whose death now afflicts so many warm friends. His Majesty has
already graciously made known that Monsieur Benjamin de la
Billardiere will be included among the gentlemen-in-ordinary of
the Bedchamber."The numerous friends who have not already received their
notification of this sad event are hereby informed that the
funeral will take place to-morrow at four o'clock, in the church
of Saint-Roch. The memorial address will be delivered by Monsieur
l'Abbe Fontanon."
----"Monsieur Isidore-Charles-Thomas Baudoyer, representing one of the
oldest bourgeois families of Paris, and head of a bureau in the
late Monsieur de la Billardiere's division, has lately recalled
the old traditions of piety and devotion which formerly
distinguished these great families, so jealous for the honor and
glory of religion, and so faithful in preserving its monuments.
The church of Saint-Paul has long needed a monstrance in keeping
with the magnificence of that basilica, itself due to the Company
of Jesus. Neither the vestry nor the curate were rich enough to
decorate the altar. Monsieur Baudoyer has bestowed upon the parish
a monstrance that many persons have seen and admired at Monsieur
Gohier's, the king's jeweller. Thanks to the piety of this
gentleman, who did not shrink from the immensity of the price, the
church of Saint-Paul possesses to-day a masterpiece of the
jeweller's art designed by Monsieur de Sommervieux. It gives us
pleasure to make known this fact, which proves how powerless the
declamations of liberals have been on the mind of the Parisian
bourgeoisie. The upper ranks of that body have at all times been
royalist and they prove it when occasion offers.""The price was five thousand francs," said the Abbe Gaudron; "but as
the payment was in cash, the court jeweller reduced the amount."
"Representing one of the oldest bourgeois families in Paris!"
Saillard
was saying to himself; "there it is printed,--in the official
paper,
too!"
"Dear Monsieur Gaudron," said Madame Baudoyer, "please help my
father
to compose a little speech that he could slip into the
countess's ear
when he takes her the monthly stipend,--a single sentence that
would
cover all! I must leave you. I am obliged to go out with my
uncle
Mitral. Would you believe it? I was unable to find my uncle
Bidault at
home this afternoon. Oh, what a dog-kennel he lives in! But
Monsieur
Mitral, who knows his ways, says he does all his business
between
eight o'clock in the morning and midday, and that after that
hour he
can be found only at a certain cafe called the Cafe
Themis,--a
singular name."
"Is justice done there?" said the abbe, laughing.
"Do you ask why he goes to a cafe at the corner of the rue
Dauphine
and the quai des Augustins? They say he plays dominoes there
every
night with his friend Monsieur Gobseck. I don't wish to go to
such a
place alone; my uncle Mitral will take me there and bring me
back."
At this instant Mitral showed his yellow face, surmounted by a
wig
which looked as though it might be made of hay, and made a sign
to his
niece to come at once, and not keep a carriage waiting at two
francs
an hour. Madame Baudoyer rose and went away without giving
any
explanation to her husband or father.
"Heaven has given you in that woman," said Monsieur Gaudron
to
Baudoyer when Elisabeth had disappeared, "a perfect treasure
of
prudence and virtue, a model of wisdom, a Christian who gives
sure
signs of possessing the Divine spirit. Religion alone is able to
form
such perfect characters. To-morrow I shall say a mass for the
success
of your good cause. It is all-important, for the sake of the
monarchy
and of religion itself that you should receive this
appointment.
Monsieur Rabourdin is a liberal; he subscribes to the 'Journal
des
Debats,' a dangerous newspaper, which made war on Monsieur le
Comte de
Villele to please the wounded vanity of Monsieur de
Chateaubriand. His
Eminence will read the newspaper to-night, if only to see what
is said
of his poor friend Monsieur de la Billardiere; and Monseigneur
the
coadjutor will speak of you to the King. When I think of what
you have
now done for his dear church, I feel sure he will not forget you
in
his prayers; more than that, he is dining at this moment with
the
coadjutor at the house of the curate of Saint-Roch."
These words made Saillard and Baudoyer begin to perceive
that
Elisabeth had not been idle ever since Godard had informed her
of
Monsieur de la Billardiere's decease.
"Isn't she clever, that Elisabeth of mine?" cried
Saillard,
comprehending more clearly than Monsieur l'abbe the rapid
undermining,
like the path of a mole, which his daughter had undertaken.
"She sent Godard to Rabourdin's door to find out what
newspaper he
takes," said Gaudron; "and I mentioned the name to the secretary
of
his Eminence,--for we live at a crisis when the Church and
Throne must
keep themselves informed as to who are their friends and who
their
enemies."
"For the last five days I have been trying to find the right
thing to
say to his Excellency's wife," said Saillard.
"All Paris will read that," cried Baudoyer, whose eyes were
still
riveted on the paper.
"Your eulogy costs us four thousand eight hundred francs,
son-in-law!"
exclaimed Madame Saillard.
"You have adorned the house of God," said the Abbe Gaudron.
"We might have got salvation without doing that," she
returned. "But
if Baudoyer gets the place, which is worth eight thousand more,
the
sacrifice is not so great. If he doesn't get it! hey, papa,"
she
added, looking at her husband, "how we shall have bled!--"
"Well, never mind," said Saillard, enthusiastically, "we can
always
make it up through Falleix, who is going to extend his business
and
use his brother, whom he has made a stockbroker on purpose.
Elisabeth
might have told us, I think, why Falleix went off in such a
hurry. But
let's invent my little speech. This is what I thought of:
'Madame, if
you would say a word to his Excellency--'"
"'If you would deign,'" said Gaudron; "add the word 'deign,'
it is
more respectful. But you ought to know, first of all, whether
Madame
la Dauphine will grant you her protection, and then you could
suggest
to Madame la comtesse the idea of co-operating with the wishes
of her
Royal Highness."
"You ought to designate the vacant post," said Baudoyer.
"'Madame la comtesse,'" began Saillard, rising, and bowing to
his
wife, with an agreeable smile.
"Goodness! Saillard; how ridiculous you look. Take care, my
man,
you'll make the woman laugh."
"'Madame la comtesse,'" resumed Saillard. "Is that better, wife?"
"Yes, my duck."
"'The place of the worthy Monsieur de la Billardiere is
vacant; my
son-in-law, Monsieur Baudoyer--'"
"'Man of talent and extreme piety,'" prompted Gaudron.
"Write it down, Baudoyer," cried old Saillard, "write that
sentence
down."
Baudoyer proceeded to take a pen and wrote, without a blush,
his own
praises, precisely as Nathan or Canalis might have reviewed one
of
their own books.
"'Madame la comtesse'-- Don't you see, mother?" said Saillard
to his
wife; "I am supposing you to be the minister's wife."
"Do you take me for a fool?" she answered sharply. "I know that."
"'The place of the late worthy de la Billardiere is vacant; my
son-in-
law, Monsieur Baudoyer, a man of consummate talent and
extreme
piety--'" After looking at Monsieur Gaudron, who was reflecting,
he
added, "'will be very glad if he gets it.' That's not bad; it's
brief
and it says the whole thing."
"But do wait, Saillard; don't you see that Monsieur l'abbe is
turning
it over in his mind?" said Madame Saillard; "don't disturb
him."
"'Will be very thankful if you would deign to interest
yourself in his
behalf,'" resumed Gaudron. "'And in saying a word to his
Excellency
you will particularly please Madame la Dauphine, by whom he has
the
honor and the happiness to be protected.'"
"Ah! Monsieur Gaudron, that sentence is worth more than
the
monstrance; I don't regret the four thousand eight hundred--
Besides,
Baudoyer, my lad, you'll pay them, won't you? Have you written
it all
down?"
"I shall make you repeat it, father, morning and evening,"
said Madame
Saillard. "Yes, that's a good speech. How lucky you are,
Monsieur
Gaudron, to know so much. That's what it is to be brought up in
a
seminary; they learn there how to speak to God and his
saints."
"He is as good as he is learned," said Baudoyer, pressing the
priest's
hand. "Did you write that article?" he added, pointing to
the
newspaper.
"No, it was written by the secretary of his Eminence, a young
abbe who
is under obligations to me, and who takes an interest in
Monsieur
Colleville; he was educated at my expense."
"A good deed is always rewarded," said Baudoyer.
While these four personages were sitting down to their game of
boston,
Elisabeth and her uncle Mitral reached the cafe Themis, with
much
discourse as they drove along about a matter which Elisabeth's
keen
perceptions told her was the most powerful lever that could be
used to
force the minister's hand in the affair of her husband's
appointment.
Uncle Mitral, a former sheriff's officer, crafty, clever at
sharp
practice, and full of expedients and judicial precautions,
believed
the honor of his family to be involved in the appointment of
his
nephew. His avarice had long led him to estimate the contents of
old
Gigonnet's strong-box, for he knew very well they would go in
the end
to benefit his nephew Baudoyer; and it was therefore important
that
the latter should obtain a position which would be in keeping
with the
combined fortunes of the Saillards and the old Gigonnet, which
would
finally devolve on the Baudoyer's little daughter; and what an
heiress
she would be with an income of a hundred thousand francs! to
what
social position might she not aspire with that fortune? He
adopted all
the ideas of his niece Elisabeth and thoroughly understood them.
He
had helped in sending off Falleix expeditiously, explaining to
him the
advantage of taking post horses. After which, while eating his
dinner,
he reflected that it be as well to give a twist of his own to
the
clever plan invented by Elisabeth.
When they reached the Cafe Themis he told his niece that he
alone
could manage Gigonnet in the matter they both had in view, and
he made
her wait in the hackney-coach and bide her time to come forward
at the
right moment. Elisabeth saw through the window-panes the two
faces of
Gobseck and Gigonnet (her uncle Bidault), which stood out in
relief
against the yellow wood-work of the old cafe, like two cameo
heads,
cold and impassible, in the rigid attitude that their gravity
gave
them. The two Parisian misers were surrounded by a number of
other old
faces, on which "thirty per cent discount" was written in
circular
wrinkles that started from the nose and turned round the
glacial
cheek-bones. These remarkable physiognomies brightened up on
seeing
Mitral, and their eyes gleamed with tigerish curiosity.
"Hey, hey! it is papa Mitral!" cried one of them, named
Chaboisseau, a
little old man who discounted for a publisher.
"Bless me, so it is!" said another, a broker named Metivier,
"ha,
that's an old monkey well up in his tricks."
"And you," retorted Mitral, "you are an old crow who knows all
about
carcasses."
"True," said the stern Gobseck.
"What are you here for? Have you come to seize friend
Metivier?" asked
Gigonnet, pointing to the broker, who had the bluff face of a
porter.
"Your great-niece Elisabeth is out there, papa Gigonnet,"
whispered
Mitral.
"What! some misfortune?" said Bidault. The old man drew his
eyebrows
together and assumed a tender look like that of an executioner
when
about to go to work officially. In spite of his Roman virtue he
must
have been touched, for his red nose lost somewhat of its
color.
"Well, suppose it is misfortune, won't you help Saillard's
daughter?--
a girl who has knitted your stockings for the last thirty
years!"
cried Mitral.
"If there's good security I don't say I won't," replied
Gigonnet.
"Falleix is in with them. Falleix has just set up his brother as
a
broker, and he is doing as much business as the Brezacs; and
what
with? his mind, perhaps! Saillard is no simpleton."
"He knows the value of money," put in Chaboisseau.
That remark, uttered among those old men, would have made an
artist
and thinker shudder as they all nodded their heads.
"But it is none of my business," resumed Bidault-Gigonnet.
"I'm not
bound to care for my neighbors' misfortunes. My principle is
never to
be off my guard with friends or relatives; you can't perish
except
through weakness. Apply to Gobseck; he is softer."
The usurers all applauded these doctrines with a shake of
their
metallic heads. An onlooker would have fancied he heard the
creaking
of ill-oiled machinery.
"Come, Gigonnet, show a little feeling," said Chaboisseau,
"they've
knit your stockings for thirty years."
"That counts for something," remarked Gobseck.
"Are you all alone? Is it safe to speak?" said Mitral,
looking
carefully about him. "I come about a good piece of
business."
"If it is good, why do you come to us?" said Gigonnet,
sharply,
interrupting Mitral.
"A fellow who was a gentleman of the Bedchamber," went on
Mitral, "a
former 'chouan,'--what's his name?--La Billardiere is dead."
"True," said Gobseck.
"And our nephew is giving monstrances to the church,"
snarled
Gigonnet.
"He is not such a fool as to give them, he sells them, old
man," said
Mitral, proudly. "He wants La Billardiere's place, and in order
to get
it, we must seize--"
"Seize! You'll never be anything but a sheriff's officer," put
in
Metivier, striking Mitral amicably on the shoulder; "I like
that, I
do!"
"Seize Monsieur Clement des Lupeaulx in our clutches,"
continued
Mitral; "Elisabeth has discovered how to do it, and he is--"
"Elisabeth"; cried Gigonnet, interrupting again; "dear
little
creature! she takes after her grandfather, my poor brother! he
never
had his equal! Ah, you should have seen him buying up old
furniture;
what tact! what shrewdness! What does Elisabeth want?"
"Hey! hey!" cried Mitral, "you've got back your bowels of
compassion,
papa Gigonnet! That phenomenon has a cause."
"Always a child," said Gobseck to Gigonnet, "you are too quick
on the
trigger."
"Come, Gobseck and Gigonnet, listen to me; you want to keep
well with
des Lupeaulx, don't you? You've not forgotten how you plucked
him in
that affair about the king's debts, and you are afraid he'll ask
you
to return some of his feathers," said Mitral.
"Shall we tell him the whole thing?" asked Gobseck, whispering
to
Gigonnet.
"Mitral is one of us; he wouldn't play a shabby trick on his
former
customers," replied Gigonnet. "You see, Mitral," he went on,
speaking
to the ex-sheriff in a low voice, "we three have just bought up
all
those debts, the payment of which depends on the decision of
the
liquidation committee."
"How much will you lose?" asked Mitral.
"Nothing," said Gobseck.
"Nobody knows we are in it," added Gigonnet; "Samanon screens us."
"Come, listen to me, Gigonnet; it is cold, and your niece is
waiting
outside. You'll understand what I want in two words. You must at
once,
between you, send two hundred and fifty thousand francs
(without
interest) into the country after Falleix, who has gone
post-haste,
with a courier in advance of him."
"Is it possible!" said Gobseck.
"What for?" cried Gigonnet, "and where to?"
"To des Lupeaulx's magnificent country-seat," replied Mitral.
"Falleix
knows the country, for he was born there; and he is going to buy
up
land all round the secretary's miserable hovel, with the two
hundred
and fifty thousand francs I speak of,--good land, well worth
the
price. There are only nine days before us for drawing up and
recording
the notarial deeds (bear that in mind). With the addition of
this
land, des Lupeaulx's present miserable property would pay taxes
to the
amount of one thousand francs, the sum necessary to make a
man
eligible to the Chamber. Ergo, with it des Lupeaulx goes into
the
electoral college, becomes eligible, count, and whatever he
pleases.
You know the deputy who has slipped out and left a vacancy,
don't
you?"
The two misers nodded.
"Des Lupeaulx would cut off a leg to get elected in his
place,"
continued Mitral; "but he must have the title-deeds of the
property in
his own name, and then mortgage them back to us for the amount
of the
purchase-money. Ah! now you begin to see what I am after! First
of
all, we must make sure of Baudoyer's appointment, and des
Lupeaulx
will get it for us on these terms; after that is settled we will
hand
him back to you. Falleix is now canvassing the electoral vote.
Don't
you perceive that you have Lupeaulx completely in your power
until
after the election?--for Falleix's friends are a large majority.
Now
do you see what I mean, papa Gigonnet?"
"It's a clever game," said Metivier.
"We'll do it," said Gigonnet; "you agree, don't you, Gobseck?
Falleix
can give us security and put mortgages on the property in my
name;
we'll go and see des Lupeaulx when all is ready."
"We're robbed," said Gobseck.
"Ha, ha!" laughed Mitral, "I'd like to know the robber!"
"Nobody can rob us but ourselves," answered Gigonnet. "I told
you we
were doing a good thing in buying up all des Lupeaulx's paper
from his
creditors at sixty per cent discount."
"Take this mortgage on his estate and you'll hold him tighter
still
through the interest," answered Mitral.
"Possibly," said Gobseck.
After exchanging a shrewd look with Gobseck, Gigonnet went to
the door
of the cafe.
"Elisabeth! follow it up, my dear," he said to his niece. "We
hold
your man securely; but don't neglect accessories. You have begun
well,
clever woman! go on as you began and you'll have your uncle's
esteem,"
and he grasped her hand, gayly.
"But," said Mitral, "Metivier and Chaboisseau heard it all,
and they
may play us a trick and tell the matter to some opposition
journal
which would catch the ball on its way and counteract the effect
of the
ministerial article. You must go alone, my dear; I dare not let
those
two cormorants out of my sight." So saying he re-entered the
cafe.
The next day the numerous subscribers to a certain liberal
journal
read, among the Paris items, the following article, inserted
authoritatively by Chaboisseau and Metivier, share-holders in
the said
journal, brokers for publishers, printers, and paper-makers,
whose
behests no editor dared refuse:--
"Yesterday a ministerial journal plainly indicated as the probable
successor of Monsieur le Baron de la Billardiere, Monsieur
Baudoyer, one of the worthiest citizens of a populous quarter,
where his benevolence is scarcely less known than the piety on
which the ministerial organ laid so much stress. Why was that
sheet silent as to his talents? Did it reflect that in boasting of
the bourgeoise nobility of Monsieur Baudoyer--which, certainly, is
a nobility as good as any other--it was pointing out a reason for
the exclusion of the candidate? A gratuitous piece of perfidy! an
attempt to kill with a caress! To appoint Monsieur Baudoyer is to
do honor to the virtues, the talents of the middle classes, of
whom we shall ever be the supporters, though their cause seems at
times a lost one. This appointment, we repeat, will be an act of
justice and good policy; consequently we may be sure it will not
be made."
On the morrow, Friday, the usual day for the dinner given by
Madame
Rabourdin, whom des Lupeaulx had left at midnight, radiant in
beauty,
on the staircase of the Bouffons, arm in arm with Madame de
Camps
(Madame Firmiani had lately married), the old roue awoke with
his
thoughts of vengeance calmed, or rather refreshed, and his mind
full
of a last glance exchanged with Celestine.
"I'll make sure of Rabourdin's support by forgiving him
now,--I'll get
even with him later. If he hasn't this place for the time being
I
should have to give up a woman who is capable of becoming a
most
precious instrument in the pursuit of high political fortune.
She
understands everything; shrinks from nothing, from no idea
whatever!--
and besides, I can't know before his Excellency what new scheme
of
administration Rabourdin has invented. No, my dear des Lupeaulx,
the
thing in hand is to win all now for your Celestine. You may make
as
many faces as you please, Madame la comtesse, but you will
invite
Madame Rabourdin to your next select party."
Des Lupeaulx was one of those men who to satisfy a passion are
quite
able to put away revenge in some dark corner of their minds.
His
course was taken; he was resolved to get Rabourdin
appointed.
"I will prove to you, my dear fellow, that I deserve a good
place in
your galley," thought he as he seated himself in his study and
began
to unfold a newspaper.
He knew so well what the ministerial organ would contain that
he
rarely took the trouble to read it, but on this occasion he did
open
it to look at the article on La Billardiere, recollecting
with
amusement the dilemma in which du Bruel had put him by bringing
him
the night before Bixiou's amendments to the obituary. He was
laughing
to himself as he reread the biography of the late Comte da
Fontaine,
dead a few months earlier, which he had hastily substituted for
that
of La Billardiere, when his eyes were dazzled by the name of
Baudoyer.
He read with fury the article which pledged the minister, and
then he
rang violently for Dutocq, to send him at once to the editor.
But what
was his astonishment on reading the reply of the opposition
paper! The
situation was evidently serious. He knew the game, and he saw
that the
man who was shuffling his cards for him was a Greek of the
first
order. To dictate in this way through two opposing newspapers in
one
evening, and to begin the fight by forestalling the intentions
of the
minister was a daring game! He recognized the pen of a liberal
editor,
and resolved to question him that night at the opera. Dutocq
appeared.
"Read that," said des Lupeaulx, handing him over the two
journals, and
continuing to run his eye over others to see if Baudoyer had
pulled
any further wires. "Go to the office and ask who has dared to
thus
compromise the minister."
"It was not Monsieur Baudoyer himself," answered Dutocq, "for
he never
left the ministry yesterday. I need not go and inquire; for when
I
took your article to the newspaper office I met a young abbe
who
brought in a letter from the Grand Almoner, before which you
yourself
would have had to bow."
"Dutocq, you have a grudge against Monsieur Rabourdin, and it
isn't
right; for he has twice saved you from being turned out.
However, we
are not masters of our own feelings; we sometimes hate our
benefactors. Only, remember this; if you show the slightest
treachery
to Rabourdin, without my permission, it will be your ruin. As to
that
newspaper, let the Grand Almoner subscribe as largely as we do,
if he
wants its services. Here we are at the end of the year; the
matter of
subscriptions will come up for discussion, and I shall have
something
to say on that head. As to La Billardiere's place, there is only
one
way to settle the matter; and that is to appoint Rabourdin this
very
day."
"Gentlemen," said Dutocq, returning to the clerks' office
and
addressing his colleagues. "I don't know if Bixiou has the art
of
looking into futurity, but if you have not read the
ministerial
journal I advise you to study the article about Baudoyer; then,
as
Monsieur Fleury takes the opposition sheet, you can see the
reply.
Monsieur Rabourdin certainly has talent, but a man who in these
days
gives a six-thousand-franc monstrance to the Church has a
devilish
deal more talent than he."
Bixiou [entering]. "What say you, gentlemen, to the First
Epistle to
the Corinthians in our pious ministerial journal, and the
reply
Epistle to the Ministers in the opposition sheet? How does
Monsieur
Rabourdin feel now, du Bruel?"
Du Bruel [rushing in]. "I don't know." [He drags Bixiou back
into his
cabinet, and says in a low voice] "My good fellow, your way of
helping
people is like that of the hangman who jumps upon a victim's
shoulders
to break his neck. You got me into a scrape with des Lupeaulx,
which
my folly in ever trusting you richly deserved. A fine thing
indeed,
that article on La Billardiere. I sha'n't forget the trick! Why,
the
very first sentence was as good as telling the King he was
superannuated and it was time for him to die. And as to that
Quiberon
bit, it said plainly that the King was a-- What a fool I
was!"
Bixiou [laughing]. "Bless my heart! are you getting angry?
Can't a
fellow joke any more?"
Du Bruel. "Joke! joke indeed. When you want to be made
head-clerk
somebody shall joke with you, my dear fellow."
Bixiou [in a bullying tone]. "Angry, are we?"
Du Bruel. "Yes!"
Bixiou [dryly]. "So much the worse for you."
Du Bruel [uneasy]. "You wouldn't pardon such a thing yourself,
I
know."
Bixiou [in a wheedling tone]. "To a friend? indeed I would."
[They
hear Fleury's voice.] "There's Fleury cursing Baudoyer. Hey, how
well
the thing has been managed! Baudoyer will get the
appointment."
[Confidentially] "After all, so much the better. Du Bruel, just
keep
your eye on the consequences. Rabourdin would be a
mean-spirited
creature to stay under Baudoyer; he will send in his
registration, and
that will give us two places. You can be head of the bureau and
take
me for under-head-clerk. We will make vaudevilles together, and
I'll
fag at your work in the office."
Du Bruel [smiling]. "Dear me, I never thought of that. Poor
Rabourdin!
I shall be sorry for him, though."
Bixiou. "That shows how much you love him!" [Changing his
tone] "Ah,
well, I don't pity him any longer. He's rich; his wife gives
parties
and doesn't ask me,--me, who go everywhere! Well, good-bye, my
dear
fellow, good-bye, and don't owe me a grudge!" [He goes out
through the
clerks' office.] "Adieu, gentlemen; didn't I tell you yesterday
that a
man who has nothing but virtues and talents will always be poor,
even
though he has a pretty wife?"
Henry. "You are so rich, you!"
Bixiou. "Not bad, my Cincinnatus! But you'll give me that
dinner at
the Rocher de Cancale."
Poiret. "It is absolutely impossible for me to understand
Monsieur
Bixiou."
Phellion [with an elegaic air]. "Monsieur Rabourdin so seldom
reads
the newspapers that it might perhaps be serviceable to
deprive
ourselves momentarily by taking them in to him." [Fleury hands
over
his paper, Vimeux the office sheet, and Phellion departs with
them.]
At that moment des Lupeaulx, coming leisurely downstairs to
breakfast
with the minister, was asking himself whether, before playing a
trump
card for the husband, it might not be prudent to probe the
wife's
heart and make sure of a reward for his devotion. He was feeling
about
for the small amount of heart that he possessed, when, at a turn
of
the staircase, he encountered his lawyer, who said to him,
smiling,
"Just a word, Monseigneur," in the tone of familiarity assumed
by men
who know they are indispensable.
"What is it, my dear Desroches?" exclaimed the politician.
"Has
anything happened?"
"I have come to tell you that all your notes and debts have
been
brought up by Gobseck and Gigonnet, under the name of a
certain
Samanon."
"Men whom I helped to make their millions!"
"Listen," whispered the lawyer. "Gigonnet (really named
Bidault) is
the uncle of Saillard, your cashier; and Saillard is
father-in-law to
a certain Baudoyer, who thinks he has a right to the vacant
place in
your ministry. Don't you think I have done right to come and
tell
you?"
"Thank you," said des Lupeaulx, nodding to the lawyer with a
shrewd
look.
"One stroke of your pen will buy them off," said Desroches,
leaving
him.
"What an immense sacrifice!" muttered des Lupeaulx. "It would
be
impossible to explain it to a woman," thought he. "Is Celestine
worth
more than the clearing off of my debts?--that is the question.
I'll go
and see her this morning."
So the beautiful Madame Rabourdin was to be, within an hour,
the
arbiter of her husband's fate, and no power on earth could warn
her of
the importance of her replies, or give her the least hint to
guard her
conduct and compose her voice. Moreover, in addition to her
mischances, she believed herself certain of success, never
dreaming
that Rabourdin was undermined in all directions by the secret
sapping
of the mollusks.
"Well, Monseigneur," said des Lupeaulx, entering the little
salon
where they breakfasted, "have you seen the articles on
Baudoyer?"
"For God's sake, my dear friend," replied the minister, "don't
talk of
those appointments just now; let me have an hour's peace! They
cracked
my ears last night with that monstrance. The only way to
save
Rabourdin is to bring his appointment before the Council, unless
I
submit to having my hand forced. It is enough to disgust a man
with
the public service. I must purchase the right to keep that
excellent
Rabourdin by promoting a certain Colleville!"
"Why not make over the management of this pretty little comedy
to me,
and rid yourself of the worry of it? I'll amuse you every
morning with
an account of the game of chess I should play with the Grand
Almoner,"
said des Lupeaulx.
"Very good," said the minister, "settle it with the head
examiner. But
you know perfectly well that nothing is more likely to strike
the
king's mind than just those reasons the opposition journal has
chosen
to put forth. Good heavens! fancy managing a ministry with such
men as
Baudoyer under me!"
"An imbecile bigot," said des Lupeaulx, "and as utterly
incapable
as--"
"--as La Billardiere," added the minister.
"But La Billardiere had the manners of a
gentleman-in-ordinary,"
replied des Lupeaulx. "Madame," he continued, addressing the
countess,
"it is now an absolute necessity to invite Madame Rabourdin to
your
next private party. I must assure you she is the intimate friend
of
Madame de Camps; they were at the Opera together last night. I
first
met her at the hotel Firmiani. Besides, you will see that she is
not
of a kind to compromise a salon."
"Invite Madame Rabourdin, my dear," said the minister, "and
pray let
us talk of something else."
Parisian households are literally eaten up with the desire to
be in
keeping with the luxury that surrounds them on all sides, and
few
there are who have the wisdom to let their external situation
conform
to their internal revenue. But this vice may perhaps denote a
truly
French patriotism, which seeks to maintain the supremacy of the
nation
in the matter of dress. France reigns through clothes over the
whole
of Europe; and every one must feel the importance of retaining
a
commercial sceptre that makes fashion in France what the navy is
to
England. This patriotic ardor which leads a nation to
sacrifice
everything to appearances--to the "paroistre," as d'Aubigne said
in
the days of Henri IV.--is the cause of those vast secret labors
which
employ the whole of a Parisian woman's morning, when she wishes,
as
Madame Rabourdin wished, to keep up on twelve thousand francs a
year
the style that many a family with thirty thousand does not
indulge in.
Consequently, every Friday,--the day of her dinner
parties,--Madame
Rabourdin helped the chambermaid to do the rooms; for the cook
went
early to market, and the man-servant was cleaning the silver,
folding
the napkins, and polishing the glasses. The ill-advised
individual who
might happen, through an oversight of the porter, to enter
Madame
Rabourdin's establishment about eleven o'clock in the morning
would
have found her in the midst of a disorder the reverse of
picturesque,
wrapped in a dressing-gown, her hair ill-dressed, and her feet
in old
slippers, attending to the lamps, arranging the flowers, or
cooking in
haste an extremely unpoetic breakfast. The visitor to whom
the
mysteries of Parisian life were unknown would certainly have
learned
for the rest of his life not to set foot in these greenrooms at
the
wrong moment; a woman caught in her matin mysteries would ever
after
point him out as a man capable of the blackest crimes; or she
would
talk of his stupidity and indiscretion in a manner to ruin him.
The
true Parisian woman, indulgent to all curiosity that she can put
to
profit, is implacable to that which makes her lose her prestige.
Such
a domiciliary invasion may be called, not only (as they say in
police
reports) an attack on privacy, but a burglary, a robbery of all
that
is most precious, namely, CREDIT. A woman is quite willing to
let
herself be surprised half-dressed, with her hair about her
shoulders.
If her hair is all her own she scores one; but she will never
allow
herself to be seen "doing" her own rooms, or she loses her
pariostre,
--that precious SEEMING-TO-BE!
Madame Rabourdin was in full tide of preparation for her
Friday
dinner, standing in the midst of provisions the cook had just
fished
from the vast ocean of the markets, when Monsieur des Lupeaulx
made
his way stealthily in. The general-secretary was certainly the
last
man Madame Rabourdin expected to see, and so, when she heard his
boots
creaking in the ante-chamber, she exclaimed, impatiently, "The
hair-
dresser already!"--an exclamation as little agreeable to des
Lupeaulx
as the sight of des Lupeaulx was agreeable to her. She
immediately
escaped into her bedroom, where chaos reigned; a jumble of
furniture
to be put out of sight, with other heterogeneous articles of
more or
rather less elegance,--a domestic carnival, in short. The bold
des
Lupeaulx followed the handsome figure, so piquant did she seem
to him
in her dishabille. There is something indescribably alluring to
the
eye in a portion of flesh seen through an hiatus in the
undergarment,
more attractive far than when it rises gracefully above the
circular
curve of the velvet bodice, to the vanishing line of the
prettiest
swan's-neck that ever lover kissed before a ball. When the eye
dwells
on a woman in full dress making exhibition of her magnificent
white
shoulders, do we not fancy that we see the elegant dessert of a
grand
dinner? But the glance that glides through the disarray of
muslins
rumpled in sleep enjoys, as it were, a feast of stolen fruit
glowing
between the leaves on a garden wall.
"Stop! wait!" cried the pretty Parisian, bolting the door of
the
disordered room.
She rang for Therese, called for her daughter, the cook, and
the man-
servant, wishing she possessed the whistle of the machinist at
the
Opera. Her call, however, answered the same purpose. In a
moment,
another phenomenon! the salon assumed a piquant morning look,
quite in
keeping with the becoming toilet hastily got together by the
fugitive;
we say it to her glory, for she was evidently a clever woman, in
this
at least.
"You!" she said, coming forward, "at this hour? What has happened?"
"Very serious things," answered des Lupeaulx. "You and I
must
understand each other now."
Celestine looked at the man behind his glasses, and understood
the
matter.
"My principle vice," she said, "is oddity. For instance, I do
not mix
up affections with politics; let us talk politics,--business, if
you
will,--the rest can come later. However, it is not really oddity
nor a
whim that forbids me to mingle ill-assorted colors and put
together
things that have no affinity, and compels me to avoid discords;
it is
my natural instinct as an artist. We women have politics of our
own."
Already the tones of her voice and the charm of her manners
were
producing their effect on the secretary and metamorphosing
his
roughness into sentimental courtesy; she had recalled him to
his
obligations as a lover. A clever pretty woman makes an
atmosphere
about her in which the nerves relax and the feelings soften.
"You are ignorant of what is happening," said des Lupeaulx,
harshly,
for he still thought it best to make a show of harshness. "Read
that."
He gave the two newspapers to the graceful woman, having drawn
a line
in red ink round each of the famous articles.
"Good heavens!" she exclaimed, "but this is dreadful! Who is
this
Baudoyer?"
"A donkey," answered des Lupeaulx; "but, as you see, he uses
means,--
he gives monstrances; he succeeds, thanks to some clever hand
that
pulls the wires."
The thought of her debts crossed Madame Rabourdin's mind and
blurred
her sight, as if two lightning flashes had blinded her eyes at
the
same moment; her ears hummed under the pressure of the blood
that
began to beat in her arteries; she remained for a moment
quite
bewildered, gazing at a window which she did not see.
"But are you faithful to us?" she said at last, with a winning
glance
at des Lupeaulx, as if to attach him to her.
"That is as it may be," he replied, answering her glance with
an
interrogative look which made the poor woman blush.
"If you demand caution-money you may lose all," she said,
laughing; "I
thought you more magnanimous than you are. And you, you thought
me
less a person than I am,--a sort of school-girl."
"You have misunderstood me," he said, with a covert smile; "I
meant
that I could not assist a man who plays against me just as
l'Etourdi
played against Mascarille."
"What can you mean?"
"This will prove to you whether I am magnanimous or not."
He gave Madame Rabourdin the memorandum stolen by Dutocq,
pointing out
to her the passage in which her husband had so ably analyzed
him.
"Read that."
Celestine recognized the handwriting, read the paper, and
turned pale
under the blow.
"All the ministries, the whole service is treated in the same
way,"
said des Lupeaulx.
"Happily," she said, "you alone possess this document. I
cannot
explain it, even to myself."
"The man who stole it is not such a fool as to let me have it
without
keeping a copy for himself; he is too great a liar to admit it,
and
too clever in his business to give it up. I did not even ask him
for
it."
"Who is he?"
"Your chief clerk."
"Dutocq! People are always punished through their kindnesses!
But,"
she added, "he is only a dog who wants a bone."
"Do you know what the other side offer me, poor devil of a
general-
secretary?"
"What?"
"I owe thirty-thousand and odd miserable francs,--you will
despise me
because it isn't more, but here, I grant you, I am significant.
Well,
Baudoyer's uncle has bought up my debts, and is, doubtless,
ready to
give me a receipt for them if Baudoyer is appointed."
"But all that is monstrous."
"Not at all; it is monarchical and religious, for the Grand
Almoner is
concerned in it. Baudoyer himself must appoint Colleville in
return
for ecclesiastical assistance."
"What shall you do?"
"What will you bid me do?" he said, with charming grace,
holding out
his hand.
Celestine no longer thought him ugly, nor old, nor white and
chilling
as a hoar-frost, nor indeed anything that was odious and
offensive,
but she did not give him her hand. At night, in her salon, she
would
have let him take it a hundred times, but here, alone and in
the
morning, the action seemed too like a promise that might lead
her far.
"And they say that statesmen have no hearts!" she cried
enthusiastically, trying to hide the harshness of her refusal
under
the grace of her words. "The thought used to terrify me," she
added,
assuming an innocent, ingenuous air.
"What a calumny!" cried des Lupeaulx. "Only this week one of
the
stiffest of diplomatists, a man who has been in the service ever
since
he came to manhood, has married the daughter of an actress, and
has
introduced her at the most iron-bound court in Europe as to
quarterings of nobility."
"You will continue to support us?"
"I am to draw up your husband's appointment-- But no
cheating,
remember."
She gave him her hand to kiss, and tapped him on the cheek as
she did
so. "You are mine!" she said.
Des Lupeaulx admired the expression.
[That night, at the Opera, the old coxcomb related the
incident as
follows: "A woman who did not want to tell a man she would be
his,--an
acknowledgment a well-bred woman never allows herself to
make,--
changed the words into 'You are mine.' Don't you think the
evasion
charming?"]
"But you must be my ally," he answered. "Now listen, your
husband has
spoken to the minister of a plan for the reform of the
administration;
the paper I have shown you is a part of that plan. I want to
know what
it is. Find out, and tell me to-night."
"I will," she answered, wholly unaware of the important nature
of the
errand which brought des Lupeaulx to the house that morning.
"Madame, the hair-dresser."
"At last!" thought Celestine. "I don't see how I should have
got out
of it if he had delayed much longer."
"You do not know to what lengths my devotion can go," said
des
Lupeaulx, rising. "You shall be invited to the first select
party
given by his Excellency's wife."
"Ah, you are an angel!" she cried. "And I see now how much you
love
me; you love me intelligently."
"To-night, dear child," he said, "I shall find out at the
Opera what
journalists are conspiring for Baudoyer, and we will measure
swords
together."
"Yes, but you must dine with us, will you not? I have taken
pains to
get the things you like best--"
"All that is so like love," said des Lupeaulx to himself as he
went
downstairs, "that I am willing to be deceived in that way for a
long
time. Well, if she IS tricking me I shall know it. I'll set
the
cleverest of all traps before the appointment is fairly signed,
and
I'll read her heart. Ah! my little cats, I know you! for, after
all,
women are just what we men are. Twenty-eight years old,
virtuous, and
living here in the rue Duphot!--a rare piece of luck and
worth
cultivating," thought the elderly butterfly as he fluttered down
the
staircase.
"Good heavens! that man, without his glasses, must look funny
enough
in a dressing-gown!" thought Celestine, "but the harpoon is in
his
back and he'll tow me where I want to go; I am sure now of
that
invitation. He has played his part in my comedy."
When, at five o'clock in the afternoon, Rabourdin came home to
dress
for dinner, his wife presided at his toilet and presently laid
before
him the fatal memorandum which, like the slipper in the
Arabian
Nights, the luckless man was fated to meet at every turn.
"Who gave you that?" he asked, thunderstruck.
"Monsieur des Lupeaulx."
"So he has been here!" cried Rabourdin, with a look which
would
certainly have made a guilty woman turn pale, but which
Celestine
received with unruffled brow and a laughing eye.
"And he is coming back to dinner," she said. "Why that startled air?"
"My dear," replied Rabourdin, "I have mortally offended des
Lupeaulx;
such men never forgive, and yet he fawns upon me! Do you think I
don't
see why?"
"The man seems to me," she said, "to have good taste; you
can't expect
me to blame him. I really don't know anything more flattering to
a
woman than to please a worn-out palate. After--"
"A truce to nonsense, Celestine. Spare a much-tried man. I
cannot get
an audience of the minister, and my honor is at stake."
"Good heavens, no! Dutocq can have the promise of a good place
as soon
as you are named head of the division."
"Ah! I see what you are about, dear child," said Rabourdin;
"but the
game you are playing is just as dishonorable as the real thing
that is
going on around us. A lie is a lie, and an honest woman--"
"Let me use the weapons employed against us."
"Celestine, the more that man des Lupeaulx feels he is
foolishly
caught in a trap, the more bitter he will be against me."
"What if I get him dismissed altogether?"
Rabourdin looked at his wife in amazement.
"I am thinking only of your advancement; it was high time, my
poor
husband," continued Celestine. "But you are mistaking the dog
for the
game," she added, after a pause. "In a few days des Lupeaulx
will have
accomplished all that I want of him. While you are trying to
speak to
the minister, and before you can even see him on business, I
shall
have seen him and spoken with him. You are worn out in trying to
bring
that plan of your brain to birth,--a plan which you have been
hiding
from me; but you will find that in three months your wife
has
accomplished more than you have done in six years. Come, tell me
this
fine scheme of yours."
Rabourdin, continuing to shave, cautioned his wife not to say a
word
about his work, and after assuring her that to confide a single
idea
to des Lupeaulx would be to put the cat near the milk-jug, he
began an
explanation of his labors.
"Why didn't you tell me this before, Rabourdin?" said
Celestine,
cutting her husband short at his fifth sentence. "You might have
saved
yourself a world of trouble. I can understand that a man should
be
blinded by an idea for a moment, but to nurse it up for six or
seven
years, that's a thing I cannot comprehend! You want to reduce
the
budget,--a vulgar and commonplace idea! The budget ought, on
the
contrary, to reach two hundred millions. Then, indeed, France
would be
great. If you want a new system let it be one of loans, as
Monsieur de
Nucingen keeps saying. The poorest of all treasuries is the one
with a
surplus that it never uses; the mission of a minister of finance
is to
fling gold out of the windows. It will come back to him through
the
cellars; and you, you want to hoard it! The thing to do is to
increase
the offices and all government employments, instead of reducing
them!
So far from lessening the public debt, you ought to increase
the
creditors. If the Bourbons want to reign in peace, let them
seek
creditors in the towns and villages, and place their loans
there;
above all, they ought not to let foreigners draw interest away
from
France; some day an alien nation might ask us for the capital.
Whereas
if capital and interest are held only in France, neither France
nor
credit can perish. That's what saved England. Your plan is
the
tradesman's plan. An ambitious public man should produce some
bold
scheme,--he should make himself another Law, without Law's fatal
ill-
luck; he ought to exhibit the power of credit, and show that we
should
reduce, not principal, but interest, as they do in England."
"Come, come, Celestine," said Rabourdin; "mix up ideas as much
as you
please, and make fun of them,--I'm accustomed to that; but
don't
criticise a work of which you know nothing as yet."
"Do I need," she asked, "to know a scheme the essence of which
is to
govern France with a civil service of six thousand men instead
of
twenty thousand? My dear friend, even allowing it were the plan
of a
man of genius, a king of France who attempted to carry it out
would
get himself dethroned. You can keep down a feudal aristocracy
by
levelling a few heads, but you can't subdue a hydra with
thousands.
And is it with the present ministers--between ourselves, a
wretched
crew--that you expect to carry out your reform? No, no; change
the
monetary system if you will, but do not meddle with men, with
little
men; they cry out too much, whereas gold is dumb."
"But, Celestine, if you will talk, and put wit before
argument, we
shall never understand each other."
"Understand! I understand what that paper, in which you have
analyzed
the capacities of the men in office, will lead to," she
replied,
paying no attention to what her husband said. "Good heavens! you
have
sharpened the axe to cut off your own head. Holy Virgin! why
didn't
you consult me? I could have at least prevented you from
committing
anything to writing, or, at any rate, if you insisted on putting
it to
paper, I would have written it down myself, and it should never
have
left this house. Good God! to think that he never told me!
That's what
men are! capable of sleeping with the wife of their bosom for
seven
years, and keeping a secret from her! Hiding their thoughts from
a
poor woman for seven years!--doubting her devotion!"
"But," cried Rabourdin, provoked, "for eleven years and more I
have
been unable to discuss anything with you because you insist on
cutting
me short and substituting your ideas for mine. You know nothing
at all
about my scheme."
"Nothing! I know all."
"Then tell it to me!" cried Rabourdin, angry for the first
time since
his marriage.
"There! it is half-past six o'clock; finish shaving and dress
at
once," she cried hastily, after the fashion of women when
pressed on a
point they are not ready to talk of. "I must go; we'll adjourn
the
discussion, for I don't want to be nervous on a reception-day.
Good
heavens! the poor soul!" she thought, as she left the room, "it
IS
hard to be in labor for seven years and bring forth a dead
child! And
not trust his wife!"
She went back into the room.
"If you had listened to me you would never had interceded to
keep your
chief clerk; he stole that abominable paper, and has, no doubt,
kept a
fac-simile of it. Adieu, man of genius!"
Then she noticed the almost tragic expression of her husband's
grief;
she felt she had gone too far, and ran to him, seized him just
as he
was, all lathered with soap-suds, and kissed him tenderly.
"Dear Xavier, don't be vexed," she said. "To-night, after the
people
are gone, we will study your plan; you shall speak at your
ease,--I
will listen just as long as you wish me to. Isn't that nice of
me?
What do I want better than to be the wife of Mohammed?"
She began to laugh; and Rabourdin laughed too, for the
soapsuds were
clinging to Celestine's lips, and her voice had the tones of
the
purest and most steadfast affection.
"Go and dress, dear child; and above all, don't say a word of
this to
des Lupeaulx. Swear you will not. That is the only punishment
that I
impose--"
"IMPOSE!" she cried. "Then I won't swear anything."
"Come, come, Celestine, I said in jest a really serious thing."
"To-night," she said, "I mean your general-secretary to know
whom I am
really intending to attack; he has given me the means."
"Attack whom?"
"The minister," she answered, drawing himself up. "We are to
be
invited to his wife's private parties."
In spite of his Celestine's loving caresses, Rabourdin, as he
finished
dressing, could not prevent certain painful thoughts from
clouding his
brow.
"Will she ever appreciate me?" he said to himself. "She does
not even
understand that she is the sole incentive of my whole work. How
wrong-
headed, and yet how excellent a mind!--If I had not married I
might
now have been high in office and rich. I could have saved half
my
salary; my savings well-invested would have given me to-day
ten
thousand francs a year outside of my office, and I might then
have
become, through a good marriage-- Yes, that is all true," he
exclaimed, interrupting himself, "but I have Celestine and my
two
children." The man flung himself back on his happiness. To the
best of
married lives there come moments of regret. He entered the salon
and
looked around him. "There are not two women in Paris who
understand
making life pleasant as she does. To keep such a home as this
on
twelve thousand francs a year!" he thought, looking at the
flower-
stands bright with bloom, and thinking of the social enjoyments
that
were about to gratify his vanity. "She was made to be the wife
of a
minister. When I think of his Excellency's wife, and how little
she
helps him! the good woman is a comfortable middle-class dowdy,
and
when she goes to the palace or into society--" He pinched his
lips
together. Very busy men are apt to have very ignorant notions
about
household matters, and you can make them believe that a
hundred
thousand francs afford little or that twelve thousand afford
all.
Though impatiently expected, and in spite of the flattering
dishes
prepared for the palate of the gourmet-emeritus, des Lupeaulx
did not
come to dinner; in fact he came in very late, about midnight, an
hour
when company dwindles and conversations become intimate and
confidential. Andoche Finot, the journalist, was one of the
few
remaining guests.
"I now know all," said des Lupeaulx, when he was comfortably
seated on
a sofa at the corner of the fireplace, a cup of tea in his hand
and
Madame Rabourdin standing before him with a plate of sandwiches
and
some slices of cake very appropriately called "leaden cake."
"Finot,
my dear and witty friend, you can render a great service to
our
gracious queen by letting loose a few dogs upon the men we
were
talking of. You have against you," he said to Rabourdin,
lowering his
voice so as to be heard only by the three persons whom he
addressed,
"a set of usurers and priests--money and the church. The article
in
the liberal journal was instituted by an old money-lender to
whom the
paper was under obligations; but the young fellow who wrote it
cares
nothing about it. The paper is about to change hands, and in
three
days more will be on our side. The royalist opposition,--for we
have,
thanks to Monsieur de Chateaubriand, a royalist opposition, that
is to
say, royalists who have gone over to the liberals,--however,
there's
no need to discuss political matters now,--these assassins of
Charles
X. have promised me to support your appointment at the price of
our
acquiescence in one of their amendments. All my batteries are
manned.
If they threaten us with Baudoyer we shall say to the
clerical
phalanx, 'Such and such a paper and such and such men will
attack your
measures and the whole press will be against you' (for even
the
ministerial journals which I influence will be deaf and dumb,
won't
they, Finot?). 'Appoint Rabourdin, a faithful servant, and
public
opinion is with you--'"
"Hi, hi!" laughed Finot.
"So, there's no need to be uneasy," said des Lupeaulx. "I
have
arranged it all to-night; the Grand Almoner must yield."
"I would rather have had less hope, and you to dinner,"
whispered
Celestine, looking at him with a vexed air which might very well
pass
for an expression of wounded love.
"This must win my pardon," he returned, giving her an
invitation to
the ministry for the following Tuesday.
Celestine opened the letter, and a flush of pleasure came into
her
face. No enjoyment can be compared to that of gratified
vanity.
"You know what the countess's Tuesdays are," said des
Lupeaulx, with a
confidential air. "To the usual ministerial parties they are
what the
'Petit-Chateau' is to a court ball. You will be at the heart of
power!
You will see there the Comtesse Feraud, who is still in
favor
notwithstanding Louis XVIII.'s death, Delphine de Nucingen,
Madame de
Listomere, the Marquise d'Espard, and your dear Firmiani; I have
had
her invited to give you her support in case the other women
attempt to
black-ball you. I long to see you in the midst of them."
Celestine threw up her head like a thoroughbred before the
race, and
re-read the invitation just as Baudoyer and Saillard had re-read
the
articles about themselves in the newspapers, without being able
to
quaff enough of it.
"THERE first, and NEXT at the Tuileries," she said to des
Lupeaulx,
who was startled by the words and by the attitude of the
speaker, so
expressive were they of ambition and security.
"Can it be that I am only a stepping-stone?" he asked himself.
He
rose, and went into Madame Rabourdin's bedroom, where she
followed
him, understanding from a motion of his head that he wished to
speak
to her privately.
"Well, your husband's plan," he said; "what of it?"
"Bah! the useless nonsense of an honest man!" she replied. "He
wants
to suppress fifteen thousand offices and do the work with five
or six
thousand. You never heard of such nonsense; I will let you read
the
whole document when copied; it is written in perfect good faith.
His
analysis of the officials was prompted only by his honesty
and
rectitude,--poor dear man!"
Des Lupeaulx was all the more reassured by the genuine laugh
which
accompanied these jesting and contemptuous words, because he was
a
judge of lying and knew that Celestine spoke in good faith.
"But still, what is at the bottom of it all?" he asked.
"Well, he wants to do away with the land-tax and substitute
taxes on
consumption."
"Why it is over a year since Francois Keller and Nucingen
proposed
some such plan, and the minister himself is thinking of a
reduction of
the land-tax."
"There!" exclaimed Celestine, "I told him there was nothing
new in his
scheme."
"No; but he is on the same ground with the best financier of
the
epoch,--the Napoleon of finance. Something may come of it.
Your
husband must surely have some special ideas in his method of
putting
the scheme into practice."
"No, it is all commonplace," she said, with a disdainful curl
of her
lip. "Just think of governing France with five or six
thousand
offices, when what is really needed is that everybody in France
should
be personally enlisted in the support of the government."
Des Lupeaulx seemed satisfied that Rabourdin, to whom in his
own mind
he had granted remarkable talents, was really a man of
mediocrity.
"Are you quite sure of the appointment? You don't want a bit
of
feminine advice?" she said.
"You women are greater adepts than we in refined treachery,"
he said,
nodding.
"Well, then, say BAUDOYER to the court and clergy, to divert
suspicion
and put them to sleep, and then, at the last moment, write
RABOURDIN."
"There are some women who say YES as long as they need a man,
and NO
when he has played his part," returned des Lupeaulx,
significantly.
"I know they do," she answered, laughing; "but they are very
foolish,
for in politics everything recommences. Such proceedings may do
with
fools, but you are a man of sense. In my opinion the greatest
folly
any one can commit is to quarrel with a clever man."
"You are mistaken," said des Lupeaulx, "for such a man
pardons. The
real danger is with the petty spiteful natures who have nothing
to do
but study revenge,--I spend my life among them."
When all the guests were gone, Rabourdin came into his wife's
room,
and after asking for her strict attention, he explained his plan
and
made her see that it did not cut down the revenue but on the
contrary
increased it; he showed her in what ways the public funds
were
employed, and how the State could increase tenfold the
circulation of
money by putting its own, in the proportion of a third, or a
quarter,
into the expenditures which would be sustained by private or
local
interests. He finally proved to her plainly that his plan was
not mere
theory, but a system teeming with methods of execution.
Celestine,
brightly enthusiastic, sprang into her husband's arms and sat
upon his
knee in the chimney-corner.
"At last I find the husband of my dreams!" she cried. "My
ignorance of
your real merit has saved you from des Lupeaulx's claws. I
calumniated
you to him gloriously and in good faith."
The man wept with joy. His day of triumph had come at last.
Having
labored for many years to satisfy his wife, he found himself a
great
man in the eyes of his sole public.
"To one who knows how good you are, how tender, how equable in
anger,
how loving, you are tenfold greater still. But," she added, "a
man of
genius is always more or less a child; and you are a child, a
dearly
beloved child," she said, caressing him. Then she drew that
invitation
from that particular spot where women put what they sacredly
hide, and
showed it to him.
"Here is what I wanted," she said; "Des Lupeaulx has put me
face to
face with the minister, and were he a man of iron, his
Excellency
shall be made for a time to bend the knee to me."
The next day Celestine began her preparations for entrance into
the
inner circle of the ministry. It was her day of triumph, her
own!
Never courtesan took such pains with herself as this honest
woman
bestowed upon her person. No dressmaker was ever so tormented as
hers.
Madame Rabourdin forgot nothing. She went herself to the stable
where
she hired carriages, and chose a coupe that was neither old,
nor
bourgeois, nor showy. Her footman, like the footmen of great
houses,
had the dress and appearance of a master. About ten on the
evening of
the eventful Tuesday, she left home in a charming full
mourning
attire. Her hair was dressed with jet grapes of exquisite
workmanship,
--an ornament costing three thousand francs, made by Fossin for
an
Englishwoman who had left Paris before it was finished. The
leaves
were of stamped iron-work, as light as the vine-leaves
themselves, and
the artist had not forgotten the graceful tendrils, which twined
in
the wearer's curls just as, in nature, they catch upon the
branches.
The bracelets, necklace, and earrings were all what is called
Berlin
iron-work; but these delicate arabesques were made in Vienna,
and
seemed to have been fashioned by the fairies who, the stories
tell us,
are condemned by a jealous Carabosse to collect the eyes of
ants, or
weave a fabric so diaphanous that a nutshell can contain it.
Madame
Rabourdin's graceful figure, made more slender still by the
black
draperies, was shown to advantage by a carefully cut dress, the
two
sides of which met at the shoulders in a single strap without
sleeves.
At every motion she seemed, like a butterfly, to be about to
leave her
covering; but the gown held firmly on by some contrivance of
the
wonderful dressmaker. The robe was of mousseline de laine--a
material
which the manufacturers had not yet sent to the Paris markets;
a
delightful stuff which some months later was to have a wild
success, a
success which went further and lasted longer than most
French
fashions. The actual economy of mousseline de laine, which needs
no
washing, has since injured the sale of cotton fabrics enough
to
revolutionize the Rouen manufactories. Celestine's little
feet,
covered with fine silk stockings and turk-satin shoes (for
silk-satin
is inadmissible in deep mourning) were of elegant proportions.
Thus
dressed, she was very handsome. Her complexion, beautified by a
bran-
bath, was softly radiant. Her eyes, suffused with the light of
hope,
and sparkling with intelligence, justified her claims to the
superiority which des Lupeaulx, proud and happy on this
occasion,
asserted for her.
She entered the room well (women will understand the meaning
of that
expression), bowed gracefully to the minister's wife, with a
happy
mixture of deference and of self-respect, and gave no offence by
a
certain reliance on her own dignity; for every beautiful woman
has the
right to seem a queen. With the minister himself she took the
pretty
air of sauciness which women may properly allow themselves with
men,
even when they are grand dukes. She reconnoitred the field, as
it
were, while taking her seat, and saw that she was in the midst
of one
of those select parties of few persons, where the women eye
and
appraise each other, and every word said echoes in all ears;
where
every glance is a stab, and conversation a duel with witnesses;
where
all that is commonplace seems commoner still, and where every
form of
merit or distinction is silently accepted as though it were
the
natural level of all present. Rabourdin betook himself to
the
adjoining salon in which a few persons were playing cards; and
there
he planted himself on exhibition, as it were, which proved that
he was
not without social intelligence.
"My dear," said the Marquise d'Espard to the Comtesse Feraud,
Louis
XVIII.'s last mistress, "Paris is certainly unique. It
produces--
whence and how, who knows?--women like this person, who seems
ready to
will and to do anything."
"She really does will, and does do everything," put in des
Lupeaulx,
puffed up with satisfaction.
At this moment the wily Madame Rabourdin was courting the
minister's
wife. Carefully coached the evening before by des Lupeaulx, who
knew
all the countess's weak spots, she was flattering her without
seeming
to do so. Every now and then she kept silence; for des Lupeaulx,
in
love as he was, knew her defects, and said to her the night
before,
"Be careful not to talk too much,"--words which were really an
immense
proof of attachment. Bertrand Barrere left behind him this
sublime
axiom: "Never interrupt a woman when dancing to give her
advice," to
which we may add (to make this chapter of the female code
complete),
"Never blame a woman for scattering her pearls."
The conversation became general. From time to time Madame
Rabourdin
joined in, just as a well-trained cat puts a velvet paw on
her
mistress's laces with the claws carefully drawn in. The
minister, in
matters of the heart, had few emotions. There was not
another
statesman under the Restoration who had so completely done
with
gallantry as he; even the opposition papers, the "Miroir,"
"Pandora,"
and "Figaro," could not find a single throbbing artery with
which to
reproach him. Madame Rabourdin knew this, but she knew also
that
ghosts return to old castles, and she had taken it into her head
to
make the minister jealous of the happiness which des Lupeaulx
was
appearing to enjoy. The latter's throat literally gurgled with
the
name of his divinity. To launch his supposed mistress
successfully, he
was endeavoring to persuade the Marquise d'Espard, Madame de
Nucingen,
and the countess, in an eight-ear conversation, that they had
better
admit Madame Rabourdin to their coalition; and Madame de Camps
was
supporting him. At the end of the hour the minister's vanity
was
greatly tickled; Madame Rabourdin's cleverness pleased him, and
she
had won his wife, who, delighted with the siren, invited her to
come
to all her receptions whenever she pleased.
"For your husband, my dear," she said, "will soon be director;
the
minister intends to unite the two divisions and place them under
one
director; you will then be one of us, you know."
His Excellency carried off Madame Rabourdin on his arm to show
her a
certain room, which was then quite celebrated because the
opposition
journals blamed him for decorating it extravagantly; and
together they
laughed over the absurdities of journalism.
"Madame, you really must give the countess and myself the
pleasure of
seeing you here often."
And he went on with a round of ministerial compliments.
"But, Monseigneur," she replied, with one of those glances
which women
hold in reserve, "it seems to me that that depends on you."
"How so?"
"You alone can give me the right to come here."
"Pray explain."
"No; I said to myself before I came that I would certainly not
have
the bad taste to seem a petitioner."
"No, no, speak freely. Places asked in this way are never out
of
place," said the minister, laughing; for there is no jest too
silly to
amuse a solemn man.
"Well, then, I must tell you plainly that the wife of the head
of a
bureau is out of place here; a director's wife is not."
"That point need not be considered," said the minister. "your
husband
is indispensable to the administration; he is already
appointed."
"Is that a veritable fact?"
"Would you like to see the papers in my study? They are
already drawn
up."
"Then," she said, pausing in a corner where she was alone with
the
minister, whose eager attentions were now very marked, "let me
tell
you that I can make you a return."
She was on the point of revealing her husband's plan, when
des
Lupeaulx, who had glided noiselessly up to them, uttered an
angry
sound, which meant that he did not wish to appear to have
overheard
what, in fact, he had been listening to. The minister gave an
ill-
tempered look at the old beau, who, impatient to win his reward,
had
hurried, beyond all precedent, the preliminary work of the
appointment. He had carried the papers to his Excellency that
evening,
and desired to take himself, on the morrow, the news of the
appointment to her whom he was now endeavoring to exhibit as
his
mistress. Just then the minister's valet approached des Lupeaulx
in a
mysterious manner, and told him that his own servant wished him
to
deliver to him at once a letter of the utmost importance.
The general-secretary went up to a lamp and read a note thus worded:--
Contrary to my custom, I am waiting in your ante-chamber to see
you; you have not a moment to lose if you wish to come to terms
withYour obedient servant,
Gobseck.
The secretary shuddered when he saw the signature, which we
regret we
cannot give in fac-simile, for it would be valuable to those who
like
to guess character from what may be called the physiognomy
of
signature. If ever a hieroglyphic sign expressed an animal, it
was
assuredly this written name, in which the first and the final
letter
approached each other like the voracious jaws of a
shark,--insatiable,
always open, seeking whom to devour, both strong and weak. As
for the
wording of the note, the spirit of usury alone could have
inspired a
sentence so imperative, so insolently curt and cruel, which said
all
and revealed nothing. Those who had never heard of Gobseck would
have
felt, on reading words which compelled him to whom they were
addressed
to obey, yet gave no order, the presence of the implacable
money-
lender of the rue des Gres. Like a dog called to heel by the
huntsman,
des Lupeaulx left his present quest and went immediately to his
own
rooms, thinking of his hazardous position. Imagine a general to
whom
an aide-de-camp rides up and says: "The enemy with thirty
thousand
fresh troops is attacking on our right flank."
A very few words will serve to explain this sudden arrival of
Gigonnet
and Gobseck on the field of battle,--for des Lupeaulx found them
both
waiting. At eight o'clock that evening, Martin Falleix,
returning on
the wings of the wind,--thanks to three francs to the postboys
and a
courier in advance,--had brought back with him the deeds of
the
property signed the night before. Taken at once to the Cafe
Themis by
Mitral, these securities passed into the hands of the two
usurers, who
hastened (though on foot) to the ministry. It was past eleven
o'clock.
Des Lupeaulx trembled when he saw those sinister faces, emitting
a
simultaneous look as direct as a pistol shot and as brilliant as
the
flash itself.
"What is it, my masters?" he said.
The two extortioners continued cold and motionless. Gigonnet
silently
pointed to the documents in his hand, and then at the
servant.
"Come into my study," said des Lupeaulx, dismissing his valet
by a
sign.
"You understand French very well," remarked Gigonnet, approvingly.
"Have you come here to torment a man who enabled each of you
to make a
couple of hundred thousand francs?"
"And who will help us to make more, I hope," said Gigonnet.
"Some new affair?" asked des Lupeaulx. "If you want me to help
you,
consider that I recollect the past."
"So do we," answered Gigonnet.
"My debts must be paid," said des Lupeaulx, disdainfully, so
as not to
seem worsted at the outset.
"True," said Gobseck.
"Let us come to the point, my son," said Gigonnet. "Don't
stiffen your
chin in your cravat; with us all that is useless. Take these
deeds and
read them."
The two usurers took a mental inventory of des Lupeaulx's
study while
he read with amazement and stupefaction a deed of purchase
which
seemed wafted to him from the clouds by angels.
"Don't you think you have a pair of intelligent business
agents in
Gobseck and me?" asked Gigonnet.
"But tell me, to what do I owe such able co-operation?" said
des
Lupeaulx, suspicious and uneasy.
"We knew eight days ago a fact that without us you would not
have
known till to-morrow morning. The president of the chamber
of
commerce, a deputy, as you know, feels himself obliged to
resign."
Des Lupeaulx's eyes dilated, and were as big as daisies.
"Your minister has been tricking you about this event," said
the
concise Gobseck.
"You master me," said the general-secretary, bowing with an
air of
profound respect, bordering however, on sarcasm.
"True," said Gobseck.
"Can you mean to strangle me?"
"Possibly."
"Well, then, begin your work, executioners," said the
secretary,
smiling.
"You will see," resumed Gigonnet, "that the sum total of your
debts is
added to the sum loaned by us for the purchase of the property;
we
have bought them up."
"Here are the deeds," said Gobseck, taking from the pocket of
his
greenish overcoat a number of legal papers.
"You have three years in which to pay off the whole sum,"
said
Gigonnet.
"But," said des Lupeaulx, frightened at such kindness, and
also by so
apparently fantastic an arrangement. "What do you want of
me?"
"La Billardiere's place for Baudoyer," said Gigonnet, quickly.
"That's a small matter, though it will be next to impossible
for me to
do it," said des Lupeaulx. "I have just tied my hands."
"Bite the cords with your teeth," said Gigonnet.
"They are sharp," added Gobseck.
"Is that all?" asked des Lupeaulx.
"We keep the title-deeds of the property till the debts are
paid,"
said Gigonnet, putting one of the papers before des Lupeaulx;
"and if
the matter of the appointment is not satisfactorily arranged
within
six days our names will be substituted in place of yours."
"You are deep," cried the secretary.
"Exactly," said Gobseck.
"And this is all?" exclaimed des Lupeaulx.
"All," said Gobseck.
"You agree?" asked Gigonnet.
Des Lupeaulx nodded his head.
"Well, then, sign this power of attorney. Within two days
Baudoyer is
to be nominated; within six your debts will be cleared off,
and--"
"And what?" asked des Lupeaulx.
"We guarantee--"
"Guarantee!--what?" said the secretary, more and more astonished.
"Your election to the Chamber," said Gigonnet, rising on his
heels.
"We have secured a majority of fifty-two farmers' and
mechanics'
votes, which will be thrown precisely as those who lend you this
money
dictate."
Des Lupeaulx wrung Gigonnet's hand.
"It is only such as we who never misunderstand each other," he
said;
"this is what I call doing business. I'll make you a return
gift."
"Right," said Gobseck.
"What is it?" asked Gigonnet.
"The cross of the Legion of honor for your imbecile of a nephew."
"Good," said Gigonnet, "I see you know him well."
The pair took leave of des Lupeaulx, who conducted them to
the
staircase.
"They must be secret envoys from foreign powers," whispered
the
footmen to each other.
Once in the street, the two usurers looked at each other under
a
street lamp and laughed.
"He will owe us nine thousand francs interest a year," said
Gigonnet;
"that property doesn't bring him in five."
"He is under our thumb for a long time," said Gobseck.
"He'll build; he'll commit extravagancies," continued
Gigonnet;
"Falleix will get his land."
"His interest is only to be made deputy; the old fox laughs at
the
rest," said Gobseck.
"Hey! hey!"
"Hi! hi!"
These dry little exclamations served as a laugh to the two old
men,
who took their way back (always on foot) to the Cafe Themis.
Des Lupeaulx returned to the salon and found Madame Rabourdin
sailing
with the wind of success, and very charming; while his
Excellency,
usually so gloomy, showed a smooth and gracious countenance.
"She performs miracles," thought des Lupeaulx. "What a
wonderfully
clever woman! I must get to the bottom of her heart."
"Your little lady is decidedly handsome," said the Marquise to
the
secretary; "now if she only had your name."
"Yes, her defect is that she is the daughter of an auctioneer.
She
will fail for want of birth," replied des Lupeaulx, with a cold
manner
that contrasted strangely with the ardor of his remarks about
Madame
Rabourdin not half an hour earlier.
The marquise looked at him fixedly.
"The glance you gave them did not escape me," she said,
motioning
towards the minister and Madame Rabourdin; "it pierced the mask
of
your spectacles. How amusing you both are, to quarrel over that
bone!"
As the marquise turned to leave the room the minister joined
her and
escorted her to the door.
"Well," said des Lupeaulx to Madame Rabourdin, "what do you
think of
his Excellency?"
"He is charming. We must know these poor ministers to
appreciate
them," she added, slightly raising her voice so as to be heard
by his
Excellency's wife. "The newspapers and the opposition calumnies
are so
misleading about men in politics that we are all more or
less
influenced by them; but such prejudices turn to the advantage
of
statesmen when we come to know them personally."
"He is very good-looking," said des Lupeaulx.
"Yes, and I assure you he is quite lovable," she said, heartily.
"Dear child," said des Lupeaulx, with a genial, caressing
manner; "you
have actually done the impossible."
"What is that?"
"Resuscitated the dead. I did not think that man had a heart;
ask his
wife. But he may have just enough for a passing fancy.
Therefore
profit by it. Come this way, and don't be surprised." He led
Madame
Rabourdin into the boudoir, placed her on a sofa, and sat down
beside
her. "You are very sly," he said, "and I like you the better for
it.
Between ourselves, you are a clever woman. Des Lupeaulx served
to
bring you into this house, and that is all you wanted of him,
isn't
it? Now when a woman decides to love a man for what she can get
out of
him it is better to take a sexagenarian Excellency than a
quadragenarian secretary; there's more profit and less
annoyance. I'm
a man with spectacles, grizzled hair, worn out with
dissipation,--a
fine lover, truly! I tell myself all this again and again. It
must be
admitted, of course, that I can sometimes be useful, but
never
agreeable. Isn't that so? A man must be a fool if he cannot
reason
about himself. You can safely admit the truth and let me see to
the
depths of your heart; we are partners, not lovers. If I show
some
tenderness at times, you are too superior a woman to pay any
attention
to such follies; you will forgive me,--you are not a
school-girl, or a
bourgeoise of the rue Saint-Denis. Bah! you and I are too well
brought
up for that. There's the Marquise d'Espard who has just left the
room;
this is precisely what she thinks and does. She and I came to
an
understanding two years ago [the coxcomb!], and now she has only
to
write me a line and say, 'My dear des Lupeaulx, you will oblige
me by
doing such and such a thing,' and it is done at once. We are
engaged
at this very moment in getting a commission of lunacy on her
husband.
Ah! you women, you can get what you want by the bestowal of a
few
favors. Well, then, my dear child, bewitch the minister. I'll
help
you; it is my interest to do so. Yes, I wish he had a woman who
could
influence him; he wouldn't escape me,--for he does escape me
quite
often, and the reason is that I hold him only through his
intellect.
Now if I were one with a pretty woman who was also intimate with
him,
I should hold him by his weaknesses, and that is much the
firmest
grip. Therefore, let us be friends, you and I, and share the
advantages of the conquest you are making."
Madame Rabourdin listened in amazement to this singular
profession of
rascality. The apparent artlessness of this political
swindler
prevented her from suspecting a trick.
"Do you believe he really thinks of me?" she asked, falling
into the
trap.
"I know it; I am certain of it."
"Is it true that Rabourdin's appointment is signed?"
"I gave him the papers this morning. But it is not enough that
your
husband should be made director; he must be Master of
petitions."
"Yes," she said.
"Well, then, go back to the salon and coquette a little more
with his
Excellency."
"It is true," she said, "that I never fully understood you
till
to-night. There is nothing commonplace about YOU."
"We will be two old friends," said des Lupeaulx, "and suppress
all
tender nonsense and tormenting love; we will take things as they
did
under the Regency. Ah! they had plenty of wit and wisdom in
those
days!"
"You are really strong; you deserve my admiration," she said,
smiling,
and holding out her hand to him, "one does more for one's
friend, you
know, than for one's--"
She left him without finishing her sentence.
"Dear creature!" thought des Lupeaulx, as he saw her approach
the
minister, "des Lupeaulx has no longer the slightest remorse in
turning
against you. To-morrow evening when you offer me a cup of tea,
you
will be offering me a thing I no longer care for. All is over.
Ah!
when a man is forty years of age women may take pains to catch
him,
but they won't love him."
He looked himself over in a mirror, admitting honestly that
though he
did very well as a politician he was a wreck on the shores of
Cythera.
At the same moment Madame Rabourdin was gathering herself
together for
a becoming exit. She wished to make a last graceful impression
on the
minds of all, and she succeeded. Contrary to the usual custom
in
society, every one cried out as soon as she was gone, "What a
charming
woman!" and the minister himself took her to the outer door.
"I am quite sure you will think of me to-morrow," he said,
alluding to
the appointment.
"There are so few high functionaries who have agreeable
wives,"
remarked his Excellency on re-entering the room, "that I am very
well
satisfied with our new acquisition."
"Don't you think her a little overpowering?" said des Lupeaulx
with a
piqued air.
The women present all exchanged expressive glances; the
rivalry
between the minister and his secretary amused them and
instigated one
of those pretty little comedies which Parisian women play so
well.
They excited and led on his Excellency and des Lupeaulx by a
series of
comments on Madame Rabourdin: one thought her too studied in
manner,
too eager to appear clever; another compared the graces of the
middle
classes with the manners of high life, while des Lupeaulx
defended his
pretended mistress as we all defend an enemy in society.
"Do her justice, ladies," he said; "is it not extraordinary
that the
daughter of an auctioneer should appear as well as she does? See
where
she came from, and what she is. She will end in the Tuileries;
that is
what she intends,--she told me so."
"Suppose she is the daughter of an auctioneer," said the
Comtesse
Feraud, smiling, "that will not hinder her husband's rise to
power."
"Not in these days, you mean," said the minister's wife,
tightening
her lips.
"Madame," said his Excellency to the countess, sternly,
"such
sentiments and such speeches lead to revolutions; unhappily, the
court
and the great world do not restrain them. You would hardly
believe,
however, how the injudicious conduct of the aristocracy in
this
respect displeases certain clear-sighted personages at the
palace. If
I were a great lord, instead of being, as I am, a mere
country
gentleman who seems to be placed where he is to transact your
business
for you, the monarchy would not be as insecure as I now think it
is.
What becomes of a throne which does not bestow dignity on those
who
administer its government? We are far indeed from the days when
a king
could make men great at will,--such men as Louvois, Colbert,
Richelieu, Jeannin, Villeroy, Sully,--Sully, in his origin, was
no
greater than I. I speak to you thus because we are here in
private
among ourselves. I should be very paltry indeed if I were
personally
offended by such speeches. After all, it is for us and not for
others
to make us great."
"You are appointed, dear," cried Celestine, pressing her
husband's
hand as they drove away. "If it had not been for des Lupeaulx I
should
have explained your scheme to his Excellency. But I will do it
next
Tuesday, and it will help the further matter of making you
Master of
petitions."
In the life of every woman there comes a day when she shines
in all
her glory; a day which gives her an unfading recollection to
which she
recurs with happiness all her life. As Madame Rabourdin took off
one
by one the ornaments of her apparel, she thought over the events
of
this evening, and marked the day among the triumphs and glories
of her
life,--all her beauties had been seen and envied, she had been
praised
and flattered by the minister's wife, delighted thus to make the
other
women jealous of her; but, above all, her grace and vanities had
shone
to the profit of conjugal love. Her husband was appointed.
"Did you think I looked well to-night?" she said to him, joyously.
At the same instant Mitral, waiting at the Cafe Themis, saw
the two
usurers returning, but was unable to perceive the slightest
indications of the result on their impassible faces.
"What of it?" he said, when they were all seated at table.
"Same as ever," replied Gigonnet, rubbing his hands, "victory
with
gold."
"True," said Gobseck.
Mitral took a cabriolet and went straight to the Saillards
and
Baudoyers, who were still playing boston at a late hour. No one
was
present but the Abbe Gaudron. Falleix, half-dead with the
fatigue of
his journey, had gone to bed.
"You will be appointed, nephew," said Mitral; "and there's a
surprise
in store for you."
"What is it?" asked Saillard.
"The cross of the Legion of honor?" cried Mitral.
"God protects those who guard his altars," said Gaudron.
Thus the Te Deum was sung with equal joy and confidence in both camps.
The next day, Wednesday, Monsieur Rabourdin was to transact
business
with the minister, for he had filled the late La Billardiere's
place
since the beginning of the latter's illness. On such days the
clerks
came punctually, the servants were specially attentive, there
was
always a certain excitement in the offices on these
signing-days,--and
why, nobody ever knew. On this occasion the three servants were
at
their post, flattering themselves they should get a few fees;
for a
rumor of Rabourdin's nomination had spread through the ministry
the
night before, thanks to Dutocq. Uncle Antoine and Laurent had
donned
their full uniform, when, at a quarter to eight, des
Lupeaulx's
servant came in with a letter, which he begged Antoine to
give
secretly to Dutocq, saying that the general-secretary had
ordered him
to deliver it without fail at Monsieur Dutocq's house by
seven
o'clock.
"I'm sure I don't know how it happened," he said, "but I
overslept
myself. I've only just waked up, and he'd play the devil's
tattoo on
me if he knew the letter hadn't gone. I know a famous secret,
Antoine;
but don't say anything about it to the clerks if I tell you;
promise?
He would send me off if he knew I had said a single word; he
told me
so."
"What's inside the letter?" asked Antoine, eying it.
"Nothing; I looked this way--see."
He made the letter gape open, and showed Antoine that there
was
nothing but blank paper to be seen.
"This is going to be a great day for you, Laurent," went on
the
secretary's man. "You are to have a new director. Economy must
be the
order of the day, for they are going to unite the two divisions
under
one director--you fellows will have to look out!"
"Yes, nine clerks are put on the retired list," said Dutocq,
who came
in at the moment; "how did you hear that?"
Antoine gave him the letter, and he had no sooner opened it
than he
rushed headlong downstairs in the direction of the secretary's
office.
The bureaus Rabourdin and Baudoyer, after idling and gossiping
since
the death of Monsieur de la Billardiere, were now recovering
their
usual official look and the dolce far niente habits of a
government
office. Nevertheless, the approaching end of the year did cause
rather
more application among the clerks, just as porters and servants
become
at that season more unctuously civil. They all came punctually,
for
one thing; more remained after four o'clock than was usual at
other
times. It was not forgotten that fees and gratuities depend on
the
last impressions made upon the minds of masters. The news of the
union
of the two divisions, that of La Billardiere and that of
Clergeot,
under one director, had spread through the various offices. The
number
of the clerks to be retired was known, but all were in ignorance
of
the names. It was taken for granted that Poiret would not be
replaced,
and that would be a retrenchment. Little La Billardiere had
already
departed. Two new supernumeraries had made their appearance,
and,
alarming circumstance! they were both sons of deputies. The news
told
about in the offices the night before, just as the clerks
were
dispersing, agitated all minds, and for the first half-hour
after
arrival in the morning they stood around the stoves and talked
it
over. But earlier than that, Dutocq, as we have seen, had rushed
to
des Lupeaulx on receiving his note, and found him dressing.
Without
laying down his razor, the general-secretary cast upon his
subordinate
the glance of a general issuing an order.
"Are we alone?" he asked.
"Yes, monsieur."
"Very good. March on Rabourdin; forward! steady! Of course you
kept a
copy of that paper?"
"Yes."
"You understand me? Inde iroe! There must be a general hue and
cry
raised against him. Find some way to start a clamor--"
"I could get a man to make a caricature, but I haven't five
hundred
francs to pay for it."
"Who would make it?"
"Bixou."
"He shall have a thousand and be under-head-clerk to
Colleville, who
will arrange with them; tell him so."
"But he wouldn't believe it on nothing more than my word."
"Are you trying to make me compromise myself? Either do the
thing or
let it alone; do you hear me?"
"If Monsieur Baudoyer were director--"
"Well, he will be. Go now, and make haste; you have no time to
lose.
Go down the back-stairs; I don't want people to know you have
just
seen me."
While Dutocq was returning to the clerks' office and asking
himself
how he could best incite a clamor against his chief without
compromising himself, Bixiou rushed to the Rabourdin office for
a word
of greeting. Believing that he had lost his bet the incorrigible
joker
thought it amusing to pretend that he had won it.
Bixiou [mimicking Phellion's voice]. "Gentlemen, I salute you
with a
collective how d'ye do, and I appoint Sunday next for the dinner
at
the Rocher de Cancale. But a serious question presents itself.
Is that
dinner to include the clerks who are dismissed?"
Poiret. "And those who retire?"
Bixiou. "Not that I care, for it isn't I who pay."
[General
stupefaction.] "Baudoyer is appointed. I think I already hear
him
calling Laurent" [mimicking Baudoyer], "Laurent! lock up my
hair-
shirt, and my scourge." [They all roar with laughter.] "Yes,
yes, he
laughs well who laughs last. Gentlemen, there's a great deal in
that
anagram of Colleville's. 'Xavier Rabourdin, chef de
bureau--D'abord
reva bureaux, e-u fin riche.' If I were named 'Charles X., par
la
grace de Dieu roi de France et de Navarre,' I should tremble in
my
shoes at the fate those letters anagrammatize."
Thuillier. "Look here! are you making fun?"
Bixiou. "No, I am not. Rabourdin resigns in a rage at finding
Baudoyer
appointed director."
Vimeux [entering.] "Nonsense, no such thing! Antoine (to whom
I have
just been paying forty francs that I owed him) tells me that
Monsieur
and Madame Rabourdin were at the minister's private party last
night
and stayed till midnight. His Excellency escorted Madame
Rabourdin to
the staircase. It seems she was divinely dressed. In short, it
is
quite certain that Rabourdin is to be director. Riffe, the
secretary's
copying clerk, told me he sat up all the night before to draw
the
papers; it is no longer a secret. Monsieur Clergeot is retired.
After
thirty years' service that's no misfortune. Monsieur Cochlin,
who is
rich--"
Bixiou. "By cochineal."
Vimeux. "Yes, cochineal; he's a partner in the house of
Matifat, rue
des Lombards. Well, he is retired; so is Poiret. Neither is to
be
replaced. So much is certain; the rest is all conjecture.
The
appointment of Monsieur Rabourdin is to be announced this
morning;
they are afraid of intrigues."
Bixiou. "What intrigues?"
Fleury. "Baudoyer's, confound him! The priests uphold him;
here's
another article in the liberal journal,--only half a dozen
lines, but
they are queer" [reads]:
"Certain persons spoke last night in the lobby of the Opera-house
of the return of Monsieur de Chateaubriand to the ministry, basing
their opinion on the choice made of Monsieur Rabourdin (the
protege of friends of the noble viscount) to fill the office for
which Monsieur Baudoyer was first selected. The clerical party is
not likely to withdraw unless in deference to the great writer."Blackguards!"
Dutocq [entering, having heard the whole discussion].
"Blackguards!
Who? Rabourdin? Then you know the news?"
Fleury [rolling his eyes savagely]. "Rabourdin a blackguard! Are
you
mad, Dutocq? do you want a ball in your brains to give them
weight?"
Dutocq. "I said nothing against Monsieur Rabourdin; only it
has just
been told to me in confidence that he has written a paper
denouncing
all the clerks and officials, and full of facts about their
lives; in
short, the reason why his friends support him is because he
has
written this paper against the administration, in which we are
all
exposed--"
Phellion [in a loud voice]. "Monsieur Rabourdin is incapable of--"
Bixiou. "Very proper in you to say so. Tell me, Dutocq" [they
whisper
together and then go into the corridor].
Bixiou. "What has happened?"
Dutocq. "Do you remember what I said to you about that caricature?"
Bixiou. "Yes, what then?"
Dutocq. "Make it, and you shall be under-head-clerk with a
famous fee.
The fact is, my dear fellow, there's dissension among the powers
that
be. The minister is pledged to Rabourdin, but if he doesn't
appoint
Baudoyer he offends the priests and their party. You see, the
King,
the Dauphin and the Dauphine, the clergy, and lastly the court,
all
want Baudoyer; the minister wants Rabourdin."
Bixiou. "Good!"
Dutocq. "To ease the matter off, the minister, who sees he
must give
way, wants to strangle the difficulty. We must find some good
reason
for getting rid of Rabourdin. Now somebody has lately unearthed
a
paper of his, exposing the present system of administration
and
wanting to reform it; and that paper is going the rounds,--at
least,
this is how I understand the matter. Make the drawing we talked
of; in
so doing you'll play the game of all the big people, and help
the
minister, the court, the clergy,--in short, everybody; and
you'll get
your appointment. Now do you understand me?"
Bixiou. "I don't understand how you came to know all that;
perhaps you
are inventing it."
Dutocq. "Do you want me to let you see what Rabourdin wrote
about
you?"
Bixiou. "Yes."
Dutocq. "Then come home with me; for I must put the document
into safe
keeping."
Bixiou. "You go first alone." [Re-enters the bureau
Rabourdin.] "What
Dutocq told you is really all true, word of honor! It seems
that
Monsieur Rabourdin has written and sent in very unflattering
descriptions of the clerks whom he wants to 'reform.' That's the
real
reason why his secret friends wish him appointed. Well, well; we
live
in days when nothing astonishes me" [flings his cloak about him
like
Talma, and declaims]:--
"Thou who has seen the fall of grand, illustrious heads,
Why thus amazed, insensate that thou art,
"to find a man like Rabourdin employing such means? Baudoyer
is too
much of a fool to know how to use them. Accept my
congratulations,
gentlemen; either way you are under a most illustrious chief"
[goes
off].
Poiret. "I shall leave this ministry without ever comprehending
a
single word that gentleman utters. What does he mean with his
'heads
that fall'?"
Fleury. "'Heads that fell?' why, think of the four sergeants
of
Rochelle, Ney, Berton, Caron, the brothers Faucher, and the
massacres."
Phellion. "He asserts very flippantly things that he only guesses at."
Fleury. "Say at once that he lies; in his mouth truth itself
turns to
corrosion."
Phellion. "Your language is unparliamentary and lacks the
courtesy and
consideration which are due to a colleague."
Vimeux. "It seems to me that if what he says is false, the
proper name
for it is calumny, defamation of character; and such a
slanderer
deserves the thrashing."
Fleury [getting hot]. "If the government offices are public
places,
the matter ought to be taken into the police-courts."
Phellion [wishing to avert a quarrel, tries to turn the
conversation].
"Gentleman, might I ask you to keep quiet? I am writing a
little
treatise on moral philosophy, and I am just at the heart of
it."
Fleury [interrupting]. "What are you saying about it,
Monsieur
Phellion?"
Phellion [reading]. "Question.--What is the soul of man?
"Answer.--A spiritual substance which thinks and reasons."
Thuillier. "Spiritual substance! you might as well talk
about
immaterial stone."
Poiret. "Don't interrupt; let him go on."
Phellion [continuing]. "Quest.--Whence comes the soul?
"Ans.--From God, who created it of a nature one and
indivisible; the
destructibility thereof is, consequently, not conceivable, and
he hath
said--"
Poiret [amazed]. "God said?"
Phellion. "Yes, monsieur; tradition authorizes the statement."
Fleury [to Poiret]. "Come, don't interrupt, yourself."
Phellion [resuming]. "--and he hath said that he created it
immortal;
in other words, the soul can never die.
"Quest.--What are the uses of the soul?
"Ans.--To comprehend, to will, to remember; these
constitute
understanding, volition, memory.
"Quest.--What are the uses of the understanding?
"Ans.--To know. It is the eye of the soul."
Fleury. "And the soul is the eye of what?"
Phellion [continuing]. "Quest.--What ought the understanding to know?
"Ans.--Truth.
"Quest.--Why does man possess volition?
"Ans.--To love good and hate evil.
"Quest.--What is good?
"Ans.--That which makes us happy."
Vimeux. "Heavens! do you teach that to young ladies?"
Phellion. "Yes" [continuing]. "Quest.--How many kinds of good
are
there?"
Fleury. "Amazingly indecorous, to say the least."
Phellion [aggrieved]. "Oh, monsieur!" [Controlling himself.]
"But
here's the answer,--that's as far as I have got" [reads]:--
"Ans.--There are two kinds of good,--eternal good and temporal good."
Poiret [with a look of contempt]. "And does that sell for anything?"
Phellion. "I hope it will. It requires great application of
mind to
carry on a system of questions and answers; that is why I ask
you to
be quiet and let me think, for the answers--"
Thuillier [interrupting]. "The answers might be sold separately."
Poiret. "Is that a pun?"
Thuillier. "No; a riddle."
Phellion. "I am sorry I interrupted you" [he dives into his
office
desk]. "But" [to himself] "at any rate, I have stopped their
talking
about Monsieur Rabourdin."
At this moment a scene was taking place between the minister
and des
Lupeaulx which decided Rabourdin's fate. The general-secretary
had
gone to see the minister in his private study before the
breakfast-
hour, to make sure that La Briere was not within hearing.
"Your Excellency is not treating me frankly--"
"He means a quarrel," thought the minister; "and all because
his
mistress coquetted with me last night. I did not think you
so
juvenile, my dear friend," he said aloud.
"Friend?" said the general-secretary, "that is what I want to
find
out."
The minister looked haughtily at des Lupeaulx.
"We are alone," continued the secretary, "and we can come to
an
understanding. The deputy of the arrondissement in which my
estate is
situated--"
"So it is really an estate!" said the minister, laughing, to
hide his
surprise.
"Increased by a recent purchase of two hundred thousand
francs' worth
of adjacent property," replied des Lupeaulx, carelessly. "You
knew of
the deputy's approaching resignation at least ten days ago, and
you
did not tell me of it. You were perhaps not bound to do so, but
you
knew very well that I am most anxious to take my seat in the
centre.
Has it occurred to you that I might fling myself back on the
'Doctrine'?--which, let me tell you, will destroy the
administration
and the monarchy both if you continue to allow the party of
representative government to be recruited from men of talent
whom you
ignore. Don't you know that in every nation there are fifty to
sixty,
not more, dangerous heads, whose schemes are in proportion to
their
ambition? The secret of knowing how to govern is to know those
heads
well, and either to chop them off or buy them. I don't know how
much
talent I have, but I know that I have ambition; and you are
committing
a serious blunder when you set aside a man who wishes you well.
The
anointed head dazzles for the time being, but what next?--Why, a
war
of words; discussions will spring up once more and grow
embittered,
envenomed. Then, for your own sake, I advise you not to find me
at the
Left Centre. In spite of your prefect's manoeuvres (instructions
for
which no doubt went from here confidentially) I am secure of
a
majority. The time has come for you and me to understand each
other.
After a breeze like this people sometimes become closer friends
than
ever. I must be made count and receive the grand cordon of the
Legion
of honor as a reward for my public services. However, I care
less for
those things just now than I do for something else in which you
are
more personally concerned. You have not yet appointed Rabourdin,
and I
have news this morning which tends to show that most persons
will be
better satisfied if you appoint Baudoyer."
"Appoint Baudoyer!" echoed the minister. "Do you know him?"
"Yes," said des Lupeaulx; "but suppose he proves incapable, as
he
will, you can then get rid of him by asking those who protect
him to
employ him elsewhere. You will thus get back an important office
to
give to friends; it may come in at the right moment to
facilitate some
compromise."
"But I have pledged it to Rabourdin."
"That may be; and I don't ask you to make the change this very
day. I
know the danger of saying yes and no within twenty-four hours.
But
postpone the appointment, and don't sign the papers till the day
after
to-morrow; by that time you may find it impossible to retain
Rabourdin,--in fact, in all probability, he will send you
his
resignation--"
"His resignation?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"He is the tool of a secret power in whose interests he has
carried on
a system of espionage in all the ministries, and the thing has
been
discovered by mere accident. He has written a paper of some
kind,
giving short histories of all the officials. Everybody is
talking of
it; the clerks are furious. For heaven's sake, don't transact
business
with him to-day; let me find some means for you to avoid it. Ask
an
audience of the King; I am sure you will find great satisfaction
there
if you concede the point about Baudoyer; and you can obtain
something
as an equivalent. Your position will be better than ever if you
are
forced later to dismiss a fool whom the court party impose upon
you."
"What has made you turn against Rabourdin?"
"Would you forgive Monsieur de Chateaubriand for writing an
article
against the ministry? Well, read that, and see how Rabourdin
has
treated me in his secret document," said des Lupeaulx, giving
the
paper to the minister. "He pretends to reorganize the government
from
beginning to end,--no doubt in the interests of some secret
society of
which, as yet, we know nothing. I shall continue to be his
friend for
the sake of watching him; by that means I may render the
government
such signal service that they will have to make me count; for
the
peerage is the only thing I really care for. I want you fully
to
understand that I am not seeking office or anything else that
would
cause me to stand in your way; I am simply aiming for the
peerage,
which will enable me to marry a banker's daughter with an income
of a
couple of hundred thousand francs. And so, allow me to render
you a
few signal services which will make the King feel that I have
saved
the throne. I have long said that Liberalism would never offer
us a
pitched battle. It has given up conspiracies, Carbonaroism,
and
revolts with weapons; it is now sapping and mining, and the day
is
coming when it will be able to say, 'Out of that and let me in!'
Do
you think I have been courting Rabourdin's wife for my own
pleasure?
No, but I got much information from her. So now, let us agree on
two
things; first, the postponement of the appointment; second,
your
SINCERE support of my election. You shall find at the end of
the
session that I have amply repaid you."
For all answer, the minister took the appointment papers and
placed
them in des Lupeaulx's hand.
"I will go and tell Rabourdin," added des Lupeaulx, "that you
cannot
transact business with him till Saturday."
The minister replied with an assenting gesture. The
secretary
despatched his man with a message to Rabourdin that the minister
could
not work with him until Saturday, on which day the Chamber
was
occupied with private bills, and his Excellency had more time at
his
disposal.
Just at this moment Saillard, having brought the monthly
stipend, was
slipping his little speech into the ear of the minister's wife,
who
drew herself up and answered with dignity that she did not
meddle in
political matters, and besides, she had heard that Monsieur
Rabourdin
was already appointed. Saillard, terrified, rushed up to
Baudoyer's
office, where he found Dutocq, Godard, and Bixiou in a state
of
exasperation difficult to describe; for they were reading the
terrible
paper on the administration in which they were all
discussed.
Bixiou [with his finger on a paragraph]. "Here YOU are, pere
Saillard.
Listen" [reads]:--
"Saillard.--The office of cashier to be suppressed in all
the
ministries; their accounts to be kept in future at the
Treasury.
Saillard is rich and does not need a pension.
"Do you want to hear about your son-in-law?" [Turns over the
leaves.]
"Here he is" [reads]:--
"Baudoyer.--Utterly incapable. To be thanked and dismissed.
Rich; does
not need a pension.
"And here's for Godard" [reads]:--
"Godard.--Should be dismissed; pension one-third of his
present
salary.
"In short, here we all are. Listen to what I am" [reads]: "An
artist
who might be employed by the civil list, at the Opera, or the
Menus-
Plaisirs, or the Museum. Great deal of capacity, little
self-respect,
no application,--a restless spirit. Ha! I'll give you a touch of
the
artist, Monsieur Rabourdin!"
Saillard. "Suppress cashiers! Why, the man's a monster?"
Bixiou. "Let us see what he says of our mysterious Desroys."
[Turns
over the pages; reads.]
"Desroys.--Dangerous; because he cannot be shaken in
principles that
are subversive of monarchial power. He is the son of the
Conventionel,
and he admires the Convention. He may become a very
mischievous
journalist."
Baudoyer. "The police are not worse spies!"
Godard. "I shall go the general-secretary and lay a complaint
in form;
we must all resign in a body if such a man as that is put over
us."
Dutocq. "Gentlemen, listen to me; let us be prudent. If you
rise at
once in a body, we may all be accused of rancor and revenge. No,
let
the thing work, let the rumor spread quietly. When the whole
ministry
is aroused your remonstrances will meet with general
approval."
Bixiou. "Dutocq believes in the principles of the grand air
composed
by the sublime Rossini for Basilio,--which goes to show, by the
bye,
that the great composer was also a great politician. I shall
leave my
card on Monsieur Rabourdin to-morrow morning, inscribed thus:
'Bixiou;
no self-respect, no application, restless mind.'"
Godard. "A good idea, gentlemen. Let us all leave our cards
to-morrow
on Rabourdin inscribed in the same way."
Dutocq [leading Bixiou apart]. "Come, you'll agree to make
that
caricature now, won't you?"
Bixiou. "I see plainly, my dear fellow, that you knew all
about this
affair ten days ago" [looks him in the eye]. "Am I to be
under-head-
clerk?"
Dutocq. "On my word of honor, yes, and a thousand-franc fee
beside,
just as I told you. You don't know what a service you'll be
rendering
to powerful personages."
Bixiou. "You know them?"
Dutocq. "Yes."
Bixiou. "Well, then I want to speak with them."
Dutocq [dryly]. "You can make the caricature or not, and you
can be
under-head-clerk or not,--as you please."
Bixiou. "At any rate, let me see that thousand francs."
Dutocq. "You shall have them when you bring the drawing."
Bixiou. "Forward, march! that lampoon shall go from end to end
of the
bureaus to-morrow morning. Let us go and torment the
Rabourdins."
[Then speaking to Saillard, Godard, and Baudoyer, who were
talking
together in a low voice.] "We are going to stir up the
neighbors."
[Goes with Dutocq into the Rabourdin bureau. Fleury, Thuillier,
and
Vimeux are there, talking excitedly.] "What's the matter,
gentlemen?
All that I told you turns out to be true; you can go and see
for
yourselves the work of this infamous informer; for it is in the
hands
of the virtuous, honest, estimable, upright, and pious Baudoyer,
who
is indeed utterly incapable of doing any such thing. Your chief
has
got every one of you under the guillotine. Go and see; follow
the
crowd; money returned if you are not satisfied; execution
GRATIS! The
appointments are postponed. All the bureaus are in arms;
Rabourdin has
been informed that the minister will not work with him. Come, be
off;
go and see for yourselves."
They all depart except Phellion and Poiret, who are left alone.
The
former loved Rabourdin too well to look for proof that might
injure a
man he was determined not to judge; the other had only five days
more
to remain in the office, and cared nothing either way. Just
then
Sebastien came down to collect the papers for signature. He was
a good
deal surprised, though he did not show it, to find the
office
deserted.
Phellion. "My young friend" [he rose, a rare thing], "do you
know what
is going on? what scandals are rife about Monsieur Rabourdin
whom you
love, and" [bending to whisper in Sebastien's ear] "whom I love
as
much as I respect him. They say he has committed the imprudence
to
leave a paper containing comments on the officials lying about
in the
office--" [Phellion stopped short, caught the young man in his
strong
arms, seeing that he turned pale and was near fainting, and
placed him
on a chair.] "A key, Monsieur Poiret, to put down his back; have
you a
key?"
Poiret. "I have the key of my domicile."
[Old Poiret junior promptly inserted the said key between
Sebastien's
shoulders, while Phellion gave him some water to drink. The poor
lad
no sooner opened his eyes than he began to weep. He laid his
head on
Phellion's desk, and all his limbs were limp as if struck by
lightning; while his sobs were so heartrending, so genuine, that
for
the first time in his life Poiret's feelings were stirred by
the
sufferings of another.]
Phellion [speaking firmly]. "Come, come, my young friend;
courage! In
times of trial we must show courage. You are a man. What is
the
matter? What has happened to distress you so terribly?"
Sebastien [sobbing]. "It is I who have ruined Monsieur
Rabourdin. I
left that paper lying about when I copied it. I have killed
my
benefactor; I shall die myself. Such a noble man!--a man who
ought to
be minister!"
Poiret [blowing his nose]. "Then it is true he wrote the report."
Sebastien [still sobbing]. "But it was to--there, I was going
to tell
his secrets! Ah! that wretch of a Dutocq; it was he who stole
the
paper."
His tears and sobs recommenced and made so much noise that
Rabourdin
came up to see what was the matter. He found the young fellow
almost
fainting in the arms of Poiret and Phellion.
Rabourdin. "What is the matter, gentlemen?"
Sebastien [struggling to his feet, and then falling on his
knees
before Rabourdin]. "I have ruined you, monsieur. That
memorandum,--
Dutocq, the monster, he must have taken it."
Rabourdin [calmly]. "I knew that already" [he lifts
Sebastien]. "You
are a child, my young friend." [Speaks to Phellion.] "Where are
the
other gentlemen?"
Phellion. "They have gone into Monsieur Baudoyer's office to
see a
paper which it is said--"
Rabourdin [interrupting him]. "Enough." [Goes out, taking
Sebastien
with him. Poiret and Phellion look at each other in amazement,
and do
not know what to say.]
Poiret [to Phellion]. "Monsieur Rabourdin--"
Phellion [to Poiret]. "Monsieur Rabourdin--"
Poiret. "Well, I never! Monsieur Rabourdin!"
Phellion. "But did you notice how calm and dignified he was?"
Poiret [with a sly look that was more like a grimace]. "I
shouldn't be
surprised if there were something under it all."
Phellion. "A man of honor; pure and spotless."
Poiret. "Who is?"
Phellion. "Monsieur Poiret, you think as I think about Dutocq;
surely
you understand me?"
Poiret [nodding his head three times and answering with a
shrewd
look]. "Yes." [The other clerks return.]
Fleury. "A great shock; I still don't believe the thing.
Monsieur
Rabourdin, a king among men! If such men are spies, it is enough
to
disgust one with virtue. I have always put Rabourdin among
Plutarch's
heroes."
Vimeux. "It is all true."
Poiret [reflecting that he had only five days more to stay in
the
office]. "But, gentlemen, what do you say about the man who
stole that
paper, who spied upon Rabourdin?" [Dutocq left the room.]
Fleury. "I say he is a Judas Iscariot. Who is he?"
Phellion [significantly]. "He is not here at THIS MOMENT."
Vimeux [enlightened]. "It is Dutocq!"
Phellion. "I have no proof of it, gentlemen. While you were
gone, that
young man, Monsieur de la Roche, nearly fainted here. See his
tears on
my desk!"
Poiret. "We held him fainting in our arms.--My key, the key of
my
domicile!--dear, dear! it is down his back." [Poiret goes
hastily
out.]
Vimeux. "The minister refused to transact business with
Rabourdin to-
day; and Monsieur Saillard, to whom the secretary said a few
words,
came to tell Monsieur Baudoyer to apply for the cross of the
Legion of
honor,--there is one to be granted, you know, on New-Year's day,
to
all the heads of divisions. It is quite clear what it all
means.
Monsieur Rabourdin is sacrificed by the very persons who
employed him.
Bixiou says so. We were all to be turned out, except Sebastien
and
Phellion."
Du Bruel [entering]. "Well, gentlemen, is it true?"
Thuillier. "To the last word."
Du Bruel [putting his hat on again]. "Good-bye." [Hurries out.]
Thuillier. "He may rush as much as he pleases to his Duc de
Rhetore
and Duc de Maufrigneuse, but Colleville is to be our
under-head-clerk,
that's certain."
Phellion. "Du Bruel always seemed to be attached to
Monsieur
Rabourdin."
Poiret [returning]. "I have had a world of trouble to get back
my key.
That boy is crying still, and Monsieur Rabourdin has
disappeared."
[Dutocq and Bixiou enter.]
Bixiou. "Ha, gentlemen! strange things are going on in your
bureau. Du
Bruel! I want you." [Looks into the adjoining room.] "Gone?"
Thuillier. "Full speed."
Bixiou. "What about Rabourdin?"
Fleury. "Distilled, evaporated, melted! Such a man, the king
of men,
that he--"
Poiret [to Dutocq]. "That little Sebastien, in his trouble,
said that
you, Monsieur Dutocq, had taken the paper from him ten days
ago."
Bixiou [looking at Dutocq]. "You must clear yourself of THAT,
my good
friend." [All the clerks look fixedly at Dutocq.]
Dutocq. "Where's the little viper who copied it?"
Bixiou. "Copied it? How did you know he copied it? Ha! ha! it
is only
the diamond that cuts the diamond." [Dutocq leaves the
room.]
Poiret. "Would you listen to me, Monsieur Bixiou? I have only
five
days and a half to stay in this office, and I do wish that once,
only
once, I might have the pleasure of understanding what you mean.
Do me
the honor to explain what diamonds have to do with these
present
circumstances."
Bixiou. "I meant papa,--for I'm willing for once to bring my
intellect
down to the level of yours,--that just as the diamond alone can
cut
the diamond, so it is only one inquisitive man who can defeat
another
inquisitive man."
Fleury. "'Inquisitive man' stands for 'spy.'"
Poiret. "I don't understand."
Bixiou. "Very well; try again some other time."
Monsieur Rabourdin, after taking Sebastien to his room, had
gone
straight to the minister; but the minister was at the Chamber
of
Deputies. Rabourdin went at once to the Chamber, where he wrote
a note
to his Excellency, who was at that moment in the tribune engaged
in a
hot discussion. Rabourdin waited, not in the conference hall,
but in
the courtyard, where, in spite of the cold, he resolved to
remain and
intercept his Excellency as he got into his carriage. The usher
of the
Chamber had told him that the minister was in the thick of a
controversy raised by the nineteen members of the extreme Left,
and
that the session was likely to be stormy. Rabourdin walked to
and for
in the courtyard of the palace for five mortal hours, a prey
to
feverish agitation. At half-past six o'clock the session broke
up, and
the members filed out. The minister's chasseur came up to find
the
coachman.
"Hi, Jean!" he called out to him; "Monseigneur has gone with
the
minister of war; they are going to see the King, and after that
they
dine together, and we are to fetch him at ten o'clock. There's
a
Council this evening."
Rabourdin walked slowly home, in a state of despondency not
difficult
to imagine. It was seven o'clock, and he had barely time to
dress.
"Well, you are appointed?" cried his wife, joyously, as he
entered the
salon.
Rabourdin raised his head with a grievous motion of distress
and
answered, "I fear I shall never again set foot in the
ministry."
"What?" said his wife, quivering with sudden anxiety.
"My memorandum on the officials is known in all the offices;
and I
have not been able to see the minister."
Celestine's eyes were opened to a sudden vision in which the
devil, in
one of his infernal flashes, showed her the meaning of her
last
conversation with des Lupeaulx.
"If I had behaved like a low woman," she thought, "we should
have had
the place."
She looked at Rabourdin with grief in her heart. A sad silence
fell
between them, and dinner was eaten in the midst of gloomy
meditations.
"And it is my Wednesday," she said at last.
"All is not lost, dear Celestine," said Rabourdin, laying a
kiss on
his wife's forehead; "perhaps to-morrow I shall be able to see
the
minister and explain everything. Sebastien sat up all last night
to
finish the writing; the papers are copied and collated; I shall
place
them on the minister's desk and beg him to read them through.
La
Briere will help me. A man is never condemned without a
hearing."
"I am curious to see if Monsieur des Lupeaulx will come here
to-
night."
"He? Of course he will come," said Rabourdin; "there's
something of
the tiger in him; he likes to lick the blood of the wounds he
has
given."
"My poor husband," said his wife, taking his hand, "I don't
see how it
is that a man who could conceive so noble a reform did not also
see
that it ought not to be communicated to a single person. It is
one of
those ideas that a man should keep in his own mind, for he alone
can
apply them. A statesman must do in our political sphere as
Napoleon
did in his; he stooped, twisted, crawled. Yes, Bonaparte
crawled! To
be made commander-in-chief of the Army of Italy he married
Barrere's
mistress. You should have waited, got yourself elected
deputy,
followed the politics of a party, sometimes down in the depths,
at
other times on the crest of the wave, and you should have taken,
like
Monsieur de Villele, the Italian motto 'Col tempo,' in other
words,
'All things are given to him who knows how to wait.' That great
orator
worked for seven years to get into power; he began in 1814
by
protesting against the Charter when he was the same age that you
are
now. Here's your fault; you have allowed yourself to be kept
subordinate, when you were born to rule."
The entrance of the painter Schinner imposed silence on the
wife and
husband, but these words made the latter thoughtful.
"Dear friend," said the painter, grasping Rabourdin's hand,
"the
support of artists is a useless thing enough, but let me say
under
these circumstances that we are all faithful to you. I have just
read
the evening papers. Baudoyer is appointed director and receives
the
cross of the Legion of honor--"
"I have been longer in the department, I have served
twenty-four
hours," said Rabourdin with a smile.
"I know Monsieur le Comte de Serizy, the minister of State,
pretty
well, and if he can help you, I will go and see him," said
Schinner.
The salon soon filled with persons who knew nothing of the
government
proceedings. Du Bruel did not appear. Madame Rabourdin was gayer
and
more graceful than ever, like the charger wounded in battle,
that
still finds strength to carry his master from the field.
"She is very courageous," said a few women who knew the truth,
and who
were charmingly attentive to her, understanding her
misfortunes.
"But she certainly did a great deal to attract des Lupeaulx,"
said the
Baronne du Chatelet to the Vicomtesse de Fontaine.
"Do you think--" began the vicomtesse.
"If so," interrupted Madame de Camps, in defence of her
friend,
"Monsieur Rabourdin would at least have had the cross."
About eleven o'clock des Lupeaulx appeared; and we can only
describe
him by saying that his spectacles were sad and his eyes joyous;
the
glasses, however, obscured the glances so successfully that only
a
physiognomist would have seen the diabolical expression which
they
wore. He went up to Rabourdin and pressed the hand which the
latter
could not avoid giving him.
Then he approached Madame Rabourdin.
"We have much to say to each other," he remarked as he seated
himself
beside the beautiful woman, who received him admirably.
"Ah!" he continued, giving her a side glance, "you are grand
indeed; I
find you just what I expected, glorious under defeat. Do you
know that
it is a very rare thing to find a superior woman who answers to
the
expectations formed of her. So defeat doesn't dishearten you?
You are
right; we shall triumph in the end," he whispered in her ear.
"Your
fate is always in your own hands,--so long, I mean, as your ally
is a
man who adores you. We will hold counsel together."
"But is Baudoyer appointed?" she asked.
"Yes," said the secretary.
"Does he get the cross?"
"Not yet; but he will have it later."
"Amazing!"
"Ah! you don't understand political exigencies."
During this evening, which seemed interminable to Madame
Rabourdin,
another scene was occurring in the place Royale,--one of
those
comedies which are played in seven Parisian salons whenever
there is a
change of ministry. The Saillards' salon was crowded. Monsieur
and
Madame Transon arrived at eight o'clock; Madame Transon kissed
Madame
Baudoyer, nee Saillard. Monsieur Bataille, captain of the
National
Guard, came with his wife and the curate of Saint Paul's.
"Monsieur Baudoyer," said Madame Transon. "I wish to be the
first to
congratulate you; they have done justice to your talents. You
have
indeed earned your promotion."
"Here you are, director," said Monsieur Transon, rubbing his
hands,
"and the appointment is very flattering to this
neighborhood."
"And we can truly say it came to pass without any intriguing,"
said
the worthy Saillard. "We are none of us political intriguers; WE
don't
go to select parties at the ministry."
Uncle Mitral rubbed his nose and grinned as he glanced at his
niece
Elisabeth, the woman whose hand had pulled the wires, who was
talking
with Gigonnet. Falleix, honest fellow, did not know what to make
of
the stupid blindness of Saillard and Baudoyer. Messieurs
Dutocq,
Bixiou, du Bruel, Godard, and Colleville (the latter appointed
head of
the bureau) entered.
"What a crew!" whispered Bixiou to du Bruel. "I could make a
fine
caricature of them in the shapes of fishes,--dorys, flounders,
sharks,
and snappers, all dancing a saraband!"
"Monsieur," said Colleville, "I come to offer you my
congratulations;
or rather we congratulate ourselves in having such a man placed
over
us; and we desire to assure you of the zeal with which we shall
co-
operate in your labors. Allow me to say that this event affords
a
signal proof to the truth of my axiom that a man's destiny lies
in the
letters of his name. I may say that I knew of this appointment
and of
your other honors before I heard of them, for I spend the night
in
anagrammatizing your name as follows:" [proudly] "Isidore C.
T.
Baudoyer,--Director, decorated by us (his Majesty the King,
of
course)."
Baudoyer bowed and remarked piously that names were given in baptism.
Monsieur and Madame Baudoyer, senior, father and mother of the
new
director, were there to enjoy the glory of their son and
daughter-in-
law. Uncle Gigonnet-Bidault, who had dined at the house, had
a
restless, fidgety look in his eye which frightened Bixiou.
"There's a queer one," said the latter to du Bruel, calling
his
attention to Gigonnet, "who would do in a vaudeville. I wonder
if he
could be bought. Such an old scarecrow is just the thing for a
sign
over the Two Baboons. And what a coat! I did think there was
nobody
but Poiret who could show the like after that after ten years'
public
exposure to the inclemencies of Parisian weather."
"Baudoyer is magnificent," said du Bruel.
"Dazzling," answered Bixiou.
"Gentlemen," said Baudoyer, "let me present you to my own
uncle,
Monsieur Mitral, and to my great-uncle through my wife,
Monsieur
Bidault."
Gigonnet and Mitral gave a glance at the three clerks so
penetrating,
so glittering with gleams of gold, that the two scoffers were
sobered
at once.
"Hein?" said Bixiou, when they were safely under the arcades
in the
place Royale; "did you examine those uncles?--two copies of
Shylock.
I'll bet their money is lent in the market at a hundred per cent
per
week. They lend on pawn; and sell most that they lay hold of,
coats,
gold lace, cheese, men, women, and children; they are a
conglomeration
of Arabs, Jews, Genoese, Genevese, Greeks, Lombards, and
Parisians,
suckled by a wolf and born of a Turkish woman."
"I believe you," said Godard. "Uncle Mitral used to be a
sheriff's
officer."
"That settles it," said du Bruel.
"I'm off to see the proof of my caricature," said Bixiou; "but
I
should like to study the state of things in Rabourdin's salon
to-
night. You are lucky to be able to go there, du Bruel."
"I!" said the vaudevillist, "what should I do there? My face
doesn't
lend itself to condolences. And it is very vulgar in these days
to go
and see people who are down."
By midnight Madame Rabourdin's salon was deserted; only two or
three
guests remained with des Lupeaulx and the master and mistress of
the
house. When Schinner and Monsieur and Madame de Camps had
likewise
departed, des Lupeaulx rose with a mysterious air, stood with
his back
to the fireplace and looked alternately at the husband and
wife.
"My friends," he said, "nothing is really lost, for the
minister and I
are faithful to you. Dutocq simply chose between two powers the
one he
thought strongest. He has served the court and the Grand
Almoner; he
has betrayed me. But that is in the order of things; a
politician
never complains of treachery. Nevertheless, Baudoyer will be
dismissed
as incapable in a few months; no doubt his protectors will find
him a
place,--in the prefecture of police, perhaps,--for the clergy
will not
desert him."
From this point des Lupeaulx went on with a long tirade about
the
Grand Almoner and the dangers the government ran in relying upon
the
church and upon the Jesuits. We need not, we think, point out to
the
intelligent reader that the court and the Grand Almoner, to whom
the
liberal journals attributed an enormous influence under the
administration, had little really to do with Monsieur
Baudoyer's
appointment. Such petty intrigues die in the upper sphere of
great
self-interests. If a few words in favor of Baudoyer were
obtained by
the importunity of the curate of Saint-Paul's and the Abbe
Gaudron,
they would have been withdrawn immediately at a suggestion from
the
minister. The occult power of the Congregation of Jesus
(admissible
certainly as confronting the bold society of the "Doctrine,"
entitled
"Help yourself and heaven will help you,") was formidable only
through
the imaginary force conferred on it by subordinate powers
who
perpetually threatened each other with its evils. The liberal
scandal-
mongers delighted in representing the Grand Almoner and the
whole
Jesuitical Chapter as political, administrative, civil, and
military
giants. Fear creates bugbears. At this crisis Baudoyer firmly
believed
in the said Chapter, little aware that the only Jesuits who had
put
him where he now was sat by his own fireside, and in the Cafe
Themis
playing dominoes.
At certain epochs in history certain powers appear, to whom
all evils
are attributed, though at the same time their genius is denied;
they
form an efficient argument in the mouth of fools. Just as
Monsieur de
Talleyrand was supposed to hail all events of whatever kind with
a bon
mot, so in these days of the Restoration the clerical party had
the
credit of doing and undoing everything. Unfortunately, it did
and
undid nothing. Its influence was not wielded by a Cardinal
Richelieu
or a Cardinal Mazarin; it was in the hands of a species of
Cardinal de
Fleury, who, timid for over five years, turned bold for one
day,
injudiciously bold. Later on, the "Doctrine" did more, with
impunity,
at Saint-Merri, than Charles X. pretended to do in July, 1830.
If the
section on the censorship so foolishly introduced into the new
charter
had been omitted, journalism also would have had its
Saint-Merri. The
younger Branch could have legally carried out Charles X.'s
plan.
"Remain where you are, head of a bureau under Baudoyer," went
on des
Lupeaulx. "Have the nerve to do this; make yourself a true
politician;
put ideas and generous impulses aside; attend only to your
functions;
don't say a word to your new director; don't help him with a
suggestion; and do nothing yourself without his order. In three
months
Baudoyer will be out of the ministry, either dismissed, or
stranded on
some other administrative shore. They may attach him to the
king's
household. Twice in my life I have been set aside as you are,
and
overwhelmed by an avalanche of folly; I have quietly waited and
let it
pass."
"Yes," said Rabourdin, "but you were not calumniated; your
honor was
not assailed, compromised--"
"Ha, ha, ha!" cried des Lupeaulx, interrupting him with a
burst of
Homeric laughter. "Why, that's the daily bread of every
remarkable man
in this glorious kingdom of France! And there are but two ways
to meet
such calumny,--either yield to it, pack up, and go plant
cabbages in
the country; or else rise above it, march on, fearless, and
don't turn
your head."
"For me, there is but one way of untying the noose which
treachery and
the work of spies have fastened round my throat," replied
Rabourdin.
"I must explain the matter at once to his Excellency, and if you
are
as sincerely attached to me as you say you are, you will put me
face
to face with him to-morrow."
"You mean that you wish to explain to him your plan for the
reform of
the service?"
Rabourdin bowed.
"Well, then, trust the papers with me,--your memoranda, all
the
documents. I promise you that he shall sit up all night and
examine
them."
"Let us go to him, then!" cried Rabourdin, eagerly; "six
years' toil
certainly deserves two or three hours attention from the
king's
minister, who will be forced to recognize, if he does not
applaud,
such perseverance."
Compelled by Rabourdin's tenacity to take a straightforward
path,
without ambush or angle where his treachery could hide itself,
des
Lupeaulx hesitated for a single instant, and looked at
Madame
Rabourdin, while he inwardly asked himself, "Which shall I
permit to
triumph, my hatred for him, or my fancy for her?"
"You have no confidence in my honor," he said, after a pause.
"I see
that you will always be to me the author of your SECRET
ANALYSIS.
Adieu, madame."
Madame Rabourdin bowed coldly. Celestine and Xavier returned
at once
to their own rooms without a word; both were overcome by
their
misfortune. The wife thought of the dreadful situation in which
she
stood toward her husband. The husband, resolving slowly not to
remain
at the ministry but to send in his resignation at once, was lost
in a
sea of reflections; the crisis for him meant a total change of
life
and the necessity of starting on a new career. All night he sat
before
his fire, taking no notice of Celestine, who came in several
times on
tiptoe, in her night-dress.
"I must go once more to the ministry, to bring away my papers,
and
show Baudoyer the routine of the business," he said to himself
at
last. "I had better write my resignation now."
He turned to his table and began to write, thinking over each
clause
of the letter, which was as follows:--
Monseigneur,--I have the honor to inclose to your Excellency my
resignation. I venture to hope that you still remember hearing me
say that I left my honor in your hands, and that everything, for
me, depended on my being able to give you an immediate
explanation.This explanation I have vainly sought to give. To-day it would,
perhaps, be useless; for a fragment of my work relating to the
administration, stolen and misused, has gone the rounds of the
offices and is misinterpreted by hatred; in consequence, I find
myself compelled to resign, under the tacit condemnation of my
superiors.
Your Excellency may have thought, on the morning when I first
sought to speak with you, that my purpose was to ask for my
promotion, when, in fact, I was thinking only of the glory and
usefulness of your ministry and of the public good. It is all-
important, I think, to correct that impression.
Then followed the usual epistolary formulas.
It was half-past seven in the morning when the man consummated
the
sacrifice of his ideas; he burned everything, the toil of
years.
Fatigued by the pressure of thought, overcome by mental
suffering, he
fell asleep with his head on the back of his armchair. He was
wakened
by a curious sensation, and found his hands covered with his
wife's
tears and saw her kneeling before him. Celestine had read
the
resignation. She could measure the depth of his fall. They were
now to
be reduced to live on four thousand francs a year; and that day
she
had counted up her debts,--they amounted to something like
thirty-two
thousand francs! The most ignoble of all wretchedness had come
upon
them. And that noble man who had trusted her was ignorant that
she had
abused the fortune he had confided to her care. She was sobbing
at his
feet, beautiful as the Magdalen.
"My cup is full," cried Xavier, in terror. "I am dishonored at
the
ministry, and dishonored--"
The light of her pure honor flashed from Celestine's eyes; she
sprang
up like a startled horse and cast a fulminating glance at
Rabourdin.
"I! I!" she said, on two sublime tones. "Am I a base wife? If
I were,
you would have been appointed. But," she added mournfully, "it
is
easier to believe that than to believe what is the truth."
"Then what is it?" said Rabourdin.
"All in three words," she said; "I owe thirty thousand francs."
Rabourdin caught his wife to his heart with a gesture of
almost
frantic joy, and seated her on his knee.
"Take comfort, dear," he said, in a tone of voice so adorably
kind
that the bitterness of her grief was changed to something
inexpressibly tender. "I too have made mistakes; I have
worked
uselessly for my country when I thought I was being useful to
her. But
now I mean to take another path. If I had sold groceries we
should now
be millionaires. Well, let us be grocers. You are only
twenty-eight,
dear angel; in ten years you shall recover the luxury that you
love,
which we must needs renounce for a short time. I, too, dear
heart, am
not a base or common husband. We will sell our farm; its value
has
increased of late. That and the sale of our furniture will pay
my
debts.
MY debts! Celestine embraced her husband a thousand times in
the
single kiss with which she thanked him for that generous
word.
"We shall still have a hundred thousand francs to put into
business.
Before the month is out I shall find some favorable opening. If
luck
gave a Martin Falleix to a Saillard, why should we despair?
Wait
breakfast for me. I am going now to the ministry, but I shall
come
back with my neck free of the yoke."
Celestine clasped her husband in her arms with a force men do
not
possess, even in their passionate moments; for women are
stronger
through emotion than men through power. She wept and laughed
and
sobbed in turns.
When Rabourdin left the house at eight o'clock, the porter
gave him
the satirical cards suggested by Bixiou. Nevertheless, he went
to the
ministry, where he found Sebastien waiting near the door to
entreat
him not to enter any of the bureaus, because an infamous
caricature of
him was making the round of the offices.
"If you wish to soften the pain of my downfall," he said to
the lad,
"bring me that drawing; I am now taking my resignation to Ernest
de la
Briere myself, that it may not be altered or distorted while
passing
through the routine channels. I have my own reasons for wishing
to see
that caricature."
When Rabourdin came back to the courtyard, after making sure
that his
letter would go straight into the minister's hands, he found
Sebastien
in tears, with a copy of the lithograph, which the lad
reluctantly
handed over to him.
"It is very clever," said Rabourdin, showing a serene brow to
his
companion, though the crown of thorns was on it all the
same.
He entered the bureaus with a calm air, and went at once
into
Baudoyer's section to ask him to come to the office of the head
of the
division and receive instructions as to the business which
that
incapable being was henceforth to direct.
"Tell Monsieur Baudoyer that there must be no delay," he
added, in the
hearing of all the clerks; "my resignation is already in the
minister's hands, and I do not wish to stay here longer than
is
necessary."
Seeing Bixiou, Rabourdin went straight up to him, showed him
the
lithograph, and said, to the great astonishment of all
present,--
"Was I not right in saying you were an artist? Still, it is a
pity you
directed the point of your pencil against a man who cannot be
judged
in this way, nor indeed by the bureaus at all;--but everything
is
laughed at in France, even God."
Then he took Baudoyer into the office of the late La
Billardiere. At
the door he found Phellion and Sebastien, the only two who,
under his
great disaster, dared to remain openly faithful to the fallen
man.
Rabourdin noticed that Phellion's eyes were moist, and he could
not
refrain from wringing his hand.
"Monsieur," said the good man, "if we can serve you in any
way, make
use of us."
Monsieur Rabourdin shut himself up in the late chief's office
with
Monsieur Baudoyer, and Phellion helped him to show the new
incumbent
all the administrative difficulties of his new position. At
each
separate affair which Rabourdin carefully explained, Baudoyer's
little
eyes grew big as saucers.
"Farewell, monsieur," said Rabourdin at last, with a manner
that was
half-solemn, half-satirical.
Sebastien meanwhile had made up a package of papers and
letters
belonging to his chief and had carried them away in a hackney
coach.
Rabourdin passed through the grand courtyard, while all the
clerks
were watching from the windows, and waited there a moment to see
if
the minister would send him any message. His Excellency was
dumb.
Phellion courageously escorted the fallen man to his home,
expressing
his feelings of respectful admiration; then he returned to the
office,
and took up his work, satisfied with his own conduct in
rendering
these funeral honors to the neglected and misjudged
administrative
talent.
Bixiou [seeing Phellion re-enter]. "Victrix cause diis
placuit, sed
victa Catoni."
Phellion. "Yes, monsieur."
Poiret. "What does that mean?"
Fleury. "That priests rejoice, and Monsieur Rabourdin has the
respect
of men of honor."
Dutocq [annoyed]. "You didn't say that yesterday."
Fleury. "If you address me you'll have my hand in your face.
It is
known for certain that you filched those papers from
Monsieur
Rabourdin." [Dutocq leaves the office.] "Oh, yes, go and
complain to
your Monsieur des Lupeaulx, spy!"
Bixiou [laughing and grimacing like a monkey]. "I am curious
to know
how the division will get along. Monsieur Rabourdin is so
remarkable a
man that he must have had some special views in that work of
his.
Well, the minister loses a fine mind." [Rubs his hands.]
Laurent [entering]. "Monsieur Fleury is requested to go to
the
secretary's office."
All the clerks. "Done for!"
Fleury [leaving the room]. "I don't care; I am offered a place
as
responsible editor. I shall have all my time to myself to lounge
the
streets or do amusing work in a newspaper office."
Bixiou. "Dutocq has already made them cut off the head of that
poor
Desroys."
Colleville [entering joyously]. "Gentlemen, I am appointed
head of
this bureau."
Thuillier. "Ah, my friend, if it were I myself, I couldn't be
better
pleased."
Bixiou. "His wife has managed it." [Laughter.]
Poiret. "Will any one tell me the meaning of all that is
happening
here to-day?"
Bixiou. "Do you really want to know? Then listen. The
antechamber of
the administration is henceforth a chamber, the court is a
boudoir,
the best way to get in is through the cellar, and the bed is
more than
ever a cross-cut."
Poiret. "Monsieur Bixiou, may I entreat you, explain?"
Bixiou. "I'll paraphrase my opinion. To be anything at all you
must
begin by being everything. It is quite certain that a reform of
this
service is needed; for on my word of honor, the State robs the
poor
officials as much as the officials rob the State in the matter
of
hours. But why is it that we idle as we do? because they pay us
too
little; and the reason of that is we are too many for the work,
and
your late chief, the virtuous Rabourdin, saw all this plainly.
That
great administrator,--for he was that, gentlemen,--saw what the
thing
is coming to, the thing that these idiots call the 'working of
our
admirable institutions.' The chamber will want before long
to
administrate, and the administrators will want to legislate.
The
government will try to administrate and the administrators will
want
to govern, and so it will go on. Laws will come to be mere
regulations, and ordinances will be thought laws. God made this
epoch
of the world for those who like to laugh. I live in a state of
jovial
admiration of the spectacle which the greatest joker of modern
times,
Louis XVIII., bequeathed to us" [general stupefaction].
"Gentlemen, if
France, the country with the best civil service in Europe, is
managed
thus, what do you suppose the other nations are like? Poor
unhappy
nations! I ask myself how they can possibly get along without
two
Chambers, without the liberty of the press, without reports,
without
circulars even, without an army of clerks? Dear, dear, how do
you
suppose they have armies and navies? how can they exist at all
without
political discussions? Can they even be called nations, or
governments? It is said (mere traveller's tales) that these
strange
peoples claim to have a policy, to wield a certain influence;
but
that's absurd! how can they when they haven't 'progress' or
'new
lights'? They can't stir up ideas, they haven't an independent
forum;
they are still in the twilight of barbarism. There are no people
in
the world but the French people who have ideas. Can you
understand,
Monsieur Poiret," [Poiret jumped as if he had been shot] "how a
nation
can do without heads of divisions, general-secretaries and
directors,
and all this splendid array of officials, the glory of France
and of
the Emperor Napoleon,--who had his own good reasons for creating
a
myriad of offices? I don't see how those nations have the
audacity to
live at all. There's Austria, which has less than a hundred
clerks in
her war ministry, while the salaries and pensions of ours amount
to a
third of our whole budget, a thing that was unheard of before
the
Revolution. I sum up all I've been saying in one single
remark,
namely, that the Academy of Inscriptions and Belles-lettres,
which
seems to have very little to do, had better offer a prize for
the
ablest answer to the following question: Which is the best
organized
State; the one that does many things with few officials, or the
one
that does next to nothing with an army of them?"
Poiret. "Is that your last word?"
Bixiou. "Yes, sir! whether English, French, German or
Italian,--I let
you off the other languages."
Poiret [lifting his hands to heaven]. "Gracious goodness! and
they
call you a witty man!"
Bixiou. "Haven't you understood me yet?"
Phellion. "Your last observation was full of excellent sense."
Bixiou. "Just as full as the budget itself, and like the
budget again,
as complicated as it looks simple; and I set it as a warning,
a
beacon, at the edge of this hole, this gulf, this volcano,
called, in
the language of the 'Constitutionel,' 'the political
horizon.'"
Poiret. "I should much prefer a comprehensible explanation."
Bixiou. "Hurrah for Rabourdin! there's my explanation; that's
my
opinion. Are you satisfied?"
Colleville [gravely]. "Monsieur Rabourdin had but one defect."
Poiret. "What was it?"
Colleville. "That of being a statesman instead of a
subordinate
official."
Phellion [standing before Bixiou]. "Monsieur! why did you,
who
understand Monsieur Rabourdin so well, why did you make that
inf--that
odi--that hideous caricature?"
Bixiou. "Do you forget our bet? don't you know I was backing
the
devil's game, and that your bureau owes me a dinner at the
Rocher de
Cancale?"
Poiret [much put-out]. "Then it is a settled thing that I am
to leave
this government office without ever understanding a sentence, or
a
single word uttered by Monsieur Bixiou."
Bixiou. "It is your own fault; ask these gentlemen. Gentlemen,
have
you understood the meaning of my observations? and were
those
observations just, and brilliant?"
All. "Alas, yes!"
Minard. "And the proof is that I shall send in my resignation.
I shall
plunge into industrial avocations."
Bixiou. "What! have you managed to invent a mechanical corset,
or a
baby's bottle, or a fire engine, or chimneys that consume no
fuel, or
ovens which cook cutlets with three sheets of paper?"
Minard [departing.] "Adieu, I shall keep my secret."
Bixiou. "Well, young Poiret junior, you see,--all these
gentlemen
understand me."
Poiret [crest-fallen]. "Monsieur Bixiou, would you do me the
honor to
come down for once to my level and speak in a language I can
understand?"
Bixiou [winking at the rest]. "Willingly." [Takes Poiret by
the button
of his frock-coat.] "Before you leave this office forever
perhaps you
would be glad to know what you are--"
Poiret [quickly]. "An honest man, monsieur."
Bixiou [shrugging his shoulders]. "--to be able to define,
explain,
and analyze precisely what a government clerk is? Do you know
what he
is?"
Poiret. "I think I do."
Bixiou [twisting the button]. "I doubt it."
Poiret. "He is a man paid by government to do work."
Bixiou. "Oh! then a soldier is a government clerk?"
Poiret [puzzled]. "Why, no."
Bixiou. "But he is paid by the government to do work, to mount
guard
and show off at reviews. You may perhaps tell me that he longs
to get
out of his place,--that he works too hard and fingers too
little
metal, except that of his musket."
Poiret [his eyes wide open]. "Monsieur, a government clerk
is,
logically speaking, a man who needs the salary to maintain
himself,
and is not free to get out of his place; for he doesn't know how
to do
anything but copy papers."
Bixiou. "Ah! now we are coming to a conclusion. So the bureau
is the
clerk's shell, husk, pod. No clerk without a bureau, no bureau
without
a clerk. But what do you make, then, of a customs officer?"
[Poiret
shuffles his feet and tries to edge away; Bixiou twists off one
button
and catches him by another.] "He is, from the bureaucratic point
of
view, a neutral being. The excise-man is only half a clerk; he
is on
the confines between civil and military service; neither
altogether
soldier nor altogether clerk-- Here, here, where are you
going?"
[Twists the button.] "Where does the government clerk proper
end?
That's a serious question. Is a prefect a clerk?"
Poiret [hesitating]. "He is a functionary."
Bixiou. "But you don't mean that a functionary is not a clerk?
that's
an absurdity."
Poiret [weary and looking round for escape]. "I think Monsieur
Godard
wants to say something."
Godard. "The clerk is the order, the functionary the species."
Bixiou [laughing]. "I shouldn't have thought you capable of
that
distinction, my brave subordinate."
Poiret [trying to get away]. "Incomprehensible!"
Bixiou. "La, la, papa, don't step on your tether. If you stand
still
and listen, we shall come to an understanding before long. Now,
here's
an axiom which I bequeath to this bureau and to all bureaus:
Where the
clerk ends, the functionary begins; where the functionary ends,
the
statesman rises. There are very few statesmen among the
prefects. The
prefect is therefore a neutral being among the higher species.
He
comes between the statesman and the clerk, just as the
custom-house
officer stands between the civil and the military. Let us
continue to
clear up these important points." [Poiret turns crimson with
distress.] "Suppose we formulate the whole matter in a maxim
worthy of
Larochefoucault: Officials with salaries of twenty thousand
francs are
not clerks. From which we may deduce mathematically this
corollary:
The statesman first looms up in the sphere of higher salaries;
and
also this second and not less logical and important
corollary:
Directors-general may be statesmen. Perhaps it is in that sense
that
more than one deputy says in his heart, 'It is a fine thing to
be a
director-general.' But in the interests of our noble French
language
and of the Academy--"
Poiret [magnetized by the fixity of Bixiou's eye]. "The
French
language! the Academy!"
Bixiou [twisting off the second button and seizing another].
"Yes, in
the interests of our noble tongue, it is proper to observe
that
although the head of a bureau, strictly speaking, may be called
a
clerk, the head of a division must be called a bureaucrat.
These
gentlemen" [turning to the clerks and privately showing them the
third
button off Poiret's coat] "will appreciate this delicate shade
of
meaning. And so, papa Poiret, don't you see it is clear that
the
government clerk comes to a final end at the head of a division?
Now
that question once settled, there is no longer any uncertainty;
the
government clerk who has hitherto seemed undefinable is
defined."
Poiret. "Yes, that appears to me beyond a doubt."
Bixiou. "Nevertheless, do me the kindness to answer the
following
question: A judge being irremovable, and consequently debarred
from
being, according to your subtle distinction, a functionary,
and
receiving a salary which is not the equivalent of the work he
does, is
he to be included in the class of clerks?"
Poiret [gazing at the cornice]. "Monsieur, I don't follow you."
Bixiou [getting off the fourth button]. "I wanted to prove to
you,
monsieur, that nothing is simple; but above all--and what I am
going
to say is intended for philosophers--I wish (if you'll allow me
to
misquote a saying of Louis XVIII.),--I wish to make you see
that
definitions lead to muddles."
Poiret [wiping his forehead]. "Excuse me, I am sick at my
stomach"
[tries to button his coat]. "Ah! you have cut off all my
buttons!"
Bixiou. "But the point is, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"
Poiret [angrily]. "Yes, monsieur, I do; I understand that you
have
been playing me a shameful trick and twisting off my buttons
while I
have been standing here unconscious of it."
Bixiou [solemnly]. "Old man, you are mistaken! I wished to
stamp upon
your brain the clearest possible image of constitutional
government"
[all the clerks look at Bixiou; Poiret, stupefied, gazes at
him
uneasily], "and also to keep my word to you. In so doing I
employed
the parabolical method of savages. Listen and comprehend: While
the
ministers start discussions in the Chambers that are just about
as
useful and as conclusive as the one we are engaged in, the
administration cuts the buttons off the tax-payers."
All. "Bravo, Bixiou!"
Poiret [who comprehends]. "I don't regret my buttons."
Bixiou. "I shall follow Minard's example; I won't pocket such
a
paltry salary as mine any longer; I shall deprive the government
of my
co-operation." [Departs amid general laughter.]
Another scene was taking place in the minister's
reception-room, more
instructive than the one we have just related, because it shows
how
great ideas are allowed to perish in the higher regions of
State
affairs, and in what way statesmen console themselves.
Des Lupeaulx was presenting the new director, Monsieur
Baudoyer, to
the minister. A number of persons were assembled in the
salon,--two or
three ministerial deputies, a few men of influence, and
Monsieur
Clergeot (whose division was now merged with La Billardiere's
under
Baudoyer's direction), to whom the minister was promising an
honorable
pension. After a few general remarks, the great event of the day
was
brought up.
A deputy. "So you lose Rabourdin?"
Des Lupeaulx. "He has resigned."
Clergeot. "They say he wanted to reform the administration."
The Minister [looking at the deputies]. "Salaries are not
really in
proportion to the exigencies of the civil service."
De la Briere. "According to Monsieur Rabourdin, one hundred
clerks
with a salary of twelve thousand francs would do better and
quicker
work than a thousand clerks at twelve hundred."
Clergeot. "Perhaps he is right."
The Minister. "But what is to be done? The machine is built in
that
way. Must we take it to pieces and remake it? No one would have
the
courage to attempt that in face of the Chamber, and the
foolish
outcries of the Opposition, and the fierce denunciations of the
press.
It follows that there will happen, one of these days, some
damaging
'solution of continuity' between the government and the
administration."
A deputy. "In what way?"
The Minister. "In many ways. A minister will want to serve the
public
good, and will not be allowed to do so. You will create
interminable
delays between things and their results. You may perhaps render
the
theft of a penny actually impossible, but you cannot prevent
the
buying and selling of influence, the collusions of
self-interest. The
day will come when nothing will be conceded without secret
stipulations, which may never see the light. Moreover, the
clerks, one
and all, from the least to the greatest, are acquiring opinions
of
their own; they will soon be no longer the hands of a brain,
the
scribes of governmental thought; the Opposition even now tends
towards
giving them a right to judge the government and to talk and
vote
against it."
Baudoyer [in a low voice, but meaning to be heard]. "Monseigneur
is
really fine."
Des Lupeaulx. "Of course bureaucracy has its defects. I myself
think
it slow and insolent; it hampers ministerial action, stifles
projects,
and arrests progress. But, after all, French administration
is
amazingly useful."
Baudoyer. "Certainly!"
Des Lupeaulx. "If only to maintain the paper and stamp
industries!
Suppose it is rather fussy and provoking, like all good
housekeepers,
--it can at any moment render an account of its disbursements.
Where
is the merchant who would not gladly give five per cent of his
entire
capital if he could insure himself against LEAKAGE?"
The Deputy [a manufacturer]. "The manufacturing interests of
all
nations would joyfully unite against that evil genius of theirs
called
leakage."
Des Lupeaulx. "After all, though statistics are the childish
foible of
modern statesmen, who think that figures are estimates, we must
cipher
to estimate. Figures are, moreover, the convincing argument
of
societies based on self-interest and money, and that is the sort
of
society the Charter has given us,--in my opinion, at any rate.
Nothing
convinces the 'intelligent masses' as much as a row of figures.
All
things in the long run, say the statesmen of the Left,
resolve
themselves into figures. Well then, let us figure" [the minister
here
goes off into a corner with a deputy, to whom he talks in a
low
voice]. "There are forty thousand government clerks in France.
The
average of their salaries is fifteen hundred francs. Multiply
forty
thousand by fifteen hundred and you have sixty millions. Now, in
the
first place, a publicist would call the attention of Russia and
China
(where all government officials steal), also that of Austria,
the
American republics, and indeed that of the whole world, to the
fact
that for this price France possesses the most inquisitorial,
fussy,
ferreting, scribbling, paper-blotting, fault-finding old
housekeeper
of a civil service on God's earth. Not a copper farthing of
the
nation's money is spent or hoarded that is not ordered by a
note,
proved by vouchers, produced and re-produced on balance-sheets,
and
receipted for when paid; orders and receipts are registered on
the
rolls, and checked and verified by an army of men in spectacles.
If
there is the slightest mistake in the form of these precious
documents, the clerk is terrified, for he lives on such
minutiae. Some
nations would be satisfied to get as far as this; but Napoleon
went
further. That great organizer appointed supreme magistrates of a
court
which is absolutely unique in the world. These officials pass
their
days in verifying money-orders, documents, roles, registers,
lists,
permits, custom-house receipts, payments, taxes received, taxes
spent,
etc.; all of which the clerks write or copy. These stern judges
push
the gift of exactitude, the genius of inquisition, the
sharp-
sightedness of lynxes, the perspicacity of account-books to the
point
of going over all the additions in search of subtractions.
These
sublime martyrs to figures have been known to return to an
army
commissary, after a delay of two years, some account in which
there
was an error of two farthings. This is how and why it is that
the
French system of administration, the purest and best on the
globe has
rendered robbery, as his Excellency has just told you, next
to
impossible, and as for peculation, it is a myth. France at
this
present time possesses a revenue of twelve hundred millions, and
she
spends it. That sum enters her treasury, and that sum goes out
of it.
She handles, therefore, two thousand four hundred millions, and
all
she pays for the labor of those who do the work is sixty
millions,--
two and a half per cent; and for that she obtains the certainty
that
there is no leakage. Our political and administrative kitchen
costs us
sixty millions, but the gendarmerie, the courts of law, the
galleys
and the police cost just as much, and give no return. Moreover,
we
employ a body of men who could do no other work. Waste and
disorder,
if such there be, can only be legislative; the Chambers lead to
them
and render them legal. Leakage follows in the form of public
works
which are neither urgent nor necessary; troops re-uniformed
and
gold-laced over and over again; vessels sent on useless
cruises;
preparations for war without ever making it; paying the debts of
a
State, and not requiring reimbursement or insisting on
security."
Baudoyer. "But such leakage has nothing to do with the
subordinate
officials; this bad management of national affairs concerns
the
statesmen who guide the ship."
The Minister [who has finished his conversation]. "There is a
great
deal of truth in what des Lupeaulx has just said; but let me
tell you"
[to Baudoyer], "Monsieur le directeur, that few men see from
the
standpoint of a statesman. To order expenditure of all kinds,
even
useless ones, does not constitute bad management. Such acts
contribute
to the movement of money, the stagnation of which becomes,
especially
in France, dangerous to the public welfare, by reason of the
miserly
and profoundly illogical habits of the provinces which hoard
their
gold."
The Deputy [who listened to des Lupeaulx]. "But it seems to me
that if
your Excellency was right just now, and if our clever friend
here"
[takes Lupeaulx by the arm] "was not wrong, it will be difficult
to
come to any conclusion on the subject."
Des Lupeaulx [after looking at the minister]. "No doubt
something
ought to be done."
De la Briere [timidly]. "Monsieur Rabourdin seems to have
judged
rightly."
The Minister. "I will see Rabourdin."
Des Lupeaulx. "The poor man made the blunder of constituting
himself
supreme judge of the administration and of all the officials
who
compose it; he wants to do away with the present state of
things, and
he demands that there be only three ministries."
The Minister. "He must be crazy."
The Deputy. "How do you represent in three ministries the
heads of all
the parties in the Chamber?"
Baudoyer [with an air that he imagined to be shrewd].
"Perhaps
Monsieur Rabourdin desired to change the Constitution, which we
owe to
our legislative sovereign."
The Minister [thoughtful, takes La Briere's arm and leads him
into the
study]. "I want to see that work of Rabourdin's, and as you know
about
it--"
De la Briere. "He has burned it. You allowed him to be
dishonored and
he has resigned from the ministry. Do not think for a
moment,
Monseigneur, that Rabourdin ever had the absurd thought (as
des
Lupeaulx tries to make it believed) to change the admirable
centralization of power."
The Minister [to himself]. "I have made a mistake" [is silent
a
moment]. "No matter; we shall never be lacking in plans for
reform."
De la Briere. "It is not ideas, but men capable of executing
them that
we lack."
Des Lupeaulx, that adroit advocate of abuses came into the
minister's
study at this moment.
"Monseigneur, I start at once for my election."
"Wait a moment," said his Excellency, leaving the private
secretary
and taking des Lupeaulx by the arm into the recess of a window.
"My
dear friend, let me have that arrondissement,--if you will, you
shall
be made count and I will pay your debts. Later, if I remain in
the
ministry after the new Chamber is elected, I will find a way to
send
in your name in a batch for the peerage."
"You are a man of honor, and I accept."
This is how it came to pass that Clement Chardin des Lupeaulx,
whose
father was ennobled under Louis XV., and who beareth quarterly,
first,
argent, a wolf ravisant carrying a lamb gules; second, purpure,
three
mascles argent, two and one; third, paly of twelve, gules and
argent;
fourth, or, on a pale endorsed, three batons fleurdelises
gules;
supported by four griffon's-claws jessant from the sides of
the
escutcheon, with the motto "En Lupus in Historia," was able
to
surmount these rather satirical arms with a count's coronet.
Towards the close of the year 1830 Monsieur Rabourdin did
some
business on hand which required him to visit the old ministry,
where
the bureaus had all been in great commotion, owing to a
general
removal of officials, from the highest to the lowest. This
revolution
bore heaviest, in point of fact, upon the lackeys, who are not
fond of
seeing new faces. Rabourdin had come early, knowing all the ways
of
the place, and he thus chanced to overhear a dialogue between
the two
nephews of old Antoine, who had recently retired on a
pension.
"Well, Laurent, how is your chief of division going on?"
"Oh, don't talk to me about him; I can't do anything with him.
He
rings me up to ask if I have seen his handkerchief or his
snuff-box.
He receives people without making them wait; in short, he hasn't
a bit
of dignity. I'm often obliged to say to him: But, monsieur,
monsieur
le comte your predecessor, for the credit of the thing, used to
punch
holes with his penknife in the arms of his chair to make believe
he
was working. And he makes such a mess of his room. I find
everything
topsy-turvy. He has a very small mind. How about your man?"
"Mine? Oh, I have succeeded in training him. He knows exactly
where
his letter-paper and envelopes, his wood, and his boxes and all
the
rest of his things are. The other man used to swear at me, but
this
one is as meek as a lamb,--still, he hasn't the grand style!
Moreover,
he isn't decorated, and I don't like to serve a chief who isn't;
he
might be taken for one of us, and that's humiliating. He carries
the
office letter-paper home, and asked me if I couldn't go there
and wait
at table when there was company."
"Hey! what a government, my dear fellow!"
"Yes, indeed; everybody plays low in these days."
"I hope they won't cut down our poor wages."
"I'm afraid they will. The Chambers are prying into
everything. Why,
they even count the sticks of wood."
"Well, it can't last long if they go on that way."
"Hush, we're caught! somebody is listening."
"Hey! it is the late Monsieur Rabourdin. Ah, monsieur, I knew
your
step. If you have business to transact here I am afraid you will
not
find any one who is aware of the respect that ought to be paid
to you;
Laurent and I are the only persons remaining about the place who
were
here in your day. Messieurs Colleville and Baudoyer didn't wear
out
the morocco of the chairs after you left. Heavens, no! six
months
later they were made Collectors of Paris."
* * * * *
Note.--Anagrams cannot, of course, be translated; that is why
three
English ones have been substituted for some in French. [Tr.]
The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy.
Baudoyer, Isidore
The Middle Classes
Cousin Pons
Bianchon, Horace
Father Goriot
The Atheist's Mass
Cesar Birotteau
The Commission in Lunacy
Lost Illusions
A Distinguished Provincial at Paris
A Bachelor's Establishment
The Secrets of a Princess
Pierrette
A Study of Woman
Scenes from a Courtesan's Life
Honorine
The Seamy Side of History
The Magic Skin
A Second Home
A Prince of Bohemia
Letters of Two Brides
The Muse of the Department
The Imaginary Mistress
The Middle Classes
Cousin Betty
The Country Parson
In addition, M. Bianchon narrated the following:
Another Study of Woman
La Grande Breteche
Bidault (known as Gigonnet)
Gobseck
The Vendetta
Cesar Birotteau
The Firm of Nucingen
A Daughter of Eve
Bixiou, Jean-Jacques
The Purse
A Bachelor's Establishment
Modeste Mignon
Scenes from a Courtesan's Life
The Firm of Nucingen
The Muse of the Department
Cousin Betty
The Member for Arcis
Beatrix
A Man of Business
Gaudissart II.
The Unconscious Humorists
Cousin Pons
Brezacs (The)
The Country Parson
Bruel, Jean Francois du
A Bachelor's Establishment
A Start in Life
A Prince of Bohemia
The Middle Classes
A Distinguished Provincial at Paris
A Daughter of Eve
Camps, Madame Octave de
Madame Firmiani
A Woman of Thirty
A Daughter of Eve
The Member for Arcis
Chaboisseau
A Distinguished Provincial at Paris
A Man of Business
Chatelet, Marie-Louise-Anais de Negrepelisse, Baronne du
Lost Illusions
A Distinguished Provincial at Paris
Chessel, Madame de
The Lily of the Valley
Cochin, Emile-Louis-Lucien-Emmanuel
Cesar Birotteau
The Firm of Nucingen
The Middle Classes
Colleville
The Middle Classes
Colleville, Flavie Minoret, Madame
Cousin Betty
The Middle Classes
Desplein
The Atheist's Mass
Cousin Pons
Lost Illusions
The Thirteen
Pierrette
A Bachelor's Establishment
The Seamy Side of History
Modest Mignon
Scenes from a Courtesan's Life
Honorine
Desroches (son)
A Bachelor's Establishment
Colonel Chabert
A Start in Life
A Woman of Thirty
The Commission in Lunacy
A Distinguished Provincial at Paris
Scenes from a Courtesan's Life
The Firm of Nucingen
A Man of Business
The Middle Classes
Dutocq
The Middle Classes
Falleix, Martin
The Firm of Nucingen
Falleix, Jacques
The Thirteen
Scenes from a Courtesan's Life
Ferraud, Comtesse
Colonel Chabert
Finot, Andoche
Cesar Birotteau
A Bachelor's Establishment
A Distinguished Provincial at Paris
Scenes from a Courtesan's Life
A Start in Life
Gaudissart the Great
The Firm of Nucingen
Fleury
The Middle Classes
Fontaine, Comte de
The Chouans
Modeste Mignon
The Ball at Sceaux
Cesar Birotteau
Fontanon, Abbe
A Second Home
Honorine
The Member for Arcis
Gaudron, Abbe
Honorine
A Start in Life
Gobseck, Jean-Esther Van
Gobseck
Father Goriot
Cesar Birotteau
The Unconscious Humoriists
Godard, Joseph
The Middle Classes
Granson, Athanase
Jealousies of a Country Town
Gruget, Madame Etienne
The Thirteen
A Bachelor's Establishment
Keller, Francois
Domestic Peace
Cesar Birotteau
Eugenie Grandet
The Member for Arcis
La Bastie la Briere, Ernest de
Modeste Mignon
La Billardiere, Athanase-Jean-Francois-Michel, Baron Flamet
de
The Chouans
Cesar Birotteau
Laudigeois
The Middle Classes
Louis XVIII., Louis-Stanislas-Xavier
The Chouans
The Seamy Side of History
The Gondreville Mystery
Scenes from a Courtesan's Life
The Ball at Sceaux
The Lily of the Valley
Colonel Chabert
Lupeaulx, Clement Chardin des
The Muse of the Department
Eugenie Grandet
A Bachelor's Establishment
A Distinguished Provincial at Paris
Scenes from a Courtesan's Life
Ursule Mirouet
Metivier
Lost Illusions
The Middle Classes
Minard, Auguste-Jean-Francois
The Firm of Nucingen
The Middle Classes
Minard, Madame
The Middle Classes
Minorets, The
The Peasantry
Mitral
Cesar Birotteau
Nathan, Madame Raoul
The Muse of the Department
Lost Illusions
A Distinguished Provincial at Paris
Scenes from a Courtesan's Life
A Bachelor's Establishment
Ursule Mirouet
Eugenie Grandet
The Imaginary Mistress
A Prince of Bohemia
A Daughter of Eve
The Unconscious Humorists
Phellion
The Middle Classes
Poiret, the elder
Father Goriot
A Start in Life
Scenes from a Courtesan's Life
The Middle Classes
Rabourdin, Xavier
At the Sign of the Cat and Racket
Cesar Birotteau
The Middle Classes
Rabourdin, Madame
The Commission in Lunacy
Rubempre, Lucien-Chardon de
Lost Illusions
A Distinguished Provincial at Paris
Ursule Mirouet
Scenes from a Courtesan's Life
Saillard
The Middle Classes
Samanon
A Distinguished Provincial at Paris
A Man of Business
Cousin Betty
Schinner, Hippolyte
The Purse
A Bachelor's Establishment
Pierre Grassou
A Start in Life
Albert Savarus
Modeste Mignon
The Imaginary Mistress
The Unconscious Humorists
Sommervieux, Theodore de
At the Sign of the Cat and Racket
Modeste Mignon
Thuillier
The Middle Classes
Thuillier, Marie-Jeanne-Brigitte
The Middle Classes
Thuillier, Louis-Jerome
The Middle Classes
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